Things Seen on a Night Walk

yellow maple leaves
cartwheeling
wind-pushed
along the edge of a gutter
a little dog barking
behind a fence
then his head appears
wait - how?
he's peaking out
from inside a clear plastic bubble
sticking out from the fence

a way to see what he senses walking by?

I know there was a third thing...
a house decorated with
white paddle shapes
on top of the red bricks
of the facade
everybody wants to see the action
or be on the move
leaves, dogs, houses

The Whitening Project

 Following the abolition of slavery in Brazil in 1888, the state embarked upon a project of "embranquecimento," or whitening, of the country, promoting immigration from Catholic countries in Europe. And this is what Donald & co.'s brutal mass deportation campaign amounts to: an attempt to to *whiten* the country through the expulsion of non-white US residents - along with all their deep cultural, intellectual and economic contributions. What this looks like in practice is a twisted game of disappearance. The lady from whom you used to buy tamales and atole on the street corner: vanished. The couple who used to clean your apartment: inside their own apartment, hiding. Your new friend, the mom of your daughter's friend - she's being yanked out her car and thrown down to the pavement because the Supreme Court has ruled that racial profiling is now legal.

Latinos comprise 1/3 of Chicago's population and like the other groups who inhabit the city, their contributions to the visual, literary, theatrical, culinary, and musical arts in the city are immeasurable. As are Latino contributions to progressive political movements and to education in Xicago. Indeed, upon a closer look, we see that it is impossible to separate Latino Xicago from Chicago itself. But this is precisely what the grimly quixotic plan of Stephen Miller and ICE seeks to do: To forge a more cruel and a more dull nation. To forge a nation more white.

The Regrettable Rise of Nicky the Fash Fuentes

 

Well, Nick "The N•zi of Berwyn" Fuentes seems to gaining more and more prominence amongst the Republicans and the American right more generally of late. Most notably, Nicky the Fash enjoyed a long softball interview on Tucker Carlson's show. And Tucker isn't receiving much pushback from his fellow right wingers for platforming a candidly racist, enthusiastically antisemitic, gleefully Islamophobic and loudly misogynist white supremacist. Also of note is that Nicholas let it slip last year that he has ambitions of being president one day. Well, considering I live in the same quaint hamlet as Nicholas, I think it's my duty to offer my perspective on the man.

He is loud. Appears to be confident. He is slyly manipulative of his incel audience. And he is as uncultured and as ignorant as the day is long. He loudly declares that the US needs to dominate the Western Hemisphere, that women and non-white people need to be subservient to white men and that Jews... (insert hackneyed hysterical delusional conspiracy theory here). There's only one problem: Nicholas doesn't *know* anything about the literary, visual arts, performing arts, musical, culinary, architectural, philosophical, theological, scientific and other cultural contributions of the groups he hates and seeks to oppress.

I guess this is how MAGA and right-of-MAGA bigotry works: It is predicated upon ignorance, upon a vacuum of information where knowledge and familiarity should be. Actually studying and getting to know a Monk or Ellington composition, a Cortazar or Toni Morrison novel, living with it, understanding and interpreting it could conceivably decay the bigotry. And so Nicholas remains loud, cocky, snarky, but most of all: IGNORANT.

Perhaps these ideas can be summed up in a story that Miles Davis recounts in his autobiography. From a 2011 Guardian article: "Davis was a man of few words. When he did speak, his words often had a similar effect to a hand grenade being lobbed into the room. In 1987, he was invited to a White House dinner by Ronald Reagan. Few of the guests appeared to know who he was. During dinner, Nancy Reagan turned to him and asked what he'd done with his life to merit an invitation. Straight-faced, Davis replied: 'Well, I've changed the course of music five or six times..."

(bebop, cool jazz, orchestral jazz, modal jazz, electric/fusion)?

pictured: Nicky the Fash next to his Berwyn home and studio

Western Sky Variations

1

sway grass by the hydrant
loop de loop clouds
move as sway cats
in the white sky
some geese walking
the parking lot -
water tower silver distance

2

the stars in the sky
reel around
the rusty water tank
on the white tin shed
beside the pines
between the fences
beneath the Illinois sky -
some go-go clouds
the sun hiding behind
one of 'em

3

corrugated metal box
plopped atop the gravel roof
so many sundowns
blasting south from Itasca

***

the swallows angle-winging
above the conifers and oaks
remember chalky cloud
sundowns lasting days

4

sun spies blue pocket sky
draped with wishbone clouds

rocks on the rooftop
pulled from the fox river
sparkle starlight signals
reflect information
back into the ivory-forged
cloud bank
up into the ether

5

cloud ship docking
sparrow pairs clocking -
prairie evening special

***

the slant roof
steel circle chimneys
rise through the gray tiles -
silent red light
blinks through the night clouds
drifts above the corn fields
and the back roads
crossing the tracks
of foraging deer

6

grey-white carpet cloud
the sun beneath it
was what I saw
last time I looked
out the window
this time: cloud traces remain
the sun hasn't moved?!
tree tops dark green
described by a city mind



7

"When Was the First Time I Heard Kung Fu Fighting?"

A cloud poised like a pouncing raccoon
squared off against
a shadow rabbit cloud
on hind legs
lit from behind -
kane county sundown
illumination

8

What said the hallway window over the parking lot

meadow flower sundown?
What said the water tower silver distance?
What said the spry rabbit curled around the signpost ringed by clover?

9

the robin sits on the roof corner
drops straight down out of sight
flash of orange
enters the shadow plane -
the red winged blackbird

A Day in the Life

Stephen Miller lays down on a white rug. He paints himself white from his feet to his undertaker's head. He opens his mouth and paints his tongue white. He gets up and walks outside of his Los Angeles apartment and hears unfamiliar phrases. Sak pase. Lagaca laabe. Oye güero. He panics and runs through the streets all the way to the shore. The Pacific Ocean isn't speaking English either. It's crashing, sloshing, dragging. And the water is not white. It's blue, grey, golden, clear. Stephen Miller begins to dig through the sand, sifting for the white grains. The wind blows the grains out of his hands. He is desperate. He sees a white bird. At last! he thinks. It shits on his head. The shit is grey blue. He runs into a bar and demands that they play Cream, White Room. But it's all wrong. "I'll wait in this place where the sun never shines. Wait in this place where the shadows run from themselves." No, he says, Whiter Shade of Pale. Play Whiter Shade of Pale, Procul Harum. He hears the descending organ chords. He begins to relax. He closes his eyes and pictures the color white. Maybe there's a way out this, he thinks. Gary Brooker sings, "We skipped the light fandango." No! What the fuck?! yells Stephen Miller. Did he have to use a Spanish fucking word in that song?! Did he have to?! Fuck this shit. He awakes. Another day inside the stone prison where he used to send people. Fuck this shit, he thinks. Carajo, somebody else says.

FASCISM

 

It's like there's some people
for whom swimming in a lake
on a sunny day
isn't enough
seeing a fiddler crab
slide into a tidal pool
isn't enough
hearing a blues band
at the corner bar
ascend into a spiraling
bliss state
of release
isn't enough
the perfect burrito
where you drizzle hot sauce
onto each bite
isn't enough
the perfect falafel sandwich
isn't enough
butterflies in the meadow
someone says I love you
accordion at the farmers market
salsa dance lessons
are not enough
so they go on looking
for something
The Great Thing
that isn't there
that never arrives
and leaves ashes
where it
was
sought

BOOK GROUP