Catch Some Wide Eye

Archive for the tag “politics”

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worlds spinning
face collides into bone
hostile nations
that can never atone
the difference in scepters
is as wide as the sea
but your flags are the same
to me

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Sketch No. 103


English: A woman wearing stay-up stockings hel...

These are my people. From the blackened and hallowed abyss of ashes, they rise like curtains of raindrops to my mind. I have a people, a sense of belonging to something somewhat wider than myself.

My words are but a number.

I was born in a place devoid of words, my mother twisting and squirming in the dry, heatless desert of anonymity. My father was a blacksmith, I do believe, but he never came around much. His title, as his occupation, I suppose a dying breed in this modern age of disconnected popularity. My mother was a Youtube star. What, exactly, she starred in, I would never know because she never let me see such things. Said it was too mature for me, whatever that is. I didn’t have any brothers or sisters and, as is true of any teenager of the digital world, I grew up very much alone.

Then Henry came to town.

If I shut my eyes tight enough, I can still see his hog’s breath smile heaving down on my from his six foot something frame. He was a country boy through and through, and when he moved into my neighborhood it was peeks and smiles through the window. I didn’t know well enough to be scared of him, my mother having homeschooled me for fear of what I might find out about her illustrious career. Henry and I would go swimming in the river whenever he skipped school, which was quite often, and chuck pebbles into the water trying to make them dance on the ripples. He even tried walking on water once, said he saw it on the internet somewhere, and I could swear he made it a full clear three steps before sinking with a splash into that cool, clear water.

I never really did believe what they said about him in the papers. Still don’t believe it. I mean, if he really had done all those horrible things, wouldn’t I have been able to smell it from my house?

Makes no difference now, because these are my people. I stand and stretch my arms to embrace the whole crowd as I stand at the podium, my toes itching in my too-tight shoes and nylon stockings. I take a deep breath and begin to speak.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Republican party…”

British Slave Labor Winds Up in Miami


A Banksy piece entitled “Slave Labor” which appeared on the side of a building in a London neighborhood and, just as mysteriously, disappeared along with a large chunk of the wall has been located at an auction house in Miami, Flordia. London residents are up in arms, claiming that the piece belongs to them and alleging that it was taken illegally. Banksy did not respond. The auction house contends that it did due dilligence and decided the piece was not acquired illegally.

Let’s step back for a moment.

Banksy says nothing. The piece was not acquired illegally. A few days later, Banksy responds to the neighborhood by painting a new piece near the chunk of missing wall that says, “Danger, Thieves.” What these Londoners are not seeing is the genius behind Banksy’s latest scheme.

You see, it is highly likely that he sold the piece, himself. This perspective on the situation lends a whole different interpretation to the events which have transpired over the past few weeks. To me, this solution seems so obvious that I can’t understand how it hasn’t occured to the residents of that particular neighborhood in London. Besides, they never “owned” slave labor. The very fact that they want to claim ownership of a piece with that name is not only beautifully ironic, but the fact that it will be Americans selling the British Slave Labor is hauntingly genius.

Banksy, thank you for being a brilliant master mind. I hope in your old age, you will pass the name, technique and overall mystique to a successor. I believe there is nothing this world needs more than a Banksy who never dies.

How to Be Latin


The other day I was listening to a segment on NPR featuring Baratunde Thurston, author of the best-selling book, “How to Be Black.” What I loved about the talk was his human sincerity and intellectual dissection of an otherwise potentially dicey conversation. So my question is, what would happen if there were a whole series of these books created in every racial “flavor”? Would they carry the same weight and significance as the original, or would they be dismissed as cheap knock-offs?

Being a non-black minority in an area of the southeastern United States which is still, although sometimes subtly, drawn against very black and white lines, I can see how easily other races are brushed aside. The Irish and Italian immigrants who were encouraged not to apply at certain places of employment. The “Latin” immigrants from various countries and with various cultures who are daily harassed by fellow Americans. The Native Americans of various nations who are completely ignored. The Japanese Americans we interred in concentration camps not but a generation or two ago. The Chinese Americans who were considered “communists” and other Asians who are constantly harassed for their looks, traditions, beliefs and achievements. The Arabic Americans and many, many other nationalities that are constantly lumped into one group or another and branded as “Muslim” or “terrorist” whether they are or aren’t.

The truth of the matter is, we could write one of these books for just about any and every race/color on the planet. We could have one for gays, atheists, women, teens. There is no end to the number of labels and categories we file ourselves into. But when that conversation goes down, when it is all boiled down to black or white, Mexican or not, stop and give yourself a minute.

Let’s write a new book. We’ll call it, “How to Be Human.”

Papacy


The news I’ve been listening to lately sounds like it’s trying to really oversensationlize Pope Benedict’s decision to resign. Yes, it’s the first time this has happened in about six hundred years. That is shocking. Ok. I get it. But we also don’t have the same political climate we did some six hundred years ago. Benedict isn’t choosing kings or hiding illegitimate children. He’s just doing something that makes sense. There’s no conspiracy theory here. It is what it is, and though I’m no longer Catholic nor even a pro-Benedict supporter, let the poor man live in peace. Anybody deserves that right.

Financial Slump


Education is one of the first things that we cut. Let me show you exactly what that looks like.

sign of the times

Let the rain wash away

peel me

under a roof

darth vader

air

As I was walking around in the cold this morning, a gentleman exited one of the wings with his lunch pail in his hand. Curious, he asked me what I was taking pictures of. I shrugged and replied, “Oh, random things.” He nodded, continued walking, then stopped and called out over his shoulder that I should make sure our superintendent sees it. Not sure he will or even if there’s much that could be changed without a stronger economy. But to any politicians and big banks out there, behold the work of your hands.

Still Writing Our History


2012-05-28_233337_2541601

When it comes to video games, especially of the computer variety, there is little out there that surpasses Minecraft in its ability to fulfill various gaming aesthetics. It is a malleable format that can convert from PvP to Sandbox to Survival and back again depending on where and how you play.

There is one HUGE problem with the game.

Picking a server.

There are pages of links to sites that have pages of links to servers that you then have to log into. When I first hit this stumbling block in my desire to play with a community, I was accosted with words like vanilla and whitelisted, hunger games, parkour and then I pretty much just quit reading what anybody had to say about their site. I’d click a link, try to play, get killed, quit. Then I’d click another link, try to play, get bored, then quit. You get the picture. For me, finding a suitable server was a process of trial and error.

The server I now call home is Pirates Cove [play.piratescove-mc.com], and I can’t say enough complimentary things about the people who build, maintain, plan, expand, and organize everything there. For those who love story-driven games, we each enter Pirates Cove as a slave and then work our way up the ranks by following various quest lines. That, alone, makes the entire area seem like an MMORPG- a genre I LOVE.

However, in the course of the existence of Pirates Cove, I’ve watched several farm towns and bits of land rise into Kingdoms. I have also seen Kingdoms fall. And these are my kingdoms, they’re your kingdoms, they’re the kingdoms we create together. There is a certain politics that has begun to emerge in the relationship between a mayor and his/her care for the residents. Likewise, we are starting to see an evolution on how towns interact with each other. One of the hottest points of contention in Pirates Cove at the moment is the superiority of the City of Isle de Royal or the City of Bayou Blues. Several players have taken a fierce stand on both sides of the debate, and it is interesting to watch the politics of our creations acted out in real time.

Now my city, Silvania, is completely neutral so we will not go to war, should this come to that. However, as a means of bridging a treaty between these two nations, would you like to help me choose the superior city?

Rwanda Flow


Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to help save over 3,000 complete strangers from premature death.

The method is simple. Just a dollar and a good word will do.

Should you choose not to comply, basement cat will haunt your soul for all eternity.

http://mycharitywater.org/rwanda-flow

Posts Like These Could Get Me Killed


He told her he only cared about Republicans and bacon. She told him he was an idiot. Nobody cared about Republicans anymore. It wasn’t the fashionable thing to do. Fashion be damned, he said. I like my suspenders just the way they are. The suspenders are very fashionable, she said, but not Republicans. They’re bad for your taxes. As for bacon, she pointed out, that’s bad for your health. Fashion be damned, he muttered, and helped himself to another plate of good old-fashioned American values.

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