The Last Übermancha

Eye inspect and contemplate

herds of stars

witnessing the flocks

who pretend to shine brighter than others

Not knowing that they are

but one side of the spectrum

their bodies are

made of the same elementary elements

Not knowing that what makes them human

is the composition of their actions

After asking the angels

of their ambitious assembly

I aspire to allow my affection

as an award

to those who deserve it

Some who deserve it

don’t want it

those who want it,

don’t get it,

those who get it 

don’t deserve it

The authority of my fancy

speaks to my heritage

“Is there no other option?

Do I have another choice?

How am I to trust the path

laid before me when the road

is invisible?”

Wait until morning

but do not fall asleep

Use your ears and you will see

Open your eyes and you will hear

Within the prison of your freedom

You may conceive one subatomic

particle of truth

in my words.

                                                  - El Cuetes

A red balloon for men

Your balloon just popped

your ice cream cone dropped

your hair is full of gum

your foot landed on dog shit or maybe it was human shit

it doesn’t matter

the kids laughed because it was funny when it disrupted your performance of a man-

your man performance.

You have diarrhea and you’re stuck in traffic

You’re out of gas and now your tire is flat

you have sweat on your palm-

rejected by a lover’s hand.

The machine ate your last and much needed quarter

bird shit is your luck.

He took off with another woman

she took off with another man

he took off with another man

she took off with another woman

they took off with another….

“Another what?”-

Weren’t you listening?

Your phone got cut

you got into it with the boss

you live with your parents

they live with their parents…

it doesn’t conform- you see

everything is made to make you feel embarrassed

you couldn’t get it up

you came too fast

you forgot to wipe your ass

and-now the sheets are in the trash

and when you walk the streets

in a ‘cultivated’ and integrated world

the thought that consumes your mind

is that you won’t last…..

and you can only remember the red balloon from the past.

Logged off

They concluded that I was unconscious. Well, I was. That is, my body was. I was able to hear them and I still had command of my thought and emotional processes. As they dragged me to my new space, one of them asked the other, “How much longer are we going to be doing this to them?”

The other responded, “Just a few more days. All of these techniques are needed to lower and annihilate their personal sense of worth. Remember, that is our goal, that is what we want. It is more than just an order, it is our justification.”

Two things became clear to me. The first, was that I was not alone. There were others that were going through the same thing in this permanently illusive space. The second thing was that my body, my flesh, and my blood would deteriorate and submit before my sense of worth did, before my imagination did. At least at that moment that is what I thought. For now, I will sustain my sanity by learning about who you are

2046

Déjame te enseño como te trabaja….

First, you'll be alone and 'observed' but not in the way that you think or expect. Every detail. How many breaths you take per minute. How many times you interrupt your movement to think. The change in your emotions and sometimes the speed and rhythm of the words that flow as you type and produce input.

I can't remember the last time that I had a conversation with you through this language but I know that I did because the date was recorded and archived. You were the one who reminded me.

"How is the world?"

Oh...you mean how is your world?

Well, from what you have read, you know that it changes to stay the same.

CASE #003244302 (08/11/2038)

"Tell me about your experience with this man."

I no longer hear him but I see him everywhere; most of all his eyes. He was a white man. When I met him he had wavy brown hair. The last encounters that I had with him he was bald. He had shaven his head. He said that he was going into service. Every time that I saw him he let me know that he was going out of his way to help me because, I, according to him, unlike the other kids in the neighborhood was one of the few good ones. I didn't know what he meant. I felt it and then believed it. I think that you would've believed him too, but that is beside the point.  He was an adult and from my experiences in school I had learned not to question or far worse doubt adults, especially white adults.

My path was inverted and-so I descended. Obedience and good behavior had to be upheld. I believed it-I believed him until I looked into his eyes. It was pointless to attempt to sanitize an image that was changing, he was exposed. His eyes betrayed him as did mine. It was a lie. If you work harder then you'll fly beyond the sun, but you were taught that your wings would melt right-off. So now, you stop. Then you jump, then you run, now you walk and then you get used to crawling. You end up believing that you can only crawl. This was the path that I was expected to follow and walk.

"Is that why you joined?"

I thought you wanted to hear about my experience with this man.

"You have said enough. That will be all for today."

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What's in a name?- YOUR NAME.

Today we were given notes along with paper to write on during compulsory writing therapy. It is supposed to contribute to our healing and to help us manage-out our deviant behavior, thoughts, emotions, and appearances. The most that I can say about it is that I respect the attempt and I despise them for their intention and illusory explanations.

I tried to remember words and conversations that were said to me in passing before I was brought to this place......and I couldn't. I couldn't remember the gestures and implications even though I felt all of them intensely, deep in the essence of my being.

Scattered notes reflected pieces of her mind. Money property- Property money war- always wanting more. It wasn't that simple. Would I be able to recognize myself if I continued writing for them? At the end of compulsory writing therapy all of the writings that we compose are collected, scrutinized and disappeared sometimes along with the author. We are constantly reminded that it is for the benefit of our healing process, but today, it bothered me more than usual. We all knew why the therapists searched her room making sure that everyone paid attention to what they were doing. Their invasive search ended when one of the therapist found her notes and scattered them on the floor. A few weeks ago, before we had compulsory writing therapy the woman whose notes were scattered told me that in order to comprehend how reality was created I had to know the stories. I had to learn how they were told and how they are alive and changing. She told me that I had to remember the stories and the power and medicine of the storyteller in order to remember her name and only then.... I would come to understand the truth about healing.

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CENTER FOR THE CORRECTION OF DEVIATION [Case Study #01037] February 29, 2020

I was 10 when I found out who Jesus was. He was among the hundreds of kids that were becoming less and less in number as the weeks passed by. They were all waiting as was I. We were all lined up and waiting early in the morning in different rows and segments on the black top of the school's yard; we were waiting for the flag salute to begin.

“They took my mom and some of my neighbors....... My name is Jesus and that boy crying, in the next line is my brother, David. I know that I am not supposed to be in this line. Please. Don’t say anything. Please. They won’t know. The systems are down. They still don’t know all of us.”

I didn't say anything. He didn't have to ask. In that moment I finally realized that we lived in the same neighborhood and that unlike him I didn't know what the silence and compliance meant. It had nothing to do with cause and effect-it had everything to do with the appearance of a threat.

"Who took your mom and what does that symbolize?

  Are they after you?"

What? What are you.....I'm sorry doctor I was just telling you a story about a past experience to clarify what I meant when I said that I knew Jesus. He was taken along with his brother. I don't know where. It was eight years ago that I started to hear his voice and I am grateful that I can still hear it. I am beginning to understand some of the patterns that I see.

"That will be all for today. We have to stop. You're not telling me what I want to hear. You are not telling me the true story. Take him out for recreation-take him out."

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Patient's Avowal Of Madness.(Case #4273)

I think therefore I am, but, that is only true when I feel what I am. When did I become a patient? I have no memory of the moment. Two nurses told me that I was scheduled for another evaluation today and reassured me that this one was going to be different because now I knew how to behave. They told me that I should not forget the reminder that they were forced to give me yesterday when I asked the head psychiatrist what they thought about madness and if they were willing to take the same tests and evaluations that I was being submitted to.

The psychiatrist told me that I was an intelligent person and that It was strange and frustrating that I continued to insist that madness did not exist in society. "Did you forget where you are?" I didn't notice that the psychiatrist had directed this question towards me.  Nonsense was translated into sense and my sense of being revealed a gaze. It was a gaze that had been modified and fine tuned to break down a person's own individual capacities and sense of self. I did not know where I was exactly, but, I did know that their gaze was consuming, dissecting and studying my gender, class, and race at the same time that they were all being erased. Wait. Give me a second. I need to question what I have learned. I need to feel what I am.

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"I don't believe that you are hearing voices."

It was noon when I remembered Sharon, Thomas and Aaron. Perhaps it was because I was in tune with the ways that I am constantly communicating and with the experiences that we have prior to language. My encounter with them was brief but I cannot stop hearing their voices. Well, two of them at least. I wasn't able to truly hear Aaron. Psychological and Psychiatric theories and techniques attempted to re-frame and interpret their voices in my head. My rhythm of perception was losing tune with the ways of communication and with the experiences that we have prior to language. My perception was becoming in sync with what Lisa Blackman calls dominant meaning systems and I was quickly forgetting why I had been profoundly moved when I had become aware that it was noon when I remembered their voices.

“Certain groups within society are dominant and control access to and the use of social symbols. Therefore, members of cultural minority groups in a society, according to Littlewood (women, children, and the “mentally-ill”) have to use the majority culture to articulate their concerns(Ardener 1971).”

— Blackman, Lisa. Hearing Voices

How do I begin to articulate to you my experience or the experiences of their voices? I know of one way that is both familiar and unfamiliar to me; poetry. 

As I heard the poem LUVINA in my head, I traveled through a perspective that attempted to deconstruct the language that is used in the structure of dominant symbolic communication systems. The lines, "THE BEHAVIOR IS YOURS BUT NOT THE INTERPRETATION. THE BEHAVIOR IS YOURS BUT NOT THE INTERPRETATION." reminded me that it would be noon once again and that I would be able to hear their voices without being contained.

“I love noon. I love how it’s so alive. I love noon. I love how it’s so alive. Everyone is awake.”

— Thomas

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