BAKERSFIELD, CA-
The glue was pink. Barrels of thick pink glue.
Pink liquid poured through tubes, was sucked into basins where rollers whipped through them, coating pads. The rollers spun like little worlds on their axis. The pads, if you used your imagination just right, were shaped like continents and dripped with pink goo.
As each piece of paperboard shot through the rollers, pads would leave their marks. (more…)
BAKERSFIELD, CA-
I’m wondering if writers in my Generation X age group who contribute their talents to various sites and newspapers, and yet don’t feel like they’re a part of a literary movement, might feel a kinship to this particular piece that I have never shared publicly until now. The Dead Generation is an excerpt from chapter 9 of Citrus Girl, about a third of that chapter, and was written sometime between 1996 and 1998. Could all be drivel. It’s up to you to decide…
It’s 1996 and I’m thinking about Malcolm Cowley, one of the ‘lost’. There he was back in America and in the early 1930s writing of ‘mansions in the air’ and ‘blue juniata’, you know, contemplating future generations. Because back in America he realized an entire lost generation would eventually come back home to the cities, hillsides, countrysides to where innocence escaped them, to where in America, “somewhere the turn of a dirt road or the unexpected crest of a hill reveals your own childhood.” Those literary enclaves—the lost generation—the beat generation—any generation, generations inspiring non-writers and non-literary minded to become just as lost, or just as beat. After a while someone probably said, “You don’t have to be a beat writer or bop musician, or to have known any of the famous beats to be one” —and soon a generation having already took root, expanded, appeared in pop culture, subculture, counterculture, mainstream culture until all they had to do was just look like a beatnik, act like what they thought was a beatnik…
And now today’s dead generation—lost, but never forever lost and never completely forgotten—where are their slacker rebel origins? (more…)
BAKERSFIELD, CA-
“I didn’t used to be good,” Mike said. We sat in his white truck in the middle of a dirt field. All of the workers were gone. We were getting paid just to sit there. Time-and-a-half for a few hours at least. The radio preacher was turned down. Mike’s door was open. One of his boots was practically touching the ground. Cars passed along a stretch of highway. “I worked overseas. I got into some trouble,” Mike added. He didn’t say about what. But the radio preacher seemed to say, “Amen.” (more…)
BAKERSFIELD, CA-
We met a traveler wearing a hat with the words BUBBA GUMP FISH CO. on it. He was young, in his early twenties, had a narrow head and stood tall and thin with short dark hair and wire-rimmed glasses. Autumn, Jordan and I were standing by a bar with dollar bills taped to its ceiling when this guy appeared out of the darkness carrying a dark blue backpack. We had gone there so that Autumn could use a pay phone and finally call her dad in Ohio about our mishap. (more…)
BAKERSFIELD, CA-
It’s time for a breakdown.
The magic realism had already started. Sugar skull ghosts and sparks of firework lightning bolts. It was September 10, 2001, Las Vegas. I just had a summer of dreams: airplanes, white tunics, exploding casinos. I left my girlfriend that day. I was going to hitchhike to California across the Mojave Desert the next morning, September 11th. Somehow, as the story will say, I got to California. Over the next several months I scribbled “Thick White Crust.” I could barely stay ahead of it as it chased me. I ran down flights of stairs into a university to let it out and then ran back out into the daylight, enveloped once again in drowning literary moments. The story is magic realism non-fiction. It’s a bite of a sugar skull. It’s the moment fireworks burst. It’s whatever you need it to be as you dream while asleep or awake.
Oh Yes!: N.L. plugs TNB on GPod Radio! Talkity Talk Talk
W H I T E F L I E S A N D W I D O W S Early in the morning, a cloud of silverleaf whiteflies surrounded me in a gust of confetti. (more…)
BAKERSFIELD, CA-
It’s time for a breakdown.
The magic realism had already started. Sugar skull ghosts and sparks of firework lightning bolts. It was September 10, 2001, Las Vegas. I just had a summer of dreams: airplanes, white tunics, exploding casinos. I left my girlfriend that day. I was going to hitchhike to California across the Mojave Desert the next morning, September 11th. Somehow, as the story will say, I got to California. Over the next several months I scribbled “Thick White Crust.” I could barely stay ahead of it as it chased me. I ran down flights of stairs into a university to let it out and then ran back out into the daylight, enveloped once again in drowning literary moments. The story is magic realism non-fiction. It’s a bite of a sugar skull. It’s the moment fireworks burst. It’s whatever you need it to be as you dream while asleep or awake.
Listen: N.L. plugs TNB on GPod Radio! Nick Belardes - Magic Realism, Bugs and 9/11
T H E G A T H E R I N G I spent my first few days back in Bakersfield in aloneness riding around on city buses.
(more…)
BAKERSFIELD, CA-
It’s time for a breakdown.
The magic realism had already started. Sugar skull ghosts and sparks of firework lightning bolts. It was September 10, 2001, Las Vegas. I just had a summer of dreams: airplanes, white tunics, exploding casinos. I left my girlfriend that day. I was going to hitchhike to California across the Mojave Desert the next morning, September 11th. Somehow, as the story will say, I got to California. Over the next several months I scribbled “Thick White Crust.” I could barely stay ahead of it as it chased me. I ran down flights of stairs into a university to let it out and then ran back out into the daylight, enveloped once again in drowning literary moments. The story is magic realism non-fiction. It’s a bite of a sugar skull. It’s the moment fireworks burst. It’s whatever you need it to be as you dream while asleep or awake.
Update: Listen to GSpot Interview: Nick Belardes - Magic Realism, Bugs and 9/11
D I A d e L O S R A S C A C I E L O S Just after the attacks occurred I was sitting with my ex-girlfriend in a Las Vegas bar watching four television channels unfold the horror of destruction. (more…)
BAKERSFIELD, CA-
As some of you know, I’m going to be launching a news site in Bakersfield called Truxtun Avenue. It’s in conjunction with Gatehouse Media. They have lots of cool newspapers and online news sites. As part of the fun I decided I would write and illustrate a comic called, “Beneath The Streets.”
It’s pop culture from the perspective of bottom feeders. Faceless bugs representing the dehumanization of us all. Or something cool like that… (more…)
BAKERSFIELD, CA-
It’s time for a breakdown.
The magic realism had already started. Sugar skull ghosts and sparks of firework lightning bolts. It was September 10, 2001, Las Vegas. I just had a summer of dreams: airplanes, white tunics, exploding casinos. I left my girlfriend that day. I was going to hitchhike to California across the Mojave Desert the next morning, September 11th. Somehow, as the story will say, I got to California. Over the next several months I scribbled “Thick White Crust.” I could barely stay ahead of it as it chased me. I ran down flights of stairs into a university to let it out and then ran back out into the daylight, enveloped once again in drowning literary moments. The story is magic realism non-fiction. It’s a bite of a sugar skull. It’s the moment fireworks burst. It’s whatever you need it to be as you dream while asleep or awake.
Update: Listen to GSpot Interview: Nick Belardes - Magic Realism, Bugs and 9/11
N O N - M I G R A N T S “Now Wasco is full of Mexicans, not Chicanos,” said Bonifacio.
Wasco is a nearby Central Valley town surrounded by agriculture, including miles of roses. There’s a prison, railroad, mom and pop drive-thrus and homes where migrants have settled, including Bonifacio’s family. They keep another house in Mexico. Once or twice a year a certain Mexican ghost town comes alive with people venturing to their old homes. It’s a way a culture never forgets itself. (more…)
BAKERSFIELD, CA-
It’s time for a breakdown.
The magic realism had already started. Sugar skull ghosts and sparks of firework lightning bolts. It was September 10, 2001, Las Vegas. I just had a summer of dreams: airplanes, white tunics, exploding casinos. I left my girlfriend that day. I was going to hitchhike to California across the Mojave Desert the next morning, September 11th. Somehow, as the story will say, I got to California. Over the next several months I scribbled “Thick White Crust.” I could barely stay ahead of it as it chased me. I ran down flights of stairs into a university to let it out and then ran back out into the daylight, enveloped once again in drowning literary moments. The story is magic realism non-fiction. It’s a bite of a sugar skull. It’s the moment fireworks burst. It’s whatever you need it to be as you dream while asleep or awake.
Update: Listen to GSpot Interview: Nick Belardes - Magic Realism, Bugs and 9/11
G R E A T G R A N D M O T H E R ‘ S B U L L E T The escape to California took weeks.
Renaldo had difficulty hiding that he was one of Poncho Villa’s soldiers and was constantly questioned as they traveled toward northern Mexico. Handsome, Renaldo had a broad nose and full lips. He wore a great sombrero high on his head and had a full mustache to match. His eyes were of a deep red-brown like cherry wood. He wasn’t tall, but looked it as he sat straight on his horse.
BAKERSFIELD, CA-
It’s time for a breakdown.
The magic realism had already started. Sugar skull ghosts and sparks of firework lightning bolts. It was September 10, 2001, Las Vegas. I just had a summer of dreams: airplanes, white tunics, exploding casinos. I left my girlfriend that day. I was going to hitchhike to California across the Mojave Desert the next morning, September 11th. Somehow, as the story will say, I got to California. Over the next several months I scribbled “Thick White Crust.” I could barely stay ahead of it as it chased me. I ran down flights of stairs into a university to let it out and then ran back out into the daylight, enveloped once again in drowning literary moments. The story is magic realism non-fiction. It’s a bite of a sugar skull. It’s the moment fireworks burst. It’s whatever you need it to be as you dream while asleep or awake.
Update: Listen to GSpot Interview: Nick Belardes - Magic Realism, Bugs and 9/11
L E G A C Y There is a story in my family that tells of the rape of a young girl faraway in the Mexican state of Sinaloa. It takes place in the early 20th Century. It might have been 1917. The year isn’t important as the shadow remains heavy across my family’s history. (more…)
BAKERSFIELD, CA-
It’s time for a breakdown.
The magic realism had already started. Sugar skull ghosts and sparks of firework lightning bolts. It was September 10, 2001, Las Vegas. I just had a summer of dreams: airplanes, white tunics, exploding casinos. I left my girlfriend that day. I was going to hitchhike to California across the Mojave Desert the next morning, September 11th. Somehow, as the story will say, I got to California. Over the next several months I scribbled “Thick White Crust.” I could barely stay ahead of it as it chased me. I ran down flights of stairs into a university to let it out and then ran back out into the daylight, enveloped once again in drowning literary moments. The story is magic realism non-fiction. It’s a bite of a sugar skull. It’s the moment fireworks burst. It’s whatever you need it to be as you dream while asleep or awake.
Update: Listen to GSpot Interview: Nick Belardes - Magic Realism, Bugs and 9/11
S E P T E M B E R The next morning was September 11th.
I had given up on the idea of hitchhiking and now wanted to take a Greyhound bus from the Plaza Hotel in downtown Las Vegas across the Mojave Desert to Bakersfield. (more…)
BAKERSFIELD, CA-
It’s time for a breakdown.
The magic realism had already started. Sugar skull ghosts and sparks of firework lightning bolts. It was September 10, 2001, Las Vegas. I just had a summer of dreams: airplanes, white tunics, exploding casinos. I left my girlfriend that day. I was going to hitchhike to California across the Mojave Desert the next morning, September 11th. Somehow, as the story will say, I got to California. Over the next several months I scribbled “Thick White Crust.” I could barely stay ahead of it as it chased me. I ran down flights of stairs into a university to let it out and then ran back out into the daylight, enveloped once again in drowning literary moments. The story is magic realism non-fiction. It’s a bite of a sugar skull. It’s the moment fireworks burst. It’s whatever you need it to be as you dream while asleep or awake.
Update: Listen to GSpot Interview: Nick Belardes - Magic Realism, Bugs and 9/11
B O N I F A C I O The weather was a little windy and the sun was beating its fists onto the desert floor. It was the day before dia de los rascacielos, the name I later heard a man on a bus give for the attacks on the World Trade Center. (more…)
BAKERSFIELD, CA-
It’s time for a breakdown.
The magic realism had already started. Sugar skull ghosts and sparks of firework lightning bolts. It was September 10, 2001, Las Vegas. I just had a summer of dreams: airplanes, white tunics, exploding casinos. I left my girlfriend that day. I was going to hitchhike to California across the Mojave Desert the next morning, September 11th. Somehow, as the story will say, I got to California. Over the next several months I scribbled “Thick White Crust.” I could barely stay ahead of it as it chased me. I ran down flights of stairs into a university to let it out and then ran back out into the daylight, enveloped once again in drowning literary moments. The story is magic realism non-fiction. It’s a bite of a sugar skull. It’s the moment fireworks burst. It’s whatever you need it to be as you dream while asleep or awake.
Update: Listen to GSpot Interview: Nick Belardes - Magic Realism, Bugs and 9/11
H A U N T “There will be strong memories, my brother,” smiled Bonifacio.
He held his arm around me and hovered there in the room like an archangel. Still dressed as he was while waiting tables at the local bistro, his white waiter’s uniform had big round buttons that dotted a double-breasted waistcoat. (more…)
BAKERSFIELD, CA-
Can I just say now that spoken word poet Rich Ferguson is a great inspiration? Recently I wrote a rebellious poem-essay that I read at the Virgin Megastore in Hollywood and got freaky nervous because Ferguson showed up. OK, I would have been nervous anyway, but he was there looking like a poet gunslinger… (more…)
BAKERSFIELD, CA-
Recently the ex-mayor of a small town near Bakersfield called me at the news station. He’d just read my book, Lords and he was more than a bit shook up.
After we spoke for nearly an hour I asked him what he thought about the Lords of Bakersfield. Rumors were, their cult-like activities shot back to the late 1800s when dark-minded young British blue-bloods, booted out of Europe for being embarrassments to their well-to-do families (too gay in their county and city salons) ended up in the less than idyllic swamplands of the San Joaquin Valley, victims of false marketing. (more…)
BAKERSFIELD, CA-
I scrambled across the country in a beat car. How often have you heard such words?
But I really did.
The car was gigantic and hardly ran. The muffler fell off on a freeway. Yet, myself, the girl I was dating at the time, and my kid Jordan, he was 6 and she was about 6-feet tall, all set out from Ohio with a final destination of Bakersfield in mind. (more…)
BAKERSFIELD, CA-
My kid Lando sat in the stands and huddled in the cold with the rest of his mates from the pop punk band Dirty Spanglish. Their claim to fame? Performing their song “Hots for Hermione” on Harry Potter book seven release night at Vromans Bookstore. That was five months ago. Friday, they showed up more than two hours early to the stadium and barely got a seat in the stands. It was a night not about rock and roll legacies, but football.
