by Ernest Hogan
The Mexico trip
described in my last Chicanonautica didn't end in Tenochtitlán. My
sister Carol and I took a train south, to Oaxaca. As we left La
Capital Azteca, we saw LOS BOY KILLERS sprayed on a wall. Boys ran out of the shanties to throw rocks us.
3Aug82 – Oaxaca – Something different – Parisoid with a Zapotec accent & the taste of iguana stew, beyond the jungle-covered mountains, south of Mexico, D.F. – A beautiful, tree-shaded zocalo that is alive & laid back by day – At nite a brass band hits the bandstand & belts out classic/pop kitsch while across the way in front of an ancient church a bunch of young guys play their own kind of Indio-sound with two kinds of drums, two kinds of flutes, and two guitars to wild ovations from the enthusiastic crowd – Distant lightning provides a light show to this wild battle of the bands – The June 82 Amazing is even on sale in a magazine shop – It's kind of like Disneyland, with people starving to death for b.g. noise – In the sidewalk cafe pitiful old ladies, grandmotherly skeletons, walk up to you with sad eyes and open palms as you feed your face – There's no T.V. in this hotel, and none is necessary, a window provides more than enough entertainment – The air smells of chile – Music & the sound of children playing abound – American Bohemians and college students (and tourists) abound – “Heepies” say the Mexicans.
My notes went from
words to surrealistic images at that point. In Mexico surrealism
radiates out of the ground from the center of the Earth. The memories
are many and vivid. I'm struggling not to go into a Kerouacian
stream-of-consciousness travelogue . . .
Palenque, is the
name of both the ruins and the town. Cracked sidewalks lead to
cliffs. People spoke the local Mayan dialect. Boys ran a used comic
book shop that had a lot of science fiction. An teenage bus driver
with a cigarette hanging from his lips delights in seeing how fast he
can take the curves on mountain road to the ruins.
At the ruins, I
looked up, and say the sky was full of butterflies, above them were
dragonflies, and above them, hawks patrolled. The museum had glyphs with monsters embracing humans, and an
elongated skull that looked like a prop from a sci-fi flick. The
grass was neatly cut to the edge of the jungle, and a few steps into
it, I nearly got lost.
Merida, the
gateway to Mayaland, Chichen Itza, Uxmal, and other ruins. An unseen
rock band played a Spanish translation of “Sympathy for the the
Devil.” Naked children played with broken toys alongside dirt
roads. Once you get away from the city, all the street and town names
are Mayan.
I probably should
explain this one. This page was drawn on the plane on the trip back,
inspired by patterns on upholstery on the seats. Did I mention that I
did not take any kind of mind-altering drug on this entire trip? I
have never needed drugs to have visions. And visiting Mexico always
changes my life.
Afterwards,
California seemed dull, like it was in black and white. And my
obsession with things preColumbian was stronger than ever.
Ernest Hogan's underground science fiction classic High Aztech -- and much of his other work -- was influenced by his travels in Mexico.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thank you! Comments on last week's posts are Moderated.