Vibrancy, A Zine For Our Scene
PartySmart,  Dec. 15, 2004, http://PartySmart.org/zine

In This Issue

Thankyou For Your Support!, by Geoff Chesshire
  http://PartySmart.org/zine/015dec2004/report.html
Peer Mediation in Pojoaque, an article by Cheriece Margiotta and Chris Hicks
  http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2004/mediation.html
Lights, Visuals, DJ!, an article by Stephen Madrid
  http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2004/tlc.html
A Review of Le Sheng Liu’s “Generation E” by Brian Botkiller
  http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2004/genEreview.html
A Sense of Community, an article by Maria Elena Larsen
  http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2004/community.html
Technology: the Host of Life?, an article by Godfrey Reggio
  http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2004/qatsi.html
Stories, Poems, and Drawings by Ricki Bloom
  http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2004/ricki.html
Needed: Outdoor Art Spaces, an article by Geoff Chesshire
  http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2004/artSpaces.html
The Tigris and Euphrates, a story by Shane Patrick Nichols
  http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2004/tigris.html
I’m No Hamlet, a poem by Impulse
  http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2004/noHamlet.html
November Danchall Chart, by Don Martin & Brotherhood Sound
  http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2004/dancehall.html
Ain’t Just The Name, It’s the Outcome, an article by Stephen Madrid
  http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2004/steveMadrid.html
Camel Cash for the Homeless, a promotion by Ian Benjamin
  http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2004/smokers.html

Thankyou For Your Support!

The time has come to thank all of you, the donors, volunteers, and supporters who have made the work of PartySmart possible over the past five full years. You are the people who care enough about your communities to share your valuable time and resources and make possible the success of our programs and projects. I wish to give special thanks to those of our volunteers who have shared the most time, dedication, and vision during 2003 and 2004: Antonia Montoya, Ari Serim, Patrick Geary, and Phoebe Harmon. This year, Jessica Clark, one of our former volunteers, received the prestigious “Santa Fe Teen Treasures” award in front of an enthusiastic audience of city and state government officials, school administrators, and leaders of non-profits and foundations. Jessica received this award to honor her for volunteer service to the Rave community through PartySmart, to the youth of Santa Fe through the Children’s Museum, and to the GLBTQQ community of Northern New Mexico through the Santa Fe Community Foundation. You all deserve this kind of recognition for your dedication. You, the donors and supporters of PartySmart, have made all of this work possible with your steady support, both monetary and in-kind. PartySmart stands out among non-profits in two ways that demonstrate its broad support within the communities it serves: Our ongoing success with a cost structure of ninety-five percent in-kind support and five percent monetary support shows that people within the communities we serve feel empowered to be the providers of our services. Also, fully one third of our financial support over the past five years has come from young people who value our services, a rare claim for any non-profit. Now it is time to celebrate the five-year anniversary of PartySmart, so let’s plan a party in your honor, as soon as possible in the new year, 2005:

I wish also to thank our initial Board of Directors: Miles Conway, Victoria Scott and me, through whose efforts we incorporated PartySmart in 2003 as a bona fide New Mexico non-profit corporation with 501(c)3 tax-exempt status. We also welcomed Sheryl Anderson to the Board later in 2003. This year, we are very fortunate to welcome Chance Katz, Patrick Geary, and Michael Morton to our Board of Directors, to take on the roles of Vice-President, Secretary, and Treasurer, while Geoff continues as President. We are now in a strong position to move forward as a solid non-profit business.

As a non-profit corporation, PartySmart belongs by definition to the communities we serve, communities that include you, our supporters. You may think of charity as a gift from you to those with fewer advantages and more unmet needs than yourself. For example, some non-profits are supported by one community with the purpose to serve another less fortunate. However, this leads too easily to service guided by our own wishes and biases, and not by the expressed needs of those we would serve. Too often, we try to teach others around the world to live as we do, when we still have more to learn than to teach. PartySmart is very fortunate to be serving the same communities that support our work, by empowering us to help ourselves and our communities to become healthy and strong. Our communities are clearly under great stress, including the rave community and other social communites based in and around youth culture. Under these circumstances, it certainly is charitable to serve and build upon the strengths of our own communities, and not first to look outside for another in greater need. You might say this blurs the distinction between who is serving and who is being served. I would counter that this is the very outcome we desire: we serve our community best when we all learn by example and experience the value of service to our community. Our community will be healthy and strong only when we all get into the habit of helping each other. For this reason, I thank you on behalf of both PartySmart and the communities we serve together, for all of your help and support.

Geoff Chesshire, December 6, 2004

Peer Mediation in Pojoaque

We (Christi Montoya, Cheriece Margiotta, Chris Hicks, Britny Roybal, Julia DePaula, and Rebecca Salazar) are peer mediators at Pojoaque High School. Mediation is basically a type of conflict resolution. When there is a conflict between two students, we step in to help them try to resolve their problems. Through extensive training with Debra Oliver and Kathleen Oweegon, we have learned and developed the skills necessary to perform these services with our fellow students. At the actual mediation, we talk with the two people being mediated until they both realize exactly what the problem is between them and what they will do in order to resolve it. They negotiate with each other about the things they will do in order to resolve their conflict, until they come to an agreement. Even though the agreement might just be that both people will apologize to one another, it is good to allow them to find common ground and agree on at least one thing. At the end of the mediation, an agreement is written up which cements the negotiations of the two people.

Mediation is a voluntary process for those in need of its services, and can only be conducted if both people agree to do it. If we believe two people are in need of mediation, or if we have gotten a referral form from someone (a piece of paper that one must fill out in order for us to know about the problem occurring), then we will confront the individuals about their conflict and ask them whether or not they would volunteer to be mediated. We are prepared to handle all cases that come our way, including even the most extreme cases. As far as the location, we will be mediating in the conference room located near the counselor’s office, because it is a private place where the students participating in mediation can feel secure. We will have four boxes placed throughout the school: the office, the library, the security office, and the counselor’s office. That way, they are in a secluded place where people will feel comfortable knowing that they are not being watched or judged. Each box will have referral forms attached to it, for the students or anyone concerned to fill out. After it is

filled out, the form can be put into the box through a small opening at the top, so that nobody else can read it. Each staff member will be receiving a set of referral forms so that they may fill them out if they see or believe that two people are in need of mediation. The boxes will be checked daily by one of the mediators or the adult support people to insure that all cases will be looked at as soon as possible. An adult support person is someone such as a staff member like Ms. Lola Medina or Ms. Julie Bird who have devoted time and have also been through mediation training to help during the mediations. In most cases the adult support person is in the mediation area, although not inside the room (to avoid intimidating the people being mediated), to be available in case their help is required.

Mediation will begin after we get back from our winter break, which ends on January 3, 2005. As for the actual mediations, they will take place after school; however, the dates of the mediation are not yet decided. We encourage all of the staff members to help us spread the word about mediation to your classes, and we will be sending a message to all students through the intercom at a later date. We believe that the mediation process, as outlined above, will provide a positive method for students at Pojoaque High School to deal with and resolve their conflicts in a structured fashion before they can escalate into more serious issues.

Cheriece Margiotta and Chris Hicks, December 3, 2004
http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2005/mediation1_med.jpg

Lights, Visuals, DJ!

It’s all about music and people at The Light Club. The Light Club provides a clean, safe, positive, drug and alcohol-free environment for partygoers of all ages.

Lorraine Davis, also known as DJ Lorraine, promotes youth-oriented events, including a monthly club event the third Saturday of every month. These events are held at The Light Club. A long list of local and national DJs have performed at the club. This list includes local DJs Donovan, Rev. Mitton, John S., Justin Ro, Eddie O, Kiddo, Bowra, Flobug, Sebastian, Transmystic, and many others. Legendary house DJ, Roy Davis, Jr. has blessed the Light Club with his unique variety of soulful music. Faith Massive, Frankie Vibe, DJ Life and Omni have also visited Albuquerque to make an appearance at the club.

David Maestas, also known as Vid, provides compelling visuals during the club nights. He tailors the visuals according to tempos, rhythms, and sounds. “It’s really crucial for the environment that the lights, the visuals and the music all go together,” he said. These visuals consist of psychedelic vertigos and loops of Japanimation films blended together to create ambiance.

Synergy provides a multi-colored laser to show. “I contacted DJ Lorraine to see if she might need our services or help getting the club going,” said Dominick Maez, owner of Synergy. “She agreed to have us there for the Grand Opening of The Light Club. Ever since then, we have had a great relationship and have continued working together. We, here at Synergy, are always ready and eager to help out a friend and we will continue to help DJ Lorraine build The Light Club. Mad props to Lorraine, The Light Club, the scene and anybody else trying to make a positive environment.”

The building is packed with different forms of entertainment, including a fully loaded game room. The game room consists of an air hockey table, a Ping-Pong table, 2 X-Boxes, 2 Sony Playstations, and a Game Cube all set up arcade-style. When I tried to find the slot to insert my quarters, I found out all the games were free of charge.

The club nights have a rotating theme. These themes include House, Techno, Drum n’ Bass/Jungle, Progressive, and on any given night you’re sure to hear some Breaks. Each night starts out with a Downtempo set selected and mixed by Vid and Jesse.

“Community to me means stepping out of your comfort zone, out of your bubble of life to reach out and help someone that needs it,” Lorraine said. “I’m hoping that the club nights ... will become the buzz of the community to both young adults and parents alike, that there is a place for youth to go that they can be who they are and have fun without the pressures of alcohol or drugs being passed around.”

In a scene that can sometimes stray away from the importance of the music, The Light Club provides a consistent emphasis on quality music and talented artists. That’s the idea that keeps people coming back. “I’m all about the people and the music, and TLC has great examples of both,” said Marc George, a frequent attendee of The Light Club. “The people who I’ve met at TLC are all down to earth, and I really appreciate what they’ve given me. The staff are all very easygoing and I can tell that they love what they’re doing. This helps me enjoy myself as well, because I know they are putting a lot of love into the club.”

Stephen Madrid, November 30, 2004
http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2005/dscf2258.jpg
http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2005/lightclub010.jpg

A Review of Le Sheng Liu’s “Generation E”

When the RAVE (Reducing America’s Vulnerability to Ecstasy) Act was passed into law on April 30, 2003 in a gross misuse of our law system, I knew that music of all kinds, not only Electronic Music, was going to be under the gun of the D.E.A. and other government groups from then on out. I had spent a long time campaigning against the RAVE Act, passing out flyers, spreading word, and sending petitions. Unfortunately, the RAVE Act was passed, and without the knowledge of much of the American people. Some, if not most, of our political “leaders” didn’t even know what it was. Le Sheng Liu’s documentary film, “Generation E,” sets out to change that.

The film follows a tried-and-true method of documentary filmmaking: interview, present facts, interview some more. However, Liu changes the formula by sidestepping the use of narration, opting instead to allow his subjects to narrate through conversation, adding a personal touch to each meeting. Liu works to meld information on what the RAVE act is and what it means for everyone in America, while bringing its effects closer to home by talking to musicians and people involved in their own scene. There are some great conversations here, especially those with Liam Shy of the San Francisco Youth Commission, who works to explain that even in San Francisco you have to fight for your right to party; and Lani Riccobuono, formerly of the ACLU. Couple this with interviews with patrons waiting in line at a club, security guards, musicians and DJs, and here you have a lot of film.

In a way however, this detracts from the point of the film. Tangents sometimes get in the way. An interview with a man recounting the destruction of his body from liquor comes at the wrong time. Sometimes it feels as if we are listening to the opinions of the interviewees rather than being presented facts, the driving force behind documentaries. Some editing could have kept it more to the point: that the RAVE Act is not doing all the good it was supposed to do. Liu would also do well to subtitle the subjects with their names and titles, as throughout most of the film I had no idea who was talking.

Overall, I really enjoyed the film. There are not many documentaries covering the subject of Rave Drug use objectively. Every piece of media you catch on Ecstasy is going to tell you about how bad it is, while at the same time demonizing the music that it rides along with. “Generation E” gives us a view of those behind the scene, those making the scene. We need more of this, and we need more filmmakers to talk honestly about drug use, presenting usable fact and educating rather than building on fear. If you have a chance, I highly suggest picking up the film from his website, LeShengLiu.org. Pass the word around and get to know more about what is already affecting your scene.

Brian Botkiller, fwank.net/botkiller, November 16, 2004

A Sense of Community

I recently moved my bones to San Jose, Costa Rica, leaving a well-defined, shared life in Santa Fe for an as-yet undefined one in a different culture and a different language. Over the years in Santa Fe, living my life created a sense of connection tied to place; and in this new place, physical and mental, there is opportunity to revisit for myself the whole process of the experience of community. It’s an elusive thing, this sense of community, something like being a fish in the ocean, suddenly deciding to examine “water.” Perhaps, as in the case of a fish in water, it becomes a lot clearer when the water is not obvious. What is this experience that means so much to me? If I take away all the external measures of it, what remains?

Sometimes words confuse. By “magic,” I mean the sudden influx of joy and understanding and meaning that comes when I resonate with something or someone outside of what I limit or expect in my mental process: all those situations where 1 + 1 = 3 and the heart jumps, the ordinary becoming extraordinary and there is no “no” to say. I can’t make the magic happen; I can only allow myself to perceive it. When 1 + 1 = 3 happens, it’s because, for a moment, I have perceived the interaction as 1x + 1x = X and allowed the “X” to be there without reflexing away the x-tra-ordinary. The magic also shows me the wonder of the differences between the parts, the differentiation between the parts. Habits, expectations and assumptions have a way of numbing us to wonder.

Being an American in these times, and living abroad, brings lots of opportunity to observe habits of expectation and assumptions. The part of me that is “anthropologist” is fascinated by the conflict between different meaning systems. (Anthropologists call that “conflict of culture.”) It’s like looking into a kaleidoscope: there are bits of reality in that defined space. In order to see them, in your mind, you have to organize what your eyes see, somehow, and the unconscious process of discriminating along one set of criteria automatically cancels out other possibilities. There is a subjective difference, for example, in organizing by “green” or by “red.”

One of things that drives Anglos wild about San Jose is how location is described. Giving and getting directions in a culture that places a high value on relative specific place can be maddening for those who perceive location as a thing in itself. In San Jose, every area has a specific landmark, and that is the reference point. Location is relative to that landmark. My official address here is: 200 meters east of Matute Gomez’ house on the left. It is not 2301 Tenth Avenue. Every Costa Rican always knows directionally where (s)he is, and how far away relative to both a specific landmark and in the whole country. They always know exactly which direction they are facing.

These directions also mean more than I hear; 25 meters east of the Hilton is vague to me, but a Costa Rican friend can hear the same thing and get there unerringly. The approximate-ness of it, the impreciseness of it, doesn’t register with the same judgmental quality that it does in me. On the other hand, I never know which direction I’m facing, and they find that incomprehensible. You wouldn’t think there could be so much difference on the physical reality of location, but there is. Hundreds of thousands of dollars have been spent trying to fix this “primitive” “problem.” The Canadian Trade Association is the latest organization trying to fix this cultural discrepancy, by funding a GPS system survey of the city so that the government will know “exactly where everything is,” only to meet with the collective incomprehension: “but we already know where everything is.” Whatever happened to “When in Rome...?”

I have to say that having my address be relative to the Gomez house is richer in texture than 2301 Tenth Avenue. My house is always in context of my neighborhood and my barrio. As a person having tried it, I prefer it. There are far, far more opportunities for magic and the unexpected, and opportunities to interact. Still, the gringo part of me doesn’t trust the mail to arrive 200 meters east from the Gomez house, even knowing that the postman cannot trust the 2301 Tenth Avenue address, because it is meaningless data and does not tell him where the house is.

I love this difference; I love the fact that there can be this difference. I don’t need to change what’s different. I am working on making it real for me – realizing that I am not the one delivering the mail; I am the one receiving it – and that I could do that more gracefully, and at the same time accept that trust develops over time and depends on willingness to have experiences that create the trust. My lack of trust in the very recent past has resulted in my not checking the box and therefore missing the telephone bill – which is why today I don’t have a telephone or internet and I do have a number of inconvenient changes in my plans for the day. The cultural difference expands my understanding of myself and others and my relationship to others. That is what that word community means to me:

It is chaotic and stable, the normal state for non-linear systems, always evolving, never “it.” Community spirit is process in the direction of allowing and experiencing connectedness.

Maria Elena Larsen, July 23, 2004

Technology: the Host of Life?

The general focus of the QATSI Trilogy (Koyaanisqatsi, Powaqqatsi, Naqoyqatsi) is the technological milieu. It is the purpose of the web site, qatsi.org, to foster a web-dialogue on this little understood, yet ubiquitous subject – the nature of technology. What we know about the subject is vastly promotive, over-the-top positive, coming to us from the producers of global technology. A glowing wonderland of unlimited opportunity is promised by the good life of the technological order. Infinite capacity, virtual immortality, superhuman cognition – attributes that until now have been reserved for the divine are indicated for technology. A new technological pantheon has been established in the horizonless world of the Blue Planet.

But is technology what it appears to be? Have we looked behind the shimmer of its glowing surface? Very little, if anything, reveals its meaning through mere appearances. Most everything is more complex, full with a universe of hidden dimensions. Is technology an exception to this common experience? Or, have we accepted its truth as the truth? Is technology a new and comprehensive environment, the host of life, that has replaced the natural order? Is technology the new universal religion? Can faiths unquestioned become our prisons? Should we place blind faith in the techno-clergy of the new order? Does the computer reproduce the world in its own image and likeness? Is technology a mere tool, as we are told, that can be used or misused depending on one’s intentions? Is technology neutral? Does it possess a life of its own? Is it the effect of technology on this or that (the environment, etc.), or is it that everything is situated in technology? Has technology become an addiction, an altered state that we cannot live without? Is technology a way of living? Do we use technology or do we live technology? Is it our consciousness that informs our behavior or is it our behavior that informs our consciousness? Do we now live in a world beyond the senses, in a micro-universe, where small is dangerous? Is technology synonymous with the machine or has it become ordinary daily living?

What better place to raise these and other questions that on/in the global Internet? This high-tech nervous system, this digital alchemy, this synthetic organism that is changing the world seems ideally suited for such a task. If entering the medium questioned to raise questions seems contradictory, this is because it is. To freely embrace this contradiction is the motivation for this site.

Like the oxygen we breathe, technology is the big force, omnipresent and inescapable. It appears as a force of nature. Who can question nature or acts of God? Something this prevailing, this present, is normally taken for granted. Only the heretic could dare to be so blasphemous.

Could it be that our language is no longer capable of describing the world in which we live? Perhaps, the world we see with old eyes and antique ideas is no longer present. Do we inhabit a technological universe the laws of which are unknown? The world we see is being left behind.

A new untellable world is unfolding. As the human race accelerates into the twenty-first century, we enter a virtual, digital environment, a world where far and near, past, present and future are simultaneous realities. The human center of gravity seems to be blasted into the void. Our bodies are less central to our lives; our physical involvement with an increasing synthetic world grows less. Have we arrived at an unthinkable post-natural and post-human condition? Does this singular event offer to all that will, the extraordinary opportunity to re-name the world in which we live? Are we, appearing to be human, already the cyborgs of the fiction of science?

In closing, we offer two reflections that articulate the point of view of this site: one from Elias Canetti, a Nobel Laureate for literature; the other from French philosopher and writer Jacques Ellul.

Godfrey Reggio, qatsi.org, 2002.
Reprinted with the author’s permission.

Stories, Poems, and Drawings

Ricki is a counselor and case manager at the Santa Fe Youth Shelter. The young people staying at the shelter appreciate and respect the combination of openness, acceptance, non-judgement, patience, respect, confidence, firmness, and strength that Ricki embodies. We would all do well to learn from and emulate her. - Geoff

In the forest I felt you
behind me,
fully aware and
fully awake,
maybe waiting or
maybe watching me move
between the rocks,
stalking peace
at it’s purest.
In the forest I felt you
silently standing or
searching or
seeking something that I
couldn’t see,
resting from or
resisting
the world outside of
where we were.
In the forest I felt you.

Thick

Wind hits the smoke as it rises dangerously thick, pounding against minds that shut off with the pressure forgiven with the drama that has lifted itself through the floorboards and up to where I sit wondering why you’re always redefining art as something finer than what I know it to have been. Last night, stars were falling fast, so that I wouldn’t have to, and I had forgotten what I had wanted with you in the first place. The smoke that had been living in my mind shut off, as if I had been lifted from the dreams that keep me from resting. I can sense your dangerous mood through the floorboards, and so redefine my intentions and wish instead for peace, and for power to protect you from your own impure intent. I had forgotten that pressure increased like wind, when you’re falling fast or unexpectedly – causes time to have a certain relevance because you never rest and are never forgiven for everything that you’ve done. But these words are different, like stars that are always with you, within sight, even with the power of dangerous thoughts. Here, where I sit, is the finest art, a relevant peace. I’m just smoking and wondering what I would want with you if I had forgotten what dreams were for, or if my intentions would be different if the wind hadn’t been so thick.

Said Not To Ask

I said don’t ask, think it’ll pass? Can’t last, more trash, but no cash, no stash – and the mask is safe as it hides your sad face, fast-paced emotional storm – worn down to another frown and small towns I haven’t yet found – can’t find a way down or a way around my soul, as you role through like a new color discovered, cover me in your sweet smell – sell dreams to tomorrow’s tick, tock, time-warp, the lock opened broken, stolen what’s inside. The door still open, you’re hopin’ for dope that you love too well, goin’ broke as hell – you fell, now you’re afraid to stand, and I think you’re screaming but I can’t hear a damn thing through the tears, the years we’ve spent apart – so let’s start again and mend our rented, dented, damaged love, uncover another song – it’s been gone so long, so long since I knelt before this peace, so long to being adored ’cause I’m bored with these chains and games and last names I can’t remember – these letters I never sent her. The words I meant but spent without speaking – they’re drinking, I’m sinking, and she’s winking at me as she passes, hoping it will last, so I told you this time not to ask.

Lost In Mexico

Somewhere between bravery and shame, dirty feet rest on peach cement, dreaming of lives lived outside the hours spent here, openly questioning. The sound of guitar is not yet reaching the star-like masquerade of sunshine faces, seeking solemnn midnight streets. And you have not seen me beneath the layers of blue that wrap themselves around me. You have not seen me here, caught between bravery and shame, facing the peach cement of the stairway.

Ricki Bloom, 2004
http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2005/ricki3.jpg
http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2005/ricki2.jpg
http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2005/ricki9.jpg
http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2005/ricki10.jpg
http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2005/ricki5.jpg
http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2005/ricki4.jpg
http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2005/ricki4.jpg

Needed: Outdoor Art Spaces

Last summer, we got together with some young people in Santa Fe to discuss the issue of graffiti. The conversation ranged from "What is art?" to "When and where is graffiti art legal or illegal?" to "What are the relationships between private and public property, and free speech?" There are many very talented artists, including the young artist who shared with us (anonymously) the pieces shown here. There is also a great need for legal spaces in Santa Fe for this art form.

Geoff Chesshire, December 9, 2004
http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2005/ys2.jpg
http://PartySmart.org/zine/15dec2005/ys1.jpg

The Tigris and Euphrates

Carl grasped his brush tightly; it was an extension of him. God was speaking and his voice was louder than the pink Santa Fe sunset beyond the window that cast rays of light upon the Canvas. “Orange, Blue, green and yellow!” he yelled “The color of Canyons, Oceans and Meadows!” Could Carl ever please him? He worked so hard but it was never enough. “What is the image you want, God?” An earthquake, a fire, an explosion and birth and death and life all at once! “That is the nature of the image I want!” God said in a voice louder than all the things he mentioned. Carl was weeping; he knew that photographs themselves could never capture the essence of these things. How could his hand a brush and paint ever come any closer? It was the events themselves and the eyes that saw them that owned the images everything else was a distorted reflection. He struck his fist against his head screaming, trying to drive God out. “Don’t fight me Carl,” God said now whispering,“ It is your duty. “Why me, God?” Why not someone better?” he asked. Carl doubted himself like any good artist. “Oh, you ask such silly questions, just like that Van Gogh fellow. I punished him for his questions; I made him shoot himself. Is that what you want Carl? “No, just peace, God, just peace,” he answered. Well, then let the heavens guide your strokes. Carl’s hand began with blue first; it was a river and it was the sky in so many shades. God was pleased, and Carl knew it because he heard nothing. He painted long, languid clouds inside the sky and soft ripples in the river. He painted a second river that met with the first one. Then came tan and brown shades of yellow; it was the sandy banks of the rivers. The phone rang and the answering machine came on. It was an art dealer hounding him. He paid no attention. God had told Carl that his paintings belonged in cathedrals, but that the holy men would never accept their importance. So he was to sell them anywhere he could, just as long as man saw them. Carl disliked art dealers; they had no idea of the pain the paintings caused him or what they really meant. He dealt with them simply so he could eat and pay the rent. Carl turned on the lights. The sun had gone down and a southwest chill came with the night He began to paint the trees that that grew along the banks, bright green palms and dates. The leaves of the palms hung like long giant arms. Carl could feel the subtle breeze that passed through them. His hand began to tremble beyond the peaceful banks. Horrid things were coming. First it was just dull shades of yellow that made up the vast unending desert. He heard things out in the desert, the clanking of machinery, the yelling of men, bangs, pops and explosions. Then his hand was a frenzy of orange, yellow and red. The smells came to him, the burning of oil, of diesel fuel, of metal, and the pungent scent of sulfur. There was fear hanging in the air, but he couldn’t capture it; there was no color. The red and orange spilled into the sky a little, mimicking the sun he then painted. There were tiny black and gray plumes of smoke here and there. Then he heard sounds beyond the horizon, the sounds of hungry children crying in ancient cities that that lay half in ruins and cars crawling over the debris-filled streets. He painted demons circling close to the ground in masses thriving in their element. Above the demons and fire was something redeeming and lovely, angels carrying souls away to heaven. The souls looked happy and innocent, free from the weight of their vessels. Then Carl began to hear a symphony. The sounds were not of earth; they were indescribably sweet. So wonderfully pretty, they could bring tears to the hardest man. Carl remembered what God had told him in the past: that he wasn’t a prophet. What he was painting was not the future. It was the past and the present, the visions of God, the things that happened on earth the way he saw them. It was Carl’s job simply to translate these visions to man. Carl wasn’t sure what the purpose was for God to need man to see things through his eyes, or why God chose him to paint them. He wished desperately that God had chosen someone else. The whole experience was terrorizing and it seemed to alienate him from others. He remembered sometimes the days before God had ever spoken to him, before his early twenties. He wanted to go back and knew he never could. God told Carl he was lucky because he spoke only to a few. Carl didn’t feel lucky; he felt it was a curse. He was always scared, feeling that way; scared it would anger God.

He began putting the final touches on the painting. It was morning now; the sun was illuminating a new day. The symphony was growing louder. His hands were becoming more and more unsteady. His heart rate quickened. His skin felt hot and cold at once. He was sweating and the room was spinning. The symphony was so loud, he couldn’t stand it. He felt as though he might die. Then he fainted. It was over now; there was respite from his madness. The music was gone when his eyes opened. His whole body hurt. He popped some aspirin and took a shower. He had to stretch his legs. He had been in the apartment too long, so he took a walk down to the plaza. The plaza was nearly empty. There was only a young Mohawked kid kicking around hacky sack, and an old man feeding the pigeons slowly and methodically, the way all old men do. It was cold, the trees were bare, and their branches reached toward the sky like skeletal fingers. Carl felt lonely; it seemed most of the worthwhile people in his life had gone away in one way or another. Suddenly his mood began to change. His mother walked up and sat down next to him on the bench. “How have you been, Carl?” She asked. “Oh, pretty good,” he said. He didn’t want to scare her with all the talk of the torment he had been enduring. “I haven’t seen you in a while, Mom. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you too, Carl. Have you been eating well? Yeah pretty good. I always worry that you are not eating the right things. Don’t worry, Mom; I’m fine. Well, I’ve got to go, Carl. I’m very busy I just wanted to come over and talk for a minute. OK, I’ll see you later, Mom. I love you. I love you too, and make sure you eat well. OK mom. Then she was gone, and loneliness began to move over him again. He sat on the bench for hours, listening to the passing sounds: the rhythmic clicking of elegant women’s high heels, many different voices and the panting of dogs on leashes. Even though he was lonely, he was happy, because God was letting him be. Soon he felt tired, so he went back to his apartment to sleep. As he drifted toward slumber, he began to hear sounds. They were from Gods next vision. It was a vision of another land far away from the one he had painted. He heard the sound of children crying, not from hunger though, just from being ignored. He heard the sounds of cash registers opening and closing frantically. He heard the sounds of men being trained to be murderous soldiers, and he heard the sounds of yelling in a chaotic stock market. Carl knew it wouldn’t be long till God would use his hand for the next vision. He knew the land; it was his own. It would stand next to the other vision, in contrast. The two lands had a connection. The phone began to ring; Carl ignored it. Then the answering machine came on; it was his therapist. Carl, I’ve been a little worried about you. We haven’t spoken in two weeks. I was wondering if the new medication was helping you with the voices. I’m also excited about your show coming up. I can’t wait to see what you have been working on. Give me a call when you get this message. A bottle of antipsychotic pills sat on Carl’s dresser untouched next to a creased and faded picture of his long-deceased mother.

Shane Patrick Nichols, 2004

I’m No Hamlet

I’m No Hamlet
 
To dance, or not to dance – that is the question.
Whether ’tis nobler in the candy and phat pants to suffer
the whispers, rolling eyes, and jaded comments
or to take action against the sea of bitter elitists,
and with a spirit of PLUR break them?
 
To dance; to smile; to hug; no more
and by raving to say we end the bickering and thousands of jokes
pacifiers and whistles are heir to.
’Tis a dream devoutly to be dreamt; to dance; to rave
To rave; perchance to feel the vibe once more.
 
Ay, therin lies the rub
for on those decks what vibe may come
when the beats have been spit from the speaker stacks
must give us nods and smiles; There’s the kudos
that make worthy such events.
 
For who would endure the skips and trainwrecks of the DJ,
the quest for map points, the secret info line, the hidden venue,
the searches at the door, the insolence of the Police,
and threats of shutdowns that patient raving of the unworthy venue takes
when he himself might his fun make with a CD and a glowstick?
 
Who would records spin, to revolve and play to an unforgiving crowd,
but that fear of better beats after a set, the undiscovered beat
from whose vibe no raver returns, interests the spirit, and rather makes us bear
the crowded nightclubs, and house parties
than dance in warehouses or open land
we haven’t yet found?
 
Thus raving makes fools of us all
and thus the native oldskooler of our scene
is disturbed with the thought of beats spun to no one
beats of strength and frequency
With this thought his mind becomes boggled
and forget the true thought of the raver.

Impulse, April 2, 2004

November Danchall Chart

You can catch Brotherhood Sound at Burt’s Tiki Lounge Every second Friday of the month, starting January 14, 2005 at 10pm (free/no cover).

Don Martin & Brotherhood Sound, November, 2004

Ain’t Just The Name, It’s the Outcome

Josh Peterson, better known as Sevr1 to his fans, raps in a hip-hop group, attends UNM full-time and is heavily involved with his church. He works hard as a musician, as a student, and as a Christian. Peterson delivers witty lyrics along with the other two members of The Alumni on their new CD, “Line of Fire: Armageddon.” He displays his creativity on a song called “Madness.”

Dimensions crush by the structure of this sentence
loop this verse till you find its intentions
many peeps
the many menacing minutes mimicking
mega-massive multi-million dollar ministries
and the anecdotes
administered and they choke
and they entertaining attention to average Joe

Peterson, Jesse Harris, and David Lucero write, produce, and distribute their own brand of Christian hip-hop music. They recently performed during Freedom Fest, a three-day concert event that features local and national Christian artists such as Cross Movement and Skillet.

“We’re three guys. We’re all Christians,” Peterson said. “Some of our music is real straightforward about our faith and some of our music is just positive music. It’s for anyone, not just for Christians to listen to. We try to tailor our music so that everyone can listen to it and hopefully everyone will enjoy it.”

Peterson acknowledges that hip-hop music can sometimes carry a negative reputation. His lyrics have penetrated a different aspect of the industry. Positive Christian lyrics can attract listeners or push away an audience.

“You could get put off because you’re not talking about girls, or you’re not talking about this other stuff like everyone else is. People could get turned off to that just because you’re not following the trend like everyone else is.”

The Christian hip-hop industry has continued to grow. Such artists as GRITS and T-Bone have sold more than 100,000 units each. Christian artists would insist that the number of units sold cannot measure the impact of the message.

Peterson has attracted a fan base of people who enjoy his positive lyrics. He does not plan to comprise his beliefs for the sake of following trends.

“My faith is my number-one priority and there’s nothing I’d want to do to compromise just so I could be a rapper. I would never compromise my faith just for the sake of more money or more records sold or anything like that.”

Peterson recently took a leave of absence from his job at Wal-Mart to concentrate on his music.

“It’s a step out on faith, believing that I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing and that God will provide. And He has everytime; He’s provided more now than when I had a job.”

His rapping career is currently “paying the bills,” but he also has an education in mind. Peterson is a physical education major at UNM.

“I’m also going to school for another thing I like to do which is physical education. I like to be physically active and teach others about it.”

Peterson explains how rapping, going to class, and working can be hectic on a track called “Ain’t Just The Name.”

“I’m trying to put myself through school and press vinyls, do a show, drive through the night to take finals. During finals week I took finals on Thursday, I drove to Clovis, did a show out there, after the show we got something to eat, slept for 40 minutes then I drove to Albuquerque, to take my finals. I still had a 3.9 for the semester.”

He manages to help with his church, rap, and get to class on time by self-discipline.

“I manage all my time with a whole lot of self-discipline and keeping a steady eye on my watch, it’s alright as long as you have self-discipline and prepare yourself to be ready for it.”

Peterson will continue to spread his message not only through his music, but also through his actions.

“Life isn’t worth living unless you’re living for something that’s worth dying for.”

Stephen Madrid, 2004

Camel Cash for the Homeless

Hey all you smokers! Feel guilty about smoking and spending so much cash? Care for some positive karma? You don’t have to quit. Just send all your camel cash to the Camel Cash for the Homeless “fund.” The plan is to get a pool table for the Santa Fe Street Outreach Center, something that many people can enjoy. Just send your Camel Cash coupons to Ian Benjamin, 205 Maple St SE, Albuquerque, NM 87106-4854. – Ian Benjamin