There may be a couple of typos, I free wrote it all on my handheld.
Still, I feel comfortable in stating that this may be the part
when I begin to write you into the ground.
This is a sampling of one batch of pictures from day before yesterday. I haven’t even gotten a chance to look at the pictures from yesterday…which I didn’t even begin to take until near dark…”No more clouds!” I told myself. That is ridiculous. I don’t care what people think. I photograph these swirls and angles and shadows because – if I don’t who will?
show details 11:19 PM (9 hours ago)
Distant and silent, flashes of no source or destination.
In the Sociological Mystery Song I sang a couple of days ago, I quoted W.E.B. Dubois as saying:
No kidding. I slept poorly last night, numb thumb and caffeine kept me up, tossing until it was time to rise for the ritual of school. I am – for the most part – a huge fan of public education. Then again, my kids have amazing teachers and vibrant classrooms, populated with nice kids from relatively diverse backgrounds.
Still, last year – the school was put into Lockdown due to a trespasser who was almost shot by police. The trespasser was a student of a nearby school and was looking for things to steal, or so the story goes, in empty classrooms.
What is more fearful than a middle school student trespassing at an elementary school 1 and 1/2 blocks away from his own school is that my kids re-counted seeing the boy being chased down the stairs by heavily armed officers.
During Lockdown, the kids in my daughters class huddled behind the teacher’s desk and listened to a story. In my boy’s class, the ‘Octopus Alert’ was responded to with an excited huddle and hide and whispered talk – about how a human can be an octopus (still unclear on that one, except for my recollection of a story my mother told me once of going on a date with a boy who was ‘awful, like an octopus…’)
That evening, parents got a recorded message re: their children’s exciting day. My kids had said nothing about it…and spoke about it in a matter of fact way…”and then the police had their guns out and they chased him down the stairs…”
And so, what else is left out? I trust they are in good hands…better even, than what one could hope for – given the lunatic hoops that teachers have to jump through just to get through the day.
I have always thought too big. It is a matter, I suppose of relative perspective. It is remarkable that my kids’ teachers – both veterans – have set hundreds! of kids – over the years – off into lives well-enriched by their time spent in quality classrooms.
Many of their students go on to teach.
While it is true that measurable change in individuals comes over long periods of time, out of habit and reinforcement. For better or for worse.
One would like to imagine that the cumulative effect of all the hardworking and dedicated teachers and social workers out there is enough to mitigate the ill-effects of all the circumstances stacked against American youth today.
I don’t think that – in the end – it is near enough…in fact, I think it is pretty darn rude to expect underpaid teachers to right all that has gone wrong.
What I think ‘We’ need…nonetheless, keep in mind I am not quite a genius…
We need bigger change. We more economic control. We need our democracy to be extended and the spending off the nation’s wealth to be determined – in part – by the people whose hard work generates the taxes that governments see fit to spend on what THEY (often under great pressure by corporations – which often care nothing for actual human life on earth) deem to be of importance. Laws are passed we know nothing about, defense contracts are signed, people are denied true participation.
Yes, voting is awesome. I think we should get to vote much, much more…not just for whom, but for what our resources are used for.
Governments should be in place to protect the interests of the population – not to decide what those interests ought to be…
I am not interested in destroying any more Iraqi villages. I am not interested in policies like No Child Left Behind – which does little to address the reasons some schools test better than others. I am not interested in pharmaceuticals getting approved to market any ill-conceived concoction they can come up with. I don’t think any oil company has a right to jeopardize ecosystems that humans do not generally inhabit…like oceans and Arctic wildlife refuge areas.
I think, in fact, that to do such things is quite arrogant and assumes that – for those who believe in such things – God places humans above other species.
That is so incredibly presumptuous. I do not think that our over-population, chemical toxicity, destruction of habitat for profit, and genocidal wars prove we are superior. Huh?
However, is there not something pathologically questionable about a species that seems hell-bent on destroying itself and it’s habitat?
I have thought a lot about human societies and the belief systems that carve them. To say there is a lack of consensus is to painfully state the obvious.
I have, for the past several months been testing and poking and prodding and measuring reaction. Of course, I haven’t written a thing down – other than what I have posted here.
I tend to work out problems best by just letting them unfurl themselves in the back of my mind and become an accessible lens through which to view the world within the context of my query.
What that means is that for months I have been trying to connect with people – rarely asking much of anything in return – and I have shown pictures of butterflies on noses and wasps eerily calm and moths that look like later clouds and eyes upon eyes in the sky…and I have wondered, what do people make of the ones who claim a rare sense of purely knowing…?
I have shown you that clouds can be the same twice and can, in fact, be formulaic. I have shown you the tattoo on my back and the wings on my palms and rainbows with no rain through a perfect, unbroken circle…I have show you that I can see a toad the size of an acorn cap…I have shown you that I can hold a five-lined skink and look it right in the eye…I have shown you a double blooming tiger lily growing in the wild of my back driveway…I have shown you that I can lift a sandboat onto a chicken coop and form a hand out of scrap fencing…I can draw now…I can crochet in a way that is wholly my own…I have told you about the people in my life and the grace of standing equally with the people we meet…
I have – over and over again – said I want to help.
I am not crazy when I realize that – given my odd history and ostracizing cognition – and my seeming inability to hold onto a lasting disgust in regard to humanity…though, in many objective measures, humanity as it is written by the purveyors of popular culture is really disgusting to me on a lot of different levels.
Nonetheless, as I tell my child when we see the men in orange beside the interstate, dragging their bags behind them a rifle leading them from behind…there really aren’t many bad people…most people start out very good, but even good people can make bad decisions…blahblahblah.
It was a bad decision to view my eccentricities as illness rather than gift. We have a choice in how we perceive people and the ideas we choose to integrate into our ways of being.
It was a bad decision on behalf of the Billy Graham Training Center to tell me that I was “wasting the ministry’s time”
Disdain dripped from the man’s tongue when he said, “No, Ma’am – I didn’t ask if you believed in the sky. I asked in you believed in the Lord Jesus Christ.”
“I believe in the sky. Thank you for your time. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
See, I have never ever been remotely religious. In fact, I think organized religion is about the worst thing that ever happened on this planet. Not because it is inherently bad, but because the ways in which people have divided themselves on the basis of unfounded belief systems has been absolutely devastating.
Poor God. Really, I never believed in much…I still am not sure if I believe…because I see how belief clouds people and leads them to false righteousness…I see how belief is used as justification for the cruel self-interests we call sin. If one believes, they logically assume that God believes in them and then, even more erroneously, that belief offers one wholesale approval of deeds no matter how hideous…
How can any person who claims to serve ‘God’ point a gun at a kid and pull the trigger? Or rape a woman? Or sell a toxic product that they know was made by children in a country they have never even been to, in a factory in a town whose name they cannot even pronounce.
How can judges decide that one must die for the crimes one is accused of committing?
What God would endorse such arrogant evil? Where is the humility in any of it?
I wonder how many crosses were being worn in the crowd at Lollapalooza, the swarm of hands on a woman’s breasts, trying to pull down her see-through pants…she was paid for the indignity. She had a microphone and could have just as easily used her appeal to do something clever and kind and entertaining…but, no – she made out with a lead singer.
Sex culture kills creativity, bottom line. If we are so superior, then why do we act like such mindlessly self-destructive morons?
Urgh. The thing is…I am in no way a
I’ve been saved kinda girl…because then I’d have to say by whom and for what purpose and which version saved me…ain’t nobody saved me…not really…
My father tried to give me a thick stack of twenties the other day. I have no idea why. I took out forty bucks for gas to drive the children to and fro and for animal food and gave the rest back…I don’t really want anything other than the folks who set all this up to admit that it doesn’t work and to begin re-formulating it in a way that serves not just some people, and not just all people, but everything…
It’s not gonna happen, but that is basically the state of entropy we are in…it will get worse until we simply set aside everything we thought we knew and accept the fact that some very powerful businesses are going to get upset and that maybe we ought to re-examine our relationship with our government.
It is totally stupid to think that what hardly worked two hundred and fifty years ago will work any better now. In fact, it is disastrous.
What really freaks me out about this whole thing is that, because of popular country songs and easy listening favorites, I know there is a suspicion among believers in such things that a Messiah will return in some form or fashion. Whoa! Hold the line! I ain’t it!
However, I fit the bill as some wacky heretic saint or reclusive scribe with a line to the sky. I doubt any Messiah in his/her right mind would just bound down in the middle of the Super Bowl and say, “Yo! Dudes! I’m here!”
And if they did, what do think would happen? Well, duh. Crazy house, one way ticket.
And I have been very mindful in my writing of this and in my speaking of it. I make no claims, I stake no claims. I do know that I have been issuing a cry that has gone largely unheard. I have been pleading for people to see the simplicity of errors and to realize how dangerously we are living…
Why would anyone listen to me? I’m just a nerdy, weirdo mom from the American South with a long strange story she wishes someone would start paying her tell. (I have a great idea for a collaboration between a small publisher, a Big House, and an assortment of small press editions…sort of an art project and experiment in…well, how cool would it be to have your book be printed by small press only? Someday, my friends.)
Because it just really baffles me, all of it. I am glad that school has started and that I have begun reshaping the hedgeline and that it rained today and I got three bright orange comet goldfish for the ill-conceived pond…which was actually a great idea.
Sometimes things just need time to come to fruition.
Oh! My point is this, if I am unheard…well, who else aren’t we listening to?
I know a lot of amazing and talented people who are s-c-r-a-p-i-n-g by…so why all the boobies?
Sex sells, but only because we are sold sex. If we stop buying, we won’t get sold the sack of shit we’ve been getting.
My issue is this: scanning through stations on the way to Charleston, I heard a radio host talking about how everyone on facebook the night before was railing some reality tv show…
“Huh?” The watched a show that sucked, and then spent time talking to people about how bad it sucked?
I understand occasionally needing to just watch something unbearably bad…but, there is plenty of pretty bad cinema out there that is at least 1/2 way brilliant (Flight of the Conchords comes to mind…)
Why are we so content with banality and boredom and an endless list of wants?
Well, it’s pretty easy to make a buck off a bunch of distracted idiots, isn’t it?
PLEASE THINK ABOUT WHAT HAS HAPPENED.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
show details 7:57 AM (56 minutes ago)
The first truly violent movie I saw was Pink Floyd, The Wall. I was eight, I didn’t understand it – only understood that it was about people and that the lines of children were real.
The second truly violent movie I saw was Dances With Wolves. I became a little hysterical at the visual portrayal of what I knew had actually happened – but, with far more violence. I was about twelve and I cried all the way out of the theatre, not only at what I saw on the screen –
The fact that nobody else seemed too terribly upset really terrified me. I screamed at my poor father on the way home from Jacksonville. “Why did you take me to see that!?”
I didn’t understand how we let it happen, made it happen and how we were driving on a road that simply wasn’t there, just fifty years prior.
Noone seemed too disturbed. That scared me more than anything.
I think Dances With Wolves was, appropriately, the first blockbuster of co-opted suffering. A big budget Cowboys and Indians, with a sad love story tossed in…
I am so tired of Hollywood taking and twisting peoples stories to make millions…when the people of those stories still suffer.
People need to realize that exploitation is exploitation and seeing a film like Princess (which I admittedly haven’t seen, because the preview made me cry – because there are a lot of girls who live that life of scorn they never deserved, trapped in body and circumstance – the double edged swords of biology and economy.)
Seeing a film doesn’t mean you care…and I wonder whether, in fact, there is not some deep pathology in paying to see a portrayal of suffering…and to just toss your popcorn into the trash on the way out and go home.
When I was 15 I wrote on my desk: Relax in the ignorance of our homes, while man destroys mankind. There is no revolution in writing on desks in private bedrooms.
However, the words (lyrics by the Subhumans) made so much sense to me. It is what we do.
Entropy. Isolation of power. Self-supporting mechanisms of oppression. We can stop believing in what we are told to believe and we can stop buying what we are told to buy. We don’t need it; We’d be better off without it. Really.
I don’t remember if I have written of this here. However, it a brief story well-worth the telling.
Kindergarten, St. Mary’s, Georgia. 1981. Beginning of the year and I am sitting at a round table facing what would have been and still is North.
The teacher is doing something on southeast side of the room – a great hustling and drawling of instruction. It was during these waiting times that I felt most fearfully homesick at school.
Blanched under fluorescents and feeling the high aching lonesome in my bones,
just five years old.
The boy beside me was named Felipio and his hand was warm and dry – so dry it made a sound like the finest silk when I grasped it.
Holding Felipio’s hand, a warm safe place under the table, where our feet dangled inches above the floor, swinging anxiously or limply waiting or tucked under other leg for the comfort of a surface not plastic and dead…his hand was a comfort and sweetness, the innocence of two children in a big bright room…knowing in the way that children know…we were scared, some unknown fear, we wanted to go home.
We held hands. I recall the big sound of the teacher – whose name I can’t recall – coming up behind us. She shadowed us and our eyes were on her thighs and then she knelt down, and in a voice quite calm, she explained: “You can’t do that. You can’t hold hands with him.”
Her hand was cold on my wrist and likely more so on his, he was such a warm little body. She lifted our hands as if they were stunned fish and she placed them on the cool formica table.
The back of his hand looked chalky and wrinkled, the hand of an old man.
I put mine in my lap, where I rubbed the place she had touched my left wrist until I didn’t feel quite so cold.
I have never, ever understood how humans can carry such numb dumb hatred in their hearts.
How can we be so damn mean to one another?