Books and Reading Materials
Eufencio J Rojas, Compendium of Industrial Vision

Transcriber's Note:

Me and Eufencio J Rojas met under difficult and amazing circumstances in 1996. At the time, I was working at the El Sereno branch of the Los Angeles Public Library, mostly reshelving books and cleaning up at night.

I was in the library at the time of the tornado. The violence of the force of the wind was amazing. I remember how the large front window of the library shattered and fell like a waterfall into the street and the absolute roar of the wind as it entered the library. There were papers and books flying everywhere.

I got on the floor and covered my head instinctively. After what seemed like 15 minutes the wind died down and I heard the tornado's roar fade. As I was getting up, I saw a man, completely upside-down and straight as a board, flying through the front of the library where the window used to be. At first I thought it must be a mannequin, he was so stiff. He flew past me and slammed against the edge of a bookshelf, where he stood suspended for a good half-minute. This was my introduction to Eufencio.

We soon became good friends. We learned that although he had always had clairvoyant ability, that somehow that accident had transformed him into a full-blown mystic. I became his assistant and we moved in together to work on recording his ideas, some of which are collected in this book.

A few notes on the design of the book. Eufencio is illiterate, therefore, all of the text in this book is transcribed from audio recordings. These recordings are made all over the city, as our practice is usually to walk to places of significance and see what happens. The titles of each section are usually chosen by Eufencio during the course of recording, however, in the case that he doesn't have a title, I have chosen one based on the subject matter of the entry.

Jose Lopez-Feliú, 2006

Dr. Eufencio J. Rojas: Compendium of Industrial Vision


One first must build up a case for using the word "I". There follows a logic--one can't just open a books with admonitions to "do as I do".

Consider the I's in this book to be from a source outside any one body. They have inhabited many minds, this I is a ghost without memory, a simple liberated moment, the ghost of the plate glass window shattering, of traversing distance and rapidly flipping through scenes of many existences and moments, one who walks through the city as if they walk above it and who wanders that anaccesible places you might only be able to look at but never visit.

My "I" is not like your "I. I am "I and I"- Blur, Riddle, Problem, Ghost, Echo.


Called "Thoughts on the rash of boganvalia poisonings in my mind (the mind of Eufencio Rojas)"
Notes taken in 1994 at the "Magic House" on Marianna

Machine minded plants have begun to monitor those who continually fly over the corridors of the city. I was reading something about the practice of deep meditation and the erasing of time perception... What I have found is that this is all nonsensical when compared to the jump-start that I received from the power beam that was sent straight to the inside of my left thigh from Distant Star Healer. The surge that was sent through my body was comparable to a vast earthquake, rolling, roaring and tearing up land for miles. Time, space, elements were reduced to fractal shapes and sounds. The hair on the back of my head extended out to Long Beach, the stubble on the back of my neck being blended and pulled along with it. The sounds were able to be formed into tangible shapes and these shapes led me to the tunnels of the marionette-like nervous system of Antonio Villaraigosa. From an undisclosed location, I control Antonio, a blind relative of the D.S.Healer. I feel incoherent and spread thin, and city hall and the library tower are poking my skin which is very painful.
I must reiterate: time has been pulled, not just for me, but for all of us living in this modern world... I feel like the black hole that is pulling the fabric off the table. Specks of seedlings have buried themselves in the crevices of my tissue and the moist fluidity of time/space mixed with the strange metallic rigidity of Antonio's thoughts and actions (as he wanders around the city campaigning and what not) are driving me to the brink of being that blind, leaping, flopping heart (jelly cave) that at this moment is flying just behind the eyes of everybody in this arid landlocked city.


Called "Thoughts on Dia de Los Muertos"

Common knowledge holds that Dia de Los Muertos is now over. However, there are at least two events that are never taken into account that dramatically change our calendar, our sacred days and the moments when the portals from the other world open to this one.
The events that I'm concerned with are separated by a mere 686 miles, which in the larger view, almost overlap in terms of topography. Impossible to pinpoint in exact time, these two occurrences dramatically altered the membrane of time, pulling it in unforeseeable directions, opening new holes and generally causing great metaphysical unrest.
Two twisters, one which I was able to witness firsthand (see Rojas Press catalog for an audio account) touched down in El Sereno and in the countryside of central Utah. As much has been written about these twisters, my main concern is to inform the interested reader of how these cataclysmic events might alter the course of all spiritual and metaphysical practice. Our calendars have in essence been "reset" and because of the aftershocks of these traumas, continues to be reset on a periodic basis.
From a metaphysical vantage point, we are now living in a space without consistent time. The moment and duration of the dropping of the barrier that accompanies Dia de Los Muertos is now as unpredictable as the orbiting patterns of the planets.
In light of these new revelations, we should not expect that this time is a time of chaos, but instead realize that harmony and the presence of a constant present feed off of eachother in the most wondrous ways.



Called "Eyeball of Mouse"

I hear hidden algorithms in traffic, white noise and the clanging of metal, the rustle of oleander stirred by carbon monoxide. I can take these abstract noises and render them, hear the covert directions of the substream. I can also direct that stream, chase my spirit out of my body and extend it to places far beyond my physical reach, like a coyote taking the eyeball of a mouse.


Called "three elements to type with disembodied hands"

cruise along some boulevard in East LA while sleeping horizontally, eyelids pulled down to my cheeks

brew some all powerful tea with the swelling ocean of tears about to rip through this goddamned basin

finally pull the hood over my head and dig my bare heels into the ground to stop cancerous development and


increase the love energy already extending past the boundaries of my animated body- I can now feel it hovering, buzzing around the bottoms of my forearms.


Called "Struggle with the Immense"

it's around this time that my mind works (taking a knee at the intersection of the LA river and Main Street) The ribbon keeps dropping and the strands keep pulling. It's all related and all gets related to the immense weight hanging above the surface of the water. There's an immensity in the city that I'm not sure what to do with- in the face of it, my heels dig in and I instantly am on the floor, disoriented and determined not to get up. I have a vision of my head smashed in and squished, and how ugly and frightening I must look- then I have a dream that I should put on that white beenie and wear it like a hole-less balaclava with a polka dotted chicken-style tie. That would fix my appearance- nobody would be able to see the results of my run in with the immensity of this liquid city.

Called "On Antonio Villaraigosa"

Here is the program! I heard that on an old record that Jesus gave to me. Here is the program and meet it with a good conscience. Here's how I differ from Antonio Villaraigosa. Antonio's bones are locked and fully articulated. His nervous system is likewise made of a reticulated hard matter, barely like a flowing ribbon but enough so to let him stream in and out of time and space. There's a blind spot that he has, and that's the spot of him that is spurring him on, around in furious loops, around and through in a constant almost insect like movement. His conscious mind is made completely of bone spurs. My bones are spreadable and soft, undeveloped. The rest of my tissue is made of nothing substantial enough to mention, less than liquid, less than colloid, an emulsion, more like an avocado- fatty and smooth- flying through intense experience faster than is imaginable- instantly reduced to a pitiful smear on the floor, I pour through the hard ear canal of Antonio Villaraigosa and out the pores of his neck. He smiles at the right time with his marionette like nervous system arching way above his shoulders.


Called "Thoughts on Putrefying Hand"

Thoughts on the Spreading and Decomposition of the Magician's Hand While Putrefying Eyeballs at High Velocity and a Generalized Dissemination and Intersection of White Sun and Red Moon Illuminate Said Putrefication


Called "Thoughts on deconsecrated church in Soto and 6th Street"

I heard that this church was deconsecrated and that a woman was living in here without paying rent...
...The church is actually very shapeless, all the effort made by European architects to create a shaped building, one with structure that mirrored heaven's logical perfection was for nothing. I see the building falling in front of my eyes, collapsing into a pile of softness--it actually has no form, it turns into goo as you touch it. Or maybe it's more like the mirror scene from duck soup and the architect's goal of creating a permanent house of god on earth that mirrored heaven's logic was never reached and they instead created just another corporeal interior.

You swallowed it, it filled your lungs and stomach, and now you see more clearly what the architecture of this dilapidated building really signifies, you're seeing the poetics of the edifice more clearly:

Any ghost is a friend of mine...
....any ghost born or created is a friend of mine.

...a black silhouette of a figure walkign on damp concrete riverbeds
illusion means you can't tell whether he's walking away from you or toward you
instead, he's suspended between forward and back and you're suspended between the lateral pan of your vision and the distance he continues to create and erase

This is a profound experience


Called "Dream Buildings"

Dream edifices exist in South LA as they do in all neighborhoods that value the individual's eccentric liberation and where lack of resources and capital prevent demolition, monitoring, safety code checking of buildings too eccentric, too revelatory, to be accepted in wealthier neighborhoods.

They are invariable abandoned, never fully demolished--they stand as monuments to artistic, utopian and idealistic times; but also as activators of space, tottering receptacles and antennae of push-down, pull-out eccentrics operating in their own localities.


Called "About the Past"

Response to a question asked of Eufencio about his past during a conference at Lincoln Park, 1999

There's always more to say about the past...
I awoke one day in a small apartment lined with books and I left with her walking out the door into the small corridor.

I began the journey home away from the book lined apartment and something leaked, then poured forth

I didn't know what it was but traces of her makeup's scent traced across my face

At that moment, she makes me the high-priest of this industrial city

Newton abandoned the ease of the sciences he invented for the priesthood of alchemical experimentation

I awoke in a small apartment, shook the dust off my shoulders: Things appeared luminous and in the process of transmutation

So I went somewhere. A city full of energy and all manner of living things. I saw a roll of the dice, a white cat with a black tail

These are my last words...

These could always be my last words--the cabin fills with warmth

The city was animated with biological matter. Things like dust and concrete had their own life. I walked overwhelmed through industrial parks, discovering that normal things now had different names. I understood this world at last. I achieved a temporary unity as a living thing among living things:

If one's thirsty, drink the red lacquer of fenceposts

The city rests on moth's wings

That's all...

Or, we're thrusted concrete thrusts being thrust and pulled by momentum of flapping wings and batting eyelids

We test our children like we train administrators and those with skill enough to fail the test magnificently go on to build dream edifices.

Buildings in the shape of cat's heads, water drops, angles of illusionistic smoke, curves that can be distilled into cocktails that will dissolve their own walls.


Called "Gardiosity Principles"

We create grandiosity on a larger scale through three principles:

1.) a2+b2=c2


3.) Use of rudimentary applications of zero and negative quantities to create structures of extreme volume but little strength or mass


Called "Orozco and other city poets"

I came across a picture book in your library (El Sereno Branch of Los Angeles Public Library) that I remembered from my days in Tucson. It was a poorly produced picture book on Jose Orozco's work--it was the only book that had reproductions of his work available in Tucson at that time. I was fascinated by the variety in his work, from his work in the United States to his work at the Hospicio Cabañas, the man on fire, the men machines, the twisting gears of mechanical horses, the pull-out heads of dictators... the book for me became a moveable mural, it was a folded up mural--I considered the paradox of a mural that could be traveled with, that could survive the wrecking ball but would dissolve in water.

I learned much later that many of the pictures in the book weren't Orozco's at all and my admiration for the book increased ten-fold. I lost it during one of my moves and haven't seen it till now.



Jose Clemente Orozco: Poet of the City