Tuesday, February 28, 2006

currency tv

My brain stopped as the Louis Armstrong song played, and I felt forced to stop reading. I had to just listen.

I was reminded of a musician friend who listens to music (anything he can get his hands on, any genre from any time), with eyes closed, intently, unable to do anything else but listen. I can tell he is receiving a huge amount of information that I am not. He tilts his head and says "Hmmm" and "Ah" and "Ohh". I struggle to hear what he is hearing, but he is sensing the music more than just listening to it.

On a totally different topic, I think the most interesting thing about the movie The New World is the depiction of the moment of first contact between the peoples. I have thought about quite a bit, like a lot of people, what the exact moment may have been like when Native Americans and Europeans encountered each other for the first time. This film is gratifying in a way because it depicts the moment, whether historically accurate or not, I have no idea (I did poke around on the internet though, and the costumes do seem to be somewhat historically accurate - if you can trust the internet for that kind of thing). The period of colonization and plundering of the Americas, and the wealth that was shuttled back to Europe, is what made capitalism really possible. And those pustule-laden gross English kids in the movie is the new face of capitalism - ew!. The whole idea of currency is such a f-ing trip. Why did some people decide that gold and silver was so damn valuable? Why not something else?

Monday, February 27, 2006

v is for voltairine

"Good-natured satirists often remark that 'the best way to cure an anarchist is to give him a fortune.' Substituting 'corrupt' for 'cure,' I would subscribe to this; and believing myself to be no better than the rest of men, I earnestly hope that as so far it has been my lot to work, and work hard, and for no fortune, so I may continue to the end; for let me keep the intensity of my soul, with all the limitations of my material conditions, rather than become the spineless and idealless creation of material needs." – Voltairine deCleyre, excerpted from The Making of an Anarchist

Oh, to be as steadfast as Voltairine. To have an amulet made up of the intensity of my soul to ward off the electric blanket temptation.

Sunday, February 26, 2006

hold on to your heart

The best thing about the Berkeley farmer's market (besides blue bottle coffee) is the view of the hills between the buildings. It allows you to imagine you are any place besides Berkeley. Sometimes it looks like Japan and sometimes it looks like a city in South America. It helps to have never been to Japan or South America. The second best thing is the fiddlers. The third best thing is the joke you can buy for a dollar. The fourth best thing is the cinnamon donuts. The vegetables and fruit are good too, but mostly I just go for the coffee and the view of the hills.

Saturday, February 25, 2006

california magic


Stephen was holding a flower in his hands when I ran into him one evening outside his house. He said that he had gone to Santa Cruz on his motorbike, but never reached his destination because his bike had broken down on the way. I exclaimed, "Oh how terrible!" But then I realized he had a huge grin on his face and was radiating magic, as sometimes Stephen could do. He said, "No Lisa, I had the most amazing time." When his bike broke down, he pulled over, and then for some unknown reason walked off the side of the road and into a meadow. In the meadow was a beautiful girl picking flowers, as if she was awaiting him. Stephen stayed in the meadow with the girl the entire afternoon.

Stephen told me this story many years ago. He was one of my favorite people I have met here. He transformed space, time, and moments into new things. He died very young, which was a great loss to many people. He is influential in my experience of the west coast and what can be made possible with the intersection of art and space (and a little magic).

anticipating nostalgia

Nostalgia for a place before leaving it. There must be a word for this feeling. Lately, however, I mostly desire to flee california as soon as possible.

As I was walking through the Presidio on a beautiful cloudless day with a view of the Golden Gate bridge, while busy nonprofit workers bustled around full of purpose, I got the feeling of not belonging here. As if I had expired sometime in the past few years, and a ghosty person that looks like me now floats around pretending to be real. I've already moved on, existing in a kind of waiting space. Sometimes I think people notice. It seems the purposeful nonprofit workers can tell that I am no longer purposeful.