Monument of conquerors attacking the Mexican-Indian inhabitants, the true inhabitants of this land. Los Angeles, the slayer of El Pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de Los Angeles, was turned into the L.A. monster and was never even properly pronounced. A monster with highways for arms that linked to other central monsters. Its tentacles traveling over hills and connecting a fortress wall of police transportation and communications of a police state. The processing for schools, and television already programming parents to make it hard on everyone: for they have all the answers. They had become computers with no feelings for this mentally destroyed. Los Angeles, a monster with a pollution bomb for population control that kills for the State. And a greater L.A. science for a greater controlled state that will be projected throughout the world.
Chicano people were born here and gold-rushing fools came to kill for a stake to say nothing of legal murders by licensed officers who kill for the protection of gold rushers. Bumper to bumper gold rushers. Rushing until they rush their lives away. They all forget to think, for there is never time.
The monster’s mouth and head feeds on taxes and controls all. Civic centers and central controls are its paid brain. Politicians give favors to the factories, and the rich pay off to political campaigns. And big salaries to these big gangs. The monster that hides behind hired gangsters wearing badges of law and order. Toy cars and toy people, all playing the same game with its concentrated wall of suburbia, yielding to its fort-held post of predetermined order. A sophisticated complex of numbers for gain. Take the chance to win a sports car, and put someone to slave. Money coming in and people dying from heart-breaking labor. Foremen, managers, and guards, protecting the walls of the rich, and directing people through unhealthy plastic tunnels. A glittering monster with cells of bars like teeth, trying to forget ugly roars of gnarling jets and traffic-clashing horns. A monster that lights the surrounding skies as if to breathe in night fires, and when the day breaks, the smog fills the blue sky with gray, as if the city were condemned by the gods, marked with poisoned darkness.
Los Angeles monster that kills anything that is a threat to its thriving eating habits, gnawing at minds and enslaving physical bodies until the body becomes exhausted and dies. Helicopters veering their search lights, the tallest of all prisons watch towers, inhabitants ducking its flash. Long lines, tickets and court cases everywhere, injustice, fighting, privileges, and prosecution in the end. Gold rushers and property worshipers, a dog-eat-dog created state. Escaping a thousand square miles of concentration camp, only to run to find another section in Los Angeles. Concentration Camp — Satellite Number 1
(Note: Written in June 1968 while David Sánchez, along with 12 others, was in jail stemming from the Eastside High School Blowouts in March of 1968).