Beauty

There is this woman. I thought that she was beautiful. But, as I got to know her I found out that she was ugly. Not your traditional unattractiveness, she was ugly inside. The way she spoke, the manner in which she carried herself and the way she treated other people all added up as exhibits which present her clear ugliness.

Now, she is beautiful.
And, I am jealous. That is true.
But, I am beautiful inside. And, that I'd always rather be.

But, nonetheless
Why is this world so obsessed with the ways in which we look?
Because it would seem to me that is a very unsturdy way to live
Since primarily we change. As humans, we change. So there.
But also, of all the matter floating in space and all the questions and imponderables on earth, why does beauty matter?

i've come to a point in my life's cycle where my image is the least of my concerns (much to the dismay of my boyfriend). i actually happen to be beautiful on the outside. that is, i'm fit, young, pretty and good looking--i hold many of the standards for what is good--nice rack, cute butt, pretty face...blah blah..but, i don't much use it anymore. i just haven't much been interested in showing myself. i'm pissed i cut my hair. i was growing it for 5 years. then some idiot cheers me on and i take a pair of sissors and start chopping. i had no idea how upset it would make me.

blogging is blogging is blogging is blogging
does anyoen read this
where does this go
my inner most thoughts
and my private feelings
who reads this?
are you reading this?
let me know.

My favorite websites

http://news.bbc.co.uk/
http://ww.craigslist.org/
http://thesartorialist.blogspot.com/
http://postsecret.blogspot.com/
http://www.overheardinphilly.com/
http://www.fark.com
http://www.idealist.org

Excellent Reflexes Mr. President

Aren't we all just failing anyway?

Often times I wonder if humans haven't already treaded Earth enough for the oceans to cave in, the fish sucked inside; I imagine the people may die if all that is said on television is true.

------------------------------------------------------

the boy sits on his steps unimpressed
his sister getting her hair done
she rests
along side her mothers lap
in a wave of love and devotion
and the candles
oh the candles
:
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20081218/ap_on_el_se/ny_senate_seat

violent your turning violent

do i have free press?

Second Life

Ready for a new one ?
Check out:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b72CvvMuD6Q

Stor(i)es of inspiration

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/business/7770860.stm
don't be scared.

I write

The internet exploded in my face. Or so it felt like. I remember being 14 years old. Alone, 11 o'clock at night, up pounding my index fingers away at a keyboard. Then, my mom was the only person I knew who used one. The secretary at school, too, but that was it. Until, AOL came out and we started going online and IMing until we couldn't see the screen anymore. Printing out conversations, talking to boys, gossiping with girls. High School was just about to start and the internet revolution was under way. I had no way of knowing at that time what computers and the world wide web would bring to our lives.

Over the next 8 years the internet has taken off. Today the impact is substantial and this technological, abstract and numerical world manages the way we live. We have come to recognize the internet as an extension of ourselves. There exists no privacy because we are the internet; We grow inside a vast enterprise and network of knowledge and information.

what do i do?

hmm...

------

ha-lar-i-ous

i want to go here

i want to go to Oaxaca, Mexico for the day of the dead celebration in 2009.

dreams of ships and waterparks.

since circumnavigating the globe on a ship for 100 days, my life has been well, different - to say the least.

more often than not i dream of ships and waterparks.
of floating on open water and moving about with various people on a ship which with each dream changes shape or form.

it is confusing, weird, almost annoying because it is so unttainable. it is also very peaceful, joyful and relaxing.

WORLD PHILOSOPHY DAY

Today is World Philosophy Day.
BBC News Magazine Online asks 4 questions to make your brain hurt, check it out: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/magazine/7739493.stm

On this day there exists 10,100,000 search results on google for socrates. wow. google is awesome. If they weren't laying off people and I was in the mood for a career, I'd go with them. I heard you get naptime and playtime. Let me check on that.

Talk is in the air that Mrs. Clinton may be Secretary of State under President Elect Obama. This is the same position held by Colin Powell during the first Bush administration. He is a man I admire greatly and had the opportunity to meet when I was about 8 years old. He bowed out gracefully..

i love this video

take 5 minutes and watch this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vK1F3dLTLWM

'da man? the chosen one? or just plain lucky?

all three.

anyway,

what the bleep do we know?

THE ECONOMY. like duh.

I feel it is an appropriate time, now being no better or worse than later or before, to comment on the present state of the economy.

that being said, i will return later because i think i feel carpal tunnel coming on but i hope not.

font

apart from spelling that doesn't really matter i am now doing away with font--both color and size.

grammar stays--for the most part.

Elizabeth Peyton

new museum

brooklyn nyc

live forever:

elizabeth peyton

8 de octubre 2008 -

11 de enero 2009

Fantasy Island.

The Rose Gardens pittered with rain and the sun shone shyly through the banks. Two men with canes, hunch backed, crouched over a game of rummy. Children holding hands of mothers jumped gleefully across the red brick and through the back gate of the treelined exit. The cries were miles away.

Monserrot was on my mind and the sun felt warm on my cheek.

So, I don't get it. This is life?

So I have been trying to figure this out for a while, you know, the meaning of life and all. And, I don't get it. Of course I mean, I don't "get it." No one does and that is the point, right?

Well, so let me get this strait. I have fun for ohh twenty-two years, taking classes and learning and traveling and meeting people and then BAM, I graduate and it's over? Hmm. There has to be a better way. This is a strange, strange year.

Hmm..

brought to you by honda.

are american automobile companies working on stuff like this?

With every triumph theres an obstacle to overcome

I love what Ellen had to say about the passing of prop 8 in California. She hit the nail on the head. It is a sad day for me, a strait American, that prop 8 was passed. I can't believe that more people believe in hate than unity and acceptance.

"Watching the returns on election night was an amazing experience. Barack Obama is our new president. Change is here. I, like millions of Americans, felt like we had taken a giant step towards equality. We were watching history. This morning, when it was clear that Proposition 8 had passed in California, I can’t explain the feeling I had. I was saddened beyond belief. Here we just had a giant step towards equality and then on the very next day, we took a giant step away. I believe one day a 'ban on gay marriage' will sound totally ridiculous. In the meantime, I will continue to speak out for equality for all of us."

UPDATE: On Nobvember 20, 2008 The Supreme Court of California has agreed to hear the case.

Awkard is Awesome??

I yearn to go and take you places you and I have never been before. With a group of friends, or just you and I, we could explore the depths of every place we’ve only imagined. We could leave immediately. How much money do you really think you need? I want to talk about this; but it seems your too busy. And you are, no doubt. But, I think this is important. Why? Because it is important to me. I crave for something that I don’t have and I don’t know what it is but I do want you to come with me to find out. Please, won’t you come with me?

I feel as though I have been waiting my whole life to discover myself. Each day I search and I constantly think. My life is good and I am happy but something is missing and it isn’t you. I have you. It isn’t money, I don’t care for money. It isn’t in material form–no clothes or purse or television could bring me what I need.

But what will happen? One thing will lead to the next which will turn into something else and I will be stuck here. Sometimes I think of my feet as if there are literally stuck. Like gum or some nasty gunk I stepped in has permanantly adhereed my feet to the ground and I will constantly be forced to stare at the same things I’ve always seen. Then it becomes sad for me. This isn’t like I am continuously asked to sit in the 7th grade. That might even be fun. No, this isn’t fun. This is work and I don’t want to work. I want to be free. I want to the feel the breeze under my wings and I want to fly out of here. Tell me why the caged bird sings please, I want to know.
Yet, it all doesn’t seem so real anyway.

My problems melt away like butter when I focus on my friends and my family and my love for Philadelphia.
But my eyes well up when I realize how much has changed and how much I have not.
I am still the same.
I am so different yet I am still the same.
I still have the same hopes and dreams I had when I was 8. I still like reeboks, leggings and sweat shirts. I still think of the same people as my best friends and I miss the ones I don’t talk to or just can’t communicate with anymore.
I try to communicate to myself certain ideals and place myself in a mentality in which I ought to be–a positive, self-fulfilling happy sate of mind. I push away the waves of negativity and hold tight to the dock as the waves crash over me. My fingers slowly slipping from the grip of the guard rail, I at times feel I could fall overboard into a sea of sadness.
But no. I shut, no, I slam the door on thoughts such as these and BANISH them from my brain.
I yearn to smell the sea. I miss the sound of seagulls in the winter and cold ocean water on my feet.

The winter corners me into a room of loneliness but the spring always saves me just in time.
What will I do and what is to become of me?
At times I feel I could give up but I’m not sure what I’d be letting go of and what I’d have if I held on.

Where does the shore go in the wintertime?

Jezebel

It was a lovely afternoon and the park was filled with people. The trees smelled fresh and the grass seemed to grow taller and taller with each step that she took. Surrounded by the great allure of honeybees and happiness, she slowly melted into the ground as she laid down under the sun.

Jezebel was not a Jezebel, her name did not suit her. But, she was pleased to be called such and wasn’t bothered that others occasionally associated her with less than pleasing points of views. She went on with her life and blissfully stared at the sky.

Clouds were forming on the horizon and chills drifted up her spine to tickle her neck as she cringed slightly. Dogs barked in the distance and children laughed not too far away.

Sunshine quickly overcame the clouds and the distant fog went away.

Jezebel tried to imagine her life twenty years from now and suddenly saw herself in a café with a young man. This young man, handsome and lovely, looked so familiar. Yet, she knew she was only imagining a man that might be met in the future.

She closed her eyes to block the sun and slowly drifted into sleep. In her dreams she was riding horses on a beach with lightning storms chasing her from behind. She kicked the horse firmly to let it know to speed up. The noise was horrendous. This was a nightmare.

Her forehead dripping with sweat, Jezebel lept up in a moment of fury trying to catch her breath. The mood had changed and she was not so peaceful any longer.

TO BE CONTINUED.

There is hope amongst Religion, but what is it based on?

This photo is from the BBC online and is part of a series of photographs covering the reconstruction efforts in Burma following devistating hurricane Nargis.

In a post from a few months ago I noted that the military junta that is the government of Burma was "still rejecting aid." According to the BBC the aid continues to slowly trickle in for the same reasons.

remember me

I want you to know something.
I want you to know that I miss you.
__________________________________________________

overturned stones reveal a past covered in dirt
brushed over with regret.
__________________________________________________

i yearn to remember the times
rewind the clock
but i push towards a future of choices i don't want to make
__________________________________________________

where are you, and do you think of me?
have you read anyone else your poetry?
hey you back but nothing more
its been two years but how many more
__________________________________________________

tell me you still think of me
that you see me when you close my eyes
tell me you remember what my lips feel like
remind me you remember me
__________________________________________________

i have trouble reaching you.

lets just be together

forget the wind

let it blow sand in our face

mock us

and deprive us

we dont care.

Life or something like it

Life wasn't written in a language anyone can understand. Like--I'll never get anyone to read my poetry. Or--I will be a famous poet.

What are the meaning of our lifes perdictions?

super cute!

I try not to fall for stuff like this but I have been reading The Sartorialist for years, http://thesatorialist.blogspot.com/, and I seem to have fallen for fashion this autumn.

These outfits are beautifully put together. There are no labels flashing, nothing reeks of money--just a nice scent here and there. These are some fine looking ladies in some creative emsambles and I applaud the photo and The Satorialist for bringing good fashion to the web (people still call it the web, right?).

All writing is cliche.

I had an environmental science professor slash up a "news report" I'd written because he'd wrote that I used too many "cliche" words and phrases. Naturally, I was pissed. "Who the fuck does he think he is," I said to my boyfriend about twelve times when I got home later. "This fucking prick doesn't teach English, this is a friggin environment class."

I was mad, I was really mad. I took the paper, ripped it up and it has long been in a compost by now, which is truly madness because I keep all of my papers--catagorized and clean in a nice folder behind my desk--truly I do. But anway this gentleman got me thinking about writing and cliches and my god, I can't see the difference. What does the cliche mean anway? According to Miriam-Webster:

1: a trite phrase or expression ; also : the idea expressed by it2: a hackneyed
theme, characterization, or situation3: something (as a menu item) that has
become overly familiar or commonplace

Okay. Now, that we all read that and given it some thought, I'd like to proceed by asking what is familiar, or what is commonplace? If we are to write without cliches, are we making assumptions that are unnescary and somtimes damaging to our reader? We know what a cliche expression is when we hear it but why does that make it "bad?" According to my former instructor, it would seem that the continued use of such cliche words and phrases would damage our arguments or possibly belittle our writing by relying on accepted statements instead of creating new ones.

However, that type of slim thinking underestimates the great power that lies in the cliche--the greater understanding, dare say, universal acceptence of the cliche and it is this great understanding which makes it possible for humans to communicate. Cliche just sounds like an annoying word, with the harsh 'che sound and invisible accent everyone forgets--but truth be told, cliches aren't bad! Here is a link to the obnoxious article my teacher passed out, http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_kmnew/is_200708/ai_n19455175.

Look, I don't like using cliches and I like to think I rarely do. Science teacher or English teacher, whatever. But, style is style and good writing is good writing--with or without cliches.

Pepto and Puke

She took a stick and started stirring
The solution turned pale pink and she was disgusted
Pushing ties aside
she wanted to break the mold.
peering through envelopes that were sealed years ago
"how do you know whats good for me?,"
She demanded to know!

Swimming helped the tides swell back
the water wouldn’t rush over her anymore
this time Jackie would collect all the shells in time
Seagulls bring bad memories of soiled streets
and dirty laundry.

They ate my tacos!
Those weren’t your tacos to begin with.

Orangish colors in the sky are ugly
I can’t stand the sunset
it makes me sad
I wish the day’d last longer.

A Riverbed

She awoke to death once again, no changes this morning; death was all around her like a snake wrapped round her body pulling her tighter and tighter. The strangle of death was coughed out like a slippery piece of candy down your throat. The equinox was upon her and the day was sure to be long.

Inside memories of her childhood played in her head and she thought of her parents and the many years that have gone by since their deaths. Apart they died and she was far from them by that point. Hundreds of miles distance recapped the years spent apart and the space between their bodies at the last moment of their lives seemed further stretched by the long periods of sheltering them out. She was alone and she hated her life. No one pitied her, they merely wondered how she goes this far so lonely for so long.

Her name was Chanel, like the perfume. Her back burned sitting in chairs all day long and her body yearned to stretch on the shores of some beach far, far away from here. Chanel dreamed of days where life stood still and business wasn't ordered, and deserts didn't come delivered. The ways in which the world spun amused her and she found herself at times falling into rivers of rocks, in which she paddled out amongst giants. There, in the river, by the rocks, with the giants, Chanel found herself on the shore of some beach, far, far away from here.

She hadn't decided where she was going but she stood upright as her feet pittered on the ground sounds of happiness, sounds of excitement. Each step guided her further towards her destination and she felt proud of the area she had covered so far in such a short amount of time. It was as if each step guided her closer towards her destination. In the foregound, roars of giant men gushed over her, as if she was sprayed by a sticky string of sound and it was stuck to her. Loud stomps of feet sounded not so distant and immediately Chanel turned around to go back.

In her office an empty brown chair with two black armrests and a nice pencil case with blue pens sat waiting for her. Oh how she yearned to go back to work, to sit diligantly away from the terror of the present sounds surrounding her.

Fiercely the sounds grew louder and as if time seemed to stand still and she could control it, Chanel froze in her tracks somewhere in the shallow end of the river, right by the shore, far, far away from here. Literally stiff, her arms felt like branches covered in cold snow, her body pakced with ice. "Roarrrrrrrr."  She could hear them coming. Any minute they would arrive.

The sound of running water was a momentary distraction as she closed her eyes softlyl; softly like an echo, softly like the trees. Birds chirpped, too, and suddenly, Chanel didn't feel too far from home. Like Dorothy once clicked her heels, Chanel closed and opened her eyes to find her world was changed. The roars were not screams of monsters at all, nor giants of any kind, but tiny, peaceful creatures the size of your twos thumbs. So stentorian were these creatures that Chanel mistook their roaring nature as signs of grotesque proportion.

The dreams of death overtook her as confusion set in and she longed for the comfort of her parents. Her mind transcended to this morning when she sit awake in her bed waiting for the sun to rise. Never one with words, especially amongst strangers, Chanel said nothing as she starred deep into the eyes of this unknown creature. The alien encounter seemed natural and charming, happy and, peaceful even. Chanel was pumped. When she was a girl she had studied very hard and became fascinated with extinct populations at a very young age. It didn't take her long to realize that she had come face to face with a living Baji dolphin. Long rumored to have been extinct, the river seemed to have given birth to a life considered lost.

"Death isn't a thing to fear," said the Baji dolphin. Naturally, Chanel fainted. The dolphin helped her to her feet, explaining, "it is exciting, englightening and will change your life forever--in fact, death is exhiliarting. It is freeing." Chanel, who for years had felt trapped--trapped within a body she had always loathed, trapped within a mind which she cannot control--felt as if Earth's entropy was now spinning completely out of control. Her stomach ached and her head banged. The brown chair with two black armrests and the pencil case with two blue pens felt lightyears away.

The beach opened up and swallowed Chanel, sending her miles below ground. Accompanied by the Dolphin, practically shaking hands at this point, like old business partners, were both sent to the ground, the furthest distance they could fall.

"What did you say?," Chanel asked the dolphin. But, the dolphin has disappeared and now Chanel was immaculately confused, untainted by an abstract experience but deeply concerned with the events of the last ten minutes. She tried to click her heels three times but nothing happened until she closed her eyes again.

The sound of the alarm was blaring in her ear, she sat up with a jolt and swallowed the half empty glass of water by the bed from the night before.

Oh how Chanel loved to dream. She quickly grabbed the notebook on the nightstand marked "dreams" and began to scribble out sentances. She wrote, "a river, a shore, rebirth and acceptance" and got ready to go to work.

you

It is through you that I wonder who I am. I consistantly question my past; I am hung up on the leaves off trees which have passed.

I don’t recognize the face in the pictures but I see myself lost in your eyes. I wonder again where have you been.

You scare me.

Sometimes I feel a tickle in my heart as your memory sweeps past me. I yearn to catch it, grab it, hold it in my hand with all my might; I might not make it.

Evolution & Gould

http://brembs.net/gould.html

The history of life is not necessarily progressive; it is certainly not predictable. The earth's creatures have evolved through a series of contingent and fortuitous events.

- Stephen Jay Gould

little brains

Well everybody on Earth deals with fear -- that's what little brains do. Fear is like a giant fog. It sits on your brain and blocks everything -- real feelings, true happiness, real joy. They can't get through that fog. But you lift it, and buddy, you're in for the ride of your life.

- Bob Diamond, Defending Your Life

mia is hot

i have a lot of respect for this woman, though I am not sure why. Is it because I like her music, the way she dresses, the style she projects? What is it about this woman that intrigues me? I'm not sure. There aren't many females in the hip hop community who I find respectable, tasteful even, but m.i.a. is--i think that says more than more words here.

i could just barf

So I'll start by asking--what is up with all the hipsters?

I guess it has always been cool to copy, we are humans, mimesis, representation and all that jazz..But, what happened to self respect & independence?

whatever "she" churns out, the others wear. whatever "he" does, the others do.
I don't get it. It is so simplistic and I require a deeper meaning.
im surrounded by tacky bicycles and little brains--i've never eaten at sabrinas but let me tell u, its in my neighborhood (and i've been living in this neighborhood 20+ years) and it ain't all that. but what gives it its charm? HIPSTERS! why? because like forrest said stupid is as stupid does. Ohhhh so that explains the bad haircuts, greasy faces and shitty pot!

dumb dumb dumb, i feel like all the "young adults" in philadelphia have turned into tom hanks in big--trying to hide who they are and pretend to be someone else.....

who are u people? where did u come from? AND WHY ARE YOU MOVING TO SOUTH PHILLY? we don't particularly want you here, your gentrifying our neighborhoods and you don't give a shit about helping it. you move in and out and here and there and rep the hood like your from it. i can't stand it and many life long philadelphians are STILL disappointed that the best fucking diner in the city, silk city, was converted into a playpen for hipsters. those egg creams used to be the bomb, lemme tell u. And i'll be the first to admit I've gotten shitty at silk city on thursdays, but, i'm not a hipster so it doesn't count.

more on hipsters--are there any hot hipsters? like, seriously, because i can't find them. no one dude and not one girl. from the back maybe okay i'll give u that but then they turn around and its like damn ur a mess. sureeee, i bet you think you look pretty fine..but the rest of us don't..

to me hipsters represent the decline of western thought. being cool used to be invention. it was about new ideas and having what others didnt. now what is it? wanting what everyone else on tv has and then everyone in the bar has now too? If hipsters are confused then I am confused by hipsters. Interviewed in 2004 for a New York Times Magazine article, writer Zev Borow quotes some guy who used to live in NY and makes an interesting point on "the hipster effect (aka destroying shit)"

A gust of chilly autumn wind forces him to turn up his collar. “Now things around here are just . . . different. And it’s not just here; it’s the whole city, even Brooklyn especially Brooklyn. Right now everywhere just feels . . . tired. Cliché. Corny.” He pauses, remembering. “Deeply unsatisfying . . . over.”

Over? What does he mean by "over" ? I can't help but think over creatively, artistically. there lacks stimulation, nothing is growing and hipsters are dead. alive and functioning yes but dead intellectually, dead where it matters.

Old People Don't Smell--Bad

I should really post a picture of my next door neighbor Tommy here. He is a classic example of what it means to be old in South Philly. He reminds me why I love old people.

See, Tommy grew up in South Philly and then he married Lorraine. She's from South Philly, too, and in South Philly they raised their children and together they live and together they sit, on the porch, in their lawn chairs, everday. And they have been doing this for years.

Me? I love old people. I do, I feel like I really connect with them.

One of my favorite things about old people is the way they love to sit outside. But, its gotta be nice. On my block you can catch at least 2-3 old people per nice day sitting on their step, sometimes together, usually alone. No newspapers and no books. But, when I walk past, on certain special days, I can hear the music playing from inside of the house and it catches me everytime. And the music sounds sweet because I know the music is much older then I am and when I hear that jazz play I can't help but think "man, that old person is cool." So many times I want to sit down next to them and watch the people pass by together.

So many times I wonder what they think about, the memories that pass through their heads and the experiences they have had. I think of them, not individually, not collectively, but one at a time I think of the old people as I encounter them and I love to watch them watch me pass because then I become a part of their life. I become a part of their experience, jam packed into 80 or 90 years. I become part of that time and if they shall die the memory of me shall die too and experience and experience will be erased. And it is fantastic because the idea that my presence shall travel somewhere other then Earth, well, that just sounds extraordinary.

In the summertime is obviously the best time for old people. They don't seem to come out much when it is cold, understandably.

I have another neighbor, her name is Jenny. Jenny is 94. She is from South Philly, too. I have known Jenny all of my life, I just never knew how old she was until recently. (Age didn't start occuring to me until I become old enough to desire to be younger.) Jenny is amazing and she looks good too. I mean she has her wrinkles like the rest of them, white hair and all, but no hump, no cane, fake teeth maybe but man Jenny has got it together. She even has a little figure still going. What's her secret? The steps, it is all about the steps. Jenny is out there almost everyday--talking, laughing, making new friends, visiting old ones. Nevermind Church on Sundays, forget about assisted living and that shit they like to send my friends the old people to, all you need is a nice South Philly step--that is the secret to good health in old age. I swear.

Gross

Isn't that just a lovely home in Avalon, New Jersey? I am sure the millionarie real estate developers and little league celebutante wives just loved this tid-bit from this weekend. And although I bet shit like this happens all the time in various parts of our great country, we don't read about it. I wish they'd keep it that way but since they don't,

On Saturday, lifeguards found the first needle at about 10:45 a.m. in the incoming tide at 12th Street. The beach was shut down for the day from 9th to 24th streets while local, county and state authorities searched the scene. They found 150 more needles, 8-inch cotton swabs and blue pill casings. The needles were made of clear and yellow plastic, about three inches long and tipped with metal.

http://www.pressofatlanticcity.com/186/story/237553.html

Makes you want to dive right in, doesn't it?

That's why it doesnt pay to be rich--fuck avalon, heh.

At 12 P.M. on Sunday afternoon, Caroline sat by the window waiting for the brown folded package to arrive at her door. Listlessly she starred onto the street as the winds branches hit hard on the tops of cars outside.

She signed; unamused, the phone hadn't rung all day. Caroline looked forward to a long evening of smoke and water. Sometimes the street had this distinct air about it that seemed as though it would blow the mailman right around the corner. The storm was impatient. If only it were more like Caroline, polite, cautious and resigned. The shutters sent chills down her spine as they banged against the trim of the windows. Outside, the wind was twisting into a cyclone of dust, debris and fallen leaves.

..to be continued

Alarming

Madrid Plane Crash: August 20, 2008.

The worst is the identification of the bodies. It is the end of all hope.

-Jesus Lopez Santana, Spanish Red Cross

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/7574696.stm

the olympics

Am I the only one who is confused by the Olympics?  Who feels like maybe I shouldn't say too much if you know what I mean.  

Between swapping singers and fake fireworks I'm not sure what to believe.  The athletes are just incredible and their show of strength and dedication should be what defines the Olympic Games.  Sometimes I forget the long history of the Olympics, but then I go to Google and remind myself.  Then I am led to wikipedia, because it is so convienent.  Yet, Professors keep telling me that it is an invalid source.  I agree for the most part because MLA guidelines and the literature community in general wouldn't be able to account for most of the entries found on the site.  However, a little bird told me Goggle is developing their own "wikipedia" and will be using advertising space to generate revenues to pay scholars to publish on their own web encyclopedia.

But back to the Olympics.  Now, I am thinking about the internet and reports of censorship and such is pretty much what I would expect from their government.  After visiting China last Spring, I enjoyed 4 or 5 days traveling in and around Beijing, Quindao and Honk Kong when I spent a semester at sea.  This trip lasted 100 days and took me around the world--from the Bahamas to San Diego going east.

An interesting story surfaces upon searching for Greek and Olympic history.  The games were revived by Greek poet Panagiotis Soutsos in the poem "Dialogue of the Dead" in 1833.  Evangelos Zappas, founder of the modern Olympics Games and businessman and entrepreneur, invested in a steamship company.  The revived Panathenian Stadium near Athens was once again alive with athletes.

coldplay

Ever since Coldplay came out with their first single, "Yellow," I have dug them. Now, I am a fan of all music. I never categorized or classified my catalog of choice. Hip-hop, rock, whatever. I like the new single "Viva la vida."  I really dig it.

my friend

i had the most frightening nightmare the other day when i was walking down the street
i dreamt that you were dead
that it had all caught up with you
and after everyone had given up on you
you died alone
and sad
and lonely
you died for nothing
for everyone
because it had to be you.

and i cried because i was sorry
sorry i hadn't helped
sorry i never knew how
sorry for feeling
sorry for loving.

and the tears flowed
and a river grew
and the river flowed
and the oceans expanded
and you were gone.

and the wind whispered
and the breeze blew
and you were gone.

visions of you laughing filled my head
with memories of fun times
and a past we both shared, together
your smile made me smile
and when you cried i cried.

and now i cry alone
because you are not here
and now i live alone
because you are not here
and then i awake
and i wonder
what can i do

my favorite artist isn't dead.

"My work allows me to speak the truth to the injustices of the world, show the beauty of the experiences of my life, and explore the limitations of the materials and techniques of my artistic foundations. I attempt to decipher negative experiences in positive ways through my art."

- James E. Dupree

When I was in first grade I had no idea that I would meet my best friend and my role model all in the same family. But I did, and I am glad.

http://www.dupreestudiosinc.com/

i try but i fail

i've been forgotten
left for dead
my body yelling out for help
but left unnoticed
as people pass me on the street
i've grown tired
fallen to pieces
marked by unhappiness
i've grown older
marked by wrinkles
and unhappiness

i cry out save me
and wait for a response
my voice echoes out
and does not return.

i turn the corner
and cross my fingers
knock on wood
i tap three times
collect myself
and inhale deep
i've got it now
i know i do.

he reaches out
i instantly react.
i fall short of his grip
he tries again
and i'm consumed
with catching him
i tell him take your time
and he waits till all the people have passed by.

by then i'm shattered
too many times
and not enough moments
i try to wait
but i fail.

i lie down on the street.

he catches me and i lean forward
diving into glass
im on autofocus
but no one can see me
i'm a glare
a blindspot
a twitch
an itch to scratch
i'm gone again.

blank stares and open spaces
cornered me in
and i'm trapped.
like a forrest set on fire
i yearn to be consumed
changed
rerooted,
and growing
i stop
and look around
but i am confused
everything looks different
and i know no one.

i try to wait
on the step of eternity
watching the people pass by
by and by they come
i close my eyes and drop my head
i slip and fall
i fail again.

Media Censorship

http://chun2085.blogspot.com/2007_02_01_archive.html

life

what is independent thought?
what is universally understood?
what is NEW?

REPRESENTATION as the unconcious acception of reality.
- literature & art
- life imitates
- memesis
- Aristotle & Plato
- theoretical linguistics
- love?

intellect VS. ignorance
shame VS. pride
happiness VS. sadness

= perception and experience

the new writer

the new writer.

Recent data from the UNESCO Institute for Statistics (UIS) estimates that there are presently 781 million illiterate adults in the world, about 64 percent of whom are women!!! And in some regions of the world, nearly half of all women are reported to be illiterate.

UIS estimates also show that:

Nearly two-thirds of the world's illiterate adults live in only nine countries,
and 45 percent of the world's illiterate adults live in India and China (34
percent and 11 percent respectively).  Globally, 82 percent of the world's
population is reported as literate: 87 percent of men and 77 percent of all
women.  Extremely low literacy rates are concentrated in three regions, South
and West Asia, sub-Saharan Africa and the Arab States, where only about six in
10 adults are considered literate: around two-thirds of men and only half of
women.  In contrast, Latin America and the Caribbean and East Asia and the
Pacific have literacy rates around 90 percent, for both men and women. Yet these
regions combined account for 22 percent of the world's illiterate population.

http://www.nifl.gov/nifl/international/intro.html

THE NEW WRITER: she isn't concerned with periods because her thoughts dont stop or drop at the end of a sentence commas matter when nessacary. you decide when it is nessacary she Capitalizes on occasion, only when she means it she constantly misspells--but finds peopel stil undarstan hir she tries 2 condense ideas--the shorter the sentence the more potent the thought..All the while creating, inventing, digesting, growing, learning and sharing.

if you cannot understand written language, the challenges you face are innumerable. my life is about language--preservation, understanding and communicating. how to combat illiteracy is exhausting. my work at the Norris Square Community Center of North Philadelphia (http://www.nsnp.com/) showed me first hand the problems facing people of all ages and backgrounds right here in the United States, a land filled with educational opportunities. consider areas in South America and Africa without such advantages.

i think there is a movement going on right now of NEW WRITERS. writers who are socially concious and socially involved. writers who desire a better world and project that through their work. writers who arent utopic but realistic and headstrong. writers who say fuck the rules and create their own. i am part of the school of NEW WRITERS and classes are going on all over the country, in universities and in parks, in basements and in journals--the NEW WRITERS are coming 2 help.

For further information on literacy, as well as education, I found this interesting and intellectual webblog which has entries dating back to 1999. whoa dude, 1999, like mad old yo.
http://jerz.setonhill.edu/weblog/

RIP George Carlin

For my favorite comedian on one of my favorite subjects:
http://youtube.com/watch?v=MeSSwKffj9o

Adversiting, not you.

Just how many advertisements are Americans exposed to daily?

Find out here--the answer didn't surpise me.
http://www.frankwbaker.com/adsinaday.htm

i <3 sushi

It is simple--Sushi is good for you and it tastes good, too.

It doesn't take a scientific journal to tell you our obesity rate is sky high..just take a walk down South St. in Philadelphia, or Broadway in NY, shit, go down South and then stop in the Midwest and try to tell me that McDonald's doesn't have a monopoly on the American people. We don't just have an oil addiction, America has a serious sugar dependency problem that needs to be realized.

My thoughts are this--America is a multi-cultural and multi-"racial (more on this word later)" nation WITHOUT an official language or religion. Our history is skewed, presented from the victors side, and Our politics are well, corrupted (lets be real). As a result we have a confused country. We do. How we take care of ourselves, health and diet for example, is so manipulated by media, environment and economics that we are out of shape (mind and body) Not only out of shape, but many of us sick, hungry, overworked, tired, lazy, and impatient--waiting on a hero for too long to count, so many baby boomers have already given up and Gen X & Y don't seem to know what to do with themselves. One has to wonder if this "free market society" hasn't gotten a big out of control. Do we have too many choices? I think the answer is clear--Yes we do.

The film Idiocracy sums up quite well where I feel this country is headed.

so ask yourself:

Who am I?

What company represents me, what company do I represent?

Who is controlling me?

So since my guess is your answer for all three is "I Don't know," lets all drink some Sake, have a little miso soup and indulge in some Sashimi. Why? Because it's good for you, that's why. Oh, and make sure you go to the best sushi restaurant in Philadelphia--Kisso at 4th and Race. Their sushi is displayed above thanks to an unknown eater who also enjoys Kisso and the Internet.

Time

It is hard to believe that three months have passed since my last post..reminds me how fast "time" goes..

In a matter of a short time I found a great job, moved in with my great boyfriend and missed a long flight to Israel. Of course so much else has occured but these dutches make me forget..

So I have to wonder--
Where does time go?

I've found I work better NOT on a schedule and the clock doesn't match my life or amibitions. I'm better defined outside the lines between the hours on a clock and the ticks of a watch..but measurement aside, time still escapes me. I plan for the future and think about the past, forgetting the present still haunts me because for some damn reason I feel stuck in the middle between two unknown poles of existence and where time is strictly this instant and where its going and where its been aren't nearly as important as WHERE ITS AT.

my boyfriend is an artist. his work is the dopest.

Sunscreen and Sunglasses

I am actively thinking about the future of my skin. Some people wear sunglasses to block the rays of the sun. Others slather on sunscreen to decrease their chance of burning. If only sunscreen was in fashion like sunglasses then we'd have a lot less instances of skin cancer and no one would pressure us to wear it through guilt. Instead it'll be our guilty pleasure, shopping for sunscreen.

What paintings mean something to you?

"Banksy is the anti-Leni Riefenstahl and anti-Richard Wagner, reclaiming public spaces as a space for public imagination and enlightenment where they have become propagandistic barriers to thought and awareness, as is the very terminology for Israel's West Bank barrier itself. Banksy's summer project on Israel's Wall stands out as one of the most pertinent artistic and political commentaries in recent memory."

The Day after Tomorrow

Today I graduated college. Well, not officially. Officially I graduate in August after I complete a science course I avoided and an art course I couldn’t get approved from when I studied abroad. However, excited to participate in commencement, I wanted to participate. I looked forward to the moment my name would be called and honors would follow my double majors. But, I used my friends cell phone to call my boyfriend to let him know there would be no such announcement. Yes, I have decided to vent my anger at Temple University’s lack of organization and trust in their students. They wouldn’t announce “cum laude” since the school was not certain I would achieve such marks during my three remaining credits—out of 120. So, as a result Temple does not announce honors in major or distinguish to students graduating in the summer. That includes myself and that is disappointing.


Tomorrow I will think about finding a job. I will also think about an apartment and moving out of my parent’s house. I will try to link these thoughts, creating a good life for my boyfriend and I.

Interesting article on the language of Shakespeare’s time by David Crystal, pub. Cambridge University Press:
http://www.cambridge.org/us/catalogue/catalogue.asp?isbn=9780521876940&ss=exc

Pablo Neruda

Poema XX
Por Pablo Neruda

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.

Escribir, por ejemplo: «La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos.»

El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.

En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.

Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.

Oír la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.

Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.
La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.

Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.

La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.

De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos,
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Aunque éste sea el último dolor que ella me causa,
y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.

Politics

Can you spot the difference?

Junta still rejecting aid

Religion & Life

Miguel Luciano (b. Puerto Rico1972; works in United States). Platano Pride, 2006.

"Hay que separar entre la fe y las organizaciones: cuatro que montaron un tinglado sobre ese pensamiento. Que cuando alguien busca respuestas en la religión haya unos tíos budistas, protestantes o católicos -me da exactamente igual- que montan un tinglado alrededor, esto es una locura, una auténtica locura: son hechiceros profesionales."

-Pablo Castellano, de Madrid, es un abogado, político y sindicalista español, socialista de izquierda y republicano federal.√

Magical Realism

"I am not interested in picking up crumbs of compassion thrown from the table of someone who considers himself my master. I want the full menu of human rights"

- Archbishop Desmond Tutu
Photo by Ms. J, 2007. Cape Town, South Africa.

Introduction

In America everything in marketable, even the people. Our interests are handed to us, our hobbies defined by availability and cost. We are the market and the market controls us. Instead of creating we merely shape what already exists in our environment. Our hold on ourselves is slipping and we are being replaced by clones of one another. Like the mannequin, we look like one another, we dress like one another and we act like one another--frozen in oblivian. Now a days our whole lives have become shaped by the capitalistic society in which we live today. Our travels are bombarded by billboards, television and film a mix of cleverly disguised advertisement and outright invading commercials. Children learn from a young age to desire more just like the three-year-old boy I watch who constantly announces while watching T.V., “I want that!” Yes folks, that’s it. Forget about free will or personal choices. We are predetermined and primed to fit perfectly into the pockets of the CEO’s and presidents of banks and oil companies from all over the globe.

We don’t live in the United States of America, this is the United States of Entertainment where there’s always something to do and someway to make your money, yet everyone here is bored. So bored we’ve stopped reading. So bored we don’t travel. So bored we have stopped thinking. Everything that we are told we believe. We sit in front of our televisions and like drones from some old science fiction movie, we don’t move, we don’t think, we just absorb what we hear and mark it as fact. If the news anchor says it so then it must be. We have gotten so use to information being fed to us that we don’t question it. We don’t question the food we eat; we don’t question the drugs we are prescribed. We rely on what other people tell us so often that we don’t even question the God we believe in. I am on a journey or exploration that will never cease because I have made the conscious decision to THINK and once you start thinking the possibilities are endless.

I would like to leave you today with something to THINK about. Dr. Barry Vacker of Temple University recently completed this short film and shared it with me. "Space Times Square" is a meditative journey through the mediated cosmos of Times Square. Enjoy. http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-2659199116594447000