H2Omeloncholy: July 2013

Monday, July 29, 2013

can't elope

VOGUE copyright Conde Nast

Nope, not the phrase that same sex couples have signed off, on the post-page - 'turned' - to some better side of history.

And yet? The collective Other-ed ~~honeydew~~ honeymoon must wait.

Baby, once again, time to thump to find what's ripe. My poetic buttock ain't even to blame. Upon POSTsensical occasion, the enormity of ignorance can be the gift that keeps on keepin' on...giving. Gotta love an ode. We can credit one such ode of Thomas Grey's for the idiom: "Ignorance is bliss". Bliss meet blog:

http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4077/4946953889_9de954ff82.jpg

* Getty images have specific copyright restrictions. The following use qualifies under the "fair use" policy as well as "editorial use" - non-commercial nor promotional. As a fellow Creative, one is respectful of statutes protecting rights of material. This 2009 image was originally uploaded on flickriver.com by presumed photographer, E. Kazmi. Getty is the licensing agent. Any replication should consider contact with all appropriate parties.*

Another quick reference? To misquote the opening number of the musical, Oliver!:

"Fruit, glorious fruit..."

Thaz watermelon's cousin, cantaloupe. Thank you, Iowa Republican Representative, Steve King. Thanks you so. Please accept one's gratitude from the bottom of my scoop-ed-out gourd. When one began this blog, H2Omeloncholy™ was admittedly approached as an exTEMPOraneous, adsurdist deconstruction of an e-performance piece. Howeva, our world, gentlesoulfolk, hath proven to indeed be turned as upside down as such a surreal stage. Each angst-infused entry seems to build upon this prePOSTerous concept. It finds itself - 'it' being that kernel or black seed of truth, beauty, i.e., meaning.

One has wore it out - this melontaphor. Not nigh enuf to abort the mission; our analogous pursuit of Purpose shall only deepen in its resolve. Nevadaless, one wishes the reader know - well - that she is fully aware of this red-fleshed redundancy and how it just might test my good peops' last nerve. Forsooth, of biblical Job, thy patience wast born.

And lo! Along comes Congressman Steve King. Please mistake him not for renowned, horror novelist, Stephen King. Our inspiration is the elected or 'crowned' United States House Member. The prolific author did pen Children of the Corn. The work is not an article for The Nation magazine, linking the rise of childhood obesity and juvenile diabetes to corn subsidies with the surplus for manufacturing corn syrup as processed ~~food's~~...uh...post-edibles' mandatory minimum sentencing. Nope, 'pH' King wrote a genre-specific novel - horror - which is how the public servant, 'King' does seem to regard those undocumented immigrants. Perhaps "horror" is harsh and therefor beneath this blog. Mo' apropos would be the lit genre, disstopia. Yo, 'dystopian societal elements' might betta encompass how Mr. King seems to deem those not 'DREAMer'-title worthy. You will be spared his quote of contention in this post. Our focus is the result: Protest. The rebuttal of said DREAMers (Development, Relief, and Education for 'Alien' Minors) is quintessential H2Omelreply. As if scripted by/for this blog... Life? Art? Indisstinguishable.

Can ya dig it? Indignant - too - advanced-placed students descended upon Mr. King's office with a Farmer's-Market-morning load of cantaloupes. That rind breaks it down for more than garden compost; it can also serve as picket sign. The delivery was more poignant than, perchance, intended. Although one can offer no verifiable statistics, one highly suspects that more immigrants have picked the cantaloupes on 'Merican grocery shelves than have hauled calf-sculpting cannabis. Again, merely conJESTure on one's parodied part.

Act of Resistance is a formidable Poker player who has seen your H2Omelon and raised it a counterlope. While we continue Waiting for GourdOh **, another is most welcome at the table. Like two types of dark berries in a fine wine, the taste of Other-ed Angst, a.k.a., dissOrientalism, is made mo' complex with just such subtle variety as this. Poker n' Pinot noir.

Albeit this produce is at the height of 'our' season, it remains local; melon has crossed no border. Speaking solely for oneself, but ~~one citizen~~ nine social security digits? Those evapresent clouds have - at last - parted. Hark, sardonic, winged celestial-s hum off-key. Melon, homez, sunrise-high-alert-orange melon? From a sky as bright as the future of the DREAMers - parallel universally - counterlope-sized hail is baptizing Earth.

**
http://h2omeloncholy.blogspot.com/2013/07/waiting-for-gourdoh.html

a clever as compassionate critique

on the implausibility of

POSTness

Til our next 'post', feast upon produce in season...

Friday, July 26, 2013

numb chucks

VOGUE copyright Conde Nast

Italian pugilist, Davide Cenciarelli, setting the world record at seventy smashed watermelons

And back to...b-l-a-c-k boys.

Just leaving those two words alone. Unlike a rousing, musical number from Hair, 'black boys' become a label or tag - loose. As a Floridian ballot's hanging chad, the identity is inscrutable. Higher courts are compelled to toss it aside. Of a lesser ether, in lower case - the letters, "b" to the "l" to the "a", et cetera - outed yet un-POST marked - draw upon every Other cultural connotation. Most are quite disparaging. These surround-sound-stereotypes cast their votes until base is effectively blurred. Trayvon Martin was one, yo - the blur of boy. However, he, like the late Ennis Cosby, was not gang-banging, or profiteering from illegal narcotic sales, or flunking out of school or...or... Or whateva else might conceivably justify his or any slaying.

Skittles, ice-tea, hoodie-due-to-rain, off to watch a basketball game. Do we not insult the positive fathering of Tracy Martin when his son was returning to a 'gated' home? Alas, this discussion takes the sharp turn left to where other fathers - not the grieving Mr. Martin - have and do fail.

Do we accept this - and by 'this'? One means blur. Little else is easier to miss(t). Will we allow conflicting wavelengths to crash upon Actuality like a post-tsunami? Is the link inevitable or does it beg further examination as a symptom of POSTness? Is one alone in hearing the static betwixt two opposing channels? How does George Zimmerman's desecration of gun rights' advocacy automatically lead to the fatherless plight of our youth - when the boy mourned had an involved figure?

http://allthingscrimeblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/dad1.jpg

When two, divergent issues merge, one is deeply concerned for the loss of not just the specific subject - in this case, a boy - but how the monumental meaning disappears in the illuminating encounter that resulted in his death. There will be no open letter - unapologetic in the Ism outing. Although that Ism did not die of natural causes - either, Dominant Cult gave it a memorial in January 2009, upon swearing in POTUS. "U" got erased; "S" was switched around - just pre "T". Now, POTUS spells out POST.

We are left with 'conferences' on how boys can improve their chances of being valued by those who do not believe they have any further, interior exploration relevant to race dynamics. Past that; POST. One searched hi n' lo for the "national conversation", lead by early ed, social behaviorists or television's Supernanny. Might they have interpreted how the Sandy Hook students might have walked, talked, dressed, or how the manner in which the Newtown parents reared them might be revisited to prevent the massacre? That conversation did not, like a bullet, stray from the shooter's psyche, his autism treatment, his relationship with his mother, and even, albeit lickety-split, gun control.

The stark diff seems too distinct to allow. Should not distortions be checked ere long they wreck? DissOrientalized discourse begins to rear its hideous head when least expected or intended. Even a presidential, as well as the definitive comedian's commencement speeches - appreciated as most alert - can still veer uncomfortably close to lecture of a Morehouse class. By nature of graduation from the foremost HBCU, is it not their legacy, like MLK and a host of esteemed alumni, to turn their tassels and that presumed page - not post, nah, but present as vital?

Crucially, one must communicate how much she wishes, upon both the closest and farthest star, that detained humanity in orange jumpsuits have first, the access and secondly, the incentive to don commencement garb whether incarcerated or fully rehabilitated amongst us. May they be embraced as Us, equal citizens - excepting the right to vote. One advocates for their - which is 'our' - advance. Complete inclusion for the whole and no less. Copious shout-outs and highest hollas - now - to the hunger striking inmates at Pelican Bay. Howeva, my good peops, our mutual marginalization becomes excruciatingly emphasized when celebratory moments of accomplishment become platforms to patronize those not in the penal system and most likely to succeed.

Same goes for tragedy.

A speaker should always 'know' their audience. We are far past the age of all-looking-alike. In defense of those esteemed, implicated in this critique, POSTnessity has made race so abstract, that such discrepancies in audience identification are bound to occur. Sinusoidal waves, after all, are a unit of physics - not a concept in the executive branch of government nor executive produced entertainment. Perhaps, such public addresses at private, acclaimed institutions - where wavelengths wage a subconscious war - are the post-consequence of blur. Does George Zimmerman's view, then, stand (ground) alone and entirely isolated from the righteous, empathetic ether?

Since the dreaded discussion of 'race' sends some from the room, screeching inaudible, POSTified expletives, let us rely upon a separate analogy. May it better illustrate wavelength - done gone wrong.

We shall extract the letter, "c" from "race" and implant "p". Rape - as metaphor - may be more amenable to residents of POSTopia.

Imagine a college campus with reports of date rape on the rise. Perhaps, most of the allegations are directed at a sports team on campus - say, polo or lacrosse. The response of college admin is to 'educate' young women, in a pamphlet - with strategic, small print.

            - Like unicorns on Noah's Arc, only transport in pairs.
                 - Pyrex wine glasses will be dispensed with measuring demarcations.
                    No more than a half glass of Chardonnay at co-ed 'outings'.
                                  A whole glass will compromise prosecution.
                                            You are responsible to observe the red line.
                                            3/4 of a glass will subject you to a grey area of victimhood.
                                            As the average undergrad is under the legal drinking age of 21 years,
                                            all of the above - by law -
                                            can only be presented as a hypothetical suggestion.
                                            Still, any cork - popped - can and will be used against you.
                      - Speaking of red lines, do monitor skirt hems.
                 - Consider how the practice of birth control can send a conflicting message.
                 - Transport by night - if you must function after sundown - only in well-lit areas.
                      Such will jeopardize female representation in STEM careers - granted.
                                            This will be a deterrence to astronomy as a major or field of study.
                                            Stark darkness is required for the most advantageous thus awe-inspiring stargazing.
                                            Find solace in pseudo-fact:
                                            Like fighting terrorism, these sacrifices keep the populous safe.

The bulk of funding for this anti-rape campaign is self-defense classes. Yo, fists of post-fury. As such 'instruction' will be offered free of charge...

          - No excuses to not earn one's post-black belt.

Keep your fashionably edgy, vegan, faux-embossed, skinny belt tight when not training in this martial-absurdist-art.

Rape has two wavelengths. Their frequencies happen to be disturbingly complimentary; convergence is seamless:

crest = act of violence/ trough = exercise of misogyny

How does one, then, pull rape from its root when the executor of misogyny is excluded from the cure? The only 'frequency' mentioned is the rate of rape - when reported. XX chromo co-eds are encouraged to monitor their drink - like hawks distracted from actually socializing - at a party. XY chromo co-eds, contrarily, are not told, "Hey, please cease and desist with stolen roofies prescriptions. For those of you who do not drop the pill in the cracked, half-empty glass, if you witness an obvious-inebriated individual being dragged to the back room, ponder, possibly, intervention." If the polo or lacrosse team is never implicated - thus - nor challenged in constructive dialogue, whilst the whole of XX chromodom - in said team's orb - is sweating and grunting at rape-prevention boot camp... Help one out, gentlesoulfolk. The previous sentence - in long fragment - is left to trail...as the mind reels.

To bring this analogy full circle, one should attempt to define the wavelengths of racism. Alas, as it is dead or POST, how...exactly? Is exactitude not the very meaning of keepin' it real? This particular blog post is the lament of/for exactitude and how its disstance equates the amplitude of H2Omeloncholy™. Waiting for GourdOh **...still...in a frequency nigh frustrated by its uncharted water, in a hue of 'code pink', smack-dab in front of us, as a wet ring around our plate.

Wavelengths of the current conversation? Young, bodily blur who might as well be melon-splitting, nunchuck-yielding, sorority sisters.

**
http://h2omeloncholy.blogspot.com/2013/07/waiting-for-gourdoh.html

a clever as compassionate critique

on the implausibility of

POSTness

Til our next 'post', feast upon produce in season...

hello, friend

VOGUE copyright Conde Nast

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from KM Fikes is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to KM Fikes & h2omeloncholy@blogspot.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. No excerpt or link may be used for monetary compensation.

Why bother referencing our gourd when, perhaps, mo' apropos would be a root bulb like an onion. Each layer, upon layer, begs to be peeled back - and then set aflame until caramelized. Sour to sweet.

The net or the WEB. Time for a double consciousness or twoness entry. Call it a W.E.B. post - two halves of a whole ~~idea~~ angst.
             PART I: A welcoming salutation, quoting another -
                                   alluding to optimism of encounter.
                       PART II: 'Numb'-ed defense - H2Omeloncholy™ as the undefeated,
         waterweight champion of shadow boxing.

Two conversations, held simultaneously - upon one prolonged breath - is increasingly commonplace disscourse. How much to one's chagrin! A topic, and more so, its tone, occurs along a visceral wavelength - of sorts. When in sync, two waves create sum'in that can sing. When not, plug thy ears to shield them from discordant dissOrientalism. Is POSTnessity the culprit here? Is this multi-tasking run amok? Lil' a both?

We should all be so fortunate to have an advocate - walking tall in grace - upon an untimely exit from this terrestrial realm. Trayvon Martin's father, Tracy Martin, is proving to be one such man - as was another father.

Cosby kids - post-black poster children.

Ennis William Cosby

1969 - 1997

The only actual Cosby son - too - was taken prematurely from the fruition of his planetary potential. The parents of the late Ennis Cosby, Doctors, William and Camille Cosby, have also impeccably handled their public grief. Curiously, their tragedy has been entirely absent from the Martin trial media coverage - for reasons that leave one scratching her napps.

Camille Cosby penned an impassioned editorial accusing the 'state' of race as her son's executioner. In this same month of July, although 1998, USAToday published her open letter: America Taught My Son's Killer to Hate Blacks.

http://www.workers.org/ww/1998/cosby0723.php

Perhaps that moment was just before her nation went all POST-y on us. Did the dawning of a new millennium evoke the tele-fantasy of Trekkies where the future of time travel is performed by an ethnic cast?

Would George Zimmerman have spotted Mikhail Markhasev? While changing a tire on the side of the road, Mr. Ennis Cosby was fatally shot by the Ukrainian immigrant teen - intent upon robbing him, who then bragged of the crime, complete with n-word.

Ennis Cosby, a dyslexic, who became a commendable special ed advocate as an accomplished educator, was the son of 'Merica's venerable comedian and philanthropist extraordinaire. The fine art benefactor, ardent jazz patron, university donor, Bill Cosby - in recent years - has been critiqued for his own critique of the ills plaguing black boys. Ennis was by far fortunate to have a learning disability diagnosed instead of dismissed as endemic to his ethnicity or worse, criminalized like a hoodie - oft accompanying Bill Cosby's collegiate sweatshirts. The Cosby's tragedy was honored for exactly what it was. It did not meander from the specificity of the horror to blame the victim by pop-perceived condition of his 'culture'.

One wavelength was observed then. Just the one.

This attention to detail allowed the moment...to be. That, in itself, revered the dignity in one family's tragedy without convolution nor conflation of the matter with the education deficit amongst those who look most like Ennis. And Trayvon.

Would that the Martin family could be spared the undue burden. Alas, these two wavelengths - in dire discrepancy - have merged in record time at unclocked speed. So here we are - in an existential equation that subtracts and divides the fact that this ain't hardly an example of a black son who should have 'held' himself differently. Either.

The Ism, barred from court proceedings, feeds upon itself now. It then regurgitates every aspect of the societal ill deemed POST.

Dr. Camille Cosby, in 1998, addressed exactly what she should have - the circumstance of her child's murder. Today, time tocks before an armed Zimmerman's next close encounter. The outrage with the verdict only engorges his tendency to profile. Mr. Zimmerman taps his trigger finger upon a holster bulging in its paranoia. Take not this blog's word. His own brother has said as much. Consider the counter narrative, shall we? Might Mr. Zimmerman ~~fathom~~ experience, from the bottom of the cavernous depths of his conscience - in which one is mandatorily earnest to believe - what...'Merica is way past due to accept?

Mr. Zimmerman's 'profile' - of himself, his role and responsibility to his 'hood - derives from the dysfunction, that is the H2Omeloncholic™ morass, that is the retardation or reduction of the cypher, that deflects the healing potential of a compassionate race consciousness.

Compassion? = come on, Passion -

come to obliterate the guise of 'other' from Self

Unlike those mothers of the jury, disenfranchised by legal jargon, Ms. Cosby was able to speak Truth2Power - for a son. And be heard. Her detractors were numerous and yet post-free, she told it. She bridged the disconnect that legally bound the other verdict to defy our ethical core. This gave, at least, a more authentic option than POSTness can muster, for the instrumental few, listening outside the choir. Were they open to the humility of humanity? If so, how might Dr. Cosby's words - uncorrupted by poli-correctitude - have served that space where our evolution sparks? She knew what took her child from this dimension - that of a neutral sphere, with a benevolent bent, swayed too oft by a conscience duped by damages.

Others might have been stalled by reputational risk to the ephemeral, Cosby-cozy, post-throne. George Washington was President because establishment of another kingdom would thwart the revolutionary impulse of democracy. Slaves...but no king. If eva - by Dominant Cult's nod - there was entertainment, black royalty, Ennis Cosby was its prince. The Framers formed the articles of the Constitution. Dr. Camille Cosby, in one, controversial, USAToday article, transformed - too - the notion of privilege for a fictional ~~monarchy~~ Theocracy.

She did not indulge her grief as much as suspend it. She cleared away enough tears to keep an eye on the mauve polka-dot melon in the middle of da room. This millennium's POSTnessity bans that practice - making a haunted hybrid of the H2Omelon vine to crawl in, around, over, and eventually strangle, otherwise fertile area. Wavelengths then, are left so twisted, that only a blog post - in two parts - can Afropick at dry tangles. And just that - aggravating a loose napp here n' there - offering no resolution. Just fuzz, barely there - contrasting a snapping comb. 'Tis yet another fallacy of race dialogue - that a finite solution can be extracted or a pre/post period exists within encyclopedic dates.

Although Ennis Cosby shunned celebritdom's spotlight, he remained renowned for an infectious IT factor. 'IT' ingratiated others to break the wall in social introduction, where we are strangers no longer. Mr. Cosby was birthmarked with an apparent gregariousness - which we should all be lucky or loving enough - ourselves - to know. If Mikhail Markhasevi had not robbed him at gunpoint, might he have heard the phrase Mr. Cosby conferred upon many? The son who inspired the beloved character, Theo, on a situation comedy that saved a network, whilst obliterating a stereotype, was known to greet just about anyone with the cosmically connective greeting:

"Hello, friend."

In honor of the eternally young Cosby's infectious affability, there has been an alleged turn - or tweak - of events. If not 360 degrees, arguably 180 - at least in consciousness, where it counts beyond degree. 'Tis what tends to happen when peops keep it real and get on down to having the hard conversation less with others, than with themselves. When charged and convicted, the Cosby family negated the death penalty for Mr. Markhasev. He is reportedly repentant these days. He has refused to engage in the appeal or parole process. Serving the full term of his sentence seems to have become the conscience of his culpability. If sincere - and oh...would that such is so - one cannot help but to be stunned by the irony. Far extending the benefit of doubt: Does a Mikhail Markhasev, professed to be reformed by authentic remorse, pose more or less of a threat than Mr. Zimmerman? My good peops, would you rather have your son, brother, cousin, student, neighbor...friend...meet the parolee - aware of his internal error and apparently, committed to its consequence? George Zimmerman was exonerated of a fatal shooting. His release? That is a concurrent life sentence to an ill, light years beyond his own existence, the young Martin's - gone - the family who grieves, but mostly? The steps of that fateful 'walk home' are traces left of prints in the sand lapped by our shared socio-karma. Such weight - of the world's wet sand - tends to carry upon the shoulders. In this case, one wonders how it rests in the clarity of conscience or in the empathy of heart as it proceeds - right back - on voluntary, post-trial patrol?

a clever as compassionate critique

on the implausibility of

POSTness

Til our next 'post', feast upon produce in season...

Monday, July 22, 2013

papa was a steppin' stone

VOGUE copyright Conde Nast

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from KM Fikes is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to KM Fikes & h2omeloncholy@blogspot.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. No excerpt or link may be used for monetary compensation.

One hoped one could skip or electric slide-step this ~~publicity stunt~~ news. Pointedly, this is no comment on story. We post in non-judgement of a book by its controversial cover. Story is secondary - if that. In many cases (thaz bookcases n' magazine racks), the story here will be banned. Not a Bostonian hence how can it be one's place to proceed on (un)said topic?

How much of the present fury falls under our H2Omeloncholy™ edict? Granted, official 'edict' may be up for some debate. Chechen adolescent immigrant, cute-enuf-for-cover-albeit-'outsider'-irony-of-'Merican-assimilation...er, angle? Tempting - fo' sho'. Going there, though, may spear one a gooey s'more in the Apologists Camp. Ain't enough pest repellent.

Hold up...now...given the issue of...uh...incongruent 'cover' - a face in opposition to the dialectic?

To quote another popular Rolling Stone cover guy, Prince, in his jam, Kiss: "Gotta, gotta, gotta..."

when profiling met portraiture

The slur, "monster" has been bandied about to reference the individual, in custody, who - in 'support' ** of Boston - will remain sans identity in this post. Besides, all terrorists are compared to the Führer, anyway.

Too, too easy, gentlesoulfolk.

Po-lease, my good peops, do know that one makes no hint of excuse for terrorism or any perpetrator of violence. From the newest amputees amongst East Coast marathon runners to recent mourners for Pakistani or Yemen drone-taken teens, the cup of one's empathy runneth over with tortured tears. One cannot help but to wonder, howeva, with the utmost reverence, if more harm is done by the arrested development of 'Merica's myopic lens of good/bad? Good is not topped off in a tall, white Stetson. Did not JR Ewing debunk that myth in the Eighties? Bad is not always coiffed in a handlebar moustache. Bad does not automatically alternate from twisting the ends of said dramatic facial hair to stroking the back of Bad's cat. Forget not the requisite adjustment of Bad's monocle. Humph...H2Omeloncholic™ redirect? Do forget it, do try. Unconscionable horror can - and does - come in any guise. We can choose to delude ourselves and drive our bureaucracy into further debt - just profilin' away. One may loose a reader by the next assertion. Be thus warned - albeit warmly in da spirit of altruism. A Nazarethian carpenter by day and political radical who shepherded the G12 Summit by night - due to region of birth, heredity of womb, and Aramaic tongue - physically resembled Bin Laden more than most be willin' to admit.

One does not pen in defense of Rolling Stone magazine. Their cooperate identity long ago checked the provocateur box, much to 'Merica's cultural concession. However, one is, ostensibly, the most free amongst artists on Earth. Perhaps no longer the Second Amendment (keepin' it melon, Marissa Alexander), but the First Amendment is still one's red-checkered, security blanket. One would no sooner speak for the quills at Rolling Stone than those of The Framers. They sho' nuff did not think of H2Omelonmoi. Nevadaless, one ~~likes~~ needs to believe that the purpose of our Freedom of Speech is not some right for the mere notion of freedom's sake. A search for the phrase, 'juz sayin' comes up empty in the Bill of Rights. Freedom of voice equals freedom of thought. It can - when hip - breed further freedom of ideas. A democracy requires the flow of innovative discourse to sustain its original aim. If brainstorming is our birthright then articulation of egalitarian epiphanies is our duty.

Freedom - when exercised with authentic intent - aids human evolution. It is the very are in Art. History gifts us with the artist as the most sympathetic of dissidents, using their 'medium' to flee totalitarian regimes. When we self-impose parameters on what is tasteful to publish, we can find ourselves perilously above liberty's purgatory, walking a tight rope, in an ill wind. The close measure of those steps prevents an expansive eye stayed upon the journey of consciousness. Which proves more tacky - the unique ignorance of ire - that we allow to fester at the expense of our own forward? Conversely, do we bow to a singular, commercial image - yet another false idol - crafty in its exploitation of predictable, public emotion? If one had to choose, the isolation of awareness is preferred to the crowd engaged in their appall. Does that united appall serve or advance a constructive dissection of terror? Such is all grey matter. All. If we insist upon our entrenchment in the black/white of good/bad, are we not confusing patriotism with a discomfort with - as much as distortion of - Critique's raison d'être? Does critique signal a conscience? If so, does the tenor of this current eventful conversation - all about editorial 'cover' - let the terrorists win?

** One could not be more sincere in hoping the ironic quotes placed around 'support' were explained - to the best of one's ability - in the above paragraph. That punctuation choice is a promotion of dialogue as complex as the causes of terror. The city of Boston and the whole of global citizenship deserve no less.

a clever as compassionate critique

on the implausibility of

POSTness

Til our next 'post', feast upon produce in season...

CV

Monday, July 29, 2013

can't elope

Friday, July 26, 2013

numb chucks

hello, friend

Monday, July 22, 2013

papa was a steppin' stone