Leche Roja

don't wanna be kate

2005-09-28T17:40:00.000-04:00

warning: i've been trying to not think about saving the world everyday. what follows may be a bit of a departure, but is nonetheless, for better or worse, an expression of me.

ok, i'll admit, i have a fascination with kate moss. waif. supermodel. mom. the originator of heroin chic. during my latest move i recycled an entire folder i'd filled with pictures of kate ripped from magazines--to serve what purpose, i'm not sure. something about her keeps me transfixed.

backtrack. this summer several friends and i got into an argument about kate's newest beau, pete doherty, uk rock and roll bad boy. sid and nancy all over again, only nancy wears chanel. so our argument concerned the appeal of this drugged out babyshambles icon--did we think he was sexy or not, and if so, why can't we find partners with that edgy sex appeal who in reality, well, aren't quite that edgy?

anyway, kate's been caught. glamorous as always, but this time with a fiver up her nose doing lines. not that this comes as any surprise, but she's been dropped by three major campaigns after the photos broke. a well-written article can be found here. it mentions the ironies of the fashion industry--how we expect models to be glamorous, and drugs are glamorous, and we expect models to be thin, and drugs make you thin, but in an industry all about image, models must apparently tread the line (get it), projecting glamour but not THAT much glamor. at least, not when there's a camera phone nearby.

i don't know how i feel about this--obviously there are many problems with the body types we idealize and expectations placed on women who choose fashion as a profession--but at the same time, i guess i wish people would give kate a break. i remember reading an article after she checked into rehab the first time, about how basically she was depressed. glamour breeds depression? that's nothing new. i can't imagine how isolated i would feel, travelling between runway shows and ad campaigns in an industry based on surface appearance. for once i am not being sarcastic. what do you talk about at cocktail parties? certainly not politics and religion.

maybe my compassion is a bit misplaced, but i'll stand by it. check back when i'm in a better mood for a rant against the wealth of aesthetics and how our art and fashion scenes epitomize the class war. (or, check out adbusters' art fart issue). for now, i'm just sad i won't be seeing kate as often when i open my next issue of....wouldn't you like to know.

21 grams

2005-09-24T09:44:00.000-04:00

someone told me this is her sunday night ritual with chocolate milk.

postsecret.blogspot.com

rita is hovering just over my house. but, i don't live there anymore. i live here.

i'm covered in bees!!!

2005-09-16T21:50:00.000-04:00

i took a little excursion the past few days back through my old college town (which, need i repeat, is NOT in austin). a couple of friends and i went to dinner at one of our old haunts, and (dunh dunh DUH) ran into an anti-hey-that's-my-biker. okay, reality bites reference, please keep reading.

the scenario: a woman who was a few years younger than me, but has also since graduated, waited on our table. she automatically recognized my mangy hipster accomplices as former students, but as usual i hung aloof in anonymity until half way through the meal she called me out. "hey, weren't you in max's class....european women's history?" to which i lowered fork and commented that yes, indeed i was, with a throw away remark about the infinite coolness of max, our prof.

now, before i continue the story, keep in mind that my tablemates and i, being the kind souls that we are, had already discussed the tragic fate of this particular waitress (who had, for one, obviously not made her way out of town). in my infinite compassion, i added my isolated recollection of her as The Student Who Incited a Collective Groan Every Time She Raised Her Hand to Speak. i'm not sure if the class groaned on behalf of her ignorance or out of our own misery, listening to her put her foot in her mouth, day after day. with this in mind, we shall resume the story.

i stared back down at my plate, conversation over, but of course she continued: "yeah, that was the class that turned me into a feminist for awhile."

i stifled a choking sound and tried desperately not to regurgitate my asparagus as she continued. "i mean, i was a feminist for years after that, but then i realized, i don't want to have to fix my own flat tires or whatever."

she continued refilling our beverages, or whatever, and i waited to catch the eyes of my tablemates until she was out of earshot. or, almost out of earshot.

now, i could turn this into a teaching moment, but what kind of feminist would i be if i didn't let you draw your own conclusions? plus, my oil needs changing.

the end.

appendix:
astute visitors may have noticed that i deleted the last few comments after my posts. i'm having a little SPAM problem...hopefully soon resolved...but rest assured, random friends of me, that i will not delete what you say. unless you try to sell me something that's not already on erin's site (AHEM plug AHEM). and other erin, yes bury me standing is great i advocate finishing it, and, you rock my socks.

and now, back to the half-blood prince. goodnight.

vegan leather: enough vitamin b?

2005-09-07T17:31:00.000-04:00

i went to volunteer orientation for hurricane evacuees this morning at a nearby camp, but they had so many people show up, i'm not sure i'll even be called to return. it's great that there is such an outpouring of support (so far the baptists have racked up the greatest number in east texas, but then, what else is new)...i just hope volunteer enthusiasm doesn't wane as the weeks roll by. there were also enough donated feminine hygiene products to absorb half the flood waters of n'arlens, as we say...

the onion's hurricane coverage is great. in one headline, bush tells hurricane survivors to gnaw on their own bootstraps when hungry. "Only when you work hard and chew desperately on your own footwear can you live the American dream."

the moon is always female

2005-09-05T12:37:00.000-04:00

try this: www.colorquiz.com

endless numbered days

2005-09-03T20:53:00.000-04:00

this is how i spend my time without a job: sitting on my front porch and researching obscure goddesses. i'm currently reading 'bury me standing' by isabel fonseca, about the roma [gypsies] in eastern europe. fonseca mentions saint sara, the gypsy goddess of fate who is carried into the sea each year from ste marie de la mer in southern france. sara is not canonized by the catholics, but has fascinating ties to the black madonna, astarte, and hindu kali--in fact is called sara la kali by most and reflects the dark goddess by legend and appearance. some say sara was the one who stole the nail from the chest of christ, thus allowing him to suffer three days and rise again. anyway, i could write a dissertation on this, but would need a french and romani tutor first...already tried my hand at hindi to no avail.

the following words encompass my salvation.

Charge of the Dark Goddess #2

Hear me child, and know Me for who I am. I have been with you since you were born, and I will stay with you until you return to Me at the final dusk.

I am the passionate and seductive lover who inspires the poet to dream.

I am the One who calls to you at the end of your journey. After the day is done, My children find their blessed rest in my embrace.

I am the womb from which all things are born.

I am the shadowy, still tomb; all things must come to Me and bare their breasts to die and be reborn to the Whole.

I am the Sorceress that will not be ruled, the Weaver of Time, the Teacher of Mysteries. I snip the threads that bring my children home to me. I slit the throats of the cruel and drink the blood of the heartless. Swallow your fear and come to me, and you will discover true beauty, strength, and courage.

I am the fury which rips the flesh from injustice.

I am the glowing forge that transforms your inner demons into tools of power. Open yourself to my embrace and overcome.

I am the glinting sword that protects you from harm.

I am the crucible in which all the aspects of yourself merge together in a rainbow of union.

I am the velvet depths of the night sky, the swirling mists of midnight, shrouded in mystery.

I am the chrysalis in which you will face that which terrifies you and from which you will blossom forth, vibrant and renewed. Seek me at the crossroads, and you shall be transformed, for once you look upon my face, there is no return.

I am the fire that kisses the shackles away.

I am the cauldron in which all opposites grow to know each other in Truth.

I am the web which connects all things.

I am the Healer of all wounds, the Warrior who rights all wrongs in their Time. I make the weak strong. I make the arrogant humble. I raise up the oppressed and empower the disenfranchised. I am Justice tempered with Mercy.

Most importantly, child, I am you. I am part of you, and I am within you. Seek me within and without, and you will be strong. Know me. Venture into the dark so that you may awaken to Balance, Illumination, and Wholeness. Take my Love with you everywhere and find the Power within to be who you wish.

~source unknown

stop being perfect

2005-08-24T16:14:00.000-04:00

For friends of me (which you can all consider yourselves), there’s been a slight change of plans. I’m no longer leaving the country for Zapatista territory, but may soon be traversing Asia’s good earth. Kelsey and I co-authored an essay about Christian feminist organizational models that’s being published by the Association for Women’s Rights in Development (AWID), which will be presented in Thailand at AWID’s international forum in October. Putting meekness aside, I guess you could say we will soon be internationally renowned.

In the meantime, a new acquaintance through my Mexico connections writes for Left Turn Magazine, and I highly highly recommend reading her reflections on their blog. Kristin is studying at the Oventic language school in Chiapas, which I hope to see someday:

“The promotores utilize a variety of educational tools: songs, dance, conversation, movies, walks in the woods, and classes on rocks in the river. They have exceptional knowledge of linguistics that is both poetic and revolutionary. In one of our first classes, we learned that "el 'problema' es masculino, pero la 'solucion' es feminina." When the more advanced class learned the subjunctive verb tense, they discussed a theory that only imperialist languages have subjunctives, which they force on the people they attempt to conquer.”

Sign me up. Although it looks like a strong wind will be carrying me to the East Coast just about the time the leaves begin to turn. Perfection is tossed to the wind as my plans crumble, but I suspect to find a new redemptive force igniting the leaves as they fall, turning them to ash before reaching the ground. Thus I dance through the gales and move delicately onward…

“Deixa a vida me levar (let life lead me)…” -Zeca Pagodinho

someone is knocking

2005-08-11T14:22:00.000-04:00

so i'm spending the week at the open door community in atlanta. man this place is rad. i am guarding against the infatuation that creeps up upon discovering this community...but at the same time, this is the closest embodiment to enacting the beloved community that i have found.

open door is based on the catholic worker model of intentional community, where about half the residents are formerly of privilege (must divest themselves of all financial assets upon joining) and the other half are formerly from the streets, often recovering from addiction or mental illness. catholic worker was founded by dorothy day, a christian anarchist, who is known for her calling to 'comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.'

so, a brief illustration of my time here. besides interaction with the surprising number of ministers and former academics who have found a calling to this place....yesterday i worked the breakfast shift where we feed people (family style though, no lines or rush) and i wore the che tshirt i got at fmln headquarters in san salvador. at first i realized i was wearing that in a house of pacifists and felt a bit self-conscious, but then it got me in a couple of conversations while i was serving. one with george--a mentally ill vet who reminded me it could be an insult to vets who fought communists in vietnam since che helped castro, but he was kind about it. i'm not sure i entirely agree with his logic but i learned some about him anyway.

then another guy, butch, with bloodshot eyes and few teeth, asked me how much i paid for my shirt, mentioning that che shirts can sell for 100 dollars downtown. so ironically, it could be a symbol of my class. i tried to explain that i got the shirt in el salvador....but later we talked again and it turns out he lived in cuba a couple of years, and was from louisville, so we connected over that and had quite a good conversation about the necessity of armed resistance, even talking about the black panthers and malcolm x here.

this experience has once again confirmed that i can be so arrogant. both in my thoughts and my demeanor, as i carry my class in my speech and body language. this morning i helped with showers and found that there are many 'intellectuals' roaming the streets, who follow politics more closely than i do. makes sense i guess, as it so directly affects their everyday existence.

one final word, thanks to the wandering hermit again for thoughts. i struggle with omnipotence--especially here, in a place where god's power may be the only hope many of us can cling to--yet there is still a fragmented beauty through the relationships we form, however hopeless the scene may appear. anyhow, i leave you with a final thought from my friend kristy: perhaps realizing that god lacks omnipotence is not our true fear, but rather the belief that god is indeed omnipotent and yet chooses not to act. why?

today we sang this song, "life is but a melancholy flower..."

so the most powerful woman went out

2005-08-02T12:10:00.000-04:00

I've decided to avoid news and media coverage for the next month, a sort of self-imposed sabbatical from all that is wrong with the world. Besides my mother being glued to CNN's coverage of the high school flag core's missing blonde member, I've been pretty successful....but was sucked back in this morning noticing a new posting on Forbes.

Forbes' list, the World's 100 Most Powerful Women, features the usual suspects--from Condoleeza and Wu Yi to Oprah (maybe Tiffany's will get the message this time). Of course, what struck me is how power is measured--primarily in dollars, factored in with political power, which is also seemingly measured by dollars. The richest nations'/corporations' leaders make the top of the list, and it plays out from there. Now, besides the LUDICROUS poll that accompanies the article "Does Gender Still Hold Women Back?", a few thoughts have me riled up this morning.

Now, while the list does include eight humanitarians, these women still hold considerable political clout: Queen Rania of Jordan, for example, or Melinda Gates of the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation (also notably attached to powerful man). Certainly to be an activist one must maintain voice within the political (and economic) systems at play, and not that Forbes is the definitive voice by any means, but this pushes the question--how much does power enable us to do good, while at the same time acknowledging that absolute power corrupts absolutely?

Furthermore, I am a bit disgruntled (although not surprised) that money is the root of power measurements here....while a large source of power for women seems to be ignored. Spirituality. I'm not speaking about the political and economic power held by the pope or within our corporate church institutions, but the historical appeal by women, usually mystics, to a higher power than earthly systems. Calling from God. Listening to the voice of the divine and wielding spiritual vision that allows women to break out of the socialized boundaries placed upon our gender, and accomplish many compassionate works along the way. Granted even some of these women, like Joan of Arc, also ended up influencing politics....but regardless of the end result, such power must not be ignored.

The funny thing is, while I highlight women's right to appeal to God/divine spirit as a source of power, neither am I sure that God is omnipotent as Christian theology asserts. I wrestle with this one, and also the notion of God's authority as greater than human systems, as I hope to deconstruct the need for power and authority altogether (unless such things could be distributed equally, which I admit seems pretty much impossible). Not power over, but power within, to do, to act, to be. I am and we are. But I'm still learning, and if anything, that suggests my need to tap into something greater, to carry on...

low fidelity

2005-07-28T20:37:00.000-04:00

Yo. I am procrastinating with packing by pirating internet (aarrrr), and offer you my media consumption as of late. Kind of like those profiles in magazines, only I don’t have an Ipod list, because I don’t have an Ipod.

Most recently viewed movies:

Happy Endings—oh Maggie. Her character’s name is Jude, she has kick ass earrings, and she sings! Seriously, good film.

The Agronomist—about Jean Dominic, a free radio journalist in Haiti who was assassinated (apologies for passive voice but subject is unknown…who killed Jean?) Good story but poor editing on the documentary.

Two Weeks Notice—recently my mom visited, and sifting through my movie collection, she noticed that I own no comedies (with the exception of I.Q.) So, I am working on the light and fluffy.

Daily Show Indecision 2004—rent it!!! The Republican Nat’l Convention coverage is the best.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory—oh Johnny. Flaming puppets, what more can I say.

Last five albums listened to:

Atmosphere, Seven’s Travels

Rufus Wainwright, Want One

Dr. Octagon, who I must admit I like a lot, but I don’t know the title

Belle and Sebastian, Dear Catastrophe Waitress, specifically “Stay Loose”

Radiohead, Ok Computer

Last five books/magazines read:

The House of the Spirits, Isabel Allende

Breathe, with Julie Delpy on cover

A zine about Paul’s trip to Mexico City, the title had something about a monkey

Communities of Dissent, Stephen J. Stein

Traveling Mercies, Anne Lamott

A word on the last, Anne Lamott is the one who believes smoothies with bananas are the only cure for existential dread. Which you will read about soon in red milk, currently on its way to a mailbox near you. Peace out!

how am i not myself?

2005-07-15T16:06:00.000-04:00

yes kyrt, we will engage in pure being. you first.

hmm, there is a message by my alterego posted as a guest columnist on kelsey's blog. she also bid me a fond farewell and spilled our plans about playing atari all day in our bathrobes. i have not given up the dream. i wonder if they have atari in the bahamas.

i'm packing up my life. and i promise i really will get the paper zine out soon.

"the radical is that unique person who actually believes what she says. she is that person to whom the common good is the greatest personal value. she is that person who genuinely and completely believes in humankind. the radical is so completely identified with humankind that she personally shares the pain, the injustices, and the sufferings of her fellow humans. for the radical the bell tolls unceasingly, and every human's struggle is her fight."
-saul alinsky [edited by me]

aches like a woman

2005-07-08T17:11:00.000-04:00

sneaking into cemeteries buried eight deep. graffiti on the crematorium and biker graves. pentagram says 'i'll live again.' hiding from the cops and walking down bardstown with flashlights bulging in dark pockets. i carry on.

Oh, what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what'll you do now, my darling young one?
I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin',
I'll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest,
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty,
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters,
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison,
Where the executioner's face is always well hidden,
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten,
Where black is the color, where none is the number,
And I'll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it,
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it,
Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin',
But I'll know my song well before I start singin',
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

clever with heart

2005-06-28T16:30:00.000-04:00

this morning on the bus i saw a baby with worried, tired eyes. babies shouldn't look like that. i used to think that staring into the eyes of an infant is as close as we can come to understanding god. perhaps god is worried and tired too...or maybe that's just me, projecting myself onto deity. again.

anyone checked out mix tape by thurston moore?

about all i can do these days is cling to things that make me laugh, even about the sad state of the world. i read an article about grist magazine--which intertwines clever puns and jokes into environmental news--that the founder ended up inserting his punch drunk humor as a last resort before releasing the first issue, more out of fatigue than strategy. because all environmental news these days is bad. so why not laugh sometimes too.

in that spirit, here are a few things i recommend. not always light and fluffy but know how to poke fun at the more damaging things about life. feel free to add to my list (note: daily show, so obvious, need not be listed. plus i don't have tv):

grist magazine--sign up for weekly headlines. kristy originally tricked me into registering for a free trip to iceland. turns out bjork doesn't live there anymore.

eddie izzard, who deserves canonization in my decentralized book. you can rent his standup (in my order of preference): dressed to kill, glorious, circle

the yes men--documentary about pranksters who put on fake lectures/presentations, posing as WTO representatives. clever with heart.

i heart huckabees--existential crisis meets its other. that scene where naomi watts is in the bonnet and falls over like a neanderthal...

larknews.com--the onion meets jesus, or, depending on your triune image of choice, spirit meets satire.

for the record, i intentionally left david cross off this list. no web link for you! smile everyone.

checking my pulse

2005-06-24T16:44:00.000-04:00

so everyone is still holding their breath to see what happens in chiapas...but a bit of the fog has cleared. to read all four recent EZLN communiques and analysis, visit left turn mag's article collection.

www.leftturn.org/Articles/SpecialCollections/ZapatistaRedAlert.aspx

meanwhile, sorting out various ailments, i've borrowed books on holistic medicine and homeopathy and spent a small fortune on herbs at my friendly natural health food store across the alley. my psychic energy has long been out of alignment...so i am focusing on eating right and chilling out, but wishful for the day when i can drink beer again. it sucks that we have all of these medical specialists, but cannot so easily parcel ourselves out to sit in various waiting rooms. my whole self needs attention. i'm not christian scientist (with nods to mary baker eddy and the monitor) but do believe the body has the power to heal itself in most cases. if only faith were that simple....the story of job is not so profound if you are unsure that there is a god to rescue you.

god is there. may this be a lesson...

p.s. the subject references alix olson, for those who wish to be further enlightened.

zapatista red milk alert

2005-06-21T14:46:00.000-04:00

last night i went to vipassana meditation, and could hardly sit because of the tension in my back and shoulders. puts a whole new spin on embodied spirituality (in my case, anxiety) and the need to be able to rest in the present.

i will continue working on that, but to add to my anxiety ridden self, subcomandante marcos just released a communique from the EZLN, stating that the zapatistas have declared a red alert in chiapas, are closing their offices in the autonomous communities, shutting down the radio, and bidding farewell to their friends. speculations abound--increased mexican government repression, and preparation for an armed insurgency?? while this news would normally be disturbing enough, i am (was) supposed to spend four weeks in oventik this fall. kind of puts a kink in my plans. until we find out what's going on, i'll light a candle next to my zapatista doll, juan carlos...

the calluses on your feet will protect you

2005-06-17T14:01:00.000-04:00

I just got this anthology from the nation, and while reading the following poem, thought (or rather felt) a quote from emily dickinson that describes true poetry as that which makes your head feel blown off and send shivers up and down your spine. Where I come from, they say that's the feeling you get when someone walks over your grave. I wonder, does that refer to the cemetery of life present or lives past? experiencing death in the moment, cemetery of nontime?

Two Views of a Cadaver Room

I

The day she visited the dissecting room
They had four men laid out, black as burnt turkey,
Already half unstrung. A vinegary fume
Of the death vats clung to them;
The white-smocked boys started working.
The head of his cadaver had caved in,
And she could scarcely make out anything
In that rubble of skull plates and old leather.

In their jar the snail-nosed babies moon and glow.
He hands her the cut-out heart like a cracked heirloom.

II

In Breughel's panorama of smoke and slaughter
Two people only are blind to the carrion army:
He, afloat in the sea of her blue satin
Skirts, sings in the direction
Of her bare shoulder, while she bends,
Fingering a leaflet of music, over him,
Both of them deaf to the fiddle in the hands
Of the death's-head shadowing their song.
These Flemish lovers flourish; not for long.

Yet desolation, stalled in paint, spares the little country
Foolish, delicate, in the lower right hand corner.

-sylvia plath, the nation, january 30, 1960

shiva linga!

2005-06-14T17:58:00.000-04:00

i am back. not quite from the dead, but from a spell spent under the weather and over the mountains of the adirondacks. (okay, poor play on words. did any of you presbyterians ever wonder why pun is not an acronym, like pow instead?) speaking of presbyterians and the predominantly white ecojustice movement, i spent the last weekend with Presbyterians for Restoring Creation. great conference on the whole--rainstorms on lake george, poetry workshops, and keynote speaker vandana shiva, who is about as rad as a person can get. she spoke about water privatization, and basically predicts that the world as we know it will end within the next ten years. we cannot sustain this global-capital-driven way of life, in which our laws now trump human rights with the right to wealth and profit. but, enough preaching to the choir, read her books or ask me if you want more details. i was astounded by the calm sense and spiritual-esque detachment with which she predicted the end of life as we know it.

story of the weekend, a crew of us drove over to this conference from jamaica plain. as we were passing saratoga springs around midnight, which happened to be dan's birthday, kristy said "i think i've been to a bar around here..." so we detoured off the interstate about 20 minutes, and driving through the forest eventually arrived at a street overstrewn with drunk younglings (note star wars reference, fran). so we promptly joined in and toasted the journey with our kamikazes. kind of prophetic symbolism now that i think about it.

final word: red milk, suspended indefinitely issue coming soon. last chance to contribute.

silence and seventeen

2005-05-20T13:38:00.000-04:00

Check this out: John Francis decided after an oil spill that he would quit riding in cars, which he did for the next 17 years. As he was wandering the earth, he took a vow of silence...but still managed to earn his Ph.D., confront the racial divide in the environmental movement, and prove that being a wandering activist pilgrim is actually possible.

"Silence is not just not talking. It's a void. It's a place where all things come from. All voices, all creation comes out of this silence. So when you're standing on the edge of silence, you hear things you've never heard before, and you hear things in ways you've never heard them before. And what I would disagree with one time, I might now agree with in another way, with another understanding." -John Francis for Grist magazine

stone soup

2005-05-19T16:16:00.000-04:00

hmm, jeffrey sachs: economic prophet or "free-market evangelist"? self-aggrandizing Western charity or true redistribution of wealth? this guy, a harvard economist turned 'visionary,' is creating quite a stir with his book the end of poverty. as an anarchist (for today, anyway), i disagree with his macroeconomic paradigm (and could he sound any more arrogant?): "So it's a matter of helping them get started, whether to grow more food or to fight malaria or to handle recurring droughts. Then, once they're on the first rung of the ladder of development, they'll start climbing just like the rest of the world."

still, sachs' "ostensibly village-up rather than World Bank-down model" sounds like a viable option...if only there were no "up." and from what i can tell, he doesn't address domestic poverty at all. regardless, i think my friend lisa was right (as quoted in the first red milk): it's not that we don't have the know-how to solve the world's problems, it's that governments lack the political will to change.

read about the end of poverty on alternet.

free peltier

2005-05-15T11:07:00.000-04:00

I come to a riverbank and see squatting there at the water's edge an old Indian man with long shining silver hair bound tightly in braids that reach down to his hips. He's aimlessly tossing pebbles into the muddy gray water...

As I approach, I see dark tears forming in his vacant eyes, streaming down his face and slowly dripping into the water. Coming closer still, I'm shocked to see those tears are tears of blood!

"My son...My son..." he says in a voice of infinite sadness. And he puts his ghostly blue hand on my shoulder, peering deep into my soul.

He continues: "I'm an old man, weighted down by years and sorrow. I am the original seed of life, handed down to our people by the Great Spirit. Each of these pebbles I throw out is a lost dream of our people, a dream that sinks and is no more, yet leaves a ripple on the water for all time."

...On the riverbank where the Old Man stood lies a small pile of pebbles. Lost hopes. Lost dreams. I'm glad he hadn't thrown them all into the water.

I put them in my pocket, and to this day, whenever I take them out and rub them with my fingers, the hopes and dreams of my people come before my inner eye. I think if I could only rub them long and hard enough, that lost world would suddently come back. Who's to say that other reality isn't as real as this reality we human beings seem so bent on desecrating? I believe it is.

-leonard peltier, prison writings: my life is my sun dance

cabbages and kings

2005-05-10T11:25:00.000-04:00

today smells like rain-soaked irises and river water. i realized that the title of my last post could also allude to amelie; a dreamer meets suicidal determination. skipping stones, i carry on...

Dear Mr. President,

Have you ever noticed that every place in the world has a different smell? I smelled decaying marigolds and ash in India, rose-scented miracles and dried blood in El Salvador, and clear water running over mossy gnomes in Austria. I am from Texas too, and our farm smells like hay bleached by August sun and pondwater scattered with pine needles.

This morning I opened my window at dawn and burned incense on the ledge. Now my apartment smells like India a little bit. Just a little bit.

I lied in something I said above. The suburbs all smell the same. And even worse than People Forgetting, is that people are Beginning Not to Notice.

What does the White House smell like? What does Baghdad smell like?

Sincerely,
Ann Crews

with stones in my pocket

2005-05-06T17:43:00.000-04:00

today i told k that i am the poster child for low morale. we discussed how our jobs are like screaming into the infinite abyss--the glacial pace of systemic change and isolation of the office bureaucracy. i had to fill out this "position profile," and as usual became rather smartass and punchy. under "tools required," i wrote in "tea, scarves, and candles," stopping just short of "broomsticks and tarot cards." under occupational health hazards, i added "computer radiation, the stress of systemic advocacy and burden of saving the world."

speaking of not feeling heard, francesca just told me about a new mcsweeney's project, publishing letters to the president. i started to write in, but once again felt an insurmountable rage paralyze my carpal tunnel-prone fingers. in the meantime, i'll plagiarize some of my favourites below. i will contemplate what to write over the weekend, and if you compose something please share. speaking of, a shout out to zeth and the wandering hermit with your vast theological insight....i guess someone in the universe is listening, after all.

---
Dear Mr. President,

You can be walking down the street and suddenly bump your head into someone else's thought. Sex thoughts are the biggest. They come in the shape of toast, or falling leaves.

I used to skip along on a beautiful song called dirt. Once some big boys beat me up and kicked the song in my face.

Our tree house was the closest point to the moon.

Sincerely,
Eric Morgan

---
Dear Mr. President,

I am eating yet another chocolate chip cookie as I write this. I have been eating quite a lot of cookies lately, thus my need to ramp up my workout schedule. Luckily, the baby likes his baby jogger so I can run with him around.

There are some beautiful photographs of Iraq in the paper today. I have decided that I may start keeping a scrapbook of photos because many of them are astounding. But then I'm not sure. I don't think I could bear to look at some of them again: like the photo of the medic holding the child whose mother had just been shot. I see my son in the place of all these children.

I'm sure you know that Virginia Woolf put stones in her pocket to drown herself. Can you imagine that sort of determination?

Sincerely,
Jennifer Calkins

---
Dear Mr. President,

Nine days ago I thought I was in love with a boy, because that was an easy and clean feeling. Today I realized that I'm in love with the world, and it isn't you, it's me, and it's messy, messy.

Yesterday I read a travel guide and it made me cry.

Sincerely,
Katherine J. Lee

---
Dear Mr. President,

I forgive you.

Sincerely,
Edward Urmston

forty two

2005-05-04T15:19:00.000-04:00

so i saw 'hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy' yesterday. i would recommend, particularly to the quirky-science-fiction-british-humor-meaning-of-the-universe disposed, but then what movie that begins with the end of the world wouldn't find its way into my heart?

okay, i can think of a few.

but speaking of, i am now officially in love with mos def, whose alien congeniality and rad presence (and attire) made the movie worth watching in itself. i was disappointed that the movie stuck to the gender stereotypes from the book, and still referred to species of the galaxy as 'races'--ironic that this human construction seemed to persist even after the earth was decimated. but then, maybe that's how it goes. perhaps even the end of the world will not bring about the beloved community, after all.

one final note, there is a scene parodying a religious service featuring john malkovich that is grrreat. made me further reflect on the absurdity of christianity, especially with our humanocentric construction of the deity. if jesus came to save humans, and indeed was human, but there are other beings in the universe (not to mention other beings on earth), then is he truly saviour of all? i rather think not.

then again, maybe humans are the evilest species yet, and most in need of enlightenment...but i'll opt for dolphins over crucifixes any day.

can i have some msg with that?

2005-04-26T17:34:00.000-04:00

okay, i promise i do not read MSN news every day, but another feature caught my eye: my msg (movie star girlfriend) maggie gyllenhaal made headlines today for a remark questioning the US's responsibility in the 9.11 attacks. need i say more?

In a statement issued Monday by her publicist, Gyllenhaal said Sept. 11 was "an occasion to be brave enough to ask some serious questions about America's role in the world. Because it is always useful as individuals or nations to ask how we may have knowingly or unknowingly contributed to this conflict. Not to have the courage to ask these questions of ourselves is to betray the victims of 9/11."

http://entertainment.msn.com/movies/article.aspx?news=189224&GT1=6428

renegade physicist of bohemia

2005-04-25T14:15:00.000-04:00

Just noticed this article on Einstein, which actually includes words like 'revolution' and 'renegade.' The article is not that well-written, but makes an interesting correlation between philosophical insight and Einstein's capacity to imagine new space/time realities. Finally, it poses the question of who will be next:

"Maybe there is an Einstein out there today," said Columbia University physicist Brian Greene, "but it would be a lot harder for him to be heard."

Of course, none of them get it, because I am certain she is already here.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/7536665/?GT1=6428

red milk rises from the ash

2005-04-13T17:05:00.000-04:00

Moment of truth: i have long resisted linking red milk to anything technological, besides the requisite Xerox machine. But as i commence travels over the next year, i hope to continue to facilitate some interweavings of words, and a blog is the best option. i plan on writing as often as inspired. As always, feel free to contribute. To christen leche roja (red milk in Spanish for those who prefer less ambiguity), i offer an excerpt from Guatemalan poet Julia Esquivel, who reminds us that "homeland is an altar, not a pedestal":

Homeland,
my dear, wealthy sister,
black or white,
from the United States,
means accepting the scandal of the cross,
descending from the pedestal,
leaving all economic securities
and dying a little every day
so that others might live.

Only then
will you ascend again in flight
"higher than the condor and the stately eagle"
and above all the towers of Babel
you will demolish the walls
of class,
race,
and sex.
Only then
will you know liberty,
and will you be able to add
your little bit of justice
to build the New World
where at last Peace will reign.

-from "Sister, Woman of Faith," begun in 1968 and completed in 1984

Now will my journey begin.