“Human vocabulary is still not capable, and probably never will be of knowing, recognizing, and communicating everything that can be humanly experienced and felt.” -Jose Saramago

falconduran.tumblr.com 

“If you could say it in words there would be no reason to paint.” -Edward Hopper

“Don’t talk about what you have done or what you are going to do” -Thomas Jefferson

The L train to Morgan or in my case, a brief section through Broadway’s “tunnel” followed by a fast downhill run on a smoothly paved Bushwick Ave, littered with stoplights and women carrying groceries and I have arrived.  Arrived at a part of town just east of Williamsburg where renovated industrial lofts with colorful stencil and graffiti art are all the craze.  Accompanied by the young activists from Oaxaca actually presenting tonight and their friend who is also my new friend, I had no idea what I was in for.  Up the weathered green wooden stairs quick enough behind the person in front of you so as not to inhale all the dust coughed up by every creaky plank from heavy, anxious footsteps and through the first door on the left, which is also an old and faded green.  Greeted first by smells of home cooking and then by smells of too many people in too small of a space, the setting felt intimate and peaceful.

Taking a seat on the hardwood floor, I felt uncomfortable and immediately at home.  Still soaking in the visual stimulus of the youthful, hippy people that had assembled and continued to pour into the already overcrowded room, the opening speaker was off and running.  With a brief explanation of the presentation’s agenda, an older ibook displaying the menus in Spanish started playing a documentary on the small projector screen set up on the closest wall.  In silence for near 90 minutes, I sat porous and thirsty, soaking in every bit of subtitled information.  Oaxaca, Mexico 2006. July. August.  Teachers. Unity. Organization. March. Government. Rebellion. Resistance. The people. Opression. The state. The election. Corruption. March. March. Radio. Media. Corruption. Propaganda. The people. The state. More people. The police. The military. Violence. Death. Peaceful Protest. Torture. March. Demands. Strike. Struggle. Partial. Incomplete. Unfinished. Ongoing. Solidarity. Still it is not over November 2008.

Still decompressing after learning of the events that have taken place in Southern Mexico’s state of Oaxaca, I am not educated enough to speak on them but am reminded of both my ignorance to global atrocities and the powerful weapon I am armed with as a journalist.  I wanted to write something very descriptive and creative but I am calling it quits tonight. I feel like I just got punched in the gut and I can’t remember the last time that happened. It hurts but it’s good. But yeah, it hurts.. Check out my friend Katie’s work who has documented much of the struggle there for the last couple years. Goodnight.

“I have trouble believing anyone but the frontline because what everyone else says is just what everyone else says but those that were there don’t have to say anything because their eyes say enough.” -me  

“Wrinkles should merely indicate where smiles have been.” -Mark Twain

Nola is the proud child of Jayde Grenade and Mission Bicycles San Francisco.

This is Beard with Elli.  For some reason, they refuse to take their clothes off.

“What in heaven’s name is strange about a grandmother dancing nude? I’ll bet lots of grandmothers do it.” -Sally Rand

“A man can no more diminish God’s glory by refusing to worship Him than a lunatic can put out the sun by scribbling the word, ‘darkness’ on the walls of his cell.” -C.S. Lewis

“Get a bicycle. You will not regret it if you live.” -Mark Twain

avec l’amour pour les filles,
les serpents