컵케이크

Yesterday I convinced a three-year-old that army tanks actually shoot out happy large cupcakes at hungry people.

vegetarian drama

sunday afternoon,

i strolled down york street with a stolen shopping

cart that i filled with beef.

last

it was a wednesday night, slouched dispassionately on the step of blockbuster when i realized i was still broken. with no intention of going inside, i sat there as if naked. painfully and fearfully aware of my own shameful and helpless disposition. of all places to mourn, why there. why in the comfortless drone of a cities night did i find refuge. amid the shadows of parked cars i cried. i hate moments like these. when im exposed. and when i realize, in the most ridiculous places at the most unexpected of times that the process of healing is almost more painful and certainly more difficult than the very experience of raw brokenness itself.

still my brad pitt

...when i was 10, i had a major crush on fidel castro. while all the other girls in my class drooled over the backstreet boys, i secretly fantasized about sharing a cigar with the marxist revolutionary and prime minister of Cuba.
in sixth grade i wrote a paper about why communism was beautiful. it both shocked and confused my teacher, who looked worriedly at my 10 inc sketch of castro, bordered with hearts around it.

i wanted to have his lovechild.

Yesterday i went to see the movie Che, and i realized the only thing that drew me to wanting to watch the film was the potential possibility of seeing castro on a giant screen. when i saw him my heart still felt all giddy. its strange, but fidel castro is my brad pitt.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"I find capitalism repugnant. It is filthy, it is gross, it is alienating... because it causes war, hypocrisy and competition." F.C.

i JUST said we bought cotton candy.

meet lesley-- she's reaching for a plate of seaweed, in a long submarine. lesley is a visibile minority in syracuse. thats why she is my kindred heart friend. she makes makes my life sparkly with joy. yesterday we went on a daytrip to NewYork state, and it was exceptionally lovely. we saw a delightful "Post Secret" http://postsecret.blogspot.com/ exhibit at a art gallery, ate sushi, shocked and amazed (or horrified?) locals on the street, "awwed" over and spied on various wild animals, ate at a diner in Watertown and discovered the enigmatic definition of "cool", by analyzing the figure of the Fonz. by doing so we concluded that squaredancing was indeed cool, because it is somewhat counter-cultural and therefore unwittingly bad ass. we discovered that in order to live in syracuse it is mandatory for americans to have at least three LARGE body tattoos in very visible places. i also realized that im a sucker for women with new york accents that call me "sweetie" or "honey". i almost immediately want to send them homemade christmas cards for the rest of their lives, just to show how much i love them. i also realized i really like walking down the street with the-white-girl- with- dreads and that i like secrets. alot. almost as much as i liked giving the flamingos at the zoo a dirty look when les wasnt looking.
what a great day :)

rejuvination

This morning i hung my laundry out to dry for the very first time in my whole life.

It was a surprisingly cathartic and peaceful experience. there's something quite beautiful and promising about the whole process, that makes me more aware of my own nakedness. part of me feels somewhat envious of my clothing, as they dance carelessly in the wind and bask lovely-ly in the gentle sun. i like that their hung only by two small pegs, yet in their freedom their still centred and rooted. i miss that feeling. im happy for my sweaters and my purple dress... happy that they find liberation in the world, even if its only for a thursday afternoon.

fist

S-o-m-e-t-i-m-e-s,

.

.

.

.

when i walk past a bird, i secretly fantasize about punching it in the face.

ni g r e ss

He's drunk again .

another lonely night of fuck and urine.

and although his wife curses you in daylight,

she breaks with you come nightfall,

as he slides

in.

sober ghost.

seduced him with silence. nigress ghost... a ghost he can screw after dinner,

white family in the next room.

he beats you before

he comes.

to see if ghosts can bleed.

They can. I assure you they can--

the blood of wounds seen and invisible.

she bleeds

in the kitchen, by the field

on his daughters.

she bleeds because she can and is.

the "F" word.

Late at night on the bus ride home a drunk man sat beside me and we discussed feminism.

Oddly enough, it's come up many times-- that awkward and predictable moment when they find out Im a feminist.
This past year I've had a similar conversation with:

• 3 middle aged taxi drivers
• 1 elderly sales clerk
• 2 homeless men
• a drunk guy on the greyhound
• 2 pastors
• journalist on a school bus
  

The conversation inevitably goes as follows (every time):

"What are u taking in school?" - "Women's studies". "Oh......so your one of those crazy feminists eh?...." [at this point their face floods with disappointment and discomfort and their voice heightens with defense] then comes the classic "oh, [scoff] you must hate me then!". [I've yet to talk to a stranger who doesn't assume that my commitment to feminism equates an inherent hatred towards all humans with penises]
After an exasperated attempt to stress that feminism is about equality, not womn taking over the world nor the eradication of all men, theres a long pause followed by the argument: "if you ask me, women have more rights than men do.... [insert personal story about an x-wife, or a friend of a friend here].

this is usually followed by a " i think women are smart and are even just as capable as men are at many things, but.... insert "a woman cant pull me out of a burning house" fireman argument or the "a woman cant tackle down a criminal" police-argument.
Then comes the guilt. As they realize they've been ranting too long and need to suddenly appear "liberal" so they can appease me. They typically say something along the lines of: "At least women can work now... and aren't stuck in the kitchen" or "i would never hit a woman" .... or the more politically minded ones (usually the taxi drivers) bring up Hilary Clinton (in pre-Obama days). [as if a president with a vagina would inevitably mean an end to all sexism and patriarchy, just as the American delusion that a president with black skin must mean America's no longer a racist nation].

Sometimes the more daring men assume Im a lesbian. In which case the conversation typically goes as follows:

"Your too pretty to be a lesbian... it's a shame" followed by the subsequent heterosexist "look-at-me-im-so-open-minded-" statement of "I got no problem with them people, as long as their not pushing it in people's faces" or "as long as they don't expect to get married".

Usually they'll end the conversation with a joke about me probably wishing i could beat them up. but behind the joke, their eyes look almost sympathetic-- like im ruined.

It makes me sad that in mainstream society feminism is immediately demonized, and deliglitimized. It makes me sad that its an immediate threat, instead of a call for peace and equality. Why does my empowerment as a woman, make men feel as if they've suddenly been castrated?

What's interesting about these conversations is that each guy thinks he's so smart and original and enlightened in his arguments, even though their completely predictable. (and just as tiring as the vegetarianism talk with the inevitable "plants have feelings too..." comment or the "im a meat-a-tarian" advertisement rip off joke).

It angers me that they don't see a need for feminism. they dont seem to see a world that needs to be changed. Im sick of people reducing feminism to mere "women's rights" or matters of domesticity, and being "freed from the kitchen". We're not in the 1950s and 60s anymore.

Yes we can vote. Yes we can work. but our world is still fucked up. Our world is still rotting with oppression.
Our bodies are still raped, robbed, silenced. we still live in fear. we're still bonded by the chains of racism. homophobia. classism.

Talks like these are always bitter sweet.
Bitter because of their discouraging predictability and frustrating assumptions.
Sweet because of the hope that possibly one less person in the world will equate feminists with being an unnecessary, man-hating, power-hungry, matriarchal, butch-dyke (who is a dyke simply because she is apparently too ugly and mean to get a real man), who wants to take over the world and inevitably castrate all men. . .
(not that theres anything terribly wrong with "matriarchical butch dykes :) )
I wish to see a day where a middle aged taxi driver, and a drunk guy on a bus will know and beleive that a world infected with sexism is a world that needs to change.

jack

Jack was always drunk.

He drank to celebrate, he drank to mourn. to escape. to smile. to cry. to forget.

Jack was drunk the night he lit Jill's blouse on fire.

He was drunk when they ran up the hill, for water.

He was drunk when Jill "stopt -dropt-and-rolled", in order to ease the flames that singed her young flesh.

Jack was drunk when he fell down, and bumped his crown.

He was drunk

as she came

tumbling after.

t r a ck s

(Friday)
night: i puked outside of The Purple Door, a NewAge "spirituality" store down the street. I blew pineapple chunks all over their sidewalk. this wasn't an intentional barfing destination, but it did end up making me smile. (once i cleaned the bonch off my rubber boots). im not sure why i vomited. but i did. it tasted like hummus and citrus.
(Saturday)
Morning: i woke up at 2-in-the-afternoon- to discover that i could not move. I threw my back out from tilling our garden the day before. it was my first time tilling. at the time it felt marvelous. i wanted to prove i was capable of doing it. haha. it's silly, but the next day my spine felt like it was being run over by 5 large monster trucks. i couldn't walk. so i laid in my bed all day, evening and night, until midnight, and that's when i fell asleep. Andrew brought me pills. They helped. Someday I'd like to be a gardening super-hero, with mechanical toes that till!!! that would make everyday a niceday.
Afternoon: i pouted and drooled in bed.
Evening: I sang Andrew a song about Quebec wanting to separate from Canada in the early 90's, called "Canada, don't leave me now, we can work it out some how, don't break up our family" over walkie talkies, as he did the dishes. this was m y rose.
(Sunday)
Morning: i hung out with jesus and some fine and lovely people at next.
Afternoon: - ate a tempe sandwich on the doorstep with a little raven, who told me things that
made me smile.
- a group of fellow community seekers from Quebec came to visit, and asked us
questions about how we live... we drank juice
- Cleaned up litter off the streets of our neighbourhood
- Sat in a large circle with litter-picker-upers, in the front of the house. met a 78-year-old man with a tall hat, as he was walking down the street, who knitted 73 sweaters, and was wearing his 61st one. he stopped to correct the hand posture of one of the girls we were with. then he proceeded to tell us that he had 3 x-wives, and knew the guy who invited piluties. he made us smile.
Evening:
- ate crackers in our living room with some homeless friends
night: painted a wooden sunshine
-ended the night with some dumpster diving.... we've got enough bread for the week :)
(Monday)
-Every monday and wednesday from 10- 2, the world thinks i have two sons. this use to bother me a bit, but now ive sort of internalized it. partly because im proud of them, because their both cute and talented toddlers. hehehe. i find myself thinking "ya that's right, my baby can climb ALL THOSE stairs... yours just eats dirt and poops"
morning:
i took the boys to the "duck park". and we played in the sun.
My 3-year old friend ben taught me two things today:
1) "Farmers do NOT have birthdays"
2) "Robots do NOT wear underwear" (that was his convincing argument as to why he didn't need to wear any)
afternoon:
-i coveted an old man's brown bicycle.
- i had a conversation with housemate Jay about how i have an irrational hatred for all mean-zoo keeper, astronaut cops who care for horses and space.

Tonight: i discover that in the presence of tulips, i feel skeptical.....*

erotic

the erotic has been bastardized.

the erotic is (or should be) more than a menial screw. its more than passionless desire. more than ass and cleavage.

the "man"-- the system-- has manipulated and limited the "erotic", rendering it merely "sexy" "kinky" and/or "naughty", inorder to devalue the power that it can bring to our lives as creative beings. oppressive mainstream capitalist driven culture doesn't want to produce empowered, creative and free-thinking/feeling individuals. They want us to be mindless, dependent consuming robots. they want us to be unhappy and uncreative so we rely on consumption inorder to feel better about our inadequate and mediocre lives, bodies and existence. They want to cheapen the erotic, so we don't realize the liberating potential it has for our lives. They want to stigmatize the erotic- they want to make it into something that should be feared, shamed, or silenced.

erotic isn't bound only to sex (although sex can be a beautiful part of it).
but rather the erotic is and can be seen everywhere and in everything. It is a sacred resource within us that lies in a deeply spiritual plane. The erotic is passion. it is desire. feeling. life appeal and fulfillment. it is the creative life force and energy within each of us. it is the open and fearless underlining of our capacity for joy. the sharing of joy. the erotic is powerful. it is beautiful. it is in me. it is in you.

Audre Lorde, my "black-lesbian-feminist-poet" crush once wrote, "Recognizing the power of the erotic within our lives can give us the energy to pursue genuine change within our world, rather than merely settling for a shift of characters in the same weary dramas". I dig this.
We live in a suppressive anti-erotic society, and inorder to fully embrace the fact that we are powerful because we are capable of experiencing and sharing the erotic, we must first began to strip down, and question the forces of our society that try and immobilize us from changing our world. The "man" is mad because though they can attempt to co opt and capitalize off of the erotic, they can not ever truly comodify the joy, empowerment and creative harmony that the erotic as a life-force releases. Be radical. Define your own erotic.
This is mine.
she dances, at dusk. in fuchsia coloured rain that sparkles as it says goodnight, to a soon sleeping sky.
it's in the promise of night that she finds herself, barefoot and twirling, screaming and weeping, laughing and singing. Wet from fuchsia kisses, and tears, she is invincible. Her heart lives in her naked feet, that celebrate in drizzle sodden grass.
each emerald blade whispers secrets, to each of her muddy toes. secrets her heart will know as truth, her spirit, as joy, her mind as beauty.
She knows passion, fearless, and open, she knows passion. she twirls, because the sky is endless, and her dreams breathe moonlight, from unbound lullabies. in these lullabies, creativity and harmony are as alive as the moon that watches her and as real as the stars that mourn her brokenness. but even in her brokenness, the silence knows she is powerful.

May you find your own erotic. May you feel powerful and free in that. and strong against the powers of this world, that tell us the erotic should be supressed. be joyful.
***