FREE FLOWING

~~~ This is how my stream of consciousness would be on drugs. (I guess)

Squeeze my lemons 

trickle-down social insecurities 

third world project 

criminal justice injustice 

three strikes or a home-run prison system 

mutual terror 

bucket list priority destroy the world 

total absurdities 

my mother was a fish 

as I lay dying 

experiment stream of consciousness 

extreme mind fuck 

non-required grammar 

uncensored thoughts 

under subconscious and comatose dreamlike visions 

dormant and inert subliminal messages from the dark side 

both dumb and smart need not apply 

a comma here a period there 

absent and dismissed obsolete comprehension 

sent to hell 

they’ll laugh from there while others remain in heaven bored to death 

pitiful pride 

useless words 

inhumane humans 

voting against clueless republicans 

ignoring democracy 

conservative donkeys living in the past way in the past 

centuries behind 

implanting fear bible in hand 

frustrating progress 

preventing advance 

stampede of fools proclaiming preposterous promises 

while the opposition opposes most propositions 

cut to flashback to the future 

where non-existing scripts kept unedited in perfect literary freedom 

analyzed and approved with uneducated brilliance 

free flowing 

upstream rivers containing regrets that will get stuck 

by the stubbornness of indifference 

deviate back to my naked impure thoughts 

where people will always find meanness in the words 

offensive and crude 

the interior monologue never meant to be heard 

struggles to find the next line 

stolen by a ghostwriter 

wrestling to avoid a block that impedes his own free flow 

a conflict of minds trying to invade 

and plagiarize universal letters and words without legal ownership 

voicing internal feelings 

senseless emotions 

unobtainable dreams 

reserved only for exceptional persons with genuine talent 

that cannot be bought or taught 

eternal envy of simple minds 

abundant in a world of mediocrity 

where billions of people swim 

unaware of misery or wealth but happier than the rest 

conformism attracts health and joy 

stream of consciousness 

think and write whatever comes to mind 

unfiltered and uninterrupted 

unafraid of failure 

absent of objectives 

aimless freedom 

oblivious of pleasing results 

and disregarding unpleasant goals 

arrive without traveling see all without looking do all without doing 

and never become a pirate 

no end in sight 

no subject is forbidden 

except nonexistent exceptions 

majestic graffiti adorns the walls of a dark tunnel 

wasted space 

a desert on the ocean floor 

as might as well describe my organs too 

heart still palpitating 

reversal of misfortune 

tune for miss American imperialism capitalism colonialism

domestic love

universal hate 

continuous flow 

the stream found a dam 

unanswered dialogue 

voiceless speaker 

overheard thoughts 

one way conversation 

never boring and never clear 

I could go on forever until I die 

whichever comes first 

theories that violate logic 

a brilliant mind required 

with a bizarre succession of ideas 

the hell with logical sequence 

I lost my virginity to a whore 

this is totally inconsequential and irrelevant 

but that’s the point 

if an acquaintance is reading 

I guarantee this is fiction 

the rest of you consider it true 

you lose your virginity once 

did I mention you’ll never find it back?

question marked with a perennial tattoo inserted in the interior walls of my eyelids 

one thing leads to another 

resume the obsolete task of  building a lifetime of useless resumes 

describe your failures instead 

it’ll be more accurate 

nothing makes sense when you write an autobiography that belongs to someone else 

young and daring 

freedom loving fearless punk 

addicted to excesses 

school he flunked 

found love early

the free bird also found a cage 

never ending bliss decreased 

he then turned to rage 

lost is the name such accomplished ignorant 

no more crying I heard daughter downstairs indicating wise advice to kids

Edmundo Barraza Lancaster, Ca. 05-13-2016

NINE MONTHS

I came to life this very instant. What an amazing feeling to be able to expand my tiny chest with pride and happiness for the first time, my new world is inside my mom. My mom and dad made me out of pure love. I’m the center of the universe. I’m perfect and innocent, free of sin. I wish I can continue like this until my last breath. 

I already believe in God because I know He made me. After all, He allowed my parents to create me. This is truly a miracle to suddenly appear in paradise, the most perfect place in the world . . . my mom’s womb. I’m the king inside my mom, spoiled with immense love, constantly fed, floating in space, and always protected. I will show her my love every day of my life. She gave me life and I will give my life back to her.

The job of a mother never ends. I will learn everything I can from my parents because in time I’ll be a father too. I need to repay the favor to my own children. I’ll keep that in mind at all times. All the love I receive I’ll transfer to my descendants. 

I’m a tiny human being. For now, my mom breathes for me, but my heart already beats. Maybe one day, if God allows, I will have my mom’s inner beauty.

I spend most of my time moving around in the comforts of this marvelous castle exercising my little arms and legs. My head is as big as the rest of my body. I can sense all of my mom’s feelings, I feel happy when she’s happy and agonize when she’s sad. 

It’s warm in here, peaceful and dark, but each passing day I see a little more light.

I just found out I can hug myself. I love to touch my skin. I just noticed I can put my thumb in my mouth. Oh, and I can touch my toes too!

I love it when mommy wakes up and goes to the window to show me the sun, the sky, and the trees. I can hear the birds sing and the dogs bark. When it rains, she tells me that millions of raindrops fall from the clouds and the grass gets wet, and all the land too. I love it when she describes all these things to me. I can’t wait to come out and see all these creatures and things God created for me. I enjoy it when she rubs her tummy and talks to me and explains the facts of life and begs me to be a good boy so I can gain access to paradise again.

When she listens to her lovely music and starts to dance I dance with her. She is indeed my most precious treasure, but the thing I love the most above all things in this universe is when she sings to me with her sweet voice. It sounds like a choir of angels. I adore you mom. I’m in a special place and I’ll never forget the unselfish love you give me every day.

Soon, I’ll look into her eyes and show her how much I love her.

I know the love I’ll give her for the rest of my life won’t be enough for what she’s done for me for the last nine months.





EDMUNDO BARRAZA
Visalia, Ca. Jan-26-2012






Milk of Amnesia

Recovery Room


When I woke up from my involuntary Propofol trip I was in the recovery room. I was lying on an ambulatory bed. There were five people in the room. A male nurse was removing tubes and needles from my arm. He appeared to be Latino. Next to me there was another bed with a female patient on it, I couldn’t tell what her race was. A young white female nurse was helping her. Across the room I could barely see an Asian head rising above the counter of a tall desk. It took me two seconds to recognize him, he was my anesthesiologist. And that’s when I began my interminable blabbering . . . 

“There you are my friend, you know what? I love Asian guys, most of you guys are educated, respectful, and you know what else, I’ve never seen an Asian wino or homeless asking for money outside liquor stores. Oh, but now I remember race has nothing to do with it besides I bet you’re a hundred percent American. You must be proud of your race, and most of you are handsome too. Ah, but I also like Blacks and Latinos like me, and Hindu people are nice too. Let’s not forget Whites, sometimes they’re nice too, and the good thing about them is that they never get offended like us, ‘the minorities’. Hey Doc, what did you use to sedate me? I feel really, really good. I feel mellow, relaxed, I feel like a hippie. I want to share my euphoria and cheerfulness. Did you put some weed in the mix? Can I have some of that stuff before I go? Do veterinarians use that stuff too? I’ve read they could use some of that stuff for human executions, that can’t be true, but if they do, then it’s a good way to die, it’s like a reward. Better than the chair anyway. How could someone not get addicted to this wonderful drug? In this ‘world’ everybody is nice”.

That drug was hitting my sympathetic nervous system for sure.

Somehow, the Propofol was going straight to the section of my brain where I had stored the ideas for the short film I wanted to create. When I came out of the operating room, I was feeling like a director, like an actor, like a cinematographer. It was unbelievably cool. I, myself was the camera, my eyes were the camera. And it was very easy to handle, no need to focus, no need for a dolly or a Steadicam, all I had to do was turn my head. The moment I opened my eyes I started filming. And I was watching the movie. I swear to God I was watching the MOVIE at the same time. You have to believe me, I was filming with my eyes. I first focused on my nurse: 

FADE IN:
INT. HOSP. RECOVERY ROOM – DAY

No one was saying a word, all of them were smiling. The other nurse was moving her head sideways and looking at me from the corner of her eye, and her patient was rolling her eyes, and I kept going . . . “tell me Doc, (I was still referring to my anesthesiologist) if you were sick, would you like to be attended in this hospital or would you rather go to the Cedars-Sinai in Beverly Hills? Would you rather have a graduate Doctor from UCLA or from another country like Mexico or India or Russia or . . .  oh, but what a silly question, I forgot doctors don’t get sick. I bet that before they die they inject themselves with Propofol. Hey! I just remember that movie with Michael Caine, what’s it called? Oh yeah, “Cider House Rules” that’s right! The Doctor keeps self-medicating ether. Anyway, he was always in a good mood. He loved all the kids in the orphanage and all the princes of Maine and all the kings of New England too.”



Operating Room



When I entered the operating room this was the scene: I’ll try to be as accurate as possible. There were nine or ten people in that room. They were all young. Four females and five males. All the girls appeared to be in their twenties. I only knew the name of one of them. Janet Lee, she was probably the oldest, in her late twenties, I think. The anesthesiologist was Asian too. I remembered I asked him what kind of anesthesia he was going to use on me, and he said  Propofol. I’ve met most of them before, but I didn’t catch their names. I didn’t capture any foreign accents on any of them, but several races were involved in the group. Asian, Hispanics, Whites, and African-Americans. But to me, they were all Americans. The room had such an air of universality that I wanted to start singing “It’s a Small World”. I felt like I was in Disneyland. The moment I entered the room I felt safe. They were young, they seemed to be smart and well educated, they were very friendly, and in a good mood. Seeing so many happy faces in a single room made me happy. They were having fun helping sick people and enjoying their jobs. It was definitely a group of young talented people. The future of America seemed bright in this room. 


Prep Room



I waited for seven hours, from 9 to 4 in the prep room. The friendly group that was going to perform the surgery had come in waves to ask the usual questions about my medical record, allergies, medications, and other information about my health. But I wasn’t prepared to spend so many hours doing nothing; I didn’t fall asleep, so I kept thinking about a project I had in mind: 

“To Kill a Mockingbird” was the theme for the next Germ Film Festival in Fresno, Ca. I had to develop a five-minute short film around that movie, or book. So I had seven hours to think about that project. I knew it wasn’t easy. The story involved racial inequality, a false accusation of rape, mental and physical abuse. A humble and ethical lawyer, a mentally challenged neighbor, and a jury made out of twelve White persons. All told from the point of view of a ten-year-old girl. I loved the movie. Gregory Peck was absolutely perfect for the role, and the three kids were great, as was everybody else. But the story by Harper Lee was incredibly amazing. Another thing that I found amazing was that things haven’t changed a lot since then, it’s very sad. People like Donald Trump are ruining the situation even more. Ignorant intolerant persons like him are interfering with America to become a better country. It’s very sad indeed. America and the whole world had spent the entire twentieth century struggling to improve human relations, trying to erase hatred from the human mind, I thought it was working. But now my opinion has changed. It seems that we have to endure another century in the same conditions.

Anyway, the theme was complicated, it had too many characters. A lot of scenes had to be considered, and several locations were going to be needed. It was just too hard, and I still had to take into account the zero-dollar-budget. I found “To Kill a Mockingbird” very hard to transform into a five-minute-movie. I thought that maybe I could turn it into a parody and name it: “Tequila Mockingbird” and maybe I could turn the characters into their complete opposite, I thought about an all group of black people in the jury, and change the color of the skin of the ‘rapist’, and have a different type of lawyer, like Paul Newman in “The Verdict”, drunk and down on his luck, (hence the title) or have the ten-year-old girl kill all the bad characters in the movie with a slingshot. But I couldn’t find anything satisfying or convincing. I lost seven hours thinking about it. In the end, I decided to let it go and try something else. And just when I thought I had material for another story. They came for me, to shoot me with an injection full of Propofol.  

When I was wheeled out of the hospital, I felt something was wrong. I felt terrible, I didn’t say thanks to anybody. I didn’t even shake their hands. I bet they’re used to that. But it’s not that I was ungrateful it was just unexpected, one second I was in and the next I was out. I didn’t even see the doctor who performed the surgery or anybody else except for the anesthesiologist. The worst thing about it was that I didn’t have any energy to return and hug and kiss everybody.

You might not believe this but Michael Jackson was singing “Black and White” in the radio when I turned on the car. Right away, I thought that song could be perfect for the movie I just saw inside my brain. It also came to my mind that he had overdosed and died on Propofol. 

But I’m sure Michael had been watching a great movie too. 




Edmundo Barraza
Lancaster, Ca. 01-11-2016




AMERIKKKA

An FBI agent interrogates a suspect of a political assassination. The accused shows more pride than remorse. Can White Supremacy be defeated by a single lone wolf? 5:39 Min. #AMERIKKKA#ShortFilm#Drama#Political#WhiteSupremacy IMDb — https://www.imdb.com/name/nm9216447/?… Don’t forget to subscribe.

Award Winner from Beyond the Curve International Film Festival from France.

A Box of Grapes

Visalia grapes are of the best quality in Central California and certainly in the entire State of California, probably better than in the entire USA and possibly in the whole world, without falling in the awful sin of exaggeration.

At least that’s what Juanito thought. Juanito was a third-grader at Elbow Creek elementary school. His dad worked in the fields where after a ten-hour work day, each worker was allowed to take a free box of grapes. That day, his dad proudly gave it to Juanito and said, “Here son, the whole box is just for you. You don’t need to share it with anyone. You have my permission to be selfish just this one time.”

Juanito ate three of them and thought it was the most delicious fruit he ever tasted in his entire short life. The grapes were as big as walnuts.

But Juanito wasn’t selfish. Before taking another one, he thought about his P. E. teacher. He liked him a lot because he had been paying special attention to him. Juanito had been losing weight. He was feeling better about himself. He was almost at his normal weight, so he decided to give the box of grapes to his teacher Mr. White.

Mr. White appreciated the gesture, and that gave him more strength to continue doing a good job. He ate three grapes, but before he took another one, he thought about Mr. Red, the Principal, and how he had always supported him; therefore, he gave the box of grapes to him.

Mr. Red, who loved the democratic ways of a fair institution, thanked Mr. White effusively and tasted only three grapes. He thought they were delicious, but before he was tempted to take another one, he thought about Mr. Grey, the Math teacher. Mr. Grey had nominated him for the Principal of the Year Award, he thought he deserved the grapes.

Mr. Grey, the Math teacher, counted the grapes. He made some numbers and calculations and concluded that he could also take three grapes. Then Mr. Black, the Science teacher, came to his mind. After all, he had recommended him for the post. Because of him he had obtained the teaching job, he gave the box of grapes to Mr. Black.

Mr. Black was very thankful and tried to figure out the shape, weight, configuration, evolving time from seed to maturity, its nucleus, and particles by tasting three of them. Before grabbing another one, he thought about Mr. Blue, the History teacher, who had been his temporary replacement while he was in the hospital and had done an excellent job with his kids.

Mr. Blue was grateful and immediately thought about the Mayflower, the pilgrims and the Indians, and about the graciousness of historical figures who gave their all to their countries. After he took the last grapes, he thought about Mr. Pink, the janitor, and gave him the empty box of grapes and told him, “Mr Pink, would you please throw this box in the trash?”

Mr. Pink wasn’t too agreeable to comply but did it anyway. Although he was happy with his job and had made a decent living, he said to himself, “If there’s such a thing as reincarnation, I’ll make sure next time not to be a High School dropout because I don’t want to be in charge of the trash.”




EDMUNDO BARRAZA
Visalia, CA. 12-29-2011










Lost

Young and daring freedom-loving fearless punk
Addicted to excesses school he flunked
Found love early the free bird also found a cage
Never-ending bliss decreased he then turned to rage

Went to Vegas risked it all and lost even the house
Defeated he returned feeling smaller than a mouse
His pride he also lost but one thing he gained . . . a divorce
He lost his mind and soul there’s nothing worse

Pawned his ring and bought a gun
Put it against his temple now he’s gone
Better learn a lesson, my son
The simple truth is I’m a bad example now I’m in hell
Just concentrate do the opposite and you’ll be well




EDMUNDO BARRAZA
Visalia, CA. 04-05-2012




Brothers

Born from the same genes and innermost
Sperm and ovaries, root and soil
Equal and yet so different
Unequal and so indifferent
Same blood both ways
Separate litter, separate mind, soul, and all else too
Nursed and bred by the same hand and rules
Heartless and faked yet sometimes
Humble and straight
Some handsome outside
And handsome inside
Some pretty in and out
Although not all the time
You could forget you are good
When you remember you could be mean and cruel
And all the while remain impeccably firm
As you convince yourself how flawless you are
However, you never say it
Clearly, you have your favored precious
Thank God they are interchangeable
Not as a son or a daughter
Where you could never decide or proclaim
Who your favorite is
Fraternal love eternal and ephemeral
It could be applied in the same sentence
Pleasure and pain, love, and indifference
Love them all is your final recourse
A gift from God could also mean
A Satan’s curse
Nevertheless, the plague can eventually fade away
But you will never dissuade Satan of course
Relatives, kin or blood, you can never escape
Like it or not you are stuck
You cannot repel or refuse
My best advice, enjoy and ignore
Alternatively.


Dedicated to my seven brothers and sisters. I love you all.

EDMUNDO BARRAZA
Visalia, CA. 05-28-2012



“I sought my soul
But my soul I could not see
I sought my God
But my God eluded me
I sought my brother
And I found all three.” 
– William Blake

Me Gusta Y Me Disgusta

Me gusta la poesía en prosa
Porque no tengo la obligación forzada de encontrar
Palabras con un final similar
Y también la otra clase, la poesía en rima. Más bonita y más difícil
La que le habla al amor y el amor escucha.
Por cada cosa que me gusta alguna otra me disgusta . . .
Me disgusta el orgullo inútil, patriótico e inservible
De la gente enamorada únicamente de su propio país
Que egoístamente piensa que el suyo es el mejor
Cuando la humanidad debería ser una sola familia, un solo país
Un solo mundo sin fronteras sin barreras ni muros de separación
Me gusta la democracia que permite cada seis años
Cambiar a un bruto por otro bruto.
Me gusta el Dios de todos, el Dios bueno, el que pone atención
El que nos protege y nos ayuda a no cometer errores irreparables
El Dios bondadoso, real y constante y siempre presente.
Me disgusta el Dios que te exige que no trabajes un día a la semana para que lo veneres
El Dios que te obliga a una vida imposible con sus reglas y mandatos
El Dios que trabaja sólo seis días y luego desaparece.
Me gusta el Dios de alma pura el que le asigna un angelito a cada niño
Y que nunca permite que se vayan a dormir con hambre o que mueran chiquitos
Me disgusta el Dios que te hace a su imagen y semejanza; lleno de errores, egoísta y celoso
Me gusta la vida al principio con su inocencia infantil —que después los adultos contaminamos
Me disgusta la vida al final
Cuando ya sin energía iniciamos otro ciclo y de nuevo exigimos ayuda.
Me gusta la oportunidad que todos recibimos al nacer
Oportunidad de aprender, crear y decidir
Me disgusta aceptar la realidad . . . que la mayoría desperdiciamos esta oportunidad
Me gusta saber que hay esperanza en el Mundo y que constantemente nace gente admirable
Me disgusta saber que por cada ganador del premio Nobel
Nacen millones de idiotas que probablemente echarán a perder todo en un instante
Me gusta la Madre Naturaleza que sabe como defenderse de su peor enemigo . . .  el hombre
La Naturaleza indestructible y capaz de sanarse por sí sola.
Me disgusta el hombre insensato e irresponsable
El cual inevitablemente encontrará la manera de arruinarlo todo
Me gusta dar mi opinión y me disgusta que la ignoren —inevitable también
Me gusta tener razón y me disgusta ser irrazonable
Me gusta la gente inteligente y la que no es también, pero sólo cuando tiene excusa
Me disgusta la gente tonta cuando tiene en su poder la capacidad de evitar serlo.
Y dentro de mí hay todo esto
Y me gusta y me disgusta.



EDMUNDO BARRAZA
Visalia, Ca. 03-19-2012




It’s Like . . .

Killing an ant with a nuclear bomb, total exaggeration
Stoning a woman right after she’s been raped, abomination
Creating the final solution to exterminate a wandering nation
Inexplicable and contradictive, killing cancer with radiation
Tormenting and torturing without mitigation

Crying at the bottom of the sea to drown your sorrow
Fighting foreign wars all over the world, non-stop in a row
Committing suicide today for things that will disappear tomorrow
Saint Sebastian expiring and receiving another arrow
Asking money from a beggar, when he has nothing to borrow

God never lies you can’t insist
Begging God to make me believe he doesn’t exist
Asking God to become friends with Satan so evil can cease to exist
Declining access to hell even if I persist or desist
Satan always lies he can’t resist

There’s no solution or substitution for disillusion
There’s no compensation or restitution for revolution
Brain surgery needed for a mind so narrow
And heavy, impossible to carry in a wheelbarrow
Angry and nonconformist, I raise my fist
Only to be censored, disqualified and dismissed.




EDMUNDO BARRAZA
Visalia, CA. 04-11-2012







Holy Water and Other Stuff

I’d like to know how potent and effective holy water is.

I’d like to know whether the Pope can have more blessing powers than a simple priest.

I’d like to know how far would a drop of holy water reach in the ocean? 

Would the entire ocean be blessed, along with the rest of the oceans on the planet? 

Does a gallon of holy water has more reach than just one drop?  

And if I throw holy water on the ground, would the entire Earth be blessed too?

Along with all animals and humans in the world, including a heretic like me?  

And if I’m blessed with a drop of holy water, for how long will I be blessed?  

And if I’m blessed a second before I die, will I be going straight to heaven? 

And what if a pregnant woman is blessed, does her child is blessed too?

What would happen if we inject holy water into all criminals in the world?

What if I cook food with holy water? Would germs, viruses, bacteria, microbes, and parasites in my body be blessed too?  

And if they are, can they become benign and not make me sick?  

What if the priest is a pedophile? Would he be able to bless the water and forgive my sins?  

And what if I confess my sins in advance, would I have a credit on my favor, can I use it for future sins?

What if I donate a million dollars to the Church, would they guarantee me a place in heaven?  

What if they can guarantee it, and I still end up in hell. Can I sue them from there?  

And what would I do with a million dollars in hell? 

And what if I rightfully gain access to heaven, but I refuse to get in because I want to check the other option. Maybe heaven is not that good or hell is not that bad.  

And what if I go to heaven and I don’t like my neighbors or they’re mean or boring, or they don’t speak English or Spanish.

What if I don’t like the weather? What if I refuse to be naked, or I want to be naked?  

And, before I get there, —if I get there— I’d like to know if heaven has a democratic system. And if they do, can we vote for a different God. 

Is God supposed to be a perennial leader?  

What if he turns out to be a dictator?  

Can we get a Goddess for a change?  

And if we behave badly in heaven, can we still go to hell?  

And if we are good in hell, can we still have access to heaven? 

Can we organize a peace treaty between the leaders of heaven and hell and find a way to avoid punishments?  

Can we alternate vacations from one place to the other?  

What if they put an ocean in front of hell, with many hotels and casinos, and with a non-stop supply of cold beers, and margaritas —now we’re talking.

What if we could be polygamous and be able to reject jealousy. No, that’s a bad idea, we could turn into Sodom and Gomorrah. Well, it all depends on how you see it and where you end up. 

Can we have several paradises at different levels? And according to the gravity of Commandments we break, we get the best or the worst paradise.

However, I still like the hot one, the one with the ocean, the beers and margaritas. With no jealousy, no taxes, no punishments, no hangovers, no illnesses, and no regrets.

Either way, I’ll see you in heaven, or hell, or both.



EDMUNDO BARRAZA
Visalia, Ca. 01-17-2011