spiritual, political, mind, body, physical, revolutionary, artistic... living life to the fullest - each day as a blessing.
there are some people who i would like to meet, and there are people who i have met, that life would not be worth living without
"Zohar explains, that there are some places in the heavens that can be reached by music."My heart is steadfast, creator; I will sing and make music with all my soul.(Psalm 108:1)
sadly lame on the movie front these days. no tiempo. we'll just leave it at that anchorman was a work of art.
war of maneauver vs. the war of position, cultural archive, cultural hegemony, middle eastern politics, zionism, palestinianism, environmental justice, indigenous land rights, water, sustainable building - cob, permaculture, photographic essays and books, ecological design, politics of disposession, multitude of identities, culture jamming, indy media, linguistics, culture and resistance, russian fiction, gender and israel palestine, zapatistas, control of information, arts of war, spaces of hope, popular education, chiapas, public art, liberation politics, love, hate, prison writers, prison systems, decolonization, latin american fiction, cuban history, race theory, jewish philosophy and religion and history, poetry... and music books. reading is an act of rebellion... -------------------excerpt from without exile who am i mahmoud darwish----Stranger on the bank, like the river . . . tied up to your name by water. Nothing will bring me back from my free distance to my palm tree: not peace, nor war. Nothing will inscribe me in the Book of Testaments. Nothing, nothing glints off the shore of ebb and flow, between the Tigris and the Nile. Nothing gets me off the chariots of Pharaoh. Nothing carries me for a while, or makes me carry an idea: not promises, nor nostalgia. What am I to do, then? What am I to do without exile, without a long night staring at the water? Tied up to your name by water . . . Nothing takes me away from the butterfly of my dreams back into my present: not earth, nor fire. What am I to do, then, without the roses of Samarkand? What am I to do in a square that burnishes the chanters with moon-shaped stones? Lighter we both have become, like our homes in the distant winds. We have both become friends with the clouds' strange creatures; outside the reach of the gravity of the Land of Identity. What are we to do, then . . . What are we to do without exile, without a long night staring at the water? Tied up to your name by water . . .
Ima sheli (my mother)...If I come back Use me as wood to feed your fire As the clothesline on the roof of your house Without your blessing I am too weak to stand.I am old Give me back the star maps of childhood So that I Along with the swallows Can chart the path Back to your waiting nest... mdwww.nativemovement.org www.keyaearth.com