Packard

Men and women,
thick and sinewy
in silver tones,
assemble the pieces:

Upholstery;
Engine;
Body;
Shine.
Drive.

The people,
like the automobiles they construct,
have a heft to them.
They fill their spaces solidly
as the image coalesces.

Photography started with ghosts.
Shadows caught in the long exposures
later begat certainties.
And amid the flood of images now,
ghosts of inconsequentiality.

You can believe
in these people,
in this image.
You know
they once stood this ground.
You know
their hands posses knowledge we lack.

How to build things?
Hands moving
as birds before winter.
Remembered
or always known?

They do not stop for smiles,
strength and yet ease in their stance,
a natural testament
to something I can’t recognize
on this side of the century mark.

And then they vanish.
The spaces barren.
Loss.
Even emptiness
cannot fully convey.

Their structures remain,
wounded and skeletal
Worn cadavers
Death is organic
and comes in stages.
Just as the worker is lost
without work
This place feels lost
without workers
The rag pickers
scour the battlefield
and leave the bloody corpses
to rot.

A Word from Harry

"I wish more people felt that photography was an adventure the same as life itself and felt their individual feelings were worth expressing. To me that makes photography more exciting."
- Harry Callahan

Finding & Losing Your Voice

Just finished: On Photography by Sontag
Reading: A Room of One's Own by Woolf
On Deck: Twilight by Gay (with 100% less vamps & werewolves than in similarly-titled novels)
Recent impulse buy: The Horse Latitudes by Muldoon in hardback for $6
New & good: Valdeon, a cheese from Spain & serious challenge to my love of Fourme d'Ambert
Listening to: John Cage (fits well during illness)

A woman is singing a rising gospel song down at the bus stop outside my window, oblivious to the rain, the manic traffic on Southside, or the rattle of the air compressor in the construction zone out front. And I suppose that's as good as anywhere to pick up the story. It's a dark Monday, but aren't they all? Except this time I'm enjoying things from my tiny bed thanks to some sort of Springtime sinus mess that's finally left me literally speechless after about 48 hours and hacking like a patient in a TB sanatorium. Not quite Mimi, but then, there's seems no Rodolfo to be found for me either.

I've been away from these parts for quite a while and I believe that's been a good thing.  I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing back here; maybe it's due to losing my audible voice and just wanting to be able to heard somehow. You don't realize how dependent you are on your voice, how much you really speak, until times like this. And you don't understand the power of silence within the crowd. By Saturday night my voice was shot, but I'd gone out with friends and done my best to persevere and be social, especially since I was blessed with meeting some new folks whose company and spirits I truly enjoyed. 

We ended up back at my friends' apartment building, a looming, ramshackle old home in the Highlands that, like so many, have been carved up for modern living and abandoned to the elements in favor of easy, cheap rents. People gathered around the fire pit in the small back yard, the group ebbing & flowing from hidden passages to neighboring properties, and settled in for a long, pleasant night. At this point, having introduced myself to newcomers and refreshed greetings with others, I went silent and enjoyed the warmth of the fire, the smell of the smoke, and listening to the leaves in the breeze and the new faces around me. 

After a few hours, one man from the big city who has deigned to spend the summer in our little town and who kept goading me into telling stories earlier in the evening because he liked the new sound of my voice finally was silent enough himself to notice the stillness in that moment. It didn't last: "Scratchy voice lady (the only way he referred to me all evening), you're not talking anymore. Why aren't you talking? I like the way your voice sounds. Are you not talking because it hurts? Say something! You know my sister's voice sounds just like yours but all the time(the fifth time he'd mentioned this), so I feel some sort of kinship with you." All the words tumbled forth towards me in rapid succession through the wood smoke. I responded with more silence and a facial expression of waning bemusement and slight weariness (though sometimes my attempts at such expressions fail and tip into general annoyance). 

"Does your throat hurt?" he asked again, squinting his eyes and tipping his head to one side at the question as if speaking to an uncomprehending child. "Why won't you talk? You're so quiet."

"Of course her throat hurts," said one of the other residents, a small, slight young woman who I had bonded with over a mutual preference for film over digital photography earlier in the evening. "And I say her presence alone is more than enough," she said, staring across the fire at the man while rubbing my shoulder reassuringly before returning to tend the fire.

So, today, I'm keeping myself home to try and finally kick whatever this is that's ailing me. And to avoid anyone else asking me "What?" when I try to speak. Sadly, they aren't kidding, just not thinking.


Paid work aside for the time being, I've been writing, but it's still a bit scatter shot as I continue to settle in and get try to sort my balance here. Really have to find a system to catalog and order all the ideas. I think moving out of the center (living at work is not simply a metaphor for me) and into my own space, despite my finite financial resources for the foreseeable future, is a big part of that balance & order. And I've been doing some of this. Some creative projects have been percolating in my brain. And I've been getting a start on being a creative & activ(ist) member of my broader community.


So, yes, I'm back, for better or worse. And I'll be plumbing depths of great and lesser fathom again. Thanks for bearing with me, even if all y'all insist on remaining silent. Your presence is sufficient.
Peace/سلام

"Where poor people are treated like the enemy..."

It's a tight race between this song and "This F***ing Job" by Drive-By Truckers for my nomination for our new national anthem.
I can't find a great video of her performing this song (here's one though), so here are the lyrics. In fairness, here are the DBT lyrics.
Released back in 1996 and just as damned spot on perfect today as ever. 
Given the report out from Brookings regarding the reemergence of concentrated poverty in this country (well worth anyone's time), seems a fitting song for the day.

Iris DeMent, "Living in the Wasteland of the Free"

We got preachers dealing in politics and diamond mines
and their speech is growing increasingly unkind
They say they are Christ's disciples
but they don't look like Jesus to me
and it feels like I am living in the wasteland of the free

We got politicians running races on corporate cash
Now don't tell me they don't turn around and kiss them peoples' ass
You may call me old-fashioned
but that don't fit my picture of a true democracy
and it feels like I am living in the wasteland of the free

We got CEO's making two hundred times the workers' pay
but they'll fight like hell against raising the minimum wage
and If you don't like it, mister, they'll ship your job
to some third-world country 'cross the sea
and it feels like I am living in the wasteland of the free

Living in the wasteland of the free
where the poor have now become the enemy
Let's blame our troubles on the weak ones
Sounds like some kind of Hitler remedy
Living in the wasteland of the free

We got little kids with guns fighting inner city wars
So what do we do, we put these little kids behind prison doors
and we call ourselves the advanced civilization
that sounds like crap to me
and it feels like I am living in the wasteland of the free

We got high-school kids running 'round in Calvin Klein and Guess
who cannot pass a sixth-grade reading test
but if you ask them, they can tell you
the name of every crotch on MTV
and it feels like I am living in the wasteland of the free

We kill for oil, then we throw a party when we win
Some guy refuses to fight, and we call that the sin
but he's standing up for what he believes in
and that seems pretty damned American to me
and it feels like I am living in the wasteland of the free

Living in the wasteland of the free
where the poor have now become the enemy
Let's blame our troubles on the weak ones
Sounds like some kind of Hitler remedy
Living in the wasteland of the free

While we sit gloating in our greatness
justice is sinking to the bottom of the sea
Living in the wasteland of the free
Living in the wasteland of the free
Living in the wasteland of the free

Peace/سلام

Visual Aids

Modern Living II, a photo by Taromeet on Flickr.

Been on a bit of a writing tear, working on some stories that have been festering in my head for too long. Also been out in the wilds backpacking. Until I string some words together here, I'll try to placate you with some new images over on my Flickr page.
Peace/سلام

A Must-Read

This was shared by a friend and though I posted it to Twitter and FB, I believe it needs to be read. Please pass it along.
Know your rights.

Some real Shock and Awe: Racially profiled and cuffed in Detroit 

New (old) city, new start...

Reading: Sandman Vol 1 by Gaiman, et al; Regeneration Through Violence by Slotkin; Reading Like a Writer by Prose
Listening to: Lots of Woody Guthrie (as always); Mitch Barrett
Recently enjoyed: Clear Creek (KY) Festival '11

I've sort of flown the white flag on today, but that's alright. My playing hermit today will hopefully help me  finally get started with some sort of routine to help me get some things moving in life, not the least of which being my own physical form.

Things have come some sort of full-circle and I'm back in Louisville, where I lived when I started this blog in 2005. I was offered a position with a scrappy community center on the southside that serves a low-income neighborhood that has a significant refugee population. The director, very much an old-school, roll-up-your-sleeves sort of social worker, knows me well and offered an immediate solution with some interesting possibilities for the future. I'll be stepping back and working the office, for now, while also taking on a slew of projects large and small. Over the next several months I'll be transitioning into the position of Community & Family Liaison. Other than getting me back out in the community, the position is a new one for the center and I'll get to have a say shaping just what my role will be. What I do know is that I'll be working with the local international community; families who use our center; city, state & agency/nonprofit representatives and more. I'll be blogging more about our programs and future goals and plans as I go.

For the foreseeable future I am actually living at the center, which used to be a small Catholic school. The living quarters were for the nuns and everyone still refers to it as the convent. That I, once referred to by a nun at school as the "Spawn of Satan," am now living in a convent (former though it may be), is a source of amusement to many. Two Americorps volunteers live in the apartment as well and it all seems to work alright. It's actually a nice space and having grown out of a certain level of materialism I truly enjoy the limited space. The whole thing feels very Jane Adams/Hull House-ish at times, which is a good thing in my book.

In addition to work, I'm trying to settle in, get involved, develop a better practice of writing, and work on my photography. And I'm trying to remember to be patient with myself and the universe. I am really trying. It's nice to reconnect with the family I have here and start making new connections. I miss my ocean and my Glades, but I just couldn't find work in Florida (at least in my areas). While many complain that Louisville is a big small town, that can actually be really helpful in times like these. Add to that a great cost-of-living, active arts & activist communities, a significantly diverse international population, some amazing architecture (which I'll get around to shooting soon), and a truly local economy (locals supporting locals), it wasn't a hard decision to say "yes."

Having jumped straight into work about eight hours after arriving in town, I think today everything sort of caught up to me. Well, that and all the asado I ate at my cousin's house last night...and likely the small, but heavy desk I moved upstairs & into my room late last night. Or maybe it's the many changes, wins, loses & draws I've experienced personally over the last ten years. To quote Henry Jones, Jr., PhD: "It's not the years; it's the mileage."

For now, it's time to brew some tea and crack a book for pleasure.
Peace/سلام

Finally!

Pondering lightly: Is Kovarian actually an aged Amy, at war with the Doctor and sending her daughter against him, blaming him for all she's lost in some timeline? And, something about wiping out the Silence just doesn't feel right to me. None of you know what I'm talking about, right? *sigh* Saturday, people. Saturday.

Enjoying: Irene's feeder bands and walking over to gawk at a stormy sea. Also hoping the good folks in the Bahamas made it through alright.

Car will finally be ready at the dealership tomorrow, so picking it up that evening and hitting the road for new territories and gainful employment this weekend. More news to come once I arrive at my destination. Epic day of solo driving on tap.
Cheers all.

A bit more flux

Excuse the mess as I rejigger things on the blog. I'll get everything sorted soon-ish.

I made the decision on my very own this evening to leave the state for the small city job. When I lined up everything in the here and there - the place, the job, the community, the possibilities... - the decision was vastly easier. It'll be a slim year, but a good start.

So, I'll likely leave the middle of next week. I'll share more details as I get them. I feel good about the decision, but it'll take a little time to sink in.
Peace/سلام

I wear a jetpack now. Jetpacks are cool.

 

This turned up on the Interwebs somewhere and I adore it. Science fiction. historical fiction. Dragons and aliens and faraway, never before places! Oh my! If it's good, it's just good fiction. Read (or watch or listen to) something you wouldn't normally reach for on the shelf and you may discover something wonderful.

Further dispatches from the job front

Another update from yet another fellow grad:

"Submitted a bunch of job applications to the cruel gaping maw of the employment market. Hopefully they won't get lost in the ether like the last two dozen."

Meanwhile, I remain in limbo for another day. The out of state job awaits and they need an answer, but I am still trying to get a decision out of the job here in my home state. I refuse to get backed into a situation where I end up with no job at all, but feel like I'm walking the edge on this. Making calls and everything will be sorted one way or another in the morning. I've just been in an utter fog this week. Even reading, which usually is a huge help to me in rough times, has been a challenge.

Fish or cut bait, world!
Peace/سلام

Bit of nonsense

So, I had to give in and buy a car after six years of traipsing about. Sadly, they're still quite a necessity in the hard-headed, auto-centric U.S. Settled on a Honda Fit: reliable, affordable, decent footprint. It'll be here by next week.

Just had to add this, as a nearly life-long Whovian: Somebody at Honda is a Doctor Who fan. Seriously. The color of my car is called Vortex Blue and is basically pearly TARDIS blue. And it's bigger on the inside.
Didn't put it together until now, but...
I am amused.

A Conundrum (Well, not quite yet.)

I may have two options for employment. Finally. However, between the two rises a dilemma.

The first position would be with a small, but successful community organization primarily serving immigrants and refugees. It would be back in a nice small city I worked in before moving to Syria in 2006. Actually, the job they think I'm a perfect fit for won't be available until next summer. In the mean time, I'll run the front desk and take on a bunch of other things that need doing. The job next year would involve working with refugee families and the community at-large. It would be a creative, interesting, satisfying job in a really lovely community.

The second remains only a possibility at the moment. I received a call from our local school district this morning inviting me to interview for a position on the crisis intervention team, part of their Safe Schools department. I would be part of a group that works to create safe, healthy schools. In my preliminary interview, with four members of the team, they described their job as one where you work with everyone from students and their families to the district superintendent. It's a multifaceted approach drawing on community work, data analysis, policy work. They may work with one school for just a month, but another for the whole year. You may be assigned to a school, but you'll also be working at other schools throughout the district. Though not an subject I've worked on, it does sound interesting. At the last second, after accepting the non-profit job, I was called back in for a second interview for this position.

The hitch is really one for any of us wanting to work in non-profits: How to survive and plan for a future on a typical non-profit salary?

The community job, at least for the next year, would pay little more than minimum wage. They're throwing in medical coverage and an on-site studio apartment, which is huge and the only way to survive, really. Next year I might earn something in the low 20s, but would be lucky to earn something in the 30s in my lifetime.

The schools job would pay more, offer more benefits and offer hope of a pension (though a dim one given the politics in Florida these days) in 20 years.

The community the non-profit job is in would offer chances to network with other agencies and organizations. I could probably pick up work writing reports for folks or doing small project work.

Low paying, well-meaning jobs with no retirement sounds far more terrifying at this point of life. On one hand, I am desperate to get involved, to rumble, get my hands dirty making change. On the other, I'd rather not be eating cat food from the tin when I'm old. But how to stave off guilty feelings about working for The Man?

It's just another thing that doesn't get discussed in certain circles. Talk of pension is too 'corporate' for some or just not a serious option for some organizations. Thus, my generation will end up in the same place as those trying to find a dignified way to retire today. Yet with tuition, student loan debt and financial insecurity rising for both individuals and non-profits, financial issues around staff retention need to be taken up in a more substantive way by the sector.

I'll keep you posted.
A decision - mine or not - will be made on Wednesday.
Peace/سلام

Random family photo (Maternal edition)

My grand-dad, no idea of the date (c.1930?), likely in his hometown of New Orleans.

Random family photo (Paternal edition)

Guy on left, speaking into mike (dark suit), is my grandfather. Guy next to him on the right, in the grey suit? Anyone?
Banner over the door is a big hint.