Monday, January 26, 2015
Look out! Ancient Chicano Sci-Fi Wisdom will be coming at you at the 38th Annual Writers Week at the University of California, Riverside. I'll be teaching a master writing class on Feb. 4. The knowledge I've picked up from decades of writing will be free for taking.
Or, to put it in proper sideshowese:
"Step right up, folks! We've got one of the weirdest mutations to come out of East L.A. here for your examination -- a Chicano with sci-fi growing in his brain! Don't be afraid! Come on, get a good, close look! We're pretty sure his rare condition isn't contagious . . ."
Friday, January 23, 2015
That's right, in Chicanonautica, over at La Bloga, your humble Chicano cartoonist celebrates Charlie Hedbo, High Aztech, and blasphemy.
Just to make things clear:
Is happening in your town?
In Ireland, it's art:
So, let's respect all religions:
Monday, January 19, 2015
Awk! We're over halfway through January, 2015 and I haven't let you Mondoites know what I've been up to. Better get to it, then.
I've been doing a lot for the new Digital Parchment/Strange Particle Press versions of my books, and my story collection, Pancho Villa's Flying Circus. You'd be amazed at what has to be done, not to mention dreaming up and commiting publicity.
That includes another blog, and my Tumblr, Ernest Hogan. I should probably add links to my blog page.
I've also been writing a “Chicanonautica Manifesto” for Aztlán: A Journal of Chicano Studies.
Yup, it's academia, or at least the parts of it concerned with things Latino/a and the decolonialization of science fiction. You can read all about it in Black and Brown Planets: The Politics of Race in Science Fiction edited by Isiah Lavender III, specifically in Lysa M. Rivera's essay “Mestizaje and Heterotopia in Ernest Hogan's High Aztech.” I'll write more about the book when I finish reading it.
Another academic connection is that I've been asked to do a master class on writing science fiction, fantasy, and horror with an emphasis on the Latino/a angles for University of California, Riverside's Writer's Week. It's pretty damn soon, so I better get my act together.
My career has not only risen from the dead, but threatens to go running amok across the landscape. And I haven't even mentioned all those unfinished projects, writing and art, that are left over from last year.
I better get to work, and watch out for all the political turmoil flying around as art gets weaponized and entertainment gets politicized, and the future breaks out all over in a dazzling array of manifestations.
Friday, January 9, 2015
As we hurtle into 2015, Chicanonautica, over at La Bloga, wonders about 2014, the year science fiction discovered diversity.
After all, all that stuff back in the Ninteen-Hundreds was just the beginning:
Now Latinos are in the future:
And women are sci-fi:
Not to mention Afrofuturism:
So get ready for things that are really alien:
Thursday, January 1, 2015
Sedona keeps calling us back. Emily and I were just there a few weeks ago. And we also, for some mysterious reason, honeymoon there. We never really thought about it the first time, or the second time. And this third time, it justs seemed right.
It was dark when we reached Sedona, and it was festooned with Christmas lights. Like before, Google Maps got us lost. We had to ask directions at a fast food joint with a flying saucer out front, and they didn't know anything. Eventually we found the Baby Quail Inn.
The air was cool and crips, the sky was full of stars. We had burgers at the Cowboy Club.
The next morning, the huevos rancheros at the Coffee Pot had my mouth tingling; then it spread to my ears . . . there may have been some psychoactive effects. We ate inside this time, the décor would be great in a post-Apocalyptic Spaghetti western: giant kachinas and wild west landscape murals in glowing colors.
The Baby Quail Inn had Wi-Fi. I got on Facebook, mentioning our being in UFO country and seeing a hummingbird. Rudy Ch. Garcia said, "They don't enter the airspace . . . " That had me thinking about sugar-powered drones that look like hummingbirds. Looks like there's no escaping sci-fi paranoid fantasies these days.
The truly spectacular red rock landscape eclipses the town New Age commercial silliness. Schnebly Hill Road turned out to be too primitive for El Troque, but was an incredible hike.
We found the Mystical Bazaar to be a good landmark for finding our way back to the hotel.
With my new iTouch, I took pictures along the main drag of Sedona. There's a new kind of funkiness, almost sci-fi, Wild West stuff. Maybe it will eventually replace the old Yuppie New Age pretensions.
We did a scenic drive in the changing afternoon light. There was a mist over the mountains. And subtle visual magic that you can't really catch with a camera.
When we had tacos for two at Oaxaca I could hear Lalo Guerrero singing in my head. The restaurant was playing tropical music mixed with tracks of Christmas songs in Spanish. They had a painting of fat people dancing, but it was signed by somebody other than Botero.
In a mineral shop – they called it a “crystal” shop – they were selling pretty rocks at high prices because of mystical properties: “They absorb negative emotions. Just put them on your stomach, but be sure you wash afterwards . . .”
The next morning, while checking out and getting free muffins, we met the actor Dick Curtis, owner of the Baby Quail Inn. He was telling a story about Admiral Byrd and a penguin.
After another breakfast at the Coffee Pot – I had buckwheat pancakes this time, we stopped at Red Rock State Park, and hiked past the sign about rattlesnakes, along the tracks of deer and mountain lions, down a trail lined with poison ivy.
The storm that has just pounded California blew clouds and cold air our way as we headed back home. In Jerome, women were hanging tinsel decorations spelling out “HO.” We stopped in Prescott, and had burgers made from “locally-grown” beef, then we took scenic routes back to Phoenix.
We kept seeing cattle that we may eat someday.