And then they woke up…

Shared from a post on FB

If you’re lucky in this life, a window
    appears on a battlefield
Between two armies. And when the
    soldiers look into the window
They don’t see their enemies, they see
    themselves as children
And they stop fighting and go home
    and go to sleep.
When they wake up, the land is well again.
     -- Carmen Penny (4th grader, Houston, Texas)

Goby’s Journal… on the Russian invasion of Ukraine

All human suffering is equal… and individual, and personal.

But not all human suffering is equal in the media.

Yemen. At the hands of the bloody most awful self-absorbed murderous clans on the planet–the Saudi Royal Familty.

But it don’t matter. Because what matters, is what’s always mattered in the history books. Power. The struggle between dominant powers. Never…. what a partnership of those dominant powers do (the USA, and the Saudis)

We see the suffering…and herosim of resistors–in Ukraine, but not Yemen. Not Gaza.

Because this is a tug-a-war between the Great Powers… or, more acurately, between the internal Masters within each of them.

Fuck all of them. The billionaires. The Oligarches. The presidents, the dicatators, the CEOs… all of them. All the fucking “Leaders.”

Tear them up… their images, like Sinead O Connor.

And then… themselves

Know your enemy!

Comment

Purim Spiel

from the Beloit Poetry Journal: 1990    

 Purim Spiel --a poem of hope
The elder, alter older -
a tree
alone with its thoughts

Of kings, of Isaac snatched
by the ram's horn
again 

the thorn 
burning for Rivka by the well

Between them wide as an ocean
white wake foaming

a cormorant with flaming tail

Fuming from the waves
its signature of white on blue
a warrant sent 

Against the world

    but wait!

the story changes...
Back track

the firebird on its flume
red tongue panting like a dog
In heat. Esther. Queen
of Persia prancing for her idle king

A worshiper of things
he lays his power down
upon her ceding haunch

And she, she rollicks in her duty
rolls his Majesty
about the gilded room

Until a tree 
grows in his mind    the Alter
Elder is at stake 

its point 

Can touch the heart and 
stop it

Cold, a twitching stick 
with eyes wide

As oceans, as the 

desert city
on the desert's edge    He sees.

Taking in at last
breath

the Jews dancing
for their lives
their purled queen 

the sequined 
Rider blossoming like snow
like the bloom of the dark

crocus below
The bruise under that white 

skin, a king's passion
pressed against her breast
the alter

Of his lust, her love
but not for him - the world

Lays itself before her
renews the pledge    To her

As with each morning
clouds mount 
the skies and ancient trees
will come again to crown gray mountains with new green.


Jacob Russell

$35! Ready to Hang!

… looking for a forever home!

Maybe treat my watercolors and inks like found kittens–looking to find homes.
How to present them… “This one is fiercely independent, but loves to cuddle.”
This one has no problem getting along with dogs. “
Find what frames I can. Find a work the right size for a one. Mat it, and frame.
If no glass, use polyethylene food wrap to temporarily protect it
and let the new owner take care of the glass–or pay me to do that.
Show photos on my blog and web gallery, links on Twitter and FB.
Promote one piece at a time–for a week, or till someone claims it. Set a low, no profit, anyone can afford it price.
Here’s to start with.
#642 6.5×6.5
Watercolor, ink
Matted, in a 17×17″ frame.
With glass $35.00 + shipping.