Super Man

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Dicussion on reality, emotions, likes and dislikes, but yet controversy at points of view and experiences!

Inferiority, is that really an issue or is it a perspective?

I see it as experiences, enviroment, and education.

How can one compare a person who was/is raised and brought into his/her life with all the needs taken care of versus some one from India, Thailand, Africa, or Latin America where the only need was to make sure he/she was born alive at birth?

Once born, the next meal for six month was mom’s breast and that is if mom found food. After that, life was/is a struggle, was/is survival, better yet it is the same way as i write about it now. But yet, we have people say or question ” Do you feel inferior?”. You cannot help it, but to swallow it, take the courage not to feel it, but inside you, you know where you come from, and even thougt, you are not feeling it, you still say yes in your mind, you feel it and you fightt  back, but  people will not understand.  It is ok to feel that way, do it with dignity, with pride, and with intelligence. The past is gone and you are no longer there, you are now a super human being.


My Pet

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Picture 001


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Cuando estaba aun muy chavo, me encantaba y aún me encanta el grupo musical de protesta Guaraguao. Me podía toda las canciones de memoria y las cantaba a gritos. Una de las canciones es ” Que Viva El Estudiante”. Cuando cantaba esta canción y en especial la siguiente frase, lo hacía con enojo, y me molestaba tanto que lloraba de colera, de tristesa y de júbilo revolucionario, ” Y usted no la va  a creer, pero hay escuelas de perros y les dan educación”.

Hoy, están irónico, que mi perro Paco está en su segunda clase de obediencia. Me pongo a pensar, analizar, y a comparar lo que era yo, como pensaba yo, y como me sentía yo acerca de lo injusto, de lo increíble, de lo insólito, pero hoy la injusticia aún existe, sin importar que lo que se hace con perros, sin importar donde me encuentro, y que es lo que hago.

Lo que está muy claro es que nunca hay que olvidar de donde vengo y porque soy lo que soy! Si, y usted no la va a creer pero a mi perro lo quiero mucho y me da amor incondicional que nadie, pero nadie me lo daría, y es por eso que lo hago con amor y no con el lujo que antes pensé era educar a un cane.

Coatepeque 1978

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5:00 P.M., Chafa, Pato, Wasu, Cache are looking for Bruji.

Bruji is at the base of la cruz on top of the hill overlooking the central plaza, enjoying a puro and the pueblo view under a bright red, orange sunset.

Victor, Wacha, Solin and Santon are checking out an old, fading, torn, June, 1976 edition of Play Boy magazine. After the smoke, Bruji walked down the unpaved street towards the park in front of la alcaldia and the old kindergarden Bruji attended in 1967. Bruji approached Don Chamba’s coner store for a two-cent cigarrete and a five-cent charamusca. He did not smoke, but after a toque to puff the cigarrete he was ok and felt good.

As Bruji lit his cigarrete and sat on his favor corner park bech, Tabo, Perico, were walking home.  Tabo’s house was located by El Rastro Municipal. He said, ” Hey Bruji, La mara te anda buscando.”  Bruji answered, “Where are they?” “They are walking to Chafa’s house,” Tabo said. Bruji got up and started walking to el Punto. Back them a new highway had just been finished away from Coate, and the traffic at El Punto was no longer the same, and El Pueblo was no longer crossed by the Panamerican Highway, CA1, any more. Instead of walking on sidewalks, young people would walk right in the center of the highway.

As Bruji got to La niña Inezita’s corner store, he could see la mara sitting at el muro right next to Chafa’s house. Chafa’s house was a block away from El Niño De Attocha church, a couple of houses from La Cruz Roja and Antel.

Bruji got there and asked “hey que onda?” And as in coro, they all said, “Vamos a San Salvador.” Bruji’s first reaction was “San Salvador? A que putas?” Chafay answered, “El ultimo Bus esta por pasar at 7:00 P.M. Vas o no vas?” Bruji said,Y que honda?” in response. “Tenemos el pisto para el Bus,” Chafay told him. “What? What?” Bruji said.  “Go home grab a shirt and some pezetas si podes y te esperamos right here,” Chafay said, “We will explain later. Apurate serote, culero si no vas!!”

Work in progress…


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There is a hiding behavior behind every person. I hate to agree, but there is a definite truth  to that statement!

Every one knows where our little devils are and how they deviate you from being Himhotep in our lives. Let there be clarity within your heart and your soul.

If you haven’t reached it, dictate clearity in your life, it will flow with harmony in your life, your family, your community, your city, yourself.

Help the earth, the solar system, the galaxy, the universe and yourself. Let it be one system, one harmony and one flow. We all owe it and we need it, it is never too late, we can  change, get it set and do it. Do it in peace, in harmony, and in pace with the elements surounding you.


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Ayer, hoy y mañana

 continuación del viaje, del movimiento, del proceso, del camino, del destino. Díctalo , entiéndelo, contrólalo, vívelo, disfrútalo y guíalo.

Paredes, bloques, abismos, disilusiones son lo que siempre hubo, hay y habrá. Ilumina, soporta, colabora, enamora, amálo!

Nuca vuelvas hacía atras, hacía el pasado, hacía lo oscuro.

Anda, continua con valentía, determinación, alegría, entusiasmo, simpatia, paz y amor.

Directo, libre, con gracia, con Dios, con tu alma, con tu validez de quien eres, lo que fuistes, lo que fue y lo que seraz!

La Minneapolis Life

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4:30 A.M. It’s cold, very cold. Paco’s tail is a sign of happiness, my being wants to go back to bed. Water is irritating my eyes as if my new day takes sacrifices for happiness. Paco doesn’t know it; I transform pain to waking up. Paco hesitates to take his physiological needs out. In a New York second, he’s back, his tail is a sign of happiness again.

Ice cracking under my feet, nostrils are sticking as I breath, ice shaving gets me moving, engine whistle settles in my ears, waving tail images are back in my mind, warmer seat sets in under my ass, gloves are off my hands, happiness kicks in.

Paco is the nam…

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Paco is the name of my long hair chihuaha. The little dude was on his 11th obedience class at TCOTC in Minneapolis. I will be honest, the little friend is doing a lot better on his behavior. Tonight, I was inpressed with the stay comand and the name call. He was great. One thing that is really bothering me, my girlfriend and I’m sure his class mates is his whining. He’s got this acute fine high-pitch whining that will bother anyone’s hearing. I hope this little friend of mine gets the whining out of his life, my life and everyone else’s life.


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June of last year, I told myself to use this blog as much as possible, but guess what, you are right, I did not write anything after June 9, 2010. So, here I am again trying to make it happen.

I and many out there have set many resolutions to work on for this new year. I’m the first one to admit, it is not easy ! Well, I will give it a try again. My investment into 401k was one, and I have started it, yeahhhhhhhhhh, one down too many to go.

Growing up in El Salvador in a coffee finca was lots of fun, I remember a trip to a pineaple farm my father was in charged of. One time, my papa had the finca peones prepared four horses, one for dad, one for mom, one for our nany and my baby brother and one for my twin sister and i. Our horse was being pulled and guided by our favor peon and friend, Don German. We had two nice dogs, Guapango and Caruso. Guapango was a  lab and german shepper mixed. He was big and hairy,  i did not want to be on a horse, i wanted to ride Guapango, i wanted to ride alone, and be in control, but my father rejected the idea, Caruso was my father hunting dog, he was white, slim, fast, and active.

It was a long trip, at least that is how it feels when you are  four years old. Rode down and through lot of rough terrain, rivers, hills, tropical canopies, and  lots of coffee plantations. On the way to the pineapple farm, I remember, capesinos greeting my papa and the family as we passed their little adobe houses with gardens of chayote, roses, tomatoes, ruda, mint, and onions. Children were playing on  patios with home made toys,  tops made of coffee tree wood, sling shots, or behind a wheel made of the inside ring of a car tire or simply helping  mother or father with house work. My father would not get off his horse and he will not let us get off either. My sister, my brother and I wanted to go play with the children which most of the time would not have shirts on, shoes or eve pants at times. I always asked why wouldn’t they have clothes on, and my father will respond, ” hijo hay mucho calor, y ellos prefieren asi”.  I will tell my father, “papa, i too am very hot and “tengo mucho calor”, can i take my clothes off? Again, his repond would be “no te vas a resfriar”.

Finally, we got to the pineaple farm, Don Guayo had a bigger adobe house than the people along the road and he had hanged hamacks on his porch for us to sleep over. It was 1:00 p.m. in the afternoon, the Central American sun in January is a killer, plus humidity, and dust. it was normal for us thought, I did not have notion of what it meant.

Guayo took the horses, took them away, we got our bags, and took them inside their kitchen,the kictchen was dark and its walls and ceiling were black, at one end the stove was made of adobe with a flat surface at waist level. On it, they had set up three rocks to hold pots, and to the side a pizza making oven with its top off was my favor part, a Comal, a flat circle made of red clay laid on the top,  hand made hot tortillas were cooking, they looked crispy and hot. I wanted one right away, Don Guayo’s wife Valentina saw my sorry and hungry face, and inmidiately took a tortilla, spread avocado, and bit of salt and gave it to me. I was a happy child on those sunny, hot hills.

Don Guayo came back, he had a straw hot, a tecomate, sandals made of car tires, a long sleeve shirt unbottom to his belt line, and a long, long, sharp machete. He asked, “ya estan listos” and we went in search of pineaples. We got to this flat area within the rolls of hills with pineapples plantations as far as i could see. My father, Don Guayo, and Don German went down and my brother, sister, nany, my mother and Caruso and I stayed waiting, Guapango had gone down the hill with them as well.

When they came back, Thet were back with all sorts of  pineapples, there were yellow ones, green yellow one, round ones, long ones and small ones. Don Guayo, Don German, and my father set up a tree trunk as their peeling table, and they started their peeling pineapples. In minutes, we had plenty of pineapple to eat. Slices everywhere. We all sat and started to devour sweet pineapples, the children had slices, and the adults where eating whole one with the stem use as a handle to hold the pineapple. I wanted the same, I wanted a whole pineapple, and i started to complaint why the children were not eating the same way, my father wasn’t paying attention, i started to cry, and refused to continue to eat.

My father ignored me completely, my mother got sick of it and convinced my father to give me a full pineapple. Don Guayo got his machete, reached for a pineapple and got it ready for me. I took it and ate it all.  About and hour later, I was sleeping like a baby, the next day when we woke up, no one could find me, and started to asked where is Alejandro, they found me in outhouse with a major diearrea, came into the farm house to eat bananas and my pineapple story was over at that moment.