AJODA Blog Aggregator

(poster reads: “Totalitarian Democracy salutes us: With its Migrant Concentration Camps”. Thursday, 2.7 - screening, soundsystem, discussion in the Libertaria Squat, Thessaloniki. Tuesday 7.7, demonstration.

This summer, the issue of migration is set to become the main field of struggle in the country - what with government plans to set up UK-style “welcoming stations” (read, concentration camps) for migrants - and the “promise” of junta-appointed attorney general and current government minister, Ch. Markoyannakis, that he’ll come to deal with the anarchists once the “migrant question” is solved. The poster for the demonstration and the event above is only one of a series of actions organised by the broader movement in the country.

From August 25-31, a NoBorders camp will take place at the island of Lesvos, a key point in the migratory route. See the Lesvos NoBorders website for more details. Other actions in Lesvos or nearby islands are also likely to take place - details will be published here as soon as they become available.

This homeless man used to be my neighbor, maybe around 5-7 years ago. Nowadays he carries his belongings in a shopping cart and passes the days doing weird crazy things, like shaking his head at full throttle in a circle as if he’s trying to cast off the pulgas or just wants it to pop off entirely. He doesn’t seem to recognize me, but I remember him.

Back when I first moved to Lincoln Heights you could find all kinds of good deals on big spaces, that all seems gone now. But it was quite common to see renters moving to and from houses on the same block, either cuz they were forced out or they just found a better deal. (I lived in 3 different places on one block: once just 2 houses down from the first, then right across the street. Moving is kinda less complicated but you end up having to walk that damn heavy fridge over longer distances than if you were loading it onto a truck.) Incredibly, I ended up being the next door neighbor to Ramiro and his family twice, even when we both moved out of that first block.

When I first met Ramiro he used to often sit in his blue pickup truck, drinking a beer, it seemed to be his getaway spot. But since he was parked right outside his place, his wife Maria (yeah, that was her name, I’m not making this shit up) was always calling him for something. Usually a trip to the market or somewhere. No matter if I was just getting home, helping out with the garden, or trying to get the shitty car to run, his salutation of choice was always Ya Mero? Since it was a question (basically, ‘almost done?’) it usually led to some response that explained a little about what I was doing and a small conversation ensued. When I was in a hurry the response was simply Si, ya mero.

Maria always seemed exasperated with him, I think it was because of his drinking but it was probably other things as well. At first he seemed okay. Once we were neighbors at the second location it was obvious the drink had taken hold of him. He wasn’t working and was just getting drunk, day in and out. Cops started showing up to the house regularly as well as paramedics, the poor man’s doctor. Ramiro seemed to be losing it, he had the shakes really bad and I’d see him sitting on his porch with a twelve of Natural Light at 8am, chugging them down as if he was on a deadline. At some point he got into the habit of peeing on the lawn, with his dick completely in view of the public yet he was not at all concerned, as if he was unaware of anyone or anything.

Then he disappeared.

Maria hinted that he had problems, I didn’t probe. But Ramiro was gone. I figured he died, considering his health issues. Maybe he could have ended up in jail, but I really doubted it since he didn’t fuck with anyone, just minding his own aluminum can. Whatever, he was gone. Eventually the family moved away and about two years after that I ran into Maria in a different stretch of Lincoln Heights. I didn’t ask about him as she had obviously moved on and was doing relatively well with her life. She was still friendly and neighborly, despite our past confrontations over that missing ruda. Emergency health remedies need no approval in the middle of the night.

Earlier this year I was driving by the laundromat and I spotted some homeless guy that looked familiar, but it didn’t seem possible. A week or two later I get a close up look, and sure enough, it’s the dead guy Ramiro. Or formally dead, at least to me. He had a few blankets and lots more issues than I remember. He doesn’t seem to be drinking anymore but that past seems to have altered his mind. He looks around a lot but doesn’t focus on anything. He has the craziness now. I gave him some pocket change, he didn’t recognize me. He mutters things to himself, I can’t pick up what he is saying.

Mostly I run into him at the laundry. The day I took these pics he seemed to be hovering all over, since I encountered him again a few hours later in a different part of town. He’s not a friend of mine, just some random ex-neighbor. I think the idea for this post is just to document how a person moves from the margins of society over to that void thats off the page.

This is the body of Ramiro, it still moves and functions, but it’s a shell of the person it once was. No, he’s not destined to be a footnote in history, he’s just another ordinary man making his way through the same coil we all traverse. He just got to an unexpected bend faster than most of us.

This is the specter of a forgotten man.

Man, where does the time go? This past weekend I was hoping to do a few posts on this here ol’ chanfles blog, I even planned to share a recipe or two, but then all of a sudden the work week has begun and I’m trying to just catch up with lo que sige. I wish I had a giant pause button cuz that would be useful.

But  whatever, la vida viene come viene. Ajuste.

So yeah, I was on a road trip thru the parts of the US that were once parts of Mexico, and it was fun. I was hoping to run into some regional variations on Huevos Rancheros but was mostly blocked in that pursuit due to the continuing presence of meat in the menu description, and as I’ve mentioned before, if I have to ask them to take out the meat, then I’m likely going to pass on the dish. I did end up finding some candidates though, aren’t you lucky?

The salsa at this El Paso restaurant was one of the hottest I’ve ever had in a restaurant, yet it looks so nice and mild. You know this hotness, the one that burns your tongue and lips yet you can’t stop yourself from having just a bit more, that’s this tasty salsa, seemingly packed with chiles serranos. They did use some of those forgettable chips from that big Smart & Final bag you expect at Mecha functions, but I guess that can be overlooked. I guess. But I’m obligated to mention it.

Whoa. This definitely qualifies as a regional variation. Hash browns, oh yeah! Lardy beans? Err, I will leave those alone. But you’ve probably already noticed the most obvious distinction, the yellow/orange of the sauce. As far as I can tell, this was a cheese-butter-cream sauce with a bit of chiles thrown in to round things out. Completely wrong in the context of what I consider proper HR’s but a nice addition to this exploratory road trip. A lightly fried tortilla de maiz, eggs done right, and this crazy kraft cheezy sause that was unique, to say the least. Satisfying is another term that comes to mind.

The one good thing about the Southwest: they assume you want tortillas de harina, they don’t even bother to ask. Being of Northern Mexico stock, I can deal with it.

Okay, and now comes the crazy. They put a layer of cheese between the tortilla and the egg in these HR’s! The HR engineers in El Paso need some vacation days, porque ‘tan locos. Not the style I know but I have to admit, this weird cheese experiment was a satisfying way to start the day before hitting the road. I’d give them a another sample, you know, if you want to take me out there for another visit. And I think they only cost about $6, but I forgot to take notes. Again.

La Malinche 915.833.7941
3910 Doniphan Dr Ste A1
El Paso, TX 79922

Bonus! Bonus! Bonus!

I had another try of HR’s over in Las Cruces, New Mexico but I took a lousy pic of mostly the side salad. Oops. This dish was more in keeping with the Southwest flavor, with that dark red sauce of ground chiles that seems to be the standard around these parts. I used to not think much about this style of chile sauce since most of the sorta-Mexican restaurants in LA try to emulate this and always fail as they use some weak chiles and the sauce ends up tasting like nothing. Think Acapulco, Lucy’s El Adobe, and I assume, El Coyote. In the Southwest this sauce tends to be spicy, flavorful, and something I’m looking into making myself.

The menu offers “sin o con carne”, I can deal with that. Instead of lightly fried tortillas under the eggs, they spread some around the whole bottom of the plate (even the rice and beans) which was unique and kinda cool, plus the eggs were a weird combination of semi-scrambled or poached or fried but with the yolk mostly intact, new to me but very good. And all topped with that very respectable “red” sauce.

The best part of this place was the family that runs it (it’s not Don Felix, apparently he just owns the property) were sitting around a back table and trying to communicate with their hard of hearing older grandfather, so it was a constant chatter of yelling in both English and Spanish, including lots of curse words. Plus this place was recommended by a worker at the nearby bookstore because they grow lots of their own food, which I think is mostly the chiles. But that’s good enough.

Don Felix 575.527.0008
2290-D Calle De Parian
Mesilla, NM 88046
www.cafedonfelix.com/

Found on a bus bench. It’s like you know someone so well that you almost meld into one, and even your naps are done jointly. Or maybe it’s just a little nod.

I enjoy leaving town for a bit but I really love coming back to Lincoln Heights.

Pobre conejito. Minding it’s own business and some careless car comes by and ends its hoppy life. Maybe it wasn’t minding it’s surroundings…

…just like this vulture that didn’t heed the warning of the dead rabbit. Instead, it thought it had an easy meal, at least that’s what I speculate via the distance of these two on a quiet road in Arizona. It reminds me of the dicho camaron que se duerme se lo lleva la corriente. Only this is a sea of different sorts.

Pelen ojo amigos.

According to a decision by the appeals committee of the city of Komotini, the detention of Nikos Kountardas will come to an end tomorrow morning. Nikos will be set free once the bail of 3,000 euros, demanded by the committee, is paid. The new bail conditions also include, once again, that he signs off at the police station of Xanthi once a month. From athens imc: “The struggle of doctors, lawyers and groups and people in solidarity achieved a small victory today. Nikos, having gone through a painful process with hunger and thirst strikes will soon be with us”.

Solidarity to the indicted comrades.

Freedom to the prisoners of the revolt.

Freedom to us all.