What’s In a Name?

What’s In a Name?

                        What’s In a Name?

                                                What’s In a Name?

I got so embarrassed when he asked me. As Raquel would say it- I felt like he had just looked at my asshole.  Ashamed, embarrassed that he had pointed it out all the while pushing back the rush I got from thinking of showing him some more.  Bending over spreading them if you will. Can I be an introverted exhibitionist? Cause that’s how I feel at times with my writing. I perform it- but that’s about the only way that I felt more reassured of doing it.  In other words, I’m insecure about my writing.  PHEW! Ok there I said it.  But I have been saying it a lot. I will probably say it a lot more times. I will be obsessed with writing about how I have problems writing.  I will write myself into and out of a paperbag.   I believe it was either Stephen King- I could be way off but someone suggested that the struggling author, the writer’s block inflicted author to just sit at your computer and write an excuse. What ever it is that is impeding your writing. Time, fear, lack of ideas…wah, wah, wah.  Tell yourself why is it you aren’t writing. Get my drift? Fuck yeah you do cause we’ve all had that person in our lives who is always farting around us- the person who comes to stink up your day with their foulness. They complain about the same thing, their boss, their partner, their weight, their mother, their kids. Anyway some fucken repetivite bullshit until one day you just don’t have anymore answers to give, don’t have enough care in your body for this persons condition, their troubled state: they rather talk about it than do anything about it. So you cut them off like a stinky turt. No more.  Anyway this exercise, this entry is an exercise in that: in how to stop farting about your writing. When I write excuses, I am being my own naggy bitch and the point of writing these excuses is that eventually you’ll get tired of farting and stinking up your screen and your files with excuses that you have only two choices: stop writing or fucken write something else.

Anyway now back to that embarrassing moment- I felt scared cause I felt as if I had been discovered. My tapaderas was blown off. BOOM! . A super hero tries to conceal his/her identity- only a few people know about them, right? And one of them has to be, eventually, the novia. Like mine,eventually, knew my secrete except with me there was no beso desenmascarado like the hanging Spiderman.  El mio fue mas como un egg on my face.  I felt busted- had to come clean. Not that I didn’t want to or don’t- but we hide our identity to protect our loved ones from harm. It’s me I’m really protecting.  But…you’ll see. 

I am Agente Zero-Ocho, my hero persona. I ride this here red , encountered by those that surf. Here is where I put on my writer face and attitude.  The one that allows my mind to take leaps, strew one sentence after another like energy bolts leading my path. I see ahead of me and swing freely.  Back to my curious co-worker who thought it was funny how I spelled the number 0 with a z and not c like in Spanish cero.  He doesn’t know that Agente Zero-Ocho is not only a spanglish word but the “Z” as visual and audio effect to my fantasy.  Aesthetics?  Z hints at Zorro- the master swordsman enmascarado, not a superhero per se but more like a costumed crime-fighter but the two share sever characteristics. “Drat!” I thought, “now he thinks it’s a misspelling,” I freaked out a little then realized it wouldn’t be the first or last time (i.e. mexicanfulmoon). I didn’t speak up because I chose to continue concealing my identity. Unlike Ironman, I’m not ready to shout it to the world. The truth?  I also enjoy the idea of being discovered. Since I really can’t fly and shit, my ass is in the chair when I write…but every particle of me starts to race when I think of my writing being a piece of the words already floating out here…to be continued. 

Manifesto?

 I.

Carpe diem!  Seize the day! Seizing it our way!  What the fuck do we have to lose? Balls out we bring it to the stage.  All the shit we think about, are close to, have been touched and troubled by gets dickwhipped in our process circles. That’s where we create what you see before you- that’s how we make sense of the world. Art- our life. We seize the day ‘cause tomorrow we’ll be gone like the homeless elbowed out of skid row (of all places!)  by expansionism, gentrification and the mantra: “if we build on top of that mess then no one will ever know it was there”. Dolla! Dolla! Bills ya’ll! Gone! Like yesterday’s hood-fame act. Gone!  Like a dead-beat dad. Gone! Like the fourth member? And who will remember?

II.

We remember. What once existed and what scarred us with its absence.  The lack of female masculine role models is my phantom limb. The craving for connection – constant need for validation lands one in painful positions, huh? It distorts you, turns you into a crazy curious character navigating through queerness (or what eva’) in bars diluting fears and insecurities with dollar specials, fading memories with lung swelling hits to the head. Throwing chingazos at each other and oneself, getting into debt but still not enough to buy enough time to make everything right.  I won’t go quietly and fill another role. The only Ugly Tia role I’ll play is one I write! Ya Basta to awful hair! And incase no one's ever said this to you...just worry about being you.  I had to find reasons to feel good about myself. I came together with the BdP- pulled myself together to gender fuck, not give a fuck and make sense of the mess that held my spirit down tight, tighter than electrical tape on tender-boi-tits.

III.

Seize and discard! Those masks used to conceal true selves; it’s not worth living with your back against the wall. Take control; make the calls in your life. No one should cash their dreams out on you. Search for something completely different. We’ve stepped into our post heroic masculinities. Ditched the pedestal pimping mentality and got hooked on the process of processing and transgressing our layered-self’s to reach self love. Can’t be what I’m not and won’t try to be who you think I should be. I gotta speak the pain not wallow in it. There’s no time! We aint got time and don’t want to wait for the moment. So we make every life/performance/life a moment. This is a moment. There I go again dishing out these crazy-mixed-up metaphors who knows we may create a masterpiece or just a feeling that haunts you. So, see us for what we are. Can you? Oh, you think you can?

IV.

This trio was once a quartet. Circumstances brought the four together but sometimes it’s the break ups that help you see the real shit before your eyes. Remember the past for what it was but always keep your eyes on to be. Yup, this trio goes back to last century, sometime  before our first exhibitionist  act on stage. Mmm. Mmm. Ahhh. Ahh. But we've got more shit than years between us. This thing is personal. The way writing collaborating and performing together is personal. You can’t do it with just anybody! We got more shit than years between us. We are poets, storytellers to whom much has been given and we know much is required. I’m not just quoting scripture here- this is our attitude.  We feel gifted so we gift you our art.  

p.s. Isn't this an awesome poster? The pic was taken by Mr. Hector Silva and the design- a Tricky Troll (Raquel Gutierrez) creation of course. 

Snail Mail

I don’t do it only because I have a slight case of technophobia but because it actually gives me a reason to smile when I collect my mail.  That’s why I write letters to some friends, yes the old fashion way. I got two pen pals have had them for more than a year now I would say even though email is so immediate and I sit in front of a computer all day at work so it works for me but neither one of my pen pals has the means to access e-mail so we communicate through mail. They are not the first people I community via snail mail with, I love sending updates and some of my short stories to my niece. But again, my pen pals don’t have the advantages I have even the telephone gets costly for my pals so this is how we can keep in touch.  

I love receiving friendly letters in the mail although it does get a bit tiresome sending them out.  With letters you have to actually write them and sometimes my carpal tunnel acts up so I can’t hold the pen then my penmanship sucks so I worry that the person on the other end won’t understand me anyway! I cheat sometimes and type the dam thing. Then you have to write the address down and even though I’ve been writing to my pals for more than a year now I still haven’t memorized their addresses; where’s autofill when you need it.  Then you place the letter in the envelope, seal it don’t forget the stamps which by the way are more frequently increasing in price, like at the pump, so you’re better off buying the “Forever First Class Stamp” it’s value is guaranteed no matter the increase. I know I didn’t get it either until I checked out the US Postal Service website http://www.usps.com/communications/newsroom/2007/sr07_011.htm which states:

“Research has shown that customers prefer the Forever stamp for the convenience it offers by easing the transition for mailing letters when prices change. When postage changes in the future, it will reduce the need to buy one- and two-cent stamps.

The last thing you do is Drop that baby in the mail and wait. There you have it. I was just being dramatic about the “tiresome” bit cause of course I still want to keep in touch. I must say that I like the lack of immediate gratification, letters come in spurts and you’re not robbed of the element of surprise by a chime going off announcing its arrival. I like looking through my mail and finding that one envelope with handwritten addresses. Maybe even some tape across the lip of the envelope to reinforce the confidentiality being transmitted.  Sometimes you get an envelope that looks like it was hit up by some taggers, the sender just had so much to say the letters contents spilled out.  Unlike the other items I receive in the mail those letters are the only giving ones; not out to collect my money.  They give me laughs, secretes, hope and contact…a bond with another individual. Yes like e-mail, but different ritual. 

Snowshoe Hare

What do you want me to tell you about them? Come on ask me! I dare you! Ok, fine I don’t know that much about snowshoe hares except, all an average person really needs to know about them.  They are vegetarians cause they don’t eat other animals and they use camouflage as a survival tactic. They are the color or forest ground in the summer and snow white in the winter. That’s how I spent my president’s day this year along side one of the cutest little boys I know helping him out with his second grade report.

I love kids. Truth is I always have.  I grew up around so many kids, my oldest sister who is four years older than me was the neighborhood baby sitter at age thirteen; maybe even younger.  After school my one bedroom shoebox size apartment was filled with up to ten little kids including my three older sisters and I. Now I enjoy taking part in the lives of my nieces and nephews- I like to take trips to the theater, park, basketball games and bookstores were we spend quality time. And my partner has a son, that’s another kid in my life.  I never imagined myself dating a woman with a child- seriously never part of my imagination. It’s not as out of this world as I make it sound, but that was my subjective reality.  Being involved with someone with a child takes  a different type of commitment. And when I say “involved” I mean you’re more than just a chilln with the girl going our for tacos every once in a while. I mean involved as you’re in love and your outlook on the relationship is quite bright and you ca seriously see yourself taming those “back-door boyfriend” ways.   My tattooist Big Chuey- I say my tattooist like one says my hairstylist because that’s how happy I am with my tat, I’m confident I want Chuey to work on me some more.  So Big Chuey says, actually his mom told him when he got involved with a woman with a child, “que no puedes querer a la gallino y no a los pollitos”.

  You can’t choose not be involved in the life of a child once that child enters your life. Well, I suppose you could choose not to be involved the way my stepfather (aka “The Man”) chose not to be involved with me He’s been a part of my family for eighteen years and to this day we don’t speak. Strange but true how he’s there but not really there; another father figure who wasn’t there for me. I don’t want to be that kind of stepmother, that type of person period. It’s just not me.  Dating a mommy means you not only have a commitment with her you establish one with the child too. Relationships are hard and when a child is involved frankly it’s scary. Who doesn’t or hasn’t had thoughts of breaking a relationship off when life felt so fucken hard you couldn’t even cry about it anymore? Things with the relationship your life, heart, soul get so convoluted the core of you trembles deep down with every breath – te cuesta respirar.  Big Chuey told me that it’s during those times that I shouldn’t pull out the “that’s not my kid,” card. He said not even when you want the mommy to act the way you want her to act or do the things you want her to do cause that’s manipulation. Right!  Not to mention the message it sends to the child. Kids are very responsive to love and kindness, that’s all it takes to build trust with a child. What better and easier way to start a bond. 

I’ve done the whole “not my kid card” not verbally and never acted on it (NEVER) but those thoughts have crossed my mind once. More out of awkwardness and confusion when I was trying to find my place in the situation, feel my role of a parental figure of sorts and felt myself slip a little, metaphorically speaking of course. Both parents are greatly and positively present in this child’s life so it’s been a challenge finding my role. Unlike most cases I know, including one of my sister's, when one parent is out of the picture, makes it a bit more seamless for the new partner to become a surrogate parent.  Maybe that just poses different challenges? It’s those awkward moments when I’ve felt like my steps aren’t quite as steady, that I’ve wished I wish I had camouflaging abilities like the fantastic snowshoe hare. But alas I’m not that kind of mammal so instead what I do is just be present, caring, open and be myself.  Got to be. Oh and I try not rush the situation/relationship with the kid- it’s like standing on the beach and letting the tide reach you, it always does and in the same way the relationships flourish. I try to proceed with loving kindness the way I do with all my loved ones. Lastly, I do have to remind myself not to be so tough on myself when I forget to do stuff. Like on President’s day the kid typed up his report, it took forty minutes for him to finish two paragraphs but he was so proud and excited about how well he had typed. That was a perfect opportunity for me to tell him how proud I was of him and congratulate him on typing his first report, right? But I didn’t.  I did praise him throughout the process I must say but I wish I had said those words to him when we were finally done. I’ll make sure I tell him though next time I see him.  I learned from this experience and not just about snowshoe hares but also about what roles I can play in the life of the kid. 

p.s. It is called a snowshoe hare because its hind feet are long and its toes spread out like snowshoes.

La Influencia

The flu or influenza if you want to be scientifically correct is something that I’m sure we’ve all experienced and will continue to experience throughout our lives as long as the influenza virus continues to exist and mutate as it does. It’s the virus’ mutation abilities that make it so resilient since our immune systems can’t really develop antibodies against a changing predator (mush like the HIV virus but that’s a whole other story). At it’s worst the influenza can kill you but most of the times we just experience mild cold-like symptoms or respiratory infections.  But lately whenever I get the flu I get KNOCKED on my ass. I recall the days when I was younger (Oh god! I’m hearing myself say this more and more) I’d get the flu and still manage to function as if nothing was wrong. Nowadays I get sick and I have to be under the covers, severely medicated, asleep for hours accompanied by my cats. No ifs and or buts about it. I only wake up for the essentials- eating and bathroom breaks. As a matter of fact I have the flue right now, in case you haven’t guessed it, and as a result I’ve missed three days from work already. Normally I wouldn’t mind this so much but I’ve also missed out on my writing as well. It’s hard to sit up and write when your head feels like it’s being weighed down with five tons of mucus and then have to cough up phlegm every five minutes.  That dam phlegm hurts too!  Each cough creates a sharp sting in my throat as if the thread of a weed whacker were going against my inflamed throat. Seriously that's how bad it starts to feel after days and days of coughing.

God I’ve become such a baby about this flu thing. Lucky for me I’ve had my Mom’s caldo de pollo to nourish my feeble-ass back to health; just one of the perks that comes with being Mom’s neighbor. My favorite perk of all the perks I get from being her neighbor is that I get to see her a lot. I enjoy having dinner with her and just talking to her about random things, the weather of course, my brother’s future, how it would be cool to have a woman leading the country just to see if she makes as much of a mess as the men do and family talk in general.  As I’ve gotten older not only have I noticed that I’ve less resistant to the flu but that my ethereal umbilical cord is stronger than I used to like to admit. Yup, I am a Mama’s boi. Always have, for the mere sake that I’m the baby-girl, and always will be because Mom no longer treats me like a baby-girl and respects me as an adult.  We got to a point where we understand each other and things have been great since. Once while we were driving home form Vegas together she told me that I should have a kid on my own and I should do it soon because she’s “not going to be around much longer so I should take advantage” in other words she was offering her support.  She also told she thought I would make a great parent, “you just can’t be as callejera if you have a kid,” she added.  I of course got chocked up cause this woman whom once would’ve flipped out at the thought of one of her daughters having a child out of wedlock was now encouraging me to do so and offering her support. It also meant a lot that she thought I’d make a great Mom because I think she’s the best Mom ever.  

So what does all this have to do with the flu? Simple. As I was downing a bowl of caldo she told me “don’t worry you’ll get better soon porque ya me lo pegaste a mi,”  the secrete of the flu she said is that once you pass it on to someone then you’re on your road to recovery. If only other things like STIs or debt were that easy to get rid off. Then I got to thinking about Mom having the flu, I know she’s had the flu but I’ve never seen her tirada en la cama draped in her cobijas complaining about congestion and gargajos.  I can’t imagine Mom reacting to the flu in the ways that I’ve reacted to it; she would never and has never missed three days of work (paid or house work) because of a little bug. In fact the only times I’ve seen Mom bedridden for days were when she had a cesarean when giving birth to my brother and then when her appendix burst. Day in and day out Mom puts in long hours of hard work- she's never had a choice really being a single mother with four hungry mouths to feed, sometimes it she had to work two jobs just to make it. Back pain, fevers, flu, dislocated joints nothing held her back.  Nothing was stronger than her determination to raise her daughters and see them/us have a fulfilling life. Nah, she’s not a mujer de hiero but she’s definitely a Superwoman in my eyes. She works and has worked hard every day of her life, which makes me wonder if she realizes the influence she’s had on me and my work ethics, if she realizes that it’s because of her that I’m such a freakin’ workaholic. She’s also very giving and fair-just more of her qualities I strive to embody. Ay, esa mujer como ha sido una fuerte influencia positiva en mi vida. 

P.s. Happy Valentines Day mo'fo! Share the love....

Go BIG or Go HOME!

So my homegirl, Mari, and I went into Tattooland the other day to get some tats.  We’re not new to the experience but you definitely can’t call us ink addicts (yet). We went to Jack Rudy’s shop up in Anaheim. Jack Rudy is famous you know.  He didn’t create black-and-gray single-needle tattooing, but he unquestionably perfected it 30 years ago and he's pretty much an underground celebrity especially in the tattoo community. Black-and-gray tattooing basically means that the artist uses nothing but different shades of black ink to design a tattoo.I didn’t know much of this information myself until I started talking to the guys at the shop, Big Chuey and Antonio, who hooked Mari and me up. Ok, ok enough with the lecture I am here to talk about my tattoo which by the way took me about 2 years if not more to conceive or at least match the concepts I had in my head with an image.  I’ve always wanted an Aztec warrior to adorn some part of my upper body. A warrior with  the Aztec codices for “flor y canto” which can be loosely translated to what we know as the Fine Arts.  Mari told me that for the past five years, if not more, she’s known she wanted the 20 days from the Aztec calendar along with the two snake heads that meet face to face at the bottom to form part of  her tattoo. So with these ideas in mind we drove down to the OC to get inked. 

Boy did we get inked. We walked out of Tattooland with not jus tattoos but some awesome works in progress; huge pieces. Like my novia said after she saw the pictures I sent her, that we were all about “going big or going home!" She also said that the bois on Culver Avenue had big balls...so there.  After a painful 3 hour session of actual tattooing, the needle etching and or as Mari described, drilling ink on our skin, we still have to go back to finish them off. Why? Well first because the tattooist didn’t want to continue after working on us for more than 4 hours each- including sketching and all. I don’t care what anyone tells you, tats are PAINFUL.   After a while of just laying there and taking it I had to ask Big Chuey if we could take a break. Fuck it! I tapped out.  I was flat-lining, passing out from the pain everything felt so tender and crossing my legs the way I was doing to bare the pain wasn’t helping anymore. Drama, right!? The worst part was that Big Chuey was on a roll and didn’t feel like  taking a break.  I felt him. There are times when I'm writing and get on this groove that I don't want to stop and don't want anything to stop me. I get it, he was ridding his creative wave....BUT it hurt.  “You’re loosing me Chuey,” I almost bolted out when just in time the Big Chuey decided to stop. 

My dude Big Chuey, was good from the word go. He saw the design I brought in with me and after much oohing and ahhing, he got to drawing the design free-hand on my back.  He took advantage of every spot of brown that peeked through my tank top.  I got more and more nervous as I felt the tip of his pen and highlighter go lower down my arm or higher up my back, for a minute there I thought he was going to make me look all gangster by tattooing my neck but I couldn’t stop the guy even if it felt like he was plastering a mural on my back. Big Chuey was inspired “Nice! Sweet!  Bad Ass,” were his  words and I was anxious to see what the finished product would look like. Big Chuey hooked up my speaking/singing/yelling skull- it’s so big it truly looks like a Word Warrior with lots and lots to say as represented by the speech bands coming out of the skull’s mouth. Which is exactly what I wanted because this tattoo represents my coming into my artistic self.  It signifies how much I struggled and continue to struggle with my inner critic and the outer critics as well that I let intimidate and stifle my creative process.  Now, now I don’t want to put the blame just on others I know my path towards becoming a better writer, an accomplished writer, lies mostly on me. I have to put my best effort forward at all times, I have to makes sure I nurture my ideas, I have to make sure I sit my ass down at my desk and write. After all Warriors including Word Warriors have to be in constant battle with their adversaries, real or psychological, in my case. I have to be really ok with me. 

Repost the show blog?

Note:  I suggest you read my first entry- posted on my myspace page myspace.com/claudiadebdp so that this entry makes some sense to you

My friend and BdP supporter extraordinare and future film critique Party Ahn asked me on Friday, premier night of Dickwhipped show, during our Q&A session, what it felt like to work with video.  It was a great question especially coming from someone who works and has a deep interest in that medium. Honestly, our time and minds have been so wrapped around the production of the show that I don’t think I had a chance to process the whole experience of producing the work to give her an answer I felt good with.  In other words I hadn’t had the distance from the work to think about how it was for me to take part in its creation. But  I feel like I’ve had time and so here goes- this is how the experience felt.  It was beautiful.  As a writer I anchor myself- my art in words sometimes more securely than other but that’s what I do.  I almost cherry-pick each work to make sure that what I’m writing sounds like what I hear and see in my mind and is palpable to the audiences’ mind. Words. A picture paints a thousand words but how many pictures can you use to tell a story.  Sounds too obvious perhaps, it was a trippy experience for me.  I’m used to creating images through narrative not so much creating narratives with images.   The inverse of my comfort zone. That’s what  “Fuck, Love: a love story with no words,” was like.  When Mari and I started off we had an idea in mind for a storyline but in the end the pictures had their own agenda. 

  

I also wrote my first script, another first for me.  I adapted one of Raquel Gutierrez' narrative pieces ("Waterboy") into a script called “Metamorphis”. Marie Gaerlan got in the director's chair and cranked out a 5.09 minute short with the incredible support and talent of and Morgan Dye.

The Script

This piece is a butched out version of Marie Shelly’s story of Frankenstein portrayed by Mama Dragga as Dr. Frankenstein. While both Frankenstein and Mama Dragga are in search of creating life, both trying to find meanings to give life purpose, Mama Draga’s goal is to create the ultimate butch.  Masculinity being perfected, created and molded in the strong, delicated big hands of a drag queen. Mama Draga is not a typical mad scientists/adventurer she is a bruja with shaman-esque powers who through séance-like rituals is able to draw the most “desirable” attributes from two butch corpses that lay before her and transfers the attributes to a third corpse- her creation… the ultimate butch.

Int.  Mama Draga’s Séance Room - Night

 

A high SHOT of Mama Draga’s room features the 3 bodies laying on operating tables covered neck down with sheets, Mama Draga mixes concoctions, pulls herbs out of her satchel and burns sage.

 

Mama Draga

(still busy setting up)

 

Why is it that the handsome and the

courageous are always handling the

ball and calling the plays? How do

the worthy and the scandalous charm

their way through the endzone so effortlessly, these machos so full of grace!

 

She turns and walks over to Butch 1, grabs Butch 1's face endearingly.

 

I’m most impressed that she was able to make something out of it.  I wrote the shots the way I saw them in my mind and then Marie managed to “stage” them for lack of a better term and Morgan captured and made it look like something I hadn’t imagined. It was a good collaboration working with that group.  I thought that this type of collaboration was interesting and fun. Some of you saw “Metamorphis” and perhaps didn’t get it. I say SO WHAT! Just enjoy the delectable colors on the screen. And wasn’t Plastinlina (aka Mamma Dragga whose real name is Isaac Prado) HOT? Yes! Hot enough to have three-3 fine butches offer to buy her lunch all in one day. Plastilina has a great voice and is also a talented make-up artists and designer.  We first met when BdP did a show back in September 07 at Highways New Latino Arts Festival. We all felt it, there was chemistry from the start, such good energy. So good that the simple act of Plastilina fastening my lush-lashes as we transformed me into (Roundkeeper (aka King Bitch aka Pat Benatar IMPERSONATOR) was enough to make my butt-hole go "tee-hee". That’s how it started she was my Mamma Draga that day. Which leads me to another question that we’re often asked, “Where do your ideas come from,” from everywhere…including chemistry. If you guys didn't catch the show, pues ni modo hasta la next time. Not sure when's the next time we'll be doing Dickwhipped in LA but we're coming to the Bay, La Pena Cultural Center in Berkeley to be exact on February 9th hope our Bay area supporters come to play with us.