Blogging on violence

Awake around four with an idea for a blog post, I drift back to sleep a while later and sleep in until the disgracefully late hour of 7:30. Too late to write much of anything, I fiddle around, doctor up some old doggerel, then think better of it. Then I start remembering all the good stuff I’ve been finding on other blogs lately. It’s been a long time since I last did a digest like this, so why not? I love making collages . . .

For me, the pathos that certain aspects of Fahrenheit 9-11 conveyed spoke of something fundamental to the human condition, and the value was great because these are narratives that are only ever presented to us in fictional (and thereby dulled) form. Films are so often antiseptic, with their clinical and balletic depictions of violence, and their inconsequential battle-ground “action”. But here, somehow, in between the rollicking soundtrack and George W. acting like a prat on camera, something filtered through of the heart-seizing reality of what it means to live always with the possibility of death in mind.
– the vernacular body

Some with a soft dignity. Some without. Some
rattling and moaning. I go to the body. I go out
to this body when I see it coming. The traffic,
for a moment, ceases. The soft wick of moon. Boy

that I made, go out there. Go out to the seat
of judgment. Enter into me and hear it, whirr
of energy. The veins popping, exploding. Listen
to yourself cry out, go slack, stop.

– from “The Mercy Seat,” Awake at Dawn — Writing Journal

Does “Raytheon” really mean “the light of God” ?

For the ladies, they produce a swell line of ornithologicaly themed missiles — lark, sparrow, hawk, shrike, falcon, phoenix. For the gents, there are several phallically themed devices — javelin, stinger, excalibur — in addition to the ever-macho cruise, sidewinder, maverick and tomahawk missiles, the brilliant anti-armor tank submunition (BAT), the exoatmospheric kill vehicle, the aptly named HARM (High Speed Anti-Radiation Missile) and RAM (Rolling Airframe Missile). Why, they even produce a groundbreaking, post-modern, gender-inclusive device, the LGB, aka the Paveway Laser Guided Bomb.

Paula’s House of Toast

Two nights ago: Many events, though I distinctly recall holding a cooked rabbit with my fingers, in an attempt to stuff it. I had pulled the skin up and there were bowls of nuts and stuffing, and a broth.
fragments: dream a little dream of me

It didn’t take long to shut him up. When we finished beating the hell out of him, we thought it [would] be funny to shave his head. Much to our surprise, we found that underneath all that smelly grey hair was a tattooed scalp baring an elaborate anarchy symbol and a slogan that read, “Punx Not Dead”.
A ‘Coon Named Legba

I told Tsuga to “sit” and “drop it!” while I fished around in his mouth for the bone. That’s odd. Whatever it is he’s mouthing is soft, squishy, almost flesh-like. To my horror, as the object came saliva-soaked from the dog’s mouth, I held in my hand a shrunken human calf and foot, complete with tiny toes. There for an instant, it weirded me out pretty seriously. My initial response was “Ooh me god! He’s ate Mr. Frodo!”
Fragments From Floyd

I watched thought cells gently floating in the ‘bloodstream’, inactive, harmless little things with delicate, empty structures. I was taken inside a cell. It was completely empty, just a pregnant void. I was shocked. “Thoughts are empty!”

Suddenly larger cells invaded the picture and threw this quiet scene into chaos. These cells, two or three times the size of thoughts, hurtled through the bloodstream at a furious pace. Their multiple ‘arms’ splayed out in a star pattern. Hair triggers at the end of each arm guided the cells against the current as they actively hunted out thoughts. A small dark nucleus active in the centre of each cell fuelled this mission. “Emotions!” It occurred to me. These cells were emotions! Hungrily they pursued and attached to thoughts. Within a split second of capturing its quarry, the emotion would envelop the thought cell with its ‘arms’, and suck it into its own structure. (The thought remained completely passive in this process.) The instant the membrane closed around the newly merged cells the whole structure would ignite in ‘electrical’ sparks. The thought was now alive!

– A penny for your thoughts

I was underwhelmed at the time of the talk. Is it really this straight-forward? My mother said, “All she said was common sense. Love without attachment? I got it.”

But I don’t “got it.” I don’t have it so much that I go looking for Bodhisattva Goddesses where mortal women tread. I make holy and unholy out of gesture. What did I expect, really? That Kwan Seum Bosal would manifest right in front of me? That my mind would explode open?

– Ditch the raft

At the Sina pig farm, a man sits motionless out in the middle of his yard. In the morning sun, his skin is bronzed; he could be a statue.

Those pea fields that were harvested have been tilled again. What will come up next?

I am contemplating the division of lands: farm-land, wilderness, waste-land.

Once again, the monster-beast goes to work, like the good German he is.

The Middlewesterner

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Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave's writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the "share alike" provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).

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