— Poem written by an 11 year old Afghan girl
This poem was recorded in a NYT magazine article about female underground poetry groups in Afghanistan. An amazing article about the ways in which women are using a traditional two line poetry form to express their resistance to male oppression, their feelings about love (considered blasphemous), and their doubts about religion.
One of the best articles I’ve read all year. Here’s the link
Trailer for The Real Americans, a one-man show by Dan Hoyle.
I saw it last spring at the Marsh in San Francisco, and I suddenly have a need to see it again. The trailer makes it look like a comedy, and it is hilarious, but it’s also one of the most moving and eye-opening works of art to which I have ever had the honor of being an audience member. America is such an enormous and diverse country that probably very few Americans know what the fuck America is, but I learned so much from this play, and I cannot recommend it enough.
Unfortunately, it isn’t showing right now, and I don’t know when it will be back, so I’m just going to reread the 39 messages I sent to Meng after I watched the show so that I can remember how great it is.
i don’t think i’ve ever agreed with anything more than what this man is saying
watch this. seriously
“La matemática es un lenguaje universal” me dijo mi papá.
“Los números no conocen la discriminación” me dijo mi mamá.
I was four, getting ready for kindergarten & numbers.
They tried to warn me about my language.
tried to tell me that sooner than later,
someone would come along and tell me:
”Hablas el español como pocha” &
”You speak english with an accent”
They tried to warn me that my language would not be good enough.
At four, I was thrown into English,
a foreign language.
Teachers told me:
”Spanish, little one, it won’t get you far.
You need to learn English.
The educated speak English.”
They did whatever they could to take my native tongue from me
and back then,
I was grateful.
Grateful that they were teaching me something my parents couldn’t
Grateful that they changed the Ll to Y in Yesenia
Grateful that they were leading me into the world of English.
Now, I resent them.
Resent them for telling me my language wasn’t beautiful
for telling me that my language was shit
and for the “underdeveloped”
Ahora, ves a los gringos hablando español
and they are cultured.
cultured & bilingual.
I was bilingual.
Now, I’m a derivation of both.
See, I don’t speak Spanish.
Y tampoco hablo el inglés.
I speak a bastardization of both.
“Math is a universal language” said my dad.
“Numbers don’t know discrimination” said my mom.
jesus fucking christ
another fucking haiku
i’m sick of this shit
cherry blossoms fall
at the speed of oh my god
no one fucking cares
write some poetry
about cool shit like bar fights
you goddamn wankers
Would you kill him in his bed?
Thrust a dagger through his head?
I would not, could not, kill the King.
I could not do that evil thing.
I would not wed this girl, you see.
Now get her to a nunnery.
~ Green Eggs and Hamlet
Would you like to read a book in which this happens?
It’s one of my all-time favorite books. It’s called Ella Minnow Pea by Mark Dunn. He describes it as an “progressively lipogrammatic epistolary fable.”
It is written in the form of letters between the citizens of the fictional island of Nollop, an independent nation off the coast of South Carolina and home of Nevin Nollop, who invented the phrase “the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog.” That phrase is written in tiles over a statue of Nollop in their town square, and when one night a storm causes one of the tiles to fall, the council decides that it’s a sign from Nollop that they are no longer allowed to use that letter, in speech or writing, on pain of progressive punishments including public beating and up to banishment.
Then another tile falls. Then another.
The citizens, who are all very attached to their words and writing, mount a campaign to come up with a phrase that uses all 26 letters but is shorter than Nollop’s, thus proving that he was not divine and negating all the edicts.
Because the novel is told in the form of letters the citizens write, and this is the genius part…the author must also stop using the letters as they fall. So the book gradually stops using letters until at one point I think they’re down to just five.
The resolution literally made me get up and dance around the room.
It’s clever, creative, and a not-really-veiled-at-all parable about monotheistic oligarchy. It’s not a long book, you can read it in an afternoon.
GO READ IT RIGHT NOW.
WOW I want to read that book
Very rarely is there a book that I must read at any cost
This is now one of them
Note: locate book
Oh man that’s awesome. Must read
Felis catus is your taxonomic nomenclature,
An endothermic quadruped, carnivorous by nature;
Your visual, olfactory, and auditory senses
Contribute to your hunting skills and natural defenses.
I find myself intrigued by your subvocal oscillations,
A singular development of cat communications
That obviates your basic hedonistic predilection
For a rhythmic stroking of your fur to demonstrate affection.
A tail is quite essential for your acrobatic talents;
You would not be so agile if you lacked its counterbalance.
And when not being utilized to aid in locomotion,
It often serves to illustrate the state of your emotion.
O Spot, the complex levels of behavior you display
Connote a fairly well-developed cognitive array.
And though you are not sentient, Spot, and do not comprehend,
I nonetheless consider you a true and valued friend.
“Ode to Spot”, written by Lieutenant Commander Data.
Star Trek: The Next Generation