"Hand in You" - lyrics

I have this hand in mind
It’s there -- whether I like it or not
Whether it’s on or off, on or off, on or off
I just hacked it off.

I got this hand in mind
It’s been places
Been deep, been dirt, been high, been close to the sky
It's been in you! been in you!

It’s itching in the air
It’s there, it’s there,
In your heart, making changes
In your lung, making changes
In your heart, making changes

I got this hand, it’s just mind
I got this hand, it’s just mind

I hacked it off
It’s not there, It’s not there.

mortal fiber

the headpin zinged
as the door released
the disenlocked twin

a frisson of static
in the teeth
clutched on live copper wire,
jaw shunted shut

thin sensual frog muscle
niched in gentle shotgun hertz.

gentle gentle shotgun in the brain

atomized slipcoat bunnies
coddling puckered dendrites.

KITTY RHOMBUS

Who will I eat today?

My submission for a contest held by the New York Times, Calling All Carnivores, which answers the question "Why is it ethical to eat meat?"

Ethical questions rarely, if ever, are a matter of good actions versus bad actions. The more we try to objectively determine what is right and wrong, the more likely we are blinding ourselves to the very real suffering that our actions inflict upon the world around us, regardless of our intentions. We viciously reject the hard, cold fact that our good and virtuous actions also result in the suffering of others.  Every action is committed within a complex spectrum, as if we are all nodes in a fractal.  It is within these shades of grey that we attempt to determine what actions are permissible to the extent that they cause less suffering than all other possible actions.  It is a common belief that animals have a greater capacity for suffering than plants, and but I argue that this is not the case.

Science can inform our ethics in two modes: as paradigm-consistent or paradigm-shifting.  Great scientific progress is marked by discovery of physical properties and consciousnesses of which we were previously unaware, not by data that reaffirms old models.  It was in 1901 when Dr. Jagadish Chandra Bose presented his groundbreaking findings on the consciousness of plants, a study called “On Electric Response of Inorganic Substances.”  His invention, the crescograph, is able to measure plant response to stimuli, and by multiple experiments Dr. Bose was the first person to scientifically prove an empirical parallel between plant and animal tissue.  The Royal Society of England refused to publish his work.  Many more scientists since have collected paradigm-shifting data that suggests the perplexing (at least to Western minds) hypothesis that plants can feel, think, and have their own intelligent behavior.  It does not fit within our current understanding of consciousness to attribute these characteristics to flora, making it nearly impossible for many to accept the evidence that plants also have a Spirit.

The findings of Dr. Bose and others invested in understanding the unique consciousness of plants are nothing less than a revelation that Consciousness, or the Spirit, is the pervasive element in the universe.  Humans do not have a monopoly on it.  

It is not sound logic to determine a creature’s right to life based on their level of consciousness, nor on their capacity for suffering.  These arguments are premised on a form of human-centric bigotry where we make prejudiced claims on how much intelligence and self-awareness is necessary to call a creature “sentient” or “endowed with consciousness.”  As our society becomes more aware of the consciousness of plants, we will need a new model.  Reverence for all life is the new moral model that we should adopt.  

We must not continue to make the mistake of ignoring the right to life of any living thing.  So what does this mean for our appetites?  If science shows us that plants have consciousness, and thus can suffer, do we need to stop eating them?  No.  Eating animals is permissible only insofar as we revere them all as beings capable of suffering by virtue of their Spirit, and the same goes for plants.  It is not a coincidence that the more pain we inflict on our crops and livestock, the less healthy the food is.

Every being in the universe has just as much of a right to be here as we do.  Once we accept this, we will have made an indispensable step toward making ethical choices about how we treat the plants and animals we choose to ingest.  

a pill with a camera on it

Sacred Abandoned

I've come here more often lately. It's something I picked up when I was young, maybe thirteen years old -- breaking into abandoned buildings in the middle of the night -- and now still, when I pass old dark buildings walking the streets at night, my heart opens up to their silence, as if I've entered the aural proximity of sacred grounds.  They are unnatural places of remoteness hidden within the cities of writhing staring strangers.

I found this wonderfully alone and silent apartment building one unusually warm March night in Minneapolis.  It had rained the day before so the broken widows let in a fresh wind that occasionally swept away the reek of mildew and decaying lead paint.  It's a big red-bricked place that was once rented for a moderate price, considering how spacious the rooms are.  Newly married couples in their 20s thought it the perfect space to get their lives organized.  Not to "settle down," that idea repulsed them. No, a place that offered just the right dimensions to "work with."  When the massive boiler was on and working, the radiators strained to throw their heat up into the high ceilings.  In the cold winter mornings they, the radiators, would look at each other and sigh, another day of hard work ahead of them once the young lady in flannel pajamas flipped the switch.


How little are we all aware that the bright and holy dream of our country has turned into a nightmare. A nightmare that I've begun to enjoy because of its wonderfully alone silence.  The more empty buildings, the more silent our cities become, and the more sacred spaces we'll find hidden in the hive.

Madison cop busts benefit show for Native American Tribe

If you're into local music and have lived in Madison for a year, you've seen it happen a dozen times.  DIY and other non-traditional venues get shut down within a couple of months of their inception.  The most infamous case being the shutdown of a punk warehouse venue after some dip-shit reporter wrote a show review that included the name of the venue, the basic location, and a list of "fire hazards," such as insulation falling out of the ceiling.  To be fair, the reporter could have simply been naive - maybe he had just finished reading Hell's Angels and was so inspired to get Gonzo on Madison's counter-culture that his enthusiasm overshadowed his discretion.  But notice how I chose to omit the name of the warehouse venue above...Years after it's been good-and-dead!  It's the principle of the thing and, most of all, a habit we need to adopt in order to protect our coveted unofficial, non-bar, all ages, DIY, BYOB, donation based, et cetera, venues.

After last weekend, I'm worried we're going to loose another one: a “shop” that recently hosted a benefit for a Native American Tribe in northern Wisconsin.  There are many reasons why it sucked to have the show busted, the main one being the fact that the tribe lost potential donations from more people entering or buying raffle tickets. 

But the incident also points to an over-arching issue for local music.  This undisclosed “shop” in Madison was being supportive of an honorable cause in a way that official venues rarely offer: opening their doors on a strictly donation-only basis, and welcoming all ages.  The owner is very communicative with his neighbors, monitors the sound level, and ends the music at midnight sharp, which goes above and beyond the usual level of courtesy you’ll get from most Madisonian party hosts. Still, the city and law enforcement treats these shows like are crawling with unruly punks causing trouble on the streets, and under-aged drinkers, and just a nuisance.  Well, they are.  ALL parties are!   Cops single out these gatherings because there’s a stigma attached to a party with live bands that doesn’t apply to good ‘ol keg n’ beer pong parties. They can’t control it, so they’re afraid of it.

It wasn't clear why the cop was there in the first place, but the organizers and show-goers said that they suspected that he was "just driving by" and saw and/or heard a band playing.  This is a reasonable assumption since the cop didn’t tell us there was a noise complaint, which they usually do if one was made.   However, I have suspicions that social media was the culprit. 

Minneapolis, where I’ve lived for two years now, has similar sad stories.  For a time (and perhaps still) there was a woman employed by the city whose sole job was to seek and destroy “anarchist/DIY” venues.  (Guess how she did her research?)  There were a couple tragic casualties in the summer of 2009 and 2010 - but one venue, a staple of Twin Cities local music culture, survived, and is still up and running today.  It’s called the... just kidding.  I won’t even hint at what or where it is - in fact, no one in the scene will.  And that’s why it’s still there.  On fliers, facebook events, forum posts, even in speech the venue “name” is obscured, twisted around, and made fun of; the venue doesn’t have a facebook page, and no one EVER posts the address ANYWHERE.  Even better, it doesn’t have an address.

There’s something to learn from this undisclosed carnival fun house in Minneapolis.  If you want to host bands to play in your basement, warehouse, garage, studio, shop, where ever, then make it clear that the location is a secret.  Hell, keeping it hush-hush and mainly word-of-mouth creates hype anyway.  Everyone will be better off.

In the end, the show at the shop in Madison wasn’t a complete bust.  Word was out in about five minutes that the show would be moved to a basement.  I got to the basement early, tidied up a bit, and within a half hour we were playing for a fun group of people who wanted to see a rock show. 

-IS 

Mad-poem-Lib (by Celeste, Ian, and Kai in India)

The translucent funeral-pyre swooned its

wound and syncopated a sickening droplet.

The stars were like veins

pacifying down from above.

And the moon spiraled her spontaneous

child over the dusty palms

of the thorned disease.

Simplified are the arsenals who

can see the stars and who liquefy

us in our cosmic fierceness.

Sleep knowing the lotuses will

give birth when you

awaken.

Only then will the prostrate sand writhe in

an unborn Rajasthani silk of Thank-yous.