Saturday, December 31, 2011

Happy People


There's a quote attributed to Obama that says in hard times certain people cling to their guns and religion. Conservatives were pissed because the shoe fits so snuggly. But, any honest person knows that Americans, especially the uneducated and poor do just that. It's such common knowledge that manipulation of that flaw is baked into most right-wing campaign strategy.

Well, times are getting tougher for all Americans. The unemployed are growing in number. The employed are they're playing musical chairs with their co-workers. Stress Baby, and lots of it. But far less "Liberals" have guns or religion to fall back on...

Out of this darkness springs a faith in people. Not persons wholly corrupted by capital, but neighbors and friends who are in the pot with you. People can be so much better than their institutions. The non-violent, desegregated Bonus Army of the 1930's, the Civil Rights movements of the 40s, 50s and 60s, the Occupy movement now, show people will resist malevolence in social systems after a while. History also shows these imbalances receive a correction.

In this time of crisis, I'm clinging to my belief in myself, my family, friends and people who don't want to sell out long term communal good for short term personal gain. We need a new system of politics. Something akin to a direct democracy with a well educated body politic. Until then occupy where you can.

photo: taken with iPhone 3Gs, LoMob app

Thursday, December 29, 2011

Crunch Time

So the broken clocks and conspiracy theorists are right - it is 11:59. Obama may soon sign the National Defense Authorization Act into law. This would make the United States a battlefield and allows the military to occupy the Land of the Brave.

Now, don't be fooled into looking at #NDAA in isolation. There are several forces in synchronicity : the aggrandizement of political power to finance, the locking down of the Internet, the co-opting of the media and the rise of manufacturing by private prisons labor. All these forces feed each others push us toward a new normal. America will become a corporatocracy, the Fascist nation with the iPods.

But there is still hope, we are not too far gone. But the solution requires blood and treasure. Our blood, our treasure.

If you are brave, look at American history and ask yourself, what major social changes that benefited the common man was acquired by violent means? We are going to need the courage of the Civil Rights movement, because the corporatocracy will turn the whole country into the Deep South.

Sunday, December 25, 2011

Inglorious Bastards

Worked on Christmas. I said WORKED on Christmas. My family and friends bemoaned it, but they are looking without context. Seven million Americans are unemployed. 4 million of them have been looking for work for a year or longer.

That being said it still sucks to work on the holidays. I even apologized to the coffeehouse folks as I walked in to pick up breakfast.

There was a time when working Christmas or New Year's meant double time and a half. Thanks to unions, workers were at least honored for the sacrifice. Honor..

I would say honor is missing in many places in America right now. Where's the honor in freezing workers' pay and rewarding management? Where's the honor in police officers being ask to crush descent? Where's the honor in bringing soldiers stateside and asking them to crush descent as well?

Where's the honor in voting for brands instead of candidates? Where's the honor in not attempting to keep them accountable? Where's the honor in complaining when you didn't write, call or occupy?

We can restore our country's honor one citizen at a time. We can make efforts to restore national integrity by managing our lives the way we'd want the govt to manage its affairs: responsibly and with a care as to how it would affect our neighbors.

If you can't occupy, call. If don't call, then email, tweet or post on blogs. Just make an effort to resist dishonorable persons hiding behind corporations destroying this country. Watch policy not parties. Watch out for your neighbor.

Friday, December 23, 2011

Blood & Treasure

Participated in TwitterBomb against the Stop Online Piracy Act (#SOPA) recently. Tons of participants. I get sense there was impact on the Judiciary Subcommittee that meets on #SOPA. 

But TwitterBombs are just letter writing campaigns in this new era. They assist the people in the street, but not a replacement for civil disobedience.

So I don't consider myself a revolutionary. I make small financial donations to #occupy, tweet & blog. I guess I'm a sympathizer. 

The only language empire understands is blood and treasure, I'm there on treasure...

Monday, October 17, 2011

Boots on the Ground

Police officers are the boots of the corrupt and wealthy. They grind the poor and the visionaries beneath their soles, batons, water hoses and tear gas, so they can sleep on the back porch of the masters.

Not all officers are the Dogs of the Rich. Not all sheriffs hunt the foreclosed middle class like wounded ducks. Not all. But, if you don’t stop the boot from grinding, if you don’t stop the baton from striking, you are participating in the violence. You must do your part.

There will always be slave catchers, there will always be people who break the law for freedomsake. Conscience and history tends to favor one of the other. Which one are you?

1 Marine vs. 30 Cops (Marine Wins)

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Democrat or Obamacan?


My children were surprised when I told them how much I love this country. They, like some conservatives that see things in black & white terms, confuse a detailed critique with being unpatriotic. A common mistake. Fact is, I love this country and want to see it and me prosper, so changes must be made. Can't make changes unless you point them out. Which brings me to Mr. Obama.

Just because I criticize our president doesn't mean I am anti-Democrat or anti-Obama. I am pro-policy. I am pro-education funding, pro-military spending cuts, pro-universal heart care (european-style). If Obama doesn't fight for these policies then HE is out of step with democratic-liberal ideals not I. We should call him on it on vote accordingly. Let us not redefine what it means to be a Democrat based on Mr. Obama, rather let's give him the incentive to realign with the base that brung him.

photo: MacBook Pro taken with iPhone 4GS, Hipstamatic app (Salvador 84, Ina's 1935)

Friday, August 26, 2011

2012 is a Joke

Emergency! Market forces extracted wealth from the working classes then dropped it on a bad spin at the roulette wheel. Now they want Geico to recover their losses. The Tea Party (serfs that protect wealth of landlords) toast the idea.

The Democrats realize their President is a better conservative than the Blue Dogs ever were. I'm not making this up. Obama was vetted, like all candidates, on his willingness to protect status quo. He knew he could deliver the Dems, the Blacks and the Liberals to Wall Street in a nice neat package.

The Corporate powers do their part by painting the rational republicans, disgruntled democrats into a corner with tea party red; figuring they can keep serving poison economic policies as long as Obama is at the counter.

That stratagem will get most of us in 2012. But there's a few hardcore thinkers that will continue to bitch and blog and explore third party candidates. Who knows, since we were able to get a Black president in 2008, maybe we can get a Green one in 2012.

Photo: Walter Reed ambulance taken w/iPhone 3Gs and Hipstamatic app (Salvador 84, Ina's 1935).

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Monday, August 15, 2011

Grind.



Laughing about landscaping, courtyards, included utilities. Girlfriends wanting to be neighbors. Taking about abuse on Oprah, not seeing the showbiz, but the therapy. Business causal. Face brightened when I returned from vacation. This string of consciousness doesn't lead any where.

I deserve more than I am willing to give. Standing in the rain unneccarrarily doesn't proof I'm waterproof. Worn out shoes, but fingernails have no soil beneath and all money is dirty. No more time to dream. Time to work.

Photo: Shades taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (John S, DreamCanvas)

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

August


It's setting now, the sun is leaving me. Such a short time ago I retrieved this fire.

Hoisted on my back, we caught up on gestures and tones AT&T can't reproduce. I had my family for the summer.

Baked. So close to the sun, my skin blackens and I didn't recognize myself. All the music, arguing, laughter, crying and cooking; my solitary self recedes to let the family man through. A Black man with his suns and daughters, getting blacker in their light.

Breeze. Whispers from the pages of a calendar about the first day of school and accrued vacation. So much undone, so much accomplished, a lot of hugs. Honesty blushes for solitude. The duality doesn't subtract from my love, but only years have taught me that.

The sun is heading for the chariot, packing for the trip across the sky. The shadows grow long, touch my face, dry my tears.

Photo: drinking glass near desk lamp taken w/iPhone 3Gs and Lo-Mob app.

Friday, July 8, 2011

Sunrise



"That's not how we do things now." The future imposing it's will on me. "You are god. Repetition is the only inspiration that will lead to success. Trail and error is scripture, don't pray, do."

My notions of success are wrapped in ignorance. I build paper houses because I love the architecture. Would like to build them for a living. I also build paper airplanes that can fly in your ears, planting ideas. Again, not a professional pilot.

So this young wise man says I'm doing it all wrong, because I'm not doing consistently, just talking about it. He says the sun is setting and he won't be making up for my mistakes. He has work of his own. The only premembrance that he offers is to fail at it until I succeed. Such a hard lesson, when we live in a present full of instant everything. Nothing of signifigance, but even small instant gratification is a powerful drug.

So here I kneel, anointing my hands with the dirt of trail and error. I havent the faintest idea of what I'm doing, but doing and learning is all I have to pour into this soil.

Photo: A young writer, businessman, martial artist, world traveller taken with iPhone3GS, Hipstamatic app (Helga Viking, AO B&W)

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Father's Day




In haste, I catch another angel, put out another fire, try to perfect a deity with my clay hands. Fatherhood is fashioning the future with the past as your only reference. You tend to fill in gaps of memory with imagination. Father is a mystic that changes diapers one minute and changes minds the next, still get some shit on your hands either case but, that's what daddies do.

The less ego, the more you have to give "I want you to be better than me". Couldn't have said that a 17 or 22, but at 32 or 40, of course. I see my own limitations and push my offspring past them. I surgically remove those handicaps with spankings, lectures and exposure to parts of the world I didn't know at that age. I stand on myself and left you up over my head.

"What do you see?"
"Ok, I don't understand, but go for it. Just remember what I taught you."

They come back with little treasures from atlantis, college and friendships with age-old enemies. Strange writings on stones that can be read by younger eyes. I trust the currency I provided will spend in the future. It came from my flesh, pounds of it.

"Daddy, we don't do things like that anymore."

Like VHS tapes, some of my knowledge becomes obsolete and I fight with myself to accept it. My shrunken ego wallows in the past and brushes off the Now as an illusion. My higher self rocks back and forth and listens.

"So, how do things work now?"

Now, I'm the old man being taught by the future. Ego goes to the grave long before me, but I don't miss him. Less tension now. Things are as they are, no interpretation needed. I just am. My children just are. There is enlightenment in just accepting what you experience as it is. Just rocking back and forth. Just listening, just being available when needed. Just fading into memory, becoming a ghost like my mothers and fathers before me.

Photo: Firetruck speeding passed me taken w/iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (Melodie, Big Up)

Thursday, June 16, 2011

It's Summertime



Once I could touch the sun. I could hug their fiery photosphere. Wash them with starlight, before sending them off to school.

After the divorce came the Fall. I could still see them, but the distance - things just got a little cooler. Moods changed, from bright green to more sober colors. Sometimes I'd feel like I was just floating, drifting on some uncaring wind.

On Thanksgiving day 2010, I was told they were moving to Florida, the farthest point from the sun. Icicles were on my face by the afternoon. I could see my breath, words like "You'll get them this summer. They won't forget you. Use Skype for video calls." More cicles, crying like a bitch. Angry, confused, frustrated, but still willful. I would see them soon.

One thing I've learn about my orbit is that it never stops. I set small fires at the cave's mouth. Stored fruits and vegetables. Sent presents from the amazon. Always prayed to the stars, always knew my season would come.

Now, I can see green beneath my toes. The earth doesn't resist me as she once did. Hope, laughter, more dirty dishes are coming into view. It's summertime...

Photo: Lamp light through glass cup taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Jimmy, Blanko Noir)


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Monday, June 6, 2011

Tea




She whispered in my ear, silence. A textured, colorful fatigue of sound that felt medicinal. Words from my ears, trickled down, into my hand. My palm was read. Said I'd achieve things just beyond my reach. Said I was talented, had a voice for the masses.

Tears. Tears that puddled in my hand formed a mirror. I see the me that she saw. Eyes look hopeful, smile is slow and confidence. No wrinkles. Lost a little weight. Looked at my hands, callousness on my fingertips. They are beautiful.

Photo: Favorite mug and new journal I bought taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Buchhorst H1, Big Up)

Sunday, June 5, 2011

Boardwalk


Peeling. Time is eroding your sexy. At some point in this spiral, some fluid point over my shoulder you were YOU. Mad fans, lots of accolades, a kind of fame was bestowed. Somewhere back over a forgotten horizon, you stood hips and shoulders above contemporaries. Now though, in this present foam, these waves, these throngs of people don't put face to music. No recognition, just polite smiles as they keep moving toward work or play.

Cycles, we'll see your kind again. Just a different face, different lyrics, but the same song. You carried swishes to the beach like the other currents before you and were appreciated at the time. But time is a lazy foam, bubbles popping on shore, soon forgotten. Splashes are different, but I'll never forget that sound.

Photo: Corner of old building on 7th & L Sts NW, DC (Now painted over) with remains of a Tracy Chapman poster on wall taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Buchhorst H1, Big Up)

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Buffering - please wait


Rush, rush, rush goes our culture. The ol' American dream is shipping world wide. Everybody wants that house, car, good job and a worry free retirement. That was our marketing. Now it's gone viral.

It's hard to focus on something of importance at this speed. Everything is a blur: politics, finances, relationships, everything is fast but your internet connection.

Sometimes I wish life would... buffer for a while. Just a minute or two before the impact of my words, actions would fully load. A progress bar appears over the co-workers head as my curse words fly.

My ISP, Karma, has been fair, I get what I pay for. I make choices and watch them play out. But that buffering, man! Here would be the only place in the universe where it would be appreciated. If Life was slow to load, you can always cancel the stream, re-type your words, intentions and try again without consequences.

Yeah. That would be great, but.. yeah, the buffering would be great.

Photo: Train's cargo car taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Lucifer VI, Blanko)

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Ancient Future

There it is, my passage out! A thin door amongst pages of a book. She told me I wrote scripture, my poetry had god-sense. I scribble only what I have seen.

My religion is liberty. A realization that your original mind is all you need to be free. The mind of a child, ignorance of fear. This world is a dream, so live in a dream-state as often as you can.

A scribe with many books in his satchel. Each one written with his feet. Experiences he prints in blood and dirt, dries into scars on the pages. The future reads and changes course. Only then can it really be called the future.

Photo: A journal I bought from Borders Books taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Kaimal Mark II, Cano Cafenol)

Monday, May 9, 2011

Ashram



It might as well be a temple. As many times as I've retreated to its open solitude. The spirits, the elves, the open doors I've seen in its low cut grasses. It might as well...

A girl showed me how to find four-leaf clovers. Old gods kiss my face when I was anxious about the divorce. I bartered with a priestess for the cookie. I've seen myself walking barefoot through the grass. Once there were creatures gathered in the far corner looking up. I looked up too. We were all blessed.

I am the shadow in this place. The observation of myself is true religion and my path to enlightened.

Photo: Mom's backyard, one of the most holiest places on Earth taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Jimmy, Blanko Noir)

Friday, May 6, 2011

These United States...



Myself and my fellow Americans complain too much. Liberals complain because Obama acts like a compassionate conservative. GOP complains because he is Black. Democrats complain because Obama continues W Bush's wars. Tea party complains because he's Black.

I work the weekends and.. wait, I'm employed?! Yes, I'm employed and have been all my adult life. I have loved ones not so lucky. I say luck, not because I didn't educate myself, acquired new skills, learn how to get along with people, because I did. I say luck because I'm sure other folks have and they are still jobless.

I am fat (as of this writing) not because of thyroid problems, but because I eat too damn much. There are people who don't have the same access to foods that I do and they are in the same zip code. Lucky, blessed, take your pick.

My beloved anonymous brother and sister, please take this time to celebrate the fortunes you do have. Like this internet enabled device your reading this self righteous blog post on. The Gods, Fates, Probability has been good to us. That picture is of a sandwich I bought from Starbucks. Taste good, but makes you write blog posts like this, so be careful.

Photo: Sausage, egg & cheese from Starbucks taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Helga Viking, Alfred Infrared)

the Evangelist



I heard this fire, these finger tips walking across coals. A sacred dance in Sin City. My reptilian brain was disquieted, he didn't know what to make of this language; the pain and insight of the Blues, delicious chaos of a Hendrix run. How can you put words on invisible tongues.

In 1972 the universe was created. Gods and goddesses were worshipped because they made it rain and the children grew up with a strong sense of cultural pride. In 1972, wars were fought and ended, long hair had politics woven into it. God was Black, Brown and Yellow.

On this sacred corner, wrinkled hands still remembered how to pray to ancient gods. The strings theorized people would pay to hear the gospel during their lunch hour. They was right. I saw all classes bow and toss IOUs at the prophet's feet. Their ears burned, they caught that feeling, then moved on. Prayer changes things.

Photo: Guitarist at 7th & F Sts, Wash DC taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Lucifer VI, Blanko Noir)

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Taste



She didn't call. I saw a light refracting in a glass half full. I could distract myself with disappointment or burn this alcohol in a lamp and write.

My ink spilled a bit, dripping off the table, directing me to look elsewhere for inspiration. At two o'clock, a Cinderella relinquishes hard labour for a short time. Perhaps to meet a writer in his solitude.

I've seen a stone faced barista soften with easy, patient chatter. "Why do you care about my final exams." She says, espresso shots fall. I let the query linger, form its own conclusions, let the seed of curiosity grow.

Let it steam, questions without answers foam in the mind about this caring, well dress regular. Stir in a little politics and some compliments on simple braids and curls.

Can't grow attached to any potential cup of latte. The constant waiting in line or unrequited advances, enamors you to the process. To sip is not as important as that act of treasuring the taste.

Photo: To go cup taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Salvador 84, Pistil, Cherry Shine)

Friday, April 29, 2011

Sunshine



How to speak to her? I knew baby talk, I knew toddler chatter, but this prepubescent language is foreign to me at forty. 42.

I understood one thing, "When can I kiss a boy?" This pain shot down my arm, stroke induced by worry. I feel helplessness before Time and its changes.

No more Chuck E. Cheese, no more three little piggies, no more solace I suppose. If I premember, I would see everything turned out brilliantly. Better than hope could have planned. But this mask of the present is dark and scary and who the hell is Trey Songz?

Beneath the surprises, mood swings and painful questions, is a force of nature. A brain like a sun converting base elements to light. Sometimes it warms, turning winter green. Sometimes it burns the skin. "Not until you're 18."

Didn't want to be a saint, just wanted to be close. Close enough to walk to her. Close enough to understand her, close enough to scare the boys away. Now, I'm just very, very brown, sunburned by my daughter.

Photo: Sennheiser HD 202s taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Salvador 84, Blanko Noir)

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Confidence Game pt2



So the conversations steeped, sweeten with a little humor, a little personality. Weeks later I stir.

Way down the middle of the train platform she stood, as unassuming as chamomile. I slowly drift toward the aroma. She boards, sets beside some dude. I post, delaying the inevidable.

"Hey, haven't seen you in a long time, how have you been?" It goes on like that for 10 minutes. Then I begin to stir, availability, possibility - dinner? iPhone keypad gets tickled with digits.

Would like to read her leaves, if I could, see what stories they tell.

Photo: Glass and spoon taken with iPhone3Gs, on board camera app, Lo Mob app

The Stream! Social media/news show.







Friday, April 22, 2011

One Bad Apple


Where has the love gone? Alot of ya'll are new to the game, I know about that Mac SE in college back in '87, I rocked the Centris in '93 and feed my family with the graphics work. It was beautiful.

Here in 2011 I find that Apple is tracking me. Where is the love? Since at least iOS4, Steve has been collecting latitude and longitude data on every iPhone and iPad user. Data that can be accessed by anyone who can access your mobile or computer.

When I read this on Twitter and then Gizmodo, that Apple 1984 commercial came to mind. You 'member - the bleached out white dudes marching toward that huge screen with Big Brother shouting on it.

Then the riot police chase this woman with a John Henry hammer into the hall where these drones are seated. She hurls the hammer at the screen destroying it, freeing the minds of the masses. Inspiring, but that was 1984.

Here in the twenty first century the interpretation is clear. The mindless drones are the Apple faithful (me once). The riot police is Apple, Inc. and the woman with the hammer are the jail breakers. Today Apple is the State! All power to the ppl!

Photo: MacBook Pro on glass table with photos beneath taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Chunky, Cano Cafenol)

Monday, April 11, 2011

Seasons


God is round and everything created inherits that propensity. Even conflict is cyclical, gravity pulls, planets resist, the motions are orbits. Seasons are created, life and expectations of things that have come before.

My seasons resolve around my passions. The closer I get to my fiery core, the brighter my sky, greener my grass the fuller my bounty. Wildlife flourishes, I have plans for Friday night, etc. Then the season of forgetfulness comes upon me.

I start to drift further from Sol. Days grow shorter, nights colder, too cold to speak. Constellations like Aphrodite drift by without so much as a whisper from me.

But, stars do change and I remind myself of the god I once was. A beauty lost until I find it again in myself. Memory brings the sun round. Closer, I align myself with truths I produce like blossoms. Like attracts and beauty is compounded. I remember that work toward my star is near zero effort and I feel warm.

My own personal gravity serves me well.

Photo: Juggler in Wash DC in front of Gallery Place Chinatown Metro station taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Chunky, Blanko Noir)

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Red Riding Hood


There was a dark wood I was trapped in awhile back. The light was blocked by people who didn't believe in ambition. They were crabs who climbed trees just to keep another crab from moving higher. They blocked out the sun, but they also formed a canopy for ambitious creatures like myself.

I met a fellow traveler from that wood the other day. She was clothed in cocoa leaves and smelled like fear. We broke bread in a place without trees and spoke of higher powers, miracles and such.

When I led her back to the road, she did not give me her eyes. Later, she stated her courage was fluttering, as if I carried a strong wind. I know it was just the city, but allowed her to draw conclusions. It was as if the spirits were telling me to remove the woods in my soul.
Photo: Crossing an intersection at twilight taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Chunky, Ina's 1935)

Thursday, March 31, 2011

Easy Lover


Here we are negotiating, we're at that part of a relationship where the woman is feeling you out just before giving up the Aqua Door. "emotional abuse, that is a deal breaker.." She said listing things like lost of trust, that would end a boyfriend's career. Shouldn't this kind of negotiation be going on before we give up our votes and treasure?

What kind of deal breakers could we have? Any votes on government spending that prioritizes foreign aid or defense over domestic programs. Charity begins at home, Baby! Any legislation that reduces personal liberty in the name of security. Uncle Ben said "..They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety."

Another deal breaker is the "company" a politician keeps. Opensecrets.org lists big financial donors of many candidates, which could be a predictor of the kinds of policies they'll support. For example, is the corporate donor paying their employees good wages, providing affordable healthcare? That could mean political support for a living wage and meaningful healthcare reform. Does this company has a good record on the environment? That could mean a stronger EPA. The idea here is to look for congruency. You can't tell me you support green energy and take money from BP; that is a deal breaker.

So, she didn't give me the ass until I promised not to be an ass-hole. We shouldn't give any party our support until we establish some political deal breakers. Also, checking out the company they keep will help us discern talking points from future policy.

Let's not give it up so easy this November. Remember Libya, remember Healthcare "Reform", remember Wisconsin, remember Citizens United v., remember Cash for Clunkers, remember extending Bush tax cuts, remember no bailouts for home owners.. then vote.

Photo: sketch of a girlfriend's torso from my 2003 journal taken with iPhone3Gs, Photoshop Express app (adjust contrast, exposure)

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Monday, March 21, 2011

Spring in Tripoli...


It takes alot of work growing a nation. Democracy just doesn't bloom on its own, it takes feet on the ground and wings in the air.

Workers, revolutionaries fly from city to city, spreading the ideas of open government, an end to secret police and economic reforms.

There are always dangers. The bee keepers who profit from your captivity, harvest your dreams and mix it in their tea. Whole industries are based on your servitude and they won't go away willingly. So the bees start to sting for their freedom.

Help arrives from abroad. But are these farmers assisting for bee-manitarian reasons or do they want to insure the reliable flow of honey? Time will tell.

Photo: Dogwood bloom (I think) taken with iPhone3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Tejas, Blanko Noir)

Friday, March 18, 2011

Confidence Game pt. 1


An old friend and I meet, swap stories with no females in them. It's like drinking tea with no sugar.

How pitiful are we, not because we don't have women; because we desire women and don't have them. We laugh at our self-imposed poverty. Dying of thirst by a river. Starving in a forest, bow in hand, too afraid to let arrows fly.

Feel like I've been in this twilight wood for years, waiting for Virgil. Guess I'm not ready.. the teacher hasn't come.

That of course is bullshit. My teachers are here: Mr. Trial and Ms. Error. I just don't want to study... (to be continued)

Photo: Ceylon tea taken w/ iPhone 3Gs, Lo-Mob app (Ho-Mob Reloaded filter) and exposure, contrast adjusted in PS Express app

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Monday, March 14, 2011

Spring in Bangazi



We perceive it in our minds - an idea, the fragrance of choices. Our generation is blooming, covering the sky. Our feet rooted, soaked in sweat and blood, our songs - the bark on our tree.

Winds from Gaddafi's fighter jets move our branches, but we remain resolute in this free Libyan soil. We desire Spring for our children, warm democratic rays.

Mercenaries see us as kindling, the West eye our sap, neighbors pray this regional storm won't make their forests dance. But the seasons are changing. It is our time.

Photo: Dogwood or Cherry tree taken w/ iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (Chunky, Blanko Noir)

Sunday, March 6, 2011

All Quiet on the Western Front


There's no war here. Not overtly, no soldiers in the streets, no tanks. But Sony corp wants your browsing information if you view any sites or videos about jailbreaking PS3s. American corporations want to drive our wages down until competitive with China and India. Companies are hiring less, making more profit and paying less for healthcare, but there's no war here.

No AK-47 pointed at me in the grocery store, but I pay more for food. No watchtower, no soldier at a checkpoint, but the RealID Act could prevent me from entering a government building or an airplane. There's less and less debate every election cycle: the GOP will send six battalions overseas, but the Democrats will only send a half dozen. Republicans will gut union rights, Dems say "we" must make sacrifices and then give tax cuts to rich.

That's why I take such joy in the uprisings in North Africa and the Middle East. People want what a responsible government is suppose to deliver. And the kicker is the way they are going about it is a form of direct democracy. I hope historians are watching Al Jazeera and taking notes. Kids in the West may need them one day.

Photo: The corner taken w/ iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (Lucifer VI lens, Alfred Infrared film, Cadet Blue Gel flash)

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

The Doha Debates: This House Believes The World is Better Off With WikiLeaks

Friday, March 4, 2011

The Tweet Who Sat by the Door


They closed the door in Tunisia, Egypt and Libya - in hopes that descent could be curtailed without Facebook or Twitter. But the Internet is just a tool, not the source of descent. If the human spirit is sicken by oppression, then it will heal itself using all matter of resistance.

You see, protests are just the human collective healing itself from the disease of bad governance. Oppression is a malignancy in human culture. The antibodies are the activists, the freedom fighters, the revolutionaries (sometimes even politicians). The more they are killed, the more they are produced. It's a reaction to the infection of intolerance, poverty, brutality. Lack of freedom is cancer.

While military intervention is the chemotherapy of Failed States, but it's far better for the body politic to heal itself through peaceful resistance. Since chemo can kill as many pro-democratic actors as it does provocateurs, it's a gamble some states like Egypt aren't willing to take.

Photo: Clear 4G Hotspot taken w/ iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (Chunky, Blanko)

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Ghosts in the Machine


The machinery looks frightful. Blue steel gears all oiled up with corporate money. But teachers and fireman stood against the monster. The liberal media challenged its shrill narrative. Wisconsinites got dirty, pressing their bodies between the agenda and it's implementation, slowing down the oppressor's drill.

The cables are taut now. Straining under the weight of the Press. The masses, even genuine fiscal conservatives, see somethings wrong. The hard won protections of non-capitalists in a free-market are being threaten by the political machine. Squeezing people between scarcity and low wages, squishing folks under the high cost of health benefits.. Trapped - the would be victim finds the strength to face anti-labor agents like Governor Walker.

The slippery slope of capitalism claims as many souls as politicians can push. The GOP seems to have bigger hands this year. As my brothers and sisters slide into debt, think that I should really start a business. Because in capitalism, if you don't have capital, you don't have power. This is why real democracy is so important. One person, one vote.

Photo: Drill at construction site taken w/ iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (Chunky, Blanko Noir)


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Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Cream, Two sugars


Is this what they want? Caffeine and emails? A rat race or democracy? In the West, we tend to think it's the same thing. For how can you have the right to vote without the right to purchase?

In America, the tectonic shifting of rich and the government, keep middle class houses under threat. Is this what they want? In Egypt, Tunisia, etc, do they just want the right to choose which elite will rule over them? Is the experiment they seek possible? How do they build a republic without republicans becoming corrupt?

The challenge we face in the West is corporations perverting our democracy. First it was rich land owners that made the laws, now corporations want to run the society like sweat shop: minimum regulations, low wages and no unions. Hope the family in the Middle East can improve on what we call democracy.

Photo: Too expensive coffee and mobile taken w/ iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (Lucefer VI, Blanko Noir, RedEye Gel)

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Pooper Scooper


The future is only dark for the unprepared. For those who've lose faith in their inner god. Now the dark doesn't have to be scary. In fact, once you've purged a few demons, you can see in the dark much more clearly.

Having been haunted by the demons common to man. I've learned their trick is making you forget they're visitors, not part of your essential self. Demons, like the ego, are baggage that we pick up along our material journey. While on earth, we get mud on our shoes, motes in our eyes and spinach in our teeth. That's a big deal for someone who didn't have a body to start with.

Ego isn't a bad thing, its a pet, an animal that needs taming, an ape that can smoke. If you ever think its civilized - watch out; you could get your face ripped off. We only need the ego for comfort and to talk to egocentric people. Those few of us that shed the ego before death or old age - I'll see you in the dog park.

People free of ego's domination are interesting to talk to. They seem self-contained, comfortable in their own skin and adaptable. Folk around them tend to adjust to higher frequencies. The egoless are centers of gravity, contagions, forces of nature.

Once this state is achieved, time for departure is near. You see, not only is the ego a pet, its also an anchor. The buoyancy of the little god can easily overcome earth's pull without an ego weighing it down. A low pressure system forms overhead, then a whirlwind brings death to the body. So when people say "the good die young" it's because of the weather.

The path to achieving this state of egolessness is boring and wonderful. One technique is to progressively free oneself from fear, learn life's lessons and accept that everything and everyone "out there" is really in here - we are all one. With these elements in place, buoyancy is increased and the spiritual eye opens.

There are all kinds of adventures to be had by just accepting who you are and that you define who that is. No religion required.

See you in the dog park.

Photo: Metro platform from inside subway w/ reflection from window, taken w/ iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (Helga Viking, Float)

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Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Egyptian Hell



You can really appreciate water in this place. Diamonds are traded for ice cubes here, silk for refreshment.

When a government demands resources like taxes, blood and loyalty, but can't provide food and water, shelter from cold and ignorance. That government should replaced.

When a government commits violence against it's own people, the most grievous violence of poverty, that government should be overthrown.

When clean water is sacrificed for profit, the culture has turned into cancer, eating it's own people to sustain itself.

When education leads to a degree of unemployment worst than the unskilled experience - it's a type of Hell. It's a part of the pit where your books torment you. Your knowledge harasses you.

It's hot in this place, not because of flames but because of embers. Frustration smolders in the mind stealing sleep. Feet pace. There is no comfort.

Here you can not see the sky. Well you can, but it doesn't recognize you. Believing you to an enemy, you get hot rain. Acid that doesn't nourish the soil. Cracks of dry earth appear across your brow. A forehead like a desert floor.

I'm sipping this holy water for my brothers and sisters in Hell. Where demons in police uniforms test your resolve. I sip this cool water and pray for change.

Photo: ice water, taken w/ iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (Kaimal Mark II, Ina's 1935, Cadet Blue Gel)

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Tuesday, February 8, 2011

The Hunger Pains


They think we're tired. Distracted by the internet again. Commerce is returning, stepping around our Revolution. But we're hungry and we can't ate your reforms. You take day old bread, no, thirty year old bread and wrap it a new napkin.

We can't ate oppression. It chokes. Civil liberties stumble with bloated bellies and skinny arms, sitting in this square. Why can't you hear us, our stomach roar. Perhaps our bones, our taxes and foreign aide make you chew so loudly, we seem silent. Just 1000s of mimes in Tahrir.

The baker, once a military man, serves us dishes his children wouldn't eat. They dine on exotic fare like freedom of travel, economic security, marriage and happiness. Billions of calories are consumed by his family, while we wait.

You hate those peeping in the window. Al Jazeera, reporting on the terrible food you serve us. We can't chew fear. We refuse to ate ourselves into oblivion with your poison recipes.

We have just enough strength to starve. Not ourselves, but your machine which grinds us into flour for your companies. We will starve the regime, week by week, until the baker closes his shop of horrors. Just alittle while longer. God willing.

Photo: "Beer and Wine" taken w/ iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (Salvador 84, Pistil)

Muhammed Ali and Mike Tyson on same talk show - P1 (rare) thanks DaveKarl

Muhammad Ali powerful quotes (HD) thanks 4mirkhan

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Bitches Brew


These factories. These machines of culture polute the air with notions of class. In the fog people loose themselves, traveling down a path to vanity. With tolls every morning; the wayfarers believe this the road to paradise.

Against the tide of the 7-11 masses, poverty has many faces. Some poor in spirit are big tippers. The line, the cashout, the line, is the rhythm of the nobility. Ancient ways of home preparation is a lost art and even frowned upon as black magic.

Witches and sorcerores who make their own brew, oft wish for exile. Waking up before birds, the boiling cauldrons, the spells can be tiresome. But their coin does not permit otherwise and they accept this.

Look, something wicked this way comes... Oh, another Starbucks.

Photo: coffee cup taken with iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (John S, Pistil, Cherry Shine)

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Little Wing (for Egypt #Jan25 mvmt)



This guitar is made of blood. Activists write chords to marching feet. Boney, nimble fingers of the Youth, so idealistic because they're fresh from paradise.

January presses skin against steel against wood to make music of this struggle. Bloggers write songs. Political prisoners write songs. Mothers waiting for protesters to come home write suites to a peoples' passion.

If Mubarak breaks our fingers, we play with our tongue, Hendrix style.

Photo: Sylvia, taken w/ iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (Lucifer VI lens, Pistil film)

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Monday, January 31, 2011

Giant Steps

Found these bones deep in the earth. Had to dig through layers upon layers. Each collection, each strata was a lifetime unto itself. To those who heard these majestic creatures, it's must have been awe-inspiring.

Some of them flew, some stood as tall as trees, others swam the turbulent, political waves of their day, but each had a unique, ferocious sound.

Today its lions, tigers and bears, but back then even 'Bird roared. Seen as giants to primitive man, or even fallen angels, they walked beneath a racist sky.

Historians say it was a meteor, but it was definitely Rock that killed them. Once the stones started falling, so did those deities; for what is a god without worshippers.

The heavens grew colder and venues for the giants to forage became scarce. The food supplies ran out and they couldn't keep the bands together. Some tried to adapt, but it was too late. The curtain was closing on the Nephilim.

So finding their remains is auspicious. The fact is the ancients still speak, it's just that their voices are in analog.

Photo: Some of my vinyl collection, taken w/ my iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (Jon S, Alfred Infrared, Cadet Blue Gel) ,

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Soul Food


What can you take with you? I guess only what fits in the mind, but our memories have holes in them, so only really big things can be stored there.

The heart has some carrying capacity, but its hard to open without right feeling to retrieve the right item. Hashmarks or tags our feelings are. You need the right combination to open the lock.

Scars are a pocket most forget about, but it's pretty reliable as a carrying case. We have bought many a troublesome item from one life to the next in scars. They're sturdy, you always can find them when you need it, but they get a bit heavy after a while. Can slow you down.

The last place to store things is prayer. If you have people that love you back in the physical, my understanding is that prayer is a reliable way of acquiring things you forgot. Children, spouses and living parents will regularly send precious care packages straight to your door. Alas, after the grieving period ends, the packages become less frequent and for some souls, they stop altogether.

That's fine. You've been here awhile and it's time to release the priorlife and embrace the after. You don't need that much to get by around here anyway, all you need is you.

Photo: my latest attempt at homemade bread. Taken w/ iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app ( John S, Alfred Infrared)

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Friday, January 28, 2011

Tunisia and Egypt p1


What's my motivation? Voluntary slavery with the hope of owning pieces? I take men and resources, advancing across the board. Hands - invisible corporate hands take comrades in and out of play. I watch people reduced to rooks and pawns giving me the illusion of progress. Tunisia, Egypt peeped the game and started moving on their own. Rejecting the players, the regimes.

So many in America and Europe are restless. The fast food and cable television aren't enough to dim the light of the mind anymore. Pieces are quietly moving on their own in the States. Calls for calm from the State Department may soon be read by Homeland Security. The pawns are getting restless. The rooks are meeting in coffeehouses, knights are moving money overseas.

The only winners are the pieces who don't play. The empty, invisible hands of the Market form a fist at first, then wring themselves before a fearless population. There are calls for calm on the chess board, but nobody is listening.

Photo: my crystal chess board taken w/ my iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (Lucifer VI, Pistil, Cadet Blue Gel)

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Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Iron and Water

Thought I was free. Unbraided heart strings and monthly cowrie shells... thought I was free.

This single, solitary life of mine has it's own baggage. Items men in my position must carry: iron and water. Iron is easy enough, but this liquid conversation is tricky. A language I must relearn after some forty summers.

Not that I'm complaining, but most my age are swimming with the fishes. Not carrying jars on their head. But, I have to remember mermaid speak - and quickly.

My voice sounds different under water, so I'm told. A sing-song quality I don't hear myself, but no matter. I wish to commune with a goddess. Such is my life on the river.

Photo: dumbbells in my apt taken w/ iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (John S, Claunch 72 Monochrome)

Pirates!


Her pain was beautiful. Listening to each scar lured me - ever closer to a stormy passion.

The names were unfamiliar, the circumstances rare, but each tale of escape and loss fascinated. "If I knew as much about men then, as I do now, I would have ruled that campus!"

She was a pirate. A swashbuckler who wielded her womanhood. Taking over ships and stealing booty. Disappointment filled her sails, the black flag danced high in the sky.

Back and forth across the equator she rode. Looking sailors in the eye, before pushing them overboard with a kiss. It was well worth the swim back to shore.


Photo: taken on a rainy day w/ iPhone 3GS, Hipstamatic app (John S lens, Alfred Infrared film).

Tunisia Revolution


Tunisia keep walking. One martyr set a nation's feet on fire, purging a malingnacy in the government. But don't stop til all the cancer is gone. Don't be fooled into voting for placebos. Continue the treatment until a healthy body politic emerges. Keep walking Tunisia, keep marching.
Peace and blessings to Mohamed Bouazizi's family.


Photo: taken on subway platform w/ iPhone 3Gs, Hipstamatic app (Lucifer lens, Blank film, Blue flash, med rez)

Friday, January 7, 2011

Weekend Metaphor


It's quiet out here in space. You don't so much "hear" as much as "feel" and there's little going on out here emotionally.

Sitting on one of the rocks that make up Saturn's rings is.. different. Not awesome, but a crazy bright reflection from planetside and a lot of rocks and dust.

The rocks only get pretty far away, like some people in your life. Up close they have faults, prejudice, petty territorial squabbles. At a distance they have genius, personality and wonderful memories.

My rock perch is full of holes from small collisions; like my face in an Earth mirror. But far away I too become devine, a seamless part of the cosmic whole.

At a distance, with the ego as a point on the horizon, God's presence feels closer than at any religious service. You can see that you are a part of what primitives called Spirit.

So don't be afraid if you're drifting like a rock in space, remember you're part of a beautiful sky. All your holes and imperfections make up a ring. You are a Saturday floating around a Sunday. That's an amazing weekend.


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