Monthly Archives: August 2016

Thistle (Cnicus benedictus), a poem

blessed thistle

Thistle (Cnicus benedictus)

This distance between us
has a sure purpose, to keep you away
from my prickly leaves & branches.

If ever you try to play with me
like a toy you’ll become cross & sick,
but you can always beg to feel

the white-wooly fuzz
covering my stems & the undersides
of my leaves. Unbelieving, the bitterest evil

abates when confronted
with my composite flowers,
their pure aesthetic wonder.

My crown is decked with glory,
sharp, spiny bracts surround
my purple blooms. You know me

as Blessed Thistle, my most civilized
incarnation. Sooner or later, I and
my many children will take over the world.

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The case of George Soros: illuminating; instructive; interesting.

Billionaire philanthropist George Soros is the ultimate right wing bogeyman. He’s been said to be a Nazi conspirator, a secret global drug lord, behind Black Lives Matter and the Ferguson protests in 2014—generally, a lefty puppet-master who pulls all the strings. But the liberal magnate’s real “conspiracy”—quietly working to change key officials in the broken…

via Here’s how a billionaire really uses political money to make social change — Quartz

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Leslie Gaines, purported “filmmaker”

Leslie Moreland Gaines is a con man and an artistic failure.  Also, he has personally stolen personal property and money from me and trespassed my home.  Warning:  do not ever, under any circumstan…

Source: Leslie Gaines, purported “filmmaker”

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Oprah’s Closet, an essay

O_Magazine_cover

August 14, 2016

Oprah’s Closet, an essay on priorities

It’s Super Soul Sunday on OWN, Oprah’s personal TV network. She sits with an author on a self-help book & discusses how, she, Oprah stands inside her walk-in closet & decides it’s not making her happy anymore.

Assumption number one: we, the viewer, can stand inside our closet.

Assumption number two: we, the viewer, are far enough ahead in the game of “net worth” to be able to discuss whether or not our large walk-in closet makes us “happy.”

Oh, Oprah. And just as I was just about to feel really good about you & your legitimately valuable achievements again! I mean, come on. You name EVERYTHING after yourself, and then justify it by saying it’s inspiring others to reach what you define as their “full potential” or some shit.

What the fucking fuck? Seriously? You just snatched defeat out of the jaws of victory. Who gives a fuck about whether their closet makes them “happy?” Oprah, when did you get lost?

Priorities. Resources. Allocation. Social goals. Civilization. Society. Government. All people are created equal, and deserve at least a level playing field. A level playing field. Let our society make sure that every child starts the game on a level playing field. What we agree upon as humane. HUMANE treatment for humanity. Imagine that, Oprah!

Forget your closet! Let no child go hungry; unwashed; unloved; uneducated. Let no child languish in the care of a family which cannot care for them. NO child. Not just yours. Not just some theoretical children, in the abstract. Real, live, actual, living children, sitting in their living rooms, none of which should be scary, or dirty, or smelly, or empty. We are all equally entitled to the resources of this particular planet. And any other that anybody reaches.

Ain’t nobody owns the moon. Or the sea. Or the stars. Or the air. Or the water. But they WOULD LIKE TO. Therein lies the problem.

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Happiness At My Fingertips

Simple happiness.

Poetry On A Roll

I’ve looked within myself
curious as to what I may find.

I’ve managed to bypass the secrets and unhappy days,
jogging to the good memories,
and jotting down my findings.

Unpleasant things I’d much rather forget,
laughter and love I open up like presents.
I’m surprised by the little it takes to make me truly happy.

A roof over my head.
Clothes on my back.
Shoes on my feet.
Food on the table.
Surrounded by families and friends;
feeling loved.

Yes, this is what happiness is.
This is what happiness should feel like everyday,
before and after the hustle and bustle of
working my fingers to the bone,
trying to make ends meet.

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Nuremberg

A Lawyer's Prayers

Defendants in the dock at Nuremberg Trials (front row:  Hermann Goring, Rudolf Hess, Joachim von Ribbentrop, and Wilhelm Keitel), National Archives and Records Administration (Identifier 540128), (PD- Federal Govt.)

“Of one thing we may be sure.  The future will never have to ask, with misgiving:  ‘What could the Nazis have said in their favor?’  History will know that whatever could be said, they were allowed to say.  They have been given the kind of a trial which they, in the days of their pomp and power, never gave to any man.

But fairness is not weakness.  The extraordinary fairness of these hearings is an attribute of our strength.”

–        Excerpt from the closing argument by Robert Jackson at the Nuremberg War Crimes Trials

Last year marked the 70th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz.  This year, Pres. Francois Hollande of France commemorated International Holocaust Remembrance Day by meeting with Pres…

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Tunneling Bivalves (Lithophaga palmerae), a poem

ilustration tunneling bivalves Shipworm Boring

Tunneling Bivalves (Lithophaga palmerae)

I have eaten stone. I have tunneled through the hardest
hearts. For ten years, I was in the hands of a wizard
who, little by little, made me forget everything I knew

before I met him. He fed me stones. I became a small
soft thing, covered with two hinged shells, digging
farther away from the world outside, the world I thought

would hurt me. I shrank smaller each day, tunneled
deeper. I wanted to disappear. While I was enslaved,
I learned to use silence as a weapon. My shells

closed tight, tried to protect my softness, but the wizard
jammed gravel in and devoured me. We used to swim
together, in dark water, his robes hanging over the pool

like a tent. His robes were warm, and sheltered me.
His robes were stifling, and smothered me. I was not
a good apprentice. I failed all the exams, I was held

back to repeat the same lessons over and over.
He wove elaborate spells to keep me in my place.
He was content for me to be his forever.

I was his slave, though I hated him and made him pay
for my service in other ways. I thought the hardness
of his heart was a sign of God’s presence, of God’s wisdom.

I forgot to look for God’s grace, God’s joy. My tears
fell and anointed the floor. I was like a religious pilgrim
who brought palm fronds home, nailed them

to the wall of her room, slept with one eye open,
to see if dry leaves caught fire. I was a staple
for the wizard, I gave him everything I possessed,

willingly, and when he would not give me the knowledge
I sought, I betrayed him. His anger was mighty,
and destroyed much of my beauty. When I first fled

the wizard’s castle, I felt powerless, I felt alone.
The wizard was happy I was gone — I had learned
the lesson he had been trying so hard to illustrate

all those years. The one about peace, about power.
He was my teacher, for that I am grateful.
Injury comes from inside, I know that now.

I try to remember to feel God inside. Still, sometimes
I forget I am not eating stone anymore. Sometimes
the food I prepare for myself still tastes like stone.

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