La Llorona

Hola mi gente,
I’m so sick the liberal hypocrites who have all of sudden gown a backbone and sense of morality. While neocons like Trump and his henchmen have “alternate facts,” so-called liberals live in an alternate reality. They can kiss my ass.

The following legend, La Llorona (the Weeping woman), can be viewed from multiple perspectives. Speaking directly about La Llorona and her impact upon the Chicana culture, Orquidea Morales writes, “For Chianas, La Llorona is a cultural icon, descendant of La Malinche and Aztec Goodess Cihucotal, who represents women’s voice and agency.”

This is one positive perspective one may take when viewing folktale: La Llorona represents a rebellious woman, refusing to be forced into subservience and treated lesser simply because of her upbringing. Morales speaks of how Chicana’s and Chicana feminists have re-theorized the myth of La Llorona to view the tale as an empowering episode of revolution and the demand for equality. Other women view the tale as a paradigm for being a bad mother — the examples of being weak, abandoning one’s children in times of crisis, being beaten by emotions and unable to control oneself.

La Llorona

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This is a story that the ancient ones have been telling to children for hundreds of years. It is a sad tale, but it lives strong in the memories of the people, and there are many who swear that it is true.

Long years ago in a humble little village there lived a beautiful young woman named Maria. Some say she was the most beautiful girl in the world. And because she was so beautiful, Maria thought she was better than everyone else.

As Maria grew older, her beauty increased and her pride in her beauty grew as well. She would not even look at the young men from her village. They weren’t good enough for her.

“When I marry,” Maria would say. “I will marry the most handsome man in the world.”

And then one day, a man who seemed to be just the one she had been talking about rode into Maria’s village. He was a dashing young ranchero, the son of a wealthy rancher from the southern plains. He could ride like a Comanche. In fact, if he owned a horse, and it grew tame, he would give it away and go rope a wild horse from the plains. He thought it wasn’t manly to ride a horse if it wasn’t half wild. He was handsome and he could play the guitar and sing beautifully. Maria made up her mind — that was the man for her. She knew just the tricks to win his attention.

If the ranchero spoke when they met on the pathway, she would turn her head away. When he came to her house in the evening to play his guitar and serenade her, she refused to come to the window. She rejected all his costly gifts. The young man fell for her tricks.

“That haughty girl, Maria, Maria!” he said to himself. “I know I can win her heart. I swear I’ll marry that girl.”

And so everything turned out as Maria planned. Before long, she and the ranchero became engaged and soon they were married. At first, things were fine. They had two children and they seemed to be a happy family together. But after a few years, the ranchero went back to the wild life of the prairies. He would leave town and be gone for months at a time. And when he returned home, it was only to visit his children. He seemed to care nothing for the beautiful Maria. He even talked of setting Maria aside and marrying a woman of his own class.

As proud as Maria was, she became very angry with the ranchero. She also began to feel anger toward her children, because he paid attention to them, but just ignored her.

One evening, as Maria was strolling with her two children on the shady pathway near the river, the ranchero came by in a carriage. An elegant lady sat on the seat beside him. He stopped and spoke to his children, but he didn’t even look at Maria. Then he whipped the horses on up the street.

When she saw that, a terrible rage filled Maria, and it all turned against her children. And although it is sad to tell, the story says that in her anger Maria seized her two children and threw them into the river. But as they disappeared down the stream, she realized what she had done and she ran down the bank of the river, reaching out her arms to them. But they were long gone.

The next morning, a traveler brought word to the villagers that a beautiful woman lay dead on the bank of the river. That is where they found Maria, and they laid her to rest where she had fallen.

But the first night Maria was in the grave, the villagers heard the sound of crying down by the river. It was not the wind, it was La Llorona crying. “Where are my children?” And they saw a woman walking up and down the bank of the river, dressed in a long white robe, the way they had dressed Maria for burial. On many a dark night they saw her walk the river bank and cry for her children. And so they no longer spoke of her as Maria. They called her La Llorona, the weeping woman. And by that name she is known to this day. Children are warned not to go out in the dark, for, La Llorona might snatch them and never return them.

* * *

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, please consider helping me out by sharing it, liking me on Facebook, following me on Twitter, or even throwing me some money on GoFundMe HERE or via PayPal HERE so I can keep calling it like I see it.

Notes to a Young Progressive

Hola mi Gente,
I plan to rest this weekend.

Nationalism

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I call him a patriot who rebukes his country for its sins and does not excuse them.
— Frederick Douglas

Many years ago, George Orwell wrote a prescient essay on the differences between nationalism and patriotism Orwell’s Notes on Nationalism, has as much relevance today as it did when it was written right before the lead up to WWII as nationalistic fervor fed the flames of Nazism and fascism.

Too many people confuse nationalism for patriotism. When I listen to the nationalistic fervor stoked by the likes of Trump and Hillary, for example, it is concerning because theirs is an appeal to fear to a white demographic feeling betrayed — a population looking for any excuse to explode. The successful Trump/ GOP’s campaign strategy is to create “the other” as different and unpatriotic. It’s been a one-note effort mostly because U.S. conservatives apparently do not know any other strategy.

Another reason political elites use this tactic because it works: tar and feather a candidate by coming up with the scary face of a black killer. At one time that face was the face of Willie Horton. Today, it is any black kid with a hood. Dismiss people who dare question the wisdom of our current foreign policies as “unpatriotic.” Paint the opposition as effeminate and ineffectual and deride them for having the courage to speak out against wars that kill tens of thousands of innocent women and children. And this is just the Democrats.

And it continues to work. It is working partly because the failures of decades of lunatic neoliberal economic policies have created global financial meltdowns and eroded the middle class.

Orwell defined patriotism as “devotion to a particular place and a particular way of life, which one believes to be the best in the world but has no wish to force upon other people.” I have no argument with this definition

According to Orwell, nationalism is the tendency of identifying oneself with a single nation or an idea, and “placing it beyond good and evil and recognizing no other duty than that of advancing its interests.” In other words, nationalism doesn’t have to be based on an allegiance to a particular nation. This same fanaticism can be applied to any “ism”: neoliberalism or fundamentalism of any kind (religious or otherwise), for example. Whether it’s based on a country or an “ism,” nationalism always contains that dangerous combination of blind fanaticism and a lack of concern for reality.

In nationalism, thoughts “always turn on victories, defeats, triumphs and humiliations… Nationalism is power-hunger tempered by self-deception.” Moreover, its self-deception leads to catastrophic miscalculations based on delusions rather than facts. Orwell stated, foretelling the mental state of democrats today:

Political and military commentators, like astrologers, can survive almost any mistake, because their more devoted followers do not look to them for an appraisal of the facts but for the stimulation of nationalistic loyalties.

But to really appreciate Orwell and understand how he had our current foreign policy down pat, you only need to read this:

All nationalists have the power of not seeing resemblances between similar sets of facts. Actions are held to be good or bad, not on their own merits but according to who does them, and there is almost no kind of outrage — torture, the use of hostages, forced labor, mass deportations, imprisonment without trial, forgery, assassination, the bombing of civilians — which does not change its moral color when committed by ‘our’ side.… The nationalist not only does not disapprove of atrocities committed by his own side, but has a remarkable capacity for not even hearing about them.

It was Georges Santayana who said “… those who refuse to remember the past, are condemned to relive it.”

Any of this sounds familiar?

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, please consider helping me out by sharing it, liking me on Facebook, following me on Twitter, or even throwing me some money on GoFundMe HERE or via PayPal HERE so I can keep calling it like I see it.

Naked is the Night

Hola Everybody,
Some of the worst, most atrocious examples of writing can be found in the social sciences. I think a large part of the reason is that social scientists try too hard to make their writing sound “scientific.”

Every once in a while, however, you run into some great writers who also happen to be great social scientists. Case in point, Luc Sante’s Low Life, the story of New York’s Lower East Side, circa 1840-1920. Sante may not be a social scientist in the strict sense of the word, but damn! his insights and how he brings to life the culture of the streets that continues to influence our contemporary popular culture, is a rare and wonderful fusion of art and science. Check this little gem of a paragraph…

The Naked Night

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The Naked Night, Ingmar Bergman

 

The night is the corridor of history, not the history of famous people, or great events, but that of the marginal, the ignored, the suppressed, the unacknowledged; the history of vice, error, of confusion, of fear, of want; the history of intoxication, of vainglory, of delusion, of dissipation, of delirium. It strips off the city’s veneer of progress and modernity and civilization and reveals the wilderness. In New York City it is an accultured wilderness that contains all the accumulated crime of past nights… and it is not an illusion. It is the daytime that is the chimera, that pretends New York is anyplace, maybe with bigger buildings, but just as workaday, with a population that goes about its business and then goes to sleep, a great machine humming away for the benefit of the world. Night reveals this to be a pantomime. In the streets at night, everything kept hidden comes forth, everyone is subject to the rules of chance, everyone is potentially both murderer and victim, everyone is afraid, just as anyone who sets his or her mind to it can inspire fear in others. At night, everyone is naked.

* * *

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, please consider helping me out by sharing it, liking me on Facebook, following me on Twitter, or even throwing me some money on GoFundMe HERE or via PayPal HERE so I can keep calling it like I see it.

Economic Apartheid

Hola Everybody,
If you’re fluent in Spanish and know the landscape of the reentry world in NYC, you should contact me.

I occasionally repost the following because I like it so much and because (oddly enough) I’m always trying to rework it.

The Ties that Bind Us

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Women and children are disproportionately the casualties of war

… And whoever controls the debt, controls everything. This is the essence of the banking industry to make us all slaves to the debt.
The International

 

As we lurch toward the second decade of the new millennium, I can’t help but reflect in amazement how we’ve been at it for all these thousands of years and we’re still here in spite of ourselves. Through the cruel elements, the countless plagues and wars, the lunatics, and perhaps human nature itself, we are still here, defiant, striving, still trying to make sense of it all.

We’re still alive… for now.

We’re still suffering and killing and hating each other. Diplomacy has risen to an art form because we have become masters of the art of war. I wake up today with the realization that we have defeated the democratic process and in its place we have put an economic system that depraves our efforts in order to create riches based on a subculture of poverty and crime, a system any other creature would rightfully see as barbaric.

We believe ourselves to be the most advanced species but we demonstrate very little understanding or respect for our bodies or the world we inhabit.

For over a hundred years, the practice of slavery has been outlawed here in the Land of the Snow, but people still slave. Technology has taken us to outer space, but not before we managed to eradicate millions in search of genetic purity; not before one of our greatest technological projects, harnessing the power of the atom, incinerated tens of thousands of innocent men, women, and children to shadows.

We wear the restraints of capitalism, the corruption of ideals, and our hatred, prejudice, and ignorance like shackles.

Our capacity for moral reasoning hasn’t caught up with our technological advances. On the richest nation on the planet, we have the power to end starvation, but children still go hungry. We celebrate our medical advances, but the medicines that slow the progress of AIDS are nowhere to be found as that very plague decimates the entire African continent. Our thinking gets the better of our actions. But before we begin to lay blame, please know that our actions are not truly ours to command. At least not any longer…

Today decisions are made by governments and the corporations that own them and are designed to increase profit, not to advance humanitarian ends. Children are starving because it has nothing to do with the bottom line. People are dying everywhere, but how can you try an international cartel for murder?

I awaken and I am appalled at the lack of moral responsibility and leadership. We all know something’s wrong, but we can’t seem to change because we’ve been hoodwinked — we’ve all been chained and made into commodities.

Reality TV is our pacifier and money is our drug of choice — the one habit we can’t kick without dying in the process. Money also forms the links that create our shackles. Our labor binds us to systems that see us only as units of value or expense.

And in this way we careen toward a future like a runaway train whose conductor and engineer have slain one another, its passengers asleep and blissfully unaware. Our lives are designed to maintain the values of our economy. A pound of coffee, an ounce of lead, a human life — all these things express value in our world. Not human values, but the values of a system that rules us. We drag along these values accepting their consequences: wars, the laws that maintain order (and their prisons), the weapons of mass destruction, and the delusional need for world dominance.

Through all this, we are told that there awaits a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. But we know deep down inside that we’ll have to pay in sweat, blood, and sacrifice — our sacrifice alone — for such a future. Yes, boys and girls, the future may be bright, but we will be the beasts of burden hauling around the necessities to maintain that brilliance.

I wake up today and I am overcome by an overwhelming sense that nothing will save the masses from this tragic fate.

Unless we free ourselves from those old chains of ignorance of the past two-hundred years or more. In order to free ourselves we must stop fooling ourselves into continuing to believe that our chains are jewelry. We must begin to consider the nature of our chains. Understanding something about how we became enslaved (again) might allow us the ability break free of those chains. Once freed, we might bring on a new consciousness that will help us realize that the dreams we had for a bright future pale in comparison to the reality that lies quiescent within each and every one of us.

I once thought that the latest economic devastation would have forced white working-class Americans to stop heeding the demagoguery of right-wing talk show hosts; that they would come to realization that they too are part of the insanity of mass oppression for mass production. Unfortunatley, this is not true. today white identity politics, better expressed as white supremacy, continues to be the norm. This current economic mess, brought upon by decades of conservative ideology, will not just go away. This is not an economic hiccup and the white middle class has been hoodwinked into believing that same actions will bring different results.

I believed that after the last economic shockwave would have made it harder to segregate people of color from whites, as we all endure the hardships. And to be sure, even if people do not want to see — or admit — the fact that we’re all in the same boat, reality has come knocking. Maybe, finally, as we all continue to suffer from the ravages of an economic shit storm, people will be less prone to heed the propaganda of racial superiority.

Poor or nonexistent medical care, job insecurity, lack of education — these issues affect every cultural group, creed, and race to differing degrees.

Do not misunderstand me: I cannot abide the idiots who caterwaul that it is not race, but economics that matter. That’s bullshit. You cannot skip to class struggles without addressing the structural racism that is the foundation of that class structure.

Yet, while the runaway juggernaut of capitalism may not extract its pound of flesh in an equal opportunity manner, it does extract it from all of us. It is the nature of capitalism to apply its value system to everything. Within this system, all values are interchangeable. Not only are these values interchangeable, but they also rise and fall according to market forces. Your whole sense of identity and belonging can come tumbling down the moment the cost of a barrel of crude oil, for example, skyrockets. Price competition could well affect the cost of production and one of the major production costs is labor — your labor. In this way, the value of life itself rises and falls according to the cost of production.

Contrary to what the well-groomed media presstitutes tell you, the economic system that rules so much of our lives cannot value human labor above any other commodity or resource. Under the crushing weight of this system, your humanity is no more valuable than its equivalent cost of a sack of potatoes. Capitalism has no humanity, something even the talking heads admit even while they tell you it’s the ultimate solution to all our social ills. All that exists in the capitalist bible is the margin of profit, the market share. We are all part of the machine, and those elements — those idiosyncrasies of individualism — must be dealt with in the same way any mechanic deals with a “faulty” part: removal or replacement.

We are all part of an economic machine. Some of us are cogs, others ghosts, but it is the machine, not our differences, that drive us.

Whites will experience what people of color have been experiencing for centuries and my hope is that, as they experience alienation and isolation from the full participation of the democratic process, they will begin to learn what it feels to be marginalized and in that way, we can all somehow create a coalition founded on our common experiences. As whites, you might feel identification with groups or power, but what does that identification mean on the unemployment line?

But I fear whites will never learn…

In our current reality, we are all a unit of labor. Sure, each individual may use his or her labor as he or she wishes, but in most cases, this power is extremely limited. Make no mistake: the advantage of supply and demand is in the favor of the corporations, not ours. While this is indeed depressing, I take heart in knowing that the experience that can marshal a new era — a new consciousness — in our shared history.

The history of African Americans and Latinx is an integral and important part of the history of the United States. Rebellion, it is said, is the essential movement of understanding. Violence and oppression rob us of the ability to understand. Without understanding, there can be no growth, no appreciation of truth, and no tomorrow — only a never-ending repetition of the daily act of humiliation that has become definition of our existence.

You may judge my words depressing, but I say that there can be no healing until recognition of the disease has evolved. With that, we are well on our way. I also realize that some of you despair that there aren’t enough of us, that the machine will chew us like so much grist for the mill. My first response is almost theoretical: allow me to point you to the power of karma. Your actions, no matter how seemingly insignificant, fan out, creating psychic ripples of consequences and actions. My second response is pragmatic. For those who would despair, I leave you with the following knowledge passed down to us by the anthropologist Margaret Meade:

“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, please consider helping me out by sharing it, liking me on Facebook, following me on Twitter, or even throwing me some money on GoFundMe HERE or via PayPal HERE so I can keep calling it like I see it.

Waiting to Inhale

Hola mi gente,
Some people got pissed about yesterday’s post and insisted I’m a cynic. That’s just bullshit. What I find insightful that some so-called progressives are now pathologizing dissent. SMDH

Waiting to Inhale

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(or Drowning in Love)

 

A wise woman and her student were standing by a pool chatting about longing and ambition. “What do you want more than anything else?” the wise woman asked.

“To perfect my ability to love all of creation the way I love myself,” the young man replied.

At that very moment, the wise woman tackled the student and before he could react, shoved his head beneath the water. Accustomed to his teacher’s sometimes unorthodox manner of instruction, at first he didn’t resist.

One minute went by… then another. Finally, as his lungs screamed for air, the student began to struggle and kick, but his teacher was strong. Finally, she released her grip and the student surfaced, struggling for breath.

“What did you want more than anything else during these last few minutes?” the wise woman asked.

“Nothing else was in my mind except the desire for air,” the student managed to gasp.

“Excellent!” beamed the wise woman. “As soon as you are equally single-minded in your desire to perfect your ability to love all of creation in the very manner in which you love yourself, you will achieve your goal.”

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, please consider helping me out by sharing it, liking me on Facebook, following me on Twitter, or even throwing me some money on GoFundMe HERE or via PayPal HERE so I can keep calling it like I see it.

Neoliberal Bullsh*t

Hola mi gente,
I’m loving my new job! Great people, fantastic opportunity to help build something unique and effective, and a team that’s on board. Good things coming down the pike.

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I love that people are organizing and protesting and strategizing. This past weekend’s activities are a good start. My hope is that we make a movement rather than moment.

Now on to the shit that will piss neoliberals off…

First off: will white neoliberal feminists throw the rest of us under the bus (again)?

As for Trump and the Democratic Party, I have some shit to say about that bullshit. Aside from basic differences on social issues such as gay marriage and abortion rights, for example, Trump/ Pence and Obama/ Clinton are far closer on major issues than many of the people who protested yesterday would have us believe. Obama’s is the first administration to have bombing runs done for every day of his administration. Where were the Hillary-loving, pants suits sycophants when that was happening?

Obama will have deported more people than any other president in history but you didn’t hear one word of protest on that front. Hillary didn’t merely hack an election in Honduras, as she and the corporate media allege, she backed a junta against that country’s freely elected government. And when that country’s stability crumbled as a result of that junta and became the murder and rape capital of the world, Hillary proposed refusing to allow the women and girls admittance into this country, insuring that these most vulnerable of people would continue to be killed and raped.

But… there wasn’t one peep about that during yesterday’s protests. Talk about hypocrisy.

Yes, Trump plans to cut or at least privatize Social Security. Well, so did Hillary (and Obama). Trump is pro-fracking. Guess what? So was Hillary (and Obama). Trump belongs to Wall Street but how is that any different from Hillary (and Obama)? Trump will deport millions, just maybe not as much as Obama did. Trump’s itchy nuclear trigger finger is concerning, just as Obama’s was (although he flirted with abandoning that policy), while Clinton never wanted an end to nuclear stockpiling. And lest we forget, Hillary was hell-bent on starting some shit with Russia, recklessly provoking a rival nuclear power.

And yes Trump has a hard-on  for war China, just as Clinton and Obama seemed to be, playing with the specter of nuclear fire. Trump’s hard line on Israel is impossible to distinguish from Hillary’s or Obama’s. And if there’s a moral difference between Trump’s fascistic nationalism and Obama/ Clinton’s lunatic “American exceptionalism,” please enlighten me.

Trump’s bullying of the press, and threatened radical restrictions on our civil liberties, might allow him to do more damage to the Bill of Rights than Obama’s done already, but the jury’s still out on that one. The fact is that Obama’s reckless expansion of the power of the executive branch is a gift for Trump, who will most certainly open that door a little wider.

The question remains which side would actually do anything for peace, economic justice, civil liberties, or climate justice? The answer to that, dear reader (if we’re honest) is: neither one.

My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, please consider helping me out by sharing it, liking me on Facebook, following me on Twitter, or even throwing me some money on GoFundMe HERE or via PayPal HERE so I can keep calling it like I see it.

Donald Trump Would Call my Mother a Nasty Woman

Hola mi gente,
My first role models for social change were my parents. My first actions in my community were to hand out pamphlets announcing rent strikes and translating for the elders of my community. My parents taught their children that silence in the face of evil wasn’t an option.

My father has long since passed, but yesterday my mother, who’s a spry 80-year-old, took to the streets to in one of the reddest states to protest and stand up for the rights of women and the marginalized. I couldn’t be any prouder of her.

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My mother at the protests yesterday

 

As children, my mother absolutely forbade pets. Well, we did have a line of Siamese cats for a little while, but they would use the toilet (or the bathtub) to do their business. My mother was and is a clean freak and her apartments gleamed. She’d be damned if she allowed some dog to stink up her house.

And that’s a good thing. LOL

However, my mother would allow stray people down on their luck to stay in our homes. If you didn’t have a place to stay, or you were the outcast in the community and everyone else had turned their back on you, my mother would take you in and in that way, our homes were often populated by some funny characters.

Donald Trump would probably call my mother a nasty woman, but she is not vulgar, or uncaring. My mother is the kind of nasty woman who felt empathy and compassion for those who were considered the least of us. And he caring was not transactional — she didn’t expect to be rewarded in this life or the next. God sees everything, she would often say.

In the 1960s, welfare workers would force their way into the homes of Puerto Ricans living in the Lower East Side so that they could search their apartments to see if their husbands

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My mother with my sister, Darlene (l)

were home. Many of neighbors were simple country folk (“jibaros”) who didn’t know much about the law and would allow this violation of their rights to occur. Some of those workers would take advantage of the women. That is until one day my mother chased one of those male workers from our home with a knife, yelling “Rape!” That put a stop to that nonsense. After, my mother would gather the women in the community and teach them that they had a right to privacy and that no welfare worker could legally force themselves into their homes.

Donald Trump would probably call my mother a nasty woman, but she doesn’t allow her rights to be violated.

My mother would snap back at the Jewish merchants on Orchard street when they would throw nasty slurs at her and ask her if she wanted to “fuckee, fuckee.” She would tell them off and make a comment about their wives or, better yet, tell them to “fuckee” their mothers. I have no doubt that my mother would have gone toe-to-toe with any one of those merchants who considered all Latina women sluts.

Donald Trump would probably call my mother a nasty woman, but she doesn’t brook any disrespect or slut-shaming.

My mother was the president of the PTA and when she would tour the auditorium in her Jackie Kennedy outfit that she bought at some used rag store and which she made incandescent, she would always give my class a gold star. She was the most popular PTA mother-dear_002president and raised all kinds of funds and then fought to have those funds used for after-school programs.

Donald Trump would probably call my mother a nasty woman, but she has a style that would’ve made Jackie jealous.

My parents would hold political forums in their apartments and all the intellectuals, poets, teachers, artists would gather in our living room to debate the hot topics of the time. When food was scarce, she would feed them pegao, the rice that stuck to the bottom of the pot, call it Puerto Rican Fried Rice, and serve it as a delicacy. It got so that they would ask for pegao and wouldn’t eat my mother’s regular rice. This was why I would come home from school and find my teachers debating the Vietnam war, feminism, civil rights. My father would sit me in the middle of all that so that my education would

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My mother and I at my graduation

continue in our home.

It was said that, Allen Ginsberg, the beat poet who wrote Howl and lived in our apartment building, was banned from our home for reciting his poetry nude.

Donald Trump would probably call my mother a nasty woman but there was a limit to her Catholic patience.

My mother encouraged my intellectual development and even though she couldn’t afford it, she bought the Encyclopedia Britannica from the door-to-door salesman because I begged her to. I cherished that set of books for a long time.

Yesterday, at the age of 80, my mother continues to speak truth to power and I feel so fortunate that she is my mother, the kind of nasty woman the patriarchy despises.

I love you, moms.

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My name is Eddie and I’m in recovery from civilization…

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, please consider helping me out by sharing it, liking me on Facebook, following me on Twitter, or even throwing me some money on GoFundMe HERE or via PayPal HERE so I can keep calling it like I see it.