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| www.kansan.com/blogs/black_rabbit
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| Keep on HammeringIn the August 30th edition of the New York Times, columnist Roger Cohen
threw in his two cents concerning the current state of Palestine. His
piece, entitled “A Return to the Mother of Conflicts” was, in my eyes,
an unfortunate reminder of the general misconceptions surrounding the
conflict. What follows is a brief response that seeks to point out a
few of these.
www.voiceforpalestine.blogspot.com
JS
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| Oprah: visit Palestine!It
has just come to my attention that Michael Moore will be on the Oprah
Winfrey show promoting his new movie about Health Care.
Also, Oprah has been invited by Elie Wiesel to visit Israel on a
"solidarity" visit and she has accepted. Wiesel is a staunch supporter
of Israel with an open policy of "never" criticising Israel in the U.S.
no matter what.
The idea is to email Michael at mike@michaelmoore.com as soon and as
much as possible to encourage him to ask Oprah to visit a Palestinian
community and see what the occupation is really like!
Regardless of your opinion of Mr. Moore, you know he has the guts to bring it up. It. Would. Be. Fabulous.
SO. 1)Forward this message around as much as possible, 2)barrage his
email with requests and lastly 3) *gulp* tune in to Oprah when he is on
and cross your fingers!
Until the Wall Comes Down,
JS | | |
| The King of the Future (rough draft/exerpt)
NftRU, Thomas Sunday
end of line, my friend
until next time or time comes to its end
you are the King of the Future
but I, with you, am chained to the past
for you, my friend, for three weeks have been dead...
Eleven poems for the King of the Future
a crown for his head, two jewels for his flashing
dark eyes and one for his burning
heart, though it no longer beats
a crown for the sake of the future
and its king with his wound that no longer bleeds | | |
| Blood...from Notes from the Ragamuffin Underground, Thursday, April 12th.
Today at work while in our usual hurry I managed to run my thumb across a piece of tin with all of my weight behind it. It entered at an angle and slid for a few inches. I could feel it moving across the inside of my thumb, it felt warm from the sun. Jumping down from the ladder I had been on I instinctivley held it tight with my other hand. Almost instantly I could see the blood seeping through my tightly clenched fingers. It struck me how bright the blood was, how primary it seems when it's a really deep, real blood cut. I held it up against the bright blue April should-be-summer-but-still-wintry sky to see what it looked like. It wasn't dark or crimson at all: it was firetruck and apple and superman red. Then as it dried it became sticky and eventually dark on my hands. I put on some band-aides and my gloves and went back to work. My thumb was numb like it was dead, but tender along the slice. Later at home I was washing my hands and I could smell the blood. It struck me because I couldn't ever remember smelling blood before. It smelled like rust. Standing over the sink I though of Pontius Pilate. But I washed my hands anyway. | | |
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