Ahnold denies Tookie clemency.
I’m opposed to the death penalty across the board, so I have nothing specific to say about this case that I wouldn’t say about any other case. Just mentioning it due to the level of interest.
Monthly Archives: December 2005
in response to a challenge from pswordwoman
New Mexico
We drive out to the petroglyphs
and lay an air mattress and a blanket in the pickup bed
where we lie and watch
the descending stars
whenever our eyes are not closed
and we are not turned away from the sky.
I mention that I’m surprised that it’s cold enough
that the blanket matters. Also, I say that
loving you feels different here.
You say in New Mexico, it’s the heat,
not the humidity.
One streak lights us up
when it burns through the thin clouds.
I imagine it striking down
somewhere out toward Tucumcari, raising dust
and a rumble you could hear all the way to Dallas.
If it were day, you tell me,
we could climb up and see the writing on the rocks.
We could stay all night, I tell you.
We could get caught, you tell me.
We could, I say,
but we could plead the influence
of the stars, say that they fell on us
and burned us nude so we had to wrap ourselves
in each other and when the explosion came
we were so stunned we had to wait until dawn
to read the rocks and understand what it all meant —
Shut up, you say. And I do.
oh!
happy birthday, sou!
cake to you and yours and a well-wrapped parcel of belated but nonetheless sincere squeeeeeing!
back from nantucket
where I:
— featured in a beautiful space overlooking the ocean
— had a great time
— refrained from reciting the only poem I know that has the word “Nantucket” in it.
if the only tool you own is a hammer, you will see every problem as a nail.
Dammit!
I’ve just discovered I’ve written the same poem fifty times!!!!
And nothing has changed as a result!!!!
What the hell is wrong with you people?
thirst
i am whispering because it is supposed to be a secret
that americans enjoy the taste of blood. it reminds us
of the life we lived on the frontier when the comanches
were so many nuisances and the bison were as thick as weeds.
our sins became traditions just so we could claim again and again
that war is not something we desire, when in fact we craved
its flavor, its edge, its happy abandon.
this is who we are.
the leftist who does not on occasion dream of sighting a famous man
in cross-hairs has forgotten his patriotism. the rightist
who imagines a perfectly enforced death sentence merely denies that
killing the innocent is not only acceptable to him, but honorable
in pursuit of order. the way the red smears all of our tongues,
you would assume we had bitten them through long ago,
and perhaps we have since we do not speak of these things, unless
we whisper them to each other, stroking our children’s hair,
looking for flecks of red on their skin, taking odd comfort in
how they will surely do as we do, and not as we say.
this is who we are:
someday we may drink so much blood
we will bloat. we will become obese and clumsy
with the yearning for more. we will lumber up to alleys
and pound in the heads of sleeping veterans. we will
knock on the doors of churches and ask where the action is.
we will look through telescopes at our own burning homes.
we will sail the seas searching for veins. we will run our fingers
over the rippled intestines of our parents. we will smash fresh-ripped hearts
into each others’ faces like slices of red velvet wedding cake.
and this is also who we are:
the ones who know we can stop
whenever we want.
fighting, political correctness, and all that jazz
ok.
earlier today i got into a huge fight with an old friend on her LJ.
it was in regard to a statement she made about her perceptions of religion. i took offense to the way it was framed, she was shocked and hurt that i was upset, and it escalated from there.
i’ve had a few hours to calm down since then.
but i haven’t. not really.
i regret the emotion and some of my harsher presentation of my concerns, and for that, i’m sorry. i do not wish to rupture the friendship.
but i’m still upset over the situation in general.
here’s why.
i have frequently been on the receiving end of dismissive comments about my being “politically correct.” i hate that phrase with a passion, because it implies a certain lack of sincerity and/or concern with surfaces over substance.
i am NOT politically correct. what i am is thoughtful about how people’s words so often reveal inner thinking and, perhaps, the influences on their actions.
i’m a poet. words matter to me, perhaps more than they do other people, perhaps more even than to some other poets. i think they have power to hurt and to heal.
now, i don’t recall that anyone in this discussion used the term “politically correct” (well, maybe i did), but it certainly took on the tone of one of those discussions, especially when someone tells you you’re being “too sensitive,” or that people were “overreacting.”
why is it that the people who have given offense are the ones who get to decide whether we are overreacting, or are being too sensitive? if i suggest that they are underreacting, or are being too insensitive, i am dismissed.
i can’t hep but feel that there is an inherent condescension in action when the rules of debate are set without your input.
now, i can’t change that this happened. but it is incumbent on me to practice what i preach. therefore:
in regard to this afternoon’s discussion: if i offended anyone, anyone at all, i apologize. it was not my intent, but i do understand that sometimes my words have unintended consequences, and may have hidden stings i am ignorant of. the only right thing for me to do in that circumstance is apologize.
Anger is an energy
I can’t help it.
I get incensed over words that hurt.
I get mad when language that expresses superiority is used in a cavalier fashion.
I am not politically correct. I am conscious of the power of words.
They have power to me, for me. I ask for that power to be respected.
That’s all.
and so, he leaves for work
knowing full well it’s going to take an hour and a half at least to drive the 28 miles to the office.
snow. it’s not just for the Donner Party anymore.
in other extravagant spending news, i bought a new Palm pilot yesterday when i discovered my existing one couldn’t be configured to work with a Mac. (a Tungsten E2, for the tech geeks among you.)
eh. the Clie was three years old anyway. it was only a matter of time.
onward…
I am so tickled by this
The poem I posted here a few days ago about theremins has made its way in the world…
wait
it’s too easy to talk about feeling cold and alone
this early in the morning.
right now, for instance,
i am both cold and alone,
but since it’s 20 something outside
and this bedroom is unheated
and the alone part — well,
let’s put that aside for the moment;
since those things are true
it would be difficult for me not to be
cold
and alone.
there are times
when you just have to be
the way you are. there are times
when the way you are
is perfect. it’s not as if the night
could switch to day at your whim,
or the body you crave could be yours
for the asking.
it’s not as if lighting a fire
can solve everything. there are times
when all it does
is burn everything down.
still, scorched earth
can become
fertile ground
if you are willing to wait a bit.
so, it’s cold again. it’s night again.
i am alone again. the matches
still sit on the bedside table, and what happens next
will be perfect, no matter what that is.
spooky, huh? huh?
“Conversely, where the afterlife of the dead receives new life, the earth as a whole receives a new blessing.”
— Robert Pogue Harrison, “The Dominion of the Dead”
1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence along with these instructions.
5. Don’t search around and look for the “coolest” book you can find. Do what’s actually next to you.
It was on my bedside table, I swear. A fascinating book on how the legacies of those who went before us shape (and honestly, control) our worldview, our actions, our lives. Author’s contention: “culture” is for the most part an attempt to live up to the expectations of the dead, and to create in the next generation a desire to do the same for us when we’re gone. That’s a huge oversimplification of a lot of it, but it gets the idea across.
In other meme news, I won’t be doing the year in review meme. I can tell already how this year is going to look to me when i look back on it.
Dark Matter 