It seems to come just so naturally to her
a whirlwind passes through her like over a pretty prairie meadow
no clumps and dead ends between buildings
and tremendous wastelands,
no maddening boundaries forcing the eye to see further than it was ever intended to.
never a sewer to sap the energy and drain the muck.
altogether and one whole thought,
molded in such a beautiful wavy and deep rhythmic flow of sound enveloped in sweet forgiving air..
without even the purpose to heal those of us fortunate enough to receive its nostalgic currents here in the city.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
Monday, December 8, 2008
De beneficis
Forget what you know
you think you know
And what you know you know
or at least think
be nothing
which wants
sit down beside me,
see nothing
of the rolling hill or the tree here
silent over the warm evening
let your mouth release you
i am on guard
and so is our tree
exhale your remembrance
there is no country
what you have built is yours to keep
or yours to give
Forget what you know
you think you know
And what you know you know
or at least think
be nothing
which wants
sit down beside me,
see nothing
of the rolling hill or the tree here
silent over the warm evening
let your mouth release you
i am on guard
and so is our tree
exhale your remembrance
there is no country
what you have built is yours to keep
or yours to give
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Authority, the subject, and humanity
or
You me and the family
I have not forgotten my family. They are my past. They are more, I concur. But they are my past, and I am but me.
I can care for them while looking to be them in some way as they see me. But they can't, for they are more than they. And for this divine way of life, I cannot forgo my past.
I have lived enough.
I can bask till I die on the wonders of my life. It was celestial. And 'till I am spent, I will suffer for my nostalgia, for inhaling the sweet smell of memories.
It is for the love I felt I am compelled to re-live that I will do as I do. And see of it what you will. It is something that neither of us can corroborate alone. We are one.
or
You me and the family
I have not forgotten my family. They are my past. They are more, I concur. But they are my past, and I am but me.
I can care for them while looking to be them in some way as they see me. But they can't, for they are more than they. And for this divine way of life, I cannot forgo my past.
I have lived enough.
I can bask till I die on the wonders of my life. It was celestial. And 'till I am spent, I will suffer for my nostalgia, for inhaling the sweet smell of memories.
It is for the love I felt I am compelled to re-live that I will do as I do. And see of it what you will. It is something that neither of us can corroborate alone. We are one.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
I had imagined it would have been much colder than it is now. Perhaps the weather has nothing to do with whether i shiver. I would wager tonight that something else keeps me from feeling as though i'm falling to no ends in a cold and damp place where there is too little room to stretch.
The truth of the matter is that i'm kept from freezing by a people. Persons... but tonight, just one.
The truth of the matter is that i'm kept from freezing by a people. Persons... but tonight, just one.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
On self-esteem
If you refuse to be startled by your reflection
She will come to be and turn on you
Be forewarned, for the mirror does not forgive
inversion is what it slumbers for
Try to understand,
these days, insomnia is rampant
in the world of magic
and the best you could do
is give your mirror a break
don't worry, it's only bad luck when it's by mistake
If you refuse to be startled by your reflection
She will come to be and turn on you
Be forewarned, for the mirror does not forgive
inversion is what it slumbers for
Try to understand,
these days, insomnia is rampant
in the world of magic
and the best you could do
is give your mirror a break
don't worry, it's only bad luck when it's by mistake
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Betrayed by perpetuity once more
she defends herself still with reason
we hear arguments when all she is saying
is that it hurts
ouch
- NO! YOU'RE WRONG
pretty but mistaken
perhaps i can show her the way
but is she worth it
...she knows it
but what can she do
in this she finds beauty
and sweeter desertion
at least one can rest in peace
knowing he won't regret the right thing
angry at her, he won't despair the world
and perhaps a tortured woman will one day
see salvation in this one man's disability
and perhaps she will be moved by his music too
as you once were
who knows, maybe at the end of the day you're wrong
in which case it wouldn't be such a trick to slash my tyres
pre-emptively
slow me down
please
slow me down please
bring me to a halt
blindfold me and turn me around
ask me to count and have me find you through your mind
across the woods and under the overpass across town in some temple of exertion
and let me find you again and again
no matter what you do, if finding you will resound the world's processes clear as crystal
she defends herself still with reason
we hear arguments when all she is saying
is that it hurts
ouch
- NO! YOU'RE WRONG
pretty but mistaken
perhaps i can show her the way
but is she worth it
...she knows it
but what can she do
in this she finds beauty
and sweeter desertion
at least one can rest in peace
knowing he won't regret the right thing
angry at her, he won't despair the world
and perhaps a tortured woman will one day
see salvation in this one man's disability
and perhaps she will be moved by his music too
as you once were
who knows, maybe at the end of the day you're wrong
in which case it wouldn't be such a trick to slash my tyres
pre-emptively
slow me down
please
slow me down please
bring me to a halt
blindfold me and turn me around
ask me to count and have me find you through your mind
across the woods and under the overpass across town in some temple of exertion
and let me find you again and again
no matter what you do, if finding you will resound the world's processes clear as crystal
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
give me your head
rest it on me tonight
and i will stroke you
ruffle your dress
under your armour
on this night
here and now
in this city
between shores
allong every way
and sinuews of your skin
wherever i am welcome
after i am rejected
as soon as i forgive
everytime you don't ask
i'll touch you
wherever
whenever
you like
rest it on me tonight
and i will stroke you
ruffle your dress
under your armour
on this night
here and now
in this city
between shores
allong every way
and sinuews of your skin
wherever i am welcome
after i am rejected
as soon as i forgive
everytime you don't ask
i'll touch you
wherever
whenever
you like
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Et encore, henry miller on a becoming of creativity - from Sexus
The world would only begin to get something of value from me the moment i stopped being a serious member of society and became - myself. The State, the nations, the united nations of the world, were nothing but one great aggregation of individuals who repeated the mistakes of their forefathers. They were caught in the wheel from birth and they kept at it till death -- and this treadmill they tried to dignify by calling it "life". If you asked anyone to define life, what was the be all and end all, you got a blank look for answer. Life was something philosophers dealt with in books that no one read. Those in the thick of life, "the plugs in harness", had no time for such idle questions. "You got to eat, haven't you?" This query, which was supposed to be a stop-gap, and which had already been answered, if not in the absolute negative at least in a disturbingly realtive negative by those who knew, was a clue to all the other questions which followed in the veritable Euclidian suite. From the little reading i had done i had observed that men who were most in life, who were moulding life, who were life itself, ate little, slept little, owned little or nothing. They had no illusions about duty, or the perpetuation of their kith and kin, or the preservation of the State. They were interested in truth and in truth alone. They recognised only one kind of activity - creation. Nobody could command their services because they had of their own pledged themeselves to give all. They gave gratuitously, because that is the only way to give. This was the way of life which appealed to me: it made sound sense. It was life -- not the simulacrum which those about me worshipped.
[...]
"I stood before a mirror and said fearfully: 'I want to see how I look in the mirror with my eyes closed'" (Richter)
[...]
There is a time when ideas tyrannize over one, when one is just a hapless victim of an other's thoughts. This "possession" by another seems to occur in periods of depersonalisation, then the warring selves come unglued, as it were. Normally one is impervious to ideas; they come and go, are accepted or rejected, put on like shirts, taken off like dirty socks. But in those periods one calls crises, when the mind sunders and splinters like a diamond under the blows of a sledge-hammer, these innocent ideas of a dreamer take hold, lodge in the crevices of the brain, and by some sublte process of inflitration bring about a definite, irrevocable alteration of the personality. Outwardly no great change take place; the individual affected does not suddenly behave differently; on the contrary, he may behave in more "normal" fashion than before. This seeming normality assumes more and more the quality of a protective device. From surface deception he passes to inner deception. With each new crisis, however, he becomes more strongly aware of a change which is no change, but rather an intensification of somthing hidden deep within. Now when he closes his eyes, he can really look at himself. He no longer sees a mask. He sees without seeing, to be exact. Vision without sight, a fluid grasp of intangibles: the merging of sight and sound: the heart of the web. Here stream the distant personalities which evade the crude contact of the senses: here the overtones of recognition discreetly lap against one another in bright, vibrant harmonies. There is no language employed, no outlines delineated.
The world would only begin to get something of value from me the moment i stopped being a serious member of society and became - myself. The State, the nations, the united nations of the world, were nothing but one great aggregation of individuals who repeated the mistakes of their forefathers. They were caught in the wheel from birth and they kept at it till death -- and this treadmill they tried to dignify by calling it "life". If you asked anyone to define life, what was the be all and end all, you got a blank look for answer. Life was something philosophers dealt with in books that no one read. Those in the thick of life, "the plugs in harness", had no time for such idle questions. "You got to eat, haven't you?" This query, which was supposed to be a stop-gap, and which had already been answered, if not in the absolute negative at least in a disturbingly realtive negative by those who knew, was a clue to all the other questions which followed in the veritable Euclidian suite. From the little reading i had done i had observed that men who were most in life, who were moulding life, who were life itself, ate little, slept little, owned little or nothing. They had no illusions about duty, or the perpetuation of their kith and kin, or the preservation of the State. They were interested in truth and in truth alone. They recognised only one kind of activity - creation. Nobody could command their services because they had of their own pledged themeselves to give all. They gave gratuitously, because that is the only way to give. This was the way of life which appealed to me: it made sound sense. It was life -- not the simulacrum which those about me worshipped.
[...]
"I stood before a mirror and said fearfully: 'I want to see how I look in the mirror with my eyes closed'" (Richter)
[...]
There is a time when ideas tyrannize over one, when one is just a hapless victim of an other's thoughts. This "possession" by another seems to occur in periods of depersonalisation, then the warring selves come unglued, as it were. Normally one is impervious to ideas; they come and go, are accepted or rejected, put on like shirts, taken off like dirty socks. But in those periods one calls crises, when the mind sunders and splinters like a diamond under the blows of a sledge-hammer, these innocent ideas of a dreamer take hold, lodge in the crevices of the brain, and by some sublte process of inflitration bring about a definite, irrevocable alteration of the personality. Outwardly no great change take place; the individual affected does not suddenly behave differently; on the contrary, he may behave in more "normal" fashion than before. This seeming normality assumes more and more the quality of a protective device. From surface deception he passes to inner deception. With each new crisis, however, he becomes more strongly aware of a change which is no change, but rather an intensification of somthing hidden deep within. Now when he closes his eyes, he can really look at himself. He no longer sees a mask. He sees without seeing, to be exact. Vision without sight, a fluid grasp of intangibles: the merging of sight and sound: the heart of the web. Here stream the distant personalities which evade the crude contact of the senses: here the overtones of recognition discreetly lap against one another in bright, vibrant harmonies. There is no language employed, no outlines delineated.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
and across the plateau
There are very many things that don't matter
one such thing
is hanging your laundry out just before it rains
at three in the morning
when you hear it fall
just as you settle into bed
after a day unlike others
there's really nothing that can wake you
but the thought of telling the story
of how you learned this and that, once more as if it were the first time
for a seasoned body
to meet an all too seasoned piece of meat
on the slab of fortune
at dusk of paltry movements
from here to there
to a night over which i slept
more sound than i could have thought
marred in breathless volume
as loud as retaliating gunfire
one such thing
is hanging your laundry out just before it rains
at three in the morning
when you hear it fall
just as you settle into bed
after a day unlike others
there's really nothing that can wake you
but the thought of telling the story
of how you learned this and that, once more as if it were the first time
for a seasoned body
to meet an all too seasoned piece of meat
on the slab of fortune
at dusk of paltry movements
from here to there
to a night over which i slept
more sound than i could have thought
marred in breathless volume
as loud as retaliating gunfire
Friday, September 19, 2008
annie from hamilton
In a jazz club i wish i were
some time
a long time ago
just so long as i would know
annie
difranco?
no, just you, annie from hamilton
who plays piano
jazz, i know
how could i not
you've turned my heart in knots
just two minutes as you stood not two steps from me
tonight on a street i grew up on, between esplanade and waverly
In a jazz club i wish i were
some time
a long time ago
just so long as i would know
annie
difranco?
no, just you, annie from hamilton
who plays piano
jazz, i know
how could i not
you've turned my heart in knots
just two minutes as you stood not two steps from me
tonight on a street i grew up on, between esplanade and waverly
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Recognising words when you know about one hundred is a pleasure indescribable when you are a child. Recognising such words when you are grown-up, being less sure than ever about what words mean, is positively anxiety-inducing. Some of us i'm sure free ourselves from such an underdeveloped issue by reforming our entire verbal communicative system around six or seven solid newly created words and their myriad configurations, which we were unaware of in our youth. Now the only time we feel embarrassed is when other, current, youth find our own new vocabulary as fun as a cat's tongue. Bahahhahaaa.
In any case, passons le passe poile a beau grand papa sur nanamouskourire.
As for the rest of us, i'm not sure. But it seems to me that we do things, by holding on some way or other to our original vocabulary, that move people by way of little communities of microbes holding hands across the body somewhere at the core of their bone marrow not quite as visible as before (proportionally, owing to our being bier in size).
In any case, passons le passe poile a beau grand papa sur nanamouskourire.
As for the rest of us, i'm not sure. But it seems to me that we do things, by holding on some way or other to our original vocabulary, that move people by way of little communities of microbes holding hands across the body somewhere at the core of their bone marrow not quite as visible as before (proportionally, owing to our being bier in size).
Sunday, September 14, 2008
barf
I should have gone to bed a very very very long time ago
my being up is not even worth this mediocre blaeugh
the molasses of tobacco prevents me from slumber
it even suppresses the instinct of regurgitation
of all the things that could have gone wrong
but didn't
from lack of attempt
ignited blindness
forgotten desire
spent aphorisms
from lack of words to say disiac
bleurgh
barf
aack
tack me on a wall
i am thin
I should have gone to bed a very very very long time ago
my being up is not even worth this mediocre blaeugh
the molasses of tobacco prevents me from slumber
it even suppresses the instinct of regurgitation
of all the things that could have gone wrong
but didn't
from lack of attempt
ignited blindness
forgotten desire
spent aphorisms
from lack of words to say disiac
bleurgh
barf
aack
tack me on a wall
i am thin
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
The streets are strewn with gold
and litter
the people walk by
and i say hi
they go through me
like the sand
that settles
between the sounds of cars
and rumble of subways air vents and cracks in the wall
i know they can help me through it all
unless i ask
If only we could waltz
dance together
past the slush and abrasives -
bubbling over salt and bitter
cold
as fall comes
i hope to become a rock
sitting
as books
eyed with suspicion
from passers-by
evasion
is all i ask for
from your seeing
my reason for being
as i see it
and litter
the people walk by
and i say hi
they go through me
like the sand
that settles
between the sounds of cars
and rumble of subways air vents and cracks in the wall
i know they can help me through it all
unless i ask
If only we could waltz
dance together
past the slush and abrasives -
bubbling over salt and bitter
cold
as fall comes
i hope to become a rock
sitting
as books
eyed with suspicion
from passers-by
evasion
is all i ask for
from your seeing
my reason for being
as i see it
Sunday, September 7, 2008
By night's end
A single tune
was in my head today
it sings by itself
all day long
and never ends
though it starts many times over
it felt quite good
as the air cooled for the first time
over the city
i did so many things
none of which i had planned
events unfolded in ways i could only react to
and so little reaction did i do
over the day
i was recovering
from nothing at all
or everything all at once
as usual
i can't say i was myself
and i can't know whether i was anyone else
at all
the only thing that comes to mind now
is how many ideas i had
and how they will wither
by night's end
A single tune
was in my head today
it sings by itself
all day long
and never ends
though it starts many times over
it felt quite good
as the air cooled for the first time
over the city
i did so many things
none of which i had planned
events unfolded in ways i could only react to
and so little reaction did i do
over the day
i was recovering
from nothing at all
or everything all at once
as usual
i can't say i was myself
and i can't know whether i was anyone else
at all
the only thing that comes to mind now
is how many ideas i had
and how they will wither
by night's end
Friday, September 5, 2008
At the Quai des Brumes
You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen
on a recurrent basis
I say this only because
i cannot recall women I have seen in passing
or furtively
It's possible
that you're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen
I can't say for sure
but it feels alright
anyway
I'm not quite certain
whether you were playing with me
out of boredom
but doubt is my saviour tonight
cuz I've held up
my end of the bargain
at the quai des brumes.
You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen
on a recurrent basis
I say this only because
i cannot recall women I have seen in passing
or furtively
It's possible
that you're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen
I can't say for sure
but it feels alright
anyway
I'm not quite certain
whether you were playing with me
out of boredom
but doubt is my saviour tonight
cuz I've held up
my end of the bargain
at the quai des brumes.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
developartist psychology - pre-adolescence
I couldn't solve the problems of the world, so i became an artist.
There's nothing i could do
i would say in the meantime
secretly reading on the mixtures of words
concoctions for success
i would call them
to those who prodded
those who would inadvertly help me
discover adamantium
or crystalline cryptonite
super man
i would call out
how can i see you
in those bright pants
that shame any man
who wears to touch
dithe
sniver
thsuck
hiss
prod
engulf
tare
shrivel under his weight hard as rock
There's nothing i could do
i would say in the meantime
secretly reading on the mixtures of words
concoctions for success
i would call them
to those who prodded
those who would inadvertly help me
discover adamantium
or crystalline cryptonite
super man
i would call out
how can i see you
in those bright pants
that shame any man
who wears to touch
dithe
sniver
thsuck
hiss
prod
engulf
tare
shrivel under his weight hard as rock
Dreams after night
they stay with me like a horizontal flash
the light stays and all all is dark
stories weave though me like ghosts
and i stand
still no matter how much i move
the ghosts
are loud but i can't tell what they are saying
for if i could i could respond
but would i
when even awake
the dreamworld haunts me
with its absence
they stay with me like a horizontal flash
the light stays and all all is dark
stories weave though me like ghosts
and i stand
still no matter how much i move
the ghosts
are loud but i can't tell what they are saying
for if i could i could respond
but would i
when even awake
the dreamworld haunts me
with its absence
Monday, September 1, 2008
Sunday, August 31, 2008
She with the laugh that frightens me
Invited
by the minister
taken in as his own
across town from her squat
wrote a book
on some people
made this thing
that you can sit on
and take with you anywhere
for others to try
met with others
who brought some stuff
and made a rag of it
it was thrown
offered
taken
felt
and read
i saw it with my own eyes
my friend told me so
i swear
what a remarkable co-animator
i hardly knew
Invited
by the minister
taken in as his own
across town from her squat
wrote a book
on some people
made this thing
that you can sit on
and take with you anywhere
for others to try
met with others
who brought some stuff
and made a rag of it
it was thrown
offered
taken
felt
and read
i saw it with my own eyes
my friend told me so
i swear
what a remarkable co-animator
i hardly knew
Friday, August 29, 2008
Heat in my toes
there is nothing to time but waiting
and expression in death
feverish evenings
in humour of friends
they fail
at every turn
for you do not dare to steer
away
nights of closeness
they leave you behind
empty and far
from your passion
they take away the soul flesh
from those that you feel
so close and
so warm
the night is soft
but takes such strength
to fight it
on its turf
day in
day out
it takes and
takes
and takes
unforgiving
it takes your wife
it takes your sight
it takes
the smell
of she who is in your sleep
you feel as though
as though you've tried
so hard to keep
away
you fail and fail
from trying
not to to give
you are
so
nothing can help
it is she is she it is
they stand and sit beside you
they ask for pain and you give your's
taunting away from fear
of hurting
there is nothing to time but waiting
and expression in death
feverish evenings
in humour of friends
they fail
at every turn
for you do not dare to steer
away
nights of closeness
they leave you behind
empty and far
from your passion
they take away the soul flesh
from those that you feel
so close and
so warm
the night is soft
but takes such strength
to fight it
on its turf
day in
day out
it takes and
takes
and takes
unforgiving
it takes your wife
it takes your sight
it takes
the smell
of she who is in your sleep
you feel as though
as though you've tried
so hard to keep
away
you fail and fail
from trying
not to to give
you are
so
nothing can help
it is she is she it is
they stand and sit beside you
they ask for pain and you give your's
taunting away from fear
of hurting
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
song2beachboys
there really is only one way to where
she is right over there
So move on over to where she stares
bopping to the stage back there
do a ditty do it over there
be so freaky all over there
be so freaky all in the air
do a ditty and she'll be there
run around string along
she'll find a place too bare.
she is right over there
So move on over to where she stares
bopping to the stage back there
do a ditty do it over there
be so freaky all over there
be so freaky all in the air
do a ditty and she'll be there
run around string along
she'll find a place too bare.
song1
I grow very slowly
I bring myself to light
every morning
I stand very tall
and fall afternoon
time
[]
i pick myself up
at night
and i tell whoever speaks to me quite silently
fuck off
fuck off
fuck off
I bring myself to light
every morning
I stand very tall
and fall afternoon
time
[]
i pick myself up
at night
and i tell whoever speaks to me quite silently
fuck off
fuck off
fuck off
Monday, August 25, 2008
Suburban girl
suburban girl -
the suburban girl
she says so little
and speaks so much,
she walks and walks
so fast and so steady
i can't keep up
suburban girl -
you're so pretty,
i want to walk beside you
but you can't tell
i'm suffering
lagging behind you
or fumbling before you
you hold your smoke to your lips
and sing silently a song of prose without words
to call your own
suburban girl
you have no sex
you are so clean
and yet i cannot see you past the smoke
suburban girl -
the suburban girl
she says so little
and speaks so much,
she walks and walks
so fast and so steady
i can't keep up
suburban girl -
you're so pretty,
i want to walk beside you
but you can't tell
i'm suffering
lagging behind you
or fumbling before you
you hold your smoke to your lips
and sing silently a song of prose without words
to call your own
suburban girl
you have no sex
you are so clean
and yet i cannot see you past the smoke
a man is a man is a man
A man is a man who doesn't say what he thinks
he says what he thinks by moving his body
body language.
a man who thinks is a man
who says what he thinks with his lips.
he says what he thinks by moving his body
body language.
a man who thinks is a man
who says what he thinks with his lips.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
There's nothing i can say
She demands and i offer.
There are no limits
there is no meaning in existence and being of self or other
either lying or standing
her breath is my my command
my is is her ought and
there is nothing but her there and ought
that predicts my doing
from here and there on forth
i am her's
forever and forth
she is my is
and am her to be
there is no future
and there is no present
until she forgoes
all time
and being
into space
i love her
i am in love with her
she will never never know
because she is
my friend
She demands and i offer.
There are no limits
there is no meaning in existence and being of self or other
either lying or standing
her breath is my my command
my is is her ought and
there is nothing but her there and ought
that predicts my doing
from here and there on forth
i am her's
forever and forth
she is my is
and am her to be
there is no future
and there is no present
until she forgoes
all time
and being
into space
i love her
i am in love with her
she will never never know
because she is
my friend
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Talk is only a pretext for other, subtler forms of communication. When the latter are inoperative speech becomes dead. When two people are intent upon communication with one another it doesn't matter in the least how bewildering the talk becomes. People who insist upon clarity and logic often fail in making themselves understood. They are always searching for a more perfect transmitter, deluded by the supposition that the mind is the only instrument for the exchange of thought. When one really begins to talk, one delivers himself. Words are thrown about recklessly, not counted like pennies. One doesn't care about grammatical or factual errors, contradictions, lies and so on. One talks. If you are talking to some one who knows how to listen he understands perfectly, even though the words make no sense. When this kind of talk gets underway, a marriage takes places, no matter whether you are talking to a man or a woman. Men talking with other men have as much need of this sort of marriage as women talking with other women have. Married couples seldom enjoy this kind of talk, for reasons which are only too obvious.
Talk, real talk, it seems to me, is one of the most expressive manifestations of man's hunger for unlimited marriage. Sensitive people, people who feel, want to unite in some deeper, subtler, more durable fashion than is permitted by custom and convention. I mean in ways beyond the dream of social and political Utopists. The brotherhood of man, should it ever come about, is only the kindergartner stage in the drama of human relationships. When man begins to permit himself full expression, when he can express himself without fear of ridicule, ostracism or persecution, the first thing he will do will be to pour out his love. In the story of human love we are still at the first chapter. Even there, even in the realm of the purely personal, it is a pretty shoddy account. Have we more than a dozen heroes and heroines of love to hold up as examples?I doubt if we have even as many great lovers as we have illustrious saints. We have scholars galore, and kings and emperors, and statesmen and military leaders, and artists in profusion, and inventors, discoverers, explorers - but where are the great lovers?
[...]
{...} knowledge divorced from actions leads to sterility.
- henry miller, sexus, 404-405
______________________
Well, i'm not sure.. not anymore, not right now. Well, right now, it can be argued that a critic is not an artist, though it can be.
Conversation is an art like any other.
Conversation is an art... like any other.
It's elements as much a tool as the italics button on your word processor.
But i ought not to stress this point any further.
What I mean to say is that appreciating the criticism of conversation for it's recognising its subject is not reason to think ourselves conversationiscians (artists of conversation), or even, for that matter, conversation connoisseurs. Don't forget.
But a beautiful thing it is.. and a beautiful things they are those who converse.
Talk, real talk, it seems to me, is one of the most expressive manifestations of man's hunger for unlimited marriage. Sensitive people, people who feel, want to unite in some deeper, subtler, more durable fashion than is permitted by custom and convention. I mean in ways beyond the dream of social and political Utopists. The brotherhood of man, should it ever come about, is only the kindergartner stage in the drama of human relationships. When man begins to permit himself full expression, when he can express himself without fear of ridicule, ostracism or persecution, the first thing he will do will be to pour out his love. In the story of human love we are still at the first chapter. Even there, even in the realm of the purely personal, it is a pretty shoddy account. Have we more than a dozen heroes and heroines of love to hold up as examples?I doubt if we have even as many great lovers as we have illustrious saints. We have scholars galore, and kings and emperors, and statesmen and military leaders, and artists in profusion, and inventors, discoverers, explorers - but where are the great lovers?
[...]
{...} knowledge divorced from actions leads to sterility.
- henry miller, sexus, 404-405
______________________
Well, i'm not sure.. not anymore, not right now. Well, right now, it can be argued that a critic is not an artist, though it can be.
Conversation is an art like any other.
Conversation is an art... like any other.
It's elements as much a tool as the italics button on your word processor.
But i ought not to stress this point any further.
What I mean to say is that appreciating the criticism of conversation for it's recognising its subject is not reason to think ourselves conversationiscians (artists of conversation), or even, for that matter, conversation connoisseurs. Don't forget.
But a beautiful thing it is.. and a beautiful things they are those who converse.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Abstract
This essay is an investigation into the nature of actorhood in world politics. My narrative is as follows. World politics is more than a mere abstraction. It is materially consequential insofar as it is ordered within the framework of a second order society. Second order social relations operate through institutions that reflect the co-constitutive nature of intra- and inter-actor development. This shared development is relevant insofar as it a precondition to conceptualising international relations, of which diplomacy plays a key role, as characterised by ideological organisation. Ideologically organised actors participate officially in world affairs, and influence politics through participation in negotiating the terms of second order society, but by this very virtue nonetheless maintain (rather than contest) an oligarchically managed (rather than "natural") world order.
whoarethepeople
Who are the people we talk to?
you are not a person people talk to
you talk to some people,
maybe even one
or two
but you don't even do that,
because you are not a person people talk to
you are not a person people talk to
because you do not talk to people
there is no mystery in any of this
but i can understand if you do not remember
for you are
after all
not someone people talk to
you are not a person people talk to
you talk to some people,
maybe even one
or two
but you don't even do that,
because you are not a person people talk to
you are not a person people talk to
because you do not talk to people
there is no mystery in any of this
but i can understand if you do not remember
for you are
after all
not someone people talk to
the beautifull beasts
The great beautiful beast in the rink
This is the man you see whose strength is boundless
Is it he for whom, you notice, effortless power lifts desire
Others we wish to hold for their struggle and will
But we know, or so we think, they are preoccupied by not much else
And while the beast's eye's are raging and furious, or empty and silent
We don't know why.
What's on his mind?
(Those who can do best betray us everyday)
How beautiful are they
so much more than I who finds every way to make the business of others
a business of mine. hopping about never seeing how great a beast I may be
at my own game.
This is the man you see whose strength is boundless
Is it he for whom, you notice, effortless power lifts desire
Others we wish to hold for their struggle and will
But we know, or so we think, they are preoccupied by not much else
And while the beast's eye's are raging and furious, or empty and silent
We don't know why.
What's on his mind?
(Those who can do best betray us everyday)
How beautiful are they
so much more than I who finds every way to make the business of others
a business of mine. hopping about never seeing how great a beast I may be
at my own game.
Immigroid Immigroid Immigroid, Dear Immigroid
what is the matter with you
Immigroid.
Do you not see your luck
your cleanliness now and freedom
the opportunities are endless in this land of plenty
and your charm has its price too
The tale of your life as just begun
and the lights of glory are at your footsteps
just look down and see how far you've come.
Forget what you knew
you won't be needing it here
In the land of plenty
excess
and fuck
mush and mud everywhere under your eyelids
you'll work like you've never done before
or you'll fester in hell
But worry not this poem is over
Immigroid Immigroid Immigroid
the liquid angels are looking down on you, or worse,
watching over you.
what is the matter with you
Immigroid.
Do you not see your luck
your cleanliness now and freedom
the opportunities are endless in this land of plenty
and your charm has its price too
The tale of your life as just begun
and the lights of glory are at your footsteps
just look down and see how far you've come.
Forget what you knew
you won't be needing it here
In the land of plenty
excess
and fuck
mush and mud everywhere under your eyelids
you'll work like you've never done before
or you'll fester in hell
But worry not this poem is over
Immigroid Immigroid Immigroid
the liquid angels are looking down on you, or worse,
watching over you.
optimism
It's much harder to be the man with the right answer when you're surrounded by misguided optimists. When you're someone like me and you face opposition, you fight, in theory at least, easy. But when you're faced with good intentions and a mood of betterment, you're hard pressed to make so much noise when you have nothing to say of the sort resembling a "solution". Your green is their brown, and your brown is their rainbow.
What annoys you is a sense that bad arrangements can be made to work better, if not perfectly. How perfect is your neighbour's fantasy? How perfect is the fantasy of a man so foreign that the only way you both recognise each other is through a common understanding you have to learn and he has to communicate?
What annoys you is a sense that bad arrangements can be made to work better, if not perfectly. How perfect is your neighbour's fantasy? How perfect is the fantasy of a man so foreign that the only way you both recognise each other is through a common understanding you have to learn and he has to communicate?
chrismas in a cold land
chrismas in a cold land
here it is always cold at this time of year
cold and alone lonely and empty
my self fills up as it does
for i am lonelyness
the fear that fills me
that which no one can save me from
that which i have been meant to either face
or flee
it is now and it is it
here is my me
i cannot run from it, for it is me
i am it
and we are bound for the tenebres on the high sea of human tears
here it is always cold at this time of year
cold and alone lonely and empty
my self fills up as it does
for i am lonelyness
the fear that fills me
that which no one can save me from
that which i have been meant to either face
or flee
it is now and it is it
here is my me
i cannot run from it, for it is me
i am it
and we are bound for the tenebres on the high sea of human tears
The birth of men
Do you find it hard to be who you are? Indeed, you do. That is because you are no one.
I can't manage to be who I am when I am with those with whom I want to be who I am. I am gross. I am male, but feeble. The woman I say I want is no one, she is tiny, puny. She is nothing. A man's recourse to manliness, a rather pleasant prop to triumphant imperial masturbation. Something to deplore for her lack of gut and extroversion. A shame she doesn't express herself. And then the talk pretty much wanes. What else is there to discuss. Us men have a hard time between being something among each other and touching each other, too sharp and too dirty.
Too bad, because, really, I am weak and that is all that I can say to these men. Such a negative expression. An oxymoronic energy. But why? These men inspire me. They make me laugh when I see them behave, they are quirky, odd. One can't make the simplest decision, the other is like an old man, a timid patriarch, the other is a child, the other is without worthy purpose, or so is his trauma, cute, and the last is your nemesis. If you tell them you love them their magic is lost. They disintegrate. Well, maybe not. Who knows. In any case, there is much to prove to them.
With women at least you can boast. You can talk and deplore, you can cry and summon, you can look in the air and feel that a myriade of disciples are behind you. Bored sometimes, but you rest assured that they can and do make use of their multitasking magic to escape somewhere far away where they can make of you whoever they wish. They neither judge nor not judge. They are nice. They like to have you around and that make you feel just fine. They are not men.
In any case, men are at issue here, so let's not detract. The boys are good. You want to be like some of them. You want to be dumb. You want to be cute. You want to have that body, you want not to know you have that body. You want that dick and you want it limp. You want it too bored by the blandness of female sexuality, so beyond erection, so in need for the hardest most laboriously masterful mistress to even consider penetration. Well not necessarily. But you want that flirt. You want to pretend not to know. You want to be in control. You want to be in control. You must know. You must be able to concentrate. To be inspired, yet calculated, sensitive to those around you, the salvation of the lost and the meaning of being for the directed. You want skills you want to want to not want and want what you are and more, and more. You want to see. You want to be able to reach the window, so oddly high.
I'm not sure that's it though. I mean, you can be perfectly comfortable around those whom you envy for whatever reason, so long as you are alone with them. So why all the fuss? Why can't you be who you are with these men? I suppose that the converse is implied to be otherwise, though that is in fact not true. Right you are: you may not be so small beside a woman, but you certainly are not who you are. In fact, it may very well be worse. For if with men you are afraid to compromise your identity, with women you compromise yourself before having a clue who you are, that is, you compromise the wrong identity, the actor's identity. With men you can't fake it, with women you are merely fake. Are you really anyone at all? Do you take for granted that you have anything inside you to be untrue toward? I am not sure that is the case.
The problem of course is: can you really be anyone without anyone? No. So go on and do and don't worry about not succeeding in existing, because one day you will be born. On that day however, rest assured that you will be recognised. After all, is witnessing birth itself not the only way to be sure of life?
Do you find it hard to be who you are? Indeed, you do. That is because you are no one.
I can't manage to be who I am when I am with those with whom I want to be who I am. I am gross. I am male, but feeble. The woman I say I want is no one, she is tiny, puny. She is nothing. A man's recourse to manliness, a rather pleasant prop to triumphant imperial masturbation. Something to deplore for her lack of gut and extroversion. A shame she doesn't express herself. And then the talk pretty much wanes. What else is there to discuss. Us men have a hard time between being something among each other and touching each other, too sharp and too dirty.
Too bad, because, really, I am weak and that is all that I can say to these men. Such a negative expression. An oxymoronic energy. But why? These men inspire me. They make me laugh when I see them behave, they are quirky, odd. One can't make the simplest decision, the other is like an old man, a timid patriarch, the other is a child, the other is without worthy purpose, or so is his trauma, cute, and the last is your nemesis. If you tell them you love them their magic is lost. They disintegrate. Well, maybe not. Who knows. In any case, there is much to prove to them.
With women at least you can boast. You can talk and deplore, you can cry and summon, you can look in the air and feel that a myriade of disciples are behind you. Bored sometimes, but you rest assured that they can and do make use of their multitasking magic to escape somewhere far away where they can make of you whoever they wish. They neither judge nor not judge. They are nice. They like to have you around and that make you feel just fine. They are not men.
In any case, men are at issue here, so let's not detract. The boys are good. You want to be like some of them. You want to be dumb. You want to be cute. You want to have that body, you want not to know you have that body. You want that dick and you want it limp. You want it too bored by the blandness of female sexuality, so beyond erection, so in need for the hardest most laboriously masterful mistress to even consider penetration. Well not necessarily. But you want that flirt. You want to pretend not to know. You want to be in control. You want to be in control. You must know. You must be able to concentrate. To be inspired, yet calculated, sensitive to those around you, the salvation of the lost and the meaning of being for the directed. You want skills you want to want to not want and want what you are and more, and more. You want to see. You want to be able to reach the window, so oddly high.
I'm not sure that's it though. I mean, you can be perfectly comfortable around those whom you envy for whatever reason, so long as you are alone with them. So why all the fuss? Why can't you be who you are with these men? I suppose that the converse is implied to be otherwise, though that is in fact not true. Right you are: you may not be so small beside a woman, but you certainly are not who you are. In fact, it may very well be worse. For if with men you are afraid to compromise your identity, with women you compromise yourself before having a clue who you are, that is, you compromise the wrong identity, the actor's identity. With men you can't fake it, with women you are merely fake. Are you really anyone at all? Do you take for granted that you have anything inside you to be untrue toward? I am not sure that is the case.
The problem of course is: can you really be anyone without anyone? No. So go on and do and don't worry about not succeeding in existing, because one day you will be born. On that day however, rest assured that you will be recognised. After all, is witnessing birth itself not the only way to be sure of life?
A tall woman on Lewisham Way today
I sometimes wonder if women want to fuck the way i do when i see them sometimes. Well, sometimes... not all the time, but everyday for sure. Not any one of them. Those whose walking is purposeful. Ok hold on, before i get into any of that, let me just say that i don't fuck them as much as see them breath hard. not too hard of course. it doesn't really work out that way in bed. nor would i want it to. in fact, that's the whole point. this woman doesn't give a shit, per se; she would if she didn't see you the way you saw her, in principle at least. she, they, with their closed mouths and open jaws, shutting eyes, shifting thighs, heavy heads, strong arms, and delected loss of the little self-control they can muster, pitifully free, their inability to be brought down by realism and frank social captivity so heavy a burden fallen to the very depths of hell at the prospective glimmer of arousal. these women that make me feel so jealous, so free, so lucid, so morbid, so curious and so young, so odd and so quiet, so and so behind this proud in-my-place.
I see them sometimes. so many different ones, yet all the same in one or two ways. they command conversation. they've probably never had an exchange proper. they are alone all the time because it is impossible for them to stop asking questions in the affirmative. answers for them are questions and contemplations built atop each other. joy is unsought because it is always instantly available, by virtue of their style's embeddedness with the future that urges the present. they walk ahead without being leaders. well actually that sounds really retarded. forget i said that. actually, they are so much more decadent than that. they really don't need you. but oh how they do miss you. without you they are simply too perfect. what a waste.
They smoke (in principle), they talk, they touch, they touch, they touch. you can make love to them anywhere. they are certainly always horny. well actually that's not true. sometimes what happens is that you get real horny, sometimes on their mischievous account, though to be fair, they love you, and they turn around once there's no turning back, and they kiss you, gently place their soft hands on your chest, bringing the left up to your jaw, in your thick hair, kneeling up around you as you sit more or less alone in the dark corner of the bar, you can smell their unwashed breasts under the tight damp clothes, their other hand snapping open your belt and slipping under your torn underwear, somehow maneuvering you and around here and there at a pace that can only indicate to you both that, in good time, you will come.
They tend to be tall. they tend to be white, well, i mean what does it matter anyway. in the land of the free there are no prejudices. tell it to me who faces the free and shines a light so bright as to blind all those likely to save me. tell it to me. bah! this isn't about me anyway.
They are kids who know so much. who can explain so much. who have so many questions. who correct you on every account your ambition fails your heart and who are light-up every time your heart speaks through your mind. they use your ideas against you and dissect your open wounds, they teach you about everything you can never understand, they fight the revolution in your body and mend the endless battlefields of sorrow with simple hugs. they are warm. they are immense. when your eyes fall to the ground, they take your corpse to the heavens and give you flesh. they are fire and you burn. you skin boils, your muscles cook, your bones sweat, and your temperature rises. you feel again, you are saved, you have become, and you are invincible. their are your life, if only they could grasp it as they do you.
you see it in them for you and for all. they are the whore of the revolution. they are the power of will, they are the crutch of feeble men. they are the raison d'etat, they are fucked over, and you resent that. you walk away, you don't walk away. no actually that's not true. they are much more than that. you cannot understand them. you cannot know them. they don't even know them, so how could you? (knowing others who cannot know themselves is the domain of women. that is their monopoly. i don't mean so much that they know others, they just happen to be right, on no enlightened account. a fluke if you will. they don't even know when it kicks in or when it is in effect. unexploitable, so useless to dwell on here)
They are irreproachable. they are uncanny. they are ephemeral. they are all those things that words you don't know denote. they have lives but they do not have purposes. they understand, but the understandable always grows faster than does understanding. they are lost but don't care enough to have direction exist beyond the limits of their vision.
In the end, you don't want them for you, you just want to make sure, to have the continuous proof, that they permanently exist.
I sometimes wonder if women want to fuck the way i do when i see them sometimes. Well, sometimes... not all the time, but everyday for sure. Not any one of them. Those whose walking is purposeful. Ok hold on, before i get into any of that, let me just say that i don't fuck them as much as see them breath hard. not too hard of course. it doesn't really work out that way in bed. nor would i want it to. in fact, that's the whole point. this woman doesn't give a shit, per se; she would if she didn't see you the way you saw her, in principle at least. she, they, with their closed mouths and open jaws, shutting eyes, shifting thighs, heavy heads, strong arms, and delected loss of the little self-control they can muster, pitifully free, their inability to be brought down by realism and frank social captivity so heavy a burden fallen to the very depths of hell at the prospective glimmer of arousal. these women that make me feel so jealous, so free, so lucid, so morbid, so curious and so young, so odd and so quiet, so and so behind this proud in-my-place.
I see them sometimes. so many different ones, yet all the same in one or two ways. they command conversation. they've probably never had an exchange proper. they are alone all the time because it is impossible for them to stop asking questions in the affirmative. answers for them are questions and contemplations built atop each other. joy is unsought because it is always instantly available, by virtue of their style's embeddedness with the future that urges the present. they walk ahead without being leaders. well actually that sounds really retarded. forget i said that. actually, they are so much more decadent than that. they really don't need you. but oh how they do miss you. without you they are simply too perfect. what a waste.
They smoke (in principle), they talk, they touch, they touch, they touch. you can make love to them anywhere. they are certainly always horny. well actually that's not true. sometimes what happens is that you get real horny, sometimes on their mischievous account, though to be fair, they love you, and they turn around once there's no turning back, and they kiss you, gently place their soft hands on your chest, bringing the left up to your jaw, in your thick hair, kneeling up around you as you sit more or less alone in the dark corner of the bar, you can smell their unwashed breasts under the tight damp clothes, their other hand snapping open your belt and slipping under your torn underwear, somehow maneuvering you and around here and there at a pace that can only indicate to you both that, in good time, you will come.
They tend to be tall. they tend to be white, well, i mean what does it matter anyway. in the land of the free there are no prejudices. tell it to me who faces the free and shines a light so bright as to blind all those likely to save me. tell it to me. bah! this isn't about me anyway.
They are kids who know so much. who can explain so much. who have so many questions. who correct you on every account your ambition fails your heart and who are light-up every time your heart speaks through your mind. they use your ideas against you and dissect your open wounds, they teach you about everything you can never understand, they fight the revolution in your body and mend the endless battlefields of sorrow with simple hugs. they are warm. they are immense. when your eyes fall to the ground, they take your corpse to the heavens and give you flesh. they are fire and you burn. you skin boils, your muscles cook, your bones sweat, and your temperature rises. you feel again, you are saved, you have become, and you are invincible. their are your life, if only they could grasp it as they do you.
you see it in them for you and for all. they are the whore of the revolution. they are the power of will, they are the crutch of feeble men. they are the raison d'etat, they are fucked over, and you resent that. you walk away, you don't walk away. no actually that's not true. they are much more than that. you cannot understand them. you cannot know them. they don't even know them, so how could you? (knowing others who cannot know themselves is the domain of women. that is their monopoly. i don't mean so much that they know others, they just happen to be right, on no enlightened account. a fluke if you will. they don't even know when it kicks in or when it is in effect. unexploitable, so useless to dwell on here)
They are irreproachable. they are uncanny. they are ephemeral. they are all those things that words you don't know denote. they have lives but they do not have purposes. they understand, but the understandable always grows faster than does understanding. they are lost but don't care enough to have direction exist beyond the limits of their vision.
In the end, you don't want them for you, you just want to make sure, to have the continuous proof, that they permanently exist.
Thanksgiving "Meat" LoafIngredients (use vegan versions):substitute for 2 eggs (mix 1 tablespoon arrowroot powder, 1 tablespoon corn starch, and 4 tablespoons water)1 tablespoon soy sauce1 box medium firm silken tofu (350 g)3/4 cup chopped walnuts1 packet vegan dried onion soup mix (1.5 oz)1 teaspoon oil1 1/2 cups chopped onion2/4 cup chopped celery2 cups chopped mushrooms (use portobello mushrooms for a heartier taste)1 1/2 teaspoon each of oregano and basil1/2 teaspoon sage1 1/2 cups bread crumbs (Variations: To make it stick together better, try lowering the bread crumbs to 3/4 cup and adding one of the following: 1 extra box of tofu, 1 cup of instant mashed potato flakes, 1 - 1 1/2 cup of cooked brown rice or 1 cup burger-style crumbles)Directions:Mix egg substitute, soy sauce, tofu & onion soup mix together in blender. Add walnuts & blend until smooth.Saute vegetables until onions are transparent (add other diced veggies if you wish - ie peppers, carrotsetc). Add herbs/spices while vegetables are frying.Mix blender ingredients, cooked vegetables and bread crumbs together in a large bowl.Press into a greased loaf pan.
No Border Camp Montreal (oct. 24 2007)
[Sic:] Mustafa (SAB), Badr, Lydia, Phil, (CKUT), Emily (Block the Empire), Annette, David (Qc.), Shams (SAB + Parc-ex housing), Reza, Poya, Faiz, Dominik, Guiaumme (PASC?), Rachel, Chase, Sam, Marisa, Oscar.
Update & dicussion:
Last meeting (sept. 26) it was discussed that a camp at the Laval detention ctr ("immigration prevention ctr") could be organised in solidarity with no-border events held at the US-Mexico border.
Nous organisons un camp au centre de detention de laval, en solidarite avec les evennements "sans frontieres" ayant lieux simultanement sur celle des EU-Mexique.
It was suggested that we have visuals and sound so that folks inside the centre may see us and be inspired by our presence. We would also like to do outreach during visiting hours so that visitors can be informed of SAB, the "no border" and "status for all campaign", as well as good lawyers who have commited themselves to these issues.
Proposition d'avoir des sons et du visuel pour que ceux en dedans puissent nous voir et prendre avantage de notre solidarite. Nous aimerions aussi jaser avec les visiteurs, faire de la mobilisation, leurs informer des activites des SSF, des autres campagnes, et leurs suggerer des avocats engages.
We delved into some analysis. One point that came out was that detention camps are new in recent canadian history. This fact can be stressed when doing outreach. "canadians" do not think that people who enter canada should be stuck in prisons (this kind of policy is more accepted in europe, but not here). A testimony that details the awefull holding conditions is available. Conditions in YMCA are also deplorable (1- no access to detainees inside YMCA; 2- adequate food is not always available; 3- lack of resources). A discussion of the racial undertones of refugee and immigration policy followed.
Nous avons fait de l'analyse. On a mis d'avance le fait que les centres de detentions sont nouvelles, dans notre cas, en ce qui a trait l'histoire recente au canada. La detention est donc en ce sense encore moins acceptable. la plus part des gens, si adequatement informes, sont contre la presente polique de detenir les nouveaux arrivants en prisons. Nous avons en mains un document qui temoigne des conditions deplorables dans les centres. Les YMCA laissent aussi a desirer: pas d'access aux detenues, pas de bouffe adequate, carence de resources. C'est de la xenophobie et du racisme.
The camp:
We aim to show our support for/to those on the inside, offer our presence, make and present our demands...
Pour la solidarite avec les detenues
Our demands & message:
A) End detention / Fin aux detentions
- abolish security certificates
- free political prisoners
- dignity for detainees (YMCA stuff)
B) Freedom of movement / Liberte de movement [sic]
- end deportation
- abolish apartheid walls
C) Status for all / Status pour toutes
D) End to campaigns of xenophobia and racism / fin aux campagnes xenophobiques et racistes
Mustafa and poya are working on a call-out / mobilisation
Marisa and Oscar are working on a flyer / tract
Emily and Guillaumme are working on doing a poster
Logistic:
We're going to hold a brunch at atwater parc \ YMCA on saturday the 10th at 11am (invite YMCA people over, present letter or petition); leave via bus (and STM when necessary) at 1pm; stay in Laval untill noon the next day.
Brunch @ parc atwater / YMCA le 10 at 11hr; bus vers laval at 13hrs; on y reste jusqu'au prochain jour a midi
sound / son *alden, mustafa*
>>>>
film/tech
visuals-banners / visuelles *rachel*
liaisons *bouffe + trasport = dominik, Qc.= david*
welcome table / acceuil *davis, rachel, guillaumme*
scouting / reperage *emily*
outreach (including around laval areas before the event) / mobilisation (y inclus a laval)
*rachel, raza, marisa, david = Qc., emily, guillaumme, poya*
food / bouffe
sat. sam - atwater
supper + breakfast (laval)
drinks (water, hot drinks) / breuvages
*marisa, kita, dominik, david = bread, rachel = drinks*
set-up - set-down *raza, rachel (co-bottom-line w poya), guillaumme, dominik*
media *poya, faiz*
animation (speeches,chants,MCs)
+
programation (movies, workshops)
*mustafa, kita*
finance *emily asking Blem + musta asking SAB, poya, faiz*
note: checks to be made out to "Solidarite Sans Frontiere"
legal *mustafa, poya, faiz*
toilets\electricity *mustafa = electricity*
medics (for cold/ pour le froid) \ kids enfants
*emily = emily, kids = rachel*
transport *guillaumme, poya*
confirmation verification *guillaumme*
to bring / a apporter (cutlery, TP, supplies, warm stuff...)
translation *david*
announcing + flyering at anti-war demo and parties / annonces et mob ce vendredi
*mustafa, raza, emily*
contact w/ police
We have: trailer with stove (HQ), tarps and camp stoves.
[Sic:] Mustafa (SAB), Badr, Lydia, Phil, (CKUT), Emily (Block the Empire), Annette, David (Qc.), Shams (SAB + Parc-ex housing), Reza, Poya, Faiz, Dominik, Guiaumme (PASC?), Rachel, Chase, Sam, Marisa, Oscar.
Update & dicussion:
Last meeting (sept. 26) it was discussed that a camp at the Laval detention ctr ("immigration prevention ctr") could be organised in solidarity with no-border events held at the US-Mexico border.
Nous organisons un camp au centre de detention de laval, en solidarite avec les evennements "sans frontieres" ayant lieux simultanement sur celle des EU-Mexique.
It was suggested that we have visuals and sound so that folks inside the centre may see us and be inspired by our presence. We would also like to do outreach during visiting hours so that visitors can be informed of SAB, the "no border" and "status for all campaign", as well as good lawyers who have commited themselves to these issues.
Proposition d'avoir des sons et du visuel pour que ceux en dedans puissent nous voir et prendre avantage de notre solidarite. Nous aimerions aussi jaser avec les visiteurs, faire de la mobilisation, leurs informer des activites des SSF, des autres campagnes, et leurs suggerer des avocats engages.
We delved into some analysis. One point that came out was that detention camps are new in recent canadian history. This fact can be stressed when doing outreach. "canadians" do not think that people who enter canada should be stuck in prisons (this kind of policy is more accepted in europe, but not here). A testimony that details the awefull holding conditions is available. Conditions in YMCA are also deplorable (1- no access to detainees inside YMCA; 2- adequate food is not always available; 3- lack of resources). A discussion of the racial undertones of refugee and immigration policy followed.
Nous avons fait de l'analyse. On a mis d'avance le fait que les centres de detentions sont nouvelles, dans notre cas, en ce qui a trait l'histoire recente au canada. La detention est donc en ce sense encore moins acceptable. la plus part des gens, si adequatement informes, sont contre la presente polique de detenir les nouveaux arrivants en prisons. Nous avons en mains un document qui temoigne des conditions deplorables dans les centres. Les YMCA laissent aussi a desirer: pas d'access aux detenues, pas de bouffe adequate, carence de resources. C'est de la xenophobie et du racisme.
The camp:
We aim to show our support for/to those on the inside, offer our presence, make and present our demands...
Pour la solidarite avec les detenues
Our demands & message:
A) End detention / Fin aux detentions
- abolish security certificates
- free political prisoners
- dignity for detainees (YMCA stuff)
B) Freedom of movement / Liberte de movement [sic]
- end deportation
- abolish apartheid walls
C) Status for all / Status pour toutes
D) End to campaigns of xenophobia and racism / fin aux campagnes xenophobiques et racistes
Mustafa and poya are working on a call-out / mobilisation
Marisa and Oscar are working on a flyer / tract
Emily and Guillaumme are working on doing a poster
Logistic:
We're going to hold a brunch at atwater parc \ YMCA on saturday the 10th at 11am (invite YMCA people over, present letter or petition); leave via bus (and STM when necessary) at 1pm; stay in Laval untill noon the next day.
Brunch @ parc atwater / YMCA le 10 at 11hr; bus vers laval at 13hrs; on y reste jusqu'au prochain jour a midi
sound / son *alden, mustafa*
>>>>
film/tech
visuals-banners / visuelles *rachel*
liaisons *bouffe + trasport = dominik, Qc.= david*
welcome table / acceuil *davis, rachel, guillaumme*
scouting / reperage *emily*
outreach (including around laval areas before the event) / mobilisation (y inclus a laval)
*rachel, raza, marisa, david = Qc., emily, guillaumme, poya*
food / bouffe
sat. sam - atwater
supper + breakfast (laval)
drinks (water, hot drinks) / breuvages
*marisa, kita, dominik, david = bread, rachel = drinks*
set-up - set-down *raza, rachel (co-bottom-line w poya), guillaumme, dominik*
media *poya, faiz*
animation (speeches,chants,MCs)
+
programation (movies, workshops)
*mustafa, kita*
finance *emily asking Blem + musta asking SAB, poya, faiz*
note: checks to be made out to "Solidarite Sans Frontiere"
legal *mustafa, poya, faiz*
toilets\electricity *mustafa = electricity*
medics (for cold/ pour le froid) \ kids enfants
*emily = emily, kids = rachel*
transport *guillaumme, poya*
confirmation verification *guillaumme*
to bring / a apporter (cutlery, TP, supplies, warm stuff...)
translation *david*
announcing + flyering at anti-war demo and parties / annonces et mob ce vendredi
*mustafa, raza, emily*
contact w/ police
We have: trailer with stove (HQ), tarps and camp stoves.
Dear folks at Independent Diplomat,
This is email aims to wager your receptivity to colaboration on an information project.
I am a student currently putting finishing touches on a one year MA of International Studies at Goldsmiths College University of London under the supervision of Prof. George Lawson. I had attended Mr. Carne Ross' lecture at Chatham ouse a few months ago and thought it to be a rather usefull source in my studies, most notably in my preparations for the diplomatic service exam.
I am looking for adequate informants for a radio documentary about World Politics. I thought that Independent Diplomat might be able to offer a few interviewees on the matter of ...
This would entail xyz over xyz time period...
Ungfortunately, none of my informants can speak on behalf of private or partisan organisations, thus while I may acknowledge the support of Independent Diplomat and amend logos in appropriate promotional material, I cannot offer on-air credits to your organisation. In other words, interviewees will formally speak on their own behalf.
Faiz Kenedie Producing Member - CKUT Radio Montreal
This is email aims to wager your receptivity to colaboration on an information project.
I am a student currently putting finishing touches on a one year MA of International Studies at Goldsmiths College University of London under the supervision of Prof. George Lawson. I had attended Mr. Carne Ross' lecture at Chatham ouse a few months ago and thought it to be a rather usefull source in my studies, most notably in my preparations for the diplomatic service exam.
I am looking for adequate informants for a radio documentary about World Politics. I thought that Independent Diplomat might be able to offer a few interviewees on the matter of ...
This would entail xyz over xyz time period...
Ungfortunately, none of my informants can speak on behalf of private or partisan organisations, thus while I may acknowledge the support of Independent Diplomat and amend logos in appropriate promotional material, I cannot offer on-air credits to your organisation. In other words, interviewees will formally speak on their own behalf.
Faiz Kenedie Producing Member - CKUT Radio Montreal
Bibliography
Abbink, J. & G. Hesseling (eds.), Election Observation and Democratisation in Africa, London: Basingstoke and Macmillan, 2000
Abrahamsen, Rita, Disciplining Democracy: Development Discourse and Good Governance in Africa, London : Zed Books, 2005
Bratton, Michael and Nicholas van de Walle, Democratic Experiments in Africa: Regime Transitions in a Comparative Perspective, Cambridge: CUP, 1997
______ "Neopatrimonial Regimes and Political Transitions in Africa", World Politics, Vol. 46, July (1994)
Brown, S., "Authoritarian Leaders and multiparty elections in Africa: how foreign donors help to keep Kenya's Daniel arap Moi in power", Third World Quarterly, Vol. 22, No. 5, (2001)
Burnell, P. (ed.), Democracy Assistance, Frank Cass, 2000
Chabal, Patrick. Power in Africa: An Essay in Political Interpretation. New York: St. Martin's Press, 1994
Chabal, Patrick and J-P Dalloz, Africa Works, Disorder as Political Instrument, London: James Currey Publishers, 1999
Chazan, Naomi and John Ravenhill, ‘The Political Repercussions of Economic Malaise’ in Callaghy, Thomas M. and John Ravenhill (eds.), Hemmed in: Responses to Africa's Economic Decline, Chichester : Columbia U.P., 1993
Fox, G. H. & B. R. Roth, "Democracy and International Law", Review of International Studies, Vol. 27, No. 3 (2001)
Gibson, Clark, "Of Waves and Ripples: Democracy and Political Change in Africa in the 1990s", Annual Review of Political Science, Vol. 5, June (2002)
Harrison, G., 'Post-conditionality Politics and Administrative reform: Reflections on the Cases of Uganda and Tanzania', Development and Change, Vol. 32 (2001)
Hearn, Julie, Foreign Aid, Democratisation and Civil Society in Africa: A Study of South Africa, Ghana and Uganda, IDS Discussion Paper 368, March 1999.
Huntington, Samuel, Political Order in Changing Societies, London : Yale University Press, c1968.
Jeffries, R., 'The State, structural adjustment and good government in Africa', Journal of Commonwealth and Comparative Politics, Vol. 31, No. 1 (1993)
Kelsall, T., 'Shop Windows and smoke-filled rooms: Governance and the Repoliticisation of Tanzania', Journal of Modern African Studies, Vol. 40, No. 4 (2002)
Lawson, Letita, "External Democracy Promotion in Africa: Another False Start", Journal of Commonwealth & Comparative Politics , Vol. 37, 1 (1999)
Lipset, Seymour Martin, Political Man : the Social Bases of Politics, London : Heinemann, 1983
Mamdani, Mahmood, "African States, Citizenship and War: A Case-Study." International Affairs, Volume 78, Number 3 (2002)
Mamdani, Mahmood, Citizen and Subject: Contemporary Africa and the Legacy of Late Colonialism, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996.
Moore, David, 'Reading Americans on Democracy in Africa: From the CIA to 'Good Governance'', European Journal of Development Research, Vol. 8, No. 1 (1996)
Olsen, G.R., "Europe and the Promotion of Democracy in post-Cold War Africa", African Affairs, Vol. 97, No. 1 (1998)
Ottaway, Marina, Africa's New Leaders: Democracy or State Reconstruction?, Washington, D.C.: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 1999
Robinson, William I., Promoting Polyarchy Globalisation, US Intervention and Hegemony, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996
Santiso, C., "Responding to democratic Decay and crises of Governance: The European Union and the Convention of Cotonou", Democratization, Vol.10, No. 3 (2003)
Szeftel, Morris, 'Misunderstanding African Politics: Corruption and the Governance Agenda', Review of African Political Economy, Vol. 76, No. 1 (1998)
Wallerstein, Immanuel, Africa: the Politics of Independence and Unity, Lincoln : University of Nebraska Press, 2005.
Williams, David, 'Governance and the Discipline of Development', European Journal of Development Research, Vol. 8, No. 1 (1996)
World Bank, Governance: The World Bank Experience, Washington D.C.: The World Bank, 1994.
Website:
Zakaria, Fareed, "The rise of Illiberal Democracies", http://www.fareedzakaria.com/ARTICLES/other/democracy.html, Date Accessed: Dec. 1st 2006
Faiz Sharlatan
33060919
Paper for Rashmi Singh: Order and Disorder
Abbink, J. & G. Hesseling (eds.), Election Observation and Democratisation in Africa, London: Basingstoke and Macmillan, 2000
Abrahamsen, Rita, Disciplining Democracy: Development Discourse and Good Governance in Africa, London : Zed Books, 2005
Bratton, Michael and Nicholas van de Walle, Democratic Experiments in Africa: Regime Transitions in a Comparative Perspective, Cambridge: CUP, 1997
______ "Neopatrimonial Regimes and Political Transitions in Africa", World Politics, Vol. 46, July (1994)
Brown, S., "Authoritarian Leaders and multiparty elections in Africa: how foreign donors help to keep Kenya's Daniel arap Moi in power", Third World Quarterly, Vol. 22, No. 5, (2001)
Burnell, P. (ed.), Democracy Assistance, Frank Cass, 2000
Chabal, Patrick. Power in Africa: An Essay in Political Interpretation. New York: St. Martin's Press, 1994
Chabal, Patrick and J-P Dalloz, Africa Works, Disorder as Political Instrument, London: James Currey Publishers, 1999
Chazan, Naomi and John Ravenhill, ‘The Political Repercussions of Economic Malaise’ in Callaghy, Thomas M. and John Ravenhill (eds.), Hemmed in: Responses to Africa's Economic Decline, Chichester : Columbia U.P., 1993
Fox, G. H. & B. R. Roth, "Democracy and International Law", Review of International Studies, Vol. 27, No. 3 (2001)
Gibson, Clark, "Of Waves and Ripples: Democracy and Political Change in Africa in the 1990s", Annual Review of Political Science, Vol. 5, June (2002)
Harrison, G., 'Post-conditionality Politics and Administrative reform: Reflections on the Cases of Uganda and Tanzania', Development and Change, Vol. 32 (2001)
Hearn, Julie, Foreign Aid, Democratisation and Civil Society in Africa: A Study of South Africa, Ghana and Uganda, IDS Discussion Paper 368, March 1999.
Huntington, Samuel, Political Order in Changing Societies, London : Yale University Press, c1968.
Jeffries, R., 'The State, structural adjustment and good government in Africa', Journal of Commonwealth and Comparative Politics, Vol. 31, No. 1 (1993)
Kelsall, T., 'Shop Windows and smoke-filled rooms: Governance and the Repoliticisation of Tanzania', Journal of Modern African Studies, Vol. 40, No. 4 (2002)
Lawson, Letita, "External Democracy Promotion in Africa: Another False Start", Journal of Commonwealth & Comparative Politics , Vol. 37, 1 (1999)
Lipset, Seymour Martin, Political Man : the Social Bases of Politics, London : Heinemann, 1983
Mamdani, Mahmood, "African States, Citizenship and War: A Case-Study." International Affairs, Volume 78, Number 3 (2002)
Mamdani, Mahmood, Citizen and Subject: Contemporary Africa and the Legacy of Late Colonialism, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996.
Moore, David, 'Reading Americans on Democracy in Africa: From the CIA to 'Good Governance'', European Journal of Development Research, Vol. 8, No. 1 (1996)
Olsen, G.R., "Europe and the Promotion of Democracy in post-Cold War Africa", African Affairs, Vol. 97, No. 1 (1998)
Ottaway, Marina, Africa's New Leaders: Democracy or State Reconstruction?, Washington, D.C.: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 1999
Robinson, William I., Promoting Polyarchy Globalisation, US Intervention and Hegemony, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996
Santiso, C., "Responding to democratic Decay and crises of Governance: The European Union and the Convention of Cotonou", Democratization, Vol.10, No. 3 (2003)
Szeftel, Morris, 'Misunderstanding African Politics: Corruption and the Governance Agenda', Review of African Political Economy, Vol. 76, No. 1 (1998)
Wallerstein, Immanuel, Africa: the Politics of Independence and Unity, Lincoln : University of Nebraska Press, 2005.
Williams, David, 'Governance and the Discipline of Development', European Journal of Development Research, Vol. 8, No. 1 (1996)
World Bank, Governance: The World Bank Experience, Washington D.C.: The World Bank, 1994.
Website:
Zakaria, Fareed, "The rise of Illiberal Democracies", http://www.fareedzakaria.com/ARTICLES/other/democracy.html, Date Accessed: Dec. 1st 2006
Faiz Sharlatan
33060919
Paper for Rashmi Singh: Order and Disorder
sirenis
It is impossible to learn anything, and thus to relegate any thought, be it in writing or otherwise, without attempting something. Failure and success determine only the tone of an account or inspiration. Or at least such is the case for failure. Success being more often than not a euphemism for either what was thought to be failure or a simulacrum of a fantasy.
. There is only one raison d'etat, one raison de vivre, one excuse and meaning of action in life. This is the source of all compulsion and fear. It is the mother of patience and only true rationale behind all rationalisation, or what today we mistakenly justify as rationality. This, of course, is the overcoming of constraints not entirely of our making. To be more accurate, it is the overcoming of constraints wholly of our making. That and music.
. But let's avoid making too broad generalisations for the time being. Those moments when we recall other times of lessons learned are when we feel both shame and deliverance. When we think back to difficult events, we are weary yet invincible. We are sheepish, for it occurs to us that we had expelled such stupid energy. "How could this have consumed me so?" Much to our dismay. In any case, we look up and smile to any interruption of those thoughts.
. All of this does not, obviously, dismiss hardship. My caution should not be heard as a claim to universality. There is no single pain. There is only the righteousness of the Abyss, the ocean of a flat world. There is no freedom under lock and key, there is only freedom in doorless rooms. The windows of hope should never lead to landscapes that have already been painted. It is only our burden to carry the canvas of existence.
there's only one way to get drunk. tha way is wasted. in caucun. when one is gone, one is gone on another planet. the universe becomes a place inhibited absurdity beyond the abiltity ofo a simgle persone to make sense of. one is unable to express any sense a volleyballesque retention. we become immune to the state of affairs. our selves becomes the ihibition of an entire generation of morons. we cannot helf ourfelves from typing lyping liie illerate idiots ready for nothing else but copulation on ht emmost basic of [primate formulas. it is impossible to make ends meet on ht egrounds of anything but the impossibility of existense. it's as though nothing but the atomic bomb were wre able to determine the fate of humanity. with the slight execption of will power and individual desire for desire existence.
regardless. i digress, for living at such a time of life and time beyond morning is nothing but moring for life. and that is nothing but mourning. god bless the sould of the dead and bless the soul of the deaesead, for the deaqd are dead and the dead are dead. long live the queen and her mother and soul. long live the queen and ther mother of souls. forgive me for the ills i've aided and forgive me fore the movement i've instigated. me life is with you and you are my saviour. thank you and god bless your endeavours. amen.
je t'aime mon amour. que tu puisse me liberer de cette tragedie de brume. que tu puisse me revenir des brume. les osses de mes encetres. veulliez m'atrrendrire de cette hypocrisy. veuiller me pardonner cette mediocrite. merci. et de dieu vous benisse.
amen.
. There is only one raison d'etat, one raison de vivre, one excuse and meaning of action in life. This is the source of all compulsion and fear. It is the mother of patience and only true rationale behind all rationalisation, or what today we mistakenly justify as rationality. This, of course, is the overcoming of constraints not entirely of our making. To be more accurate, it is the overcoming of constraints wholly of our making. That and music.
. But let's avoid making too broad generalisations for the time being. Those moments when we recall other times of lessons learned are when we feel both shame and deliverance. When we think back to difficult events, we are weary yet invincible. We are sheepish, for it occurs to us that we had expelled such stupid energy. "How could this have consumed me so?" Much to our dismay. In any case, we look up and smile to any interruption of those thoughts.
. All of this does not, obviously, dismiss hardship. My caution should not be heard as a claim to universality. There is no single pain. There is only the righteousness of the Abyss, the ocean of a flat world. There is no freedom under lock and key, there is only freedom in doorless rooms. The windows of hope should never lead to landscapes that have already been painted. It is only our burden to carry the canvas of existence.
there's only one way to get drunk. tha way is wasted. in caucun. when one is gone, one is gone on another planet. the universe becomes a place inhibited absurdity beyond the abiltity ofo a simgle persone to make sense of. one is unable to express any sense a volleyballesque retention. we become immune to the state of affairs. our selves becomes the ihibition of an entire generation of morons. we cannot helf ourfelves from typing lyping liie illerate idiots ready for nothing else but copulation on ht emmost basic of [primate formulas. it is impossible to make ends meet on ht egrounds of anything but the impossibility of existense. it's as though nothing but the atomic bomb were wre able to determine the fate of humanity. with the slight execption of will power and individual desire for desire existence.
regardless. i digress, for living at such a time of life and time beyond morning is nothing but moring for life. and that is nothing but mourning. god bless the sould of the dead and bless the soul of the deaesead, for the deaqd are dead and the dead are dead. long live the queen and her mother and soul. long live the queen and ther mother of souls. forgive me for the ills i've aided and forgive me fore the movement i've instigated. me life is with you and you are my saviour. thank you and god bless your endeavours. amen.
je t'aime mon amour. que tu puisse me liberer de cette tragedie de brume. que tu puisse me revenir des brume. les osses de mes encetres. veulliez m'atrrendrire de cette hypocrisy. veuiller me pardonner cette mediocrite. merci. et de dieu vous benisse.
amen.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
any vivian girl for me please
Mirrors.
MIrrors.
Seeking, seeing, fleeing, eating raw and permutating fflaw.
Ouch, ouch euh, right; ohhhh.
My heart thumps and pounds. my chest hurts because it pounds, it stammers and hammers so roughly that hurt is relieved periodically only by scrapes. I lose all explanation. i will never be free of this. it will never go away. all i can do is smirk. oh how much life will hurt.
Echoes echoes eh-
oes.
always there. as mentioned previously
on other occasions
some other time.
cee.
see cee. she was there. and so was anyone who
i don't care.
all that there was for me at time of volume was loudness of these people's beings..
so i have to say, the fucking guitarist....
the bassist,
god damn.
so stupid,
but just enough. not beyond your extinction
incessant rejection. self inflicted
auto-imune self avowed personal poetry from the dept of your souls
Fuck humans attitude from outside your mom's house biatch
tap tap tap so hard tap till they all break
down and under fire to be continued you (*&^%$
close parenthesis
MIrrors.
Seeking, seeing, fleeing, eating raw and permutating fflaw.
Ouch, ouch euh, right; ohhhh.
My heart thumps and pounds. my chest hurts because it pounds, it stammers and hammers so roughly that hurt is relieved periodically only by scrapes. I lose all explanation. i will never be free of this. it will never go away. all i can do is smirk. oh how much life will hurt.
Echoes echoes eh-
oes.
always there. as mentioned previously
on other occasions
some other time.
cee.
see cee. she was there. and so was anyone who
i don't care.
all that there was for me at time of volume was loudness of these people's beings..
so i have to say, the fucking guitarist....
the bassist,
god damn.
so stupid,
but just enough. not beyond your extinction
incessant rejection. self inflicted
auto-imune self avowed personal poetry from the dept of your souls
Fuck humans attitude from outside your mom's house biatch
tap tap tap so hard tap till they all break
down and under fire to be continued you (*&^%$
close parenthesis
my bike
my bike
I am amazed by my bike.
It's more beautiful now than ever,
though i would never have thought so.
now, now and then, but now for the first time,
my bike is me
and i am my bike.
It is an animal
a small beast
running,
to where, away,
it doesn't matter. it runs always; i run always.
And do we run fast. we are built for it,
and everyone can see it.
i am ashamed, when i don't remember. I knew, and i must thus know.
but at times of peace, one tends to forget
awestruck by beauty,
the sensitivity for which is our nature
the only occupation we can rely on to keep us sane when artifice is forgotten.
My bike helps me.
If only i could repay it. If only i could tend it a hand full of light
a life for which nothing it would otherwise hope for in time of need, that moment in time between beginning and end.
I am amazed by my bike.
It's more beautiful now than ever,
though i would never have thought so.
now, now and then, but now for the first time,
my bike is me
and i am my bike.
It is an animal
a small beast
running,
to where, away,
it doesn't matter. it runs always; i run always.
And do we run fast. we are built for it,
and everyone can see it.
i am ashamed, when i don't remember. I knew, and i must thus know.
but at times of peace, one tends to forget
awestruck by beauty,
the sensitivity for which is our nature
the only occupation we can rely on to keep us sane when artifice is forgotten.
My bike helps me.
If only i could repay it. If only i could tend it a hand full of light
a life for which nothing it would otherwise hope for in time of need, that moment in time between beginning and end.
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