Poor War Zine

The Poor War By Jesus Reyes Jesus. 27. Writer, artist, son of a Trashman. "Lost deep inside the city of night." Hollywood Boulevard. Poverty. Winoism. Ink. This is his story. A NOTE TO THE READER The writings contained in this book were taken directly from my own personal journals. I present this material to you, the reader, exactly as it was written with all the faults and imperfections intact. The Poor War By Jesus Reyes My father always said that I come from a class of society, he called "L.A. TRASH." L.A. TRASH \'el-'a-'trash\ n 1.City dweller's characterized by poverty or a social class small in worth. For the old man CONTENTS L.A. Trash 1 Of Rain 2 Starry Night Entry 1 3 Live From Hollywood Boulevard 4 Bumstar 5 Cobra and Chucks 6 Jane Doe 7 Starry Night Entry 2 8 Trash Baby 9 1 "L.A. Trash" I am drunk. And In their thousands, memories are flashing on and off deep inside of me. After killing two forty ounces of King Cobra and a sixteen ounce of Olde English, I start to think about home, I decide to go there in my mind. I visit my old house and I walk around in my old neighborhood. Overcome by memories and sadness, I am remembering an incident that happened in the front yard of my boyhood home. My father had told me and my brother that "he was going to work", and that he would be "back in the morning." The old man never came back. As time went by I watched my family explode out like a hand grenade and fade off into all directions. Eventually I faded into a backwards world of King Cobra madness. I was the last one to leave. And now, more than 20 Years later, I am sleeping on a couch, in a friends house, somewhere in Hollywood. And For the worst part of the past year, I have been more a ghost than a normal functioning citizen. What a long, shitty trip its been. I was born in Los Angeles but grew up in Van Nuys, a city obscured by freeways and smog, and the soul of California’s San Fernando Valley. My parents were both L.A. Trash. My father came from a long line of modern day pirates, and worked a trash route for the city. My mother was from a poor family in the Valley. They had a love-hate relationship. He hated that he loved her. She loved that she hated him. Together they sealed my wino fate. In high school I was what my teachers called a "hopeless" student, and once spray painted a giant dick on the wall of the girls locker room. I was a bright kid in high school, yet I never studied and spent most of my time drinking with a group of friends. The group included a small peasant army of Trash Babys and future Bumstars. Greasers, rebels, punks, together we formed a strong family. We were bastards by nature and losers by choice. Real people with real stories and heartache. People that could guide you down, and inspire you to get back up. They were my first and only family. I love them all. I miss them all. 2 OF RAIN A father dies The night falls A son rises The boy shoots for the stars but hits the ground And crashes like a half empty bottle of Jack The old man on the moon hangs his head in shame Tears and horrible dreams reign over again From boys to men to saints The two had fallen exactly the same 3 STARRY NIGHT ENTRY 1 I was born in the city of night and I am my mothers biggest regret. I think back about a women I had taken so many photographs with 17 years ago. My mother was alot more glamorous back then, before she faded into her own sadness. There are times I feel cheated when I think about the past, and I dwell on my inability to recall that feeling of peace. But now I know that the search for peace, like the night sky, is too big to be grasped and will only give way to winoism and sadness. My past... there should have been something more, but those days are dead. 4 LIVE FROM HOLLYWOOD BOULEVARD Los Angeles Dirty sexy Home of the hip and poor Souls rise up out of their sleep Like black smoke from a tire fire This is Dantes Inferno This is Christ posted up on the hill This is Hell 5 BUMSTAR I dont need to be famous I need money How far up is fame Is it close to the gutter And if so, how far down is in I dont need fame, nor do I want it I need heaven I need a smile on my face Hollywood Boulevard feels to close to hell these days Truth be said, I feel closer to TV than I do to God I dont need to be famous I need to know God I need money I need love TV might set you free, But you cant get love from TV Real love is born in the gutter... I dont want to be famous 6 COBRA AND CHUCKS Life A sad joke Alcohol Drugs Ink A mind full of vipers A poet with a blade A blade to the throat Devil sweat Devil ink I am the Devils own comic relief On a quiet hell I fell I cracked my mind on the concrete It was funny The Devil got me Happy Nostalgic Winoism My life is a punchline and the Devil gets me An unknown Demon on a cliff All clapped out No fever to tell Suicide is painless When your a young poor hobo extraordinaire I'm falling I've fallen I am down Oscar the grouch and his motherfucking garbage 7 JANE DOE Sweet Jane Doe Your more than just a hoe Youre the devil on my shoulder I wear your scent around my neck like a Virgin Mary Rosary You like to take your time and fuck slow You have the appetite of a lion and the soul of a summer night I like to watch you sweat and you like to watch me sleep You watch over me like a mother and that keeps my pen bleeding You like to smile hard and I like to keep my mind on the concrete Youre the mother and Im the motherfucker Im just a poor sucker with a sad mug and some ugly ink Im more fucked than you think But I know you Youre the closet Ive ever been to happy You laugh about everything but really your an orphan like me Another .38 Special ditched in a Hollywood alley Sweet Jane Doe Youre more than just a hoe Youre the light of this city 8 STARRY NIGHT ENTRY 2 Sergio, a friend of mine caught a bullet in the head while walking to the pier one winter night. But last night there were no sounds of ambulance sirens, there are very few angels on call during Los Angeles winters. The skies above the city turn from gray to black, the winds blow in from the Pacific, Sergio use to say, "if they are angels in this city, they must be freezing there wings off." Some days I think about Sergio, and all those times when we would go out and get wasted drunk. We were both poor and out of our minds, but we were the true stars of the city. 9 TRASH BABY Once there was a city...and she loved a little boy. Everyday my wasted life wakes a slaughter of sun beams And all the sun bound strangers throw stones at me Lonely nights in L.A. The dying day Dont lose the sun in this city Out here progress is a relay of dog fights Out here the bastard children of the day rule the night Do you remember Hollywood Boulevard ? Jesus the wino Jesus the cosmic sailor Jesus your son Shipwrecked on a star Alive Sad Lost Lost the keys to the kingdom God is in there and God is nowhere God is out cold Asleep at the cash register Too lazy to feed Jesus his dog Too high to love the lowest of the low God is young Life is a joke getting old I am getting old Hell on my mind Blood on my soul I am alone Alone without love Without warmth Without an angel in my orbit I am truly alone Lost deep inside the city of night Alive deep inside the tide of city lights The city at war with the sea The city shore at war with me I love this city In pain In sleep It gives me eyes to see And makes a believer of me I believe in her late night demon ballets Me and my baby out on the beach Tattooed all over from toes to soul Her toe nails raider black Her wings clipped by deep sadness Really poor Really drunk An angel and her wino Healing to the sounds of that other angel 10 Love at the speed of KROQ Nicole you saint Thanks for stitching us up Please always remember me and my baby You kept us alive You made us insane And kept us together Like King Cobra and Chuck Taylor Dancing Laughing Spinning like fuckin drunks Angel dont let my nights fade up to light The night sky is tragic enough Death is light Death flies in from the pacific And rips angels from the city of night In a cameras flash In a hearts beat The half ghost half bastard will take my baby from me Then come again and take me from me I love her God knows I always will But death will not keep still And if love cannot keep us ill Then love cannot save us So fuck love and its promise of fever Fuck the fetus and the womb Fuck the warm L.A.

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