/CHI/

...

Other urls found in this thread:

shadowstats.com/alternate_data/unemployment-charts
dailymotion.com/video/x6ejunt
latinamericanstudies.org/latinos/joaquin.htm
twitter.com/NSFWRedditGif

:/

do you personally make this images?
there is a new one every day

CHI

yes, but i often reuse when i'm too lazy to make something

how's it going?

Nothings changed from yesterday, amigo. 5pm here in the peoples republic of california. Good weather lately though

nothings changed for me in years i'm living the same day i was living 4 years ago

iktf bro. Been neet for 5 years now ever since i dropped out of uni

what do you do in cali?

i stay in my room all day, you?

same. aren't things walking distance though? like everything's far here

Any other CHI's training for LA RECONQUISTA?

train like a real CHI and use a machete

whats there to walk to? i havent left my apartment in months

you've got a point. but i'm saying theres more to do in california

>theres more to do in california
not if you're poor. everything cost money

How do you live? don't your parents care?

my parents kicked me out a long time ago. i live with my grandparents now and they dont have the heart to kick me out on the streets

CHI
The weather has been pretty good winter weather for the last few weeks. There is a decent amount of snow and it's consistently below zero, around -5C now.

Neet master race huh?

i wish i was dead

Is being a CHI the worst thing in the world? Chances are, you live in the worst most expensive state to live in. People are racist against you. Your women chase after Anglo or black dick. You didn't have the opportunities of your parents. Garbage.

t. buttmad gringoid that got cucked by BMC

i guess but here there isn't shit to do at all just thinking about it makes me feel like shit

how was your day?
>tfw i will never travel and see other places i'm stuck in my room forever

I am CHI. Im just saying, life sucks for CHIs who became adults during the recession

the recession never ended amigo

The recession has been over for almost a decade.

I guess that's the one thing i've lucked out on, i've got to see plenty of different places. Not that i've made the most out of my trips, when I think about it i've never made the most out of anything i've done but i've generally enjoyed being abroad.

Exactly. The economy is still SHIT for the children of immigrants.

i've only been to other states but not much a deference tbqh

>be US government
>2008 recession is bad. Really bad
>decide to bail out banks instead of the middle class
>unemployment is really high
>decide to change definition of unemployment to make it seem like things are improving
>now a person with 2 part time jobs is considered 2 fully employed people
>now discouraged workers who stopped looking for a job are considered not unemployed
>now seasonal contract jobs are considered full time employment
>now the definition of unemployed is defined as those who collect state or federal unemployment endurance
>new "unemployment" rate is a miraculous 4%
>the recession is now officially over
>mission accomplished

shadowstats.com/alternate_data/unemployment-charts

I have travelled to plenty of different european nations before, southern europe is quite different than here. I guess I caved into the visit japan posters here when I did my trip, also I wanted to go as far away as possible to somewhere completely different. Visited a few cities there, everything felt really different for the first few days but by the end of the trip I had gotten accustomed to things and things didn't have that completely new factor, was still nice. Mainly looked at historical sites and other tourist attractions. Anyways i'm off to bed. Good night.

It was surprisingly easy to get around even though practically no one spoke english.

This so much. I see more homeless than ever

good night user

BASED RAINMAKER!

anything good happen? i heard rey is gonna have a match over there

Okada and Sanada had MOTY so far, I thought it was better than Jericho/Omega
Also Rey challenged Jushin Liger

i'll probably watch that when it's uploaded. for what event though?

dailymotion.com/video/x6ejunt

What y'all Chicanos know about this tho

thanks i'll check it out later

>Your women chase after Anglo or black dick.
MALINCHISTA GENOCIDE NOW

>latinx
reddi* pls go

Mural vandalized in Boyle heights in response to successful defense of chicano park
What do you say raza? When push comes to shove are you ready to defend Aztlan?

Yo soy Joaquín,
perdido en un mundo de confusión:
I am Joaquín, lost in a world of confusion,
caught up in the whirl of a gringo society,
confused by the rules, scorned by attitudes, suppressed by manipulation, and destroyed by modern society. My fathers have lost the economic battle
and won the struggle of cultural survival.
And now! I must choose between the paradox of victory of the spirit, despite physical hunger,
or to exist in the grasp of American social neurosis, sterilization of the soul and a full stomach.
Yes, I have come a long way to nowhere, unwillingly dragged by that monstrous, technical, industrial giant called Progress and Anglo success....
I look at myself.
I watch my brothers.
I shed tears of sorrow. I sow seeds of hate.
I withdraw to the safety within the circle of life --
MY OWN PEOPLE
I am Cuauhtémoc, proud and noble,
leader of men, king of an empire civilized
beyond the dreams of the gachupín Cortés,
who also is the blood, the image of myself.
I am the Maya prince.
I am Nezahualcóyotl, great leader of the Chichimecas.
I am the sword and flame of Cortes the despot
And I am the eagle and serpent of the Aztec civilization.
I owned the land as far as the eye
could see under the Crown of Spain,
and I toiled on my Earth and gave my Indian sweat and blood for the Spanish master who ruled with tyranny over man and beast and all that he could trample
But...THE GROUND WAS MINE.
I was both tyrant and slave.
As the Christian church took its place in God's name,
to take and use my virgin strength and trusting faith,
the priests, both good and bad, took--
but gave a lasting truth that Spaniard Indian Mestizo were all God's children.

of course

And from these words grew men who prayed and fought
for their own worth as human beings, for that
GOLDEN MOMENT of FREEDOM.
I was part in blood and spirit of that courageous village priest Hidalgo who in the year eighteen hundred and ten
rang the bell of independence and gave out that lasting cry--
El Grito de Dolores
"Que mueran los gachupines y que viva la Virgen de Guadalupe...."
I sentenced him who was me I excommunicated him, my blood.
I drove him from the pulpit to lead a bloody revolution for him and me.... I killed him.
His head, which is mine and of all those
who have come this way,
I placed on that fortress wall
to wait for independence. Morelos! Matamoros! Guerrero!
all companeros in the act, STOOD AGAINST THAT WALL OF INFAMY to feel the hot gouge of lead which my hands made.
I died with them ... I lived with them .... I lived to see our country free. Free from Spanish rule in eighteen-hundred-twenty-one.
Mexico was free??
The crown was gone but all its parasites remained,
and ruled, and taught, with gun and flame and mystic power.
I worked, I sweated, I bled, I prayed,
and waited silently for life to begin again.
I fought and died for Don Benito Juarez, guardian of the Constitution.
I was he on dusty roads on barren land as he protected his archives
as Moses did his sacraments.
He held his Mexico in his hand on
the most desolate and remote ground which was his country.
And this giant little Zapotec gave not one palm's breadth
of his country's land to kings or monarchs or presidents of foriegn powers. I am Joaquin.
I rode with Pancho Villa,
crude and warm, a tornado at full strength,
nourished and inspired by the passion and the fire of all his earthy people. I am Emiliano Zapata.
"This land, this earth is OURS."
The villages, the mountains, the streams
belong to Zapatistas.
Our life or yours is the only trade for soft brown earth and maize.
All of which is our reward,
a creed that formed a constitution
for all who dare live free!

"This land is ours . . .
Father, I give it back to you.
Mexico must be free. . . ."
I ride with revolutionists
against myself.
I am the Rurales,
coarse and brutal,
I am the mountian Indian,
superior over all.
The thundering hoof beats are my horses. The chattering machine guns are death to all of me:
Yaqui
Tarahumara
Chamala
Zapotec
Mestizo
Español.
I have been the bloody revolution,
The victor,
The vanquished.
I have killed
And been killed.
I am the despots Díaz
And Huerta
And the apostle of democracy,
Francisco Madero.
I am
The black-shawled
Faithfulwomen
Who die with me
Or live
Depending on the time and place.
I am faithful, humble Juan Diego,
The Virgin of Guadalupe,
Tonantzín, Aztec goddess, too.
I rode the mountains of San Joaquín.
I rode east and north
As far as the Rocky Mountains,
And
All men feared the guns of
Joaquín Murrieta.
I killed those men who dared
To steal my mine,
Who raped and killed my love
My wife.
Then I killed to stay alive.
I was Elfego Baca,

living my nine lives fully.
I was the Espinoza brothers
of the Valle de San Luis.
All were added to the number of heads that in the name of civilization were placed on the wall of independence, heads of brave men who died for cause or principle, good or bad.
Hidalgo! Zapata!
Murrieta! Espinozas!
Are but a few.
They dared to face
The force of tyranny
Of men who rule by deception and hypocrisy.
I stand here looking back,
And now I see the present,
And still I am a campesino,
I am the fat political coyote–
I,
Of the same name,
Joaquín,
In a country that has wiped out
All my history,
Stifled all my pride,
In a country that has placed a
Different weight of indignity upon my age-old burdened back. Inferiority is the new load . . . .
The Indian has endured and still
Emerged the winner,
The Mestizo must yet overcome,
And the gachupín will just ignore.
I look at myself
And see part of me
Who rejects my father and my mother
And dissolves into the melting pot
To disappear in shame.
I sometimes
Sell my brother out
And reclaim him
For my own when society gives me
Token leadership
In society's own name.
I am Joaquín,
Who bleeds in many ways.
The altars of Moctezuma
I stained a bloody red.
My back of Indian slavery

Was stripped crimson
From the whips of masters
Who would lose their blood so pure
When revolution made them pay,
Standing against the walls of retribution.
Blood has flowed from me on every battlefield between campesino, hacendado,
slave and master and revolution.
I jumped from the tower of Chapultepec
into the sea of fame–
my country's flag
my burial shroud–
with Los Niños,
whose pride and courage
could not surrender
with indignity
their country's flag
to strangers . . . in their land.
Now I bleed in some smelly cell from club or gun or tyranny. I bleed as the vicious gloves of hunger
Cut my face and eyes,
As I fight my way from stinking barrios
To the glamour of the ring
And lights of fame
Or mutilated sorrow.
My blood runs pure on the ice-caked
Hills of the Alaskan isles,
On the corpse-strewn beach of Normandy,
The foreign land of Korea
And now Vietnam.
Here I stand
Before the court of justice,
Guilty
For all the glory of my Raza
To be sentenced to despair.
Here I stand,
Poor in money,
Arrogant with pride,
Bold with machismo,
Rich in courage
And
Wealthy in spirit and faith.
My knees are caked with mud.
My hands calloused from the hoe. I have made the Anglo rich, Yet

Equality is but a word–
The Treaty of Hidalgo has been broken And is but another threacherous promise. My land is lost
And stolen,
My culture has been raped.
I lengthen the line at the welfare door
And fill the jails with crime.
These then are the rewards
This society has
For sons of chiefs
And kings
And bloody revolutionists,
Who gave a foreign people
All their skills and ingenuity
To pave the way with brains and blood
For those hordes of gold-starved strangers, Who
Changed our language
And plagiarized our deeds
As feats of valor
Of their own.
They frowned upon our way of life
and took what they could use.
Our art, our literature, our music, they ignored– so they left the real things of value
and grabbed at their own destruction
by their greed and avarice.
They overlooked that cleansing fountain of nature and brotherhood
which is Joaquín.
The art of our great señores,
Diego Rivera,
Siqueiros,
Orozco, is but another act of revolution for the salvation of mankind.
Mariachi music, the heart and soul
of the people of the earth,
the life of the child,
and the happiness of love.
The corridos tell the tales
of life and death,
of tradition,
legends old and new, of joy
of passion and sorrow

of the people–who I am.
I am in the eyes of woman,
sheltered beneath
her shawl of black,
deep and sorrowful eyes
that bear the pain of sons long buried or dying,
dead on the battlefield or on the barbed wire of social strife. Her rosary she prays and fingers endlessly
like the family working down a row of beets
to turn around and work and work.
There is no end.
Her eyes a mirror of all the warmth
and all the love for me,
and I am her
and she is me.
We face life together in sorrow,
anger, joy, faith and wishful
thoughts.
I shed the tears of anguish
as I see my children disappear
behind the shroud of mediocrity,
never to look back to remember me.
I am Joaquín.
I must fight
and win this struggle
for my sons, and they
must know from me
who I am.
Part of the blood that runs deep in me
could not be vanquished by the Moors.
I defeated them after five hundred years,
and I have endured.
Part of the blood that is mine
has labored endlessly four hundred
years under the heel of lustful
Europeans.
I am still here!
I have endured in the rugged mountains
Of our country
I have survived the toils and slavery of the fields. I have existed
In the barrios of the city
In the suburbs of bigotry
In the mines of social snobbery
In the prisons of dejection

In the muck of exploitation
And
In the fierce heat of racial hatred. And now the trumpet sounds,
The music of the people stirs the Revolution.
Like a sleeping giant it slowly Rears its head
To the sound of
Tramping feet
Clamoring voices
Mariachi strains
Fiery tequila explosions
The smell of chile verde and
Soft brown eyes of expectation for a Better life.
And in all the fertile farmlands,
the barren plains,
the mountain villages, smoke-smeared cities,
we start to MOVE.
La raza!
Méjicano!
Español!
Latino!
Chicano!
Or whatever I call myself,
I look the same
I feel the same
I cry
And
Sing the same.
I am the masses of my people and
I refuse to be absorbed.
I am Joaquín.
The odds are great
But my spirit is strong,
My faith unbreakable,
My blood is pure.
I am Aztec prince and Christian Christ. I SHALL ENDURE!
I WILL ENDURE!

what are you doing?

latinamericanstudies.org/latinos/joaquin.htm

is this a real thing?