Southpaw Press

maybe a subscription to the paris review would make me feel better about things

2012-01-27T22:22:00.000-08:00

I have trouble understanding why people give stupid presents.

I am slow to realize when someone mistreats me, it is always so surprising: evil is somehow unreal.

I would rather be bored alone than with someone else.

I do not say “A is better than B” but “I prefer A to B.”

Sometimes I realize that what I’m in the middle of saying is boring, so I just stop talking.

I find fresh air more intoxicating than drugs.

I can sleep with my arms around someone who doesn’t move.

I prefer desire to pleasure.

Often, I wish it were tomorrow.

A burn on my tongue has a taste.

I have stepped on a rake and had the handle hit me in the face.

Even if it is an odd sort of present, I thank my father and mother for having given me life.

Or I should just read a shit ton of Édouard Levé.

now you're speaking my language

2012-01-20T21:00:00.000-08:00

if you're a meat eater
you should probably be eating
meat

want to go out
to eat?

definitely

i love to cook
but some nights
i just can't

it has nothing
to do
with being
left-handed

i'm not crazy
but i might be
wrong

what have you
been doing
to take care
of yourself?

going around hoping
those moments are not
the ones when i am on

stage

these are
not mushrooms
they are snails

that is not a watch

this is not a practice this is
a picture

i can never remember
if it's the more or less
complicated

password
probably
the more complicated one

a wish
awash
keener
sharper

i don't want to leave
i can't imagine keeping
going

to look
is a complicated
way of
listening

question of the year

2012-01-05T22:30:00.000-08:00

how do

make

experimental poems that appeal

to people

outside of the avant-garde poetry community?

no, seriously.

thoughts?

kitsch / classic

2012-01-03T21:53:00.000-08:00

Cayucos (from the Chumash word for 'kayak' or 'canoe'):
land that time forgot

I've been to the beach every day this year.

PERSPECTIVES

2012-01-01T21:19:00.000-08:00

Hi internet,
This is the official press release for Volume 2, Issue 1, of the Sunshine Chronicles.

PERSPECTIVES features drawings from Kenny Johnson & poetry from Annette Plascencia amidst various reportings from Occupy Oakland & other phenomena.

Winter 2012. The time is now. We. Are. Your. Friends. Etc. etc.

I'd like you to have a copy, if you'd like to have one.

apocolypse wow

2012-01-01T01:08:00.000-08:00

- what is the good thing about kitties that possesses them all of the same smell - especially the long-haired black ones? this time when i came home to my parents' house for a visit it was to find a certain "city kitty" or "intruder" or "princess" (depending on who's talking) has adopted my family, and it didn't take her long to warm to me. her warmth is comforting as the wind swirls around trying to drag the half moon down over the lake & into the sea...

- i love the sound of "twenty-twelve": three syllables so much easier on the tongue than "two thousand eleven." twenty's so much more casual, yeah? makes me think there's a lot more room for play. plus even numbers seem more approachable than odd ones. i don't feel one way or the other that it's going to be a "good one" or a "tough one" - i'm just excited to be alive & awake. yesssssssss!

- last december i dubbed 2011 the year of the radical; now of course i want to make another prophecy. there's no way i'm going to be able to come up with such a spot-on one for 2012, but i'm going with the year of youth - for claiming youth, for inhabiting youth & for youth taking action

- i swear i am poemstoned. all these words having their effects on me. anyway, starting today i am doing this: a piece of art every day for a month! anyone can do it! everyone's invited!

- my resolution: i'm growing out my hair because i honestly have no idea what it looks like long and natural and i'm curious.

wishing a joyful & inspired new year to all!

after the winter solstice, the days get longer

2011-12-21T23:41:00.000-08:00

staring into the sun on the shortest day of year waiting for rain dipping south to avoid frost i love my life in oakland but spare palms make me fantasize about l.a. venice i mean less glass on the streets more salt in the air air of the sea this train strokes down the coast to make the same trip tomorrow but it is today the sun stands still

santa cruz

2011-12-20T10:26:00.000-08:00

Blissed out with newfound free time, I took off to Santa Cruz for an early weekend last week.

It's hard, sometimes, for the documentation to keep up with the inspiration, as my friend Eric says.

Here's some documentation to accompany the bounty of inspiration from the seaside town that was my home for three years.

My feet like to be on the road. Preferably along the sea, somewhere I can smell kelp.

The original Surf City, U.S.A.

A train runs through it.

A fine farming town, too.

My friend Elaina lives in the most darling cottage

with just enough paint and enamel mugs and rich coffee to fortify our bodies and souls.

I almost want to move back - someday.

what's going on here anyway?

2011-12-12T22:19:00.000-08:00

Current phenomena of interest:

West Coast Port Shutdown, duh. Actions all over the nation...

Becoming, as articulated in Deleuze & Guattari's rhizome theory. "It could be said that the orchid imitates the wasp, reproducing its image in a signifying fashion (mimesis, mimicry, lure, etc.). But this is true only on the level of the strata - a parallelism between two strata such that a plant organization on one imitates an animal oganization on the other. At the same time, something else entirely is going on: not imitation at all but a capture of code, surplus value of code, an increase in valence, a veritable becoming, a becoming-wasp of the orchid and a becoming-orchid of the wasp..." If I could ever write a piece this incisive I would be a happy, happy lady.

The fractal - from the Latin fractus meaning broken - nature of poetics as well as math and what we call natural science. A dynamical system of repeated transformations demonstrating statistical self-similarity containing expansions within itself having the potential to induce chaos with the incorporation of chance. (Sounds like learning a new language (although how anybody has time for practical French podcasts is beyond me; it's a mystery I'd like to explore) to me.) And I do believe that sentence was grammatical.

So beautiful!

In other news: I have a ponytail now!

Yes! Only like two more years until an updo is within reach.

It's been hell of a semester. Hell, it's been a hell of a year. When I claimed last New Year's Eve that 2011 was going to be the year of the radical, I could not possibly have imagined such a year full of transformation as this one has been. And it's not over yet. It's not even winter yet! And it's 40 degrees! On the coast of California! Jeez!

he showed me the door to bohemia

2011-12-08T10:02:00.001-08:00

i saw jonathan richman last night at the great american music hall a life-long dream i hadn't even realized i'd been dreaming came true when i heard his voice live only amplified not recorded unbelieveable after he'd only been vinyl and mp3 and speaker output for so long and singing to me and making eye contact even then breaking it and breaking away from the microphone to shout a little it's a great party and to dance twirling his guitar and finally setting down the guitar gyrating like a motherfucker then picking up a cowbell there is chanting chanting kiss kiss toast toast kiss kiss toast toast i don't know what it means i don't care i am here and i get it i was a brat he says my parents dropped me off in harvard square when i was sixteen they knew i didn't care about drugs the people i was hanging out with they were older i was making pretentious art all i wanted to do was make art and they showed me the door to bohemia the audience is all singing along everybody every once in a while johnny steps away from the mic he is counting on us we will show him the door to bohemia this is the party it doesn't matter if the words are in italian they all just mean it's a great party la festa e la bomba that translates pretty easily and it's easy to sing along with too now what i want to know is when might i expect to stop being a brat

concrete washout

2011-12-06T19:51:00.001-08:00

"With so much available language, is it really necessary to write more?"
-Kenneth Goldsmith

Finishing up. My first semester. In graduate school. For writing. Is making me. Not want. To write. At all.

Not that I don't want to language (language, v. to use language).

I'm just sick of writing stuff down. Because it's all already been said.

I'm way more interested in rearranging.

I'm interested in what happens when you juxtapose nearly-contradictory words so that the ambiguity jumps out.

I'm interested in the shapes of sounds and where they are found - but not on a scientific level.

This is not science, this is life affecting nonlife.

All of life may be problematical. Or problematic.

We do it for pleasure, not to kill ourselves.

"And how do you perform?"
"You go from anyplace to anyplace."
-Anne Tardos, Jackson Mac Low

keep it festive

2011-11-26T12:13:00.001-08:00

happenstance mapping       emotional resonance
end of November         tank-top temperatures
I feel like talking             about the weather
is as important                            as anything

"Ever wake up in the morning and think, I'm going to the fashion show today?"

"Only every day of my life."

here's a poem

2011-11-18T23:20:00.001-08:00

LOOK AROUND
YOU ARE A PART
OF A GLOBAL UPRISING
WE ARE A CRY
FROM THE HEART
OF THE WORLD
WE ARE UNSTOPPABLE
ANOTHER WORLD IS POSSIBLE

good things come in bowls

2011-11-08T09:21:00.001-08:00

Heat wave of Indian summer replaced by a post-Halloween cold snap. Lots of occasions for oatmeal in all its seasonal incarnations.

From top: oats with persimmon, dried cranberries and pumpkin seeds; oats with goldren raisins, pepitas and shredded coconut; (dessert) oats with cocoa, rice milk and honey.

we don't want jobs we want to live

2011-11-06T14:19:00.000-08:00

"It's not just hippies, hipsters & homeless," a minister in the Occupy Oakland camp said to me on the night of the general strike this past Wednesday. And no doubt it's true. Every time I've been down to the Occupation, I've met people from all walks of life, from lawyers to activists to teachers to florists. On Wednesday, we all marched together in solidarity with the 99% in a mass day of action that included the first general strike since 1946 and all-day rallies in the city center.

November 2, 2011 was one of the single most beautiful days of my life. It was like a major national holiday with marches and speeches instead of parades and potlucks, but no less jubilation. I spent the day drifting among friends, meeting people, exchanging information, giving quarters to strangers - who were of course not strange at all but friendly and grateful - and accepting snacks and water from others, collecting literature (the Occupied Oakland Tribune and Oscar Grant Plaza Gazette, to name two) and feeling the mass charge of energy that accumulated in moments around the drumline marching to and through the port as we shut it down in an eerie quiet marked by minimal police presence.

I was surprised by how little noise there could be in the depths of a crowd of twenty thousand, but I think the quiet of the march to stop the flow of capital is a testimony to the power of collective assembly as well as the ecstasy of being one molecule in a mass all tuned in to the same thing and listening.

I'm frustrated that almost all of the mainstream press has focused on the vandalism against capitalism as enacted on Bank of America and Whole Foods and on the violence that ensued after a faction of occupiers took over a building to turn into a library/dormitory (which of course there was a swift and violent police response to) when 99% of the day was a totally peaceful exhibit of true community.

Now, nearly a week later, the things resonating with me most are 1. the amazing power of claiming and using public space for common good and 2. a collective sense of belonging, sharing and mutual care. The effects of collective action are not isolated. More than ever before, I am signing petitions, talking to people, supporting my local artists and small businesses, and finally I have re-registered to vote. For the first time in my life, I feel like an engaged citizen, like I belong to something.

chaos/theory

2011-10-30T18:06:00.000-07:00

It's been a long week, and one during which I haven't been able to keep away from the news. I feel kind of like I did when the earthquake struck Fukushima and sent all that nuclear radiation all over Japan - which will soon wash up on Western shores - except this is here at home so the headache I have now is a bit more potent. Reading, watching and following the news as well as participating in the events the narratives are being created out of has made for a very long five days since Tuesday.

This article provides a really good summary of some of the goings-on thus far.

The plaza is re-occupied. Meetings continue amidst various levels of noise. At last night's general strike meeting, there were plenty of helicopters buzzing overhead (news? cops? medics?) but today it was relatively quiet around the Radical Poetry Reading on the plaza steps.

One of the things I love most about the occupation is how little money comes into play there. You can - and many folks do - spend hours just talking to people or hanging out, or working, or playing. All without spending money. There is free food for anyone at the occupation; there is access to art supplies, books, conversation and information; there is physical and emotional support, even acupuncture. Above all, it's a space where you can have all sorts of interactions with people that normally would not occur unless you were in a controlled space of some sort: either one you pay to enter to have an experience (cafe, bar, theater) or the designated home of someone you know (for dinner, a party, book group, other things people do). Not only have I spent a minimal amount of money this week - since instead of meeting friends for coffee or whatever we've been getting together to organize - but I've also interacted with an even broader scope of people than usual outside of my Mills-Temescal-Mills loop of "normal" life, like activists, artists, educators and Lawyers Guild members. The plaza, which simultaneously belongs to everyone and to no one, offers anyone with an interest the chance to engage.

Today it was poetry that this group I found myself in was coming together around, but it could have been anything. Some are drawn to the children's village, to the medics' tent, to the meditation circle. To screenprinting shirts and posters to get the word out, to bike repair, to the people's mic in the amphitheater. These are independent circles but there is a lot of overlap. Especially between the medics and the poets. (And what does that say about the life-sustaining power of poetry?)

Yet no matter my joy, inertia, and optimism, at the end of the day, I am barricaded by questions rolling around in my brain. Where do the "free" silkscreened t-shirts and the paper for the (kickass) Occupy Oakland posters

You can see the Hella Occupy Oakland poster in my closet. And yes, I was Twiggy for Halloween.

come from? I think it's amazing that memorabililia/propaganda (with excellent design, at that) is being given out for free, but I was pained when I overheard, regarding Oakland General Strike-stenciled shirts, "Sure, they're free! But we just ran out; if you want one, go get a pack at Walgreens." I know we can't all afford organic cotton. And none of us have time to scour thrift stores for plain jersey. (Besides, even Goodwill is more expensive than Walgreens.) But the most powerful way we can vote on a day-to-day basis is with our dollars, and I don't want to feed the corporations we're trying to starve, not even under the guise of a revolution.

That was an argument, and I'm not sure where to go from here.

Totally open to suggestions. Please.

The element of chance emerging from interactions does indicate a different kind of future. It indicates a future in which we can all live with less fear. If there's anything I've learned in the past week, it's that when shit hits the fan, and you've been tear-gassed at a non-violent protest, the odds are next to impeccable that somebody will pick you up and carry you out of the mess, even if the only way I know this is from word of mouth.

43% of Americans agree with the Occupy Wall Street movement (CBS)

2011-10-26T09:00:00.000-07:00

For the second day in a row I wake up to helicopters. This time so close that they drown out the ever-present whoosh of the BART train. Are these about Obama's fundraising visit to the Bay Area, and if so, why are they on this side of the bridge? Or are they making their way up here from downtown with the rest of the wreckage from Oscar Grant Plaza? It's early enough for me to still be curious what the mainstream media is making of yesterday's actions.

I started feeling really panicked when I heard big noises going off. The violence and tumultous coralling I saw downtown yesterday was enough to make me doubt my esophagus' viability - if I'd had food in my stomach I would have thrown up when I saw the fighting that broke out between 7th and 8th streets and Clay.

I have the feeling now that "if you didn't get teargassed, you weren't there", but - wimpy as it is - I didn't stay to get teargassed with my friends. When I started hearing the canisters burst and seeing people running, I bolted to BART, though I had to go two blocks farther north to get to an open station entrance. I was already late to meet my friend Jeff in the city to see our friend's band play at the Rickshaw Stop.

The show was good. I've been bopping to Van's tunes since I was fifteen and he was playing at Painted Sky, and they always inspire some stomping and yelling along with the chorus. Waters rocks harder than Port O'Brien - I got to headbang with my little bit of hair that's growing last night - but the highlight of the show was definitely the Port O'Brien standard Pigeon Hold, which was totally appropriate for the time and place.

Jeff and I were preoccupied the whole time, though, by the images and footage of cops in full riot gear tear-gassing our friends and neighbors coming in via text messages and Twitter feed.

Yesterday people who work downtown were advised not to go to work, though by the time I got down there in the late afternoon there were plenty of people in cafes, including spectators inside Starbucks watching the march from the library - where the occupation reconvened after being kicked out of Frank Ogawa Plaza - go by. I was watiting for the moment when the Starbucks windows got smashed, but it didn't happen.

Like hopeful zombies, people kept marching on and on and on, around and around and around in a snake march that kept either sidestepping or just plain overwhelming the corral of hundreds of police brought in from around the state working overtime, armed with a $700,000 sound cannon, teargassing the shit out of civilians and firing rubber bullets in response to? or provoking the shooting of paintballs. The scary thing was not knowing where it was okay - legal? safe? - to be, and where was not.

All the while, I'm considering, What is the goal of this protest?

It's to retake the plaza in solidarity with Occupy Wall Street.

I'm considering, Why retake the plaza? Why the plaza and not somewhere else?

They raided Snow Park, too.

I'm considering who it was who decided it was that plaza that would be occupied in the first place.

I'm remembering that it was the result of a series of community meetings.

I'm considering and remembering these things while experiencing the cognitive dissonance that ensues when you go from an actively resisting space to a tranquil triumph of capitalism, i.e. while sitting down to steaming fish and chicken tacos in the Mission with Jeff. The salty tortilla chips and seven kinds of salsa calmed some of the churning in my stomach that had been building since I first saw the cops in riot gear getting off the bus at 14th and Broadway and increased exponentially when I saw the garbage collectors en masse at Frank Ogawa - renamed for the purposes of the occupation Oscar Grant - Plaza doing the dirty work of cleaning up the wreckages of the destroyed tent city, but didn't resolve the sense that I should not have left my city. Sucks to be part of the 99%. Sucks to be a cop. But how sweet to be on the receiving end of one of last night's token chants, You're sexy! You're cute! Take off your riot suit!

When I post my photos, I want to say, This is what a police state looks like, but I am afraid to offend any governing bodies.

In China, "occupy" is now a banned search term.

Which is really what this whole uprising is against, when it boils down to it.

All forthcoming decisions regarding the occupation have been, and continue to be, made by a general assembly. Anyone can attend and everyone is welcome. The next one convenes this evening at 6 PM at 14th and Broadway.

we have places to keep going with our bodies in the night

2011-10-24T23:37:00.000-07:00

i did not expect to be interested but i am

i did not begin again i just began

to practice the art of staying in motion in a world that is always threatening to stun us into stasis

this is not a poem, this is a place with a train running through it

people should have a billion choices

what is the point beyond the act of pointing?

if you enjoy it you understand it

our default survival modes create awkward contradictions

i fell in love with you a little, but i'm sure that happens all the time

if this seems circular it's because it is

other people's (gertrude stein, joan retallack, my colleagues) words / my experiences / between decadent moments cops are kicking folks out from under overpasses

the time is now

2011-10-18T21:39:00.000-07:00

"Let us show the animal that we all have within us, the one that bucks for peace and fucking."
-David Buuck, Army of Lovers, written in collaboration with Juliana Spahr, read in solidarity with Occupy Oakland

"The only thing we have to do for each other is to say it as it is."
-Inger Christensen, It

why we write

2011-10-13T09:30:00.000-07:00

Talking about his photo blog, which documents the homeless in the United Stateas, Linh Dinh talks about poetry.

"Poetry is too slow for this culture."

"By definition, a writer or artist must work in isolation. He must be removed from the world as he writes, paints or whatever, but a writer must also be among other people so he can have something to write about."

"You asked about the media. Well, the media is all about getting stuff. It’s about having all of your natural and unnatural appetites fulfilled. It’s about whooping it up, partying, fucking, and spending, but real life is not anything like that. Well, you might have a few highlights here and there, fondly remembered, but most of the time, it’s incredibly hard just to get by."

"As an artist, you’re always a kind of vulture when you’re around people, you’re always trying to make use of what they say, how they look or who they are, and since art is always subjective, a kind of distortion, you’re always deforming people to suit your purposes. Although art is always, in this sense, an exploitation, it is also a kind of tribute, and hence, of love. Sometimes I can barely stand how magnificent and beautiful people are."

"American cities are outlawing sleeping or camping in public. In many places, dumpster diving is also illegal. One should remember that during the 1929 Depression, much food was destroyed even as the nation starved! In Hawaii, Santa Cruz, and elsewhere, you can’t sleep in your own car, and in San Francisco, you can’t even sit on the sidewalk. These cosmetic measures are designed to mask our accelerating economic collapse."

Which is why we take our poetry to the streets.

And make poems for people, not magazines.

(Thanks, Mom, for the pictures of me doing Poem Machine!)

#hellaoccupy

2011-10-11T20:56:00.000-07:00

Solidarity with Occupy Wall Street has come to Oakland.

We have the hashtags #occupyoakland and #hellaoccupy on Twitter, a Facebook page, a website and a blog. Tumblr's active, too.

Even Huffington Post is all over this shit.

Of course, it's hard to say just what's going on without actually being there. When I went to the general assembly briefly with Cheena and Jose (P.S.: I'm on tumblr, too, sometimes) before their reading at Litquake in the City with Kate yesterday, I was happy to see tons of people I know - mostly poets, but also artists, musicians, students, farmers' market workers and teachers, as well as tons of people I don't know but would have liked to talk with. I'm going to go back tomorrow before class.

And for anyone who's thinking about getting off their ass, and getting out there, anywhere, here's a practical packing list for protesters courtesy of Matador.

self-sufficiency

2011-10-09T16:55:00.000-07:00

Issue #2 of The Sunshine Chronicles is out and about! This season's theme is Self-Sufficiency, revolving loosely around the idea that communication is a renewable resource.

As always, it includes a surf report, a loose collection of anecdotes and a sweet recipe.

work

2011-10-08T15:32:00.000-07:00

Frequency of poetic moments increasing.

Heidi and I were driving home from workshop in her sexy green Mustang-that-is-not-a-Mustang-whose-make-and-model-I-can-never-remember and stopped in the turn lane at 51st and Shattuck and a guy in an equally sexy but blue Ford was stopped in the opposite turn lane. We were singing and dancing and chatting and even waving at him but somehow he failed to notice the complementary cars and the fact that both of their drivers were wearing black beanies.

I am in love with my workspace.

Literally up to my knees (practically my thighs, actually; all of my semester's books aren't shown here) in experimental literature.

!

money

2011-09-27T20:51:00.000-07:00

I’m between thefront door and the black SUV that I don’t understand being parked on our curbwhen the mailman intercepts me. “Did you know Maya is Indian name?” he asks me.I flick down the kickstand to my bike. “Yes,” I say, “two kinds of Indian.” “Doyou know what it means in Hindi?” he wants to know. “I’ve always heard it meansillusion, enchantment, the illusion of reality…” I falter. “No.” “No?” “Itmeans money.” I laugh big. “Never heard that one before!” “Now when I see you,I say, 'What’s up, money?', handing me my mail.

the big picture

2011-09-26T22:51:00.000-07:00

A job in the academy may be damn well impossible to get, but at least you can publish a book. Your name you can't lose.

I love a drummer who sings. Younger Lovers.

No time for art! Space Time, that is.

This used to be Mexico.

A dollar well-spent.

Caught myself wishing I had my camera on me today when I saw a girl on 40th Street, big sunglasses on, sporting camel-colored leather boots, smoking a cigarette with her left hand, riding a skateboard like it was nothing.

a loop around the weekday

2011-09-14T09:33:00.000-07:00

It took about twoweeks for riding the bus to get old. Not that I mind taking the bus. I lovemass transit for hearing slang (“Mac” for "Macarthur Boulevard"),music (on the bus to my high school in Sweden, techno; here, almost always hiphop) talk among people who may or may not know each other (business advice,life advice), young moms in Baby Phat managing shopping bags, stuffingsandwiches in the babies’ mouths and schoolkids on their way to McDonald’srambling, ragging on each other and sharing (or not sharing) candy—but after mya bus ride that made me fifteen minutes late for a meeting that I had timedmyself to be early for, I was more than a little dubious about AC Transit.

No matter how tiredor unmotivated I’m feeling, I always feel better after I jump on my bike. Ithelps to know that I’m going somewhere. Plus, my bike is finally outfitted forthe city: I changed out my quick-release skewers on my wheels for bolt-ons andfinally got a U-lock, which means I don’t have to stuff my six-foot-long cableand Master lock in my purse when I go out anymore. The U-lock is just about asheavy, but it fits in a pocket, or I can hang it on a handlebar.

Riding to school forthe first time went smooth as could be. It was sunny and just breezy enough todry the sweat accumulating under my helmet. To get out to Mills, I rodedowntown (easy, I’m used to that), around the lake that barricades the centerof town (I’ll have to remember that riding through the tunnel was a lot betterat night when there were no cars out), and a long stretch out InternationalBoulevard. My ears, eyes and nose tried to keep up with my fast-pedaling legsto take in all of the sensations. True to its name, International is home tonumerous Southeast Asian markets—excelling especially in Korean baked goods andproduce—plus pho joints, mobile taquerias and an enormous Goodwill.

The ride home—duringwhich I took a fat detour through Eastlake and wound the long way around thelake—ended up taking the same amount of time as riding the delayed bus, and I’mgetting to know my way around parts of Oakland that I haven’t really seen yet.More and more pieces of the city fall into place as I cycle loops around my days.

whatever works! you know? it's the world

2011-09-12T19:08:00.000-07:00

Summer was characterized by a fair amount of mellow Merlot and it was good. I started school, but Håkan and Gunilla were still on vacation. Cheers to the new year with stellar coworkers. And my sister. Sparkly sake made fun fuel for September's Art Murmur and a glass of chocolate is always good with an old pal. Mornings find me brewing laughable quantities of gen-mai cha, which tastes like earth and anchors me between clumps of words.

you're allowed to slow down and be happy with what you've got

2011-09-10T00:17:00.000-07:00

So says my friend Esther, and I believe her.

And when what I've got is oatmeal, eggs, ketchup and sri racha and a letter from a dear friend to answer, I am one happy, happy lady.

houses in motion

2011-09-04T12:47:00.000-07:00

for a long time i felt without style or grace
wearing shoes with no socks in cold weather
i knew my heart was in the right place
i knew i''d be able to do these things

and as we watch him digging his own grave
it was important to know that was where he's at
he can't afford to stop... that is what he believe
He'll keep on digging for a thousand years

i'm walking a line - i'm thinking about empty motion
i'm walking a line - just barely enough to be living
get outta the way - no time to begin
this isn't the time - so nothing was done

not talking about - not many at all
i'm turning around - no trouble at all
you notice there's nothing around you, around you
i'm walking a line - divide and dissolve

never get to say much, never get to talk

tell us a little bit, but not too much
right about then, is where she give up
she has closed her eyes, she has give up hope

i'm walking a line - i hate to be dreaming in motion
i'm walking a line - just barely enough to be living
get outta the way-No time to begin
this isn't the time - so nothing was done

not talking about - not many at all
i'm turning around - no trouble at all
i'm keeping my fingers behind me, 'hind me
i 'm walking a line - divide and dissolve i turn myself around, i'm moving backwards and forwards
i'm moving twice as much as i was before
i'll keep on digging to the center of the earth
i'll be down in there, moving in the room

i'm walking a line - i'm visiting houses in motion
i'm walking a line - just barely enough to be living
get outta the way - No time to begin
this isn't the time - so nothing was done

not talking about - not many at all
i'm turning around - no trouble at all
two different houses surround you, 'round you
i'm walking the line - divide and dissolve

moving again

downsizing from a cottage to a bedroom
no hard feelings
reducing four keys to one
still hardwood floors
and wall-to-wall windows

man/miracle

2011-09-01T15:00:00.000-07:00

this oakland indie rock band currently on a month-long tour of the states is well worth checking out if you've got the time and inclination and aren't too shy to dance at a show like the fine one the other night at the uptown

their very visceral album "the shape of things" is exactly half an hour long and perfect for a morning run while waiting for the sun to come out

doin' work

2011-08-31T23:47:00.000-07:00

What they say about grad school making you crazy may be totally true.

At least I just get to read Gertrude Stein allllllllll day long.

And at least I have the most smitten-worthy kitten to read to.

Would he like it, if I told him, if I told him, would he like it, would he, would he like it, would he like it, if I told him?

Whiskerton's the best. His mama's pretty great, too.

this book is great

2011-08-29T09:27:00.000-07:00

Ara Shirinyan's Your Country Is Great is a poetic almanac covering the nations of the world from Afghanistan to Guyana. Shirinyan, an Armenian-born poet, publisher and musician now based in Los Angeles, used found text from Google searches to make a poem for each country listed in the CIA World Factbook from A to G. For countries that were in the Factbook but there was no information on them on the internet (!) - and there are a few - he left the pages blank, a nod to the fact that there are too few English-speakers who think of Antigua and Barbuda, Burkina Faso, Burundi, Central African Republic and Equatorial Guinea as countries.

I loved the end of "Germany Is Great":
The atmosphere in Germany is great
and it's just like Africa here -
there is beautiful sunshine and it's
absolutely magnificent

But the poem that resonated most with me was, of course, "Denmark Is Great."

delicate but sweet cheese
made in Denmark is great
for melting or sliced

Upon reflection,
I have concluded that,
Denmark is great for a holiday
if you go with friends,
it's a beautiful country
with lots of interesting history,

Denmark is great for family holidays
because of the safe, relaxed and informal
atmosphere

Denmark is great, especially
down by the water where there are some great
restaurants.
Also,
there is that hippy community
in the middle of town

Denmark is great.
all the men are at least 12ft tall.

Denmark is great.
There is free health care for everyone
and students get paid to go to school.
However,
their weather sucks!
You get one sunny day a week

Denmark is great country,
but the taxes/fees
are a bit to crazy,
whish also scares a lot of good foreign labour,
like professors,
doctors, soccer players

Shopping in Denmark is great;
some cheap stores. are H&M and Mango.
I found that toiletry and make-up were
more expensive

Denmark is great,
I have yet to master the skill
of ordering healthy food.
I think Denmark is great because everything's
wrapped up in a neat package -
it's got tons of culture,
relaxed, free lifestyle,
loads of history,

Denmark is GREAT!
Keep fighting the good fight!
Remember:
"No immigration
without assimilation!"
And if they don't like it
they can just go home

Yep. This poem pretty much sums up how it felt for me to be an outsider in Denmark: It's great... if you go with friends. It also managed to capture how the capital city is viewed as the entire country (or vice versa), when really the huge mental gap between cosmopolitan and rural exists as much in Denmark as anywhere else.

Danish friends, I miss you.

don't you know that talking about a revolution sounds like a whisper?

2011-08-23T21:55:00.001-07:00

Last night uncertain how to prepare for my first day of grad school I listened to jj and The Weeknd and Radiolab and trimmed my fingernails and played with my housemate's cat and drank hot chocolate even though it wasn't cold and read a copy of sova that came to me from Iceland via Berlin without registering that it's a different language in which the word means sleep and stuck a picture of my dog from when I was eleven in a locket that two good friends sent me from Portland and didn't think about any of the big questions like what does this mean for my future?

Today I woke up ready for the alarm and had oatmeal and genmaicha for breakfast and dressed in a denim skirt and a navy blue striped shirt put on the locket and took the bus to school where I listened to people who for not long will be strangers speak accepting that this is the place and got gluten-free pizza for lunch and a whole lot of books and talked to among others a certain Cynthia and a certain Juliana and a woman whose god-given name is Sailor.