Monday, August 29, 2011

What is an activist?

It's been almost five years since I took to activism. Often, I am asked by the uninitiated (or the apathetic) what an activist is. What do they do? Where do they do it? How is it done? And of course, why do they do it? They all expect uncomplicated answers. Like cereal straight out of the box. If only it was that easy.

There's a point where anyone can become an activist. I mean, you see something so wrong. And you have to act on it. To the more radical extremist elements, this means even if it leads to the end of you.

In the early days, although I had an uneasy time explaining the complexities associated with this occupation, it did not deter me from obliging as I harbored hopes that it will touch, move or inspire others 'to take up arms', per se. I never ceased trying to illuminate injustices or atrocities that are so well hidden from the general population by 'the System'. However, as time passed along, cynicism manifested and overtook my way of being. Facing such questions and defining an answer now bordered on the point of being an inconvenience. So while I look forward to extending my days as a 'troublemaker' (Yes, that's what governments and corporate bigwigs will have others think of people such as us) to a full decade, this posting is my reply to the subject matter one more time.

Now scoot and leave me alone, all of you! Heh. ;p

Friday, August 26, 2011

Tonight I can write the saddest lines....

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, "The night is shattered, 
And the blue stars shiver in the distance."
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes? 

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her. 
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her. 
And the verse falls to the soul, like dew to the pasture. 

What does it matter that my love could not keep her?
The night is shattered and she is not with me. 

This is all. 
In the distance, someone is singing. In the distance. 
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her. 
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her. 
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before. 
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes. 

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. 
Love is so short, forgetting is so long. 

Because through the nights like this one, I held her in my arms.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her. 

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.   

Pablo Neruda (July 12, 1904 - September 23, 1973)

Sunday, August 21, 2011

The Activist: The Creed

The Revolution is Our Only Hope

In Activism, Democracy, The Revolution on August 21, 2011 at 1:19 am

It is time for humanity to act upon the oppression. It is time for us to push back against the waves of injustice. No child should die of hunger. No economy should be allowed to expand by squeezing out the poor. No mass culture should be justified as it deceives the people.

The revolution is the only way to clear the clouds of misery that hover above the human condition. Capitalism is a lie. Economic growth is a myth, the wealth of the people is being siphoned as we speak. The governments are nothing more than charades.

It is time for the people to rise, the frenetic energy of the crowds to manifest itself in every fashion possible.

The revolution is the only way in which we can free ourselves from 400 years of capitalist bondage and accumulation. The revolution is the only way to wipe out the remnants of slavery that will otherwise remain a part of our psychology forever.

Anyone who is afraid of the revolution has something to hide. Anyone who questions the rationale of the revolution is complicit in the injustices that continue to grow as stock market indices skyrocket.

We are the people, we are the ones, we are the voice and it is our duty to resist. It is our obligation to rebel against those who insist on subduing human freedom. It is our responsibility to ourselves and to future generations to do away with the corporate schemes, with the military-industrial machines, with greedy entities that are bent on destroying humanity.

Fear is their weapon, it is not ours. Fear is the instrument that they surgically put into our chests. We are afraid of nothing, we stand together, the collective, the people, the ones who have nothing to hide, the ones who have no desire to hoard the resources of the world.

Our asset is our will power. Our hope lies in our political consciousness. Our freedom is the only air that we need to breathe.

Gertrude Taylor

Saturday, August 20, 2011

Friday, August 12, 2011

春夜喜雨 Welcome Rain on a Spring Night

Touched and moved by this....

好雨知时节 The good rain knows its season,

当春乃发生 When spring arrives, it brings life.

风潜入夜 It follows the wind secretly into the night,

润物细无声 And moistens all things softly, without sound.

野径云俱黑 On the country road, the clouds are all black,

江船火独明 On the riverboat, a single fire bright.

晓看红湿处 At dawn one sees this place now red and wet,

花重锦官城 The flowers are heavy in the brocade city.

~ A poem by 杜甫 Du Fu (712-770)