Tag Archives: media

#24o: Afterinaugurationmath

radiohead___1984_by_onimatrix

The day after my media fast,
I binged on media,
mostly on pictures and stories
of women,
women holding signs
saying things like,
You can’t have my rights,
I’m using them;
This is my resisting
bitch face;
So bad, even introverts
are here;
 I came here to
knit sweaters and punch

nazis and I’m all out
of yarn; and a couple
of my favorites:
a portrait of Bernie Sanders
holding a kitty, how real men
grab pussy, and Sir Ian McKellen
holding a simple portrait of Captain Picard
doing the I-can’t-believe-this-shit
palm-to-the-face move.
And the math was staggering:
3.3 million people estimated in 500
demonstrations across the nation.
And the aftermath was staggering:
Kelley Ann Conway insisting on
the validity of alternative facts
and that Spicer dude saying
that the Trump administration
has a right to disagree with facts, and,
finally, two days after the biggest
march in United States history,
in large part about the rights
of women, Trump signed an
anti-abortion executive order.
I guess he didn’t get the message.
And every day since
has been a train wreck.
I went home from work today
with a stomach ache unlike
most stomach aches I’ve ever had,
not more painful, but placed differently,
gnawing in an unfamiliar way,
and I actually entertained the thought
and real possibility that the first
six days of the Trump presidency
are making me sick.
These are dark times indeed
and I know Orwell is not
necessarily rolling in his grave,
but taunting us from down there.
I hear him shouting, 2 plus 2 is 5.
I told you so. I told you so.

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Filed under Poetry, Politics

#233: A Meditation on Forgetting to Meditate While Meditating

bell2

(for Scott)

Walking the dog,
focusing on the breath,
in and out, in rhythm
with my step, my
digital meditation bell
ticking away for twenty-five
minutes inside my pocket,
suddenly I realize that
I am missing group meditation.
I have to breathe more deeply
through the frustration
I feel for my forgetful self,
meditating and forgetting
to meditate, in solitude
and missing my community.

It’s true, I have been
distracted of late, what with
the end of the world and all,
trying to stay informed and
yet trying and failing to just
stay away, tune out, turn off,
power down, log out, let the
world do its thing, a deep struggle
between doing nothing and
doing something, between
a nagging doubt that says
meditation changes nothing
to a certainty that everything
is changed and that the inward
work resonates outward
and transforms the universe.

This is certain:
Things will work themselves
out one way or another.
The group will do its thing
and I can be both absent and
present at the same time;
and the world will do its thing
and I can be there to push
it along in the right direction
through breath, word, rhythm,
whether I am alone or with others,
sitting, walking, and listening for
the mindful bell that goes off
in my pocket, its sonorous chime
rings once, twice, a third time–
and I’m home.

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Filed under Poetry, Self Reflection

#106: O Lorde

164be210-b99e-11e3-87a8-f3e82a20c046_lorde-photoshop-acne

O Lorde,
everyone and their
dog is giving you kudos
not only because
your music is
terrific but lately
because of a
tweet.
You posted
two pictures
of yourself both
taken from the
same day and the
same performance
and one of them
was photoshopped
and the other
was not.
People thought
this was brave
and forthright and
impressive, you,
17 years old and
famous, standing up
to the machine
with its fancy
photo fixing
software corrupting
young women and
men as well with an
unreal, unobtainable
beauty ideal. This is
all good, O Lorde,
but it would be even
more profound if
it were not true
that in both the
untouched photo
and the photoshopped
one you are equally
lovely, only more
freckled in one than
the other, which is lovely.
The touch-up did not make
you 15 pounds lighter,
cover some hideous
blemish, remove sweat
or drool or a booger
as far as we know.
So how impressive
IS this, really? I don’t
blame you, O Lorde,
for this silliness. Rather,
I make fun of those
that would lionize
and worship you
for such a mundane
observation about
how some photographer
doctored what did not
need doctoring by
removing your freckles.

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Filed under Culture, Music, Poetry