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Thursday, June 19, 2025

WHO WERE THE BEAT GENERATION?

This is a must-see docu on the beat generation, the precursor of the anti-war peace-and-love movement of the sixties.

Watch it.  

You'll see how the system commodified what it feared: the power of youth to change the world.


In Manila, the beatniks didn't exert any influence on Filipino culture, because deep, hard U.S. culture never reached us.  The civil rights movement, MLK, Malcolm X did not break through the mainstream media filters.  Elvis did.  The Beatles. 


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5iwxf3Crrcw


                                  FROM   THIS:



                                      IN  GREENWICH VILLAGE                                  



                                       TO  THIS:



   
Not visible in screenshot is the first line:

I'M   BORED.
I   THINK   I'LL... 



           The Beat Generation gave birth to the Counterculture.

            Really interesting how central music (jazz and folk) was to the Beat Generation, just as it was to the hippie movement (rock), because the hippies were the children of the beat generation.  

       The BG was more intellectual, more into poetry and literature.  Though 1960's youth rebellion were: 

                      (1)  Rejection of materialism

                      (2)  Rejection of conformity

And the intellectual vein of the beat generation morphed into the anti-war movement that ended the Vietnam war.

Tuesday, June 17, 2025

EMILY DICKINSON, MARY SHELLEY, ANNIE ERNAUX


Annie Ernaux


Emily Dickinson


Mary Shelley and her Creature



The world of writers.  I love to watch videos of writers talking about their creative worlds.

Also videos of academics who are experts in literature, such as one I just saw on Mary Shelley's classic, Frankenstein or the Modern Prometheus.

And I learned about Annie Ernaux, French writer and winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature, 2022.  Fascinating woman.  




I also saw an interview with Nora Ephron, author of Heartburn and screenplays such as When Harry Met Sally.



Wednesday, June 11, 2025

GLAD I'M ME regardless -- RANT --

 


Just sent this e-mail to my beloved youngest brother.

Eighties Babe, eternally beautiful.


I'm recovering from flu.  Second week, but I'm just a human fire hydrant of mucous, it's cleaning out my system.


There's just the little detail of kerosene poisoning.

(Explained below... I use kerosene heaters and it's autumn - winter in Chile.)


I just saw a Renard video where a man who looks like a redneck is denouncing ICE for deporting a two-year-old.  Sounded like it was a forcible deportation.  Who would be in favor of that, it's inhumane, it's extreme cruelty.  And it's just one more.  We get this horrendous information nonstop 24/7.  No wonder so many people just don't want to hear, or know, like my d., everytime I've told her anything she says, "How do you know it's true?  What is your source?" And it just means, "I don't care where you heard it and what you heard. You're believing lies."

And she's got a point too. I could be deceived.  Though unlike the news from the redneck (and I'm sure what he says is probably happening), I'm sharing other info of a different sort: statistics on the abnormal rise in mortality rates, infertility, turbo cancer...  Even if I told her my trusted source, it means nothing to her who the source is, because she doesn't follow those channels, and she would not investigate either.  Because she doesn't believe anything other than what she believes.  She's leftwing and she doesn't pay heed to anything going on outside Chile.

It's a defense mechanism.

So much that is going on is too horrible to even think possible.  Most people don't have the stomach for it.  The Michael Douglas character:  "You can't handle the truth."

So it's like, just shut up, Liz.  Just don't talk about anything because nobody wants to know what worries you.  Nobody cares what you're appalled at/by.

And sure, I don't know/have anybody who has dropped dead, who's gotten turbo cancer.  My d. is having trouble conceiving, but even before the pandemic lots of women and men were already sterile.  I've only seen VIDEOS.  Why should I believe they are real?

Nobody else around me is concerned.  Yes, my fellow therapist J., but two years ago we had a falling out for a stupid reason and that friendship ended.

Despite our own differences, you are practically the only person I can talk to.  Who writes to me.

Ah, there's M. in Madrid, he's in an international volunteer group of doctors and lay people who are helping cancer victims willing to follow alternative protocols and they have been racking up rising numbers of recoveries.  But he just goes on periodic raves to me about that, it's his schtick.  I listen and applaud. In my case, though, I've known for decades that chemo and radio are scams.  But M. is not interested in anything else.  Sometimes I'll share a link with him but there's never any echo. I just sit in his bleachers.

They are doing something important:  not just denouncing,  doing something ---actually healing terminal cases.  Many of them are desperately poor in the Phil.

I've heard thousands of people on videos saying that their families don't talk to them, they've lost jobs, friends, etc. because they're conspiracy theorists.

I'm just the only person in Chile who is a c.t.   In the end, we all are screwed, no matter what we think or say. There is no relief, no solution in sight.  The world is fucked, and fucked it will stay, and we all share its fate.

That idea is abhorrent to me though.  So I just suck it up.

I stay in my corner and just play dead, play stupid, play happy. Whatever.  But I AM happy, I DO have my areas of happiness, thank God.  One is our friendship, our love.  Our echo.  My kids are another.  Most of all, THE CHALLENGE OF WRITING.  It gets me into a different head and heart space.  Yes, it's hard to drag myself into it.

Why?  Because peace and eternal time are rare in 3D if you are 71, live alone and electric heaters are too expensive. You have to use kerosene heaters.  (This is the teensy-weensy tip of my iceberg but you don't have to know the rest, nor do you wish to.  It's nothing, just the universal human condition on prison planet.)

3D rains down really stupid quandaries.  Like the old man in the gas station who filled my 2 jerrycans with kerosene, and didn't screw on the cap right on one of them.  It turned over while I was driving and spilled over everything in the trunk.  I've had to throw away two big sheets of plastic that have served me in different ways for about 20 years.  My car cover is also stained.  It's gonna rain hard again.  I've covered the car with it, inside-out, so the rain will at least wash that side.  And I've got to turn it right side out and cover the car again so the rain washes the other side too.  Inside the car, the fumes will remain for several months so I'll have to have it detailed.  Yep.  $$$$

And I have a bunch of plastic shopping bags that I must wash in the bathtub. All the time, my skin gets in touch with the traces of kerosene, absorbs them and my liver has to get rid of the solvent.

Enemas are in order.

One old doddering man in a gas station.  Still working.  And I didn't know better than to unscrew the cap and screw it back on properly.  Because I THOUGHT he fixed it.  But he didn't.  It still was screwed on crooked, but it didn't look crooked.

I had the flu, forced myself to go buy kerosene because those heaters don't fire themselves.  

3D is full of illusions.  Your senses give you wrong information all the time.  Worse when you are sick.

Well hon, just gotta get through this crap, right?

xoxoxox

(Sorry to ruin your day, but be glad you're NOT ME.)

Love You.
Liz

P.S. The nutty part is, I'm glad I'm me.  







Thursday, May 22, 2025

Pure Beauty - Maison

  

I've just discovered this poignant song, sung by a beautiful young girl, accompanied on the piano by a wonderful pianist, both of them I believe are French.


Pure poetry.







Emilio Piano ft. Lucie - Maison

 

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/fyI3M65ypko

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VNLrCWCv38Y

 

Lyrics in French with video window:

https://www.letras.com/emilio-piano/maison-part-lucie/

 

Où va-t-on?
Quand on n’a plus de maison?
Les fleurs sous le béton
Maman, dis-le-moi, où va-t-on?



Est-ce qu’un jour on sait vraiment?
Ou est-ce qu’on fait semblant, tout le temps?
Où va le cœur quand il se perd?
Dans les doutes et les hivers?
Pourquoi les jours se ressemblent?
Est-ce qu’on finit par voir ce qu’on assemble?
Maman, dis-le-moi





Au-delà
De l'orage il y a
De l'amour, de l'amour, de l’amour
Quand le ciel s'ouvre
Tout redevient calm
е
Et tout va bien






Où va-t-il?
Le bonheur, c
е fil fragile
Quand il vacille et se brise
Maman, dis-le-moi, où va-t-il?



Pourquoi le monde semble si grand
Quand on devient un peu plus grand qu’avant?
Que deviennent les rêves qui s’enfuient?
Et les souvenirs qu’on oublie?
Est-ce que j’aurai toujours des questions?
Peut-être que j’en ferai des chansons
Maman, dit-le-moi

 








Au-delà
De l'orage il y a
De l'amour, de l'amour, de l’amour
Quand le ciel s'ouvre
Tout redevient calme
Et tout va bien

 

Where do we go?

When you no longer have a home?

Flowers under concrete

Mom, tell me, where are we going?

 

Do we ever really know?

Or do we pretend all the time?

Where does the heart go when it's lost?

In doubts and winters?

Why do the days look the same?

Do we end up seeing what we put together?

Mom, tell me

 

Beyond

the storm there is

love, love, love

When the sky opens up

 

All is calm

And all is well

 

Where does it go?

Happiness, that fragile thread

When it wavers and breaks

Mama, tell me, where's it going?

 

Why does the world seem so big

When you get a little bigger than before?

What happens to the dreams that vanish?

And the memories we forget?

Will I always have questions?

Maybe I'll turn them into songs

Mama, tell me

 

Beyond

the storm there is

love, love, love

When the sky opens up

All is calm again

And all is well

 

 

 

 




Monday, May 19, 2025

Not Good



News from Singapore

A law was passed that penalizes citizens who refuse to take the jibby-jab with stiff fines and jail time.


BTW.
By the mid-19th century Manila was 
an international  entrepôt.

 Singapore was a backwater.

British companies were doing plenty of business with Filipinas and had offices in Manila.
Andrés Bonifacio worked as a warehouse worker for a tile exporter.

The Brits moved to Singapore.
They know a good thing when they see it.

So did the Americans.
But the Americans who built the dark empire are pigs and turn what they touch into a pigsty.

Then they move elsewhere.

Good thing they haven't had the same luck they had in the Philippines (THEIR NAME for my country)
or Filapeens

in Latin America.

(Mind you, GB is the whore's mother.)

 






Tuesday, April 29, 2025

Poemario: Torbellinos en lo claroscuro

   



    Acabo de recibir los ejemplares de Torbellinos en lo claroscuro.

    Edwin Lozada diseñó la portada y fue el encargado de la publicación.  El libro está precioso, de alta calidad.  ¡Estoy emocionadísima y agradecidísima!

    El diseño de la portada es en realidad una manta antigua de Ilocos, una representación geométrica de, justamente, un torbellino.  Edwin posee una colección de mantas tradicionales de Filipinas y esta es una de ellas.

    Es el más hermoso de mis libros.  

    Muchas gracias al Consulado de Filipinas de Barcelona, a la senadora Loren Legarda del Congreso de la República de Filipinas, y a la Universidad de Alicante por el financiamiento de la edición.

    


Thursday, April 17, 2025

Poems

 


What I learned I'm Learning

March 30, 1995

 

Life teaches you what it is.

To go with time and let it carry you

forward (always)

To absorb events

Let them pass through you

let yourself pass through them.

 

We learn from the unknown

not from the known

There is a different sort of gravity

that pulls us toward formlessness

in constant materialization

of our true knowing

(for what you know of the unknowable

is truly what you know)

 

IT is eternal flux

the stillness flowing all about us

and moving us

within it.

 

I suffer when I struggle

beat my wings in vain

make the stillness sing my name

attempt to fill it, move it

to my imperial designs

 

Life the simplest feeling

Love the simplest company

Immortality a way of being in the world

untrapped in matter

just passing through

 

My world was a wall

I wished to conquer

a massif of German geometry

In its very center lay

a forbidden, inscrutable City

I laid it siege

and was vanquished

again and again

Weakened, I revised tactics

but the Force could not be stormed

I wept in my despair

reflected  for centuries of sorrow

 

Many years later

I realize the 'wall' isn't really there!

It's an energy grid birthed by space

just as I am!

I have but one advantage:

to be malleable for myself

my vision can become dynamic

 

There are things in the world

that levitate

then vanish

then reappear

the unexpected

whose bizarreness is coherent

in a playful

sometimes silly continuum

as savage and placid

and fertile as the ocean

There's a vibrant thrumming

a background singing you may suddenly sense

 in your moments of thrall

and clear-seeing surrender

 

When you begin sometimes

to feel so light

for the briefest of seconds

when your

thoughts fly

and the dark

ceases to frighten

 

Know then you have begun

the journey to your heaven



 



The Power

E. Medina

 

 

Nothing remains

or stands still

Not the days, the places,

the faces I smile at

or kiss

Not the thoughts,

pages,

streets I walk over,

money I spend

But yes the faith,

affection

of those I truly love

those who care for me

and are ever there to share

all the above

 

Happiness grows with time

and doesn’t care

if we will ever die

or lose our way

It is the rudder

that never lies

or breaks

it is the sail

that lifts us up

above the reef

 

For a truer north

cannot be found

than joy within your heart

your essence’s

sacred ground

 

Though what is the path

toward the real, the true,

the loved?

When in this time it seems

none such is left

Humanity nothing but a shade,

a myth, a dream

Of all wisdom, pity, love

bereft?

Where to go,

toward whom,

how and when?

 

I will venture an answer,

but here’s the catch:

My response and yours

will never match

It’s not a word or words,

it’s not a sound

It is your true self

deep within.

It is your soul --

if you have got one.

 

When you were young

and if you are young still

If you’ve lost hope and failed

in your most

cherished dreams

If you are old

and ready to be born again

If you are weak and fearful

yet seize the second’s courage

and walk the plank

 

You may yet plumb the Power

buried, hid within

You may yet once again

be as a child

unformed, unspoiled,

pristine

You may pick up the swords

and turn them into plows

and shine the light of Life

upon the world

from your warm hands

and brow

 

 

But learn the difference ‘twixt

the simple world without

and your vast

Worlds

within

 

Look behind you

at the threshold

the timorous profane

can never cross

Listen: the codes you share

with your own people

are to their ears

a noisome dross

 

Do not believe

you are degraded

for never having wished

to gain their prize

And ever keep

this thought most present: 

 

Yours is another path;

hence must you go elsewhere

to other worlds you fly

Whereas they stay,

stand rooted to the spot

of their buried pirates’ treasure

or as statues of salt.

 

Thus far below and back

they shall remain

Their freedom

having chosen thus

To stay behind

in what is past and done

with what is dead, over, gone.

 

They cannot see

the treasure that you seek

though neither can you see it

But yes you sense, feel it

It is more real to you

than gold or diamonds

More precious than worldly wealth

and the pleasures, privilege it gets

So they think you mad,

unfortunate

for you are chosen by

a destiny

that opens such a trove only

to you

and others like you,

so chosen.

 

And they hate what they can never have

what they can’t destroy, coerce, defeat

they are hostile to you

you are a changeling.

 

And they are ruled by fear,

of worldly loss

by pain

by death

by nothingness

triumphant

 

But you chose

to be ruled

by Life                                                                                                      

and guided by

the Power.

 

San Rafael, California

30 December 2002





 Of an Evening

30 October 2018

E. Medina

 

 

Wax and wane

days weeks whoosh by

I am seasons

a door ajar

 

Last year’s grass cut

soon overgrown

my young cats

here a decade old

 

Birdsong evening blooms

incense wafts

Oropel[1] by and by

a figurehead quaffed

 

You feel expectant

you know not why

velvet flower

rippling sighs

 

Tabby fur

warms my shin

a shroud of mist

a dream-fed stream

 

Will let the morrow

bring me Spring!

 



[1] My late beloved gray tabby, her Spanish name means Tinsel.





Transgressor

May 2001

E. Medina

 

 

In a world

where the silent

are presumed strong

the mute sage

the blind loyal

 

Where silence means

nothing is happening

…nothing that must not be

 

Where only what is allowed

is named,

pronounced and stated

for approving nods

 

What shall I do

with my voice

brain

heart?

 

If I cannot sing

my understanding

state my doubt

declare my certainty

divine your name?

 

In an era of cripples

where all is a forward rush

pathetic, sinister pretense

of the All Important

and Unquestionable

 

What shall I do

if my heart knows

my brain keens:

they lie

they’re faking!

 

Their world is insane

I am besieged, surrounded

the only escape

my mind

my world of dreams

 

Where I am content

to be misunderstood

to serenade the deaf

receive the scourge

and erase the wounds

 

Run the gauntlet

laughing merrily

Impervious to the blows

 

Be a poem

in repayment of the taunt

and insult

 

But on no account accept

the muzzle

wear the blinders

trot, kneel, march on cue

 

No.

 

You will not break me

I cannot be broken

 

…NOT BY ALL FIVE BILLION OF YOU!




The Day We All Await

20 June 2005 

 

 

i suspect

 

will tiptoe in so quietly

to our amazement

but with fearsome finality

of a raging ocean

storming down

centuries-old walls

thick carpeted with vines and roots

though to our eyes

decrepit and tottering

for so long

yet remained propped up

by great, black, granite monoliths

guarded by mercenaries

 

but silent billowing waves

will come crashing

implacable

over gleaming

empty shells of skyscrapers

steel beams and plate glass

to split like matchsticks

tear like cellophane

left levelled, ripped,

blasted into billions

of singular atoms

 

we have witnessed

the prophesies 

 

it will all fall away

...in silence...

 

after the deafening

terror of strafing

and bombing

 

suddenly

 ...the world will go quiet

 

they will be gone

vanish without a sound

 

just as millions

quietly

exhaled their souls

in the killing fields

 

their bombast will die down

as the waves come

to bear them noiselessly away

 

they will be gone

 

all trace of them blown north,

east, west,

south

less visible than

the finest brownian dust

 

yes

 

she will dawn

 

the day we all await

 

when what seemed immutable

impregnable

brutally eternal

the golden-roofed necropolis

above us

crowded

with teeming wealthy dead

will become mythic

as Atlantis

 

the grandiose prideful will fall

with a crash so resounding

so final

but only we shall hear

 

and lifting our heads

cease our laborious digging

clamber up to the surface

emerge from these rabbit holes

where our dreams are safely hid

like great bears in hibernation

 

it will be so strange

to greet this feeling

of return to life

after an age of

entombment.

 

the wave

will have swept away the debris

she will not even leave

any bodies to rot

 

the earth will greet us

pristine

our true self

will fly out

to enfold us

in her arms

 

what took you so long?

we will both burst into tears

of joy joy joy

so intense

we’ll need a nice, long

Lie Down

 

 

Finished 17 April 2025