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Posts Tagged ‘violence’

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I always have words. The trick is to quiet the mind, to let stillness house itself in my being, in the space before thought. Thought is mostly words by the time it reaches the level of my conciousness, but can I find the peace of no words, of non-doing?

I think of a couple of other posts of mine to which I turn for guidance.

I tried to sing a couple of my favorite, most powerfully comforting Sacred Harp songs, but I am not too well and my voice is shot, so I’ll settle for not singing to you right now.

I will settle for hearing my daughter (in our tiny house where every room is next to every other room so one can hear everything from room to room), I will settle for hearing her sing Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream after I played Sweet Honey in the Rock singing Wade in the Water. She has known the [former] song since she was 3 years old.

And so we keep teaching peace. And we keep fighting for the good and the right and the clear blue truth, even if no action comes of it. We wade in the troubled waters of the human heart.

I know there will be no peace for the families of the victims down in Connecticut, but I wish them peace.

This video is not for the families. This is for us. Sometimes you have to choose sides. Let not their deaths be in vain.

 

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spoiler alert: this post starts out silly and ends with Trayvon Martin. It has been an organic piece of writing and I’m gonna stand by it; at least I think I know what I’m doing

Click through and see the Utz girl eat potato chips before your very eyes. Yes, I have mentioned her before.

Did you ever think that organic food is popular because the word organic is close to the word orgasmic?

Orgasms, what’s the big deal? You can never get enough of them and everything’s over too fast, even the long ones.

I like hot flashes. All that sudden heat created by ME without me even trying. It’s fucking awesome. However, I am not sure I’ll be enjoying them so much in the middle of summer.

Note to self: do not wear thermal shirts during peri-menopausal years unless it’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey

I don’t even like that expression. Where the hell did it come from?

I do remember a song from when I was a kid at summer camp which had the line “it’s cold as the hair on a witch’s ass”

Here’s what I remember:

It’s cold, it’s cold, it’s cold, it’s cold,                                                                                                                                                                           it’s cold, it’s cold, it’s cold, it’s cold                                                                                                                                                                              it’s cold as the foam on a tall beer glass, it’s cold as the hair on a witch’s ass

(oh, wordpress, why must you irk me like that, effing with my line breaks? WHY!?!)

Does anyone else know that song? I swear I learned some crazy things at summer camp. But I never made out with anyone, which I understand is something that is maybe supposed to happen at summer camp.

I went for 5 summers in a row from the time I was 7, so not making out by the time I was 12 seems OK. Whew!

What if it was peace of ass instead of piece of ass? Because we all know that getting a piece of ass makes you calmer and more peaceful. See? The phrase would effectively kill two birds with one stone.

How do vegetarians feel about idiomatic expressions using images that are violent toward animals? I’ve discussed this before.

And vegans, how do vegans feel about phrases involving violence toward butter or violent acts committed with butter? Don’t you go thinking about Last Tango now either, ‘kay? Because I only saw that movie once in college and you know, I don’t think it was very good. I thought The Last Emperor was better. I used to love John Lone but he was never in very many movies.

I will not stand by the term “wife-beater” to describe a man’s white ribbed cotton undershirt, the kind my dad wore. Do men still wear those? My Greek friend calls them papou t-shirts and I like that better. When you pronounce a p in Greek, it’s really more of a b sound.

I believe that this is true: the Finnish language has no word for “toes”

Stand your ground: wasn’t Trayvon Martin the one who needed to do this? What about his self-defense? A neighborhood watchman with a gun trumps an unarmed minor every time.

I tire of the debates and comments that continue to defend the actions of George Zimmerman based on some notion that Zimmerman behaved in the only possible way he could have in such a situation.

I think about Trayvon Martin’s parents. I think about Emmet Till and his brave mother; and don’t tell me this situation is nothing like that situation.

No matter what happens to George Zimmerman, Trayvon’s parents will never have their son back. Never.

You wake up, you make the coffee in the automatic coffee maker, do your morning routine, whatever it is, you hope for the best, that this time your kids leave the house will not be the last time you will ever see them.

Still, I can’t help but be grateful when I hear this.

Astral Weeks, Van Morrison

If I ventured in the slipstream
Between the viaducts of your dream
Where mobile steel rims crack
And the ditch in the back roads stop

Could you find me?
Would you kiss-a my eyes?
To lay me down in silence easy
To be born again, to be born again

From the far side of the ocean
If I put the wheels in motion
And I stand with my arms behind me
And I’m pushin’ on the door

Could you find me?
Would you kiss-a my eyes?
To lay me down in silence easy
To be born again, to be born again

There you go standin’ with the look of avarice
Talkin’ to Huddie Ledbetter
Showin’ pictures on the wall
Whisperin’ in the hall
And pointin’ a finger at me

There you go, there you go
Standin’ in the sun darlin’
With your arms behind you
And your eyes before
There you go

Takin’ care of your boy
Seein’ that he’s got clean clothes
Puttin’ on his little red shoes
I see you know he’s got clean clothes

A puttin’ on his little red shoes
A pointin’ a finger at me
Standing in your sad arrest
Trying to do my very best

Lookin’ straight at you
Comin’ through, darlin’
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah

If I ventured in the slipstream
Between the viaducts of your dreams
Where mobile steel rims crack
And the ditch in the back roads stop

Could you find me?
Would you kiss-a my eyes?
To lay me down in silence easy
To be born again, to be born again
To be born again, to be born again

In another world, darlin’
In another world
In another time
Got a home on high

Ain’t nothing but a stranger in this world
I’m nothing but a stranger in this world
I got a home on high in another land
So far away, so far away

Way up in the heaven, way up in the heaven
Way up in the heaven, way up in heaven, oh
In another time, in another place
In another time, in another place

Way up in the heaven
In another time, in another place
In another time, in another place
In another face

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