September 2023 Monthly Roundup
Here’s looking at you, Waywards reader.
And here’s one piece I wrote for commission that was published this month:
Why the Health of Rural Communities Depends on Universal Broadband / Barn Raiser / 9-7-23
I’m working on another piece for Barn Raiser that I’m trying to wrap up by mid-October.
In late August, I submitted an investigative piece I wrote about ad-seg inside a jail in San Mateo County, and I’m waiting to get suggested edits back. That piece should be cross-published by three outlets in the near future.
About a week ago, I submitted a story about single parents and sex to a sexual health and wellness platform, one I’ve written for previously. That article ought to be up at some point this year.
And a special announcement: For the SoCal-based Waywards reader who also likes to hoop or who otherwise appreciates outdoor basketball — and for the Waywards devotee who’s down to support a good cause — you might consider playing in or coming to watch a 3-on-3 basketball tournament fundraiser I’m co-organizing to benefit the campaign for freedom and justice for Keith LaMar. The tourney is going down at Nichols Park in Riverside next Saturday, 10/7, in the late morning and early afternoon, before the related “Freedom First: Jazz Benefit Concert for Keith LaMar” taking place at nearby Pomona College that evening. There is no charge to register for and compete in the tournament, though donations are encouraged — that’s true whether one plays any 3-on-3 games or not. Members of the winning team will receive free Keith LaMar campaign t-shirts. Snacks, hydrating drinks and pizza will be available at the tournament. Those involved in Mr. LaMar’s campaign will also be present and selling merchandise at the tourney. One of the musicians who’ll be performing in that night’s concert will likely perform at the park prior to the start of the tournament.
If you’d like to sign up and/or donate, you can do so using the QR code included on the digital flier below.
Please feel free to share the flier to help promote the event, should you feel so inclined. If you have questions about the tournament, or would like to help out with it, you can send a message to the email address noted on the flier.
In addition, I submitted some of my poetry to a journal earlier today. I continue to write poems when time permits, which it doesn't do much these days.
Waywards readers who appreciate great works of art will be pleased to discover a few poems I wrote recently can be found below, beneath the image of me about to swish a shot from the elbow at Nichols Park last night and the other image of me putting up a scoop shot earlier this month.
In Need of Healing
Treated like a piece of shit
By somebody who acted like one
Casually causing harm, finding it fun?
Haughtiness hath ignited a creative engine
Bed made, boundaries set; what’s done is done
Oozing conceit
Self-proclaimed prodigy
Sad souls displaying mediocrity
A level of indifference, rather shocking to see
Egotistically epitomizing just what and who not to be
Sadistic much?
A question for both to consider
Scars obscuring values, one starts to become bitter
Should all the hurt we caused redound and come hither?
Opposition to vengeance, on the vine, in the mind, will wither
When cast-off love pierces the heart and pain flows like blood in a river
Bond stillborn
Exit ephemeral friendship and euphoric feeling
Crashed on the shoals of superciliousness, left wounded and reeling
Lusting, yet finding our shit disgusting; grossing us out, it hit the fan upon the ceiling
Aperture adjusting, inured to the agony of one another; we discover the cruelty congealing
Moving beyond antipathy, self-pity and what’s been heartlessly hollowed out, in need of healing
Money in Yo Palm Cole said money in yo palm don’t make you real Borrowing from Bob Dylan, how does it feel When you see some scrounging for their next meal? What does the conscience have to conceal? The soul surely can’t survive unscathed, can it? Lying to ourselves to try to bear and withstand it We glorify and justify power, yet healthspan’s shit For those who can’t afford care; senseless suffering persists No shame in the hustle or in earning ample compensation But hard not to be ashamed when we accept unnecessary deprivation Can’t we do more than reproduce degrading, subservient relations, pushing reliance upon philanthropy and charitable organizations? This ain’t the ressentiment that Nietzsche so vehemently despised Nor a reductive notion of equality like what Kurt Vonnegut satirized Beyond nuance-lacking notions of opportunity that elide and disguise Circumstances of forced dependency and submission the ideology belies There are those who say it’s right and good to favor merit-based reward If only the same chances were given to both the rich and the poor But we rarely question what gets overlooked in all the meritocratic lore Shitty labor and social conditions the mythos encourages us to ignore For those facing hard realities, it stokes the hope of one day making it Yeah, a few do, while most still struggle, as stratification has been baked in Believing abilities should confer authority to control and subordinate, no self-determination The specious justification stymies species collaboration – dehumanizing degradation Deny others say in decisions affecting them; individuals alienated and commodified Convince yourself they’re less deserving or capable, a worldview reified Affording autonomy to only a select few, the best agency money can buy Arrangements undergirded by state violence; informal, underground economy criminalized Dubious cultural presuppositions that authentic ones are consistently and monetarily rewarded Encourage pursuit of possessive self-interest; interest in cooperative social uplift thwarted Constrict visions for making the right impact; efforts to transform conditions aborted Dignity for all? The Overton window remains closed there, hitherto locked and boarded Many giving, gracious and good people will never own a home and some can’t manage rent Are you better if you put profit over people, whether or not ya flaunt what ya spent? If you scrape by with integrity and practice mutual aid but aren’t in that upper 20 percent Are you de facto less dope than those who made bank getting folks hooked on Percocet? I guess this is for the single mothers who teach rural and inner city public school And the warehouse workers who organize against an e-commerce giant’s authoritarian rule For the delivery drivers and dashers sitting in the sweltering heat without AC to keep ‘em cool And the custodial workers getting up at 3 a.m. to clean toilets amid the stench of stool Don’t they deserve as much if not more love than the pseudo-libertarian Silicon Valley bros More than denizens of expensive, private campuses, condescendingly woke but classist heroes More than politicians who pack prisons and wage wars, shielded from the insufferable woes More than members of the professional-managerial class, progressive until self-interest shows A well-meaning, would-be populist artist belts out an inadvertently rich men-friendly serenade Shits on short, low-income, heavy set people because they get table scraps of government aid But many live in food deserts where produce is costly yet calories come ready-made While subsidized firms get corporate welfare and billionaire board members & execs get paid Suicide nets for factory workers in Shenzhen benefit titans of tech cashing in on phones The unhoused on the street, eye soars to those who own multiple multi-million dollar homes Adjunct professors with graduate degrees live in their cars, struggling to pay back student loans While well-to-do college presidents and administrators earn six figures enforcing two-tier zones Without high-priced attorneys, people languish in jail; well-heeled lawyers get theirs without fail Non-punitive public services gutted to be primed for privatization and put up for sale Solidarity with American Postal Workers Union and UPS Teamsters handling our mail Within this crisis-riddled capitalist world economy, their constant struggle is a familiar tale Mayhap, countercurrents touching the sands of time carry us toward better shores Never forgetting what her father taught her, witness one of our star-kissed daughters Eschew possessive materialism and superficiality, traversing humanity’s muddy waters We sing the blues yet feel the warmth of subterranean fires sparked by magnanimous martyrs Memories ablaze, veins open, à la Eduardo Galeano, making and resisting obeisance Shout out to those who instead of just hating, rewrite personal and social relations Making the downtrodden feel exhilarating, nourishing new sensibilities and sensations Individuals who refuse to be controlled and instead chose insurgent love, genuine inspirations Rebel girls like Elizabeth Gurley Flynn, and men including Randolph Bourne and Joe Hill Recover their memory, recall them; still, don’t just mourn; organize and engage, if you will From men in Detroit who pounded that DRUM, to poets of praxis with prophecy to fulfill Fred Hampton painted a rainbow. They could take his life. The liberatory spirit they can’t kill. Conjuring Cole again, that money in yo palm don’t make you real Or better than those compelled to beg, borrow or steal Consider this a quasi-poetic impassioned appeal, For more of us to get and give something we all can feel!
Poem for a Friend
He exercises his mind even as his body betrays him
Thoughtful and kind, although the outlook is grim
Acknowledge the torment, maybe someone will listen
Afflicted with a rare, debilitating disease, relief missing
Erstwhile joy, now just a tease, behold the abyss, man
Cruelly deprived of life’s simple pleasures, like long walks and solid food
Try being constantly tortured, see if you remain in a cheerful, pleasant mood
G Tube leaking stomach acid, burns the flesh; a terribly painful prelude
Ounces of liquid seep out, less nourishment and more misery renewed
Where the throat meets the esophagus, a battlefield in a war, an excruciating feud
Gauze pad between a plastic disc and irritated skin, perpetual discomfort
Hacking and spitting force GI contents up, adding to the duress he’s under
His hurt intensifies, signaling it’s time to change the dressing, then wonder
What life would be like without all this agony, all happiness torn asunder
Inner monologue demanding he make the hurt stop, thoughts loud as thunder
Re-reading Wilhelm Reich, “The Murder of Christ,” he too seeks exit from the trap
Albeit plagued by more for sure than emotional and character structure, mayhap
Orgone energy sapped by an ailing body; inescapable animosity, double handicap
And yet, the man’s abundant life force pours forth as freely as trees secrete sap
Being forsaken by its source – crucified and isolated, with a book upon his lap
From Paul Goodman, to Herbert Read to George Woodcock to the works of Orwell
Engaging and evaluating ideas then taking a THC tonic for a respite from this living hell
Doubleplusungood insurance complicates treatment but supplies horror stories he could tell
Alien and bizarre experiences, as if in that Vonnegut novel, Billy Pilgrim’s reality befell
Ideations of the end persist alongside an indomitable spirit; while he lives, let the world hear this!
You’ll Never Control Me
You preach polyamory
But as far as I can see
You don’t even trust yourself
And thus seek validation
From everyone else
You criticize codependence
Pardon your privileged pretense
You might not comprehend why
It makes sense
We all rely on each other to get by
And to paraphrase a rabbi
Real bonds imply
Openness and mutual reliance
You prefer to pretend and lie
Contradictions heighten
A beguiling charmer
Unable to remove the armor
And expose the heart
Terrified that’d harm her
She rehearses the same old part
Transformative bliss
From authentic love’s kiss
Can never occur without
Possible pain and sadness
I have little doubt
Genuine connection
Suggests not only affection
But also the bravery
To forego protection
And abandon soul-crippling safety
Fearful of the ability in my
Vulnerability; feeling powerless inside
You pull back, dictate and subjugate
Insecurities multiply
Like feral rabbits procreate
Triggered because
You’re afraid of real love
Enjoy pleasures status and attractiveness
Provide; place your ego’s desires above
Needs of others. Is it cowardice?
Or, a mechanism of self-defense
And response to woundedness?
You tend to prefer
Someone else hurt, I guess
You seem so sure
Superficially smart, yet
Lacking self knowledge, she’ll let
Thanatos quench necrophilic thirst.
And now I regret
Caring enough to put this in verse
Coincidentally, that co-dependent
Relationship with the ego-self has kept
Her soul, like her life
Out of touch and beset
By inner strife
Recruited for that internal war
You projected, and primed me for,
Or did I enlist,
Despite those red flags at the door?
Maybe I initiated this
Ironically, I fought a losing battle
Despite or because of what unraveled
Dishonesty, distance
Shield yourself, forego roads less traveled
Depth of affect elicited resistance
Seeing human beings as objects,
Toys to play with if you’re honest,
Just some disposable possessions
Sick, like a class-position jaundiced
View; entitlement impedes lessons
Admittedly, my issues of self-worth
Exacerbated by your dearth
Of compassion,
Alongside merriment and mirth,
Made me more depressed, less dashing
Granted, I considered you
A league above, maybe two
Alas, I projected onto you, a woman
Who only existed as potential, it’s true
But you’ll never control me, that’s for damn sure and for certain
The Power of Poetry I discovered poetry has power Some of it most can see Like a blossoming flower Sweet nectar attracts a bee Cross-pollination begats beauty Awash in intimate unity, like lovers in the shower Riffing on Herbert Marcuse Enter an aesthetic dimension Take Dixon’s Little Red Rooster Go from debilitating depression To sensuous experience of authentic expression Blues as a ship for ascension; transformative tour Art itself need not announce revolution But it often reveals a wondrous, potential world Inspiring without imposing doctrinal solution Like a beauteous, symbolic flag unfurled Offering a glimpse and latent feelings (plural) Of what’s possible with our human constitution Be it novels, structured stanzas or film And other articulations, products of autopoiesis Music, bodily movement, not to mention those murals in Pilsen Whatever the form, it’s a shame when some police it Welcome critique and reflection, but censorious reason Tries to fix meaning, erase art’s nuance, kill it and silence the spirit Some with bougie neoliberal sensibilities Flippantly rebuke; seek to censure Taking offense to presumed pillories Failing to understand attempts at creative venture Sublimation accessible to everyone, we should assure Rather than close the door, repressing generative faculties Just as horror movies aren’t typically endorsements Of real-world sadism, torturous slaying or homicide Far from ipso facto reinforcements Of what’s conveyed, despite knee-jerk bromides What’s portrayed can give voice to suffering inside Or encourage us to interrogate reality, not just endure it So here’s to the power of poetry Celebrate the space it affords Working through wounds; flow, be free Put hurt in verse, soothe psycho-emotional sores with chords Art against dogma and repression, paraphrasing Woody Guthrie This is land of liberation made for you and me
Through Flesh Comes the Spiritual
Working wonders ‘til dawn, see my spirit respond
You’ve got a hold on me
I grow so fond, presaging our unbreakable bond
Something meant to be?
Forged through the pain, the loss engendered gain
Reborn, rising like a phoenix
Emerging from the ashes, souls stay entwined, everything else passes
Bound together, a double helix
As in future’s progeny, seminal seed of a rose given to thee
Unadulterated beauty
What’s unrequited, tenderness transfigures; the unconditional displaces the beknighted
I enter before day breaks; erogenous, holy duty
An angel who tumbled, or boundless beams bundled
Making melodious music
Like from a heavenly harp or lyre, The Doors opened, setting the night on fire
In raw, rhythmic motion, we played the eternal acoustic
From below, guiding you, star above, shining light of love
Obsidian aureola
Divine grace, undulating rays
Sweet fruit, embodied barbola
Delight as viscid fluid fills you, prophetic climax fulfilled, release of carnal dew
Infinite pleasure, feel the upper force
Beyond broken reality lies destiny
Attaining the highest dimension of desire, discovering the source
We unite to atone; from torn apart to sewn, repair of what was marred
Behold the miracle
Conceive a new start; regenerative genesis, nativity mends the tattered heart
Through flesh comes the spiritual
At the risk of bastardizing Dylan once again, “goodbye’s too good a word,” Waywards reader, “So I’ll just say fare thee well,” for now, anyway. Catch ya on the flip side.