threes

I have always been a little bit in love with bikes/ boys on bikes.

colourful bikes in Berlin, big bikes in Amsterdam and now my new own mint choc chip addition to the mix.

It could be the best thing I've ever done.

(or the silliest as the paint job looks very fresh and makes me wonder as to its origins...)

roots

I have recently returned from the netherlands, home of my maternal roots, and therefore, also half of me. It is the flattest place I have ever seen, speckled with look a like dolls houses and more bicycles than you can shake a stick at. While I was there I spent much of my time looking at said houses, wandering along canals atop a bicycle and visiting Art Museums with my extended family.

For a country which seems so middle class, white, clean and well designed I found myself a little bit wary of how nice everyone was. I couldn't see any tramps/junkies/rude boys stumbling across my designated cycle path. I couldn't find any litter on the streets/stray skanky looking cats/ chewing gum stuck to my shoe at any point during my visit.

Yet I still managed to be suprised by a clean, well designed, rather functional piece of artwork which made me wonder whether this lovely middle of the road existence was really a facade, and whether everyone sat in the big leather armchairs, smoking pipes, reading Marx and preparing for the fall of capitalism with a quiet smile.

i found it here and some of it looked like this




anarchic books lined the walls, teaching us the necessities of life.

and situated in the centre of the room sat a lone photocopier, full of paper and ink and promise.

The books are taken from loompanics a 'hard to find, controversial and unusual' book company

• How To Build An Underground House
• Women Pirates
• Guide To Bodily Fluids
• The Policeman Is Your Friend And Other Lies

are just a few of my favourite titles.

book club

Book Club number one. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. By Mark Twain.

We decided that we spent too much time talking about books that we have collectively, not all read, or finished, or liked.
So a decision was made regarding the penguin £2 popular classics series that can be found on the shelves of your local chain book store.
The decision was to give ourselves two weeks to complete a classic.
Then to discuss it.
And this time we will all be sure we have read the same book (as all three of us have exactly the same book)
with the same name
by the same author.

The first meeting is Weds July 22nd and I haven't so much as peeped inside the front cover as of yet.

conditions

Once again the stalemate begins.

The world at large seems to welcome the tiny, shuffling steps that the Israeli government is taking currently. With each tenuous word forming a completed sentence, the gasp of disbelief slows into a sigh of recognition for those good old compadres of Israeli politics- conditions.

I admit, I was one of those people, when opening the paper and reading the headlines -"Israel sets terms for Palestinian state", had to look twice, gather my hope and read further. Only to be angered, once again, at the extent to which one nation believes it can set the limits of another, highlighted far more succinctly with the article "Israeli PM 'ruins' peace chance".

Demilitarisation is not an option. It should not be an option. When the IRA started dropping bombs in Northern Ireland, demilitarisation was not an option. Demilitarisation can take the organised weapons away, but it cannot take the terrorists, it cannot take the anger away and it cannot touch on the pain suffered by the refugees and inhabitants of Palestine. It is completely foolish to ask a state not to protect itself. Is that not what a nation is? something to be protected? I cannot believe Israel's audacity when it comes to the military of Palestine. I cannot believe Israel's audacity when it comes to the rights of the Palestinian people.

And yet I am far from suprised.

The Israeli Jews were granted the honour of returning to their home land.
Now let the people of Palestine return to theirs.

Loesje

A little bird by the name of Evan stumbled me across Loesje



"Loesje's Imagination is a podium for ideas and creativity for both the local community of Berlin and people from all over the world. The podium is open for performances, arts, texts, photography, video, installations, poetry, music, debate, and in particular interactions and fusions between those. It gives people space for their expression, and is a place where people and ideas can meet. Loesje's Imagination is a place where people from different places meet, where new ideas are developed, where things that are not yet thought can be thought, where free expression can find a place.
The interaction between local, social, (inter) cultural and artistic themes and forms of expression is one of the main goals in developing the themes and content of Loesje's Imagination. It crosses borders of artistic disciplines, paradigms, cultures, nations, gender, etc. and searches for new ways in which those crossovers can be expressed. Loesje's Imagination aims for a fusion and surpass of social, psychological, ethical and artistic ideas and activities into new ideas and images of what life and society could be like. With 'podium' is not only meant the specific place or stage, but also ' creative laboratory'. It is a state of mind, a creative impulse, that can as much exist on a poster, a piece of art, an interaction, as in the actual place."

big, long, impressive words that say big impressive thoughts and ideas.

so big.

They produce a monthly series of posters so click here, print out, stick on and read away...

Markus Zusak

Rarely have I been as moved to tears as I was by the words in this book.

(I say this with a sigh as I am often reduced to tears by words- in both a good way and also by painfully bad words put together to form even worse sentences....)

For a book that seems initially quite superficial, presenting us with 'small facts' and 'translations' by the author (who maybe not so superficially is death himself) it fills your thoughts and emotions with soft colours, imprints of words and a narrative that transcends the atmosphere of war in which it is set.

The story centres upon Liesel Meminger, a girl shaped by her difficult past and difficult present, struggling between what is beautiful and what is so capable of taking that beauty away.
She finds herself in a new town, on a new street, full of new faces and the same shared struggles. It is mid-WW2 Germany and Molching and its many inhabitants are carrying on with life as if there is no other option.
Liesel finds solice in words, some of which she finds in books, some of which she writes, some of which she finds written in Mein Kampf by a fist fighting Jew hidden in her basement.

The relationships she has with her family- her mother Rosa and father Hans are central to the events of Liesels teenage hood, helping her to bear the weight she carries. The bonds she shares- especially with her father Hans, Max the Jew and her best friend Rudy are strong and heavy holding a firm grip on the readers heart.

If your love for words carried you to this book, then Liesels passion for books seeps into Zusak's words and his narrative keeps you gripping the pages, waiting for each event to unfold. The knowledge that the events are set in a dark and horrific time cannot detract from the beauty of each small moment which helps a young girl through each day.

ahh the beauty of moments and the words that describe them...

obama

Following obama's election as the most powerful man standing on the globe, there has been a lot of speculation as to his capability to follow through with the weight of his words... his words are huge, they carry a promise of change, and more importantly, more than a little hope.

I have to admit- I am a big fan. I have read his first book, I have sung his pre-election praises, applauded his proposed shutting down of Guantanamo (even if the fall out from this has not been properly dealt with) and I even baked a cake for his inaugeration...


and I have been waiting for him to mess it up, drop some bombs, beat up some children, rip off his mask and reveal the Reagan lookalike hiding behind his big brown eyes...

But the words he spoke in Cairo yesterday sang of solidarity, of respect and of a shared humanitarian overtone. It made me believe again.

As Robert Fisk writes - "There was one merciful omission: a speech of nearly 6,000 words did not include the lethal word "terror".

which shows change can be made one tiny little step at a time.

La bouche

La Bouche is an online zine with a few little quirky articles I would highly recommend sinking your teeth into. From music to Art to protests to politics it has a little bit of a taster for all you greedy people. Look out for issue two, in the reflections section you might find a little rant of my own.

encounter point

Encounterpoint is a film which says everything about humanity and what can bring us together.

If you have ever heard the phrase ‘making the best of a bad situation’ you would not necessarily have had the grace, or tenacity to apply it to the situation in Palestine and Israel. However, this 85 minute feature documentary seems to blow this statement to pieces. It not only bonds, brings together and highlights the extent of humanity’s capabilities in the face of crisis, it also focuses on the extent to which people are able and willing to communicate above and beyond their history and their politics, over the power of loss of a loved one.

After viewing this documentary in a converted Church in Bristol I was shocked at how deeply I was affected by the moving images before my eyes.

I am by no means ignorant to the situation in Palestine. I have studied the conflict intensely, and watched the events of 2008/2009 unfold before my eyes. I have taken to the streets to protest against the British government's actions, I have written letters, supported Palestinian goods, listened to speakers from both sides of the fence, watched various documentaries and seen the most heart breaking footage of children bearing the brunt of a bitter war between two nations in one territory.

And yet, when this documentary crossed my path a little glimmer of humanity took up its torch and pointed out a few home truths.

People are people. Oblivious of ideology, religion, nationality, race, sex, name, occupation. A mother who has lost her child is the only person who can understand what that loss actually means. As Ali says in the film “If we who lost what is most precious can talk to each other and look forward to a better future, then everyone else must do so too”. Those who have been affected most deeply by the violent conflict can take a step away from their anger and extent olive branches of hope and peace, in opposition to the structures surrounding their everyday lives. And on both sides of the Israeli security fence there are mothers, fathers, grandmothers, uncles, cousins, aunties, brothers and sisters who have felt the entire spectrum of loss that takes hold when losing a family member.

As a political statement it burns with emotion and sentimentality but it still holds fast-

humanity is much stronger than the needs of a nation.

Sorry I'm Late

Sorry I'm Late

opression

Ward and Mullender describe oppression as both a ‘state of affairs in which life chances are constructed’ and a ‘process by which this state of affairs is created and maintained’.
It is a force with which people can be held back and forced down.

exception

today i feel exceptional.
Like an exception to the norm of what we expect from society today.
My friends:
the people who I have in my life; who help me build my life and live my life have helped me home...

one.

to have faith in the words that we speak.
to listen to them and to understand what those words are saying, what they are trying to say and what they can say when used in the right place.

words are freedom. they are love. they are hate. they are facilitators of our thoughts, emotions, imaginations.
we speak them, write them, hear them, every day of our lives, and much of this time, they spill out of us like we were designed as a species to communicate this way.

but we were not. and when i think of the spectrum of human emotion, as vast as the spectrum of the rainbow, I understand that the words we use cannot and should not be able to convey the vast, overlapping experiences that form us every day.

but we are lucky to have them.
so we must use them and speak them and hear them and sing them and shout them.
until they take shape and fall out of our mouths and hands and stick to our pages.

shake the dust

This is for the fat girls, this one's for the little brothers, this is for the schoolyard wimps and for the childhood bullies that tormented them. For the former prom queen and for the milk crate ball players, the night time cereal eaters, and for the retired elderly Walmart store front door greeters, shake the dust. This is for the benches and the people sitting upon them, for the bus drivers driving a million broken hymns, for the men who have to hold down 3 jobs simply to hold up their children, for the night time schoolers, for the midnight bike riders trying to fly... shake the dust. This is for the two year olds who cannot be understood because they speak half english, and half God, shake the dust, for the boys with the beautiful sisters, shake the dust, for the girls with the brothers who are going crazy for those gym class wall flowers, the 12 year olds afraid of taking public showers, for the kid who is always late to class because he forgets the combination to his locker, for the girl who loves somebody else, shake the dust. This is for the hard men who want love but know that it won't come, the ones who are forgotten, the ones the amendments do not stand up for, for the ones who are told to speak only when you are spoken to, and then are never spoken to, speak every time you stand so you don't forget yourself, do not let a moment go by that is a reminder that your heart beats 900 times a day, that there are enough gallons of blood to make you an ocean, do not settle for letting these waves settle, and for the dust to collect in your veins. This is for the celibate pedafile who keeps on struggling, for the poetry teachers, and for the people who go on vacations alone. For the sweat that drips off of Mick jagger's singing lips, and for the shaking skirt on Tina Turner's shaking hips, for the heavens and for the hell's through which Tina has lived, this is for the tired and for the dreamers, for the families that will never be like the Kleaver's, with perfectly made dinners, and sons like Wally and the beaver, this is for the biggots, the sexists, and for the killers, and for the big house pin sentenced cats becoming redeemers, remember the spring time always seems to show up right after the winter, this is for every one of you, make sure that by the time the fisherman returns, you're gone, because just like the days, I burn at both ends, every time I write, every time I open my eyes I'm cutting out parts of myself to give to you, so shake the dust and take me with you when you do, none of this has ever been for me, all the pushes and pulls pushes for you, so grab this wool by it's clothes pins, shake it out again and again, jump on top and take it for a spin, and when you hop off, shake it again for this is yours, make my words worth it, make this not just another poem that I write, not just another poem like just another night that sits heavy above us all, walk into it, breathe it in let it crash through the halls of your arms like the millions of years of millions of poets, coursing like blood, pumping and pushing, making you live, shaking the dust, so when the world knocks at your front door, clench the knob tightly and open on up, running forward into it's widespread greeting arms with your hands before you... finger tips trembling though they may be.

find a treat from the wonderful Anis Mojgani every day here
i do

The Human Death Dance by Buddy Wakefield

On the face of her phone,Wylenne programs a message to herselfso when the alarm clock rings,the screen flashes"every day is one day less,everyday is one day less."For some peoplehappiness...it's just a reduction in suffering.
Like Jordan.Jordan tattoos the words"FORGIVE ME"in thick black lettersdown the inside of his arm,so that when he looks at his wrist,he will remember to not hate himself so much.
After Jack left,Mary started sticking her facebetween the film projectorand the movie screen,so that when the credits roll,she still gets to be somebody.
When Tara's past comes back,she mashes chalk into the sidewalkuntil her knuckles bleed.She scribbles and scrapesscribbles and scrapes,until the words take shape,and this is what they say,they say, "i wanna die."hold tight if I love you coz it might not last long.
we're all gonna die.that's the exciting part.It's learning how to live for a living.That's the tricky bitch.Just ask Denise,
Denise, whose family taught her when she came into this world,that family equals love.So, Denise took that shit seriouslybut after a lifetime of craving acceptance from their cruelty,she now finds herself jamming polaroid pictures of these people into her typewriterand pounding out the last letter of the word "mercy"over and over.
She strikes the key "y","why why why why why."
And the answer?It comes in the form of a hand written letter from the moon.
It says,"This is brutally beautiful.So are we.This is endless.So are we.We can heal this.

P.S. See me for who I am. We got work to do.

But my father,he didn't read moon,he didn't speak moon,he didn't write moon.So there was no note
There are still days you can catch metape recording internal silenceand playing it backwards for an empty room.Just so I can listen to his dying wish."shhh"
It's true.The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree.But thank goodness,My family treewas in an orchard on a hillthat rolled me to the riverand that riverripped me to the rapidsand those rapidsrushed me into this moment.Right here,right now,with you.At the mouth.
My mouth....this is my church.And this church is a house of healing.Hallelujah.Welcome,come on in.As you are.Have a look around.
There are massive stacks of bad choices in my backyard,clearly, I have not yet reached enlightenmentbeyond a few fleeting moments,but i'm trying.
And I found something here I want you to have,it's not much,just a story,but it's all I got.So take it.It's called Dillon.
Dillon's drug of choice was "more."So Dillon took more and more and more.Until the day he woke up babbling in a pool of his own traffic jam.Realizing he is killing off the best parts of himself,
When he looked down at his heart flap,it read "boy, go find your spine, and ride it out of here."
Wylennes guts said "Day one."Jordans arm read "fully forgiven."Mary's face, "The ENDless."Tara's knuckles,"Healing."Denise's fingers typed, "C""See see see see see."
and Dylan said my smile,it said "fix it."So I came back here, to the mouth of the riverto look at my own reflection under the moonlightand see what it says for myself.
On my whole body, it is written..

See me for who I am.We got work to do.Our skin, "brutally beautiful."a hand written letter from the Sun.


Buddy Wakefield

lovelock

The Gaia Hypothesis.

The concept: the world, the universe and everything that they entail is one big fluxuating being, changing, developing, adapting.

Thinking of the sea as a massive thermometer constantly testing the land- am I closer? Am I overstepping the mark? or not living up to your expectations?

There is no route straight up the mountain.
The world doesn't keep dying.
It dies and regrows, like it has been taken to with a large pair of scissors, grooming it to become something new, to change and evolve, adapt and become.

It may not work properly anymore.
The days may seem longer, the sun shine brighter, the oil spread a little thinner and the polar bears swimming around looking for somewhere to stand which won't melt beneath their weary feet.

But we are not in charge of protecting the planet. she is way bigger than us. too big for us to even comprehend, because shes tied by strands of existence to every other single part of our comprehension, all fluxuating, all changing, evolving, becoming.

It is not our role to protect this planet. She bore us and we should look after her, reciprocate the affection. But she can look after herself. If she gets to hot she'll send an ice age. If she feels too warm, as we burn all her forests, carve up her land and melt into her seas, she will react.

We can hurt the ones we love repeatedly, tear them into pieces and go back for more, but the planet will not submit.

She is much bigger than us.

But the awareness can stick.
The awareness that the future for our children may be much too bright, full of chaos and lost animals searching for the ark. We should look around and assess the situation. Take stock of what we have had, we what have now and what we could have in the future.

Lovelock is a great man. He has accepted the courageous bond between science and philosophy and ecology to link up his theories with a myth, with a narrative that draws us in and relates with us.

But what does this mean for the children of Africa? being pushed out into the desert as the overpopulated west winds up the drawbridges and swings 'closed' signs in the windows of all the doors in all the streets of all the cities.

They cannot turn up the air conditioning, or shut the window to keep it all out.

recently

Sometimes I look at the world and see lots of familiar faces stuck a top the wrong bodies.
The bodies are crawling to work, climbing up the ladder, smiling to themselves and nodding their heads.

I don’t really understand why. I mean, of course, I understand the concept of ‘the economy’ and 'capitalism' and why labour makes money makes the world go round, but I am just so confused.

I understand why in today’s ‘credit crunch’ climate that we should keep spending money, support smaller businesses and try not to let the economy lapse any more, but when situations such as the police reaction to the G20 protests on weds last week occur I get a little bit more confused. Surrounding a group of people, penning them in and refusing to let them leave… a peaceful protest - supposedly.

Who are these people working in the government? Working for the police? Working for the banks/ institutions/ reading the sun/times/telegraph/ watching the BBC and being spoon fed their own opinions. It’s like the heads on top of the bodies refuse to be accountable so they act as hosts for whatever the globalised authority believes should be correct at that particular moment in time. Are we those people?

Jeremy Bowen, the BBC’s Middle East correspondent, has been accused of lacking impartiality. Call me naive, but reporting on the Middle East for your entire journalistic career does mean that you may develop an opinion- nay, an understanding (albeit subjective, as are all understandings/histories etc) of the particular situation. It is why journalists are journalists. They want to develop an understanding that is closer to a truth (albeit subjective, as are all truths/understandings/histories etc) so as to relate a situation/ the ‘news’ to an audience. An audience that can then develop an opinion (albeit subjective yet again, as are truths/understanding/histories etc) and an audience who can then choose for themselves the thoughts that their bodies host and filter into their actions.

I understand that the BBC strives for this ideal of impartiality, strives to be a fair representative of the good old people of Britain, but the atmosphere is changing. It is always changing. To scapegoat one of their best correspondents due to a few complaints is surprisingly not that shocking at all. Especially when we see the President of Iran attack Israel (after declaring how he wishes to wipe it off the map/argues that it should never have existed in the first place) resulting in half of Europe stepping back out of the UN boardroom into the safe zone, and shouting ant-Semitism at the top of their lungs. And quite rightly- what Ahmadinejad says is anti-Semetic and it is anti Israeli.
I personally do have issues with two roads being created in one country- one for Israelis, one for Palestinians, and the difference in quality of each road. And I also have issues with the way id cards are issued. And I also have issues with the path of the Israeli security fence/ land possession/ house demolitions/ embargos on Gaza/ owing airspace/water space and land which is technically Palestinian. Some actions of which could in fact be interpreted as oppressive, or indeed, racist.

It seems this man has taken it upon himself to state what he believes. Rather than letting it slide, he is not letting go. This could be his best –or worst decision to date. Especially when taking into account the current international climate.

I’m so confused as to how the world is up in arms over some statements by an angry man- albeit an angry biased man, who is actually making some very interesting points that are without a shadow of a doubt, true.

I keep forgetting what democracy is. And what honesty is. And what it is to fight for what you believe in. There is a very long way to go yet.

goodreads

The Book Thief




I just found this.
now you can see all the books I have read/want to read/ never finished.

and I get to remember them all.


Magic.

Rilke

As once the winged energy of delight

As once the winged energy of delight
carried you over childhood's dark abysses,
now beyond your own life build the great
arch of unimagined bridges.

Wonders happen if we can succeed
in passing through the harshest danger;
but only in a bright and purely granted
achievement can we realize the wonder.

To work with Things in the indescribable
relationship is not too hard for us;
the pattern grows more intricate and subtle,
and being swept along is not enough.

Take your practiced powers and stretch them out
until they span the chasm between two
contradictions...For the god
wants to know himself in you.

knitting for 20p

july

This website is a series of assignments given by
Miranda July (of you and me and everyone we know)
and harrell fletcher.


the assignments vary from:


16. Make a paper replica of your bed.


58. Record the sound that is keeping you awake.


65. Perform the phone call someone else wished they could have.


63. Make an encouraging banner.




it is good.