No Me Mires, No Me Hables, No Me Toques!
Me quiero Ir, porque me llamo, Irma!
Love faded out like a dead phone call
that was ringing dead in my ear.
I wanted credit.
After so many wrong numbers!
I wanted to be unpublished!
So, love took obscurity
and left me the bill. 
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“Where are you from?” I came here via the Q Train.This is where I was inspired to write this prose.
Who I am, is another story.
Where am I going? A task for Winds of Change.
Tonight’s class, another T-MO Pearl in Ms. Bates’ necklace. [a Teaching moment].
We covered World Domination by the white Caucasoid mountains
(Scratch that), by the Powers That Be, and how they have become ~ That Which Is Just So.
Tonight, we embarked on a cultural class of Stolen Identity (of the Third World Kind), of Dominicans in Yo’ Face and now Stayin’ at Your Place, (The Neo Puerto Rican Wet-Backs.)
Tonight, we soothed our sails as we Shot the Albatross that pecked the Hispanics from the EX-generational Census Winds that brought us to the Gentle Shores of Guatemala y Guatepeor.
[Guate-bad and Guate-worse].
Tonight, we rooted for the Mexicans and their Chipotle…that get blamed for everything…For Puerto Rico; El Bronx, The Forgotten Borough; El Barrio, Manhattan’s Spanish Harlem; Wall Street; and Don’t Forget–the New Jersey Shorelines Via the Newark Path Trains that take our Good Professor Homeward Bound.
We are gathered here tonight because Irmita Gonzalez, has given out “Happy Rings” to nearly everybody plus 3 professors, and took pictures to boot!
Tonight, we watch No Movies of Celluloid, or of Digitized Pixels.
Tonight, our SHOW was selected from a show of hands that biologically and historically parley a rapport of channeled circumstantial structures and unique interpretation about
Ourselves.
It was embedded in us by our foremost social structurers, our parents. We are left holding the Perceptions of Self in a Real or Non-Real World. It’s whatever we want, or may not want.
Yes, we have Nappy Hair 2! Only, we call it, Pelo Malo [Bad Hair] or Pelo Grifo! [Coarse, (beastly) hair?]
Grifo. [Pronounced, greefo,] that word is intriguing.
Does it mean from a Griffon? A Greek monster? Who knows?
Tonight, we couldn’t stop talking outside of the University. We were Poised like 4 Horsemen of Chess, like pieces at a corner-meet, creating a Latino quadrant, allowing no North Winds, only Orinoco Winds that may land softly on the foams of our wave breaks, to a time before the Dominant Ones Put Out to Sea.
Without knowledge, we are limited Knight Pieces, Restricted only to L-Shaped moves, and Subject to the Impasse moves of foot soldiers.
The World’s Big Moves, having already been made; stolen and re gentrified, can only remind us, “Be a Catalyst for Change.”
Read: “And Still I Rise,” [Maya Angelou], a conviction to which Our Catharsis is similar.
Post script: Thank you, Professor Pearl Bates, for your important discussions. You impart a newness to navigate through lies by revisionists suffering from Imperialitis! We can read their faces now and depict their Non-Verbals, which speak more clearly. Thank you for helping us de-code the way through the rough waters and dimming night. (Since they done took everything else!) See you when we get there.
Irma Gonzalez
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Current mood:
 vexedCategory: Blogging
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May 2, 1999
Dear Naima,
This is just to let you know that you are owed these words.
These words flowed from my jotting pen the day of your son, Barry’s funeral:
Barry’s Wake: Barry’s Dead in Adam.
A 90 plus white-haired woman–angel dust
Henneson wife’s grandmother,
92, aided by the arm as she sings solo
near casket of 30-year-old Barry.
All in all, pray for strength for the family.
With inspiration soaring, some sang from the heart
some hummed to support and filled the waiting period with tone sounds
before the speaker came.
A Rehab program Group filtered in, in casual step and urban outfits
to pay their last respects to their fallen buddy, asleep at his wake for he never awoke from his sleep last morning.
While whirly engines of fire and rescue siren alarms impede to allure the mourners from outside this funeral home at 145th street in Harlem.
But all in stride–”for someone else maybe meeting eternity right now”–Rev.
All in all pray for family’s strength.
Hymns sang by hers
in high hat pin hats
Umbrella -ing Knowingly
over shoulders of the lesser hymn knowing ones,
who don’t sing along.
Babies happy to hear hymns unaware of despair.
Women pray in Akbar Allah Akbar
arms in circles, heads bowed
while cousin Muhammad leads in muslim prayer/
hands turned up to receive full blessings.
All in all pray for family strength.
Reverend and ministers
solo artists and all churchgoers/
all in all pray for strength for the family
all pray and repeat lines endlessly.
I need some gum or sweet in my mouth
not just the lord in my mouth like the Reverend says;
“God kept you together just long enough to find out what love was all about.”
Reverend’s wife said to the survivor wife.
First Corinthians, Chap 15…
no resurrection of the dead? Few flowers very few after the red and whites heart carnation and 2 gladioli sets on floor.
Open casket.
Brother Barry is dead in Adam but he’s alive in Christ./
Rev.
Big Breath words pipe out with
yelps and yelling
like a scolding
like a tremendous dis;
‘like his words about people doing same jive tomorrow.’
the preacher is good like a vibrato King.
s strength
Saint V Ministers
snakes and mongoose in Ireland
Prisoners learn GOD.
A musical sculpture that could be rendered unaware, as if it wasn’t there! For the only people who can make a sound are the Straphangers that are tall.
The musical synthesizer hangs well above the platform’s edge–and the sounds are harmonious and fine. The cords catch your ear–even if you are at a far end of the line, the music will reach you–and behold–heavenly chords and comely~ But none such shall you ever miss, if all you had were shorties in your midst. All short people can make no sounds out of this (sculpture). That is unless they had a ladder or were on stilts or even mounted on another’s shoulders standing arms akimbo.
LOOKING AT SLEEPING LP
(Laura Maria “Perez” Pacheco;
My mother with the one arm).
In deep sleep, with the mouth all distorted,
Delivering dry mouth “baba” bubbles
Into the air above her pursed lips. Open-mouthed,
chupando lagrimas—“Sin espina, o con?”
A question asked by bodequeros when you want to buy their bacalao.
(Espinas, spines, bones)
With bones or bacaloa without bones?
(saltier by far)….
Her story unfolds like the unfolding saga Text of Dr. Who, Traveling Time Lord of the Ancient galaxies on BBC,TV, except her’s comes deep from the “Caribe”…the favorite haunt of pirates of the Caribbean.
A Cuban and a Spaniard-Puerto Rican got together and made a baby–Her—la chica: Laura Perez.
Perecemos!
Esta es la Historia de Laura, A Gothic Horror!,
A Historical Romance,
And sensational “Top Story,”
soon to be both an educational
and popular narrative text of a wise old Latina vieja, senora Laura (alias Jean Harlow); Laurita; Mima; (a name for a grandmother); My Culture Girl; My Ultimate PuertoRican Dubler.
I doubled her. Daughter celled her. Spring orphan. Spring offed her. I am her off spring.
My mother, who with just one arm had 12 plus children,
(…that some had to circle the toilet bowl, in Manhattan’s West side flats, was no fault of her own)
And in the wake of 3 common-law husbands!
Green eyes, blond hair with a fair skin, Blanquita, blanquita,
Unstoppable.\
Like the bus that took her arm off.
Grafted skin from the back to the front of the legscrape that was trampled on and tossed about by a failed brakes bus in Puerto Rico’s ‘Calle 21.”
Calle Veinte-Una,
Whose trailing streets demanded the life of her step father, none other than her father’s brother, an Uncle, that stepped to it, when her father disowned her. Perez.
Perecemos en otros barrios, pero no en calle 21.
Street called Calle 21 who soaked the blood of her step father’s life as the blaring siren of the Red Cross Bus skidded and scraped him to death and rubbed him into the streets like you would sabonar a pig or a pollo alzao.
Roasted is the idea now.
A life roasted in a hard skin. One looks for God to answer the question.
Why is it that good people suffer so?
Why is it that 1932’s Huracan San Ciprian roared through Puerto Rico and danced off to Cuba, while landing softly in Santo Domingo on soft padded feet?
Why did it leave my mother’s family in such a mess…to begin with. In the Beginning it was always a Mess. Mass. Messaia. Messenger.
La Calle 21 took my mama’s arm, kept her alive, but took my mama’s father (step father) a few years later, and gave her years of Red Cross blankets (without the small pox) and many milks of KLIM ( a dry powdered milk).
Blanquita, blanquita.
Leche blanquita
Color de leche
Fria y florecita.
Dale por la manana
Que se quede aquita.
Non-science (non-sense) by
La Poeta
Irmita,
la chiquita,
Hay Bendita.
Que Dios te Bendiga,
Y Perdona Todo Lo Malo.
Amen.
Irma Gonzalez 2010 February 4
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