Monday, February 28, 2011

Seattle cop murders deaf native woodcarver

Recently released footage from a police cruiser's dashboard camera shows the events leading up to the fatal shooting of a partially deaf man by a Seattle police officer.

John T. Williams, a Native American wood carver who was partially deaf, was killed on August 30th after walking past Officer Ian Birk, 27, on the street with a knife in his hand.

The dashboard camera footage shows Williams slowly crossing the street in front of Officer Birk's police cruiser. Birk then approached Williams and repeatedly told him to "put the knife down." Seconds later, Birk shot him four times.
more at the raw story

Friday, February 25, 2011

Bringing the Revolution Home-Leil-Zahra Mortada

" services cuts, unemployment, aggravated financial crisis, arms deals, nuclear energy, the plundering of every inch of the planet, the destruction of nature, the WTO, the IMF, the World Bank, border-police forces, immigration laws, racist governmental policies, deportations, genocides, colonial exploitation, imperialist control, economic and political hegemony, war, occupation, the so-called G8, multinationals, patents, forced labor, NATO, modern-day slavery, sweatshops, global warming, educational cuts, unjust housing prices, media hypocrisy and manipulation, censorship; Christian, Muslim and Jewish fundamentalisms; rigged elections, murderous foreign policies, slaughtering of indigenous peoples and their cultures, state-funded terrorism, state-funded lies and unfounded fear campaigns, sexist and homophobic laws and statements, brutal violence on all levels against non-whites, impunity, corruption… the list is endless. These are but a few adjectives that describe all of the governments today, not just Mubarak or Ben Ali, or Ahmadi Najad."

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

for tess


lovely sauce liquid

dancing soles


tossed down to the below

underground echo of

voiceless pipes

the gutter don’t flow

in the summer I go where the mud dries

to redden my eyes

ready my soul for oblivion

shred the self to tattered bits

leave the parts I don’t need in it

piles of shit


from archaic monkey tribes

who’s greed halted evolution

they believed in an answer

like us

where there is none

no solution but the question ritual psychic


one salutation to the sun we worship

the light because it

gives us life

and sight

matter in the dark plane devoid of inhabitants

the same gods can take this gift

swiftly as it takes to blind

the naïve we return to

divination searching for

what I never had anyways and

grieving my losses

oh lovely lost spirit

I so carelessly

left aside

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Monday, February 14, 2011

Georgia Prisoners Organize Largest Prison Strike In U.S. History

“..ON MONDAY MORNING, WHEN THE DOORS OPEN, CLOSE THEM. DO NOT GO TO WORK. They cannot do anything to us that they haven’t already done at one time or another. Brothers, DON’T GIVE UP NOW. Make them come to the table. Be strong. DO NOT MAKE MONEY FOR THE STATE THAT THEY IN TURN USE TO KEEP US AS SLAVES….”This was the message sent out by one of the strike leaders on the fifth day of the largest prison strike in U.S. history. What started out on Dec. 9 as a coordinated strike in at least five of Georgia’s state prisons was originally intended to last only a day, but quickly evolved into a larger, longer struggle when prison officials locked down a number of the prisons. The strike was coordinated by a network of prisoners using cell phones that were smuggled into the prisons. If caught with a phone, a prisoner could face five more years in prison.

read more at infoshop the most important site for world news

Monday, February 7, 2011

Sleep, Eat Food, Have Visions

nothing to hold

sound oscillations permanent metal air

conditioned mental hospital hair

observations on old folks

tired tantrum attacks

walkers in the snowy eyes

of grandchildren

one way mirror to a

clear eyed god

a law abiding citizen

turning inside out for the king

bending over sideways

as the instructor stretches her purple spandex

leading the man upstairs


via mechanical chair

large bosom

Philipino nurse

checking my temp

forcing down meds

feeding my head with her sweet lies

how I won’t die tomorrow

slowly everyday

each hour is pain

beyond relief I

sleep two hours a night because

I don’t believe in dreams anymore

they don’t visit me

much like my children and the rest of them

family ties are strong as

my eyesight

I know death is bliss thinking

too much

I remember how you

kissed in the dark

and now in the evanescent morphine body buzz

fleeting high of happiness

as I drift off

dizzy smelling disinfectant and scented candles somehow

there is no longer an I or me

or you

nothing to hold but the infinite



that we truly are

Sunday, February 6, 2011

head massage

course hair


golden grass pathways

I’m going to go through this

open field

and after the ground gives in

where the sea wins

bursting blue-white-birds

spraying waves


really timeless movements

ancient letters or

a code

I’m deciphering the

distance between us

running close to the edge of

crazy and dead in a dark place

facing her again above

black and silver schools

clouds of swimming


leaves falling

men trimming giant’s


like a hedge

grind me like a garbage disposal

downing drano-booze


doom filling my head

the chamber rising over lungs

and city lights reflecting through

splitting cells

shit storms of nothing

raindrops end

under the microscope


Friday, February 4, 2011

rusty old pipes

slipper piercing

goddamn these cheap things

worn down things

mimosa thorns and leaves

shells and shattered bits of Heineken bottles

Hawaiian emeralds

right on my own beach!

earth and sky kiss

with no building disruption

or phallic mountains

just grass and brush

stroking my ankles passionately as I float through them

usually it itches or bothers

but now they love me

and I can go on living


because a place can share such feelings

I was sharing my blood and voice

with her crashing cry

blue green and white to the mud


tiny bits of coral

biting at me

basalt seat imprinting on my skin

starting my

emergence into the wet

flowing force of her divinity


Thursday, February 3, 2011


frightened by dust and echoes

paranoia settling beneath silky smooth


these memory

foam impressions I had

just ideas that reoccurred

as apparitions on the edge of my eye

opening the head with a

pickaxe like tool

sometimes right through the socket

I tried to run away from them

but their smoke followed

as I exhaled white ghosts

flying with me past


yellowing the blackness in this lighting age



disease! oh sickening thoughts!

life broken down

to her core

isn’t worth it to a dead man camera

angles falling

shaking at the gun

pointed downwards to him

images like this

flashing bulb

light house memories

warnings of steep tragedy and rocky

shallow reefer


I know

I’m getting ridiculously closer to


but further from the trail

losing track of time

the path is

slipping away

till I cant find you anymore

and I’ve nothing to answer

or say to you anyways

sweet mirror

balled face

forgetting I’ll never be free of

you dear vibrating

echoing memory of this place

dahga bloom

I need to relocate

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

The Revolution in Egypt

A thoroughly inspiring article

Tuesday, February 1, 2011


electric bicycle

white chick running by I know

the bus is never coming

and the sun is still getting high

I’m so toasty

I’m bakin’

takin’ in my turn

my words are burning

forget them!

I feel ashed out like a cigarette

tapped on the boot like a pipe

lit all night in the dark

chocolate blackness of the moist air

sometimes dreams are not sweet but sour

sometimes I’m running from something

but I get this rush off the chase

the hunt or the game or whatever

you want it to be

I’m fighting for my life

or maybe fighting living it

feigning desire for freedom

but really killing my own by

risking everything for shallow independence

perhaps I’m just greedy and wicked

in pending vengeance for the defenseless

stripped naked child of an ego

refusing to let go of this sick urge

for black market cash

this whole scheme will lash back and

it needs to be changed

you know

I’ve aged

and realize now

a new face of crime is


the creative nature

extracts the ancients mother

with my mixture comes a new scheme

or another world+