Monday, October 30, 2006

Is James Frey Ripping Off Wikipedia?

Gawker has the low down, so I'll just quote them:

James Frey Might Want To Go Back To Just Making Things Up

Over at his website, Big Jim Industries, disgraced memoirist James Frey posts the first paragraph of his new book Here it is:
On September 4, 1781, a group of 46 men, women and children who called themselves the Pobladores established a settlement in what is now the City of Los Angeles. They named it El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora la Reina de Los Angeles de Porciuncula. Two-thirds of the settlers were African, of African descent or mulatto.

Okay, it doesn't exactly grab us by the balls and leave us gasping for more, but it's sharp and informational. This is, of course, James Frey, though, so we thought we'd trust but verify. How does Wikipedia describe the founding of Los Angeles?

The Mission Nuestra Señora Reina de los Angeles was established on September 4, 1781 by a group of 46 Spanish and Mexican settlers from Sonora who had set out from the San Gabriel mission to establish a settlement along the banks of the Porciúncula River. These settlers were of African, Indian, and Spanish ancestry of which two-thirds were mulatto.

Well, you've got to applaud the commitment to accuracy, at least.

First Paragraph of New Book [Big Jim Industries]
Los Angeles [Wikipedia]


Maybe he's just messing with us?


New Stuff at Elegant Thorn

Now that Blogger has solved whatever problems it was having over the weekend, there is new material at Elegant Thorn Review.

~ Fall Poetry Books from PoetryFoundation.org
~ Sharon Olds in Conversation from The Independent (UK)
~ Two Photos: Bavenmark


Please send me your best work, folks. It's fun to share.


Mother Jones: The Female Thing: Dirt, Sex, Envy, Vulnerability


There is an interesting review of The Female Thing: Dirt, Sex, Envy, Vulnerability by Laura Kipmis
(Pantheon Books. $23.95) up at Mother Jones.

Here is a bit of it:

Kipnis, the author of Against Love: A Polemic, notes that the mass entry of women into the workforce has failed to transform social institutions as feminists once predicted. She's equally skeptical about what the future holds for stay-at-home moms. Her main point is that persistent gender inequities are linked to "the myriad impasses of the female condition." The problem isn't an antifeminist backlash, she claims, but rather women's ambivalence—about the prerogatives of men, their own sexuality, and the lure of housework. In her view, feminism has met its most formidable foe in femininity itself.

At issue, in part, is women's troubled relationship with their bodies, including "unconscious filth convictions" that are symbiotic with a consumer culture "bludgeoning housewives with a steady stream of overanxious cleaning advice." Kipnis is also wonderfully acerbic about the female orgasm, noting how biology and proscriptions against sexual assertiveness have contributed to "a nature-culture one-two punch, right to the female pleasure principle."

I have no idea what an integral feminism might sound like or look like, but this book might be a part of the conversation in moving toward a more integral model. It seems from this brief review that Kipnis has assimilated the major strains of American feminism and added in some of the French ideas (sounds like she has read Julia Kristeva).

Now if only there were some men writing about an integral masculinity rather than the drum-beating, touchy-feely types who call themselves the men's movement.


Will the Dems Implode If They Win?

David Sirota of In These Times takes a look at the dueling wings in the Democratic party:

In its widely-circulated August profile of House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi, Time noted, “House Democrats have been more unified in their voting than at any other time in the past quarter-century, with members on average voting the party line 88 percent of the time in 2005.” The numbers don’t lie. But they do obscure a little-discussed truth: Divisions in the Democratic Party are sure to grow larger, whether the party wins or loses the mid-term elections.

For the better part of 20 years, Democratic divisions have seethed under America’s political surface, with only the rare contested presidential primary providing a release valve. Any number of self-defeating pathologies emanating from inside the Democratic Party have worked to raise the temperature: From President Bill Clinton’s embrace of corporate-written trade deals that crushed the party’s working-class base to congressional Democrats’ complicity in the Iraq War and rejection of the growing anti-war movement, Democratic Party elites have gotten used to kicking the party base in the face.

The situation is ready to explode. What the late Paul Wellstone called the “Democratic wing of the Democratic Party” is growing feisty. And progressives are increasingly in a position to flex their muscles thanks to a convergence of factors: the rise of Internet fundraising, the ascendancy of blog and vlog (video blog) media and the crushing economic forces that are radicalizing previously apolitical middle-class constituencies. These developments have exposed the Democratic establishment to the same kind of pressure that conservative grassroots activists have exerted on the Republican Party to great electoral success.

Read the rest.


Poem: Marge Piercy



A Work Of Artifice

The bonsai tree
in the attractive pot
could have grown eighty feet tall
on the side of a mountain
till split by lightning.
But a gardener
carefully pruned it.
It is nine inches high.
Every day as he
whittles back the branches
the gardener croons,
It is your nature
to be small and cozy,
domestic and weak;
how lucky, little tree,
to have a pot to grow in.
With living creatures
one must begin very early
to dwarf their growth:
the bound feet,
the crippled brain,
the hair in curlers,
the hands you
love to touch.

Inner Critics, Boundaries, and Relationships


This is part of my Daily Om horoscope from one day last week. I've been mulling it over in my head since reading it, unsure of how to work with the info, but sure that it was important.
Understanding our feelings first allows us to set healthy boundaries for ourselves. There is the inclination for many of us to keep using the same defense mechanisms over and over again. Since each situation is different, it is important that we reflect upon what we need to do to communicate our needs and establish boundaries that work for us in each given situation. This means that instead of learning to guard ourselves, each time we feel uncomfortable we must learn to evaluate what would ease communication so that we feel better. Knowing your feelings today will help you create an environment that works well for you.
Knowing what I feel has been an ongoing challenge for me. I've been working on it for years, and I have seen a lot of progress, but it has been slow. Among other places, I've blogged about this here and here.

What follows is my perception of how things have been in my life -- it may or may not bear any resemblance to reality.

One of the things I've discovered in the last month or so, as I have looked back over my relationship history, is that I willingly accept the premise that I am flawed and in need of fixing. It seems that all of my partners have seen me (either explicitly or implicitly) as a work in progress, as wet clay they could mold. When I don't accept the premise, I withdraw rather than establish a clear boundary.

Few of them were so bold as to say it outright -- and most probably were not conscious of what they were doing. The worst version of it is when one partner repeatedly pushed me to "grow" in a way that would make her happy, while making me feel that I wasn't interested in being a better person if I didn't get with her program. That was a fun experience in emotional manipulation.

But what occurs to me, and I hate to use the New Age crap that we create our own reality (nothing is as offensive to me as blaming the victim), is that I draw these people to me.

In subpersonality theory, we project our disowned selves onto others, who then either are repulsive to us or appealing to us, according to how we relate to those disowned selves. For example, if I project my disowned slacker onto a coworker, I will be annoyed by his lack of work ethic. But if project my disowned child onto a woman I meet, I will be attracted to her playfulness. This is shadow work 101.

So apparently, I have been projecting a disowned self onto these women in my life. This self appears to want me to be more whole and complete, and it will manipulate me in whatever way necessary to get there. The problem is that no one can make me change unless I want to change -- not even my own subpersonalities. It can't be forced from the outside, and I can't be manipulated into changing, even though I usually go along with it in silence.

Here's part of what happens: I hear this subtle or not so subtle command to be more [fill in the blank], and my Inner Critic immediately latches on to the critique and starts using it against me. He loves to have new ammunition in his attacks on me. I'm sure he rejoices when I choose women who need to "fix" me.

So whether or not the criticism is valid does not matter, my Critic will be on board with it and I find myself going along with it. Another part of this situation is that I would rather suffer in silence than speak up for my boundaries.

My approach, and I think this is common to a lot of men, is that when I feel unsafe or attacked by my partner, even if it is subtle and never explicitly stated, I withdraw emotionally. Rather than establish a boundary that says you can't fix me, that says you can want what you want but you have to accept that this is who I am and deal with that in whatever way works for you, I silently withdraw.

Obviously, this hasn't worked out so well. The next time, now that I am clear about my lack of boundaries in this area, I must be willing to risk rejection in order to honor who I am and my own pace of transformation. This is a huge challenge for me. Risking rejection is like giving my Critic permission to fire freely, especially if I do end up rejected.

But what is the alternative? This old approach, which I probably learned as a child when I was being criticized by my parents, is not working and never has. It was appropriate to a young child who can't speak up for himself, but it does not work for a grown man who can set clear boundaries and ask that they be respected.


Sunday, October 29, 2006

Funny Video

This video contains violence.




Geek Dreams

I love books. Some women buy shoes, some men buy electronics, I buy books. When I left Seattle, I brought about 20 boxes books of books with me, and that was after selling 80% of my collection.

So, for a book geek like me, The Tucson Friends of the Library book sale is a dream come true. I look forward to the two or three sales they hold each year. I get lots of books -- cheap -- and they get lots of money from people like me (and used booksellers who must be nearly orgasmic at the thought of the potential profit margin).

Among the treasures this time:

Imperfect Thirst by poet Galway Kinnell
Wherever You Lay Your Head by poet Jane Miller
Paris Spleen by poet Charles Baudelaire
The Mystic Vision, Eranos Lectures, edited by Joseph Campbell
Three Faces of Being: Toward an Existential Clinical Psychology by Ernest Keen
Moral Consciousness and Communicative Action by Jurgen Habermas
Virus of the Mind by Richard Brodie
Anatomy of Criticism by Northrop Frye
Candor & Perversion by Roger Shattuck

I may have been the only person who would have seen value in some of these books. That's cool. There were many others waiting for their person to find them.


Its The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown

Friday was the 40th anniversary showing of Its The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown, one of my all-time favorite seasonal cartoons. Actually, I like all of the Peanuts holiday cartoons.

So, if you missed it, here it is in full. Enjoy.




Satire: New Purell Product for Politicians: Mouth Sanitizer

Some satire from ScrappleFace:

New Purell Product for Politicians: Mouth Sanitizer

(2006-10-28) — On the very day that the New York Times featured a major investigative piece about the use of hand sanitizer by politicians on the campaign trail, the makers of the popular brand Purell announced release of a new product made specifically for politicians and people like them — Purell Mouth Sanitizer.

While the hand gel is shown to kill 99.9 percent of germs and bacteria which are often spread by human contact, the new mouth sanitizer was formulated to prevent the viral spread of dirty, bitter and vitriolic political speech.

According to a news release from the company, “Just a quick squirt, swish and spit before stepping up to the microphone and Purell Mouth Sanitizer eliminates not only the words that make others sick, but it even protects a politician from speech that can harm one’s own career, thanks to a special ingredient we call Gaffe-B-Gone.”

Purell designed the product for the political niche market, however it will soon be available over the counter for home use by the general public, and experts say divorce lawyers could be hardest hit.
While an unnamed company spokesman said she expects Purell Mouth Sanitizer to be a hit, she cautioned that it only deals with the outward symptoms, not the source.

“Our scientists are still working on that,” she said, “but unfortunately the launch of Purell Heart & Mind Sanitizer is still several years off.”


[image source]

Blogger Sucks

Can't get anything to post today. Might not even get this up. But I'll be back as soon as they fix the damn thing.

Have a good Sunday.

Sunday Poet: Charles Simic

The Initiate

St. John of the Cross wore dark glasses
As he passed me on the street.
St. Theresa of Avila, beautiful and grave,
Turned her back on me.

"Soulmate," they hissed. "It's high time."

I was a blind child, a wind-up toy . . .
I was one of death's juggling red balls
On a certain street corner
Where they peddle things out of suitcases.

The city like a huge cinema
With lights dimmed.
The performance already started.

So many blurred faces in a complicated plot.

The great secret which kept eluding me: knowing who I am . . .

The Redeemer and the Virgin,
Their eyes wide open in the empty church
Where the killer came to hide himself . . .

The new snow on the sidewalk bore footprints
That could have been made by bare feet.
Some unknown penitent guiding me.
In truth, I didn't know where I was going.
My feet were frozen,
My stomach growled.

Four young hoods blocking my way.
Three deadpan, one smiling crazily.

I let them have my black raincoat.

Thinking constantly of the Divine Love
and the Absolute had disfigured me.
People mistook me for someone else.
I heard voices after me calling out unknown names.
"I'm searching for someone to sell my soul to,"
The drunk who followed me whispered,
While appraising me from head to foot.

At the address I had been given.
The building had large X's over its windows.
I knocked but no one came to open.
By and by a black girl joined me on the steps.
She banged at the door till her fist hurt.

Her name was Alma, a propitious sign.
She knew someone who solved life's riddles
In a voice of an ancient Sumerian queen.
We had a long talk about that
While shivering and stamping our wet feet.

It was necessary to stay calm, I explained,
Even with the earth trembling,
And to continue to watch oneself
As if one were a complete stranger.

Once in Chicago, for instance,
I caught sight of a man in a shaving mirror
Who had my naked shoulders and face,
But whose eyes terrified me!
Two hard staring, all-knowing eyes!

After we parted, the night, the cold, and the endless walking
Brought on a kind of ecstasy.
I went as if pursued, trying to warm myself.

There was the East River; there was the Hudson.
Their waters shone like oil in sanctuary lamps.

Something supreme was occurring
For which there will never be any words.

The sky was full of racing clouds and tall buildings,
Whirling and whirling silently.

In that whole city you could hear a pin drop.
Believe me.
I thought I heard a pin drop and I went looking for it.

*****

The Something

Here come my night thoughts
On crutches,
Returning from studying the heavens.
What they thought about
Stayed the same,
Stayed immense and incomprehensible.

My mother and father smile at each other
Knowingly above the mantel.
The cat sleeps on, the dog
Growls in his sleep.
The stove is cold and so is the bed.

Now there are only these crutches
To contend with.
Go ahead and laugh, while I raise one
With difficulty,
Swaying on the front porch,
While pointing at something
In the gray distance.

You see nothing, eh?
Neither do I, Mr. Milkman.
I better hit you once or twice over the head
With this fine old prop,
So you don't go off muttering

I saw something!

*****

The White Room

The obvious is difficult
To prove. Many prefer
The hidden. I did, too.
I listened to the trees.

They had a secret
Which they were about to
Make known to me--
And then didn't.

Summer came. Each tree
On my street had its own
Scheherazade. My nights
Were a part of their wild

Storytelling. We were
Entering dark houses,
Always more dark houses,
Hushed and abandoned.

There was someone with eyes closed
On the upper floors.
The fear of it, and the wonder,
Kept me sleepless.

The truth is bald and cold,
Said the woman
Who always wore white.
She didn't leave her room.

The sun pointed to one or two
Things that had survived
The long night intact.
The simplest things,

Difficult in their obviousness.
They made no noise.
It was the kind of day
People described as "perfect."

Gods disguising themselves
As black hairpins, a hand-mirror,
A comb with a tooth missing?
No! That wasn't it.

Just things as they are,
Unblinking, lying mute
In that bright light--
And the trees waiting for the night.

*****
Here is some biographical information from The Academy of American Poets:

Charles Simic was born on May 9, 1938, in Belgrade, Yugoslavia, where he had a traumatic childhood during World War II. In 1953 he emigrated from Yugoslavia with his mother and brother to join his father in the United States. They lived in and around Chicago until 1958.

His first poems were published in 1959, when he was twenty-one. In 1961 he was drafted into the U.S. Army, and in 1966 he earned his Bachelor's degree from New York University while working at night to cover the costs of tuition.

His first full-length collection of poems, What the Grass Says, was published the following year. Since then he has published more than sixty books in the U.S. and abroad, among them My Noiseless Entourage (Harcourt, 2005); Selected Poems: 1963-2003 (2004), for which he received the 2005 International Griffin Poetry Prize; The Voice at 3:00 AM: Selected Late and New Poems (2003); Night Picnic (2001); The Book of Gods and Devils (2000); Jackstraws (1999), which was named a Notable Book of the Year by the New York Times; Walking the Black Cat (1996), which was a finalist for the National Book Award; A Wedding in Hell (1994); Hotel Insomnia (1992); The World Doesn't End: Prose Poems (1990), for which he received the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry; Selected Poems: 1963-1983 (1990); and Unending Blues (1986).

Simic has also published many translations of French, Serbian, Croatian, Macedonian, and Slovenian poetry, and several books of essays, including Orphan Factory. He has also edited numerous anthologies, including an edition of The Best American Poetry in 1992.

In his essay "Poetry and Experience," Simic wrote:

At least since Emerson and Whitman, there's a cult of experience in American poetry. Our poets, when one comes right down to it, are always saying: This is what happened to me. This is what I saw and felt. Truth, they never get tired of reiterating, is not something that already exists in the world, but something that needs to be rediscovered almost daily.

Elected a Chancellor of The Academy of American Poets in 2000, his many awards include fellowships from the Guggenheim Foundation, the MacArthur Foundation, and the National Endowment for the Arts. He was also elected to The American Academy of Arts and Letters in 1995.

Since 1973 he has lived in New Hampshire, where he is Professor of English at the University of New Hampshire.

I have only recently started reading Simic in any detail. For reasons that escape me, I had written him off as not very interesting. I was wrong. As the quote above might suggest, Simic is not especially fond of confessional poetry. He tends toward ideas in his own work, big ideas that he can convey in scenes and images.

Here are a couple of more poems:
Clouds Gathering

It seemed the kind of life we wanted.
Wild strawberries and cream in the morning.
Sunlight in every room.
The two of us walking by the sea naked.

Some evenings, however, we found ourselves
Unsure of what comes next.
Like tragic actors in a theater on fire,
With birds circling over our heads,
The dark pines strangely still,
Each rock we stepped on bloodied by the sunset.

We were back on our terrace sipping wine.
Why always this hint of an unhappy ending?
Clouds of almost human appearance
Gathering on the horizon, but the rest lovely
With the air so mild and the sea untroubled.

The night suddenly upon us, a starless night.
You lighting a candle, carrying it naked
Into our bedroom and blowing it out quickly.
The dark pines and grasses strangely still.

*****

The Supreme Moment

As an ant is powerless
Against a raised boot,
And only has an instant
To have a bright idea or two.
The black boot so polished,
He can see himself
Reflected in it, distorted,
Perhaps made larger
Into a huge monster ant
Shaking his arms and legs
Threateningly?

The boot may be hesitating,
Demurring, having misgivings,
Gathering cobwebs,
Dew?
Yes, and apparently no.

*****

Inner Man

It isn't the body
That's a stranger.
It's someone else.

We poke the same
Ugly mug
At the world.
When I scratch
He scratches too.

There are women
Who claim to have held him.
A dog
Follows me about.
It might be his.

If I'm quiet, he's quieter.
So I forget him.
Yet, as I bend down
To tie my shoelaces,
He's standing up.

We caste a single shadow.
Whose shadow?

I'd like to say:
"He was un the beginning
And he'll be in the end,"
But one can't be sure.

At night
As I sit
Shuffling the cards of our silence,
I say to him:

"Though you utter
Every one of my words,
You are a stranger.
It's time you spoke."

*****
Charles Simic on the web:

Academy of American Poets
Famous Poets and Poems
The Cortland Review (Australia) has an interview
Our Scandal, an essay deploring the insularity of American writers
Simic reviews the unpublished poems of Elizabeth Bishop


Dharma Quote: B. Alan Wallace


This is from Snow Lion Publications, their weekly dharma quote:
Dharma Quote of the Week

The entire environment we perceive around us arises, in part, in dependence upon our sense faculties. The environment we experience does not truly exist "out there." Sight is dependent upon visual faculties, hearing is dependent upon auditory faculties, and tactile sensations depend on nerve endings. Psychologically, all that we experience is dependent upon ourselves. We do not experience anything purely objectively. The arising and perceiving of experience is co-emergent between ourselves and the world around us. Yet, the deep belief persists that the world really exists "out there" now and eons before we were born.

The Buddhist hypothesis extends beyond the psychological. The Buddhist hypothesis is this: that which is perceived arises in dependence upon the perception of it. Things are empty of independent, inherent existence. What appears to exist" out there" is empty of objective existence from its own side. This does not mean that nothing exists apart from our perceptions. Rather, it means that by probing the nature of existence of anything we experience perceptually or conceptually, we find that nothing exists by its own independent nature. Another way of phrasing this is that appearance extends all the way down to the root and there is nothing beyond the appearances. Appearances extend down to quarks; nothing is there purely objectively and nothing is there purely subjectively. This is the Buddhist hypothesis.

~ From Buddhism with an Attitude: The Seven-Point Mind-Training by B. Alan Wallace, edited by Lynn Quirolo, published by Snow Lion Publications

For more B. Alan Wallace, you can check out Buddhist Geeks, where Ryan interviewed the man himself.