Bacchanal (Taken with instagram)
May 23rd. Somewhere in middle America. (Taken with instagram)
Summer. Here. (Taken with instagram)
The self directed learning community…van. (Taken with instagram)
One day soon, I’ll post lots of photos and write lots of stuff down. But not today. Today, you get this photo of me in front of a delightfully green wall avoiding a camera flash. It was taken at The Whistlestop, back when I was drinking and enjoying my life…like 2 weeks ago, before finals came.
Hangover Cures (Taken with instagram)
Here’s to Adrienne Rich
"Diving Into The Wreck"
First having read the book of myths, and loaded the camera, and checked the edge of the knife-blade, I put on the body-armor of black rubber the absurd flippers the grave and awkward mask. I am having to do this not like Cousteau with his assiduous team aboard the sun-flooded schooner but here alone. There is a ladder. The ladder is always there hanging innocently close to the side of the schooner. We know what it is for, we who have used it. Otherwise it is a piece of maritime floss some sundry equipment. I go down. Rung after rung and still the oxygen immerses me the blue light the clear atoms of our human air. I go down. My flippers cripple me, I crawl like an insect down the ladder and there is no one to tell me when the ocean will begin. First the air is blue and then it is bluer and then green and then black I am blacking out and yet my mask is powerful it pumps my blood with power the sea is another story the sea is not a question of power I have to learn alone to turn my body without force in the deep element. And now: it is easy to forget what I came for among so many who have always lived here swaying their crenellated fans between the reefs and besides you breathe differently down here. I came to explore the wreck. The words are purposes. The words are maps. I came to see the damage that was done and the treasures that prevail. I stroke the beam of my lamp slowly along the flank of something more permanent than fish or weed the thing I came for: the wreck and not the story of the wreck the thing itself and not the myth the drowned face always staring toward the sun the evidence of damage worn by salt and away into this threadbare beauty the ribs of the disaster curving their assertion among the tentative haunters. This is the place. And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair streams black, the merman in his armored body. We circle silently about the wreck we dive into the hold. I am she: I am he whose drowned face sleeps with open eyes whose breasts still bear the stress whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies obscurely inside barrels half-wedged and left to rot we are the half-destroyed instruments that once held to a course the water-eaten log the fouled compass We are, I am, you are by cowardice or courage the one who find our way back to this scene carrying a knife, a camera a book of myths in which our names do not appear.
-Adrienne Rich
May 16, 1929 - March 28, 2012
Last night in the middle of a thunderstorm on the steps of the St. Louis Cathedral, J asked me to marry him. I said yes. Two tourists were watching from a distance and came over to ask if they could photograph us. This is the result. Good morning from NOLA. xoxo, D. & J.
bi-coastal: My sister came to visit last week before I started my second semester....
My sister came to visit last week before I started my second semester. We participated in our usual sister activities: trading clothes, swapping sunglasses and stories about our parents, and complaining that we don’t wear the same shoe size. We went thrift shopping in all of my new favorite…
reblogged from goldenhill
Saul Alinsky
So, Rules For Radicals is changing up my game in a big way. If you haven’t read it and you’re interested in social activism (shouldn’t we all be?), I encourage you to pick it up.
First, the rules:
1. Power is not only what you have but what the enemy thinks you
have
2. Never go outside the experience of your people
3. Wherever possible, go outside the experience of the enemy
4. Ridicule is a person’s most potent weapon
5. A good tactic is one that your people enjoy
6. A tactic that drags on too long becomes a drag
7. Keep the pressure on with different tactics
8. The threat is usually more terrifying than the thing itself
9. Maintain constant pressure on enemy
10. Pick the target, freeze it, personalize it, and polarize it
I’m doing more writing than I have in years and it’s amplifying my creativity in really unexpected ways (ex. I woke up and wrote my boyfriend a love letter on a lampshade). I forgot how invigorating nonfiction academic writing can be. Yeah, I said it. There’s something about analyzing social policy that really fuels me. Change isn’t nebulous. It can be tracked, defined and broken down to the letter. Instituting social change is a process, and I’m learning how to dismantle that shit. It’s thrilling.
Good morning from San Diego, where my apartment smells like a sharpie pen.
San Diego: November
It’s 64 degrees with cloudless skies. A boy on a skateboard in oversized black sunglasses and jeans tighter than mine stops to ask me where I got my boots. I look at him- he looks young to me. All false confidence and beach blonde hair. I tell him, “The Salvation Army in Chalmette” and look back down at my book. He says, “How long ago?” I look up again. I have to think about it. “2002.” He says, “How do I get to Chalmette from here?” I laugh. Hard. Finally, I say, “It doesn’t matter. That store took in like 20 feet of water. It’s long gone.”
