Author: tiphane

issues of the day

Wow, I keep forgetting that the rest of the U.S. out there is really strange. They keep thinking whoever isn’t like them, i.e. ignorant, is dangerous. It reminds me of what we learn about the Middle Ages, and frankly the U.S. has been plunging into something like its own version of the Middle Ages for a while now. It’s amazing that today, with technology that would allow anyone to get a proper education, we can hear them. There’s the case of Sally Kern, a State Rep from Oklahoma spreading her message of hate and bigotryhttp://www.victoryfund.org/files/listening.html And then, much more to worry about the loss of civil liberties that is now an institution, a University professor in Florida was arrested and jailed because he’s Palestinian, lost his job, has been in prison for no reason for five years… http://www.democracynow.org/2008/3/21/al_arian_enters_19th_day_of This is so much bigger than it seems. We see the tip of the iceberg, and we do nothing because we think Obama or Hillary will fix it. But I’m pessimistic.

It’s About a Sweater

Berkeley, November 16, 2002 Dear S., I am returning this sweater to you in this package addressed to the last place I know you lived. Yes, it is an old sweater that maybe you don’t remember, or if you do, the burden of claiming it from me was too formidable… I understand. I could not imagine trying to contact you since the day you left. The whole letter in PDF format at http://www.heatingupthefog.com

A Last Waltz, Rev. 2

Her fingers dance along The steps of her favorite waltz Coming to her ears Floating on a legendary river She counts: One, Two, Three And enters her reverie She sees the soft green eyes Repeats the dizzy spell Of a night in her distant past Rescued by his agility The strength so subtle Of a charming dancer Whose name she forgot It feels like New Year in Vienna The images of people in black and white The angels of her mind Counting to midnight On a monumental clock Their feet glide unencumbered On the powdered floor A fine dancer, she thinks The palm of her right hand Barely touching his left Their fingers curling Towards a desired embrace If only she could break the rules But the clock strikes midnight Her eyes open to the present Darkness she recognizes Aches and discomfort A reality she can evade Counting: One, Two, Three To see him, touch him, feel him Once more Waltzing into infinity

The Night of the Shooting Star

In this mid August night Enrobed in wool Wholly surrendered to gravity against the earth I watch in the dark sky Shooting stars coming alive Each meteor begging for attention One I follow from birth to extinction Says to me: “I am but a speck of light in the vast expanse of your vision. Why do you pay attention to me?” I cling to the uniqueness of my star As others display equal if not superior spectacle To the underdog of pyrotechnics And I make a wish that You, the unlucky winner of fewer summers in the lottery of life You, who take an uneasy step every day on a fallen staircase You, beautiful one, robbed of your youth be my star. Let me try to pass you The olympic torch and hope that one day you will run and illuminate the sky. Until then I replay the memory of The night of the shooting stars in mid August.

Thoughts on the Anniversary of Hiroshima

note: I read this at an open mic and it started a controversy about the justification of the bombing on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. So I failed to raise our consciousness to the level of what it means to be human and at either end of weapons. My personal opinion is that all weapon manufacturing, small and large, should be stopped and made illegal by all countries. Take that for a controversy. I’m sure many men will scoff at the idea, as they usually do, since they’ve been brainwashed from birth that one should have more weapons than the neighbors in case they used theirs. What happened to talking about our differences? What happened to trying to understand events under a different light? Peace,Guy Thoughts on the Anniversary of Hiroshima On August 6, 1945, this child’s sixth birthdayNever happened, erased from all memoryRecords pulverized by a gigantic mushroomThe fungus on humanity’s footAs it continues trampling onPrinciples, teachings, evolutionAs it continues spreading the seedsOf hatred under engineered flowersSo pretty, so noble, so smart. Sixty years later it …