white supremacists and military colonialism

it's getting hot in the belly of the beast.

tiki torches wielded by nazis
while the US offers Guam up on a platter

a sacrifice for international experiments
about north korean power.

it's not a quiet rise
these white men
awkward
pale men

he stands behind a podium
threatening folks
thousands
hundreds of thousands
brown people of the pacific

while subtly
not so subtly patting the
backs of his
awkward brethren

who killed
a woman
in the name of their
nazi work

his podium
hiding his
incontinence.

incompetence

so when we talk about

reaching out to white supremacist folks, saving the souls of white people, bringing each other into multiracial movements. This is critical, this is an important statement. BUT.

there is a HUGE gap between our thinking, our writing, and our action. What does it really mean to get out there, to have a conversation with someone with DEEPLY different beliefs, and work to bring them along to your perspective?? What does it look like to dig deep, put yourself aside, and really fucking listen to shit that tears your heart out? Find those niches, the little places in someone's perspective, to get a handhold and open up a crack of doubt for that person, a place to let some new thinking in? How many of us really put ourselves on the line to make that happen?

how many of us are scared to go talk to a nazi?

i am. i've talked to nazis. in the depths of fucking fresno, i've knocked on nazi doors and looked a nazi in the face and worked to bring them into the union. i was scared shitless. but i did it. because everyone fucking belongs in the union. i didn't want to do it again.

i'm scared of violence. i'm scared of their guns and their fists and their hatred. i'm fucking scared. but you know what going to jail taught me, getting chased by security guards taught me, talking to scary people taught me? that I WILL SURVIVE IT, partially because I'M FUCKING WHITE.

where are we, white organizers? what are we putting out there? how are we putting ourselves on the line to end white supremacy? what is the bootcamp for us? the union was my bootcamp. my lead was a white socialist anti-racist. my coworkers were intersectional organizers. i was fucking blessed to be at UHW-West. It made me a better person, mostly.

let's do a bootcamp, ya'll. let's get serious with outreach to each other. it's not just rural organizing. it's door to door in our neighborhoods. it's in our workplaces. it's in our schools, colleges. let's expect a lot from each other. let's push each other, want to be the best at turning nazis into not nazis.

militant organizations committed to ending white supremacy.

living with a

wounded heart. i don't think I ever believed that life could be so deeply fraught. There is something deeply terrifying about now. i cannot imagine what will happen, as I could never have imagined what has happened. in any way. it's all a confusion of shock. we know we cannot predict, but we cannot be prepared for the shock of life, as it comes at you, unexpected.

i am so aware now that I have not been living my life. i've been here, kind of, in and out in a sort of fugue state. i cope with whatever i can. anything but substances. i've been able to at least stay sober.

and at least I can see it now. i carry lots of guilt. i carry so much guilt and sorrow and loss about this. there is also relief, though it is fleeting.

i know, in my gut, that we are blessed to not be in the situation anymore. we can get out with bankruptcy. we will move on, we are moving on. what they do i cannot even contemplate. i try to keep it from my mind. i try to keep them from my mind.

and everything else. everything else. melting. cooling. heating. flooding. fires. too much to list. and two children to wonder if they'll have a future.

how can i focus on the debt, the simple debt, when this is what we truly face?

get it off your plate. especially the ugly stuff. just do it quickly and move on.

the most important thing i can do now is think well about what is truly happening here. how can i apply positive mental health habits and be a better person? today was not a day i was proud of. i was short with my children.

i need to be reflective, and honest with myself. the first step is writing every night. being reflective on each day. so that the next can be better than the last.

i'm realizing

that somehow along the way here, perhaps after two pregnancies, and in the midst of raising these beautiful youngsters, my children and my business, i lost my drive. i got sunk. i got in deep to my suffering, and i've been living there for a long, long time.

and now that I can see it, i'm done.

and i'm mainlining what i need. i wish i could believe that old mechanisms could help me re-order this disorder of my life; i wish i could take that time. but i have to decide that NOW, this moment, i am done. I will notice my favorite way to suffer and i will allow it to pass me by.

I am dedicated to living in a beautiful state.

i'm working on

seeing the positive in all situations. i've been stuck in a negative rut for.... years? maybe? and it has really sucked.

when i die, i don't want my thoughts to be: why didn't I allow myself to be happy?

why did I drag myself through the mud every single day?

why couldn't I enjoy putting my children to sleep, one on each arm, singing songs to soothe them?

I want to believe that I put the best spin on life, regardless of how much money was in the bank. regardless of other people's feelings-- about money or otherwise.

the differences

are palpable.

working class responses are not usually measured, even. we scream, we rant, we kick and we rumble. we are loudly outraged. unless we have been broken.

yes, sure, i have been broken, but my shards cut still. i'm not done. i can still get up.

and when i get up i'll still be yelling. you may not like yelling. does it grate on your ears, make you worry something might be wrong? does violence violate your genteel sensibilities? are you worried that violence will not accomplish the goal, will alienate the opponent?

who are we, then? are we negotiating while people die? are we pleading at the bargaining table with folks bleeding out under the boss' heel?

i cannot help you, friend. i believe in helping others get to the place of understanding our demands, using love to help them see. BUT. they are shooting people in their cars in front of their children; gunning people down while they try to earn an extra dollar to put food in their kids mouth.

but i can't be calm and measured in this historical moment, with these circumstances. we must, as organizers, use the urgency of the moment, the rage of US, the sadness and the helplessness, to offer an opportunity to put hands and arms and mind and muscles to the ending of this violent, scared white supremacy. let's not encourage people to be calm, let's encourage people to take their anger and their fear and take ACTION.

now is not a time for calm, now is a time to FIGHT.

and don't get me wrong. we need the cops. ON OUR SIDE, FIGHTING. Those who stay on the other side can get what they get as the tide rolls in.

why create

something new when something old fits the purpose.

2016. So many years. I feel so old. And today so worn out. I can't figure out who I am anymore, in the tumult of everyone else, in the aether of my children and my business, it's just me reacting hoping doing cleaning loving raging. I read in a novel recently that if you don't know what you're going to do, you could do anything. this could be both very scary and very hopeful-- i worry, though, that for me it could just be scary.

how, though, do I predetermine my reactions?

perhaps, not react. learn to calm the inside and manage from my heart. i have been realizing lately that my working class upbringing is very difficult. it's angry and it's scared and it's dragging me through the mud and it's so hard to defeat, i can't be the measured sweet proactive person that maybe it's easier for middle class people to manage, i'm so close to the edge of not dragging us all through safely that i just want to scream, holler, throw things, and sometimes i do. and i feel like a complete failure as a mom. i feel like i'm doing to them what was done to me. maybe even worse, because i'm my dad and my mom all rolled into one, the darkness and the depression and the addiction, and i feel so guilty and overwhelmed and alone.

i'm not saying i don't try, because i really do. sometimes i can feel proud of who i am. it's just that lately i look at my daughter and i see how much she needs me and i feel numb and incapable.

so there's that.

it's been over a year

I suppose. So much has changed in that time.

Last April I was in San Francisco, dealing with the impacts of the trusteeship. Working my ass off. Fresno hadn't even come down the pike; it was strictly California Pacific Medical Center. Jon and I were struggling to stay together. On the upside, I was in SF. And I had a wonderful sense of purpose.

Now, the sense of purpose remains, but everything else has changed. Jon and I moved to Guam in January. Guam and San Francisco couldn't be more different. Probably the only similarity is the Phillipino population and the fact that I am still organizing. Or at lease attempting to.

Jon is different, happier. I am different, also happier. I guess I'll take a few entries to fill in the gaps. hmm.

i dont suppose

that i will ever live a calm life. at least it doesnt seem like it right now. i'm not given to doing the "right thing," or the "acceptable thing," i do what i think is right and acceptable to me. and i'm not given to feeling guilty, other than when my members guilt me for not completing petty tasks. this ends up creating a fair amount of drama, in my life and the lives of the people around me. i am a walking soap opera.

i suppose that if i just de-drama everything, then it's almost as though these decisions are value-less. they cease to matter. it's like my awkwardness theory-- if you don't think it's dramatic, and you don't engage with other's manifestation of drama, then it can't be drama. just staying centered and calm about everything seems like a better option.

so what am i saying? does it matter if i hurt people, if i don't care about it? what truly matters? what defines the "moral"? what defines "right"? Is it simply a fleeting perception of hurt or righteousness? I'm not sure. Everyone in the world is wandering around with such a similar yet unique set of hurts, affecting the way they percieve how people behave around them. there is almost a pure unreason of it all, an irrationality with which people percieve and judge and get hurt. It almost amounts to a massive clusterfuck-- bound together with the edicts of the overarching institutions of religion and law, projecting a hegemonic idea of morality for us to be righteously indignant about when it's violated.

argh. fuck it if it makes no sense at all.

ok so

i've been pretty trapped in my burnout for a while now, and while i have not really emerged from that burnout at all, i am feeling a strange excitement for fighting this fight today. feelings like this have to be acknowledged, due to their infrequency. really what i want is to not be encased in fear any more, and to have energy and purpose for this struggle. Earlier this week i was almost dying. Maybe because it's saturday I feel better-- or maybe because I have plans to spend time with non-union folks today.

honestly, that always helps.

turns out

that it's true. it's hard to write, but it is so much harder to not write.

the truth

is that i'm broken right now. there's no real reason for it, other than the obvious. perhaps i simply don't have the stamina and commitment anymore. maybe i just can't take the pressure. or i have just gotten old. i don't know. what i do know, is that this past year has made a mess of me, and the last two months have... regressed me. panicked me. squashed me. scared the living shit out of me.

the truth is that i have only been functioning in two modes: WORK and layingarounddoingnothing. either i GET UP EARLY AND GO TO THE HOSPITAL AND STAY THERE ALL DAY AND WORK WORK WORK or i layinmybedwatchingtelevisionreadingbooksmasturbatingdoingnothing. but more and more it's my inclination to do the latter. when i think about going to the hospital each morning all i feel is dread. all i feel is aversion. all i feel is hopelessness.

the truth is that maybe i was never really into my job anyway. or maybe i was just on the edge of being really good and competent and ready to feel good about the whole thing when THE BIG THING HAPPENED and i had to quit and do it for free, this time not just fighting the boss but fighting another union, too. jeez. this has all been a real adrenaline drain.

and through all of those feelings, I LOVE MY MEMBERS. they can be mean and crazy and wierd and i love them. it's hard to keep a handle on all of them, but in the end, they are loyal and loving and mean and crazy and totally committed to this project. i just hope that i can hold on long enough to see them through it.

i am

feeling insane. advice sometimes hangs on decision like weights, dragging them down further into indecisive oblivion. some days happiness seems like my due, and others i am sopping wet with other people's expectations and perceptions.

it's true, i don't know what to do. i don't know if i can do this for the rest of my life. my love is expansive for him, but is it enough? is there enough here to build a working life?

fuck it. don't take advice from people who can't seem to have a successful relationship to save their life.

last night

i had the most interesting dream. in it i was with a family; there was me and the mom and two kids, and i was closely connected to them, i was family too i think. Everyone was brown except for me. we walked up to a gymnastics studio, the children were going to take gymnastics, and after we walked in a very short old man greeted us. it was a dark and calming studio, no artificial light, with plants and open windows and yoga mats, dark wood walls and floor. the children began their gymnastics, but then so did the adults. there was something eerily intimate about the way the adults moved, the instructor moving in tandem, leading them, shouting encouragement and pushing them to be focused and connected. there was something deeply spiritual happening and it made me squirm.

i made an excuse and left. i went to a restaurant and drank beer and ate lots of food. i paid with a credit card that was declined. i returned to the gymnastics studio.

the instructor offered to engage in the movements with me, and I accepted, feeling sheepish. i moved, but not very gracefully, making fun of myself the entire time. the instructor stopped and looked at me. it was clear that i had a choice to make. he pulled out a deck of cards and asked me to choose. i chose a card, and it made me cry. i forget what it said. everyone was quiet while i cried.

i woke up this morning in a rush. my alarm has not been going off, and it upsets my daily workplan when i'm an hour late to the facility. i cursed and rushed to the shower, upset. i looked at myself in the mirror and scolded myself for being so out-of-shape. then i remembered the old man of my dream, and it jolted me. after my shower i dressed and came into the living room, turned on this computer, and looked for a meditation center close to me. it turns out that there is one 3 blocks away. and that the drop-in intro is tonight.

there has to be a dividing line, a defining moment that separates the me of then to the me of now, the me that rushed and criticized and wished and craved, the me that still is, and the me that will bring me to enlightenment in whatever way i am supposed to achieve it. i wonder if a dream could be that for me.

my days now

are full, each of them, with repetitive and unique tasks, each step down the same hallway brings me to that same person, and our conversation each time changes, they move forward and i move forward, they move back and i move back, we together struggle toward a goal that we both are aware of and cage around. i walk away to step down different hallways toward different people that i have had countless conversations with before, we engage in a similar process with unique challenges, and i step away again.

in the end i cannot actually be there with them. i can only hope to somewhat understand, and i am not sure that they know how much i depend on them for everything, how much i admire them for their fortitude, how i never would stand for this for 30+ years in a blue collar job, but then i am reminded that it hasnt been 30 years of this, that with the rise of a corporate economy a more caustic management has overtaken them, i often hear stories of supervisors past who offered aid and advice, not disciplinary actions and disrespect, but here we are in the heart of the beast i suppose.

i wander the halls with my white skin and my long hair and my pretty face and i confront a population of immigrant people of color who have struggled hard just to get here. its an interesting and moving life to lead, being confronted with your privilege constantly, and being compelled to struggle for the rights of less privileged people each day. really, my job is about constant confrontation. fight the boss. fight the boss. fight the boss. fight the boss. fight the boss.

i guess

that my problem is that i have too much to write and i can't get any of it out anymore. the words push hard against my fingertips and clog like so many cars on a narrow san francisco freeway, engines running but getting nowhere fast.

so many metaphors strike me, they all reflect urban themes: streets, cars, buildings, smog, bridges, cables, phonebooths, parking lots, meters, cops, old women trailing rolling groceries, ipods&phones&minigamemachines, busses and munis and subway entrances, fluorescent lights, blue faces unsmiling, staring forward to some unknown destination, hurrying no matter what there is another place to be as soon as possible. smoking dirty people in doorways, empty cups asking for anything, trees poking up lonely out of concrete mouths

what am

I? This year has changed me, turned me almost unrecognizable. Looking into the mirror I find a woman deeply cut, and a woman confronted with change, a woman, finally. No longer a girl, foolishly believing in her righteousness, investing in false senses of good through pleasure and instant gratification.

Practically speaking, I'm not an alcoholic anymore. I'm not the sex addict I was. I'm not looking for that feeling anylonger, partially because my search for it humiliated me in the end.

To be honest, in this new strange phase of commitment, I still miss the one who got all caught up in himself. And the one that pretended that what we had was insignificant. And the freedom to find possibility in any person I came across. I still have that feedom, yes, in some senses, but no longer in the one big romantic way.

Who am I? I remember the brash woman I was when I left Portland. I was a woman on a quest for big things. Looking to fulfill big aspirations. Instead, I found reality in its most gritty and humbling form. Economic, relationship, personal- I've been hit every damn way you could imagine. I hit myself, and I got hit by others.

Along the way, somehow, I managed to find some truth. I found out what love really is. I heard the worst a woman can hear and survived it.

I am here, still. I am more aware than I ever have been before. I am. I suppose for right now that has to be enough.

i just realized

that i am not as nice a person as i want to be. and that I have alienated ppl with my distress.

and mostly, that i want that to change. and that j sees me for the person that i really am-- past the insecurity and elitism.

i feel so

damn irritated with the political people in my life. everyone besides my housemates.

you: STOP BEING SO FUCKING HOLIER THAN THOU. Who the hell gave you the right to shove your righteous fucking self in everyone's face? i'm so fucking unhappy that you are the only political and queer person i have been connected to here. i thought you would do what it took to introduce me to the political scene, but no, you only seem fucking committed to parading your damn politics. over and over again you are condescending and irritating. i wanted to be close to you, but you hold me at arm's length-- and I realize now that most of your friends also do that. I am fucking done. i don't care if you never call me again. i don't care if i never see you again.

you: i feel less vehemently angry at you. you have tried to be helpful and you are never condescending. I just wish you were less successful. That way I wouldn't feel like such a damn failure. Then again, you have been here for five years, and put in the requisite time. argh

and then

he said,
"can i be completely honest?" my stomach jumped, preparing.
"yeah." i responded. "of course."
"i was going to ask you something selfish," he said slowly, the memory of prior harsh words from me likely causing him to weigh his more carefully. i used to be very critical of him. "I was going to ask you to wait for me."
i felt confused. wait for what? while the last weekend without him had been unexpectedly difficult, but he wasn't going anywhere, was he? i became suddenly worried at the possibility. "what do you mean?" i asked.
"i wanted to be selfish. i want you to wait... i want to be the next one."
it hit me what he meant. i was startlingly pleased, and I wanted-- for my own hedonistic pleasure-- for him to spell it out, say it all. "the next one?" i played dumb.
his voice was thick, low timbered with his request. "i want to be the next person you have sex with."
ah. that's what i wanted. i melted. or to be more precise, a certain lovely part of me melted-- both conceptual and physical lovely parts. "of course," i responded. "of course. there's no one else for me right now. you will be the next."