It was a peaceful Winter Solstice, for us at least. overlooking the fact that I’ve been trying to point out to people online that no, Ismaaiyl Brinsley is NOT to me some kind of revolutionary avenger extracting an eye for an eye from the cops, just because he shot two of them in the back of the head before killing himself in Bed-Stuy yesterday. I say this because prior to doing that, he had broken into an ex-girlfriend’s home in Maryland and shot her in the stomach. Partner violence is another form of oppression, and when you wanna hashtag #blacklivesmatter, remember that also means black womens’ lives matter. And no matter what he wrote on Instagram about Mike Brown or Eric Garner (who’s name he misspelled, BTW), he’s also a guy who thought it ok to break into someone’s home and plug lead into her…why? Because she didn’t want to be with him anymore? Because she wouldn’t be exactly how he wanted when they were together? I don’t know. But when it comes to oppression, a misogynist abuser or a racist cop…they’re both kind of playing the same game. It goes “I’m inherently above you and if you think otherwise, forget your place, don’t do as I say…I’m gonna hurt you. Perhaps even kill you, if the mood strikes me.” And that game, that way of thinking and viewing the world and other human beings, is BULLSHIT.
I hope she’ll recover all right.
Today is simultaneously the darkest day of the year and also the turning point where the time of sunlight in the Northern Hemisphere starts to grow longer again, bit by bit. So, this ate at me today. Tomorrow, once again, is the continued fight of existence. Blessed Winter Solstice to all.
Here’s a sound collage I just put together, mostly woven around field recordings I took at the police brutality protests. There’s also a loop of Mexico City protesters beating down the door of the governmental palace, also with their own grievances over corruption in authority. Other sounds were created with assorted gear.
I can do this sort of thing but I need to practice basic violin more. I wanna get busking good! Sound experimentation may be art, but it won’t get tips dropped in to your violin case underground. However, I spent the day making hand painted holiday cards instead. This can be time-consuming, so thankfully we don’t know that many festive people. Just kidding.
Tonight instead of knocking myself out to figure out Ardour, I’m distracted by old World War 1 footage of shell shocked soldiers.
The diagnosis and treatment of shell shock in soldiers was a precursor to our modern understanding of PTSD. I’d also consider a precursor in Freud’s early work Aetiology of Hysteria, which was suppressed to the detriment of pretty much everyone except child molesters.
It’s late, it’s always late before I know it and I’m watching the events surrounding the U.S. & Cuba with a mix of hope and trepidation. Please don’t become another capitalist’s backyard, please. This was announced yesterday, the day of San Lazaro/Babalu Aye, who’s wound-covered statue graces mi Abuelita’s nightstand. At once a King of infectious disease and healing, which will this be?
It’s a drawing from my comic diary, but I also think it says what it needs to as a standalone image. As an American, I’m filled with revulsion and ashamed at these things done in the name of supposed “security”…security? Fuck you Mr. CIA Man, as Tuli Kupferberg said. You’re also the monsters perpetrating the things I don’t want in this world. What makes us secure from you?
The CIA Torture Report can be read here:
This is a painting for the cover of a forthcoming poetry book by Barbara Mor. I’m not sure what other commentary to add other than it was created of my impressions of the stream of conscious work.
It’s late. I’m only beginning to slow down. I feel like I made up for days of inertia and despair today, working on comics, paintings, music, even getting in a workout. If only I could feel this focussed and energetic all the time. If only I could invent a day with more than 24 hours in it. I know I’m always saying that. Last night I was plagued by dreams of Freemasons, subways, and fair-weather friends past suddenly glomming on to me now that my weather has been looking a lot more fair, circumstantially.
“Can you at least stop acting so stupid? You’re embarrassing us both in front of the dream-Masons!”
In the end a dream-Mason taps me on the shoulder and discreetly and drops several small books into my backpack, to peruse in a more private setting.
Here’s a video I took from last night’s performance.
Still-timely piece on the murder of Amadou Diallo by NYPD, performed by Seth Tobocman, Eric Blitz & Andy Laties. Museum of Reclaimed Urban Space 2nd year anniversary.
I had to take care of Abuelita today, wasn’t able to be at the Millions March, but have been enjoying the images and posts from it on various social feeds. I guess not neglecting your elders is a service to humanity too. She’s 97.
That’s right, it’s the anniversary of the Museum Of Reclaimed Urban Space & Eric will be performing there with Seth Tobocman and Andy Laties.
Connecting todays struggles to hidden history, Slide
shows by Comic artists Fly and Seth Tobocman. Music by Andy Laties and
Eric Blitz. Barbara Lee will speak about her recent trip to Ferguson,
Radical attorney Stanley Cohen, about to serve an 18 month prison
sentence, will read from his new cookbook: How to Fry A Blintze.
Hmm, well given that other big-name Civil Rights lawyer Norman Seigel is defending Santa Con from the fact that we all think they’re douches? I’d much rather learn blintz recipes.
The event starts at 8 PM.
I’m also in the process of uploading Living In La La Land to Tapastic.
I’m wide awake now though I was wiped out all day. I have no idea where this surge of energy came from, but it sure wasn’t there when the new psychiatrist sprang a surprise psych evaluation on me, saying they really should be done every six months. I don’t know what the results were, though he seemed amused when I answered the standard question about thinking about harming others with “Yes, well, I’m not a rich person or a cop, so that would be illegal.” At least he feigned amusement.
We had snow today. I’ll take that over rain in a heartbeat.
The heat has been restored, making our bedroom somewhat warmer than it was. It took an inspector to make that happen though. And so the “tale of two cities” continues, and I’m just wondering when we hit the chapter where wire cut our “affordable housing fencing pens”, kick down the poor doors like Bastille Gates and sent our de facto gentrifying aristocracy to the guillotine. “NY Ambassador” (what a joke) Taylor Swift, stepping up to meet her fate can say “Tis a far better thing I do than anything I have ever done in my music career.”
Yeah, I’d make that little roped off area extremist art central if I lived there. I’ve gotten to the point where I court haters, at least among white supremacists thirteen years my senior with the writing skills of the mean girl from your 7th grade class. But silly rabbit, veiled threats admonishing me to be silent just encourage me to spout more opinions and put more stuff out there. Because at the end of the day, the only Haters I actually have any respect for are these: