Something of a gender wars veteran myself- I have the scars to prove it but more of that later, I do in fact eschew conventional weaponry and have a rather queer heart. So, praise where praise is due. I congratulate my heterosexual parents. Were it not for my late father’s predilection to engaging in physical intercourse with my late mother [post second world war] I would not be here, as irritatingly queer and obnoxiously honest as I know I am. I have never been under any ghetto inspired illusion that the GLBT community does not need the straights to celebrate their heterosexuality by breeding. I say- breed on massively up the duff. Happily for me, they breed a pretty constant percentage of queers. Three cheers for them.
Continue reading ‘gay hypocrisy is alive and sickening - by chris madoch’
Probably would have made it anyway
But you never know
If R. hadn’t given my sister a break
She might have been discouraged for life
It happens to people Continue reading ‘unemployed - a poem by craig bayer’
Grief is one of those emotions that one has an odd love affair with. Grief is painful, of course, but it can also do wonders for a person. A few years ago I went through a very rough break-up from a very long term relationship. I was young and had never gone through something of that caliber before. It stung in ways that I could never imagine. I cried until I was physically unable to cry anymore and instead of sleeping at night, I wrote. I wrote until my fingers ached and I couldn’t breathe. I don’t remember much from that time period in my life except that I wrote some of the best writing I will probably ever write. It was real and it was raw and it was full of emotion. Maybe it wasn’t the best writing to other people, but to me, it was the only way for me to cope with my loss and when I would re-read it later, in daylight, unable to remember writing as if under the influence, I couldn’t believe what I was writing. “I wrote this?” I would ask myself. I did and I liked it. I could never write anything during the day, that was the odd part of it. The only time I could let my fingers go and just write was at night. There aren’t a lot of things more peaceful or more beautiful than night in the desert. Most people go to the desert to get better, to find their mind – I went and lost mine. That break-up was only the prelude to a long list of grief that would follow in the next two years. Continue reading ‘Grief at 3AM by Jennifer Best’
JMiller@bestcyrano.org
By Adam Engel
2/26/08
Poor Bannanabelle. She wants so badly to save the environment – painlessly. But her best friends, the more politically savvy Kranti and Bunnista, the one-eyed lapin fugitive from a vivisection lab, keep shooting down her politically correct ideas. No, recycling and changing light bulbs won’t be enough, not like “that movie” suggested (whose producer won a Nobel Prize perhaps?). Solar energy requires copper mining, the burning of fossil fuel energy to create panels etc., and ethanol requires fossil fuels and poisonous fertilizer and pesticides for the growth and processing of corn. Planting a tree (for every thousand Big Lumber cuts down) won’t do it, nor will taking shorter showers, particularly since, according to Jensen and McMillan, 90 percent of all “fresh” water goes to industry, agriculture, and to water golf courses. Anyway, these are all “individual” solutions, as if only individuals, not a planet united against the corporate forces that caused these problems, could “solve” the immense complexity of the problem threatening all life on earth, Kranti points out. Certainly “new technology” – nano, nuclear, or otherwise – won’t “save us,” merely create, as all “new technologies” have, more filth, waste and misery for the benefit of whatever corporations control it. Continue reading ‘Necropolis Now: A Review of AS THE WORLD BURNS: 50 Simple Things You Can Do To Stay in Denial, a graphic novel by Derrick Jensen and Stephanie McMillan’
His body had been lost for one hundred and ninety-four years, since Napoleon’s Grande Armée occupied Moscow. And it’s still unknown when or where the monk Andrei Rublev was born. Until recently even the place the icon painter called the Orthodox Giotto was buried was unknown because the great fire during Napoleon’s brief occupation in 1812 destroyed the archives of the Andronikov Monastery where Rublev died in fifteenth century Moscow. Now diggings under the altar of the monastery’s cathedral have uncovered a tomb believed to be that of the first great name of Russian art. 
a word | this and my absence - by sadi ranson-polizzotti