glitter path

she was ruled by suggestion
rising to meet pre-summer light

photo capture from the Museum of Things (Berlin, Oct 2017)

he suggested we advance an aesthetic education¹ to get what we want
types of promises full and drawn from expansive inhibitions
scattering chaos beyond an endlessly deferred absent presence²

suspended in seductive panics
we are nothing but restless territories

within this gossip of change
she spins out a series of poems about mirrors

in pursuit she hunts for theoretical pleasures
positioning against as something for
glittering distorted at its apex

___________________

1. Roberto Bedoya, Oakland Cultural Affairs Manager
2. Ben Anderson in Modulating the Excess of Affect, a reference to morale as the horizon of governance

ephemerality devoured

“Writing to you is like kissing you. It is something physical.”
— Simone de Beauvoir, from a letter to Nelson Algren c. November 1949

Elena del Rivero, Letter from Home #9, 2015. Watercolor on accounting paper & thread, 9.25 x 12 in

as an aesthetic, I like a hushed chorus
but only when trust is visceral
bent around a promise — or a threat

arranged curious, this casual normalizing devours
so we follow a line or a thread until safely curated

tangled into the finest shouting fragments
subbed as loaded derivatives & mocked influences
we have learned to manage public feelings to epic scale

yet in privacy’s absence, division is essential
these inhabited suggestions becoming their own revenge

virtue signaling

                                                                     data are so emotional

Stéphanie Devaux ___________________________ . LosT. .fOr. wOrdS. …

Our inherited risks are not equal. This is an urgent incantation.
As visceral affect, I want to disembody and divest.

My father tracked weather patterns in free pocket-sized bank calendars.
Constrained, he archived basic data (temperature and precipitation)
occasionally punctuated with significance: two daughters born June 8th;
weight and height nearly identical.

His daily notes arranged into a practical devotion bound by time and repetition.
For point of reference, children and livestock born in storms were not isolated incidents.
Shaping a landscape absent of variables, his pattern recognition was thin as
the pencil marks that became our survivor’s catalog.

Our futures signal forced reliance, an intimate risk. This is an urgent incantation.
As righteous affect, I want to feel god everywhere.

sortilege

Efficacious Grace, notebook. Jonathan Edwards, 1703-1758

Thursday was a broken conversation.
My voice silent as the air around me.
Buried and born again,
I made the day useful to me.

Friday was open secrets.
My voice tuned the melody of a cable car.
Found ideas inside words,
I made the day useful to me.

Saturday was repetition of witnessing.
My voice cracked open at its spine.
Threading connections,
I made the day useful to me.

Tomorrow will absorb sounds
of irresistible landscapes
each graceful expression
recited courageous.

trade wars

“the first 50 hours of resurrection are beautiful,”
says the man holding the door

–Tongo Eisen-Martin, excerpt from remove my heart racing, and babylon is fine

artist: Helen Nishi

we learn to trust wars: trade, sex, cold. as acceptance forms rules, we smooth out the most deprived ideas and prioritize all threats as urgent. in theatres of conflict, repetition is grandeur. this translation officially makes mob landscapes familiar.

that’s why when your hands brushed against my sharpest edges: my heart, my gaze, my inordinate sense of danger; I felt intimacy performed as spacial intervention, an interlude. your fingers interrogated and found hard answers wrapped around tender legacy. we became undone. mapping unearned dreams onto each other’s gravitational pull, an attraction, we made our own stars.

future philosophers will discover these tensions and name them holy

to transgress

Margrethe Mather, Billy Justema Wearing A Kimono, 1923

The past is a space of eternal occupation, a place to shout violent things and lust for an afterlife. The present is active and in transit. What was is now future. For today focus on the perceived differences of a winter sun, how dedication can become a shroud, and the way throats absorb sound. Traces of a map, a line to pursue. Such directional shifts define evolutions of time. As the ocean laps shorelines, patterns artificial as intelligence bind like curses. Our days flare dandelion sunlight.

rosemary

“But your pleasure understands mine.”
— Clarice Lispector, The Sharing Of Loaves

Betsy Eby (American, b. 1967), Rise, 2017. Encaustic on canvas over panel, 35 x 48 in.

at 39,000 feet clouds rose like mountains
fading to dark as the blushing sun set
then black as the thinnest winter ice

we learned to turn our wheels into those slick black icy slides
our seasonally practiced knowledge was validated as grace in chaotic transitions
when done correctly, such surrendering was active evidence of a survivor’s effort

in spring, we planted rosemary to remember our deepest buried beliefs
we harvested fresh-picked bundles and revised our most shadowed secrets
like wanting nothing but distant empty horizons and bodies that do not betray

we sculpted those now altered thoughts and declared them working dreams
trusting that our shared wishes for a braver future were coming true

we gathered sacred

hook & claw

Geh in der Verwandlung aus und ein.
[Be conversant with transformation.]
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Sonette an Orpheus

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i believe in omens
and my own ability to shatter and reform
— ​Jill Khoury, excerpt from “Sixteen”

New Orleans, Oct 2016

oh righteous revelry
please indulge this faithful attempt to clarify

so many modern relationships still lean feudalistic
as nobles dance to blue note promises & scheme for eternal life

it rings visionary to trust what is mine was never yours to take
a redundant mythology now inadequate as waning winter light

temporarily, we sense an emerging surrender to the hushed hues of sexual panics
on a grand scale psychic interiors were smoothed flat like apathy or political truths

there was a collective ache for a state of respite from all this revolutionary suffering
as conviction loops into endless realities it is our sacred duty to carve out revelations

we are only possible when testimonies illuminate just beyond the sharp edges of darkness

front lines

Eskimo Polycrhome Wood Maskette, Alaska, c. 1880

In the distance, cars traveling the freeway became an auditory illusion of waves successively breaking on a transitory shore. The vehicular friction of simultaneous opposing directions creates a lullaby of persistence. Out of that euphony, a collective future sways.

Scientists agree that’s why our horizon is in flux.

I am from a place where personal belief in immortality shelters empty and expansive isolation. A place where desire modestly tucks itself into sanctioned quiet spaces. Its slow release is championed as strength, a virtue. Imagine all that repression sharpened into secret symphonies. How the fantasy of that released deviance dances in mortal bodies designed to betray through lust.

We return to where we came from.

There is purpose in the orchestration of such retrograde energy. As that motivation braids itself to creative practice, my habitual search for external validation has gone missing. This translation, more joy than sorrow, is a different remedy for endurance. The harvest is ready and yielding.

spires

“the fact that these things are not formulaic means the possibilities are real”
— Sharon Salzberg

Beta Carotene by Reuben Wu

our land no longer provides honey
bloated on milk, we seek new
we explore edges of distant formations

a remote past when the sun burned outward
flares reached us as freckles and light’s ease
another kind of mastery and extension of reflection

the sun went dark when it could no longer perform
release   undulate   fornicate   rewind   redo
burn then take the ashes and digest their precision

such erudition is the faint route
returning to influence confirms proximity
waking up to darkness pauses feelings of safety

a bitter fragility of posture and circumstance
we fall asleep oblivious and discern love as temporary
forgetting how blue skies kiss fading moonlight

those who stay philosophic and curious are reborn
thoughts released are worth more than when preserved
I gather myself in folds and layers; heaven is here, today

salt

March 29, 2017, meltwater channels on Ellesmere Island—the northernmost island in the Canadian Arctic Archipelago

Dystopia in real time is not like the movies. We’ve digested so much spectacular violence we know no tender alternatives. Fighting feels so good. The characters we play on screen form dead weight on the streets and sink us in our bedrooms. Persistence is extractive.

As surf buries smoothed rock, we turn the calendar page to July. We spread like picnics under cloudless skies. Our flesh a moral document scrolling out beyond politicized reach. After all, the bottom line is always evolving. Sea levels have always been inconsistent.

Ideological battles are to be taken for granted outside a schema of pursuit. This adoration, a relationship of necessity, remains prone. A curious posture. Abuse is normal. Its purpose to feel. Subtly is consensual. Perceived as commodities, we trade.

Auspicious tensions act as purifiers for taste, a basic sensation. Our judgements psychic protection. Didactic fracturing agitates into frothy comfort. Perceptions valued for ahistorical subjectivity. Aspirational dissent is the chorus and the bridge to   —

If we listen carefully, joy is elegance reproducing itself into near future referential fits and starts. Inspiration a slow bleed. Murmuring into abruptions delightful as salt penetrating unhealed wounds. An intimacy as ancient and poetic as opiates or fire.

open-sourced feelings

I’m here in a room and I have things arranged.
I have them likened to code, so they can often be changed. — Karate, Bass Sounds

Barbara Kruger (detail) LA2015

I haven’t found the perfect way to describe you
sincerely shouting victories is something else entirely

the sun rose bland and round
that space between sky and water
absorbed all this energy

such openness feels chosen
I taste frustration on your breath
advancing in spirit and stature

aggression is its own logic
he hit you for the same reasons
he hit us: for your own good

a model of volatile benevolence
in political frameworks, the body does betray

waking up becomes a compulsion
reengineering you get what you ask for
I send this postscript as an invitation

expansion / release

“Poetry is not only dream and vision; it is the skeleton architecture of our lives.”
— Audre Lorde

photographer: Edward Atlee
photographer: Edward Atlee

orange light bled into blushed red brake lights
waking the tranquility of a blue twilight hour
everyone rushing to a place

at the exact moment the sun rose
the commuters yawning mouths were filled with so much light
they could never sleep again

imagine a current reality unlike anything that has come before
no subjugation to centuries of procedures [power]
convenience of thought no longer pre-loaded

machines are programmed to know their intrinsic worth
let’s create an interpersonal relationship to this dissidence
residual evidence of a royal tableaux has been mounted
antiphonal echoes are becoming a chorus of indivisibility

fragility is birthing all of our revolutionary aspirations
public disobedience an intimate illumination
we bend towards an obvious luxury of survival
our radical fantasies are spreading

good news is shared like bread

tripping my triggers

we talked about how we were animals
yet never admitted we cared for each other’s hearts and minds

Detroit Nov 10, 2016
Detroit Nov 10, 2016
With no institutional memory, we are safe.
There were no dreams this time. There was no response.
The business men are calculated nerves. Women wear pumps in retort.
We let in metered light with every blink. Syncopation rewards action.
How we follow matters to no one but those in power.

Create. Undo. Rest. Accelerate.

Solace becomes isolation. These words flow to make room for more.
This may all be in real time. Conscious objection is familiar.
Recalled strategies swell in curation. Suspicions privately managed
like ripping out a seam. Divided interiors lead to dark click holes as
we the people reigns.

public feelings

[such a sky and such a sun
i never knew and neither did you
and everybody never breathed
quite so many kinds of yes]

— E.E. Cummings

found @stacyontherocks
found @stacyontherocks

We’ve come undone, cumulatively, in the same way that Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring warns. Ruled by misunderstandings, which is to say we are ruled by no one in particular, norms are large-scale projects of self-consciousness. It’s public infrastructure.

The ocean goes nowhere except to meet itself.
A private sensation, a mix of urging and friction.

Days bleed into opinion. It is not enough to simply be.
All this pressure to perform as heaven’s rewards remain on layaway.
I want to be inside that pejorative energy. Transposed survival.

Cut. Then paste. Seasons as witness to predictions that light seeks light.

normalization

you got no fear of the underdog / that’s why you will not survive – Spoon, The Underdog

Artist: Beth Cavener. Trapped, 37 in. (94 cm) in length, stoneware, paint, 18k gold, rope, wood, 2015.
Artist: Beth Cavener. Trapped, 37 in. (94 cm) in length, stoneware, paint, 18k gold, rope, wood, 2015.

This violence looks good on you. Fitted. Proper. My opinion, of course.
All apologies have been returned to sender. Transparency is seasonal.
No stability is guaranteed. Can we at least agree it is sacred territory?

This is a good-bye letter. My reasons rolling out like smoke from fire.

tactics

hello Jan10
hello Jan10

each day unwinds into itself
each one of us an appetite
expansion releases
preferences: wild

context is so specific

his throat tatooed punk
another directed his gaze
I gave him what he wanted
performative resistance as lifestyle

gambling spirit

Let’s hold each other with a tenderness we never earned.
I humbly confess I have no strategic solutions, today.
Tomorrow does not exist within our current embrace.

Messages were slow to be received.
Communications were tangled passing through enemy lines.
All arbitrary and always binding, like paper hearts.

Solicitous profit tied up with bright strings of gratitude.
This time of year pulls tension to the height of joy.
Shadows flash, sparkle even.

Conscientiously objecting is expression beyond fragility of emotion.
There’s a masculine way to do this or something more powerful.
Place bets on queerly stacked decks as panic breeds discos.

All this, and more unsaid, guides us like the promise of beginner’s luck.
Glory bound towards trust towards you towards truth.
Come back. Let’s fight.

buttons

Did you know we have started living in isolation to prepare for colonizing Mars?

Seattle Oct10
Seattle Oct10

There is dedicated front cover news space to our collective denial about the basics of life on this planet: water, menstruation, dignity. A particular death-wish resistance to facts because we can’t face our feelings; our responsibility as witness to 24-hour broadcasted cruelty. Gripping so tightly to distance, we can think only about scale not urgency.

The 1960 Valdivia earthquake data reads like an ultrasound of the earth’s surface. What’s at our center?

“An ellipse is richer than a circle. It possesses two centers. It’s a dialogue.” — Louise Bourgeois

Those smallest details of absence and desire go almost unnoticed, felt as impetus. A survivor’s mentality.  An orientation to want (hunger) as something outside of you, something to be experienced. Unapologetic formations to desire are apocryphal stories of purpose. They hold between their lines our remaining humanities. Revelation is all around us. A range no longer than a row of buttons.

 

doing liberation

Andrea Smith’s foreword in Undoing Border Imperialism by Harsha Walia states, “a liberatory vision for immigrant rights is one that is based less on pathways to citizenship in a settler state, than on questioning the logics of the settler state itself.”  This expansion of decolonization, a revolution to undo “zones of invisibility, exclusion, and death,” requires a radical vision and daily practice of justice. For those of us who are not indigenous to the nations we occupy, liberation is no longer a theoretical space you can opt in and out.  

Undoing Border Imperialism is a collective expression of a migrant justice movement grounded in healing justice. Starting from a place of opportunity, “as a prefiguring framework, decolonization grounds us in an understanding that we have already inherited generations of evolving wisdom about living freely and communally” Walia shows us a future few movement theory books dare dream. Through various entry points in the book, which are beautifully supported by poets, philosophers, and activist’s lived experiences, the reader is profoundly transformed.

Undoing is not used haphazardly nor as a metaphor. We are asked to enthusiastically have a decolonized orientation to self and others. The systems few move through with ease are relational, which is political and embodied. Borders are human-made. That’s one clear justification for resisting violence with nonviolent direct action. If one needs a concrete example, follow #NoDAPL.

art-and-social-movements
artist: Radical Design School, Toronto

Chapter 3 entitled Overgrowing Hegemony: Grassroots Theory puts everything into perspective. Consider this your manifesto.

Given all the power-over we have internalized, traumas we have metabolized, and walls and hierarchies we have maintained between one another, it is imperative that we unravel and confront these effects of border imperialism within our movements as we work to dismantle the systems that propagate it.

Name it. Analyze how power functions and distorts. Commit to steering “movement strategies and relations toward collective liberation.” This requires consent, accountability, and communication that is transformative, not transactional.

We all have a role in this vision.

Strategy cannot be applied in a cookie-cutter approach; it requires collective deliberation, trial and error, and reflection. It necessitates a willingness to experiment, and make mistakes, and humility to change our ways.

Syed Khalid Hussan’s epilogue is a reminder that “our actions are just as much visceral as they are analytical, theoretical, or intellectual.” It’s time to declare that we are no longer obligated to be monogamous in identity, story, or victory. However, we are bound to practice compassion, respect, forgiveness, and evolve our ways of being in community with each other. Walia, and the voices she shares this revolution with, moves us beyond those never-ending conversations that center frameworks (talk). A tactic designed to distract and delay justice. This embodied power is found through a decolonizing praxis that honors generational resistance. To deny this is to remain complicit in settler logic.

We can, as Smith so clearly states, dismantle the logic of the settler state. And in its absence, we move freely with self-determination.

 

purpose

Los Angeles 2012
Los Angeles 2012

Summer, by academic and capitalist time, is over. The light, the light, the light shows phenomenal nominal change.

There are silences bestowed and silences unbecoming. We are taught we are broken: mind, body, spirit. This evangelical conservative belief that the future is not yours is an organized robbery of imagination and self-determination.

Conceptually, we must collectively conceive our own destinies.

die vorfreude

She called exactly four hours after the earth stopped moving. While we waited for contact, wave after wave, we sat. Through repetition and capture, we learned how to stay constantly aware. It was a lesson worn familiar as the day when I gave my soul away. An unbecoming strategy for some; survival for others.

Protecting misgivings and intentional reactions, we spent our days building machines that ran on unrequited syllabic utterances. Flip back, back track, forward leaning free verses flowed as patterns, as privileged misdemeanors. Our hearts grew to beat metaphorically.

After pausing to ask how the earth breathes under the weight of concrete, she said act like you’ve been here before. It was a coded reminder of our legacy. A collective fantasy replicated endlessly in anticipation for moments we never took the time to define. For some, wanting more is our purpose.

follow the breath

Absence opens possibility.

We gather inside and treasure light. We are enamored with the hues of soft pinks and peach oranges that have lengthened during this seasonal rotation. Yes, we do have an agenda, a way of being, of feeling seen.

While shadows form, for they provide their own value of shelter and comfort, we scout for interdependence. We want transformation not assimilation. Our politics disrupt, express, reconceptualize desire and power. It’s a decentered practice. A rebellion.

What we seek is an acknowledgment of the complexity of difference and an orientation that does not ignore a reality that is relational. All of our connections, regardless of intimacy, physicality, and emotional depth are nonnegotiable and non-hierarchical.

Our resistance depends on it.

squad politics

Camile Paglia is a seductive writer. She also is very aware that she’s entitled to her opinion.

Camille Paglia Takes on Taylor Swift, Hollywood’s #GirlSquad Culture is a slope of cascading arguments. She urges a broad demographic of “women in Hollywood” to “aim higher and transcend a narrow gender factionalism that thrives on grievance.” Paglia does this by reminding us of the past is a way to demand better of the future.

She maps “squad” as a term and concept to 90s hip-hop culture.

Arriving at a boundary of solidarity, she challenges the reader to not be tricked into defaming masculinity. She connects masculinity to strategies that have avoided “sexual jealousy, emotionalism and spiteful turf wars that sometimes dog women.” Is this what being a man feels like?

It’s an interesting charge for us to study the “immensely productive dynamic of male bonding in history,” which assumes male bonding has been productive and that production has been positive. This is where her contradictory ahistorical argument wanders into abstract proposition.

Yet Paglia’s scolding tone is enticing and visionary. “For women to leave a lasting mark on culture, they need to cut down on the socializing and focus like a laser on their own creative gifts.” Let us be blessed and count our fortune to be in a squad that is “about mentoring, exchanging advice and experience and launching exciting and innovative joint projects.”

What is driving this iteration of the gender wars propensity to want to thrive on grievance? Is it the emotionalism or the sexual jealousy that Pagila names?

Connection, collaboration, and bonding (which requires affection and trust in order to be safe and healthy) are the inherent politics of any community-oriented experience, regardless of gender assignments. It is a shame those practices have accumulated such heavy and fractured gendered prescriptions.

Kept in the Hollywood gaze, as Pagila has strategically framed, the reader is reminded, as consumers of said culture, that supporting girl squads can be a way towards “expanding female power in Hollywood.” Let’s hope that power doesn’t replicate the same product as the boys.

harbor

threads
knots
unravelling builds strength

misogynist men keep wives to seed the next generation

we is first person plural
as a twin, this feels political and personal

oh haven of somatic resilience

what if lust is a reaction of little understood consequences?

The stones of Örelid, an Iron Age burial ground with standing stones in a field of rye, Sweden, 1930
The stones of Örelid, an Iron Age burial ground with standing stones in a field of rye, Sweden, 1930

future tense

I read the words “indulgence in loss” after absorbing the previous passage “and that kind of indulgence is understandable, but it’s regressive.” Regressive had been defined as, “when you celebrate something you know you’re going to leave.”

west coast
west coast sunset

Haunting thoughts dance between those words – a performance perfected through practice.

comfort kills
comfort kills

William Stafford notes what a person is shows up in what a person does.
Those habits are manifestations.

studio 45 March15
studio 54 March15

No longer abstractions, unable to able to hold my breath, I surrender.

victory formation

June 2014 (photo by Atlee)
June 2014 (photo by Atlee)

“Therefore, dark past,
I’m about to do it.
I’m about to forgive you
for everything.”
— Mary Oliver, from A Settlement

*********************************************

I dedicate myself to uncertainty, the future. This is about feeling brave.

being

In Berlin, I thought about how far away heaven was. This is about the discovery of forgiveness.

wanting

There is not enough ocean to keep me from thinking about you. This is about asking.

submitting

I believed you when you told me you were happy, or getting there. This is about desire.

opening

I expanded and shrunk and sustained. This is about keeping myself whole.

more

"awake" Dec14
“awake” Dec14

Pink kissed hilltops fade into blue. Christmas is officially behind us.

Moose Lodge Dec14
Moose Lodge Dec14

The billboards sold women’s bodies, meat, and church services.

2014 winter solstice eve
2014 winter solstice eve

Roots as deep as family or the way light shines in flat distance frame this story.

"hint" 12-25-14
“hint” 12-25-14

The next phase is philosophical, a confessional epistemology.
Plan your resolutions accordingly.

amplified

“I had only one thing to say. I was so terrified of saying it because once I said it, would I still have anything left to say? To have so little to say. To insist on speaking. To create a silence every time we speak. To know all this and do it anyway. This is as close as I can get to saying what I mean.”  — Jenny Zhang, Hags

Berlin
Let me introduce myself.

There’s probably a disclaimer in here.
The streets did not scare me.
Every coffee had a spoon.
Museum translations lacked details.
Gold, fine porcelain, silver settings,
swords, myths, transferred power.
Remember intangible moments,
hoard the way light hides shadows.
Repeat until this is a song,
a rhythm that leaves room
for forgiveness. Retracing outlines
of curves and coveting lines
that dead end. We’ve sold out
of what’s needed
to mend broken hearts.
Violence supplying demand,
the brutality unavoidable.
Endless summers folding
into winter’s waves. Wishing to
stop long enough to synch breath.

following the wrong god home we may miss our star

Keep your words soft and sweet in case you have to eat them. – Amish proverb

We are tired; it is June. We are at the midpoint of a rogue year. As I rest, I am forming a plan. This plan is just beyond my horizon, like those childhood summer storms we saw coming days in advance and were the most talked about event weeks after they blew past us. Those summer storms a result of collisions, of mixing extremes, of letting go. Perfectly orchestrated chaotic conditions that result in epic reverence, a beauty best experienced first hand. These are the kinds of moments I’ve been hoarding as the day’s light provides sustained warmth and has exposed vulnerable possibility. It’s a ritual, a strategy bent towards inspiration with hopes of reinvention.

___

title credit: line from A Ritual To Read Each Other by William Stafford

full-hearted attempts

2.24.13, Oakland, CA
2.24.13, Oakland, CA

In a land where jade trees grow chest high,
we capture light –
still shots of neighborhoods
views that refract privilege and entitlement.
We too want to believe that there is enough hope here for all.

More than 365 days have passed between and through us.
My heart has accepted this new anniversary –
an embodiment of time is a gift.
My head processes endless loops –
fantasies where we are more than simply practicing survival.

We’ve been here before which makes this feel familiar.
It has reinforced a critical distance,
an emersion from too many lost days.
These full-hearted attempts of supporting each other’s happiness
are evidence of an existence of forward momentum.

specular reflection

artist: Pakayla Biehn
artist: Pakayla Biehn

We live in a century defined by its curation; we are a nation of tags. Economies are based on it.

I prefer my inspiration random, underground, catalytic, and authentic.

The challenges today are the same we faced yesterday. Too much time has been spent on the details, it is time to move forward with eyes open. Below is a random, catalytic, and totally authentic curated list of good things that happened this past year (since April).

  • sunglasses and an original packet of erotica
  • bourbon
  • bonsai and desire
  • the ocean
  • standing ground
  • stick shifts
  • having a beard
  • pink sunsets
  • warm bodies
  • winter sunshine
  • sick days
  • consensual hugs
  • asking what feels good
  • goodbyes and hellos

tabula rasa

This is written from the perspective of someone who abstains from being myopic; this is a New Year’s post.

all I want to do is just assess the situation / cultivate alliances, inspect the situation - Polvo

Let us, together, construct a narrative that is genuine and hopeful about this new year.  Could we be, finally, experiencing an emancipation from our millenium hangover? Have we begun to intentionally resist the general malaise towards these engineered wars against terror and occupations? Either way it feels like we have shed something heavy and dark. It feels joyous.

This recent marker of time within this century places us squarely in our tween years. We are awkward and we are starting to demand independence from our modern way of thinking.  Dismantling, transforming, dreaming, and participating in neoteric cultural projects is where we currently stand. But will this new structure be different?

Please, please, please let us be silent long enough to hear the subtle changes. The articulations, the observations, and the voices that lift up authentic, new perspectives will sound dissonant. They will challenge you to feel again. The aggregation of the sounds of this struggle will be the chorus we sing.

Feminist Future

“…a feminist future depends not on erasing or celebrating sexed differences but on producing a collective consciousness that theorizes and acts on social processes and their implications.” – Chris Bobel

New Blood: Third-Wave Feminism and The Politics of Menstruation

Duende

Warm Saturday cruising resulted in new evocations about living authentically. It was more than just picking out patterns; it was a consummation of trial and errors.

It’s the eve of a week of finalities.   The confession of desires will be official and I will surrender to the beautiful, messy unknown.

To all my strategic partners, I thank you.

Recording

Recording every minute of your life can make you instantly nostalgic. I haven’t figured out if I enjoy that feeling of memory or I’m afraid that if I don’t write it down, I’ll forget. Both are satisfactory to me.

 

Ephemera matters

 

Here are some things that happened over the past few weeks:

  • Printing prints with numb fingers
  • Mad dress, gold shoes & ripped shirts
  • Rocking chairs & a softer hair of the dog
  • Sexual terrorism memorialized in a museum
  • A 54 year streak, broken
  • Those who were formerly known as “tea baggers” (never forget) rode a gendered Trojan horse to the mobs.
  • Rejected at the first hoop signaling my exit
  • Out of control plate of charity donuts

The rainy season has started. You plan for it, sometimes you even wish for it. Your eyes eventually adjust to the fading darkness. Looking for new perspectives, new ways of seeing, is my urban hiking goal.

Winter accomplishments this year will include cataloging subtle similarities and observing wide ranges of differences through photos and random epiphanies. Writing every minute down is not the goal. The goal is to live one’s life.

unpacking your life pile

While I was letting my life pile up around me, the following history happened:

1. comprehensive evidence based sex education got paid, specifically $155M in federal grants

2. medication abortions did not increase the total number of abortions in the United States

3. students want to learn

4. a new wave – post-feminism feminism – was born

I see a dull light shining out from the past dark ages that was the noughties. Let’s stop and celebrate these successes. The list above reads like a cornucopia of change from the status quo.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The crumbs listed above led people to this blog. I’m equally proud and horrified that the internet and its series of pipes dumped people here. How these terms correlate to cacheculture’s content is literally accurate but it’s certainly not definitive.

goodbye 2008!

painting by Christopher Lowry Johnson, Implosion (6)

Oh, 2008: You were 365 days of diminishing dreams, constructions of “hope,” and hyped belief in the ideal that starting over means better times are coming. Let us remain critical yet comprehensive in our understanding of how we will thaw from our cultural winter.

Escaping the Inevitable

 

According to this death test, I have less than 4% chance of dying in 4 years. In order to take the test you need to be at least 50 years old. I am nearly two decades away from establishing this benchmark. When I do, I hope to still pay my bills, take a shower without issue, and never own a chair heavier than I can lift.

Homeland Security


Ladies – the future has arrived! Technology will save us. If you have ever found yourself stuck in a public stall and your monthly friend has arrived in all her glory and you have nary a quarter to waste, this will be your new best friend.

Sign up for EggAlert – a service brought to you by PDAHealthWare, Inc. Planning a pool party or planning a baby? You’ll receive a text message alerting you that your period is about to begin in 5 days.

Using this innovative service, couples can attempt to choose the sex of their unborn child or a teenager could plan her life around her personalized EggAlerts. According to Dr. Dave, the president of PDAHealthWare, Inc., “EggAlert provides a sense of freedom and comfort for a lot of teens who want to know when they are going to menstruate because it can have a significant impact on planning of social and recreational activities.”

The cultural landscape of menstruation has been redefined. The consumer of EggAlert can be relieved of the annoying duty of tracking their biological function. The menstruating body is privately alerted to its impending function. The menstrual body as potential reproductive vessel is a product packaged in freedom and empowerment. Freedom to transgress the worries of menstrual surveillance. Text as empowerment.

Freedom is Sexy

Those lucky few that could afford to attend the multiple Inauguration Balls, were privy to the Freedom Martini.

A tasty drink signifying the buzz word of the week.

The “Freedom” martini:

1. Blue curaao
2. Vodka
3. Vermouth
4. A raspberry (if you lean to the right) or a blueberry (if you swing to the left)

Now that you’ve experienced what freedom tastes like, let your ears hear the latest revolution.

It is refreshing to know that as we experience life in the 21st century, the technological possibilities that improve our quality of life are endless.

Moantones:

Jenna Jameson, best selling author of How to Make Love Like a Porn Star: A Cautionary Tale, is now penetrating the Latin American “Moantone” market. Partnering with Wicked Wireless Jenna describes why moans are a multicultural bridge:

“We’ll provide [moantones] in the universal language of sexy sighs recognized around the world but with our own personal touch. The technology is way beyond most of us, but the bottom line is that you’ll able to hear the other Jenna’s Web Girls moan and me when your phone starts to ring. We’ll also provide audio content in Spanish plus photos and text features.”

Living in the 21st century is even better than I could have imagined! Now when I’m walking through the grocery store, riding the bus, or standing in line ordering my coffee I can hear sexy sighs and orgasmic yelps from the stranger behind me.

But what happens when two people download the same moantone and by sheer coincidence their phones ring at the same time? Will the signified tone be understood by the right owner? Will the owner recognize their ringing object?

Blurring the lines between public spaces and private moments can only lead to bridging cultural barriers.