Where The Wild Things Are

It has taken me a while to finally get around to watching Where The Wild Things Are. I think part of me was so worried about being disappointed that I wanted to keep the idea of the film more real than actually watching it. I mean, Spike Jones+Dave Eggers+Karen O should = perfection right?

Well…yes and no. My friend Anthony emailed me last night after I told him I had finally seen the film:

I liked the movie, but not as much as I wanted. I did cry once however. Hated the boy.

I wanted to share some thoughts, because the film has lingered in my mind all day; I can’t seem to shake it. Please click play on the video below and let the song play as you read, because this song epitomizes the overwhelming sense of perfect sadness this film so perfectly embodies.




Ultimately the film is about dysfunction, emptiness, and human relationships. It shatters the myth that it will be all okay and replaces it with the cold stone truth that human beings struggle to make sense of the barrenness we feel both alone and in the company of those we love.

Although Max himself is broken, he is asked to take fix the problems of a group of dysfunctional wild things. He himself has yet to learn how to deal with his own anger, alienation, and loneliness, yet he makes false promises to the monsters, which in turn set up a series of disappointments for everyone. The film is really about how we cling to others to help deal with our anxieties, never stepping back to see that they too maybe suffering as we do.

Eggers and Jonez examine a series of relationships between family members, lovers, friends, and competitors by exposing their jealousies, competitiveness, trust, and ultimately love.

On the surface the movie is a quirky, sometimes silly puppet show, but upon closer look it is an investigation of the human condition. It is the story of every lonely runaway who has felt that they could find the answers through escape. But as anyone who has ever tried to runaway from their problems or placed them on the shoulders of other, Max realizes that only he can deal with his issues. Not by running away, but by allowing himself to be loved and to truly love others as they are, not as we want them to be.

My friend was right to say he hated the boy; I think that was the point. He is a spoiled, broken little boy, who is unable to come to term with his emotions. By escaping into his imagination and coming face-to-face with the things that are wilder than himself, he realizes that human emotions can be very damaging to himself and to others, unless he learns to control them.

My favorite line of the film was

Happiness is not the best way to be happy.

Play this song next:



From that line on, I remembered that is was Dave Eggers putting the words into the mouths of these beautiful monsters and Spike Jonez was the one pulling their strings. Even in their wretchedness, both Max and the wild things do not simply sit idly by and wait to be overtaken by grief. They let the “wild rumpus” start. It is through play and chaos and fun that they deal with their sorrow. Only once he lets his guard, can Max truly see how fragile and tender everyone is.

Did I think the movie was perfect? Unfortunately no. But it has made me see the classic short children’s book in a whole new light. Perhaps Jonez’s vision is not the one everyone who is in love with the book will want to see, but he opens up your mind and your heart and plants his seed. It will leave you thinking for days after.

Master Of His Own Destiny

Woke up this morning, first thing, to a comment from a cousin of a Facebook friend that made me reconsider my open public Facebook policy, in it’s sheer ignorance and biased view. It was so fundamentally false- the argument was so misguided, illogical, and simplistic that my first reaction was to ignore it and chalk it up to bi-partisan mudslinging.

The ideas of a stranger had somehow leaked into my feed, but that didn’t mean I had to engage. It was 5:50 in the morning, why did I need to explain to a stranger that Donald Trump’s ad about banning Muslims from the USA  was not okay, especially when he was saying things like, “And there is a law on the books that states that anyone that is a member of any organization that is contrary to the beliefs of the USA - freedom - can be banned from entering this country.”

But then I thought about it all morning. I didn’t want to be thinking about retorts and rebuttals, but my brain had caught fire and I couldn’t seem to find a way to put it out.

Because if I had a student who thought so simplistically, a student who argued so illogically, a student who felt so callously, a student who lived with such little understanding of the world and such lack of empathy, I would do everything I could to teach that student. For better to for worse this is the curse of the educator, we want to teach everyone we come across- even the random cousin of a Facebook friend we will never meet.

Our first reaction might be to label people who disagree with us as right-wing fanatics, or ignorant (fill in the blank), but if we get into the habit of doing that, then how are we different from the people who see liberals as some false stereo-type. At the end of the day we need to see people, who’s views are different to our way of thinking, as people who we need to engage with.

Anyway, as I was thinking all these thoughts my friend Bryan​ came in and saved the day, with one of the best rebuttals I have read in a while. It was clear, coherent, logical and dead-on. So I was saved from having to do my civic duty, which made me think how important it is that we work together to help educate the internet. No small feat, I know. But everytime someone spouts inaccurate information it is our collective civil duty to say something.

...

In school this happened during break before class. Two students came running into the classroom with their copies of Into The Wild and the following conversation took place:

“But why would he change his name?”
“Because that part of his life was dying?”
“But what does changing your name do?”
“His name symbolized everything he hated about the overly commercialized life he was forced to live by his parents and society. He needed to break free from that, so he needed a new name. See look it says it here on this page (pulls out book) ““no longer would he answer to Chris McCandless; he was now Alexander Supertramp, master of his own destiny” (He then waved the book around and sang, Master of his own Destiny a few times)
“Yeah, I get it. That must also be why he turned down the gift of the car from his parents. He didn't want what they were offering. He needed something else.”

...

Time hop reminded me that I began my experiment being vegan three years ago today. I feel pretty good. I love the line that Brighde​ once told me, “I am vegan 100% of the time, but I am successful 90% of the times."

Yes I cheat occasionally with the weirdest things- Krispie Kreme donuts and muffins at Starbucks, but for the most part I have been pretty good. The very thought of eggs, cheese or milk, makes me sick. Those damn baked goods, still haunt me.

...

I watched Obama’s speech on guns and cried at the end. I respect him more and more. He’s just a cool dude trying his damn best.

Sometimes I feel guilty for being too tired to properly spend time with my kids during the week. Are we just wasting their childhood and setting them up for the rat race?

There is a new salad bar at school that I am excited about trying tomorrow.

I have a girl in my class who is going through a hard time with a parent’s divorce and I complimented her on her writing today and she was so grateful that she was beaming. It made me very happy to be able to make her happy so easily.

...

Lessons Learned:

• Politics are messy and engaging with people is tough but necessary. 
• Kids get excited if you are excited. 
• Compliments are so easy to give and do so much good. I should give them more often to everyone in my life. 

...

1. What’s a political argument you rarely back away from? 
2. Describe an exchange you witness that made you happy. 
3. Tell us about a compliment that you gave that made someone’s day or one that you received. 

The Elegant Simplicity of Song

"It's amazing how much he's changed." I say aloud to Viv as we head to the car. And how much he has stayed the same I say to myself.

"I mean, can you remember the awkward, insecure, almost shy dude from the MTV unplugged show?" Hat on, spinning on the stool, covering his arms with political epitaphs, unsure of how to act beneath his massive new spotlight.

"It makes me wonder, that if he has changed so much, then we must have changed that much too. But I don't feel that I have changed that much. Do you? It's confusing." Viv nods noncommittally indicating that he understands, but I am not sure if either of us do.

I have seen Pearl Jam perform countless times across the years in as many varied venues. Even when I am not actually in the same city or arena as the band, I track their set lists through a tour to see what they are playing. I have written ad nauseam about Pearl Jam, and for fear of repeating myself, I will once again confess, early in this piece, that Eddie Vedder is my hero. An idol, I have respected and for lack of a better word, an artist I have loved for most of my life. So there was little question that I would fly from Singapore to Perth for a whirlwind trip to see him perform a live solo show this past weekend.

Lifting up an empty cup, I ask silently
All my destinations will accept the one that's me
So I can breathe...

Recently, I have been watching some Youtube clips of shows to see how he and the band are holding up. Surprisingly, part of me has been slightly disappointed by the fact that my hero has changed to the point of not fitting into the tight carefully crafted box into which I have placed him and would prefer for him to stay. I think back to that MTV Unplugged show and am reminded of the change and the growth that Vedder underwent in subsequent years from VS, Vitology and into No Code.

On stage, gone was the overly timid and tortured introvert who I saw as a mirror for myself, and in his place stood and glared and sang and raged a man who had learned the power of his own voice, both literately and metaphorically. And either through my own life experience or through the power of his music, I too had brought upon my own metamorphosis-- from bashful boy to…well something else.

Someone wild and free and determined never to sit quietly again. Someone demanding to be heard. Someone with a confidence boarding on violence, but rooted in the humility and honesty of the voiceless. Vedder helped us give a voice to everything we had always been told to hide. In the early years, he helped to show us how to transform shame to rage and would eventually teach us show to change it again into something less volatile. Something I dare call happiness? Wisdom? But at what cost? Can we look back and observe this transformation as anything but depressing. A fading of a light? Of growing old. Of domestication?

Today, Vedder reminds me of a jovial slightly drunken uncle.  He seems to wear the same clothes every day, jeans, t-shirt and button-up shirts make up his uniform. And his short hair, awkward dancing and onstage antics are more akin to Bruce Springsteen than say Ian Mckaye. In short, he has grown old and slightly dorky. I compare clips from the nineties to the present and worry that perhaps, the man I felt would always be my barometer of cool, might not be anymore. (I do not want to beat you over the head with the parallel story I am telling here, but please remember the earlier mirror analogy I began this story with. Am I too becoming old and irrelevant and uncool?)

A mind full of questions, and a teacher in my soul
And so it goes...

So if I can observe a domesticated joy in Vedder, does mean that others notice it in me too? The songs from the early years, as I have repeatedly noted, are still a crucible of emotion for me. A catalyst of transformation and a place where I go to remember and relive the pain, the suffering, the change, the growth, the renewal. When I watch old footage and look into his eyes,  I am reminded of the fire that forged the man I am today.  In a way, I need him to always be the source of that fire, for this nostalgia is necessary for me to keep my fire stoked and burning.  Or is it? Is it possible, that I too am ready to allow the flames to grow warm and simmer.  For although we have both grown old, the fire has done its job. The metal has been forged. Perhaps it is time to enjoy the heat in different ways.

What can one really tell from a Youtube video? How can one feel the passion of one of the greatest rock bands in history, through a three minute clip on a tiny screen? I needed to see for myself. I needed to make certain that Eddie Vedder was not becoming some depressing old lounge act, rehashing old hits for his adoring yet faithful fans. I needed to be certain that I was not getting old. So off to Perth I went.

From the second he took the stage, before he said a word or played a note, I knew that he was more relevant now and more important to me than he has ever been. I realized that it had been unfair to hold on to what I needed him to be--a beacon of my past, a symbol of my pain, a well for my rage. I was being unfair to both of us. Heroes if they are to be true, cannot remain stagnant. He cannot be a romantic yet impotent nostalgia. 

I've got my indignation, but I'm pure in all my thoughts
I'm alive...

Wind in my hair, I feel part of everywhere
Underneath my being is a road that disappeared


Aging is a slow process. It is not sudden or painful in the way that one expects. It is a low moaning ache that one feels in his joints every time he wakes up. Growing old is an ongoing revelation of ones successes and failures. A daily balancing of the ledgers of the promises you made in your youth. A cashing in of promissory notes. Have you become the person you wanted to be when you were young? But the reality is that when you are young, you have no idea about the possibilities and choice of the people you could  become as you age. And these new choices can be excited. Dare I say rejuvenating.

So while the younger me could not imagine an Eddie Vedder singing love songs on a Ukelele on a stage lit by artificial starlight, he also could not imagine a future self sitting calmly in his seat nearly crying because of a tender awareness that made the night so perfect. Gone was the sweat and the need to mosh and crash into other lost young men to prove something not one of us could name. Gone was the ferocity and rage that kept us all, audience and band, chained together. And in its place the graceful honest aging of men and woman stewed in the same cauldron of celebration. There no longer seems a need to attack.

Please don't get me wrong, Eddie has not become fat Elvis. The intensity and veracity with which he approaches his art has not diminished in the least bit. In fact, it has been carefully honed and perfectly crafted. It was funny to watch Vedder the man, still bumbling incoherently through stories and uncomfortably addressing the crowd. Still the timid troubadour unable to express himself in anything other than song. Vedder is still the awkward introvert when not shielded behind the walls of his songs. But oh the songs! Stripped down and laying vulnerably naked on the stage were the perfect mirror I needed. The lyrics part spiritual hymnal, part philosophy are still all the religion and/or therapy I need.

Leave it to me as I find a way to be
Consider me a satellite, forever orbiting
I knew all the rules, but the rules did not know me 

Life works in stages, in chapters, in verses and acts, and the actors must know the needs of the characters.  As I approach forty, on the precipice of an inevitable mid-life crisis, I am thankful I have an idol, a rock-star role-model, a man who is once again a few steps ahead of me scouting the landscape and warning of pitfalls and sharing with me the joy of maturity. And since I have built a relationship, not with the man, but with his songs, he has gained my trust. By never letting me down and not allowing me to pigeon-hole him, he has forced me to acknowledge my own transformation.

He asked that no one record the show as he wanted us to enjoy the moment and enjoy the privacy we had earned by being in the room, so I cannot share with you any Youtube clips of the night, but trust me the clips would not have done justice to feeling of sitting fifteen rows back, dead center, watching your hero do what he does best- allow people to understand themselves and each other through the elegant simplicity of song.

The complete set list and official poster:

Walking The Cow (Daniel Johnston),  Picture In a Frame (Tom Waits),  Better Man, Wishlist, Speed Of Sound,  Can't Keep,  Without You,  Light Today,  You're True, Hide Your Love Away (The Beatles),  Driftin',  Setting Forth,  Far Behind,  Guaranteed,  Rise,  Long Nights (with Glen Hansard), Just Breathe,  4th Of July (X (the band),  Porch

Encore: After Hours (Lou Reed),  Immortality,  Lukin,  Sleepless Nights (Bryant, with Glen Hansard),  Society (Jerry Hannan, with Glen Hansard),  Falling Slowly (Hansard, Irglová, with Glen Hansard)

Encore 2: Rockin' In The Free World (Neil Young),  Hard Sun (Peterson)

In The Light

Sometimes when you find yourself thirty-six years old and bound with family; the kids screaming, the car packed with arguments, and every minute of the day weighted down by the disillusionment of bedlam, you close your eyes and for a few seconds from behind your sunglasses as you maneuver the mini-van down the highway on the way home from brunch, you see yourself at twenty-two in San Francisco: you are wild and free and swaying in and out of bars, with random women; the nights are endless and the days quiet; you highlight your way through a litany of manuscripts that justify your behavior. You see yourself at twenty-three in New Orleans: passed out on Bourbon Street watching the sun come up on the Mississippi. Twenty-four and New York City: snow in the Village, Paris, Maputo, Bangkok, Chicago, you see yourself all over the world. You see yourself. You see yourself. You see yourself…
You may entertain, however briefly, that something has gone wrong. You may feel for a few seconds that perhaps you have made some errant choices. You may lose yourself in erroneous reminiscing. Confuse the perfect reality with imprecise fantasy. If this happens to you:

Look deeply into your childrens’ eyes and tell them you love them. Watch as their faces light up and they squirm with the knowledge that they are truly loved. Watch as they say I love you too daddy. Squeeze them until they scream and lose yourself in their laughter. Have meaningful conversations after the yelling has stopped and feed them ice cream. Tell them you are proud of them, constantly. Forget about who you were and focus on who you are. Who they are, who you will both become together as a family. Sing in the car and be silly. Make them dinner and wash their hair. Dry them off and kiss them good night. Read them stories. Blow gently into their faces and kiss them on the lips, on the stomach, and on the cheeks. Point out the light from the sky as it bounces of the trees as often as you can. Teach them vocabulary and metaphors. Point out the giant snail and the injustice of the dog tied up next-door and the bird in the cage. Remind them that birds belong in rainforests and not cages.  Remind them that being polite is the first step to compassion and compassion leads to peace. Be patient with them, even when they drive you crazy. Brush their teeth and hair with love, even when they scream and fight you every step of the way. Remember to stop and kiss your wife too and rejoice in the family you have created from scratch.

Sometimes when you find yourself thirty-six years old and bound with family, sit back in the quiet of the night after they have all gone to bed, play some tender songs and spill your thoughts on an empty page and blow them out into the universe. You will feel better about the whole affair. You will remember that when you were twenty-whatever and free, you were also lost and miserable. Running from darkness to darkness, you banged your head into every wall that stood in your way. You are here now, in the light, moving forward with the most beautiful family in the world.




Please leave a little poem of your family moments in the comment section.

Love and Be Loved

I recently received the following email from a former student:

How's life? I'm sorry that it is only the times that I'm completely overwhelmed and lose faith in humanity that I choose to email you; I will be more frequent with my correspondence. But yes, that is the case as of now. It seems a little laughable that my last email consisted of me whining about a new school and a new environment when a problem of such magnitude lies waiting to be unraveled. It's the world. It just seems to big for me lately. The problem is, I don't understand. I don't understand why I'm here and I don't understand the point of life when we're all going to die anyway. Why? Why is God just puppeteering this stage for billions of years when the outcome is NOTHING? And then there's us. Human beings. Known destroyers of the environment, sufferers of their own actions. So IF we are actually here to help others and heal our communities, what are we achieving? We cure the others, they pollute the environment and then we all die anyway. Or, we cure others, they behave very well and they actually help the community, but we all die anyway.  

I need to know what we're here for and I need to know that life isn't just a broken string with no definite goal. I hope you can answer any and/or all these questions, but if you can't, that's fine too! Thanks for bearing with me and my ambitions to understand the world at the age of 15.

 Here is my response:

I suppose I need to write the following letter for myself, just as much as I need to write it for you. I need to write it every few weeks, sometimes it feels like I need to write it everyday. I think we all sometimes need words to remind us of why to care. Just the fact that you are concerned enough to doubt yourself is the first sign that you are a caring, compassionate, and living soul.

Hang in there you are one of the lucky ones. You are on the right track early in life. You have seen that the universe is a special place. You are close to the pulse, and trust me while it is very tender this close to the bone, this is the place be.

No matter how disparaged you may sometimes feel, there is value in a compassionate soul. Look to nature for proof. If you don’t believe sometimes, just take time to focus on those things that bring a smile to your face. Examine the beauty you see in simply watching the natural world move about you. Sit one night and watch the moon rise. Oceans are a good place to stare. The wind. The sun. The earth will always replenish your spirit.

Write. Spout. Create. Lash out. Rage. Mediate. Pray. Move through it. Flow. Change. Grow.

I am not one who believes in good or evil. The world is too complex for evil. Simple people blame their shortcomings on evil and wallow in apathy. The world is filled with illusions and ignorance. The only way is awareness and love. Be aware of frustration. Find its source. Feed your brain.

Remember that I said these words are just as much for me as they are for you, because I too am often lost in a state of apathy and despair. The world makes me angry and sad too, but more often that not I see my suffering in my own inadequacies. Do not worry about saving the world, look into the mirror, stare at your eyes and make sure that you are who you want to be. Be patient with yourself. Love yourself first and see the best and the worst of the world in your soul. Start the work right there, right then.

Look for like-minded people. Band together. Don’t give up. If you are ever lost, look no farther than me. I will always be there for you if you need a shoulder or some advice, if you promise to do the same for me. I chose to be a teacher so I could find people like you to walk with me through life. I won’t give up on you, if you don’t give up on yourself. We learn. We teach. We grow. On and on…….

These words may have not structure or theme, I am just letting them spill from my mind and pour over this keyboard. I am listening to music that makes me smile and gives me hope. I suggest you make your life out of music and art. Find the wild ones and watch their actions. Don’t take anything too seriously. Your life is a flash that disappears and leaves you dead before you know. Above all have fun, smile, dance, and have no regrets. There is no time for I should haves. See, hear, be everything. Go everywhere; let your answer always be yes. Let your spirit be infectious. Set the example, by what you do, not what you say.

You want to know why you are here? You want to know God’s plan, don’t worry yourself with plans or gods, just do what we feels right. Be kind, smile, love, express yourself. Don’t worry about yourself. Don’t worry. Be like a tree and stand tall and grow. Circulate air, this may be your most important purpose. Stick your roots into the ground and churn the soil. Your purpose is to live and die. Period. Do those two things, and do them 100%. Everything else is an allusion.

You said that you need to know that life isn’t a broken string. I can’t tell you that. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Do not concern yourself with what life is or isn’t. When we feel broken these words tend to sting and seem naïve. I know. But over and over, I have seen that it really is this simple. All the books, all the religions, all the theories don’t add up to anything unless you can love and be love.

You want a goal? You want to feel meaningful? Love and be loved, as best and as often as you can. Everything else will fall into place after that.

This songs seems appropriate:

Flash Memory

Ari seems to be getting comfortable in his role as couch surfer on my blog. Since I am not writing much these days, it is a pleasure to post his flash memory pieces. Here are his tow latest works:

Two weeks ago, apropos nothing, I made up my mind to head over to my
local independent bookstore on Sunset Blvd., and pay $27 for the
recently released Slash autobiography. I am almost 100 pages in. The
book has also sent me revisiting the Guns N' Roses canon, and I
(somewhat begrudgingly) must admit that their sound holds up
remarkably well.

This afternoon I was the reading Slash, and the song "November Rain"
came on from the special mix tape I've made especially for just this
activity. If what I am doing needs a name, let's call it "method
reading." But more to the point, I was so immersed in the book and
pathos of the song that I literally felt teleported back to a memory
half a lifetime ago, yet a memory that feels more real and raw than
the computer keys that are clicking underneath my fingers this very
second.
---

I am 17 and in a car and I am alone and I am feeling sorry for myself
because when your 17, nothing, not one motherfucking thing feels
better than blasting your favorite song, the saddest song imaginable
(but also the baddest and most fuck you anthem ever recorded) while
you shudder against the ache that thrashes at your insides as the car
rushes forward, the chrome fender screaming through the night, the
world black and endless beyond the wraparound window, a panorama of
inky abyss.

You take the turns too fast and the song seems the only thing keeping
the car from being yanked off the road, seems the only thing visceral
enough to make a difference anymore. Your foot stomps on the gas and
you hold it down, daring yourself to keep it there, a boy trembling
with his hand fixed in the flame, and yet you dig the pedal even
deeper—and though it's completely pinned to floorboard, you push
harder until you swear you can feel the faintest outcrop of the engine
making itself felt against your foot.

You are a boy and you are alone and you are shouting yourself deaf,
fighting to be heard above the din, above the roar of the radio and
the wind whipping against glass and steel. And though you don't know
it, you are shouting to be heard above the sound of your own voice.

"I dance, I champagne"

New Year's Eve in Berkeley. I am 14 at the oldest. A giant college
party on a sloped street just before the hills.

I remember dancing with a girl in a silver shirt who felt like a woman
twice my age. The whole scene exotic, forbidden in some unnamable way.
It neared midnight. Everyone was passing around Dixie cups of
champagne, small white shapes fanning out among the grabby hands. I
caught one. Furtively. As if on a lark.

The music was louder now, covering all conversation, but we traded
words effortlessly, our voice enchanted and urgent and crystalline.
And then a wild chant spilled over the house, a giant incantation
announcing that one year had come to a close and another was just let
loose. We marked the moment by swallowing our drinks, first tipping
our paper cups to each other in mock formality. Blonde bubbles sprayed
out like tiny firecrackers in open sky.

The night was over an hour later or maybe five minutes. Or, perhaps,
it never ended—remains unfurling still. I am unable to say. All I
remember is moving down side streets choked with cars and bodies and
an immensity that crackled in everything I saw.

I kept waiting for the rains to come. The news had promised a wet New
Year's. I stared above the trees, watching swollen clouds sail into
each other, patches of pillows against a black dome. They had said it
was going to rain, was going to last days, perhaps into the weekend.
But nothing. I reached the end of the block and kept moving, tracking.
A volt of electricity in search of its storm.

198/365

it’s a tuesday afternoon in late may
a group of teenage boys have cut classes after lunch,
gone up to the leader’s house. he lives
near campus. they grab the case of keystone light
they’ve hidden in the milk carton buried in a hole
where they keep their stash,
there is music. mellow and loud.
each one of them lost in thought,
they’ll head to san diego soon as a group,
because they still need each other.
aren’t brave enough to
go anywhere on their own.

they sail down sir francis drake boulevard
through san anselmo and passed fairfax,
adolescent boys are rarely wanted-
a collective menace, like all the rest, this pack
needs to be alone in the wild.
soon the young sequoias will litter the winding road.
a creek. a few horses. turkey vultures circling.

they’ll never be this free again.
somehow they know and appreciate
every minute, every person in the truck, every blessing.

the inkwells are small, deep, dark pools
in lagunitas and forest knolls.
on this perfect tuesday in may at one o’clock
the wells are empty expect for these boys.
they walk down a crumbly path to the right of
inkwells bridge to get to the beautiful,
swimmable pools along lagunitas creek.
there are two of them, one bigger than the other.
there are rocks to jump off of and sun to bask in.

the jump from the bridge into the smaller pool
is just far enough to cause fear and elicit bravery.
the depth of the pool uncertain,
the edges tight, constricting,
a few beers open them up,
as well as the need to defy the odds
to be noticed. to be a man.
the boys take turns leaping from the bridge
into the dark inkwells, leaving their imprints
in water dripping from their young bodies
on the rocks as the sun sets. they don’t
need to bother to constructing stories.

this is the end. these are the last days.
they can’t imagine from where else
they will need to jump,
in what other ways
they’ll need to become men.

So much to read so little time...

A friend of mine recently sent me this list of books in an email. I wasn't sure what to do with the list, so I have posted it here for now. I look forward to slowly making my way through it, but in the meantime I will leave it here for others to scour as well.

The Way We Eat: Why Our Food Choices Matter
By Peter Singer and Jim Mason
Review written by Mary Finelli

The Way We Eat, a new book by ethicist Peter Singer and attorney Jim
Mason, follows the food choices of three American families:
meat-and-potatoes Wal-Mart shoppers, "conscientious omnivores," and
stringent vegans. Animal well-being; production standards; fair trade;
environmental impacts, including of local production; and genetically
modified foods are among the considerations of the applied ethical
calculus.

Readers are warned that we cannot know exactly how far the concepts of
"free range" or "humanely slaughtered" might be stretched, and that
even humanely raised animals take up space that might be better used
to grow crops or provide habitat for wild species.

In a Slate interview, Singer suggests that to improve the conditions
under which animals are raised, either consumers must be ethically
motivated to pay more for their food or else unfair competition must
be eliminated with regulations. In a Mother Jones interview, he
comments that the market is probably the best tool for producing
change in the U.S. whereas the political system may be a more
effective tool in Europe. Mason and Singer recommend that consumers
ideally follow a vegan diet and buy organic and fair trade items. If,
however, one merely avoids products produced by intensive animal
agriculture, Singer says you will have already achieved 80% of what
the book suggests we should strive to accomplish. The immorality of
obesity is also discussed.

The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals
By Michael Pollan
Review by Mary Finelli

Michael Pollan's new book, The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History
of Four Meals, explores the origins of a meal from a fast food
restaurant, a meal he hunts and grows himself, a meal with ingredients
from small "family farms," and a meal with ingredients from large
organic corporations.

Pollan visits a "free range" organic chicken farm where 20,000 birds
are raised in a single building with little opportunity to go
outdoors. He reminds readers that cheap food is not really cheap,
because costs to human health, the environment, the farming community
and taxpayers are not reflected. Perhaps paying more for our food
would make us "more mindful eaters," he says, considering we in the
U.S. spend the smallest percentage (9%) of our income on food of any
population in history.

One Fish, Two Fish, Crawfish, Bluefish
by Carole Baldwin and Julie Mounts
(Reviewed by Kristin Reed)

One Fish, Two Fish, Crawfish, Bluefish: The Smithsonian Sustainable
Seafood Cookbook by Carole Baldwin and Julie Mounts provides recipes
for sustainable cuisine. This insightful and beautifully-illustrated
book contains over 150 recipes from some of the most creative and
famous chefs in the U.S. Co-author and marine biologist Carol Baldwin
of the Smithsonian Institute knows the challenges facing global oceans
and has chosen a wide range of sustainably-caught or farmed seafood
for this book, providing seafood-lovers with options that embrace the
health of our oceans. For more information, please visit
www.mnh.si.edu/seafood

Stuff: The Secret Life of Everyday Things
by John Ryan and Alan Durning
(Reviewed by Carol Holst and Gordon LaBedz)

This seminal book traces and thoroughly substantiates the origins,
detailed production/distribution cycles, and total environmental
consequences of many consumer items that most Americans take for
granted. In its brilliance, it renders the reader alternately shocked,
hysterical, inspired and furious, including the approximately 1,150
words which analyze the impact of producing each copy of "Stuff"
itself.

On page three of this book, the authors write "consuming too much
STUFF can be bad for you. Reviewers of early drafts reported feeling
overwhelmed or depressed after learning the true stories of how things
are made." They went on to say that the book is better read a little
at a time. I heeded their warning. I was glad I did.

Stuff is a small book about a subject that most of us never think
about. Where does our every day stuff come from? How is it made? How
did it get to my store? I started reading the book with a cup of fair
trade, shade grown organic coffee. Sure enough, the first subject was
how a cup of coffee goes from farm to your home! After they described
the production of coffee, they went to the morning newspaper (which I
had just read). I put the book down. I am a newspaper junkie. I
decided then and there to unsubscribe and read it on line.

Of perhaps greatest relevance to the Sustainable Consumption
Committee's True Costs of Food Campaign is the chapter on what it
takes to make a single hamburger, leading to the conclusion that we
must eat less meat. It's often quoted that producing a quarter-pound
hamburger requires more than 600 gallons of water and causes the loss
of five times its weight in topsoil, but who knew that the greenhouse
gases emitted from steer's flatulence and manure are equivalent to a
six-mile commute by car for every patty? And that doesn't begin to
cover the well-articulated consequences of producing the bun, ketchup
and packaging.

This is an important book that every environmentalist needs to take to
heart. Human over population and over consumption are problems that we
can no longer ignore. Six and a half billion humans adopting the
American way of life means that we will need the resources of many
more planets than we currently have. Researchers at the University of
British Columbia estimated that North Americans use 12 acres of forest
and farmland per year. If all the world's people did this, we would
need three extra planets. Environmentalists need to learn and teach
others the true costs of their personal consumption habits. Read
Stuff. You will be upset, but you will be glad that you did.

Bill McKibben says of this book, "Great Stuff!"

The Food Revolution
by John Robbins
(Reviewed by Gordon LaBedz)

If you read John Robbins' Diet for a New America, you might think that
you don't need to read his latest Book The Food Revolution. You all
ready understand the horrors of industrial animal "factories," the
health risks of the meat centered diet and the environmental
devastation caused by grazing and feedlot fed animals. However,
Robbins' new book is full of the latest information on our evolving
Western Diet. Mad Cow Disease, genetically modified foods, the "new"
high protein diets and other fad diets are just a few of the important
dietary issues that face modern Americans and their eating choices.

For Sierra Club members, the book speaks loudly to the preservation of
our wild lands. Half the land in the continental United States is
devoted to feeding cows. Sierra Club founder, John Muir called cows
"the locusts of the land" because of the way they ate all vegetation.
However, it is not just grazing that destroys our land and waterways.
Grain production is the primary problem that cows bring to our wild
lands. Eighty to ninety per cent of the grain grown in the U.S. is fed
to cows. In fact, it takes sixteen pounds of grain (a healthy food) to
produce one pound of artery clogging beef! Even fish that is "strip
mined" from the ocean, is fed to cows!

The latest scandal of "infectious Alzheimer's Disease" or Mad Cow
Disease is outlined in detail. Feeding animals to herbivores makes no
more sense than humans eating animal food three times a day every day.

The Food Revolution is a perfect starting point for activists
interested in the Sierra Club's new True Costs of Food Campaign. Club
activists will come to a community near you. Our goal will be for
every Sierra Club member to put aside Tuesday (Sustainable Tuesday) to
live as sustainably as possible. Robbins can teach us how to eat a
sustainable meal three times a day.

Recipes from America's Small Farms
by Joanne Lamb Hayes, Lori Stein and Maura Webber
(Reviewed by Bonnie Lane Webber)

This book gathers recipes, tips, and stories from farmers, chefs, and
members of Community Supported Agriculture. The book celebrates the
small farm movement and the food it produces and encourages everyone
to enjoy fresh local food.

In addition to hundreds of delicious recipes, the book provides lots
of information on how to create your own unique dishes by letting the
season's bounty inspire you, anecdotes from the farmers about how and
why they farm, and a resource guide to issues and ways to find fresh,
responsibly raised food in your own community.

Just Eating? Practicing Our Faith at the Table
by Jennifer Halteman Schrock

This seven-session curriculum for faith-based congregational
discussion groups explores the links between the way we eat and the
way we live. Skillfully weaving scripture, prayer, and stories from
our local and global community, the curriculum explores four key
aspects of our relationship with food:

the health of our bodies
the challenge of hunger
the health of the earth that provides our food
the ways we use food to extend hospitality and enrich relationships

The resource takes participants on a journey from the table of the
Lord to the table of the world that will challenge, encourage, and
enrich all who participate. Just Eating? is a collaboration between
Advocate Health Care, Church World Service, and the Presbyterian
Hunger Program. Ordering information at Presbyterian Hunger Program's
Food and Faith website. You can also download the resource at: www.pcusa.org/hunger/features/justeating.htm


The High Price of Materialism
by Tim Kasser
(Reviewed by Carol Holst)

Anyone interested in sustainable consumption can take heart from the
groundbreaking science in this book on the underlying "big picture" in
our materialistic culture. Author Tim Kasser is a psychologist at Knox
College who has extensively researched the relationship between
consumerism and happiness. Surprise! He empirically demonstrates that
materialistic values undermine our well-being and increase the risk of
unhappiness in life.

Dr. Kasser has also co-authored a fascinating study with Kirk Warren
Brown, psychologist at Virginia Commonwealth University, entitled "Are
Psychological and Ecological Well-being Compatible?" published in
Social Indicators Research (2005) 74:349-368. Their research showed,
among other findings, that voluntary simplicity related to higher
'ecologically responsible behavior,' which was compatible with higher
'subjective well-being.'

Legacy: A Story of Hope for a Time of Environmental Crisis
By Joanne Poyourow
http://legacyla.net/

Legacy offers a vision of society's journey from our current
environmental predicament toward a sustainable future. The book
combines accurate science with an inspiring story of grass roots
activism.

Legacy highlights the positive environmental accomplishments which are
unfolding around us, showcasing the work of James Gustave Speth, David
Holmgren, John Jeavons, Paul Hawken, John Todd, and many others. Using
the city of Los Angeles as an example, the novel imagines the
transformation over the next 40 years, as these green technologies
evolve from niche examples into mainstream reality. Legacy illustrates
positive change in every realm of society - transportation, housing,
food and agriculture, politics, economics, health and spirit - the
ultimate goal of which is sustainability.

Many books document our environmental problems and warn us that
society must change in order to mitigate horrors and curtail disaster.
Legacy intentionally encourages, enrolls the reader, and showcases
real situations where people are getting it right. A compilation of
positive technologies and a roadmap for action, Legacy invites readers
to envision a world of possibilities and to become part of the
solutions.

Why Don't You Drink?

Have you ever not done something that most people do? Have you ever made a choice that was contradictory to most cultural customs? Have you ever felt the need to explain your choices to  everyone with whom you eat and drink ? Have your choices become the center of attention at nearly every meal? Well let me tell you; it sucks.

I get it. People are interested:

What? You don't drink? Anything? Wow! I couldn't live without wine.
What? You don't eat meat? Not even fish? Wow! I couldn't live without bacon.
What? You don't eat dairy? Not even cheese? Wow! I couldn't live without cheese.

No. Nope. I don't. I don't drink alcohol of any kind. I have been vegetarian for some time now, nearly ten years and I recently, after reading Eating Animals, chose to become vegan. 

Once the shock abides and their pity wanes, most people want to know why? Why would anyone choose such an austere life choice, one devoid of such comfortable habitual safety blankest as food and booze.

How do you live?
What is the point?

I can see it in their eyes, as they nervously take a sip of their drink and gnaw on a chicken wing or some other flesh. I often try and cobble together some kind of philosophical clap-trap, but the truth is that they are not looking for reasons; explanations are not what they want to hear. They do not really want to know why I do not drink or eat meat or dairy. They just want to be assured that their choices are still okay. That somehow, what I am choosing to do, does not in anyway affect what they choose to do.

I often feel that my choices are made to seem so abnormal, borderline hysterical really, that any defense of them will only make me feel like a pompous douche-bag. I mean who wants to hear the real reason why someone would give up alcohol after a lifetime of drinking when they are having a good time at a bar? Who wants to consider the torture and murder of billions of sentient beings when they are sitting down to eat them?

Yet, they ask. Perhaps their morbid curiosity wants to watch me stumble and fail in my reasoning, so as to prove that their choices are the right ones and mine the bizarre. If I could really answer their questions, it would sound something like this:

My childhood wasn't a sad one. There were moments of joy. I am sure. Many of them. My parents loved me. I loved them. I had enough food. Money. Toys. Food. Attention. I was happy. I am sure.

And so but when I look back why does it feel so grey? Why does it feel alone and empty and wanting? Yearning? Addictive? Perhaps it was the fact that I was from a far away land. An immigrant in a land of wealth. Wearing the wrong shoes. Donning the wrong style. Perhaps cuz I usually felt wrong. Maybe it was the divorce. Or the car accident? Or the business. Or the darkness that is seldom mentioned in public.

Whatever the case, this emptiness was replaced with a low-grade rage as early as I can remember. Stewing. Rumbling. Boiling. I can remember feeling the manifestation of this anger from when I was eight. Third grade. From that time, I carried this anger and emptiness with quiet servitude, like a feral animal that I could control but feared. It morphed into various forms:  disdain for teachers, pity for peers, and a disgust with much of what I saw. Carrying this wrath gave me comfort until I leashed it with alcohol when I was fifteen.

By the way, wouldn't this be a great chat to have with someone at a bar, when they are drunk, teetering in place?  

Junior year two things changed. I found friends and we drank together. We got lost together. We escaped together. We found each other.  Friendship, indignation and alcohol were the perfect elements for a new compound that would fuel me for most of my life. I didn't have to carry the wild animal  anymore. I could unleash it on society. And he could do anything he pleased. He was invincible. He had no fear and no expectations.

He took the anger and the lonelinesses and the angst and mixed it with booze to create: passion and personality and charm and attitude. He scoffed at authority. He pierced his flesh and inked his skin. He devoured books and music and women and life. His appetite was insatiable. His outrage morphed and changed into the pleasure and joy and bliss found only from a drunken escape into oblivion.

I have no regrets about my life in my twenties in the nineties. I needed alcohol and it helped me. It helped me break myself down and rebuild new possibilities. My life was not all like the shower scene from Leaving Las Vegas. There were moments of indescribable perfection. There was love. There was work and writing and a degree and travel. There was learning, so much learning. There was growth and building and evolving. The anger dissipated, but the booze remained.

This new world and the identity who inhabited it was no longer escaping, he had moved into a life dominated by blurry lines and comfortable drunkenness. The fuel that had ignited my re-birth had become an embalming fluid. I had navigated through a lonely angry tunnel, but found myself in a boring drunken light. What next?

I searched in the only place I knew. Moved to Africa and looked at the bottom of bottles. Met Mairin, but kept looking in New York and Malaysia. Alone in rooms with wine and Leonard Cohen. I was becoming him. My dad. I had learned of clarity, of mediation, of life and focus, but the wine was all I had ever know and so but that is where I went. I had dressed my identity in being that guy. The alcohol, as far as I was concerned had saved me from myself. It had created me. Who could I be without it?

Then, just like that, the choice was easy. We were having a baby. I saw my dad. Drunk. Happy. Drunk. Angry. Drunk. Present. Drunk. Loving. Drunk. Distant. Drunk. Whatever he was for me, and he was many things, he was/is a loving and devoted father. He inspired me. Taught me to be a man. Taught me to be myself and to question and to be kind and to be creative and to be myself but he did it all through a haze of drunkenness.

The most important lesson he taught me, was that I would not be drunk around my kids. Whatever baggage I carried as a father, would not be further weighed down by the weight of alcohol. That's it. I quit. That was seven years ago. Not a sip. Not a drop.

My journey brought me here. There is much to be said about sobriety, but who knows if you are even reading, or if I have any energy left. Maybe, the next time someone at a bar asks me why I don't drink, I can pull this post up on my phone and have them read it.  Or maybe I will just let them roam in their own drunken head and contemplate their own journey. 

bridges

I dreamt in chunks last night,
my exhausted body unable to move
each limb sawed off like a sad branch
laid in a pile of lifeless lumber.

My mind, however, was awake
and wild in dreams of wonder:
Does wood remember being a tree?
Paper of wood?
Books of memories before they were stories?

The dreams were intense and world blending:
Jason was there and we were in a fancy restaurant,
me agog over some nice wine and the cut
of an helium tomato, yellow in this case,
and he asking for his fifth glass of water.
It is known in our circles that he is seldom
impressed or aware of the subtilise of tomato flavours.
In my dream I wonder
if his disdain for fine dining
is still the case,
seeing that we haven’t eaten
in a restaurant together,
fancy or not,
in years.

In my other dream, my students are there.
We are in Italy and I have patched them together
as a quilt I hope will take.
I am hosting a parent event in a piazza.
The sun is bright and everyone is enjoying
tomatoes and wine.
The blanket of kids I have woven have found skateboards
and are doing alie-s and jumps on the ancient cobbled streets
wearing hats and sunglasses.
Looking cool and confident
as kids their age should be.
The parents are getting drunk and singing each other love songs.

I am a bridge that spans many worlds,
keeping it all together, unsure of the exact location of the center.
I am a web of spans held together by fragile wire.
The distances may vary,
but these connections are taut and made of steel.

I must confess I am awake now, at least I think I am.
Ready to face the conscious part of my consciousness.
I envision the day lived in chunks as well.
I am in my room at Daraja,
The pre-dawn sounds of howling dogs, chirping birds, and rooster crows
are a symphony unconducted music.

The room is dark, expect for the tunnel of
light cast from my laptop.
Outside the window,
the inky sky is fading into shades
of lavender like bruised human skin.

It is six am and I am sure I will not sleep more tonight.
My limbs have awoken and the pile of wood
has been reconstructed into a moving tree.

Yesterday, today, tomorrow are a jumbled mess.
Film scattered on the floor
waiting to be rewound and led through
a projector.

On the bus ride, Sarah and I talked about a persons
tolerance for discomfort
and the privilege of choice
that leads to freedom.

We watched as an old woman, perhaps fifty years old
back hunched over till her chin touched her knees,
carried a pile of soon to be fire wood, trudging
along the side of the highway.

This display of injustice and discomfort
is not new to me, but I wondered how many
of the kids behind me on the bus had ever
considered this woman and her place in the world.

How many of our kids and had wanted to
stop the bus and ask the woman if they could carry the wood
for a while, and help her stretch her back with the latest yoga moves
and perhaps offer her a glass of wine
and a yellow heirloom tomato covered in chunks of Himalayan sea salt
and maybe offer her a ride in an air conditioned car,
perhaps a Porsche SUV, to a warm safe bed with goose down pillows
and sheets with a thread count that screamed luxury.

How many of our kids considered
going back in time when this woman was twelve years old
and finding ways to get her into a classroom, with a book in her hand
and a teacher guiding her choices and removing her from a husband or even father
telling her what to do,
giving her sanitary pads and offering her a menu of choices
that are often only reserved for the educated and the privileged like us?

I wondered if any of our kids made the connection
between the girls they would meet in a few hours and the woman on the road.
Between their own privilege and the battle against poverty.
Between the world of dreams and reality.
Between the dark night and the dawn.
Between problems and solutions.

The day is about to begin.
I’m a first draft poem of mixed metaphors
unbound like an old film on the floor.
I was awoken in the night
by the urgency of this creation.

I wonder what I’ll do with it next.

New Pearl Jam Album

This might a chicken and an egg situation, but for the last thirty years, Pearl Jam have released an album at a significant time in my life, or maybe every time Pearl Jam release an album it acts as a time maker for what is happening in my life.

Either way, on the eve of the release of their eleventh studio album, I thought it appropriate to write up a quick timeline of each album's significance, what I was doing at the time and key songs that mark the time.

Ten- 1991

While Ten was released in August of 1991, it didn’t enter my world for a few months later. I was still infatuated with GnRs Use Your Illusions album and listening to a lot of Skynyrd. I had seen Man in the Box by Alice In Chains on 120 mins as my entry into grunge and Pearl Jam was not yet on my radar.

There is a infamous SNL performance, that we watched with friends, where I apparently said I didn’t really like Pearl Jam because they didn’t have “rhythm.”

Anyway….fast-forward a few months and we are about to graduate. Suddenly I had forgotten their lack of rhythm and Ten was my soundtrack of senior year. I listened to it all the time. I must have gone through four or five copies of this CD within a few years.

To this day, I still see Ten as the break from High School and my entry to the real world. Songs like Why Go, Once and Porch where main stays on my CD player for decades to come. To this day Black and Release feel as fresh and necessary as they did in 1992.

Vs- 1993

I had moved to San Diego and back to San Rafael. The SDSU frat scene was not for me and a longing for my high school girlfriend, found me back in my hometown. Anthony and I had our first apartment on 1313 fourth street. I was taking a few classes at College of Marin and working at Bank of America.

I remember skipping classes and work on the day this album came out and locking myself at home with it. I may have drank and ate and smoked a few things, and I listened to it non-stop for twelve house.

To this day it might be my favorite Pearl Jam album. Hearing Daughter and Elderly Woman for the first time were revelations. Leash and Blood and Rearview Mirror were the soundtrack songs of many late night moshing sessions in a variety of living rooms throughout the 90s.

This was also when Pearl Jam stopped doing videos and released things like Monkey Wrench radio which pre-internet days, was the greatest gift.

It was during this time that I saw Pearl Jam live in SF, Berkley, San Jose, and San Diego. The live shows cemented them as not just my favorite band, but my religion and therapist.

Indifference is still one of my favorite songs and one of the first songs I sang a few years ago when I was doing open mics. I remember sitting in our house in Novato with nothing but a candle and singing this song to the darkness. We were young and drunk and angsty and it felt right.

Vitology 1994

Speaking of Novato- it’s a year later and I am living at 1576 South Novato Blvd with Anthony, Josh and Einar. We had just met Felicia and soon Cortney, Lacey and Mary. Emily was around a lot and things were wild and free.

I remember I bought the vinyl because it came out two weeks earlier. I loved looking through the crazy artwork. We had wild loud parties with no neighbors or adults or any need for control or restraint. It is the freest I have ever felt in my life and songs like Whipping fueled this time in my life.

The music was getting more experimental, which was perfect for where I was emotionally. I was in a very experimental stage too and the break from their Ten sound was welcome. Songs like Tremor Christ and Last Exit were dark and brooding and fit the long car rides to work in Corte Madera.

More shows for this tour and this is when I got my Pearl Jam stick man tattoo. I was in deep.

No Code 1996

This is when people speculate that Pearl Jam tried to lose fans, by going very experimental. They brought Jack Irons on as drummer and the sound was very different. I loved the Polaroid art work and some of my favorite songs are on this album.

I was still in Novato when this album came out, and I remember long drives to Sacramento but Emily was drifting away and I was headed more and more to San Diego. Jason was back on this feet so to speak and to this day Off He Goes is our love song to each other. There is lots of Neil Young influence on the harder songs and this is when I saw them at Golden Gate Park with uncle Neil.

A lot of people probably stopped listening to Pearl Jam at this point, but songs like Sometimes, Present Tense and I’m Open held my attention.

This is probably around the time that Jeff and I rode his Honda motorbike from Sand Diego to the Bay Area to see Pearl Jam at the Bridge School Benefit for the first time.

Yield 1998

I am living on in San Francisco now. First in the Haight then South of Market. I’m working in restaurants and going to SFSU. I’m a year away from graduation and working hard and partying with new and different people. I remember cold rainy night coming home from night classes, writing crappy poetry books and reading. Reading. Reading.

Given to Fly is to this one of my favourites and songs like MFC and Faithful are staples in my commutes. Wishlist and Lowlight ended many long nights, alone in my room spinning in the dark.

This album will always remind of the days living in the City. There were less parties and group listening. We were old enough and had money to be in bars, so I listen to much of this album alone and on head phones. It was a warm coat during those cold foggy nights. I also remember sharing many of these songs with Chris.

Binaural 2000

I am living in a small hut and have met Mairin. We are in Mozambique. I am not sure how or when this CD made it to our little post office, but my favourite song off this album has always been Of The Girl. I remember countless nights writing letters in the glow of the kerosene lamps listening to Light Years and Nothing As It Seems.

These songs always transport me to those long African days. It’s the first time we hear Eddie on the Uke. I wasn’t able to listen to these songs very loudly, so I think the soft songs spoke to me more during this time.

Riot Act 2002

We are back in the US and living in NYC while going to grad school. I am a member of the International Socialist Organization selling news papers on the weekends and attending meetings. It’s the Bush years in America and Pearl Jam is more overtly political as am I.

Their sound is tight and maturing and a great blend of their styles. Songs like Love Boat Captain, I Am Mine and Thumbing My Way are still on constant rotation in my life.

Many of these songs were played at 5:30 am, cold winter days going to 176 st to teach in The Bronx. You Are still stands out as a crazy new sound they were experimenting with.

I saw them two nights in a row at MSG and was buying live show CDs of nearly five shows across the country. The Philadelphia show was a gem…nearly four hours.

Pearl Jam (The avocado album) 2006

Kaia was born this year and songs like Parachute and Come Back felt light and playful, like Pearl Jam had never sounded before.

This was the start of Doha before the anger really set in. The songs were wide open and free. Marker In The Sand and Life Wasted felt urgent and necessary in the desert.

This an album that I am listening to now as I write, remembering so many of the songs. At this point I am overseas and missing shows and tours. There are songs that hint to a different sound that I was not in love with. Songs like Inside Job and Gone.

Back Spacer- 2009

In a month from its release Skye is born and we will be leaving Doha soon and on to Jakarta. The Fixer was the song we played on constant rotation. Unknown Thought and Just Breathe are staples from this album. This is the first album where there are a few songs I really don’t like. Got Some and Force of Nature are hidden little gems.

I think this is the first album that becomes late stage Pearl Jam. Gone are the wild communal listening parties. I am listening to Pearl Jam much more alone these days. I am hoping for a solid five songs that I love from any album. I know there will be four or so that I will not get into and the rest….well they get a revisit every few years. Back Spacer delivers the six songs I needed from it and a few are favorites for sure.

Lightening Bolt 2013

We are now in Singapore and it has been a while since the last Pearl Jam album. Opening song Getaway and Pendulum are keepers for sure. Sirens becomes my immediate favorite and gets constant rotational play. Infallible and Yellow Moon feel like No Code style loose Pearl Jam and anchor this album.

This is my least favourite art work of all their records. There are a few duds on this one for sure, but also a sweet piano intro Future Days that feels rightfully middle age. I am a different man than I was in 1991 and so is this band.

We have grown up together. It’s like these later stage albums are the advice that Pearl Jam should have given their younger angrier selves. I have gone though so much with this band. They are the soundtrack of my life and I am thankful that to this day that they represent all my values. They have stayed true to their art, to their politics, to themselves and to their music.

I am so proud to be a life long fan.

And now after seven years, their new album drops tomorrow. I am not sure what stage of my life I am in. This virus has put us in a shitty place, so maybe we need new Pearl Jam music to carry us through.

They’ve released three single so far and while none of them have blown my mind, they are all different from each other and show the evolution of a band that has stayed together for decades and is still exploring what they have to say to the world.

Tomorrow night, I will make myself a drink or five. Get the lyrics ready and listen to every song three or four times.

I will think about the boy who was awaken by these riffs, these words, these prayers, and think about how blessed I am to have found my soulmate of a band in their prime and in my youth. And as we grow old together, I am lucky enough to enjoy a new album by such a remarkable band.

Some Day I Will Acquiesce

“I’m not what's missing from your life now
I could never be the puzzle pieces
They say that god makes problems just to see what you can stand
Before you do as the devil pleases
And give up the thing you love

But no one deserves it.”

                                                                     Elliott Smith

Stories are heavy burdens to carry. I don’t mean our own personal stories. Because no matter how heavy, each one of us is capable of carrying the weight, no matter how cumbersome our own histories may be, we know where to grab and how to find a firm grasp. We know how to adjust to the weight and which shoulder to let them rest on as we take tiny steps forward.


What is difficult to carry are the bundle of webbed stories- the ones that are connected and interconnected to everyone else’s woes and joys and memories. We sit in the darkness with the dim light and the sad music and we try to make sense of all the pain and anger and rage. Although our own weight might be light and easy to bare, we know that the heavy stories are just beyond our reach. We’ve seen them in the mirror or in our dreams or in our memories. We have created them in fiction and film and literature and in song and no matter how unbearable they feel, we know it is our human duty to carry them and pass them along and admire their gravitas.


Why do we hurt each other so much? How are we able to endure and inflict so much pain? How do we continue to live such painful stories when all we seek is joy?


I love you might be the heaviest story we desperately try to decipher. We pretend that love is simple although we have repeatedly proven that it is the most complex word that we can’t define.


Maybe every story is the attempt to simplify the complexity of love. And maybe this equation was never meant to be solved. So we write and struggle and sing and marry and divorce to try and make sense of this complicated chemical reaction. Sometimes it blows up in our faces, singeing our eyebrows, and sometimes it smokes and bubbles and creates a diamond. Whatever the result, we bask in the awe of it all.


People will always resent your joy and discredit your pain. They see you as either faking it or over dramatising it. Which is weird, seeing that they are carrying the same weight in their webbed and cumbersome stories.


I just want to say that I value your joy and believe in your pain and can help you carry and decode and make sense of both whenever you need it. If you promise to do the same for me.

…

I just had a quick chat with my mom on Facebook and she said, “Your existence is the most wonderful gift of life for me. I'm grateful. good night.” So that feels pretty good. You know- knowing that someone loves you that much.

…

I did a front flip on a trampoline today. I recorded it and have watched it in slow motion several times. Why? Because I did a front flip on a trampoline today and this makes me feel young and vibrant and brave and alive. I started the day watching Eddie Vedder in his youth jumping into wild receiving crowds. I remembered those days. I valued those days. I loved those days. I lived those days. So today, when I had a chance to be alone on a trampoline, I looked at my creeping fear and said fuck you. I flipped.


I assume that some day I will acquiesce and give into the fear and choose not to do the flip, but on this day I said yes. And it felt great.

Sonic Kaleidoscope

Knowledge of music is often used as a currency of coolness in some circles. And the more obscure or eclectic a band or a genre the more value it has in some circles. Nothing worse than a band hitting it big and losing all value, because there is nothing worse than your favorite band being labeled mainstream to force you to foreclose your hipster residence in some circles.

Imagine the worth of say, a Japanese singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist, who creates every aspect of his music, including the lyrics, music, arrangements, recording and mixing, through a variety of instruments, using over 100 different traditional and non-traditional instruments in his recordings.

“Me? I have been listening a lot to Shugo Tokumaru. He is a Japanese multi-instrumentalist who translates his dream journal into sounds, I mean music.”

Sounds good? Right?  But we must be careful not to judge Tokumaru by his obscurity or eclecticism. Sure it would do wonders for one’s indie-music-street-cred to introduce a friend to a Japanese songwriter who considers some of his influences to be The Beach Boys, older Japanese musicians such as Hachidai Nakamura, and traditional Japanese music styles, such as gagaku, but really the real value of Tokumaru is his music. One listen to his latest Port Entropy is enough to have any person serious about music digging through his back catalog looking for every last jewel he has ever produced.

Port Entropy is sonic kaleidoscope that transcends every dialectic split.  A blend of East meets West, each song is a whimsical tapestry that refuses to take itself seriously, but never becomes silly. At times sounding like a children’s story, it suddenly transforms into a spiraling composition dressed in a beautifully simple yet intricate gown. Tokumaru conducts a one-man orchestra of noise-makers, percussions, and stringed instruments, which gracefully float above the pounding bass and drum section like ethereal clouds leaving the listener unsure of whether they will pass or crash down like a storm.

Each song marches with a confident but not cocky masculinity, yet is carefully tempered by an equally graceful and natural femininity. Songs like Rum Hee at home both in spring joy or autumn reverie transcend season or mood. While Laminate breaks down into a Pepperland noise disintegration, it is quickly rebuilt into a haunting ballad created for wide open fields and wildflowers.

Songs like Drive Thru will leave the listener catching his/her breath. Built around a contagious chorus hook, a wild circus of sounds ensues forcing the listener to never completely let his/her guard down. Just as it seems like the album could not become any wilder, Suisha floats down with its subtle finger snapping percussion bridge. These are songs constructed for a journey. Where to? That is up to you.


Port Entropy is the Flaming Lips album Wayne Coyne has been trying to write for years, but unlike the most layered Lips song, Port Entropy never becomes weighed down by its own complexity. The myriad of sounds, rather than become too heavy by their own density, translate into catchy pop songs sung in a language that sounds foreign and familiar at the same time.  This is the music of dreams in so that it doesn’t make sense, but is comfortable in its chaotic unpredictability.

Tokumaru is a painter of sounds and Port Entropy is his collection of sonic masterpieces. This will quickly become one of your favorite albums. The music is simple enough to dance to, yet complex enough to invite hours of exploration.  Unlike other music tagged as experimental, this collection of songs will force your foot to tap and make you want to learn Japanese so you can sing along, or better still you will sing along in your brand of gibberish, your voice becoming just one more sound in the tapestry waving in the breeze.

Wild Things

The role of the writer, as I see it, is to harness the inexplicable and give shape to the unnameable. The trouble is that the act of creating images from fleeting moments of wonder is an impossible feat. Many have tried, some more successful than others, but reality is simply too grand in scope to be portrayed using petty tools such as words.

How can language ever be enough to share the feeling of riding a motorbike through the jungled roads of Phuket with your five year old daughter gripping your hands, as the tender golden soft light of the sun falls from the leaves like drops from a balmy rainstorm? Robust clouds of white and grey give chase, the wind on your faces as you whisper, "Are you okay?"  You give the accelerator a gentle pull. Coming down the hill the vast ocean sparkles and waves caress the patient earth. She takes her helmet off as you stop to admire the sea. How can these words possibly explain the confidence with which she swings her hair and carries the helmet on her wrist?

Back on the bike, you smell burning garbage and coconut rusks, the grilled shellfish and roasting chili peppers. You are aware that this very moment is being engraved onto her consciousness and shaping her dreams. The notion of risk taking has been forever altered as you check and re-check the mirrors, make sure to slow down around each turn, but you cannot ever be too careful. After all it is adventure that gives these moments their brightness, you know this, but her safety comes first. Never again will you throw caution to the wind and do things just to see if they can be done.

You think back to the freedom of youth, amazed you were able to navigate the vast loneliness of all that space. You are coming down the hill, "You know I love you right?" The wind is howling, so you whisper again into her ear. The giant red helmet nods affirmative. Men often gripe about domestication and the staleness of family, but you know that these are the moments of rebirth and second shots at childhood. You will show her the world, every inch of it, in all it's wonder. She will be there to grip you tight and nod her head in affirmation every step of the way. Not only a receptacle of your devotion, but also an active agent of love. She is your anchor, your friend, your partner in this reincarnated freedom.

You pull the accelerator once again and howl as tears pool up in your eyes. Beyond the sound of the engine and the wind you here her voice echo what you already know- the things you can never explain. 

Society & Guaranteed

The film Into The Wild was released in the States a few weeks ago, and while I have yet to see it because I live in the Middle East, I have been able to get my hands on the soundtrack of the film based on the novel by Jon Krakauer. Much to my delight all the music has been penned by Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam, my favorite band. The ten songs or so are amazing. So much so that I felt the need to sing a few and share the clips with you...The first is called Society. I can't wait to see the film.




It's a mystery to me
we have a greed
with which we have agreed

You think you have to want
more than you need
until you have it all you won't be free

society, you're a crazy breed
I hope you're not lonely without me

When you want more than you have
you think you need
and when you think more than you want
your thoughts begin to bleed

I think I need to find a bigger place
'cos when you have more than you think
you need more space

society, you're a crazy breed
I hope you're not lonely without me
society, crazy and deep
I hope you're not lonely without me

there's those thinking more or less less is more
but if less is more how you're keeping score?
Means for every point you make
your level drops
kinda like its starting from the top
you can't do that...

society, you're a crazy breed
I hope you're not lonely without me
society, crazy and deep
I hope you're not lonely without me

society, have mercy on me
I hope you're not angry if I disagree
society, crazy and deep
I hope you're not lonely without me

The second song is called Guaranteed.



On bended knee is no way to be free
Lifting up an empty cup, I ask silently
All my destinations will accept the one that's me
So I can breathe...

Circles they grow and they swallow people whole
Half their lives they say goodnight to wives they'll never know
A mind full of questions, and a teacher in my soul
And so it goes...

Don't come closer or I'll have to go
Holding me like gravity are places that pull
If ever there was someone to keep me at home
It would be you...

Everyone I come across, in cages they bought
They think of me and my wandering, but I'm never what they thought
I've got my indignation, but I'm pure in all my thoughts
I'm alive...

Wind in my hair, I feel part of everywhere
Underneath my being is a road that disappeared
Late at night I hear the trees, they're singing with the dead
Overhead...

Leave it to me as I find a way to be
Consider me a satellite, forever orbiting
I knew all the rules, but the rules did not know me
Guaranteed

Obamamania Angst

Below you will find my first video blog post. I chose Vimeo as an option, because Youtube said my clip was too long. So if you have seventeen minutes to watch me ramble on about why I can’t decided whether to be hopeful or cautious about our new president elect, I suggest you sit back and watch. Note there is a weird static that comes in at about 2:48. I tried to fix it but iMovie was being uncooperative. I suggest you fast forward to the 4:02, the scene with Cornell West.


Obamamania Angst from Jabiz Raisdana on Vimeo.


I mentioned a few link in the video:

W 4 by Dead Prez. This video is obviously not an offical video, I am not sure what is going on with the Scarface clips, but it is lines like this that make Dead Prez so great:

In between jobs in the past? How you get cash?
I done worked over hot ass stoves
I done picked up trash off roads
Winter time in the streets and the cold
Many times had to sleep in my clothes on the flo'
What you know bout bein' po' seein' most of yo kinfolk be on dope?
Ain't nobody in the hood got no hope in this fucked up system and that's why we don't vote
Still payin niggaz 4.25 - How the fuck we supposed to survive?
I'm close to the edge, government takin most of my bread
taxes might as well have a toast to my head
Make a nigga wanna wild out

Police State by Dead Prez. Again this video is not the greatest, but the lyrics are what count:

I want to be free to live, able to have what I need to live
Bring the power back to the street, where the people live
We sick of workin for crumbs and fillin up the prisons
Dyin over money and relyin on religion for help
We do for self like ants in a colony
Organize the wealth into a socialist economy
A way of life based off the common need
And all my comrades is ready, we just spreadin the seed

Here is the compete lecture by Chairman Omali.

I still have not reconciled my thoughts, and I am sure many more blog post will come, but last night I was reading The Art of Power by Thich Nhat Hanh and he said that the Buddha once said:

If at some point in your life you adopt an idea or a perception as the absolute truth, you close the door to your mind. This is the end of seeking the truth. And not only do you no longer seek the truth, but even if the truth comes in person and knocks on your door, you refuse to open it. Attachment to views, attachment to ideas, attachment to perceptions are the biggest obstacles to the truth.

Ideas and perceptions should be abandoned all the time, to make room for better ideas and perceptions.

I hope to work more towards a constructive criticism of Obama and try to feed off the hope, rather than dwell in my suspicions. I don't want to cling to any ideas of absolute truth. Maybe this man can help America wake up. Even if he can't, I hope that people will become radicalized through his failures and broken promises.

Forget about Obama and the DNC, let’s see how we can use this moment in history to move people toward a better world on our terms! It feels like we are on the edge of something new, let's see how far we can go.

Self-Portrait Challenge- Street: Rain

Let me start by admitting that I realize I am not doing this month’s challenge correctly. I feel that Street photography should capture a certain sense of life found on urban streets. The images should be spontaneous, raw, and a bit on the wild side. I am not quite sure how these unplanned images can be melded with the idea of a self-portrait. I think it is hard to capture spontaneous images while being in the images yourself. Having said that, I know that I am being lazy and a bit shy. I could probably go downtown and just throw myself into the crowd and snap a few shots. Perhaps I will do that next week.

In the meantime, this week I have stayed in the burbs where I live yet again. Actually, I was even lazier than that; I stayed in my front yard this time. I was going to walk down to a fruit stand down the street from my house, but then it started to rain, so I thought I would capture the intensity of the tropical rain instead. How is this Street photography you may ask? Well you can see my street behind me. Right? You can actually see my pimped out ride as well.

Picking up where I left off last week, I just wanted this image to inspire fun. I am very happy with how it turned out. I think the image speaks for itself, but as I was talking the shot, I was reminded of a passage from Another Roadside Attraction by Tom Robbins that has always stuck out in my mind.

I am paraphrasing here, but he says something like this:

There are two types of people- those who walk timidly in the rain worried about getting wet. They scrunch up their shoulders and scream and whine and run. But then there is the other type of person who simply walks in the rain as if nothing is happening. This type of person better understands his place in the universe.

I try and always remember that when I am in the rain. I have chosen two images to illustrate my point. See you on the street next week. Hopefully.


Here is my portrait for this week: