Lisa Larrabee's Blog
Let's Get Real (and know our history)
Dear Senator Franken,
Thank you so much for taking on Haliburton and other contractors and helping to end the violence against women. You are the Vagina Warrior of the month! And, you're a big enough man to be proud of the title.
It isn't often that politicians follow through in a timely fashion with their campaign promises. I ALWAYS had faith in you and I'm happy to say that I sent you all of my spending money for four months as campaign donations ... it was worth every penney and I'm happy to say that you are the only politician to see a donation check from me. Many, many people believe in you and your integrity, so thank you for fighting the good fight. With Peace and all good wishes.
LL
Thank you so much for taking on Haliburton and other contractors and helping to end the violence against women. You are the Vagina Warrior of the month! And, you're a big enough man to be proud of the title.
It isn't often that politicians follow through in a timely fashion with their campaign promises. I ALWAYS had faith in you and I'm happy to say that I sent you all of my spending money for four months as campaign donations ... it was worth every penney and I'm happy to say that you are the only politician to see a donation check from me. Many, many people believe in you and your integrity, so thank you for fighting the good fight. With Peace and all good wishes.
LL
I often wonder why we spend so much time and money on stopping the distribution of marijuana, a relatively harmless natural herb, when we have tens of millions of our citizens taking multiple prescription pills every day; we seem to now have pills for every ailment and worry and it would appear that none of us can be "well" without taking some sort of prescription drugs.
Perhaps we are all just guinea pigs for the drug companies ... Don't you wonder how doctors could possibly know the potential side effects of combining these powerful chemical compositions? Also, what sort of incentives does your health care provider receive for prescribing drugs?
Furthermore, when folks order their prescription drugs through the mail, what kind of controls are there to assure quality of the drugs and that folks are receiving the correct medications? A drug distribution center in the wrong hands is truly a scary thought.
I really hope that President-elect Obama can assure us that our drug supplies are safe because the federal watchdog agencies under the Cheney/Bush administration have certainly been corrupted and reduced to ineptitude at best.
Perhaps we are all just guinea pigs for the drug companies ... Don't you wonder how doctors could possibly know the potential side effects of combining these powerful chemical compositions? Also, what sort of incentives does your health care provider receive for prescribing drugs?
Furthermore, when folks order their prescription drugs through the mail, what kind of controls are there to assure quality of the drugs and that folks are receiving the correct medications? A drug distribution center in the wrong hands is truly a scary thought.
I really hope that President-elect Obama can assure us that our drug supplies are safe because the federal watchdog agencies under the Cheney/Bush administration have certainly been corrupted and reduced to ineptitude at best.
"If might makes right, then Love has no place in this world."
--from the movie "The Mission"
"The Soul selects its own society."
--Emily Dickinson
...
But nature is a stranger yet;
The ones that cite her most
Have never passed her haunted house,
Nor simplified her ghost.
To pity those that know her not
Is helped by the regret
That those who know her, know her less
The nearer her they get.
--Emily Dickinson
--from the movie "The Mission"
"The Soul selects its own society."
--Emily Dickinson
...
But nature is a stranger yet;
The ones that cite her most
Have never passed her haunted house,
Nor simplified her ghost.
To pity those that know her not
Is helped by the regret
That those who know her, know her less
The nearer her they get.
--Emily Dickinson
Jonathan Shay's books need to be read, Achilles In Vietnam and Odysseus in America ... Please read at least one of them.
While visiting me in Bellingham, just before we invaded Iraq, a friend of mine from Austria said, "No one should be allowed to start a war who has not participated (on the front lines) in a war and seen the death up close." Because he was a middle-aged Austrian, I took his words very seriously.
Why did we allow Picasso's Guernica hanging in the U.N. to be shrouded on the very day the Bush administration went to the U.N. to request a war?
GUERNICA
I don't paint to decorate apartments. Painting
is an instrument of war. --Pablo Picasso, 1937
When the bombers came over, the startled air
Began to vibrate, the earth began to shake.
There are no bombs or planes in the finished work,
Nothing about the scope of the massacre--
Only his drawings of pain-distorted figures:
A dying horse, a long arm clutching a lamp,
A bull unmoved by the grief of a pieta.
More intense than those sepia photographs
Sent from Spain by telephoto, that showed
Bloodshed on the front page of Ce Soir,
He caught forever the stark, unspeakable horror.
He didn't need the bombs or planes or blood--
Only a canvas, twelve by twenty-four
To illustrate the ravages of war.
--David George
"No one escapes the ravages of war behind closed doors."
While visiting me in Bellingham, just before we invaded Iraq, a friend of mine from Austria said, "No one should be allowed to start a war who has not participated (on the front lines) in a war and seen the death up close." Because he was a middle-aged Austrian, I took his words very seriously.
Why did we allow Picasso's Guernica hanging in the U.N. to be shrouded on the very day the Bush administration went to the U.N. to request a war?
GUERNICA
I don't paint to decorate apartments. Painting
is an instrument of war. --Pablo Picasso, 1937
When the bombers came over, the startled air
Began to vibrate, the earth began to shake.
There are no bombs or planes in the finished work,
Nothing about the scope of the massacre--
Only his drawings of pain-distorted figures:
A dying horse, a long arm clutching a lamp,
A bull unmoved by the grief of a pieta.
More intense than those sepia photographs
Sent from Spain by telephoto, that showed
Bloodshed on the front page of Ce Soir,
He caught forever the stark, unspeakable horror.
He didn't need the bombs or planes or blood--
Only a canvas, twelve by twenty-four
To illustrate the ravages of war.
--David George
"No one escapes the ravages of war behind closed doors."
We have citizens from around the world and we have the capacity to change the world for the better for everyone. I am very hopeful.
WASHINGTON'S MONUMENT, 1985
Thou, Washington, art all the world's, the continents'
entire--/ not yours alone, America.
--Walt Whitman, "Washington's Monument, 1885"
This old marble, remote and monumental,
That sways in its aging stone like a leaning tower,
Will fall or soar.
The narrow shaft of its spire
Contains within itself the Elemental--
Lift and star-thrust, the Humming Invisible.
Von Braun and Steinmetz understood the spark
That drives a man to empty his mind, to fill
Infinite space with thoughts made visible.
And Washington, upon the Delaware,
Didn't avoid the sight of those banked-fires--
Nor have the leaders after him,
who find
Their words and gestures recycled in other spheres--
Who do not measure their years on level ground,
But balance--poised--on a planet between stars.
--David George
WASHINGTON'S MONUMENT, 1985
Thou, Washington, art all the world's, the continents'
entire--/ not yours alone, America.
--Walt Whitman, "Washington's Monument, 1885"
This old marble, remote and monumental,
That sways in its aging stone like a leaning tower,
Will fall or soar.
The narrow shaft of its spire
Contains within itself the Elemental--
Lift and star-thrust, the Humming Invisible.
Von Braun and Steinmetz understood the spark
That drives a man to empty his mind, to fill
Infinite space with thoughts made visible.
And Washington, upon the Delaware,
Didn't avoid the sight of those banked-fires--
Nor have the leaders after him,
who find
Their words and gestures recycled in other spheres--
Who do not measure their years on level ground,
But balance--poised--on a planet between stars.
--David George
without giving in to the politics of fear ...
just imagine life in a different way ...
as Pascal said: "I shall have no more if I possess worlds, by thought I comprehend the universe."
PINS AND WHEELS: A METAPHYSICAL
Do stones in the crystal chambers of their souls
Move without meaning in their molecules?
Do even the smallest, the insignificant least--
Like dust on the tusk of the most revolting beast--
Detect in the flesh of the invisible
A sense of purpose?
If souls have knees that kneel,
And stones have brains that calculate the cost
Of energy, then even the busy flea--
Vastly underrated by the cat--
Plays a part in a delicate balancing act:
The pins and wheels that keep the world afloat.
Now when I feel the pitch and tilt of an ark
That I have been riding too lightly in the dark,
I praise the water flowing under my feet.
--David George
just imagine life in a different way ...
as Pascal said: "I shall have no more if I possess worlds, by thought I comprehend the universe."
PINS AND WHEELS: A METAPHYSICAL
Do stones in the crystal chambers of their souls
Move without meaning in their molecules?
Do even the smallest, the insignificant least--
Like dust on the tusk of the most revolting beast--
Detect in the flesh of the invisible
A sense of purpose?
If souls have knees that kneel,
And stones have brains that calculate the cost
Of energy, then even the busy flea--
Vastly underrated by the cat--
Plays a part in a delicate balancing act:
The pins and wheels that keep the world afloat.
Now when I feel the pitch and tilt of an ark
That I have been riding too lightly in the dark,
I praise the water flowing under my feet.
--David George
On the battlefield, the oponnent had the guns and the powder, but the huckelberry had all the balls ...
Poems below by David George:
RAINBOW
I saw a rainbow lift out of water and leap
Back into its origins. In one vast arc,
It cast a light that curved in falling back,
As if the sky were speaking to the deep
In mystical remarks. It spoke of hope:
The bright unraveling of what is bound
Between the flowing river and the ground.
It spoke of things that swim in myth and sleep--
Things rarely seen, things that began before
A rainbow came to illuminate in mist
The darker patterns of a valley floor.
I stood transfixed--a shadow in the grass--
Thinking the thoughts of a child in a candy store
Who spends his penny on splendor and stained glass.
THAT STAR
Where is that star we steer by, that shaft of light
Cold in the lens but tender in the heart?
And if it has drifted, has it drifted far
From where it flared upon the calendar?
The wise men said it was a star in fact--
And not a question mark, as when they asked
What searchlight probed the sky, what burning bright
Caught fire in the straw of prophecy.
Perhaps one night that star will reappear,
Cast fire down, consolidate its light.
Some say it will come to overpower the sky
Or lie in wait, with wise and open eye--
As if, in being, it were enough to be
A pinpoint on a vast periphery.
Poems below by David George:
RAINBOW
I saw a rainbow lift out of water and leap
Back into its origins. In one vast arc,
It cast a light that curved in falling back,
As if the sky were speaking to the deep
In mystical remarks. It spoke of hope:
The bright unraveling of what is bound
Between the flowing river and the ground.
It spoke of things that swim in myth and sleep--
Things rarely seen, things that began before
A rainbow came to illuminate in mist
The darker patterns of a valley floor.
I stood transfixed--a shadow in the grass--
Thinking the thoughts of a child in a candy store
Who spends his penny on splendor and stained glass.
THAT STAR
Where is that star we steer by, that shaft of light
Cold in the lens but tender in the heart?
And if it has drifted, has it drifted far
From where it flared upon the calendar?
The wise men said it was a star in fact--
And not a question mark, as when they asked
What searchlight probed the sky, what burning bright
Caught fire in the straw of prophecy.
Perhaps one night that star will reappear,
Cast fire down, consolidate its light.
Some say it will come to overpower the sky
Or lie in wait, with wise and open eye--
As if, in being, it were enough to be
A pinpoint on a vast periphery.
During the campaign for California's Proposition 22 to ban gay marriages, my dear friend and former roommate, Clay Whitmer, and his best friend, Stuart Matis, both committed suicide. The hateful lobbying for this proposition caused them great pain in the weeks before they took their own lives.
On Thursday morning, I was elated to hear that the mostly Republican-appointed justices had ruled that the ban on gay marriages was unconstitutional. After my initial euphoria, I decided to write a tribute and this is the working copy.
In re MARRIAGE CASES
California Supreme Court
5/15/08
-- For Clay and Stuart. Both of them left this life too soon
because they just could not take the hate anymore.
I would have
called Clay
right away.
He would have
cried with relief
shouted with joy
blurted out a catty
comment or two.
Then, he would have
called Stuart to celebrate.
Clay hasn't had
a phone number for
nearly eight years.
He left his number
and his pain behind
when he bought a gun,
and rode the city bus to
The Presidio.
I imagine he
found just the
right spot before
breathing one last
huge sigh of relief
one last blink before
he ended the pain
in a flash of light.
Sometimes,
good news
comes too late
making victory
bittersweet.
When will the bricks
of judgment cease to fall
on all the innocent souls?
On Thursday morning, I was elated to hear that the mostly Republican-appointed justices had ruled that the ban on gay marriages was unconstitutional. After my initial euphoria, I decided to write a tribute and this is the working copy.
In re MARRIAGE CASES
California Supreme Court
5/15/08
-- For Clay and Stuart. Both of them left this life too soon
because they just could not take the hate anymore.
I would have
called Clay
right away.
He would have
cried with relief
shouted with joy
blurted out a catty
comment or two.
Then, he would have
called Stuart to celebrate.
Clay hasn't had
a phone number for
nearly eight years.
He left his number
and his pain behind
when he bought a gun,
and rode the city bus to
The Presidio.
I imagine he
found just the
right spot before
breathing one last
huge sigh of relief
one last blink before
he ended the pain
in a flash of light.
Sometimes,
good news
comes too late
making victory
bittersweet.
When will the bricks
of judgment cease to fall
on all the innocent souls?
TRIBUTE TO THE NFL
Helmeted warriors
lined up
shoulder-to-shoulder,
frozen in coiled stances
determined by position.
Statues of rock-hard flesh,
they crouch face-to-face,
breathing fire and smoke
across a thin, intense, scrimmage
line of crackling air which
narrowly divides the bellowing
Bills and Browns who paw the grass
as they wait for the QB
to make the call.
After the snap,
warriors collide
on the white-lined,
green battlefield.
Sweaty smoke wafts
over the field
of pounding flesh
and piston tendons as
Vikings and Buccaneers
seek to steal the small,
brown ball of treasure.
War with minimal casualties,
men on a complex mission,
special forces dominating the field,
massive hits in the trenches
peopled by Packers and Steelers.
Patriots and Raiders exchange
grenades of passion, of fanaticism,
that explode in the battle
To Protect vs. To Sack
the Quarterback King.
Yet we get a ballet passing game,
complete with men in tight, shiny, pants--
aerial acrobats, sure-handed
contortionists defying gravity--
who catch pigskin missiles
fired from rocket arms.
Jaguar cornerbacks stalk
sleek Panther receivers.
Air battles ensue between
high-flying Falcons and Eagles
while Seahawks stun Ravens
with mid-air miracles,
and Saints flutter right by Jets
propelled by high-octane breaths.
Some of these men
are mountains, true Titans,
Giants in the midst of battle
when they clash in movable,
x and o coach-scripted trenches.
Crashing helmets create thunder
as Cardinals and 49ers see red all around
and Chargers and Rams collide
in bone-crunching bursts.
Texans and Cowboys shoot it out,
then try to tame kicking Colts and Broncos--
stallions battling for the right to lead
the herd to Super-hallowed ground.
Meanwhile, Chiefs and Redskins
struggle for tribal supremacy,
and Dolphins surf the waves
of cacophonic crowd surges.
Because of The Rules
the Zebras are able
to keep order among
the Lions and Bengals and Bears
and all other beasts on the field.
Some call it fast chess,
some never know what hit them,
their primal screams drowned out
by the crowd of basic instincts.
Helmeted warriors
lined up
shoulder-to-shoulder,
frozen in coiled stances
determined by position.
Statues of rock-hard flesh,
they crouch face-to-face,
breathing fire and smoke
across a thin, intense, scrimmage
line of crackling air which
narrowly divides the bellowing
Bills and Browns who paw the grass
as they wait for the QB
to make the call.
After the snap,
warriors collide
on the white-lined,
green battlefield.
Sweaty smoke wafts
over the field
of pounding flesh
and piston tendons as
Vikings and Buccaneers
seek to steal the small,
brown ball of treasure.
War with minimal casualties,
men on a complex mission,
special forces dominating the field,
massive hits in the trenches
peopled by Packers and Steelers.
Patriots and Raiders exchange
grenades of passion, of fanaticism,
that explode in the battle
To Protect vs. To Sack
the Quarterback King.
Yet we get a ballet passing game,
complete with men in tight, shiny, pants--
aerial acrobats, sure-handed
contortionists defying gravity--
who catch pigskin missiles
fired from rocket arms.
Jaguar cornerbacks stalk
sleek Panther receivers.
Air battles ensue between
high-flying Falcons and Eagles
while Seahawks stun Ravens
with mid-air miracles,
and Saints flutter right by Jets
propelled by high-octane breaths.
Some of these men
are mountains, true Titans,
Giants in the midst of battle
when they clash in movable,
x and o coach-scripted trenches.
Crashing helmets create thunder
as Cardinals and 49ers see red all around
and Chargers and Rams collide
in bone-crunching bursts.
Texans and Cowboys shoot it out,
then try to tame kicking Colts and Broncos--
stallions battling for the right to lead
the herd to Super-hallowed ground.
Meanwhile, Chiefs and Redskins
struggle for tribal supremacy,
and Dolphins surf the waves
of cacophonic crowd surges.
Because of The Rules
the Zebras are able
to keep order among
the Lions and Bengals and Bears
and all other beasts on the field.
Some call it fast chess,
some never know what hit them,
their primal screams drowned out
by the crowd of basic instincts.
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