April 30, 2009 § 4 Comments
this lil paragraph makes me want to get a facial piercing again…
Things like the fact that when I lived in Canada, I reveled in my “ethnicity,” wore my Indian-ness with unapologetic joy. But the minute I crossed the border I shrunk from everything that made me appear “too” ethnic. I was hassled at the border several times when I visited home and tried to return. My partner at the time begged me to remove my nose ring and to dress more “corporate” so that I would get across. And the time that I followed that advice, the crossing was smooth and uneventful. I understood, then, on a much deeper level, why that push for assimilation was so strong south of the border.
April 30, 2009 § 1 Comment
cross posted from Raven’s Eye
h/t Angry Black Woman
excerpted from The Guardian
Early today the US owner of an industrial pig production facility around 12 miles from La Gloria said it had found no clinical signs or symptoms of swine flu in its herd or Mexican employees. The world’s biggest pig meat producer, Virginia-based Smithfield, said it is co-operating with the Mexican authorities’ attempts to locate the possible source of the outbreak and will submit samples from its herds at its Granjas Carroll subsidiary to the University of Mexico for tests.
“Based on available recent information, Smithfield has no reason to believe that the virus is in any way connected to its operations in Mexico,” it said in a statement. “The company also noted that its joint ventures in Mexico routinely administer influenza virus vaccination to their swine herds and conduct monthly tests for the presence of swine influenza.”
The statement came after Mexico’s national public health authority, the Mexican social security institute, raised concerns that waste from the Granjas Carrol facility may be responsible for the outbreak of illness, according to local media.
“According to state agents of the Mexican social security institute, the vector of this outbreak are the clouds of flies that come out of the hog barns, and the waste lagoons into which the Mexican-US company spews tons of excrement,” reported Mexico City newspaper La Jornada. Swine flu can be caught through contact with infected animals, but it is unclear if contact with flies or excrement has the same effect.
oh say what? Maybe just maybe this swine flu is due to factory farming? From a US factory farming company? A US company that regularly gives flu vaccines to pigs? So maybe swine flu is so potent because its a mutated viral form that evolved able to survive the flu vaccine administered to the herd? But of course the Guardian article does not show us a picture of the CEO of Smithfield but of a lil Mexican boy from Veracruz. Sigh.
April 29, 2009 § 5 Comments
from black amazon
That all of this bundeled me toward womanism , toward this radical loves love auntie. That if the Idea that we don’t concentrate on getting in or getting out but comeing to get each other to get that thing that hurts that if nothing
else we will be the people who think of each other as human first
That is what I think of as media , that is what I imagine it is to bring justice OR reform .
That when we say radical love , it’s a joke its an in crowd thing. It is pie in the sky because we believe that the end point is not validation but sight , that i see you that i hold you that i let you be
and I will travel to do so
I come get you.
That when I reach out you reach out that we stand in the face of everything and we say what we mean.
That coming to get you isn’t about ME
It’s about being there for you seeing you loving you is about making sure that you get be you teh you you are teh you you wnat to be
safe and loved and free
that si the radical , teh loyalty .
That is teh tears the pain teh circatrice the blood
that is teh after ALL OF this teh get up again.
i am tired of not being seen as human. or as human as another. it is wearing on me. having tears just hang in the eyes. so tired.
i want to be seen.
i live in this world. too. but in the world in which i live, it is assumed that i have a personality problem. thats the way it has been my whole life. always. always. not as charming. smart. cordial. entertaining. popular. as another. as the person sitting right next to me. and because my personality doesnt fit. i dont deserve to be treated like a human being.
its always too. too much. too little.
so today i make an official declaration…i give up.
i give up trying to be not intimidating, non-threatening, or non-violent. i give up trying to make others feel comfortable with what i say or how i say it. i give up. and i accept that that means that i am responsible for the impact of my behaviour. and the impact of my behaviour is: others may feel threatened.
i take full responsible for that.
April 28, 2009 § 2 Comments
today. i was working on the computer. and aza came up and started pushing the lil power button. and i am saying no aza dont touch. and she looks at me and touches it again. and i move her hands off the power buttion. i got to work. and she keeps trying to push the power button. and i keep moving her hands. and then she says: ow! no! and tries to touch the power button so i say ow! when she touches the button. and back and forth.
finally i look at her and say: do you want attention? and she says: attention. and i pull her into my lap. and she curls in my arms and drinks her juice. and five minutes later she is asleep.
April 28, 2009 § Leave a Comment
heat swims in a pool of cars
the taxi driver sucks his tongue at me
kissing his index finger
jerking from first to second gear
creaking a couple of feet
he turns off the radio
the crank hustles the transmission
through clouds of burning trash
carbon monoxide from
dust covered tail pipies
and evaporating cars
the difference between first
and second gear
between second and third
is not in speed or acceleration
it is between the number of days
and the heat of a hollow belly
churning toward another cold night
April 26, 2009 § Leave a Comment
in my dream this morning
i talked to my father
about not talking to him
we camped in between cotton couches
underneath a small chandelier swinging
surrounded by white tile
unwashed black skin
i climbed the stairs to my bedroom
tonight the wind blows
striped curtains across the cracked dirt
in plastic pots
my eyes startle awake
every 37 seconds
looking for a title
to this moment passing by
but moments dont get titles
or returned phone calls
or a fortune forcast
no most moments slip
like an engine bouncing
against the red cars frame
and at the last minute/second/moment
zooms passed stop lights
into the horizon of crowded streets
full of babies and beggar old men
like my father walking
his brain knotted in fists
knots that dont untie
no matter how many moments
out of the door
carrying an army duffel bag
looking back at a dream
thats already passed me
April 26, 2009 § Leave a Comment
this poem didnt have to be written
i did write it
while i suckled black mists
over open flames
burning this body green and yello
burning this body black and blue
burning it inside of a corpse of itself
burning myself through you
burning sweet like sage brush
caught on the breeze
i who found a reason for living
i caught last wiff of freedom
so we all could breathe
you know this poem didnt need
to be written
maybe should never have been
but written it is
here on this page
somebody say – hallelujah
the goddess has risen
from the death bed
oh death you almost won
but i kept santa muerte
stacked on top of my ribcage
like a bar code
cause i will never check out
give all the money you want
you cant buy this body
this sun rising
from my mouth
April 25, 2009 § 6 Comments
this was written back in 1994. i know that andy smith has also written passionately about the co-optation and appropriation of native spirituality by white feminists…
anyways, i found this article as well and thought that it was powerful.
It should be a given—undisputed—that Native communities are the authorities on their own religions / cultures. If they challenge Andrews’ exposition of their culture, it means something—whether or not it is customary in the United States to consider Indian people’s feelings or opinions. In last month’s article, the writer worried that criticism of Andrews “may be hurtful to her and may be depleting to her creative energy.” It may well be that Andrews feels hurt, but what about the injury expressed by so many Indian people? Does she respond, or does she dismiss them? What about the depletion of their energy, as they are forced to explain over and over to white people why we are not entitled to appropriate their culture?
April 24, 2009 § 2 Comments
wow. Brave Star just graced me with a splash award!
The Splash Award is given to alluring, amusing, bewitching, impressive and inspiring blogs
1) Put the logo on your blog/post.
2) Nominate up to 9 blogs which allure, amuse, bewitch, impress or inspire you.
3) Be sure to link to your nominees within your post.
4) Let them know that they have been splashed by commenting on their blog.
5) Remember to link to the person from whom your received your Splash award.
i love brave star’s blog. she has incredible taste in art, music, poetry, and a gifted multimedia artist.
okay and now for my nominations:
fabmexicana gorgeous writing
imperfect patient syndrome incredible explorations of eating disorder, race, mental health system, gender, class
no snow here diva media justice organizer
poetic propaganda beautiful poet
flip flopping joy –breaking ground on the intersections of persona, political, blogging, and movement
jaded hippy some of the best of personal and intersectional resources
my ecdysis great writer
rebecca walker inspires me to speak my truth
April 24, 2009 § 4 Comments
am thinking about the connections between national borders and psychological health
how life can be seen as a series of borders broached, approached, broken and backed away from
the ways that national borders shift and move and the shifting of national borders also shifts our own sense of belonging, psychological integrity, identity, dislocation. how are personal borders are pushed. how borders are maintained through violence. and how we are shaped by this violence.
and how do we integrate all of these broken borders? who are we in the midst of these borders. what does it mean to have ourselves, our personal, social, communal boundaries broken? how do we cope?