bad with titles

not necessarily

2007-03-05T19:58:00.000-08:00

In various computer languages, "!" means "not". E. g, 1 != 2. In elementary school, I was taught that "~" is a graphic "adjective" meaning "effectively," "about," "near," "circa," etc. E.g., this event will happen ~2012 means that if you had to pin the event to a specific year, 2012 would be your best bet.

So, to make a long story short, I propose that

!~

mean "not necessarily." Admittedly, "not necessarily" isn't a literal translation of the signs . . . but nothing is literal when it comes to the way people actually speak to one another. A language free of nonsensical or marginally-sensical colloquial phrases wouldn't be a language at all, but rather a system of codes.

desire & utopia

2007-02-23T14:02:00.000-08:00

If one were to follow the trajectory of a desire as far as possible, one would eventually cross a horizon into another world. There's a quasi-utopia implicit in every desire -- what we desire isn't merely the immediate object, but a world in which having the object is at least possible. This becomes most clear with regard to unattainable desires -- even when one realizes one will never obtain the object, one nevertheless continues to long for a world in which having that object is possible.

Hypnopompia

2007-02-23T13:42:00.000-08:00

are the experiences a person may go through in the hypnopompic state, the period of waking up. [via Wikipedia]

a quote from Oppen, a break/an ending . . .

2006-02-05T16:14:00.000-08:00

For everyone who responded with such compassionate and encouraging words to the mugging ordeal, I can't thank you enough. Crag and Kyle, I sincerely apologize for not responding to your comments sooner. I kept trying to find a new & more authentic way of conveying how incredibly touched I was (and am), but I couldn't find the right words -- and so, stupidly, I wound up not saying anything at all. I do this sort of thing way too often.

Although I remain aware of how tenuous and volatile and ephemeral online community can be, the well-wishes I received have brought home, once again, how suddenly that weave of faint, virtual connections can flare into an authentic presence, a compelling and even healing force. Wow. I don't know what else to say other than wow -- and thank you.

As luck (i.e., incredibly good fortune) would have it, I recently stumbled into an opportunity to transcribe Mark Linenthal's delivery of the 8th Annual George Oppen Memorial Lecture 1992), titled George Oppen: The Unacknowledged World. Apparently Linenthal no longer has a written copy of it -- and he had the only copy in existence. Thanks be to the Gods of Magnetic Media that the lecture was videotaped -- for it's portrait of Oppen is a rare and beautiful combination of both philosophical intensity and moving personal reminiscence. For me, listening to the lecture was not unlike having someone pull a landscape painting off the wall -- a painting that's no more than a caricature -- to reveal a window, beyond which lies the real (and genuinely sublime) landscape.

Early on in the lecture, when discussing Heidegger's influence on Oppen's thinking, Linenthal reads excerpts from one of Oppen's letters to his sister.

Surely, there is is-ness [. . .] The point [. . .] is the mind operating in a marvel which contains the mind. Of that marvel, it can really not be thought about because it contains the thought. But it can be felt. It is what all art is about.

The mind operating in a marvel which contains the mind . . . That phrase has reverberated in my mind's ear countless times over the past few months.

I thought this would be a not-inappropriate place to bring this blog to close, at least for now. Since starting school, I've had very little time to post, and I don't expect the situation to change for at least another year-and-a-half. I may continue to post occasionally, but certainly not with greater frequency than I have for the past several months.

To everyone who has read along and contributed, I sincerely hope that we stay in touch. And please keep posting to your blogs! To be honest, worrying about what to post here has kept me from paying as much attention as I'd like to the conversations taking place beyond here.

Abductors threaten to kill journalist Jill Carroll in Iraq

2006-01-17T21:20:00.000-08:00

I've been following the story of the kidnapping of Christian Science Monitor journalist via Boing Boing. Apparently her captors have decided to kill her within 72 hours. There's certainly no such thing as a "right target", but Jill is clearly the wrong target. A link in the Boing Boing article points to a blog of one Jill's friends and associates -- it's quite an affecting read.

I suppose this gets to me because the descriptions I've read of Jill remind me of so many people I've met over the past few years, friends of friends, people in classes, etc. The Bay Area draws so many people who are both idealistic and have the courage to live in a manner that's congruent with their convictions . . .

I don't know whether Jill ever lived in the Bay Area, but I can't shake the feeling that she's someone I could have easily bumped into at a gathering of some sort.

Here's to hoping that an epiphany of sanity and compassion overpowers her abductors' intentions.

look into my eye

2006-01-10T19:42:00.000-08:00

And I thought that work would slow down, that I'd have more time to post, and so on, over the holidays. Ha!

I noticed that the entry below is empty and titled "Pimp". There's a story behind that. Not a happy one, but it's a story and I don't seem to have many stories, so I'm gonna tell it.

A rainy night a few days before Christmas, I headed out of the apartment by myself to attend a performance of Unsilent Night, an hour-long electronic piece that's played simultaneously by as many people as show up with tape players. The procession then wanders for about a mile throughout the city. Every year I plan to attend then forget about it. This year I set a reminder in my online calendar and when the notice popped up on my screen I eagerly snuck out of the office just in time to make it home and change in something warmer.

About a block away from my apartment, I noticed the bus at its terminal stop. I was already running a bit late, the bus would take me exactly where I intended to go, and I wouldn't get soaked until we actually started wandering about the city with our tape players. I thought myself lucky -- the bus claims to run once every 20 minutes, but everyone who relies on it know that it can take up to 40 minutes for the next one to show up, depending on city traffic. I waited, but the bus didn't move. I kept waiting, but the bus still didn't move. Finally, I knocked on the door and asked the driver how soon the bus would be heading out. He didn't know. Something was wrong with the electrical system. Ok, fine, I could just take BART. Though I'd have to hurry even more because I'd already lost time waiting.

As I turned to cross the street, the wind picked up and blew the rain horizontally into my face. I held the umbrella out in front of me, low over my head like an oversized and lopsided hat, then dashed across the street. When I stepped up onto the sidewalk, I found myself immediately on the ground, as if I'd slipped on ice. I tried to struggle up, but there was a weight on top of me. Then, BAM. A fist landed on the side of my face.

Things get a bit blurry here, but I distinctly remember having multiple thoughts at once, as if my consciousness had divided into about three different layers. The first was engaged exclusively in the struggle to get myself away from the this guy who was punching me. That part of me kept screaming for help and trying to dodge the punches (which came harder every time I screamed). The other part of me was engaged in this idiotic self-critical monologue that went something like "You should have been paying attention. You clearly weren't paying attention. Didn't people always warn you this would happen if you didn't pay attention? Now, look it's happening. See what happens when you don't pay attention?" And the third part of me was extremely dissociated from the experience, analyzing it, thinking things like "Hmm. I'm afraid but I don't feel as afraid as I thought I would. This guy is punching me, but the punches don't really hurt that much -- at least as much as I thought they would. This may not be pleasant, but it's not as overwhelmingly horrible as I'd imagined. I've always wondered whether this would happen to me, and what it would be like if it did."

I got a few good glimpses at the guy's face. I didn't recognize him. He was silent, and his expression was absolutely emotionless -- no rage, fear, pleasure, nothing.

Between punches, I managed to pull my wallet out and throw it away from me. I begged him to take it. He did, then he reached into my pocket and yanked out my cell phone, ripping my pants halfway down the leg. That distant part of me thought "Oh, I think this is going to be the end of it now. Thank God." Fortunately, I was right -- the guy was already halfway down the block before I even realized he was no longer on top of me.

"Are you ok?" I stood up without much diificulty -- good, nothing's too damaged, I thought -- and saw a guy about two feet away from me holding open the gate to his apartment building. "Do you want to come in?" I followed him inside, where his girlfriend was attempting to call 911. She'd apparently been on hold for several minutes. "He got you pretty good there by your eye -- do you want some ice?" I noticed for the first time that my left cheek was more visible than it usually is. Oh geez, I thought, this is probably going to start hurting.

They gave me ice, the police showed up, took me for a quick drive around the neighborhood to see if we could spot him. I have to admit, the police were incredibly kind and attentive. One of the officers found my glasses on the sidewalk, put them back together, then even let me use his personal cell phone to call Gerardo.

I've been told by several friends that I'll probably have some mild post-traumatic stress from this, but so far so good. It could have been much, much worse. I had no broken nose, no broken bones, the eyeball itself wasn't bruised. Only one scrape on my cheek. And I'm happy to know that in the midst it I listened to my "gut instincts" about continuing to scream and throwing the wallet at him/away from me. And I made it through something I'd lived in fear of for years.

As for the "pimp" post . . . the guy who stole the phone apparently had some fun playing around with the email features. He sent a few similar emails to coworkers, and the "pimp" email to an address I'd set up to email blog entries to. I thought the address didn't work -- at least now I know it does.

Pimp

2005-12-22T02:02:00.000-08:00

conciousness/subjectivity as being becoming non-being

2005-12-18T18:49:00.000-08:00

A thought that's been zigzagging its way through my synapses for awhile now.

It's kind of like this -- there's stuff that has positive ontological "content". It "takes up room" in "being". Whatever that means. But this stuff is constantly passing into non-being, constantly ceasing to exist. I don't know where the stuff originally comes from -- the big bang? -- but it doesn't matter, it could never be comprehended anyway. The point is that subjective experience is the means by which this constant ceasing-to-exist happens.

So I'm looking at a computer screen right now, as I type, and this computer screen (whatever it ultimately is) has positive ontological content that is, right now, passing into nothingness. And that "passing into nothingness" = my perception(s) of the computer screen.

To put it another way, where does what we perceive "go" when we perceive it? Sure it "goes" into our memories to some degree, but that's just the trace of it. Where does the thing itself go? Nowhere -- it dissolves. Our perception of it is precisely that dissolution.

Water going over the edge of the cliff -- consciousness as that edge.

This is way too metaphysical for even my taste, but it's a thought that keeps bubbling up to the surface of my attention, so I'm starting to think there's *something* to it, even if the thought itself is functioning as a kind of metaphor for something I'm not fully aware of (like the metaphorical aspect of dreams).

is there anybody out/in there?

2005-12-15T20:19:00.000-08:00

hello . . . ?

Dusty in here. Sheets over the furniture. Blogroll yellowing at the edges, absent-mindedly tacked to the wall.

The semester's over. Quite an intense race to the finish. And work got busy again.

Here's a diagram I made a few weeks ago, intended to incorporate certain aspects of Jack Spicer's Textbook of Poetry & the his Vancouver Lecture, in which he uses Christ as a metaphor for poetry (and poetry and the poet and the signified/signifier split, etc). His metaphorical series strike me more like conceptual puns than they do metaphors, though -- each item in the series overlaps the other on the surface (seems very much alike) but has its own set of implications that can't be reduced to any other item. And this slippage is constantly taking place, nothing stands still. Thus a diagram is probably the most wrong-headed thing one could do in repsonse to Spicer's poetics and this diagram certainly focuses on certain aspects of the "theories" from the Textbook while completely ignoring others. If I have time, I'll post some notes that attempt a more detailed explanation of the diagram. But right now the notes sound like something I handed in for class (which I did).

If anyone has sent me a message that I haven't responded to, please, please accept my apologies. I plan on performing a thorough audit on my inbox over the holiday.

In the meantime, I'll tape the diagram up here next to the blogroll . . .

Cylinder Preservation and Digitization Project

2005-11-18T22:40:00.000-08:00

5,000 cylinder recordings placed online.

pangrammaticon's birthday (+1)

2005-11-18T19:17:00.000-08:00

Thomas Basbøll's inimitable Pangrammaticon is one year old as of yesterday. Happy birthday, Thomas!

swift report: god denies links to pat robertson

2005-11-11T10:34:00.000-08:00

shameless plug

2005-11-10T14:15:00.000-08:00

USF MFA Poets
on Sunday, November 20, 3pm
at DIESEL, A Bookstore

5433 College Ave
Oakland, CA 94618

University of San Francisco
Graduate Students in Creative Writing
will read from their latest work and work-in-progress
in poetry:

Liza Campbell, Lars Keffer, Alexandra Mattraw,
Katie Painter, Craig Perez, Karen Boyden Phelps,
Tom Seaton, Rebecca Stoddard, Jay Thomas, Valerie Witte.

Snacks, sweets, libations will be served.

For more information, contact
Rusty Morrison, instructor.

it's the medium, stupid!

2005-11-10T09:04:00.000-08:00

This is a cross-post from my American Poetry & Poetics class discussion group. I think/hope there's enough context within the content of the post for it to make some sense here (however hastily the post was written) . . .

Work has been insane lately, so I haven't had much time to post or respond -- though I am enjoying the discussions.

Wanted to briefly mention a thought that occurred to me last night when Rebecca said, re: Olson's Projective Verse, that "the typewriter only moves forward" (hope I got that right, Rebecca). Marshall Mcluhan's formula "the medium is the message" popped into my head -- so, I thought, it's true, even in poetry! Immediately this strikes me as too simplistic, but . . . just running with the thought for a second, it made me wonder about a possible relationship between contemporary poetics and our word processors -- which have a fundamentally different relationship to time and memory than a typewriter does (e.g., word processors move forward and backward, though they don't really move, not mechanically -- and they can archive, record multiple versions of the same thing).

Also, along these lines, I want to throw out a question/concern that's been in the back of my mind all semester. As if in unconscious fidelity to something like Mcluhan's formula, we tend to read nearly all poetry as "really about" poetics (or at least a relationship to poetry). It seems to me that this work most of the time, and provides a useful way into work that would be otherwise difficult to access. At the same time, I wonder how legitimate this tendancy is -- to what degree are we folding poetry itself (or the concept of poetry itself) along the metaphoric axis, taking the poetic endeavor itself as one gigantic extended metaphor for poetics? Any thoughts would be greatly appreciated.

vote -- schwarzenegger's agenda close to passing

2005-11-07T22:16:00.000-08:00

If you live in California, are eligible to vote, and can make it to your polling place tommorrow -- please vote. The latest polls suggest that much Schwarzenegger's agenda (props 73-77) is dangerously close to passing. The one that appears most likely to pass -- that pernicious parental notification law. The right is counting on the left to be a no-show for this election. If you live in San Francisco and don't know where to vote, here's where to find your polling place.

storyline patents are here

2005-11-04T08:54:00.000-08:00

oppen on the irreducible here and now

2005-11-01T22:51:00.000-08:00

for Thomas, re recent conversations concerning science, religion, and the phenomenological here and now. I wish I had the time & energy to write something original. In lieu of something I could come up with, I offer something of decidedly higher artistic merit.

From the poem A Narrative, from the collection This In Which, 1965.

11

River of our substance
Flowing
With the rest. River of the substance
Of the earth's curve, river of the substance
Of the sunrise, river of silt, of erosion, flowing
To no imaginable sea. But the mind rises

Into happiness, rising

Into what is there. I know of no other happiness
Nor have I ever witnessed it. . . . Islands
To the north

In polar mist
In the rather shallow sea --
Nothing more

But the sense
of where we are

Who are most northerly. The marvel of the wave
Even here is its noise seething
In the world; I thought that even if there were nothing

The possibility of being would exist;
I thought I had encountered

Permanence; thought leaped on us in that sea
For in that sea we breathe the open
Miracle

Of place, and speak
If we would rescue
Love to the ice-lit

Upper World a substantial language
Of clarity, and of respect.

some notes on zukofsky's 'for my son when he can read'

2005-10-26T15:14:00.000-07:00

I volunteered to give a brief presentation on Zukofsky's essay "For My Son When He Can Read" (from "Prepositions", published by Berkeley, UC Press, 1967). I don't know enough about Zukofsky to know whether or not I'm focusing too much on one thing and not enough on another -- or whether or not I'm taking him too literally. But for what it's worth, here are the notes I took.

Need for a general (scientific) definition of poetry.

. . . as I heard your first syllables [ . . .] I saw why definitions of poetry rounding out like ciphers (abstract and like numbers on clocks that read only this century or that century and so no other) should not satisfy either of us. (p. 3)

Current definitions are too abstract. “To write poems is not enough if they do not keep the life that has gone.” (p. 3)

Current definitions apply only to poems of specific time periods. “The poet may visibly stop writing, but secretly measures himself against each word of poetry ever written.” (p.3)

side note: I think Zukofky’s getting at something like Kant’s notion of an “a priori” judgment – for a judgment to be a priori, it must be both logically necessary and universally applicable. E.g., a triangle has 180 degrees. So no poem could be a poem without fitting the definition, and the definition would apply to every possible poem that ever has and ever could be written.

Commonalities between poetry and science.

Someone alive in the years 1951 to 2000 may attempt a scientific definition of poetry. Its value would be in a generalization based on past and present poems and always relevant to the detail of their art. All future poems would verify some aspect of this definition and reflect it as an incentive to a process intended to last at least as long as men. (p.6)

Poetry, like science, is the living history of its self-critique. “A person would show little thought to say poetry is opposed to – since it is added to like – science.” (italics mine) (p. 4)

The future (of poetry) is a project of the past. “We look at the stars and because the light from them has traveled we see them shining tonight into tomorrow. With the same sense we look back and at once forward to ‘The Pitcher’ of Yuan Chen.” (p. 4)

Both science and poetry measure reality, and seek exactness in their utterances; both require standards in order to achieve this exactness. “The need for standards in poetry is no less than in science. [ . . .] Good verse is determined by the poet’s susceptibilities involving a precise awareness of differences, forms and possibilities of existence [ . . .] poets measure by means of words [ . . .] In poems, as in works of science, the involved susceptibilities always function with respect to some concept of exactness of utterance [ . . .] The choice for science and poetry when symbols or words stop measuring is to stop speaking.” (pp. 6-7)

Both science and poetry order events that impinge upon the human subject, then bring this ordering to language (“utterance”); inasmuch as all utterance can be considered poetry, science and all forms of intellectual or artistic endeavor can be considered a form of poetry. “[Poets] should embrace at least such action that informs skills and the intellect ordering events at once outside and in the head or whatever impinges upon it anatomically. / Utterance is but an extension or limit of this process. Poems are but phases of utterance. The action that precedes and move towards utterance moves toward poetry. The scientist compelled to make order of a hunch, the architect . . .” (p. 8)

Criteria of good poetry and steps toward a definition.

One of [a scientific definition's] forms might be: that matter worth the ‘highest common speech – all that flows from the tops of the head s of the illustrious poets down to their lips’ – properly embrace the whole art of poetry which is ‘nothing else but the completed action of writing words to be set to music’ – music being the one art that more than the other aims in its reach to speak to all men [ . . .] For the whole art may appear in one line of the poet or take a whole life’s work in which to appear. (p.9)

Poets must avoid clutter. “With respect to such action [qua that which precedes and moves toward utterance], the specialized concern to the poet will be, first, its proper conduct – a concern to avoid clutter no matter how many details outside and in the head are ordered.” (p. 8)

The poet should reveal not the poet’s own self or subjectivity, but rather and objective ordering of reality that can speak to all. “ . . . the order of [the poet’s] syllables will define his awareness of order. For his second and major aim is not to show himself but that order that of itself can speak to all men.” (p. 8)

Poets should put their effort into precise use of ordinary language, not in clouding their discernment with imprecise metaphor, elevated language, and obsessive concern over the rules of grammar. “ . . . those like us, son, ‘to whom the world is our native country’ [ . . .] will declare [ . . .] with Dante writing of the common speech, that ‘the exercise of discernment as to words involves by no means the smallest labor of our reason.’ [ . . . Dante] warned against metaphor whose discernment is lost in the making . . . Rhetoricians [ . . .] exist entirely in that frozen realm without crises that Dante called the ‘secondary speech.’ In poetry one can sing without stopping and without commas of the redundant commonplace action of the species.” (pp. 9-10)

A scientific definition will not concern itself with petty quibbles over how to classify various forms. “The question as to whether a long poem is composed of short ones, or of stanzas [ . . . ] whether what he writes is epic, lyric, or dramatic; -- seems to [the true poet] as vain as the question whether it is best to speak of inspiration, or felicitous speed, or hard work. In his order of poetic intellect all clinical charts say almost nothing about poetry.” (pp. 9-10)

A scientific definition of poetry must incorporate, in principle, all of human knowledge and experience. “ . . . it appears that the scientific definition of poetry can be based on nothing less than the world, the entire humanly known world. / Like the theories of science which are valid because they explain most, this definition will be valid inasmuch as it will be comprehensive.” (pp. 9)

subjectivist illusion

2005-10-23T14:30:00.000-07:00

I can't think of a better name for it at the moment.

What I'm talking about is the illusion that the world, it's "shape", conforms to the way it appears to me. A simple form of this illusion might be visual, and it might occur to small children. A child stares, for instance, down a very long hallway and assumes that the hallway must really does shrink toward the far end. Or the child believes that moon really follows her or him around. (I used to believe this, in fact).

What the child fails to do is correct her or his understanding of the world for the perspectival distortions inherent in seeing things from a point of view.

The illusion has other, more complex or subtle, forms. The belief that the heavens orbit the earth, for instance. Taking something someone said too personally. The notion that the self is some kind of ghostly being occupying the body. The idea that everything always was and will as it is now. The conviction that I couldn't possibly have been created and couldn't possibly die, that my self or soul or consciousness has an infinite temporal duration. The feeling that we're the center or pinnacle of creation, the reason the universe is here in the first place. The notion that we have unmediated access to reality itself.

It's difficult, if not impossible, to recognize all of these illusions and then perform the work of correcting our understanding of the world, of removing these perspectival distortions from our "maps" of the world. We do the best we can, but falling prey to such illusions from time to time is part of what it means to be human. I'd like to propose, however, that the work of correcting our "maps" is precisely the work that science does.

Science corrects our understanding of the world by removing from that understanding the perspectival distortions of the subjectivist illusion.

Thomas commented that "evolution is such a promising theory that it ought to disturb the idea of God a little more deeply."

What I think it disturbs is the subjectivist illusion that human beings are the center or pinnacle or telos of creation. In this way, I think that it does disturb the idea of God -- inasmuch, that is, as the idea of God is itself the product of a subjectivist illusion. Traditionally, of course, it has been. Religion, in its traditional forms, is founded (so to speak) on taking the subjectivist illusion to be true, on the assertion that the world is how it appears to us, from our perspective.

But religion didn't die when we finally accepted that the earth goes around the sun. And evolution won't kill it either. It's simply a matter of reorienting our notion of God so that it doesn't depend on the subjectivist illusion, so that we are still able to assert the existence of God without first presupposing that the world actually is how it appears to us.

critique

2005-10-21T19:09:00.000-07:00



poems take them

selves too

seriously

world's largest collection of euphamisms for male masturbation

2005-10-20T17:27:00.000-07:00

The list is actually pretty fascinating. Some are rather disturbing, others quite hilarious. A few are both.

Sorry. Will get back to evolution momentarily . . .

id, evolution, science

2005-10-18T11:07:00.000-07:00

Thinking about Thomas' and Karlo's comments on teaching intelligent design. Thomas reframes the debate as one that concerns the proper place, if any proper place exists, to introduce questions of epistemology into the cirriculum. I think he makes an excellent point -- this whole battle in the cultural wars could be avoided if we just had room to discuss the nature of knowledge itself.

Given that we'll never see philosophy classes squeezed into the public school cirriculum (I imagine school days are already overcrowded with No Child Left Behind test-prep, abstinence-only "sex-ed", pro-drug war propoganda, and military recruitment exercises -- please don't read that as an attack on teachers, by the way; I have the deepest admiration for anyone who manages or even tries to provide kids with an authentic education in this increasingly anti-intellectual society), I would agree with Thomas that ID should be presented -- but only on the following condition. Open every science class with a discussion on the nature not just of knowledge in general but on science in particular. Point out what it means for something to be a scientific theory, that science is a method, the very living history of its own self-critique. Don't shy away from talking about what science can't grasp, but also don't play-down the fact that the scientific method, properly carried out, produces an increasingly accurate portrait of empirical reality (though it will never, of course, manage to complete this portrait).

I'm a bit ashamed to admit this, but it wasn't until I was well into my adult life that I realized that science is more of a method than a doctrine. It is a body of knowledge, yes, but any and all of that knowledge is subject to change should reality turn out differently than we expected. That I graduated from high school without grasping this simple idea disturbs me greatly. Sure we talked about the "scientific method" -- but that was just to explain how scientists do experiments. Yet that very method carries deep implications for what we mean by "knowledge" when we talk about "scientific knowledge", and these implications were rarely, if ever, discussed. I'm sure part of it is my own fault -- I was far more interest in the arts than I was in dissecting frogs and solving chemical equations -- but part of this is because, I think, we're just not terribly interested, as a society, in talking about the nature of what we know, about what knowledge means. Consequently, we can hardly tell the difference between such things as facts, statements of opinion, religious beliefs, hypotheses, and theories.

yesterday was 7th anniversary of Matthew Shepard's murder

2005-10-13T14:24:00.000-07:00

Sad to say that I didn't realize it until I saw it on buzzflash and americablog today . . . Thought this letter from Judy Shepard, posted on the Matthew Shepard Foundation's website was worth repeating . . . I'd never before heard the statistics cited regarding the rise in hate crimes near events that increase visibility of LGBT issues . . . interesting & disturbing.

A note from Judy Shepard

October 12, 2005

October 12 th 2005, is the seventh anniversary of my son Matthew's murder. His murder prompted unprecedented media coverage and focused the nation's attention on anti-gay hate crimes like never before. These past few weeks I have been thinking about what has changed - and what has not changed. What has been done to make our communities safe from violence resulting from anti-gay hate? I quickly learned my son's violent death was a fairly common occurrence. This prompted our family to create the Matthew Shepard Foundation and do our part to create a more respectful and caring culture free from hate. I have spent the past seven years traveling across the nation, speaking to schools, churches, anyone who will listen, to try and stem the tide of hate that is eating away at the fabric of our culture.

The number of hate crimes against gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people has not varied much during the last five years. They remain the third highest category after race and religion. However, it is apparent that there are certain changes in the 'environment' that do impact hate crime activity. In New York City, every July, anti-gay violence usually increases by about 8% as people respond to the outreach programs and the visibility of the Pride celebrations. After the Lawrence v. Texas decision and the premiere of additional gay identified television shows, anti-gay violence in New York City rose 52%.

It's clear that in some ways, our nation has become a more accepting place. We have witnessed the progress of gay and lesbian rights with the recent Supreme Court decision, Lawrence v Texas. We have seen our neighbor to the North - Ontario, Canada - acknowledge same-sex marriages. They have recognized that same sex couples are as deserving of the same equal rights and responsibilities as heterosexual couples. We have seen gay adoptions increase. We have seen growing visibility, acceptance and understanding of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people in our families, in the corporate world and in our culture.

However, we must also remember that there has been scant progress in areas of legislation and securing equal rights for the gay community. We continue to fight for hate crime legislation that will include sexual orientation, gender, and disability, and for federal job protection based on sexual orientation. Yes, you can be fired for being gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender in 36 states of this nation. It is as if we are living in two Americas - one that tunes in to "Queer Eye for a Straight Guy" but turns a blind eye to the injustices gay and lesbian people still face.

It is evident that with progress comes the inevitable attack by those who are threatened by our work for justice and fairness. Visibility - whether in the media or being out of the closet if you are gay - can serve as an unfortunate catalyst. Those who are threatened by our community are threatened by these strides. In 2003, more than 30 cities and towns reported crimes against gays. The vast majority do not garner national headlines like my son's murder did. Sakia Gunn, a 15 year old lesbian was fatally stabbed in Newark, New Jersey on 5/11/03, F.C. Martinez, a Navajo, transgender 16-year old murdered in a bias motivated attack are two examples but the list goes on. We have so far to go, so much hate is out there. It must be acknowledged, addressed and erased before any of us are safe.

As we approach the anniversary of Matthew's murder it is appropriate to redouble my efforts to invoke a grassroots solution to this problem. It is a solution that begins with parents, educators, clergy and our communities as a whole. We have the opportunity to help our children understand and accept diversity before their school years begin and before hate can provoke violent actions. If we do our jobs correctly, it should never cross the minds of our children to harm someone, physically or emotionally, because of their gender, race, national origin, religion, disability or gender identity and expression.

Hate is a learned behavior. If a child is taught to hate and fear diversity, then the next place he or she expresses that hate is at school. Ten percent of all hate crimes occur at schools and colleges. Bullying in our nation's schools has resulted in countless acts of violence. The cycle continues until that child who is filled with hate becomes an adult citizen in your community and begins to teach others to hate.

Please help your children understand diversity without fearing it. Be an example of acceptance and compassion. The consequences of hate hurt everyone. It hurts not only the victim - it hurts their family and friends. It destroys the families of the perpetrators. Lives are lost, lives are ruined and lives are changed forever.

~Judy Shepard

dreaming borges?

2005-10-09T14:20:00.000-07:00

This really happened.

Last night I woke up thinking about -- something "big", something like "my life as a whole". And I had an insight that at first struck me as kind of silly and funny, but then began to reveal deeper layers -- and I said to myself, "that's one of the most profound revelations I've ever had." The feeling was that I had just made sense of something that had never made sense to me, that had troubled me for a long time. The relief which washed over me was very much like that relief that accompanies deep, authentic laughter.

Then I realized I was still in the process of waking up. I bet I won't be able to remember this when I wake up completely, I thought. At that moment I did wake up completely -- and, of course, wasn't able to remember anything save for the relief accompanying the insight and the fear of forgetting it.

4'33"

2005-10-02T16:23:00.000-07:00

There are a lot of things I've been wanting to post about -- not the least of which are the comments by Thomas and Karlo on the evolution vs. ID issue -- but there's just no time to do any of them justice at the moment.

I wanted to note, briefly, that, thanks to ubuweb, I just watched an orchestral performance of John Cage's 4'33" . . . wow. I found it perplexingly, startlingly moving. The ritual theatre of the piece -- which is made all the more real by it being performed by an orchestra and not on a stage and by a set of actors -- authentically brings a moment on non-ness to the something-ness that is generally the focus of such performances. Attention is drawn not only to ambient sounds, but also to expressions, physical movements. A moment of reverence, the sort of reverence one has at a religious ceremony, a funeral, a wedding, or a baptism. In that moment, so much wells up -- and what wells up is, I imagine, different for everyone. And this fact, which one realizes during the performance, becomes, in itself, part of the experience of the piece. Not just "who are we"/"what are we"/"what is this" -- but "who/what are we now"? and "who/what/why is now?"

In my classroom experience and beyond, 4'33" has always been regarded as something of a joke -- "a piece of music that's nothing but rests -- how funny and ironic and clever!" My experience of it, though, was quite the opposite . . . 4'33" is a ritual, a ceremony in the most austere sense . . .