j'en conviens

I am under a cloud at school.

I was just out for a walkie when I happened upon this note - it looked like a school-aged child had written it to his chum.

Hi Chemlawn,

I just had this dream. I was at an art museum with Coombs, but we
were separated. I was going to visit you in Ecuador, so I went
outside to write you a note. There were plastic cafeteria-style
folding tables set up on the lawn. I had a big newspaper-sized piece
of newsprint folded in half, and I wrote my note on it. At the top, I
wrote "Fascicle" in big letters in ink with a brush. This was my idea
of a bookbinding joke. Except I didn't space it right, and ended up
having to write it like this:

Fascicl-
e.

Coombs was in line at one of the tables to buy a tostada or
something, so I joined her. There were big fried tortillas shaped
like sun hats on the table. A mule came over and started eating one
of them, but the guy behind the table didn't seem to mind. I tried to
push the mule away, but it was stubborn.

How are you?

I also found these:

International Transgender Day of Remembrance

I fully aim, to get my soul known again
As the maniac, the saint, the sinner, the drinker, the thinker, the queer
I am the WORKS, the whole WORKS
And it's not 'till you have called me all of these things
That I feel satisfied, I feel satisfied.


There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique, and if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium; and be lost. The world will not have it. It is not your business to determine how good it is, not how it compares with other expression. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open.

Anti-Gay, Anti-Family
By DAN SAVAGE

New York Times Op-Ed, November 11, 2008

Countless Americans, gay and otherwise, are still mourning — and social conservatives are still celebrating — the approval last Tuesday of anti-gay-marriage amendments in Florida, Arizona and, most heartbreaking, California, where Proposition 8 stripped same-sex couples of their right to wed. Eighteen thousand same-sex couples were legally married in California this past summer and fall; their marriages are now in limbo.

But while Californians march and gay activists contemplate a national boycott of Utah — the Mormon Church largely bankrolled Proposition 8 — an even more ominous new law in Arkansas has drawn little notice.

That state’s Proposed Initiative Act No. 1, approved by nearly 57 percent of voters last week, bans people who are “cohabitating outside a valid marriage” from serving as foster parents or adopting children. While the measure bans both gay and straight members of cohabitating couples as foster or adoptive parents, the Arkansas Family Council wrote it expressly to thwart “the gay agenda.” Right now, there are 3,700 other children across Arkansas in state custody; 1,000 of them are available for adoption. The overwhelming majority of these children have been abused, neglected or abandoned by their heterosexual parents.

Even before the law passed, the state estimated that it had only about a quarter of the foster parents it needed. Beginning on Jan. 1, a grandmother in Arkansas cohabitating with her opposite-sex partner because marrying might reduce their pension benefits is barred from taking in her own grandchild; a gay man living with his male partner cannot adopt his deceased sister’s children.

Social conservatives are threatening to roll out Arkansas-style adoption bans in other states. And the timing couldn’t be worse: in tough economic times, the numbers of abused and neglected children in need of foster care rises. But good times or bad, no movement that would turn away qualified parents and condemn children to a broken foster care system should be considered “pro-family.”

Most ominous, once “pro-family” groups start arguing that gay couples are unfit to raise children we might adopt, how long before they argue that we’re unfit to raise those we’ve already adopted? If lesbian couples are unfit to care for foster children, are they fit to care for their own biological children?

The loss in California last week was heartbreaking. But what may be coming next is terrifying.

Happy Belated Birthday, Jim'n'Jesse!

blog-propas

I hear my gentleman friend has started a blog. I hope he will let me know where it is so I can advertise it!

I'd really like to direct everyone to subjectify - lexi's photoportraits blog.

Zoe's Obama victory montage is gorgeous, and

Garmonic is harsh and delicate.

I've been spending a lot of time listening to the "Slow Jams" mix my friend Lowy gave me, and I realized I'd be listening to the songs and then all of a sudden get these hurt feelings from seemingly harmless sex lyrics. Lines like, "that's what keeps me coming back to you" or "now's the time I feel like making dreams come true". Lyrics like these are in a different class from obviously annoying lyrics like "If I'd have known the girl next door would have been you..." or the mundane/fabulous R. Kelly lyrics like "Baby, don't bring your girlfriend to eat cause I'm gonna flirt." No, what was happening was more personal. I started thinking about it and I realized a lot of the songs on the mix are all about how amazing and transcendent and beautiful sex is. That should have made me happy, but instead it was bothering me. There I was in high school where every element of the relationship was destructive except for the tenderness of a few sacred moments during which my relevance could not be denied. Okay, he keeps running back to me for love, but he wouldn't have to keep running back if he didn't run away in the first place. Sex was the only place without insults, meanness, and misunderstandings, so it felt like the best, most connected blissful respite. That gentle moment doesn't last - other insecurities and distances set in. This is a dynamic I would like to resist, so these songs are pushing my buttons.

Anthony Hamilton's "Charlene" isn't an example of this - its just a lovely song.

It is pleasurable to spelunk in this way. There is a lot to sort through, but its not scary. Jophet reminds me of how important the moments of our unique subjectivity are.

A Seminal Moment

A long, dark car ride is on my mind. Stopping for Combos on November 4 at a convenience store on Route 4 called Mike's, I thought about the mysterious movie theater candy, "Mike 'n' Ike's". Now, when I pass by, my eyes always look for it. "Here's the Mike's where I got Combo's." A chilly evening the month before looking out the window of the dormitory, listening to the ocean. During the long, dark car ride, I didn't want to be sitting there with my eyes on the road. I felt alone in a completely new way. I wanted to be cuddled up in bed. But no such luck, because of the work schedule. This is what I mean when I say I thought I was invincible. Was I wrong? I don't know, because I wouldn't like to think I've been defeated. Today I wore a dragon fly pin and special earrings. These things adorn me and they help me remember to be calm and grateful, to remember everything, not just the sweet sad things, but also the things that are joyous, beautiful, and actually better today than they were in 2003. I don't need everything to be better, but its all right to admit that some things are.

I Have Been In You

Dancers can be so competetive. Having just returned from a magical visit to the seaside sanatorium - my homeopath said the sea air would be good for my bronchioles - the scales are falling from my eyes. There certainly is a lot of whispering and gossipy giggling, a lot of manly "'sup dude"'s conspicuously not directed at Lenya, certainly quite a bit of griping about our modern dance instructor. Now one of the lovely ladies I have grown to admire, Raina, tells me she is thinking about leaving in December. Well, there's still a long time between now and December. Just visiting the sanatorium helped me keep a broad perspective - just think, Lenya could come back and dance at the sanatorium some day, and that day may not be too far off. Yes, we just need to surround ourselves with people who are working on the difficult lifts - not people who want to go cutting the tips out of our pointe shoes, as they say.
Well, it turns out that the Carolina Chocolate Drops are performing a little show tonight, and I'm thinking about going even though we are having individual pirouette critiques on Friday...

Date: 20 September, 2008
Event: Yard Sale
Location: Olive Street, Media PA
Condition: Mint
Format: Vinyl
Price: US $1.00

The Mayor's Bench

Ludds, I remember painting the barn and listening to this voice.

Ludds

In my waking life not much is happening besides social adjustment and "hard science," and by that I mean "hard Etruscan grammar". But my dreams have been more rich. Here's another one:

I am at Friends' Central, though I am not a child. Rachael L. has been kidnapped by a cult and killed and I vow to go back in time to rescue her. I think about recruiting two friends to come with me for help, but logistically this doesn't work out. I go by myself, but the dream quickly becomes a nightmare when I try to infiltrate the cult but I get found out and they kidnap me and they're going to kill me, and THEN kill Rachael L. I think to myself, "What a waste, both of us dead!" The cult is made up of men who are very athletic and strong. Actually Sol is one of them, and when I interact with them, I don't sense malice and I don't feel vivid fear, just the clarity of their physical dominance over me. I try to imagine what I can do to escape, and my mind is filled with humiliating images of them holding me down with little effort as I struggle and tire.

But then, when I least expect it, my chance comes - they are distracted, the stays are slackened, I escape by my wits! Stealthily I sneak away, from the back playground toward Shallcross and the lean-to. I can just see all the people, and FREEDOM up by the new Science building...I walk a little faster, I'm almost there - but the Men are looking for me - they've noticed I am gone. I see them searching back by the playground - two have spotted me! I run but in my mind I know how much faster and stronger they are. Almost immediately they are bearing down upon me. I can still see the people by the new Science building. I am screaming for help but they don't hear me! I think to myself in a panic, "If only Abel was here to fight them off!" Then the two men have pounced. I am on the ground reaching out in the direction I was running. They've caught me and I know they will kill me.

Its not about Gender, its about the Agenda.

* Palin is strongly anti-choice, opposing abortion even in the case of
rape or incest. THREE SUPREME COURT JUDGES COULD BE SEATED BY THE NEXT ADMINISTRATION, AND JOHN MCCAIN IS COMMITTED TO OVERTURNING ROE V. WADE!
* She supported right-wing extremist Pat Buchanan for president in 2000.
* Her pastor said that attacks on Israel are because the Jews haven't accepted Christ as their personal Lord and Savior.
* Palin thinks creationism should be taught in public schools.
* She's doesn't think humans are the cause of climate change.
* She was elected Alaska's governor a little over a year and a half ago.
Her previous office was mayor of Wasilla, a small town outside
Anchorage. She has no foreign policy experience.
* She's solidly in line with John McCain's "Big Oil first" energy
policy. She's pushed hard for more oil drilling and says renewables
won't be ready for years. She also sued the Bush administration for
listing polar bears as an endangered species--she was worried it would
interfere with more oil drilling in Alaska.
* How closely did John McCain vet this choice? He met Sarah Palin once
at a meeting. They spoke a second time, last Sunday, when he called
her about being vice-president. Then he offered her the position.

I've learned my lesson

Mixing pop and politics, one of my new class mates asked me the other day about what I've been doing the past few years. I told her and she responded, "Good for you!"

Siyavash was giving a lesson in the Persian art of dream interpretation, and he told me that one never interprets the early morning dreams by the same rules as the deep-sleep dreams. But he never instructed me on the interpretation of these early morning dreams. At 6:15 this morning, I began dreaming that I was back in Santa Clara in the woods near the top of the Hill. I was working with some amalgamated dream character in a barn when a door to door missionary came in. I hid in the hay loft to listen, where I heard the missionary tell my mentor (for I was an apprentice), "What you are doing here is wrong. Its going to come to an end one way or another - either you end it or God will. Who is listening up in the hay loft?" So I came down. I knew the missionary was referring to abortion. She took me aside gently and said, "You're going to be pregnant again soon." (By the way this is not true) I said, "That's all right because now I want to be." Then I came down the hill and there was some camp-like gathering of people. Abel and I were declaring our eternal freedom from marriage. I walked to the edge of the quarry-pond, speaking on the tin-can to Ian Letters. He had met Bryn, said he liked her very much and she had climbed naked under the covers with him. But then I said something wrong and he was upset and upset with me. We discussed the situation vehemently while I walked through the woods to a quarry pond. Things were resolved, we parted on good terms, and as I looked out over the water, a ghost-like figure in a black gown was gliding toward me ethereally. The realization came over me that this was Kevin Messman. As he floated closer, his mesmerizing stare turned into more of a playful smile, and he told me enthusiastically that if I wanted to go swimming, I better do it now because the pond belonged to Kate Marks' parents and they happened to be out for a few hours. "Right, Kate?" and there was Kate Marks, suddenly sitting on a soft bed of pine needles, nodding. "I myself would come here every day if I could," said Kevin.
I think this dream means that I miss my friends and good swimming holes.

What a whirlwind the last few months have been - a Whale-Tribe initiation ceremony. Not initiating her into the tribe so much as the silent touching of foreheads, the cultivation of radical honesty from the beginning. There was a special order to whom we touched foreheads with, it made a particular kind of sense. For Lenya, she thought she understood the logic from the beginning, but she wasn't quite right - she was humbled. There were blessed trips to Morocco, Nebraska, Chicago, Santa Clara, and Providence. A feeling of tender devotion to the present time and to the future was growing, as evidenced by:

- Rosa bravely moving to San Francisco and now having an apartment that overlooks the Bay (!?!)
- Zoe and Luca's handfasting ("You are the jewel buried deep in the Earth.")
- Lynn and Mike giving Lenya the honor of being their Doula during Lynn's pregnancy and the birth of their daughter
- Jim and Jesse diving with Lenya into a cold ocean and a clear pond and floating there, trusting that they wouldn't sink and drown, and the sun shining down on them
- Siyavash teaching Lenya to let go of the romantic dream of realization, them instead opening their eyes and absorbing the Universe - "There is the joyful face you've been longing to see!"
- Jophet instructing Lenya in Tandava, the Sacred Dance of Shiva, the origin of all movement, suspended naked in dark blueberry space
- Jophet and Lenya preparing feasts of calcium-rich foods, adding strengthening layers to their Whale-bone.
- Jophet beginning/continuing the intensive study of mycology

While these events were occurring, Lenya thought she was preparing in some quiet flicker in her mind, for her reunion with Abel Santamaria. "These moments, beautiful present, not laden with painful nostalgia but thriving in a deep sweet soil of history, will give me a frame of reference so I will be less unsettled when I see Abel again."

Lenya, did you really think that?

A Relevant Discipline

Lenya is slowly adjusting to my intensive Classics program here in the Windy City. It seems like a good group of people - humble and committed to serving others through Latin and Greek.

Rosa.....Rosa? ROSA!!

This is exciting and scary!! You better come back in time to start the intentional community!

ay ay ay

I can't stand it! I love you all so maach!

7/20/08

Gojitmal

Back in like 2000 Zoe recommended this Korean movie to me, "Lies" it was called. I picked it up one night while visiting my mom. I spent most of the film staring in a sort of intrigued, tickled and horrified trance, coming-to every once in a while to lower the volume in flushed embarrassment. I remember having the impression that it was over the top - the passion too desperate, the sex scenes so long that they became exhausting - but I liked it, and have wanted to watch it again ever since.

Well, come to find out that right around the corner at Bloomsburg VideoStop, Gojitmal/Lies sits innocently on the shelf in the foreign section, where, because it has subtitles, no one would guess that it actually belongs in the pornography section. I scooped it right up, wondering if it had only been the fireworks of the early twenties that had made me like it before - would I find it distasteful, offensive, crass, pathetic? I remembered certain scenes that had given me a nervous, slightly shocked feeling, and I was pleased to discover that I didn't have any of that the second time around. Everything they did just seemed natural and full of tender passion and human experience. I think I understand the characters better than before, and maybe just having seen it before took some of the surprise out of it. Maybe you'd like to give it a try.

Let's Remove Our Clothes and Frolic Naked Among the Rocks

Yesterday we were scampering on the Morroccan granite and sitting in a saucer of milk; today I did wend my way out to the farthest marshes of the Kansas Road. You were right, Jophet - I was unprepared for the punch of Unity I would feel when the blue cottages of the Strawberry Patch came into view. I drove in and parked where I always had, in between the second and third cabins, got out and saw all around me exhausted bodies curled up together in bunks, sprawled in the grass strewn with empties, working out the kinks of "Dirty Old Town" or "Frauline", bringing a stack of plates and Sriratch out to the picnic tables, brushing their teeth at the spigot, giving/receiving piggy back rides to and from the lunch truck (Dame de tu lonche, mami!)retiring by 9pm, and etcetera.

A little farther up the road was the bathing stream where shimmery ghosts scrubbed themselves clean with pebbles and the greek olive oil soap was passed around until it finally came to rest in its Teddy Peanut Butter Jar.

I stopped for fuel at the Airline Diner and relieved them of their last whoopie pie (it was whipped creamy), and then I drove for five more hours back to Santa Clara. I stopped in on Frank and Paloma and we caught up for a bit. I told Frank what Jophet had said, about how some people in Cherryfield think that the Strawberry Patch housing is exploitative, and he shot back a lovely, familiar dismissive look as he noted that it was always better than where we were living for the rest of those years - "Running water right next to the house!" "Reliable stoves!" "A refridgerator!" "An outlet!" "Showers!" They loaded me up with fat blueberries and snap peas and sent me on my way back to Bloomsburg.

I heart carving spoons!

Jesse Ruocco, You are the Greatest!

Rosa & Len in Brooklyn

I love this picture.

Yesterday I was curled up on the floor in a fetal position listening to Asa read these words from a translation of the Yoga Spandakarika, the Song of the Sacred Tremor:

"How to be in harmony with the cosmos? It seems that certain preliminaries are indispensible: Rid yourself of all beliefs; leave metaphysics to the sectarians of the absurd; understand that hope is fear gone bad; confront reality directly; stop upholding the romantic dream of realization; forget sentimental neurosis; play with your own limits; look at your confusion; confront life without the bric-a-brac of the religious and the spiritual - without, for all that, becoming a narrow-minded materialist who would make a new God out of rationalism; dare to be alone; do not oppose Essence against reality; give yourself over to the pleasures of pure subjectivity; understand that everything is real; and finally, one day, know exhilarating silence. Can one say that such a person is a mystic? According to the Shaivites, yes. According to the Ch'an Masters, yes. According to the followers of Mahamudra, yes. In fact, all it takes is to say no to everything or to say yes to everything and to be an iconoclast who goes so far that he forgets the vehicle that brought him to this form of radical thinking. In short, it takes crazy wisdom."

Then Denise spoke about how being open is not just about collapsing into whatever painful situation that may arise, but also about developing the strength to be in that situation in a useful way. Listening to this stuff while performing various unprecedented arm balances made me feel like I am capable of anything.

This is sort of what the Utopalypse was like.

I discovered today that carving wood with a chisel and listening to it take shape as it splits along the grain is like reading the altheiometer. Working on my second spoon today, I decided to shape it by hand instead of with the band saw, (which is probably how you always do it, Jophet, right?) and I was all full of mental clarity and in communication with the wood. I felt like we were working together to create something, and that thing we were creating was what the wood was consensually becoming - it was very different than imposing my image on an inanimate object. What a good way to do it, much better than t'other.

Today, as Lenya was walking out of the door of the dance studio, I passed an elderly man who looked to be in his mid-eighties. Standing up straight, he would have been about five five, but he could not stand up straight. His back was hunched over and nearly horizontal, and his hips were turned to his right so both of his legs jutted out sharply. His pelvis also seemed to be tilted forward. He had white hair and a line of thick drool stretched down from his mouth by about seven inches. I could see the damp spots on his brown trousers where the saliva had broken and fell. In his left hand he carried a brown briefcase and his small steps carried him at a clip. I smiled at him as we passed and he looked up at me and gave me back a big bright smile. When I looked back a few moments later, I saw him slip into Mariela's Argentine Tango Room. Lenya was listening to my walkman and heard one of those pretty, breathy feminine voices that are so popular of late sing the line, "In my Present there is so much Past."
In other news, the garden is doing well. First lettuces, chives, basil, kale, radishes, and sungolds have been very soothing to Lenya's lucky heart. Don Bachardy came over for a spot of Arak this evening and he said the best, most true thing: "Everything I value in my life has come as a result of my queerness." I could have just kissed him for that.

There was one in Claremont, one on Sheep-Davis Road, one in White River Junction. Whenever there was welding to be done on the homestead in Santa Clara, we would get our gas tanks from Merriam Graves. When I was a midwife, I would ford the Merrimack River on my pony to get my oxygen tanks from Merriam Graves. Well, today at work the delivery lady was wearing a new uniform. Did it say the names of her company's founders? Did it seem to have any connection to place or history? No. The uniform she wore was printed with the bristly and awkward non-word "AirGas". Air-Gas?
"What happened to Merriam Graves?" I asked. "We were bought out," she replied. "Is "AirGas" a big company?" "Yes. Its Youge. They're all over the country, nationwide, you know. In fact, I don't even know where they are from...its...regional. They have all kinds of regional offices."

Raise up your head

Back in Bloomsburg, I would have to stand here for ten minutes staring at the screen in order to come up with something to say besides: love, friendship, family, trust, permutations, permeation, permanence, permanent markers, life is long.

If you go to songza.com and search for "The Finches The Road," you will hear a good song. I recommend the fourth selection from the top.

Now the party is started, and the ink in the skin on Ralu's back reads,

"What a piece of work is a man
How noble in reason
How infinite in faculties
In form and moving
how express and admirable
In action how like an angel
In apprehension how like a god
The beauty of the world
the paragon of animals
And yet, to me, what is
this quintessence of dust?
Man delights not me."

Rahel, the Unicorn of the Utopalypse, purifies nuclear waste with the touch of her horn. She is a powerful steed drawing the plough through the Earth so that every mouth can be fed; the pale horse of Death.

There is also a Siren and a Shaman Mechanic in our colony.

Utopalips

Many of us are relaxing our minds into this secret tide - I flew out of T.F. Green for my once-yearly return to Moldova and come to find out that the theme of Ralu's pre-Bastille Day Party is "The Utopalypse" (!) where we will all use Universal 500 model hand-grain mills, and at times the best footwear will be platform boots with crampons. Special prizes will be awarded to those who can withstand waterboarding for the most minutes and moustache trimming will be performed with an elegant scissor from Cronenberglandia. And then, when I calmed my mind and excused myself from the group work-day for a moment, this message came from the Dust:

"as the economy crumbles further under the weight of stacked illusions, we're going
to have to keep finding more creative ways to adapt. that might make us more
interdependent, more connected to one another. we're going to survive by unsettling
one another's lives a little more."

I shared it with the other buzzing bees and we have decided to make a banner of it for the party.

Beloved

I spent some time working on a personal statement. Maybe its ______, maybe it is _____________, but I'd like to share it with you. I'll be in Providence for the week, if anyone is reading this and wants to hang out.

In 2004, my good friend Emily asked me to be with her in the hospital when she gave birth to her son. She had expressed a great deal of concern during her pregnancy about the pain of childbirth, and she feared she would somehow fail at the immense task before her. During her difficult labor, which lasted more than thirty hours, friends and family did our best to encourage Emily, but it was clear to everyone in the room that the support of her midwife was helping her most of all. This woman was experienced enough to provide Emily with several coping techniques and comfort measures, and her expertise was a source of endurance and calm. She addressed Emily with a tone that was always respectful, yet she knew how to be assertive when Emily needed structure. Most importantly, she refused to give up on Emily, even when my incredibly exhausted friend wanted to give up on herself. Reflecting on the experience afterwards, I realized that the ordeal of childbirth allowed Emily to tap into a strength she had not known she possessed, and that her guide in finding this strength was her midwife.
I keep the memory of that experience with me in my journey into health care. My experiences in midwifery training were my first insight to anatomy, physiology, and the many processes of the childbearing years. As I have learned, my interests have grown beyond the scope of midwifery into the fields of medicine. My background in midwifery forms the foundation of my philosophy of health care, and helps to guide me as I work toward becoming a doctor. I have learned to see health care as a way to guide patients to their own strength. My dearest goal in becoming a doctor is to focus my life’s full energy on this purpose, for, in the words of Gwendolyn Brooks, “we are each other’s harvest; we are each other’s business; we are each other’s magnitude and bond.”

Zoe, I do.

Zoe, today you were born of your mom's mighty belly and the fierce look she shoots us from her pillow - "YOU did this to me!" I feel that we have a good sense of our boundaries, but you sink into who I am like two hands sink into a fifty gallon drum of dry soybeans. We have caressed our lovers, and we have both felt so lonely and panicked thinking of everything they couldn't see in us. We have struggled to show them, but all the while we have truly witnessed each other with the same love and care we sought from them.
Zoe Prizer, I promise to love and honor you in good times and bad, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live.

Happy Bloomsday, Jophet!

Joph - I am trying to rally for your potlatch! Touch and Go!
I love you, dear friend. Happy Birthday!

Like I'm Free of the Air I Breathe

Every morning when we have our seance with Artemis, she recites her vows:

Sentient beings are numberless - I vow to seek their salvation.
Desires are inexhaustible - I vow to be free of them.
The Logos is an endless sea - I vow to sail it truly.
The Way in unsurpassable - I vow to realize its truth.

This morning I awoke from a dream about being on a bus in Japan. I told the driver I wanted to go to Narita Airport and she told me I'd missed the last bus to Narita already. She said it kind of scoldingly so I smiled extra big and tried to play it like I didn't care. I thought, no big deal, I'll just call Li Wen Yuan and have a night out with him. But he is in prison. Then I was in Helene's house having a conversation with Lynn, who is pregnant and I am her doula. "Everything seems to be falling into place," I told her, "so why do I still feel unfulfilled?" When Lynn first told people she was pregnant, she was annoyed that they kept expecting her to be manically excited about it. They did not want to accept her ambivalence.

This dream was on my mind during the seance this morning, so I repeated to myself, "Make peace with your life."

I think some of the anxiety is the influence of the Shrew. She is a shrewd shrew - she keeps me honest. She has encouraged me to think a lot about some important experiences of the past few days, such as:

-Playing music on the porch with the neighbors who actually have a band, and though it was fun and I learned some good songs, I left feeling inadequate and definitely like a master of NO trades.

-Taking my Final Exam in Ancient Etruscan Composition - adrenaline rush.
-Going to the opening for the comics anthology Secrets and Lies in White River Junction, which was followed by a show by the wonderful treasure Pariah Beat. Walked along Connecticut River with Siyavash and a pack of small dogs belonging to various train hopping hobo band members. Then we met a really cute boy who came here from the city because he's in love with his farmer boyfriend, and now he's incredibly bored. He read our tarot cards and was quite insightful.

Two of the bands were from New Orleans, so I figured they might know Zoe from the Miss Rockaway. Turns out they did! There were also a few other connections there. It all made me feel very good about living here, plus I skanked my heart out and tried to enjoy how dorky I must have looked, rather than being embarrassed.

To tell you the truth, this was a very important evening for me. I felt self conscious about being a pre-med student at Bloomsburg, and for purely ego-driven reasons, I missed being able to say I lived in a cabin in the woods with no running water or electricity, or any number of other things like that that I used to be able to say. I remember feeling that way in Providence a year ago, watching Corrinne's eyes go all dreamy when Zoe was talking about Ida. I was all, "umm, remember me? I used to do some cool things, too! Did I mention the Feminist Health Center? Over here - could you look at me like that, please?" So silly.

One other aspect of that evening that was very important to me was the unspoken and absolutely fundamental importance of my exposure to other women with unshaven legs. Throughout my entire year at Bloomsburg, I have not encountered ONE other unshaven female leg, even at queer events. So I started telling myself, maybe its not that important, of course it looks weird when you wear a dress, you'll still be the same person, etc etc. And, really, it wouldn't be the first time. But I just knew in my heart I'd be doing it for the wrong reasons. So going to this show and feeling like my values were shared by the hobo heroes has reinfused me with hirsute pride.

I read that sometimes Buddhists make little cakes and lay them out as an offering to their neuroses. It is a way of saying thank you to these challenging thought patterns for giving you an opportunity to wake up and take another step in your practice. That would be a nice way to spend the afternoon!

Anticonsumerist Footwear

What do y'all think about the Adbusters shoes? It's a good can of worms.

Buffy, Season Eight

Throughout the past two years, this one Iraq correspondent, Jaime Tarabey, has covered the most personal and harrowing stories of the war that I have ever heard. One of her stories was about the sharp rise of anxiety and depression since the war began, in which she profiled a high school girl whose two best friends had been killed at school.
She also did story about how the war had increased both poverty and unemployment, and how many young women were now seeking jobs as corpse washers because it was the only source of dependable employment. Her reporting has always stood out in my mind, and I really respect her. So I was happy to hear her voice the other day as part of a series where NPR people read essays about a fictional character that has inspired them in some way.
Well, come to find out that the character who kept Jaime going during her years in Baghdad was Buffy!
You can listen to her essay here.

There have been Buffy comics for several years, and they haven't amounted to much more than geeky fan fiction, if I do say so myself. Now, however, Joss is involved, and actually the comic book IS Buffy Season Eight. Joss wrote a comic book called Frey, about a future Slayer, which was good not great. But the new Buffy comics are a different story. The art is good, the writing is good, and the story lines really have the genuine feeling and depth of the show. There are two trade paperbacks out now, and the second is even better than the first - there's a story arc with Faith that was as complex as anything on the show. Its a little harder for me to relate to Buffy in the new situation, since Sunnydale went from being "an outie to an innie" as Faith said in one issue, but then again Buffy was always a little distant. I never got as into it as you did, Zoe, when it was on TV, so I could imagine you not liking the comics because they are different from the show, or maybe you just don't want to go back to getting that into Buffy again, I don't know. Comics in general take some getting used to - the feeling is different, I think its written for a geekier audience, and I get annoyed with some of the sleazy fantasy cover art, but these really are good comics. Its different from the show, but on the other hand, Joss has complete creative freedom now.

Now Joss has taken over from my favorite comics writer, Grant Morrison (of Invisibles infamy), writing the Justice League of America comics. This is his new career, so check out the Buffy comics and let me know what you think.

As Far As Cho Fu Sa

Lenya Hates This Poem.

"Falling" by Patrick Phillips, from Boy. (c) University of Georgia Press,
2008.

The truth is
that I fall in love
so easily because
it's easy. It happens

a dozen times some days.
I've lived whole lives,
had children,
grown old, and died

in the arms of other women
in no more time
than it takes the 2-train
to get from City Hall

to Brooklyn,
which always brings me
back to you:
the only one

I fall in love with
at least once every day—
not because
there are no other

lovely women in the world,
but because each time,
dying in their arms
I call your name.

Lenya read this poem today in her "daily planner" and it gave her a sharp jab. She quickly skipped over the feelings of vulnerability and inadequacy that it stirred in her and decided instead to say, "I hate this poem." "Hate" is a word that Lenya doesn't like to use - her ballet teachers have tried to tell her how self-destructive it is. So she was practiced enough to look through the veil of her hatred into the little canyon of sad feelings beyond.

"Why," she asked herself, "why do we give so much in return for the most pathetic little scrap of affection? Why would we destroy ourselves trying to believe that we are getting enough, when it is not enough? You die in their arms? You call my name? How could it possibly be enough that you call my name while dying in their arms? I have also called your name every time. You could not hear me, your ears were blocked by your own voice. Perhaps, then, it is the sound of your own voice that you love."

"I hate this poem," Lenya had thought, and then she immediately felt concerned over her own hatred. She realized that even the strength and honesty of diffusing her own hatred could be turned against her. It occurred to her that one of her main motivations in diffusing her own hatred was avoiding conflict. If she was not very careful, she would use her own strength to silence herself. And because Lenya is very strong, she is quite capable of accomplishing this. "Why do we destroy ourselves trying to believe that we are getting enough? And how, "she thought, "do we convince ourselves that it is enough?" She considered this for a while.

"Emotions arise that could lead to conflict," pondered Lenya, "and then a habitual thought process begins. It usually takes the following form:

I need more from XXX.
Why do I need more from XXX? Because of my own weakness. Because I am unreasonably demanding.
Demanding is bad. Weak is bad.
How can I can be Not-Demanding-but-Accomodating and Strong? By eliminating my need.
How can I eliminate my need? By changing it into a want.
Its a want. I want more from XXX.
Well, we can't have everything we want. Get over it! If you go after everything you want, you are demanding! Demanding is bad. People who need other people to do things for them are sissies - its the worst of the feminine.
But isn't it also the worst of the feminine to sacrifice yourself so others will be happy?
Yes, but if we call it something different than sacrifice, you can get away with it.
What should I call it?
Call it...tolerance.
Call it...the deconstruction of patriarchal jealousy.
Call it...a disciplined detachment from hysterical emotions.
Call it...working on yourself, and then pick your interpretation:
"I'm working through my issues," or "I'm having some work done so I can be beautiful."
Good, now I have some tools for "improving myself" and avoiding conflict, so
I don't want more from XXX anymore.

Well that is total BS and I'm sick of it!" thought Lenya.
"I'm not doing that ANY MORE and you shouldn't either!"

Good for Lenya! I'm very proud of her.

Miley Cyrus Exploits Young Girls.

photograph by Susan Sontag

As soon as a scandal broke out, Miley Cyrus claimed that she had been "manipulated" by Annie Liebowitz, basically pulling the "I'm just a girl!" defense. Annie Liebowitz and Vanity Fair have been accused of immorality, but in truth, what Miley Cyrus does every day of her life on the Disney Channel is far more disturbing, and far more damaging to the self-esteem and well-being of young women.

The sexual dynamics on the Disney channel are scary. Dan Savage said recently that its the only thing on TV his son is not allowed to watch. There is a superficial, materialistic, judgmental sexuality beneath every move the Disney teens make, informing both girls and boys about acceptably gendered bodies and behavior. Honesty about sex is highly offensive in this arena, because in reality girls do have beauty, agency, and sexuality, and if they found out about it they would become less efficient as consumers.

Disney accused Vanity Fair of exploiting a young girl to sell magazines, but the Disney empire is being stitched together by young girls all over the world - some of them in the sweatshops where all the cheap products Miley Cyrus advertises for them are made, and some of them being baby-sat by the TV, learning the rules of engagement.

Its clear that Miley isn't the enemy here, that there are larger market forces at work. In fact, Disney probably pressured her to denounce Liebowitz. But when she played the victim, she denied her own agency as a girl, and we shouldn't make the same mistake.

Happy Birthday, Rosa!

The second of May was Rosa's birthday.
Rosa, you go girl! I have learned so much about friendship from you - I think its fair to say that I don't have a single other truly dependable friendship that has been through so much direct conflict to become something so terrificly wonderful. You give excellent advice - insightful, pragmatic, and encouraging - and you have let me in on so many great things in life - the whale skeleton, Alex (Pepperberg, not Lipsitt, though he's great, too.), Tufte, Nude Vampire, the MIT museum, muhamara, osprey, I could go on. The bodhisatva still has the scars of the silken tofu chocolate pudding fight - I had never physically expressed so much anger and resentment, and rarely have since. Until the end of my days, I hope to hang on to my memory of us biking/running to see Eraserhead. I have the best picture of us - we both look terribly ugly and terribly happy, with toothy grins from ear to ear. You are an artist who is impressed by life. I'm so grateful that the LIC kids threw their parties so I could give you back your Shady Hill yearbook and we could start talking again.

By the way, Jane Horrocks should be so lucky.

Are you all with me now? Can I get a shout out for ROSA? I know I can!

The Brides on Tour

Pippa Bacca and Silvia Moro decided to create an art installation by hitchhiking throughout Europe and the Middle East in wedding dresses. They wrote:

Our dream is to hitch-hike across the war-torn areas of the Balkans and the Mediterranean – dressed as brides. That’s the only dress we’ll carry along - with all stains accumulated during the journey. We’ll visit artists and craftsmen along the way and stop at museums, foundations, cultural centres and youth clubs for the daily pacifist ritual/performance of personal hygiene and then interaction with the place, people, and their crafts.

Objectives
The goal is to explore and collect photographic and video evidences on the common Mediterranean culture. The expected route is through route is through North-Eastern Italy, Serbia, Bosnia, Bulgaria, Turkey, Lebanon, Palestine, Israel and Syria. At the end of the journey the dresses shall be exposed together with other evidences of the journey.

Pippa was raped and strangled to death in Turkey two weeks ago. The website archive for her journey still has an entry entitled, "Where are you, Pippa?", asking anyone who may have seen her to provide information on her whereabouts. Her sister said that people are asking her what Pippa was doing hitchhiking - the message there is "It is naive for a woman to think she will not be attacked." I feel it working in me, contributing to an underlying sense of anxiety. As I've gotten older, I've experienced a new feeling, too - looking back on my own experiences and realizing how lucky I am that it never happened to me. Like when Rachel Corrie was killed, I feel that this easily could have happened to me. When there was a "Take Back the Night" march here in Bloomsburg recently, I thought about going but ended up staying home. I have to admit that part of me didn't take it very seriously. I'm very sorry about that.

The Queer and Pleasant Danger

Kate Bornstein is so awesome! She told me I'll make a great doc, and to go write a good lab report, so that's what I have to go do, but first I have to share that somehow she forgot to pack a copy of Gender Outlaw on this trip, so when it came time to read "The Seven Year Itch" she said, "Does anyone in the audience have a copy of Gender Outlaw?" and I was all, "I do, I do, OMG, I do!" So guess what? Now it has a lipstick kiss in it!

Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater

Sandra Steingraber

Lila Downs

Kate Bornstein

These are inspiring people.   Amazingly, Lenya has had the opportunity to see them here in the past week - Kate Bornstein is in Bloomsburg tonight - and they are just reminders of what can happen when discipline combines with courage and a deep sense of human integrity.  Humans just shining forth like in Cocoon when the aliens took their fake skin off.  

Where does Lenya fit into all of this?  She beholds herself in the mirror and her eyes look tired.  There are little stray hairs everywhere.  Her marks are average, she trudges along.  She is pulled aside by her professor, who is surprised that she is not performing better on her exams.  She is focusing all of her mental energy on following along in the lecture, then in the two hours of extra office hours.  She is working hard at something that does not come naturally to her, and she admires herself for this.  There is a strange satisfaction that arises from it, like  from developing a relationship with a new and challenging asana.  Also like asana, it is exhausting and it causes the eruption of several unexpected emotions.  

"New Every Two" means "Old Every Two"

I've been a loyal customer of the XXX Cellular Services Corporation for two years now, and it is rewarding me with the right to upgrade my cellie so I can stay abreast of the latest trends. How often did you ever throw away a landline phone? I can't remember ever throwing one away, or one ever breaking.

I was being handed a rectangular package, wrapped in striped paper. Unwrapping one short end and looking inside, I saw the soothing, folded pages of a book, outlined in an old-fashioned black cover. "What a nice binding," I said. As I continued unwrapping the package, I withdrew the book and looked on its thick black side, where "The Tyranny of Words" was printed in gold. It became very clear at that moment that I was holding something special, but I still didn't know what it was. The inside cover showed a bookplate from Harvard, rebelliously stamped "WITHDRAWN from the Psychological Studies Collection." There was some delicate handwriting from 1938 and then a cryptic little inscription from Rosa Nilpferd. So I flipped through the few blank pages in the beginning to find out what this book was all about. Then there were a few more blank pages....ummm, wait, there certainly are a lot of them - ALL of the pages are blank! These words really were tyrannical - they retired to their Spring Palace and left the peasants empty handed! But what nice paper they left behind, complete with an elegant watermark...wait, what is going on? Was this book really a part of the Psychological Studies Collection at Harvard?

Come to find out that I was holding something very rare, indeed - the FIRST hand-bound book created cleverly by the artist Rosa Nilpferd, given to me as a journal, "The Tyranny of Words!"

Here's a little something for Rosa:

As this is a forum for Lenya to be honest about her feelings and not a forum for being shy, I feel I must express how lucky I am to have been hit with Mac truck full of Birthday Love. Damn! I just have to give a small profile of each gift to document it and to show my stumbling gratitude. But also to give others a glimpse into the brilliance of those who walk among us - I don't doubt that you will be both succored and inspired. I will do this sometime soon, as now I have to go back to an Ancient Etruscan Composition review session. In the mean time, if you would like to know why I feel I may be the luckiest person alive right now, please visit the blog of Zoe Prizer. Not only will you see just in general that anyone would be honored to have her as a friend, let alone to have known her and seen her grow and become the fiery force for good in the world that she is, to have benefited from her wisdom, her observant and vigilant solidarity, but you will also see why today, after turning 29, I have a deep sense of fulfillment and peace in my heart, having put all of my fears and anxieties aside for a time.

What have I done to deserve this!!

This afternoon Almodovar and I renewed our vows in a lavish Catholic ceremony. Carmen Maura was the maid of honor and Chus Lampreave presided. I wore a torn white dress and he, the red bolero costume of the matador. After all these years, I still feel that he completely understands me and expresses my philosophy of life with dizzying accuracy.

How do you hold the Ocean in your hands?

Maya Angelou wrote that as a child she became aware that women were dismissed as changeable and unable to make up their minds about anything. She so feared and resented this that she became determined never to change her mind, even when it was clear that she was wrong or when her stubbornness was causing problems in her relationships.

What is so bad about being able to see a situation from different perspectives? Why is that a sign of weakness? It is because we could be too easily fooled, taken advantage of. What is an advantage? It is letting someone else gain a vantage of our private parts outside of the holy institution of wedlock. So we have been cultivated out of the notion that the feminine mind cannot be objective because it is too easily swayed. If he talks to us just right we might let him get away with anything. That is why masculinity has developed itself as the Protector of both women and of Truth. Someone has to come in and say things like Good and Evil. Someone has to tell us what we really want, in spite of our selves. Otherwise words would have no meaning because definitions would be shifting all the time. Boundaries would be shifting all the time. Strange men could have their way with us because we are not capable of protecting our own orifices. Our father doesn't want to admit it, but it could happen to him, too. That is why he spends so much time guarding us. He also has an orifice. The line between inside him and outside him, between self and Other could be softened. We could all regress to seeing ourselves as an interconnected series of Motherchild units. He can't build a society on those shifting sands. Furthermore, his Institutions have to be guarded against those temptations.

Children of Men

Feeling very keenly the lack of feminine film directors in my life. Of the narratives I enjoy the most, their very subject seems to be masculinity - Men on dignified Quests and journeys, men proving themSelves, men showing RESTRAINT. Staying cool, maintaining some level of emotional detachment, not getting "carried away" not getting "hysterical", not being "too quick to pull the trigger" - it is a performance of sexual endurance. In order to inspire a sense of admiration/inadequacy/desire in men and to encourage the admiration/desire/self-hating split subjectivity of women, he has to show that no matter how you tempt him or push his buttons, he can hold back until exactly the right moment.
I made a list a while back of my favorite stories, and it turned out that not only were the main characters overwhelmingly male, there were very few female characters even marginally present. The recurring theme was moral integrity in the face of moral decrepitude and the main characters all exhibited tremendous restraint. The best example of this was "Chushingura - the Treasury of Loyal Retainers", a Japanese play in which the main character, a Ronin whose master was unjustly forced to commit sebuku, avenges his master by living for twelve years as a whoring drunk, deceiving even his own wife and children, in order to lull his enemy into a false sense of security. His enemies are very suspicious for the first few years. On one anniversary of his master's death, his enemy pays him a visit and treats him to a plate of squid. This presents a grievous dilemma to the main character. Both he and his enemy know that to eat seafood on the anniversary of his master's death goes against the code by which a Samurai swears to live. However, if he refuses the squid, his enemy will know he is still loyal to his dead master, and all chance of vengeance will be lost. So he lifts the squid to his lips and eats it. Later, when the moment of release he has worked so hard for finally arrives, he bitterly recalls the seafood as he drives his sword through the body of his enemy.

Consider also the great restraint of a young Al Pacino in the Godfather. He makes a calculating hero whose every move is dictated by a strict moral code. To emphasize his superior masculinity, he is set at odds with a privileged young hothead who loses control too easily. So in addition to proving his sexual virility, his restraint, his cool makes him stable and solid. Not easily influenced or swayed. The kind of man upon whom the pillars of society could be built. He is austere and steady, and does not exhibit any feminine markers of excess or caprice.

I pride myself on being able to see things from many different angles. I can take many different Positions - I am Flexible. This is the feminine strength that has been mangled into curse, this broad perspective. Why does this translate into vulnerability? Did you ever notice how when a woman gets hit on screen the physical implications, the noise, the music, the blood are all more significant than when a man gets hit? You cringe more. You feel more anxiety when she walks alone, as if her very bones could crumble under your fist. Women are walking targets - always already weakened. Al Pacino, on the other hand, can take a punch. He sees the world in black and white and you don't want to be on the wrong side of that line. This is why half a million Iraqi children died from sanctions even before this war started - this war that will be five years old next week.

There Ought to Be a Law

They just shouldn't be allowed to make movies in "English with a Spanish Accent," but Javier Bardem shines even brighter for the cholera-infested muck out of which he has tenderly arisen.  

Mike Newell's adaptation of "Love in the Time of Cholera" made me want to drop out of school and do this job right.   Are you with me?

Better Living Through Ancient Etruscan Grammar

I don't know exactly when it started - I guess I've had some creeping doubts all along - but over the past two weeks or so I've been fostering this growing pit of worry and self doubt about whether I will be miserable spending the next several years in school. The worst of it was yesterday, when a bleak feeling of being mistaken and misguided dominated my perspective. Rosa Nilpferd helped me through as per usual, and I decided to go to bed early. Well, I woke up with a weirdly positive attitude - everything that had seemed impossible the evening before suddenly seemed well within my grasp. To top it all off, today's Ancient Etruscan Grammar lecture was about the amazing and life-giving topic of entropy! It was beautiful and inspiring - why doesn't all the air in the room just zoom over to the corner and leave us to suffocate? Why don't the oceans just evaporate into the atmosphere? We have Disorder to thank for our circumstances. As Joanna said, "life is thundering blissful toward death in a stampede". And all caught up in the stampede are countless moments of conception, the products viable or not, where particles communicate with each other to harness some of the available energy in the Universe and divert it toward providing a temporary structure for themselves. The structure is always growing, learning, adapting, fading, and dying - it is our lives!

This afternoon Siyavash, Allison, and I went to a lecture by a Biotechnologist here at B.U. The title was "Feeding the World: Are Transgenic Plants Part of the Solution?" Well, this is an issue of great concern to me, surrounded by many misconceptions (please see previous paragraph) on "both sides of the aisle", as they say. This professor has done extensive research and is very excited about the contribution GM crops can make to improving nutrition throughout the world. Her talk was very interesting, and there were many areas in which I disagreed with her. During the Q&A, I told her about my concerns about environmental contamination and the disturbing trend of farmers becoming dependent on corporations to buy seeds every year, which goes against the goals of sustainability and self-sufficiency that she stated are important to her. She gave my question a nod and said we should speak during the reception. So, during the reception she said that in her lab they call Monsanto "Mon-satan" because such corporations actually make their work more difficult. The reason for this is that they push GM crops unethically and without sound scientific risk assessment, thereby undermining the concept that agricultural biotechnology can be used responsibly as one tool for decreasing poverty and improving nutrition. Well, I'm not saying I think it can or will be used that way, but it was fascinating to hear a scientist who works in this field criticize Monsanto that way.

Another interesting element of her talk was her work with a group called Harvest Plus, which is funded by the Gates Foundation. This group focuses on improving nutrition by promoting traditional breeding techniques. During the reception, she told me that the group sees biotechnology only as a last resort when traditional breeding techniques fail. I am impressed by this working philosophy and once again it seems like the Gates Foundation really did its homework.

This Is England

Three Days Late

Once as a thirteen-year-old, I was walking home from stacking firewood with some neighbors. Two older boys had been there - I'd never seen them before. The taller one had sort of shaggy long hair that seemed so daring - the shorter of the two was clean-cut in a socialist sort of way. They were perhaps seventeen, and the tall was reading passionately out loud as they walked. I quickened my step to catch up to them, all shy and obvious, and as I got closer I could hear the words come and go...

"Emerald and black and russet and olive...Where was his boyhood now?"

As I approached, I began to realize that something special was transpiring. Actually, it was clearly larger in scope than a small girl's nervous admiration. The boy had noticed me listening - they slowed their pace as he continued to read, now performing for an impressionable young stranger. He was describing a girl standing on the ocean's edge. "She seemed like one whom magic had changed into the likeness of a strange and beautiful seabird." His voice grew awed as he told us of her bare legs, pure but for where an emerald trail of seaweed fashioned itself as a sign upon the flesh, of the faint flame that trembled there on her cheek, of a cry from the soul.

The name of the book was a string of words put together in a way that didn't make sense to me. They bumped around in my head clumsily, and I liked to listen to myself say them: "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man." Knowing about this was surely something to be proud of - to incorporate into my Identity. James Joyce was born on a February the second. He claimed to be wondering if the photographer would lend him a quid.

Its Natural! (Hello.)

Nan Goldin, "Jimmy Paulette and Tabboo!"

Zoe, how right you are - blogging, making soup, scribbling in your journal, these things are not art. But sometimes, putting on makeup is.

One of my clearest memories from eighth grade is looking out the window of the chorus room at one of the big, 200 year old oak trees and wondering to myself, "Is it art?" More recently, I wondered the same thing while wandering the corridors of the New Museum...

An History Unearthed

My gentleman friend, Siyavash, recently transferred all of our grains and legumes into delicate ceramic urns decorated with Oriental miniatures. Beholding the resulting framework, I realized that the kitchen we share is enchanting. This morning we uncovered today's batch of yogurt and it was bubbling like a sourdough starter. It lives in its jar-home next to the kimchi, the sauerkraut from Frank and Paloma, the sauerreuben, the sour carrots, the kombucha, the kefir, the cheese or paneer in the tongue of his birth. All these things made by our two hands or hands of our beloved friends, and each with its own internal community of living beings making it every day more tasty and more dear to us. What contentment I felt with my own life at that moment!

Siyavash asked me, "What did you eat before you met me?"

"Collard greens, short grain organic brown rice prepard with a ratio of one and one-half cups of water to one cup of rice, dulse, celery, tomatoes, kimchi from Stoddard, a lot of raw garlic."

"And what did you eat when you lived with Abel Santamaria?"

When we share our lives and our home, eat the same thing as our companions every single day for nearly every meal so that even our digestive systems and sweat take on similar characteristics, this makes a great impression on us. There is no more thorough intimacy, because these acts penetrate the orifices beyond the point of any sexual act. They carry shared experience from the outside of the body to the very inside, and, as glucose and then ATP, to every last cell. They are transformed through muscle movement into each action we take as we live our lives. Sometimes it is a bond of romantic love that offers up this solidarity for us to masticate. On occasion, we may discover it as one part of a larger gathering of bodies toiling together, exhausting and rejuvenating themselves according to the same sunny cycle.

"Sriracha, Paul Brothers Roofing Beer, black sesame seeds, ginger chews, baguette and brie with red wine, Cabot cottage cheese, posole, gorditas...cheese sandwiches with tomato raw garlic mayonnaise and nutritional yeast. Anything from the garden. Ice cream."

"Fue de planeta en planeta buscando agua potable"

I feel very homesick when I look at this gorgeous foto of my friend Ralu. She is a top Moldovan fashion designer. Eat your heart out, Chloe Sevigny!!

Fingernails?!?

I would like to strike up a conversation about Juno. Of course Zoe saw it before me, and by the time I saw it she seemed to be having some doubts about why it was so overwhelmingly popular. With my rose-colored glasses on, I naively stated that it was due to the mature and portrayal of youth, motherhood, and marriage, although the portrayal of the abortion clinic annoyed me. However, as the weeks have passed, my feelings toward this film have soured. Some of this is due to its popularity, which is forcing me to face the real impact of its pathetic misinformation about and misrepresentation of abortion, pregnancy, and birth. As many things as there are about this movie that I am truly moved by, I am more deeply disappointed than anything else. After working at the Concord Feminist Health Center, I felt a sting in the theater watching the Juno scenes that took place in "Women Now," but I tried to laugh along...now my heart sinks when I think of all the countless people who have watched this film and dismissed our hard work as some sort of militant dogma, where grey area and compassion are left outside on the welcome mat.

There are important areas of this film's content, but it does not present a particularly insightful depiction of pregnancy or the issues it raises in our lives.