Jameson, rocks and Jim. (photo: Rick Mendoza)

Jim Marquez has earned his nickname, Beast from the East. He is a monster in size and personality. We’ve had our share of drinks at the bar together and I can now count him as a friend. But, I was a fan of Marquez, way before I met him.

The first piece I read of his was in an art magazine. It was about him waiting in line to meet, Hunter S. Thompson, two weeks before he offed himself. That piece got me to buy his book, East LA Collage.

I once described Marquez’ writing,  as compost. Yeah, compost! He writes about the wasted days and wasted nights. He tells the tales that most of us prefer not to repeat. In those tales of waste and the discarded there is the life of a beast growing and learning. (more…)

...they sat and stared, laying blame on the other . No one said a word.

In the stagnate years that they lived together, in the untidiness of their one bedroom apartment, Carmella, taught him how to think less of himself. She burrowed into his head and planted the idea that he should not hold himself in such high esteem as he previously believed to be a healthy, normal level.

Almost witch-like, she used words and movements, cloaked in everyday activity to cast a shadow over young, Aries. (more…)