(from kozyndan)
leaving town soon.
we gotta hang out! dinner or midnight coffee runs. who's feeling strada's chocolate cookies? or thai noodle?
Friday, May 13, 2005
Monday, May 09, 2005
interlude
jose: hipster dance to your sweater's content
jose: i'm trying to write a hipster poem
bruce: hipsters have the flashiest shoes
bruce: line them up it's like a rainbow at their feet
bruce: i'd like to gather all my friends with purple/pink/neon green shoes
bruce: and get them to linedance
jose: yes! omg that'd be awesome
bruce: and then bring in a leprechaun to lead the jig
jose: cuz i've seen party photos of kids just taking photos of their Royal Elastics shoes
bruce: trucker hats will go out of fashion... but royal elastics... never
jose: the apocalypse will leave cockroaches and prancing Royal Elastics dancing in the remnants of Joan River's silicon
bruce: lol
bruce: let's get that tattooed somewhere near our buttocks
jose: what? is the Anus the apocalypse bruce?
jose: homo hater!
jose: hipster dance to your sweater's content
jose: i'm trying to write a hipster poem
bruce: hipsters have the flashiest shoes
bruce: line them up it's like a rainbow at their feet
bruce: i'd like to gather all my friends with purple/pink/neon green shoes
bruce: and get them to linedance
jose: yes! omg that'd be awesome
bruce: and then bring in a leprechaun to lead the jig
jose: cuz i've seen party photos of kids just taking photos of their Royal Elastics shoes
bruce: trucker hats will go out of fashion... but royal elastics... never
jose: the apocalypse will leave cockroaches and prancing Royal Elastics dancing in the remnants of Joan River's silicon
bruce: lol
bruce: let's get that tattooed somewhere near our buttocks
jose: what? is the Anus the apocalypse bruce?
jose: homo hater!
Saturday, May 07, 2005
i like this: long lost lovers reincarnated as rusty steet signs. this is how you steel (har har) a heart. the telephone pole is ethan hawke and the one-way sign is julie delpy, and someone on the other line is singing nina simone's just in time.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
a sometimes morning ritual, i sometimes like to open my poetry for the people reader to a random page and sing/shout/murmur a poem out loud, in between brushing my teeth and putting my socks on.
language
when a man is in love
how can he use old words?
should a woman
desiring her lover
lie down with grammarians and linguists?
i said nothing
to the woman i loved
but gathered
love's adjectives into a suitcase
and fled from all languages
nizar qabbani
1980
language
when a man is in love
how can he use old words?
should a woman
desiring her lover
lie down with grammarians and linguists?
i said nothing
to the woman i loved
but gathered
love's adjectives into a suitcase
and fled from all languages
nizar qabbani
1980
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
thanks taina for the head's up!
California Immigrants: The Victims of Friendly Fire
By Peter Schey*
President, Center for Human Rights and Constitutional Law
pschey@centerforhumanrights.org
Whether made out of an abysmal ignorance or reckless disregard of
fairly well-known facts regarding immigration policy, Gov. Arnold
Schwarzenneger's recent comments on this subject are hopelessly
misguided, profoundly embarrassing to California, and virtually
guarantee that the State with the most at stake on migration issues in
this country will have no voice at the negotiating table when it comes
to immigration policy.
Gov. Schwarzenneger, who has never answered questions regarding the
legality of his own employment when he arrived here as an immigrant in
1971, or authorized the release of his immigration files for public
scrutiny, has now launched a xenophobic and senseless crusade against
the migrant community living in California while at the same time
claiming to be "the champion of immigrants." If he is their champion,
then immigrants in California feel they have been hit and seriously
wounded by friendly fire.
Within the past two weeks the governor has made several incredibly
stupid statements relating to migration policy and California's role
in the national immigration debate.
(way more over here)
---
also, let's welcome: http://www.forpeopleofcolor.org/ put together by attorney anthony solana, jr, it contains two guides:
"A Guide to the Law School Application Process for People of Color"
"A Guide to the Bar Exam for People of Color"
cheggit!
California Immigrants: The Victims of Friendly Fire
By Peter Schey*
President, Center for Human Rights and Constitutional Law
pschey@centerforhumanrights.org
Whether made out of an abysmal ignorance or reckless disregard of
fairly well-known facts regarding immigration policy, Gov. Arnold
Schwarzenneger's recent comments on this subject are hopelessly
misguided, profoundly embarrassing to California, and virtually
guarantee that the State with the most at stake on migration issues in
this country will have no voice at the negotiating table when it comes
to immigration policy.
Gov. Schwarzenneger, who has never answered questions regarding the
legality of his own employment when he arrived here as an immigrant in
1971, or authorized the release of his immigration files for public
scrutiny, has now launched a xenophobic and senseless crusade against
the migrant community living in California while at the same time
claiming to be "the champion of immigrants." If he is their champion,
then immigrants in California feel they have been hit and seriously
wounded by friendly fire.
Within the past two weeks the governor has made several incredibly
stupid statements relating to migration policy and California's role
in the national immigration debate.
(way more over here)
---
also, let's welcome: http://www.forpeopleofcolor.org/ put together by attorney anthony solana, jr, it contains two guides:
"A Guide to the Law School Application Process for People of Color"
"A Guide to the Bar Exam for People of Color"
cheggit!
v-unit
ink spills and paint drops, cardboard shards and headless oxen, this is a wreck we choreograph with backbones and nerves, it’s the way we live, foolish and desperate, holding off sunrises to tell stories with our guts. or to print out v-unit buttons.
and vinh rattles a scrawl with a spray can, playing catch with the tongue-tied curls of his cigarette smoke, it’s south Berkeley, and we’re pulling an all-nighter, smoking cloves to make up for sunlight, fleshing Vietnam out of grass and asphalt, with our lungs crawling lose in our chests, painting in excess, heartbroken and young, excess is what we got.
and there’s tan, and we’re each other’s shadow, and we’re both as clumsy as this city, this place of scattered lights and constant blurs, we move like misplaced things, finding ourselves in other people’s living rooms or on rooftops where the stars squint back at you.
and lili, like an incision, syllables that demand to be pronounced. she’s sharpness made flesh, and her and denise, with a thread, patch a fabric that comes together, a soft skin that stretches and tears like the bodies we’re born with.
and frank, and mike, and jason, and tan, the storytellers who weave us into sentences we lost and forgot under messy desks and stacks of papers, the reminders of what we’re looking for.
frank, camera mike, lisa, dancer mike, jason, huan, jennifer, tu-yuen, anthony, andrew, francis, helene, betty, kathy, vinh, son, andinh, lili, we were a riot, and our faces took the shape of broken glass, in other words, we bled and drank for each other, melting and burning into mirrors. we just smile at each other and say, this is as much you as me.
and this is how we celebrate – with cigars and steak, half-salty and half-drunk, always a half, never a whole, we move like we’re missing something, like lightning and dust, like lego blocks, always coming, going, coming, going.
ink spills and paint drops, cardboard shards and headless oxen, this is a wreck we choreograph with backbones and nerves, it’s the way we live, foolish and desperate, holding off sunrises to tell stories with our guts. or to print out v-unit buttons.
and vinh rattles a scrawl with a spray can, playing catch with the tongue-tied curls of his cigarette smoke, it’s south Berkeley, and we’re pulling an all-nighter, smoking cloves to make up for sunlight, fleshing Vietnam out of grass and asphalt, with our lungs crawling lose in our chests, painting in excess, heartbroken and young, excess is what we got.
and there’s tan, and we’re each other’s shadow, and we’re both as clumsy as this city, this place of scattered lights and constant blurs, we move like misplaced things, finding ourselves in other people’s living rooms or on rooftops where the stars squint back at you.
and lili, like an incision, syllables that demand to be pronounced. she’s sharpness made flesh, and her and denise, with a thread, patch a fabric that comes together, a soft skin that stretches and tears like the bodies we’re born with.
and frank, and mike, and jason, and tan, the storytellers who weave us into sentences we lost and forgot under messy desks and stacks of papers, the reminders of what we’re looking for.
frank, camera mike, lisa, dancer mike, jason, huan, jennifer, tu-yuen, anthony, andrew, francis, helene, betty, kathy, vinh, son, andinh, lili, we were a riot, and our faces took the shape of broken glass, in other words, we bled and drank for each other, melting and burning into mirrors. we just smile at each other and say, this is as much you as me.
and this is how we celebrate – with cigars and steak, half-salty and half-drunk, always a half, never a whole, we move like we’re missing something, like lightning and dust, like lego blocks, always coming, going, coming, going.
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