The Undermine

(written 1/29/08)

Winds of change are blowing,

kicking up leaves,

stirring this nest of tragedy,

sight overseen.

Kicking up logic,

forethought mistrusted,

consistency shallowed

and heartstrings busted.

Leaving me a desert,

the kindest desolation,

the chattering lies

of chosen isolation.

Wait for spring, child.

Rains come with patience.

Worth the wait beside the mesas

where it's been long believed

that dust harbors tricksters,

their havoc to be silenced

in the still calm coolness

of inner shade.

feminist rant

North Texas is a place in which conscious, independent women can live, get by, but under very few circumstances thrive. This is a bastion of white male privilege, and I am reminded living here once again for almost two years how spending my adolescence here radicalized me as a feminist. For instance, I see so few instances of women's interactions not mediated by men, particularly by significant others. There is downright fear in relating without them...initiating conversation is a revolutionary act. Men purchase only deodorants and soaps specifically designed for "men," like Axe and Dial For Men. When my friend borrows her boyfriend's Dial For Men after running out of soap, he deems it perfectly reasonable. But he would NEVER use her soap. I pointed out to him yesterday that she was, in fact, using St. Ives Energizing Citrus Shower Gel, which has no specific gender associations. He replied that he did not know that. He simply assumed that her soaps were "feminine" somehow, and therefore untouchable. When I sing karaoke, I notice women performing Journey songs sung by Steve Perry, Goo Goo Dolls songs sung by Dave Grohl, even the kitschy 80s tune "One Night In Bangkok" penned and originated by Murray Head. But I have NEVER seen a man sing a song popularized by a woman. All I can do is relish in my boyfriend's claim to have sung Alanis Morrissette several times in the past and the spot-on imitatons of Prince that have brought him local fame.

The automatic devaluation suffered by items and intangibles exclusively associated with women is the overtone that harmonizes with the all-too-casual male use of the word "bitch" I hear all too often. It arises in living rooms, uttered in the same breath as Miller Lite and Crown Royal, shouted over the din of XBox 360 and Rock Band televised battle and clicking controllers, screamed over the industrial-size rage of Nine Inch Nails and Drowning Pool, contained by the indifference of passers-by feigned for so long to have become reality, and underwritten by barflys, Jugalos, wrestlemaniacs, and midnight cowboys itching for a fight.

Is the Writer Obligated to Use His/Her Medium as an Instrument for Social Betterment?

This short piece is from Tom Robbins's 2005 retrospective of short pieces, Wild Ducks Flying Backward.

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A writer's first obligation is not to the many-bellied beast but to the many-tongued beast, not to Society but to Language. Everyone has a stake in the husbandry of Society, but Language is the writer's special charge. A grandiose animal it is, too. If it weren't for Language there wouldn't be Society.

Once writers have established their basic commitment to Language (and are taking the Blue-Guitar-sized risks that that relationship demands), then they are free to promote social betterment to the extent that their conscience or neurosis might require. But let me tell you this: social action on the political/economic level is wee potatoes.

Our great human adventure is the evolution of consciousness. We are in this life to enlarge the soul, liberate the spirit, and light up the brain.

How many writers of fiction do you think are committed to that?


Asked by Fiction International, 1984.

Video for "Love Action (I Believe In Love)" by The Human League

My boyfriend was watching a Human League video on YouTube and left the site up after retiring to bed. The next morning, I decided to watch videos for some of the other songs on their 1981 album Dare other than the hit "Don't You Want Me." "Love Action" sounded familiar. Within the first few seconds, it all came back...being 9, 10 years old in Phoenix watching the video on MTV circa 1982-1983. I distinctly remember the wedding scene and Susan Sulley throwing household items at the camera. Until yesterday, I had forgotten how much this video had influenced my preferred modes of filmmaking to this day and my conception of romantic relationships growing up. To me, it encapsulates the best of the early MTV "New Pop" videos from the U.K., in their expert location of a common ground of paranoia in 70s gritty social realism and 80s vogueish "acting as if."



If you watch this after "Don't You Want Me," you could construe this video as its sequel. Here you have the band/crew assembled to make another movie, scenes of which are intercut with Phil Oakey's memories of his failed relationship with Susan Sulley (in the videos only...in real life, he dated the brunette singer, Joanne Catherall). He confuses between the realities of the film and his personal life; plus, his actor self breaks frame to prosthelytize about love to us viewers directly. I think this confusion is wonderfully realized in the editing and choice of shots, and goes to show how much experimentation with music video as an art form was embraced by MTV in those days. Back then, this was a major factor in the channel's decision to include a video within its rotation, which opened the door to a refreshing swell of new faces and voices. In his amazing book Rip It Up And Start Again: Post-punk 1978-1984, Simon Reynolds quotes David Byrne of the Talking Heads reminiscing about this state of affairs:

You could do a vaguely experimental film thing as cheaply as you possibly could, and if it was connected to a song, MTV would play it, because they needed stuff desperately in those days. So you didn't have to tour in order to build up an audience. It was a bit like how I imagine the early days of pop singles were - you'd record something real quick, and then a month later it'd be a forty-five single in jukeboxes and it would be on the radio.

By 1984, this was all over. Radio hits and exorbitant budgets seized the day at the network. Before long, game shows and reality shows eclipsed the music. But I'm glad I was an avid and impressionable viewer during MTV's glory days.

An unjustifiable move in the name of compromise...

"Obama and habeas corpus -- then and now"

The Obama administration fights harder for the power to abduct people and imprison them with no charges.
Glenn Greenwald

http://www.salon.com/opinion/greenwald/2009/04/11/bagram/index.html

Righteous anger

Last night, my boyfriend Brandon and I drove out once again to our regular Saturday night karaoke spot at the border between Plano and North Dallas, TX. We respect the professionalism of the karaoke DJ (KJ), for whom Brandon has sung and worked for 5 years. We got there around 7:30, a half-hour early, so we could top the list of returning singers, ensuring that we would be able to sing at least twice that evening. Several friends Brandon has met at karaoke over the years show up on these Saturday nights, and, sure enough, the three middle-aged couples who have championed our 1-&-1/3rd-year relationship from the get-go were there, seated per usual at the long table in the front. Brandon's younger friends had not yet showed up. Of those friends, I particularly like Jason, a spectacular singer who has started bringing along his new boyfriend from Houston, an equally kind fellow.

Shortly after we'd seated ourselves at the long table, one of the couples bemoaned the state of society today, under Obama's governance, to which the other couples nodded affirmatively. The wife expressed the hope that the much-feared 2012 "apocalypse" would just "come on down," that she would rather be swept up in the Flood than live another day where her $100,000+/year income be subject to higher taxation. As a staunch Obama supporter, my feathers were naturally rankled by this. But what depressed me me more was the likelihood that Brandon and I were the lone dissenters in that bar. I did jokingly reply that I would be the only liberal left standing after said Flood. But, had I tried for an honest discussion, without capitulating to the "joking relationship" that Spradley and Mann (1980) have theorized regarding bar culture, I have a strong suspicion that these friends of his would thereafter passive-aggressively give me the cold shoulder, perhaps hint to Brandon that I was too radical for his own good, and that the McCain-supporting KJ might mess with the mix while I sang so that the audience misheard me.

Later in the evening, around 10:00, it only got worse. The husband of another of the couples, a biker who rides with the local gang BACA (Bikers Against Child Abuse), staged yet another routine with the KJ mocking male homosexuality...what they've established as their schtick. The KJ was singing "Sandy" from the movie Grease. The biker flirted with him in front of the stage, after which point the KJ replaced every mention of "Sandy" in the song with the biker's name. The biker then got up onstage and started cuddling with the KJ, who responded by chuckling with mild embarrassment. Then, during the spoken section of the song, the KJ re-sang the line "And, baby, you gotta believe me when I say...I'm helpless without you" as "....I'm disease-free without you." But, caught up in the moment, wanting to fit in with the crowd, there I was, laughing with everyone else, wondering only afterward (just afterward) how that would've sounded to Jason had he been there. I am beyond ashamed. In that moment, I performed the precise opposite of the humanist values I cherish...that my close, true friends share with me and know me for.

I have now decided "Enough." These couples--lulled into the illusion of security their wealth affords them, refusing any social interaction that is not preaching to the choir--are not worth catering to. Sometimes one has to take a stand, risking anger they would rather not face (especially for the sake of a loved one, as with Brandon in my case). Revolution begins in the one-to-one, letting one's true voice ring out and being willing to savor the sour and bitter as well as the sweet and savory of the consequences. Better that I keep showing up and start owning my right to say my piece as proudly and loudly as they do, rather than slinking away in cowardice to give their fear-ridden views center stage, time and again, where they have dwelled for too long.