Globalocracy

Have we become spread too thin?

With the Global-ocracy of all that we do we have no time to effect the things that affect us.  Has the world become too small and our reach gone too wide?

Think global, act local.
Leave local, live global.
Love global, snub local.

Have we empowered the pieces that control too much of us?
Have we fed the greed of men?
That voracious appetite that will never be satisfied takes us to the bone without thought.

Do not advocate for isolationism.  Celebrate the world.  Enjoy uniqueness.  Love differences.
But do not hold them so high that they are the mass that we are crushed by, hold them as the equal for which to strive.

Idyllic

Poems and prose comparative to old never seem to to hold the same weight.
Talking of love and lust and greed.
It all seemed so new then, but wanting it now would be akin to long walks on the beach.

Everybody loves those.
Everybody does those.

We want to be unique.  We want to be pure.
We want to feel the feelings and through them be the cure.

How are we poets now?
Everyone has their words.

How are we poets now?
Everyone is so sure.

There is no understanding of the plight of woman or man.
We don’t use words the way we used to, now it’s video that holds our hand.
Yet the words written, or typed, hold strength and power still.
These words are burning fire to show the oppressed’s will.

It will come from bordered lands with fences high and sharp.
It will come from wombs and bills that voices will never cease

and never stop

The people will feel the passion through the words and never let up.
The people will be the philosophers and poets.
The people will be the people again.
Poets will be poets
and we will feel the words once more.

When your daughter’s school is anti-woman

I don’t do a lot of blogging.  I prefer to lose myself in creativity but something recently pissed me off and I wanted to vent about it.  It’s going to make me jump off of a cliff of ranting but it’s frustrating and doesn’t seem to be changing, despite the bullhorn placed to its mouth in today’s society.  I’m afraid it’s just going to fade away.

My 11 year old daughter told me on the drive home from school last week that a boy called her a Stupid Ass Bitch in class.  She said it without any emotion and it didn’t seem to upset her but it made me mad.  I asked why he did that.

She said, “because I wouldn’t let him use my glue stick.”

I seethed during the ten minute drive home from school.  I ran things through my head about just letting it go because it didn’t bother her, but the more I thought about it the more angry it made me.
She wouldn’t let him use her glue stick and that’s the natural response he gave?  It was extreme and vulgar considering it was a boy calling a girl these names.  The word bitch has much worse connotations when directed at women, so there is no “it’s awful when anyone gets called a bad name” nonsense.

I asked my daughter if she told anyone and she said she did, she had told the teacher but the teacher was busy and didn’t hear it.  The only answer my daughter was given was “okay, sit down,” and a passing “I don’t want to hear any cussing” to the class in general.  This boy’s verbal assault was not addressed individually.

So I decided to email the teacher and I wasn’t satisfied with the response.  I didn’t tell her the exact words that were used, simply “some vulgar language was directed at my daughter.”
The teacher’s first line was apologetic in favor of the boy.  She said that the girls were rude to him but she would investigate further (this despite her saying she didn’t hear what was going on).   At that point I decided to let her know what words were used and was further let down by her follow up response.

My daughter is a rule follower.  She is pushed to tears if we’re going to be late for school because she doesn’t like the attention of walking in after the bell rings.  She finished homework well before its due.  I’ve asked her numerous times to skip half days because no work gets done anyway and she refuses to stay home.  The information that the teacher gave in response to my email and her follow up goes against everything I know of my daughter.

The teacher said that the boy had his feelings hurt by nearby girls not wanting him to use the glue stick.  The boy then lashed out with “you stupid…” but managed to hold back the nasty words.  Yet, according to the teacher, the “bolder and more outspoken girls” filled in the blanks and spread rumors of what he said.  They then went onto harass the boy at lunchtime so he had to go to the Vice Principal.
The teacher followed this asinine description of events by informing us that she told the boy to ask other peers or her for supplies if needs them in the future to avoid these kind of triggers.

I was floored by her response to this situation.  I was not expecting them to string this boy up on the flagpole by his underwear, but she completely ignored any wrong doing of his and took his words as to how the events occurred!  She called my daughter a liar by saying he never said mean words.  (We confirmed that she heard the “stupid ass bitch” part first hand and she said yes, she heard the words out of his mouth).

The way she categorized the other girls as bolder and outspoken made it come off as a negative trait.  That these were mean girls picking on this poor, little boy.  That they were a scourge of the playground and the boy needed to be coddled.  How can a woman in today’s society be taking this position?  Outspoken behavior should be encouraged when constructive.  Boldness should be cheered.

I didn’t respond to that email.  There was no point in doing so.  I wanted to.  I wanted to email the principal and ask if this is how the school sees the female population.  I wanted to ask why the boys take on events were accepted as what actually happened.  I wanted to cause a fuss and make problems about this incident.
The reason I didn’t was my daughter.  She didn’t care.  She didn’t want the attention and I didn’t want to cause problems for her with a month left in school.

Which is a shame because I wanted to be her guardian.  I wanted to defend her and if she said this boy spoke those words then she isn’t lying.  I wanted the school to know that this kind of bullshit is unacceptable.  I feel like I should have kept pressing and made a bigger deal so the next time a boy verbally assaults a girl a proper punishment will be applied.  I wanted this boy to know that he can’t get away with talking to girls like this because he’ll grow up and it’ll be acceptable if that’s his initial response to adversity with women, to call them a nasty name.

I’m glad my daughter wasn’t bothered by it because, unfortunately, I’m sure it won’t be the last time some neanderthal male calls her something awful.  I just hope she knows that I will always be there to defend her when she needs it.

Earth

I went to sleep last night and woke up in the future.

I went to sleep last night when I was in the past.

And in the future everything we know is different.

In the future, the past we know wasn’t at all the same.

I don’t know how long I slept to wake up in the future.

But signs I see of weathering tells me it was quite a while.

The thing, you see, is that you can’t, or at least I couldn’t find

hints of life, communities or any proof that we were still alive.

The air was thick and the ground was bare,

no grass, no green, no trees.

There were no animals, there were no people.

Just emptiness as far as I could see.

I wondered how long life lived and when we went extinct.

I worried about my own life too and if I was here to stay.

We destroyed the planet and we sacrificed the future,

we didn’t listen to what science, or nature had to say.

Rich old men who would die before any of this came to be

didn’t believe, or didn’t care about, the youth, or you, or me.

They didn’t care about green grass or the blueness of the sky.

They didn’t care about pollutants infecting sea to shining sea.

I fell asleep in these horrors of the future,

laid my head down to cry.

I was shocked when I woke up in the past

and learned I had a second chance to try.

To try and convince the people.

To turn the fortune of our desolate fate.

To treat our planet better

before it’s too late.

Even with my vision

of a future dead and bare

some people can’t be convinced

what it means to have clean water, land and air.

All I can do is heed myself

my children, and my space.

If there are still people who try

we may still save this place.

 

 

When I Was Little

My parents were never my heroes
I didn’t have any heroes

(aside from GI Joe, Matt Williams and Steve Young)

But they were smart and taught me many things.

I learned that Greenland is cold and ugly
and Iceland is beautiful and fun.

and the reason they were named as such
was to trick people to leave Iceland alone.

They taught me to appreciate the golden oldies.
My favorite song for a long time was Do Wah Diddy

(and even now its American Pie.)

Even in the explosion era of video games
I was still encouraged to go outside
and run through the fields across the street from our house
with friends from up and down the street.

My mom taught me to vote
and to vote for the person who aligns with your beliefs
no matter the odds of them winning

My dad taught me about humor
and the many things in the world to laugh at
and the different ways in which those laughs can be pulled.

They taught me that it’s illegal to drive with the inside light on
and they couldn’t turn it on right now
to look for the toy I dropped and desperately wanted.

I learned about talk radio on long drives
listening to Rush Limbaugh and Mike Savage
preach hate in the most liberal area of the country.

My dad taught me that you don’t need to vote
because every American is allowed to complain about the way things are
yet not do anything about it.

My mom taught me that seeming miserable is acceptable.
That no matter how you feel in life you should stick things through.
Even if they look like they’re draining the life from you.

They taught me nobody is perfect.
That parents have flaws just as every other person.
But most importantly I learned
that I don’t have to share those flaws
just because they were taught to me.

But I still listen to the oldies and smile
and I still believe them about Iceland.

Secret Santa

“I don’t accept things that were bought with money.  I only want it if you made it, grew it or stole it.”

These were the kind of things she said.  These were the kind of things that made her enigmatic personality burn into my skin so it tingled whenever she was near.  Then, when she left, the hairs on my arms felt singed.  Being near her was like walking through a forest on fire, scary yet beautiful.

“You want me to steal something for you?”  I was surprised I could think clearly enough to respond in a coherent sentence.  

I pulled my hand back and clutched the small wrapped gift a little tighter.  I wasn’t afraid it was going to fall out of my hand or someone was going to take it, but my mind tried to cope with the rejection she just swatted my way.  It wasn’t that she said no thank you, it was the ambiguity in which she declined my gift.

“Or make it or grow it,” her tone was even.  She either practiced sounding like a pretentious bitch or it came naturally.  I hated how that made me want her even more.

“I’m sorry,” I fumbled the words out and looked away as if I offended her.  Jesus Christ, I’m pathetic.
“I didn’t know there were rules to this Secret Santa thing.  There was a dollar amount I think but other than that,” I trailed off.  Not because I didn’t know what to say but because the look she was giving me made me feel as if I was speaking a different language.  It was that or she just didn’t care.

“I know the rules.  I would have announced during the draw my further limitations but I was at a protest.  Tear gas.  Police in riot gear.  Arrests were made.  Sorry to inconvenience you after the fact.”

I’ve always hated roller-coasters, the thrills were too much for me.  Moving from lusting after her to hating her within a short conversation is more than a teenager’s fragile emotional state can handle.  

Why does she keep staring through me like that?  

“No.  It’s okay.  I mean.  Never mind.  Was it fun?  Shit, I mean, did you- are you good now?”

Good.  Fucking.  Lord.  Did I just ask her if she had fun at a protest that turned into a riot?

“No, I’m not.  They’re using chemical weapons on children at the border.  I am most definitely not good now.”

Make it stop.  Someone please, make it stop.  Is there nobody that can come interrupt this conversation?  Why is she still talking to me?  Help.  Please.  Anyone.

“I guess I could get you something else.  Although you know who your Santa is now so I don’t know if that means I’ve ruined it.  If you don’t mind I guess.  I’ll take into consideration your rules in excess of the others though.”

I wasn’t even making eye contact anymore.  I couldn’t look at her.  She made me weak.  Most girls did but somehow she was worse.  I only decided to participate in this Secret Santa thing because I knew she was in it.  The chance at pulling her name was slim but I managed it. 
I was ecstatic and barely able to keep my composure when I unfolded the piece of paper with her name written across it in her hand writing.  Block letters she wrote in.  There were no girlish swoops in cursive or hearts over her i’s.  They lines were straight and cold as if they were written by someone at the bank writing out a loan document.

“If you want.  No money though.  I don’t support capitalist ideals.  Don’t whore yourself out to Wall Street,” she said as she was dressed in her True Religion jeans, Guess shirt and Hollister hoodie.  

The present clutched in my hand behind my back made me angry now, as if it were at fault for what just happened.  It had lured me into the mall and down the halls of crowded shoppers.  The store it took refuge in was practically blinking red and drawing me in.  Each item I picked up and looked at in consideration must have had a foul stench attached so I wouldn’t consider it until I finally made my way to the back and picked up the present to be.  
The small intricate horse pulsated and when I picked it up it vibrated in my hand.  It must have.  It’s the only explanation as to why I purchased it.  Not that she used to love horses and wrote a book report on them in the 3rd grade.  Not that she used to have a horse sweater she would wear every day to school in the 6th grade.  Not even that time in the 10th grade I overheard her tell a friend her favorite movie of all time was Flicka.  

The horse was returned to the store and put back on the shelf.  The wrapping paper and the box were tossed in the garbage and I was left with nothing and no idea what I could get her that wasn’t purchased that would get anything more than an, “oh, thanks.”

Nobody listens to mixed tapes.  I took drama instead of wood shop because the idea of spending an hour a day with the wood shop boys made me cringe worse than having to preform stupid skits in front of artsy kids.  I was desperate and leaning towards picking a flower from the neighbors garden and hoping it didn’t seem to lame.  It was hopeless.

The worst part of it though was that the horse was perfect.  She still loved horses.  We had a few classes together and I’ve overheard her telling friends about going riding on the weekends.  I think it would have made her lips break into a smile.  Teenage lust is such an annoying disease to suffer from.

“Make it, grow it or steal it,” I muttered to myself in an annoyed tone.  
People who say things like that never mean it.  They just don’t want to be bothered with finding something unique for someone else.  

I often resorted to resentment when struggling with my Jekyll and Hyde dilemma.  Love her for who she is or hate her because those same qualities make her difficult.  People have such a hard time accepting things for what they are and try to reason them until they fit inside a box that makes it easier to understand.  While reasoning they cut off corners and shave down edges until it fits just right but lose important parts along the way.  I tried to make it a point to not do that, although it was really fucking hard sometimes.

I looked over at the wrapping paper and box that were sitting in the garbage can and pulled my vision back out of focus.  The trouble with reasoning something into a box that makes sense is that you don’t have anywhere else you can go with it.  It is what it is and nothing else.

The next day, before school I caught her attention again.  With somewhat of a found sense of confidence I handed her my Secret Santa gift, “I hope you like it.”

She looked at it then back at me.  The thing with her that was the hardest to figure out was that she didn’t give an expression either way.  She rarely smiled but she also never rolled her eyes or sighed from annoyance.  I could never tell if she hated me, tolerated me or cared that I existed.

The gift unwrapped fairly quickly and she pulled the top off of the small box then looked at me, “I said I didn’t accept anything that was paid for with money.”

“It wasn’t,” I quickly replied while a smile was held back from spreading into a grin.

“You didn’t make this,” she picked up the same small intricately detailed horse that I had originally bought for her.

I shook my head no, “I didn’t.”

She stared at me halfway between confused and aggravated. 
I caught her building vexation, “I followed your rules.  I didn’t buy it.”

“Well?”  

“I stole it.”

She was surprised by the answer.  I could tell by the way her face dropped its defenses and softened.  Her head tilted in curiosity, “you did?”

I nodded, “I did.  Well I did buy it first.  It’s the same gift I tried to offer you the other day but when you said you didn’t want anything paid for with money I returned it.  After trying to reason what to give you I came to the conclusion that it was the perfect gift so I went back to the store during the busiest time of day and swiped it.  I’ve never had an adrenaline rush so high as I did in those few minutes of entering the store and leaving it with hot merch.”

It felt so strange to have the upper hand that I was rambling.  She was taken off guard by my forwardness, as if she had only said for me to steal something as a protest of society and didn’t actually expect it to happen.  The feeling wouldn’t last long though.  Eventually I would remember who I am and who she is and clam up.  She would do the same and build the wall around her again, but for those few moments I felt as if I had just won the Secret Santa gift giving.  I felt as if I had won Christmas.  For a day I felt as if I wasn’t a bumbling teenager trying to talk to a pretty girl, but just a boy telling a girl how much I liked her.

The Things We Do To Our Kids

We give our children our voice without knowing it.
and they sound just like us.

The intonations.

The verbiage.

Thought processes.

Values and beliefs.

Even those that rebel can’t escape it.
They all end up in some capacity like the blank slate before them.
Weather does that to everything over time.
You can’t deny nature without great effort.

The things we do to our kids aren’t right.

Simply through living we tell them how to live and how others should live.

In our own biases we give them bias.
In our own hates we birth hate.
In our own love we birth love.

All of this through the words we choose so carelessly because we don’t know the impact they have.

Some do though, I guess.
Some realize the hate they give and the love they dole.
Some are aware of the biases they keep alive through another generation.

A mama’s boy and daddy’s little man.
Daddy’s princess and mama’s little girl.
All they want to do is please and when its all they know it’s so hard to come out of what’s ingrained inside of you.

You grow up knowing whats right and whats wrong through a keyhole.
It’s amazing what you see when you open the door.