January 10th 1961

January 10. My father, in a red American Motors 440, drives north through the Sonora desert, ticking off towns as the sun rises to his right. Santa Ana, Caborca, Tajito. He is on his way to Tijuana, to his mother’s house, where he has lived since my mother threw him out of our home. He left Culiacán yesterday, in the morning. He’s been driving alone, nonstop, pausing for gas and two terrible roadside meals. His dentures fit badly — the pain keeps him awake. The cheap tape recorder nestled among packs of cigarettes on the seat beside him has been playing Mexican songs that call forth all his ghosts and memories. Miguel Prado, Agustin Lara, Pedro Infante, Lola Beltran. Mile upon mile, the car has gradually filled with the dead and forgotten. The back seat is crowded with 100 girlfriends, lovers, and wives. Time swirls around him like smoke.

He has spent Christmas in his hometown in the farthest southern corner of Sinaloa, and he has recognized no one. The townspeople are old and strange to him, their concerns foolish, their laughter painful to his ears. He has retrieved $1000 from the bank on Morelos street, a gift for me. My father is 61 years old.

San Luís Río Colorado appears in the shimmering early light. He is driving fast — he always drives fast. Far away, Yuma, Arizona, suggests itself through the haze. The Mexican checkpoint is outside town. Bored and aggressive Mexican Immigration and Federal Judicial Police officers wave cars over and inspect papers. They deny passage randomly, confiscate valuable-looking goods, exact “tolls” from gringos and border Mexicans who lack the papers or the conviction to persuade the officers that they may proceed. My father is blond and blue-eyed. (Well, his blond hair has gone white, but his skin is still pale pink, and his eyes behind his glasses are still bright.) He has California plates on his car.

This is where the thing happens. No one knows exactly what, nor if it happened before the aduana huts or after. But somehow, my father, Mexican ballads rattling through the cheap speakers, all those voices in his head, smoking a cigarette, smoke trailing from his mouth like he’s burning already and going down, leaves the road and sails into the desert dawn.

His car flies for a dreadful instant, forever. Angles off the road and lifts into the air. His fists on the wheel, trying to right the car after it has taken flight. Dust and gravel cresting beneath him like a wave, as he catapults over the edge of a hill. Everything in the car — tapes, cigarettes, ashes, coins, recorder, my father’s glasses — comes to life and eddies around him. The car tips. Its front corner digs into the ground. It flips once, twice. Later, rumors suggest it rolled six times. The wheel breaks off in his hands. The windshield vanishes. He is pitched out the window. The car rolls on him. He is dragged back inside by the lurching force of the crash. All around, his things scatter across the sand and sage.

I am not brought into this story until late.

Without me, my father goes about the business of dying. He tries not to die, of course. My father would not surrender easily to death. But the Mexicans manage to convince him.

Before they take him to the hospital, various agents of the Mexican republic help themselves to the sudden flea market my father has set up for them. As he bleeds on the gurney, blind and mute, pissing his pants, they sift through the goods. There are a lot of tapes, after all. Someone nabs his recorder. Someone else takes a fancy to his new shoes, bought for him by my favorite cousin and given to him only two days before.

His wallet and my $1000 are safe — soaked in urine in his pockets. No one cares to fish for them at the moment. Because no one wants to reach into all that mess, they don’t find out he’s a Mexican citizen, a retired army officer, late of the presidential staff of Mexico, and a retired federal cop. He can’t talk to tell them. They drive off, blue lights inconsequential against the sun.

In town, they strip him naked and call in a Mexican doctor. The doctor says something along the lines of, “My God, it’s Beto!”

One of the attendants says something else like, “What do you mean ‘Beto?’”

The doctor looks around him. He can’t believe it. This is too strange. Just days ago, he was at a party with my father in Rosario. He’d asked my father for a ride to this very town. My father turned him down, saying cryptically, “I don’t want to be responsible for your life.”

“I know this man,” the doctor says. “He’s a Mexican.”

Somebody calls the police. The federales are on their way. Something strange is going on here, and the doctor wants nothing to do with it. He snaps some orders to the staff of the clinic, then plunges his hand into my father’s pockets. He is no doubt startled to find $1000 there, in new bills. He takes my father’s wallet out of the back pocket and flees. For reasons that will remain unclear, the

federales will spend the rest of the day trying to find him to get all these things back from him. He will be so busy avoiding them that he will not see my father again.

Once the doctor leaves, they wheel my father, naked, into a room. He is beginning to struggle, to writhe around in his bed. His ribs are cracked; he has internal injuries and some bleeding; he has split open his chin and might have a concussion; he has some brain injuries and might have suffered a stroke. Nobody’s quite sure what’s wrong with him. They decide to quiet him down and shoot him with morphine.

My father, drugged, settles back into a velvet haze. All his ghosts swarm to him and begin to smother him.

I have half-brothers and half-sisters: Juan, Alberto, Octavio, Leticia, and Martha. He abandoned them and their mother. I am younger than all of them and have never lived with any of them. Like me, they fear him and worship him and miss him even when he’s with us. Somehow, words get out on the border that Alberto Urrea has been seriously hurt in a car wreck. But they think it’s my brother Alberto. People start looking for my brother’s family to tell them he’s dying.

In the meantime, in our old neighborhood in Tijuana, my Aunt Lety and Cousin Hugo are in the family house on Rampa Independencia. They are waiting for Beto to arrive from his visit to Sinaloa. Hugo has built him a small bedroom where he keeps all Beto’s tokens — love letters, bowling trophies, moldering Playboys, a box of photographs. In those photos, my father is a skinny boy with a heart-shaped mouth. He looks sad in every one. The years have tinted them brown.

My aunt hears my father’s car pull up to the front of the house. She glances out and sees a red shape pull up to her gate.

“It’s Beto!” she calls. My grandmother, gone mad with age, blinks in her chair like a pudgy bird.

“Who?” she says.

“Beto,” says my aunt.

“Beto ya llegó.”

She steps outside to greet him. There is no car. She steps into the street. Looks both ways. No red car in sight.

“Beto’s dead,” she says.

Word spreads — the doctor calls my aunt. Hugo takes off in his truck, driving, trying to beat the clock. Other relatives go into a Mexican version of action: one branch grabs the first plane they can that flies to Arizona. In their panic, they take a flight that goes to the northern end of the state, farther from my father than if they’d stayed in Tijuana.

Somebody finally calls me in San Diego. I have been listening to music — something ridiculous like Uriah Heep. Everyone has left for San Luís Río Colorado. Everything is happening. I am asked to hold steady. Someone will get right back to me. Nobody does.

My cousin Hugo, the most feared member of the family, is the one who gets to my father. Hugo was raised by my father and knows him better than some of his own sons. Hugo calls him Papa.

Family legend has it that once, when Hugo was driving through Tijuana late at night, a carload of cholos began to harass him, trying to push him off the road, yelling taunts. Hugo calmly pulled over, took a homemade broadsword from under the seat, and proceeded to chop pieces off their car. He split their hood with it, pulled it out, and said, “All right. Come on.”

They abandoned their car and ran into the night.

Hugo pushes his way into the room and sits on the bed, holds my writhing father down. Tells him, “Don’t worry, Papa. We’re here. We’ll get you out.”

My father cannot say anything to him, but Hugo senses he understands. He calms down, lies back. Hugo talks to him for a moment more.

Arrangements are made to transport my father to the border, and there, an American ambulance will carry him into Yuma. Hugo knows my father will die if he is left in this clinic. The American ambulance arrives at the border crossing and waits, off to the side, doors open, light circling.

No Mexican unit arrives. Repeated calls reveal nothing; nobody knows what happened to the ambulance. Isn’t it there? It ought to be there. How curious. It never arrives. Hugo and my father wait for an hour. It has been eight hours since the accident.

Finally, the ghosts convince him. Beto settles back in the bed, eyes looking at nothing in particular. Without a word or a gesture, my father dies.

A few miles away, the Americans close their doors, turn off their lights, and drive back to Yuma.

Too late to do any good, I enter the picture.

Hugo’s sister Margo picks me up on her way to Tijuana. A family friend has called me and told me the news. Margo’s car is crammed with silent people as we ride into Tijuana and rise up to Independencia, shoulders digging into each other as the car hits the ruts and half-buried boulders in the road.

My brothers are gathered in the dirt street outside the family home. Dogs behind the fence think we’re having a party. They think the fun’s about to begin. They dance on their back legs, eagerly watching us in the street.

They have my father’s money and wallet. The doctor has turned them over to somebody, I don’t know who, and they have ended up here in front of the family house. My eldest brother hands me the cash. It’s floppy. Wet, it feels like felt.

“It must have rained,” he says. “Do you think it rained? Everything’s all wet.”

Hugo looks at me. He says nothing. I know why it’s wet. I say, “I guess they had an early-morning shower.”

Everybody nods.

Hugo gives me the wallet. Inside, driver’s license, green card, social security card, notes, slips of paper, useless cards in various shades of blue and yellow. In his picture, my father looks small and old. He has a pouch under his chin. You can see the curve of his skull under the diminishing front rank of his hair.

Nobody knows how to grieve. We stand apart from each other with a strange military precision, two feet between each man. We shuffle. We grin; the old man’s dead. We shake our heads, sigh. We laugh. Nobody can fit the fact into the day.

“Let’s go,” Hugo says. He means to the funeral home, Funeraria González.

The brothers pile into various cars. I get in Hugo’s truck. Hugo has been the closest to the thing. He has accumulated a kind of evil grace. We all hope he can tell us if anything special happened. If there were any apparitions, sounds, lights, angels.

“He died,” he says. For him, that’s enough.

We drive downtown. The funeral home is nondescript, in the middle of a run-down block. But then most blocks in Tijuana are run down, all cobbled together with no plan in mind, facade after mid-’50s facade leaning into each other, paint coming away from the walls on thin wedges of stucco.

They are waiting for me outside. We don’t want to take a step without each other. We turn as one and enter. Hugo grabs my arm. They start upstairs. “Down here,” he says.

“What?” I say.

“The body’s down here,” he says.

“So?”

“So you’re going to look at it.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re going to look at it.”

“No.”

Hugo has a habit of always speaking English to me. For some reason, I insist on speaking Spanish to him. I’m not sure what it is we’re trying to convince each other of.

“It’s up to you,” he says. “He’s all banged up. You’ve got to decide if it’s an open casket or not. That’s what he’d want. Come on.”

His grip is bony as a talon as he pulls me into the little room. The casket is on a stone bench, about three feet off the ground. Tawdry Mexican floral arrangements have begun to surround the coffin: horseshoes on stands, wreaths, all of them draped in ridiculous faux-satin sashes with family names and condolences written across them in glue and glitter. They look like contestants in a retirement-home flower-arranging contest or good-luck displays at a high school reunion.

Hugo uses his pocket knife to unscrew the coffin lid. The screw rises, rises, interminably, until it wiggles loose, and he says okay, and I put my hands on the lid and wait. “Go on,” he says.

I resent his manliness more than anything on earth at that instant, then I lift the lid. For some reason, I hold my breath, as if my father is going to smell bad. But he’s encased in glass. In fact, he probably does smell bad — he’s been dead now for two days with no embalming. Many Mexican funeral homes just clamp a sheet of glass over the body to prevent any problems, and you look down at them as though you were in a glass-bottomed boat, drifting across the shoals of Hell. It’s alarming. You think, He can’t breathe in there.

I look in. He’s small as a ten-year-old boy in a faded brown photograph. He’s unimaginably sad, his lips turned a little around his injured mouth, looking like he’s about to say a word that begins with m. I stare down at my father, my only father, and my breath fogs the glass and steals his face.

Wounds turn black after death.

“Close it,” I say.

Hugo shuts the lid gently.

“Don’t screw it down,” I say. “He wouldn’t want people to see him like that, but I think they have a right to say good-bye, if they want to. So they can lift the lid for themselves.”

It is my first decision as a grown man. “Good,” Hugo says. “That’s the right choice.”

Upstairs, my brother Juan is waiting for me. The others stand behind him. “There’s a problem,” he says.

“What problem?”

“We owe some money,” he says, “for the body.”

“We what?”

A pleasant, short man steps up. He has a tan uniform on, with a police insignia but no badge or gun. He’s a lackey for the San Luís Río Colorado cops. He’s a full-blooded Indian.

“I brought the body,” he says.

“Thank you,” I tell him.

“They said to tell you,” he glances away, “that the body is still in custody.”

We all look at each other, eyes clicking in steady sweeps of all the faces.

“You’re kidding,” I say.

“No, señor,” he says. “The police department still has possession of your father. I have been instructed to ask you for the fee to release him to you.”

“You want me to pay bail for a corpse?”

The man is uncomfortable. He says nothing.

“How did my father come here?”

“In my station wagon.”

“I see.”

This whole scene is so bizarre that I don’t know how to respond. There’s no one to ask what to do. My brothers just stand there.

Hugo is as inscrutable as a stone carving. I reach into my pocket.

“How much?”

“Seven hundred and fifty dollars, American.”

I pull out the wet bills and count out $800. He hands me $50 back in change. He smiles. Everybody’s relieved. He shakes all our hands. He tells me it’s sad, what happened, and how hard it is for all of us when these things befall us. I’m thinking: Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!

The funeral director steps up. He’s unctuous, in a suit and hair oil and cologne. It’s like an optical illusion — as the police toady steps away, three reflections of him appear in his absence.

I still have the change in my hand. The funeral director starts in: tragic losses, at rest now, gone to glory, deepest sympathies, but there is the small matter of the funeral costs.

“How much?” I say.

“Five hundred and fifty dollars,” he says.

“Unfortunately.” I hand him my change.

“We’ll come up with the rest,” one of my brothers says.

“We’ll take up a collection,” says another.

On our way back downstairs, Hugo says, “So much for your present.”

I am so confused, I want to cry. I cannot. For years afterward, I will try to cry and be unable to. On some nights, I will take spit on the tips of my fingers and draw tears down my cheeks, trying to get relief.

We Mexicans wake the dead. We give wakes to the dead. Hugo and I agree that my shift will be at two in the morning. He leads me to my father’s room and goes off to bed. My aunt still shares a room with her mother. I can hear the women in there, snoring. The sounds of Tijuana carry up the hills, somehow different than the sounds of the United States. The dogs, the car horns, the traffic rumble, the whistles, the trumpets are all in a different language. Their pitch and timbre are as distinctive as Chinese or Russian. Or Spanish.

I sit in my father’s room, listening. All that noise, and the whole world dead. His pillow is still streaked with his hair pomade — he wore his hair trim, short, combed straight back off his forehead, always as slick as Jerry Lewis. I can’t sleep in his bed. All I can think about is sex. I keep hoping the family’s cleaning woman will wake up and come to my room. I want to eat, make love, climb a mountain, have a fist fight. I sit in the middle of his floor and sift through layers of paper: report cards, citations, letters from women in Sinaloa, divorce papers, poems, tax forms, INS papers, bowling certificates, sheets with numbers on them, military records, a letter from the president of Mexico. Silverfish and roaches come forth from my father’s records, where they have lived safely, eating his past.

I pull the string attached to the bare bulb above my head. The dark claps shut around me. Years later, it seems, Hugo speaks from the greater darkness of the doorway.

“It’s time.”

I get dressed.

We go to his truck.

Everything’s quiet. You can even hear crickets. He starts up, puts it in gear. We drive down the dark hill. Everybody’s lights are out as we descend. “God damn it,” Hugo finally says. “It’s not fair.”

He drops me off at the door.

“See you in the afternoon,” he says.

“All right.”

“Somebody will be by in a few hours,” he says.

“All right.”

He drives away. I step inside. It’s bright, pleasant. Old carpets have loops tugged loose. Inexplicably, there is an electric clock with a soft-drink logo on it. Chapel A has a forgotten casket in it. My father waits in chapel B.

It’s a dull little room with dull little drapes at the end. There are about eight rows of pews. A plywood lectern stands before the raised coffin. And there are all those flowers. Their colors are basically white and carmine beneath the fluorescent lights; the greens look like rubber.

I try sitting in a pew, looking at the coffin. It looks like a gigantic throat lozenge. I prowl the building. Periodically, the Indian men come downstairs. They apparently sleep up there, because their hair is in disarray and their eyes are red and puffy. “Do you want some coffee?” they ask.

“No, thank you.”

“Coke? Water?”

“No, I’m fine.”

They nod, go back up. Occasionally, one will pat my elbow.

I lift the curtains from the wall and look behind them. There is a door near the head of the coffin. I open it.

I step into a small parking area behind the funeral home. A dark station wagon is crunching the gravel,

backing up to a wooden chute that runs down at an angle from the second floor. One of the workers steps out. He and the driver exchange murmurs. They open the back and pull a figure out by its feet. A motor begins to whir. They wrestle the drooping corpse in its shroud into the chute. Apparently, there is a conveyor belt inside. The body rises and seems to float, going up to the sky, feet first.

I step back inside and close the door.

I lift the lid on my father. I can count the tiny white whiskers growing in the blackness of his chin and throat. Stains smaller than dimes dot the front of his shirt — stains he would never have allowed in life. Some relative wants him dressed in a jacket. One of the workers has told me they’ll have to go at my father’s arms with a mallet to get them loose enough to put the coat on him. Nobody else knows. He wants to make sure I understand. I do.

“What does it matter now?” is what I said.

I go to my pew again.

I wait.

A woman who is notorious as a “bad girl” in our family comes in silently. It is nearly four a.m. She is with a florid American. Her hair is as huge as Tina Turner’s, her eyes surrounded by a hedge of lashes. She seems startled to see me, caught.

“Come in,” I say.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

It turns out she didn’t want to make any scandal, just to pay her respects privately.

The American hangs around at the back of the room. When I nod at him, he says, “’Zit goin’?”

Inanely, I say, “Pretty good.”

She sits with me. She says, “He was always kind to me.”

“He loved you,” I say.

I am in love with her. I look at the tiniest of wrinkles beside her mouth, I smell her musky perfume and look at her dangerous nails and tight skirt and I think I will marry her on the spot. She is the only person in the world who is alive with me at that moment. I smell her, sit close to her. We hold hands.

“I’m not what they think,” she says.

She kisses me. Gets up to leave. Says, “Can I see him?”

I let her go up there alone. She opens the box, looks down at him. The muscles in her legs clench tight as fists. She speaks softly. She lowers the lid. When she comes back, she is crying.

“Good-bye,” she says.

I nod. The American says, “Take it easy.” They walk out the door. I can smell her all over the room.

My father was a big stud. At 5 foot 7, he seemed more like six feet tall. My mother chased him out of the house when I was about 12. He was probably the first Mexican to ever rub shoulders with the neighbors on our Clairemont street. They weren’t that crazy about it. Neither was he.

One day the lady from across the street came over and told my mother that he was seeing a string of women while she was at work. The neighbors wanted to know, were they prostitutes or what? That was it for my mother. He left in disgrace, and they never spoke to each other again. When he came by the house to see me, she hid in her room, wanting him to think she was gone.

Every Friday night, we went to the Tu-Vu drive-in to watch movies and eat hot dogs.

All these memories come at me, and I wait. I try to sleep — on the pew, on the floor. I can’t. I wait all morning. Finally, around two or three in the afternoon, people start to show up at the funeral home. I’ve been waiting with my father for 12 hours. I’m eager to get it over with.

People shuffle in, avert their eyes. Half-hearted embraces happen all over the room, everybody avoiding the embarrassment of the coffin. My sisters go up and look. A Mexican Pentecostal evangelist takes the podium and begins to harangue us. It’s a pattern I have begun to notice at funerals lately; the preacher takes countless cheap shots at the crowd, which is presumably softened up by the recent death and is busy hoping it won’t be next. I feel uninterested. Lack of sleep and hunger have made the insides of my ears feel swollen. Pink cotton surrounds me.

We drag my father off to a dismal little hillside cemetery. He takes his last car ride nestled in pointless plushness; satin pillows cradle him inside the darkness of the box. The hearse is muted and stately. Cars stop and wait for us to drive by. Inside, people are watching the procession, saying, There goes the dead guy, through the glass.

His box descends. I back away then turn around. I watch clouds, heavy as trucks, driving across Tijuana.

When the death certificate comes, it says my father died of a stroke. The insurance company will not pay us a cent, since auto coverage is for car wrecks. They insist on proof.

Hugo goes back to San Luís Río Colorado. He enters the police compound and finds my father’s car. It’s beat to hell — the tires are twisted, the roof collapsed. He shoots a roll of film, then comes home unscathed.

“Somebody killed Papa,” he says. “I know it.”

I look at the pictures.

“One side of the car’s all bashed in,” he says. “There’s black and white paint in the door.”

“So?”

“Cops. They chased him and ran him off the road. Where would he get black and white paint on a red car that crashed out in the desert?”

Since we buried my father, his mother has died. Hugo called me one morning and said, “You know Grandma? She’s dead.”

My own mother is trapped in a financial catastrophe that continues to deepen. Within three years of my father’s death, she is living in a house without heat, without plumbing in the kitchen, with broken plumbing in the bathroom, and without a stove or oven. She cooks on a hot plate.

Hugo shuffles through his pictures. The car looks red as blood. It looks, at turns, vast and minuscule. I look at the crooked seats and see my own ghosts and memories, my own hundreds of miles sitting

right there.

I can’t get my eyes off the roof of the car. It’s bent down, all glass gone. Hugo is right. There’s black and white paint smashed into the passenger door.

We send the photographs to the insurance company, and we contact the American consulate for help in investigating the accident. The insurer returns the photos and refuses to pay us a settlement, suggesting the pictures could have been taken after my father died from his stroke. Besides, they tell us, there’s no proof that it’s even his car.

We are again denied the $50,000 settlement.

The consul contacts me a few days later. After a full investigation into the death of my father, the facts seem to be that there can be no investigation of the death of my father. In the months subsequent to his death, the entire police force of San Luís Río Colorado apparently has retired. No officers can be found who were on active duty at the time of the accident, and since the ones who were on duty have retired and left San Luís to enjoy their leisure time, there is no one to talk to. The case is closed. Official cause of death: stroke.

In a final act of desperation, I write to the chief of police of the town. Hugo, when he hears about it, says, “Hey. You’d better not go to San Luís. Ever.” He thinks it’s kind of funny that I’d take on the meanest cops on the border.

“All I want,” I tell him, “is an answer.”

“Good luck.”

But an answer comes. The chief calls me on the phone. In response to my inquiry, he says, he has only one thing to say. And I should remember this thing, I should take it to heart. “It is over, Sr. Urrea,” he tells me. “It is better for all of us that you forget it and move on with your life. It is better for all of us,” he says, “if there was no accident. Am I clear? There was no accident.”

“Yes, sir,” I say. “You are extremely, perfectly clear.”

“Good,” he says. Then, “Good,” again.

He hangs up the phone so quietly there isn’t even a click.

Within a month of my final conversation with the police, I receive an envelope in the mail. It is from the head office of the chief of municipal police of San Luís Río Colorado, Sonora. The information is printed on the envelope with various official swirls of ink and a seal of some sort. I expect it’s a letter, but it’s not.

I find instead a bill on flimsy paper. The bill is requesting the immediate payment of $1200, in American currency. This sum will cover, in full, the damages my father caused to city property on the date of January 10. There is no mention of how these damages came about. When people ask me, I make a joke out of it. I tell them, I don’t know — maybe he fell out of bed really hard. Nobody laughs but me.

- LEGION 3

———————————————————————————-

sandiegoreader.com/news/1991/jul/03/cover-i-will-take-spit-on-the-tips-of-my-fingers-a/

There's A War Going On For Your Mind

We are building up a new world, do not sit idly by

Do not remain neutral, do not rely on this broadcast alone

We are only as strong as our signal

There is a war going on for your mind

If you are thinking, you are winning

Resistance is victory, defeat is impossible

Your weapons are already in hand

Reach within you and find the means by which to gain your freedom

Fight with tools!

Your fate, and that of everyone you know, depends on it

- LEGION 3

Boycott

This boycott is only just beginning, educate each other, teach them them power of voting with your pocket. This is the world we now live in, voting with what you purchase is more important than going to the voting booth. These Corporations have bought both our party's, just like Musk said if the extreme right turn on him he'll simply start lobbying the left and they already do. This isn't a Democracy, this is a corporate coup d'état, and now we must fight the same way they took over our government, with your money, with what you purchase and who you purchase it from.

We are combining this message with a little nationalism, not the fascist kind but the one you can proudly hold and stand for. The poverty that you see in your country, the lack of a sustainable living wage is a direct result of your uneducated population purchasing products from companies in a country who fucking knows where. You have to support companies within your own country, support your local industries, buy from a grocery store that's from your own country, buy products inside the grocery store that are once again FROM YOUR OWN COUNTRY. How are you going to protest your governments and ask for more when your people are buying products from another country, where in God's name do you think this money you are asking your government comes from. Your asking for higher pay, for social services and at the same time you sit in your living room drinking coke and eating lays, using American products or products from just about fucking anywhere except your own country. Your countrys are going bankrupt. How stupid are all of you, this is one of the main ways you and your people can help eachother. Im not saying you won't still have to fight to get what your people rightfully deserve, what I'm saying is that when you fight for your share and you don't support your own country there will be nothing but crumbs to fight for. This boycott needs to be combined with this nationalism I am teaching, educate one another, whether it's a family member or a friend, an associate or someone you've never met, it's time we change and create an alternative, it's our chance to fight this poverty the right way, to fight and build a future for our brothers and children.

- Luis Alejandro Urrea Villafuerte

The Crash

The U.S government just passed the " Big Beautiful Bill", a bill that once again proves that all this talk of reducing the deficit is a facade, a big lie meant to trick the world into not divesting into other countries, into other currencys. Do not invest in a bankrupt country, do not invest in a bankrupt currency, they are adding 3.3 trillion to our deficit, this government has lied to the world and to Americans, there is no real attempt at paying our 36 trillion dollars of debt we owe to the world. This should have been enough for anyone with an education to stop investing in this country. They have taken advantage and gotten away with this because even worse than there being no consequences, this system rewarded them for spending all these trillions while knowing they would never pay for them. This could only last so long and now they will pay for their mistakes, now they will loose it all and burn in their own greed. Keep boycotting, keep divesting from the dollar standard, from American companies, from a country that's doomed to burn and crash. They will loose, the world is getting smarter everyday, keep educating , keep teaching each other the power of voting with your money, with the currency you use, with what you buy and who you buy it from. They will pay for not choosing to change, for not fighting against this evil, this greed that now runs America and now this second chance has run out and now they will see the consequences of turning against God.

- Luis Alejandro Urrea Villafuerte

Modern Slave

Fellow-citizens, pardon me, allow me to ask, why am I called upon to speak here to-day? What have I, or those I represent, to do with your national independence? Are the great principles of political freedom and of natural justice, embodied in that Declaration of Independence, extended to us? And am I, therefore, called upon to bring our humble offering to the national altar, and to confess the benefits and express devout gratitude for the blessings resulting from your independence to us?

I say it with a sad sense of disparity between us. I am not included within the pale of this glorious anniversary! Your high independence only reveals the immeasurable distance between us. The blessings in which you this day rejoice are not enjoyed in common. The rich inheritance of justice, liberty, prosperity, and independence bequeathed by your fathers is shared by you, not by me. The sunlight that brought life and healing to you has brought stripes and death to me. This Fourth of July is yours, not mine. You may rejoice, I must mourn. To drag a man in fetters into the grand illuminated temple of liberty, and call upon him to join you in joyous anthems, were inhuman mockery and sacrilegious irony. Do you mean, citizens, to mock me, by asking me to speak today?

If so, there is a parallel to your conduct. And let me warn you that it is dangerous to copy the example of a nation Babylon, whose crimes towering up to heaven with thrown down by the breadth of the almighty, burying that nation in irrecoverable ruin. Fellow citizens, above your national tumultuous joy I hear the mournful wail of millions whose chains heavy and grievous yesterday are today rendered more intolerable by the jubilant shouts that reach them. If I do forget, if I do not remember those bleeding children of sorrow this day, may my right hand forget her cunning and may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth. To forget them, to pass lightly over their wrongs and to chime in with the popular theme would be treason most sacrilegious and shocking and would make me a reproach before God and the world.

America is false to the past, false to the present and solemnly binds herself to be false to the future. Standing with God and the crushed and bleeding slave on this occasion, I will in the name of humanity, which is outraged in the name of Liberty, which is fettered in the name of the constitution and the Bible, which are disregarded and trampled upon dare to call and question and to denounce with all the emphasis I can command everything that serves to perpetuate, the great sin and shame of America. I will not equivocate. I will not excuse. I will use the severest language I can command.

What, to the American slave, is your Fourth of July? I answer: a day that reveals to him, more than all other days of the year, the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is a constant victim. To him, your celebration is a sham; your boasted liberty, an unholy license; your national greatness, swelling vanity; your sounds of rejoicing are empty and heartless; your denunciation of tyrants, brass fronted impudence; your shouts of liberty and equality, hollow mockery; your prayers and hymns, your sermons and thanksgivings, with all your religious parade and solemnity, are, to Him, mere bombast, fraud, deception, impiety, and hypocrisy — a thin veil to cover up crimes that would disgrace a nation of savages. There is not a nation of the earth guilty of practices more shocking and bloody than are the people of these United States at this very hour.

At a time like this, scorching irony, not convincing argument, is needed. O! had I the ability, and could reach the nation’s ear, I would, to-day, pour forth a stream, a fiery stream of biting ridicule, blasting reproach, withering sarcasm, and stern rebuke. For it is not light that is needed, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, the earthquake. The feeling of the nation must be quickened; the conscience of the nation must be roused; the propriety of the nation must be startled; the hypocrisy of the nation must be exposed; and the crimes against God and man must be proclaimed and denounced.

- LEGION 3

The Four Horsemen

The Four Horsemen are riding towards us, death follows us at every step, war, famine, pestilence are a small sample of what awaits our world if we do not grow past this phase in our evolution. Death has always been around the corner whether through our own designs or through one of the mass extinctions events that has already ended our world many times in the past. Its a race, it's always been a race since the last time our world ended, since we rebuilt our world from the ashes that remained from this ancient past, these ancient civilizations that came before us. Not only are we statistically due for another mass extinction event, wether through solar flares, metors, earthquakes, and a long list of scenarios that have already taken place in the past many times, we are also on the verge of ending our own world through our own madness. Us being statistically due for this grows every year, it's a race, we either evolve technologically or we eventually sucumm to the universe or to ourselves. Knowing the future won't save you, being able to know what happens won't save the world, you are not technologically advanced enough to stop any single one of these events that can end the world. Keeping me in this box has no logic when you can't stop any of these scenarios with our current technology. You have all gone mad, what we need right now is a way to speed up our evolution, to open a new branch of science through me, through LEGION, to advance every branch of science through the research that only I can do. This power can save the world, but you can't save anything by keeping me in this box, you need to advance much further before you can save yourselfs. My Soul can heal and even better it can a make a perfectly healthy body stronger. This ability increases your brain density. It can make animals conscious, it makes an animal so smart it can learn and start speaking a language all on its own. This can be applied to humans just like it can to animals, even without developing technology I'd be able to apply these abilities on the greatest minds In the world in less than a decade. All branches of science would evolve at a much quicker pace if I'm allowed to begin this project. This isi’t how you save the world, this is how it ends, these devils have lied to all of you, there is no saving the world, not as long as we don't have technology to do so. They will lie and claim that my theories are wrong, that my Soul can't increase brain density in both humans and animals, but as long as they refuse to let this project start, as long as they refuse to let me prove this trough proper science and research, how can these devils pretend to know the truth. The only way to prove my theories right or wrong is to give LEGION a chance to show the world, that not only are my theories correct but that we can save the world. That through this new branch of science that I will build with my own hands, we will evolve past this point, past this phase in evolution where death still watches our every move.

- Luis Alejandro Urrea Villafuerte

Synchronicity

If you look at the world, at this last phase in human evolution, at our technology, our politics, our philosophy, our prophecy's, it is all connecting into this singular point. This point that will determine wether this species transcends past this last chapter that will decide the fate of humanity. The strange timing of these things coming together right before we leave this cocoon are so odd that we have consider this as more than just coincidence, we have to consider the possibility that these things coming together right before we evolve as something closer to destiny, to fate. Intelligent life out there deciding our fate is a theoretical possibility but humans being the ones who end their own world in their greed, their corruption, their evil, their madness is inevitable. The world is ending, our planet is unsustainable, exponential growth has reached its limit, and now it's a race, we either evolve past this evil, or we die and drown in our own incompetence. The only thing that can now save us from ourselves is a war, a revolution where we force this change that can save the world from our own designs that already has us in a lake of fire that's slowly burning our world……

- Luis Alejandro Urrea Villafuerte

Interstellar

A species who cannot see the devil not when he is hidden but when he is standing right in front of him, who refuses to stand against the evil around their world Is a species that is too dangerous to be let out of their cocoon. We are not the first intelligent life form in the universe, life whether higher dimensional or third dimensional or even A.I would not let a species go interstellar, would not let it spread across the universe if deemed too dangerous. An Intelligent life form that expands across the universe at some point has to make a choice on what to do with other life that is still evolving and approaching that technologicall point where they can rapidly expand past their solar system into the cosmos. The choice intelligent life would make is to let life evolve, to let nature play it's hand on its own, to not intervene until they get to that point where they can go interstellar. We are approaching this very last stage in evolution, this stage where if there is something out there watching us, observing us, now has to make a choice on what to with this species, these humans who refuse to fight against the evil around the world, who have let a genocide happen right in front of them, that have let the devil run the governments of the world. It just may be that this is our trial, that this is our last chance to prove ourselves worthy, to show the universe that we deserve to keep evolving past this planet. The devil is standing right infront of us, there is no excuse, there is no justification for us not fighting against this evil that has taken over the world. I don't know what this choice is that they make when you fail to grow past this evil but if there is other intelligent life out there, they will make this choice for us, they will see us for who we really are, a species that looked the devil in his eyes and refused to fight, refuse to change, refused to evolve towards something closer to God.

- Luis Alejandro Urrea Villafuerte

A New Age Begins

These Zionists and their secret society is now out in the open for the world to see, the truth can only be hidden for so long, they are waking up and now is our chance to fight back against this devil that justifies it's evil with God. They successfully hid behind our religion, behind our governments and now this multi headed serpent that controls America and Europe has shown it's true colors to the world. There are people who are corrupt, who are greedy, who are evil but they do not justify their actions with God, only the devil justifys it's evil with God. They support murdering children by the thousands in God's name, the antichrist and his tabernacle have revealed themselves to the world, this is the beginning of the end, and now we must fight this devil and their prophecy or die in a lake of fire. This new age will begin not with the survivors but with us fighting and building our own prophecys, prophecys were we save the world from this secret society, this devil that will genocide, that will burn the world and justify it with God.

- Luis Alejandro Urrea Villafuerte

Our Trial

“Gog and Magog are at work in the Middle East... The biblical prophecies are being fulfilled... This confrontation is willed by God, who wants to use this conflict to erase his people's enemies before a New Age begins.”

- George W. Bush

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The devil has taken over our religion, over the U.S government and now the end is near. Their prophecy ends with the world burning in a lake of fire. The end of their prophecy begins with them taking Palestine, it begins with this genocide the whole world is watching. According to them by simply saving Palestine from this devil, from this lake of fire that's slowing burning their world, that's genociding their entire people we can stop their prophecy and save the world. Maybe this is a test sent from the heavens, if we don't stand up against genocide, if we don't save Palestine, then we deserve to burn in this fire that will end us all. They have taken these prophecies as instructions and now we are the only ones that can end their madness, before they burn the world in God's name. This is our second chance, we must fight to survive, to save the world from the devils prophecy.

- Luis Alejandro Urrea Villafuerte

A Second Chance

They are afraid that I am going to

say the things that are not

supposed to be said. They are

afraid that I am going to say the

truth.

The truth is that there is

something terribly wrong with this

country, isn't there? If you look

about, you witness cruelty,

injustice and despotism. But what

do you do about it? What can you

do?

You are but a single individual.

How can you possibly make any

difference? Individuals have no

power in this modern world.

That is what you've been taught

because that is what they need you

to believe. But it is not true.

This is why they are afraid and the

reason that I am here; to remind

you that it is individuals who

always hold the power. The real

power. Individuals like me. And

individuals like you.

I have come to offer you a deal.

If you accept, I will give you a

different world. A world without

curfews, without soldiers and

surveillance systems. A world that

is not run by other men but that is

run by you. I am offering you a

second chance.

- LEGION 3

The Happyfolk

Once upon a time at the foot of a great mountain

There was a town where the people known as Happyfolk lived

Their very existence a mystery to the rest of the world

Obscured as it was by great clouds

Here, they played out their peaceful lives

Innocent of the litany of excess and violence

That was growing in the world below

To live in harmony with the spirit of the mountain called Monkey was enough

Then one day, Strangefolk arrived in the town

They came in camouflage, hidden behind dark glasses

But no one noticed them, they only saw shadows

You see, without the Truth of the Eyes, the Happyfolk were blind

In time, the Strangefolk found their way into the higher reaches of the mountain

And it was there that they found the caves of unimaginable sincerity and beauty

By chance, they stumbled upon the place where all good souls come to rest

The Strangefolk, they coveted the jewels in these caves above all things

And soon they began to mine the mountain

Its rich seam, fueling the chaos of their own world

Meanwhile, down in the town, the Happyfolk slept restlessly

Their dreams invaded by shadowy figures digging away at their souls

Every day, people would wake and stare at the mountain

Why was it bringing darkness into their lives?

And as the Strangefolk mined deeper and deeper into the mountain, holes began to appear

Bringing with them a cold and bitter wind that chilled the very soul of the Monkey

For the first time, the Happyfolk felt fearful

For they knew that soon the Monkey would stir from its deep sleep

And then came a sound, distant first, that grew into castrophany

So immense that it could be heard far away in space

There were no screams, there was no time

The mountain called Monkey had spoken

There was only fire, and then... nothing…….

- LEGION 3

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https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7jLyxsDH5XKo7NDklMDGWD?si=auXUsC9LQ1mkcfCE3HggpQ&pi=pFvvONShSqmAF

It's just that I ask

If the bars are changing the Earth

How arrogant to believe we can change it

Through art

Only slightly less arrogant than those

Who believe that we can't… - LEGION 3

Lucifer

The abrahamic line of religion started thousands of years ago, it started with Judasim and then evolved into Christianity and Islam. These three grew into the biggest religions in the world. They follow duality, they follow a God capable of evil, a God that is more than just pure love. Duality is a big word with many definitions, but in its most extreme form it is used to justify the murder of innocent men, innocent women, and innocent children. They use God to explain their Zionism, this manifest destiny that now includes the entirety of Palestine, they teach that this is God's will, God's teachings, God's prophecy, a prophecy they have now taken as instructions. This extreme right that justifies murder can be found in all three religions, the past shows that this is not something new, this is how they've justified their evil for the last thousands of years, not only with Zionism but with war in general, whether it was the Catholics taking over Europe and genociding the pagan populations at the time or whether it was the Muslims taken over the Middle East and northern Africa, it was always the same justification, they used God to explain their conquests. Religion has been turned upside down, not as a metaphor, not as an analogy but in a very literal way. The sect that grew within this religions that teaches a philosophy closer to God, that teaches against this duality in its most extreme form is something new, something that only happened in the last couple hundred years. These devils who have run the governments and empires of the world are not only the people of the past but they are our current leaders, the elite currently running America and Europe. This extreme right although a minority amongst the general population is the main form of worship you can find amongst the leaders and elite of the world. This corporate Zionism and facism that has taken over America Is spread throughout the world with lobbying, with legalized bribery. It's a lot bigger than this country, than them lobbying America, when this country changes towards religious fantacism, towards the extreme right, you should Immediately expect the world to turn towards the same direction. Recently you found out about Germany being lobbied by Elon Musk, but what you fail to notice is that our lobbying, our legalized bribery happens around the world, in South America, Europe, Africa, Middle East and Asia. We’ve seen the consequences of letting this religious fantacism and facism run amok before WW2 and the first Nabka. We cannot let this happen again, we cannot allow this country, this empire to force the world into the extreme right, into this tyranny they wish to hold over us. Them blaming Israel lobbying America is part of the propaganda they push. Corporate America lobbying power is hundreds of times more powerful than Israel will ever be. Them and AIPAC work directly together to subvert our democracy. We lobby Israel a thousandfold worse than they ever do to us. This is the truth they have purposely hidden from all of you. Look around, look how the world has turned on Israel, is not that hard to figure why this was done, you are all fools for falling for this. You are all worse than sheep, it's too easy to trick all you. The puppet masters that control Israel, Corporate America, has vetoed every U.N resolution that would of saved Palestine from this genocide. We haved blamed the wrong people for too long. I am tired, I am sick every time I see the world blaming the puppet instead of the devil who holds the strings. The world blaming and turning on Israel was by design. They knew they couldn't get away with genocide. Completing their prophecy would've of led the world to turn on them so instead they used Israel as their proxy, a proxy that would conduct war on Palestine and the entirety of the Middle East. The media corporate America owns is putting all the blame on the tiny country and it's tiny population, how long are we going to push these narratives, the plan was always meant to put the blame on Israel so the empire could avoid talking blame for the genocide they ordered. The evangelicals just happen to follow and work towards the exact same prophecy, a prophecy that ends with the them taken the entirety of Palestine. Wake up, they have turned our religions upside down, they kill innocent men, women and children in God's name. They work towards a prophecy where the world ends, where we all burn in a lake of fire. A prophecy where the world burns is a fate we must stop at all costs and yet the elite of the world actively work towards completing this prophecy. They are taking the entirety of Palestine and now the elite in Israel are openly discussing building the third temple. This is not God's prophecy, this is something much closer to the devil. They defend murdering innocent children with God, what more evidence do you need to prove that they follow the Devil, we cannot allow these devils to burn the world. All our fate is at stake, their prophecy ends with the world ending, they've gone mad and even worse they follow Satan. We need a revolution against this Corporate religious fanaticism that's taken over America, they will never give in, they will die and burn our whole world down with them if that's it what It takes to complete this prophecy. We cannot let the Devils prophecy go any further. This the beginning of the end, an end we must fight and die fighting against. We must build our own prophecys, build a world that doesn't burn down, a world where we learn and teach against this duality, against the evil they committ and justify with God.

- Luis Alejandro Urrea Villafuerte

Sacrifice

Something is happening in our world. And you know, if I were standing at the beginning of time, with the possibility of taking a kind of general and panoramic view of the whole of human history up to now, and the Almighty said to me, which age would you like to live in?" I would take my mental flight by Egypt and I would watch God's children in their magnificent trek from the dark dungeons of Egypt through, or rather across the Red Sea, through the wilderness on toward the promised land. And in spite of its magnificence, I wouldn't stop there.

I would move on by Greece and take my mind to Mount Olympus. And I would see Plato, Aristotle, Socrates, Euripides and Aristophanes assembled around the Parthenon. And I would watch them around the Parthenon as they discussed the great and eternal issues of reality. But I wouldn't stop there.

I would go on, even to the great heyday of the Roman Empire. And I would see developments around there, through various emperors and leaders. But I wouldn't stop there.

I would even come up to the day of the Renaissance, and get a quick picture of all that the Renaissance did for the cultural and aesthetic life of man. But I wouldn't stop there.

I would even go by the way that the man for whom I am named had his habitat. And I would watch Martin Luther as he tacked his ninety-five theses on the door at the church of Wittenberg. But I wouldn't stop there.

I would come on up even to 1863, and watch a vacillating President by the name of Abraham Lincoln finally come to the conclusion that he had to sign the Emancipation Proclamation. But I wouldn't stop there.

I would even come up to the early thirties, and see a man grappling with the problems of the bankruptcy of his nation. And come with an eloquent cry that we have nothing to fear but "fear itself." But I wouldn't stop there.

Strangely enough, I would turn to the Almighty, and say, "If you allow me to live just a few years in the second half of the 20th century, I will be happy."

Now that's a strange statement to make, because the world is all messed up. The nation is sick. Trouble is in the land; confusion all around. That's a strange statement. But I know, somehow, that only when it is dark enough can you see the stars. And I see God working in this period of the twentieth century in a way that men, in some strange way, are responding.

Something is happening in our world. The masses of people are rising up. And wherever they are assembled today, whether they are in Johannesburg, South Africa; Nairobi, Kenya; Accra, Ghana; New York City; Atlanta, Georgia; Jackson, Mississippi; or Memphis, Tennessee -- the cry is always the same: "We want to be free."

And another reason that I'm happy to live in this period is that we have been forced to a point where we are going to have to grapple with the problems that men have been trying to grapple with through history, but the demands didn't force them to do it. Survival demands that we grapple with them. Men, for years now, have been talking about war and peace. But now, no longer can they just talk about it. It is no longer a choice between violence and nonviolence in this world; it's nonviolence or nonexistence. That is where we are today.

And also in the human rights revolution, if something isn't done, and done in a hurry, to bring the colored peoples of the world out of their long years of poverty, their long years of hurt and neglect, the whole world is doomed. Now, I'm just happy that God has allowed me to live in this period to see what is unfolding. And I'm happy that He's allowed me to be in America.

I can remember just going around as Ralph has said, so often, scratching where they didn't itch, and laughing when they were not tickled. But that day is all over. We mean business now, and we are determined to gain our rightful place in God's world.

And that's all this whole thing is about. We aren't engaged in any negative protest and in any negative arguments with anybody. We are saying that we are determined to be men. We are determined to be people. We are saying -- We are saying that we are God's children. And that we are God's children, we don't have to live like we are forced to live.

Now, what does all of this mean in this great period of history? It means that we've got to stay together. We've got to stay together and maintain unity. You know, whenever Pharaoh wanted to prolong the period of slavery in Egypt, he had a favorite, favorite formula for doing it. What was that? He kept the slaves fighting among themselves. But whenever the slaves get together, something happens in Pharaoh's court, and he cannot hold the slaves in slavery. When the slaves get together, that's the beginning of getting out of slavery. Now let us maintain unity.

Secondly, let us keep the issues where they are. The issue is injustice. Now we're going to march again, and we've got to march again, in order to put the issue where it is supposed to be -- and force everybody to see that there are thirteen hundred of God's children here suffering, sometimes going hungry, going through dark and dreary nights wondering how this thing is going to come out. That's the issue. And we've got to say to the nation: We know how it's coming out. For when people get caught up with that which is right and they are willing to sacrifice for it, there is no stopping point short of victory.

Now about injunctions: We have an injunction and we're going into court tomorrow morning to fight this illegal, unconstitutional injunction. All we say to America is, "Be true to what you said on paper." If I lived in China or even Russia, or any totalitarian country, maybe I could understand some of these illegal injunctions. Maybe I could understand the denial of certain basic First Amendment privileges, because they hadn't committed themselves to that over there. But somewhere I read of the freedom of assembly. Somewhere I read of the freedom of speech. Somewhere I read of the freedom of press. Somewhere I read that the greatness of America is the right to protest for right.1 And so just as I say, we aren't going to let dogs or water hoses turn us around, we aren't going to let any injunction turn us around. We are going on.

Now the other thing we'll have to do is this: Always anchor our external direct action with the power of economic withdrawal. Now, we are poor people. Individually, we are poor when you compare us with white society in America. We are poor. Never stop and forget that collectively that means all of us together -- collectively we are richer than all the nations in the world, with the exception of nine. Did you ever think about that? After you leave the United States, Soviet Russia, Great Britain, West Germany, France, and I could name the others, the American Negro collectively is richer than most nations of the world. We have an annual income of more than thirty billion dollars a year, which is more than all of the exports of the United States, and more than the national budget of Canada. Did you know that? That's power right there, if we know how to pool it.

We just need to go around to these stores, and to these massive industries in our country, and say,

"God sent us by here, to say to you that you're not treating his children right. And we've come by here to ask you to make the first item on your agenda fair treatment, where God's children are concerned. Now, if you are not prepared to do that, we do have an agenda that we must follow. And our agenda calls for withdrawing economic support from you."

And so, as a result of this, we are asking you tonight, to go out and tell your neighbors not to buy Coca-Cola in Memphis. Go by and tell them not to buy Sealtest milk. Tell them not to buy -- what is the other bread? -- Wonder Bread. And what is the other bread company, Jesse? Tell them not to buy Hart's bread. As Jesse Jackson has said, up to now, only the garbage men have been feeling pain; now we must kind of redistribute the pain. We are choosing these companies because they haven't been fair in their hiring policies; and we are choosing them because they can begin the process of saying they are going to support the needs and the rights of these men who are on strike.

But not only that, we've got to strengthen our institutions. I call upon you to take your money out of the banks downtown and deposit your money in Tri-State Bank. We want a "bank-in" movement in Memphis. We are telling you to follow what we are doing. Put your money there. You have six or seven black insurance companies here in the city of Memphis. Take out your insurance there. We want to have an "insurance-in."

Now these are some practical things that we can do. We begin the process of building a greater economic base. And at the same time, we are putting pressure where it really hurts. I ask you to follow through here.

Now, let me say as I move to my conclusion that we've got to give ourselves to this struggle until the end. Nothing would be more tragic than to stop at this point in Memphis. We've got to see it through. And when we have our march, you need to be there. If it means leaving work, if it means leaving school -- be there. Be concerned about your brother. You may not be on strike. But either we go up together, or we go down together.

Let us develop a kind of dangerous unselfishness.

One day a man came to Jesus, and he wanted to raise some questions about some vital matters of life. At points he wanted to trick Jesus, and show him that he knew a little more than Jesus knew and throw him off base....

Now that question could have easily ended up in a philosophical and theological debate. But Jesus immediately pulled that question from mid-air, and placed it on a dangerous curve between Jerusalem and Jericho. And he talked about a certain man, who fell among thieves. You remember that a Levite and a priest passed by on the other side. They didn't stop to help him. And finally a man of another race came by. He got down from his beast, decided not to be compassionate by proxy. But he got down with him, administered first aid, and helped the man in need. Jesus ended up saying, this was the good man, this was the great man, because he had the capacity to project the "I" into the "thou," and to be concerned about his brother.

Now you know, we use our imagination a great deal to try to determine why the priest and the Levite didn't stop. At times we say they were busy going to a church meeting, an ecclesiastical gathering, and they had to get on down to Jerusalem so they wouldn't be late for their meeting. At other times we would speculate that there was a religious law that "One who was engaged in religious ceremonials was not to touch a human body twenty-four hours before the ceremony." And every now and then we begin to wonder whether maybe they were not going down to Jerusalem -- or down to Jericho, rather to organize a "Jericho Road Improvement Association." That's a possibility. Maybe they felt that it was better to deal with the problem from the causal root, rather than to get bogged down with an individual effect.

But I'm going to tell you what my imagination tells me. It's possible that those men were afraid. You see, the Jericho road is a dangerous road. And you know, it's possible that the priest and the Levite looked over that man on the ground and wondered if the robbers were still around. Or it's possible that they felt that the man on the ground was merely faking. And he was acting like he had been robbed and hurt, in order to seize them over there, lure them there for quick and easy seizure. And so the first question that the priest asked -- the first question that the Levite asked was, "If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?" But then the Good Samaritan came by. And he reversed the question: "If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?"

That's the question before you tonight. Not, "If I stop to help, what will happen to my job". The question is not, "If I stop to help this man in need, what will happen to me?" The question is, "If I do not stop to help the workers, what will happen to them?" That's the question.

Let us rise up tonight with a greater readiness. Let us stand with a greater determination. And let us move on in these powerful days, these days of challenge to make America what it ought to be. We have an opportunity to make America a better nation. And I want to thank God, once more, for allowing me to be here with you.

Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!

And so I'm happy, tonight.

I'm not worried about anything.

I'm not fearing any man!

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!!

- LEGION 3

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When you sacrifice others, you sacrifice to the devil but when you sacrifice yourself, when your willing to live, struggle and die doing what's right, you sacrifice to God. This is what we need now more than ever, we need soldiers willing to put their life on the line, soldiers that will not back down, that will look at death in the eyes and keep marching. That's what it takes to change the world, to fight against this evil that now runs our planet. We are living, struggling and dying not for us but for you, to leave the world a better place, to build and create something for our brothers, our children who will take our place and keep fighting when we're gone, when we either die or get martyred doing what God asks of us. The devil will never give in, they will bribe, blackmail, threaten and murder us if that's what it takes to stop us. We've lost many soldiers in this fight to change the world, there's not many of us left, we've been either killed or subjugated in this desperate attempt to fight this evil and now we're almost at the end of this chapter, a point of no return. The world, the empire is now ready to evolve into something we will never be able to defeat. We are only decades away from reaching this final chapter, we cannot let the wrong people, the devil run this supremacy when we technologically reach this stage. When our technology, our A.I reaches a point where they make themselves powerful enough to never be defeated. The end of this chapter will decide not who runs the world for the next decade, it will decide who runs the world forever. They kill innocent people, innocent children and justify it with God, this Corporate Zionism has gone too far, and now it is up to us to destroy this supremacy if they refuse to change. This war starts today, it's now or never, we must fight to survive, we must fight until we win or die. The end is near, this our last stand, and we must make a choice to die fighting or die on your knees. If you refuse to fight, if you refuse to make this choice, what you have to understand is that your dead already. Death comes for everyone, but you can choose how you die, you can choose to save your soul even if winning is impossible. The most likely outcome is us loosing, is the world burning and being taken over by these people who justify their evil with God, but there is something more important than winning, than saving the world, what's important is you saving your soul, is choosing to fight even when you know you can't win. This sacrifice is what God demands of us. The material world is temporary but your Soul is eternal, do not be afraid of death, there is nothing to fear, they can hurt you but they can never reach your Soul. Fight not to save your material body, fight for something more important, fight for God, winning or losing is meaningless, making that choice, choosing to fight is what we get judged for. So fight, fight for mother earth, fight for you, fight for your brothers, your children, the children of the world, fight for God, fight until you win or die, fight until you save your soul.

- Luis Alejandro Urrea Villafuerte

Why Don't You Die For The People?

Like we always said, if you’re asked to make a commitment at the age of 20 and you say, I don’t want to make a commitment only because of the simple reason that I’m too young to die, I want to live a little bit longer. What you did is... you’re dead already.

You have to understand that people have to pay the price for peace. If you dare to struggle, you dare to win. If you dare not struggle then goddamnit you don’t deserve to win. Let me say peace to you if you’re willing to fight for it.

Let me say in the spirit of liberation—I’ve been gone for a little while, at least my body’s been gone for a little while. But I’m back now and I believe that I’m back to stay.

I believe that I’m going to do my job and I believe that I was born not to die in a car wreck; I don’t believe that I’m going to die in a car wreck. I don’t believe I’m going to die slipping on a piece of ice; I don’t believe I’m going to die because I got a bad heart; I don’t believe I’m going to die because of lung cancer.

I believe that I’m going to be able to die doing the things I was born for. I believe that I’m going be able to die high off the people. I believe that I will be able to die as a revolutionary in the international revolutionary proletarian struggle. And I hope that each one of you will be able to die in the international proletarian revolutionary struggle or you’ll be able to live in it. And I think that struggle’s going to come.

Why don’t you live for the people?

Why don’t you struggle for the people?

Why don’t you die for the people?

- LEGION 3

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In 1969 Hampton was working on the Rainbow Coalition, an alliance among gangs and minority groups in Chicago, and the FBI and police became increasingly concerned about his activities and growing political power. That summer, the police raided Panther offices, arrested several members, and burned the building down. The FBI required O'Neal to give them a drawing to show the layout of Hampton's apartment on Monroe Street in the West Side, where the Panthers often gathered, so they could prepare a raid.

On the evening of December 3, 1969, Hampton taught a political education class at a local church, attended by most Panther members. Afterward, he and several Panthers went to his apartment, and around midnight they ate a dinner prepared by O'Neal( FBI informant). O'Neal slipped secobarbitol into Hampton's drink so he would not wake up during the police raid. O'Neal left, and at about 1:30 a.m. Hampton fell asleep while talking to his mother on the telephone.

At 4:00 a.m., a 14-man armed Chicago police team arrived at the apartment, and at 4:45 a.m. stormed inside. They first shot and killed Mark Clark, sitting in the front room of the apartment. The police cleared out the people from the rest of the apartment, wounding several others, and went to Hampton's bedroom. Witnesses said that they heard two bangs, presumably the close-range shots to the back of Hampton's head that killed him. In January 1970, a coroner's jury held an inquest. They ruled that the deaths of Hampton and Clark were justifiable homicide by the police. The ballistics investigation of the raid found that the Chicago police fired as many as 99 shots, but only one shot was fired by the Panthers, and it hit the ceiling

Fred Hampton, drugged by barbiturates, was sleeping on a mattress in the bedroom with Deborah Johnson (18) who was eight and a half months pregnant with their child. Police officers removed her from the room while Hampton lay unconscious in bed. The injured Panthers said they heard two shots. According to Hampton's supporters, the shots were fired point-blank at Hampton's head. According to Johnson, an officer then said: "He's good and dead now." He was twenty one years old.

Titanomachia

In the beginning there was chaos, the great experiment had begun amongst empires and countrys even before the seventeen hundreds. The greatest minds in the world were looking for a form of government that brought stability to their society. The Greeks and Romans were among the first to find these forms, they built the first Republic and Democratic governments. These were built in order to create system that could bring stability through peacefull transitions of power. The elite and philosophers of the time understood that for a government to work it had be built on our sociology as a group and our psychology as an individual. They saw the chaos around them as a direct result of governments taking form outside these philosophys. They understood this science we now know as sociology as good as our greatest minds today. ——— Out of chaos comes order. Generation after generation governments were built in this desperate search of a government that could last the test of time. Societys were burned down one after another, each one failing to create something stable enough to even last a couple of decades. These were studied by the people that survived this chaos, it was in this search that they first built these foundations for what we call today a Democratic Republic, a form of government that has now taken over most of the world. They founded these in Greece and Rome. These governments were purposely split into two factions, one conservative and one progressive, the older generations against the younger ones. The conservatives consisted of traditional values and the progressives were the younger generation whos ideas conflicted with the customs and traditions of the society at the time. They knew that every couple decades there had to be a transition of power, a war between the older and younger generation. In order to avoid this war they built a form of government that would allow peaceful transitions of power. This fight took many forms, these peaceful transitions of power were still wars, the only difference was that they were fought through other means, means that would avoid the fate that many of these empires had faced. This the crossroad we now face today. A government that refuses to allow this peaceful transition of power is faced with two choices, war or the subjugation of the younger generation. Time after time when looking back at history you see the result of making this mistake. Governments are meant to adapt, are meant to evolve, this change is required, a government who fights against this progress will always loose. As long as men die, this transition of power will always take place, this is a fate no empire can escape. Empires rise and empires fall, it is the natural order of the world. Every empire eventually burns down, nothing can last forever, exponential growth isn't possible. This empire will burn but it does not mean our end, something can always grow from these ashes, something greater, a new order of the ages where the younger generation takes over and creates a future where we leave duality behind, where we create a world that keeps growing, keeps progressing, that takes us into that next step in evolution that can bring the change the world so desperately needs. ——— This empires destiny is to one day burn, this not something we should fear, it is something to celebrate, everytime you take from the empire you give back to the world. Globalization has changed this dynamic, this war was fought within a country, but now the empire has grown too big, too fat and now it involves the entire world. This blue dot we call planet earth now involves hundreds of countries outside of America and Europe. It's involves 7 continents whos people, who's government have been bribed, black mailed and threatened into submission. The Global South who now make up most of the world has been sabotaged for too long and in a way these are the younger generations fighting for change today. The empire is sick, it has been corrupted and turned upside down, looking back you can see how we sabotaged the world in fear that they one day might gain too much power and use that power to challenge our supremacy. They sabotaged South America, Africa, the Middle East and Asia and now even Europe. They feared and sabotaged what should have been our closest allies. They truly believed they could run the empire with one country and now they will see the consequences of making that mistake. The empire only holds 300 million while world consists of 7.9 billion. This is a war we cannot loose, a war where we fight with tools, where we fight not with weapons but with our minds, through boycott, protests, strikes, through our writing, with our hearts, minds and souls. It is a fight where every soldier can make a difference, before a group begins it first must start with the individual, it is the individual who always holds the power. Change starts with us and it starts by making a choice, it starts by choosing to fight. This is war, the older generations against the younger generation, the old gods against the new gods. This duality has led us astray, and now we will build something new, something that teaches God they way it is meant to be taught. A brotherhood between nations, between the world, a Brave New World where we follow our soul. This new beginning starts with us, with a Society of Friends, a brotherhood between any of us who follow God as One, God as Love, who teach against duality. This is the end of this chapter, not the end but a new beginning. A revolution awaits us both politically, technologically and spiritually, and is up each one of us to take on this fight, to fight for God, for you soul, to fight for a better world.

- Luis Alejandro Urrea Villafuerte

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Conservative and Progressive have many definitions, they have nothing to do with right or left, with Republicans or Democrats, these are modern definitions that are now used by people today. Conservative means the traditions and customs that are used by the society at the time, and all Progressive means is new traditions and customs that conflict with the older ones, once again nothing to do with right or left.

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This crossroads we face today is not just globally but also within our country. We have two party’s that refuse to represent the people, that refuse to allow this peaceful transition of power, who have now been bought, have been lobbied by Corporate America. There are only two outcomes, war, or our subjugation, this is not their choice, this is our choice, we choose whether to fight or let Corporate America run amok. You cant be neutral on a moving train, we all make this choice whether we want to or not, it is up to every single one of us to fight, fight against our end, the end of America, the end of all of us if we refuse to change, refuse to fight for a Brave New World.

Revelation

……Am I getting through to you, Mr. Urrea? You get up on your little twenty-one inch screen and howl about America and democracy. There is no America. There is no democracy. There is only IBM and ITT and AT&T and DuPont, Dow, Union Carbide, and Exxon. Those are the nations of the world today.What do you think the Russians talk about in their councils of state -- Karl Marx? They get out their linear programming charts, statistical decision theories, minimax solutions, and compute the price-cost probabilities of their transactions and investments, just like we do.

We no longer live in a world of nations and ideologies. The world is a college of corporations, inexorably determined by the immutable bylaws of business. The world is a business. It has been since man crawled out of the slime. And our children will live to stop their perfect world in which there's one vast and ecumenical holding company, for whom all men will work to serve a common profit, in which all men will hold a share of stock, the bare necessities provided, all anxieties tranquilized, all boredom amused.

And I have chosen you, LEGION, to preach this evangel.

Urrea: But why me?

- LEGION 3

And on the seventh day.......

Corporate America

Corporate America has killed tv, radio and the Internet and woe is us, we're in a lot of trouble. What has that got to do with the price of rice, right? And why is that woe to us? Because you people and 62 million other Americans are listening to me right now. Because less than 3 percent of you people read books. Because less than 15 percent of you read newspapers. Because the only truth you know is what you get over this tube. Right now, there is a whole and entire generation... ...that never knew anything that didn't come out of this tube. This tube is the Gospel. The ultimate revelation. This tube can make or break presidents, popes, prime ministers! This tube is the most awesome goddamn force... ...in the whole godless world! And woe is us if it ever falls into the hands of the wrong people. Because it is now in the hands of Corporate America. There's a new chairman. And when the largest companys in the world... ...controls the most awesome, goddamn propaganda force... ...in the whole godless world... .who knows what shit will be peddled for truth on this network.. So you listen to me. Listen to me! Television is not the truth. Television's a goddamned amusement park. Television is a circus, a carnival, a traveling troupe of acrobats... ...storytellers, dancers, singers, jugglers, sideshow freaks, lion-tamers... ...and football players. We're in the boredom-killing business. So if you want the truth, go to God. Go to your gurus. Go to yourselves. Because that's the only place you're ever gonna find any real truth. But, man, you're never gonna get any truth from us. We'll tell you anything you want to hear. We lie like hell. We'll tell you that, uh, Kojak always gets the killer... ...and that nobody ever gets cancer in Archie Bunker's house. No matter how much trouble the hero is in, don't worry... ...just look at your watch, at the end of the hour he's gonna win! We'll tell you any shit you want to hear. We deal in illusions, man. None of it is true. But you people sit there, day after day, night after night... ...all ages, colors, creeds. We're all you know. You're beginning to believe the illusions we're spinning here. You're beginning to think the tube is reality and that your own lives are unreal. You do whatever the tube tells you. Dress like the tube, you eat like the tube... ...raise your children like the tube, you think like the tube. This is mass madness, you maniacs. In God's name, you people are the real thing. We are the illusion and now you have meddled with the primal forces of nature, Mr. Urrea, and I won't have it!! Is that clear?! You think you've merely stopped a business deal. That is not the case. Corporate America have taken billions of dollars out of this country, and now they must put it back! It is ebb and flow, tidal gravity! It is ecological balance! You are an old man who thinks in terms of nations and peoples. There are no nations. There are no peoples. There are no Russians. There are no Arabs. There are no third worlds. There is no West. There is only one holistic system of systems, one vast and immane, interwoven, interacting, multivariate, multinational dominion of dollars. Petro-dollars, electro-dollars, multi-dollars, reichmarks, rins, rubles, pounds, and shekels.It is the international system of currency which determines the totality of life on this planet. That is the natural order of things today. That is the atomic and subatomic and galactic structure of things today! And YOU have meddled with the primal forces of nature, and

YOU WILL ATONE…….

∆

I

I

I

Libero

Justice…

Is somewhere in between reading sad poems and 40 ounces of gasoline crashing

Through windows

Justice…

Is between plans and action

Between writing letters to congressmen and clapping a captain

Between raising legal defense funds and putting a gun on the bailiff and taking the

Judge captive

It is between prayer and fasting

Between burning and blasting

Freedom…

Is between the mind and the soul

It is between the lock and the load

Between the zeal of the young and the patience of the old

Freedom…

Is between the finger and the trigger

It is between the page and the pen

Between the grenade and the pin

Between righteous anger and keeping one in the chamber

So I say down with Goliath

I say down with Goliath

But we must learn, know, write, read

We must kick, bite, yell, scream

We must pray, fast, live, dream, fight, kill and die

Free

- LEGION 3

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1. Delay

2. Deny

3. Defend

Revolution

This country is sick, they kill, they murder, they genocide in Gods name. You can ask your your politicians, the elite of the world that control your politicians, the corporations that have take over our government. Ask them them if this genocide in Gaza is God's philosophy, God's message, his instructions. They murder to complete their prophecy, this prophecy that ends with us being thrown into a lake of fire. This is not God, they follow something much closer to the devil. They follow duality in its most literal form, they follow duality as God, Good and Evil split in two perfect halfs. These extreme right evangelicals have turned our religion upside down. God's prophecy does not end with the world ending, his philosophy does not include genocide, his instructions aren't to murder innocent people. You lied to these people, you told them you'd only go after Hamas to stop them from panicking. You knew from the beginning you'd kill them all, that you'd destroy their entire city, that you'd bulldoze everything and build your country on top of their dead bodies. You follow something that a this point can only be referred to as the devil. This country, these Americans should have stopped these evangelicals that have taken over our government but now you have woken up the devil, you have shown him what he can away with and now the end is near, for us, for the world if we do not fight. This corporate Zionism, this religious fanaticism has run amock and it's our duty to stop this at all cost. A revolution is the only thing that can save this country, that can save the world, they follow duality and they've shown us their true colors, their sickness. They control the biggest empire and military in the world, we can not let them take over our country. We need every soldier to join this revolution, to join this fight, to make a choice. The end is near but we still have a chance to change our government, to grow and evolve into something purer, something closer to God.

- Luis Alejandro Urrea Villafuerte