I remember them well! Say hello from me.

Thanks for watching! I don't know if it was more fun back in the 90s but I miss those days. What do you do in the Southside?

not it all

Yaqui and T.O are our brothers and native tongue is uto-aztec chicano power

@@saucytony4609 eres de una conquistadora no azteca

@@xtooomb2275 pinchie malenche! Its mexica pendejete jajajaja 😂😂😂

@@xtooomb22755th generation xikano born and raised laTusa rAZa Barrio Anita fuck the Spaniards Puro indigenous opata🪶

Hahaha that's the shits I remember all that stuff I was from Bueno estilo in South Tucson I remember when the bike club broke up and then they became raza unida what a trip but hey so did our club we become nemesis

TORTUE Lyrics : Marianne Dissard / Music : Sergio Mendoza Je suis dans un train sans conducteur ni passager, qui roule de nuit tous feux éteints. Je vois des lueurs, l’ombre d’un bois, une giclée pâle sur l’eau du lac. Je crois que je rêve. Je sais que je rêve. La fenêtre est givrée. Je ne peux pas, rien toucher, rien nommer. Entre rêve et rêve, comme de nuit le jour, je ne peux rien y faire, je suis la tortue. Un tunnel sans lumière ni odeur et je marche les pieds nus dans la boue sous des voûtes qui pendent. Des corps souillés au sol et des blâtes aux murs et des rats qui copulent sous les gouttes. Les parois ploient et craquent. Il me semble, je t’entends. Je suis sûre que c’est toi, cet homme là-bas au fond qui bouge dans une bouche. Entre rêve et rêve, comme de nuit le jour, je ne peux rien y faire, je ne peux rien y faire. Entre rêve et rêve, comme de nuit le jour, je ne peux rien y faire. Je suis la tortue. Entre rêve et rêve, comme de nuit le jour, je ne peux rien y faire, je ne peux rien y faire. Entre rêve et rêve, comme de nuit le jour, je ne peux rien y faire, je ne peux rien y faire. Entre rêve et rêve, comme de nuit le jour, je ne peux rien y faire. Je suis la tortue. Allongée dans une boîte qui empeste la terre, les crachats et le foutre, j’entreprends ton visage qui affleure des rires. Là, la planche te salue d’une vaste semonce mais tu pleures comme il pleut et remontes tes collants puis tu vas de l’avant. Moi, je crois que je rêve, je sais bien que je rêve. Je sais que je ne peux ni toucher ni nommer. Je repose sur le dos un dimanche dans le vent, née en moindre mesure détroussée des brigands par leurs colts trop brillants. A trop mettre la clef sur des portées trop raides, je marque sur ma chair du vent et des poussières, au grand jour, en ce jour de lessive des gueux, entre rêve et rêve, entre rêve et rêve, entre rêve et rêve, entre rêve et rêve. (ENG): TURTLE I am in a train without conductor or passengers, that runs at night, all lights off. I see glimmers, the shadow of a wood, a pale splash shot on the surface of a lake. I think I am dreaming. I know I am dreaming. The window is frosted. I can’t touch nothing, name nothing. Between dream and dream, as at night in day, I can’t help it, I am the turtle. A tunnel with no lights, no smells and I walk barefoot in the mud under vaults that hang down. On the ground, soiled bodies and cockroaches on the walls and rats that copulate under the drops. The walls bend and creak. It seems to me that I can hear you. I am sure it is you, that man out there in the dark that jiggles inside a mouth. Between dream and dream, as at night in day, I can’t help it, I can’t help it. Between dream and dream, as at night in day, I can’t help it. I am the turtle. Between dream and dream, as at night in day, I can’t help it, I can’t help it. Between dream and dream, as at night in day, I can’t help it, I can’t help it. Between dream and dream, as at night in day, I can’t help it. I am the turtle. Layed out in a box that stinks of earth, of spit and come, I make out your face emerging from the laughters. Here, the plank salutes you with a vast reprimand but you cry as it rains and lift up your stockings, then go onward. Me, I think I am dreaming. I know well I am dreaming. I know that I can’t touch nothing, name nothing. I rest on my back, one sunday in the wind, born by all measures disrobbed by brigands, by their too shiny colts. Having overreached the key on staves too steep, I mark my flesh with wind and dust on the day where rain, wind and sun do your laundry between dream and dream, between dream and dream, between dream and dream, between dream and dream.

I remember the liquor store, and the shop, and that parking lot! Well, the whole street! Thanks for your message. Godspeed to you too.

Glad you remember them, David.

@@MarianneDissard I'm not sure if you remember cafe Quebec, that became cafe Q, me and a friend Eldon bought it (with almost no money lol) and created Shot in the Dark cafe which we made collective, it lasted about 10 years.. a lot of downtown memories, fun, heartaches, tragedy, massive change etc. So the first scenes in the doc I recognized a few people, so cool.

I was 16 when I moved from France to Arizona. I tried telling all my American boyfriends I couldn't cook amazing French food or do all sorts of French things they imagined I could do or be. I also remember that until the day I got my US citizenship, when people would ask my name, I'd reply 'Marianne' but with a sort-of American accent, trying to blend in. That never worked. On the day I became officially American, I started pronouncing my name, Marianne, the French way. Go figure... It's never easy being displaced. I'm sorry you feel 'fake'. I'm certain you're a real person, one of a kind.

North Carolina had to have been better! Tucson isn't very cultural, despite being close to the border. Hit California, it's not too far

Wasn't he the best? I'm sad I sold that bike he built for me.

Thanks for sharing your recollections. It's moving to find out more about his life.

They're around... ;)

Ahh nah. I wish it was and it did, but no. Glad you liked it though.