Ah Memories...

Today, I stretched out on my carpet in the living room and played old mix CDs from "back in the day." I was looking for one song in particular that I had been thinking about for weeks but couldn't remember what CD I had burned it onto...after about three hours of flipping through songs, I heard the first opening chords and closed my eyes and smile....


I was wasted in the afternoon
Waiting on a train
I woke up in pieces
and Elisabeth had disappeared again
I wish you were inside of me
I hope that you're ok
I hope you're resting quietly
I just wanted to say
Good, Goodnight Elisabeth
Goodnight Elisabeth, Goodnight
We couldn't all be cowboys
So some of us are clowns
Some of us are dancers on the midway
We roam from town to town
I hope that everybody can find a little flame
Me, I say my prayers,
then I just light myself on fire
And I walk out on the wire once again
And I say
Good, Goodnight Elisabeth
Goodnight Elisabeth, Goodnight
I will wait for you in Baton Rouge
I'll miss you down in New Orleans
I'll wait for you while she slips in something comfortable
And I'll miss you when I'm slipping in between
If you wrap yourself in daffodils
I will wrap myself in pain
And if you're the queen of california
Baby I am the king of the rain
And I say
Good,Goodnight Elisabeth
Goodnight Elisabeth, Goodnight--Counting Crows

Hating the World Today

I have been working on a project for weeks on a study and possible recovery of Ancient Mayan spirituality as a response to global/environmental crisis in South/Southeast Mexico and Guatemala. In the midst of finding these amazing accounts of how the Modern Maya understand humans, nature, and animals in relationship to consciousness and time, I was sent an article, which saddened me to my core.

Last spring, I had also spent a great deal of time working on a project concerning the femicides in Juarez. Apparently, there is a new wave of "disappearances" of women along the Mexico/Guatemala border. Women coming from Central and South America to the United States in hope of a better life are kidnapped along the way. Unlike Juarez, the women are still missing, and it is unclear as to whether they have been murdered. How sad that we live in a world where certain bodies are deemed "disposable." See a link to the article below.

http://www.ipsnews.net/news.asp?idnews=44706

Molotovs in Mickey Dees...

was sent this article from the North American Animal Liberation Press Office...interesting in light of heavy protests against globalization in the D.F. (Distrito Federal)....more interesting that animal rights has been thrown into the mix...

For Immediate ReleaseNovember 12, 2008
Earth, Animal Liberationists Wage War in Mexico City
received anonymously (translation):
In a first joint action: an informal coordination of groups and individuals for action and for animal and earth liberation, between 4 and 5 in the morning of Friday, November 7, 10 'Bonanno devices' (these are: false bombs, molotov's, incendiary devices... that in this case were 10 false bombs) were placed at the seats of capitalism and exploitation. Those that received this warning were: Burger King's, McDonald's and K.F.C.. In addition to being a sabotage against the exploitation of flora and fauna, the second purpose of this action was to create 'nervousness and paranoia in the institutions of the repressive state', and to break the imposed social order, since those who defend capitalism also defend animal exploitation.
In this decentralized action the 'Bonanno devices' were distributed in different areas of the State of Mexico and Mexico City. The informal coordination of groups and individuals for action and for animal and earth liberation is an informal organization of cells and anonymous individuals that actively struggle to abolish exploitation and capitalism. The Frente de Liberacion Animal, part of this action, is already being seen as a threat, because in all the newspapers of Mexico the news was about an 'animal extremist group;' we know that stronger battles will come and we are ready to fight them.
Those of us who shape this organization claim ourselves: young autonomous, subversive and rebellious, maintaining a permanent conflict against capitalism, exploitation and the state. Not one step back ... against exploitation ... direct action and confrontation!
This action is claimed by: The informal coordination of groups and individuals for action and for animal and earth liberation:
-Frente de liberacion animal [Animal Liberation Front] -brigada de combate vegano barry horne [Brigade of Vegan Fighter Barry Horne] -The Angry Vegan Brigade -Milicias por los derechos de los animales [Militias for Animal Rights] -F.L.A. celula 5 [ALF cell 5] -Comando verde negro [Green-Black Commando] -Celula eco-anarquista por el ataque directo [Eco-Anarchist Cell for Direct Attack] -Circulo autonomo de accion por la liberacion [Autonomous Circle of Action for Liberation] -Brigada subversiva 11 de septiembre. [September 11 Subversive Brigade]

A Promise...

I have not been posting...obviously, but I promise to be more diligent...starting now, for anyone who reads my random thoughts. Life has been rather hectic and awful most currently and I have had little time for breathing....or inspiration.

No Exit

All I can say today is...

"L'enfer, c'est les autres..." --Sartre

Protest

I had written in a post below that I would explain some of the pictures from my most recent trip to Mexico. One of the hot topics while I was there was President Felipe Calderon's proposal regarding Mexico's oil company PEMEX. The proposal has been labled as the privatization of PEMEX which is actually forbidden by the Mexican Constitution. NPR has an article regarding this issue and I am supplying the link below.

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=90402097

Protest Pictures From Mexico

Explanations coming soon....Enjoy!

im going to lose this battle
and it already hurts
worse
than i let
on.

wake up

feeling

like a stranger

bruises i can't see

but some sense

of soreness radiates

from places where

your hands have been

stretching and sliding

off the bed

my feet hit the floor

and the world tilts

this must be me

my feet

my legs

my body

staring in the bathroom mirror

i see

eyes

nose

lips

this must be my face

but the eyes staring back

aren't mine

and when my lips move

the sounds are foreign

i put my clothes on

but they feel strange too

they grate against my skin

i eat

i work

i sleep

this stranger in my bed

my house

my mirror

my clothes

i keep looking for familiarity

but don't know where

to begin

or what i would do

if i found it

?

i am jack's smirking rage. the world laughs at you and you just have to grin and bear it. fade and bear it. this only makes sense in my head...

Burning Glass

like burning glass I hear you smile...

rage in darkness by my side. JM

Lo Hicimos!

Upon reading an article in Bitch Magazine regarding Dora the Explorer and the global industrial economy, I was first unconvinced that to single Dora out among all the various mass-produced children's programming and paraphernalia was appropriate. However, throughout the day I became more convinced that Dora, singularly, speaks to global capital's hold on the US-Mexican border and other Latin American countries. In one episode of Dora the Explorer, she goes on a quest for her missing toy--Osito, the teddy bear. Accompanied by Boots and some wandering estrellas to guide her way, she first comes across what appears to be an ancient Mayan pyramid (We can only assume this because Dora's ethnicity is never revealed) where she solves puzzles to move onto the next location which is revealed as an ancient Mayan city. There, she finds Osito the bear.

Thinking about this episode, I wonder what it would look like if Dora were to go on a "realistic" journey in search of her lost toy. Instead of the ancient pyramid, she would enter the metal doors of a maquiladora in Juarez. Instead of a golden Mayan city, she would see tired and poor workers going home to cardboard houses with no electricity or water after spending 12-16 hours making the very toys she seeks. What lies silent beneath this episode of Dora is the lives and places utilized to make the "Dora Empire" possible. The television children watch Dora on is most likely made in Tijuana, la Capital Mundial de la Television. The Dora toys, shirts, shoes, games, etc. are most likely not made in the United States, probably in Mexico, or Asia where labor is cheap and human rights and regulations are overlooked.

Eventhough Dora is a children's show and is innocent enough, what we fail to notice is what lies behind Dora. There are questions of race, class, gender, and global capitalism. We accept her because she is "multicultural", but really she is a nice and pleasant distraction from the real cultural problems we fail to address.

ddd

The Words

"Words are loaded pistols."--Jean-Paul Sartre

Words that swirl and dive. Words that pinch and sting. Words that warm and comfort. Words that ache and throb. Words that scream and startle. Words that gather on the ceiling and cyclone down over the insomniac mind. The forced hand writes. The black vein bleeds onto paper. The canvas drips with thought. There is always the constant static, perhaps from some nebulous space of time where the muses and daimons hide and transmit muted prophecies that no one hears. Another region of the consciousness where the imagination consumes the ego and freedom is the Words. Where is the artist whose hands paint our future, the writer whose words infuse our being, the musician whose notes stand as emotions frozen in space? In the Words, consumed by the Words, trampled by the Words.

Some of My Photography

Great Photo...

I was recently browsing images for a paper I had been writing and came across this photo. What a perfect cover photo for a queer theology book.

this is how..

this is how it begins

this is how it ends

a running stitch

an open wound

a will that does not bend

this is how it feels

this is how it burns

a letter opened

words unspoken

a mind that does not learn

this is how i cry

this is how i bleed

a needle to the heart

an ache in the head

you are something that i need

this is how it begins

this is how it ends

always running

always waiting

for letters you never send

--EC

I want a pet elephant...

I have been on an animal kick lately...and have decided that I must go to Borneo and find a baby pygmy elephant to bring home and keep in my backyard....

Something to Cheer Us Up...

Currently very stressed, but still finding time to watch Animal Planet in order to remain sane. One of my favorite shows is about a island of Orangutans (I probably did not spell that correctly) which have been rescued from poachers as babies and are going to "school" to learn how to survive in the jungle without their families. The "tangs" are all grown up, but here are some pictures from when they were little "tangs," and they should make you smile...

"You and I Are Disappearing"

A poem by Yusef Komunyakaa from his book "Neon Vernacular." I am using part of it in a paper I am writing and thought I would share it with the rest of the world. It is beautiful, haunting, terrible, sad, the list goes on...

"The cry I bring down from the hills

belongs to a girl still burning

inside my head. At daybreak

she burns like a piece of paper.

She burns like foxfire

in a thigh-shaped valley.

A skirt of flames

dances around her

at dusk.

We stand with our hands

hanging at our sides,

while she burns

like a sack of dry ice.

She burns like oil on water.

She burns like a cattail torch

dipped in gasoline.

She glows like the fat tip

of a banker's cigar,

silent as quicksilver,

A tiger under a rainbow

at nightfall.

She burns like a shot glass of vodka.

She burns like a field of poppies

at the edge of a rain forest.

She rises like dragonsmoke

to my nostrils.

She burns like a burning bush

driven by a godawful wind."

Today...

Today someone asked me

if I had prayed.

I prayed

in silent hope and despair

for Darfur and its blood torn skies

for Juarez and its valley of dry bones

for Afghanistan and its empty ice cream parlours

for Guantanamo Bay and the rusty skeletons of justice

for Tibet and Burma and the persecuted in Vietnam

for Argentina and the bloody coat hangers of the barrios

for the United States and its borders of barbwire and metal factories

for the Earth and her ailments

I prayed

for change.

(EC)

ABSOLUT-LY!

Check this article out....once again Americans (a generalization....of course) can only be defensive about a history they don't know or would like to forget. God forbid, we ever take responsibility for some of the crappy things we have done to other countries/people (and "crappy" is a nice word for a lot of very "not nice" things)....

Absolut vodka pulls ad showing California in Mexico

Mon Apr 7, 9:36 PM ET

MEXICO CITY (Reuters) - The distillers of Sweden's Absolut vodka have withdrawn an advertisement run in Mexico that angered many U.S. citizens by idealizing an early 19th century map showing chunks of the United States as Mexican.
The billboard ad has the slogan "In an Absolut World" slapped over a pre-1848 map showing California, Arizona and other U.S. states as Mexican territory. Those states were carved out of what had been Mexican lands until that year.
Although it was not shown in the United States, U.S. media outlets picked up on the ad, and after a barrage of complaints, Absolut's maker said on Sunday the ad campaign would cease.
Defending the campaign last week, Absolut maker Vin & Spirit said the ad was created "with a Mexican sensibility" and was not meant for the U.S. market.
"In no way was this meant to offend or disparage, nor does it advocate an altering of borders, nor does it lend support to any anti-American sentiment, nor does it reflect immigration issues," a spokeswoman wrote on Absolut's Web site.
"Instead, it hearkens to a time which the population of Mexico may feel was more ideal," she wrote.
Absolut's blog cite has received more than a thousand comments since the ad campaign was launched a few weeks ago, with many calling for boycotts of the Swedish company.
"I have poured the remainder of my Absolut bottles down the sink," one blogger wrote.
A war between Mexico and the United States from 1846 to 1848 started with Mexico's refusal to recognize the U.S. annexation of Texas and ended with the occupation of Mexico City by U.S. troops.
At the end, Mexico ceded nearly half of its territory to the United States, forming the states of California, Nevada, Utah and parts of Colorado, Arizona, New Mexico and Wyoming.
Mexicans remain sensitive about the loss and the location of the border. At the same time, the United States is fortifying barriers to keep out undocumented Mexican migrants.
Some Mexicans use the term "Reconquista" (reconquest) to refer to the growing presence in California of Mexican migrants and their descendants.
France's Pernod Ricard is taking over Absolut vodka, one of the world's top-selling spirit brands, after buying Vin & Spirit from the Swedish government at the end of March.
(Reporting by Noel Randewich, editing by Philip Barbara)

Check it Out

Check out GLOBAL COMMENT...www.globalcomment.com.

It has fabulous articles and even one of my poems is featured right now.

Remember...

Remember when your mom/dad told you never to accept candy from strangers.......

Te Extrano Mucho...

Mr. Francis Marion Aull, Sr., age 86, of Salisbury died Friday, March 21, 2008 at Rowan Regional Medical Center.He was born May 5, 1921 in Newberry County, SC, a son of the late Elbert Herman Aull and the late Mae Amick Aull. Mr. Aull was a graduate of Newberry High School and attended Newberry College and University of South Carolina. He was a veteran of the U.S. Army Air Corp serving during World War II, where he received the American Theater Ribbon, APT Service Medal and World War II Victory Medal. He started the Edisto Citizen, a newspaper in Springfield, SC in 1948. He worked for The Ridge Citizen in Johnson, SC, The Winnsboro News and Herald in Winnsboro, SC, and retired from the Salisbury Post after 36 years of service. After his retirement he established Aull Printing & Copy Plus Inc., where he worked until his death. As a faithful member of St. John's Lutheran Church, he served on the Church Council and various other boards and committees. He was also an active member of the Kiwanis Club of Salisbury. Preceding him in death were brothers Elbert Aull, Jr., Luther, and Julian. Survivors include his wife of 60 years, Mildred Baggett "Mickey" Aull, whom he married March 19, 1948; son, Francis Marion "Frank" Aull, Jr. of Fort Mill, SC; daughter, Elizabeth "Libby" Aull Clift and husband, Rev. David Clift of Chatham County, NC; brother, Philip Aull and wife, Haroldine of Charlotte; grandchildren, Francis Marion Aull, III, Phillip Taylor Aull, Elizabeth Aull Clift and Mark Spencer Clift.

If Only...

right on....

The Valley of the Dry Bones

we have been wandering
nomads in this strange land
where love bleeds
and scrapes the skin
where rose petals burn
as the earth consumes us
there are borders we cannot cross

we are pieces scattered to the wind
bone ash sifting with the sand
open-mouthed and silent we cry:
mama porque?
mama yo estoy sola
porque…
no one hears us here
in this valley of dry bones
how long can we walk against the wind?


we turn to Guadalupe looking
for answers in her knowing eyes
they only reflect sorrow and pain
silently she weeps for the mute
silently we pass unnoticed
there are hundreds of us now
pictures and prayers mark
the graveyard of our bones


we write our names in the sand
elizabeth ramos
veronica quezada
marcela santos garza
yolanda tapia
maria cordero
identity unkown…



we line the streets
guardian angels for the women
walking home from the maquiladoras
hoping to protect them from
wandering hands
from the backseats of cars
beaten and broken
from the fate of bones in the sand
our cries are not enough to save them

this city is hell
we the guardians of purgatory
cannot stand for this much longer
the streets are muy peligroso
our bodies are scarred and mutiliated
the city has been raped of her security
we are the bone prophets waiting for judgment

we are so young yet so old
ghosts of this city
waiting for justicia
waiting for liberadad
screaming in silence
this scattered collective
of our broken voices will rise
will overwhelm
will destroy

Mommy...

sometimes we should be...

Untitled

when i am dead, i hope that people will read my body like the pages of a book. there is a history marked upon the skin, a declaration of who i suppose that i am....

Adios Fidel!

VIVA LA REVOLUCION!

All Stressed Out and Noone to Choke...

--i'm stressed out. just a warning that posting will most likely be infrequent for at least a week...all i'm saying is that i'm not making any promises.

Sometimes, we just need a good laugh...

i have nothing to say about this...except that it's hilarious...

Art as Resistance

http://www.banksy.co.uk/menu.html

check it out....amaaazing

Silence

if you will not let us speak

our bodies will cry out in protest

our blood will write our stories

our bones will rattle with fury

eac

???

___:How do I make the spinning stop?
___: I don't know....Close your eyes.
___:I don't feel like I own my body. I mean...that I am in my body.
___:No one owns anything. Everything owns you.
___:No, I feel like I am losing control.
___:There is no control, only power.
___:There is no power, here.
___:Power is everywhere. It's like the air we breathe.
___:I can't stop breathing...


eac

Something Old I Found

hello
like sun
on sun-burnt skin
unbearable and intrusive

with no hope for shade
hello
like salt water
on tiny papercuts
naive until
the sting sets in

taking bittersweet revenge
hello
like sand
on bleached teeth
frenzied and grating
carving trenches

of marked pain
hello
like goodbye
when the word
drips and falls
like rain
when its still
yellow outside...EAC

Update on the Updates

for anyone that is dying for the next installation in my blogworld (as i am sure there are millions of you that are....), have no fear, more will be coming soon. i have been beyond super human busy and have yet to have a chance to collect on some of my thoughts.

therefore, check back soon (for those of you who check at all)

--e

Body Art

Above is the part of the inspiration for my new tattoo. During her life, Frida Kahlo held onto a mantra from an old Mexican folk song: Arbol de esperanza, mantente firme. Translated, this means tree of hope, stand firm, or tree of hope, keep strong. During the more painful periods of her life, she painted the above painting, entitled "Tree of Hope." In her right hand she holds a flag bearing the inscription of her mantra. I planning on getting the flag from the painting somewhere on my body--possibly the shoulder of my "broken collarbone arm."

"...i met a girl who kept tattoos for homes that she had loved..."

Feminism is Not a Dirty Word...

If I have not declared it before...I am a feminist. Gasp! Oh No! That dirty word... This is the reaction most people have to the term. Some of the disgust may not be unwarranted, because, in my mind there is a misconception of what feminism is today. In our post-post modern times (yes folks, sadly we left postmodernity some time ago), feminism has dropped it's first, second, and third wave meanings. This does not mean that hose meanings still do not pervade the term. They certainly do. However, the kind of feminism that I am proposing is not only about women and social, economic, political, relational, etc. quality, but about equality for all groups of people who are marginalized, stigmatized, weeded out by social discourses that fear "the other," that constantly seek to pick out that "which does not belong." Feminism, today, I would argue, is not about women hating men for all the evils of the world (although there are some warranted reasons for that hate at times...), it is about striving for a world that is not filled with judgment, hatred, poverty, pain, suffering, violence, despair. It is about striving for a world where people are free to be who they are without fear of being hurt, raped, mutilated, ostracized, exiled, etc. Therefore, anyone who respects the humanity in each person is a feminist to me.

Why am I ranting? I suppose I must come off as too hopeful. I am not hopeful that I will live to see the day when the world will possibly look like this. However, that does not mean that I can't fight for it while I'm alive. I'm sure women (White and African-American) during the suffrage movement were told many times that their dreams were impossible. If someone had stopped fighting then, I might not have the privilege to vote for our shitty presidents today. The point is I feel very passionately about helping those that cannot help themselves--not because they are not strong enough--but because we live in a society, we live in a world, that sometimes works incredibly hard against them.

Okay, so the point of this post. Finally! I am currently working on a paper (that I can hopefully submit somewhere) about the relationship between gender, race, violence, and the nation with a specific focus on the "borderlands" (the U.S./Mexico border), and even more specifically about the situation in Juarez, Mexico. In short, over the past 13 years more than 400 women have gone missing, and have been found dead, or are presumed to be dead, within and outside the city of Juarez (which is near El, Paso TX). The Mexican government has done very little to further the investigation over the past 13 years, and the majority of the murders remain unsolved. The majority of the women are young factory workers, who work in the maquiladoras (see: globalization) and who are, for the most part, kidnapped as they go to or leave work. Most of them are then raped, mutilated, and dumped in the desert or the streets of Juarez. This situation is clear example of how a cultural understanding of women within a nation can be tied to violence and the body. In a culture, where women are to remain silent, remain pious, are kept in the background--then violence is easily justified (theoretically, not morally). Women's body's, in this case, become objects subjected to physical manifestations of machismo and physical signs of a disregard for human rights.

If you want some more information on this situation, you can start here:

http://www.amnesty.org/es/alfresco_asset/24a3f182-a438-11dc-bac9-0158df32ab50/amr410112004es.html (P.S.--this one is in Spanish)

http://www.now.org/nnt/fall-2006/juarez.html

Poetry as a threat to National Security

Below is a poem written by a prisoner in Guantanamo Bay. Amnesty International is working within a larger campaign to close Guantanamo. Many claims have been made about the detainment of many prisoners for years without any criminal charges being filed against them or any hopes for a civilian trial. In the name of human rights, many have raised their voices against the institution. I don't know enough about the situation to comment intelligently, but it does not surprise me that it is possible that some innocent men line the halls of Guantanamo. The poem is quite beautiful and heart-breaking. For more information regarding the poem and this issue try this link: http://www.amnesty.org/en/news-and-updates/feature-stories/poems-from-guantanamo-20071212

“To My Father” by Abdulla Thani Faris al Anazi

Two years have passed in far-away prisons,

Two years my eyes untouched by kohl.

Two years my heart sending out messages

To the homes where my family dwells,

Where lavender cotton sprouts

For grazing herds that leave well fed.

O Flaij, explain to those who visit our home

How I used to live.

Iknow your thoughts are swirled as in a whirlwind,

When you hear the voice of my anguished soul.

Send sweet peace and greetings to Bu’mair;

Kiss him on his forehead, for he is my father.

Fate has divided us, like the parting of a parent from a newborn.

O Father, this is a prison of injustice.

Its iniquity makes the mountains weep.

I have committed no crime and am guilty of no offense.

Curved claws have I,

But I have been sold like a fattened sheep.

I have no fellows but the Truth.

They told me to confess, but I am guiltless;

My deeds are all honorable and need no apology.

They tempted me to turn away from the lofty summit of integrity,

To exchange this cage for a pleasant life.

By God, if they were to bind my body in chains,

If all Arabs were to sell their faith, I would not sell mine.

I have composed these lines

For the day when your children have grown old.

O God—who governs creation with providence,

Who is one, singular and self-subsisting,

Who brings comfort and happy tidings,

Whom we worship—Grant serenity to a heart that beats with oppression,

And release this prisoner from the tight bonds of confinement.

laughter unfastened

overcast and grey
weather for thinking
whether to think or brood
i had been looking lost and tired
top corner dusty edge
color images outlined in black.
i had been staring and wondering
how long ago was it
that i understood how to smile like that
head back open throat eyes shut
laughter unfastened
an object in motion
will stay in motion
until someone breaks her heart
trying to capture the moment.
in freeze frame
now not even remembering
how it began
or the basis for laughter.
who had thought
to steal the moment through the lens
so I was stuck fast
tangled in the sunlight forever.
other pictures gathered on these walls
exist only as stage productions
forced smiles learned over time.
we make pretty pictures happen
same teeth
same eyes
same frames
immune to feeling
discerning happiness through frozen limbs
is an undertaking
except that top corner shot
from days burned out in summer heat.
take me back under undisturbed
can one force the body to laugh that way again,
or must it always impatiently wait to be still?
anticipating the perfect moment
to free itself from false motion.
staring once more out the window
into deserted dark streets.
staring and wondering
while the sun breaks free from the clouds
to finally be trapped in the sky

Work in Progress

it's not done...but it's getting there

Things I've Been Doodling