World Social Forum performances

Details finally up on my calendar. But the times and venues may change, so please check on the day before you come out to anything!

something's askew

when I feel guilty over time spent writing poems.

This morning, I should've been working on funding proposals, travel arrangements, prepping for my performances at the World Social Forum. Instead, I played with the notes I'd jotted in Lamu, began to weave them into a poetic essay. It felt like sneaking away from work to watch waves break on the beach. Like a stolen hike in the hills with a secret lover.

US Planes Rain Death

On Somalia, said the newspaper headlines here yesterday.

It feels surreal. North of our border, the US is bombing indiscriminately. How many bombs does it take to kill one (soi-disant) terrorist? The crazy inverted logic makes my stomach churn: If they were killed, they must be terrorists. As does the deafening clanging insistent repetition of the word Islamist to describe every Somali who isn't a US stooge. What the fuck is an Islamist? Can anyone give me a working definition?

I keep thinking: It could be us. They get closer and closer to Kenya, to Nairobi, with each attack.