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Sunday, January 04, 2004
daisy's new year's gift to me
Holy fuck! How's that for you!?!? How's that to get you excited and want to stir shit up!?! How's that to make Daisy think, "Did Mali write that???" :) Man. I'm planning something cool for Leap Day. That's for fuckin' sure! Ah, Mall... I miss your crazy energy! But it still inspires me, from afar. :) In fact, example. Thought up tonight at the dryer while folding laundry and planning to write you back. An ode to your mind. :) The mind of MOO-MALI!
Malavika
Mall-a-vee-kuh
Ball-a beef, what?
Meatballs
Warm, brown, oily globs
gelatinous
delicious
red sauce covered
lost, and rolling
off of the table and onto the floor
just because I sneezed.
made from beef,
just like me
see, some say that I've got a little
of that mad cow disease
perhaps they think i'm loony because i
don't listen to what they try to tell me
perhaps they think my brain's gone
spongy with square pants on
but what they don't see
is that the holes in my brain
are where the firing synapses spark
and what they think is madness
is merely an opening of my mind
to new ideas and way of thought
giving my synapses more room to
breathe.
more room to think through those problems
that face our imposing grey matter
and can't find a way in or out
to be figured.
and what were they thinking?
feeding my brain to other cows?
those who moo pleasingly in the herd
chewing their cuds cuz
they ain't got a care in the world.
they disassembled my body and mind
and scattered me to the four, foul winds
of stench, decay, disease, and pollution
that plague the factory farms where our
meat products grow before being brought to our tables.
they saw, but couldn't, no, WOULDN'T believe
that I had strayed as far as I had.
that I would not come back to the other side
if they only willed it hard enough.
but their wasteful ways,
their disregard for their self-poisoning ways
the ways in which they kept me and my cattle brethren
tied up so tight
that our shit ran not only together
but ran over us and coated us,
and they fed me my sick brothers and sisters,
my bovine siblings,
hoping that they could cure my siblings' illness
with the increased profits they would reap.
And what did they think
would happen?
Perhaps if they'd let in a little air,
given their brains some space to think,
they would've realized that their ways
could not last.
They call me mad.
But really...
Is the cow mad because it produced a prion?
Or is it the system that produced that cow
that is mad?
Malavika
Mall-a-vee-kuh
Ball-a beef, what?
Meatballs
Warm, brown, oily globs
gelatinous
delicious
red sauce covered
lost, and rolling
off of the table and onto the floor
just because I sneezed.
made from beef,
just like me
see, some say that I've got a little
of that mad cow disease
perhaps they think i'm loony because i
don't listen to what they try to tell me
perhaps they think my brain's gone
spongy with square pants on
but what they don't see
is that the holes in my brain
are where the firing synapses spark
and what they think is madness
is merely an opening of my mind
to new ideas and way of thought
giving my synapses more room to
breathe.
more room to think through those problems
that face our imposing grey matter
and can't find a way in or out
to be figured.
and what were they thinking?
feeding my brain to other cows?
those who moo pleasingly in the herd
chewing their cuds cuz
they ain't got a care in the world.
they disassembled my body and mind
and scattered me to the four, foul winds
of stench, decay, disease, and pollution
that plague the factory farms where our
meat products grow before being brought to our tables.
they saw, but couldn't, no, WOULDN'T believe
that I had strayed as far as I had.
that I would not come back to the other side
if they only willed it hard enough.
but their wasteful ways,
their disregard for their self-poisoning ways
the ways in which they kept me and my cattle brethren
tied up so tight
that our shit ran not only together
but ran over us and coated us,
and they fed me my sick brothers and sisters,
my bovine siblings,
hoping that they could cure my siblings' illness
with the increased profits they would reap.
And what did they think
would happen?
Perhaps if they'd let in a little air,
given their brains some space to think,
they would've realized that their ways
could not last.
They call me mad.
But really...
Is the cow mad because it produced a prion?
Or is it the system that produced that cow
that is mad?
Friday, January 02, 2004
War time recollections
On March 19th, the Bush administration started bombing Iraq. Again. The world has yet to see evidence to justify the unprovoked attack that has killed hundreds of US and British soldiers and thousands of Iraqis. But as General Tommy Franks said, "We don't do body counts."
Bodies don't count, but profit does. In the midst of the immeasurable loss of life and rabid destruction of the earth's resources, corporations such as Lockheed Martin, Bechtel, and Halliburton continue to profit from the war that they had so persistently lobbied for. (I use the word "war" only only to be able to use the label "war profiteer", not because there was any form of...equal...in the attacked country.) Deals were made, contracts were signed, people were killed, and a country was occupied. All the while peoples of the world cried out helpless in outrage and condemnation, ignored by the military industrial corporate complex that stands in place of a democratic government. With every avenue of democratic participation stripped away in the name of "homeland security", people in cities across the United States took to the streets demanding peace, justice and global freedom in the same spirit with which the Boston tea party was carried out.
In one of the bellies of the beast, the Bay Area became a hotbed of nonviolent direct action.
A new level of consciousness was reached as residents realized what was taking place in their own backyard.
On March 24, 60-odd people had crouched shivering under the orange glow of schoolyard lights discussing and consensing on what became the foundations for the organization of an utterly and sincerely non-violent demonstration in front of the Bay Area headquarters of Lockheed Martin corporation on April 22.
Bodies don't count, but profit does. In the midst of the immeasurable loss of life and rabid destruction of the earth's resources, corporations such as Lockheed Martin, Bechtel, and Halliburton continue to profit from the war that they had so persistently lobbied for. (I use the word "war" only only to be able to use the label "war profiteer", not because there was any form of...equal...in the attacked country.) Deals were made, contracts were signed, people were killed, and a country was occupied. All the while peoples of the world cried out helpless in outrage and condemnation, ignored by the military industrial corporate complex that stands in place of a democratic government. With every avenue of democratic participation stripped away in the name of "homeland security", people in cities across the United States took to the streets demanding peace, justice and global freedom in the same spirit with which the Boston tea party was carried out.
In one of the bellies of the beast, the Bay Area became a hotbed of nonviolent direct action.
A new level of consciousness was reached as residents realized what was taking place in their own backyard.
On March 24, 60-odd people had crouched shivering under the orange glow of schoolyard lights discussing and consensing on what became the foundations for the organization of an utterly and sincerely non-violent demonstration in front of the Bay Area headquarters of Lockheed Martin corporation on April 22.
