The Collected Published Works of Michael Ray De Los Angeles Menjivar
Edition Copyright © 2013 The Children of the Matrix Press Copyright © 2013 by Michael Ray “De Los Angeles” Menjivar All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, including information storage and retrieval or photocopying except for short excerpts quoted in critical articles, and photo journals, without the written permission of the author. Published by
Children of the Matrix Press www.MichaelRayDeLosAngeles.org/ Intellectual Property Menjivar, Michael Ray 20XIII: The Collected Published Works of Michael Ray De Los Angeles 1st ed. “Stain’d Glass Heart,” “The Miracle of a Breath,” originally titled “Breathe” and “A Shadow of Truth/Truth” (originally a single poem) were first published in The Women’s Resource Center’s The Matrix, Fall 2011 “T.A.G., W.W. Knows I Mourn” was originally titled “.”; And “Your Eyes, Bluer than Bisbee Azurite” were both first published in The Women’s Resource Center’s The Matrix, Fall 2012 “Mother’s Garden” was first published in Rushing Waters Rising Dreams: How the Arts are Transforming a Community, by Tia Chucha’s Press, ed. Luis Rodriguez & Denise Sandoval, 2012. “Diaspora De L'Angélique,” “Before I Knew Self” and “In Our Hands” were first published in The Women’s Resource Center’s The Matrix, Spring 2013 “Restless Heart Syndrome” was first published in Pan-Asian Pacific Islander Perspectives Zine by Humboldt State University Asian Pacific Islander American Student Alliance (A.P.A.S.A) in March of 2013 Cover design by MRDLAM, edited and arranged by Michael Ray “De Los Angeles” Menjivar
Author’s note Aloha, so what the heck is all this about? Well, this book is really just a book for the sake of creation and reflection. I have reached a point in my career as a photographer, writer, artist, and documentarian that I have something to reflect upon. Soooooooooooooooooooooooo, as you flip through these pages, keep in mind that the content is the compilation of years of work, that includes rejection, editing, revision, reexamination and a funkin’ heck load of tenacity and love for my craft. All this said, enjoy this book; share it with your friends, family, enemies and in public and in private. -MahaloMichael Ray “De Los Angeles” Menjivar
“Mon Amour, Tomorrow You Will Be Gone.” Pan-Asian Pacific Islander Perspectives Zine, Asian Pacific Islander American Student Alliance (A.P.A.S.A.), 25 March 20XIII
Photography is where I started, and where I have been most comfortable. There really is something special about being able to capture a moment on film, and then look at that image at a later time, often seeing something that you hadn’t while you were actually there In “Mon Amour, Tomorrow You Will Be Gone,” I was in a train station in Paris, France, amazed that I was actually halfway across the world from my hometown of Los Angeles, California. This trip that I took, early in the millennium, inspired my writing in many ways. Seeing the graves of Charles Pierre Baudeliare, Samuel Becket and the former site of the Bastille, which housed author Donatien Alphonse François, Marquis de Sade, in addition to a visit to the catacombs reminded me of my own mortality. The title for this piece came as I was reminded of the amazing woman who I had traveled to Paris with, who always insisted that was greater than I ever admitted to myself.
“Your Eyes, Bluer Than Bisbee Azurite” The Matrix, The Women’s Resource Center, Humboldt State University. Fall 2012
I looked down, into the Lavender Mine, for the first time— tears swelling up into my eyes, and a million questions on my mind. “Was this the mine that my great-great-grandfather died in during the 1920s?” That was the big question that I had.
In 2010 I found myself in Bisbee, Arizona, attempting to find some sense of self, piecing together my fractured identity. Although I was born in Los Angeles, I know that my maternal family had migrated from Arizona— and later Mexico.
While in Bisbee, I walked up and down the roads, specifically Zacatecas— the place where the miners’ houses were. My journey to Bisbee brought up little more than a few fond memories for my personal achieves, several newspaper clippings, and a couple of home movies. I did however, with the assistance of my godfather and great uncle Jose Quezada find out the name of my great-great-grandfather—Encarnacion Guerra.
Looking at this photo, I wonder about the ecological impact of the massive mining project that was the Lavender Mine. How many other lives were claimed? What will become of the giant hole in the Earth a hundred years from now? And most importantly, why does knowing this history of my family— where we came from, how we arrived in Los Angeles, the multiple changes in family names— even matter to me?
Dispora De l'angélique. (The Matrix, Humboldt State University Womyn’s Resource Center, Spring 2013; Earthikana Soultonix:Urbanite Folk Songs Written on Chalk Stain’d Concrete, Children of the Matrix Press, 25 July 20XIII). We came from Arizona, from Mexico, from Los Angeles…? Our names forgotten, our past rewritten, our hearts still beating. We moved, then settled, on mediocrity; erasing our warrior ancestry. Spilt bloods, captured in oil, celebrated with hallow planks of redwood desire, Here too are the remnants of genocide; Oh look how they smile. I have crossed rivers, bridges and borders; from La Mirada to the Avenues. I slept while gunshots wept, And helicopters screamed ownership of la cara de Padre Sky. Yes, I jumped fences, through barbed wired only to find more metal twisted in my pathway. Now I walk barefoot, I released the metal shackles of yesterday. Looking back, I see the trail of blood sweat and tears I have left. Looking ahead, I see the trail of tears that still flows before me. We came, from Arizona, from Mexico, from Los Angeles, our names forgotten, our past rewritten, our hearts still beating.
“Grandpa, Donde Estas” The Matrix, The Women’s Resource Center, Humboldt State University. Fall 2013
Shortly after I had burned the last of the Frankincense, the chair was used as firewood—the headrest was turned into a swing.
“Stained Glass Heart” The Matrix, The Women’s Resource Center, Humboldt State University. Fall 2011; “Earthikana Soultonix: Urbanite Folk Songs Written on Chalk Stain’d Concrete, Children of the Matrix Press. 25 July 20XIII. (Top left)
The original “Stain’d Glass Heart” was drawn with Prismacolor markers. I later cut out the image and scanned, which is why it has a black background. (Top Right) With a bit of photo editing I created a black and white copy of the original (Right) This is the most recent development within the Stain’d Glass Heart Series. Digital editing opened up a whole world for me as an artist.
“Flip Life: Restless Heart Syndrome� Pan-Asian Pacific Islander Perspectives Zine, Asian Pacific Islander American Student Alliance (A.P.A.S.A.), March 25th 2013, Painted Early 2008
“Flip Life: Restless Heart Syndrome” was a gift, a painting that I completed for my uncle Antonio Caranza. The concept for the painting was inspired by Kahlil Gibran’s chapter “On Crime and Punishment” in his book The Prophet. In the chapter Gibran utilizes the image of a tree and a leaf, and their interconnectivity to one another, to explain that the individual is not separate from society and that society is responsible for its individuals. He states, “as a single leaf turns not yellow but with the silent knowledge of the whole tree, So the wrong-doer cannot do wrong without the hidden will of you all.” It was with this specific excerpt in mind that I painted the spade-shaped-leaf to resemble a tree. In this world, keeping a fresh perspective, being able to look at the world (as though for the first time) is what helps me move forward and progress. With this mindset, there are no problems, only lessons and opportunities for growth.
“Mon Amor” Toyon Literary Journal, Humboldt State University. Spring 2012
This was the one of three photos that were published in the Toyon Literary Journal, the Annual Journal of the English Department at Humboldt State University . In 2012 I was a contributing editor of the art and poetry, reviewing over 400 individual submissions— the following year (2013) I would serve as the Poetry Division Editor for the journal, none of my submissions would make the cut. Knowing the sheer numbers of the submissions, and having seen them first hand, I was delighted to see these three photos were published together. In early 2013 I framed the three photos and included them in the Exhibition “Collaborate, Create, Communicate” (hosted in the Reese Bullen Gallery in Arcata, California), under the title Epitaphium Luna. The exhibit was created “around the thematic elements of acceptance, diversity, tolerance and inclusion.”
“Childhood” Toyon Literary Journal, Humboldt State University. Spring 2012
There were two elementary schools in Virgil Village, my brothers, Matthew Alexander, Emilio Fabricio, Josue Ismael and I all attended this one— Dayton Heights Elementary. Personally, I believe that the greatest institutions of learning are those which are closest to nature— gardens & orchards to be more specific. I advocate for the removal of concrete on playgrounds within the schools of the Los Angeles Unified School District.
“Edification” Toyon Literary Journal, Humboldt State University. Spring 2012
While on my journey through the streets, avenues and roads in Bisbee, in Arizona, with Edda C.R. Lampis, I noticed this statue. There were two angels, their wings serving as the arch over the stairwell. Originally I titled the piece “Eddafication,” as an homage and dedication to Edda, however for publication purposes, I opted to change the title. I prior to the title alteration I created a short videopoem weaving together the score and poem that I had composed. Although I had submitted the poem “Edification” simultaneously to the Toyon Literary Journal, it was only my photo that was published. The poem was rejected. The rejection was not the end of the road for the poem, it was recited with musical accompaniment on the Radio Show Divine Love Talk, Hosted by Dr. Parthenia Grant. I have seen many angels over the years, this one that I saw in Bisbee, often serves as a reminder of my own persistence, drive and thirst for self-improvement.
“VAMPYROHTECHNIX.” LA-Artist.com, May 5 March 2011
I sent my post card to LA-Artist.com in April of 2011. When published, Oliver Shipley, the project’s curator had this to say: ‘Vampyrohtechnix’ from Echo Park, 90026 has submitted this magnificent, trippy and down right wicked cool ArtCard. I can’t get this piece out of my head, there’s something anarchic, uncensored and unforeseeable about this artwork. I guess it mirrors arts chaotic and unpredictable nature. As Oscar Wilde once said “Art is individualism, and individualism is a disturbing and disintegrating force. There lies its immense value. For what it seeks is to disturb monotony of type, slavery of custom, tyranny of habit, and the reduction of man to the level of a machine.” This artwork by L.A. artists Vampyrohtechnix has knocked me for six…… the more I look at it the more involved I get.
A Children of the Matrix Eulogy (The Matrix, Humboldt State University Womyn’s Resource Center, Fall 2011; Earthikana Soultonix:Urbanite Folk Songs Written on Chalk Stain’d Concrete, Children of the Matrix Press, 25 July 20XIII).
Placed in the face of great adversity, Raised on fears and limitations, We broke the barriers of all realities; We chose to define our own existence.
Baptized by fire, our worth has been proven, As Integrity guided the heart home. Thus, we let go of sorrows and confusions; So that we could relearn forgiveness and Love.
Dear T.A.G., W.W. Knows I Mourn (The Matrix, Humboldt State University Womyn’s Resource Center, Fall 2012; Earthikana Soultonix:Urbanite Folk Songs Written on Chalk Stain’d Concrete, Children of the Matrix Press, 25 July 20XIII). An ice cold slumber did my spirit seal I had no time for empty, mortal fears; She seem'd like a warm thing I could not feel.
I gazed -- and gazed -- but idle thoughts conceal'd The touch of blades of grass and Earthly years. An ice cold slumber did my spirit seal
Did stately passions in me burn a wheel? No motion has she now, no force, no tears; She seem'd like a warm thing I could not feel.
She neither hears nor sees, there is no zeal; All seasons through, another debt, more beer-An ice cold slumber did my spirit seal
Thy course, bold lover of the sun reveal'd Although she was Nature's favourite dower She seem'd like a warm thing I could not feel.
We meet thee, like a warm and pleasant meal The thankless Winter in the garland wears. An ice cold slumber did my spirit seal She seem'd like a warm thing I could not feel
The Miracle of a Breath (The Matrix, Humboldt State University Womyn’s Resource Center, Fall 2011; Earthikana Soultonix:Urbanite Folk Songs Written on Chalk Stain’d Concrete, Children of the Matrix Press, 25 July 20XIII). Whilst cuffed snuggly (with cold metal pressed against my skin, und the touch of le morte still fresh on my hands), I smiled-- as only a Cheshire Cat would. The air reek'd of swine. In a moment of doubt, The strength and of wisdom of a Sequoia Sempervirens (its spine recto como un pistola) reminded to me breathe. In breath, (just like Davis. like Chavez, like Huerta, like Davis like Gandhi like Parks, like King, like Jamal, like Williams walking down the halls of death row, like Frank like Frankl, like Keats, Shelly and Wordsworth; like Agard, like Huidobro like X like Trayvon Martin like Sophie Lancaster, like that beautiful Butterfly Hill), like Shelley, Like Olaudah Equiano Exhale, Je suis paz und tranquility.
(Each breath has already passed through the lungs of every peaceful warrior From Madre Theressa, to Señora Parks; From Maria Trinidad Santacruz to Esperanza Quintero; From Amanda Saiz to Jennifer Alejo.
Exhale Exhale Exhale Bleed. (Wildfires raging in belly and Rainclouds storming the gates of a rational mynde, As dew drop run down a red soaked face, crafting rivers of truth —sans joy— in a passionless welcoming anthem of unifying Love). “Within your smile I see bits of harmony, r a d i e n c e, c o m p a s s i o n, f e a r l e s s n e s s, v i r t u e, t r u t h, h o n o r, w i s d o m: Within you eyes I see sparks of Joy Gardens of happiness; Fields of triumph; and of course Love. I thought you were here to protect, to serve, to help!” (Closed eyes, opened heart). Inhale: Je suis paz und tranquility.
“War Is Over” The Matrix, The Women’s Resource Center, Humboldt State University, Fall 2011; Earthikana Soultonix: Urbanite Folk Songs Written on Chalk Stain’d Concrete, Children of the Matrix Press, 25 July 20XIII
I saw this installation while in Santa Barbara, it was put together by Veteran’s For Peace: Chapter 54. My photo was taken during year two of the installation— back in 2003, there were approximately 340 crosses, one for each fallen American Soldier. I can assure you that when I saw this memorial, on the beach , in 2005 that there were significantly more than 340 crosses. I knew my mother’s brother, Ray Torres (whom I am, in part, named after) was overseas. At the time he was serving in the United States Marine Corp. When I saw this memorial, I couldn’t help but think of him. Furthermore, I couldn’t help but think of the countless families that had been affected by the Iraq War.
War is Over (The Matrix, Humboldt State University Womyn’s Resource Center, Fall 2011; Earthikana Soultonix: Urbanite Folk Songs Sung On Chalk Stain’d Concrete, 15 August 20XIII). Ladies and Gentlemen, Youth and elders: War is over. Yes, Peace has come. Alert the troops on every battle field, Tell them that the conflict is done. Spread the word, “Peace has come.” Mothers, Call your sons and daughters home. Soldiers Lay down your guns.
We’ve built up our communities And we forgave the “Not-so-benevolent” ones. All so that we could stand here proudly And say That “War is finally done.” Angels will no longer need to play Melancholy songs, In gutters And back alleyways, Upon empty bottles of rum. We started throwing flower seeds Instead of dropping bombs, War is finally over Peace has now begun.
(A Shadow Of) Truth (The Matrix, Humboldt State University Womyn’s Resource Center, Fall 2011; Earthikana Soultonix: Urbanite Folk Songs Sung On Chalk Stain’d Concrete, 15 August 20XIII).
I heard a scream, the cry of innocence,
through the cracks of society's floor;
It was as, as they always are, wholesome and pure.
A silhouette upon the wall spoke not
the language of Nikolai Vavilov or Rahab--
The voice was, as it always is, wholesome and pure.
I heard her cry, screaming once again,
her words bleeding through jailhouse walls.
She was, as they often are,
unaware of the locks on the doors...
… … … The stars are splattered across the sky Like the dreams of our long dead soldiers. My heart lets off a somber sigh World War III is not yet over: The rats of rage, A n x i o u s For the taste of some melancholy dream, Have over medicated our children So very far, far, far beyond belief. Out of a coma And into the fire I’ve been rip van winkled Straight Into the epoch of hypocrisy; Where breathing, Even breathing, Has its dangers And I can fell my lungs collapse, Under such pressure… But no, Oh no That is not the way I foresaw my death. Not for this God/dess. Not for this prophet; Such a death is not meant For this s t i l l b e a t i n g heart— There is more to be said And much work to be done. I still have dreams of peace, Even in this era of war, Because Liberty is not just a statue, She is the Mother, The sweet, sweet mother of Virtue. Or
Did you forget… That before the current cataclysmic state Our dreams were guided by an integrity based co-existence And that this police state is just a representation Of a misaligned ego based reality?
So I'm calling to end an insestus rape Of virtue y planeta, Of tiempo and of space. For until the gun is buried Mi...Dear...Dear... compañer@s, You might as well point the barrel At your own sweetest Madre/Mother/Mamá/Maman/Amma/Nanay/uhmuhni.
Mother’s Garden (Rushing Waters, Rising Dreams: How the Arts Are Transforming a Community. Tia Chucha’s Press. 30 April 2012) I pick'd these flowers with you in mind, Wrapp'd them up in silver twine, Pluck'd them from their golden chord, And thus they wither more and more.
Within each petal I saw a thought, A holy message written and wrought, Cast down from angels both bought and sold, Then packag'd in China by 12 year olds.
I pick'd these flower with you in mind For they reflect the beauty of thine eyes; Wide and open as Arizona morning skies, And blue as Bisbee azurite mines.
I pick'd these flower with you in mind I pick'd them not knowing that you would mind.
In May of 20XIII, LA-Artist.com published all three of the artcars that I had submitted. Although I was still living in Humboldt, California, and embracing my new location, I still could not shake my SoCal roots. Today, I see myself as a Californian, an Earthling, and an artist of many mediums窶馬either here nor there but everywhere.
Colorful-Genderless–Light (The Matrix, Humboldt State University Womyn’s Resource Center, Fall 2011; The Humboldt Circus Presents: Carnival of The Mind. April 26-27 20XIII, Eric Van Duzer Theater, Arcata California; Divine Love Talk, CRN Digital Talk Network, 17 July 20XIII; The Greater San Fernando Valley Optimist Club: 8th Annual Celebration Reception, 5 October 20XIII). Rolling oceans de Amor, ebb and flow with Grace; as a beauteous resolution is sprouted with a single seed. Hold us close dear Sac Re Cur, we want to feel your breath, as we, yes we, interconnect like the neo-dreamers of ions. Between breathless moments of silence that are filled with joy and harmony, Our voice is as loud as burning butterfly wings We sing, we sing, we sing. With the strength of a hurricane we sing: From the Hill of Humboldt county, to the lower 9th of Naulins, “I am strength, wisdom and courage. We are power, integrity and compassion.” At this moment, I see the divine lines of spirits connecting –yes intersecting– And finding common ground in the urban beat. Our streets, paved with concrete, will be de con struct ed– Brick by brick if we must. We Chalk for those we Love. Yes, it is up to us to build trust and seek new horizons, For we are the children of Zion and greatness is what we be. So I am going to breathe mindful of the trees, birds, and the azurite blue sea. Che-che-checking in with the Angels of Glory; we are the new story, And the breath of inspiration is in our lungs like argon.
Beyond the world of Maya and Utnapishtim are new beginnings and the truth is that the greatest Earthians have not yet been born– The colorful, genderless children with rainbow eyes are sitting amongst the stars, laughing in the moonlight, awaiting for the days of free flight.
So let us pave the bridge across the ocean, And build a road that extends beyond the sea. Embrace with open heart, body and mind. Be Love and take the time for one another. Listen to the wind, it is our voice. Be fearless, courageous and loving. And if nothing else Inspire integrity, because My Brothas’ and Sistahs, we are a community.
“Le Sac Re Cur de Monsieur Frankenstein The Women’s Resource Center, Humboldt State University. Fall 2013
Le Morte de Romance Binaire The Matrix, Humboldt State University Womyn’s Resource Center, Fall 2013
S/he is quite lovely and I can hardly relate Her/his celestial body, her/his lustrous gaze. Far too long I held my heart, by a damaged string, Pinned by needles, while mocking birds so sweetly sang.
My attention is drawn to her/him, oh how I wait. Entrapped by her/his scent, I’m lost in delicious daze. Finding one who sees the heart as more than a thing Has been a feat, the road littered with many pangs
How can I approach such a precious jewel of fate? Such that this beauty has captivated my days. I did not expect to come ‘cross such tender wings Neither did I believe that an angel would fall for me.
Colour De Liberté The Humboldt State University Black Student Union Presents: Poetry is not a Luxury, Black Box Theatre, Arcata, California. 21 February 2013 “Me not no Oxford don Me a simple Immigrant” - John AgardDis skin, dis skin, dis skin I am in it bin wit me tru’ tick ‘nd tin— From spit on face To belly on chalk ‘tain’d concrete. Dis skin It no e’ver change colour: It no ‘ever bleach’d Dem say, (yes, dem say) “you too dark. w’o left you in oven?” Say I, “528 degrees just right; Skin no ‘cause no problem Skin no ‘cause no strife— ‘cept from ‘ou who say “you too dark, Jah left you in oven.” O but Dis skin, dis skin, dis skin I am in, Is beautiful like C o c o n u t, Like djembe… Like dundun… Dis skin, dis skin I am in. Skin mine no tell nig’gar story, no. Skin mine no wetback story, no; It not story of every “multiethnic ghetto child living C a l I f o r n I a” No. No. No. Skin mine only tell my story What skin yours say? It beautiful like kenkeni? Like Dundunba? Like Cherymoya? How skin yours sing for you?
“Abuelito, Esperame!” The Matrix, The Women’s Resource Center, Humboldt State University. Fall 2011
Well, that’s the just of it. Sure, I have paintings, performance pieces, thousands of photos, dozens of short films and hundreds of poems in my achieves, but this is it. What you have been shown has been a comprehensive overview of my published work. Hopefully you’ve learned a thing or two about art, about me, and maybe even a few insights about yourself. More than anything, I just want to stress that persistence is key, I may not always wake up, with my pen in hand, or dash to my writing table straight after an idea hits me, but without a doubt these are things that I often do. This last photo is one that I took near Castaic Lake, that is my grandfather, Alejandro Molina, walking down the road. Looking at this image I am reminded that I too am part of a lifetime of stories, just one more voice adding to the choir. He and I have spoken quite a bit about migration, border crossing and the power of stories. Every poem I have written, every photograph I have taken, every painting I have completed has been an attempt to establish and reaffirm my own identity. Today, I am simply me— Michael Ray De Los Angeles Mejivar.
Infinite gratitude to: Mi Familia y Amig@s; the amazing and welcoming people of Bisbee, Arizona; New Orleans, Louisiana, Hana, Maui; Paris, France; Bath, London and Wiltshire, England; Food Not Bombs Chapters in San Francisco; Berkeley (People’s Park), Humboldt, and Los Angeles. I would also like to give thanks to Mata Amritanandamayi, ORT2012, Lorax Community, Vampire Freaks, John Keats, The Humboldt Circus, Julia Butterfly Hill, The Children of The Matrix and FOOT Crew, The Healing And Art House, Divine Love Talk, Humboldt State University Toyon Literary Journal, Humbolt State University Women’s Resource Center, CCAT, Paul “Pee Wee Herman” Rubens, Kombucha, Chia seeds; Masuro Emoto, Brother Malcolm, Angela Davis, John Agard, Andrea Gibson, Saul Williams, Tia Chucha’s Centro Cultural, Sweet Lorraine’s Jazz Club, Mental Mondays, Soap Box LA, The Silver Lake Neighborhood Council, coconuts, avocados, and of course… YOU!
MichaelRayDeLosAngeles.org M i c h a e l R a y @ L o r a x C o m m u n i t y. o r g