Gamerz detail, from "Yellow Cliffs",
acrylic on canvas, in the BingoRage Studio.
The Waves of Japan are Burning
Why the hell am I reassuring my father
that the good capitalists of Japan
know what they are doing?
After all these years in the bliss of post-coldwar peaceyness,
why are we still living with the bogeymen?
Why are the downtrodden, the vegetarians and the radiant-ones still being punished?
We pay the taxes of this world, not the rich.
We plow the ground and grind your newspapers.
We give you fried chicken and cars.
The rich are rich, because they refuse to play.
Haven't we played this game before,
on the winds of Ukraine, the good ground of Pennsylvania and the rumours of Chalk River.
Why am I afraid for my father?
I am afraid, because the world is too short for us all.
It rolls under our feet, spinning wildy around a boiling cauldron of light.
I am afraid, because the dreams of men are built upon the thinnest of skins; concrete filled with blood, bones and seashells, piled on the shiftiest of sands and sodden hubris.
The waves of Japan are burning and I think my father cried.
The waves of Japan.
I don't need to see metal burn, even if it looks neat.
We're not built to see the guts of stars.
Monkeys don't belong in space.
Just because we can burn metal from the inside, out... doesn't mean we should.
So, I trust the good capitalists of Japan to get their collective shit together in the next few minutes.
I am ready to be uploaded, Major Tom.
I am so not ready for a post-nuclear wasteland.
I am not ready for burning, glowing waves in Vancouver.
Burning, glowing jetstream.
I am not ready for six-legged, plump headless chickens.
Damn those tectonic plates, but they are implacable.
Damn the snow, but it is implacable.
Restrict the monkeys who play with poisons and war on her bosom!!
That, we can do.
I saw the waves of Japan
and the brave, doomed children of Libya.
They are on fire, all over the internet.
I curse you all with a peace like headache.
That is my gift, children;
No more war, but everyone will live forever with migraines and dirty hands, ditchweed and whiskey.
Does that sound like a deal, dirty children of Minneapolis?
You, whom travel the back alleys of Whiz Bang and the tracks of the world?
Will you sell me that story? That load of shit?
Meet me at the Wienery in ten minutes.
Bring us a burning wave and good joke.
I'll be loaded and expecting you, but ya gotta buy something.
Fries, at least.
:Eric 03/13/11
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Mammoth, Wooly Rhinoceros, Short-faced Bear, Ichthyosaur, pictographs, hunter, gamerz.
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Stuff that interests/irks me:
Toronto g20 Exposed
AllMy Relations Gallery reopening in Minneapolis.
Museums Work to Credit the Individuals Behind Native American Artwork.
Native American Public Telecommunications seeking proposals for public broadcasting, funding available. Deadline March 16; US citizens only.
Native artist grant programs at Evergreen State College, Olympia Washington.
Heard Museum Indian Fair and Market. March 5 & 6.
Private titles mistakenly issued on Squamish Nation reserve lands. 94 year-old British Columbia mistake.
New Two Spirits Gallery, opening in Anchorage.
City of Mukilteo, Washington purchases large driftwood carving by Native carver, Tulalip tribal member, James Madison.
Sweat lodge trial fuels Native American frustrations
The plaintiffs, on behalf of their tribes, sought to end the "abuse and misuse" of their ceremonies and hoped to convince the court that their rituals were their property and should be protected under the federal Indian Arts and Crafts Act. Just as a merchant can't claim earrings were made by Native Americans if they weren't, their ceremonies shouldn't be falsely advertised either, they argued.
That suit was dismissed in October. The court held that "the operation of a sweat lodge is plainly not art, craftwork or a handcraft." Services can't be protected like goods, the court ruled
Chicago's Trickster Gallery reopening.
Virginia Museum of Fine Arts Returns Kingfisher Fort Headdress to Native Tribe (Tlingit)
First Nation Seeks Redress for Forced Relocation
The community was forced to give up their traditional life of hunting caribou and take up permanent residence in the relatively urban setting of Churchill, Manitoba.
Vibrant work by Frank Big Bear brightens Purdue gallery
Google Art Project
The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayam, the Fitzgerald translation.
My favourite quatrain is eternal:
XI.
Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse--and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.
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