The 3rd Week {Creation}

I have a shaddouf...
a one camel shaddouf.
It's not much to look at,
but it's all mine.
And it brings water like 60
to the terraced field
where I "crash"...
my manzil...
my landing place
place of quiet
place of rest
place of sakeena.

There is a snake there
and there isn't.
sleek as a sheath and
sharp as a sword.
She whispers in my sleep,
brews black coffee,
sees the USA
in my Chevrolet...
ma amlasuha!
how sleek she is!
shining like a jewel...
...my Chevy...
not the snake.

I have a jihaaz...
it's more like a whatchamacallit...
it's very gold rubeberg
and it's all mine.
And it does it's...thing.
It's the best thing since
the Mullah took a mudya
to a loaf of bread...
and sliced.
bread of life
bread of love
bread, gift of Allah.

The 3rd Week

Today is fast day, faestdag if you are an ancient Anglo-saxon.

So...I suppose this would be peace fasting day..hoooray! Frithfaestendag...hoooray!

(You may well wonder about the juxtaposition of Sweet's Anglo-Saxon Grammar and Gandhi and fasting. Suffice it to say that only glucose deprived brains may fully understand.)
Darn.
I hate fasting.
Along about 15:00 hours you begin to seriously decompose. Food, it seems, is the glue that holds the self together. Food is the soul of man.
There, I have been up for a couple hourts and already I am singing paeans to food.

The picture of Gandhi is there for IRONY.
The meaning is that I am not Gandhi.
I like that.
I like the sound of it.

I AM NOT GANDHI!
WHAT WOULD JESUS NOT DO?

I AM NOT THE CALIPH OMAR!
I AM NOT LINCOLN!
I AM NOT KAIZER SOUZE!
It sounds wonderful. It reaffirms what schlemiels we all are for letting this Administration run rough shod over just about everything.

June 15, 2007 Second Week: {The Party Store Of Peace}

Faest or Faesten sound a lot like Feast or Fest(ival).
Appearances are deceiving.

Fasting is rather gruesome.
I allow myself tea and - in the afternoon- one or two cans of soda pop. My brain really needs the glucose by then.

Second Week Poem

The Party Store Of Peace

They were tearing up the roadway
by the party store of peace.
(no esta bodega…cerevisa no se vende aqui)
The sidewalk had been swallowed up
and there was no place to park,
so we drove around the corner,
by the flood plain,
it hadn’t rained for a while and
global warming gives us places to park.
So we got a meter with time on it,
near the killer colored tiles from
a mural made in oaxaca-
broken into pieces and half buried
that had lain next to the electrical transformer
ever since the city threw it out…
every year some kid stumbles onto it
for the first time…
and wonders what the hell!
and wonders what the oaxaca?
and then forgets.
I’d forget all this, too,
if it wasn’t tethered like Paris Hilton.

We walk by a ladies’ store
a fossil found in stone,
with clothes in showy windows
as you funnel to the door.
Inside the Andrews Sisters sing on the PA.
Finally we arrive at the party store of peace:
(no esta bodega…cerevisa no se vende aqui)
the a/c is on the fritz,
the peace owner is wearing an orangey plaid shirt
with striped shorts and hot pink alligator shoes-
his white hair as long as that
of a guy that makes candles and soaps
for the farmers’ market-
somewhere a woman screamed.
the supplier in Carolina had a new batch of ink;
the crescent moon silver is now
a battleship grey…I mean, don’t you think you’d
let us know?
2,000 cards! she will call! we will hear about this!
and mrs. ormond’s order wuz never even shipped!
called Virginia myself…liar!
fedex got zippo from zip code there to zip code here!
bupkis! kis my bup!
So I said, yeah, my suppliers used to change quality
and leave it for us to find out…
it is so damn hot!
May I get a peace card?
all out.
When…? Next week for the fast?
dunno. haven’t paid the peace bill…
It was so hot; we went
to drown our thirst
in the ABM Sports Bar
next to WMD Books.
Drinks were on me
and I paid with what little was left
from my peace dividend.

News From The War Fast Day 1 {Dream Girl Weaving}

Dream girl weaving, dream boy running
these are the residue of life.
On both sides of the street
there were doors of iron
but the hinges were of straw.
The reeds along the river
shu-shu in the voice of ghosts.
I saw a ghost once,
I thought it was my sister's daughter,
little Maha, her only child.
But she snarled like a dog
when I came by
and she vanished...
I heard a splash and ran to the river.
But there was only a widening ripple,
widening into a tsunami of regret...
I cannot eat the food and chocolate
I had set out for myself.


First fast day.

I believe the number of US troops killed surpassed 3,500.
The number of Iraqis killed are uncountable.
This is our doing. I trust it will be worth it.

Why?

4-color totalistic cellular automaton with rule 600116
being used to represent a weaving process

I posted this in my other blog today:

http://fatherdaughtertalk.blogspot.com/2007/06/peace-quickening-peace-weaving-and.html


This site will record my effort to end this war.

Is that insane?


I suppose so.


However, in an insane world, I'd be a fool to be anything other than insane.

Once a week on Friday, or any other suitable day, to fast for peace; in Anglo-saxon frith faesten.

I am quite alone here, although there are others doing many things, and many much more effective than this.