316/365

punk rocker hippie,
rock and roller,
long haired head banger,
awkward authority figure
rebellious rabble rouser,
tattooed, hands in pocket
swaying lead singer
curriculum writer.
apathetic ambitious
change maker.

weakened weekend
head ache take it to the
next level. nothing else
matters, nothing
else ever will.

220/365

 there’s people having strokes
and losing legs out there.
as you curl up with
your pathetic despondency,
pleading for indulgent pity,
because your are too content
and bored with the predictability
of an easy and secure life.
haven't you heard the latest pop song
it’s brutal out here.
aren’t you listening?
stop navel gazing
and conjure something that
burns like passion and brand it onto
each day. the next day. everyday.
can’t just leave behind
this legacy of lethargy.
punk rock. take stock.
time to remove all the locks.
old. fat. weak.
are default adjectives
that line the bed
of the unimaginative.
pedestrian poems
for prosaic people.
you have promised
the world more than this.
if it was the path less traveled by
that had made all the difference-
how did you end up
on the same plodding path
as every other self-loathing
middle-aged schmo?
the potential for the extraordinary
is a choice away
at every turn.
all you have to do is make it.

121/365

what are you doing this weekend
they ask, as if
weekends are for doing things:

wake up without an alarm
around ten, order and eat delivery
mcdonalds breakfast, feel guilty
for a few minutes and get over it quickly,
do laundry, wash and dry the weekly fruit,
watch the nfl draft while texting with oldest friend
take a shower and head to the mall with my youngest,
listen to women punk bands all the way there,
chat about marvel movies, eat a cheese plate,
look at some cute tops, buy a new html cable,
pyjama pants and brioche hamburger buns,
up to a movie, popcorn (sweet and salty mix), m&ms,
grape soda— whisper to each other in the dark,
more punk songs on the way home, “joan jett was my first crush,”
make illuminating confessions,
the trees along the freeway so beautiful every time,
finish a book, start a new one, tinker with the guitar,
quick pasta dinner, a movie on the couch,  
a chocolate cookie with peanut butter chips and sparkling water,
put her to bed, write this poem, and crawl
into bed for an early quiet saturday night.

what are you doing this weekend
they ask, as if
weekends are for doing things.

59/365

my finger tips
still smelled like
pepper corns
coriander seeds
garlic and dill
thyme and vinegar,
as they drummed
the steering wheel
after I dropped her off
to go thrift shopping
with friends.

i was blasting
black flag
and bikini kill songs,
on my way home—
earlier i had made a batch
of pickles
and the scents were fresh
and vibrant on
my hands. 

what's a better noun for wild than wildness?

and not like wilderness as in like a place,

but wildness,

as in somehting you harbor and cherish

inside yourself.

parenting is about
finding the right distance
between the wildest version of your self
and the most domesticated.

too close to the former sets a bad example
and can cause serious damage.

too close to the latter and it’s hard
to earn respect and be seen as fully human.

Where We Want To Be

I spent all my words today in random places: in parent emails and work emails and friendly emails. In Facebook messenger and proposals for future Daraja plans. In typing up lyrics for the song I will sing at the grade 8 assembly and in the speech I will give for my mentor class.


I spent my words in texts and lunchtime conversations. In teaching classes and talking to kids about the Punk Singer, the patriarchy and how feminism could free men from toxic masculinity. I watched the boys first get defensive about the extremity of “hardcore” feminism, then I watched the girls walk them off the ledge by saying,


"We simply want to be where we want to be without having to fight so hard.”


I spent my words today, running circles in my head. In talking to kids about their learning and their growth and yes their grades. In building momentum and encouraging persistence. I spent my words today chatting up kids in the hallways and talking about my summer plans with co-workers.


I spent all my words today in random places. So sorry, if I don’t have too many left to place in your arms tonight.

The Introvert Wins Again

We saw one lone star.
She told me that she once heard that stars can be wished upon
She asked me if that was true:
I suppose; I responded
that anything can be wished upon
if you have dreams in your heart.


Earlier we walked home from dinner in the tropical heat-
the palm trees swaying unseen in the shadows
hints of frangipani and hibiscus
blending into the city streets under the traffic.
She told me about her favorite author
with intensity and excitement.
She loves his artwork and he is a good collaborator.
“Daddy!”
Every sentence pre-punctatued with two syllables
“Daddy, Eric Carle uses so many colors and writes so many book.”
She told me that she loves books and can’t wait to read to her kids every night.
“Daddy! I hope my kids appreciate books as much as we do.”
I was flabbergasted by the words coming out of her six year old mouth.


Early, on the way to dinner, the other one asked about the Bible.
We discussed the Garden of Eden story.
The tree of knowledge-
Eve being made from Adam’s rib.
“Why wouldn’t god take the time to maker her from scratch?”
That’s a great question I told her.
Holding back from defining the biblical roots of misogyny.
“So what do you call yourself?”
Atheist.
“Mommy too?”
I think so.
“What am I?”
Whatever you decide to be when you are ready to decide.
“For now I think I believe in the greek gods.”
Those are great stories.
“Daddy? What’s the difference between a myth and a religion?”
Great question.

…

My plans to go out tonight and make a night of it have fallen victim to fatigue and exhaustion.
Instead I am back in my pyjamas at 8:45 on a Friday night.


The immediate future looks like this:
finish up this thing.
grab a glass of wine
watch The Punk Singer.

A Series of Ruts

I took Kaia out on the skateboard again today. We were properly padded up this time to encourage slightly more aggressive skating and to avoid injury. Which is a good thing because she took a pretty hard fall. The board slipped out from under her and she went full horizontal and landed on her elbow and hip. It had to hurt. She cried. I hugged. We sat and waited away the pain. And then, just like that we were back at it.


She is getting much better. She’s still a bit stiff and unbalanced, but she is getting the hang of it slowly. We need a good smooth place with a slight incline. The tunnel was okay, but not the best. Looking forward to getting her back out again soon. The time has come for my long board purchase. I will be a bit more aggressive about buying my board so the two of us can cruise East Coast Park together soon.

…

Ran tonight. A healthy and comfortable 8km. It is all coming back to me. Felt mentally okay and the legs and lungs felt good. I am looking at signing up for another 10km at the end of May and maybe the half-marathon in Cambodia in December. Gonna push my distances in the coming weeks no matter what. My accidental break is over. Time to get back into the routine.

…

I’ve been in a s series ruts since the April break. I think I have been so looking forward to the summer that I have not really been living in the now. Last night, I finally found out why. My reading life was comatose. I wasn’t reading anything. I realised that if I am not reading something fun, thought provoking, gut wrenching or just simply interesting than everything else in my life feels dull and uninspired.


I came to this epiphany last night in bed as I started Carrie Brownstein’s book called Hunger Makes Me A Modern Girl. For those of you who do not know who Carrie is- she is the singer and guitarist of the punk(ish) band Sleater Kinney and the writer and star of Portlandia. She has also appeared on shows like Transparent. And as if that wasn’t a resume enough, now she can add bad-ass writer to her CV. I am only 56 pages into it so far, but it has gotten me so fired up about life, art, music, being an obsessive fan and more. The prose is tight and her insights are powerful.


It doesn’t matter if you are a fan of her music or her acting or not, this book is for anyone who loves the idea of music and art as salvation. For people who believe in heros and fandom and the power of music to transcend any and all of life struggles and pain. This book is for anyone who has ever been obsessed with music to the point of it acting as your best friend, counselor or priest.


I am so excited because this book has finally kick started my reading life and I can feel the loosening of the other ruts that may have calcified since April.

…

Stumbled upin the hashtag #GiveElsaAGirlfriend. How cool would it be if Disney of all people could move beyond the heteronormative stories we tell children? I would love to have the conversation about Elsa’s girlfriend with both of my kids. I am not holding my breath that one of the largest corporations in the world will make this move, but I hope we are moving in that direction.

…

The three day weekend has come to an end and that is fine. It was well spent. Hung out with friends, with my kids, my students, in nature and at restaurants. Saw movies. Took naps. Ran. Drank. Wrote and Read. Now it is time for some Game of Thrones and a new week up ahead.


Bring it.

Exhume Your Idols

There is little better in life than when you miss a cultural phenomenon, only to discover it years later. Maybe discover is too tame a word for what I do with cultural phenomenons that I may have missed the first time around. I become obsessed, addicted, enraptured.

Example- last year I started watching The Sopranos, and for a few months, that show consumed my thoughts, my dreams, my life. I slowly made my way through every season and was left crushed and empty when it ended. But I loved the realization when I began that there was so much Sopranos just waiting for me. I have had similar expereinces with Wilco, James Baldwin and even David Foster Wallace. I cherish the feeling of sitting at a nearly endless trough, with an empty stomach, ready to gorge on artists and shows that have extensive bodies of work. Bodies of work I know little or nothing about.

And well my friends, I am currently stuffing my face in the trough that is Sleater Kinney. And, holy shit, is this a good one. With an eight album back catalog spanning back to 1995, there is more than enough music to keep me satiated for weeks to come.

What I knew- after a ten year hiatus, Sleater Kinney was about to release a new album in early 2015, so I began to explore their work from different eras in their career. I started with The Woods and Dig Me Out. I had heard of this band for years, but for whatever reason had chosen to not listen to even one of their songs. WTF?

I guess a feminist punk band involved in the Riot Grrl movement was not on my radar as a twenty something year old dude in the 90's. (Which is surprising, since they have had a pretty close relationship with my fave band Pearl Jam. Singing Hunger Strike? Are you kidding me?) But oh no, I just chose to block them out.

Not anymore. My musical universe knows little beyond Sleater Kinney these days. Still gorging on the original two albums I downloaded early and their latest No Cities To Love, I am in jaw-dropping amazement at the shear gravity of this band.

First off, the guitar sound is unlike anything I have ever heard. Three piece band without a bass player. It's hard to tell who plays lead and who rhythm. Think Creedence Clearwater Revival, meets Modest Mouse, meets Led Zepplin and nothing you have ever heard before. Between Carrie Brownstein and Corrin Tucker, you will be left crushed under the power of sound. Bizarrely tuned guitars sing melodies beneath, over and through Tucker and Brownsteins vocals.

Lyrics and politics. Check.
Punk style and over all bad-assery- Check.

But why are you still reading this post? Get your hands on some Sleater Kinney now. I want to get to know these forty songs before I move onto the other FIVE albums. I cannot wait to see what is waiting for me there.

Hyperbole alert- This could be one of the best bands ever.

 

It takes a lot for me see it

Hope it better set you free

I went through the thought of you

I went through the void of me

I've grown afraid of everything that I love

The Grip of Fear is Already Here

There are so many nooks and crannies in our universe. So many places to crawl into and explore. Watched The Theory of Everything last night and got lost in the commitment and love Jane Hawkings was able to dish out for over fifties years, saying nothing about the physical nightmare survived by her husband Stephen. Just thinking about the world of Cambridge in the late 60's and beyond- dipping myself in and out of those times and that world.

Tonight I'm discovering Sleater Kinney for the first time. What a sound! Checking out interviews by Corin Tucker and learning about the Riot Grrl movement and Bikini Kill. Wondering how I missed it all. Maybe the egotistical drunk 20 year old version of myself was not so attuned to underground hardcore punk scene. Too bad.

But feeling grateful that I can access it now. Watch the shows, blast the music. Read the manifestos.

I think about last week's discovery of Sonic Youth and friends who are introducing me to Townes Van Zant and John Prine. Reading This Is Your Brain On Music (another friend recommendation) and learning about frequency and pitch and keys and the science of why I feel like I'm touching heaven when I here this.

Meanwhile, at work I'm turning thirteen year olds into readers, writers and thinkers.

Funny cuz just last week I was wallowing in a pit of doubt.

The grip of fear is already here
The lines are drawn,
Whose side are you on?