Thursday, June 29, 2017

The Syndrome


                                        


The Assassin:
Dead in prison at the age of 81.

Safe in shadows of time
There were others
Who heard
And saw.
But only silence a response

To desperate cries
For someone to save
Her young life-
Anyone?

Haunting still, that night in 1964
Her escape, a refuge 
100 steps away
Within sight but out-of-reach--
Eternal hope, 
A perpetual paradox.

Brutalized unmercifully
Raped
In an apartment stairwell,
A chamber of chilling echoes 
Recount a body mortally stabbed, 
A Soul wounded
Immorally 

Unimaginable pain masking 
Fear intolerable
She pleaded,
Begging for Salvation 
From a Savior--
Absent.

At the age of 28
Too little,
Too late for
Kitty Genovese.

“All are punished,” Romeo and Juliet, Viii, 315.

Tuesday, June 27, 2017

"Loose Woman," Sandra Cisneros


They say I'm a beast.
And feast on it. When all along
I thought that's what a woman was.

They say I'm a bitch.
Or witch. I've claimed
the same and never winced.

They say I'm a macha, hell on wheels,
viva-la-vulva, fire and brimstone,
man-hating, devastating,
boogey-woman lesbian.
Not necessarily,
but I like the compliment.

The mob arrives with stones and sticks
to maim and lame and do me in.
All the same, when I open my mouth,
they wobble like gin.

Diamonds and pearls
tumble from my tongue.
Or toads and serpents.
Depending on the mood I'm in.

I like the itch I provoke.
The rustle of rumor
like crinoline.

I am the woman of myth and bullshit.
(True. I authored some of it.)
I built my little house of ill repute.
Brick by brick. Labored,
loved and masoned it.

I live like so.
Heart as sail, ballast, rudder, bow.
Rowdy. Indulgent to excess.
My sin and success-
I think of me to gluttony.

By all accounts I am
a danger to society.
I'm Pancha Villa.
I break laws,
upset the natural order,
anguish the Pope and make fathers cry.
I am beyond the jaw of law.
I'm la desperada, most-wanted public enemy.
My happy picture grinning from the wall.

I strike terror among the men.
I can't be bothered what they think.
¡Que se vayan a la ching chang chong!
For this, the cross, the calvary.
In other words, I'm anarchy.


I'm an aim-well,
shoot-sharp,
sharp-tongued,
sharp-thinking,
fast-speaking,
foot-loose,
loose-tongued,
let-loose,
woman-on-the-loose
loose woman.
Beware, honey.

I'm Bitch. Beast. Macha.
¡Wáchale!
Ping! Ping! Ping!
I break things. 

Sandra Cisneros






 "La Charreada," as performed by
  Linda Ronstadt--
Canciones de mi Padre

Monday, June 26, 2017

The Fallacy of Common Sense



"...There's not a whole of sound judgment going on these days (though whether it is worse than in the past, I can't be sure), so it's not common.

If common sense was common, then most people wouldn't make the kinds of decisions they do every day. People wouldn't buy stuff they can't afford. They wouldn't smoke cigarettes or eat junk food. They wouldn't gamble.


And if you want to get really specific and timely, politicians wouldn't be tweeting pictures of their private parts to strangers. In other words, people wouldn't do the multitude of things that are clearly not good for them," "Common Sense Is Neither Common Nor Sense," Dr. Jim Taylor, Psychology Today.










Sunday, June 25, 2017

Matthew 13:31-32, Antuan Simmons




There has always been a few who believed in the magic of their imagination, and the faith to make them come true. The inventors, believers, and visionaries manifested the future in their minds before it came into being. They mentally envisioned the microwave, light bulb, airplane refrigerator, house toilet, and anesthesia. Without their faith we would still be driving the hours and carriage. Faith carries our ingenuity beyond our wildest dreams, by simply saying to oneself, "I can do this," and believing in your heart that you can. All these inventions, the light bulb, refrigerator, house toilet, and anesthesia, all became great to mankind, but they all started with a thought as small as a mustard seed. They planted, sowed, grew it, and those mustard seeds changed the human race forever. All it took was the faith of a mustard seed, "Matthew 13:31-2," The Mustard Seed, Antuan Simmons, Poet Antuan Simmons .



Saturday, June 24, 2017

The Plight of the Limousine Democrat



Insulated by affluence and righteous indignation, we Democrats go through the motions as standard bearers for social welfare merely to win elections. Lacking any perceptible sincerity, we fail to connect on a variety of levels while remaining aloof and superior even among each other.

Unfortunately, our leadership is more concerned about fulfilling some ego-driven, super-hero fantasy rather than the selfless soul-searching it takes to be effective. I have my doubts that we can get out of our gas-guzzling limousines to listen--really listen.

A few years ago, I attended a presentation about garnering the Hispanic vote, for example. I expected a little more discussion of conservative cultural nuances, appealing to many of the Hispanic community. Instead, the presenter seemed completely clueless, more interested in recruiting us to make phone calls, pimping liberal candidates by reading prepared scripts.

At another meeting, an elderly attendee seemed to ask too many questions of a candidate up for reelection. Visibly annoyed, the candidate showed her displeasure and boredom with condescending and placating responses, even rolling her eyes as if the older woman were beneath her. Suffice it to say, this candidate was not re-elected in spite of lofty credentials due to her failure to connect with constituents. Sound familiar?

Until we liberals step out of our comfort zones, I don't see anything changing. If success were all about stoking the flames of Trump hate, then Hillary would be POTUS. Perhaps we should be talking with not at people, even the ones seemingly voting against their own best interests.

If transplanted "wannabes" covet leading Texans to the promised land of Blue, for example, it might be wise to recognize underlying social reasons the state historically votes bloody Red. Any less perpetuates the political and social divide with few opportunities for connection, communication, and compromise:

"Did Democrats count too much on the intensity of their own base — all those liberals who have taken to the streets and packed town hall meetings because Trump has turned into their worst nightmare? Did they not notice that there is an equal intensity on the right among those who believe Trump is the victim of a witch hunt perpetrated by “deep state” elites and a mainstream media that purveys fake news?" After Four Special Election Losses, Democrats Need More Than "Moral Victories"





Friday, June 23, 2017

Le Salon de Facebook...



"...Virtual communities 'can fill a fundamental need we have for a sense of belonging, much like eating or sleeping,' said Anita Blanchard, a psychologist at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte who's studied them for 20 years.


Her research has also shown that online communities can make people less intolerant of opposing viewpoints. 'They get you out of your own clothes and make connections across the U.S., making you realize you can get along with people with different beliefs,' she said. 



For Sarah Giberman, an artist and parent who lives in Arlington, Texas, a meaningful group is one 'that serves a need in your life, that fills some space that would otherwise feel vacant.' 

'I spend a lot more time on Facebook because of the groups than I would otherwise,' she said. 'Especially with the current sociopolitical climate, I'm not comfortable being very open in my regular newsfeed,'" Facebook wants to nudge you into 'meaningful' online groups.  



"The Salon was the engine of enlightenment. Now it's coming back. In the digital era the question might be different from the ones in the European cities of the 17th century. The rules are the same. Why is there such a great desire to spend some hours with like-minded peers in this age of the internet?"


"...The salon is still regarded as a mysterious world of thoughts and ideas, a world in which the participants soon were consigned to the role of historical figures in history books. In the early days of the salon culture these meetings were incubators of new ideas as well as the first form an urban and bourgeois culture. 



The first salons were formed in Paris in the early 17th century, when the nobles left their estates and are gathered in the capital around the King. Initially, they cemented these early manifestations of bourgeois culture such as music and literature. But soon philosophers such as Voltaire and Diderot appeared in the 18th century and prepared the intellectual ground for the French revolution....." 

"...In the digital era we might very well witness once again the phenomenon that Jürgen Habermas has called 'structural transformation of the public sphere,' the rise of a new bourgeoisie and mass society that began with the salons. There is no across-the-board answer to this question, that's impossible when the structural transformation of the digital age affects various spheres of the international community differently. 

In Europe and America, digital media always leads to new cul-de-sacs and roundabouts of communication. Social networks claim to be not only the successors of salons, they evoke the ominous metaphysical principle of the Weltgeist (global mind), while they actually reduce the principle of intellectual eruptions in salons to a de-intellectualized white noise...,"Salon Culture: Network of Ideas. 

Salon of the 21st century: the literary agent John Brockman (Center, with Hat) in the circle of the scientists of the Edge network during one of his legendary weekends at Eastover Farm in Connecticut.



Thursday, June 22, 2017

The Mirror Dancer

"Cassie" in A Chorus Line,
Alamo City Theatre, San Antonio,
1989

A skinny thing-
A mirror dancer
perpetually
in motion.

“Picky eater”
Juicy hamburgers or sweet wine
Rarely if ever crossing
Lips youth-filled.

Time to move-on
When a teenager 
Awaiting HER turn in front
Remarks
Derisively,
“You’re the same age as my mom!”

Between you and me,
Axle turns, cart wheels, grands jetés…
Aging, too,
All not what they used to be….

Now the reflection potbellied.
Painful hips, knees,
Bone-spurred toes,
Back aching….

On the upside
BOUNCY BREASTS!
Curves for days
Thanks to a relatively narrow waist—
Proportionately—that is.

Food, drink, fun
To the fullest
Grateful to be living at all,
Healthy.

A few weeks from 60,
Walking sweet puppy-dogs
In breezy solitude
The greatest joy.

Dancing?
Sometimes-
While listening to
Ol’ School Happy Feet Dance Party
On the radio.
At home.

No longer a prisoner 
of the mirror,
The fleeting image 
only an illusion.

"How can we know
the dancer 
from the dance,"
William Butler Yeats


Wednesday, June 21, 2017

"And the whole world stills to listen... "

                                                                      Deviant Art

I always recognized the voice. At various random moments, I would stop to listen to its incredible timbre and range as well as the singer/songwriter's own nuanced story-telling. I had no idea of the immensely gifted and kind, charitable soul that was Chris Cornell.

While we're busy rubber-necking celebrity train wrecks du jour, truly great artists more deserving of our attention are all but ignored until in a instant God brings them home. For better or worse, all lessons have been taught. Their job is done, and we are left to mourn, ponder, and at long last appreciate.

"There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one.

Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. And, dying, it rises above its own agony to out-carol the lark and the nightingale with one superlative song, existence the price.

But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His Heaven smiles. For the best is only bought at the price of great pain… or so says the legend,"  
The Thorn Birds,Colleen McCullough .   

The Promise Official Music Video, 
released on Tuesday, June 20th, 2017 ,
to commemorate World Refugee Day....


Monday, June 19, 2017

"Oh Wave!"-- Mohamed Ouagrar

Translated by Mustapha Akhoullou




"Sea Song," 
   Watercolors--Pat Metheny   

        

Sunday, June 18, 2017

Father's Day 2017: "Only A Dad," Edgar Albert Guest

     
Only a dad, with a tired face,
Coming home from the daily race,
Bringing little of gold or fame,
To show how well he has played the game,
But glad in his heart that his own rejoice
To see him come, and to hear his voice.

Only a dad, with a brood of four,
One of ten million men or more.
Plodding along in the daily strife,
Bearing the whips and the scorns of life,
With never a whimper of pain or hate,
For the sake of those who at home await.

Only a dad, neither rich nor proud,
Merely one of the surging crowd
Toiling, striving from day to day,
Facing whatever may come his way,
Silent, whenever the harsh condemn,
And bearing it all for the love of them.

Only a dad, but he gives his all
To smooth the way for his children small,
Doing, with courage stern and grim,
The deeds that his father did for him.
This is the line that for him I pen,
Only a dad, but the best of men, Poetry Foundation .


Love, Misty


Love, the gang... 


Friday, June 16, 2017

I WISH SOMEONE WERE WAITING FOR ME SOMEWHERE-- Anna Galvada


“Quand j'arrive à la gare de l'Est, j'espère toujours secrètement qu'il y aura quelqu'un pour m'attendre. C'est con. J'ai beau savoir que ma mère est encore au boulot à cette heure-là et que Marc est pas du genre à traverser la banlieue pour porter mon sac, j'ai toujours cet espoir débile. [...] Je voudrais que quelqu'un m'attende quelque part... C'est quand même pas compliqué.”   Google Translate








Image result for i wish someone were waiting for me somewhere quotes
                                                 

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

The Dinner Guest

A lifetime ago, George and I were invited to dinner at a popular café on Broadway in San Antonio's affluent Alamo Heights. Among the guests was a Latina professor of Latin American Studies, taking her place at the table to enjoy some fine food and great music with friends old and new. The conversation drifted to the topic of racism.

In one of many moments when I should have listened rather than spoken, I interrupted to make a thoughtful comparison. Being a young professional woman and idealistic liberator of all things, I said that as a victim of sexism I could definitely identify with racism.

Exasperated, the professor retorted, “You can never understand racism because you have never experienced it.” She went on to say, “Look at you. You are white with blonde hair and blues eyes. Yes, you may have experienced sexism, particularly because of the way you look. But sexism is not racism.”

Suddenly, dirty windows were cleanI couldn’t really empathize with oppression observed but not lived. I may have had many struggles due to being female in a male dominated society, for example. A "latch key kid," I may have struggled with class-ism. However as perpetual benefactors White people cannot claim to be victims of a system we continue to perpetrate inadvertently or deliberately. 

Forever "awakening," I defer to the disenfranchised and marginalized to lead as I follow, opting to listen rather than speak. Humbled by a Latina American’s powerful words as well as those of James Baldwin and others, I can only effectively “shine the light, and get out of the way.”

"(James Baldwin) made it very clear to me that all of us white liberals--guilty, well-meaning people--were merely a big flashlight cast upon the evil of racism, and the flashlight found some corners where it continued, and still continues, to live. 'Throw the light,' he told me, 'and then get out of the way. This is our battle to win,'" Marlon Brando.






Tuesday, June 13, 2017

"The everyday becomes hateful, there's just one place to live-- the impossible," Reinaldo Arenas

Autoepitafio

Mal poeta enamorado de la luna,
no tuvo más fortuna que el espanto;
y fue suficiente pues como no era un santo
sabía que la vida es riesgo o abstinencia,
que toda gran ambición es gran demencia
y que el más sórdido horror tiene su encanto.

Vivió para vivir que es ver la muerte
como algo cotidiano a la que apostamos
un cuerpo espléndido o toda nuestra suerte.
Supo que lo mejor es aquello que dejamos
– precisamente porque nos marchamos – .

Todo lo cotidiano resulta aborrecible,
sólo hay un lugar para vivir, el imposible.
Conoció la prisión, el ostracismo,
el exilio, las múltiples ofensas
típicas de la vileza humana;
pero siempre lo escoltó cierto estoicismo
que le ayudó a caminar por cuerdas tensas
o a disfrutar del esplendor de la mañana.

Y cuando ya se bamboleaba surgía una ventana
por la cual se lanzaba al infinito.
No quiso ceremonia, discurso, duelo o grito,
ni un tumulo de arena donde reposase el esqueleto
(ni después de muerto quiso vivir quieto).

Ordenó que sus cenizas fueran lanzadas al mar
donde habrán de fluir constantemente.
No ha perdido la costumbre de soñar:
espera que en sus aguas se zambulla algún adolescente.  (Nueva York, 1989)

"Self Epitaph," Reinaldo Arenas

Reinaldo Arenas Bio

                                                          "Amoreena," Elton John
                                                      Dog Day Afternoon Opening  


Thursday, June 8, 2017

C'est bon pour le moral...

   ESA Title II Grant Awardee Circa 1990:
 Martinique and Guadeloupe!


    




"A small fire to start

A caress to take off (as in to get going)
If you want to warm up
Need to know how dance the beguine
It's good for morale...

If you're well balance nanny
Or super conniving playboy 
And that you seek to have fun
The company will sing 
It's good for morale...

It's good, good..
If you want to have fun
Do not hesitate
To fulfill my wishes
There's nothing like a little kiss
Chorus...

It's good, good...
Roll, Roll
Dance, dance...
It's good for morale..."

It wasn't all fun and games. To receive our graduate credit, we submitted a group project to be used in French classes. 
Our chosen topic was "Les Jeunes."


Tuesday, June 6, 2017

God's Speed, Diva Kane. Heaven's choir is waiting...






George and I send our heartfelt condolences to Glenn and Remi 
as well as all of Kane's family, friends, and many fans for the untimely loss of this bright light gone way too soon.  
We are thinking of you during this difficult time:

Sending
Prayers of
Healing,
Strength,
Faith,
Hope,
  Love…