2011

  • THE DAILY OUTRAGE: A REVIEW FOR THE REVOLUTION

    09/24/2021 - 09:12 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Redbeardedguy
    Original Body

    The San Francisco Examiner recently printed a story, from the African country of Zambia, about charges being dropped against two Chinese men, supervisors at a coal mine, who shot 13 miners during a 2010 protest over wages.  The managers fired shotguns into a crowd.  Nobody was killed.

    The Zambian government paid off the workers so no charges would be pressed by them.  China spends over $1 billion annually to get what it wants from Zambia.  This is, as the headline said, "the daily outrage"--but the real crime is Amerikkkan newspapers and journalists failing to connect the dots:  Amerikkka does whatever it takes to get what it wants, just like China.

    Amerikkkan corporations closed their domestic factories and used cheap Mexican labor to keep prices at home as low as possible until Chinese labor became a "better" cheaper means to greater profits.  When the Sub-Prime Mortgage scheme popped like the Dot-Com Bubble, Chinese workers felt the pain too. 

    Chinese peasant-workers, moving by the millions from the country to cities where the jobs were, either became homeless on the spot or went back to their home provinces and villages.  Americans caught in the Sub-Prime Crosshairs lost houses and the Amerikkkan Illusion, and they still are as more houses are foreclosed and taken by banks.

    Democrats and Republicans play Chicken with the Federal budget just like they did when Bill Clinton was President.  I know, I know, I can't expect a conservative rag to analyze anything the way I do, but willful blindness to reality and the part one plays in it is, indeed, a "Daily Outrage".

     

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  • RYME- Revolutionary Youth Media Education

    09/24/2021 - 09:12 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Tiny
    Original Body

    RYME- Revolutionary Youth Media Education for youth 12-19 years old.

    The RYME program includes radio, video and on-line journalism (blog) production as well as poetry, performance and theatre, organizing and consciousness on poverty, racism, migration, police brutality and liberation

    All classes are taught bi-lingually and include lunch

    Full scholarship and stipends offerred to low-income youth.

    Program begins June 7th-Space is limited. Registration deadline is May 15th.

    Applications can be downloaded here

    For more information contact us by email at deeandtny@poormagazine.org

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  • Porgy & Bess Krip-Hop Reality Remix (Poem, using some of the original lyrics)

    09/24/2021 - 09:12 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Leroy
    Original Body

     

     Black Kripple love story

    Porgy singing to his lady

    Love against all odds

     

    Black kripple beggar

    Took care of business

    Made sure that they were together

     

    Bess u is my woman

    I loves you Porgy

    Dealt with the public’s pressure

     

    Today’s Porgy & Bess

    Have to play chess

    Filling out government boxes

     

    Porgy was strong as an ox

    Now beat down by Uncle Sam

    Bess doing her best to love her man

     

    They pass by singin',

    They pass by cryin',

    Always lookin'.

    And they keep on movin'!

     

    When God make cripple,

    He mean him to be lonely.

    Night time, daytime, He got to travel that lonesome road.

    Night time, day time, He gotta travel that lonesome road. 

     

    Summer Time and The Living is not easy

    Baby is crying because she is hungry

    Porgy picked up on sit & lie city policy

     

    Can’t make his money

    Can’t provide for his family

    Existing & fighting in poverty

    Bess singing and crying

     

    My man is gone now

    The Po po took him some how

    Got him bowing down


    Three strikes bail so high

    Bess, back to the oldest occupation, selling her body

    Just to get her man out of the penitentiary

     

    I Got Plenty O’ Nothin’

    Don’t need anything

    Just give me my Porgy

     

    Gentrification sweeping

    Closed down Catfish Row

    Here come those buzzards

     

    Man & woman just working

     

    Troubles are coming

    Buzzards pack your things & fly from here

    Porgy is young again look out all you politicians

     

    It Ain’t Necessarily so

    What is in the Bible It Ain’t Necessarily so

    Everybody, queers kripples, all races

     

    Jump over the broom get marry be happy

     

    Darla, my Strawberry Woman with her red hair

    Was wrapped up in Porgy’s chocolate skin

    Oh Bess Where’s My Bess

     

    Bess I want her now

    Tell me the truth

    Where is my girl

    Where is my Bess

     

    The state can’t get in my way

    Dragging my feet across this country

    Oh Lord I’m on my way

     

    Illegal love

    Some say

    Porgy & Bess came a long way

     

    Living but not like Romeo & Juliet

    Being Black Kripple & poor real day image

    From 1912 to the end of time

     

    Surviving in the saying of Fredrick Douglas

    “no struggle no progress”

    That is today’s Porgy & Bess

     

    By Leroy Moore

    4/23/11

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  • Ocama…. Ocama – Ocama.. Pachamama (Listen, Listen, Listen Mother Earth)

    09/24/2021 - 09:12 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Tiny
    Original Body

     

    Ocama…. Ocama – Ocama.. Pachamama

     

    For all Taino of Borike'n, Haiti, Dominican Republic and Beyond

     

    Ocama… mama

     

    Ripped of skin

    Blood and kin

     

    Spirits and medicine

    Called a sin

    By kkkolonizers with guns and poison

     

    Land and elders destroyed

    Then told that we had met our end

     

    Filled with love for Creator

    And Pachamama

    Innocent to kkkolonizers tricks and drama

     

    Hands, Songs and spirits

    Stolen and cut

    Removed, displaced and shut

     

    Our medicine is love

    Which is why we could be shoved and kicked and

    Hated and then missed

     

    Until our ancestors moved through us – their descendents

    To Resist the Anthro-pologists Wrong-ness

    The philanthro-pimped funded theft of gangsters

    With papers defining them as legitimate

     

    Putting our stolen art and souls in ornate prisons named

    After alien beings like

    De Young and Carnegie

     

    It is time Taino to take the herstory back

    Wayyy back

    So we can deconstruct the un-justice

    And reconstruct our liberation based in

    Love

     

    Ocama mama….

     

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  • Notes from the Inside: "Mom"

    09/24/2021 - 09:12 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Tiny
    Original Body

    February 7, 1999

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  • My Ancestors Cried

    09/24/2021 - 09:12 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Muteado
    Original Body

    My Ancestors Cried

    We went from creating art for survival,

    to selling our art and culture to survive

    sold and bought by the colonizers at a museums, art galleries.

     

    While some of my people eat cheese and wine,

    we get bought and sold creating genocide


    Our Ancestors said art is done by the people

    for the people not for rich colonizers

     

    But we lost our way our culture, our art, our self

    now we chasing the mighty dollar or some crumbs

    to stay alive

     

    I hear my Ancestors cry

    We went from creating art for survival,

    to selling our art and culture to survive

     

    Exposed in museums our people can be found

    but WE don't have the funds or time to appreciate our

    people and Art

     

    In Museums you can find what they did not destroy or burn

    the Herstory of our people....

    The Herstory of our people must be told and not by Docents at museums

    But by Nuestra Gente, Curanderos, Danzantes, el pueblo.

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  • For Mama Solteras (Single Mamas) in poverty and my Mama Dee...

    09/24/2021 - 09:12 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Tiny
    Original Body

    Thank-u mama(s)
    fo feeding me healthy to run fast and always see clear

    without any money near

     

    for dreaming always of mo betta even tho

    u were filled wit so much sorrow

     

    for living through evictions and endless poverty

    and never giving up the dedication

    to something u saw in me

     

    fo saving me from pedophile glances

    and teaching me all your ritmo and carrying my soul  through so many dances

     

    for loving me no matter what

    and yet never letting me give up

    for living alone cuz u were always scared

    as the daughter of another mama who barely dared to speak

    up when u were being abused - used -like she wanted you to lose

    "she wanted me to die , lisa, you used to say

    and you were right -

     

    my confused and abused grandmother was filled with shame at her mixed race daughter born out of wedlock

    hoped she wouldnt make it- but she did and so did i

     

    dear mama- tupac was right - dont know how u did what u did

    and again here i am

    with a boy who hasn't suffered like u or me had - but he has your deep and full heart and so much love

     

    tears of the deepest river flow down my cheek as i try to hold your sorrow

    it is sometimes way too deep

    but every mama's day from turtle island, Borik'n to Mexico

     

    I call out your name at the altar-into the sky - at the moon-and into yemoja's waves

     

    te amo mama- i love u mama and i always will and i dream that u are finally feeling better on your spirit ride

    than you ever did in  this loca vida/crazy lyfe

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  • James Neptune (Penobscot Elder) discusses about Healing and Mascoting

    09/24/2021 - 09:12 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    mari
    Original Body

    From the moment I met James Neptune, he put a smile on my face. He is an avid storyteller and I know this will not be my only interview with him. We cracked jokes, ndn style and like James said we didn't have enough time. He discussed the role of healing with me, which is a constant reflection in my life and path. He gave a story on Cleveland Indians and the role of Indian mascoting as well. He runs the Penobscot Tribal Musuem on the Inidan Island, please go visit him! He is amazing!

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  • Estamos Hasta La Madre/ We are Sick Of It

    09/24/2021 - 09:12 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Muteado
    Original Body

    For English Scroll Down

    "Ya Estamos Hasta La Madre"

    El primero de Mayo, donde diferentes protestas y demostraciones se llevaron acabo en Los Estados Unidos de America contra las deportaciones y la criminilizacion de los migrantes indocumentados y a favor de los Derechos de los trabajadores . Hubo un incidente donde un grupo de protestantes que organizaron una protesta contra el partido Democrata, no dejo que Dolores Huerta defendiera y hablara sobre que el enemigo son los Republicanos y no el partido Democrata, las personas empezaron a Gritar "Vendida" y "Obama escucha estamos en la Lucha", dando entender que el partido Democrata es parte del problema y no la solucion. En una corta investigacion, de lo que a hecho la administracion de Oabama en su tiempo en la casa Blanca sobre la inmigracion... - 400,000 "Migrantes indocumentados" han sido deportados cada 12 meses. -ICE a deportado 279,035 migrantes en 2010 comparado a 254,763 que ban este ano entrante. -En este momento hay mas de 1,000 deportaciones al dia. Es dificil darle a entender al pueblo "migrante indocumentado" de que apoye a los Democratas, viendo y viviendo la realidad en la que la gente vive, deportaciones, familias separadas, que te quiten el carro por no tener lincencia de conducir, es dificil entender esto si no haz vivido en carne propia, no importa cuantas historias te han contado o haz leido. "El pueblo indocumentado esta cansado de promesas que se las lleva el viento"

    En conversaciones que he tenido con gente "indocumentada" tienen el mismo sentimiento de perder la fe y esperanza de la gente que supuestamente esta para luchar por derechos de los migrantes. Yo entiendo mucha de la fustracion de los paisanos por la realidad que vivimos, y entiendo que si NO vivieramos esta vida de Perros no actuarimos como perros.

    Engles Sigue

    "We are sick of it".  Scores of protests and demonstrations took place throughout the United States on May 1st denouncing  the deportation and criminalization of undocumented migrants and to support the rights of workers.  One such protest was organized to speak out against the democratic party's immigration policies.  Farm Labor activist/organizer Dolores Huerta attempted to speak.  "The enemy are the Republicans and not the Democrats" said Huerta.  The crowd responded by shouting "sell out" and "Obama, we are in the struggle", in an attempt to articulate the sentiment that the  "Democrats are part of the problem, not the solution".  

    An analysis of the Obama administration's immigration policy shows the following: 400,000 "undocumented Migrants" are deported every year.  ICE(Immigration and Customs Enforcement) has deported 279,035 immigrants in 2010 compared to 254,763 at this time last year.  There are over 1,000 deportations a day in the United States. It is difficult to convince "Undocumented migrants" to support the Democrats while living in fear of deportations, separated families and having your vehicle impounded for not having a driver license.  If you have not experienced this first hand, no matter how many stories people have told you or what you have read, you have no idea what it feels like. The "undocumented" are tired of promises that are gone with the wind.

    In conversations I have had with "undocumented" paisanos, the overriding feeling is that of a community that is losing faith in the people who supposedly struggle for migrants rights. I do understand the frustration of the Paisanos and the reality they live. I understand the frustration of being treated less than human. 

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  • Un Corazon separado por una frontera/ A Heart Separated by a Border/Resistance Blog Series

    09/24/2021 - 09:12 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Tiny
    Original Body

     

    Resistance Blog series created in 2011 PeopleSkool Winter Session

    Reportera de Prensa Pobre/POOR Magazine Reporter

    For English scroll down

    El hielo se empesaba adesconjelar.
    Por los fuertes rayos del sol una mañana.
    Como a las 7:30 am mi hija me abrazo me dio un beso y se despidio. Mis baronsitos me veian como diciendo? Que pasa, porque mi mama se va y nos deja?
    Abraze a mi primer baron con el alma pues el solo tenia 5 años. Le dije pase lo que pase no olvides que te amo.
    El agacho la cabezita y me dijo esta bien.
    No llore pero sentia que la respirasion se me aseleraba el triple de lo normal sentia que mi cuerpo se estaba quedando sin su corazon luego abraze ami bebe y sentia que nuevamente lo perdia.Lo abraze mas fuerte lo bese con los labios temblorosos porque queria llorar,
    Le dije ya me voy hijito no vallas a llorar, papa
    No se cuando voy a regresar pero te amo.
    El solo dijo bueno mami se sonrrio y me dijo
    pero seapura mami me trae una paleta y un pan.
    El tenia solo 3 años y pensaba que yo hiba regresar pronto
    Y asi siguio gritando hasta que ya no me vio
    En ese momento yo llore porque ellos ya no me veian .
    En todo el viaje lloraba pero traia una meta y tenia que cumplirla y no queria regresar pues no me gusta ser cobarde.

    Son 7 años que no los veo de amargura de llanto por no tenerlos conmigo no verlos creser.

    No saber cuales son sus gustos cuales son sus pensamientos cuales son sus alegrias, cuales son sus corajes Pero de algo estoy segura es que mi amor crece mas cada dia. Ellos lo saben, es que los amo y ellos a mi, talves la distansia nos a hecho valorar el amor verdadero que nada ni nadie lo hara romper. Mi corazon ya los quiere verlos abrazarlos besarlos sin parar, que no exista el reloj ni el tiempo para separarnos.aunque la sonrisa inocente de mis hijitos lo conservo en el fondo de mi corazon haora que mis hijos hablan conmigo,me siento emosionada ellos dicen mami la amamos y la queremos muchisisimo la extrañamos y queremos que se venga, queremos verla pronto y esas palabras me llenan de satifaccion.

    Asi como mis hijos estan creciendo sin mi, hay muchos, mas esta situacion.

    Y siguen quedandose sin sus padres por la pobreza
    por que el gobierno en nuestras paises no hacen nada para cambiar la situasion y por eso esque mis hijos y a otros niños estan como dice María Helena Jiménez, procuradora 15 judicial de familia de Caldas, se refiere al fenómeno denominado 'huérfanos con padres vivos'.
    Yo entiendo esto porque mi mama siempre dice lo mismo que mis hijos estan huerfanos porque a pesar que tienen a su padre cerca y mi con vida. Si yo no estuviera? que seria de estos niños dice ella.

    Hay una estimacion, 2009 50 mil niños están creciendo sin sus padres, quienes migraron a otros países

     

    Ingles sigue/English follows

    The ice started to melt by the rays of sun in the early morning. It was 7 a.m. My daugther hugged and kissed me on the check and said farewell. My little boys looked at me as if asking themselves, What happened? Why is our mommy leaving us?

    I hugged my first son with all my soul. He was only five years old. I told him, “No matter what happends remember that I love you.” He lowered his head and told me, “Ok.” I did not cry but I felt that I started to breathe three times faster then normally, I felt my body losing my heart, I hugged my baby, and I knew I was losing him again. I gave him a big hug and kiss, my lips shaking because I wanted to cry. I told him, “Now I must go. Please do not to cry. I don’t know when I’m coming back, but I love you.” He only said, “Ok mom,” and smiled and added, “Ok, but hurry up mommy and bring me a popsicle and a loaf of bread.” He kept saying this until I disappeared, and at that moment I began to cry because I knew I wouldn’t see them soon. I cried through my whole journey, but I had a goal and I needed to reach it and get to the North, and I wouldn’t come back because I don’t like to be a coward.

    It has been 7 years that I have not seen them, and I feel bitterness and sadness for not having my kids and seeing them grow.

    It has been 7 years of not knowing what their tastes are, what their thoughts are, what makes them happy, how they get angry. But there is one thing that I am sure of, and that is they know I love them and they love me. And maybe the distance has made us appreciate true love that nothing or nobody can brake.

    My heart wants to see them and hug and kiss them in person. I want to see them now and hold them without stopping, kiss them without end. I wish that time did not exist and would separate us apart. I remember the smiles and keep the memories in my heart. Now and then when I speak with them by phone, I feel happy to hear their voice they say that they loved me, tat they miss me a lot. They say they want to see me soon, and hearing this fills me with satisfaction.

    Just like my children are growing up without me, there are many more in the same situation.

    Many children live without their parents cause of poverty, and the goverments of our countries don’t do anything to change the situation. This is why my children and other children are in this situation, according to Maria Helena Jimenez, juducial attorney for the family of Caldas. She refers to the phenomenon of “orphans with living parents.”

    I understand because my mother said the same thing about me. She would say these kids have their fathers closeby to them, and me alive. If I was not here what would be the future of those children?

    In 2009, 50 thousands children are growing up without parents, who have migrated to other countries.

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  • Notes from the Inside: "Mother"

    09/24/2021 - 09:12 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Tiny
    Original Body

    MOTHER

    YOU are the First
    beginnings Of the first love I've ever known...
     kindness, warmth, trust,
      All this you have shown...
    YOU are
    the perfect rainbow
    across the sky of every human being,
     YOU are the flower view
     my soul keep seeing...

    Your nourishment gave me the power
    to continue on
    with strong motion,  you are
      the raw essence
       of truth
      and devotion...
    your wisdom is the treasure,
    your giving has no measure,
    much higher and precious than any other...
    you are the one
    you are my mother.

    Bernard Patrick
    2/23/99

    BEING POOR AIN'T NO STATE OF MIND

    When the winds be blowin'
    so very hard
    and the cold is assaulting
    one's bones, when
    the very bottom of one's belly
    cries out to a world
    the just don't hear,
    to a world that just don't
    really know the
     serious push
      of the
    pains that
     hunger their
     way
     above and beyond
      the heart...
    When one's only dream
    is to be warm and realized...
    just to be realized.
     When one has allowed
     the neat commodities
     of pride
      to become vaporized
      In the fluttering wings of hope...
    When one has engaged
    in the vast theater
      of other people's stare
      and disregard.
    When one must become an
    actor or actress for the small
     but wanting
      facet
      of a meal.
    Being poor is the tragic song
      that has no
     particular music, it's
      a song and a journey
    that has no apparent end...
    ...It is the cracked reflection
     in a cultural mirror
     that often breaks
     into little
      jagged
      elements called terrible...
    Being Poor
     is like the shadow
     squeezing in
      between two tan
      buildings...
    Being Poor is deplorable... it is
     the profane exterior
     of hurt
      encrusted
     and shackled
     along the narrow lines of reality.
     

    Bernard Patrick, 1999
    GSP EF307420
    100 GA, HWY, 147
    Reidsville, GA
    30499

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  • Gary Neptune- Penobscot Father

    09/24/2021 - 09:12 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    mari
    Original Body

    Gary breaks it down about his reservation, what it means to be a father, keeping up Penobscot ways, the Indian Island School, talked a bit about the Casino Initiative (where the one in town got have one and a Indian Nation couldn't), Paper Mill chemical dumping into the Penobscot River, and much more!!!

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  • Stars and Gripes: Pacquiao vs. Mosley

    09/24/2021 - 09:12 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Tiny
    Original Body

    Stars and Gripes: Thoughts on Pacquiao vs. Mosley

     

    Seeing this past weekend’s world title fight between WBO welterweight champion Manny Pacquiao and Shane Mosley brought to mind a quote I’d read somewhere: “The bell that tolls for all in boxing belongs to a cash register”.  After reading about and watching commercials for the fight, I gave my tithe to the church of pugilism (AKA the local cable company)—54 dollars and change—hard earned money from my Uncle Tom job as a doorman at an upscale (when I speak of upscale, I speak of the residents) apartment complex. 

     I wanted to watch Pacquiao because I have neglected him.  He is Pilipino, I am Pilipino-American and have not followed his career—a career that can only be described as brilliant.  My gripe is that the quality of the sport has receded due to a dearth of great fighters.   Fighters I watched growing up—Ali, Frazier, Arguello, Duran, Monzon, Hagler, Leonard, Sanchez, Hearns and Duran—were all active in the same generation—all future hall of famers.  My father collected boxing magazines while I collected Marvel and DC comics.  I graduated to collecting Ring and Boxing Illustrated Magazines, amassing an impressive stack under the bed.

    I had first seen Pacquiao in 2002 on the undercard of the Mike Tyson/Lennox Lewis heavyweight title fight.  Pacquiao was vying for the IBF featherweight title but my main focus was Tyson.  I wanted him to beat Lewis.  I didn’t give Pacquiao much thought although he was obviously a terrific puncher with good defensive skills and intensity cut from the same cloth as one of my heroes, Roberto Duran.  But my narrow-mindedness did not allow me to foresee the potential greatness of Manny Pacquaio.  I focused on Tyson because I didn’t like Lewis.  Lennox didn’t sound like a heavyweight champion; heavyweight champions had names like Muhammad, Joe, Rocky--or Mike.  That night Tyson got knocked out.  The champion’s name was Lennox (not Linux).  Pacquiao won that night too.

    Fight night—clips of Pacquiao and Mosley’s fights are shown, footage of the two fighters training, posing for cameras and clips of Pacquiao at work as a congressman in the Philippines.  The announcer talks about Pacquiao’s humble beginnings prior to his boxing career, about his drive and perseverance which resulted in an unprecedented feat--the first fighter to win world titles in 8 different weight classes.  When asked about his political career, Pacquaio says that prior to being elected as Congressman, he saw the problems in the Philippines as being this big, illustrating the size with the space between his thumb and forefinger.  He then added that the problems are this big, spreading his arms wide.  Members of the press corps often referred to Pacquiao is being the smaller fighter, a distinction Mosley respectfully corrected--"He is the shorter man" Mosley said.

    The weigh-in was shown and I became somewhat depressed.  As I approach the mid stage of life--along with millions of other sedentary members of my gender-- I watch these athletes and realize I will never achieve six pack abs.  I look at the body of 39 year old Mosley and remember his fight against Oscar De La Hoya in 2000.  He won that fight with speed.  I wondered how much he had left at age 39.  The prelim bouts begin and I drop to the floor, attempt a set of crunches when a text message from my friend Ezekiel--"Zeak" for short--the boxing fan, comes through.

     

    Zeak:  You watching the fight?

    Me: Yeah

    Zeak: I think Pac’s gonna knock him out in 9

    Me: How many crunches can you do?

    Zeak: ?

     

    I give up my crunches, jog to the kitchen and back, hitting the couch in  time for the main event. I sit. Mosley enters first with his team led by LL Cool J on the mic doing “Mama said knock you out”.  It was decent but I preferred the music video.  Leading the Pacquaio contingent is Jimi Jamison—of the group “Survivor”---singing “Eye of the Tiger” from the movie “Rocky III”.  I get another text:

     

    Zeak: Pac should have sung that song himself.  He has the voice.

    Me: LL Cool J looks like he could give Pac a good fight

    Zeak: Jamison looks like he should be carrying the bucket

    Me: I know

     

    Both national anthems are sung; the Philippine first, beautifully sung by Charice (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KW7UrZ5WveI) followed by the US anthem sung by Tyrese.  Somehow I don’t hear the words that Tyrese sings.  I keep thinking of his role in “Baby Boy”, in the python-like choke hold of Ving Rhames who whispers in his ear: Jody…little Jody before slapping his shiny head(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VywoZ8t2LyM&feature=related).  I wonder how Ving Rhames would sound singing the national anthem. 

    I looked at the Philippine flag hanging stoically amidst the thousands of fans, moving slightly under the hum of lights and above the ocean of anticipation.  I thought about myself as a Filipino-American.  It felt good hearing the Philippine anthem.  I wanted to join in but didn’t know the words.  After Tyrese’s rendition of the Star Spangled Banner, Jamie Fox was introduced and segued into “America the Beautiful”.  Another text:

     

    Zeak: Fox is taking this Ray Charles thing serious, huh?

    Me: I like Ray

     

    I wondered why the extra portion of patriotism was being doled out and it came to me via yet another text:

     

    Zeak: It’s a dig on the Bin Laden Folk.  It’s code for:  WE GOT ‘EM

    Me: Also a dig at Pacquiao.  It's the US saying, you might be the best fighter in the world, but ours is the best COUNTRY in the world.   It makes 'em feel better.

     

    Round one.  Both fighters are jabbing and moving, respectful of each other’s power.  No damage done.  I score the round even.  That was as close as it got.  I had Pacquiao winning every round thereafter.  He used his jab and applied constant pressure, landing hard shots that took the steam from Mosley within a few rounds.  Mosley’s signature speed and pinpoint counter punching that had been brilliant in fights against De La Hoya, Forrest and Mayorga was not present.

    Mosley seemed to age as the rounds progressed.  It was as if his mind knew what to do but was betrayed by an uncooperative body.  I was reminded of Sugar Ray Leonard, in one of his last fights, against Jr. Middleweight Champion Terry Norris.  Leonard absorbed a beating, taking punches he would have avoided in his prime.  Mosley, like Leonard, was past his prime.  Both fighters had much respect for each other—at times seeming too respectful—touching gloves before every round and in various times in between.  Prior to the fight, Mosley expressed resentment at being the underdog. Having been thrown off his rhythm by Pacquiao's power and speed, Mosley seemed to have left any resentment he had in his dressing room. 

     

    During the fight cameras cut to each fighter’s respective Wife/partner; their faces etched with anxiety, concern, worry.  I get another text message:

     

    Zeak: Who you thinks hotter, Pac’s wife or Mosley’s girl?

    Me:  They're both beautiful...like models

    Zeak: Come on, you got to have a preference

    Me: It has nothing to do with the fight

    Zeak: Hell, the way the fight’s going, I’d rather see the ladies go at it

    Me: You got a point

     

    At the final bell I had Pacquiao winning every round except the first, which I scored even.  Pacquiao was simply too fast and possessed too much power for Mosley to overcome with his famed counterpunching that made him one of the best pound for pound fighters in boxing for much of the past decade.  The unanimous decision verdict was anti-climatic.  Both fighters showed respect for each other during the post fight interview. “You’re the pound for pound king” said Mosley to Pacquiao through swollen but still handsome features.  Pacquiao nodded silently. 

     

    The post-fight text message:

     

    Zeak: Who’s hotter, Mrs. Pacquiao or Mosley’s girlfriend?

     (The 54 dollar question)

     

     

     

    © 2011 RWS

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  • Save Dee and Tiny! Pt 7

    09/24/2021 - 09:12 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Tiny
    Original Body

    The story of Dee and tiny, the previously homeless, currently at-risk mother daughter art duo, and co-editors of POOR Magazine/PoorNewsNetwork is a many layered, multi-colored panopoly of poverty, struggle and myth...

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  • Microeconomics: Scavenging to Survive in Pasadena

    09/24/2021 - 09:12 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Tiny
    Original Body

    To support her family, an undocumented worker gathers recyclables from street-side containers. 'I do it out of necessity,' she says.

    Tuesday, March 25, 2008;

    para espanol, mira abajo

    It's not yet 3 a.m. Juana Rivas grabs her shopping cart and steps off the curb into the dark.

    She shields herself from the cold with a sweat shirt and jacket, along with a pink hat and gloves she bought at the 99-cent store. Only a barking dog interrupts the silence.

    Rivas arrives at the first house, lifts the trash can lid and shines her flashlight inside. Nothing.

    "No hay. No hay," she says in Spanish.

    She peers into another trash can. Nothing. She zigzags back and forth across the street, stopping at each house to search for aluminum cans, glass bottles, plastic containers, anything she can exchange for money at the local recycling center. She reaches inside and shakes the contents, listening for the telltale clink of a beer bottle or the hollow tap of a milk carton. Nothing.

    She starts to feel anxious. Her husband and four children are depending on her. The $2,300 rent check on their Pasadena home is due in one week. She already asked for an extension on the gas. The cable and the phone have been disconnected.

    She speeds up the pace. The plastic bags attached to the cart swoosh against one another. The wheels rattle as they roll over pebbles in the street.

    A few minutes later, she finds an empty Sierra Mist can, a few plastic water bottles and several Foster's beer bottles. She dumps them into her empty cart.

    "There are bad days and good days," says Rivas, 48.

    As she walks toward the next house, she says, "It's going to be a bad day."

    Rivas knows what people think, that she digs through her neighbors' trash to make money for drugs or alcohol. She knows what people call her -- scavenger, digger, thief.

    "There are people who look at me like, 'You aren't worth anything. You aren't anybody,' " she said.

    For 13 years, she says, she has collected cans and bottles "to pay my rent, my bills. I do it out of necessity."

    She has looked for more stable jobs, including cleaning offices at night. But nowadays, more companies are asking for immigration papers, papers she doesn't have.

    Besides, scavenging pays OK, she says. The more hours she puts in, the more she earns. Her proof is in her recycling center receipts: Oct. 22: $70.12. Dec. 12: $143.08. Jan. 4: $134.91. Overall, in a year she might earn between $20,000 and $25,000. Combined with what her husband earns and what her children contribute, they can meet the rent and put food on the table.

    Rivas is part of the expanding underground economy -- the hundreds of thousands of immigrants in Southern California who clean houses, mow lawns and wash dishes, making money at the margins and paying few if any taxes. Her story mirrors the contradictions that make illegal immigration such a flash point. She broke the law getting here and drains a municipal resource staying here. Yet she works hard, very hard, so her children won't have to do the same.

    Every weekday, she wakes at 2:30 a.m., knowing that even an hour more of sleep means less money. She walks miles and miles, even when it rains, even when she is battling the flu.

    "If I miss one day, I'm short," she says.

    Her only company is the Spanish-language DJ El Piolin, Eddie Sotelo on KSCA-FM (101.9), who entertains her through a hand-held radio one of her sons gave her two years ago.

    Her shoulders and legs ache from pushing the heavy cart up and down hills. Her hands throb from arthritis. This morning, two of her fingers are bandaged with white tape. Two years ago, she had to go to the emergency room to get stitches when a broken bottle gouged open her forearm. She left with several stitches and a tetanus shot. Emergency Medi-Cal covered the treatment.

    Criando una familia con la basura de Pasadena
    * Para comprar comida y pagar la renta, una inmigrante ilegal recolecta y vende reciclables.
    Por Anna Gorman, Redactora del Times
    March 12, 2008

    Aún no han dado las 3 a.m., Juana Rivas echa mano a su carrito de súpermercado y pasa de la acera a la oscuridad.

    Se resguarda del frío con una sudadera y una chamarra, así como un sombrero rosado y unos guantes que compró en una tienda de 99 centavos. Sólo los ladridos de un perro interrumpen el silencio.

    Rivas llega a la primera casa, levanta la tapa del basurero y alumbra hacia adentro con su linterna. Nada.

    "No hay. No hay," dice ella.

    Mira al interior de otro basurero. Nada. Camina en zigzags hacia delante y hacia atrás por la calle, parando en cada casa en pos de latas de aluminio, botellas de cristal, recipientes plásticos, cualquier cosa que ella pueda cambiar por dinero en el centro de reciclaje local. Mete las manos dentro, sacude el contenido por si oye el sonido clave de una botella de cerveza o el sonido hueco de un cartón de leche. Nada.

    Le entra ansiedad. Su esposo y cuatro hijos dependen de ella. Al cheque por $2,300 por el alquiler de su casa en Pasadena le falta una semana. Ya tuvo que pedir una extensión para el pago del gasóleo. El cable y el teléfono ya fueron desconectados.

    Ella acelera el paso. Las bolsas plásticas atadas al carrito suenan al pasar unas contra otras. Las ruedas chirrían al pasar sobre los guijarros de la calle.

    Unos minutos después, halla una lata vacía de Sierra Mist, unas cuantas botellas plásticas de agua y varias botellas de cerveza Foster. Lo echa todo en su carrito vacío.

    "Hay días malos y días buenos," dice Rivas, de 48 años.

    A medida que camina hacia la próxima casa, dice, "Va a ser un día malo."

    Rivas sabe lo que la gente piensa, que ella registra los basureros de sus vecinos en busca de dinero para drogas o alcohol. Ella sabe lo que dicen de ella – rastrojera, buscona, ladrona.

    "Hay gente que me mira con cara de, 'No vales nada. No eres nadie,' " dijo ella.

    Durante 13 años, dice ella, has recolectado latas y botellas "para pagar la renta, mis cuentas. Lo hago por necesidad."

    Ella ha buscado trabajos más estables, incluso limpiar oficinas de noche. Pero hoy en día, hay más compañías pidiendo papeles de inmigración, papeles que ella no tiene.

    Además, recolectar rastros paga bien, dice ella. Cuántas más horas le dedica, más gana. Su prueba está en los recibos del centro de reciclaje: 22 de octubre: $70.12, 12 de diciembre: $143.08, 4 de enero: $134.91. En general, en un año ella puede ganar entre $20,000 y $25,000. Combinado con lo que gana su esposo y lo que contribuyen los hijos, pueden pagar la renta y poner comida en la mesa.

    Rivas es parte de la incipiente economía clandestina – los cientos de miles de inmigrantes del sur de California que limpian casas, podan céspedes y friegan platos, que ganan un dinero marginal y pagan muy poco, o nada, en impuestos. Su historia refleja las contradicciones que hacen de la inmigración ilegal un punto álgido. Ella infringió la ley para llegar aquí y drena recursos municipales al quedarse aquí. Sin embargo, trabaja duro, muy duro, para que sus hijos no tengan que hacer lo mismo.

    Todos los días se levanta a las 2:30 a.m., a sabiendas de que tan sólo una hora más de sueño significa menos dinero. Camina millas y millas, incluso cuando llueve, incluso cuando está batallando contra la gripe.

    "Si falto un día, no me alcanza," dice ella.

    Su única compañía es el locutor hispanohablante El Piolín, Eddie Sotelo de la KSCA-FM (101.9), que la entretiene mediante un radio portátil que uno de sus hijos le regaló hace dos años.

    Los hombros y las piernas le duelen de empujar el carrito cuesta arriba y cuesta abajo. La manos le tiemblan de la artritis. Esta mañana tiene dos dedos vendados con esparadrapo blanco. Hace dos años tuvo que ir a una sala de urgencia para que le suturaran una laceración que le hizo un pico de botella en un antebrazo. Salió con varios puntos y una vacuna antitetánica. El servicio de emergencia Medi-Cal cubrió el tratamiento.

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  • GOVERNMENT INDIFFERENCE: SAN FRANCISCO AND VALLEJO

    09/24/2021 - 09:12 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Redbeardedguy
    Original Body

    POOR Magazine has been focusing on Vallejo, CA, across San Francisco Bay from San Francisco.  Vallejo benefitted, at first, from San Francisco's institutional, governmental incompetence and disinterest in honestly trying to keep its Black population from fleeing to friendlier places.

    Many East Bay communities have grown as Black San Francisco has shrunk.  The Bayview newspaper did a story on this sad detail, among many others we and they have pointed to, of the realities of life in San Francisco for poor people of any skin color. 

    the last two U.S. Census reports tell the tale, the Big Three People-of-Color populations (Asian, Black, Latin) outnumbers White Vallejo, with other brown-skinned people from the world Diaspora to Amerikkka making up the rest.  Why is this important?

    Until a few years ago, Vallejo was considered an up-and-coming place to live, a great place to be for non-white folks.  Until recently, Vallejo was just like any other place in the Bay Area with more brown skin than white holding the place together--it was run by Whites. 

    The current Mayor is Black, but you couldn't tell by what has happened to the city and the way the power structure responded to challenges facing the body politic, primarily a seriously messed-up budget leading the city to file for bankruptcy.  Vallejo has been trying to find new ways to make a buck, but they began with an attempt to destroy the Glen Cove/Sogorea TE Ohlone First Peoples' 4,500-years-old shellmound, to, as the song goes, "put in a parking lot". 

    Sound familiar (without the bankruptcy proceedings...so far...) to anyone paying attention to whazzup in San Francisco?

    San Francisco's Po'Lice Department is infamous for getting overtime pay from the budget of the MUNI public transit system, which has been hurting in a variety of self and governmental-incompetence-and-indifference-inflicted ways for years.  EIGHTY PERCENT  of Vallejo's budget, we are told, has gone to pay for Fire-fighting and Po'Lice services.

    That's an amazing...appalling percentage of a budget for a city of approximately 100,000!  San Francisco has a mostly brown-skinned population, a Budget Brawl In City Hall that never ends (and the bruises are always found on brown skin).

    When a baseball team doesn't try to stop one of another team's players from stealing a base it's called "Defensive Indifference".  What is it called when the white power structure of a mostly brown town doesn't even notice their budget is more full of plot holes than a Hollywood blockbuster disaster movie (until all they seem able to do is wring their hands, cry wolf, and make the un-skin-privileged pay for their incomptence and/or indifference)?

    Business as usual.

    I can't cry over the Vallejo Po'Lice Department finding itself staring into the budget headlights, getting run over like everyone else.  The San Francisco administrations of Gavin Newsom and the possibly interim Mayor Ed Lee (and others) want city workers to pay pay pay for the privilege of having been city workers for however many years or decades they worked.

    Whatever happened to the I-Scratch-Your-Back-You-Scratch-Mine underpinnings of civilization (the reason we live in cities instead of being hunter-gatherer tribes wondering if somebody wants to count coup and steal our horses, or worse)?  What has happened to the hard-fought-for and hard-won rights of union workers, among other things many, or at least some of us look forward to as old age and Eldership Happens and new generations take over the burdens we drop?

    The mutual Bonobo-like "back-scratchin' " only seems to be for the people with connections and money now. 

    Vallejo's attempt to destroy the Ohlone shellmound has, for now, been defeated.  They need to find better ways to make a buck.  San Francisco does too.  The current issue of the San Francisco Bay Guardian editorially celebrates a hard-won victory over the Indifferent Ones who so love to carve cash cows out of the city budget without ever trying to replace them.

    Maybe Charlie Sheen can help us win some more battles.  Or maybe not.  We do need more wins, though.  How many more San Francisco/Vallejo Budget Brawls In City Hall and China Syndrome-like Governmental Indifference budget-buster bombs are out there, waiting to go off?

     

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  • IS HOARDING AN AMERIKKKAN MENTAL ILLNESS OR A SYMPTOM OF HOW DEEPLY CAPITALISM GETS INTO OUR HEADS?

    09/24/2021 - 09:12 by Anonymous (not verified)
    Original Author
    Redbeardedguy
    Original Body

    In 2009 Tiny aka Lisa Gray-Robles asked me to write about Hoarding/Cluttering.  That article went where the Sock Gods take their prey from washers and dryers.

    As I was saying, the San Francisco Bay Guardian just published ("Evicting Hoarders", May 4th-10th 2011) a good--though shallow--overview of Hoarding/Cluttering in general and in specific as it relates to the lives of the approximately 25,000 people classified with this particular brand of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD) in San Francisco.  Being a Hoarder/Clutterer can get you evicted from your apartment and most certainly from your SRO (Single Room Occupancy) hotel--aka Poor People Housing--room.

    Is Hoarding a mental illness or the logical result of Capitalism run amuck in peoples' heads?  There is a vast economic chasm between the rich and the rest of us in Amerikkka today.  The gap between rich and poor wasn't quite so stupendously ridiculous in centuries past, and you could argue things weren't you-know-what as recently as 1980.

    Many have become obsessed with being famous, becoming American Idols, sports stars, whatever floats your boat and gets you and your family out of poverty (or, well, obscurity...).  If you have little or nothing and everyone around seems to be conspicuously consuming stuff and owning lots of STUFF...well, Capitalism all by its bad little self can be as mind-bending as being a war veteran bit by PTSD, being a survivor of abuse, rape, or any other outrage to the body and soul.

    I told Tiny once, when I was getting to know POOR Magazine better in late 2008, that I wished I'd become part of the family when poormag was founded in the late 90's.  I was not in a good state of mind.  I'd gone from being burned out on Activism 101 in 1989 to trying to figure out how to fit in with "The Real World" (TRW) to feeling like TRW wasn't my friend.  But the feeling wasn't strong enough to get me to really think about what was going on.

    People getting on MUNI busses were hoarding or jumping their place in line to get on the bus (it's worse now with the evil Clipper Card and people getting on front, center and back doors while you're trying to get off the bus...), the number of people selling stuff on sidewalks seemed to be increasing like bunny rabbits...having too much fun.

    Non-profits were working hard to get more corporate in their attitudes to money and the handling thereof.  I worked for the Alameda County Red Cross and heard a lecture on the subject at my first all-Bay-Area-staff gathering, and then came Bob Dole's Wife, appointed new national head of the Red Cross, who said the RC couldn't do AIDS awareness training, which generated considerable angst in my and others' workplaces. 

    There were other reasons why I felt like a refugee in my own country, including being just as good at hoarding as anyone else.  Books, magazines, and newspapers float my boat just fine.  Not having the room to go all-out simply means occasionally getting rid of stuff and then adding more.  I hate getting rid of books, even if I haven't read a bunch I snagged several years after I snagged them!

    My tv is dead now, but I've watched a few episodes of Martha Stewart.  She is, in my opinion, a PROFESSIONAL hoarder/clutterer.  I remember an episode where the camera lovingly moved around a room crammed with iron and stone furniture that looked like it would happily bite chunks out of you re THE AMITYVILLE HORROR movie--and maybe move in and eat the rest of you.  How anyone could enjoy a room like that I could not calculate.

    What happens to rich people who collect lots of art, cars, motorcycles, whatever?  They are (if they haven't gone completely Capitalistically status-mad like the current soon-to-be-ex owner of the Los Angeles Dodgers Major League Baseball team) celebrated on "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" tv shows, written up in other style and architectural magazines--they add a certain toxic pizzazz to The Spectacle of Life in the 20th/21st Centuries and they mess with our minds real bad unless we are strong enough not to buy into their crap.

    I was well on my way into The Valley of I-Got-Mines, The Valley of Get A Good Job and Get Some Plastic and Buy! Buy! Buy! at the time POOR Magazine came along, but I never got where I thought I wanted to be.  Too much work.  Saved by non-enthusiasm for the rat race fast lane?

    It is odd that there isn't even a hint of my kind of analysis of Hoarding/Cluttering in the SF Bay Guardian's article.  I don't expect them to write like I do, they kick ass often and their ass-kickin' boots go pretty deep into many of their targets.   Also, their article stays firmly American.

    I've been an Oprah fan too.  One of her shows on how people live elsewhere in the world included a tour of an apartment somewhere in the Scandinavian world.  A small family with one or two kids.  They weren't into materialism.  Not a lot of stuff.

    Their kitchen looked clean enough to eat off the floor and was so well designed you couldn't tell where to find anything unless you, well, lived there.  There were a few toys on the floor of the kidspace, but not as many as you'd expect an American child to have--or what I expect after being a Goodwill donation attendant!  Every holiday Goodwill donation attendants expect to get lots of donations because people with real money get rid of their old STUFF to make room for new STUFF.

    Serial Hoarding/Cluttering!

    I wanted to live in that apartment, but it was so clean and well organized and...not full of stuff I had a hard time believing anyone could actually be happy in it.  That's what excessive Capitalism gets you.

    I hate to mention Japan.  Kick somebody when they're down!  But Japan and China can make us look like wimpo-Capitalists.  Until recently I had two copies of books about useless Japanese inventions.  I actually got rid of them, couldn't read them...the useless stuff was so...useless.

    Japan is where the next big techno-thing goes to be born.  The movie LOST IN TRANSLATION has a scene where the American female lead watches a young Japanese man brutally (or is it desperately?) kick video game ass in an arcade.  The translated-to-English noir novel OUT (I loved it, and if you like murder mysteries and noir, read it...) has one of its doomed female characters long-infected by the buy-on-credit-get-hosed-by-huge-personal-debt bug.  In the realm of fictional hoarder/clutterers there is also a minor character in Ursula K. LeGuin's 1974 still-amazing-after-all-these-years utopian/dystopian science fiction novel THE DISPOSSESSED, a member of a semi-utopian anarchist society exiled to the moon of their homeworld, afflicted with hoarder/clutterer compulsion in a society where you wouldn't expect to find it.  Some psychic wounds bleed forever.

    We ain't the only hoarder/clutterer folks around, but we're told so often we're the greatest country since pre-sliced cheese I think it gets easy to ignore them thar folks who don't live here (unless they cross the border "illegally").  Or the opposite can bite just as hard--them thar folks is just so much more economically and mentally healthier than we is why look outside the borders for other examples and what-not? 

    Why not?  Other people may have other ideas and methods for fighting the problem if all you want to do is cover the scab.

    But that's a wound that can't heal unless we do something about how we live and treat each other.  If the rich and the super-rich won't stop HOARDING and CLUTTERING wealth and influencing the ever-shrinking size of the crumbs grudgingly given to the poor, the status quo won't ante anywhere but up for them and down for the rest of us.

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