by Boys and Girls Club of the Southern Ute Indian Tribe

Kaylah

Slam Bio


Blue

Sour

Sweet

A bird that can fly over my mistakes

Ignacio

Down town neighborhood

My baby sis, my bro, my mama

My mind is making everything a struggle

by Staff Writer

I once heard of someone writing about a blank piece of paper, now that I look at my blank piece I could start to imagine what that person probably thought, no better yet what I think , I look at this paper sort of as my people unappreciated and taken for granted, unnoticed or rather yet ignored, when I say my people I don�t just mean BLACK but as a wise teacher once said the �P.W.C� do they view us as sand paper , that we will just lay there unused and get sick and die HELL NO we stand as construction paper hard and hard to break no matter how much weight but you ask what happens when you get to the point when there is not much more you can take�. Recycle and come back stronger next time�� no let me stop feeding you that bullshit line don�t go no where stand , stand stronger then those �fixed levi�s� and taller than the eiffel tower then well see in the end who really has the fuckin POWER�

DeVaughn Glaze

by Boys and Girls Club of the Southern Ute Indian Tribe

Valerie Armstrong

Slam Bio

Pink

Spicey

Fry bread

Soft

Polar Bear

My culture is the Caddo tribe of Oklahoma

I live with mama

And brother

They are so funny

And we are so into our culture

I struggle with keeping

My whole family together without

Having them fight

by Boys and Girls Club of the Southern Ute Indian Tribe

Maylon Newton (Chickasaw/Southern Ute)

age 14


Slam Bio

My Color is green

My taste is spicey

My touch is soft

My smell is lavander

Im a tiger that roams the quiet lands

I belong to the southern Ute tribe

They are as gentle as a cats fur

I live with my dad. He is the Cat’s meow

My struggle is my life, I just moved from Oklahoma

And my pride and joy.

It was like I was running in the waters of my own sorrow

by Muteado Silencio/PNN Voces de inmigrantes en resistencia

Entrevista para PNN-TV con Sandra Sandoval una danzante en el area de la bahia de San Francisco, sobre el significado para ella el dia de los muertos y como se invulucro con los danzantes.

Interview with Sandra Sandoval for PNN-TV about the day of the dead and her participation in the Danza Azteca in the bay area.

Scroll down for English

El Dia De Los Muertos

Para el habitante de Nueva York, Paris o Londres, la muerte es palabra que jamas se pronuncia porque quema los labios. El mexicano, en cambio, la frecuenta, la burla, la acaricia, duerme con ella, la festeja, es uno de sus juguetes favoritos y su amor mas permanente. Cierto, en su actitud hay quiza tanto miedo como en la de los otros; mas al menos no se esconde ni la esconde; la contempla cara a cara con paciencia, desden o ironía. Octavio Paz Hace mas de 500 años atras, cuando los conquistadores Españoles llegaron a lo que ahora es Mexico y fue Tenochtitlan se encontraron a los nativos praticando rituales que parecia que se burlaban de la muerte. Eran rituales que nuestra gente a praticado por los ultimos 3,000 años, rituales que los Españoles trataron de erradicar sin tener exito.

Un ritual que ahora se conoce como El Dia De Los Muertos.

Un ritual celebrando mas y mas en diferentes partes de Latino America.

Celebrado a qui en el area de la bahia, y diferentes partes de la union Americana. Ahora, gente adorna Calaveras y hace altares para recordar y celebrar a sus muertitos, tambien se ofrecen ofrendas que consiste en hacer el plato de comida de la persona difunta.

Los Aztecas y otra tribus Meso-americanas se dice guardaban las Calaveras como trofeos y las mostraban el dia del ritual.Las Calaveras heran usadas como un simbulo de muerte y renacimiento.

Como dice Octavio Paz que la muerte para un Nuyorkino, o alguien de Paris o Londres que intepretan la muerte como el final de la vida, los Indigenas la apreciaban como una continuacion de la vida, en vez de temerle a la muerte la adoraban ellos creian que la vida era un sueno y en la muerte es cuando despertarian verdaderamente.

La gente Pre-Hispanica honoraba la dualidad como algo dinamico, ellos no separaban la muerte y el dolor, riqueza y pobreza, como las culturas occidentales. Los Espanoles consideraban los rituales como falta de respeto o no respetar algo sagrado, y percibian a los Indigenas como gente Barbara. Intentaron cambiar los rituales a algo mas catolico para matar los rituales indigenas. Pero como los danzantes que miramos en el area de la bahia, los rituales siguen vivos en nuestro presente.

Para hacer los rituales mas Cristianos, los Espanoles hicieron que los rituales se celebraran el dia de todos los santos y espiritus que es (Nov.1 y el 2) que es cuando se celebra ahora.

Anteriormente se celebraba el noveno mes del calendario Azteca, que es aproximadamente el principio de Agosto y hera celebrado todo el mes y se le aguardaba respeto ala diosa Mictecacihuatl, que es conocida como "La senora de los Muertos" quien se dice que murio cuando estaba naciendo.

El Dia De Los Muertos es celebrado en Mexico, partes de los Estados Unidos y Centro America, aunque es celebrado diferente dependiendo donde estes.

En la parte rural de Mexico la gente visita el cementerio donde esterraron a sus muertos, les decoran sus tumbas con flores y veladoras tambien se les trai jugetes a los ninos y tequila ala gente mayor.La gente tambien se sienta cerca de la tumba y come la comida favorita del ser querido que fallecio. El ano pasado hermanos Nativo Americanos y Afro Americanos celebraron a sus muertos haciendo sus propias danzas.

Este dia de los muertos yo recuerdo a mi abuela aunque se muy poco de ella,

Axocoti Cintlaolli, Maiz morado me recuerda a mi abuela en tierra Michoacana, ensenando a mi ama como cantar los cantos de resistencia, para mantener la lucha viva con amor y paciencia, arroz y frijoles, y no simpre esperando por el mejor momento, las tortillas a mano, con cuidado como se hace un movimiento, tienes que saber como , aunque recuerde muy poco de mi abuela porque estaba muy pequeno pa' recordar, puedo probar la revolucion en las tortillas de mi ama, y las Adelitas me hace recordar a ella y al espiritu de mi gente valiente, peleando por 500 anos y contando porque no nacimos esclavos por eso nos revelamos.

La Calaca Ahi viene la flaca bailando un poco de banda, quiere sacar a alguien a bailar, pero todos se rajan, unos la llaman muerte otros la flaca yo le digo que es una calaca porque no sabe bailar banda, yo no me le rajo y le ensene a bailar salsa.

Engles Sigue

For the inhabitant of New York, Paris, London, death is a word that you are not supposed to mention cause it burns your lips. The Mexican, instead, it's frequent to her, it makes fun of it, it caress her, it sleeps with her, it's one of the favorite toys and the love for her is permanent. Is true, the fear might be the same as others; but we don't hide from it, we face it, irony or disdain
Octavio Paz

About 500 years ago, when the Spanish Conquistadors arrive to what is now Mexico but was also know as Tenochtitlan they encounter the natives practicing in rituals that seemed to mock death.

It was rituals that our people had practice for the last 3,000 years, rituals that the Spaniards would try to eradicate unsuccessfully.

A ritual that now is know as "The day of the dead", a ritual that more and more is been celebrate in different parts of Latin America.

Celebrated here in the bay area and different parts of the United States.

In these times people adorn skulls and prepared altars to remember their dead relatives, they also provide offerings that consist in making the favorite dish for their love ones who past away. The Aztecs and other Meso-Americans tribes use the skulls as trophies and would use them the day of the ritual. The skulls were symbols of death and rebirth.

Like Octavio Paz said that death for a habitant of New York, Paris, or London is interpretate as the end of life, when indigenous people would adore death as a continuation of life, instead of fearing death they would acknowledge it, they thought life was a dream and you would truly be awaking when you died.

The Pre-Hispanic people would honor duality as something dynamic, they would no separated death with pain, wealth from poverty, like western cultures.

The Spaniards consider the rituals as mocking or not showing respect to something sacred, they perceived indigenous people as barbaric people. The Spaniards also intend in convert the rituals in something more Catholic to kill the indigenous rituals.

But like the Danzantes we see here in the bay area, the rituals are alive and well in our present.

To make the rituals more Catholic, the Spaniards made the rituals be celebrated the day of all saints and spirits (Nov.1 and 2) which is when it is celebrated today, previously was celebrated the ninth month of the Aztec calendar, approximately the beginning of August and was celebrated for the rest of the month and people would honor the goddess Mictecacihuatl, who was know as the "Lady of the Dead" was believed to have died at birth.

The day of the dead is celebrated in Mexico, parts of United States, and Central America is celebrated different depends where you are.

In rural parts of Mexico people visit the cemetery where people had buried their love ones, they adorn their graves with flowers and candles they also bring toys for the dead children and bottle of tequila for adults. People also sit close to the grave to eat the favorite dish of the decease.

Our brothers and sisters Native American & African American had celebrated their dead with their own dances.

On this day of the dead I remember my grandmother, even do I knew very little of her, Axocoti Cintlaolli

Purple Corn reminds me of my grandmother back in Michoacan land, showing my mom how to sing the songs of keeping the struggle alive with beans and rice with love and sacrifice with patience and waiting for the right time las tortillas by hand just like you craft a movement, carefully you need to know how and even do I could hardly remember my grandmother cause I was to young to recall, I taste the revolution on the tortillas of my mom. The Adelitas reminds me of her and of the rebel spirit that lives inside of our people my gente valiente fighting for 500 years and counting cause we were not born slaves that's why we fight back.

La Calaca

There she comes dancing Banda, wants to dance with someone, no one wants to, some us call it death others the skinny one, I called La Calaca cause she can't dance Banda, am not afraid and taught her how to salsa....

by Boys and Girls Club of the Southern Ute Indian Tribe

Dawn Deniison

age 18


Slam Bio

Black

Blue

Non-tastable

Disgusted

A Locked up snake who cant get

Out of the system

My community is an unknowned

I live in Ignacio

I live in Ignacio

And I have 6 brothers and im the only girl

I struggle with my past and what happened to me

by Marlon Crump/PNN

When I think about the true meanings of “journey” and “destination” memories of my road to POOR Magazine/POOR News Network often race through my mind. Devotions at manual labored jobs with no future promotions. Supporting my family of four, with meager earnings, while living in Cleveland, Ohio. Going from one homeless shelter to another, until my arrival to San Francisco, California in 2004.

In between the hardships of homelessness, I found sanctity with extensive reading at the library, taking numerous G.E.D night classes for writing, and sometimes writing my poetry in the dark. There was always the need for me to feel the very words written from my own hand, created from my own mind. My passion for writing grew.

I began to feel my own words during my brief period, as a volunteer for the San Francisco Coalition on Homelessness, in 2005. On May 2nd of that year, I recited my poem that I wrote the night before, “Care Not Cash/Trash” aimed to criticize Mayor Gavin Newsom’s resentful policy to those receiving welfare aid.

For twenty nerve-wrecking minutes, I was here. Facing a relatively large crowd on San Francisco City Hall steps, with eyes gazing blankly, and news cameras glued to me. Hoping that I wouldn’t faint from the hammering of my heart, I summoned a subliminal will for a boost of adrenalin to carry me, even after I concluded my poem.

A woman in the crowd’s forefront smiled at me, as I stepped off of the steps. She had an easy smile, with the aura of a teacher and a revolutionary vision. “That was really great.” She said to me, still sporting that easy smile.

Six months later following the unlawful attack that occurred upon me, on October 7th, 2005 by twelve members of the San Francisco Police Department, I saw her again. She was “Tiny” Lisa Gray-Garcia, co-founder of POOR Magazine/POOR News Network.

Our worlds immediately collided as we both shared similar visions in literary art, media and access.

A year later, I learned from POOR what the meanings, and value of what a healing tool is with literary art through their revolutionary Digital Resistance media and journalism training program and later their POOR Press publishing program. After writing my first book, a series titled “Citizens & Civilians Over Corruption: Savagely Removed Occupant” I knew what I was going to give to the world, and much, much more.

To write about one’s painful experience through a path of healing re-introduces the fact shared by everyone at POOR that “writing is fighting.”

POOR Press Publications integrates the voices segregated from Corporate Mainstream Media, and its industry of Amerikkka affiliates, through the literary art of the POOR Press Authors, themselves. Each POOR Press Author, including myself, although experienced different issues we face and write about; all of us have one thing voiced to world:

Silenced voices are untold journeys in of, themselves.

“Taking Back the Land, Resisting Criminalization One Story at a time.”

Los Viajes: The Journeys, a bilingual (resisting linguistic language domination) POOR Press Publication that chronicles the journeys of scholars ranging from migrant, indigenous, poverty, and a revolutionary worker are detailed in this book, with their very own voices. Stories, images, art, and the sound of people crossing borders all over Pacha Mama (Mother Earth) are all featured in Los Viajes.

Courage displayed from Ingrid De Leon in her escape from domestic violence and poverty from Guatemala, and battling barriers to sustain a stable life in the U.S.A. are heard in her poem, “I am scared.” Prolific
poetry from Silencio Muteado revealing the horrors of how lavish lifestyles of America brainwash some undocumented immigrants into senseless competition in “What is the Amerikkkan Dream?”

The sorrows from a grandmother name Chispita for having to release her young grandson in order for him to be cured, while hanging on an ounce of faith they’ll be someday reunited with tears of joy in “From Oaxca, Mexico.” A poetic memoir from Tony Robles of his brief encounter with his grandfather in “Non-Returnable.”

“Should we go to San Francisco?” Told they could not have hotel room extension, labeled as “bums.” Dragging heavy bags while driving from strip mall to strip mall, gas station to mini mart, and then again. Terrified and unsure of what else they should do. Having friends, but no money and no hope for any money.

The mother and daughter team, “Mama” Dee Gray and “Tiny” Lisa Gray-Garcia, future co-founders of POOR Magazine/POOR News Network in “From Los Angeles to San Francisco.”

Other stories of the silenced peoples in Los Viajes: The Journeys shows its reader that the struggle from each testimony in this book proves that people in poverty continue to face have the opportunity of “Taking Back the Land, Resisting Criminalization................One Story At a Time.”

Filipino Building Maintenance Company
(Dedicated to his uncle, Al Robles.)

Tony Robles is a native San Franciscan, community organizer, activist, co-teacher, co-editor, and a “Revolutionary Worker Scholar” of POOR Magazine/POOR News Network. Robles ‘s book, Filipino Building Maintenance Company, drafts the reader’s eyes in this depth detailed novel, combined with poetry of his life experiences, while maintaining a father and son work/love relationship.

His father, James Robles, a janitor by trade worked for the City and County of San Francisco from 1977-1978 before deciding to become self employed, by starting what would be the “Filipino Building Maintenance Company” thus defying the workforce-apartheid of the U.S.A.

“The house of a janitor is supposed to be clean. One would assume this to be true because the janitor performs his duties with the sacred mop, broom, and toilet brush” A lecture once given to him by his father.

Robles’s poems present interesting themes when it comes to the reminiscence of their relationship, such as in "Broadway Chicken."
“Some of the best exchanges of words with my father came across the tables of Chinese restaurants. They weren’t really exchanges, my father usually did all the talking.”

Filipino Building Maintenance Company reveals to its reader of a father/son relationship, showing discipline, responsibility, the value and pride of hard work. It also shows motivation for entrepreneurship, and breaking barriers to future goals………..such as writing.

Untold Stories of Amerikkka

Silencio Muteado is a member of the Po Poets project of POOR Magazine/POOR News Network, a Race, Media, Poverty, and Migrant Scholar. A native from Michoacán, Mexico, Muteado was raised on the eastside of Oakland, CA.

Experiencing what most of the youth in poor communities of color endure, such as poverty, racism, oppression, and violence, Muteado realized where he was standing at: “The New World.”While living in a city with a high homicide rate, Muteado saw the bright side of the whole thing. He published his book through POOR Press Publications, in 2004 called Untold Stories of Amerikkka.

His book contains poetry (bilingual resistant to linguistic domination) that graphically details the indefinite immoral values of the U.S.A., such as slavery, war, poverty, violence, and the unrelenting attacks undocumented immigrants, and migrant people.

Additionally, Untold Stories of Amerikkka features graphic art and pictures expressing the impact of immorality from the U.S.A. has had on people. With the visual and vocal art instrumented by Muteado, Untold Stories of Amerikkka can be heard through his words as he sees the bright side of this country’s callous culture, “Rhythm was born inside the humankind.”

Life, Struggle, and Reflection II: Raw and Uncut

Kim Swan, a.k.a Queennandi X-Sheba, is a Race, Media, and Poverty Scholar, Po Poet, Revolutionary Rap Villain, of POOR Magazine/POOR News Network, a motivational speaker, and a “Super Baby Mama” mothering three daughters.

Raised out of the San Francisco’s Fillmore District, the “Moe” Queennandi is a formidable poetic voice for all poverty-stricken African Descent men, women, and children in general. All of them whom from which are daily chased by racism, police brutality, and Child Protective Services. (C.P.S.)

As a survivor of the streets, and the cruelties of modern day society, Queennandi’s categorizes these experiences in her second book released through POOR Press, Life, Struggle, and Reflection II: Raw and Uncut.
Her life experience is referenced to the title, itself. It is a sequel from her first Life, Struggle, and Reflection, as she puts it, “Black By Popular Demand.”

Queennandi’s book contain numerous poems, such as the need for urgent prevention of today’s ongoing problems, the oppression, disrespect of women, (Black Women in particular), angered feelings that follow as a result, and the massacre of revolutionary Black Men, past and present in her poem “Black Revelation.”

In “Have You Ever Heard of a Tale?” challenges the uncaring that Life, Struggle, and Reflection II: Raw and Uncut, would not need future sequels expressing its content, if people could change for the better.

Complicated: Moving into the light

Ruyata Akio McGlothin, a.ka “RAM” is a member of the Po Poets Project, Race, Media and Poverty Scholar of POOR Magazine/POOR News Network. He is also a “Super Baby Daddy” fathering two daughters.

A native San Franciscan, survivor of police brutality, and racial profiling, RAM has released his third book through POOR Press called, “Complicated: Moving into the light.” His book poetically envisions into the reader’s heart of what RAM’s feelings are in his world.

Into a world of internalized love, regrets from unsanctioned addictions, road to recovery, and memory lanes of pain toured through his mind.
Its very introduction is an induction of inspiration for those who are lost and unable to find their way in life:

It’s complicated
In recovery, in love
Poetically concentrated
If you pull, or if you’re shoved
Get clean, trying to stay
Shouldn’t mean to get away

Like its subtitle, RAM’s book inspires anyone who’s isolated into the dark to move into the light.

San Francisco County Jail Cookbook ‘Tu’: Attack of the Ass Clowns

Brother Y is a Race, Media, Poverty, and Disability Scholar of POOR Magazine/POOR News Network. He is also a frontline fighter on the “War on Drugs”, a formerly homeless veteran, and an advocate for medical cannabis patient’s rights.

Living in a Single Room Occupancy (S.R.O.) Hotel for a number of years, Brother Y experienced many encounters of harassment. From property management to police regarding his legitimate use of marijuana, Brother Y details these events in his second book released through POOR Press titled, “San Francisco County Jail Cookbook ‘Tu’: Attack of the Ass Clowns”.

A sequel to the first (released in 2008) he summarizes his resistance to the criminalization of marijuana, denied medication (while incarcerated), grievances made to uncaring property management and public officials.
Brother Y returns informing the reader that although the “War on Drugs” charges against him were dropped, most recently, his struggle continues.

He defines the “Ass Clowns” as being a landlord, a security guard, a police officer, a prosecutor or district attorney who targets people in poverty.

Brother Y shows the reader that the San Francisco County Jail Cookbook series he wastes no time exposing a recipe for disaster, as he concurs, “Time to get down to the meat of the matter.”

Non-Profit Industrial Complex: A Love Story and Other Poems

Thornton Kimes is a Race, Media, Poverty Scholar and staff writer for POOR Magazine/POOR News Network. He has also written poetry (some in haiku) for The “Street Sheet” a publication of the San Francisco Coalition on Homelessness. Before he joined POOR in 2008, Kimes worked at Goodwill Industries.

The release of his very first book, Non-Profit Industrial Complex: A Love Story and Other Poems, Kimes categorizes the elements in his experience of working such industry: “Nature, politics, love, weirdness, working for a Non-Profit organization, and Wizard of Oz imagery"

Kimes expresses his fascination for haiku and short poetry, in his book. He enjoys trying to say the most with the fewest words: "I’m not comfortable with longer poems, but that is changing. Non-Profit Industrial Complex: A Love Story is one of the longest poems I’ve written."

"We all live in Oz. Sometimes spectacularly strange, America/Oz feels like the Yellow Brick Road’s traffic signals are broken and we’re in a giant parking lot. Finding the way is a quest for more brain, more heart, more courage...”

A first and foremost informative piece by, Thornton Kimes, not foretold by many.

Ray’s Day

Marlon Crump is a Race, Media, Poverty Scholar and journalist for POOR Magazine/POOR News Network. He is also a Revolutionary Legal Scholar.

A survivor of police brutality and racial profiling, Crump earned the title “Revolutionary Legal Scholar” by representing himself in a civil suit against the City of San Francisco.

A prolific and talented writer in his own right, Crump has released his second book released through POOR Press titled, “Ray’s Day.” He reluctantly wrote this book to finally subside the demons (trauma) that plagued him and his family for many years.

Ray’s Day is a novel that brings its reader into a deep, dark fantasy world of Crump and his callous confrontation against an individual, who committed unforgivable crimes upon his family. Creative graphic details, in fictitious form by Crump, the reader sees the true objective of Ray’s Day when they hear his voice:

“I am ultimately hopeful that “Ray’s Day” will equal a new day for all sexual assault victims to cope with their pain with self-healing………...by the potent antidote means of creativity, arts, and literacy.”

To purchase any of these books on-line by mail order you can click on POOR Press on the left-hand side of this column.

POOR will also be hosting Mercado de Cambio/The Po'Sto' Holiday Art Market and Knowledge Exchange on Wednesday, December 16th 12-9pm at their offices at
2940 16th street 1 blk below 16th street BART in the Mission /SF- Books, Po'kies and Art from POOR Press, Po Poets, neighborhood DJ's, musicians and many micro-business people and artists in the Bay will be
available for sale and exchange!.

To register for the next POOR press/Digital Resistance media and publishing training beginning in January email deeandtiny@poormagazine.org or call (415-863-6306) and leave a message.

by Boys and Girls Club of the Southern Ute Indian Tribe

Abriana Baker

Age 12


Slam Bio

I like red

I like _______

They mix together

Just like you

My smell is cool

Bear

Town of Ignacio

Living with my sister and brother and gramma

Going to School

by Tiny aka Lisa Gray-Garcia/PNN

“I conclude that section 16 of the Slums Act is inconsistent with the Constitution and invalid.”..Statement from the Constutional Court of South Africa

When I heard about the revolutionary resistance of our South African brothers and sisters in Abahlai base Mjondolo (The Shack Dwellers Union) in South Africa, a revolutionary group of landless folks in Capetown and Durban, South Africa who successfully overturned the deadly Amerikkkan style criminalizing legislation called “The Slums Act” which would have given South African Po’Lice the ability to legally demolish, destroy and evict poor peoples from their shacks without notice. I cried.

As a person whose life has been rife with the terror of eviction, displacement, landlessness and criminalization, I was devastated by the stories of destruction of poor peoples in South Africa and equally inspired by the resistance of the young people who organized, hit the streets, chanted, danced and sung for freedom for post-aparthied Amandla in 2009 and eventually overcome that terror and Won!

I remembered the power of the poverty scholars I had met from the Shack-Dwellers Union. Scholars who protested, organized and led resistance from the grass-roots. Scholars like Maswi, a young revolutionary care-giving brother and visionary.

In his soft voice he related the struggle of his family and community to deal with the deadly war on the poor that was raging in the post-apartheid south Africa.

The new struggle in South Africa according to Maswi and his fellow freedom fighters is over the rights of poor people to be housed, to be listened to, to not be incarcerated “its not racism anymore, its poverty,” he had told me in an interview in august of this year. From The Bayview to Bayou, poor folks of color across the globe struggle with Amerikkkan style gentrification and criminalization. For the last few years Shack-Dwellers in South Africa come home from work and school only to find their homes have been demolished and then if they fight back the government turns guns on them.

This current push of deadly destruction by the South African government has been fueled by the transnational corporate interests in South Africa trying to build the world cup stadium for the 2010 world cup.

When I spoke with Maswi he explained how the south African constitution stated that no-one can be evicted once they have lived in a place for over 24 hours without due process, but that in the push to be the new corporate Amerikkkan-style “clean” city, there is no room for poor people, for the slums and so no-one follows the constitution. The Slums Act was the going to be the final tool to push poor folks into the streets, the jails or death.

Currently if poor children are found living on the streets are put in jail for weeks at a time if tourists are expected to come to Durban. Mazwi's stories of removal and criminalization reminded me of the ways that encampments of landless folks in the Bay Area are arrested and washed away with high pressure power washers when they are found in settlements under the freeways, under the bridges, in doorways, and other outside residences. The ways that poor folks in New Orleans face constant and ongoing gentrification and displacement, the ways that we in the Bayview, the Mission , Oakland and Richmond are constantly at risk of losing what ever little crumb we are able to attain, the hands of large corporate interests like Lennar Corporation and Chevron.

But mostly what I learned from Maswi and his fellow revolutionaries is that we, the poor, the disabled, the indigenous, the migrant, the silenced, the incarcerated, the profiled, the displaced, must Not give up! That we do have power, and that we will, if we are truly working in coalition with each other, triumph!

by Boys and Girls Club of the Southern Ute Indian Tribe

Santana
Slam Bio

Purple

Brown

Spicy

BitterSweet, Sour

Soft hard

Scaley

Pink Panther

My culture is Latina/Mexican

And they are the shizz

I live con mi mami y mi abuela y mi hermana

My struggle is becoming the person everyone is becoming

Sometimes I wish I could give my life like I am a donor

I rub the struggle in like toner

by Tiny AKA Lisa Gray-Garcia

Scroll Down for English

OPINION: “Soy ilegal, Mama?” Me pregunta mi hijo de seis años que tiene un mestizaje de Mexicano, Chino, Puerto Riqueño, y Irlandés, mirándome con los ojos mas grandes y tiernos después de que habíamos visto un reportaje en las noticias comerciales sobre el Alcalde Gavin Newsom. En el reportaje, el Alcalde esta rechazando una legislación propuesta por el Supervisor David Campos, que le daría un proceso debido a los jóvenes migrantes que se involucran con el sistema criminal de justicia.

by Boys and Girls Club of the Southern Ute Indian Tribe

Alana Watts

Slam Bio


Blue Sweet

Apples

Smooth

Im a grizzley bear

Strong

Southern Ute

Strong

Ignacio

I live in a big house

I struggle with loving

My mom and my dad

I live with my mama

She’s a single mama raising two kids

Just so hard

Love is pink

Fighting is hard

by Boys and Girls Club of the Southern Ute Indian Tribe

Josh Jones

age 17

Slam Bio

Color Green

Taste Green Chili

Tortillas smell like sage after the rain

A bull elk running lots of power

And freedom

My tribe is anywhere in nature

I live out of town in the woods

With my dad

Our house is made of stone and its always comfortable there

I struggle with alcohol and anger

by Boys and Girls Club of the Southern Ute Indian Tribe

Tricia

Slam Bio

My color is brown

My taste is spicey



My touch is soft

I think I would be a cute little fish

That swims with lots of other fish

My tribe is Ute

I think we function very well with lots of things im grateful for that other tribes don’t have

by Staff Writer

"If you enter this world knowing you are loved and you leave this world knowing the same, then everything that happens in between can be dealt with."

Michael Jackson.

I thought Thursday June 25th, 2009, would be a typical day............or so I (and the rest of the world) thought.

I went to the San Francisco Main Public Library, at approximately 3:00p.m to check my email. Before my arrival, I noticed that wherever I went, a certain artist's songs were blasting on anything that had a radio broadcast. The stunning reason became apparent when I highlighted the internet site publication of Yahoo News.

Then I saw it, the headline that solar eclipsed the world:

MICHAEL JACKSON DEAD AT 50!

"Jackson was taken to the Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center, where doctors said he was non-responsive."

I quickly got up from the computer and walked around. That very headline would've put me in a great state of shock, had I known him personally. For the rest of the week, his music continued to blast everywhere. Everything, his life, success, music, controversies, and the legacy he would leave immediately came out, like an overstuffed closet.

Like the deaths of J.F.K, Dr. King, Bruce Lee, Elvis Presley, and Tupac Shakur, before him, Michael Jackson's death left a stampede of shockwaves that still have yet to be removed, from people's minds. Though death is an assured reality for all human beings, he was always viewed by millions across the globe as an angelic being, for inventing heart-grasping music, and presenting his dazzling performances, far beyond the human anatomy.

For everyone that followed his career since he was eight years old, Michael Joseph Jackson was just that!

"I was a veteran before I was a teenager, "he once said.

After Jackson pursued his own musical solo career away from his older brothers, the legendary "Jackson 5" he earned the non self-proclaimed title: "The King of Pop." His incomparable dancing, moves, singing, gimmicks, clothing, and world wide performances would forever earn him that uncontested title.

The King of Pop had weathered the entire music industry with a thunderstorm that continues to rage, even with his now dearly- departure from earth. During the 1980s, his greatest (and the greatest) album of all time, Thriller, along with many of his other past and present albums and songs had universally-transcended Jackson far above his very own success.

He single-handedly ruled the entire pop music industry during that era. "There's nothing that can't be done if we raise our voice as one." This was an infamous quote by him that was stated at his memorial tribute. My family of POOR Magazine/POOR News Network can identify with those words based on the work that we continue to do, with our own slogan:

"The Revolution begins with I and ends with WE!"

An icon's icon, a performer's performer, and a pop culture folk hero legend's legend earned him the spotlight among many, forever. I told everyone that came around me that he would possibly have the BIGGEST memorial tribute that anyone in the world has ever seen.

I was right.

July 7th, 2009, 18,000 plus fans attended Michael Jackson's memorial tribute, at the Los Angeles Staples Center. An un estimated thousands more fans paid tribute to him outside, while millions more watched the memorial (including myself) on T.V.

Wearing the crystal white glove, his red leather and black Thriller outfit, t-shirts bearing his face or name, posters, and everything associated with Jackson's gimmick were what his fans carried with them, in honor of him.

Myself, among many fans and loved ones knew that he had touched the world to such an unfathomable degree, that this memorial tribute could be held every single day, and no one would still believe that Michael Jackson was really gone.

Among the many speaking participants, celebrities, performers, and highly recognized activists were:

.Singer Lionel Richie

.Singer Mariah Carey

.Singer Stevie Wonder

.Singer Usher Raymond

.Berry Gordy, founder of Motown Records

.Kobe Bryant, basketball player for the Los Angeles Lakers

.Earvin Magic Johnson, former basketball player, and humanitarian

.Rev Al Sharpton, civil rights activist

.Singer Jennifer Hudson

.Actress Brooke Shields

.Actress Queen Latifah

.Rev Martin Luther King III

And as well Michael's entire family were there to say goodbye to him.

Queen Latifah recited a poem by famed poet, Maya Angelou, "We had him:"

He came to us from the creator, trailing creativity in abundance.

Despite the anguish, his life was sheathed in mother love, family love, and survived and did more than that.

He thrived with passion and compassion, humor and style. We had him whether we know who he was or did not know, he was ours and we were his.

We had him, beautiful, delighting our eyes.

His hat, aslant over his brow, and took a pose on his toes for all of us.

And we laughed and stomped our feet for him.

We were enchanted with his passion because he held nothing. He gave us all he had been given.

Guitarist John Mayer, performed one of Jackson's greatest hits, "Human Nature" by the means of his electric guitar. "I’ll be there" (One of Jackson’s hit songs) was sung by Mariah Carey, "Gone too Soon" was tearfully sung by Usher Raymond, " Will you be there" (One of Jackson’s other hit songs) was sung by Jennifer Hudson, "Never Dreamed you’d leave in Summer” and “They won’t go when I go” was sung by Stevie Wonder.

At the O2 Arena, in London, England the "Queen of Pop" Madonna paid tribute to the "King of Pop." Ironically, this is where he was scheduled to perform his next concert dates.

Smokey Robinson spoke the words of legendary singer, Diana Ross, and former South African president, Nelson Mandela, in their shared grief with the world on losing Michael Jackson.

Brooke Shields, a long time friend of Jackson seconded those statements, in her emotional address of Michael. "To the outside world, he had unchallenged ability."

While the "King of Pop" was beloved by millions, there were always the negatives that attacked his career. Being subjected to scandals, allegations, public ridicule for his numerous skin transformations, and being a constant survivor of childhood abuse; only motivated Jackson to work even harder towards penetrating negative public opinions about him.....................by the means of his very own voice and art.

"People write negative things cause they feel that's what sells." Jackson once said. "Good news to them doesn't sell."

"There was nothing strange about your daddy!" exclaimed Rev. Al Sharpton to Michael Jackson's children, as they sat in the audience "What was strange was what he had to deal with!"

Two of Jackson's hit songs, "We are the World" and "Heal the World" were sung, which concluded the ceremony. Those two very songs by Jackson closed out the ceremonial memorial tribute; sung in unison by a community that quickly crowded the stage to be living testimonies, of what message these two songs by Jackson really meant.

"Ever since I was born, daddy has been the best father you could ever imagine. I just want to say that I love him so much."

These were the words of his daughter, Paris-Michael Katherine Jackson. Millions, (including myself) that watched this tribute had tears in their eyes. Hearing this little girl speak about how much she missed her father, in front of the whole wide world, could've melted the hardest of hearts to trickle a tear.

A flowered, golden casket of Michael Jackson lie below the stage, as he was prepared to be driven out and be laid to rest after the memorial tribute. Days following his death, a picture of him was placed on POOR's memorial alter in honor of all our comrades, elders, and brethren struck down in their struggle for survival.

"Maybe now, Michael, they will leave you alone." Marlon Jackson said softly, as he stood alongside on the stage with Jermaine Jackson.

A summer's disregard

A broken bottle top

And a one man's soul

They follow each other

On the wind ya' know

Cause they got nowhere to go

That's why I want you to know

I'm starting with the man in the mirror

I'm asking him to change his ways

And no message could have been any clearer

If you wanna make the world a better place

Take a look at yourself and then make a change,

yey

Na na na, na na na, na na na na oh ho

Lyrics from Michael Jackson’s 1988 hit song, “Man in the Mirror” from his album, “Bad.”

by Tony Robles

I’m at work sitting across the desk from my co-worker Solo. His eyes are tired and watery. He leans back in his chair awash in the overhead florescent light. “I want to go back home”, he says. He speaks of the tsunami that hit his homeland on Sept. 29th and the image he saw of a slipper floating on water on TV. Four 15-foot waves triggered by an undersea earthquake hit the island of American Samoa, waves crashing into everything in its wake a mile inland. We sat and watched the images together, images of wrecked boats, cars, destroyed houses. The reports indicated that the tsunami had destroyed all low-lying areas and struck too rapidly for a full evacuation. He pointed out places he knew, like the local fishery and parking lot. “I want to go back and help my people”.

I met Solo a few months ago. I remember when he walked through the door for the swing shift. I thought he was Filipino. He was about 6 foot 2, 220 lbs. I’m Filipino. Sometimes I wish I was 6’4”, 220. We work as security guards at an apartment complex in the city. Our uniforms are the same—jacket with fur collar, polyester shirt, badge and shoulder patch with some kind of Celtic symbol. We worked a few days when I asked him, “What are you?” “I’m Samoan”, he said. Some of the residents at the complex tell him he looks like the wrestler known as “The Rock”. That makes him laugh. I don’t respond. We spend our shift communicating on a 2-way radio. Lots of static on that radio.

A couple weeks ago I was drinking coffee. The TV was on and the coffee fumed as the images passed over the screen: people in water, neck deep; children and elders hovered together on buildings, people wading through mud and debris; elders and mothers looking up to the sky amidst the destruction of their communities, their homes. Typhoon Ondoy hit the Philippines on September 26th bringing a month’s worth of rain in just 6 hours. Manila was covered in water. I’ve never been to the Philippines. My grandparents left our indigenous homeland in the 1920’s. I speak no Filipino but I feel Filipino. I recall my cousin saying to me, “You couldn’t make it in the P.I.”. He used to be in the Navy.

Solo sits across from me, the light reflecting on a desk that cannot hide its scratches. We take our break in the guard office. On the wall to the left is a map of San Francisco; in back is a map of the world.

“Eat” Solo says in a way that reminds me of family. He brings food in Tupperware containers: ham, pineapple, chicken, rice and fish. “Eat” he says again, gesturing for me to take as much as I want. The way he shares is food is Filipino. He lets me take a helping first. Then he serves himself. He then walks to the soda machine and buys drinks for both of us. I tell him he eats like a Filipino. He puts the rice in his mouth and we share our laughter. I wonder if he thinks I laugh like a Samoan.

“Back home I go fishing”, Solo says. With a spear and snorkel and flashlight”. He talks about catching lobster and fish. He says that when the fish are caught, he first shares it with his neighbors, then brings the rest home to his family. Solo is from a big family of 8—5 boys and 3 girls. To share is part of Samoan culture. “Back in Samoa, if you walk in front of another person’s house, they call you in to eat. We are a sharing people, a giving people. In Samoa, people respect the elders, here they don’t care”.

We finish eating and walk around the apartment complex we are hired to guard. It’s time to close the swimming pool. Many folks in the pool are young, many are white and from Orange county, among other places. They sometimes sneak into the pool, their form of entitlement. We tell them that the pool is closed. Through the trees we can see the moon. Solo looks at the blue water of the pool. “Back home in Samoa, the water is deeper than this”, he says.

Solo works 2 jobs. He’s tired much of the time. He sends money back home to his wife. His other job is doing security at a hotel. He sees young girls, drunk, late at night during all night parties. Where are their mothers, he asks. Back home in Samoa, the young do not leave their parents. The families stay together.

Solo came to the US 3 years ago from American Samoa. His uncle is pastor of a church in the city. Solo came to help with the church. He is the Sunday school coordinator, plays guitar and serves breakfast to the elders in the congregation (oatmeal, hot bread and cocoa rice). He loves to sing. His baritone is rich. He’ll sometimes sing that old song, “The Green Grass of Home”. I asked him why his homeland is called American Samoa. He paused and said he didn’t know. There are 2 Samoa’s he says, Western (Independent) and American Samoa. Sometimes he and his friends ponder the question but those moments come and go. It is a legacy similar to the Filipino experience: colonization and displacement from lands. American Samoa is considered an American territory (it is the size of Washington DC), land that was divided between the Germany and the US. There was an indigenous resistance movement to the colonization but was suppressed by the US Navy. A committee was sent to “investigate” the status of American Samoa, a committee made up of the same people involved in the overthrowing of the Kingdom of Hawaii.

We sometimes sit in his car and he’ll play music from back home. The songs are in Samoan and praise the creator. I went home and found a Samoan radio station online called, “Showers of Blessings”. I think of the downfall in the Philippines, one month’s worth of rain in 6 hours. The music is beautiful like the music in Solo’s car.

We go back to the security guard office and sit at the desk. We talk about the typhoons that have hit the Philippines and Samoa, and Indonesia. He wants to go back home more than anything. On the radio a commercial for the California lottery comes on. “If I won the lottery, I’d take the money and rebuild all the houses”, he says. His family moved to high ground on the island. Many have died. The airport was shut down and roads and communication have been severely damaged.

He told me the story of an old woman in a wheelchair. The younger one’s were trying to move her to safety. The woman told them, “Leave me, just go. I know that it is God’s love. That water is God’s love touching me”. A field supervisor for the Security Company that employs us, also Samoan, told me that the Samoan people survive because of their love for and faith in God. Big people, big heart, she said. We sat for a while, not saying anything. Then we got up and went on our patrol.

To help our brothers and sisters in Samoa, send your contributions to POOR Magazine, 2940 16th Street #301, San Francisco, CA 94103

by PNN staff

“Immigrant children, like all children, are our children, our responsibility, our future. With his rejection of this legislation, Newsom condemns our children to ongoing abuse and unending criminalization, said Lisa Gray-Garcia, single mother and executive director of POOR Magazine.

Thousands of community members, advocates and fellow board members in an 8-2 vote on October 20th supported Supervisor David Campos Legislation to give due process to immigrant youth who face arrest in San Francisco before Immigration and Customs Enforcement is contacted. After the vote Mayor Gavin Newsom publicly stated that he would not follow the legislation and that it had no merit, which means their will be increased attacks and ongoing abuse of the basic civil rights of our immmigrant children.

In response to the Mayors statements, a cross-cultural coalition of mothers and fathers are publicly accusing the mayor and ICE of child abuse and criminalization of our immigrant children and youth as the impact of deportation and incarceration without due process is a serious form of abuse.

“Immigrant children are everyones’ children,” said Kim Swan, mother of three African-American children.

“Why do they continue to criminalize our babies, this is a form of child abuse,” said Ingrid DeLeon, mother of four immigrant children.

by Staff Writer

· Welcome M-1 of dead prez to the Bay Area – East and West Oakland, San Francisco, Sonoma, San Jose, Santa Cruz – for six days of sharing his recent experiences in Gaza, Cairo and Europe and comparing them with ghetto life in the U.S. – six events Sept. 24-29 benefiting the SF Bay View and Block Report Radio. Get ready for some explosive revelations! Get a foretaste with 24 hours in Gaza by M-1.

by Marlon Crump/PNN

"It is heart-wrenching to realize that you have become a mind control experiment by your own government. It�s something that I am still putting up with and coming to terms with. I don�t have any drug history. I also have no criminal background and no DUI�s. (Driving Under the Influence) My background is very clean so I am guessing I was just unlucky.� (D. T.: Targeted Individual).

"They politics like ours profess, the greater prey upon the less."

Matthew Green, poet

�As for the so called protest, is it some lame ass conference call again? How is that going to get anything done let alone intimidate perps?�

Callous remarks from a discovered infiltrator name on a Yahoo Website safe haven for victims, called �Targeted Individuals.�

His objective was to discourage, disrupt, and dismantle any attempts by the T.I. victims towards organizing a protest crisis call to action. I informed him with a chronology of obnoxious remarks that he failed on all accounts in his mission.

An empty air drafts an individual when an invisible trouble follows them every where they go. People who drifting off into the day, the night to a lake, a wooded area, or simply down a hallway. The immediate uncomfortable feeling of an unknown danger of the covert persuasion places them into immediate heart-pounding fear.

When that danger is discovered, the individual quickly fetch the nearest pay phone (if they are without a phone of their own) or a concerned citizen who just happens to witness the situation.

They feeling of relief enters their heart them when a police squad car pulls up to assist them.

(Or are they really able or even willing to assist them?)

The individual turns to their local governmental authority to urge them to stop these acts from continuing. They are either assured that �an investigation will be underway� or they are simply told that there is nothing that they can do.

They then find themselves in more frightening situations where they�re targeted and stalked--by means of manufactured sophisticated technologies used for terrorism, conquering, and control.

A control wave of invisible psychological concentration camps, by an unknown Fuhrer (leader) continues its reign. Many victims have actually called this the �silent Holocaust.�

Covert stalkers often greet their victims literally right above their noses, some wearing smiles like wolves hiding behind sheep: Costumed as passer bys, people asking victims strange questions, police officers (the worst), doctors, and even a postal worker.

�On August 31st, 2009 at 3:00p.m., I approached the counter to have a piece of mail sent �certified.� A T.I explained to me. (she requested to remain anonymous.) The postal worker looked angry, and as I placed my letter on the counter she stuck her tongue out at me.� The T.I described, �in a very strong gesture, straight out of her mouth.�

Amidst the bizarre behavior by the postal worker, and the T.I trying to avoid an unnecessary situation that was getting uglier by the minute, the woman said something terrifying: �WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE!�

It becomes blatantly obvious that a person like T.I has unwittingly become A �Targeted Individual!�

The T.I later explained that she was on a �hate list� after inquiring to the F.B.I. Are the covert stalkers fully aware of that fact?

The family of POOR Magazine/POOR News Network, including me, are targeted 24/7, because of the work that we do.

Poor communities of color vs land grabbers, youths vs the police vs the legal system, poor single mothers vs Child Protective Services vs corrupt judges, and unheard voices vs corporate mainstream media gives a frightening detail of the word itself, and not only from a covert persuasion.

Origins of covert perpetrators and stalkers who participate in these "operations" are usually people who willfully engage or are brainwashed in a structured, hate-filled environment.

The acts (and especially weapons) in question, comes from methods invented, used, and abused by primary U.S. �law enforcement� agencies and not just holocaustic hate groups, like the Ku Klux Klan:

The Federal Bureau of Investigations (F.B.I) (and its activist attacking operation program, COINTELPRO) Central Intelligence Agency (C.I.A) National Security Association (NSA) and the highly opposed warrant less use of numerous surveillance cameras �Big Brother.�

The weapons and devices of technological terror commonly used by the some of the above said law enforcement agencies and military armies are as follows:

Directed Energy Weapons (D.E.W.S) en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Directed-energy_weapon

.Satellites www.surveillanceissues.com

.V2K (Voice to Skull/Mind Control) www.voicetoskull.com/Perps.htm

.Microwave Weapons www.mondovista.com/microwave.html

(Among many others)

In my follow up article of, �Electronic Harassment� the voices of victims who are gang stalked, electronically harassed, attacked, and targeted in general, continue to echo into ears for help.

Sadly, many of those ears voluntarily remain deaf when it comes to their situations, particularly political figures who disguise themselves as �public servants.�

I stated in �Electronic Harassment� of the Age of Technology Terror, �These victim's voices are seldom taken seriously due to the ignorance, disbelieving, scrutiny, and even ridicule resulting from such acts actually taking place leading many governmental authorities and their counterparts to conclude that such mysterious acts are "absurd" or "preposterous."

Unfortunately, there are living testimonies that state otherwise.

�The people that do not know about this are the ones who help reinforce the notion that all of us are delusional.� Dr. John Hall, author of �A New Breed: Satellite Terrorism in America stated to me via email, �I am hoping to remedy some of that through education.�

Dr. Hall, a T.I, (Targeted Individual) himself, risked his entire career towards exposing this form of seemingly-invisible technological terror in his book. Unfortunately, these perpetrators covert themselves behind the ignorance of society.

"However, before one comes to that conclusion, you've usually told your boss, family or physician that you're hearing voices or being attacked with unseen weapons. They, in turn, start the psychiatric ball rolling and before you know it you've been diagnosed as delusional and are totally discredited. Victims organizing and educating the public will be our way out.�

Damien T., a T.I had a job with a multi-national aerospace manufacturer, global security, and advanced technology company. Consequently, he had to deal with a hostile work environment before he was laid off in 2007.

Things about his personal life were blurted out in conversations, even from his supervisor. This is what has been happening according to Torres�s account:

�My manager would talk about things that I would do on the weekend while talking with other co-workers.

He wouldn�t specify my name, but it was things he would blurt out for no reason; things that I would do on the weekends in my own home. These conversations were made close enough to my cubicle so that I would hear them. It�s obvious these incidents were intentional.�

Damien later began to experience things of the technological terror persuasion.

�I first realized I was targeted back around late 2008. From what I remember, it was around September. I noticed noise campaigns from my Asian neighbors. There were incidents such as constant door slamming, stomping in front of my bedroom window, trash thrown around our condo, graffiti on our garage door. Also, I noticed a lot of unfamiliar faces at restaurants and bars.

Groups of people would walk in and sit around my area constantly looking towards my way. I also noticed them talking about my habits there were personal. Some remarks were personal in nature. It seemed to die down around December 2008.�

But much to the surprise of Damien, they apparently had not.

�Towards the end of December 2008, I noticed odd noises throughout our condo unit, noises that followed me through my home.� he said. �I would leave my bedroom and I would hear thumps (in the walls/ceilings) as I walked through the hallway and into the front room.

These odd noises still continue to this very day throughout my mother�s condo unit.

All of her furniture, walls/ceilings, appliances, etc are constantly being hit with a sonic wave of varying frequencies. For example, the thump will sound louder depending on what�s being hit and how forceful the sonic wave is.

I learned that computers (or digital computers) can be used to send out ultrasonic waves for harassment purposes. I am guessing these computers are used in tandem with our own government satellites (NSA). I can�t imagine how some nut job in our government could come up with such an idea to specifically harass someone.�

Damien believes he is a victim of V2K (Voice to Skull). His is based on some odd noises he�s heard inside his head that sounded like a cheap-low frequency radio transmitter.

�The noises and voices also seem to be multi-directional.� He explained. �It turns out that the V2K were coming from my own next door neighbors. The voices seemed to have an Asian accent. They would say words in Asian which I wouldn�t understand or they would talk to me in English.�

What the apparent motive (and strange eviction tactic) by his neighbors was to force him to move out since he has been unemployed for awhile.

Another T.I, name Diana M. a housewife with strong religious faith has underwent so much technological terroristic trauma that she herself began to question the level of her sanity. She bombarded me with a variety of supporting documents indicating no insanity.

Diana believes that the people involved are members of the K.K.K.(Ku Klux Klan) What she is undergoing is a form of mental rape and/or control. This was an account of what happened to her, seven years ago:

�The first time I new something was wrong was the day I couldn't walk forward.� She explained. �I could walk backwards and sideways, but something was not allowing me to move forward at all.

I finally had to sit down and have an old acquaintance go get his car, walk backwards into it until I arrived at his home, then I could walk. Now trust me, I totally thought it was me.�

Then the V2K period came for her, about two years later.

�I was sitting in my kitchen and all of a sudden, I heard a baseball game out of nowhere. Now I don�t watch baseball or ever listen to it. I checked with my husband, but he had no idea. Every time I would turn my head a certain direction, I would hear a ball game.

This went on for I believe maybe � hour at the most then the talking began. They wanted to make it seem completely spiritual, like I was walking down a certain spiritual path (shamanism) to be exact.�

Ironically, this was during a period where Diana was on a path towards spirituality.

�I also remember in the beginning someone kept recording something that I said, or they said and switched it around. They completely started messing with my mind. The things that they do to a person, I know is something that my own mind would not make up.�

Diana has had sleep deprivation, body swelling, and other forms of pain because of these acts. She even states that her and her husband tried to retreat underground in mines, but to no avail, the sounds actually followed her there. These methods by the unknown perps were to also destroy her marriage.

�They fill you with absolute fear, a vicious fear to look at yourself or anyone else even my husband. Through all of these attacks, I have been baptized confirmed, and married within the last five years.�

To my knowledge and testimonies by the above T.Is, these attacks are ongoing.

In �Electronic Harassment� I listed a T.I as being anonymous, due to her fear for retaliation. Christine Lynn Harris, T.I and Anti-Organized Stalking activist decided to no longer be ruled by fear. She strongly believes her attackers involve a property manager, a law firm, and a member of the San Francisco Police Department Mission District Station.

All the attacks that occurred upon Christine, was after her �Notice of Complaint� was sent by her to the Attorney General Office, last year.

Her courage grew immensely when she took it really personal when her organs were hit with untold amounts of radiation. �I can handle the mental issue, but when you attack my body well now it�s personal!�
She was a constant E.R patient to a point where her organs have been significantly been damaged.

Although I originally listed Christine as being �anonymous� it did not take long for her enemies to figure out who story it was. They began to retaliate.

Her car was �towed� a short time after it was published, even though her parking didn�t violate any parking and safety laws. The S.F City Attorney�s Office reimbursed her the monies she paid to retrieve her car.

A C.D was placed by her car marked �murder� beside her car. Her computer has been hacked. A second attempt to �tow� her car took place, only to be thwarted by her upon discovering their weird activities outside. After taking their sketchy picture, she posted it online at YouTube.

The big question by us both was �Since when do tow truck companies ride around looking for expired license plates of parked cars? Isn�t that a job for a police or a traffic safety officer?�

Christine believes that her car may have some sort of tracking or listening device hidden in her car based on the unexplained events around her.

She�s outreached, spent her own money, and appealed to numerous politicians across the nation to put an end to these acts of terror and control. Very little has been done to eliminate the problem. Christine has even been on an online show regarding targeted victims, and told her story, but the problems still persist.

Not too long ago, I sent a letter (and published it online) to the White House, urging President Barack Obama and his administration to investigate these crimes. �Those responsible should be held accountable for these crimes.� I said.

Only time will tell if the Obama Administration will step up to the task.

Like many T.I.s who are gripped by fear, isolation, anxiety, discouragement, and despair; they come to realize that only they can take action. Reluctant, fearful, and emotional, the inner strength and rage is what collectively combines their voices to combat the covert terror they meet each day.

Today exists a wide T.I network ranging locally and globally plan to protest a nationwide crises call to action, (throughout the month of October) as a first step to end this covert terror.

Targeted Individuals� have decided to appeal to themselves for help by communicating and outreaching online on Yahoo, YouTube, Mind Justice (www.mindjustice.org/victims.htm, etc, etc. Their only hope to finally get society to see the covert hands that cover their voices.

�Persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed.�
2 Corinthians 4:9

by Anastacia, aka Stacey D. Langley/PNN Texas correspondent

Ingles sigue

I’m not currently homeless, but with the fickle stoner landlady that my partner and I have, that could change at any moment. We don’t want to be homeless again. If we lose our place here, we can’t afford another one here in Austin.

I’ve been homeless on and off since 1992, when I left home because my mom just refused to get along with me. At first I lived off my savings, but when that ended, I started crashing with friends and occasionally sleeping with guys to have a place to stay for the night. I smoked pot and dropped acid, so I don’t really remember much from 1992 to 1995. .

At the drop of a hat, if I ended up with some money from a little job, friends, or church, I’d decide to go off to Austin, Nashville, Dallas, or some other town. I’d work there for a while, but never could save enough to find a place. .

I met a guy with a lot of privilege and we dated all summer. I guess he liked having a little street girl to fool around with for a while, until his rich psychiatrist daddy freaked out after I got pregnant (I found out later that Daddy-O paid for my abortion.) Then my boyfriend literally dropped me off in front of a teen homeless shelter. Two months of depression and drug use ensued. .

I met a British space physicist and had a semester-long affair with him, once again ending up pregnant. This time, I was not going to terminate my pregnancy. I was able to find a supportive midwife who moved me to North Texas, where I gave birth to Maya in 1996.

I returned to college in 1997,but it only lasted a year. My parents and I had reconciled by that point, so I ended up moving in with them in El Paso. I was able to find a good job as a telephone operator, but once again, depression reared its ugly head, and I got fired. .

My parents told the State that I was not fit to care for my daughter because of my mental illness, so they took her from me, promising me that they would give her back when I was more stable. Then the State charged me with child endangerment because some anonymous asshole reported that I had left my child alone and didn’t feed her. I got probation, but pissed it away after my mom told me not to see my daughter. I ran off to Houston in 1999 after CPS refused to assist me in obtaining mental health services. .

I got pregnant again the next year after a fling with an eighteen year old. I went off to San Francisco, but returned to Austin after six weeks. I moved in with some friends from the LGBT community, and gave birth to Ethan in 2001. .

I had odd jobs and help from friends, and that’s how I survived with Ethan then. We traveled around the country, but the grass was not greener on the other side. We always returned to Houston. .

In 2004, we were living in a mentally ill group home in Houston when I met Todd, a fellow resident. We quickly fell in love and got our own place, but that didn’t last long, because I was so afraid of CPS and the State coming to get me. I left for Austin that summer, and Todd followed me a few months later. .

I became pregnant and we moved to Albuquerque, where we stayed until Zen was born in early 2005. We returned to Austin, where we stayed at the Salvation Army for six months until we qualified for a housing program. We moved into our own apartment in a nice area and Ethan began school. Almost immediately after moving, I once again got pregnant with Serenity, born in 2006. We spent that year moving from one apartment’s “$99 move in special” to another. .

Todd got a part-time job in 2007 and we moved into a house. Unfortunately, he became physically disabled in addition to his mental illness, so we lost the house. We spent most of 2007 going around the country trying to find him better health care for his neurological disorder, caused by the negligence of his psychiatrist. .

In September of 2007, we moved back to Austin and briefly stayed in the Catholic Worker house. Unfortunately, the woman there didn’t like Todd and threw him out, so the kids and I left the next day. Unbeknownst to us, she called CPS on us. .

We got help from the School District to move into an cramped apartment in a bad area of town. To help pay the rent, I started stripping, but fell back into drug abuse, so I just wasn’t able to take care of the kids like I should have. Todd was basically bedridden at that point. CPS came, but they saw nothing wrong, so they closed the case. .

March 2008 was when the shit hit the fan. Our apartment complex was sick of fixing our windows broken by the neighbors playing soccer, so they threatened to evict us. The next day, I received a call at work from CPS saying they were removing my children because of neglect. My house was a total pigsty because I was too depressed to care, and the police were called. They discovered my warrant for probation violation, arrested me, and sent me back to El Paso. They sent Todd to the mental hospital. .

After I was sentenced in El Paso, I was arrested for child endangerment again in Austin, and was transported back. The whole time I was incarcerated, I only got one visit from friends. I ended up serving my sentences concurrently, and was released from the Texas Department of Criminal Justice in December of last year. .

Todd and I went to court and had our parental rights terminated and so our children went to foster care, then adoption. It is still very hard on us ten months later. .

I finally was able to access mental health services and chemical dependency treatment, and now I am receiving Supplemental Security Income as well as Todd’s. Unfortunately, it is hard to locate affordable housing in Austin nowadays, so we rent an RV month to month. We don’t know when our college student landlady is going to flake out on us and want us to move. I don’t know what is going to happen then, but I am a survivor, so I know I’ll make it through. .