Now in HI FI

it's only a poem

2012-02-15T07:51:00.000-08:00

this is a poem about social justice... in general
it's about the blood of indigenous people... from everywhere
it's about the wars that decimate innocent people... across the world
it is the ultimate poem that will make you cry and shout and laugh all at the same exact time

it is the miracle poem.
the poem that everyone will clap and remember and talk about after this open mic.
it is the poem made by paperboy cap tattooed too cool on stage for you poets
this poem will talk about rivers of blood like the ones that run in your veins
about how white walls is a reminder of white imperialism and how it's suffocating our souls

it will be about women... in general
it will be about the power of youth... from all urban cities
it will speak to the impact of words... on no one in particular
or everyone in particular!

this poem will rock the judges and make them lucky to be coming out tonight
even though their cool artsy poet friend dragged them to a small coffeehouse
packed with young suits by day and loud adjective heavy poets by night
when you really just wanted to watch that new movie with channing tadem

but no no, you are moved! channing tadem can't touch your heart like this.
this poem will circle verbs onto nouns and swirl around adjectives so we can make adverbs that will blow. your. mind.
it will reinspire you to write... a haiku
because when you got home your inspiration ran dry and you desperately tried to remember the lines of this poem so you can use it to write angry love poems or sad ones about your cat
you will spout the wonders of the word to all of your coworkers
and make all of your friends read your 5 page poem because if they really wanted to know you
they would read the writing your soul wrote
bam!
so deep, it sank past the titanic

this poem is about jeremy lin and how he will save all of asian america
it is about the shades of orange and yellow with a hint of green as the sun sets over a beautiful vast ocean
it will be letters to all the politicans... about all the injustices
it will be about facebook and how online flirting works
it is a poem about my father... your father... and your father... all of our our fathers
it will be a poem about a poem about a poem within a poem

then it will internally explode
and bring you another set of stanzas that you did not see coming
this poem will be televised on youtube
with 15 hits
and considered a success
this poem will sell chapbooks and cds and tours
it will make me famous!
if only on college campuses
it will be about what my favorite color would say it if it could talk
it would be about sacred places... in my bedroom
it's about that book, article, facebook comment, tweet that changed my life and now there's a poem about it

this poem is about everything... in general
and nothing... in particular
it will be about my contradictions and hypocrisy
and how my heart has broken into millions of pieces and shattered across the sahara
waiting to be picked up and glued back together

this poem is about you.
about me.
about us.
about poets who do make us laugh, cry, and shout at the same time.

it is about my gratitude for the poet world to exist so i can write this miracle poem.

and really, it's mostly about jeremy lin. better luck tomorrow kobe.

aloha oe

2012-02-15T07:08:00.000-08:00

dear queen lili'ouklani,

i am sad for your departure in this world and even more distraught about the removal of your rule over your people. i know i've only learned about you and your family through museums and youtube videos but i can't shake this spur in my heart for the hawaiian people. your grace and compassion can be seen in your eyes that stare back at me from age old photos. it can be told in the steps you took at washington place and in the rooms of the iolani palace. it can be felt by your people as you sign violent declarations of your "tyranny" to avoid bloodshed. i feel it in the blood of my war refugee veins. the injustice that demands reparations. the heartbreak that can still be heard on the shores of hawai'i.

when was the first mistake made? was it when king kamehameha allowed white colonizers to be ali'i? was it when christian missionaries settled in and converted the monarchy? was it when it became legal for white foreigners to own land in hawai'i? was it when captain cook finally made it to the hawaiian islands and decreed it to be the sandwich islands?

when was that point in history you would have taken back? when was it that you could still save your peoples from american exceptionalism?

i know the forces of western imperialism was stronger than any current that hawai'i has every faced but could it be possible for these series of eight islands could rebuke the eventual reality of annexation?

i'm not so sure but i do know that every hawaiian heart still beats to the thunder of your ancestors.

i can only hope to be so loud.

with all my love and admiration,
yvonne tran

Colors

2011-11-22T00:23:00.001-08:00

Another freewrite about our favorite color and what it would say if it could talk.

I don't wear you much despite my attraction to your hue. Perhaps, I can not match your intensity, just aspire to it. If you could talk, you would say that you didn't know why you were placed as Hello Kitty's original color mascot even when you knew I didn't like cats. You would tell me how confusing it felt when you first appeared on my pants in 9th grade PE. You would tell me that red are always the best candy flavors. You would tell me you always showed up with every skinned knee to remind me that I still live. You would say tomato sauce always taste better than cream. You would tell me the blood that runs in my veins are wrapped in ancestral strength and that is my inheritance. You would say my heart beats bigger than I ever realize. You would tell me that this bracelet wrapped on my left wrist is the symbol of my refuge. You would tell me you are my favorite color because you spark my passion and fuel my indignation.

But what you would secretly whisper is that you actually wish to be blue. To bring deep sea depth and calmness to my restlessness. To bring soft winds to my nomadic heart. To carve a direction back home.

Sacred Places

2011-11-22T00:19:00.001-08:00

Now and days, most of the writing I do is from writing prompts at ReWrite meetings. Oh, how I am grateful.
The prompt was, what places do I hold sacred?

It is the place between my heart and a breath. This is where I hold the rise of my anxiety and also the place where I quell it with calmness. It is a place between my eyelids where I keep monkey thoughts in jeweled chests. It is a place where my mind meets the rustle of redwood trees. It is a place to go when there is no where else to hold these explosions. It is in the deep crevices of my heart. Under folds and through my lungs. It is a place where butterfly wings touch time to make impermanence. It is a place of grace and compassion weaved into my breaths. It is a place where I breathe in my sacred and breathe out my redemption.

Quick Haikus

2011-11-22T00:17:00.001-08:00

Some haikus I did while I was on the plane to DC a month ago.

The stars are bitter
seeing me embrace your light
you burn right through me.

Tonight you hold me
My heart rests on your closed lips
Love, give me a breath.

I am counting stars
dancing my way back to you
Believe me, to hold my hand.

Lovely, kiss me now
I might become the ethers
in limbo, waiting.

2/30

2011-04-05T01:18:00.001-07:00

It's hard when I don't have someone on my ass everyday to write a poem like I did last year. :(

Knock, knock
All you hear is a solid thud
as my heart has turned into cement
Blood courses through my body
I swim through it,
I see nothing but the vast redness.

As I swim further, the walls of my veins
have frozen and I feel nothing
It is strange to be inside your body
and feel nothing
A vast nothingness.

A cave resembling my empty chest cavity
echoes with memories of
lovers tagging walls
and etching their initials into the groove of my ribs
They are forever permanently stained where my heart existed

I use to believe that love will set me free
Instead freedom exists only within my heart, stained with my initials.

1/30 for 2011

2011-04-02T01:18:00.000-07:00

Late post into the NaPoWriMo. Short one tonight. Got home late.

Every morning I wake up with a headache of you.
Showers become sifting explorations
Going under each and every memory
for a fault
a crack
a fissure
anything to indicate you would pick him
over me

but there are none. every stone is polished.
bright and deceiving.
all that is left are these bag of shiny pebbles you left me with
to remember by.
how i yearn to dump them all out.
instead, i keep my chest heavy.

Untitled

2010-08-25T14:19:00.000-07:00

You were there again.
I woke up uneasy
Haze slowly focusing to my ceiling
I realized it was you again
The dream rushing and tackling my senses
I breathe heavier thinking about our last encounter
You were a shell of yourself
Speaking words that had to travel across oceans by the time they reached me
Stale, motionless, dry, crumbling
Creating dustclouds for me to inhale
Cracked my heart and let it fly into the wind
I had forgotten your ability to bend love and steal moments

You have learned nothing
Let your heart fester with walls and chains
building yourself into another girl's arms
Making old revelations with new kisses
Devising new ways to play cat's cradle with our memories
Hiding behind your facade of invulnerability
You are broken, babygirl
Chipped, fragmented, messy
Weaving your pain under mine

Tell me the truth
Do you still love me?
I see it between the lines of your hesitancy and bravado
Stop pretending we only existed between time
We were real
even with our heavy hearts
We tried to harness moonshines to light our path
Kept swords under our pillows to battle night demons
Built fire between 500 miles that consumed us
Loved each other so fierce that the sun was jealous of our light
Do you remember?

I have suffered breakups that defy linearity
Hearts torn and built back up to be torn again
It's not only the night demons you need to battle
Love yourself to see the ones haunting you during the day
Eating your heart, turning you into another sad heartbreak statistic

I will consume the rest of this hollowness
Rest in pieces until I am ready to forge a new self
One in which I honor us and love myself
Find strength in my pain, using it to grab constellations
that leads back to my core.

freewrite

2010-08-15T12:13:00.001-07:00

I see you in exactly 179 minutes. If you are on time, which you are, all the time. You hated tardiness. I was always tardy. Always late. Always scared. Scared to move, unsure of what my heart is beating. I imagine awkwardness morphing into friendship banter transforming into relationship clairvoyance. Or maybe we will just sit there. Looking at each other for answers we already know, confirming our existences were not meant to be aligned.

I still miss you. That is why nervousness is running up and down my veins. I have become stronger in my will but I am still prone to missteps in my heart.

It was a fantasy. The life we were living. The hopes, the dreams, the projections, expectations, the miles between us. All of it shaped us into a hurricane that whipped our love out of us into this amorphous entity in which we have been trying to steal back from.

You threw 500 mph love shots and my plastic nets melted to catch them. I can’t love like a roar, my love’s existence flows like a river and sounds like freedom. There is no more heart when you finished carving my chest. It has internally combusted and mixed with my liver to filter out the toxic between us and reformed to something you can’t hold anymore.

I still love you but I refuse to suffer any more storms. I refuse to sit in the center and watch everything around me spin and tumble out. We have taught, learned, and loved each other and there are no more lessons to learn. School has let out due to hurricane warnings. Time to go home.

raw raw raw

2010-07-05T23:16:00.000-07:00

you tore at my heart
until it ripped away
and exposed my rawness

you grabbed at it's messiness
and forced me to feel it
i almost died with all this emotion

and now i am left with nothing
but this wall surrounding my heart
that you once broke

i am a hollow shell
waiting to be cracked
waiting to be filled
waiting waiting waiting
to be whole

i long for your keys
to unlock this fury
of emotional constipation
to ease myself with a shovel
to dig deep deep deeper

lend me your touch again. please.

day 18

2010-06-16T12:31:00.000-07:00

you are still here
you are still sitting comfortably on my plush heart
you make demands sometimes but i have mostly ignored you
but yet, you're still here

my plush heart has sunk into my hollow gut
be careful love,
don't get eaten up by the acid

or maybe you should be

maybe...
you should be digested
broken down
nutrients and vitamins sucked out
to fuel my blood stream
to pump my heart full again

to dissolve into salts and minerals
so i can take the best out of you and excrement the rest
let my body digest you
because for 18 days i've been constipated

my heart at a standstill
afraid to beat again
lest it stir up another round of constipated heartbreak

i have taken too many pepto tablets to remedy you
so, please love, get off my plush heart already
i will no longer ingest you.

30/30 - #7

2010-04-08T08:49:00.000-07:00

Late!!

Hands slide between thighs
hungering embraces and inhaling desire
All fantasies on the other side
Desperately seeking back the road to you
lead it to my heart and open it again
flush out the baggage and boxes
wipe down all the dust that causes me allergies
and let the sun in and burn all darkness away

It's hard to find me
when I get lost like this
In between daydreams of whatifs, lip selections,
bright eyes, and slender fingers.

I'm trying to run back to you but
it seems that my heart has been captivated
and requires some time and effort to be released
Love isn't always fuller on the other side...

Maybe, I need some time alone
to sort out captivations
label indecisions
and harbor sureness.

30/30 - #6

2010-04-07T00:37:00.000-07:00

A butterfly once told me that she could make dinosaurs reappear and then go extinct again with the flap of her tinged wings. She once told me the Universe sent her to fly across faces to remind them of their existence... and hers. She whispered light butterfly secrets into my crackling ears beating on broken drums. Her wings kissed my face as she disappeared into the sun.

My mom once told me she wished to come back as a butterfly in her next life. I asked her why and she got poetic on me. She told me she wanted to exist in a moment of transformation, fly into beauty, and die with quick grace. My eyes swallowed her words along with her soul. It reached down deep inside me, pulling out any doubts I had about her butterfly dreams.

I once dreamt that I crashed my car into a hill and flew into the sky and landed on a shiny saucer. I witnessed infinite earth soaked with light. I shot into the sky and did 360s, witnessing infinite blue meeting infinite brown all coated with infinite light.

They say all things are connected. What if souls attach themselves to butterflies as they flutter in between flowers and faces, ending up soaked with too much sun and absorbed back into the earth? Life would be a series of budding transformations and sunlit tumbles of grace.

30/30 - #5

2010-04-06T01:34:00.000-07:00

Battles across miles
You becoming a fireball
Me knocked down, burning.

30/30 - #4

2010-04-04T23:21:00.000-07:00

I hear her yelling
spitting frustration out
caused by too much pills
her head splitting open next to her shriveled kidneys
and her heart long lost in the Pacific
from the streets of Chợ Lớn to the paved ones of California urban suburbia

She cleans dog hair out of dirty dog blankets
as she chastises
and chastises
and chastises
and chastises
and yells
and yells
and yells
with all her energy
her pain
her tears
her chronic splinters
her undying love contradictions
so I can finally hear her

But I don't.
All I hear are pins thrown at my cushioned heart
Sucking it in and if I move it might pierce deeper
So I stop moving.
I stop listening.
I walk away pin-full.

30/30 - #3

2010-04-04T16:40:00.001-07:00

LATE POST. Blame it on being at my parent's house.

I felt it last night.
Felt the waves of light course through my skin
leaving it tingling

I saw you with swords
cutting up snakes poking out of holes
I thought of your success

I sent you my love and wings
and hoped both guided you back
to rest
and to me.

30/30 - #2

2010-04-02T20:29:00.000-07:00

My stomach has devoured my heart
kept it hostage at the gut level
and squeezing it tightly with the occasional acid coating

My breathing is too shallow for freshness to reach my heart
so I gulp air like fish gulp for water on the chopping block
Hoping hiccups will bring back my heart to an even keel

How do you ever heal broken hearts?
Maybe, it's haphazardly jammed with repression and amnesia
or maybe, time layers it so thick it suffocates
or maybe, we just never forget and own many hearts
so we keep each broken one in jars
labeled with times and dates of injury leading to
punctures, ruptures, splintered, disjointed,
love fragmentations

I keep my jars on a mahogany shelf
Polish it with nostalgia
I kept your jar open though
because I'm still trying to glue it back
replacing doubt with sunset drives
renewing smiles with kisses
remembering close tenderness instead of hazy fight tones
I'll keep it open until it expires
until it evaporates into love essence heaven
until I can regurgitate my heart back onto my sleeve.

30/30 - #1

2010-04-02T00:02:00.001-07:00

I think I'm going crazy.
Nighttime bugs chitchat breaks into my heart
Reminding me of loving smiles and smiling eyes
down chasms that widen each time I breathe.

I wake up hazy,
trying to glue sticky heart pieces back together
with long-gone kisses and distant sunshine.

inspired from a night out in SF 11/6/09

2010-03-14T22:37:00.000-07:00

city lights and slippery streets
madonna classics and brown beards swaying
beauty bar bursting with skinny jeans hugging white hipsters
six steps away lies a closeted bar
traditional african hang out infiltrated by mocked fedoras and terrible spastic dancing
hodge podge of forced space sharing
with perplexed black faces and wanna be black white faces
dancing to slowed down MIA beats so their hips can catch up
witnessing white people dance to anything remotely brown
brings images of monkeys trying to act human
clumsy, awkward, and dangerous

Golden

2010-02-03T14:09:00.000-08:00

I throw a basket of dirty untruths at you
ignorant of its mark
Hoping to stir deep heart fluids
around and around so that it spills onto your skin

Amnesia always strikes me when it's the most unneeded
Forgetting your forced choices
and growing up ill-fitting to this golden skin color
Forgetting the lack of models to tie yourself around

You cry silently for me to stop draining your heart
because you didn't think you had enough in the first place
to power your way out of confused desolation
It took me jumping so high into the air that I hovered
over your herstory to see the red flags of victory and the white ones of struggle
spread across your short 21 years

I look at my body and see the same flags,
stuck in one way or the other
but now instead of poles and cloth, they're just holes and dots
It's easy to empower amnesia when judgment rules over empathy

I stand before you with hidden struggles and slightly translucent scars
ready to wait with you on mountains
ready to attempt to redefine and reword national anthems
ready to believe in something bigger than God
and ready to hold you tight reminding you that love transcends broken pipes.

the shape shifter

2009-12-15T14:31:00.000-08:00

hey you!
yeaaah, you.
you with the mocked up fedora hat
with your loose cardigans
faux wool striped sweaters
oh… you think you got swag huh?

walking like you got a limp
spouting revolutionary words and thoughts
to revolutionary people with good hearts
hoping we will lick up all of your sweet macktivist pedagogy

oh, you read bell hooks?
now you a feminist?
you, black man, who only dates asian women
shift, change, shift, change, shift, change
as you discover cooler, hipper, more connected networks

you switch up your speak, style, and circle
to fit in to a group that masks your insecurities
your identity, gender, sexuality — all interchangable,
depending on the group flavor

you a cool cat now huh?
hanging with the boys
turning their mirror into your own
their fedoras, trimmed facial hair, and gray vests
becoming
yours

get a grip black man
you are you
stop dropping lovers, friends, and identity
just so you can appear as the cool calm collected popular black cat
to mask the vulnerable, confused, insecured self that you are.

stop giving me your lines
your insincere smiles
your half-hearted attempts at a friendship
that you threw away
the moment
you
decided
that fedoras and music producers
were cooler and hipper
than the rest of us

we back in high school again huh?
playing games
pretending
faking
posing
trying
so
hard
to
fit
in

it’s okay black man
i understand
finding your away around whiteness and blackness
is challenging
but i didn’t know
you were to leave a trail of broken friendships
behind you

so do me a favor cool collected masked macktivist
stop feeding us your bullshit
and just keep it straight up
(or queer up)
now THAT’S real talk.

GO BABY GO!!

2009-12-13T21:44:00.000-08:00

Just got introduced to them... hollaa!

heartpumps

2009-11-22T21:54:00.000-08:00

i want to offer a heart that can pump tears through your brown eyes
wash over deserts and dissolve salt in your wounds
leave the insides of your desolation sparkling clean
and offer trails of how to follow its path

i want arms so wide that it stretches to the circumference of the horizon
so i can hold you as you clutch your heart attacks
reflect sunrise onto your face and whisper to you:
don't be afraid to fall back on the stars and still land on the moon

i want to cram miles into my trunk and chuck it down the river
watch it absorb into the flow and sink to the earth
and maybe you will suddenly appear
bright eyed and in full patterned cardigan
ready to find cures to heart attacks
battle desolation with our lips
and search for comfort within these arms.

impressions

2009-11-02T22:51:00.000-08:00

bold. you called me loud.
you called me strong. fierce.
out. you thought me unstoppable.

i sit in front of table top toppings
of adjectives and adverbs
picking some now and some later
to cover my nouns

i embody moving images
reflecting my need for strength
deflecting my desires for inclusion

you see me tough. hard.
smiles. you hear.
you feel my high energy. obnoxious.

i sit among other broken hearts
and depleted spirits
wearing the same trauma on my face
singing laughter to cover my cracks.

i exist in 3D and in full technicolor
i am now in hi fi
listen in HD
and you will hear moving pictures
of my inconsolable beating heart

Vin Baca

2009-11-02T22:49:00.001-08:00

Oye loca! Vin baca...
Won't you come and keep me toasty
On this cool San Francisco night
Hold me close like your wool coat
Nuzzle my neck and pretend it's your scarf

Leave indentations on my pillow
Cocoon yourself in my blankets
But don't forget to reveal yourself with me
When morning breaks

Give me full early kisses
Hot breakfast and warm coffee
Hugs around the waist
And let's feel freedom
to hide in bed's solice
when the day gets too bright.

home coming

2009-10-28T02:07:00.001-07:00

I wrote this after reading the details of the gang rape of a 15 year old girl by up to 20 boys and men after her homecoming dance. I still left speechless and at loss for its brutality.

Article: http://www.insidebayarea.com/top-stories/ci_13657301

Naw man, just hand her some of that cheap brandy
Yeah, fo sho, it's gonna do her good
Here baby, take a swig.
She's out dawg! Take her shit off!

Sounds of a fallen innocence
drowned out by rowdy bottles
and even rowdier belt buckles
Smacking lips and violent cheers
unzipped pants into torn skin

Get IN her man! Get it! Fuck that bitch!
It's my turn dawg!
This is fucking insane! You like that, you fucking whore?
Look at her! She loves it. That puta.

Twenty men crowded to see the sideshow
Jarring contrast between vicious manhood and unconscious girlhood
Dozens of eyes watching,
staring at violations that they cannot comprehend

These are men who wear XXL white tees and jeans that sag way too much
Men who sleep during history class and talk bravado during lunch
Men who flirt with mini skirts and stumble on their timbalands
Men who see their dreams punched in the face and vomited over
Men who get arrested as boys who need to become men to survive
Men who lost their boyhood and asked why?
Men who are boys that have just reached puberty

Boys who think they can become men by piercing their young manhood into young girls

Yo dawg! What's her name?
Who the fuck cares asshole? You want this pussy or what?
Give me some more of that juice!
Yeaaaah son! Fuck her harder!

Torn pearls and her pretty turquoise dress
Her 15 years waiting on the curb for dad
Followed trust into the darkness with tables and bottles
and XXL white tees
Drank the trust and let it melt away her consciousness

She felt grabbing, shoving, and a sharp sudden pain over her nose
The pain washes over her face and drips down her pretty turquoise dress
She follows blackness until she feels no more

Fuck, we gotta get out of here dawg! It ain't safe no more!
We're not done with her yet! You can leave if you want, you fag.
She has some tight ass pussy!
I think she's a virgin, blood.

Over one hundred and twenty minutes of ripped skin and pouring pain
Washed over innocence and destroyed boyhood
Beyond the comprehension of unaware grown ups and numb bystanders
Rumors swirling that night brought blue uniforms that scared boy scavengers
scattering into the streets and deep into their conscience

Compassion was raped today
Humanity draining the last remaining drops down numb faces
and erect boyhoods
Instead, brutality became whole and joined with fear
to create unstoppable massacre of the human capacity to love.

sleeping insecurities

2009-10-27T01:11:00.000-07:00

Late night conversations
breeds inconsolable insomnia
lead eyes drag me deep into false dreams
awaking to confusion and half words

Pride keeps the conversation at bay
sinking as it struggles to find anchor
Your words swirl in my subconcious

Penetrating my dreams
making them into sub-fantasies
masking among real ones
i want to yell poser!

but i shuffle awake
smile and ask clarifying questions
to hide my sleeping insecurities.

2009-10-26T12:26:00.001-07:00

Can we talk about how amazing this person is???

vials

2009-10-24T23:54:00.000-07:00

i want to shelve my emotional memories into vials
label them carefully and line them up chronologically
from the most painful to the least guilty
occasionally opening them to sniff up wistful images

i want to admire them from afar and recount each of them
carefully selecting and researching each vial for imperfections and whatifs
feeling secure with its presence and anxiety of its fragility
mindful of its danger if cracked and spilled

i want to use it in heartful experiments
mixing
matching
concocting
doubting
excluding
developing
control groups
to match controlled feelings

i want to scribble notes
learn from its colorful reactions
conduct explosions after explosions
to perfect whole heartbreaks

i want to use each vial for strength
each whiff, courage
each cut, wisdom
until i am able to create a love so whole
fear can't penetrate its surface.

stars

2009-10-23T22:05:00.000-07:00

you see me
you look through my chest
and see scattering stars like dust
you remind me of andromeda
whisking through the universe
in your green wrap
piercing galaxies with your diamond eyes
you walk through them
feet plush with planets
becomes cracked & calloused
bleeding oceans onto comets
crashing into suns that become supernovas
you will undo me
bending my heart into meteorites
that will light skies across worlds
so they will remember your impact.

flower flower

2009-10-20T10:25:00.001-07:00

flower flower on the wall
who is the fairest one of all?
me! says the rose
i am classic romance
she poses an Audrey

blasphemy! yells the white lily
squeezes past the Audrey and
exclaims I am beautiful classy innocence!
and does a Diana

all of you lie! chirps the tulip
jumps up and down yelling
I am colorful youth!
she smiles Shirley

Petals fly, stems broken
Colors blur when flowers
fight for the title of perfection
what they don't know...
is that the daisies already
stole the crown.

what's in a lie?

2009-10-17T10:39:00.000-07:00

What's in a lie?
That which we call betrayal
By any other name would smell just as shameful...

You gave me a cup full of wiggling untruths
Instructed me to drink it and feel better
I asked you what it was
and you told me it was your honesty

My heart split opened for you
poured out sticky revelations
and full kisses
offering embraces to comfort your wounded soul

I dangled from treetops and you picked each of my fingers
to let me fall into infested waters
I struggle to stay afloat
and you toss me an anvil
Yelling for me to keep my head up

You held my heart
Gave me squeezes to keep it beating
But gave me a heart attack instead

Each moment I held you
Each word exchange
Each kiss
Will be erased

I will start a blank slate without you
Your weakness is blinding
Your deception is unmatched
You spit disrespect to my face
And expect forgiveness

You have undeserved me
You will only receive my silence
And breathe in your guilt.

butterflies

2009-10-16T17:18:00.000-07:00

for my mother.

How can words capture butterflies?
Born out of soft ugliness
Transformed into soaring grace
Existence in a handful of moments.

My mind use to beat my heart into tears when I thought of your nonexistence

Laundrytime heart pouring
Dreams cycled in and cycled out
Damp with overflowing frustrations
Words connecting hopes onto lines of reality
Your happiness put out under the sun to dry
Fading colors and shriveling hearts
Hearts that become raisins
Dark, wrinkled, and ambiguously sweet

Your recipes captured my tongue's imagination
Filling my tummy with warmth and undeniable love
I use to resent your lack of affection
Until I realized you poured all of your love,
your pride
your sense of self
into this bowl
Powered by these chopsticks
With every bite you hope I will know the pungent depth of your love.

I hope to never capture your grace
Rip the nets and bend the poles
I want you to soar into the sun
and land on sandy flowers
I want you to transcend your pain
and be overwhelmed with calmness

You broke your wings
and fell on your back
stared back into the sky
and drank up the cerulean
You sighed and wished for darkness
I hold your hand and wished for shooting stars

My heart beats my mind into amnesia.
Numbing tears and locking cries
Over your broken wings
Like Pandora's box
I attach wings to hope
Hope to clouds
Hoping you will soar again.

stuck

2009-10-16T01:03:00.001-07:00

you're sticky like unforgiving gum
on the bottom of my chucks
making me curse the person who disrespected this concrete
searching for receipts, rocks, grass
anything to rid myself of this sticky mess

stubborn as a jammed lock after a hot day
you lock yourself to my sole and refuse to budge
letting me only take pieces off as consolation
teasing my unwillingness to stop

i scrape your pink stickiness with gravel
only making it worse
i sigh and put my foot down
i'll let you keep my sole company
for today.

Dreams

2009-10-14T23:33:00.000-07:00

I had a dream.
Your eyes covered in purple shimmer.
I made you laugh.
And you told me that you're divorcee at 22.

I gave you two kisses.
One to say I'm sorry.
Another to wish you bluebirds in the spring.
Your laugh was clairvoyant as ever.

Hair accentuate shoulders.
Light yellow halos dance in the background.
Smiles weaving in between words.
Nouns dropping to adjectives falling to verbs

I thought we said goodbye and good riddance.
My subconscious telling me goodbyes are lyrical bridges.
Linking aged hindsights lost in slippery memories
to blurry foresights broadcasting mispronounced roads.

I awake to gray skies and dry mouth,
Vaguely aware of dreamy nostalgia.
I shake off the morning hazy.
Remembering.

2012 Bunk?

2009-10-12T13:42:00.000-07:00

I found this article on Y! News, "2012 isn't the end of the world, Mayans insist".

The article says that most of this hype and hysteria is a Western thing,

"But most archaeologists, astronomers and Maya say the only thing likely to hit Earth is a meteor shower of New Age philosophy, pop astronomy, Internet doomsday rumors and TV specials..."

What Mayans are really worried about is,

"If I went to some Mayan-speaking communities and asked people what is going to happen in 2012, they wouldn't have any idea," said Jose Huchim, a Yucatan Mayan archaeologist. "That the world is going to end? They wouldn't believe you. We have real concerns these days, like rain."

This type of hysteria is similar if not exactly the same as the Y2K fiasco. Everyone always believes the world is going to end and use some ancient indigenous belief to fuel something that they don't even really understand. Western hysteria over the unknown is quite laughable.

What we should be frettin' over is the lack of water and food for the Mayans that are talked about so much.

"The Maya never said the world is going to end, they never said anything bad would happen necessarily, they're just recording this future anniversary on Monument Six."

Fistfuloftears

2009-10-11T19:40:00.001-07:00

Silence can pierce ear drums. We swallow our words and attempt to flee from level 5 hurricanes heading to our cerebal.

I sit there and ask you what you want. You reply with a glance that frustrates and say nothing. Nothing that lays between us. Nothing between my painful desire and your ambivalence.

You sit there holding in every moment and selfishly savor them while I sit across from you and stare in confusion. I dangle from treetops trying to catch up to you. You reel me in with emotional honesty and leave me stranded, high from the ground when you knew I was scared of heights. You knew I was afraid of falling from heights so high to a ground so hard.

I hold your hands and lay my head down. Close my eyes and imagine this nonconversation is as light and pale as your yellow walls.

My ears ring from your nonwords and full glances. It is undeniable. You have shown me how to unlock my heart but refused to walk in. I will not conduct a sit-in for your honesty.

Instead, I will pack up my valuables and re-build the house I built for you. You hesitate a goodbye but I've already grieved your loss.

- From the yMobile

perfect moments

2009-10-11T02:55:00.000-07:00

Me and my friend decided to do a poem a day. No matter how long or what it is. My 2nd day is below (my first were silly haikus).

October 9, 2009

I got lost in your curls
Buried in your fragrance
Surrounded by Pantene Pro-V
Succumbed to Jade perfume

We roughed and tumbled between purple cotton
Weaving our way around pillows and edges
Drowning in each others lips
You are my intoxication

Soft whispers and light licks
Ears, hands, fingers, touch
Mga pantulog hidden in corners
Traced maps between curves and kisses

Perfect moments trapped in spheres of embrace
Light pierced through
Setting shadows that drag us out
Our feet reluctantly kiss the floor

Dissolving quickly the paragon of perfection
Sharp verbage making papercuts
Causing amnesia until we navigate
Around curvatures again

slippery memories

2009-10-11T02:54:00.000-07:00

September 2009

A chuckle and he turns on the left blinker.
Tick tick tick. Tick tick tick.
He stares ahead
He drives down memories and tries to capture them all
With fragmented nets and ripped bags
Some slip through and some get caught
A slippery mess of half truths and full laughs.

Remember when you use to climb that fence?
You would forget your keys! It was so high!
He asks me

I laugh and vaguely see the image of a 7 year old
Scaling a 6 feet impossibility

You remember this song?
He asks
You use to sing this all the time! You got to know half the song!

He smiles
Snacking on the treasures his net caught tonight

I turn and stare ahead.
At familiar lights, familiar roads, and slippery memories
Coming back to me through elusive smells in random hallways
Remembering a childhood with certain lines and only under certain lighting
Songs sung with forgotten lyrics

He sighs. When did 10 years past already?
Years sneaked by without asking for permission to go
Sneaks back in later with wrinkles, slow lungs, failed kidneys,
Addiction, lost dreams, and fragmented nets with slippery memories.

my dearest sisters

2009-10-11T02:52:00.000-07:00

Forgot I had this blog... will be posting pieces I've written recently. Feel free to give feedback.

//

Inspired from all the broken women who carry strong cores.

my dearest sisters,

how are you?
i've been feeling you might be needing me
your contrived bravado
your nonchalant descriptions
of your self-destruction
your rawness covered with so much sawdust
you feel yourself made into wood
strong, wise, hard
hard enough to endure
hard enough to move pass pain
strong enough to brave the windstorms of life

but sister, i see you.

i see your rawness as it is
i see it bleeding you out
i see your heart break into so many pieces
each shard a sharp reminder
of blood spilled
heart broken
hope loss
spirit bankrupted
soul numbed

eyes that glaze over
like doughnuts
sweet by touch but heart attack
if ingested
it tells me hazy images of slaps, stripper poles,
grabby hands, dirty money and frozen friends in alleyways
heart beating outside your parent's house
still waiting for them to lock it safely away

your strength
our strength
to survive past
torn skin
black eyes
ripped vaginas
slaps
cold stares
g-strings
zoloft
beating hearts waiting
to be whole

let me
wipe
blow
shake
that sawdust off
let me kiss your wounds
bandage it with a million cries of freedom
let me pick up the shards of your heart
and glue it with redemption
etch hope and strength behind your ears
and whisper Sister, you are not alone.

Reality Dreams

2009-04-06T12:23:00.000-07:00

Couple of weeks ago, there was a late night induced discussion on memory with some friends. We were discussing what a funny thing memory is and the convo switched to the movie Memento. It's about this man who is trying to avenge his wife's brutal murder though he has anterograde amnesia, so he only remembers up to his wife's death and every new experience is only remembered for 15 minutes. Insane. I know.

Discussion came around if something like that occurs to our brain and our perception of reality (based on memories) then how can we separate that from actual reality?

If you tell a lie enough times for long enough, do you start to believe it?

If you only remember what happened and not how you felt, does that mean you haven't really grown from it?

I think I'm struggling with something like that right now. Realization that I remember certain things and not the emotions associated with it (or forgot how it felt) or I don't remember it all. My troubles with memories are stark at it's worst and selective at its best.

The brain is such a great illusionist when it comes to pain and trauma. It masks and masks and masks to protect you. To protect your fragile sense of self and grip on sanity.

Renewal

2009-04-05T20:41:00.000-07:00

Been a long-ass minute since I wrote here... first started for my own personal amusement then used for my Black Feminist Multimedia class for assignments and reflections. This has laid dormant for 3-4 years now...

It's ironic that some of my longest relationships I've ever had in my life are with blogs and online journals. Maybe it's really in my heart that I am in love with writing, processing, and sharing all of that. Ultimate forms of narcissism and release.

Yesterday was chein ying or in month of March for Chinese folks to pay respects to all our deceased family and friends. I went to my grandfather's grave... for the first time in recent memory. He died one year after I was born so I never knew him outside of stories and recalled memories. He was a husband and father. But as I was told a mean and ferocious one. One that beated my grandmother, his kids, and refused to let his daughters go to school. It was a short and un-memorable visit to his grave. One that his children did out of tradition and obligation. But the feelings that came out of it for me was how I am much more comfortable with my family than I was ever before. Now that I am grown and able to sustain myself and my own self-esteem, they're critiques and disapproval no longer haunts and tortures me the way they use too.

I've grown to understand to appreciate and love them while in stages of forgiveness for the childhood trauma. Family is family is family. I am learning to accept them for who they are and not for who I want them to be. Acceptance and letting go is the path of inner peace.

My roommate pointed out that I am quick to break plans with family over the slightest reason while go above and beyond to follow-through on plans with friends. Have to wonder what the thought process is with that one. I think it has something to do with my fear of being disappointed which was really prevalent when I was younger. So I made due and tried to create my own sense of family with people that I connected with and worked hard at maintaining that connection. This mentality and my own wall that I've built over the years to protect myself against the people that have mattered the most to me have blinded me to what has really been happening and what is happening now across that beautifully built and seemingly unbreakable wall.

Family love, self-love, and self-discovery is a constant process. A (r) evolutionary process. Like I been saying before, the only thing worth living for is change.

A repost from a entry that I wrote more that two years ago that still reigns true today:

"Persistent and unconquerable change. The Perpetual. The Constant. The only thing worth living for. Yes. Not love, not peace, not hate, not anger, not war, not money, not even paradise on Earth. But change. The evolution of our minds molded by our experiences. The mutation of our emotions based on repeated chemical imbalances stemming from broken hearts to broken spirits.

I am a nomad. I am the runner. I am in motion. I try to create for myself but in the end it is not in my constellation for me to settle. No matter how much I want it I know I will never be satisfied. I am in constant, consistent, perpetual, perplexing, rambling, rumbling, wondering, wandering state. I shouldn't be afraid of it anymore. I shouldn't be afraid of myself. With myself. In the end, that's who's really left. Me. I am the one looking in the mirror. I am the one dealing with the fickleness of my heart. I am the one stomping forward. I am the one that sleeps with me. I alone hold the power to change my reality. And in turn weave my own fabric of space and set my own dimensions."

[ and what ]

2006-06-06T14:34:00.000-07:00

Being a feminist, womanist, activist, consciousness-raising, and queer womyn of color, I have admired, loved, and respected many womyn in my life, especially my mother and my sister. But, I can't help thinking about how my life has been significantly impacted by great men.

I know it's dichotomous to look at it (from a feminist standpoint) of men vs. women, but I don't think enough feminists (that are womyn) really thought about the impact that GOOD men have made in their lives (I'm sure we all have thought about the fucked up things men have done in our lives though). And as I stand and watch two of the most beautiful queer men of color sleep in my living room, so innocently and so completely beautiful, I could not help think that my life has been heavily influenced by great men such as these. Here were two of my bestest friends, who have been there for me for the worst and for the best, that have fabulous fashion tips and even more insightful life tips. And I'm not one of those other "fag hags" (well first because I'm queer) and second, because I appreciate them for them. Their personalities are so bright and divine that sometimes I feel that this life and this world is too ugly for their beautiful spirits. I wanted to cry gazing at their peaceful faces as they enter another world within themselves. I look at them and think of their struggles as men and men of color and then as queer men of color, growing up trying to assert this patriarchial masculinity that never fitted them well. These two has taught me the meaning of what it means to be beautiful, inside and out. They have shown me the unbelievable ability of compassion and the world that I use to wish to live in.

Men such as these, including my ex-boyfriend, who I still believe carry one of the most kindest and caring souls I have ever met. He really taught me patience, humility, and passion. I grew a lot from being with him.

Then there's my dad, who will always be the man I measure every other man in my life too. He is the towering handy-man with strong hands and an even stronger heart. He taught me the meaning of practicality, of how much money really means (not that much versus happiness), that no matter what happens, I am still his daughter and that he loves me. He taught me what being thoughtful is, he taught me to have a sense of humor and laugh more especially when you are hurting. I love my father for that. I love and respect him for being a good dad and a good man. There are never enough of those around these days. I love him for his strength as a man, but not just your stereotypical "man's man" but for the fact that he loves his family more than anything in the world. For the fact that he wanted a son and all he got was me, his first daughter, and still loved me as such, despite his upbringing in a fucked up patriarchy.

I just feel that I have been so completely blessed to have such worthwhile men in my life, that have made me into a stronger womyn without ever compromising my agency as a womyn. And I don't know if it's wrong or un-PC, but I feel that to a certain extent, we can celebrate our boys and our men without celebrating their patriarchy. That is, because if we don't, the immense pressure of being a man in this "testosterone-driven" society, will break them inside and be harder and even impossible to repair and heal later on.

To all you brave and beautiful men out there, I appreciate you and your kind souls and I do love all of you for it.

2006-05-23T15:55:00.000-07:00

What is the significance of creating archives and bibliography in the struggle of women struggle feminism? What can we do as a class to participate in that struggle?

The importance of archiving and creating works and art about women and our struggle for a more feminist society is only up to us. The dominant patriarchy has no self-investment nor desire to help chronicle our struggles and our victories. Insitututionalizing our herstory is the only way future generations of resistance fighters will be able to learn and see that they were and are never alone in this struggle for justice. The importance of chronicling our conferences, events, papers, 'zines, meetings, organizations, rallys, protests, etc etc will prevent the "re-invention of the wheel" syndrome that affects our organizations and education, in which we spend so much time re-creating a product or campaign that our struggle has turned into creating an instrument instead of a movement.

Our class is a demonstration of an effective and creative approach to documenting not only our stories (which are often never told or heard, even to ourselves) but giving voices to those that are not priviledged to be in a higher education institution with resources and access to create multimedia art that can be viewed by the masses. The class website, our work, and publishing and presenting it truly adds to the cypher of the black feminist struggle.

What strategy should media activism take in both creating space for self expression and critique of women of color and in critiquing racism, sexism, etc in media theory?

In this politically and culturally conservative time in the US, what is at stake in self expression and self representation for women of color in art and media?

There is so much at stake, thinking about it, creates a knot of fear and urgency in my gut. This conservative political and cultural climate is a a result of retaliation and decades of rebuilding the Right, after the liberation movements of our people was able to insitutionalize the attitude and laws that we deserve as respect for people that have been oppressed, repressed, and suppressed for centuries.

Our continual demonstration of our existence and our voices need to be loud and proud to make sure that the Right and the priviledged know that our state of poverty, depravation, unhappiness, and violations are not our fault, but a structural problem that they are part of and that they also have the power to change.

What alliances should happen with white women? What needs to occur for it to be in a productive way?

Alliances with white women should be a self-initiated one. White women cannot ask what they can do to be more friendly or of an ally to womyn of color. Due to their white priviledge and class priviledge, they have keys and their job is to realize that and make copies of those keys, so we, as womyn of color can have the same access they do.

He Got Game, She Got Defense

2006-05-16T12:07:00.002-07:00

Over the weekend, I found a copy of Silicon Valley DeBug lying around my sister's room (it's a 'zine that's written for and by young folks in San Jose). There was an article called He Got Game, She Got Defense about the author's experiences with men and the tactics they use to hit on her and her friends. She got to the point in which she says "I try to do my rejections clean, with male egos intact", and that sparked my interest and I thought she was going to go on and lay it out and say FUCK THAT, I'm sick of male egos!

But she never made that leap or any type of analysis with that, other than telling the funny stories from the "game". After discussing and processing this idea with Mary, I want to explore this for my final video project. Expanding on Ghose's idea of the "game" and "conquest" to how men and women play the game in heterosexual and queer relationships because women play the game just as well too, but in different ways (I certainly played it). The game is fun, but are we all just playing the game because males were the ones that took the lead in it (overtly that is), and thus we all played the game too because it's all part of the "norm" now? Is the "game" just another "mating ritual", a mating game that's played by all other animals in the kingdom? A game that monkeys play just to mate?

I want to explore this with males, females, in heterosexual and queer relationships. So I just need to develop questions and a direction for my video, since it's only really 10-12 minutes.

Memoirs of an Asian American Geisha

2006-04-25T16:47:00.000-07:00

So for my WMST 185MY class, our second self-portrait is suppose to be a 3-5 minute video. I was toying around the idea of a "Memoirs of an Asian American Geisha" for a little while, ever since the real movie came out. Talking to Mary, I haven't really developed the idea in my head yet... just the name sounds pretty funny.

Some things I could do is a portrait of myself and what it means to be an Asian American Geisha, because that is still what we are subjected too, even though we, as Asian American womyn have either grown up in the U.S. or are heavily "Americanized". That's something I could explore in using this term as "geisha". I'm still trying to figure out what this really means for myself and Asian American womyn.

Should I explore the contemporary portrayals of ASAM females today? And how I connect it back to my life, in which I can use to be self-empowering or should I do it as a historical doc, with various images throughout the decades?

I think I really just need to define and articulate my Asian American womyn identity a lot better than I ever had. I guess I don't know what the right questions to ask.. yet. Or conceptually what I really want.

BLEEHH. campaign ends in 2.5 days. YAYAYAY. ::dies::

WM ST 185MY

2006-04-04T15:57:00.000-07:00

YAY for this class!!

HI MARY!!!

2005-10-31T06:15:00.000-08:00

ROCK ON UCB ACTIVISTS!!!!!

UCSB needs to follow.

---------------------------------------------------------

Berkeley Students/Activists Disrupt John Yoo Class
reposted from youth and students - drive out the bush regime

This week, Berkeley's Daily Cal reported; "about 15 UC Berkeley students and activists protested next to Boalt Hall yesterday, blaming Boalt professor John Yoo for a controversial prison torture memo which critics have said paved the way for mistreatment of Iraqi detainees at Abu Ghraib."

World Can't Wait Organizers at Berkeley called for this urgent protest action exposing and denouncing John C. Yoo for his illegal, immoral, and perverse legal opinions which have directly contributed to the torture being carried out by U.S. military personnel at Abu Ghraib, Guantanamo and other undisclosed locations.

Organizers burst into John Yoo's class with activists dressed in orange jumpsuits worn by Guantanamo Bay torture detainees and one activist was dressed as a U.S military soldier praising and thanking Yoo for allowing him to torture people. Yoo fled the scene and it caused a ruckus in the class. Many students gave cheers, while other complained that protesters were disrupting a class they were paying for and they owe them for ruining the last 5 minutes of their time.

A Berkeley organizer responded, "there's a lot of concern about the disruption of studies, but my own studies are being disrupted when I can't sleep because I dream about what the world is like". Student organizers around the country will continue to challenge people standing on the sidelines as the Bush Regime continues to commit unthinkable crimes against humanity and call on them to be on the forefront of launching a movement to drive this regime from Power starting Nov.2nd.

Check out the Daily Cal at this weblink:
http://www.dailycal.org/article.php?id=20154

==========
Nov 2: World Can't Wait - Drive Out the Bush Regime

---------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE WORLD CAN'T WAIT! DRIVE OUT THE BUSH REGIME! MOBILIZE FOR NOV. 2ND

Here we are in the final days before launching the movement that will mark the beginning of the end of the Bush Regime. All progressive people and organizations must be involved in building this movement. This Regime under the leadership of George Bush is putting in place a theocratic superstructure based on their literal translation of the bible. Those in the way have been silenced, forced from power, and even imprisoned without Due Process. Muslims, Gays, Blacks, and People with HIV/AIDS have been demonized by this regime, in some cases even exterminated as in Iraq, the victims of Katrina, and the replacement of AIDS education and condoms with prayer and abstinence only programs. Science and concerns for the environment have been replaced with lies and visions of rapture as predicted in the bible. Women, once again have may have to resort to back alley abortions and coat hangers, because Bush thinks an egg and sperm is more valuable than a woman's right to choose.

As we speak, events at the White House are unfolding - indictments, resignations, and accusations. We can't rest on our laurels expecting these events to bring down this Regime. People who steal elections and believe they're on a mission from God will not go without a fight. We can be certain that the replacements of any of those indicted will be representatives of the same agenda. This is a time to be even more determined in our demand, we must take advantage of any vulnerability that these events create within the ruling structures.

The actions on Nov. 2nd are planned in over 60 cities across the country including high schools and colleges in many of these cities. Our call is to leave work, leave school, and make history. In NYC the plan is to meet at Union Square at noon, rally with speakers and artists until 2pm, than march to Times Square. All along the way encouraging people from the sidelines to join in. Our voices will resonate through the nation as we in our thousands speak for and to the millions that hate this Regime and everything it represents.

Don't stand on the sidelines; don't stay in school. Join this movement, the stronger we are on the 2nd, the stronger the movement will be after the 2nd. Send this email to your friends, your elists, and everyone you know that wants to change the direction this country is being led. The future of the planet depends on our action now. Check out the web site at
www.worldcantwait.org.
*****************

GORE VIDAL: "As the presidential elections of 2000 and 2004 were stolen so, with 8 years to prepare, 2008 will perhaps be the last such election, ending the republic unless that 70 percent who are beginning to grasp just what is going on join together in a popular movement dedicated to ending pre-emptive wars and restoring the nation to its traditional tax base which repaired levees, educated the citizenry and at regular intervals repaired the wall that Thomas Jefferson wisely put in place to separate church from state. Join the demonstrations this Wednesday, November 2, to launch a movement to drive out the Bush regime. For the location nearest you, see www.worldcantwait.org."
CINDY SHEEHAN on November 2: "It makes a lot of difference. We cannot let them continue to make us believe that our voices don't make a difference. It's not just coming out once on November 2, but it's over and over and over again. It's really important for a lot of reasons: to show the media we mean business, to show our government we mean business, to show the world that not all Americans are robotic idiots. It's really important not to sit on your couch and think that I can't make a difference because one person can make a difference."

HOWARD ZINN: "I'd like to express my support for the plan to have nationwide protest by students on November 2nd, protest not just against the policies of the Bush administration, protest against the war, but against the general direction which our country has been moving in for some time, a direction which the Bush administration has moved faster on, more fanatically on than any previous administration. By that I mean that the country has been moving towards a militarized country, a country bent on expansion abroad and on the curtailment of civil liberties at home, the direction which the country has been going is a direction which is disastrous for the ordinary people of this country. Because what it means is that the enormous wealth that we have in this country is going to be expended on military adventures abroad, on expansionism, is going to be diverted into the pockets of the super-rich in this country and the rights of people to health, to housing, to education, to employment, those rights are more and more being diminished. And it seems to me that we are at a historic turning point in this country where we will need to turn the country in a different direction if we are not going to be headed towards collapse and disaster."

Sexuality down to the gene splice

2005-10-29T04:34:00.000-07:00

I found this article amusing. Lesbian fruitflies. Haha, that's a new thing. Much like queerness these days eh? Dangerous conclusions for scientists to narrow sexuality down to a gene.

That Oh-So-Natural Fruity Feeling

By Patrick Letellier, AlterNet

Did you hear the one about the lesbian fruit fly? She walks into a bar and the bartender says, "What can I get you?" And she says ...

OK, I'm making this up. I don't know what a lesbian fruit fly would order (peach schnapps?), but this much is true: scientists announced recently that they've documented homosexual behavior in fruit flies -- girl on girl action, to be specific.

Seems after just a wee bit of gene splicing, and a Barry White soundtrack playing, the female creepy-crawlies of the species try to get it on with other females.

Before you say, "Eew, gross" or "Who cares?", hear me out, because believe it or not the antics of these dykey fruit flies are being linked to homo behavior in us homo sapiens. And like anything else remotely hinting that gay sex may be -- egad! -- natural, this has right-wingers absolutely frothing.

As announced in a recent issue of the scientific journal Cell, two neurobiologists at the Austrian Academy of Sciences made slight genetic "manipulations" in some female fruit flies, inserting the male version of one gene into the brains of these teensy creatures. They apparently hoped to create a super-strong, crime-fighting Six Million Dollar Fly, but instead ended up with k.d. lang-like female flies that act just like males during courtship: they gently tap virgin females on the legs, play songs on their wings for them, and, when that seems to go well, they lick the females in all the right places. And that, says a New York Times science writer, is "all part of standard fruit fly seduction."

Besides legions of lesbian fruit flies serenading willing virgins, what does this study reveal? "We have shown that a single gene in the fruit fly is sufficient to determine all aspects of the flies' sexual orientation and behavior," said lead investigator Barry Dickson.

Uh-oh. Careful, doc. Talking about genes and sexual orientation in the same sentence is dangerous in these right-wing, ultra-religious, gay-marriage-is-evil times we're living in.

Predictably, trouble started when another scientist linked the fruit fly study to fruity humans. "The whole field of the genetic roots of behavior is moved forward tremendously by this work," said Dr. Michael Weiss, chairman of the biochemistry department at Ohio's Case Western Reserve University. "Hopefully this will take the discussion about sexual preferences out of the realm of morality and put it in the realm of science," Weiss told the Times.

Well, as us non-scientific types like to put it, FAT CHANCE, BUDDY!

But Weiss was undeterred. "I never chose to be heterosexual: it just happened. But humans are complicated. With the flies we can see in a simple and elegant way how a gene can influence and determine behavior."

Yep, he said it: sexual orientation is neither a choice nor a moral issue, and, with fruit flies at least, genes affect complex sexual behavior.

This is not rocket science, I realize, since most people recognize that genes affect a whole host of behaviors, human and otherwise. But to say that sexual orientation in humans has genetic roots is to remove the ace holding the conservative, anti-gay house of cards in place. Because if, like race, sexual orientation is an innate characteristic, then the widespread and mean-spirited prejudice directed at lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people is revealed to be just that. And Americans, as a whole, don't go in for prejudice of any stripe.

Now you ask, reasonably enough, who cares about a bunch of fruit flies? Conservatives aren't really going to jump all over this, are they? Ah, my naive grasshopper, let us look at the news release from that stalwart of the right wing, Focus on the Family. The fruit fly study has been "hijacked by pro-homosexual journalists," Focus declares. It "doesn't tell anything about humans," says psychologist Warren Throckmorton, of Pennsylvania's Grove City College, who offers this insightful gem: "Fruit flies don't date, go to bars, go to church -- there is no way you can make the leap."

Uh, thanks for that clarification. In case you're still tempted to rush out and buy a "Flies Are People, Too" bumpersticker, Focus further reminds us, "Fruit flies don't have fantasies, wishes, hopes, dreams or any of that."

All I can say is, when the far-right is sternly lecturing us about the emotional life of lesbian fruit flies, you know we're on to something.

Patrick Letellier is a journalist living in San Francisco, a city full of creatures great and small. Read more of his writings at PatrickLetellier.com.

Elmo, Mr. Incredible Arrested In LA...

2005-10-24T10:07:00.000-07:00

This week's big WTF moment. I didn't know you can get arrested for "aggressive begging". Is that when Elmo chases after you begging you to tickle him?

Elmo, Mr. Incredible Arrested In LA...

The Wall Street Journal | Posted October 24, 2005 09:25 AM

Last Wednesday, the furry red Muppet named Elmo learned that Hollywood Boulevard is a long, long way from Sesame Street.

In plain sight of children and tourists, Elmo -- or at least, a man named Don Harper in a knockoff Elmo costume -- was arrested here by the Los Angeles Police Department. Elmo was taken down by a special task force created to combat a growing nuisance in the Hollywood tourist district: famous costumed characters who try to be photographed with tourists and sometimes badger them relentlessly for tips.

LAPD officers, posing as clueless foreign tourists in front of Mann's Chinese Theater, also busted Mr. Incredible, the superhero from the animated hit "The Incredibles," as well as a man dressed as the villain from the "Scream" movie franchise. All three icons were arrested and could face charges ranging from illegal vending to aggressive begging.

Out-of-this-world sex could jeopardise missions

2005-10-22T17:05:00.000-07:00

Daaaamn. Real World: MARS. Now transmitting human pettiness and drama-rama not only all over Earth but all over the galaxy!

Out-of-this-world sex could jeopardise missions

Sex and romantic entanglements among astronauts could derail missions to Mars and should therefore be studied by NASA, warns a top-level panel of US researchers.

NASA plans to return astronauts to the Moon by 2018 and later on to Mars. But a round-trip mission to the Red Planet would probably last at least 30 months and carry six to eight people. That would be a hotbed for intense crew relationships, says a report by the US National Academy of Sciences (NAS).

"With the prospect of a very long-term mission, it's hard to ignore the question of sexuality," says Lawrence Palinkas, a medical anthropologist at the University of Southern California in Los Angeles, an author of the report. It reviewed NASA's plans for research to keep astronauts safe and healthy in space – but the plans make no mention of sexual issues in spaceflight.

Palinkas says long-term space missions may be similar to extended periods in the isolated and confined environments of Antarctic research stations. He says crews in those stations often pair up in "bachelor marriages" that last the length of their stay – or less. "If there are instances of sexual conflict or infidelity, that may lead to a breakdown in crew functioning," he told New Scientist.