Be aware.
The facts in review:
1. Trump fires all Ambassadors and Special Envoys, ordering them out by inauguration day.
Source article: "In Break With Precedent, Obama Envoys Are Denied Extensions Past Inauguration Day"
Source link: "Trump won't give grace period to Obama's Ambassadors"
2. House brings back the Holman rule allowing them to reduce an individual civil service, SES positions, or political appointee's salary to $1, effectively firing them by amendment to any piece of legislation. We now know why they wanted names and positions of people in Energy and State.
Source link: "GOP Revives Rule Allowing $1 Salaries For Government Employees"
3. Senate schedules 6 simultaneous hearings on cabinet nominees and triple-books those hearings with Trump's first press conference in months and an ACA budget vote, effectively preventing any concentrated coverage or protest.
Source link: "President-Elect Donald Trump Will Hold First Press Conference Since Before Election"
Source link: "Senate Confirmation Hearings to Begin Without All Background Checks"
4. House GOP expressly forbids the Congressional Budget Office from reporting or tracking ANY costs related to the repeal of the ACA.
Source link: "ACA Repeal CBO Exemption Rules Package"
5. Trump continues to throw the intelligence community under the bus to protect Putin, despite the growing mountain of evidence that the Russians deliberately interfered in our election.
Source link: Trump tweets about IC, Putin, and Toyota on his account (requires Twitter login)
6. Trump breaks a central campaign promise to make Mexico pay for the wall by asking Congress (in other words, us, the taxpayers) to pay for it.
Source link: "Trump Asking Congress, Not Mexico, To Pay For Border Wall"
7. Trump threatens Toyota over a new plant that was never coming to the US nor will take jobs out of the US.
Source link: Trump tweets about IC, Putin, and Toyota on his account (requires Twitter login)
8. House passes the REINS act, giving them veto power over any rules enacted by any federal agency or department--for example, FDA or EPA bans a drug or pesticide, Congress can overrule based on lobbyists not science. Don't like that endangered species designation, Congress kills it.
Source link: "House Passes REINS Act In Response to Obama's Executive Power Abuse"
Posted 1/10/2017
Compiled by a friend, name omitted to protect from harassment/trolls.
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
Sunday, March 16, 2014
In Pursuit of Living Dreams
Today is New Year's Eve. We're leaving 2013 behind and moving forward into 2014. I went to the movies to see The Secret Life of Walter Mitty
and was thrilled by it. The film is a perfect end-of-the-year feature
to enjoy and propel oneself into the resolution-making joys of the new
year. The story is uplifting, thoughtful without being
overly-philosophical, and possesses a soundtrack selection that makes
one smile while watching. Just listen to Arcade Fire's "Wake Up."
I'm not here to review the film. I am thinking about resolutions and how we come to create that list each year and at some point discover we've lapsed in obtaining each goal, or at least I do. So this year I am writing a Walter Mitty inspired list:
"Resolutions for Stop Dreaming, Start Living"
1. Pursue artistic outlets.
Try out some acrylic painting and see how I like it. Make some MS designed journals and tapestries to sell in MS. Learn more embroidery stitches.
2. Pursue publication of Rise When the Rooster Crows
Do not self-publish this book. Send individual poems to lit journals. Send entire manuscript to potential presses. Hope.
3. Stop saying "my writing is stagnant" and start writing.
I've hardly written anything new the whole 5 years I lived in Oklahoma and I blamed it on claiming I was uninspired, unmotivated, and out of place. Whether any of that is true or not, it is not an excuse for not attempting to write regularly, nor trying to self-motivate through meeting often with writer friends and going to readings. I have ideas of new projects; I think I've just not started them for fear of not making something I deem good. It won't become good if I don't start somewhere. And like a fellow friend's dad told him: "You can't call yourself something you're not actively doing." I call myself a poet and I'm not actively writing poetry? That's not right.
4. Don't be afraid to try.
I'm looking at job opportunities which describe duties and tasks for which I have some experience -- and feel I am capable of managing, learning, succeeding if given a chance -- although I do not have as much experience in that area as others. It cannot hurt to apply; An interview might still happen. An offer might happen. There might be a co-worker I can learn from, a plan or routine already in place, and room to grow. Or I might not get the interview, but nonetheless, I won't know if I don't try.
5. Pursue the big dream, the big project, the big idea.
Get started on writing up the overall project plan for the big idea. Once I have envisioned and mapped out the whole thing, other proponents will come into place. I'll be able to use all or chunks of it for grant proposals, synopsis, reports, and it will guide the overall action of the project. It might change, but it will motivate and keep the project from seeming overwhelmingly large and impossible for one person to bring it to fruition. And all these "oh, and this can be done in the project too!" ideas have got to get down on paper! It can and will be done.
6. Stop drinking soda/coke/pop/soft drinks
It is bad for you.
I'm not here to review the film. I am thinking about resolutions and how we come to create that list each year and at some point discover we've lapsed in obtaining each goal, or at least I do. So this year I am writing a Walter Mitty inspired list:
"Resolutions for Stop Dreaming, Start Living"
1. Pursue artistic outlets.
Try out some acrylic painting and see how I like it. Make some MS designed journals and tapestries to sell in MS. Learn more embroidery stitches.
2. Pursue publication of Rise When the Rooster Crows
Do not self-publish this book. Send individual poems to lit journals. Send entire manuscript to potential presses. Hope.
3. Stop saying "my writing is stagnant" and start writing.
I've hardly written anything new the whole 5 years I lived in Oklahoma and I blamed it on claiming I was uninspired, unmotivated, and out of place. Whether any of that is true or not, it is not an excuse for not attempting to write regularly, nor trying to self-motivate through meeting often with writer friends and going to readings. I have ideas of new projects; I think I've just not started them for fear of not making something I deem good. It won't become good if I don't start somewhere. And like a fellow friend's dad told him: "You can't call yourself something you're not actively doing." I call myself a poet and I'm not actively writing poetry? That's not right.
4. Don't be afraid to try.
I'm looking at job opportunities which describe duties and tasks for which I have some experience -- and feel I am capable of managing, learning, succeeding if given a chance -- although I do not have as much experience in that area as others. It cannot hurt to apply; An interview might still happen. An offer might happen. There might be a co-worker I can learn from, a plan or routine already in place, and room to grow. Or I might not get the interview, but nonetheless, I won't know if I don't try.
5. Pursue the big dream, the big project, the big idea.
Get started on writing up the overall project plan for the big idea. Once I have envisioned and mapped out the whole thing, other proponents will come into place. I'll be able to use all or chunks of it for grant proposals, synopsis, reports, and it will guide the overall action of the project. It might change, but it will motivate and keep the project from seeming overwhelmingly large and impossible for one person to bring it to fruition. And all these "oh, and this can be done in the project too!" ideas have got to get down on paper! It can and will be done.
6. Stop drinking soda/coke/pop/soft drinks
It is bad for you.
Write a Letter
A little back-story: Once I lived in a small town and fell in love
with a young man who didn't have the same feelings for me, however we
were close friends. Once he confided in me that he was seeing this one
young woman but had heard some rumors about her previous relationships.
He came to ask my opinion, what he thought he should do. He was angry,
hurt, and had been seeking out, finally, someone whom he could
sincerely feel love for. I told him to ask her about it. Maybe she had
changed. This would be an opportunity for her to make new. I put aside
my own feelings for him (not yet confessed) because I wanted him to be
happy. So, the couple dated seriously for a few more months and
eventually it ended that summer. A few years later I confessed my
feelings for him, and he said that he was flattered but that he could
not love me like that (in so many words, he was really just saying he
wasn't physically attracted to me). Nevertheless, that small town young
woman he fell for became some sort of jealous ideal for me. Not her
personality, because I saw through her manipulative nature and what she
did to other people I knew after my friend loved her. No, her style and
beauty, somewhat earthy classic. Petite, curvy. Racy red lipstick,
red dress, dark hair pinned up kind of classic, but also she could pull
off country girl in gingham shirt and overalls just as well, a little
ivy in her hair. She is the kind of beauty an average girl envies.
So, I suggest discovering the person you once/or still do envy in some way. And do yourself a favor. Write a letter. You don't ever have to send it. Actually, it is best that you don't because the envy won't end if you start a little feud with this person. But write an honest letter explaining what it is about them that you envy, and what holds you back from attaining that same trait. Recall honestly how others may have been hurt by this person, and how you'd never have done those things. This can be a really long letter, but the key here is honesty, mainly with yourself.
Maybe you'll burn the letter, and feel some relief of finally having said all that you said. Maybe you can let it go and focus on what you are attaining in your life for yourself and loved ones.
Maybe you will find some statements that will lend itself to a short story, novel, group of poems.
No matter, once you've had your say, let it go. Envy can do nothing but hurt you.
So, I suggest discovering the person you once/or still do envy in some way. And do yourself a favor. Write a letter. You don't ever have to send it. Actually, it is best that you don't because the envy won't end if you start a little feud with this person. But write an honest letter explaining what it is about them that you envy, and what holds you back from attaining that same trait. Recall honestly how others may have been hurt by this person, and how you'd never have done those things. This can be a really long letter, but the key here is honesty, mainly with yourself.
Maybe you'll burn the letter, and feel some relief of finally having said all that you said. Maybe you can let it go and focus on what you are attaining in your life for yourself and loved ones.
Maybe you will find some statements that will lend itself to a short story, novel, group of poems.
No matter, once you've had your say, let it go. Envy can do nothing but hurt you.
The Photograph, The Photographer, The Persona, The Poem
I’ve learned the camera well—the danger
of it, the half-truths it can tell, but also
the way it fastens us to our pasts, makes grand
the unadorned moment.
—Letters from Storyville, December 1911
This quote is from the voice of a character created in Natasha Trethewey's book of poems Bellocq’s Ophelia. Read it a few times, then free-write your impressions of the speaker, or continue her thoughts further. What experiences does she have with the camera? How does she interpret the stories it captures? Is she the model or the photographer?
of it, the half-truths it can tell, but also
the way it fastens us to our pasts, makes grand
the unadorned moment.
—Letters from Storyville, December 1911
This quote is from the voice of a character created in Natasha Trethewey's book of poems Bellocq’s Ophelia. Read it a few times, then free-write your impressions of the speaker, or continue her thoughts further. What experiences does she have with the camera? How does she interpret the stories it captures? Is she the model or the photographer?
Learning to Draw a New Map
My writing has been stagnant for the last 2 years. When I first moved here I was still trudging down the country road of Rise When the Rooster Crows,
a collection of poems about love, hard work, disappointment, hope,
resentment, and making new memories out of the tattered remains of the
old ones. There were gaps in the story to imagine and fill, so I had a
map by which to continue walking as I write. That lasted for a year
until I felt the collection was complete, edited several times (read:
many times). I packed up my belongings and moved into the place I was
currently living.Now I look around and I see a big city pulsating with buildings, roads that need repair, music in living rooms, craft fairs in the streets, farmers' markets on nearly every day of the week, restaurants that beg for a lunch date, museum exhibitions whispering to visit before they travel onward, art receptions and wine tastings to meander, and coffee houses to hide in for a few moments to think, write, listen to music, and maybe chat with a new friend. Oklahoma City is a good place no matter how much I miss what I remember about Berea, Kentucky, a place that is quickly changing and erasing any resemblance of concrete memories I revisit emotionally from time to time.
So for two years I have not felt drawn to a particular writing project or theme. My hand is lonesome for writing words. When I first moved to Kentucky I didn't write much either, until I read an obituary which struck me. It was about the cholera epidemic of the early 1830s in the Eastern State Hospital, also referred to as an insane asylum to some. I researched other deaths in the area, and began writing poems in the voice of similar people experiencing similar fates, though some poems were historic persons such a Laura Clay. Thirty poems later -- Lexington Lives -- and I was done; The collection was largely based on research but it provided a foundation which enabled me to explore a new map for the next collection, resulting in Rise When the Rooster Crows. I had made some friends in the English department at the local college and had a niche for feeling as though I was a writer, a poet, a person of words. Since moving to Oklahoma I have very slowly found individuals who correspond to these seats in my circle, though I have yet to make it feel as though they are family. That may take more time.
Over
the course of the last six months I have begun paving a new map, also
based on researched information for the basis of poetic imagery, themes,
voices, and memories, but nonetheless, I may have finally opened the
door to Oklahoma. The new idea, which involves oral histories about
centennial farms, may provide an aerial view of the place I am beginning
to know and accept. Through their stories, and through the people I am
beginning to know and love, I may begin a new map to draw out by hand
in poetic verse, lines that will weave across the printed page to tell
stories I hope Oklahomans will recognize, verify, and accept. I think I
have a few friends here who will honestly tell me when I have strayed
and when I have revealed a true-to-the-region voice sharing his or her
story.
Lyric Mimic
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wqlxJ48wzOc?rel=0&w=480&h=390]
I love this song by Iron & Wine, "Walking Far From Home", which is on the new album Kiss Each Other Clean. Inspired by it, for a couple of weeks now I have been thinking about list poems, which is a tool I think Sam Beam used in writing these song lyrics.
So I decided to use the song as a writing prompt. I started with the first line of the song and a few of its style traits, but the imagery all come from personal experiences, stories, and sights I or my friends have seen. I haven't worked it into the same syllabic rhythm Sam Beam has for the song, which is mostly 8, 10, 8, 6&4 (10). The last line repeats the last 4 words/syllables of the 6, making the entire line 10. And it's okay if from time to time the line is 7 instead of 8, or 11 instead of 10, if it still flows right.
For example, a verse from "Walking Far From Home":
I saw sunlight on the water (8)
Saw a bird fall like a hammer from the sky (11)
An old woman on the speed train (8)
She was closing her eyes, closing her eyes (6, 4 =10)
So here's my own little writing exercise, rough draft.
I was walking far from home
where streetlights were dim
and evenings breathed wind on my back,
and I saw the moon whisper in Orion's ear.
I saw on a woman's face a tear
and a dream written in a book,
pages creased to hide anger and regret.
I saw seagulls shield against lake wind in January
and I saw a sunset fold like red quilts across the sky.
I saw a flame flicker in a coffee house,
two people, four hands, and the wick dies.
I saw a man strum a guitar,
an ache like a thorn in his side,
song of his bottle dreams.
I saw a man drink whiskey,
his father's voice, his mother's touch,
and sleepless nights wandering.
I saw a girl hold a man's hand,
a mother whispered broken promises,
and a forgotten guitar in the back room.
I saw boats sailing west by the lighthouse,
and couples huddled on hillsides fading into dusk.
I saw a painter and easel at sunrise,
a weeping willow leaning lakeside,
a canvas and brush in a box.
Saw a flock flying south for the winter,
Saw a child help a fallen bird,
a broken wing and pillow box.
Saw day lilies bloom in the shade,
and then they were gone.
Saw a hiker climb a rocky hill
to watch the last sunset of summer.
I saw a woman's hair turn white,
her stories the same every day.
Letters and photos carried in a box.
I saw myself in his glasses,
a father's smile hidden in his beard,
and people were walking to the market.
I saw a man kick a dog at the door,
beaten and huddled in a corner,
whimper and piss at tenderness.
I saw a girl pluck an old banjo song,
daffodils by the road were swaying
and the crickets hummed the chorus.
Saw a man unhook an ax from a tree,
back bent down to carry it over
to the winter's woodpile.
I saw a musician on a big stage
and the audience clapped so loud.
She said the devil was in her fiddle.
I saw dresses hanging on a wall,
saw scarves draped on lampshades,
saw a girl asleep on the roof,
her dreams written by the moon.
I saw a black dog walk dizzy circles,
saw a cat chase a German Shepherd.
I saw raccoons feast on a porch,
old woman watching at the window.
I saw a curly-headed man paint a woman,
she was holding flowers like chili peppers,
and he loved her in his dreams.
I love this song by Iron & Wine, "Walking Far From Home", which is on the new album Kiss Each Other Clean. Inspired by it, for a couple of weeks now I have been thinking about list poems, which is a tool I think Sam Beam used in writing these song lyrics.
So I decided to use the song as a writing prompt. I started with the first line of the song and a few of its style traits, but the imagery all come from personal experiences, stories, and sights I or my friends have seen. I haven't worked it into the same syllabic rhythm Sam Beam has for the song, which is mostly 8, 10, 8, 6&4 (10). The last line repeats the last 4 words/syllables of the 6, making the entire line 10. And it's okay if from time to time the line is 7 instead of 8, or 11 instead of 10, if it still flows right.
For example, a verse from "Walking Far From Home":
I saw sunlight on the water (8)
Saw a bird fall like a hammer from the sky (11)
An old woman on the speed train (8)
She was closing her eyes, closing her eyes (6, 4 =10)
So here's my own little writing exercise, rough draft.
I was walking far from home
where streetlights were dim
and evenings breathed wind on my back,
and I saw the moon whisper in Orion's ear.
I saw on a woman's face a tear
and a dream written in a book,
pages creased to hide anger and regret.
I saw seagulls shield against lake wind in January
and I saw a sunset fold like red quilts across the sky.
I saw a flame flicker in a coffee house,
two people, four hands, and the wick dies.
I saw a man strum a guitar,
an ache like a thorn in his side,
song of his bottle dreams.
I saw a man drink whiskey,
his father's voice, his mother's touch,
and sleepless nights wandering.
I saw a girl hold a man's hand,
a mother whispered broken promises,
and a forgotten guitar in the back room.
I saw boats sailing west by the lighthouse,
and couples huddled on hillsides fading into dusk.
I saw a painter and easel at sunrise,
a weeping willow leaning lakeside,
a canvas and brush in a box.
Saw a flock flying south for the winter,
Saw a child help a fallen bird,
a broken wing and pillow box.
Saw day lilies bloom in the shade,
and then they were gone.
Saw a hiker climb a rocky hill
to watch the last sunset of summer.
I saw a woman's hair turn white,
her stories the same every day.
Letters and photos carried in a box.
I saw myself in his glasses,
a father's smile hidden in his beard,
and people were walking to the market.
I saw a man kick a dog at the door,
beaten and huddled in a corner,
whimper and piss at tenderness.
I saw a girl pluck an old banjo song,
daffodils by the road were swaying
and the crickets hummed the chorus.
Saw a man unhook an ax from a tree,
back bent down to carry it over
to the winter's woodpile.
I saw a musician on a big stage
and the audience clapped so loud.
She said the devil was in her fiddle.
I saw dresses hanging on a wall,
saw scarves draped on lampshades,
saw a girl asleep on the roof,
her dreams written by the moon.
I saw a black dog walk dizzy circles,
saw a cat chase a German Shepherd.
I saw raccoons feast on a porch,
old woman watching at the window.
I saw a curly-headed man paint a woman,
she was holding flowers like chili peppers,
and he loved her in his dreams.
Dream Eudora
In this dream I was driving along a country road, maybe somewhere in the Mississippi Delta or maybe in an undetermined locale that had southern landscape elements. I saw a car by the road, steam and smoke rising from under the hood, a woman somewhere in her 50s standing by it. She was wearing beige and her hair was styled like it is in this photo. She had a large purse. I pulled over, asked her if she needed a ride, and she thanked me. I helped her get a couple boxes of books from her trunk into my trunk. She'd just published another book. A novel. I don't recall which one, if ever I knew in the first place. In the dream, I knew who she was but I didn't let on that I knew. I had several of her books. We talked a little bit but we were mostly quiet, enjoying the countryside. I don't know what we talked about; I never remember exact phrases and conversations from my dreams, just the idea of it. I woke before we reached our destination, wherever that was according to Ms. Welty.
I've never had a dream before about authors, real authors, or authors that I admire. I have not been reading anything by Welty and no one has mentioned her name to me recently. This cameo appearance in my dream is completely unrelated to anything going on in my life right now. That's interesting to me because it seems that would validate it more as a message from within my psyche or desire or dreams or the collective consciousness. A message I should take seriously. What is the message? From one successful Mississippi author to one unpublished aspiring Mississippi-roots poet:
Get back to your writing, dear. Get back on your path.
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