Thursday, September 30, 2004

''The way the film looks is its reality. 'Based on a true story' is such a lie. 'Based on a true color' or 'based on a strange dream' is what films cry out to be.''

a pair of dope wong kar wai stories, here and there.

Tuesday, September 28, 2004

we gotta gotta gotta fix the three strikes law so bad so bad so bad, a nation of millions can't hold us back, all the sex in the land could never keep us in our rooms, we animals, wild boars and centaurs, oink it, bark it, neigh it, growl it, snarl it, scream it, howwwwwwwwwwwwwwwl it: YES YES YES! YES ON PROP 66! YES ON SOMETHING AT LAST!

ps: 3 reasons why we gotta reform the 3 strikes law:

Steven Davis and his girfriend killed themselves after Davis was notified by the Sacramento District Attorney that he had two strikes, which would force him to serve 25 years to life for possessing marijuana and methamphetamine.

Robert Blasi received a 31-year sentence for stealing a pair of AA batteries.

Nathan Thomas, a young man with a history of homelessness, shoplifted three packs of T-shirts from J.C. Penny and was sentenced to 25 years in prison. In fact, our Three Strikes law is so broad that it treats stealing t-shirts as equal to rape or murder. People who have stolen cookies or forged a check are now locked up for twenty-five years to life, just like murderers and rapists. Californians never intended this.

say thank you to the aclu for more information.

Monday, September 27, 2004

(photos from archinect.)

man, wish i filmed a punk concert in here! i used to pass by this everyday last semester but now it's gone. it was a temporary installation that used to kick it on the second floor of the studios (some grad kids made it under lisa iwamoto's guidance.) it reminds me of a peeled mango, after it's been sliced and folded open. or maybe a heart, also after the same treatment.

how i will now introduce myself to all the new freshmen on campus:

"my father was a moustached trapeze artist and my mother was a woman who sawed herself in half, they made love on the back of a two headed tiger and gave birth to me on a tight rope, i was raised on pink poodles leaping through through fiery hoops, i am 1/4 clown, 1/4 daredevil, and a whole half bearded woman. my head is wigged cannonball with a hat, my eyes are throwing knives, and i backflip operas with a korean acrobat. welcome to the carnival, i am i am i am i am i am nothing but your your opening act."

spotlight's on you, you wanna tapdance or do something new?

Saturday, September 25, 2004

headached, and struck by library delirium, i'm on a book-a-day diet and i got two dozen things checked out (and need to read by next weekend!), this is karma calling me out after 4 years of school slackerdom, the bastard. tonight i gotta drink to get over this academic hangover.

Wednesday, September 22, 2004

dropped today. daaaaaamn. gotta see it! quick!

one of the most influential city plans to have ever been designed was proposed for algiers in the 1930s - le corbusier's obus. peep em, goliath freeways hovering over the city, they connected the central business districts directly to the affluent burbs so commuters, capitalists, and colonialists could travel to work in peace, above and away from the filthy algierians and their dirty streets. the freeway plows through numerous neighborhoods and, with its concrete support beams, frames a view for the ground people of an ocean that no longer belongs to them. peep that sketch with all the blank space, that's how the designers saw the people living there: as nothing.

if le corbusier had his way the earth would be a star wars death star. and while his plans for algiers were never built, they influenced a whole generation of designers and planners who worshipped it as the blueprints of an ideal city.

(and now, look, it's our backyards.)

Sunday, September 19, 2004

danke lili

heartached and ashamed because of lili's post, she said it, she said it. i gotta get something off my chest too, soon, soon, after a shower and a good 88 minutes of free time...

Based on my possibly flawed and not well researched observations. The allegations I am about to make may be unwarranted, but in the case that I am right, it too am guilty. When the world trade buildings collapsed three years ago, people all over the world were mourning the attacks and grieving with America. But just last month when a school in Russia was seized by militants who wired the entire school full of children and teachers with bombs, as the news kept increasing the death toll, as stories emerged of the militants forcing the children to eat flower petals and drink their own urine, and as the media captured the scenes of naked children being carried out of the building and parents watching helplessly on, I wonder if many people in America stopped their lives even for a moment to grieve the atrociousness of it all. [continue]

Saturday, September 18, 2004

we sip maria full of grace like it scalds our tongue, a harsh medicine like the one our mother made for us when we were sick - something that seeps through our throat directly into our spines. i think we all have stories of escape, the ones no one likes to talk about, how we got out while others couldn't. this movie is medicine, and the sickness is forgetfulness, something we caught between here and that home we know as nowhere.


ghaflah - the sin of forgetfulness
(by dima hilal)

born by the mediterranean
our mothers bathe us in orange-blossom water
olive trees and cedars
strain to give us shade
we come to america where they call our land
the East meaning different/dark/dirty
we soon forget
our grandmothers combed hair like ours
we wish our hair blonde our eyes and skin light
we know barbie
looks better than scheherazade
we think french makes us sophisticated so
we greet each other with bonjour instead of salaam
proud of our colonizer's tongue
we forget the Qur'an sings in arabic

when we arrived
our fingernails pierced the palms of our hands
we stared at pictures of our children

eyes sockets carved out by rubber bullets
on the 10 o'clock news
our brothers and sisters spit up blood and teeth
and CBS declares them "terrorists"

now we turn away from bruises and broken bones
body counts and funerals
we know we cannot help anyway
we forget we once stood on the same ground
they die on
we look for arabia packaged by the west
we escape into clubs to watch
blonde belly
dancers named jasmine
sasahy almost naked
we eat pasty hummous at eight dollars a plate
and tell each other
how much we miss our home

how easy it used to be, a cool walk down a dozen blocks from here to there, now it's a a gas tank or two or a few thousand frequent flyer miles.

we rock sky colored baseball caps embroidered with the temperature of home, we wear it on our forehead, in our sweat beads, the places we miss, cheggit, there's a wrinkle on our skin (right above the eyebrows) that got cut open in our sleep when we learned that (like ol italo calvino used to say) the places we love know only take-offs, never landings.

a lot of y'all are moving away: peace to diane with the constantly cool shoes (dont stop moving to wherever your feet are possessed to go.) wasssssup to noogie mike, who's selling his soul for the cash flow (and existentially ponders pursuing that CPA), hey-hey to an, who did the bravest thing and moved back to take care of home, yo to j-guo, setting foot in shanghai, the splintered city that'll (hopefully) crack her head open like a ripe fruit. what is it to kathy bach, digging deep in hanoi for the things no one else sees.

this post is lame, like high school yearbook lame, but i couldn't care less. there's no need for me to say it but... you'll be missed.

see you in fifty years, four months, nine days, and 2 hours. (or hopefully sooner!)

Saturday, September 11, 2004

sleep is the enemy, gotta wage war on the sandman.

Thursday, September 09, 2004

thoughts at the michelle malkin (you know, the gal who's advocating for racial profiling, arguing that the opening of japanese internment camps during WW2 was something necessary, and suggesting that we intern arab americans NOW...) protest:

1. wear a suit and you can get in anywhere: that and a cocky strut.

2. cool tees: props to those who protest in style. my friend mohammed and some other students rocked black tees that read "i am arab" in both english and in farsi. nice.

3. gotta reimagine the protest: cause right now, we're playing right into their hands and giving them what they want.

4. i got my fix: all those pictures of protest during the rnc reaaaaally made me thirsty.

5. sexist protestors: why you gotta call her "bitch?" reminds me of what kiwi said... "there's no such thing as a down brown man because even the 'down' brown man keeps a brown woman down."

6. damn, we need to be quicker with the wit: jimmy, jason bayani, and made eye contact with michelle malkin and we COULDN'T THINK OF A THING TO SAY. what? and we're supposed to be "poets?"

7. time to find a new hobby: signs of blog going out of fashion. a republican brags to his friends that "michelle malkin wrote 'keep on blogging!'" in his book.

8. pilipino news station: got jacked and couldn't get press passes.

9. protests are pretty cool social events: nice time to catch up on each other's summers in between "when do we want it"s and "NOW!"s.

10. a nice end, i think: following michelle malkin all the way out of dwinelle with the pilipino american students singing, chanting, belting songs in tagalog to her about the shame of forgetting a revolution.