"The right of freedom of speech consists in speaking the truth."
15.12.08
First, it isn't the rain that matters most of all anymore. This little hideout here and the hide and seek, the finding of pecans after the tree has been thoroughly shook. I leave the opened ones for the ants and keep promising to leave a few for the squirrels. They are like tiny brown Easter eggs..the best ones found under the juniper fronds and close to the ground. Sometimes I count to ten and if I don't find one within ten seconds, it's time to go in. Last year's unopened ones are black and fossil. Very hard and perhaps these are the trees of the future so I leave them all alone.
It's alot like poetry i.e. pecan work.
I didn't even know I had a pecan tree and I think of that one up on Laundry Hill, want to go find it. They produce fruit for three hundred years if left alone and perhaps more when cared for. The pecan tree is actually a hickory. I have a whole set of antique deer antler knives but no old hickories, the kind that were treated with such neglect in the drawer by the stove.
I made pecan mamoul last night. They were brilliant. Frek as well with two cups of whole, old fashioned oats. Such appreciation for food around here. Perhaps I will share some of that this time around.
Frek (Ramadan Soup)
Broth from chicken or beef, 4 cups or more
chicken or beef, diced, shredded or whatever size one likes
1 1/2 to 2 cups of whole oats
olive oil
onion, carrot, bell pepper diced small
3 tbsp tomato paste
two bouillion cubes
pinch of cloves
two teaspoons of harisa(Morroccan pepper) paste
Saute vegetables in oil for a few minutes. Add broth, spices, pastes, bouillion cubes and simmer for a while, almost an hour or so. Add oats and meat and simmer for ten minutes more, stirring so the oats don't burn. Salt to taste and add hot pepper if that's your thing.
Serve with salad, tabouleh is best but even a Waldorf will do.
14.12.08
Working Notes: Christmas Party
"a" this pecan tree
that wind three hundred years
ice storm java script
"won't be long" perilous journey
this book "already finished"
just walking the forest
through it one more time
all the chapters
rereading it for "the first time"
hemlines and drawings
"nature" ants starving below the surface
indonesia indonesia indonesia indonesia
"company Christmas party" tatoos
"beef" or "chicken" dismal strangers
"five kids" she is taking him in
"do they have that" in Indonesia?
"indonesia"
"over there?" Dreiser's Chicago
"new apartments" New apartments
"like ants" starving
skin ashtrays skin lampshades
"brown on brown on brown"
"hard to find" she is a Mexican Jew
"can't get rid of the accent she says"
"her Holocaust Chilean grandparents"
"Pinochet?" Pinochet? "did you hear that silence"
I look into her eyes, those little round eyes
she was told very little "the act"
and I know she is taking him, he's simple
born again hovering hovering
the tribulations "do they have that"
over there?
and the next morning, "I pick the pecans"
off of the ground, brushing aside the leaf
clutter and she comes to me
in an excerpt not knowing
who the hell Pinochet was or is
and I said, Pinochet to her again
as if to wake her up from the mulch.
Pinochet, you are caught. Pinochet
lives in the leaf clutter and dining
room chatter. I cringe at his old
born again blue eyes and the way he cupped
her darling shoulders hunched from
the years she has spent telling
old men like him
what they want to hear and he said,
"take care of her will you?"
He went out for his smoke
while she chewed and her
cud full mouth oblivious
just kept chewing
and on her hands were rings
so many new rings
little trophies "as it were"
yet I kept walking, silent
just walking through this
book that's already over
been over for a thousand years.
"a" this pecan tree
that wind three hundred years
ice storm java script
"won't be long" perilous journey
this book "already finished"
just walking the forest
through it one more time
all the chapters
rereading it for "the first time"
hemlines and drawings
"nature" ants starving below the surface
indonesia indonesia indonesia indonesia
"company Christmas party" tatoos
"beef" or "chicken" dismal strangers
"five kids" she is taking him in
"do they have that" in Indonesia?
"indonesia"
"over there?" Dreiser's Chicago
"new apartments" New apartments
"like ants" starving
skin ashtrays skin lampshades
"brown on brown on brown"
"hard to find" she is a Mexican Jew
"can't get rid of the accent she says"
"her Holocaust Chilean grandparents"
"Pinochet?" Pinochet? "did you hear that silence"
I look into her eyes, those little round eyes
she was told very little "the act"
and I know she is taking him, he's simple
born again hovering hovering
the tribulations "do they have that"
over there?
and the next morning, "I pick the pecans"
off of the ground, brushing aside the leaf
clutter and she comes to me
in an excerpt not knowing
who the hell Pinochet was or is
and I said, Pinochet to her again
as if to wake her up from the mulch.
Pinochet, you are caught. Pinochet
lives in the leaf clutter and dining
room chatter. I cringe at his old
born again blue eyes and the way he cupped
her darling shoulders hunched from
the years she has spent telling
old men like him
what they want to hear and he said,
"take care of her will you?"
He went out for his smoke
while she chewed and her
cud full mouth oblivious
just kept chewing
and on her hands were rings
so many new rings
little trophies "as it were"
yet I kept walking, silent
just walking through this
book that's already over
been over for a thousand years.
11.12.08
The X on Treasure Island
Another four o'clock arrives
and still, no translation.
They're giving a class
in the old PD building
where I remember
that first Barbie. She
was attached at the time
like all women,
to some type of soap.
It started with the Gold Rush
and ends with this building,
the PD Merc which is now
a day orphanage for kids
and nightclasses there
in Conversational Spanish.
I want to learn to say
Barbie in past perfect
so that I can tell my classmates
where I found that old
nappy girl with slanty eyes,
how my mother looked
when standing in front
of the butcher. I'll translate
the smell of sawdust mixed with blood
into Castillian, long passages
which will admit the transfiguration
of copper into bread.
Another four o'clock arrives
and still, no translation.
They're giving a class
in the old PD building
where I remember
that first Barbie. She
was attached at the time
like all women,
to some type of soap.
It started with the Gold Rush
and ends with this building,
the PD Merc which is now
a day orphanage for kids
and nightclasses there
in Conversational Spanish.
I want to learn to say
Barbie in past perfect
so that I can tell my classmates
where I found that old
nappy girl with slanty eyes,
how my mother looked
when standing in front
of the butcher. I'll translate
the smell of sawdust mixed with blood
into Castillian, long passages
which will admit the transfiguration
of copper into bread.
10.12.08
Bedouin with Camel's Milk, Digital Image by M. Porter Swaid
The Big Apple by M. Porter SwaidThe Golden Calf
"Abstraction today is no longer that of the map, the double, the mirror or the concept. Simulation is no longer that of a territory, a referential being or a substance. It is the generation by models of a real without origin or reality: a hyperreal. The territory no longer precedes the map, nor survives it. Henceforth, it is the map that precedes the territory - precession of simulacra - it is the map that engenders the territory and if we were to revive the fable today, it would be the territory whose shreds are slowly rotting across the map. It is the real, and not the map, whose vestiges subsist here and there, in the deserts which are no longer those of the Empire, but our own. The desert of the real itself." -Baudrillard
An established factoid by now is the idea that the Calf represents idolatry. It is as widely known as any of the parables in the Diaries of the Ancients (called the Gospels and Torah). It may in fact be second only to the Apple in the Garden of Eden in terms of the Teaching Tools of Allah.
Lot's Wife is another that populates the modern imagination with things that lead to more things and still more things.
Lot's Wife, Digital Image by M. Porter SwaidRight up there with images from the er...Greeks is it? like the Three Graces
Rainbow Cafe, Naco-Son by M. Porter Swaid...to be continued....
Suggested reading: Jean Baudrillard: Simulacra and Simulations
9.12.08
The Fire Sermon in Glen Campbell
La ilaha ilallah, he created
the shadows to prostrate
and then the sun as a proof.
-The Distinction
Today it is Spicer,
today it is him, and the big idea.
Yesterday it was El Bishop.
It doesn't really matter
willingly or unwillingly
they will remember,
they will come to resurrections
once and again and pleading.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
And on her daughter
They wash their feet in soda water
Doesn't matter because
Firon was just a guy
full of asphalt and camphor,
insurgency is all there is
right now, all of the cold
wind trying to find it,
heading for the doors
and banging on the window.
Where are you?
says the wind
through the trees
who have caught on now
and take off their clothes
like chapmen
before the fire saying:
"you are too old
to do that again"
or, "you'll be sorry"
The trees know about
the shivers, they've read
all of the blankets
before the rain,
cover to cover,
even the shroud of Turin.
"These tempestes of the ayer
(which the Grecians caule Tiphones ...)
they caule furacanes."
Up in the pecan,
an ugly bird utters
the most beautiful small sound,
maybe he's talking about
the sea, about the parting.
I think he sings
the Song of Solomon,
Perhaps he can recall.
Hard to believe a throat
could make that noise,
eye to eye, up there,
not moving or alone, we are in
his tree now
until darkness tries
it's luck again. Time to go
home, time to flee
and take it all
into nests for the night
seasons where wind
splinters and talk
has little value
because the gale
gusts and swallows
anyway and the sleepers
constantly turn and still
listen to the fingertips
of the trees
as they tuck and snap
time into sound.
Outside the dog is growling
at the pig who comes his way
while on guard for the master.
At the fence they see each other,
they just don't budge
or press together, no
volume and infinite density.
All teeth and legs and odors
for one exceptional moment,
each abdicates their position,
runs away and eventually,
falls asleep either full or empty.
Truth be told,
the land is consumed
not by men or children,
all children of Sky Gods
by now, all kids
with hope and buckets
and all that time to do it
Little stones appear
and disappear,
the heaps of rock
tell atoms to history,
brave old legends about
sorrows and steam,
the story where space
and iron are heaven's
midden and leaven.
Galveston oh Galveston!
However the ocean takes
more than seems fair,
her own share -
nothing wrong with that,
but the skirts
of her dresses,
blue ones, green ones,
oily black ones made of taftah
bounce and like that,
swish and blow
the currents of her
arrival before the door
is open, long after it is closed.
La ilaha ilallah, he created
the shadows to prostrate
and then the sun as a proof.
-The Distinction
Today it is Spicer,
today it is him, and the big idea.
Yesterday it was El Bishop.
It doesn't really matter
willingly or unwillingly
they will remember,
they will come to resurrections
once and again and pleading.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
And on her daughter
They wash their feet in soda water
Doesn't matter because
Firon was just a guy
full of asphalt and camphor,
insurgency is all there is
right now, all of the cold
wind trying to find it,
heading for the doors
and banging on the window.
Where are you?
says the wind
through the trees
who have caught on now
and take off their clothes
like chapmen
before the fire saying:
"you are too old
to do that again"
or, "you'll be sorry"
The trees know about
the shivers, they've read
all of the blankets
before the rain,
cover to cover,
even the shroud of Turin.
"These tempestes of the ayer
(which the Grecians caule Tiphones ...)
they caule furacanes."
Up in the pecan,
an ugly bird utters
the most beautiful small sound,
maybe he's talking about
the sea, about the parting.
I think he sings
the Song of Solomon,
Perhaps he can recall.
Hard to believe a throat
could make that noise,
eye to eye, up there,
not moving or alone, we are in
his tree now
until darkness tries
it's luck again. Time to go
home, time to flee
and take it all
into nests for the night
seasons where wind
splinters and talk
has little value
because the gale
gusts and swallows
anyway and the sleepers
constantly turn and still
listen to the fingertips
of the trees
as they tuck and snap
time into sound.
Outside the dog is growling
at the pig who comes his way
while on guard for the master.
At the fence they see each other,
they just don't budge
or press together, no
volume and infinite density.
All teeth and legs and odors
for one exceptional moment,
each abdicates their position,
runs away and eventually,
falls asleep either full or empty.
Truth be told,
the land is consumed
not by men or children,
all children of Sky Gods
by now, all kids
with hope and buckets
and all that time to do it
Little stones appear
and disappear,
the heaps of rock
tell atoms to history,
brave old legends about
sorrows and steam,
the story where space
and iron are heaven's
midden and leaven.
Galveston oh Galveston!
However the ocean takes
more than seems fair,
her own share -
nothing wrong with that,
but the skirts
of her dresses,
blue ones, green ones,
oily black ones made of taftah
bounce and like that,
swish and blow
the currents of her
arrival before the door
is open, long after it is closed.
8.12.08
Lesson Two:
Why Revelation Matters
(Appointments, Annointments and general religious Disappointments)
Go here for lesson one in the difference between Revelation and Prophecy:
http://carmenisacat.blogspot.com/2008/12/what-exactly-is-revelation-in-todays.html
The Revelation: The Last Supper versus The Last Sura called, ironically (or maybe not!) "The Dinner Table":
[5.67] O Apostle! deliver what has been revealed to you from your Lord; and if you do it not, then you have not delivered His message, and Allah will protect you from the people; surely Allah will not guide the unbelieving people. -Sura Al Maida
[5.111] And when I revealed to the disciples, saying, Believe in Me and My apostle, they said: We believe and bear witness that we submit (ourselves).[5.112] When the disciples said: O Isa son of Marium! will your Lord consent to send down to us food from heaven? He said: Be careful of (your duty to) Allah if you are believers.[5.113] They said: We desire that we should eat of it and that our hearts should be at rest, and that we may know that you have indeed spoken the truth to us and that we may be of the witnesses to it.[5.114] Isa the son of Marium said: O Allah, our Lord! send i down to us food from heaven which should be to us an ever-recurring happiness, to the first of us and to the last of us, and a sign from Thee, and grant us means of subsistence, and Thou art the best of the Providers.[5.115] Allah said: Surely I will send it down to you, but whoever shall disbelieve afterwards from among you, surely I will chastise him with a chastisement with which I will not chastise, anyone among the nations.[5.116] And when Allah will say: O Isa son of Marium! did you say to men, Take me and my mother for two gods besides Allah he will say: Glory be to Thee, it did not befit me that I should say what I had no right to (say); if I had said it, Thou wouldst indeed have known it; Thou knowest what is in my mind, and I do not know what is in Thy mind, surely Thou art the great Knower of the unseen things.[5.117] 1 did not say to them aught save what Thou didst enjoin me with: That serve Allah, my Lord and your Lord, and I was a witness of them so long as I was among them, but when Thou didst cause me to die, Thou wert the watcher over them, and Thou art witness of all things. -Sura Al Maida i.e. The Dinner Table
So...the last act of Mohamed, SA was to reveal ? He had already revealed the Quran as we know that the Dinner Table was the last Sura and he was soon to die. Of course, it is the very famous speech at Ghadr Khum that matters in this:
http://www.islamicresearch.org/ghadir_khum.htm
What was the completion of Islam (the last act) and what was the outcome of mythologizing the Last Supper of Isa, SA? Yes, the last act of Mohamed, SA was to appoint a "deputy" who would after his death (Mohamed's) act as Legislator Superior. It was at Ghadr Khum that the directive to follow Ali ibn Abi Taleb (pbuh) was made:
"Then the Messenger of Allah continued: "Do I not have more right overthe believers than what they have over themselves?" People cried andanswered: "Yes, O' Messenger of God." Then Prophet (PBUH) held up thehand of Ali and said: "Whoever I am his leader (Mawla), Ali is hisleader (Mawla). O' God, love those who love him, and be hostile tothose who are hostile to him." "
Obviously...the two things are connected.Was Judas Iscariot nominated to take the place of Isa on the cross? I don't know but it certainly does sound interesting especially when you look into the nature of the "hadiths" known as The Gospels of Judas:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gospel_of_Judas
"According to the Gospel, Judas was the only one of Jesus’ followers to fully understand the Gnostic teachings":
"Knowing that Judas was reflecting upon something that was exalted, Jesus said to him: Step away from the others and I shall tell you the mysteries of the Kingdom. It is possible for you to reach it, but you will grieve a great deal. For someone else will replace you, in order that the twelve disciples may again come to completion with their God."
"Like the canonical gospels, the Gospel of Judas portrays the scribes as approaching Judas with the intention of arresting him, and Judas receiving money from them after handing Jesus over to them. But unlike Judas in the canonical gospels, who is portrayed as a villain, and excoriated by Jesus ("Alas for that man by whom the Son of Man is betrayed. It would be better for that man if he had never been born," Mark 14:21; Matthew 26:24, trans. The New English Bible), the Judas gospel portrays Judas as a divinely appointed instrument of a grand and predetermined purpose. "In the last days they will curse your ascent to the holy (generation)."
"Elsewhere in the manuscript, Jesus favours Judas above other disciples by saying, "Step away from the others and I shall tell you the mysteries of the kingdom," and "Look, you have been told everything. Lift up your eyes and look at the cloud and the light within it and the stars surrounding it. The star that leads the way is your star."In the New Testament, Judas is said to have died by hanging himself (Matthew 27:3-10), or by bursting open after a fall (Acts 1:16-19). The Gospel of Judas does not specify the fate of Judas, although in the gospel, Judas tells Jesus he has had a vision where he is stoned to death by the eleven remaining apostles."
[4.157] And their saying: Surely we have killed the Messiah, Isa son of Marium, the apostle of Allah; and they did not kill him nor did they crucify him, but it appeared to them so (like Isa) and most surely those who differ therein are only in a doubt about it; they have no knowledge respecting it, but only follow a conjecture, and they killed him not for sure. -Sura, The Women
[61.14] O you who believe! be helpers (in the cause) of Allah, as~ Isa son of Marium said to (his) disciples: Who are my helpers in the cause of Allah? The disciples said: We are helpers (in the cause) of Allah. So a party of the children of Israel believed and another party disbelieved; then We aided those who believed against their enemy, and they became uppermost. -Sura, The Ranks
The Tafsir of it all (exegesis):
The similarities are astounding. It is important to know that in the Quran, comparisons are always made between prophets so that a person can understand the relevance of any given revelation of a previously undisclosed fact. Isa is compared to Adam because both prophets were introduced without the use of male sperm i.e. male DNA. Moses is compared to Mohamed because both prophets actually brought a "new" law and both had helpers i.e. "brothers". Moses had Aaron and Mohamed had Ali. Furthermore, this indicates that Isa also had a helper who was named Judas (as far as we know because his name is not given in the Quran and this is only my opinion here). As far as those helpers being blamed for the failure of future generations to comply with the law of Allah, all three men can be compared as having been horribly misunderstood as to their role. Aaron was blamed for the Golden Calf incident (per the Bible but not per the Quran where the incident is justly blamed on a man known only as "Samiri"), Judas is castigated in the Bible and by most generations of people as being a traitor to Allah and the same can be said of Ali when it comes to some fundamentalist Sunni muslims when they accuse the Shia of being "heretical".
Why Revelation Matters
(Appointments, Annointments and general religious Disappointments)
Go here for lesson one in the difference between Revelation and Prophecy:
http://carmenisacat.blogspot.com/2008/12/what-exactly-is-revelation-in-todays.html
The Revelation: The Last Supper versus The Last Sura called, ironically (or maybe not!) "The Dinner Table":
[5.67] O Apostle! deliver what has been revealed to you from your Lord; and if you do it not, then you have not delivered His message, and Allah will protect you from the people; surely Allah will not guide the unbelieving people. -Sura Al Maida
[5.111] And when I revealed to the disciples, saying, Believe in Me and My apostle, they said: We believe and bear witness that we submit (ourselves).[5.112] When the disciples said: O Isa son of Marium! will your Lord consent to send down to us food from heaven? He said: Be careful of (your duty to) Allah if you are believers.[5.113] They said: We desire that we should eat of it and that our hearts should be at rest, and that we may know that you have indeed spoken the truth to us and that we may be of the witnesses to it.[5.114] Isa the son of Marium said: O Allah, our Lord! send i down to us food from heaven which should be to us an ever-recurring happiness, to the first of us and to the last of us, and a sign from Thee, and grant us means of subsistence, and Thou art the best of the Providers.[5.115] Allah said: Surely I will send it down to you, but whoever shall disbelieve afterwards from among you, surely I will chastise him with a chastisement with which I will not chastise, anyone among the nations.[5.116] And when Allah will say: O Isa son of Marium! did you say to men, Take me and my mother for two gods besides Allah he will say: Glory be to Thee, it did not befit me that I should say what I had no right to (say); if I had said it, Thou wouldst indeed have known it; Thou knowest what is in my mind, and I do not know what is in Thy mind, surely Thou art the great Knower of the unseen things.[5.117] 1 did not say to them aught save what Thou didst enjoin me with: That serve Allah, my Lord and your Lord, and I was a witness of them so long as I was among them, but when Thou didst cause me to die, Thou wert the watcher over them, and Thou art witness of all things. -Sura Al Maida i.e. The Dinner Table
So...the last act of Mohamed, SA was to reveal ? He had already revealed the Quran as we know that the Dinner Table was the last Sura and he was soon to die. Of course, it is the very famous speech at Ghadr Khum that matters in this:
http://www.islamicresearch.org/ghadir_khum.htm
What was the completion of Islam (the last act) and what was the outcome of mythologizing the Last Supper of Isa, SA? Yes, the last act of Mohamed, SA was to appoint a "deputy" who would after his death (Mohamed's) act as Legislator Superior. It was at Ghadr Khum that the directive to follow Ali ibn Abi Taleb (pbuh) was made:
"Then the Messenger of Allah continued: "Do I not have more right overthe believers than what they have over themselves?" People cried andanswered: "Yes, O' Messenger of God." Then Prophet (PBUH) held up thehand of Ali and said: "Whoever I am his leader (Mawla), Ali is hisleader (Mawla). O' God, love those who love him, and be hostile tothose who are hostile to him." "
Obviously...the two things are connected.Was Judas Iscariot nominated to take the place of Isa on the cross? I don't know but it certainly does sound interesting especially when you look into the nature of the "hadiths" known as The Gospels of Judas:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gospel_of_Judas
"According to the Gospel, Judas was the only one of Jesus’ followers to fully understand the Gnostic teachings":
"Knowing that Judas was reflecting upon something that was exalted, Jesus said to him: Step away from the others and I shall tell you the mysteries of the Kingdom. It is possible for you to reach it, but you will grieve a great deal. For someone else will replace you, in order that the twelve disciples may again come to completion with their God."
"Like the canonical gospels, the Gospel of Judas portrays the scribes as approaching Judas with the intention of arresting him, and Judas receiving money from them after handing Jesus over to them. But unlike Judas in the canonical gospels, who is portrayed as a villain, and excoriated by Jesus ("Alas for that man by whom the Son of Man is betrayed. It would be better for that man if he had never been born," Mark 14:21; Matthew 26:24, trans. The New English Bible), the Judas gospel portrays Judas as a divinely appointed instrument of a grand and predetermined purpose. "In the last days they will curse your ascent to the holy (generation)."
"Elsewhere in the manuscript, Jesus favours Judas above other disciples by saying, "Step away from the others and I shall tell you the mysteries of the kingdom," and "Look, you have been told everything. Lift up your eyes and look at the cloud and the light within it and the stars surrounding it. The star that leads the way is your star."In the New Testament, Judas is said to have died by hanging himself (Matthew 27:3-10), or by bursting open after a fall (Acts 1:16-19). The Gospel of Judas does not specify the fate of Judas, although in the gospel, Judas tells Jesus he has had a vision where he is stoned to death by the eleven remaining apostles."
[4.157] And their saying: Surely we have killed the Messiah, Isa son of Marium, the apostle of Allah; and they did not kill him nor did they crucify him, but it appeared to them so (like Isa) and most surely those who differ therein are only in a doubt about it; they have no knowledge respecting it, but only follow a conjecture, and they killed him not for sure. -Sura, The Women
[61.14] O you who believe! be helpers (in the cause) of Allah, as~ Isa son of Marium said to (his) disciples: Who are my helpers in the cause of Allah? The disciples said: We are helpers (in the cause) of Allah. So a party of the children of Israel believed and another party disbelieved; then We aided those who believed against their enemy, and they became uppermost. -Sura, The Ranks
The Tafsir of it all (exegesis):
The similarities are astounding. It is important to know that in the Quran, comparisons are always made between prophets so that a person can understand the relevance of any given revelation of a previously undisclosed fact. Isa is compared to Adam because both prophets were introduced without the use of male sperm i.e. male DNA. Moses is compared to Mohamed because both prophets actually brought a "new" law and both had helpers i.e. "brothers". Moses had Aaron and Mohamed had Ali. Furthermore, this indicates that Isa also had a helper who was named Judas (as far as we know because his name is not given in the Quran and this is only my opinion here). As far as those helpers being blamed for the failure of future generations to comply with the law of Allah, all three men can be compared as having been horribly misunderstood as to their role. Aaron was blamed for the Golden Calf incident (per the Bible but not per the Quran where the incident is justly blamed on a man known only as "Samiri"), Judas is castigated in the Bible and by most generations of people as being a traitor to Allah and the same can be said of Ali when it comes to some fundamentalist Sunni muslims when they accuse the Shia of being "heretical".
5.12.08
A Mysterious Case
They lay on conveyor belts,
old men without homes
for a few moments or hours,
their dusty suits
torn, split zippers and keychains.
Inside they are the same
kind of used-up dandy
depending on whether
they were on their way out
or home from the affair.
All kinds of people gather
to take one more glance
at them before heading off
in other directions.
Foreign notes tucked
into the deep pockets
hide for years on end
and never tell anyone
who they are or about the hours
spent away from home
comparing New Orleans
to Memphis and Memphis
to New Orleans using
schedules full of pleasure
and profit, blessed pastimes
in locales unknown
except to those
who go there
for misadventure, those
who read upside down.
How to unpack this baggage,
how to go on home.
The spider, they say,
eats his house
and rebuilds it
the very next day,
weaving the spew
into several sticky traps.
They lay on conveyor belts,
old men without homes
for a few moments or hours,
their dusty suits
torn, split zippers and keychains.
Inside they are the same
kind of used-up dandy
depending on whether
they were on their way out
or home from the affair.
All kinds of people gather
to take one more glance
at them before heading off
in other directions.
Foreign notes tucked
into the deep pockets
hide for years on end
and never tell anyone
who they are or about the hours
spent away from home
comparing New Orleans
to Memphis and Memphis
to New Orleans using
schedules full of pleasure
and profit, blessed pastimes
in locales unknown
except to those
who go there
for misadventure, those
who read upside down.
How to unpack this baggage,
how to go on home.
The spider, they say,
eats his house
and rebuilds it
the very next day,
weaving the spew
into several sticky traps.
4.12.08
What exactly is a Revelation?
Alif Lam Ra. These are the verses of the Book that makes (things) manifest. Surely We have revealed it-- an Arabic Quran-- that you may understand...
A speaker from among them said: Do not slay Yusuf, and cast him down into the bottom of the pit if you must do (it), (so that) some of the travellers may pick him up. - Sura 12, Yusef*
In today's world, the Book of Revelations occupies a position of gospel truth. And yes, it is the gospel truth by gum!
The Gospel Truth is one of my favorite ad libs. It is applicable in the secular world as well as the sacred. "She said he's leaving his wife! It is the gospel truth!"
A gospel is actually something well known and called in Islam, a Hadith. Hadiths are comments related by eye witnesses of certain important historical events that occurred during the lifetime of the last prophet and messenger, Mohamed, SA. They are NOT the actual statements of the prophet but rather, they are what several "reporters" remember him having said. Those are studied to the nth degree and compared. The "isnad" refers to the legitimacy of the reporters when taken together as a "whole".
Therefore, you can consider the Gospels in the New Testament as a set of hadith with basically the same "isnad" or chain of authority. Many chains of authority are not addressed in all Bibles and are considered Gnostic texts. Some Bibles include one chain of reporters and completely neglect another chain. This is the case of what we hold so dear in this "Western" society when we refer to the New Testament and in particular, the gospel according to John which is partly comprised of the Book of Revelations. In contrast, the Quran is in the "words" of the prophet himself or rather, as relayed to him by a messenger known as Gibreel, the angel or in Arabic, "malaik". The hadith and the Quran are to each other as the New Testament is to ?....a heretofore unknown quantity known as the Injeel, an actual book that was transcribed by the apostle Jesus (Isa) himself, May Allah be pleased with all of his servants and apostles. It may have only been an oral tradition like the Quran originally was and like the Zabur originally was (Psalms). We don't have that book (the Injeel) in our possession. We do have the Quran which is the only place in which the Injeel is actually mentioned. Whatever the case...it isn't here. The Quran is and is resistant to change. As well, Islam itself is the most and best "documented" life of a prophet that we have. And we(muslims) have a fantastic amount of information at that.
It is very much like the case of Sunni and Shia Islam in which Shia are considered heretics because they hold that the Divine Right resides in what is known as the Ahl Bayt (close family members of Mohamed himself, SA).
Back to the question though because I believe it to be a very important one.
What is a Revelation? Why is revelation important? What ISN'T revelation?
Revelation isn't a liar. It is a true word that can be relied upon to decifer what it actually is. It isn't even mystical and requires no experience in linguistics or etymology to understand. Revelation means to reveal something. Something that wasn't known before and the only way a person can know about it it to have it revealed to them in some manner. Scientific progress is based on Revelation you know.
Take Chlamydia for instance. When I was a teenager, we were taught all about VD. You had Syphilis and Gonorrhea. That was it. It was called VD. Later on however, we discovered some other little demons that wreak havoc on human beings. Chlamydia now is what is called an endemic disease. Everyone's got it! Or rather, one in four young women have it. We didn't know about Chlamydia or its harmful sequalae until I was just a nursing school student. I remember back then the little kits that were developed to detect Chlamydia and how uncommon it was to have to perform a Chlamydia screen on a suspect case. Therefore, knowledge about Chlamydia was REVEALED and has proven to be a very important little thing. The little bugger was there all along and causing alot of women to get cervical cancer. We just didn't "know" about it until twenty five or so years ago. We came a bit closer in other words, to the speed of light.
The Book of Revelations however isn't a revelation of anything we can identify today as being "useful" to our spiritual progress. That is because of what it ISN'T. What is it then?
It is a Prophecy. A prophecy given by a person or persons who claimed they had access to future information. For whatever reason, that person has a curiously UNSEMITIC name, John.
That in itself proves alot about the mish mash known as the Book of Revelations. It has of course, caused alot of spiritual damage and continues to do so.
Armageddon and all of that. I always have to laugh at my old inside joke you know. What kind of people think about Armageddon and discuss it as if they are going to remain behind to discuss the stats of the game? Dear me.
A real revelation is something that is necessary for human beings to get closer to the pure Truth.
Truth is what it is. It isn't something else you know or otherwise, it wouldn't be "truth". It is a finite point on a spectrum and is limited to "our knowledge" of something. That can work two ways you know.
One, we know about any given number of things that we question. For instance the size of the universe or the amount of mass in comparison to the total quantity of "gravity". This knowledge in itself revealed to scientists that we didn't know what we thought we knew. It resulted in the theory of Black Holes which is intermingled with quantum mechanics and the goal of discovering what is called a Grand Unification Theory. It has led to whole other ballparks of estimation which are being called the Many Worlds theories. When I listen to astrophysicists blab on about the Many Worlds theories and Membranes...I get a bit of the old Galileo You Are An Absolute Idiot Syndrome. But that's just me. Calling a membrane a "brane" is quite misleading when you first "hear" about it on a History Channel docu drama:
http://www.fraterdeus.com/cda/archive/2006/09/04/many-worlds-and-slinky-consciousness
(Slinky. I'll say. Rather courageous if you ask me!)
Two, our knowledge being limited to only those things that we can somehow "sense" (eyes, ears, telescopes)...tells us that Truth in our context is FINITE. Truth is Finite in the sense that the Speed of Light is finite. The fact that we cannot achieve the speed of light in a laboratory setting is the limit. It does not mean that truth itself is finite. Truth itself cannot be known to be either finite or infinite.
Truth exists in a ratio to knowledge. A five year old is much further from the Theory of Relativity than me at forty-six years of age. I am much further from it than a mathematician at Stanford. Allah of course, who created the whole shebang....well. We cannot comprehend that. Just like we cannot comprehend a speed of anything faster than the speed of light.
The amount of knowledge possessed by any given observer of "the world" is limited by several things. Those things are age, chemical-physiological fitness (dependent on heredity, nutrition, etc), socio-economic factors, etc. etc. etc.
It is also limited by Free Will. If a person chooses NOT to know about something, they have in effect limited themselves because...well...because of a lot of reasons. One of those might be social norms that say a person is crazy to try to know something. Another very important one in our highly and so called "intelligent" Age, is the notion that a person "already" knows something and it is beneath them to investigate such simplistic ideas like "religion".
When it comes to Religion however, the human race was given some special insights about a whole lot of things. The Quran is chock full of Revelation. The real kind. Not the kind that is confused in the New Testament with prophecy and is actually hadith i.e. gospel (third person accounts). It is the case that Allah wanted to reveal some data that if it remained hidden, would result in a failure to fully inform his potential followers of key points that would lead to their utter spiritual demise. In medicine, this is akin to Informed Consent (submission).
In the following chapters, I will discuss some of those key points and provide actual excerpts, proofs and rationale.
...to be continued.
*Yusef was one of twelve brothers who was taken as a child and hidden in a well by his eleven brothers. One of his brothers cautioned the others to not kill him as was their initial intent. The Sura Yusef is one of the few examples in the Quran where an entire story is revealed from beginning to end. It begins with a dream that Yusef had when very young and that was related to his father, the prophet Jacob (Yaqoub) who cautioned him to not reveal it to anyone else. Yusef was capable of the 'interpretation of dreams'. It was his special gift and plays a key role in the revelation of a thief, his brothers' crimes against him, the loyal brother and sage old man, the accusation of a rape by the women of the village which included the king's own wife who remained patient and constant towards Yusef until the end of the story even though she secreted information about his imprisonment which was due to the women's need to conceal the fact that they hoped to seduce the wonderfully charismatic dream reader. It is clearly about the nature of Revelation itself.
So he began with their sacks before the sack of his brother, then he brought it out from his brother's sack. Thus did We plan for the sake of Yusuf; it was not (lawful) that he should take his brother under the king's law unless Allah pleased; We raise the degrees of whomsoever We please, and above every one possessed of knowledge is the All-knowing one. - Yusef, Sura 12
Suggested Reading: Language, Truth and Logos and Sura Twelve
Alif Lam Ra. These are the verses of the Book that makes (things) manifest. Surely We have revealed it-- an Arabic Quran-- that you may understand...
A speaker from among them said: Do not slay Yusuf, and cast him down into the bottom of the pit if you must do (it), (so that) some of the travellers may pick him up. - Sura 12, Yusef*
In today's world, the Book of Revelations occupies a position of gospel truth. And yes, it is the gospel truth by gum!
The Gospel Truth is one of my favorite ad libs. It is applicable in the secular world as well as the sacred. "She said he's leaving his wife! It is the gospel truth!"
A gospel is actually something well known and called in Islam, a Hadith. Hadiths are comments related by eye witnesses of certain important historical events that occurred during the lifetime of the last prophet and messenger, Mohamed, SA. They are NOT the actual statements of the prophet but rather, they are what several "reporters" remember him having said. Those are studied to the nth degree and compared. The "isnad" refers to the legitimacy of the reporters when taken together as a "whole".
Therefore, you can consider the Gospels in the New Testament as a set of hadith with basically the same "isnad" or chain of authority. Many chains of authority are not addressed in all Bibles and are considered Gnostic texts. Some Bibles include one chain of reporters and completely neglect another chain. This is the case of what we hold so dear in this "Western" society when we refer to the New Testament and in particular, the gospel according to John which is partly comprised of the Book of Revelations. In contrast, the Quran is in the "words" of the prophet himself or rather, as relayed to him by a messenger known as Gibreel, the angel or in Arabic, "malaik". The hadith and the Quran are to each other as the New Testament is to ?....a heretofore unknown quantity known as the Injeel, an actual book that was transcribed by the apostle Jesus (Isa) himself, May Allah be pleased with all of his servants and apostles. It may have only been an oral tradition like the Quran originally was and like the Zabur originally was (Psalms). We don't have that book (the Injeel) in our possession. We do have the Quran which is the only place in which the Injeel is actually mentioned. Whatever the case...it isn't here. The Quran is and is resistant to change. As well, Islam itself is the most and best "documented" life of a prophet that we have. And we(muslims) have a fantastic amount of information at that.
What about the Gospels?
According to the Princeton based non-theologian (per her admission to me in a letter) expert Elaine Pagels, the testament of John is what was used to coerce early Christians to observe and abide by the concept of the Trinity and more importantly, the God-hood of Jesus Christ (Isa, SA). It was a case of confess allegiance to the Creed of John or off with your head, exile, excommunication, etc.It is very much like the case of Sunni and Shia Islam in which Shia are considered heretics because they hold that the Divine Right resides in what is known as the Ahl Bayt (close family members of Mohamed himself, SA).
Back to the question though because I believe it to be a very important one.
What is a Revelation? Why is revelation important? What ISN'T revelation?
Revelation isn't a liar. It is a true word that can be relied upon to decifer what it actually is. It isn't even mystical and requires no experience in linguistics or etymology to understand. Revelation means to reveal something. Something that wasn't known before and the only way a person can know about it it to have it revealed to them in some manner. Scientific progress is based on Revelation you know.
Take Chlamydia for instance. When I was a teenager, we were taught all about VD. You had Syphilis and Gonorrhea. That was it. It was called VD. Later on however, we discovered some other little demons that wreak havoc on human beings. Chlamydia now is what is called an endemic disease. Everyone's got it! Or rather, one in four young women have it. We didn't know about Chlamydia or its harmful sequalae until I was just a nursing school student. I remember back then the little kits that were developed to detect Chlamydia and how uncommon it was to have to perform a Chlamydia screen on a suspect case. Therefore, knowledge about Chlamydia was REVEALED and has proven to be a very important little thing. The little bugger was there all along and causing alot of women to get cervical cancer. We just didn't "know" about it until twenty five or so years ago. We came a bit closer in other words, to the speed of light.
The Book of Revelations however isn't a revelation of anything we can identify today as being "useful" to our spiritual progress. That is because of what it ISN'T. What is it then?
It is a Prophecy. A prophecy given by a person or persons who claimed they had access to future information. For whatever reason, that person has a curiously UNSEMITIC name, John.
That in itself proves alot about the mish mash known as the Book of Revelations. It has of course, caused alot of spiritual damage and continues to do so.
Armageddon and all of that. I always have to laugh at my old inside joke you know. What kind of people think about Armageddon and discuss it as if they are going to remain behind to discuss the stats of the game? Dear me.
A real revelation is something that is necessary for human beings to get closer to the pure Truth.
Truth is what it is. It isn't something else you know or otherwise, it wouldn't be "truth". It is a finite point on a spectrum and is limited to "our knowledge" of something. That can work two ways you know.
One, we know about any given number of things that we question. For instance the size of the universe or the amount of mass in comparison to the total quantity of "gravity". This knowledge in itself revealed to scientists that we didn't know what we thought we knew. It resulted in the theory of Black Holes which is intermingled with quantum mechanics and the goal of discovering what is called a Grand Unification Theory. It has led to whole other ballparks of estimation which are being called the Many Worlds theories. When I listen to astrophysicists blab on about the Many Worlds theories and Membranes...I get a bit of the old Galileo You Are An Absolute Idiot Syndrome. But that's just me. Calling a membrane a "brane" is quite misleading when you first "hear" about it on a History Channel docu drama:
http://www.fraterdeus.com/cda/archive/2006/09/04/many-worlds-and-slinky-consciousness
(Slinky. I'll say. Rather courageous if you ask me!)
Two, our knowledge being limited to only those things that we can somehow "sense" (eyes, ears, telescopes)...tells us that Truth in our context is FINITE. Truth is Finite in the sense that the Speed of Light is finite. The fact that we cannot achieve the speed of light in a laboratory setting is the limit. It does not mean that truth itself is finite. Truth itself cannot be known to be either finite or infinite.
Truth exists in a ratio to knowledge. A five year old is much further from the Theory of Relativity than me at forty-six years of age. I am much further from it than a mathematician at Stanford. Allah of course, who created the whole shebang....well. We cannot comprehend that. Just like we cannot comprehend a speed of anything faster than the speed of light.
The amount of knowledge possessed by any given observer of "the world" is limited by several things. Those things are age, chemical-physiological fitness (dependent on heredity, nutrition, etc), socio-economic factors, etc. etc. etc.
It is also limited by Free Will. If a person chooses NOT to know about something, they have in effect limited themselves because...well...because of a lot of reasons. One of those might be social norms that say a person is crazy to try to know something. Another very important one in our highly and so called "intelligent" Age, is the notion that a person "already" knows something and it is beneath them to investigate such simplistic ideas like "religion".
When it comes to Religion however, the human race was given some special insights about a whole lot of things. The Quran is chock full of Revelation. The real kind. Not the kind that is confused in the New Testament with prophecy and is actually hadith i.e. gospel (third person accounts). It is the case that Allah wanted to reveal some data that if it remained hidden, would result in a failure to fully inform his potential followers of key points that would lead to their utter spiritual demise. In medicine, this is akin to Informed Consent (submission).
In the following chapters, I will discuss some of those key points and provide actual excerpts, proofs and rationale.
...to be continued.
*Yusef was one of twelve brothers who was taken as a child and hidden in a well by his eleven brothers. One of his brothers cautioned the others to not kill him as was their initial intent. The Sura Yusef is one of the few examples in the Quran where an entire story is revealed from beginning to end. It begins with a dream that Yusef had when very young and that was related to his father, the prophet Jacob (Yaqoub) who cautioned him to not reveal it to anyone else. Yusef was capable of the 'interpretation of dreams'. It was his special gift and plays a key role in the revelation of a thief, his brothers' crimes against him, the loyal brother and sage old man, the accusation of a rape by the women of the village which included the king's own wife who remained patient and constant towards Yusef until the end of the story even though she secreted information about his imprisonment which was due to the women's need to conceal the fact that they hoped to seduce the wonderfully charismatic dream reader. It is clearly about the nature of Revelation itself.
So he began with their sacks before the sack of his brother, then he brought it out from his brother's sack. Thus did We plan for the sake of Yusuf; it was not (lawful) that he should take his brother under the king's law unless Allah pleased; We raise the degrees of whomsoever We please, and above every one possessed of knowledge is the All-knowing one. - Yusef, Sura 12
Suggested Reading: Language, Truth and Logos and Sura Twelve
2.12.08
The Oldest Joke in the World
Upon the stair I sat and thought
a million miles away,
the sun and stars might fall down
tonight, slip right into town
and say, right away, right away
put the things together,
stand in a great long line
you won't be needing a telescope
no more, you won't be counting time.
Upon the stair I sat and thought
a million miles away,
Saturn and Jupiter might collide
tomorrow and gravity subside,
to mess up all the tides and clocks,
work up all the wars and say,
too late for this boat and barn,
we no longer come to warn,
not in peace nor in particular
to spin a legendary yarn.
Upon a stair I sat and thought
a million miles away,
hell isn't good enough for most
of them and heaven too far away
for telescopes and misanthropes.
Upon a stair I sat and thought
a million miles away, which light
is it again that gets to earth
too late, which one is so far away?
Upon a stair I sat and thought
of the beginning and the end,
the chicken and the egg,
I thought this thought and it
was fine, but where on earth
is the punch line, the last laugh?
It doesn't really matter when
the folks begin to scatter,
a yolk or drumstick,
in the holy primordial batter,
raindrop and sperm drop,
snakes and apples, a wink
from Ahmedinijad in a dream.
It ain't over until
the fat lady sings or
as the case may be,
when the cows come home
after leaping over
the luminous, ruminous Moon
upon which epiphany is dormant,
where shadows prostrate
this way and that, anyway.
Upon a stair I sat and thought
of the oldest old joke I know,
I started to laugh like a bear
in the woods, a tree falling
or one hand clapping.
Upon the stair I sat and thought
a million miles away,
the sun and stars might fall down
tonight, slip right into town
and say, right away, right away
put the things together,
stand in a great long line
you won't be needing a telescope
no more, you won't be counting time.
Upon the stair I sat and thought
a million miles away,
Saturn and Jupiter might collide
tomorrow and gravity subside,
to mess up all the tides and clocks,
work up all the wars and say,
too late for this boat and barn,
we no longer come to warn,
not in peace nor in particular
to spin a legendary yarn.
Upon a stair I sat and thought
a million miles away,
hell isn't good enough for most
of them and heaven too far away
for telescopes and misanthropes.
Upon a stair I sat and thought
a million miles away, which light
is it again that gets to earth
too late, which one is so far away?
Upon a stair I sat and thought
of the beginning and the end,
the chicken and the egg,
I thought this thought and it
was fine, but where on earth
is the punch line, the last laugh?
It doesn't really matter when
the folks begin to scatter,
a yolk or drumstick,
in the holy primordial batter,
raindrop and sperm drop,
snakes and apples, a wink
from Ahmedinijad in a dream.
It ain't over until
the fat lady sings or
as the case may be,
when the cows come home
after leaping over
the luminous, ruminous Moon
upon which epiphany is dormant,
where shadows prostrate
this way and that, anyway.
Upon a stair I sat and thought
of the oldest old joke I know,
I started to laugh like a bear
in the woods, a tree falling
or one hand clapping.
30.11.08
A Sigh in the Fire
This idea of his to live as, a philosopher lives
to go to the bathroom and consider
every act, an act of will,
to wash and to utter the proper
invocations. To live the life of contemplation
not waste bread, bis-mallah the jinn
when turning on the tap, to question
question question every single deed
an act of will. Wake up each day
to this creed stumbled upon
in an actual bookshelf
in a book. Study, study, study
every last line:
"These are the verses that make things manifest."
Alif Lam Ra
Every leaf that falls had a destiny
born, die, born, die, born, die
like that. The work of the becoming.
To wake up and consider every sign
and utter the appropriate invocation
I cannot number the things
I cannot number them, cannot keep
up with the praise
Shukr'allah for the blink, breath, the Byzantine
Shukr'allah for the bread, for Pat Sajak, the second kidney
Shukr'allah for the Apache, for my new shoes
Shukr'allah for turkeys and teamwork
Shukr'allah for clowns and special liasons
Shukr'allah for coffee beans and water
for goats, the A plus, for Mister Rogers,
for diesel fuel and penicillin,
for the wheel, jumbo jets, ink,
the heavier weight and equal measure.
Mighty is this treatise, more than
all the alphabet prizes, more than
how many angels could stand on a pin.
Seashells. A special thanks for sea shells.
If only I woke up with charming
philosophy on my mind.
Putting it between new pecans and the need
to buy an eighteen foot ladder to get up there,
to touch them one by one, to hear
the whisper of the bee as it flies by
saying, bis mallah to the Obviator, follow me.
This idea of his to live as, a philosopher lives
to go to the bathroom and consider
every act, an act of will,
to wash and to utter the proper
invocations. To live the life of contemplation
not waste bread, bis-mallah the jinn
when turning on the tap, to question
question question every single deed
an act of will. Wake up each day
to this creed stumbled upon
in an actual bookshelf
in a book. Study, study, study
every last line:
"These are the verses that make things manifest."
Alif Lam Ra
Every leaf that falls had a destiny
born, die, born, die, born, die
like that. The work of the becoming.
To wake up and consider every sign
and utter the appropriate invocation
I cannot number the things
I cannot number them, cannot keep
up with the praise
Shukr'allah for the blink, breath, the Byzantine
Shukr'allah for the bread, for Pat Sajak, the second kidney
Shukr'allah for the Apache, for my new shoes
Shukr'allah for turkeys and teamwork
Shukr'allah for clowns and special liasons
Shukr'allah for coffee beans and water
for goats, the A plus, for Mister Rogers,
for diesel fuel and penicillin,
for the wheel, jumbo jets, ink,
the heavier weight and equal measure.
Mighty is this treatise, more than
all the alphabet prizes, more than
how many angels could stand on a pin.
Seashells. A special thanks for sea shells.
If only I woke up with charming
philosophy on my mind.
Putting it between new pecans and the need
to buy an eighteen foot ladder to get up there,
to touch them one by one, to hear
the whisper of the bee as it flies by
saying, bis mallah to the Obviator, follow me.
22.11.08
The Resurrection
We don't know what we are doing
anymore, lazy, silent, perplexed-
a long list of temptation awaits us.
Special envoy says:
better luck next time!
Dream the better dream
is still, the crux of it, a dream.
Wash, wash, wash,
leaves come in at all hours,
steam on the ceiling, lint.
This morning will be different,
Saturday. Oh Saturday.
Oh Saturnine. The true color
of lead, smelter and slag-happy
purple mountain of mine.
In the mirror the image
is yesterday, last minute
surprise, forgot to replenish
the cells one at a time,
or rub the dirt off for Easter.
Ah now...that one brings you in doesn't it? It is alot like compost you know...depends on what you put into it..the fertility and all. Nickels and dimes don't do much for the soil which as a matter of fact is quite close to the word soul. Just an i-u difference in there. It is locked up with the way the past is always passing and as she says so often, "time doesn't wait for you".
Burning leaves is a great Saturday past time if you ask me...takes two people..one to throw and one to stir the pot or otherwise...you get too much smoke and not enough fire. This in turn is placed into the compost bin with the manure picked up out on High Lonesome. A real God-forsaken place...not even any idols to be found out there except maybe, if you are lucky, an old corral. Up at the Divide where water runs in two directions, a nudie magazine is laying atop a carpet of green and brown beer glass and some whiskey bottles. Up rooting the dead manzanita (praise is due to that old poem of his) isn't very hard. O the cosmetic industry needs a plug doesn't it? What would Darwin say about the damage caused by UV rays and our own fitness?
You know, I paid a visit (paid a visit ha!) to old Silliman's blog today and he led me to a few sites that usually I wouldn't bother about. One of them was all about Ashbury. A very long sentence and it made me feel so empty inside and then, it made me want to write something better than that. Didn't take long you know because my compost pile is most certainly unusual, very hand and man made. We have a blower, a Pedi-paws and now, even a FREEZER. This is absolutely crazy I think. I never thought I'd own a FREEZER.
I guess it was at that gig down at the County Fair this year. I had to sit there and hand out stuff for the Health Department. Next to me was the Bio-Terrorism lady. Nice woman...really nice. So quiet and always wears the most fantastic dresses. Didn't know she was Mormon at all. Just nice.
So this other woman who looked like a granola bar expert comes up to her...she's got five or six flax headed children...and the two of them start talking about "readiness". Oh, I'm all ears about readiness you know. And lo! they are both Mormons. They are used to packing up lunches for Armageddon or something like that...not sure really and I'm not commenting here on the Mormon religion...what do I know about that!
It turns out that in order to be "ready" you have to keep rotating your big bottles of water every few months. Then you have to stock food that doesn't spoil too quickly. If I were them, I'd put some dates in there and honey too. Can't beat dates and honey on a spoiled day.
So it goes. We're all waiting for something it seems. Stock market up, stock market down. I'll be happy when I throw my compost into the slag. See what comes up.
We don't know what we are doing
anymore, lazy, silent, perplexed-
a long list of temptation awaits us.
Special envoy says:
better luck next time!
Dream the better dream
is still, the crux of it, a dream.
Wash, wash, wash,
leaves come in at all hours,
steam on the ceiling, lint.
This morning will be different,
Saturday. Oh Saturday.
Oh Saturnine. The true color
of lead, smelter and slag-happy
purple mountain of mine.
In the mirror the image
is yesterday, last minute
surprise, forgot to replenish
the cells one at a time,
or rub the dirt off for Easter.
Ah now...that one brings you in doesn't it? It is alot like compost you know...depends on what you put into it..the fertility and all. Nickels and dimes don't do much for the soil which as a matter of fact is quite close to the word soul. Just an i-u difference in there. It is locked up with the way the past is always passing and as she says so often, "time doesn't wait for you".
Burning leaves is a great Saturday past time if you ask me...takes two people..one to throw and one to stir the pot or otherwise...you get too much smoke and not enough fire. This in turn is placed into the compost bin with the manure picked up out on High Lonesome. A real God-forsaken place...not even any idols to be found out there except maybe, if you are lucky, an old corral. Up at the Divide where water runs in two directions, a nudie magazine is laying atop a carpet of green and brown beer glass and some whiskey bottles. Up rooting the dead manzanita (praise is due to that old poem of his) isn't very hard. O the cosmetic industry needs a plug doesn't it? What would Darwin say about the damage caused by UV rays and our own fitness?
You know, I paid a visit (paid a visit ha!) to old Silliman's blog today and he led me to a few sites that usually I wouldn't bother about. One of them was all about Ashbury. A very long sentence and it made me feel so empty inside and then, it made me want to write something better than that. Didn't take long you know because my compost pile is most certainly unusual, very hand and man made. We have a blower, a Pedi-paws and now, even a FREEZER. This is absolutely crazy I think. I never thought I'd own a FREEZER.
I guess it was at that gig down at the County Fair this year. I had to sit there and hand out stuff for the Health Department. Next to me was the Bio-Terrorism lady. Nice woman...really nice. So quiet and always wears the most fantastic dresses. Didn't know she was Mormon at all. Just nice.
So this other woman who looked like a granola bar expert comes up to her...she's got five or six flax headed children...and the two of them start talking about "readiness". Oh, I'm all ears about readiness you know. And lo! they are both Mormons. They are used to packing up lunches for Armageddon or something like that...not sure really and I'm not commenting here on the Mormon religion...what do I know about that!
It turns out that in order to be "ready" you have to keep rotating your big bottles of water every few months. Then you have to stock food that doesn't spoil too quickly. If I were them, I'd put some dates in there and honey too. Can't beat dates and honey on a spoiled day.
So it goes. We're all waiting for something it seems. Stock market up, stock market down. I'll be happy when I throw my compost into the slag. See what comes up.
19.11.08
A Poem of Somalian Piracy
I. The Chastisement
Thou shalt not read this
furthermore without the slim slap
of the mother waiting for her sons
at the doors of the ancient cathedrals,
down by the polished stones,
reverent river rocks of the Apache
in the oldest canyons of purgatory.
There is a wine-red glow in the shallows,
a tin flash in the sun dazzle.
A grim voice, no comparison.
On the deck we watched Bayruth
until the night churned a path
away into the foam. The sea
already spread into an oily wound
of war. There were no choices
but to watch and wonder, pray
for the steadfast. A telemachas-vision in the mess
bright with simple animations; children and women
held tight to the cots and cribs
of the Navy whose cargo was labeled:
The hypocrisy of mighty charities,
dry forms in the ether
the pirates of democracy contained
in the hold of great ships made
of steel and already sold to India
to outflank the archaics
in the next war, pirates
who pimp ships to battle, the
slaves in the caves of byzantium:
someone's children, someone's baby
no one knows how hard they've tried.
And few, if any, know the seeds
that are planted on distant shores,
no one knows this Obleo.
II The Reckoning
One vessel after another was boarded,
time zones failed the miserable ticking,
sleep impossible and tears plenty.
Some had been herded three times before
and others returned to the docks of Bayruth
unwilling to flee and able to bear witness
if only for one more day in the longest history
of the utopias, proud and prejudiced, as if to say:
we are not your playthings and your pathology
isn't what it used to be, a kind of show business.
O pathologie of the ancient
twisted mind rage, a cornered
battered animal with false teeth
shriven to the core, cavity stricken.
Blind, belligerent, cursed and chosen
for a confessio of popularity,
a pharoah's shadowy throne?
The several refusals and rebukes
are all out there, the big stone
idol witnessed the smaller ones
being beaten into gravel
and was silent, like so many poets.
Pardon and unpardon the pastors,
reveal and unreveal the pleasantries,
make and unmake everything into barter.
III The gray steps lead up to the Cedars
The creek Zacatecas meanders downhill,
swells and shrinks, borrows rocks
bones, marbles and screws.
Older stories are told in the silt beds,
grass returns as green
as the day grass was born.
No one knows the ancients
when time speeds up.
An ant carries the dead body
of an ant, drops it
then walks in a circle
around the corpse, nudges
his comrade once more and moves on.
War is the basic story of all things
pleasant and otherwise, empires
fall in the anthills eternal.
Forests plead with the fires and wind,
the ever returning floods.
Nothing lasts forever except the creation
and even that, is a trick of light
a toast to the cedars!
Mighty cedars in rain, cedars in mine
and bible, perpetually holding still.
Continually growing old for Gilgamesh
and the return of the ancient teacher,
the boat slayer, the little green man Kadr
with his problematic conundrums.
IV. To The Immortals
A great throng, generations of nostalgia
and those who believe they will remain
a thousand years more to discuss
the outcomes of Armageddon
your masks are made of stone,
metal hip bones and gravity defied
by the priests who guarantee
a kind monasticism, pedantic really.
Monk, Priest, Idolatress
are the foods of the iconoclasts
and the sand you leave behind
is the same sand to build more.
This awakening is only a taste,
there is no recovery room in hell,
no narcan and certainly few surprises.
Spring is for the resurrected
and goblets are full of rain.
The descriptives escape most,
the heat waves closer and the constant
night in the outline of shadows,
the gap free echo of the ether
is the chalk outline walking sideways
towards the joining hour, the eden time.
Do you not visit the graves of the ancients?
V. Mankind
In the days of distant myth
local stories drew close and closer
the parables of the future lay
dying in grassy fields full of markers,
where flocks used to go, herds
there, where seeds are planted
one by one, the now burnt
forests. Men like the sea
gathering the fog to themselves
in the dreamy coats of dawn
in tents of stone, breakfast gardens,
where graves full of saints stay sweetly buried.
How the mule used to bray
when one of them died but now
there are too many
and the herds run amok - invasion weary,
people rebuilding for the 100th
time, plaster gives up to the rain
before it starts and rust is soon.
VI. Troy
A summer it was
the city full of hot dreams
Standard and Quaker
the sea just full of it,
unquenchable, out of reach
near the boat wrecks there.
The head of Augustus, El Cid Pimpus
Aquarius, maybe two-hundred
thousand bronze cast idols lay
over it in the churning
deeps under ossified
strata, girder strata,
the strata of the quiet
years foreign between layers
Corinthian to the modern treasuries
cast into the deeps, strata
of sewage and sinew,
the lightweight strata of letters
fixed in juxta
bracelets of ruby, garnets
for eardrums, her eyes
were sapphire in the sweet wood
of the mines. Nothing but teeth
and guesswork in a blanket of fuel.
That summer the voices brought flags
to the indigenes, herded them into trans-
ports, gave 'em a bit of water,
some bread and cheese maybe
and told them to cry
A stalwart muslim's ha been killed
now cry, an easy compliant crowd
of schoolchildren and house-help.
I know it is true cuz I wuz there
minding my own business, plying
my trade quietly not asking
for forgiveness or barter, few
friends had I save for the tricks
of the fathers, doting diligent men.
Schoolmasters 'til ten then after
lunch the brazen begin
in offices and backstrips.
They'd see a Russian bargirl or Romanian
or an Asian, no funds ever changed hands
until day break in a distant room.
Sometimes up in this very same edifice.
She'd come in as if to clean up a bit
for the tenant 'out of the country'
who'd left his keys with a friend.
So I know it's true, all of it and no
one can pay a woman
like me to lie, I won't do it
although the tenant did try -
gave mepickled batinjaen
and clocks. Oh he'd do it alright
but I never turned by back
on him, a daring
thief from the Be'aaah Valley.
What a dear valley for potatoes!
Potatoes like human heads, pearly
white with thin skin and guns.
So what I relate is true, belligerent
with the good intentions to advise
the innocent. I once was that too
disbelieving, minding my own business
plying my trade, not asking
for barder nor accepting any bribe.
In other words, I was trying
hard to please myself sometimes
but not more than that.
Late at night -early
in the morning sounds in the stair
well, he'd be carrying a crate
of tomatoes, his pockets full
of cash -he worked as a newspaper
salesman, so he said, so the hours
were quite odd, deliquent even.
There'd be the sound of a bag
placed near my door,
then he'd go up the last flight
of stairs, the lock would groan
and his keys would be finally
silent as he made something
in the kitchen, cold food
for a bachelor somewhat
of a criminal but a passionate one
who'd touch any woman he could:
wife, sister, baby - he didn't care,
just wanted something feminine
to take care of. I'd pull away
and complain to mi esposo
pero no mucho entonces
I pitied him and he pitied me -
a tenuous love and honesty
is the issue when they pay
poor people to cry.
Beirut is mostly tent and the buildings
are sometimes stone and sometimes
sticks. It is a mobile edifice
for treason and statuary, shifting
shadows of the markets, a newspaper-
man is a convenient neighbor
when a Valentine arrives -
Bloody Big Hole in the Heart
of the city, the blood ran
for two whole years in the aquaducts.
All the while he'd bring his
cash and tomatoes in the early
hours and I'd wait morning,
then afternoon, then eveing
plying my trade of watching
then writing the treaties.
I never wore shoes and contracted
the hookworm's cough
so I could reach his door
unnoticed as if a sleeping baby
was inside, the big door would open
and his eyes were large, they'd open
more, he was twice my size
and kept a toy gun in the foyer.
He'd grab me and pull me close
to catch my old thrills
if only tangentially, his hands
were very large.
Then he'd hury back to bring
some chocolates. He loved
chocolates, really really loved
chocolates, German ones.
Near the settee where once
we drank tall glasses of apple
juice and the Philistine for hire
thought we were drunk on whiskey.
He was a cheat and I caught
his eyes in a glance at my breasts -
didn't like it and the philistine
thought I'd not notice nor would I
notice he'd started stealing
my properties, one and the same.
I. The Chastisement
Thou shalt not read this
furthermore without the slim slap
of the mother waiting for her sons
at the doors of the ancient cathedrals,
down by the polished stones,
reverent river rocks of the Apache
in the oldest canyons of purgatory.
There is a wine-red glow in the shallows,
a tin flash in the sun dazzle.
A grim voice, no comparison.
On the deck we watched Bayruth
until the night churned a path
away into the foam. The sea
already spread into an oily wound
of war. There were no choices
but to watch and wonder, pray
for the steadfast. A telemachas-vision in the mess
bright with simple animations; children and women
held tight to the cots and cribs
of the Navy whose cargo was labeled:
The hypocrisy of mighty charities,
dry forms in the ether
the pirates of democracy contained
in the hold of great ships made
of steel and already sold to India
to outflank the archaics
in the next war, pirates
who pimp ships to battle, the
slaves in the caves of byzantium:
someone's children, someone's baby
no one knows how hard they've tried.
And few, if any, know the seeds
that are planted on distant shores,
no one knows this Obleo.
II The Reckoning
One vessel after another was boarded,
time zones failed the miserable ticking,
sleep impossible and tears plenty.
Some had been herded three times before
and others returned to the docks of Bayruth
unwilling to flee and able to bear witness
if only for one more day in the longest history
of the utopias, proud and prejudiced, as if to say:
we are not your playthings and your pathology
isn't what it used to be, a kind of show business.
O pathologie of the ancient
twisted mind rage, a cornered
battered animal with false teeth
shriven to the core, cavity stricken.
Blind, belligerent, cursed and chosen
for a confessio of popularity,
a pharoah's shadowy throne?
The several refusals and rebukes
are all out there, the big stone
idol witnessed the smaller ones
being beaten into gravel
and was silent, like so many poets.
Pardon and unpardon the pastors,
reveal and unreveal the pleasantries,
make and unmake everything into barter.
III The gray steps lead up to the Cedars
The creek Zacatecas meanders downhill,
swells and shrinks, borrows rocks
bones, marbles and screws.
Older stories are told in the silt beds,
grass returns as green
as the day grass was born.
No one knows the ancients
when time speeds up.
An ant carries the dead body
of an ant, drops it
then walks in a circle
around the corpse, nudges
his comrade once more and moves on.
War is the basic story of all things
pleasant and otherwise, empires
fall in the anthills eternal.
Forests plead with the fires and wind,
the ever returning floods.
Nothing lasts forever except the creation
and even that, is a trick of light
a toast to the cedars!
Mighty cedars in rain, cedars in mine
and bible, perpetually holding still.
Continually growing old for Gilgamesh
and the return of the ancient teacher,
the boat slayer, the little green man Kadr
with his problematic conundrums.
IV. To The Immortals
A great throng, generations of nostalgia
and those who believe they will remain
a thousand years more to discuss
the outcomes of Armageddon
your masks are made of stone,
metal hip bones and gravity defied
by the priests who guarantee
a kind monasticism, pedantic really.
Monk, Priest, Idolatress
are the foods of the iconoclasts
and the sand you leave behind
is the same sand to build more.
This awakening is only a taste,
there is no recovery room in hell,
no narcan and certainly few surprises.
Spring is for the resurrected
and goblets are full of rain.
The descriptives escape most,
the heat waves closer and the constant
night in the outline of shadows,
the gap free echo of the ether
is the chalk outline walking sideways
towards the joining hour, the eden time.
Do you not visit the graves of the ancients?
V. Mankind
In the days of distant myth
local stories drew close and closer
the parables of the future lay
dying in grassy fields full of markers,
where flocks used to go, herds
there, where seeds are planted
one by one, the now burnt
forests. Men like the sea
gathering the fog to themselves
in the dreamy coats of dawn
in tents of stone, breakfast gardens,
where graves full of saints stay sweetly buried.
How the mule used to bray
when one of them died but now
there are too many
and the herds run amok - invasion weary,
people rebuilding for the 100th
time, plaster gives up to the rain
before it starts and rust is soon.
VI. Troy
A summer it was
the city full of hot dreams
Standard and Quaker
the sea just full of it,
unquenchable, out of reach
near the boat wrecks there.
The head of Augustus, El Cid Pimpus
Aquarius, maybe two-hundred
thousand bronze cast idols lay
over it in the churning
deeps under ossified
strata, girder strata,
the strata of the quiet
years foreign between layers
Corinthian to the modern treasuries
cast into the deeps, strata
of sewage and sinew,
the lightweight strata of letters
fixed in juxta
bracelets of ruby, garnets
for eardrums, her eyes
were sapphire in the sweet wood
of the mines. Nothing but teeth
and guesswork in a blanket of fuel.
That summer the voices brought flags
to the indigenes, herded them into trans-
ports, gave 'em a bit of water,
some bread and cheese maybe
and told them to cry
A stalwart muslim's ha been killed
now cry, an easy compliant crowd
of schoolchildren and house-help.
I know it is true cuz I wuz there
minding my own business, plying
my trade quietly not asking
for forgiveness or barter, few
friends had I save for the tricks
of the fathers, doting diligent men.
Schoolmasters 'til ten then after
lunch the brazen begin
in offices and backstrips.
They'd see a Russian bargirl or Romanian
or an Asian, no funds ever changed hands
until day break in a distant room.
Sometimes up in this very same edifice.
She'd come in as if to clean up a bit
for the tenant 'out of the country'
who'd left his keys with a friend.
So I know it's true, all of it and no
one can pay a woman
like me to lie, I won't do it
although the tenant did try -
gave mepickled batinjaen
and clocks. Oh he'd do it alright
but I never turned by back
on him, a daring
thief from the Be'aaah Valley.
What a dear valley for potatoes!
Potatoes like human heads, pearly
white with thin skin and guns.
So what I relate is true, belligerent
with the good intentions to advise
the innocent. I once was that too
disbelieving, minding my own business
plying my trade, not asking
for barder nor accepting any bribe.
In other words, I was trying
hard to please myself sometimes
but not more than that.
Late at night -early
in the morning sounds in the stair
well, he'd be carrying a crate
of tomatoes, his pockets full
of cash -he worked as a newspaper
salesman, so he said, so the hours
were quite odd, deliquent even.
There'd be the sound of a bag
placed near my door,
then he'd go up the last flight
of stairs, the lock would groan
and his keys would be finally
silent as he made something
in the kitchen, cold food
for a bachelor somewhat
of a criminal but a passionate one
who'd touch any woman he could:
wife, sister, baby - he didn't care,
just wanted something feminine
to take care of. I'd pull away
and complain to mi esposo
pero no mucho entonces
I pitied him and he pitied me -
a tenuous love and honesty
is the issue when they pay
poor people to cry.
Beirut is mostly tent and the buildings
are sometimes stone and sometimes
sticks. It is a mobile edifice
for treason and statuary, shifting
shadows of the markets, a newspaper-
man is a convenient neighbor
when a Valentine arrives -
Bloody Big Hole in the Heart
of the city, the blood ran
for two whole years in the aquaducts.
All the while he'd bring his
cash and tomatoes in the early
hours and I'd wait morning,
then afternoon, then eveing
plying my trade of watching
then writing the treaties.
I never wore shoes and contracted
the hookworm's cough
so I could reach his door
unnoticed as if a sleeping baby
was inside, the big door would open
and his eyes were large, they'd open
more, he was twice my size
and kept a toy gun in the foyer.
He'd grab me and pull me close
to catch my old thrills
if only tangentially, his hands
were very large.
Then he'd hury back to bring
some chocolates. He loved
chocolates, really really loved
chocolates, German ones.
Near the settee where once
we drank tall glasses of apple
juice and the Philistine for hire
thought we were drunk on whiskey.
He was a cheat and I caught
his eyes in a glance at my breasts -
didn't like it and the philistine
thought I'd not notice nor would I
notice he'd started stealing
my properties, one and the same.
18.11.08
The Last Mystery
What misery it is to not know
something perfectly known,
the last curtain call did grow
from ignorance into a lie full blown.
They asked for a spread
some juice and some bread.
Next thing you know we're eating
someone's liver and treating
cannibalism like good old usury
something special in the chalice
someone else's misery
a token for our own malice.
This is the parable of eat and drink
take no helpers, don't even blink.
Before you know it they'll want to say
it's always been this carnivorous way.
Not so the book said, just not so
and if you don't believe Allah
then you'll just have to go
ask someone else or guess.
And that ends up in a long term mess.
From the Last Revealed Sura in the Glorious Quran known as The Dinner Table or Table Spread. This Sura was revealed at Ghadr Khum and the prophet was aware of his impending death (sound familiar?). It is said that at the place known as Ghadr Khum, over 100,000 muslims gathered to hear the prophet's final sermon. During that sermon, it is well known that he named his son-in-law Ali ibn Abi Taleb to be the executor of his "estate" i.e. Islam. It is the basis of all sectarianism in Islam with the "Shia" becoming known as those who followed the last order i.e. Last Will and Testament of the prophet Mohamed, SA. Sunnis are those who followed those who violated the Will of Allah. It is and was, a very serious concern. Perhaps some in the world can begin to see exactly why it is a concern in the modern world i.e. the violation of the Will of Allah. Or maybe not!
It (the two LAST acts of the two last prophets, Mohamed and Isa, SA) can be compared (as I believe it was meant to be and therefore, within this Sura you find the real account of the Last Supper which has become a real issue of controversy amongst theologians because of the mysteries of the painting by Leonardo Da Vinci (who wasn't a witness to the event afterall)). It's right there in black and white, English and Tegalog, Portuguese and French, Swahili and Urdu. Just pick up a Quran at your local bookseller. You won't be disappointed.
Aya (proof) 112-120, The Dinner Table
[5.112] When the disciples said: O Isa son of Marium! will your Lord consent to send down to us food from heaven? He said: Be careful of (your duty to) Allah if you are believers.
[5.113] They said: We desire that we should eat of it and that our hearts should be at rest, and that we may know that you have indeed spoken the truth to us and that we may be of the witnesses to it.
[5.114] Isa the son of Marium said: O Allah, our Lord! send i down to us food from heaven which should be to us an ever-recurring happiness, to the first of us and to the last of us, and a sign from Thee, and grant us means of subsistence, and Thou art the best of the Providers.
[5.115] Allah said: Surely I will send it down to you, but whoever shall disbelieve afterwards from among you, surely I will chastise him with a chastisement with which I will not chastise, anyone among the nations.
[5.116] And when Allah will say: O Isa son of Marium! did you say to men, Take me and my mother for two gods besides Allah he will say: Glory be to Thee, it did not befit me that I should say what I had no right to (say); if I had said it, Thou wouldst indeed have known it; Thou knowest what is in my mind, and I do not know what is in Thy mind, surely Thou art the great Knower of the unseen things.
[5.117] 1 did not say to them aught save what Thou didst enjoin me with: That serve Allah, my Lord and your Lord, and I was a witness of them so long as I was among them, but when Thou didst cause me to die, Thou wert the watcher over them, and Thou art witness of all things.
[5.118] If Thou shouldst chastise them, then surely they are Thy servants; and if Thou shouldst forgive them, then surely Thou art the Mighty, the Wise.
[5.119] Allah will say: This is the day when their truth shall benefit the truthful ones; they shall have gardens beneath which rivers flow to abide in them for ever: Allah is well pleased with them and they are well pleased with Allah; this is the mighty achievement.
[5.120] Allah's is the kingdom of the heavens and the earth and what is in them; and He has power over all things.
What misery it is to not know
something perfectly known,
the last curtain call did grow
from ignorance into a lie full blown.
They asked for a spread
some juice and some bread.
Next thing you know we're eating
someone's liver and treating
cannibalism like good old usury
something special in the chalice
someone else's misery
a token for our own malice.
This is the parable of eat and drink
take no helpers, don't even blink.
Before you know it they'll want to say
it's always been this carnivorous way.
Not so the book said, just not so
and if you don't believe Allah
then you'll just have to go
ask someone else or guess.
And that ends up in a long term mess.
From the Last Revealed Sura in the Glorious Quran known as The Dinner Table or Table Spread. This Sura was revealed at Ghadr Khum and the prophet was aware of his impending death (sound familiar?). It is said that at the place known as Ghadr Khum, over 100,000 muslims gathered to hear the prophet's final sermon. During that sermon, it is well known that he named his son-in-law Ali ibn Abi Taleb to be the executor of his "estate" i.e. Islam. It is the basis of all sectarianism in Islam with the "Shia" becoming known as those who followed the last order i.e. Last Will and Testament of the prophet Mohamed, SA. Sunnis are those who followed those who violated the Will of Allah. It is and was, a very serious concern. Perhaps some in the world can begin to see exactly why it is a concern in the modern world i.e. the violation of the Will of Allah. Or maybe not!
It (the two LAST acts of the two last prophets, Mohamed and Isa, SA) can be compared (as I believe it was meant to be and therefore, within this Sura you find the real account of the Last Supper which has become a real issue of controversy amongst theologians because of the mysteries of the painting by Leonardo Da Vinci (who wasn't a witness to the event afterall)). It's right there in black and white, English and Tegalog, Portuguese and French, Swahili and Urdu. Just pick up a Quran at your local bookseller. You won't be disappointed.
Aya (proof) 112-120, The Dinner Table
[5.112] When the disciples said: O Isa son of Marium! will your Lord consent to send down to us food from heaven? He said: Be careful of (your duty to) Allah if you are believers.
[5.113] They said: We desire that we should eat of it and that our hearts should be at rest, and that we may know that you have indeed spoken the truth to us and that we may be of the witnesses to it.
[5.114] Isa the son of Marium said: O Allah, our Lord! send i down to us food from heaven which should be to us an ever-recurring happiness, to the first of us and to the last of us, and a sign from Thee, and grant us means of subsistence, and Thou art the best of the Providers.
[5.115] Allah said: Surely I will send it down to you, but whoever shall disbelieve afterwards from among you, surely I will chastise him with a chastisement with which I will not chastise, anyone among the nations.
[5.116] And when Allah will say: O Isa son of Marium! did you say to men, Take me and my mother for two gods besides Allah he will say: Glory be to Thee, it did not befit me that I should say what I had no right to (say); if I had said it, Thou wouldst indeed have known it; Thou knowest what is in my mind, and I do not know what is in Thy mind, surely Thou art the great Knower of the unseen things.
[5.117] 1 did not say to them aught save what Thou didst enjoin me with: That serve Allah, my Lord and your Lord, and I was a witness of them so long as I was among them, but when Thou didst cause me to die, Thou wert the watcher over them, and Thou art witness of all things.
[5.118] If Thou shouldst chastise them, then surely they are Thy servants; and if Thou shouldst forgive them, then surely Thou art the Mighty, the Wise.
[5.119] Allah will say: This is the day when their truth shall benefit the truthful ones; they shall have gardens beneath which rivers flow to abide in them for ever: Allah is well pleased with them and they are well pleased with Allah; this is the mighty achievement.
[5.120] Allah's is the kingdom of the heavens and the earth and what is in them; and He has power over all things.
17.11.08
Mowgli's Lament
It wasn't the apple afterall
nor knowledge that led to the fall.
Man was created and told to listen
with this he and Eve were christen'd.
Original means only one simple thing
follow me and find the fruit and bling.
Twelve were given a cup and then
one was stolen and returned to the king.
This was Yusef of the murdering well,
who told all Egypt to save for a spell,
for seven years fallow, seven years gain
wait for fertillizer and a bit of rain.
Then all of a sudden a voice did call,
I'm creating this prophet who isn't named Paul.
He's just like the first one only this time I'm mad
at the darlings who called me Dear Old Dad,
then turned around and tried to kill my envoy,
fooled yet again with a special decoy.
Those who named what cannot be named
will someday certainly be hated and blamed.
No sperm and especially no man
no rightful heir or comparisons to Pan.
Some of them were cheap skates, all of them dumb
and in this kingdom they won't eat a crumb.
Get out your swords and fill up your vault
this war's just beginning and it's all your fault,
for not listening to the simple advice
follow me baby or no dice.
It wasn't the apple afterall
nor knowledge that led to the fall.
Man was created and told to listen
with this he and Eve were christen'd.
Original means only one simple thing
follow me and find the fruit and bling.
Twelve were given a cup and then
one was stolen and returned to the king.
This was Yusef of the murdering well,
who told all Egypt to save for a spell,
for seven years fallow, seven years gain
wait for fertillizer and a bit of rain.
Then all of a sudden a voice did call,
I'm creating this prophet who isn't named Paul.
He's just like the first one only this time I'm mad
at the darlings who called me Dear Old Dad,
then turned around and tried to kill my envoy,
fooled yet again with a special decoy.
Those who named what cannot be named
will someday certainly be hated and blamed.
No sperm and especially no man
no rightful heir or comparisons to Pan.
Some of them were cheap skates, all of them dumb
and in this kingdom they won't eat a crumb.
Get out your swords and fill up your vault
this war's just beginning and it's all your fault,
for not listening to the simple advice
follow me baby or no dice.
What to Expect
An interesting thing he saw,
I say an interesting thing.
He saw this thing was interesting
so he told me he saw something.
If I were to see that thing
and it might be interesting
to host so bland a ghost
in the habit of groan and boast,
it would be a real right fling
to host this charming changeling.
The streets would be swept,
by old men quite adept
with young girls on their arms
straight off their father's farms.
On a windy wintry day,
the snowman comes to play
inside the empty halls and rooms
and chats with all the dusty brooms
about himself again and again
just like all the tired old men.
An interesting thing he said he saw
I say all the interesting things have been.
An interesting thing he saw,
I say an interesting thing.
He saw this thing was interesting
so he told me he saw something.
If I were to see that thing
and it might be interesting
to host so bland a ghost
in the habit of groan and boast,
it would be a real right fling
to host this charming changeling.
The streets would be swept,
by old men quite adept
with young girls on their arms
straight off their father's farms.
On a windy wintry day,
the snowman comes to play
inside the empty halls and rooms
and chats with all the dusty brooms
about himself again and again
just like all the tired old men.
An interesting thing he said he saw
I say all the interesting things have been.
16.11.08
15.11.08
Potato Cakes
1-2 cups leftover fresh/instant mashed potatoes
1-1/2 c flour
1 TBSP baking powder
2 eggs
salt
oil
Mix the eggs into the mashed potatoes. Stir it up real good. Add dry ingredients and stir into a thick, sticky paste. Heat a couple spoons vegetable oil in a fry pan. Drop batter by spoonfuls into nice sized cakes. Cook 4-5 minutes until brown, flip and brown the other side.
Butter and syrup if you like. Or else...saute some onions and garlic in olive oil and drizzle over hot potato cakes. Or gravy or whatever else you want to top them off with. Potato cakes make great baby food for infants to toddlers. Awesome instead of hash browns. Mind bogglingly simple food.
Scrumptious. Old style. Well liked by Republicans and Democrats.
1-2 cups leftover fresh/instant mashed potatoes
1-1/2 c flour
1 TBSP baking powder
2 eggs
salt
oil
Mix the eggs into the mashed potatoes. Stir it up real good. Add dry ingredients and stir into a thick, sticky paste. Heat a couple spoons vegetable oil in a fry pan. Drop batter by spoonfuls into nice sized cakes. Cook 4-5 minutes until brown, flip and brown the other side.
Butter and syrup if you like. Or else...saute some onions and garlic in olive oil and drizzle over hot potato cakes. Or gravy or whatever else you want to top them off with. Potato cakes make great baby food for infants to toddlers. Awesome instead of hash browns. Mind bogglingly simple food.
Scrumptious. Old style. Well liked by Republicans and Democrats.
14.11.08
Refinancing Primer
The parable of those who take guardians besides Allah is as the parable of the spider that makes for itself a house; and most surely the frailest of the houses is the spider's house did they but know.-The Spider, The Glorious Quran
I dream of Rube Goldberg houses. I have three of them you know so it isn't that unusual to dream of houses. Not counting the one I grew up in or the several I've rented or the one I've sold.
In the last episode, I dreamt of two Maronite Christian couples who had blended into one and the wife had very skinny legs. She was still childless and cooking different epicurian delights in one of two ovens. The house they were in was simply magnificent. Located up in Eden somewhere I believe yet the developers had taken the time to name it something else. The house had vaulted ceilings made of stucco, of course.
The dog, if you could call it that, was white. Astonishing animal, quite large and our hosts had rigged up a pulley system in the gables upon which the dog was tethered and could roam about unencumbered. He went round and round on that thing of theirs.
As is the usual in my recurring dream (or is it a nightmare?) I went to the other house. My house or rather, I visited several properties I might intend to buy. The owners had left certain things about this time. All sorts of kid contraptions and wild exercise machines. Everything was broken as it always is in these dreams of my houses. Water doesn't run right, walls resemble caves and sometimes there is a man reclining on a chair waiting for me to discover his identity.
Rube Goldberg, I know you, quit messing around.
I own a house on land transversed at one time by the prophets. This one is visited by havelina at dusk. Up on Mayer Avenue, they've razed Scott Ham's place to the ground but ours is still standing. I wonder how long this Eden ought to last and how I'll get back into it next time around.
The parable of those who take guardians besides Allah is as the parable of the spider that makes for itself a house; and most surely the frailest of the houses is the spider's house did they but know.-The Spider, The Glorious Quran
I dream of Rube Goldberg houses. I have three of them you know so it isn't that unusual to dream of houses. Not counting the one I grew up in or the several I've rented or the one I've sold.
In the last episode, I dreamt of two Maronite Christian couples who had blended into one and the wife had very skinny legs. She was still childless and cooking different epicurian delights in one of two ovens. The house they were in was simply magnificent. Located up in Eden somewhere I believe yet the developers had taken the time to name it something else. The house had vaulted ceilings made of stucco, of course.
The dog, if you could call it that, was white. Astonishing animal, quite large and our hosts had rigged up a pulley system in the gables upon which the dog was tethered and could roam about unencumbered. He went round and round on that thing of theirs.
As is the usual in my recurring dream (or is it a nightmare?) I went to the other house. My house or rather, I visited several properties I might intend to buy. The owners had left certain things about this time. All sorts of kid contraptions and wild exercise machines. Everything was broken as it always is in these dreams of my houses. Water doesn't run right, walls resemble caves and sometimes there is a man reclining on a chair waiting for me to discover his identity.
Rube Goldberg, I know you, quit messing around.
I own a house on land transversed at one time by the prophets. This one is visited by havelina at dusk. Up on Mayer Avenue, they've razed Scott Ham's place to the ground but ours is still standing. I wonder how long this Eden ought to last and how I'll get back into it next time around.
Five and Dime Eulogy
The books were dispatched in cardboard boxes.
At the thrift store a man who smelled horrible
browsed them, homeless yet again, like the books
which had been sold by an aging group of siblings.
You could tell where the couple had spent most
of their time, up in Napa, on the road looking
for something. Will Durant had signed his last
major work, "Best Wishes. Will and Ariel."
Says alot. The Rand McNally most likely
meant for fifth grade students taking on
the West was a frivolous purchase I'll admit,
not the price but the size.
A French medical encyclopedia is terrible
and terribly grand. Reminded me of the science
lab (at Saint Patrick's) which was chock
full of pickled baby pigs and tapeworms
and of the Museum of Natural History in Paris
except...it is all right here, easily cartable.
Revolt in the Desert is worth about three hundred
and some of the best reading on the planet.
I am forever grateful to those two old codgers.
First rate folks.
The books were dispatched in cardboard boxes.
At the thrift store a man who smelled horrible
browsed them, homeless yet again, like the books
which had been sold by an aging group of siblings.
You could tell where the couple had spent most
of their time, up in Napa, on the road looking
for something. Will Durant had signed his last
major work, "Best Wishes. Will and Ariel."
Says alot. The Rand McNally most likely
meant for fifth grade students taking on
the West was a frivolous purchase I'll admit,
not the price but the size.
A French medical encyclopedia is terrible
and terribly grand. Reminded me of the science
lab (at Saint Patrick's) which was chock
full of pickled baby pigs and tapeworms
and of the Museum of Natural History in Paris
except...it is all right here, easily cartable.
Revolt in the Desert is worth about three hundred
and some of the best reading on the planet.
I am forever grateful to those two old codgers.
First rate folks.
May 2007
(from The Book Called I Remember)
I remember laying down
with you above me
the first time we made love.
I remember the shirt you wore
and told you they look like epaulettes
i.e. those strips of fabric
sewn onto the shoulders
of your shirt
as you held yourself
over me and for the tenth
or eleventh time, died
your martyr's death into me.
How I wish I could have
been the innocent you were.
As I looked up at you
propped on your two arms
I knew I loved something
so I said it was you.
I hardly knew you
we hardly knew each other
but you agreed.
How far away from home
we were and unlettered
and no matter where
our country is now,
we are always there.
For the Babysitter
Jerry Falwell dead.
It seems to be important
and every day a curious signal
goes out, it meanders over
the graves to find a way in there -
to bother the good dead Christians
and bother the unwanted children.
It tenders a response from
the recluse and the maimed.
What matters is when a good woman
like Lupe goes down. She knew
all about the graves and told me so
even though the church never
said a thing about it.
May her time there be silent
and Allah willing, short.
The Crush
On the back pages of the moon
men's voices come and go
before wars and after
card games until dawn
combines the silences.
The power is on again,
off again. Here
there is trust and there
is no place to hide
the occasional laughter
of the nervous but under
the quiet shelves
in a hundred pieces,
another hundred wires;
those bricks and windows
where there are homes of wonder
and assault - the places
that give up shade
to cover the brave
and coward alike
in ruins and prayers now
crowned with the ragged
families, the what's-left-over
who whisper: repair and brace.
The Honey Moon
Beirut:
Tell me this
is the last adventure
and I'll go home, stop
bothering God for information
about you. I'll stop spying
through your candles and dirty
mists. I married not a man
but the whole country, wedded
rivers while marching
across stones, my innocence
lost on a flight from which
I stepped into a sea
of armies and posters.
My teeth got ground into paste,
a dowry wasted on one hiding
place after another looking
for the auction of the future
where the last bidder is death.
I gave birth to mementos and distress
near bodies of chalk
sucked naked by gravity.
Our children dragged
baggage and dread
through the streets
as the news catered
our bitterest meals.
We never leave and never arrive,
airport to airport with a cold bravado
saying the strangest things.
(from The Book Called I Remember)
I remember laying down
with you above me
the first time we made love.
I remember the shirt you wore
and told you they look like epaulettes
i.e. those strips of fabric
sewn onto the shoulders
of your shirt
as you held yourself
over me and for the tenth
or eleventh time, died
your martyr's death into me.
How I wish I could have
been the innocent you were.
As I looked up at you
propped on your two arms
I knew I loved something
so I said it was you.
I hardly knew you
we hardly knew each other
but you agreed.
How far away from home
we were and unlettered
and no matter where
our country is now,
we are always there.
For the Babysitter
Jerry Falwell dead.
It seems to be important
and every day a curious signal
goes out, it meanders over
the graves to find a way in there -
to bother the good dead Christians
and bother the unwanted children.
It tenders a response from
the recluse and the maimed.
What matters is when a good woman
like Lupe goes down. She knew
all about the graves and told me so
even though the church never
said a thing about it.
May her time there be silent
and Allah willing, short.
The Crush
On the back pages of the moon
men's voices come and go
before wars and after
card games until dawn
combines the silences.
The power is on again,
off again. Here
there is trust and there
is no place to hide
the occasional laughter
of the nervous but under
the quiet shelves
in a hundred pieces,
another hundred wires;
those bricks and windows
where there are homes of wonder
and assault - the places
that give up shade
to cover the brave
and coward alike
in ruins and prayers now
crowned with the ragged
families, the what's-left-over
who whisper: repair and brace.
The Honey Moon
Beirut:
Tell me this
is the last adventure
and I'll go home, stop
bothering God for information
about you. I'll stop spying
through your candles and dirty
mists. I married not a man
but the whole country, wedded
rivers while marching
across stones, my innocence
lost on a flight from which
I stepped into a sea
of armies and posters.
My teeth got ground into paste,
a dowry wasted on one hiding
place after another looking
for the auction of the future
where the last bidder is death.
I gave birth to mementos and distress
near bodies of chalk
sucked naked by gravity.
Our children dragged
baggage and dread
through the streets
as the news catered
our bitterest meals.
We never leave and never arrive,
airport to airport with a cold bravado
saying the strangest things.
13.11.08
Neb'keneezer, the old Geezer
People expect old men to die,
They do not really mourn old men.
Old men are different. People look
At them with eyes that wonder when...
People watch with unshocked eyes;
But the old men know when an old man dies.
-Old Men, Ogden Nash
What ever happened to old Gunga Din,
to Theodor Herzl and Rin Tin Tin?
In the old days we used to play
hide and seek until the end of the day,
upstairs and downstairs, under the car,
Rumpelstilzchen there you are!
This year is dreadful, awfully thin,
war keeps pullin' the peaceful bodies in.
Vietnam, Congo and Nogales too,
makes you wander if you live in a zoo.
Next year promises more of the same,
the sky won't fall, the stockmarket lame.
Some hope for disaster,
not for us but them, and faster.
People expect old men to die,
They do not really mourn old men.
Old men are different. People look
At them with eyes that wonder when...
People watch with unshocked eyes;
But the old men know when an old man dies.
-Old Men, Ogden Nash
What ever happened to old Gunga Din,
to Theodor Herzl and Rin Tin Tin?
In the old days we used to play
hide and seek until the end of the day,
upstairs and downstairs, under the car,
Rumpelstilzchen there you are!
This year is dreadful, awfully thin,
war keeps pullin' the peaceful bodies in.
Vietnam, Congo and Nogales too,
makes you wander if you live in a zoo.
Next year promises more of the same,
the sky won't fall, the stockmarket lame.
Some hope for disaster,
not for us but them, and faster.
11.11.08
The Best Birthday Poem Ever
Do you feel when the Angel of Death enters a house, or do you see him when he takes out life of anyone? How does he take out the life of an embryo in the womb of his mother? Does he reach it through any part of her body or the spirit responded to his call with the permission of Allah? Or does he stay with him in the mother's interior? How can he who is unable to describe a creature like this, describe Allah?" -Ali ibn Abi Taleb, Lion of Allah, Commander of the Faithful and Chief of all Believers, May Allah be pleased with all of his servants.
The message sent was well received,
the girl content and most relieved.
Twas a great day and a better night,
when the moon lit up the sky with light.
To call the faithful to the cause
is better than the dreadful pause
found in societies big and small
who will all crumble, burn and fall.
This life is seriously long and short,
you wake up in your own cohort.
Devils and angels and our very own jinn,
singers and poets and too many men.
Those who were given free will will say
to those who hoped their caution would sway,
how on earth did you end up this way!
I prayed five prayers a day,
enjoined charity for the orphans,
the wayfarer and the stray.
I took to the inherent laws of my leader
instead of posts in the Weekly Reader.
You see, there's no negotiation with truth
and knowledge depends on this little sleuth.
If it were the other way around
and truth depended on knowledge,
or two years in the community college,
I'd have ended up in special ed.
Do you feel when the Angel of Death enters a house, or do you see him when he takes out life of anyone? How does he take out the life of an embryo in the womb of his mother? Does he reach it through any part of her body or the spirit responded to his call with the permission of Allah? Or does he stay with him in the mother's interior? How can he who is unable to describe a creature like this, describe Allah?" -Ali ibn Abi Taleb, Lion of Allah, Commander of the Faithful and Chief of all Believers, May Allah be pleased with all of his servants.
The message sent was well received,
the girl content and most relieved.
Twas a great day and a better night,
when the moon lit up the sky with light.
To call the faithful to the cause
is better than the dreadful pause
found in societies big and small
who will all crumble, burn and fall.
This life is seriously long and short,
you wake up in your own cohort.
Devils and angels and our very own jinn,
singers and poets and too many men.
Those who were given free will will say
to those who hoped their caution would sway,
how on earth did you end up this way!
I prayed five prayers a day,
enjoined charity for the orphans,
the wayfarer and the stray.
I took to the inherent laws of my leader
instead of posts in the Weekly Reader.
You see, there's no negotiation with truth
and knowledge depends on this little sleuth.
If it were the other way around
and truth depended on knowledge,
or two years in the community college,
I'd have ended up in special ed.
10.11.08
I thought this was a nice thing to say to the author of Hurley Gurley:
“…O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity…”
“Sailing to Byzantium” by William Butler Yeats
_____________________
Ms Jones,
The fact we share a passion for Yeat's mystic poem
speaks very well of you in my book.
And, the origins of your brilliant poem:
"San Pantaleone Sees Anne Sexton On The Corniche" - prompted by
a Professor So-and-Sos' esoterically ridiculous lecture of 1990
- and your Health Professional admonitions to randy Arne - confirm my
suspicions that you grew up in the shadow of the Boomer Generation -
and you saw the contradictions between our actions and our deeds.
We insisted upon our Rights - and we generally overlooked the realm of
Responsibility to society that you're trying to emphasize to him.
Now, you remind me of a young woman from Stanford University whom
I met at an outdoor cafe in Mill Valley circa 1990. She abruptly
sat down opposite me and when I looked up from my book, she gladly
announced "this is one of the happiest days of my life" - as if we
were destined to meet that day and I'd know what to do with this news!
Well, anyway, I couldn't help but feel happy for her and raised my
glass of Iced Tea in a spontaneous toast - and then asked how all of
this auspiciousness came about. She said that she was a filmmaker and
that she'd just received a letter of acceptance for her film project
concept. Okay, now this remembrance may also pertain to you.
This woman whom I want to call "Amelia" because that was either her
name - or she reminded me of 'Amelia Earhart' flying out of the clear
blue sky and dived into my life for a Summer or so. Amelia said that
she'd written a contemporary story of "Persephone, the Greek daughter
of the Earth Mother, Demeter. She proceeded to tell me a story about
her mother and father who had met at a concert in Golden Gate Park in
1967 during the "Summer Of Love." Amelia said that she'd been raised
by her Hippie parents in Mill Valley, which had become 'yuppified' in
the '80s and was now in the hands of greedy Real Estate developers.
Like "Persephone," who had been kidnapped from the endless Summerland
that her mother Demeter had conjured up on Earth by "Hades" and taken
to live in his Hell, Amelia had met the son of a wealthy housing
contractor who had plied her with cocaine and a life of hedonism.
Amelia's parents had had to intercede for her and more or less rescue
her from the rich kid's pleasure pad - and had her hospitalized.
So, I was seeing her a year after all of the foregoing calamities -
and she was returning to Stanford on scholarship to make this
allegorical film imaginatively based on incidents in her life.
And, it occurred to me how much my generation had grown up in the
Summer of our society's cultural cycle - and that we weren't prepared
for the Fall and now the Winter of our society's discontent - and that
my contemporaries didn't really prepare their children like Amelia -
or possibly Randall (Layla) here for the Hades lurking underneath -
which Randall wonderfully invokes in her 1990 image
[of a Hurled Girl whirling upon a ferris wheel in Lunatic Park]
“Oh that divine itch!
The fuel of the fire, man
-the fractional distillation
-the rising to the top
-the sparkling rumination.
Oh that jet fuel!
How it makes us fly!
>
“Our Hurly Gurly of Lunatic Park…”
“…O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity…”
“Sailing to Byzantium” by William Butler Yeats
_____________________
Ms Jones,
The fact we share a passion for Yeat's mystic poem
speaks very well of you in my book.
And, the origins of your brilliant poem:
"San Pantaleone Sees Anne Sexton On The Corniche" - prompted by
a Professor So-and-Sos' esoterically ridiculous lecture of 1990
- and your Health Professional admonitions to randy Arne - confirm my
suspicions that you grew up in the shadow of the Boomer Generation -
and you saw the contradictions between our actions and our deeds.
We insisted upon our Rights - and we generally overlooked the realm of
Responsibility to society that you're trying to emphasize to him.
Now, you remind me of a young woman from Stanford University whom
I met at an outdoor cafe in Mill Valley circa 1990. She abruptly
sat down opposite me and when I looked up from my book, she gladly
announced "this is one of the happiest days of my life" - as if we
were destined to meet that day and I'd know what to do with this news!
Well, anyway, I couldn't help but feel happy for her and raised my
glass of Iced Tea in a spontaneous toast - and then asked how all of
this auspiciousness came about. She said that she was a filmmaker and
that she'd just received a letter of acceptance for her film project
concept. Okay, now this remembrance may also pertain to you.
This woman whom I want to call "Amelia" because that was either her
name - or she reminded me of 'Amelia Earhart' flying out of the clear
blue sky and dived into my life for a Summer or so. Amelia said that
she'd written a contemporary story of "Persephone, the Greek daughter
of the Earth Mother, Demeter. She proceeded to tell me a story about
her mother and father who had met at a concert in Golden Gate Park in
1967 during the "Summer Of Love." Amelia said that she'd been raised
by her Hippie parents in Mill Valley, which had become 'yuppified' in
the '80s and was now in the hands of greedy Real Estate developers.
Like "Persephone," who had been kidnapped from the endless Summerland
that her mother Demeter had conjured up on Earth by "Hades" and taken
to live in his Hell, Amelia had met the son of a wealthy housing
contractor who had plied her with cocaine and a life of hedonism.
Amelia's parents had had to intercede for her and more or less rescue
her from the rich kid's pleasure pad - and had her hospitalized.
So, I was seeing her a year after all of the foregoing calamities -
and she was returning to Stanford on scholarship to make this
allegorical film imaginatively based on incidents in her life.
And, it occurred to me how much my generation had grown up in the
Summer of our society's cultural cycle - and that we weren't prepared
for the Fall and now the Winter of our society's discontent - and that
my contemporaries didn't really prepare their children like Amelia -
or possibly Randall (Layla) here for the Hades lurking underneath -
which Randall wonderfully invokes in her 1990 image
[of a Hurled Girl whirling upon a ferris wheel in Lunatic Park]
“Oh that divine itch!
The fuel of the fire, man
-the fractional distillation
-the rising to the top
-the sparkling rumination.
Oh that jet fuel!
How it makes us fly!
>
“Our Hurly Gurly of Lunatic Park…”
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