Month: December 2009

Rendezvous with the Fukú

The semester is over. Gifts are purchased, wrapped, exchanged, and unwrapped. My HumpDayNewsletter post isn’t due until Monday. I’m back in Phoenix, after two, five and a half hour drives, and I don’t have to work until four p.m. All I want to do is kick back and finish reading this book, which I started at the beginning of the semester and never had a chance to get back to.


But I think I should get back to the apartment and do some cleaning.


Yeah. I’m Gonna Let Some Shit Go

Brace yourselves. What you are about to read may put you in a good mood. This was sent along to me by my good friend Michelle. She’s always good for some hippy ass shit. I hope you like it.

Winter Solstice

On Dec 21 many of us here in the northern hemisphere will experience the winter solstice. On this day during the longest and darkest nite of the year the stars over our heads will signal for us as they did for our ancestors a powerful turning point in the Wheel of time. This is the moment which represents both the end and the promise of a new beginning.

This is the time when earth mother already impregnated with the seeds of renewed life takes the time to prepare to give birth in the spring while at the same time she is fulfilling the promise of new life in the southern hemisphere, what an awesome and miraculous moment is this for all of humanity to share. What an awesome moment to give thought to the seeds we have planted not only in the heart of earth mother but in the hearts of our souls..

In the heavens the celestial dance of the stars aligns us with the cosmos

As such this is a good time to look back through the many turnings of the Wheel of time and to look at the direction our life has gone in, this is a good time to bid a fond farewell to all the paths not taken-and to do so without regret.

This is a good time to remember that no matter what spiritual, emotional or physical stress we are under earth mother in her love for all her children will always spin into the lite so let not your hearts be troubled .

The Winter Solstice festival is one of the world’s greatest moments, for it is a celestial celebration. It is this astral calendar that since time immemorial lets us know that the eternal cycle of life, death and renewal continues and we are a part of it.

So embrace the moment and do not hesitate to say “Happy Hanukkah,” “Merry Christmas,” “Season’s Greetings,” or “Happy Holidays,” because from an astrological perspective

All of humanity under the stars shares in this moment of time and these festivities also reflect a moment of hope and the promise of spring.

So walk into the light, look to the stars sing and let the songs of our people be heard. Think and walk in the wisdom and balance of our ancestor’s .Shine on mi gente, shine on! Happy winter solstice to all of you.

Posted by Taino Women’s Bohio de Atabex at 5:18 PM

… liked that? Here’s a link to the original post.

Library Jitters

I have a very cool assignment for my Travel Writing class. Due tonight. I couldn’t have asked for a better final project actually. What is it? Write or revise three short travel blogs and finish my longer piece on a trip I took to Valencia a few years ago. I should be devouring this assignment. But procrastination it seems, knows no exemption. In the course of this day set aside for homework, I’ve caught up on many emails, thrown some comments out there on a few blogs and read a lot of wikipedia, but I haven’t done any of my homework.

So I thought I’d get it out of my system. Write up a quicky, and get back to work.

I Feel that Like, this Represents the Inner Person, and Like, You Know, Their Outer Person is Trying to Like, Suppress that Inner Person and Like, You Know…

I have to write a shit load of poetry by Tuesday. I wanted to set aside a day to actually write some of that, over coffee, like a date, with myself. So ennui. The new Cartel downtown did just open.

So this poetry is for a class of course. One that I like despite realizing I am totally not a poet. Which is ok. I think I’ll always remember this class though, not because I found out that my work sounds like the end of an NPR blurb, I took that as an unintended compliment. Not because everyone in there seemed pretty cool, and they were. No, I’ll remember this class like we all remember those dreams we had as kids, where we were at school in our underwear (in mine they often gave me the power to hover over the basket ball court).

We read our work aloud you know, and for as much as I love to hear myself talk, reading aloud has of late, started to choke me up. Not as in, “oh this is about an ex-boyfriend,” please, if I’ve learned on thing about writing it’s that, sentiment is nice, but you better get over that quick, if you want anyone to read it. No, I get choked up about the audience. It-s a relatively new phenomena, I mean I’ve never been a fan of public speaking, but I’m getting like, shortness of breath over here. And not before, or after, just while I’m reading. But the thing is, my poems are ALWAYS about ex-boyfriends or some shit that went down in my family or I don’t know, being touched in the bathroom at Macy’s. So, when my ass starts stuttering in front of all these people, it sounds like I’m getting all in touch with my emotions in front of them. Either way they always give good feedback, the whole time I’m taking it in quietly, as one should during a workshop, but really wanting to say aloud “Uh, I wasn’t getting all emotional in front of you guys, I swear.” Or was I?
Well after today, but definitely by Tuesday, I’m gonna bust out with some Pablo Neruda shit for you guys, or at least something that his retarded cousin would have written.

Twenty-Four at City College

A few weeks ago I posted a video I liked, and challenged my, eh hem, readers to tell me what the photog was wearing, and if they could, I’d blog about them. Xinthia, I’ll get to yours soon I promise. But today I’m going to write about my friend Simon. I’d like to get all sentimental about him, cause we both have it in us, I’m sure, but the truth is my friendship with Simon is a refreshingly logical one. We are like two Dr. Spocks just sitting around talking shit all the time. But I’m not going to get into that either. I’m going to let his work speak for itself.

Reading this piece for me, felt like sitting across from each other at Tennessee Grill, on Taraval St in San Francisco. With burgers in our hands and steaming coffee poured every five minutes, our conversations went a lot like this, only interrupted by my songs of despair.


I hope you’re as into his writing as I am. Oh shoot there I went…

On Jocularity

It was pull-up day during gym class and I was up. Around me stood about thirty other freshmen boys and girls, the coach with clipboard in hand and in front of me, the pull-up bar. I remembered the first time I had attempted this feat, to no avail, at the beginning of the semester. Coach whatever his name was said that if we couldn’t do a pull up then, that we’d be able to, by the end of the trimester.

And I believed him. After a whole three months of not being able to make a goal, pull a flag off of some guys ass or dodge that buoyant, rubber smacking ball, I was certain that the daily humiliation of physical ineptitude in front of an audience of my peers, would serve as penance for this one moment of glory, in which, the quivering strands of muscle that hid underneath the skin on my arms, would come through for me, and lift my limp torso up just enough for the peach fuzz on my chin to tap out on the bar. I was wrong. I couldn’t do a pull-up. I don’t even know if I can now.

In that moment, shame was cast upon me, but mostly from myself. At least, it had seemed, that no one in that class was engaged enough to notice, or blog about it years later like I am. One guy did laugh at me, but besides him no one else noticed, I thought.

Enter Christine.

After class on the black top, in between the trailers that served as I don’t know what and the locker rooms which had their own distinct impact on my formative years, I saw her. She was a pretty girl, blond and smart, into ASB and school spirit and stuff, but what I’d come to respect her for, was the nuanced yet spot-on poignancy that flirted about her seemingly aloof commentary on the perils of adolescence. She was that girl. And there, with about three feet in between us, she shrugged her shoulders and looked right at me through heavy eyelids and said, “So you’re not jocular, whatever.”

How sweet huh. She misused a word just to make me feel better. Because while I’m not very athletic, I would consider myself, given to, characterized by, intended for, or suited to joking or jesting. But just for the sake of exploring new territory to flex my jocularity, I wrote a sports related blog this week at

Are you ready for some football?

I Don’t Really Miss it Though

As a kid, I got most of my MTV time at my aunt’s house, Tia Socorro to be precise. This wasn’t because my parent’s had anything against it, but because we didn’t have cable at all at my house. So while I got to watch all the Simpsons, Married with Children and 20/20 I wanted, I lacked in exposure to Daria, Real World and Celebrity Death Match to round me out as a normal child of the 90’s. The funny thing is, if my aunt had known what I was watching, she totally wouldn’t have approved. Kind of like how I don’t spring for LOGO for my own apartment, but I always catch it at my parent’s house, now that we’ve all left and they have Direct TV.

Luckily, I’ve stumbled upon Children of the 90s, so I can freshen up on all the pop culture references that age me terribly, as my obsession with my wonderful Doc Martins does. I hope there’s something on Real World Seattle, I’m always up for staring into David’s multicolored eyes.

Check this pic I found of 20/20’s John Stossle. Why do I feel like I’m looking at my uncle?