NAB

It's apple season!

2010-09-01T00:27:00.002-04:00

And you know what that means: you can clear your acne and reduce your pores.

Yup.

Turns out apple cider vinegar (which is made by crushing apples, adding yeast for a first fermentation into cider, and then fermenting again to turn the alcohol into vinegar) is great for curing a lot of ailments.

It makes a great toner & astringent, which I have been using on & off for years.

Essentially add 1 part water (boiled, to sterilize it and help any chemicals evaporate) to 1 part apple cider vinegar. Mix & store it in a glass container (which has also boiled so as to sterilize it). If you want, add some tea tree oil for extra cleansing... a few drops should do in 2 cups worth of astringent. Note that you will want to mix the concoction before using it if you do add the tea tree oil, as oil rises and you may end up dabbing your face with a very potent, oily cotton ball if you forget to mix.

Skirts, bruises and cooperation

2010-08-27T12:23:00.001-04:00

I work, play and grow in Montreal, Quebec.

Quebec... land of the Desjardins Movement, and the most enviable cooperative in Canada (although my bias is evident). We love the idea of cooperation so much that we will it to become a paradigm, and hope to secure a place for cooperative education in elementary, high school and post-secondary curricula.

It is not surprising, then, that I would turn to an educational path which would ensure that I remain loyal to this collective entrepreneurship model.

I am also, as an urban dweller in an ever-youthful city, victim to the undertow of the hipsters ... who seem to comprise a disproportionately large segment of the Montreal population. Whatever trends they set seems to become intrinsic parts of the pop culture lexicon the following year, to most people's dismay (why, oh why, the black rimmed, glass-less glasses?).

Enter the Roller Derby. Imported from the US, it fit perfectly with the trashy-vintage-mystique espoused by hipsters circa 2008, and it has now taken the city by storm. I attended my first match a few weeks ago. Both my friend and I were incredibly confused by the high-contact short-skirted chaos going on over the flat track in front of us. Upon returning to our respective homes, we had to figure out the rules, and analyse whether this was steeped in as much feminism as everyone raved about.

Our research didn't go very much further than a google search engine, but it did result in the discovery of a documentary titled He*l on Wheels. It centers on the resurgence of roller derby in Texas, arguably the location of roller derby's rebirth in the early 00's.

The drama that unfolds amongst the team members and their derby style is, for one thing, starkly different from the Montreal league's. Watching the plot unfold, I felt the solution to the numerous conflicts resulting in the business model chosen by the leadership of the League was obvious: create a worker cooperative!

Well then - did the tone of the analysis ever shift after that! It turns out that the Texas Roller Girls did, in fact, choose a cooperative (-like) business model, though registered as a non-profit public charity. They are operating in line with the cooperative principles: the business is democratically owned by the skaters, and demonstrates concern for community through charity and local development initiatives.

And voilà : further proof that anything can be made into a cooperative.

Listen to Melissa (Melicious) Joulwan speak on the topic on the Business Success show here. (original air date January 25, 2007) The Texas Roller Girls mission statement can be found here.

BelleRuche

2010-08-24T21:48:00.003-04:00

On the list of words I wish I had written myself:

You're Listening To The Worlds

I shy from the loudest voice
The serpent I avoid
Choose to fight a battle rare

It doesn't mean that I am bad
It doesn't mean that I am scared
It's just not worth the breath

I speak my mind when I'm at home
Censor when I'm not alone
Choose who I am open to

It doesn't mean that I am closed
It doesn't mean I've given up on hope
It's just not worth the breath

I hear when I must defend
When you've got naught to prove
I'll wait and listen to your view

It doesn't mean we must agree
It doesn't mean that you know me
It's just where it begins

We live in a time of change
Breathe in what remains
Left from worlds before

It doesn't mean we should destroy
Carry on mistakes ignored
It's just all too short

I cry when I can't express
This feeling of torment
When I can't get through to you

I do because I care
I do out of despair
Wish you could understand

I'm low when I get it wrong
When dreams have been shot down
When I reveal things I don't want to see

It doesn't mean I'm in denial
It doesn't mean I want to hide
But there's too much to bare

- Belleruche, You're Listening to the Worlds

Brujerias

2010-08-23T23:50:00.005-04:00

Female emcee discovery of the day, out of the Bronx

La Bruja

She's speaking conscious and from the soul, be it through accapella spoken word, or to danceable / marketable latin hip hop and reggaeton beats. She's got Def Poetry and the Nuyorican Poet's Café under her belt and from the looks of her community outreach resumé, she seems on par with Eternia where education and engagement are concerned.

Take a second to appreciate the dimensions before you dismiss her, I think there's more to her than meets an initial listen. For Witch it Stands blew my mind, and made Gatita Negra feel like it was about a woman with affirmative, conscious and pretty solid sexual politics.

Sweet.

Feminist fuck you - employment edition

2010-08-12T17:42:00.004-04:00

What could you need them for? What do you do aside from play cashier at the coop?

... are NOT two questions I like to hear when I am inquiring about quotes for business cards.

More than skin deep

2010-08-10T00:17:00.005-04:00

You wouldn't tell by the bike-chain grease stained jeans and sameoldbeatermodel-everyday look I've been sporting recently, but I actually am obsessed with looking pretty. I have a thing for little bottles, rainbows of color lined up in little discs, silver cases and lipstick mirrors. My current fantasy involves something around lounging and eating local organic produce, perfectly manicured natural nails and hair that is not in a pony tail. And maybe, just maybe, a fresh wax and 10 minutes to put on a face in the morning.

And the fantasy to end all fantasies? Local and/or organic products IN my cosmetics. Because, you see, I fully realize that I am probably causing great injury to myself by trying to be pretty... I'm not just talking nicks from shaving and zits from nose-hair plucking, I mean actual chemical poisoning. And if I were so conscious, I'd also be thinking about the ecosystems I am harming by consuming the products I lather / smear / brush / scrub unto myself. ya know, whale fat in your lipstick, clear cut rain forests for palm oil, just what sodium lauryl sulfate does to the local water ways...

A few things have recently reminded me of the need to be conscious of what personal care products I choose to bring into my home and put on my body. First was an article about Siobhan O'Connor and Alexandra Spunt's new book, No More Dirty Looks, which was published in the Montreal Mirror this week (link to article here). The second was a new installment of Annie Leonard's The Story of Stuff specifically addressing cosmetics (here). The third was how my eyes ached and my conjunctiva did something extremely weird when I got shampoo in my eye the other day.

No way any of those are going to make me stop showering. So what are my options? As some of you know, I'm not a fan of switching from mainstream to the alternative if the alternative ends up costing more... Economic irrationality (ie, no seeking out hte hidden costs when the cash signs are right in front of my face) and a pretty slim budget make that pretty obvious.

So... if I can't switch from Old Spice to Druide and take personal and political offense to Kahina marketing argan oil he way they o with that type of a mark up, what then? Well do like the companies and get inspired by the kitchen!

I have been trying when time permits, to make my own lotions, masks, exfoliants and hair care products from certain kitchen staples. I will post one every week or so as I try new recipes out, and feel free to comment with yours!

So here goes recipe 1:

Coffee facial / body scrub

From what I have read, coffee does wonders for minimizing pores - who would have thought...

You'll need:

1 cup of coffee grounds
1/4 cup raw sugar
4 egg whites (or roughly 1/4 cup of coconut oil, for a vegan option)

The ground of your coffee is up to you, but remember you'll be rubbing it on your skin... I'd suggest nothing bigger than drip-coffee sized grounds.

Brew the coffee (yup, you can re-use the grounds from your morning cuppa joe) and let the grounds air dry. Mix in the sugar (it shouldn't dissolve) and the egg whites. If you're going the coconut oil way, make sure to have pre-'melted' the oil so it mixes in well, then sets.

And voilà!

I am not certain how long this product can be kept as it has not been sterilized, but if you work on the measurements you can either make smaller quantities and store in various jars in the fridge until you're ready to use.

What's a QPOC?

2010-07-26T10:25:00.008-04:00

- Sorry I feel like I should know this but what's a QPOC?
- Um ... well, a queer person of color.
- Why would you label yourself that way?
- ...

At the moment, I gave a slightly tentative explanation that included a mention of Faye Estrella's spoken word piece, AgitateOttawa, carving out a space for ourselves in a non-homogeneous community, creating safe(r) space, and building friendship over shared experiences.

I tried to explain intersecting identities, the realities of privilege that exist in the queer / gay / lez / bi / questioning community, and the fact that sometimes sharing common sexualities is not enough to create insta-bonds on all life situations. That sympathy trumps empathy... and that sometimes neither is welcome and all you need is someone to kiss their cheek and answer from the gut the way your mamma would have (if you could talk to her about those things).

Mind you, I was struggling to gather my ideas as I had (1) just woken up and (2) was entirely aware that the person I was sharing this with was white, privileged (and far more aware and sensitive than I was of both those realities) and chose to "not identify with any given sexuality as labels are restrictive". In other words, opposed to the labels she 'obviously' carried as they did not allow her automatic entry into racialized spaces and reluctant to identify with 'hidden' labels as that would rid her of who knows what mobility and freedom. And she certainly could not kiss her cheek without looking like she was appropriating something from someone.

Mind you, I feel certain things are obvious. (1) My identities are not always acknowledged or interpreted according to my definitions of what they should inspire and represent. (2) That cannot change until I change, enact some element of self-determination, lead by example, and build a community of like-minded individuals in whom I will find power, friendship, and support. (3) In the QPOC community, I have found Emma Goldman rocking out the The Coup.

She (the person I was talking to, not Emma Goldman) said she found the 'QPOC' label problematic, as it created an Us and Them situation that needn't exist in what aspires to be an inclusive community.

By that point, I had no idea what to do with our exchange and, in one last vain attempt to appease her visions of angry brown people coming at her with accusation of white oppression, pointed out to her that QPOCs' white partners were always invited and more than welcome to our parties and events. I followed that by pointing out that we did, however, sometimes need our own spaces and exchanges. We needed to be known to exist and needed to represent ourselves because our experiences, though not homogeneous, were often similar and we needed each others' support. A support that rang true, felt familiar... I guess she would have only understood if I had said 'culturally appropriate', but I did not want to get my friends confused with a social service.

What still weighs heavy on my mind, days after this conversation took place, is many fold.

First, I cannot believe I had to justify and defend a self-assigned label. I am confused as to why I had to fight so hard to convince her that QPOC was a legitimate and necessary term, that it meant no harm to anyone and was merely a tool to let people out there know that such a community exists.

Second, I am left wondering why such a fan of community empowerment and DIY, who had such a keen awareness of 'oppressor / oppressed' dynamics and the need to break down barriers of accessibility had such issues with a label that could create a departure point for community building and empowerment. My intuition says that the label speaks to everything she is not (something she pointed out) and made the spaces we would create and identify somehow not accessible to her. Perhaps she is only now coming to terms with the fact that 'inclusive spaces' are often exclusive, and that safe spaces always depends on who walks in at the last minute. And I guess that when the 'other' starts calling the shots and drafting the definitions - when the tables are turned - things get a little murky.

To that I say: deal with it. There comes a time in all our lives when nice, progressive theory has to be put into practice and true intentions tested. It's nice to talk a good game, but so long as the true seat of privilege is right under the speaker's rump, nothing has changed. I do not wish harm on anyone, but you'll only know the change you speak of has come once you start feeling a little uncomfortable and start questioning - as most of us 'minorities' have - whether you belong in a given place.

Don't worry, resiliency will settle in and i can guarantee you that we can all live with a little less comfort than we are accustomed to.

Sex and this City

2010-06-19T19:43:00.002-04:00

I will be entirely honest, I am a bit apprehensive at the idea of moving back to a city I love so much.

When I first left in 2005, it was with a sense of closure... I knew the time had come, and felt that I had outgrown what Montreal had to offer. It sounds conceited, but it's true. I felt - and still do, to a certain extent - that anyone who doesn't eventually move away from the place they are from are stunting their growth. Think 'hermit crab who never changes shells'... or a plant never being re-potted after it grows from seedling to mature plant. It becomes root-bound, chocked, develops in odd ways and bears fruit too early.

(Dang, this metaphor is better than I thought)

So - apprehension.

I know why I am moving here and acknowledge that, like most things in this life of mine, it is likely temporary. Nonetheless, I know how this city agrees with me. I relate to it as a place of freedom, creativity, possibility, and reflection. Nonetheless, Ottawa brought an attitude of constriction, sobriety, and order that I never thought was in me and still have trouble negotiating.

I feel as though, like the girls in this dud, my return to Montreal will bring on some odd over-compensation, some reclamation of experiences lost and regretted over the course of the 613 years.

Not all returns are regressive, I just need to make sure that I keep myself in check, not approach this as 'picking up where I left off', and stick to the finishing line. I came back for very precise reasons, and I fill fill anything up here, it will be my house with thought, laughter, creativity, friendship, and positive work.

'scuse that

2010-06-07T11:06:00.002-04:00

I really, really want this past year to be a write off.

Of course, that cannot happen in real time, as my lived decisions can't very well be revisited, deleted and re-booted.

My blog entries can. I will be saving them for posterity in draft version, and may refer back to them eventually.

I don't take advice very well. Instead, I often check back with my past self for direction, and to see where I may have gone on a dangerous life tangent. I revisited the old blog about a month ago, and much introspection, honesty, deep thought, and cleansing has since taken place. I am by no means done, but a few important changes (which will not go viral) took place and continue to be implmented.

My priorities, thought processes and values have been scattered across the map in the past few years, and my return t oMontreal will mark the beginning of much fun regrouping.

Hopefully I get to share a bit of that on this forum. I have been growing up wihtout realising it, and should be honouring what life has sent my way right.

hoarding

2010-05-21T10:19:00.006-04:00

Remember this post?

Well, two jobs just did not jive with my need for sanity, and it's back to Montreal I go. I am just too much of a hedonist to live solely for work. 9 months into the scenario I had cast myself in, my body decided it had had enough and refused to pay attention to the orders my will power were sending it.

Ah well, shucks.

It turns out I need to be in only one place, cultivate relationships, partake in too-long conversations in warm places, leave time for musing and creating and feeling like a human being rather than a human doing.

So reactive to this post industrial world, I know... The decision will likely come at a cost, but as a recent conversation lead all parties to conclude, we all need to rethink the meaning of 'profit' anyways. Speaking of which, I picked up Shop Class as Soulcraft recently, I'll let you know what comes of it when I'm done reading.

It's back to Montreal for me, back to the mannequin and the books and the easle, fibers and paints and a less utilitarian relationship with the keyboard and the pen.

Let's see how long that lasts.

and then, just like that

2010-05-11T11:09:00.003-04:00

In her sleep, she was gone.

We're putting my maternal grandmother's ashes in the ground today.

I barely believe in coincidences. The events leading up tho her passing and the circumstances she died in, the personal events they coincided with are forcing me to re-assess how I have been going about this whole life thing.

She lived her life un happily, I think. She constantly wanted to escape what chains she bore, because of her lack of options, her lack of choices, the restricted places society put her in. She found her escape in nickel odeons, in television. Her entire life was lived opposite a screen. For lack of license to project herself unto her world.

She grew up on labor and movies, married into labor and housework, had two children and found escape in week long disappearances that ended when valium and color television entered the house.

She had been wanting to die for a dozen years now, and everyone knew why. She lived in her mind, perhaps recreating all the could have beens while she waited to fly away. Like a little sparrow, she used to say. She was spoiled, but we all know no amount of comfort can make up for the moments that never were allowed to happen.

Moving Forward

2010-04-20T20:32:00.007-04:00

Well this made a good day even better...

Links to the sightings:

Never Deny Growth

Nomadic Massive

a word of advice

2010-04-18T13:20:00.006-04:00

Has to be given for the benefit of the receiver, and with an air of humility and a sense of caution on the part of the sender.

It should be weighed against the sender's experience, and accepted with a grain of salt of reversely proportionate weight.

If I don't respect where you have been, and don't care to walk the trail that brought you there, why would I lend an ear when I could turn it towards my inner voice?

I receive advice upon request, and I have felt rather needy these days. I am blessed with a troup of strong, lucid women who have excelled on the path they chose for themselves.

And for that I am so, so grateful.

It's not particularly complicated

2010-03-30T21:15:00.009-04:00

I just ask one thing of my woken state
And that's that it not be lived adrift
If I wanted to live in a surreal dream state
Not knowing up from down and right from wrong
I'd spend my days in bed.

My life is being lived in reverse
My body built to be nomadic is immobile
while the
roots of my mind and spirit are seeing
27 years of growth for naught
the surface they'd poured themselves into was merely top soil
resting on no solid grounds
and a few too many months of drought have left it all to erode
as soon as the tremors around me shake them up

I am meant to live with eyes wide open
a life that will someday read like
a series of afternoon picture stories
I will tell the small person on my lap
when I am at an age when little people will ask me to tell them one more.

Instead I wake from dreams more vivid than my waking state
My eyes left craving the wonderland beneath my eyelids
put my pants, my shirt, my face and my headphones on
a key in the door

and 9, 10, 12 hours later return to my room
to spin the clouds of my daydreams into soft silken threads linking one simile to another
hoping to someday weave together the fibers of my life into a warm shawl I will wear as an armor to protect the fabrics of my being
Each warp showing that this object has personality and some remaining individuality.

via Racialicious: The 'What Are You Game'

2010-03-30T13:09:00.003-04:00

Play on, Player...

at a minimum

2010-03-29T22:17:00.004-04:00

In a month, the minimum wage will increase in the province of Quebec, from $8,50 to $9,00. That is one dollar more than the nation's lowest-paying province - British Columbia at $8,00 per hour.

Take a moment to consider this.

I am a 26 year-old, single with no dependents (thankfully).

Because of the double taxation system throughout Canada (or at least that what I will choose to blame all of this on) I can expect to see roughly 20% of my pay not be deposited due to income taxes and various other deductions (pension plan, for instance).

I work 35 hours a week, hope to eat decently (approx. 50$/week investment), and pay a rent which I split between 3 roommates (my last Montreal apartment was 275$/month. Thankfully, I walk or bike to work. My only additional bills are a cell phone (60$/month), and my tuition (5200$/year), heat&electricity (600$/year). We steal the internet from the neighbors, and I do occasionally get day olds, past-the-best-before-date, and left-over produce from my place of employment.

.8x9x35=252
252x4=1008

net income = 1008$ / month

275+60+(5200/12)+50+(600/12)=868.33

this leave me with roughly 140$ in savings each month... not much space for screw ups...

... let alone personal investment, peace of mind, or hope to gain any type of capital. Because this job does not have access to private health insurance, doe snot pay parental leave and certainly does not allow paid sick days or paid vacation.

Since last August, this situation is hypothetical. However, I learned pretty quickly that mobility is more easily achieved in a downwards direction than an upwards one for some of us - so I count myself lucky since August, where income is concerned.

Nonetheless - if you have ever assumed that the minimum wage is in fact a living one, think of how your reality fits in the calculations above. If this scenario took place in Ottawa, where rent is at least double that of Montreal, I would be completely screwed (Ontario minimum wage is $9,50).

I ate a lot of bread, eggs and rice this summer. Veggies were a luxury, tea and coffee were staples, and past-the-due-date yogurt was a luxury. I stretched pre-made offerings from the local Indian resto through 3 meals. And I plan on making sure i never go through that again, if I can help it.

I think I can.

I have come to the sad conclusion

2010-03-25T14:18:00.006-04:00

That approximately one month after I rejoice at the knowledge that a person of color has been hired in a place of employment in a non-urban, professional (read non-service, non admin-level, non-trades), and (in this sampling) francophone setting...

... their boss will all of a sudden become very interested in the file they had originally ignored

... the position which had originally been posted as a full time contract becomes part time for lack of funds

... I am requested to c/c the direct supervisor on all emails 'in case they are out of the office for a while', 'should the supervisor need to ensure follow up', or 'because they may - who knows - find a job elsewhere', 'because they are (perpetually) just learning the ropes'

It sucks mostly because I know what the rhetoric looks like behind the closed doors and from the other side, having been there for - oh - the past month myself.

13th street

2010-03-24T09:54:00.005-04:00

I will confess, reggaeton is my guilty pleasure. If you do anything today, please take a look at Calle 13's Pa'l Norte, Beso de Desayuno and La Perla (feat. Ruben Blades) videos...

Un nómada sin rumbo
la energía negativa yo la derrumbo
Con mis pezuñas de cordero
me propuse recorrer el continente entero
Sin brújula, sin tiempo, sin agenda…
Por las leyendas
Con historias empaquetadas en lata,
con los cuentos que la luna relata
aprendí a caminar sin mapa…
A irme de caminata sin comodidades, sin lujo…
protegido por los santos y los brujos…
Aprendí a escribir carbonerías en mi libreta
y con un mismo idioma sacudir todo el planeta…
Aprendí que mi pueblo todavía reza
porque las “fucking” autoridades y la puta realeza…
todavía se mueven por debajo’ e la mesa…
aprendí a tragarme la depresión con cerveza…
Mis patronos yo lo escupo desde las montañas
y con mi propia saliva enveneno su champaña…
Enveneno su champaña…

Rn tu sonrisa yo veo una guerrilla,
una aventura un movimiento…
Tu lenguaje, tu acento…
Yo quiero descubrir lo que ya estaba descubierto…
Ser un emigrante ese es mi deporte…
Hoy me voy pal’ norte sin pasaporte,
sin transporte…
a pie, con las patas…
pero no importa este hombre se hidrata
con lo que retratan mis pupilas…
Cargo con un par de paisajes en mi mochila,
cargo con vitamina de clorofila,
cargo con un rosario que me vigila…
sueño con cruzar el meridiano,
resbalando por las cuerdas del cuatro de Aureliano…
Y llegarle tempranito temprano a la orilla…
por el desierto con los pies a la parrilla…
Por debajo de la tierra como las ardillas,
yo vo’a cruzar la muralla…
yo soy un intruso con identidad de recluso…
y por eso me convierto en buzo…
y buceo por debajo de la tierra…
Pa’ que no me vean los guardias
y los perros no me huelan…
abuela no se preocupe que
en mi cuello cuelga la virgen de la Guadalupe…

spinnin'

2010-03-19T12:12:00.004-04:00

I took the opportunity, a week or so back, to reconnect with St Henri. I figure if you get to see the TA wall and let me drag you to Ariadne, you've get 'knowing me' 43% covered (some interpretation applies).

I'm not too sure why, but the spinning wheels and spindles caught my attention... A tool I haven't yet conquered? MUST FIGURE IT OUT!

Molly Ann was nice enough to disrupt her knitting session and walk me through the logic of the spindle.

I headed to Knit Knackers on Tuesday, invested in some merino and silk roving + a drop spindle... and well I may as well forget about my semester, any book lying around, or the pile of dishes in the kitchen cause I have a new obsession.

I now wonder why I didn't get on this sooner: it's now obvious from the amount of hair twirling I do that spinning fiber is hard wired in my DNA.

I am in awe of how from a simple twist, a bunch of unrelated, messy, flimsy fiber can turn into something so united and sturdy.

I've all but figured out the merino, but silk is a whole other deal.

That should be dealt with by the weekend though... it's going to have to be, because Tanis Fiber Arts has a rather large odder of roving with my name on it, and I plan on gettin'er spun.

Between that, the sunshine thawing averything around and the pile of books that WILL get read come the end of semester, it's going to be a goooooooood summer.

a good week in queer

2010-03-06T12:25:00.005-05:00

If Ottawa has a heartbeat to me, it's cause of the women and bois that inhabit it and populate my existence outside the 9-5 hours.

Between Israeli Apartheid Week, which serendipitously brought on a reunion and temporary co-habitation with one of Tuesday's panelists (guess which one), attending Andrea Smith's talk at OttawaU, and d'bi.young's blood.claat at the GCTC opening on Thursday, this week has kept me in a state of pretty constant bliss.

and how badly we need to create narratives that fit the representation we want to claim.

instant gratification

2010-02-27T23:20:00.004-05:00

Count on Dev Aujla to make me think of reclaiming instant gratification.

I think instant gratification is misunderstood.... or at least seen too narrowly. We think of it in terms of consumption or acquisition, it's generally associated with yucky things like shoes and anything found within 2 feet of a point-of-sales unit.

NAY

If I am inspired when I wake up in the morning - to do something creative, voice something innovative, discover something new, explore from a perspective that hasn't been looked at, or expose something for teh common good - why should I NOT reach out and grab that. My idea is the appealing packaging, why should I not rip through it and consume it - frantically or in a slow indulgent manner - for however long the craving lasts?

WHY should I just walk right by it, like it's some sinful demonstration of a lack of self control, and proceed to the check out with a basket full of the items I checked off my weekly list?

my friends kick ass - ASB version

2010-02-11T10:49:00.005-05:00

He calls me a comrade, and I count him amongst the few men I trust enough to be near when I wouldn't allow most other people to be.

From halfway across the world, this man still keeps me on my toes.

I <3 you, ASB! Thanks for the remix...

Tragic Majesty of Stefgee (a blog remix)

litter the pages of the notebooks
the typical magisterial form
superfluous pomp ... entitlement
fill ... loosely woven arguments
too arrogant to admit ignorance

numerous women (and some men)
transmitted to your mind by way of... heart
boardroom stereotypes of strength and power
Why I am now silent in the workplace(?)

record the words fluttering through... space
my notebook ... the space between us
let myself die... secure my wage.

The sight of jelly fish ... turn me on
really shouldn't... this much...

I think it's time for a shift.

Thursday, January 28, 2010

If you didn't suffer for your ideals, it'd mean that you ideals were weak. Even Ghandi had to pay his bills. You'll make it.

tracklist

2010-02-05T10:32:00.005-05:00

Wow. It's Friday...

1. Joy Denalane feat. Lupe Fiasco - Change
2. Joy Denalane - Something Stirrin' Up
3. Ayo - Life is Real
4. Coeur de Pirate - Comme des Enfants
5. Lhasa - My Name
6. Natalia Lafourcade - Piel Canela (winks to my high school Spanish teacher)
7. Natalia Lafourcade - Hu hu hu
8. Fabrice Koffy - Fruit de la Colonisation
9. Mary J Blige feat. Ludacris - Runawa Love
10. Narcicyst - P.H.A.T.W.A.
11. Diams - Me revoilà
12. Eternia - Bang

...

Moon cycles

2010-01-29T14:36:00.005-05:00

With the approach of the full moon, I am preparing for the begining of a new lunar cycle.

I'm not quite certain what is going on with the planet these days, but this cycle has been particularly difficult, not so much physically as psychically. Lots of things were drawing me within myself, and certain lingering intuitions were projected in really obvious ways on reality's screen. My life definitely felt like a movie and I was its viewer, taking in my own existence's big picture.

Thank god, this seldom happens.

As this cycle comes to a close, I stumbled upon two chance encounters that have been prompting me to reflect on the rituals we surround ourselves with as we live the arrival of new cycles... I'll share both with you, and hope it triggers some conversation, here or elsewhere - about the colonial, patriarchal, capitalist and environmental issues surrounding this most natural and healthy of recurring life events.

Doorknockers' 'Regulate'

BBCNews 'Sanitary pads help Ghana girls go to school'

school of life

2010-01-28T13:22:00.006-05:00

There are any number of quotes I could begin this post with, but none come to mind right now. I know that they litter the pages of the notebooks I have penned through in the past few years, and they relate to the fact that the most important learning I will do will not be transmitted in the typical magisterial form. Nor will it come from anyone claiming authority on knowledge and truth.

I have been blessed (and I don't use the word lightly) with numerous women and some men who cultivated the ability to share wisdom and practice without the superfluous pomp and entitlement reserved to fill the gaps of loosely woven arguments.

These women - and some men - have found the ways to humble me. Known how to access and open my ears, heart and mind to the alternatives they deemed I was worthy of being exposed to.

They revived in me the desire to read, to pick up a book and inform myself when the facts are lacking. They motivate me to remain real, and to not fall prey to the easy exit strategy so common in those too arrogant to admit ignorance - condescension and fluff - when the assurance is lacking.

They reminded me that righteous thought and action is the best line of defense, my strongest tool.

What I have received should not live in my mind and leave with me, it is meant to be transmitted and passed on. But most of what I know is not a matter for the written word. Nor can it be learned in 10 easy lessons. What I know comes from the guts, is transmitted to your mind by way of the heart. In moments when your inner trinity is alert and at peace.

Which is why I will seldom be drawn to share what life has taught me in the boardroom or amongst the stereotypes of strength and power. Why I am now silent in the workplace, and in life in general.

I had - for a time - lost my motivation. Forgotten what I had been truly taught because it's value was annulled the day I began receiving a pay.

No more. I gave your incarnation of knowledge a chance, and it's not cutting it. I'm done believing the hype. Your options have not brought me very far, nor have they moved me. They're not convincing - and for that matter, neither are you.

Increasingly, I have been around the kind of people who prompt me to reach for my notebook and record the words fluttering through the space between us and within my dome. That simple shift brought me back into line with my fulcurm, and gave perspective to the past few months.

I cannot keep compromising who I know I am and what I know I can be to those around me for the mere sake of gainful living. I never let it happen when I was purchasing knowledge, I don't see why I would let myself die away merely to secure my wage.

To the three Z's - Zhaleh, Zabrina and Zinn... thank you for the past week.

7.0

2010-01-13T09:31:00.006-05:00

I come from a place where everyone comes from somewhere else.

The earth that birthed them is distant, in memory and miles - but their heartbeat is in time with the tremors and waves displacing the grounds they rose from.

I know perfectly well that the soil I step on each day is not where my roots lie. And that I'd rip myself to shreds if I tried to ground and nourish myself from all my indigenous waters.

So I, along with the rest of my kindred, float around absorbing the top soil nutrients our pneumatophores tickle. Our passion for the land doesn't discriminate, but it's not strongly localised either. The places we rest on birth new breaths of us one memory at a time.

I think this ability is the closest I'll ever come to knowing survivalism.

the Fear

2009-12-09T09:30:00.005-05:00

There are very, very few things more terrifying to me than what exists at the intersection of insecurity, ignorance and a fear of compromising yourself for the other.

Or people who want to hold on to their heritage of oppression while taking every opportunity to scapegoat and perversely pay their vengence forward to the next.

No wonder I'm always so agitated, though my blood is made up of opposing poles dualism still coarses through my veins.

half step

2009-12-06T00:03:00.006-05:00

Dear mister half step.

Thanks for

the salsa lesson on the side of the street,
Even though your dance style is intentionally of beat
I've got to say mine may be, too.

Thanks for

sharing a glance
when I played the life
and then Keep ya head up
and then passin me by
and maybe, just maybe, risking loyalty.

n thank you

for just walking me home
not to my entrance
or my kitchen
or my bedroom
just to my doorstep - actually, to my sidewalk
when you said you would

that's the shit friends are made of, and any person by my side is meant to be, and thanks for reminding me some people can still keep it real.

Obsessive

2009-11-18T15:49:00.005-05:00

Okok, I know, I'm the passionate type. I have this habit of peaking and crashing pretty quickly when it comes to sectors & people of interest. What was in one day could just as well be out the next, for better or worse.

But for the past few years I've progressively gained a surprising amount of stability when it comes to life. The life ADD seems to be subsiding, in a sense. I blame my ovaries, as it would seem the trend was also witnessed amongst fellow women in my entourage who have, in a sense, begun to grow roots and thrive in whole new ways in the past few years. We all seem to be a little less reactive or impulsive, a little more reflexive and long-term thinking in our approach to decisions. As though we've finally come to terms with the fact that the rewards of life far transcend those of instant gratification - we'll leave that to those who don't have the ability to enjoy progression, build up, and drawn out climaxes.

So with this new composure I've decided to make the longest commitment since high school and get myself a post-graduate education. In management. Of cooperatives. It's a three year program. Ack! I have essentially relinquished all the usual trimmings of a normal life and am now studying part time whilst holding two jobs. I have pretty much sacrificed all sinful pleasure (although I reserve the right to red wine) and, as far as courses & career are concerned, I am kneeling at the alter of cooperativism for most of my waking hours. I could have joined a nunnery, my lifestyle would be rather similar.

Yay to unleashing the inner nerd!

Good god.

2009-09-01T21:26:00.002-04:00

I can't even keep up with myself. If you ask me about the past few months, all that comes to mind is the smell of rank coffee, attempts at emulsifying coconut oil and aloe, two pairs of taut, pouty lips & encroaching eyes, late night walks down the Decarie express way, drums, tears, identity and too many area codes.

After a whirlwind return to Canada from an equally stirring six months in Central America, I remember coming to in - of all places - a wedding ceremony in Fife. And when I say coming to, I actually mean getting air dropped back into reality.

Thank you Kaki & David.

I don't think you know how much I owe you both, and how inspiring you were to me on that day in early July.

I promise myself few things. When I do though, I stick to it. During Part I of my life in Ottawa I had sworn that however long I sacrificed myself to being a desk jockey, I would upon termination of contract spend the equivalent of half the duration of that contract rejuvenating and being true to myself. Sad as it is, it's the only means of compromise I have found between my two instincts: the need for security and the impulse to flee.

In proper form and true to myself, I returned to Ottawa precisely 364 days after I had left it, turning the page on one of the best, most challenging years of my life.

2009-04-11T22:33:00.003-04:00

My mom brought me back the blanket I had started in my first month in Ottawa - the one crocheted with the phentex I got at the yarn and fabric fair and put together in Amin's living room.

I'm unravelling it tonight. Making a neat little ball and starting something better with it, something a little freer and a hella lot more creative.

Apparently he tried to tell us when we were in the Philippines, but it really didn't hit home at all.

He was part of KM.

Organised at MIT. For student issues and 'other things'.

We watched Dekada 70 in September of 04, but I didn't quite get it, it was a movie. The look in his eye resounded each time I read and Amnesty call for action or spoke to organisers and the people I felt so strongly linked to in Honduras. But still it didn't hit home. And now I am organising here - or at the very least gaining perspective on the RP by thinking I am doing anything at all, and it hits home, I think, finally.