i see me
days and
dawns on 
me these
and what
it means



explain it to me again
let me learn this mess



                       am i honestly expected to be able to write
                            or to concentrate on anything 
                                  or on anyone else


In Professor’s Model, Diversity = Productivity


                      broken up    walks away
                      know that    trust your
                      beautiful    now own it


                                                    he need not agree with a
                                                    controversial word i say


                                in this plebeian sea of redundancy
                                 she strikes you as an anomaly
                                 so you trust her


walked into a screen
my mind caught up in
this waking up dream

                                                woke up to my scream
                                                my mind caught up in
                                                this waking up dream

walked into a stream
my mind caught up in
my drowned out dream


“The idea of “nations” that legitimates border restrictions is socially constructed or is an “imagined community” (Anderson 1991). That scholars have a hard time even defining what a nation is (Gellner 1983) makes the idea no less powerful. Nationalism and the distinct but related nation-statism retain a powerful hold on the international system—even are the system. Moreover, the idea of a nation has broad and wide popular appeal. People take it for granted that nationality is a morally legitimate criterion for differential treatment of people. But having a powerful hold on the popular imagination is not immutable—religion, race, sex, and ethnicity were considered legitimate grounds for discrimination for thousands of years.” -Lant Pritchett, Let Their People Come: Breaking the Gridlock on Global Labor Mobility, p. 82 (2006).


                                 you can’t see me now 
                                 but if you could you
                                 would see where your
                                 face found its place
                                 to squat here inside  
                                 my head awaiting for
                                 our fatal flaw but i 
                                 see you and me and i 
                                 think i do adore you




                                                        binge bright

                                                     this short fuse
                                                     will follow you



                               half expect you 
                               show sheep skin
                               in my infirmary

                               to steal a seed
                               from the garden




bought us toothbrushes 
made us pancakes makes
me wonder what he must
mistake me for worried 
why his sweet boy mind
prods at my senescence


         i miss you where
         i am not allowed 
         to i worship you



                                   crows feet you breathe old age through
                                   bed sheets spread me out thin although
                                   you know it is hard for me to seek you
                                   it is hard for me to make morning last


 Feminist Philosophical Quarterly, Vol. 1, Issue 1 (2015)


please understand how under siege by the periodic violent swing
 it has proved an unpleasant pact to corral the will 
 an enervating task to train the spirit when 
 not to align with the body or mind 
 but instead to discern when best 
 to accept her homelessness 




                        needles pierce blood brittle vein
                        as the hours pass by to haunt him
                        bruises remain where he loses his 
                        mane so what is left is gaunt lit
                        like the moon around the earth is 
                        i feel hopeless to have been your
                        satellite i have loved adored you
                        all while i knew you held me back


                                                   remember   us      when 
                                                   you say how you love me
                                                   say you will get better
                                                   remember   us      then


remember   us   when
we watched scarecrow
drank our white wine
remember   us   then



                                          remember us when
                                          you leaned on me
                                          & we breathed in
                                          remember us then



                 sea, i was just a little lost
                          please tell her that 
                               i swam to shore


Women in Philosophy


                                                     come part mental lies
                                                          come position me


my spirit animal in the news

Shiva’s qualities include death and destruction, 
   in order to bring about the gift of rebirth and resurrection.

A Bodhisattva’s Approach to Activism


“According to the traditional definition, the bodhisattva chooses not to enter the state of perfect peace, nirvana, but remains in samsara, cyclic existence, to help all sentient beings end their suffering and reach enlightenment. Instead of asking, “How can I get out of this situation?” the bodhisattva asks, “What can I contribute to make this situation better?” Today, more than ever, we need to understand the bodhisattva path as a spiritual archetype that offers a new vision of human possibility.”

“The equanimity of the bodhisattva-activist comes from nonattachment to the fruits of one’s action, which is not detachment from the state of the world or the fate of the earth. What is the source of this non-attachment? That question points to the fruits of the bodhisattva’s inner work. The Diamond Sutra says that we cannot lead all living beings to liberation because there are no living beings to liberate. The bodhisattva realizes shunyata, emptiness — that dimension in which there is nothing to gain or lose, no getting better or worse — but is not attached to that realization. As the Heart Sutra emphasizes, forms are empty, and emptiness is form. Emptiness is not a place to dwell that is free from form; it is experienced only in the impermanent forms it takes, the forms that constitute our lives and our world. For the Buddhist activist these are the two dimensions of practice — form and emptiness, personal transformation and social transformation, opposite sides of one coin. As Nisargadatta might put it, “Between these two the bodhisattva’s life turns.” Our world needs both.”


                                     i just want
                                     what  i had
                                     what  i had 
                                     not  wanted
                                     at the time
 in a crowd of solitude
 my mind waded through

 just like me 
back to you



        smooth bounced checks 
          on her bell breasts 
  slide her 
        body back
                  by the bowl
                   bide by her 
                  badness her
                    serial sadness     
          her lighter request



Who are you? 
Why do we come? 
What do you need? 
What do I know? 
Who am I now? 
What time are we in? 
What do I do?   
When I want you to know 
That I need you to live 
That I can’t let you go 
With what you have got to give   
And I don’t know you 
But then, yes I do 
And I’d like you to see   
The light in us rise 
To the top of the sky 
With our feet on the earth 
And our hands held up high   
For each breath 
That I breathe 
And the love 
That I feel 
And the grass 
Under me 
And the fire 
That is real 
And the water is deep 
In an ocean of peace


Benefits of Teaching Philosophy in Primary School

c a p t i v a t e d    i   h a v e    b e e n    i n 

s p i r e d   b y   y o u   a r e    a    g e m   

o f    a    p e r f o r m a n c e  

o f    a n    a r t i s t



                                                   s h e   

                                             a   r o s e  


a n d   i 
a   s u n 

                                              f l o w e r


When I heard the news, I knew I could do one of three things: 
implode, explode, or channel the frustration into a creative venture. 
I opened up the script document and began to type, furious. 

To be able to write has been a singular saving grace, 
by means of which I have managed.


    h e a d    o n    c e m e n t

b l o c k s                        

                     m y    c o m p u l s i o n    t o     c o n t r o l




               in a white globe wrestled in bruised palms

 even there you fail me

anthropo scene


 ashtray, pool table play
 you stray, so i circle you

we are dust, not art-
this is rust, Mary

or so you say

dust settles, us too-
ashes to ashes


A Dream Within A Dream

by Edgar Allan Poe
 published 1850
Take this kiss upon the brow!
 And, in parting from you now,
 Thus much let me avow --
 You are not wrong, who deem
 That my days have been a dream;
 Yet if hope has flown away
 In a night, or in a day,
 In a vision, or in none,
 Is it therefore the less gone?
 All that we see or seem
 Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
 Of a surf-tormented shore,
 And I hold within my hand
 Grains of the golden sand --
 How few! yet how they creep
 Through my fingers to the deep,
 While I weep -- while I weep!
 O God! can I not grasp
 Them with a tighter clasp?
 O God! can I not save
 One from the pitiless wave?
 Is all that we see or seem
 But a dream within a dream?

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“What I wanted to express very clearly and intensely was that the reason these people had to invent or imagine heroes and gods is pure fear. Fear of life and fear of death.” -Frida Kahlo


“I paint my own reality. The only thing I know is that I paint because I need to, and I paint whatever passes through my head without any other

consideration.”-Frida Kahlo


“I was born a bitch. I was born a painter.” -Frida Kahlo



Slide2 Slide3




                         The closer I got, the further they seemed. 
                    Lori had felt a million removed from the scene.

The pastries behind the glass turned plastic; and so had the boys.
My passion felt muted; my curiosity courteously waned.   


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