concerning the offal of capitalism and other happenings

Here I am in front of a computer again. I got back from swimming a little bit ago and now I'm drinking a cup of coffee. I didn't sit down to write anything at all in particular, so it looks like it's another focus-less post, consisting mostly of personal narratives and updates.

Summer is going pretty well. It feels like it began with the official end-of-school dumpster extravaganza. When students move away for the summer, out of the dorms and out of off-campus student housing, there's a bonanza of the detritus, of the dross, of the mounds of the throw-away, cast-off, easily-replaceable-if-you-have-the-money excess of our glorious industrial capitalist system.

An even partial list of items to be found in the dank depths of roll-off dumpsters could easily take longer to read or write than either of us wants to invest here. It's sufficient to say that after spending time in just a handful of dumpsters, little would surprise you. I was thinking that I might come across a car in one of them, but that hasn't happened yet.

Even in June, there's still some residual move-out dumpster treasures--not on campus, of course, but in apartment complex dumpsters. I guess summer is just all-around a big move-out/throw-out season. At least in places where privelege is manifested as, among other things, consumption and waste.

On quite a different note, I found out I have a cyst in my calf that is likely responsible for the pain I've been having for the last year and a half or so. It's about 8.2 cm long and extends from the tibia/fibula joint in my right leg. And it's nestled deep in among muscles and nerves and is pushing out on all of that, which is what is probably causing the pain, even in my foot. I had a consultation this week with some doctors and surgeons, who showed me the images of the cyst and told me what they wanted to do. They said they'd prefer to cut it out but that it's in a bad place for that, being very close to nerves. They'd have to cut through muscle which would leave scar tissue and they're worried about the possibility of hitting a nerve. So, they decided that the best thing to try is an ultrasound-guided aspiration with a big needle. That way they said they can miss all the stuff they don't want to hit and try sucking the fluid, which is joint fluid, out of the cyst. That should relieve the pressure on the nerves and eliminate the pain. The cyst may refill, at which point surgery would be reconsidered. Or, it may not fill up again or, if it does form again, it may be smaller and not cause pain.

So, that is super exciting for me! Probably more detail than is needed, but that's okay--it comes from my excitement and, in a sense, relief to know what is going on with this pain and that there is hopefully a way to change it.

I was sorta writing about summer....hail comes to mind. I mentioned earlier, I think, about our garden getting thrashed by hail. And then again on Monday, while I was biking to that consultation, it hailed and rained like mad. I was drenched when I finally got there, with welts from the hail. I rang my socks out in the bathroom sink and my feet weren't squishing too much after that.

Jen spent the last few days in the mountains with fellow teachers in her department; they decided to get together to plan and co-plan for next semester and it sounds like they were able to get a lot done.

....

Jen actually just came home, a bit early, while I was typing the above. I stopped writing this post and ended up doing various things with the rest of the day. Now it's evening, which really feels like late afternoon since it's summer. And this post feels long already, so I think it'll end with this--!

go to bed

It's one thirty in the morning and I would like to have already been asleep for a couple of hours. Instead, I am sitting here. At least I have the song "She's a Refugee" stuck in my head. Still. All day. But it went away for awhile, while I was doing nothing that I wanted to be doing. So, maybe it's a good sign that it's back.

Summer, so far, has been surprisingly rainy. Rainy and inundated with cats. Well, two, anyway. One in particular. It comes around, sometimes just walks right inside our house. She's a cool cat, even if she does use the strawberries as a toilet. The strawberries were planted after she'd already begun using the corner where the porch meets the house, so it's not really on purpose. There's nobody to blame. And she's, like I said, a very cool cat. Likes to rub up against your foot and rolls on her back to be scratched.

So, there's puddles in the alley and we already know what's in the strawberries. And even at this hour, I hear cars on the street. I'm sleepy and my body is tired from swimming and working in the yard. That's my story. What's yours?

finally

finally

when it all comes
it’s fiery like the sun
it’s burning like our rage
it’s cold as the darkest glacier
it’s silent as a star

when it all comes
we are sleeping
our breasts rise and fall
we are running
breathing hard in the fields

when it all comes
i am alone
whispering secrets to myself
listening to your lips
we are close
and in the darkness
we touch

a song

looking for a way

you’re working in one of them booths
taking people’s money as they drive their shiny cars
and it’s summer and the sun is bright and hot
it’s summer and the clouds fled a long time ago

you’re a long way from home living in a city
feel like you’re living in a hole in the ground
the street lights make you lonely
and the chatter makes you cold

i want to take your hand and hold it in mine
i want to take your hand and hold it close
your eyes tell your story more than words can say
i know what you're singing
i know where you been

i know how you're feeling that you just want to finish
where you began

b. smith

perspective

“All of us have a choice--to make our children safe in the world or to make the world safe for our children..."
Ken Wiwa

floors

I just finished scrubbing the living room floor. And now I must let the floor dry for awhile, so I'm sitting in the back room where this computer is. Why not write a bit here?

It's another beautiful spring day here. It's been alternating between spring rain and sunny days. The garden is growing and it's been fun watching the plants come up. There are a ton of things growing that we didn't plant this year; they came up from seeds from plants that went to seed last fall--lots of lettuce, spinach, and sunflowers. One half of the main area in front of the house is planted in rows--spinach, onions, peas, radishes, beans, carrots, plus the random seedlings from last years plants. The other half hasn't been planted yet but has lots of unexpected seedlings. Today, I think I might transplant the kohlrabi and pok choi that we've been growing inside.

Jen and I had a great weekend together. We didn't do anything really exciting but just spent some time together and enjoyed it. And ate really great food, including a wonderful cake that Jen made.

I've been missing my family a lot lately. We talk on the phone, which is nice, but it's of course not the same as face-to-face time together.

That's about the extent of this post. I'm gonna do some stretching and get outside.

......................

para todos todo

a tale

He began life living on a chondrite meteor. How he came to be born, no one knows. But there he was one day, astride a meteor deep in space.

What is the nature of my existence, he asked. Here I am, one day awake and aware. I know not from where I came or what it is I am to do.

Looking around the meteor, he saw what he had always seen. The same landscape; the same ridges, valleys, and shadows. True, the distant scenery changed a little. Stars faded past into obscurity. New celestial bodies slowly came into view. The pinpoints of light changed their patterns, their positions altered, their brightness oscillated. And always he was beneath their brilliance and awed.

Time went on. His name was Alethe. He ate and drank and lived and grew and aged. His dreams were beautiful, terrible, meaningless, trivial, and vital. His fingers were his own, as were his thoughts. In his isolation he created friends, companions. With them he sought communion. In the valleys between the crested, stony ridges lived small insects. With them, too, he sought communion. Gazing into the multifaceted eyes of a dragonfly, he felt his spirit moving between his body and that of the winged insect and he felt the presence of the dragonfly moving in that same space.

He drank water from shallow, shaded pools and was thankful for his thirst. Once for a reason he could not name, he built a low wall of metallic stone. It stood for two days, a short, squat shadow on the landscape. He awoke during the night and walked out to where he had built the wall. Looking at it through the starlight, he suddenly felt regret and anger and remembered a dream he had tried to forget. He slowly took apart the wall, stone by stone. The stones were smooth and angular, like ice or some kind of deep hued glass or steel. A few were rough and full of conglomerates. They felt good on the skin of his hands. He tumbled the stones down the slope, where they scattered and nestled among other rocks.

Alethe slept and dreamed, ate, and drank the cool water from shadowy pools. His life went on. And then one day, for no apparent reason, he died.

The meteor still travels through space, on some uncalculated trajectory. The stars are bright and the nights cool.

-sw

brewing coffee over a gipsy fire

Under the open sky the light was clear, with a reflection of cold red on the eastern hills. The clumps of trees in the snow seemed to draw together in ruffled lumps, like birds with their heads under their wings; and the sky, as it paled, rose higher, leaving the earth more alone.

--Edith Wharton, from Ethan Frome

You be the Soccer Judge!

A very interesting question, indeed. Here are the choices, folks. Choose wisely--it's quite possible that the fate of smoking soccer players lies in your decision.

A. Of course a player can smoke during a match, so long as they keep the cigarette away from other players' eyes.

B. No. The referee is required to caution the player for an act of ungentlemanly conduct.

C. Yes, provided the player has enough smokes to share with everyone on the field.

D. It depends upon the legality of the substance being smoked. The referee must use personal judgment based on a sound understanding of current drug laws pertaining to the region in which the match is being played.

E. No. If the player does not voluntarily throw out the smoke, the team captain must physically stop the player from smoking to avoid a forfeit (see illustration below).

rambling update

The snow is really coming down. It's heavy, big flakes right now and I can see the neighbor's roof thick with snow. It's a beautiful day!

I've been gone from home a bit, beginning with a trip with Jen out to the northwest for a wedding and hanging out with old friends. We had a great time with friends and it's always wonderful to see people happy and in love.

We took our time coming back, camping on the Olympic Peninsula in the rain and driving with a storm just about the entire trip. Rock Springs, Wyoming became an unexpected destination--all the roads were closed because of the snow storm and ice and we ended up staying there for two nights. So, we didn't end up getting to the canyons and cottonwoods near Dinosaur and camping like we had hoped, but we had a really fun time anyway. The Cody Motel was the spot to be--it even advertises color tv! And on the last day of the trip, we found a free hot spring--it was hot and wonderful and something we had wanted to do on our trip.

The day we got back, Jen roasted an eggplant in the oven to make some babaganoush. When she took it out the eggplant exploded, with pieces of it hitting her face. Jen got second degree burns on her cheeks, chin, and nose. It was really scary. We went to the emergency room, where she got cold compresses and anti-bacterial cream put on the burns. Jen had gotten the eggplant off her face almost immediately and also flushed her face with cold water until we left for the emergency room and that all seemed to help a lot. After the emergency room, she continued at home with the cold compresses and anti-bacterial cream and then saw a burn specialist a few days later. The blisters looked pretty painful. But they started healing quickly, and by the time I got back to town a couple of days ago, they were healed well and very difficult to even see. Jen has pointed out that she probably has a mutant healing factor, which is pretty cool.

A few days after Jen's encounter with exploding, burning eggplant (the remains of which are still pasted on the walls and ceiling of the kitchen), I left for Chicago to meet up with my brother. We hung out for a day there and then headed for Tennessee with my brother's daughter and a rented car. My folks are living there now, in a cabin by a little creek. We stayed for about a week and I had a lot of fun hanging out together with family. Our folks showed us around and took us to some beautiful places, we played with the dogs, and just spent time talking and being together. My brother's daughter made a great treasure hunt for us, too!

My brother, his daughter, and I headed back for Chicago and got into the city late at night. I ended up staying there for a few more days, hanging out, playing dice with my brother and niece, walking through Chicago alleys, and playing darts in the bar downstairs one night (where my brother's dog joined us!), before getting a train to Denver. And then it was a quick ride with an electrician who had just gotten out of Sterling prison and then with a guy who worked for a vehicle rental company and I was home.

And now it's snowing beautifully. Which is a lot more interesting than this post. But that's okay. Besides, I'm gonna post something here soon that will ask a very important question, so be sure to check back.

resistance

lukewarm coffee
lots of roads
birds under stars
dark shapes against a sky

with a pencil and scrap of paper
you record your thoughts
like a grocery list

it's like a spring in my heart
these days
i'm so in love
how do you like that?
sounding like some record
with a needle on a lovesong
it's true
even though it's not a commercial
it's like a spring
and i'm so in love

it's not just love that this
culture kills
but, surely, it is one victim
so love and be warmed in the knowledge
of resistance
so love
and feel the echo in the cedar trees
up and down the cottonwoods along
the drainage ditch
within the sand and gravel
so love and know and unknow

beneath the stars at night
i hear the movement of wings
as birds fly out across the field

B.E. Rasir

i broke the law and i used a gun

I met Kenny Rogers last night. I was at some kind of junior high or high school event/reunion. I saw old friends and acquaintances. It had the feel of some sort of ceremony; we were in a big hall with lots of seating. The lights were low.

At some point Kenny Rogers got up on stage. I was standing nearby and heard him start a really terrible song but it was great because it was classic Kenny Rogers and everyone, including Kenny, knew it. And he sang a beautiful song; I listened to the lyrics floating in the big, darkened hall. I went up to him and told him that I listened to the Gambler album a lot with my folks when I was a kid. I mentioned one of my favorite songs “Tennessee Bottle” and about how I brought my parents’ tape with me when I went to college and listened to it all the time in the dorms. He was handsome and very kind. I got his autograph after we talked for a few moments. Then I realized how cool it would be if he’d sign something to my mom. A small line had begun and, as I looked around, I saw my mom there, already planning on asking for an autograph.

Later, we were in some sort of hallway, it seemed like a hotel, but I think it was still a part of whatever place we’d been at for the school event. I was walking with two other people from school and Kenny. One of the other people was my old friend Damien, I’m pretty sure. I was dressed in puffy red pants and a puffy blue grey jacket and I wondered why the hell I was wearing such stupid clothes.

We reached some sort of opening in the hallway, a lobby of some kind, with two beds in it. Kenny got ready to lay down in one—apparently, he didn’t have a room for the night. We all talked some more and I gave Kenny a hug and I thought again, why the hell am I wearing this puffy jacket and these red puffy pants? We weren’t all celebrity-worship, we were just chatting but then Kenny said “You’re all starting to hang out,” which, it was obvious, meant “I’m trying to go to sleep now and have had enough.” So, we took off.

I exited some doors from Hughes Junior High and went outside to get my bike. It was dark with a big night sky. Once I got to my bike, there was a combination bike lock around it and I couldn’t remember the combination. So, I went to my grandparents’ place, thinking that if I could just find a calculator, I’d be able to recall the combination. I went into my grandpa’s office and tried to use his computer but I couldn’t remember the password for it. I was a bit frustrated until I picked up the keyboard and a calculator fell out from it. I tried using it but the batteries were dead. The computer had batteries, too, so I took those out and tried them in the calculator, but it still wasn’t working. My grandpa, who was out in the kitchen, heard some noise as I was changing out the batteries and yelled “what the hell are you doing?” He was really mad. I yelled back “all these fucking batteries are dead!” Then he came storming in, really irate. I got up and we yelled a bit as I was leaving. Getting out into the garage, I noticed his black pickup truck was dirty, so I found a hose and started washing it off. I heard my dad’s voice say “I’ll ask Papa tomorrow who cleaned his truck.”

2009 (ode to never having the answer)

an apple
when sliced
and we are bleeding
the ambulance is far away
and will not arrive

so i look at the slices
of apples which in all of creation
are perfect
hard flesh, black
seeds

so, i wrap them up in tinfoil
and gunpowder with a
homemade fuse
"light fuse and get away"
always made me laugh in
the heat of summer alleys
but its for real with these
seeds. i light fuse
and get away

i know my physics, engineering is
all bad
it'll never make it out of the
atmosphere but the shiny package
of life will make it high above, there
to be caught in some continental jet
stream

someday depositing, gently,
the seeds

i don't know what's with the tinfoil
i guess it's all i had in my pocket
during those dark hours
it won't get in the way
nothing does

apartheid and palestine

Gaza is again out of the headlines. However, the struggles in Palestine continue, regardless of corporate media’s silence.

Days after the “end” of the invasion of Gaza, Israel seized 425 acres of the West Bank of Palestine to expand Israeli settlements. Then, on March 2, Israel’s Construction and Housing Ministry’s plans to double the size of settlements in the West Bank, by appropriating more Palestinian land and demolishing Palestinian homes, became public; construction has already begun.

There are over 200 Israeli settlements with 400,000 settlers throughout the occupied West Bank. The settlements are clearly and overtly illegal under international law, and blatantly aimed at making Palestinian independence impossible. The current expansions intensify Israel’s practice of creating isolated pockets of Palestinian communities. The wall Israel is building far into Palestinian territory and Israeli-only roads that dissect the West Bank further separate and cut-off Palestinian communities from one another. The wall, roads, and settlements—tools of colonization—function to create what many identify as Bantustans. This term, which originated in apartheid South Africa, refers to forcibly segregated, unconnected enclaves of subjugated people.

This historical apartheid parallel is why the Congress of South African Trade Unions, representing 1.2 million workers, has called for a boycott of Israeli goods until the situation is justly addressed. Likewise, the South African Transport and Allied Workers Union has announced it will stand in solidarity with Palestinians. These dockworkers, many having experienced apartheid in their own lives, took action on February 8, refusing to offload a ship carrying Israeli goods. During apartheid South Africa, this tactic was part of the success of the anti-apartheid movement. In 1963, Danish dockworkers refused to unload a ship carrying South African goods. Workers repeated this action when the ship tried offloading in Sweden. Eventually, British and American dockworkers adopted the tactic, adding to an increasingly powerful movement.

It will take more than courageous South African dockworkers to end the occupation of Palestine. The occupation is alive and well-funded, beyond the use of settlements to destroy prospects for Palestinian autonomy. Gaza is still, after almost two years, under siege. All borders are blockaded; food is scarce; hospitals, schools, water and sewage systems are destroyed. 11,000 Palestinians, hundreds of them children, are in Israeli prisons. The West Bank is still under direct military occupation. Settlements, Israeli-only roads, checkpoints, sniper towers, Israeli military bases, and tanks cover the landscape. Between February 26 and March 4, in events that occur with stark regularity, two Palestinians were killed; another died of an earlier gunshot to the head; 12 were wounded, several by Israeli missiles—including five children and a journalist; and 31 were abducted by the Israeli military. Nonviolent resistance to the occupation continues, as it always has. Last month in Jayyous, a farming village that’s had 75% of its agricultural land stolen by the wall, a Palestinian was shot by Israeli military during a nonviolent protest. In similar protests against the wall in Jayyous, the Israeli military killed two children in December and shot a Swedish activist in January.

Reciting this litany of murders doesn’t adequately explain the devastation of the occupation, nor does it bring about its end. However, as with South Africa, an international movement using diverse tactics in solidarity with liberation movements in Palestine can end this system of death and oppression.

do you take the well-lit, descending tunnel to your left or the dark passageway with a slight breeze on your right?

i just got back from swimming this morning. i feel great! so, now i'm drinking a cup of warmed up coffee while some oatmeal is heating up on the stove.

i sat in on a class at the university yesterday; it's the second time this semester i've gone to the class. it's taught by a professor that i know and really like. the first day i came, he told the class "public education should be free. if you know anyone who's interested in coming to this class, please invite them." the class is called Capitalism and Global Ethnic Conflicts.

it's been some time since i've sat in a desk in an official class. it's enjoyable being able to listen to the teacher and all the various perspectives from other students--there are lots of different experiences and ways of seeing the world that people bring to that setting and it's great to be able to listen and interact with that dynamic.

and here is some exciting news: at the public library there are some shelves devoted to books available for donations (.10-$1.00 a book) that go towards the library (i've been picking up some books there for the books-to-prisoner project). well, i was dropping off a book last week in the outdoor slot--i wasn't planning on going inside--when i had a feeling. i went in and scanned the shelves, my eyes stopping on three familiar book spines--fighting fantasy books! there were three different ones--caverns of the snow witch, deathtrap dungeon, and island of the lizard king. do you know these kind of books? they're what lots of folks call gamebooks and, really, they are solo roleplaying books that usually utilize a choose-your-own-adventure type format augmented with dice (or other random number generator), various character attributes, fairly complex plots, and often narratives that continue from one book to another.

it's been awhile since i've happened across some of these kinds of books. i really like them and have since i was a kid and was reading the lone wolf series. the lone wolf books really captivated me--i remember waiting eagerly for the next in the series to come out, going to the bookstore in the mall and checking the shelf to see if it had arrived. these books had a continuity that progressed from book to book; as you kept playing the same character, the story continued to unfold and develop, oftentimes referencing experiences that had occurred in previous books. this added to the sense of character and plot development and heightened the feeling of authenticity of the world created in the stories.

there were lots of other series written in the 1980s. Grailquest, with it's idiosyncrasies, humor, and darkness, was another i read. and, of course, the fighting fantasy books. many of those are full of mazes and dank dungeons, strange encounters, and fantastic creatures. and there are others, too.

a few summers ago, i went on a hitchhiking trip up to north dakota. it was the first time i had tried a long-distance trip like that and it was incredible. after visiting my grandparents and some friends for awhile in bismarck, i took an early morning bus out to medora, then spent several days hiking and camping in the badlands. the night before catching the bus back to bismarck, i camped on a sandbar on the little missouri river, just outside of town. i remember feeling free. it was one of the most incredible nights of my life. i suppose it was a combination of several things--the whole trip in general, the camping in the badlands, swimming in the river, sleeping on the sand, the proximity of the bridge and road and town that night, and the immensity of the night sky.

the first night i camped on the way up to bismarck, i was near spearfish, south dakota. and it really felt to me like a solo roleplaying book. that's why i started thinking about this trip as i was writing about those old gamebooks. a man driving a work van (i think he was employed with some cable company) dropped me off in the late afternoon. i remember that this person said he read all the books his son read--they'd read them at the same time. anyway, i wasn't very familiar with traveling like that and i began trying to decide what to do next--try for another ride, look for a place to spend the night and, if so, where (near the overpass that a creek flowed under, walk a ways out of town, look for something further down the creek). as i was considering the options i could think of, it suddenly dawned on me how much it felt like one of those books--do you take the path with the prints of a large animal through the forest, or do you decide to follow the road west, or do you make camp in the forest for the night?

well, i really hadn't anticipated writing about all that when i sat down here while breakfast cooked. i guess that's one thing i like about writing--sometimes it just kinda goes.

not again!

don't you just hate it when you accidentally lean against the ultra force-shield switch, unknowingly turning it off? i mean, of all the places to rest your pointy little elbow!

excerpt from "buddha in glory"

a billion stars go spinning through the night,
blazing high above your head.
But in you is the presence that
will be, when all the stars are dead.

--rainer maria rilke

ring of slow digestion

Yesterday, I played a few games of Rogue--the old computer game from the early 1980s. Does anyone remember that epic game? The character you play, at least in this version, is a graphic of a smiley face and the creatures you encounter are each represented by a letter on the screen (H=hobgoblin, W=wraith, K=kestrel, T=the dreaded troll, etc.).

You move through level after level of increasingly dangerous dungeons, apparently in search of the amulet of Yendor (I think). I made it to level 15 before I was offed.

In other headlines, it's sunny today and I drank a cup of tea. I also ate two bowls of oatmeal.

bones

i’m excited at this very moment in time. i want to say that in a voice that sounds like rod serling. ‘case in point’, and then be sure to say the word ‘mind.’ in rod serling’s voice, i mean.

....

a man sits in a house, reading a comic book, while outside the winter sun is setting. black tree limbs are silhouetted against the strange blues of the sky and grey of clouds. he feels the world is immense and suddenly infinitely small at the same moment. it’s as if someone is looking down and across a colossal landscape, horizon to horizon. buildings, trees, mountains, cliffs, spires jut up like the ribcage of some immense skeleton, slowly rotting in the vegetation that is steadily consuming the landscape.

a flash of light, perhaps, catches their attention as they huddle around the fire. high up on the edge of the cliff as they are, they can see out across the expanse of jungle as it breaths the evening air. they look up at the flash of light or the sudden, unexpected noise or maybe it’s simply an impulsive feeling of something creeping into the periphery of vision. the warm light of the fire plays across their faces as they look. what lies out there, beyond the ken of their small wilderness and their small lives?

mlk letter

Martin Luther King Day has come and gone. Even as Gaza bleeds, police kill unarmed people of color in US cities, and our communities are torn apart by immigration raids, many believe King’s dream has been realized.

On the morning of the 19th, I used a restroom in a public building that had ethnic slurs and violent hate speech carved into the wall, including threats to murder Latina/o people. We are far from realizing any part of King’s vision, including creating a world free of racism and white supremacy. The message etched in the restroom was a glaring reminder of the mentality of some who live in our communities. While it’s terrible that individuals hold such hateful perspectives, it’s really disgusting that this view is reinforced by wider social and political norms.

The US maintains policies that embody the racist worldview communicated in the hate speech in that bathroom stall. Whether it’s “free” trade policies directed at the global south or the more overt imperialism of invasion and occupation of Arabic people, the US government maintains the oppression of other people and cultures around the world—and here at home. We have to look no further than the nearest ICE raid or prison to realize this intimately affects our local communities.

We should honor Dr. King by remembering the full scope of his vision—a dream that challenges racism, patriarchy, militarism, capitalism, and other forms of domination—and by realizing that the struggle is far from over.

i sing of change

I Sing of Change

Sing on: somewhere, at some new moon,
We'll learn that sleeping is not death,
Hearing the whole earth change its tune.
W.B. Yeats

I sing
of the beauty of Athens
without its slaves

Of a world free
of kings and queens
and other remnants
of an arbitrary past

Of earth
with no
sharp north
or deep south
without blind curtains
or iron walls

of the end
of warlords and armouries
and prisons of hate and fear

Of deserts treeing
and fruiting
after the quickening rains

Of the sun
radiating ignorance
and stars informing
nights of unknowing

I sing of a world reshaped

--Niyi Osundare

thin

well, i don't post much to this place anymore. i suppose there's lots of reasons for that--i've been busy (like everyone, i know), i've been keeping off the internet a bit, and other reasons. i'm not sure i'm really all that enamored with keeping a blog. that's a part of it, too. but i'm writing here now, so i guess i still want to at times at least.

much has been going on globally--gaza and greece come to mind. there have been solidarity actions all over, including here in colorado. the books to prisoner project here is going along pretty well. we're getting books and we are starting to get our name and address out to some prisoners in Colorado.

we're finally gonna eat the pinto beans that we grew in our garden. i remember writing something about that on this blog; the beans are in a pot on the stove right now.

what do people read? i'm curious. write a comment about it if you are so inclined.

i've been swimming lately at a city pool. it's great--it makes my leg feel better and makes me feel so much better in many ways. it's great to find some exercise while i'm getting this leg shit worked out.

now i'm at home and today has been pretty good. the other day i ran into an old friend who i used to work with in archaeology. we were on one crazy project together that went through the winter for months. he doesn't live here and it was really kinda incredible to just see him at this cafe. it was great talking and catching up a bit. lives are maybe more interconnected than i usually realize. or maybe it's mostly random chance, with a few influencing factors.

awhile ago, a person i've been corresponding with who is currently in prison sent me a cd. one of the songs has the lyrics:

until everyone has everything they need

i really like that.