Break

I finally took a break from stressing out about the world of grave events (sometimes reading the newspaper has adverse effects on me!) in the open-sewer of this rough and rotten town Ballincollig and I went to Cork yesterday with L and met up with some truly wonderful friends. We drank leisurely shandies in the unusual warmth and sunlight with Irish people, a Canadian, and even a fellow American from LA in for a visit! They fed us, liquored us up, and gave us some desperately needed craic (craic= Irish for good times, not drugs). Due to being wicked poor, we haven't been out in ages. It was so nice to have a break.

It's a strange feeling, living in someone else's house while they aren't there. It's been so long since L and I have had our own place I forgot what it was like to own one's own spoons and chairs. We've been living out of a suitcase for well over a year. In some ways I think it's good though-- we've discovered how much people care about us because of their amazing generosity by letting us stay in their home and slipping us some $ and food every now and then, and we've also come to really appreciate what it means to have work, a solid income, duvet covers, etc., so when we have those things I think it will feel beautiful. I already feel good without them. When I'm not looking for work or writing, I spend a lot of time outside just looking at the house-owners' garden. A flying ant leaving a chemical trail toward breadcrumbs for its fellows, a rose that burnishes a vibrant carmine that I've only seen in the jungle along the Napali Coast, a bird cracks a snail shell open on a rock wall and feasts. There is overwhelming life in Ireland-- nature here is far gentler than anywhere else I've ever been.

Dreams of the Middle East

I couldn't sleep last night because I stayed up late watching Al Jazeera to find out more about Iran. It's really terrifying... protesters are being beaten in the streets by police men, people are being arrested just for appearing in videos taken of peaceful rallies, and a woman, Neda Agha Soltan, was shot dead by Basij militia when she stepped out of her car during traffic caused by a protest to get a breath of fresh air. Check out the video here. People have appropriated the 27 year old's beautiful visage as the symbol for the horror inflicted upon innocent civilians.


People in Iran suddenly have no internet access, and police are breaking up groups of people in the street larger than two. All night I tossed and turned, dreaming of the desert and people screaming. I just can't stop thinking about it. I was so distracted that I fell down a whole flight of stairs when I finally gave up the struggle and got up. There are a few things we can do-- write to the Iranian government and tell them they can't get away with this, that other countries are watching them. Write to or go to the Iranian embassies near you and ask why this is happening.

The Culture Excuse

Perhaps this is a touchy subject but it's something that I feel strongly about: human rights v.s. culture. This has been on my mind particularly against the backdrop of the recent election in Tehran. Iran's new leader Mahmoud Ahmadinejad seems to have been erroneously elected, erroneously in the sense that most of the population appears to have voted for Mir Hussein Moussavi, the candidate with kinder policies with respect to women's equality, peace, and freedom. Mahmoud Ahmadinejad on the other hand is a nuclear weapon toting religious extremist and whackjob extraordinaire. No women's rights under his regime.

Women's rights in the Middle East and Africa are notoriously abominable. But, the excuse for inaction is always, "that's just their culture." Well excuse me, but fuck culture. Women stormed the streets of Tehran after their votes were apparently tossed out, streets that they are not allowed in by law, to protest the loss of their most liberal candidate, the candidate that may have allowed them to be in the company of men they are not related to, to uncover their heads if they wished, and to lead normal lives. That is not culture-- if it were culture they would not be rioting against it. That's oppression. Just like female-genital-mutilation is torture, and stoning a 13 year old girl to death in Africa for "the crime" of being gang-raped is nothing less than barbarism.

Call me ignorant or culturally insensitive, but I'd rather be labeled that way than have no moral center. Wake up, this is not culture. It's abuse.

Something's Rotten in Belfast

And it appears to be both youthful and old. Lately I've been hearing of so much trouble in the North, just as things seemed to be quieting down. First, those British soldiers were murdered a few months ago, and between then and now reports of attacks and religion-based murders were spattering the pages. This past week, 20 Romanians including a 5 day old baby girl were forced to seek refuge in a church because of racist threats and attacks on their home. So many frightened people were already hiding in safe houses that these people were left with pews and a floor for sanctuary. It turned out to be a group of teenagers harassing them! They were so traumatized that they want to return to their less-prosperous lives in Romania, despite the neighborhood's efforts to convince them to stay. And today an open-top tourist bus was stoned by a group of violent youngsters! Luckily no one was hurt as the bus wound its way past the famous Republican and Loyalist murals.

I'm afraid that the recession and general tension in the Republic of Ireland is also inciting some violence and racism-- "foreigners" are blamed for much of it, which, let me tell you is an uncomfortable thing when you're an expat.

Northern Ireland, though always more dangerous, seems especially active now. While Protestant/Catholic and Loyalist/Republican relations in the North are a notoriously old and violent issue, these other attacks are relatively new. I wonder if the strain of the economy is doing the same in the North? Or is it something much darker? Either way, it's sad to see an area that has already so much pain and blood in its soil experience even more.

By Boat, Chantarelle's Notebook

My poem, "By Boat," was just accepted for issue 17 of Chantarelle's Notebook. Thanks editors! You can check it out in August.

Yaay

Colonization

I was reading The New Yorker this morning and noticed an article on Equatorial Guinea. Apparently, it's the only country in the world resistant to recession at the moment due to the fact that it's a giant oil pit. It's the only former Spanish colony in Africa, and an absolutely tiny, martial-law, country with less than a million people. The reason the article stuck out to me so much is because a few weeks ago I was reading the Forbes "most dangerous countries" list (Somalia #1) and practically all of them were former colonies-- and the number 1 most "oh my god I'll never go there!" country was a former British colony. Well, we all know how those turn out. A country is raped for its resources, people are pitted against each other and exploited by the foreign power, then the power takes off and the country is left in social, governmental, and environmental ruin. If it weren't for the pot of dinosaur soup under E.G., they would be in crisis too.

But all is not well in Paradise. The country was taken control of by Teodoro Obiang Nguema thirty years ago in a coup, and apparently is constantly under threat of more seizures, including a past one by a British Eton-graduate named Simon Man, now in prison. The country is also rife with human rights infringements and the like... so it's not such an unusual former colony after all.

It's amazing how history repeats itself. Pakistan and India, Somalia and Rwanda... countries destroyed by the fat man's want for more.

Hors de Prix

Last night I saw a film called Hors de Prix, or in English it would be called Priceless. It was basically a slightly better than average French chick flick. Perhaps because it was in French it seemed better than usual, but I really enjoyed it, possibly because it was one of those films that manages to make high-class prostitution look amusing and a decent albeit bizarre way to earn a living. I honestly think that Audrey Tautou is the new Audrey Hepburn. Just as dazzling, graceful, and endearing. The film was an awful lot like Breakfast at Tiffany's too.

Our street is full of trees with dark red leaves. There is little to do and I'm not sure where we're going next. Scotland is a new possibility. I think if it were warmer outside I wouldn't be so restless. Everything seems to have a terrible price lately-- food, compromises, entertainment. There is a Swap Shop in town where the barter system is the way forward. In the current depression Ireland has embraced Socialism, which is fine with me. Better than the way Britain has embraced Fascism.

Chandelier

As the bulbs burn out
one by one in the broken
chandelier, the cloth
wallet curls its lips,
our socks gather holes
like new lovers embracing
and unraveling, and I feel
guilty eating between meals.