TRIUMPH OF THE STREETS

Believe it or not, I received from following pearl of wisdom from reading a post on none other than... Craig's List Rants and Raves!

"If you look down at the gutter all the time you'll never see the stars..."

It wasn't directed at me, but I feel as if it spoke to me anyway. I am a man who has deliberately dedicated much of his time and energy to exploring the dark underbelly of the American Dream.

And so I must ask myself: "Why do I stare down into the gutter all the time?"

1. I come from the gutter. Pacoima, to be exact. Pacoima is the Valley equivalent of East L.A., a predominantly Mexican shantytown best known for its drug dealing and gangbanging. I've seen it all in Pacoima-- I've seen bloody bar fights on the corner of Van Nuys and Oneida; I've seen hookers turning tricks while riding my bike down Telfair Street; I've seen drug deals go down in gas stations; and (the topper) I once witnessed a man burning to death in the backseat of a car.

2. The gutter comes from me. Such images and incidents leave searing impressions on young minds, and I was no exception. But I was never really afraid, because I was always with someone who was "known" in the neighborhood (i.e. in a gang) and, to tell the God-awful truth, I found it exciting. The squalor, the characters, the stories, the debased humanity... the ghetto is a colorful place to get a street education.

3. I survived the gutter. For every person in the 'hood who gave me a hard time for being a smart kid, there were five or six others who went out of their way to protect me from the inescapable elements: drugs, crime, gangs, premarital sex... My family saw me as a ray of hope, someone who would be able to transcend el barrio, a kid with a good head on his shoulders who would never forget his roots, no matter how successful he became. They didn't want me to be trapped in Pacoima-- they wanted me to get out alive, and also to live to tell the tale.

4. I learned from the gutter. I learned not to trust all cops; I learned that sometimes you can rely on the kindness of strangers; I learned that gangbangers are afraid of superstitions, even if they fear nothing else; I learned that the best use for religion was to help out a soul who was lost in the shuffle of the city and its vices; and I learned that the criminals you see on the nightly TV news-- the ones you are supposed to be afraid of --are nicer than you think.

5. The world is a gutter. Everywhere I travel, whether it's in Beverly Hills or Lower Manhattan, I apply the skills I learned while living in the rough places. I look both ways and behind me when walking down a street. I am careful to not take any shortcuts by myself. I always keep my eyes focused on inanimate objects. I never pull my wallet out unless I plan to pay for something. I make mental notes every time I go outside, such as where the nearest exits are and who I have to watch out for... and these things always help, no matter where I am, whether it is the ritziest hotel on the planet or some run-down fleabag motel in the middle of some heavy urban decay.

So the gutter is a vital part of me. It's the reason why I find Henry Miller hilarious instead of offensive. It's the reason why I cried when Hubert Selby Jr. passed away. It's the reason why I can appreciate rap music alongside alternative music. It's the reason why my views on lowbrow art vs. highbrow art are slanted and biased.

But lately my eyes have been fixed on the sky, and the constellations, and the bright lights of the universe. I've always made it a point to look up every now and then, even when I was in the gutter. It gave me something to look forward to, something to believe in. Nowadays, I do more looking up than looking down.

Going to a Magnet school when I was in grade school was a split existence for me: I was bussed to a middle-class school in the suburbs, where all of my classmates were white, Jewish, and Asian. I spent eight hours a day learning, not to mention an additional two hours taking the bus to and from school, and would end up at home in Pacoima, where I had a whole different set of friends, all of whom were black or Mexican.

I was learning how to ride the fence, how to straddle the fine line between both sides of the tracks.

The street knowledge helped to keep the bullies off of my back at school, as well as impressing my more sheltered friends; the book smarts helped to keep me alive in the ghetto, where I would teach my fellow hoodies how to buck the system by using their brains.

Because of this dual education, I am a peculiar person. I have credibility in the realm of ideas and much experience in the real world. I am constantly mixing the two cultures together to form bastard mutations. I am the kind of guy who thinks Picasso would've been an awesome tagger, who wishes that Rembrandt had been alive to sketch the homeless people on Skid Row.

I once asked a kid named Andre, who was only two days older than me and who belonged to Avalon Gangsta Crips, to read Twilight Of The Idols by Nietzche. He didn't get it until I explained it to him, but once he got it, he understood.

I remember when rap started to expand, leaking into the suburbs. Most of my friends from school (if not all) were just discovering Public Enemy on their own-- that was the most hardcore thing they'd ever heard. Then, I played them Boogie Down Productions' Criminal Minded, N.W.A's Straight Outta Compton and The 2 Live Crew's Move Somethin'... and you know what my bourgeois school chums had the nerve to say to me? "Oh, this stuff won't last. Public Enemy and X-Clan... that stuff will be around in ten years, not this stuff."

Well, over 17 years later, everyone in the rap world wants to be a thug or a hoe, and nobody is wearing those cheesy African medallions or X hats anymore. Call it the Triumph Of The Streets, the trumping of ideals and intellectualism by the brutal politics of gangsterism. We shouldn't be proud that it has come to this, but then again we shouldn't be surprised either-- violence and stark reality appeal to our primtive instincts and affect us on a visceral level that mere idealism simply cannot compete with at all.

And I must admit, it feels good to have even a little street cred, because it makes me feel like I'm slightly more well-rounded than the average man. I was never a criminal, but I grew up around them, and I know how they think. I have no desire to ever be a professional criminal, but I can see both the allure and the down side to such an occupation. I can understand it.

Still, I prefer to be an artist, because that's akin to being a white-collar criminal, if you ask me. Artists get away with murder, really-- who else could paint what amounts to colorful chickenscratch and sell it for $500,000 in a gallery?

Jean-Michel Basquiat had it right. He had the perfect mix, the right blend of street attitude tempered with the New York artistic sensibility. He was way ahead of his time, a rascally dandy who hung with graffitti artists and breakdancers, who shared lofts with starving musicians like the then-unknown Madonna while cavorting with the likes of the always-known Andy Warhol.

If only I should be so fortunate as to be the new Basquiat, a 21st Century art curio.

Until that day, I will keep one foot in the gutter and my eyes firmly fixed upon the belt of Orion. It is in this pose that I feel the most comfortable. I have a feeling that spending my days in this manner will prepare me for what lies ahead in our collective future, as times change and transform into newer and more frightening stages of Progress.

Immortality, here I come...