Friday, May 27, 2016
That's right, in Chicanonautica at La Bloga, and it's all because I've got a Aztláni western in Lost Trails 2: Forgotten Tales of the WeirdWest.
It really is:
And it's Chicano, too:
But of course, these are modern times:
No telling how far-out it could get:
Friday, May 20, 2016
On the way up, the wide-open spaces did their usual psychoactive number on my head. Fragments of my new project -- another Aztláni western story/novel/whatever -- danced across my sparkling synapses. Fresh signs warned to watch out for burros and elk, and a huge flock of hawks patrolled near Black Canyon City.
In Sedona, the Bell Rock Inn was brimming over with funky western art. James Darum cowboys lined the halls, a print of Roberts Shields' Southwestern Robots hung in our room. There were also cartoony coyote cowboys, nearly-psychedelic desert/mountain landscapes, and much, much more!
In the bathroom of one of Sedona's many tourist information centers, I saw an example of Navajo graffiti: HÓZHÓ. I dutifully wrote it down and photographed it, figuring that I had some research to do. When I showed it to Emily, she knew it meant “balance.” Maybe it needs to be written on more walls.
I wondered what kind food they serve at Mariposa Latin Inspired Grill, but we had some favorite restaurants to visit, like the Coffee Pot. I had buckwheat pancakes the first morning, and huevos rancheros the next.
In Flagstaff antique stores Emily got a camel saddle – she'd been looking for one for twenty years – and a statue of an Asian deity of mysterious gender. I got an old bullfighting novel, The Brave Bulls, written and illustrated by Tom Lea, reminding me that I have to get back to my unfinished science fiction bullfighting novel.
As we went down Route 66 to the Galaxy Diner, Bob Dylan's The Times They are A-Changing leaked out of an open-air cafe.
Back in Sedona, we investigated a place with a giant white rooster in front of it. It's officially called Silver Son West, but Emily wants to call it the White Rooster. It had roosters, dragons, calaveras, buddhas, dinosaurs, and other things that would make great décor for an the wildest western of all time.
I had a vision of a vampire being chased through such a place, crashing into a wall of ornate metal crosses, bursting into flames . . . now if I can just come up with a story or something I can use that in . . .
In Oaxaca – one of our favorite Sedona restaurants – there was a Mick Reber painting: Small Dreams of City Streetlife. I was surprised to see guns, in a contemporary setting, with a hint of social commentary, instead of props in Wild West myth. Maybe the times really are a-changing.
The next day, we took highway 89A through Jerome down to Prescott where we had lattes at the Firehouse Coffee Co. on what was known as Whisky Row. These days there are more antique stores than saloons. There was a wonderful Tom Mix mural, and I wondered what the hell is Dave's Total Insanity Sauce, and why would they be selling it.
In the footsteps of ancient cowboys, Emily found just the piece of furniture to go next to our front door, and just under the androgynous deity. I found a Buckminster Fuller book, a Hopalong Cassidy novel, two Bomba the Jungle Boy novels, travelogues about cannibals and head-hunters, and Christina Garcia's The Lady Matador's Hotel, a recent bullfighting novel that has been tempting me.
Could it be my own bullfighting novel is demanding to be finished?
And then there are all those other unfinished projects. Guess I better get to work.
Wednesday, May 18, 2016
Friday, May 13, 2016
Monday, May 9, 2016
2016 is really freaking people out, and it's just getting started. Change is happening fast. It feels like the future is coming in way ahead of schedule. But like that great futurist Yogi Berra said, “The future ain't what it used to be.”
Next year is going to look like a different world.
Agendas are in order, Afrofuturistic and otherwise.
But then, the problem with the future is, it's always more than you can keep up with.
Friday, April 29, 2016
Chicanonautica reviews Mario Acevedo's Rescue From Planet Pleasure over at La Bloga.
It's a fun book with vampires:
Monday, April 25, 2016
This was something I needed to deal with in writing High Aztech. I couldn’t just do the same Chicano sci-fi that I did in Cortez on Jupiter. I had to get into a Mexico City state of mind, call up memories of my mind-altering visits there, and more: I made a point of reading books, magazines, and newspapers from Mexico -- and yeah, I dusted off mis historietas -- tuned into a lot of TV from Mexico and local Spanish-language radio.
This was back when they were trying to establish an English Only law in Arizona. Did these people realize that in the Metro Phoenix Area radio waves carrying the Spanish language was constantly passing through their bodies, jiggling their DNA? Maybe a religion virus wasn’t necessary . . .
I made a point of tuning into a Spanish station while writing High Aztech. Get the rhythm of la idoma as well as the music dancing in my synapses, absorbing songs lyrics, DJ chatter, news, and occasionally, something truly different.
I forget the station, but now and then there would be an echoing countdown: “Diez . . . nueve . . . ocho . . . siete . . . seis . . . cinco . . . cuatro . . . tres . . . dos . . . uno . . .”
Then I would hear sci-fi blast-off sound effects, and a male announcer would announce that Doctora Luna was on the air. He invited the listeners to call in for advice on heath, spiritual matters, and amor!
The first time I listened carefully, and was shocked buy what I heard, or rather didn’t hear.
Doctora Luna had a radio show, but her voice was never heard. She was only “on the air” in the sense of being available to take calls, off air. I assumed that this was probably because the nature of her advice had less to do with medical science than with a kind of curanderismo.
The FCC probably has regulations against broadcasting such things. Maybe it’s better that I don’t remember that station.
During her program the countdown and solicitation for calls was repeated, then they would alternately play two different Spanish translations of the song Love Potion No. 9: Pócima de Amor:
And Bola de Cristal:
Repetitious? Sure, but it was weird, just the sort of weirdness that slammed my brain into the world of High Aztech.
Doctora Luna was a big help in writing High Aztech. She also inspired my story “Doctora Xilbalba’s Datura Enema.”
Doctora, I would like to thank you. You probably have good reasons for protecting your identity like Zorro, the Lone Ranger, and the enmascarados de lucha libre. I hope that you are still out there, working that magic.
I also remember that my Spanish got pretty damn good back then. I should do it again. In fact, I wrote this while listening to an Austin TexMex station via iTunes.
(Originally posted as a Chicanonautica at La Bloga.)
Friday, April 15, 2016
The new Garza Twins book gets reviews in Chicanonautica, over at La Bloga.
The first in the YA series won an award:
It its about teenage naguales:
Monday, April 11, 2016
One of the big pendejadas of life in the twenty-first century is that you end up spending so much time frying your eyes, staring into a glowing screen. The drawing board and sketchbook provide some relief, but what do you do when it's been hours, and you need a break? And if you're like me, so visually oriented that your idea of a good time is looking at stuff?
Luckily, I'm married to the fabulous Emily, and our house is surrounded by an incredible Venusian garden – that is, Venusian for the time being, during this cooler part of the year. Summer will be here soon, early again, and the heat and radiation levels will burn it into its Martian aspect. But for now, it has the look of Venusian jungle out of 1930s pulp sci-fi, or if you prefer a more high brow metaphor, a Max Ernst composition. A few steps out either the front or back doors, and I'm surrounded by strange lifeforms, struggling to survive in a harsh environment. If I'm not careful, they'll attack me and draw blood.
It takes me out of whatever writing or drawing I've been working on and derails my imagination into someplace different. Also forces me to focus my eyes a variety of distances. Sometimes I just enjoy the abstract beauty of the ever-changing light and color on jagged shapes. Sometimes it starts looking like art to me.
Must be my training. Sooner or later, everything starts looking like art to me.
So I take pictures. I never liked photography. It was too mechanical. Too much fiddling around to get everything perfect. I prefer my art to be an immediate confrontation, like a bullfight.
Then, Emily bought me a iTouch with a camera and encouraged me to use it. Since I have so little experience with photography, I'm not hampered by thinking of it as art or craft. I point and shoot, and if it doesn't come out right – delete it!
I have fun. It gives me something to post online. Who knows, it may actually come in handy with my wacko career, but I'm not worrying about that now. I'm getting distracted.
Friday, April 1, 2016
I can't seem to get this song out of my head:
And yes, there really is a Fountain Hills, Arizona:
Things happen there:
Who know's what the future will bring?