May 23rd, 2016


Hey dad, how are you feeling

Miss you so much look to see you soon I feel good waiting for the results

Okay dad hang in there I am going to try and come home early

Come back soon to save me from Cary



There is a story of a woman whose husband was constantly gambling and getting drunk. He used to come home late at night, knock on the door, and wait for his wife to open it. She would do so at whatever hour he came home. Always she remained peaceful, patient.

Eventually, he grew tired of his own vices and ran away. After five years, with spoiled health, he returned home. His wife had known that one day he would. Meanwhile, during the five years in which he had been absent, she had not lost her peace nor had she turned to vices herself. She had used her time to build her inner muscles.

She was so strong that the evening he returned and stood at the door, she only said, “Come in, please!” He could not believe that after five years, after having run away, he could be hearing these gentle words. Then she said, “You must be hungry. Have some dinner.”

Hearing these sweetly spoken words, he began to melt inside. He started to cry. The tears kept on rolling down his cheeks. Gently his wife said, “Have I not told you- you are not bad. It was the company you kept. And don’t these tears show that the core of your heart is good and soft?” He felt like bowing at her feet. “I have heard about saints, ” he said, “but if I had not seen you, I would never have believed. Now I know that I have no need to go away again.”

He then began moving forward into a purposeful life.

Twelve Facets of Reality: The Jain Path to Freedom, Gurudev Shree Chitrabhanu



In meditating on this bhavana, we observe our whole cycle:

We say, “When I was born, my mother was in pain, crying. Then she saw my face and was happy. The pain was gone.” What the mother suffered for nine months was gone in one minute.

At the same time, we look at those close to us in our lives- a brother, sister, parent, or partner- and see that some have gone and some are still here. The dearest people whom we love and who love us come and go. They don’t remain permanently. The people who hate and are hated also come and go.

This is the Ferris wheel; this is the process.

Twelve Facets of Reality: The Jain Path to Freedom, Gurudev Shree Chitrabhanu


                        they asked for you and i smile softly
                        slowly build big beautiful teary eyes
                        i gently shrug my shrinking shoulders 
                        i think dad is the only one who knows
                        irony he is the only one who feels me
                        never too soon for the lesson on loss
                        never too late for the lesson on love

to you, my mane


                                   a bald man for a mane
                                   held on to our center  
                                   she opened up to your
                                   trapped in his circle
                                   you never under stood 
                                   and could not protect   
                                   we never had a chance





a p p l e s
l i b e r t y  
c i g a r  
l a k e  e l l a
p o l y a m o r o u s
v e g e t a r i a n
p a s t a  d i n n e r
m a n g o s
m u s i c  f e s t i v a l
f l a t  l a n d
t h e  b e t t y ' s
s i l e n t  d i s c o
u n l o c k e d  c h a p e l
r i v e r  r o m a n c e
g r a s s l a n d s
e m o t i o n  w o r d  l i s t
t h e  p r i n c e
f a l a f e l  w a f f l e s
t r a n s i t i o n
t h e  p l a n t
l a  s e i n e / 
f r e n c h  g r a s s h o p p e r  m o n s t e r
c a n d l e  l i t  h a m p e r / l o v e
k a l a m a t a  o l i v e s
n o n v i o l e n t  c o m m u n i c a t i o n
f r i e n d s h i p 
f l a g l e r
s h e l l s / s u r f /
u n d e r  t h e  s t a r s





l i b e r a t e
o n e 
a n o t h e r
n o t h i n g
n e w
i s
s u r e
i s
n e w
n o t h i n g
a n o t h e r
o n e
l i b e r a t e



                      fair weather whose need to know let
                      me down for the last time with your
                      silence as violence had lesson plan 




Sundays, nowadays


The Olympic style of
Sundays are new days
i read to you and we
watch T.V. with ease
we made a compromise
tennis match for you
and i get to watch a
stunning Serena slay
but you glared at me 
so skeptically as if
to say this daughter 
is too obviously gay 
but not to worry you
love unconditionally
now and are so sorry
about that pain kill 
past and in fact our
love was your saving 
grace and everything 
nowadays he is proud





                        i wake up to the down
                        and so not to drown i
                        lift my rust from the
                        sink to study my face
                        through your eyes see
                        myself how you saw me
                        my attention drawn to
                        the task of carefully 
                        mapping out of all my
                        imperfections and you
                        tell me where to draw
                        blood and drain pores
                        and when it hurts too
                        much i feel you close
                        behind my apple eye i
                        devastate the process
                        i must make a morning
                        last this time i will
                        though this warmth of 
                        over has taken over i
                        once more implore you
                        take out my apple eye
                        see what i see when i
                        say i love you though
                        i am not allowed to i
                        worship your disciple
                        ship so anchor to her
                        your search for truth



1. End the war on black people.

2. Reparations for past and continuing harms.

3. Divestment from the institutions that criminalize, cage and harm black people;

and investment in the education, health and safety of black people.

4. Economic justice for all and a reconstruction of the economy

to ensure our communities have collective ownership, not merely access.

5. Community control of the laws, institutions and policies that most impact us.

6. Independent black political power and black self-determination

in all areas of society.




on my summer of death
our dream dissolution
the resurrection fern

aim anew forward move
how Bodhisattvas swim
inside the Suwannee i

looked up at the rain
drops sun-kissed this
lemonade stand set up

promise to go where i 
am needed most and to 
leave this life after
better, without cries
out for mad attention
in peace with purpose 

the opposite of how i 
arrived: tranquil and 
not the cause of pain

to you, my ocean


like the ocean,

i mistook your turbulence for depth
and my vulnerability for trust

like the ocean,

i was captivated by you
i felt elation in you

like the ocean,

you would consume me, with indifference
drown me, with impunity

like the ocean,

our power asymmetry tranforms
the moment i walk away from you

and just like the ocean,

when you see me again
you will not recognize me


                                         down to the ground 

                                         lay flat on cement
                                         look up at the sky
                                         say i will be okay


as you spoke of our "failure"

my eyes fell flat on the painting
and i noticed, for the first time

that the roof was lopsided,
and the trees were rushed.

and, in fact, the whole beautiful scene lacked sense.

i realized that my mother was not perfect,
that my father was not invincible,
that i was not a child,

and that you were not a savior.




                                                 locked in the i
                                                 held hostage by
                                                 the capacity to
                                                 live on through 
                                                 events the body
                                                 not designed to




                  in what ways are children not their mother's equal
                  that is the sense in which they have not been ours
                  though we put their want and interests before ours
                  and though we placed their hope and ambition above
                  all else: the sober truth is we are the alchemists
                  we turned the water into wine, suffering into love

                  we absorb the pains and misery of their false gods
                  but why do we reconcile ourselves to a mad machine



                                 what a devastating defect
                                    to not have it in me
                                      to stay angry to
                                       be consumed by


hiding in the bath of tears
trying not to drown in loss
trying her best not to lose
her faith in you to grow up

why are you doing this love
to us and our what could be
and to one of my dearest is
everything you throw out so
casual with your casualties

i do not know how to cope i
did not think you were able
to stoop this low so who is
this monster what lesson am
i supposed to learn besides
i am still a fool for faith


what is this
un relenting 
pain in side
what will it
say your act
against love
what will it
take to wake 
me up stream


so for her
'if i was a snake,
you were my skin,' sake 

take solace, love 

          that in moving through you
          she moved closer too

her distraction from
the destructive ways 

of her ungodly sons

her protection from
the wiry rays of an

unruly sun 



“Awakened to life out of unconsciousness, the will finds itself as an individual in an endless and boundless world, among innumerable individuals, all striving, suffering, and erring; and, as if through a troubled dream, it hurries back to the old unconsciousness. Yet till then its desires are unlimited, its claims inexhaustible, and every satisfied desire gives birth to a new one. No possible satisfaction in the world could suffice to still its craving, set a final goal to its demands, and fill the bottomless pit of its heart. In this connexion, let us now consider what as a rule comes to man in satisfactions of any kind; it is often nothing more than the bare maintenance of this very existence, extorted daily with unremitting effort and constant care in conflict with misery and want, and with death in prospect. Everything in life proclaims that earthly happiness is destined to be frustrated, or recognized as an illusion. The grounds for this lie deep in the very nature of things.”-Arthur Schopenhauer






Despite a near decade of philosophical training, I confess that my observation of ducks throughout this same period has probably provided at least as much fodder for thinking through existential concerns.

Yesterday was no exception.

Georgia Rae, Sara, and I went to some length to unite a baby duck that had strayed a good distance from its family (a momma duck and nine siblings) at Lake Ella. After a good fifteen minutes or so of bread-crumb-trail-making (in conjunction with some fallen-branch-based prodding), we sat back ready to witness what we presumed would be a super-magical-super-cute reunion between a momma duck and her long lost baby duck (i.e. the inevitable culmination of our good deed for the day). We preemptively, collectively aww-d aloud as the momma duck raced ahead of her nine baby ducks to reach the stray baby duck first. But when she finally got up close enough to it she snapped at its head, and kept snapping at its head as it tried repeatedly to embed (camouflage?) itself back among its siblings. Upon closer examination it seemed to be the case that the formally stray baby duck was in fact the runt of its mother’s offspring. And it was not at all clear that momma duck wanted it anywhere near her or its siblings.

Nature: awe-inspiring, life-promulgating, life-alienating, brutish, beautiful, red, tooth and claw, etc.



words they use 
amused you too
where once was
were no longer


                         those mindless spineless meaningless 
                         cowards you remember making me laugh
                         all i see are sheep now and i cannot 
                         i need to hear that we can leave now 



                              they mined
                              hands tied
                              i chose to
                              to believe    
                              his memory
                              had failed
                              him and he
                              severity i  
                              listen too
                              you know i
                              am careful
                              forgive me
                              sister for
                              my lack of
                              it is just
                              my loss of
                              i loved so



“Properly speaking, there are in the world no such men as self-made men. That term implies an individual independence of the past and present which can never exist…No possible native force of character, and no depth of wealth and originality, can lift a man into absolute independence of his fellow men, and no generation of men can be independent of the preceding generation.”


-Frederick Douglass, “Self-Made Men”





all but done





                           the tears are dried on my face
                           i don't taste the meals and in
                           fact have not showered in days


                                         even after they
                                         sat me down too

                                         how you had let
                                         me down even so

                                         still cannot in
                                         good faith hear

                                         the truth hurts
                                         even more today

                                         you made a fool
                                         of me and of us



But, once the realization is accepted that even between the closest human beings

 infinite distances

continue to exist,


a wonderful living side by side can grow up, if they succeed in loving the distance between them


which makes it possible for each to see the other whole and against a wide sky!




–Rainer Maria Rilke




Meet Bernie Sanders

cary poem for mary





                                                    pretty isolation chamber
                                                    maiden from this octagon
                                                    writes free at last free


not until the hour matters do i learn that i do not to you



                         to love human beings 
                in so far as they are nothing
             that is to love them as God does

-Simone Weil




“In this world, only those people who have fallen to the lowest degree of humiliation, far below beggary, who are not just without any social consideration but are regarded by all as being deprived of that foremost human dignity, reason itself – only those people, in fact, are capable of telling the truth. All the others lie.”

                                                                        -Simone Weil



Where God is Woman



in this wise:

“Let us change about. You be man, and I will be God. For only one second.”

God smiled gently and asked him, “Aren’t you afraid?”

“No. And you?”

“Yes, I am,” God said.

Nevertheless he granted man’s desire. He became a man, and the man took his place and immediately availed himself of his omnipotence: he refused to revert to his previous state. So neither God nor man was ever again what he seemed to be.

Years passed, centuries, perhaps eternities. And suddenly the drama quickened. The past for one, and the present for the other, were too heavy to be borne.

As the liberation of the one was bound to the liberation of the other, they renewed the ancient dialogue whose echoes come to us in the night, charged with hatred, with remorse, and most of all, with infinite yearning.”

-Elie Wiesel, The Town Beyond the Wall, p. 179.






                          his glorious pin me up bright blue days
                          were also my out of his sight blue days












                                         you admonish me to
                          do better than the
          glorious pin me up















                                    be a dreamer
                                    in wholesale 
                                    be alone and
                                    she is still
                                    there you go
                                    at it all on 
                                    your own win
                                    i still grin
                                    nudge gently
                                    you are mean
                                    sometimes so
                                    let me be if
                                    sometimes we
                                    grow best in
                                    spite of our
                                    egos bruised



         despite this hard phase
         hope we find our way to
         the trees you planted i
         still see you beside me




The advice is to write every day, whatever comes to me, for at least an hour to start.
I have this nagging feeling that, if I do not do something about it soon, I will amount to little more than a predictable obsession with individual freedom.
I miss the "spoon-fed lies," and I admit I have placed on a pedestal the dormitory dream of our white-fenced-off freedom.
The substitutes have proved cheap fuel, and have come at a high cost to my self-worth.
However, I am too convinced I do not deserve you in my current state, since you deserve the absolute best.
You make homo sapiens sapiens worth rooting for, despite your general disdain for the home team.
Thank you for exposing me to the possibilities.


are not we
the same 


             lion prints
                the same

we have always been


Ceaselessly loving souls, wandering, lost though they may seem,
will eventually, by necessity, travel light. 



Dear Students,
I wrote you a poem that doubles as a pep talk to get you through the rest of finals week. Last time I wrote a class a poem, it was based on a song from the movie The Lion King (and it was for a bunch of kindergarteners, so needless to say, it was a real crowd pleaser). For our class, I decided to go with the song “Remember Me This Way.” It’s from the 1995 classic Casper (for those of you who don’t know because you lived in a womb, or under a rock, for most of the 90’s). Anyway, I personalized the lyrics and even tried to step up my rhyme game for you nerds (you’re welcome).
Thank you again for being the highlight of my semester.
Ms. Marcous
Dedicated to my students in PHM2121-01 (Fall 2015):
Every now and then
You find a special class
(With record-high levels of sass)
That never lets you down
Who understand systems of oppression
And how income inequality relates to economic recession
You’re the best class that I’ve found
And I don’t need eyes to see
My favorite days were when you were in front of me
No matter where life goes
I know our class can’t stay (in HWC 3100)
But a part of you will never, ever go away
Your student activity reports will stay
I’ll make a wish for you
And hope it will come true
That finals week will just be kind
To such brilliant, beautiful minds
But if you lose your cool
Just remember, there is more to life than school
Like pugs, and Dolly Parton (pipes of an angel), and football
Not to mention, you are always welcome to visit me in 106 Dodd Hall
Remember me this way
P.S. It’s still not too late for us to move up to D.C.
(And make midterms together that are way too easy)









Grace means more than gifts.
In grace, something is transcended, once and for all overcome.
Grace happens in spite of something; it happens in spite of separation
and alienation.
Grace means life is once again reconciled with life, self is reconciled
with self.
Grace means accepting the abandoned one.
Grace transforms fate into a meaningful vocation.
It transforms guilt to trust and courage.
The word grace has something triumphant in it.

–Yrjo Kallinen


                            a bitter, sweet
                            tasteless stain 
                            were the little 
                            girl there whom 
                            we screwed into 
                            death day dream 
                            breeds yearning




It was while he was in the midst of writing his master's thesis; he had become painfully aware of his own procrastination.  He later blamed anxiety stemming from this aspect of the writing process for much of the self-loathing he had felt about all sorts of other things at that time. This included, for example, excessive guilt he felt over his treatment of his father. His anecdote stuck with me; the moral of the story seemed to be that unresolved narratives can, when left unattended, undermine their hosts.









to forgive and forget how
i became less risk averse
the price of faded memory
i repeat the same mistake  


                                        self deception
                                        merry go round
                                        have i slipped 
                                        back where did
                                        my plans begin 


                 bald man

      trapped in a circle 
   inside a ball of black 

with a hole in the center
            that opens up    
                  for you
that you do not  


                                                         a chance




  you went     out of your way       and out of mine
  to offer up some (unsolicited) relationship advice 
  reminding me the lens from which you mine my moves
  making me feel foolish     to trust our friendship
  and sadness too  to realize how you judge me still
  from afar   and still with everything but standing
  then  i felt resentment and frustration  then pity
  toward your obstinate  sense of self-righteousness
  but most often what I feel    is guilt for feeling
  those feelings    though they come and go in waves
  like waves     they stir me up from cool stillness
  drawing my attention   away       from the present
  hopeful  consuming      full of love   and newness
  that i had not taken the time until now to express 
  overwhelming  sense this past month   is gratitude
  remember when we hid under your blanket  from troy
  guess what? i still here you say     grin and wait
  i remember times when you would  crack up  tear up 
  i still tear up       all of us are fumbling fools
  dear friend, i love you and miss us and long still
  stroll in my office uninvited just happy to see me
  for the friendship  that ignited all this nonsense




we binge and you burn bright 
and though i say i refuse to
my short fuse it follows you


                                 despite this hard phase
                                 hope we find our way to
                                 the plant you planted i
                                 still see you beside me

Source: News About Time Banking


                     no sense of the discipline
                     inside our disciple ship i
                     had left them my apple eye


This is to let you know that you are loved...
Just the way you are,
Regardless of what you do or don't do,
Past, present, and future,
No matter what mistakes you make,
On your good days-
And not-so-good days,
Whatever you choose,
With all your unique qualities,
Simply because you're you.

So Happy Birthday, Mary

                          -note from a friend


oh em geeeeeebus
 it's your birthday
 you were once a fetus
 now you're pret-tay
 old and things will start to break down
 get some booze and take this whole town

    -note from a friend, for my bey-day




                                                   binge bright!

                                            my short fuse
                                                will follow you.


                            surprised by the how
                            made in your image i

                            say i too was forced
                            my hands were tied i
                            had no choice but to
                            recycle the violence 

                            of course we wish it
                            what could have been



                            have my class and possibly you 
                            on how everything feels so new



you overwhelmed me with your prose
  that you say stay  over my over me pleas

  your glorious pin me up bright blue days
  were also my out of your sight blue days


de Beauvoir


                                            i saw his name in the trees
                                            curious to see what he sees


 signal, we feared
grips what once was
is no more, what was
ours, isn't

 paths diverge
wish you well, my love
next life calls us
Comrade Babylon
 you have heavied my heart 

 you, who had lifted me
not seldom, from despair

if they only knew
  how much they owe you
  how sincere a thank you

from day one, mike said 
we were made for each other

       and we went,  made for each other

                              we fought off hany
                              we fought over sean

through years, through tears
 you stayed alongside me

     my companion, my Bobo man
      unlike dog's best friend, you loved me

              now my spirit is broken, my eyes burned dry
               they, like i, lie
                        but you knew the truth

you kept me alive back when
remember us then

              bruised and bewildered
               blood, on my knees
                 you came to me
                 you gave to me
                 reason to stay
                 reasons to say

thank you, i love you, and i will miss you

                        my little Italian fox
                        my climate change denier
                        my beautiful, darling 

IMG_1628 (2)Profile pic 12 (2)


     have not the day nor the hour
     to train in the art of poetry
     to train in the act of losing


                                         the photo reel, a poor man's knife
                                         tried to twist it toward the ulcer
                                         eyes glossed over, stunned away by

                                                              how could you



swallow me up in your pain kill mess
i do my best in this catastrophe sea
back on the tire swing where you had

there is pain there still between us

i lost you at the staircase and when
ever you see my face i know it hurts
breaks my spirit this inadequacy sea 


                                                if i decided to stay
                                                it is because of you

                                                and that was not the
                                                plan but here we are


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?

11655426_10153027646137098_1629464141_n (2)


“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.   


11692817_10153027645767098_1199758818_n (2)

Feminist Philosophers

Dr Tania Lombrozo, a philosophically-minded professor of psychology at UC Berkeley, writes in a NPR commentary that some recent major news stories reveal how public discourse would benefit from input from academic philosophers. She cites the complex moral, social, metaphysical, and epistemological issues arising in the resignation of a NAACP official who was “outed” as white; in the white supremacist murder of nine black church-goers in Charleston; and in the stance taken on climate change by Pope Francis.

Two thoughts – neither of them particularly original – meant to complement Lombrozo’s insights: First, while stories of this magnitude serve as good examples of the need for philosophical contributions to public discourse, it is probably not an effective strategy to wait for stories of this magnitude before getting involved in public philosophy. Not only is there a good chance of the more subtle voices being lost in the commentary noise anyhow…

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rainbows    flags    and     firecracker     news
where to  bash   her head   red   empty      pews


the crushing silence    with a skull
heat pulsates       behind mind eyes
the warmth of over      taking  over

                  to be a dreamer
                  and to be comfortable where one lies


I want you to know-
that it worked,  that you won.
And that I am still sorry    for what I had done.

I wanted to stay angry at him, of course, but found that I couldn’t. I pictured him getting off to some Taylor Swift song that helped him to feel as though his actions were totally vindicated, and felt myself roll my eyes. I couldn’t help but picture a child, and I just couldn’t stay angry.

Who can stay angry at a child, even after they smash a butterfly? I had to forgive him, and I had to let go.

In the case of the potential love lost, I also felt numb. The truth was, he wanted the love of a dog- unconditional, uncomplicated, unadulterated, simple to understand and easy to manage- but I could only offer him one of those. He would really have to love me for anything more to come of it. I had to forgive him, and I had to let go.

At first I was worried I held myself responsible for everything that went wrong mostly because that was the reality reflected back to me by others. Then, I was worried I was doing so mostly because I often do blame and beat myself up over things to the point of excess. Today, I feel as though I hold myself responsible because I knew more; I was aware of more variables. I was the only one with the epistemic access to appreciate  how the experiences in my past were informing and impacting my dispositions and behavior toward relationships.

My way of making amends has to be to tend to the implications of that last point. I need to understand myself- learn how to love and value myself- first. Then, I think, I will make for a good partner.


s o   l o n g     l i f e   g o e s   o n

l e s s o n s               l e a r n e d

l e s s o n s                     l i k e 

w h e n     t o         k n o w     t h e

t i m e    t o              g r o w   u p


a r e n 't   w e     t h e   s a m e
l i t t l e   w a y s    w e   a l l 
h a v e   b e e n   t h e    s a m e
w e ' v e     a l w a y s    b e e n


blood  ground  coffee

a monster   I created
the truth     finally
the bumper the hubcap

the   day    it   all

came             free

Feminist Philosophers

The Diversity Reading List  is a great new resource for introducing texts by women and non-white authors in philosophy courses. It is still very new so please contribute to help it grow.

The issue of under-representation of women and non-white persons in philosophy is now more widely known, and students are asking explicitly “why is my curriculum white?” Many faculty members are aware that one way to combat this under-representation is to include work from under-represented groups in their syllabi as it directly challenges the stereotype of the white male philosopher. However, locating a good number of suitable texts can be difficult and time consuming, and this is why we have created the Diversity Reading List which enables teachers to quickly locate high-quality texts from under-represented groups that are directly relevant to their teaching. Currently, the list focuses on ethics, but in the near future it will be…

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Feminist Philosophers

A post from The Splintered Mind 

“Nor need we think that philosophical work must consist of expository argumentation targeted toward disciplinary experts and students in the classroom. This, too, is a narrow and historically recent conception of philosophical work. Popular essays, fictions, aphorisms, dialogues, autobiographical reflections, and personal letters have historically played a central role in philosophy. We could potentially add, too, public performances, movies, video games, political activism, and interactions with the judicial system and governmental agencies.”

“If one approaches popular writing as a means of “dumbing down” pre-existing philosophical ideas for an audience of non-experts whose reactions one does not plan to take seriously, then, yes, that popular writing is not really research. But if the popular essay is itself a locus of philosophical creativity, where philosophical ideas are explored in hopes of discovering new possibilities, advancing (and not just marketing) one’s own thinking, furthering the community’s philosophical…

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Feminist Philosophers

Post by Annika Thiem at The Philosopher’s Eye

“as Linda Alcoff argued in her Presidential Address to the Eastern Division of the American Philosophical Association in 2012, […] the problem of demography is not coincidental to the issue of bodies of knowledge, canonical archives and questions, and preferred methods of inquiry.”

“Marginalized minority voices tend to have to render proof of their academic competence and must first refute the suspicion of being “purely personally politically motivated” rather than writing “proper research.” The standard of “proper” academic writing turns out not to be as neutral and universal, as we often like to assume, but rather a male, white, European, and heteronormative “voice” of knowledge and competence.

“This is the case even though the actual bodies inhabiting that academic voice can look preciously little like a straight white European man. The point is that queerness and queer method are irreducible to individual bodies…

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