chaos

Stochastic behaviour appearing in a deterministic system. Such a satisying sentence to speak aloud - try it. All the s and c and t sounds clicking against each other like castanets. It's a 5-second-flamenco of a phrase.

I'm reading chaos theory at the moment. It's always fascinated me. Each time I go back to explore it, it reminds me that structured form comes out of random unpredictable turbulence. It makes me willing again to drop into discomfort, uncertainty, a lack of discernible pattern, and trust that the reward will be creative flow.

advice for perfectionist poets....

...moving into new disciplines.

"Theater doesn't start with a finished product. You discover things on their legs."
Kim Cook (Migritude Director)

conversations that infuriate: two

"So I hear you're a poet?"

"Yup."

"But how do you pay your bills?"

"Mostly online. There's a couple I still do by post, which is a pain, but I can use my credit card for them, which earns me airmiles. How do you pay yours?"

Why do people think it's OK to interrogate you about your financial life if you're an artist? Does anyone quiz doctors about their credit card debt? Software engineers about their debt/equity ratio? Lawyers and investment bankers about the last time they felt real joy course through their bodies? Would it be OK for me to say to someone I've just met, when they tell me their occupation: "But how many hours of your life did you sell for that car you drive?"

coversations that infuriate: one

"So, what do you do?"

"I'm a poet. What do you do?"

"I meant your job."

"That is my job. How about you?"

"But how do you make a living?"

"I write, perform, and teach, poetry. And you?"

"You get paid for that?"

"No. I get paid to take my clothes off. But I force people to listen to my poems while I do it."

OK, I've never used that last line yet. But I am this close.......

tech victories

All you techies out there (or at least the 2.5 of you who read this blog), may laugh your little gadgets off. But those of you who know how it feels to gird your limbs each day to do battle, yet again, with the faster-than-we-can-keep-up-with tech universe, will share my jubilations over my tiny triumphs.

1) I finally learned yesterday that the cable I've been hunting down for months to connect my HP laserjet printer to my Mac ibook is a proprietary HP cable, so I can only get it directly from HP. This after visiting 3 RadioShacks and ordering two cables online and returning them. It wasn't that I didn't know what I needed - it just wasn't out there!

2) This morning, I successfully extracted my precious only DVD of the La Pena show from a jammed DVD player. Without damaging either DVD or player.

3) After several nights of tormented dreams about the editing and cutting of the La Pena video footage to create the promo DVD I need for funders and presenters, I had an editing session this morning with Kar Yin and Narissa, my video editors, where I actually got excited about what we were doing, and how. (How's that for a run-on sentence?) They totally rock. I can't wait to see the rough cut next week.

overheard on Market Street

at the Tea Leaf and Coffee Bean, downtown San Francisco:

"Omigod, I could never have a boyfriend that good-looking. Because I'd be like: No way are you going to the grocery store without me. You are not leaving the house alone."

"People that gorgeous have no personality anyway."

"That's totally evolution. Personality, humor - those are not natural traits for the good-looking. They're what the rest of us develop to compete."

"If we're onto evolution, have you noticed how two really hot people never have gorgeous children? Something about their genes colliding makes their kids come out freakish. Now you put two plain people together, and they have beautiful kids."

My top 2 antidotes to fear

1) I move my body. Any way that suggests itself. Fear lives in my body and that's where it has to be met. Movement turns fear into energy. It restores my connection to my body - dissolves the disembodiment, disconnection, paralysis, that fear brings.

2) I sniff things. The things I crave when I'm afraid - chocolate, coffee, cake. Often, sniffing them is enough - I don't want them anymore. Or my objects of comfort - my dressing gown, my sandalwood-silk sari, my favourite books. Or whatever's at hand - sweater, BART ticket, inner wrist. Go on - try it. When's the last time you sniffed your own skin?

I've figured out that sniffing makes me take deep breaths. They do the same thing as movement - meet and embrace fear where it sits in my body. Smells short-circuit the thoughts in my brain, open a neural pathway to useful ideas and effective action.

you know you need to get a life when

1) You think: "I haven't cooked for anyone for a while. Why don't I call up X and Y and see if they want to come over this evening?"

2) You think: "But I haven't blogged today and there were those 3 things I really wanted to blog about while they're still sizzling in my mind, and if I cook dinner and X and Y come over, I won't have time....."

3) While you're still trying to decide, you click on your blog and post an entry about it.

Don't look away

December 20, 2005 | A bloodied Iraqi man grieves after his policeman son was gunned down by insurgents, along with another fellow officer, in the Iraqi city of Baquba, 65 km (40 miles) northeast of Baghdad.
(Photo: Helmiy al-Azawi / Reuters)

musicians for torture

The latest issue of The Nation focusses on the US torture complex - from creators to methods to participants. The piece I found hardest to read was about the use of music in American torture techniques - blasting western music at victims so that, in the words of one, "I thought my head would burst."

Metallica's James Hetfield was asked by Terry Gross, on NPR's Fresh Air, how he felt about his music being used for torture. He responded with "pride that my music is culturally offensive" to Iraqis. "If they're not used to freedom, I'm glad to be a part of the exposure."

will they won't they will they won't they?

I spoke to my parents this morning. For years they’ve resisted email, the internet, even the cellphones that circumvent Kenya’s horribly defective telephone system The only way we can reach them is by dialing their landline. On average, you have to dial 3 – 5 times, repeatedly, before you make a connection. If it’s a day you’re going to make a connection – there are periods of 2 –3 weeks when you can’t get through at all.

They’ve never seen my website, even though all it would take is to walk into one of Nairobi’s internet cafes. “We’re too old to learn,” they say, to all my exasperated urging.

So I almost fell over with surprise when my father said: “Bring the DVD of your performance when you come – we’ll go to an internet café and watch it.” If I can actually get them onto a computer, is it possible they might try out email? Fingers crossed, and prayers to the gods of communication……….

Shave for my art?

One of my instant reactions to the La Pena video was: "My hair's in the way." Does anyone out there know how to do a french plait that lies FLAT against your head and STAYS that way no matter how much you move, or roll around the floor?

My instinct is to shave my head again. It makes for cleaner lines on stage - and one less thing to think about in prepping for a performance. It also makes for a perpetually chilly neck and freezing scalp. I'll shave for my art - but I'm not sure I'm prepared to shiver.

taking my work home

in less than 6 weeks. I think about performing in Nairobi, in front of my parents, my friends, the world I grew up in, and I begin to hyperventilate. A bubble in growing inside me, compounded of joy, terror, exhilaration, disbelief - it threatens to knock me off balance each time I whisper to myself "I'm taking my work home."

Last night I sat in the Temescal Cafe and read, in the latest issue of Kwani, a piece by the son of legendary Kenyan writer, Ngugi wa Thiong'o
Ngugi and his wife Njeeri returned to Kenya in 2004, after 23 years in exile, and were attacked and tortured (Njeeri was raped) in their apartment. His son writes about returning for the trial of the men paid to carry out the attacks. He says "Home is still home."

took a deep breath

and watched the video of the La Pena show on Dec. 2nd (the first work-in-progress showing of Migritude). Seeing myself on video is always excruciating - hearing myself on tape is only marginally better. But it wasn't as awful as I'd imagined. Watching it was like reading a first or second draft of a piece-in-progress. I could see how much I need to learn, and what needs to be changed, tightened, re-worked. But I could also feel the energy of it, and there was a lot that was worth keeping. The bones of something with the potential to be really good.

our tax dollars at work again

SAN FRANCISCO, CA-- On November 1, 2005, six US Marines brutally gang-raped a 22 year-old Filipina woman at the former Subic Naval Base in Olongapo, Philippines. The US government transferred these Marines from the Philippines evading due process under Philippine law.

On the evening of December 8, 2005, members of Women for Genuine Security, Filipino/American Coalition for Environmental Solidarity
(FACES), and Gabriela Network lay in symbolic protest beside the Dewey Statue demonstrating the victimization of women by current US foreign policy. The Dewey Statue commemorates Admiral Dewey's success in "liberating" the Filipinos during the Spanish American War, which set the stage for US entry into the Philippines in the 1800s.

Negritude meets Migritude

From scholar-activist, Judith Ezekiel:

This month, French Minister of the Interior, Nicolas Sarkozy, who helped fan the flames police brutality and anti-immigrant violence in the recent uprisings in France by calling rioters "rabble who should be washed away with pressure cleaners", was supposed to visit the French isle of Martinique. Honorary mayor and literary figure Aime Cesaire refused to meet with him. The poet and founding figure of Negritude cited his opposition to the Feb 2005 law that says schools must teach the positive role of French colonialism. Various groups announced that they would protest Sarkozy's visit... and he cancelled his visit! People of color and antiracists in France broke out the champagne.

Syriana

I watch, at most, a dozen films a year. Of those, perhaps 2 or 3 are mainstream current releases. So it's mind-expanding when I let someone else pick a film and do the whole cinema experience with them. Bryon told me that
Syriana was good research for Migritude - even if (or maybe because) it had no women in it.

It actually had 4 women with (minor) speaking parts. The Condoleeza Rice character, the Margaret Thatcher lookalike actalike, and two wives. Oh, and the oil wells - we didn't see them, but they were spoken of as females and were obviously the driving impetus for the whole story.

I didn't learn anything I didn't already know. But I did see more fully realized, fiercely tender, portrayals of migrant Pakistani workers in the Persian Gulf than I thought possible in a Hollywood movie. Heard a lot more Urdu than I expected to in a Hollywood movie. Was pleasantly surprised at the unsparing exposure of the oil industry and it's minions in the US administration. And even if the film had done nothing for me, it was worth going just to experience Grand Lake's Egyptian Theater .

The Right to Life

Here's the latest from America's Operation Steel Curtain in Iraq, which began in November. Brought to you by a president who smirks: "It's always wiser to err on the side of life."
Read more at Iraq Dispatches.

From an article by Iraqi journalist, Sabah Ali

Modhhir Najim Abdulla, a security officer in the hospital took us to his uncle's bombed house where 17 women, children, and civilians were killed. The house of Arkan was just heaps of concrete blocks; the roof was flattened to the ground. There were 5 families living there. Not one of them was a stranger or a fighter.

"I just want to know why, I want a justification" Modhhir began, "the bombing began on Nov 5, loud speakers were saying stay at home, do not move out, and we did. 15 minutes later the bombing began. They did not announce evacuation. We had no chance to leave." On Nov 7, we heard that our uncle's house was bombed. We could not go to check; we went to the nearest American troops and told them. They accompanied us, and this is what we found."

Modhhir was not crying, but his voice was full of rage. His sister (Najla') who was the wife of his cousin too, was pregnant in her 9th month. She was supposed to have cesarean operation because she was a week late for her due time. "I can not describe her and her baby when we removed the bodies." Another cousin's baby was only 25 days. A third child's body was not found until 2 days later. Modhhir brought the family's IDs, death certificates, and photos.

They are: (name, age, relation to Arkan and cause of death)

Arkan Abdulla Family:
1-Alia Amir, 50, wife, smashed skull, broken ribs, burns and injuries in the chest and abdomen
2- Asma'a Arkan, 23, daughter, suffocation
3- In'am Arkan, 14, daughter, smashed skull
4- Lubna Arkan, 12, daughter, injury in the head and suffocation
5- Abdul Razzaq Arkan, 10, son, broken ribs and suffocation
6- Mahmood Arkan, 22, son, broken skull and suffocation

Saddam Arkan Abdulla Family
7- Khatar Dahham, 28, daughter-in-law, injuries and broken skull
8- Dhuha S. Arkan, 10, granddaughter, broken skull and injuries in head
9- Abdulla S. Arkan, 9, grandson, intestine tear
10-Thammir S.Arkan, 4, grandson, broken ribs, bleeding inside chest and broken legs
11- Amir S. Arkan, 7, grandson, smashed skull, suffocation and legs injury
12- Yahia S. Arkan, 3, grandson, smashed skull
13- Saja S. Arkan, 2, granddaughter, smashed skull, tissue tear and broken ribs

Fanar Arkan Abdulla Family
14- Najla'a Najim, 22, daughter-in-law, smashed skull, suffocation
15- Leila Fanar Arkan, fetus, given birth and death certificate at the same time
16- Ahmad Salih Amir, 25 days, nephew, injuries in head, chest and ribs.
17- Khattab Mahmood Arkan, 2, grandson, smashed skull

"Who of these do you recognize as terrorist? This one, this, or may be this?" The pictures were of women in a party, many children in different occasions ... This is my sister, this is her son, this is my youngest cousin .... etc. He was pointing to the faces and naming them. I felt that the list was endless. "Please stop," I said.

"Why do you think your uncle's house was bombed?" I asked.

"I do not know. I want them to answer this question. They bombed three houses in this street. In the other one 7 children and women were killed. It is Fuad's house, there. The third one was empty, but it is no more than ruins. You can see it. Maybe they had wrong information about these houses, I do not know, may be they made a mistake ... but these are not excuses. Even the American soldiers, the Iraqis, the CNN reporter were crying when they saw what happened to my family." The family was buried in the garden.

If you're even thinking of seeing Memoirs of a Geisha

Take a look at the guerilla geisha image created Scott Tsuchitani first.

one of my current favourite poems

Love poems written by men for men do some of the most important work on the planet - create space where men are allowed to feel and express emotions other than aggression or competition. Any queer love poem is already a political poem, but the one below makes all my poetry antennae happy - political, aesthetic, emotional, rhythmic, lingual

from a real love poem by travis montez, Bullets and Butterflies

love poems / do not happen / accidentally / they cannot be cut nor pasted / not sampled, looped, / nor taken out of context / they are specific and unique / like fingerprints / and first kisses / love poems are real / and imperfect / they happen when you are not looking / when you think no one is watching / love poems are lived / then written / on subway rides home from first dates / or while your clothes still smell like him / or at work when you can’t concentrate / even though your project is an hour late / you can’t do anything until you have to find / the right combination of words and self / to describe an orgasm / that felt like sunshine and church and etta james and / a reason to record life / love poems /
do not happen accidentally / they are real and imperfect / and unconditional

I gave him my words / to keep / among his precious things / he wears them now / like diamonds / and quotes them like scripture / I am all the poet he will ever need

wounded in the house of a friend / I have nothing left to plant / or feed you / keep these words / among your precious things / let them be real and imperfect lived / after bridges are burned and the lonely comes / let it be all the poem you will ever need