Tepid Takes #12: Endless Re-Litigation at the End of the World

In the wake of this morning's declaration that it's Mueller Time, many folks across the various social media platforms I've extricated myself from (but logged back into because band stuff) are salivating like eager little truffle pigs. Others are still in despair mode, anticipating the latest unconstitutional gambit from a President known for them and a complicit congress. I personally think that as things ramp up, more Republicans will jump ship; not because they possess any sort of moral fortitude, or care about the republic, but because their big gambit hasn't proven legislatively useful. The potential radioactivity of covering for a President who is not only hopelessly corrupt but largely incompetent will likely lead a lot of them to back away, hands in the air, whistling.

Still, what does this all mean for Democrats, and the larger Left, moderate-to-far? Frankly, not a helluva lot unless "we" get our shit together. And at local and grassroots levels, I think there's a lot to be hopeful about. But as 2017 has at times sped, and at others crawled, forward, the initial Moment of Unity has all but dissipated. Instead, you have Tom Perez purging the left flank of the Dems from many official positions in the party. Twitter, a medium I've excused myself from because, frankly, I wasn't helping, is basically a hammer fight between Dems who supported Hillary and those who supported Bernie.*

Much of this was spurred on by What Happened, a tome whose very existence spurred endless controversy. For the record, I hold these three semi contradictory opinions:

1) Hillary had every, every right to write that book. Many of the "she should just disappear" people are the ones who jumped down her throat two days after she didn't weigh in on Harvey Weinstein.  For many, there's a perverse fascination that turns every issue into a referendum on Her. It's stupid, and unless you want to have a lot in common with Newt Gingrich, you should fucking stop.

2) Jesus fucking Christ could the timing have maybe been a little bit worse? COULD YOU HAVE SPECIFICALLY PLOTTED IT OUT SO YOU COULD DO MORE TO DAMAGE THE PARTY YOU STROVE TO LEAD? The book could have come out on the year anniversary, or two years later, or  after the 2018 midterms, or maybe just any time besides six months later. As such, it re-cast the terms of the Dems as H vs. B, instead of a coalition finding its mission statement.

3) I didn't read it. I spent the last six years of my life in Seattle's Literary Scene, so the number of out of touch, classist, self righteous, "liberal" patricians I've met is uncountable. I voted for Her and told others to  vote for her, goddammit, but reading a whole tome of H Eat Pray Loving her way out of the guilt of handing America over to Fascism because she hired tech bros and robots to run her campaign. . . well.

That said, the clips from it that bothered me weren't the ones where she talked about Bernie Bros-- that's basically what her fans are paying to read. It's the red meat. The clips that bothered me were, in fact, more policy based, and more telling. When talking about the hardships faced by rural communities and small towns, her basic take is "We need to create more opportunities in the Cities, so the kids can move." It confirms the Right's talking point that Liberals Don't Care About You Unless You're Rich and Hip**.
If you're not already sick of the topic read A Wonk on the Wild Side. It's the most thoughtful critique of the book by someone who's actually. read. it. that I've seen. Admittedly, no one at The Baffler is gonna be too sympathetic to someone who goes to the Hamptons to relax.*** But Lehman shows a remarkable sympathy towards the human being, while examining the policies and ideas that got us here.

Because this didn't start in 2016. Dems didn't hemorrhage house seats in 2010 because of Hillary Clinton. Dems didn't lose most of the governorships across the nation because the Bernie Bros sabotaged them. It wasn't Russia that flipped the Senate in 2014. There has been a rot in this party for years, but said party still remains the most viable political options for people who give a shit about other people and want results, instead of just stickers. As Mueller circles his wagons, and Republicans start to shed their faux loyalty, Dems need to figure out what to do and fast-- because the world is on fire.

And I'm pretty sure there's something worse than Donald Trump out there, waiting.

*It's stupid that I have to, but I think my next one of these Tepid Takes will be a run down of my Complete Opinions About Bernie Vs. Hillary. 
**It's a sign of the right's sickness and sadism that "hip" can also just mean a Person of Color, or Gay, or Trans, etc. That when Dems are defending the rights of poor black people, the right casts it as some sort of Hollywood Stunt. This doesn't mean, however, that the Rich part of the equation can't be examined or that Dems shouldn't get smarter about messaging.
***The next person who whines about "reverse classism" or "that's ALSO discrimination" can put their head through this nice little wooden collar I've made for them. . .

Tepid takes is a new series of occasional, usual anecdotal musings a few days to months after the fact, usually around politics or social issues, for when a status update or series of tweets simply won't suffice.

Tepid Takes #458: Ossoff and You and Everyone You Know

A few weeks have passed-- or months, not sure, the world's been busy-- since Democrats most recent soul-crushing shock defeat in a race they were sure they could win. Indeed, this was just one of three elections in areas that haven't voted blue in decades that Democrats had confidence in winning because some of these voters who never vote Democrat Don't Like Donald Trump That Much. Of the three, Jon Ossoff's race was seen as the closest, polls had him ahead at points. But if you're reading this, you probably know the whole story, and there's plenty of dialogue, much of it profoundly unconstructive*, about What It Means, How Could We Lose, etc.

Honestly, while Moral Victories mean jack shit electorally, the fact that Dems could run competitive races in historically red (who picked the colors anyway?) areas is a legitimately encouraging sign.

One of the arguments I keep seeing is that if Rob Quist or James Thompson had had the sort of massive financial backing that Jon Ossoff had, they'd have won their respective races. I think this is entirely plausible, but hardly a given. Still, let's accept that premise for a second-- that with funding equivalent (even equivalent to half of) the Georgia race, we'd have two new Democrats in office, and the beginning of a Grand Populist Wave on the Wings of Bernie. The embittered argument tends to be that the Democratic Establishment is hell bent on keeping a tight fist around the party, and that a hatred of true progressivism, as well as crony capitalism, has hopelessly corrupted the DNC.

I think the real answer is far simpler, and a little more depressing. Dems** are more invested in winning over moderate suburban Republicans than historically Democratic working class counties is because suburban Republicans are their peers. These are their people. College educated home-owners who take at least one international vacation per year, these are folks they know how to talk to. When Chuck Schumer claimed that for every out-of-work rust belt worker who they lost, they'd gain moderates in the suburbs, he wasn't just espousing dubious political strategy, he was expressing the subconscious hope of a party that just simply doesn't know how-- and increasingly hasn't cared--  to talk to anyone they couldn't see themselves at a dinner party with. They want the votes of people their kids are going to private school with. Folks for whom student loans, health care, rising rents are social concerns, rather than personal ones, so all the arguments can be removed and civil.

This isn't nefarious, or evil, or even unusual-- it's a pretty normal trait to want to associate with, reach out to, and commiserate with people you have things in common with. It may be the most clumsily, sadly humanizing thing about a party apparatus that ignored urgent pleas from people on the ground in favor of data-models and is more likely to source from Tech or Wall Street than community organizers. I get it-- I'd rather hang out with my fellow jaded bartenders and musicians than pretty much anyone who works for the Democratic party. And maybe I'd go my way and they'd go theirs, and I'd trust them and all their vastly reasonable logic if it was working.

But it's not.


(*my favorite question is "How can we more effectively tie people to Trump. Let's make this state/local election a referendum on Trump." My my. If ONLY THERE HAD BEEN SOME ATTEMPT TO DO THIS ON A NATIONAL SCALE. If only we had some way to gauge whether running a negative campaign against Trump is effective. SADLY NO SUCH TRIAL HAS OCCURRED, SO WE BETTER JUST KEEP BAGGING ON TRUMP.)

(**Dems here refers largely to the funding/donor class, and many of those currently holding national office. Not the little old lady who volunteers after church. Feel free to comment with examples of the working class Dem Senator with a history of protecting workers rights; but do know that yes, I know they exist. And that there's a range of grassroots campaigns in the works or underway that are potentially transformative, etc etc)

Tepid takes is a new series of occasional, usual anecdotal musings a few days to months after the fact, usually around politics or social issues, for when a status update or series of tweets simply won't suffice.

12/30: Canadian Angst/Cascadian Rain

Dan Boeckner salutes the puddles collecting in the Central
District by the sidewalks by the 20th Century brownstone on
the corner, empty, mid-repaint, windows stickered with

construction logos. One still may not smoke near

the abandoned doorway. Synth tones and baritones soaring warped,

decades of lite socialism have not cured sadness, have not

bulwarked against nostalgia, nor have the neo-liberal reversals

restored good times glory to the Maple Leaf.

All the songs that make it south are sad ones;

dancing and crying translate internationally.

The rains of Vancouver don't hit different than the rains

of Tacoma or the rains, when they come, of Portland or

Everett; they flow to different bodies of water, but sound

the same in crosswalks.

Canadian citizenship became an active

interest that November day in North Carolina,
where rains were few and different
and my phone filled with texts, and

everyone’s Canadian friends
were suddenly Besties,
infinite couches and spare rooms
and job leads and citizenship paperwork,
and a different kind of city grid
but same kinds of mountains

seemed like not a sacrifice at all.

To hear the songs with ownership.  The washed out
melancholy of the Northern Cities of the

World.

As the days passed, and the texts petered out, and Everyone
Suddenly Knew Why The Bad Thing Happened and Whose Fault It
Was, everyone stopped their moves to Canada, renewed their

Passport for travel purposes only. Some cautiously suggested

it’d be for the best, for the dissolution of borders, of the lines

that dictate the nationality of rivers, the citizenship of rain. Others

suggested it’d be for the worst, for the dissolution of

everything. Under it all I heard
“When I get back

When I get back

Home

I won’t be the same
No more.”

And asked Jake if he was ever moving back. The answer wasn’t

No, he said, but the rivers up here are good, even if the bars are

expensive, and I can hear these songs just how I need to, sad

as they may be.

When I'm not working, I'm working: Three New Roughs.

these are all recent musings I may work with more in the future. The second is from a prompt by Lindsey Walker, the third from a prompt by Ryan Johnson.

daily mundane #425

in a bleachstained black shirt
i work in due to unseasonable
february sun, the snapdown impractical.

bills go out, bills come in.
the smiles and swinging arms
down fourth avenue come
earlier every year, turn
to dust. I should buy

new clothes for work for money
to buy new clothes to work in so I can
get money that I use to pay for clothes
that are appropriate for--

you get the picture. the barista
dances to the Beatles in his
fedora and somehow I am not
annoyed.

_____________________

Transiberian Express

(the prompt was to write about a place I'd never been) 

Frozen in place and loaded onto a train
leaving from the last city at the edge of the
world, a whole greyscale cliffscape of others

frozen in place, and you begin the thaw.
The next nine days, split between the soup

and the shiver, the ice crawls up your
legs at the moment of sleep, the snow
rushing past years of punishment-wilderness,
a place whose name itself evoked terror,

starvation, disappearance. By the time you
get to Moscow, you'e frozen and thawed
and frozen again, a lifetime of gruel in
your veins. Step out into the first city
at the edge of two worlds and hold cap
but don't lose it. You'll need it. You'll need it.

_____________________________

Trump Plaza

At the end of Napoleon, there was a drawn out sigh. This much I know from genghis khan international airport. The longer it goes, atrocities are forgotten, only glory remains. I'm eating an eclair. Watching one building fall to be danced on by another. The glass warbles and so many coiffed handbags. Despite my classy pastry, I am especially ugly today, as Stalin must have looked to those he was sentencing. I have done all my sentencing already, just waiting for the execution. Frosting gets on my cheek.

Do buildings fantasize about power? The power wielded in them? Stay up late thinking about orders given? Of course not, don't be silly. They just wish they were fields or vineyards. The crowd becomes too much. I leave, the frosting on my cheek.

13/30! Define "hurt" I guess, Or, Not "Those" Sorts of Cops!

and the hashtag starts almost as soon
as the news flips on, the #notallcops

the whatabout, whatabout-- my uncle, twenty years on the force never hurt anybody/your cousin, sweet kind, artistic, just out of training, never hurt anyone/folk's church friend, shines his badge while he volunteers, never hurt anybody/pool-playing neighbor assures on his Christmas card that he's
never hurt anybody/or

everyone so ready
with this list.
fine/so.
every morning I slap
some water on my face and
check for weather, concerts,
Swans scores, and how many fresh
excessive force casualties
always black, often men,
and if maybe this time
the killer gets caught

and I  walk up to every cop and:

Can you PLEASE JUST go through the entire day
without killing someone?
I'll TRY MY BEST TO DO THE SAME.

in my head. the whatabout-- the man just crossing the street, who never hurt anybody/the girl sleeping in her bed who never hurt anybody/ the kid buying a candy bar who never hurt anybody/the community pastor who never hurt anybody/the the
the

way this country will forgive you
quicker/if you're holding a gun
in crisped trousers/than if you
walk away.

every night, passing stoned
I get pulled over and flashlight shined.
but it's always over quick;
I'm always off with a warning.

7/30! Warlockerbeef!

Every headline is a kitten or a bombing.
A heartwarming story about a veteran
or a heartbreaking story about a veteran.
Lines
Lines
Lines
to stand in.

Passing the Economist  on the way to the Onion,
the best of a bad situation, the slight hope for
some kind of peace, which ideally--
seems such light
language for
such
such
such. . .

If I had the magic, I would have a time machine,
and if I had a time machine, I would have the influence,
and if I had the influence, I wouldn't need the magic
just what to say to who to when
and

next to the atrocity centerfold
is a coupon for five dollars
off ground beef.

A Common Blindspot

Alright. So recent conversations (online and in person) have made it necessary to say the following: If you are a person of faith, raised in faith or even just searching, and you are involved in any -- any-- artistic pursuit, you spend your life either directly or indirectly dealing with hostility, mockery, or dismissal, often from people you otherwise largely agree with.
And you know what? A lot of the time it's fine, you can deal, some of the stuff that's said is legit funny, mainly accurate, or at least understandable.
If you're a person of faith in artistic circles, chances are you've dealt with your share of lumps from churches/etc. But running into it, seeing it on feeds, etc day in, day out takes a toll. I'm not talking about debate around specific issues, I'm talking about the lumpen trolling that isn't/wouldn't be tolerated around any other group of people-- the fat dumb idiots sorts of jokes/sayings-- that you just get used to. But every now and then, you have to say something. Forgive, sure. Forget, probably, there's too much not to. But that doesn't mean we won't every now and then call you out on it, and its a good idea to listen.

I posted this a few days ago to my facebook after an online kerfuffle that was ultimately resolved with a phone call. I promised a blog post unpacking that a bit more.

I'm going to start with a few caveats; there may be more in footnote form(the footnotes are denoted by asterisks, which reset after each five. because.) But here's what this post is not intending to do: 
1) This is not intended to portray myself or any other person of faith (any faith, though folks who deal with what I'm about to outline tend to come from more structured, "organized religions") as some sort of oppressed minority. This is not a post to elicit sympathy or to call people out, but rather to talk frankly about a recurring experience that is shared, rarely gets mentioned, and maybe help people understand what's ultimately problematic about it. Because if I don't say anything, I can't expect you to know.
2) This is not going to be a post comprehensively outlining my own beliefs, background, or experiences of belief. That information may be included for context, but it's not my intended focus.
3) This is not a piece about interactions of people of faith/spirituality with the non-spiritual in the world at large, or in the greater swath of american culture. That's a very different picture. What I'm dealing with in this post are the specifically artistic -- music, writing, visual art, dance, theater, etc. -- and many academic worlds, often (but not exclusively) within the context of large, left-leaning cities (Seattle, in my case) or fairly insular college towns.
4) This is not a "how to not offend your Christian/Mormon/Ex-Jehovah's Witness friend" post, though in the interest of being constructive, I may include one or two tips.
5) This post (and the author) has no interest in a compare/contrast around different types of belief, or being some sort of rebuttal to new atheism, or converting people, or decrying evils that have been done in various religions' names. There's a whole internet out there for that. 
6) This is not an apologetic piece.

Get through all that? Okay. Let's go!

This was triggered by a couple of specific online conversations* in which most of the participants were writing fairly offhanded comments about "religious people" that ranged from slightly insensitive to broadly cruel. The general sentiment (which a few were quick to prop up with studies) was that "religious people are stupid, ignorant, racist, fat, ugly, smelly, non-couch-leaving, sexist homophobes who don't know how to tie their own shoes."**

This is the sort of thing I hear, or read, or catch offhand in comments weekly, if not daily. At work, with my friends, on any number of sites I read, in the standup comedy of artists I enjoy, in the stage banter of bands I enjoy, in social media, in offhanded comments nestled into columns I otherwise largely agree with, everywhere.
My response used to be a very earnest: NO! We're not all like that! Let me tell you about ______ and their work on behalf of marriage equality! Let me explain to you what I specifically believe regarding ____ part of theology that you don't like, a lot of us are very nice, really!

And that's a conversation I'm still happy to have in person, if I really fucking have to, but I shouldn't have to, especially to people who know me. You should know I'm not That Guy, and you probably have a friend or several who also aren't that person, so how many exceptions does it take to rethink whether it's such a strong rule?

Another thing I find telling, discouraging, and disappointing is how the strawman of the "religious conservative"*** also tends to serve as a cipher for other prejudices. Sizeism, classism (SO MUCH CLASSISM), sexism, and racism all frequently find their way into "critiques" of religion, both by the classically liberal/progressive types and the more misanthropic followers of dawkins/hitchens/carlin.

"Yeah, but a lot/so many of you/them are that way that I'm not going to change my language because I hurt some church kid's feelings." I've heard and seen variations on this cry-me-a-river response a few times. Mainly when I was younger. Late 20s-early 30s I get a lot less of this, but it's still a sentiment that persists.

To it I would say two things: Take that statement and apply it to another group of people. Go on.  What does it give you? Secondly, even if this is your take, consider the following: In painting The Religious in such strokes, you help perpetuate the sort of ignorance you claim to be against. For every strawman, there is an equal strawman on the opposite side; it makes it easier for folks on that side to prop themselves up as persecuted, to perpetuate equally lazy stereotypes about Artists and City Liberals as baby-eating, wine-drinking, drug-taking, shallow hedonistic elitists**** who don't love their families and have no time for those less moneyed, hedonist, or educated than them.

Okay. Now, briefly, on to the much rarer, darker, more violent hyperbole I've seen throughout the years. Once again, not feeling like I should have to explain why a bumper sticker like "So Many Christians, So Few Lions"***** or friends in college saying "they* should all be rounded up and shot" is so fucked up, but here goes: there are parts of the world where that has occurred recently, and still occurs. More the shooting than the lions, but let's not limit people's creativity, hrmmm?
Beyond that it once agains mirrors the violence of language of the most dogmatic and cruel iterations of organized religions, and chances are you have at least one friend who is in this country specifically because their parents, grandparents, or great grandparents fled here specifically to escape being rounded up and shot.

Alright. Let's get less heavy now, and talk about some greyer areas.
First, as I alluded to earlier, if you are a person of faith who also arts, you've probably taken some lumps from the organized institutions. Sometimes the people making these generalizations are coming from a place of deep pain or trauma, and a good, uncensored vent is part of a healing process. If you weren't religious (or operated in a spiritual practice considered "fringe" by mainstream america) and grew up in a church-controlled town, county, or school, it's likely you had a rough go of it, and that knee-jerk urge is really understandable.
Conversely, if you grew up in an atheist household in a big city and had one, maybe two religious friends all growing up (if any) the whole concept can seem like an anachronism, one that's hard to take seriously. In this case, I suggest trying to relate to people of faith as a foreign culture; there's a lot you'll see on the news that is either outright misrepresentative or represents the most extreme/dogmatic examples.

That said, as many teachers, pastors, and my longsuffering parents know, I know a thing or two about not taking things seriously, and overvalue a smirk from time to time.

So. I like a joke I can laugh at myself. But let's do some fine-tuning: when you're talking about your personal experience you should/can say whatever you want. If you grew up around really toxic religiousity, it's totally fair to say "everyone in my town/family/school was. . ." But acknowledge that that is your personal experience, rather than a universal one. If someone counters with an example from their life that runs contrary to your experience, that doesn't invalidate your experience. But it might be useful to add to your perception when talking about a group of people as a whole.**
I'm also not angry when it comes to vents of frustration around a single issue, or set of issues where an religiously institutional take has dictated a lot of opinions.

In fact, much of the time even the harshest, most intellectually lazy takes can roll off my back with a quick eyeroll. But as the fact that I've written a sprawling, multi-take blog on this shows
1) I can't do this all the time. Both out of respect for myself, my family, and my friends-- both of faith and simply those who really should know better- I gotta say something.
2) Just because one or two of your friends are really cool with you making jokes that could be seen as at their expense, don't assume all of them who fall into whatever-the-category-in-question-are.

Likewise, to avoid being easily misunderstood, if you have involved, differing definitions between being "spiritual," "of faith," "religious," "a believer," and have a rant/vent or what-have-you, for the LOVE OF GOD*** do not assume people share these definitions. To a lot of people these terms are, if not interchangable, highly overlapping. Parsing the differences between these terms can also lead to really rewarding conversations.

One last thing to consider is the displacement factor: people who have left*** the faith they grew up in often find themselves in communities of their choosing, and surrounded by the sorts of language I've talked about above. Like I've mentioned, sometimes they get in on some of the jokes, sometimes they don't, but when the talk gets monolithic, violent and dismissive, it re-enforces the fact that just like they felt excluded, dismissed and rejected in their old communities, they can't be themselves, or express their full experiences in their new communities.
Just because your lapsed catholic friend is now a _____**** does not mean that they don't love their devout catholic granmother. Or that they don't retain some sort of internal struggle around their beliefs.

So to that end-- when someone you know does say something, listen. Don't interrupt with "well you know what I mean" or "I wasn't talking about. . ." They probably know. But that sort of backtracking serves only to block communication or serve as a very mild form of gaslighting. Your friend probably wanted today to be one day of their life when they didn't have to rationalize/justify away the ignorant and jerky blanket statements you just made about their old friends, family and past selves.

It gets old, you know?

*The specific conversations are beside the point by now, as it could have been one of any number of conversations I've been privy to over the last 18 years. I didn't link because I'm not trying to restart fights, and in fact the resulting conversations from it were good.
**hyperbolically overstating, but not by much.
***who embodies everything that is bad about people and nothing good.
****when frances bean cobain starts her absurdist literature appreciation society, this'll be on the t-shirts.
*****kinda ugh funny, in that quarter-jewish-comedian-who-makes-oven-jokes way.
*In this case we're not just talking about "faith" in general, but christianity, or mormonism, or if you're dealing with new atheists, they may include muslims and practicing jews, but lib/progressive set tends to be a little less monolithic.
** I'm also not angry when it comes to vents of frustration around a single issue, or set of issues where an religiously institutional take has dictated a lot of opinions. See: climate change, marriage equality, The War, reproductive health, welfare, etc.
*** intentional.
****or radically re-imagined, or don't like being associated with, or whatever.
***** fill in whatever you would describe to yourself or others as being "opposite of" catholocism/mormonism/etc. I had a couple, but kept bumping up against wanting to explain why such-and-such "shouldn't" be considered opposite of. . .

Stark Times Slipping Down Fire Ballot Hill -or- We Will Always Remember His Laugh

The Car man died today, sources say it was either complications from a terrifying, uncurable disease or bears. We will always remember his laugh. he had a smile you could hear over the phone. his advice was so good that even the bears and snow tigers would circle him and listen. even if the motherfuckers couldn't spell carburetor. this ultimately may have been his undoing, his doolittlian explanations of transmissions to the greater carnivores.

if you cannot stop them from eating your deer, if you cannot stop them from battling coyotes, if you cannot stop them from knocking over your trash cans, why would you think your children are safe?

in a disney version of the homeless park the animals are dancing and singing. the realtors demand clean glass. another panicked email from democrats, linking the Car man's death to GOP policies, linking the wire-haired metal man's death to GOP policies, linking rising towers of beaver pelts to GOP policies, linking arms and singing evil disco at the vigil.

there is always a vigil. all of these candles won't take back bullets. all of these bullets won't take back ballots. all of these ballots won't take back the hordes of tigers unleashed upon the parks and gardens. here we thought they were endangered.

obviously there's coffee, but if you cannot stop drinking coffee, can you stop drinking whiskey? and if you can't stop drinking whiskey, can you ever stop driving home at 6 in the morning to your tire-flattened trailer park home shrieking along to dying crowws? and if you can't stop the shrieking, can you stop dousing yourself in paint thinner and plastering yourself to the Today's Pop Hits billboard in an energetic, but ultimately derivative performance art piece? and if you can't stop that, who are you to criticize the arsonists who make a living from their fires?

send in your ballot. vote yes for bear control, for all it can do. they eat babies, you know. and give you alzheimers.

7 Asterisks, or Why I Got into this Cascadia Thing When I Kept Saying I was Already Exhausted and Trying Not to Do So Much

Tomorrow starts the Cascadia Poetry Festival, four days of lots and lots of readings, workshops, panels, critique groups, open mics, and slams all weaving their way in, through, and around the theme of Cascadia. This is probably the largest single event-co-ordination I've been involved with. Specifically, I've been co-planning the Beer Slam and the Afterparty, both events which will hopefully provide the splashing, fun, raucous dolphin caught in an otherwise fairly serious tuna net.*

That said, when co-planning as a loose part of Seattle Poetry Lab, there's a fluidity to the conversation and action that can be electrifying**; a sense that the crew is more than just a collection of folks executing specific tasks to fit a schedule, this is a group of people united around ideas, or at least the discussion of them. Of bringing ideas to a table.***

I think, as Paul Constant points out in his excellent Stranger article, that discussion is in its infancy, or maybe its pimpled teenhood, but it's still growing. There are specific elements of the Cascadian Thing I'm interested in; Place has always tormented my writing no matter how much I tried to get away from it**** and the idea of a Cascadian Voice is intriguing to me, partly because of its simultaneous specificity and vagueness. It's far more specific than just "The Northwest," and more inclusive-- CPF (as it forever shall be known) draws heavily from Canadian poets.

But it's also a little vague; as a generations-native Seattlite, I can tell you there's a big goddamn difference in experience, perspective and artistic input between someone who grew up in Maple Leaf, Seattle, and someone who grew up in Walla Walla, or a farm outside La Grande, or a condo in downtown Vancouver.

What I hope is that discussions of Cascadian Poetry can grow to acknowledge this variety and encourage a more global view of Northwest/Cascadian/WABCOREGONSOMECALIFORNIAANDMAYBEMONTANA poetics.***** As a Seattle writer, I've gotten more and more interested in how that translates to writing about and experiencing other places, and how the experience of other places influences writing Seattle.******

I'll be interested to see where all the talks-- formal and especially informal-- go. More than most fests, what interests me about this is the conversation. This is a poetry fest for people who want to be interested, who want to engage. I suspect I'll probably disagree at some (many?) points on what constitutes "innovation," and I'll be straight up that the more hardcore political/anarchist/decolonize elements of the Cascadia movement hold no interest for me. I'm glad though, that a wide swath of writers are included******* and, that, as hard as it's been to program, a competitive element is included; the Northwest has had a long history of producing or housing performance poets whose work interacts with and crosses over into academic circles, blurring (what I think are largely manufactured) lines.

Okay. I told myself I'd not get past 7 asterisks, so read all my clarifications below and come to the fest. It'll be less work than reading this whole thing was, I swear.

*the other events will probably also be fun, but mine are the ones with "beer" in the title, where FUN IS ON THE AGENDA.
**Which is important, because this has been a lot of goddamn work.
***Or, you know, just bringing the table.
****The writing about place, or the place itself.
*****As opposed to a less global view, which so many NW-focused writing events tend to do, inadvertantly. There's a certain element of privilege that happens here, I think, especially when writing gets too exclusively nature-y. But that's a convo for another time, especially since I'm helping out with a fest whose flag has a tree on it.
******There's a certain Seattle Travel Poem boilerplate that seems to go "I went to New York and it was amazing but kind of dirty, and I thought about Frank O'Hara. . .  I went to LA and blah blah smog. . . I went to the midwest and relished their hospitality but oh! their politics. . . I'm glad to be back in the land of (lame joke about coffee or flannel, and SCENE.)" I am so weary of that boilerplate.
*******For the record, between myself, Aaron K, Paul Nelson, and some help from Jocelyn M, and Nadine M (different Ms) we scheduled near on fifty poets for just the runoff slam, beer slam, and afterparty alone. ALONE. So we aren't suffering for volume, that's for sure.

I'll see your "do what you love" and raise you one "that's why they call it work, kid."

So lately a variety of people have posted this article about the culture of unpaid arts and academic work, and while Slate is increasingly becoming about as reliable and readable as Salon, the article (which was originally posted on Jacobin, natch) nicely articulates a lot of frustrations I have with the culture around writing, arts organizing, and "getting involved." The writer does a decent job of balancing practical and philosophical concerns, and while the author (wisely) doesn't propose a practical solution to the free-work/dismissal of labor problem, I like the ways-of-thinking suggestions in the last paragraph.

Because while a lot of the internship/volunteer/lowpay positions came into existence because of economic realities surrounding pursuits of artistic, spiritual, or intangible value, they are increasingly re-enforced by a sorta beatific, pie-in-the-sky mentality truly available to only a few. The human soul needs to be nourished, but folks tend to nourish the body first. So unlike nurses and mousetrap-makers, most people with any type of say, humanities degree, won't always have a market for their work.
I think the do-what-you-love-and-it-isn't-work paradigm ironically creates a self-love/self-loathing hamster wheel for artists, writers, designers, researchers, who don't feel they have any "real" skills, yet also see themselves as elevated by "pursuing their passions" after years of having their professors tell them to. (or you know, years of following the blog of an oil heiress who decided to quit her job and "make a living" selling necklaces made out of chicken feathers while practicing a self-invented form of yoga and tutting disapprovingly at those in the "rat race.")

There's a longer discussion here with regards to ideas about what it means to be "serious about your art" that tends to get caught up in these pinwheels as well.

At this point I've made an evolving, uneasy peace with ways I pursue my art, ways I pursue my livelihood, and how often the two do or don't intersect. Every individual has to do that on their own; I sort of figured on getting a Creative Writing Degree that bartending, or record store working (ha!) was going to figure heavily in my future.
This is why I roll my eyes at the precious snowflackes who complain that they just "aren't being fullfilled" or feel like they "just, you know, want something more. . ." from their work. I mean, if a job sucks, yeah, get outta there, go for the promotion, etc. but sometimes work is just, you know, work. And that's fine.
Necessary, even.

Sawantsawantsawant.

I spoke too soon.
Now we'll se if she can work with other council members to improve the lot of the working class in Seattle, what differences she can make, and whether or not this has national influence.

And the hopeful predictions ending with a "womp WOMP"

Well, she didn't win. Most of the things I was hoping to pass failed, but some of the things I dreaded passing also failed, and plucky little do-gooder Mike O'Brien retains his seat on the city council, despite Seattle Times' declaration that he was "too liberal" for the city. Anyway, was bummed yesterday and Tuesday, took half a sec to scroll through my semi-active Facebook, and after about forty minutes of rant-reading, have taken to looking forward. Murray is mayor, Conlin at least had to sweat for his seat, this is the reality, it is still rainy, I still have a job I don't hate, and I've just completed a move to as close to the middle of the city as I can afford. This is day two of typing from Cafe Vita Pioneer Square, which may easily become a second living room, for as long as I'm netless in my studio.

If she wins, I hope she just drops the mic and walks away.

I sat outside Rudy's barbershop and filled out my King County/City of Seattle ballot. I had a hard time mustering too much enthusiasm for many of the issues at hand, but did fill out the ballot (yes to food labeling, don't see what's so hard about that, no to anything that smacks of Eyman's NIMBY, aristocraticonservatism) and as informed of votes as possible regarding the specific candidates who'll be leading this pretty-good to greatish city into the future.

For mayor, I went with Mike McGinn. Sort of a devil-you-know approach, I suppose, as I was not impressed with his handling of Seattle's well-documented culture of police brutality. When the Feds tell you "yeah, you guys are too racist and violent," that's a fucking problem, and McGinn didn't seem to know what to do with it. That said, his opponent, Ed Murray, seems to be of the "OH MY GOSH THIS CITY IS SO DANGEROUS WE NEED TO HIRE MORE COPS ALL THE TIME .. . . but ah, no, they won't be the racist type. Trust me."

Frankly, one thing I'd like to see done on this issue (as a first, and not only) step would be to require that police officers who work in, and for, the City of Seattle, actually live there.
Or within a very close radius.
Plus, McGinn is really strong on issues like Transit, which is pretty close to my heart/ability to live and work in town.

The other interesting thing to watch has been how the Seattle Times has been outright campaigning for Murray; reason alone to distrust him. ST is as close to a republican rag as you can get in Seattle, and as it tends to service the greater Puget Sound area (you can get it as far north as Bellingham, no problem) it also caters quite a bit to Eastside interests and concerns. Which are not, in and of themselves evil, or wrong, but Bellevue is not Seattle. It has spent the last sixty years trying to play an image of both Northwest-hominess and incredible opulence. In the last twenty, it's asserted itself as a business center and constructed Washington State's second densest skyline (I think; Tacoma may give it a run), creating the sense of a City without the culture, vibrancy, or diversity*, and as such, shouldn't try to influence what Seattle does or wants. So the fact that Murray sometimes acts like he's running for the Mayor of Seattle Met, Meet Me in Kirkland For Martinis Later doesn't sit well with me.**

Also, I voted for Kshama Sawant. I'm not a socialist in any sort of large-scale way*** but we need a real lefty on the council. Someone who'll advocate for the poor and the working to big businesses, not the other way around. Someone who'll advocate for affordable housing in the quickest-rising rent (disproportionate to income, btw) in the nation. If she gets elected, will she be able to push all her talking points through? No. No one ever does. But I'm pretty stoked that I get to vote for a candidate I believe actually gives a shit about anyone making under $80,000 a year.

*This is changing. Bellevue in 2013 is different than it was, and it will continue to change, both due to abstract, inevitable forces of growth, and also because recently the Bellevue city council has been shaking the grip of some of it's most backwards-asshole influences.

** Ed Murray, if polls are to be believed, will probably win. I do not believe he'd be the unmitigated disaster that Bruce Harrell or Tim Burgess or Peter Steinbrueck would have, but I'd still have a bit of an "ugh."

***Though by any red-state standards, I'd probably be considered a Maoist. I think in the American Debate we've gone far enough to the right as of late that I'd like to see more unabashed Socialists coming out to pull this country's head out of its ass, and that can happen on a city level as well.

Fast Music For Heavy Fingers or Six Months in a Half Hour

or what happens when we commit to communication

1. Internet Presence/ts.
I just dug through a nearly disused e-mail account to to find a password for a social media network I haven't used in four years. I didn't. Find it. So I had to sign into the New, Improved Version of a site that just won't go away (you know which I'm talking about. it's switched its focus to "music" lately and seems like an unholy marriage of Linkedin and Google Plus any more) and that gave me to the wills of nostalgia and more than a few names I'd forgotten exist. Profiles that haven't been updated and therefore remain locked.
You know, though? After about three minutes it wasn't much hard to click delete on that.

More challenging is/was/will be the 8 years worth of Livejournal. no linking. you'll have to work for that if you want to find all the bouts of self pity, the odd misdirected misogyny, half hearted apologies, and lite-artist-as-a-young-dogisms that simply saying "livejournal" to anyone of A Certain Age implies. Making this whole paragraph redundant.

2. I have acquired another birthday.
You know what I always think I'm going to do? Write some sort of State of the Union*, some three paragraph synopses of the Ats that Here's Where I. This is silly. Not because I never do, or because no one cares (you clicked this link, so I assume you care.) but because I hold off on ALL OTHER CONTENT until I've posted the Big Update. Which is why three updates in June, none in July, a dwindling amount of content even with more to write.
Basically, when people write "I've turned _____ and I FEEL SO OLD" it sounds like a hack's game, someone throwing themselves into a mindset because they think they should. But I also get that it's not always the case that 32 feels just like 31 feels just like 26. Things change, good and bad.** But I'll give you a few more years before you have to endure some smotheringly smug "Getting Older is Getting BETTER!" blog about how spiritually rewarding it is to purchase couches.

3. Seattle is a sentence.
I have not quite lived back in Seattle as long as I lived in Bellingham, but I have lived in Seattle longer than I did in Swansea, and longer than I'd planned/hoped on initial return. This isn't some sort of broken-plans post,  I wasn't sure what I wanted from my hometown as an independent entity, so the result tends to be half boxing match, half dance. A frequent frustration being that much of the work of a grad program in a creative field is making connections. . . which are 8,000 miles away. Ba dum ching. So a sense of starting over that leaves me feel like Now, after an event or two, I feel solidly part of the Seattle lit community. It's a good community, usually. Now that I've done that work, do I want to . . . oh, who knows.
This ambivalence is fairly well amplified by reading through old blog entries from both those previous towns.

4. I quit my job at the Loft.
For three and a half years, I worked at North Seattle Community College tutoring English and Writing to ELL students, immigrants, exchange students, folks returning to school after fifteen years in professions that shut down during the recession. Arguably, this was the most rewarding, edifying ongoing*** job I've held to date. Obviously there were days it felt like work, or I didn't want to be there, but there was never a sense of futility. My co-workers were all engaged, considerate, often artistic folks and whatnot.
However, thanks to the repu-  state budget crisis, there's a spending cap, meaning no raise, no additional hours. Two-three hours round trip for short shifts became the sort of diminishing returns that I couldn't idealize away any more. I quit on good terms and have already felt healthier for having a consistent sleep schedule.

5. Now I work at a bar.
It's a good bar. The amusing nightmares of past bars can go ahead and remain in the past. When people say "I bet that gives you a lot of material!" the answer is "Sure, but only for the first year. Then it's a job-- you writing a story about data management?"
I like my co-workers, it's close to my house, I make close to three times as much per hour as I did helping newcomers to the country learn the language.

6. Rachel and I are still very much a thing, but are not engaged or married or living together or whatever your conceived "next step" is 
You are reading this most likely because you clicked on a link from another site. Believe me, you'd know if something big, good or bad, happened that way. Because internet.

7. I am slowly cutting down the number of literary events for which I am responsible.
Because I'd like to write my own things again, from time to time. A longer post on this balance may be forthcoming, but that's the sort of thinking that got us to this long, list based post in the first place. Never say Probably. Now I will take a bus to West Seattle, which is and is not the same place at all.

*by which I mean Graham. The UNION FOREVER!
**More specific and illuminating insights can be found in the self-help book aforementioned blog post nets me a deal for. Did you also know that change is sometimes hard, but often worth it?
*** So not including one-night gigs reading poetry, or the time I got paid by Southbank Centre to take pics of graffiti and send them to London, where they got made into postcards.****
****Yes, that was a brag. I still think that was pretty cool.

#27 & 28: Problematic Ally/Problematic/Problems.

Because I can only sustain the anger indefinitely
after a few whiskies, and
that's such a cowboy thing to drink,
and the anger gets indiscriminatory,
criticisms unconstructive,
the swears start flowing ripe
and even sober
I'll always think 99 problems
is a pretty good song.

* * *
I did not want to get gin-shitty
at the family restaurant
on a sunday afternoon
and flirt then apologize
then flirt
with the bartender

but there are no proper bars near
this train station, I have seen all the movies
and I'm terrified what would happen
if I went home and got online.

* * *
Tamales. Across the street.
I want one, but am so full.

The Special Session is in special session,
a little more time to fix the state's problems,
and I will not watch The Wire, despite
my second of two housemates' insistence
because who has the time

when the other stuff I want is mainly
to be twenty pounds lighter,
a couple grand richer
and trains
to anywhere in the city.

#7 was posted and then redacted for personal reasons. #8: Let Us Mourn the Passing

(I utilize a Liars song title in this repetition)
A strip mall
                            the dumb in the rain
ten minutes in soggy
                                                   run quicker than
shoes don't care
                                                                            several scared cheetahs.
who you are.


A skinned cat
                                                      more than one way.
A shelled turtle.      
                                                      to rock.
A principled stand in the age of compromise.
                                                      to rise headily like

a
balloon                               made of cheetah pelts.
a
dictator                               made of poor man corpses.
a
nation                                 mourns its symbolics.

Ten minutes soggy
                                            the dumb in the rain
cheeks in the crowd
                                            a recovery! a recovery.
turn toward home
                                            a line at the crosswalk.

A large swaggering man, knowing the value of
turtle shells                    a well placed phrase                    balloons.
hot air
a strip mall to the poor man's corpse.

leave it to crumble
                                                       the dumb in the rain
or it will always be with us
                                                       in their tattering shoes
boots, these boots are leather, they
know who you are.

poli #3. post, post, post.

So. Here's the wrap-up on my end: I had a pre-election "here's why I voted for Obama" post (I wanted to post it pre-election to avoid either the smugness of victory or the bitterness of defeat.) There's a copy of it saved, un-posted, on this very blog. I wasn't quite finished with it, then hey, ran out of time. I also had plans for a "here's why you should vote however you see fit-- third party, go for it" post, because I do believe that the two party system can create a stagnation of choice and ideas. I've never seen a third party vote as throwaway, and I deplore the guilting that party-liners (especially Dems) heap upon people who aren't satisfied with the mainstream candidates. I also wanted to issue a plea for civility, but sorta sunk my own ship with Poli Post #2 (you can just scroll down.) That post was late at night, I was fed up with a lot of things (only some political) and so I went for it. But it was a lot more troll-i-er than thou than I was hoping.

But hey, I get angry sometimes, and when people are angry, they aren't always fair.

The large reason I didn't end up going through with my planned regimen of posts is simply a time/energy combo, but up until Monday night I was planning on busting a few out on Tuesday before results were known.

But Monday night, I was at Big Mario's, eating a pizza and drinking a Rainier, pre-hosting a poetry reading at RHH. I am generally used to being the oldest person there besides the staff, so when a couple roughly my folks' age came in, got some tequila, a beer, couple of slices and started talking to me, I was a little surprised.
They were visiting from Nevada-- North Nevada, they were quick to specify; the conservative part. They were here to visit Seattle for a dramatic topographical getaway, and to have conversations with people and try to convince me to vote for Romney. I told them my ballot was already mailed off. Once we got through the initial sweepy-volley of recriminations about "Young people" in "cities," we were actually able to hit on some common grounds, or at least talking points. I'd give a more complete rundown (he-- the guy did more of the talking-- does want universal heathcare, but felt Affordable Care act was poorly written and timed, to which I am open, however, the former is hardly a talking point on the National Republican Agenda; I am more than open to the idea that maybe the U.S. doesn't take China seriously enough as a threat, but both of us were sort of stymied on the "so what" part of that question-- he believes we'll all be dead in 25 years from an invasion) but I have a lot to do today, so I'll leave with these observations:

1) when they said they wanted to have a conversation, they actually wanted to have a conversation. People of all stripes are always saying "lets have a conversation" when they mean "let me talk."

2) After that, I didn't have the heart to post any vitriol or half-intellectual screeds on my political choices. There is, quite literally, the whole rest of the internet for that, and pictures of cats.

3) I doubt either of us was going to change eachother's minds. But it's good to get out of the echo chamber, and easier to do so in person, over pizza.

4) I don't also have the heart, or will, to get on any Gloat-Trains. I am happy Obama won. I am ESPECIALLY happy that pretty much any Senator who said at best ignorant, at worst vile things about rape   was handily defeated. The referrendums in Washington went largely my way. But I'm tired. Like a lot of people, like arguably, the President himself, I'm really exhausted by the finger pointing and blindness of punditry.
I don't know how the American Voting Populace can go from Ignorant, Neanderthal Racist Hicks, to Informed, Motivated Individuals Who Believe in the Cause and Are Getting Involved in a span of two years, or (conversely) Intelligent, Self-Sufficient Patriots to Money-Grubbing, Ignorant Dependents in a mere two years, but hey-- who knew? These are the sort of implied dialogues whenever a side wins/loses and it's hard not to get eye-rolly at that. 
Also. I wish Libs would admit that MSNBC is basically the lefty version of Fox News and should be treated as such.

anyway. I won't go so far as to post something about being given "hope" re: healing a divisive land, or whatever, but I will say that I left the conversation feeling better about the people behind the politics than I went in, and I think I'd say that even if things didn't go my way.

Poli post #2.

I'm willing to "forfeit" a blog of my own reckless musings to provide a brief, but scintillating soundtrack to the upcoming election:


Local H are not, as some would assume (because I like them) a "faggy, left wing, espresso sipping"band. They're pretty goddamned blue collar. And at some point, I'd rather just listen to a politician's own words form the noose.

"we want america back--"

WAIT! Who's "we?" What "america"? Tell me. In detail, asshole.

I voted. We should guarantee that everyone eligible can.

Dropped my ballot, signed and all that. Perhaps more on how I voted in near posts-- (this post counts as the first of the five potential pre-election political posts. I know, waited a while, didn't I?

The thing I want to say here is simple: Voting is great. And it should be guaranteed as a right. Over the last twenty, thirty, years, pundits on all sides of the political spectrum have made comment on low voter turnout, how the young people just don't seem to care, etc. This, I think, gets overplayed as a media-salve to older-skewing demographics who want to feel validated in a kids-these-days stance, but it is a real problem.

Lately, however, many haven't been treating it like a problem, they've been exacerbating the problem with attempts at laws unnecessary at best, devious and racist at worst. Most of the current batch of laws have been sponsored by Republicans, but the idea that this should be a partisan issue is absurd to me. The argument I've heard-- actually heard-- is that 'well, voting technically isn't a right, guaranteed by the constitution.

Which is true. So I say, let's make it one. The right to vote should be extended to all citizens of the U.S. (with possible exceptions for those serving hard time. i'm not writing the resolution here, just putting the idea out there) regardless of race, political affiliation, gender, orientation, religious affiliation, wealth, housing status, education level, job status, etc. Once you hit 18, voting should be a constitutionally guaranteed right, in my mind. I say the right to vote should be in the framework of our countries laws, and voting should be a prioritized right-- accessible and available, as well as allowed. There are countries that legally require the citizenry to vote.

I'm not suggesting that, but I do think that along with freedom of religion, freedom of speech, and the right to bear arms, the right to vote was held in the same legal esteem, more people would vote. And if they didn't? Boo on them-- but there are many people who, despite the fought-and-died-for-right, will never own a gun. never exercise free speech in a meaningful, protected way. But those rights are still there should people choose to exercise them.

Again, recently a lot of liberal folks (I count myself, generally speaking, as a liberal folk, if you want to paint with broad swaths) have painted this as a Dems. vs. Repubs. issue, partly because the voter ID laws were largely being put in place in battleground states that could decide the upcoming election. In this instance, there may be credence to that, but the dialogue could easily flip; I've heard more than one dyed-in-the-wool blue-state liberal sigh that "if only you had to have a degree to vote." This was a lot of expasperated steam-blowing, as it were, during the Bush years. But that's often how bad ideas start, ideas that put an ideology beyond the Democratic (process, not party) ideals on which this country was founded forward.
And I think participating in the democratic process is absolutely core, absolutely essential to who we are, who we've been, and hopefully, who we will be in the future.

history is written by the man who stays acquainted with the thug who has the biggest sword.

while I definitely have my polititcal leanings (more on that in a few days) and definitely (can) enjoy the joust-y nature of debate, there are ways that, "this is not a game of battleship" notwithstanding, the whole Foreign Policy Debate just made me think about this song:
it doesn't take a lot to make me think of a fotl song, granted, but "civilized people don't fuck bears" notwithstanding, this is one of the angrier, more righteously on-point pieces they've done about world or personal affairs.