Public Secrets
I will not tell a soul, and I will not hide any of it.
Saturday, April 3, 2021
Poems XX
to think that I didn't believe in soulmates,
and relationships great
and small were all worked or tall
tales and fables
and I was wrong.
Here you tell me to whisper sweet nothings, but I won't, because nothings are absences, and even though you are gone there is no void, I am full in my heart, and clear in my intention
to follow your Westward direction,
for new frontiers of sexual tension
pierced to clarity by a love
that is strong.
At home I sit, with a dog on the couch,
mouthing the words that one day will vouch
for a lifetime of love, from heaven above
to the simple mountains and groves,
to beached treasure troves,
to deserts where the only things thriving is us,
living,
Here in my heart,
where you belong.
Land Acknowledgement Statements
Let’s say that you live in a house. It is a wonderful, spacious house with a large, green yard. This house was built on land that your grandmother stole from a man named Jack Turner. She straight up shot him, took his land, and built the house. Jack Turner’s grandson Greg also lives in your town. On account of the whole robbery and murder business, he is a lot poorer than you.
Do you:
A) Give the house and land back to Greg Turner because it was wrongfully taken.
B) Keep the house and land. The robbery was a long time ago, and the house and all of its renovations were done by your family.
C) Apologize and invite Greg to come move in with you for free room and board.
Or
D) Make Greg take the day off from work to put up a map in front of your house showing that it used to belong to his grandfather, along with the words “We’re very sorry.” Every time you have someone over to your house, say “We acknowledge that we are on Jack Turner’s land” and pat yourself on the back for your inclusive practices and commitment to social justice.
Probably not D, right?
From the Native Governance Center, at nativegov.org:
Land acknowledgment is only one small part of supporting Indigenous communities. We hope our land acknowledgment statement will inspire others to stand with us in solidarity with Native nations.
Solidarity can look like:
— Donating time and money to Indigenous-led organizations.
— Amplifying the voices of Indigenous people leading grassroots change movements.
— Returning land.
Sunday, April 15, 2018
Teaching What You Preach
You can talk about effective teaching methods all you want, unless you utilize those to teach teachers, your points are ineffective. Ms. Yagi showed her mechanisms in the sub course, and Mr. Fukuhara showed his affability and connection- and that course was worth as much as my Master's. So now all these teacher candidate are talking all about effective teaching and I, as their student, am never engaged. Jim's technology integration falls flat because I see lazy person who couldn't finish a thesis or keep working in the trenches either. So I don't care, and won't.
If the medium is the message, my presentations will have juggling and song. And planning will be authentically half-ass, with powerful, active execution.
I guess that’s my issue with educational apps as well- technology is a quick distractor, so no matter how “educational” the material is, it’s still emphasizing flashiness and speed over depth and quality of thought. The medium of a screen is simply too detrimental.
Tuesday, April 11, 2017
Stories / Al Sarrantonio & Neil Gaiman
“Wildfire in Manhattan” by Joanne Harris
“The Truth is a Cave in the Black Mountains” by Neil Gaiman
“Unbelief” by Michael Marshall Smith
“The Stars are Falling” by Joe R. Lansdale
“Juvenal Nyx” by Walter Mosley
“The Knife” by Richard Adams
“Weights and Measures” by Jodi Picoult
“Goblin Lake” by Michael Swanwick
“Mallon the Guru” by Peter Straub
“Catch and Release” by Lawrence Block
“Polka Dots and Moonbeams” by Jeffrey Ford
“Loser” by Chuck Palahniuk
“Samantha’s Diary” by Diana Wynne Jones
“Land of the Lost” by Steward O’Nan
“Leif in the Wind” by Gene Wolfe
“A Life in Fictions” by Kat Howard
“Let the Past Begin” by Jonathan Carroll
“The Cult of the Nose” by Al Sarrantonio
“Human Intelligence” by Kurt Anderson
“Stories” by Michael Moorcock
“The Maiden Flight of McCauley’s Bellerophon” by Elizabeth Hand
Tuesday, November 15, 2016
Andy Weir
And I mean, okay, I get it. Really, I do. Give everyone some perspective, man.
But you know what that also could have read?
Try taking that story as a profound meditation on the truth of being good to one another now. Can't, can ya? I ruined it.
And I'm okay with that. It's neat, but always sounded a bit pretentious. But now I feel bad.
Because Andy Weir wrote "The Martian!" That was a good book! Hilarious and crude, not serious and preachy. And in my opinion it had just as much philosophy. Have a sense of humor about the possibility of your own death, and always keep moving, to win.
Thursday, June 9, 2016
Poems XIX
My Ocean
If I were the ocean and you were a boat,
It wouldn't matter if you went when I stayed put.
The ocean envelops the land, like ceaseless kisses the waves smack,
And my love encircles all of you and I'll never want it back.
It would be dishonest for me to say that I knew that this would happen,
That somewhere deep within my heart there'd be a bubbling to rival the Kraken.
I sound the trumpets every day as I await your return
My passion aches, I languish, curse, and still it only burns
Brighter, darker in its hues, I wish to torch the hurdles
No circumstantial Scyllan fates could ever claim to be hurtful
For I am stronger, safe in you, secure and wrathful, righteous,
I win the day, I seize the prize, I have what I need- us.
Call me El NiƱo, my temperatures rise when I see you,
But I'm no boy, in you a man, with loving eyes of blue,
You can sail the years away, at home's the ocean true.
Sunday, March 6, 2016
Poems XVIII
There's a little beam of sunlight in the conservatory,
It speckles and glimmers in turn,
Illuminates that ennobled, ancient leaf,
Once megaflora, now known as the fern.
They've moved this fern to the New World and to Oz,
They've transplanted this plant to Japan,
But her chlorophyll grows greenest, replenished, and strong,
When her roots sink in to her homeland.
The fern has a noble (pre)history,
Grandiose and loved in the era of dinos,
But now she sits in a sterile glass room,
And her dreams intertwine with her woes.
But low scents still draw the butterflies,
Landing as happy strangers and not out of pity,
Fear not for the fate of the fair-fringed frond,
The same sun shines in conservatory, country, or city.
When I was a child in Larkspur's canyon,
The ferns would pop vibrantly after the rain.
Cold tears from the sky rolled off verdant faces,
The sacrosanct beauty seen only in pain.
There's a little beam of sunlight in the conservatory.
Warm, warm, warm-
The fern.