March

Obama lifted the ban on stem cell research-> maybe Jonathan will discover that a cure of diabetes could occur in his lifetime. Research opens possibility, examines what exists-> why for so long have we shut our eyes to what could heal. "Teacups don't meet all my needs."
The hippocampus- section of the brain that has developed to think about God- it is the same as empathy.
10,000 years ago religion did not exist. Could it have developed as a way to deal with social ingrievances, making sense of reality and what we see before our very eyes.
A way to think, a community presented.
It snowed 6 inches- children create snow creatures, hands to touch the heat and feel the shock- they risk, but they risk for themselves.
Rich young rulers and even exchanges. The way you risk your heart for these boys deserves a Nobel Peace Prize.
I shake. Three hours. A pitcher of Pilsner. Conversations that do not simply remain in the context.
The Vatican does not support the abortion of twins by a nine year old girl raped by her father-> excommunication. Not ok.
Planned Parenthood and Academia.
Research and Scholarly Schmoozing.
Does Mr. Professor see the way her eyes ring, her fists shake, her voice explodes, her tears, the words she speaks to a whimpering friend, "You will be able to live and express yourself and all that you are are. You will be an advocate."
Frida Kahlil could once only speak from painting in red. I heard of a man who could not stop writing- he would write in the shower, on the walls- what some call madness I see as the only visible signs that life still exists.
I need words to be released to the one I most need to speak.
-Written March 9 and 10, 2009

Alloy of Love by Dario Robleto

Today I saw the exhibit Alloy of Love by Dario Robleto at the Frye Art Museum. It woke me up. To the reality of the war we are in currently- the PTSD suffered by those who awake to alarm clocks which remind them of the bullets once used to kill another. The young men who rave of their courage and ability to blow another's brains out, the belief that there truly is an enemy to be defeated, dissociated from the reality that they have killed a person. The women who decide to cheat on their husbands who are fighting as they are already convinced that their husbands will be cheating on them. 

"The artist spins new narratives out of the vast inventory of our past, utilizing such diverse and unusual materials as melted and pulverized vinyl records, artifacts gleaned from battefields, rare herbs and minerals, and even prehistoric fossils and human bones. Ispired by DJ culture's practice of mixing and sampling, Robleto combines and refashions his materials into poetic artworks that engage nostalgia and history."

This exhibit contained displays of objects reincarnated- pulp from the letters soldiers sent to their lovers before death, human bone dust, dust from the Berlin Wall, dolls crafted by soldiers to comfort themselves while in hospitals healing. His work reminded me of the importance of narrative- of declaring the atrocities of the past in order to examine them head on, feel the effects, and allow ourselves the chaos and anxiety needed to make changes. I don't think that we allow ourselves to feel the chaos and anxiety long enough.

Goodspaceguy Nelson for US Rep Congressional District No. 7- I think not.

Thoughts from the day:

-Need to view more surrealist art

-Need to read Nietzsche- ideas on sexuality and affirming life

-I greatly enjoy researching

-Need to research topic of shame

-"Satir believes the biggest obstacle to personal, interpersonal, or international peace is that people do not know how to perceive and accept their equality of value."

-Summers are iced americanos and margaritas

All That I Leave Behind

I leave behind the appearance of perfection

Only to find that this illusion served a purpose

This perfection hid the reality

Hours of curling bangs

Eating celery and carrots

Holidays of presents wrapped in bows

Windows shut and locked

The nightly routine 

Saturdays of sterility

Wiping away all evidence of messiness

Dirtiness

Chaos

This illusion hid wailing,

The beating of the forehead against the table

Ducking for cover

Knuckles worn down from the weight of punched walls

All to silence

Shame

The loss of love

Not replaced

I will no longer live this life

I say instead

Chaos leads to creativity