Bus Boredom

[Edit: Still working out some kinks in the color scheme with the text...ugh.]

New color scheme! Halloweeny, no? I love Halloween. It is the best. I don't know what to be this year. Better start brainstorming.

They will see me and know fear.

 Speaking of storms, here is a poem I typed on my phone while waiting for the bus in the rain yesterday.

The rains came

And I saw myself

The wind brought memories

Of what was and

What will be

Known to me

Soon when I find the strength

To look up

Done a little writing, mostly in transit. Here's another rain inspired one, composed while I was on the bus to DC to visit my family; Hurricane Irene was on its way there.

Quick dark clouds

Today my friend

See them running

Far above us?

Racing to destiny

Damp shiny hooves

Their winnies shattering

the afternoon sky

Sounds like God

Trying to tear

Open the Heavens

It almost makes

Me believe again

As I was typing it out just now I realized I had a 3 word structure in the first few lines, so I tweaked the rest of the poem to fit. Yay for experimentation!

First post since June, trying to discipline myself and write more frequently. 

-C

Girl w/t Dragon Tattoo Poster (NSFW)

Okay. Okay. From my understanding, having neither read the books nor seen the Swedish films, Mara's character Lisbeth Salander is like this totally badass, punk-goth, technowizard, tough as nails broad, and also gets raped at one point. And that the books deal with issues of violence against women and specifically, rape. So, part of me is really NOT okay with this poster. Because it shows her all vulnerable, but in a "sexy" way, with the oh-so yummy Daniel Craig behind her (protecting? Comforting?), in short Hollywooding a character who is supposed to be sexy because of her essential "je ne sais quoi"/not-giving a fuck attitude, not because she's HOT. Plus, sexualizing a rape victim. So there's that. But then, it's also not good to define someone by their victimhood. With the I Spit On Your Grave poster debacle, this was an issue, probably more so because the protagonist's rape is the impetus for the entire film. So actively highlighting her fuckability on the poster is pretty, well, fucked up.


But then. But then.
This poster is so hot. I mean. Daniel Craig, for one. And then, Rooney Mara. 

Rawr. But then I feel like a bad feminist for thinking it's hot.  And then I'm like, "No, it's fine, they're sexy! I can't help it!" (which, yeah, I can't change what I respond to visually). Which is the absolute, horrifying brilliance of it all.  
This poster is problematic not just because it shows the female protagonist half-naked while the man remains clothed, not just because she's in a position vulnerable to his; it's problematic because of all of those things and the fact that it IS sexy. Something about this image is effective.  If it wasn't such an attractive poster, I might not give a hoot. But that's the brilliance of advertising; it uses images people respond to sell a product, regardless of the message that image might be sending and/or reinforcing.  So for me to say I'm not going to think critically about it because I like it is not smart and it's not going to solve anything.


We can't just ignore the unsavory aspects of pop culture when it has to do with a product we like.  If we turn a blind eye to our favorite artists, then we're hypocrites and we're not accomplishing anything.  Now, I'll probably see the movie.  I guess my point is, go ahead and like what you like, as long as you acknowledge the problems inherent in liking said thing and don't give something a pass because it happens to suit your personal tastes.  


-C

Canucks Fan WTF

This blog has photos of Canucks fans RIOTING after Game 7 last night. RIOTING. People.

What. The. FUCK.

Rioting? Really? Okay, I know I've told many of my sports fans friends that just because sports are not my thing doesn't mean I can't appreciate sports culture, but then something like this happens and I just....I just can't. I don't get the hero worship of accused rapists, I don't get why you would be a fan of the Yankees versus the Sox. Do you know any of them personally? Did you all grow up in the city you're supposedly representing? What makes one team better than another on that level? Yeah, they're all good at what they do, mostly. Which is cool. For example, I get really into the Olympics, because holy shit, the human body's ability is amazing. And I get that playing sports is fun. But. You didn't fucking see me starting a riot when Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring didn't get Best Picture at the Oscars. Why? BECAUSE IT'S NOT ACTUALLY IMPORTANT. It's not.

If you're so fucking angry, how about you riot about something that ACTUALLY MATTERS. Like the unemployment rate. Or the attack on reproductive rights. Or that fact that gay people still can't get married. Or the fact that our military is fucking intervening left and right and our families are DYING abroad for NO REASON. How about you put that anger to use?

But no. Your sports team lost. They lost a game that they could potentially win next year.

I hope several hundred arrests were made and those thoughtless dude-bro idiots are fucking ashamed of themselves.

Apologies to my sports loving friends and family. I know you're not all crazy. But sometimes I wonder.

-C

Heaven Is Silly

So I'm rusty writing wise, but I've been itching to get this idea out of my brain. Debate amongst yourselves! Or with me. Or with yourself. It's all good.

-C

"I regard the brain as a computer which will stop working when its components fail. There is no heaven or afterlife for broken down computers; that is a fairy story for people afraid of the dark," -Stephen Hawking

“Over the course of human evolution, as each group of people became gradually aware of the enormity of its isolation in the cosmos and of the precariousness of its hold on survival, it developed myths and beliefs to transform the random, crushing forces of the universe into manageable, or at least understandable, patterns. One of the major functions of every culture has been to shield its members from chaos, to reassure them of their importance and ultimate success.” - Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, Flow

It is in our nature to question, and that makes us different from every other organism on the planet (that we know of). That may be a good case for divine intervention having a hand in our creation, but disproving the existence of god and/or an afterlife is a fruitless task and not what I’m concerned with. Despite our inquisitive natures it seems we are often reluctant to question our cultural traditions and beliefs and instead rationalize them to a comical level. When I was a kid, I believed in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny. On my way to adulthood I stopped believing in them because, well, they're NOT REAL (though I was thoroughly disappointed. I mean, a fairy that pays you for a naturally occurring process you have no control over? How about a period fairy? Hell to the yes.) I think we would do well to question our beliefs a little more often, specifically the belief in an afterlife. But then, Santa Claus isn’t the last bastion between the tiny speck of dust in the cosmos that is humanity and nothingness. Belief in an afterlife can be that cozy warm blanket keeping the never-ending night at bay. What people may not realize is that such a belief, while heartening, can also reinforce negative patterns.

We are taught that many shitty things are simply “a part of life.” And that’s that. Of course, there’s not a whole lot you can do about your taxes and that sort of outside circumstance, but it seems like people just sort of accept the status quo of life without ANY challenge. Perhaps our complacency is in part due to the ingrained belief that one day, somehow, everything will be alright. One day, when we die, God/whoever will welcome us into heaven and all the parking tickets and traffic and bad sex and unfulfilling jobs and hunger and disease and war and all the shit we put up with in our corporeal lives will have been worth it. If it were true, it would be AWESOME. Seventy odd years of on-off suffering with occasional sparkly moments of joy in exchange for a never-ending Ecstasy trip when I kick the bucket? Sign. Me. Up.


(More after the JUMP. JUMP! JUMP, YOU FOOLS!)

Argh!

Too since I last blogged. NOT GOOD. Hence, update. With new poem? I think yes.

"It's Not Me, It's You"

4/4/11

I am not responsible
for your reactions
No matter how grotesque you
might find my revelations
nor how nauseous
you get when
I spit and retch my truth
into your ears
by accident
I am not responsible for the color of your eyes
Similarly, I am as responsible for your outbursts
as I am for the color
of an orange.
Let there be no more blaming
me for your inability
to reign in your beast
-- it’s your Inner Animal,
not mine
I don’t expect you to clean
my cat’s shit box
So why expect me to apologize
when you shit yourself?


Peace and bunnies


-C

RIP Tully, Poem, Planned Parenthood

Hey ho there! Sad news: One of my family dogs, Tully, is really sick and we have to have her put down. I'm taking the bus down to DC tomorrow morning to spend some QT with the fam. I found out during work, too, which sucked. 


In other news, I went to Planned Parenthood this morning for a routine exam. Lemme just say: thank the magic sky people for those folks. I didn't have to pay anything (whoo low income! No, wait....) and I got 2 months of birth control. Hooray! I did have to wait a long time, but I was at the busiest one in the city, apparently the Bronx PP is much quicker. But an overheard exchange inspired this new poem.
Having this experience validates my rage against those who want it de-funded. They provide crucial health services. If there are other place that do this with the efficacy and conscientiousness of the PP staff, point them out, please. While my Catholic-conservative shaped mind recoils a little at the thought of suckling at the government teat  (I qualified for Medicaid, which covers OB/GYN), I was able to procure services (crucial ones) that I would not otherwise be able to. I may write about this more in depth later.


"Cecily" 4.13.11


Hello, how are you today?
Can you tell how many times I've rehearsed this?
"Hello, my name is,"
Reversed this
custom anyway I can
Turn it upside down,
invert it above the altar
to try and make it less demeaning?
Modern ritual
No one means it any more
Than they mean
"Have a nice day"
It is sacred and crass
in its ubiquity 
One day I'll stop
And tear their institution down
One day I'll stop 
And spit on their stone idols of false faces
One day I'll stop
And burn their propaganda till it's more fine than dust
One day I'll stop.




Peace,
-C

"Family", or "I Need To Work On My Title Creation Skills"

My seven year-old cousin is in town from the West Coast with my mother's brother; the man I partially credit for my obsession/love of Hollywood and sci-fi horror (I remember him showing my and my siblings the films Them!, The Blob, and the Black Scorpion, among others; he is also responsible for my fear of the Blob...see, giant bugs can be killed with weapons, but the Blob...the Blob just keeps coming...*shiver*).

I took them to the Jekyll & Hyde Club on 58th & 6th ave; a source of great entertainment at the time and fond memories now of when I was a kid visiting the Big Apple. My cousin is adorable and hilarious (though not always intentionally so). She told me I look like Cher, then 10 minutes later told me I looked like Katy Perry. I'm not sure how I feel about that. But hey, Cher still looks amazing and Katy Perry's pretty cute, so win-win. Though I suspect it's merely a 7 year-old's comparisons of people with dark hair and bangs more than anything else, not magical-child's intuition prophesying my future diva-dom. But a girl can dream, right?

Seeing my cousin and uncle for the first time in years (haven't seen Shelby since she was about 2) was gratifying. I've very close with my family in some ways, less so in others. I've always had a very hard time actually picking up the phone and calling folks, even family. I have a friend who talks to his mom every day. I'm the opposite. Love my ma, but I've talked to her maybe two or three times since Christmas. Sometimes the distance from my family is refreshing, sometimes it's not. Like all things regarding family, it's complicated. Seeing family, particularly family I haven't seen in years, reminded me of what that connection means to me and has given me pause to reflect on the distance I've established and why.

So here's a poem about communication. I posted the unfinished version last post; this is the update. I may continue to work it.

03.30.11 (updated 3.4.11)
“Permission to Unhinge”

Alpha One this is Charlie Company
Requesting
Permission to engage the enemy
on all fronts
Not just the front in my skull
The open front of rat-tat-tat-tat
Tattoo on my lips of the words
I keep trying to say
Do you copy? I said
Do you copy?
Do you copy the edge in my voice
as I tremble further out onto the edge
of my limits to endure
I am requesting permission
I need PERMISSION
to engage the incoming hostiles
of my making

Requesting permission to express
sensory overload
Requesting permission to engage in a dialogue
(it might even be a peaceful one)
System Failure impending
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot
Do you copy?
(do you want to?)
Are you even there?
(it’s been a long time)
Are -
Can you-
Can you he-
Hear me?
Hear me.
I want to get my message across
but the signal isn’t clear
Too much static
Hard for me to interpret
The radio silence.
Waiting for me to engage?
Waiting for me to make the call
But it’s so hard to read minds via walkie-talkie
Kssssssshhhhhhh
Permission denied.
Transmission: incomplete.


Peace,

-C