arnoldo garcía

broadcasting scribbles from my notebooks

April 4

freedom sounds

my music

is noise

was satanic

to the wooden crossed ears of the conquistadores

One people's language is another's

cultural maelstorm

a tempest of terrorisms

Our gods incomprehensible

worthy of being toppled

yet they still built their religions,

their highways, their vacation spots

on ours.

One people's music is

noise to the oppressor.

Our freedom sounds

are an upside down world

to those who hold the keys to the chains

Our freedom sounds

are an offering to the ears and tongues

to hear each other voices

to sing, to holler, to cry

to live for a cause or a song

Noise, our noise, deafens the greedy one's counting games

Our voices, my voice, our words, our music

cannot be erased, cannot be silenced, cannot be dubbed over,

cannot will not be left on the cutting room floor.

Someone hears us, we memorize our sounds of freedom, of land

On paper I leave an ink trail

a path of scribbles for others

to think and go forward

beyond where my bones will finally

rest as scaffolding

In the wind, my voice is a trail

of particles and waves which ride on the moon's machete

or course down crooked migrant smiles.

The voices of our ancestors

as well as our destroyers

still fight it out in the cosmic waves

the quarks of liberation

continue pounding on our skin, our eyes, our sweat,

our voices.

Eventually we'll all get it right. Harmonic convergence

harmony & sickle, harmonic dissent, harmonic uprisings,

harmonic organizations, harmonic community, harmonic equality,

harmonic democracy, harmonic borders,

harmonic languages

where everything means the same in any language, almost anywhere,

harmonic conservation (leave the rainforest and the rainpeople alone)

don't leave home until you're free

Harmonic bones, harmonic DNA, harmonic genome project,

harmonic jimi hendrixes,

the harmonic restoration of

guadalupe|coatlicue

crazy horse

manuela

paha sapa (leave the earth's power alone!)

ana mae aquash

7,000 migrants' bones

five million braceros

50 million russians

two million rwandans, bosnians

all the disappeared indians of the world,

every ecosystem, every species, every man woman child elders youth worked to death, slaughtered by progress and economic development

harmonic liberation convergence...

*

Funny how I can write that

memory does not reside

in machines, computers, bytes, bits,

or even history books. Memory

resides, lives in

memory herself

on flesh, on skin, on bones, on skulls, in the dust, in the water, in the air, in the soil,

in the vibrations of my throat, tongue, lungs, in the way we create the sounds of words,

on how we generate waves across the air to vibrate against your ears or eyes or finger-tips, on our fingernails and hands

just as our ancestors reside growing all the time in our hair...

*

transmusic

transmission

transgender

translingual

transpose

trancegnder

trancemusis

trancelate

trancepose

trancenational

trancehuman

trancefusion

tranceplant

trancejazz

trancelucid

transsmile

trancemission

trancesister

trancerevolutions

translands

trancegress

trancegressor

trancelocated

tanceplanted

transperm

trancegestate

transtongue

trancelung

transdance

trancerhythm

tranceborder

tranceblood

trancecultural

translocura

transtorno

transgest

transgod

transword

transtongue

translanguage

transborders

trancecolors

transcribbles

transeyes

transvision

translaughter

transbound

tranceband

tranceport

transkin

transspace

transblues

transgods

tranceshell

trancesex

tranceorgasm

transart

transulpture

trancepoetry

trancehuman

trans-

trance

trancescribbles

transas

transgarabateos

trancegenic

trancestorms

transhuracán

transehumano

trancenature

transnaturaleza

*

En el reino

de tus abrazos

la utopía

de tus labios, tus besos

una dictadura

de la ternura

la comuna

de tu sonrisa

tus palabras

anidándose en mis oídos

la liberación

tu voz

una cobija

para mis sentidos

todo

en

el reino

de

tus abrazos

*

from time to time

remember the wounds

remember the agony

of being abandoned

when you smile

laugh

or

roll around

in pleasure

remember

it was not always

like this.

*

my memory

is

a small creature

tiny hands

playing

with a collective toy

of cousins

a small meeting

to study

revolution

a piece of paper

with a few lines of poetry

an endless field

we have to clean of weeds,

my grandmother cooking.

making tortillas

my memory

has

no history

no chronicle

unknown by all

except me my family

laughter

food

work

dreams

burials

weddings

baptisms

laughter

crying

mourning

food

remembering everything everyone

migrant camps

indian reservations

canals

fields

planting

thinning

harvesting

winters

no theories

just drumming,

music,

dances spinning in communal circles.

Someone dies we come together

Someone is born we come together

Someone falls in love we come together

Someone falls out of love we come together

Someone reaches a birthday we come together

Someone cooks food we come together

Someone dreams we come together

My memory

is

a small creature

a baby

we breast feed all our lives...