Posts tagged ‘truth’

December 10, 2016

More links than content, but isn’t everything connected?

by lisa st john

censorship-quotes-85

Some things happened recently that made me remember that not everything is okay. Not everyone is okay. And I am not even talking about the elections. I teach English Language Arts in high school. But really, I teach kids. I try and teach kids how to be good adults. I do not always succeed. And that knowledge hurts, because I forget sometimes. We all have choices.

But I have noticed over the years that physical pain can take me away like fucking Calgon. So thanks, Doc, for the cortisone shot in my thumb that brought me to tears. Yes, there is crap and Trump and Orwellian cabinet positions but there is also Art.

I can go an hour south and see Modigliani at the Met or Clyfford Still at MoMA. I can re-read American Gods (again) and visit Roland in his Dark Tower quest again and again.

Until they close the museums.

Until they burn the books.

orwellian

I can go hear live music like the amazing Joanna Teters and Amanda Palmer. I can go to poetry readings and workshops like Word Café, and I can even occasionally get published (thank you Chronogram).

 

Until they close the theaters and the clubs.

Until they round up the artists and intellectuals.

The fear of being helpless is dangerous. We are not weak. We are more connected to each other than any time in human history. When we feel powerless, we can go to real places and virtual places and listen to each other, and share silly cat videos and remember to smile and to see.

My mantra for today: Make Art. SEE. Join. Don’t give up. Don’t go back.

And we will not go back (to the kitchen or the closet or the back of the bus). Will we?

 

This is just a little list. There is SO MUCH MORE out there.

American Civil Liberties Union
LAMBDA Legal
Planned Parenthood
NAACP Legal Defense and Education Fund
NAACP Legal Defense and Education Fund
Human Rights Campaign
Human Rights Campaign

 

Look at the beautiful things going on in the world that we can ALL be a part of!

Crowdsourcing, Crowdfunding so, so many.

 

See you in D.C.

pussy                                      a new poem 

December 24, 2013

Hearts

by lisa st john

Religious faith . . . erodes compassion. Thoughts like, “this might be all part of God’s plan,” or “there are no accidents in life,” . . . these ideas are not only stupid, they are extraordinarily callous. They are nothing more than a childish refusal to connect with the suffering of other human beings. It is time to grow up and let our hearts break . . . .” –Sam Harris

Write soon and let me know how your heart is,” she wrote on the Christmas card.

 

How is your heart?” someone else asked.

“When I had that panic attack and got sent to the hospital, the E.K.G. I had was –“

No, no. Your HEART,” she said, holding her hand over her breast like she was pledging.

 

 

I don’t know how my heart (anatomical or otherwise) is … or isn’t. ? “BEING: That which exists, or is real (unchanging reality). Gotta love the “or” in this definition.

The problem with living in my head* is that I know my mate is gone. This knowledge, however, does not do much for my heart.

The problem with being a skeptic (sane-ish person) is that I cannot pretend to believe in spirits or ghosts or messages from beyond. Not that my love would send me a message—it was more Kent’s style to write it on a bar napkin and send it in a bottle. And even though I know the Coriolis Effect does not change the direction in which water drains in the northern versus the southern hemisphere, I still feel like I am going the wrong way around the earth—always just missing the spot that tells me where I am.

The problem with technology is that I could hear him again on Around the World Radio and I just don’t have the eggs to do it…yet.

The problem with being alone is that I am not. I am just without.

 

*“There’s something curious about professors . . . they live in their heads.” -Sir Ken Robinson

 

A Short Poem for My Heart”

I will take irony over cruelty,
and I will bear the heartbeat of remembering you always.

But I am old again, and
halos around the moon used to be beauty—not clouds.

I could stir this into something other than a restlessness,
but I am no chef. 

I will make mounds of my sorrow and hide them in plain sight.

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