Electronic Writer

My apologies for the delinquent author, but things have been REALLY crazy. What I do have for you, however, is an important link.

Here’s the link: http://www.prochoiceamerica.org/creatures1/

I’ll write more soon.

To be perfectly honest with nobody who is NOT listening.

As much as I love politics–as much as I love dissonance–as much as I love argument for the sake of argument, I crave beauty. Beautiful words. Beautiful ideas. Beautiful bodies. Beauty. Pure, Transcendent, mutated, unusual, rare, or otherwise. Beauty is the king of my life. Beauty is the medieval overlord who has written my rules, and told me the terms of my life.

And, I accept those terms.

In the last month, I have been to Paris, sang again, played my guitar, written more than 30 poems, sketched on an easil, and listened to inspiring music. I have cooked for my friends, drank wonderful wine, and laughed until my sides hurt. I have felt hopeless and helpless, and continued to work anyways. I have stretched my days and my hours to fit things that are important–my friends and my family and the people in my life. And, the work filled the empty spaces, and it got done, as well.

And, to be perfectly honest with you–the people who are absolutely NOT listening . . . .

I love you.

Those words are strange. Perhaps they are the most mis-interpreted words in history. In their purest form, however, they exemplify how I feel about you–about this life. The things that I learn everyday from you are invaluable, and I could not live without them.

Thank you for teaching me–even when you don’t know it. You make my life beautiful.

I am alive, although this blog is somwhat withered from lack of use. I have a bunch of things running through my head–will get them on paper (virtually) as soon as possible . . . .

This is a response I received from a friend traveling in Sri Lanka when the tsunami hit:

It was close, Tim, but I have survived and been rescued. Now back in Bangalore, heading to Kuala Lumpur tomorrow night. Minor injuries, broken foot, a gash in my leg and whole body seems to be one big laceration, but no infections. I am OK…details..

I was in Sri Lanka the eye of the tsunami and I have survived. Barely. I was in Unawatuna Beach, Sri Lanka for a few days in paradise. As it turned out, this was one of the hardest hit places and Sri Lanka was completely devastated. I had arrived the night before with two friends from Kandy and had a good rest. Early in the morning I ran the length of the beach and had returned to the guesthouse for coffee. At 9:10 AM on Sunday, December 26, I was sitting at a table on the sand with two Sri Lankan friends. And the nightmare began.

The first waves were small and simple and just didn’t make any sense. The tide should have been out. How could a wake like this come up and ruin my breakfast in paradise? It became clear that the waves were growing in a way not clearly understood, and very, very rapidly changing and growing. The third wave was the point at which we knew something was very wrong. The waves were picking up the beach furniture and throwing it at us. From there the intensity grew at a fantastic rate. All of us were washed out of the front door of the guesthouse, along with the food, flowers, furniture, shoes, wall- hangings, bottles, broken dishes, floor mats -everything was taken and thrown with the onrushing water.

I was carried across the road with all the flotsam and hurled into a small tree. The force of the water was so intense that I was pinned there until my friend Athula somehow tore me from the tree. From there we were separated and the power of the tsunami only increased. I was pulled underwater and trapped by the debris – huge chunks of concrete, trees and plants, and I was entangled in a cord of some sort. At one point it seemed certain that my last breath was taken. It was dark and I couldn’t tear loose of the debris. The same force the buried me somehow brought me back to the surface for one quick breath. Somehow I managed to get back to the surface and clawed my way among the floating pieces of furniture.

The fury of the inrushing water continued and as I spotted a tree trunk I grabbed hold and somehow managed to climb above the rising water line. At some point it became clear to me that I was out of immediate danger and that’s when I realized that there was someone calling at me. A German fellow was facing me at eye level from his second story window. Not close enough to get pulled in, but close enough for him to pass me a water bottle. I managed to spit out some of the saltwater taste and clear my throat. And breathe deeply for the first time in what seemed like forever. He then noticed that I had no shoes and handed me his sandals…I am wearing them now as they are my only shoes.

After some uncertain period, the water began to recede. That’s when the first bodies appeared, floating out with the receding water. The wail of mother’s who couldn’t find there children pierced the air and competed with the screams of the mothers who found their children dead. After climbing down, I looked for my friends and found them within 10 minutes – both were alive, both were ok.

We found higher ground, and that’s when someone noticed that I was bleeding. Seems there was a pretty good sized gash on my left leg. An Indian fellow went to find something to clean the wound and returned with a bath towel and a bottle of whiskey. He poured whiskey over the wound and felt for any foreign objects – and then tore the bath towel to form a tourniquet. The bleeding continued for quite a while, but didn’t seem major in light of the unfolding event.

I insisted on returning to my room to see if I could retrieve any personal belongings. It was very risky, but very productive. Most of the guesthouse had been washed away, but my corner room was still there – no windows, no door, and a heap of collapsed furniture – I found my shoulder bag, one shirt, one pair of shorts, my wallet, and my antibiotics. My suitcase was gone, all clothing, toiletries, shoes, camera, palm pilot – gone.

We went further uphill and found refuge in a guesthouse. Equipped for 20 people, there were 53 of us the first night. There was never a sharp word, the level of cooperation and kindness was reaffirming that we would survive. There was still fear, and sometimes panic, that another, larger wave might come. Fortunately we were safe – it’s just that we didn’t know it at the time. There was no news. No electricity, no phone. But there was a pure well and so we had drinking water and plenty of food.

On the second night we had word that the British High Commission was organizing two 40-passenger coaches to rescue us – as soon as the road could be cleared. At one of our regular community meetings to share what meager information was available, there was a request for someone to organize our departure. Finally there was something I could do – as the only American in the crowd, I immediately volunteered to develop a plan for our departure. It would be easy for me, remaining in one spot with my leg elevated to write out our escape protocol and organize the lists for the buses. We were overwhelmed when word reached us that the coaches arrived early on Tuesday morning. The departure was not free of problems, but we were able to get underway by about 10 in the morning, heading for Colombo. The drive was treacherous. More though, the devastation was gut-wrenching. Utter and complete devastation, mile after mile after mile. The pictures in the paper and on BBC cannot begin to describe the magnitude of this disaster.

I was able to get word out that I was safe via my friend’s uncle – he contacted my sister in Long Beach and the American Embassy in Colombo. But I didn’t know anyone knew I was safe until my sister was able to call through on my friend’s cell phone – a tearful, joyful call like no other.

After a 10 hour journey we reached Colombo. It is intact, by and large. I phoned the American Embassy and they came immediately to get me. An American family fed me, provided me with a place to stay, and a hot shower. On Wednesday morning the American Embassy and American Express Travel made arrangements to get me onto an already full flight from Colombo to Bangalore – that’s where I am now. Tomorrow night I will be heading to Kuala Lumpur to begin the new year.

I am OK, safe, and coping with the stress that follows a tragedy like this. I will be staying in Malaysia for the full time I originally planned, returning home just before the beginning of the new semester.

For me, the nightmare has ended. For the people of Sri Lanka, the agony will be long term. Please do whatever you can to assist in the relief effort.

This is my note: Here is a link directly to the Doctors Without Borders donation page. The majority of the money you spend (over 85%) goes directly to the program. Make your money count! http://www.doctorswithoutborders-usa.org/donate/

I’ll try not to be harsh, but there are some things that you have to worry about–the alarms should be sounding right now for women all over the United States. Last year, the current administration passed the Partial-Birth Abortion Ban, right? This big, controversial law has some really scary elements to it–the US Government has written a law that denies you a medical procedure based upon a premise of morality. Regardless of whether you agree with the morality not, they have passed legislation against your BODY.

Modern feminists worry about the same things that old-school feminists worried about. Margaret Atwood wrote The Edible Woman more than 20 years ago, and we clearly have the same issues today.

The scary aspects of this surface in the details of the transaction of passing this law: the picture of the signing of this legislation has our President sitting at a table and about 8 or 9 guys standing behind him joking and giggling with one another as if they were waiting for a batch of chicken wings at HOOTERs, or something. Not ONE woman was on that stage to support that piece of legislation. And, it doesn’t matter–with or without women’s support, they signed it into law. It may be tied up in the courts, the language might be problematic problematic, and yeah, they will have a hard time enforcing it, but this legislation calls back to several other pieces of legislation that were problematic.

Ever heard or used the saying, “Rule of Thumb?” This actually was a british law that specified that it was LEGAL to beat your wife–as long as the stick was smaller than the diameter of your thumb. This was a LAW!!!

There was also the “Contagious Diseases Act” passed in England in the 1830s. This law allowed the government of a small harbor town to forceably detain and subject an unescorted woman to a gynecological exam–to ensure that she wasn’t passing contagious diseases to the sailors. The implications of this one are really incredible–as in unbelievable. The “unescorted” part implies that rich people didn’t have to worry about it–they would never leave their house without a driver or a servant, or someone. But the law made it so that male police officers could take a woman, make her go to a male doctor, who would then give her an exam against her will–more legislation against the body. (Side note: the tools of the time looked like something you would use in your fireplace)

Economically, England has been another forerunner of American gender politics. They passed the Right of Property Act in the 1860s. This law made it acceptable for a woman to own 10% of her original dowry if she was successfully granted a Divorce by British Courts. So, let me get this straight: she can legally own 10% of the money her dad gave to her husband for marrying her IF and ONLY if the courts granted her a divorce (a highly unlikely proposition in the 1860s). So, although it marked an improvement in the rights of the women, it really was still a dismall situation. Women were not allowed to own anything in British society. They could be in the care of their father, their husband, or an uncle, perhaps–but not in charge of themselves. (Factoid: This law inspired Ibsen to compose the play “Hedda Gable.”)

That myth that things are equal now is just that–a myth. Things are better than they were in the 1800’s the 1980’s, and the 1990’s, but the struggle has changed–not dissipated.

Feminism was given a bad name in America when bras were being burned in the late 70’s (Susan B. Anthony was a feminist, but she was never labelled as such–she was a “suffragist”). The highest profile people–the ones that made the news–were the extremists! The majority of feminist, however, are looking for equality in the workplace, in language, and in voice.

Although there are plenty of differences within feminism, what I studied, and my understanding of it goes like this: There are dominant groups, subordinate groups, and a place of intersection between the two–a shared space. The dominant group speaks louder than the rest–or has the final ruling when all is said and done (see the above example with the Partial-birth Abortion Ban, Contagious Diseases Act, Right of Property act, etc.). Feminism strives to give an equal voice to those subordinate groups. This is a continual process–not an epic battle, with peace in the land for all afterwards. Because there will always be dominant and subordinate groups, Feminists will always struggle to provide a voice wherever that voice is suppressed.

You don’t have to burn your bra to be a Feminist–you can look for embedded inequalities in our language and in our spheres of influence. When someone says”she’s just a girl,” they are reinforcing a stereotype that women are the weaker gender, or that women are overly emotional and not logical, or that women are not suited to work in business, etc. Don’t you want to say something? When someone judges you more by your physical appearance (Margaret Atwoods Edible Woman) than by your ideas or your words, don’t you want to say something?

I guess I could go on forever and, I just might have to . . . .

Poetry can contain elements of the self and self expression, but there is more to life–and more to poetry.

I gravitate towards poetry that pushes beyond the self and into something more: W S Merwyn, Pablo Neruda, Anna Ahkmatova, Federico Garcia Lorca, Walt Whitman, Emily Dickinson, and on and on.

The interesting point is the place of convergence–where you as a person meet and interact with the external world and other people. But just-the-self poetry is a solipsistic ride not meant for other people. I think this last week, someone was offended by criticism and said that it is fine if the reader doesn’t understand his/her words (it probably happened more than once). And, the author was correct: a self-expression of that nature belongs in a journal–a hidden file–certainly not for us. They were right in being offended–it was not written to endure criticism–it was written to sustain or express the self.

Hundreds of years ago, in Ireland, Kings feared the words of poets. The words of poets could cause action–and those same Kings believed that it could manifest reality. Pablo Neruda, a poet, was an Embassador for Chile to 15 different countries (France, Mexico, etc.) because of his power with language. Anna Ahkmatova could not be assassinated by Stalin because of the revolution it would cause in Russia because of her words. The link between language and power has always been clear–the people with the words were in power.

Today, language is still about power. If you lose your voice and your words, then others will speak for you and you will lose your power–a dangerous situation. A poem that is not meant to be seen is a waste of those words (unless it is practice). Even if your poem is about and for yourself, make it mean something. Make it part of a larger dialog about society, values, morality, punishment, torture, politics, sex, intimacy, inequality, happiness, struggle, whatever. It is extra work–it will require you to turn your brain on, and leave it plugged-in from here on out. It will require you to not only taste the emotions, but to struggle to understand them. But it is worth it.

I am saddened that poetry has been marginalized into a self-serving, self-help form of expression for “those artists.” The story of how our culture killed the power and even the words of Walt Whitman is terrible–and only one example of many. And, our words are next. We may be low on the list, but we are on that list. I want poetry to regain it’s prominence as a force to be reckoned with–I want King’s to fear the words of poets once more. We need to write poetry that matters about bigger things. We need to examine the world outside of ourselves and write poetry about it. We need to reclaim our place in history and in the discussion. We need to claim our power.

In order for any of that to happen, it will have to start with us–the poets.

Over the past couple of weeks, I have been tinkering with the links on the site. At first, there was only going to be Liberal links. I feel that diversity is important, and I like to practice what I preach. So, I added some Conservative links. I figured at worst, “know thy enemy” is not a bad policy.

I started by adding them on an Idiot of the Week forum, but that was too negative. I may not like their veiws, but I do not need to deride them. Besides, I prefer sarcasm to rudeness.

I have added a Conservative Voices set of links as a result. The top dog in the list is a former Marine aviator–the only pilots in the military that complete Basic Combat Training–who is now a lawyer. He is well-informed, articulate, and his blogs are pretty interesting reading. For those of you who are a little squeemish, rest assured–he is sane.

There is also a new addition to the writing links this week: Fanatical Apathy. This blog is just downright funny. I found myself chuckling with his interpretation of Rumsfeld double-speak, and his history of Delay Rule writing (or re-writing). Very funny. Very funny.

If you have a link that should be added, post a comment and let me know.

Be warned. Be wary. We may live in a monosyllabic, singular, olive drab country soon. Although this may be similar to the “ditto-head” culture popular with so many Limbaugh-ites, it happens to frighten me. And, it may happen in the not-so-distant future. Our glorious comander-in-chief has replaced the leaders of the US Commission of Civil Rights with people who agree with him. Two more dissenters from within the Government have been removed and effectively silenced.

Why should we care?

This is a good place for an analogy. Let’s say that you are hungry and do not feel inclined to cook this evening. When selecting the restaurant you will patronize, you may consider a restaurant that serves Chinese food, or Mexican food. You may consider a drive-through, or a sit-down meal. You may consider how much money you have in your wallet. The point is–you have options.

Right now, in our very own government, our leaders are removing politicians and employees that appear to be voices of dissent. The executive branch is systematically eliminating program directors, scientists and experts from our government. And, this current story of the US Commission of Civil Rights is just another very poignant example.

let’s go back to our dining analogy. You are looking for a place to eat. This time, however, you have a new constraint. There are now no longer any Chinese restaurants. They were banned because the government does not like some of the ingredients. So, they passed a law, or changed the Constitution, or said that the sale of Chinese food was affecting Interstate Commerce, or something. But, you can’t go anymore. Restaurants can’t serve the stuff, and you can’t buy it.

The truth was that someone in the Administration felt that Chinese food was terrible for you. Or, someone from the Organization of Chinese Restaurant Owners angered a politician at a dinner party. Or, even worse, it could be retribution because many Chinese people are Buddhist, and unless they become Christian and accept the Lord, Jesus Christ, as their savior, they really don’t HAVE a place in our country! They belong in China with the other heathens of the world. Right?

Here’s were the analogy ends, and you have to step up and step in. Dissention is crucial to the world. When people disagree with you, it tests your arguments and ultimately makes them richer. You have to incorporate more diverse ideas into what you do or say. It may lead to more research, and it may lead you to change your opinion. The argument may also expose just how right you were. Regardless–the outcome makes you better.

Disagreements create better meetings, work groups, classrooms, products, friendships, news, relationships, policies, and yes, even better government. Keep people who disagree with you around–they will teach you things about yourself and your knowledge that you may never discover otherwise.

Ask your Senators and Representatives to encourage diversity in our government. Request or foster State and local diversity. Vote for politicians that you may disagree with, but who will be best for your neghborhood or country. Express your opinions with your loved ones–especially if you disagree.

If you do not bring diversity into our country, then you are to blame when we all have to eat bland, tasteless food, in some olive-drab mess hall catered by Haliburton.

Bush Replaces Head of Panel on Civil Rights

By JOHN FILES

Published: December 7, 2004

WASHINGTON, Dec. 6 – President Bush sought to reshape the United States Commission on Civil Rights on Monday, announcing a replacement for its chairwoman, Mary Frances Berry, who has been critical of his civil rights policies.

Mr. Bush appointed two new members to the commission and designated one of them, Gerald A. Reynolds, as chairman. Mr. Reynolds, a former assistant secretary in the Department of Education’s Civil Rights Office, will replace Ms. Berry, whose term expired on Sunday, according to the White House.

But, according to a report by The Associated Press, Ms. Berry contends that the leaders of the commission retain their positions until midnight on Jan. 21, 2005.

Mr. Bush also designated a current Republican board member, Abigail Thernstrom, to replace Cruz Reynoso, as vice chairman.

Claire Buchan, a White House spokeswoman, said of Ms. Berry and Mr. Reynoso, “The president appreciates their service; their term expired yesterday.” Ms. Buchan declined to discuss the matter further.

The open seat created by Mr. Reynoso’s departure will be filled by Ashley L. Taylor, a former Virginia deputy attorney general.

The president, who received 11 percent of the black vote in November, up from 8 percent in 2000, has had a strained relationship with the civil rights organization. Last week, Ms. Berry and Mr. Reynoso sent the White House a 166-page report highly critical of Mr. Bush’s record on civil rights. A cover letter told Mr. Bush that his civil rights policies “further divide an already deeply torn nation.”

Ms. Berry, 66, a history professor at the University of Pennsylvania, has sparred with other presidents since she was appointed to the commission by President Jimmy Carter in 1980. President Reagan removed her from the commission, but she was reinstated after a lawsuit . Ms. Berry was also critical of the way Gov. Jeb Bush of Florida handled the disputed presidential election in that state four years ago.

The eight-member panel investigates civil rights complaints and reports its findings. It has no enforcement power.

Right Wing Eye