Why Should I Stay Here?

Every night a new dream. Every day a new thought. Every hour a different feeling. Every second, oh every second, it creeps by slowly; aching to have what is not there. Waiting patiently for nothing. And in nothing, something, everything, you.

I am simply a fool and that will do. Time is the partition wall. It all chains us to some eternity.

Breath deeply, friends. Its all we've got left.

Dervish Dances

A.

The cosmos' dance, the dead of winter

and I feel it all creep up so slowly,

you sleeping silently there, my thoughts

stalking you sweetly as you dream of being awake.

B.

It was in the night that you first smelled death,

briefly followed by dreams of God. You awoke

with me gently next to you, waking

at

the

very

same

time

.

C.

In infinite verisimilitude, or finite fecundity,

or whatever they all mean, and

you spell them out so eloquently

and silently

like a flower blooming, only to know its three days

until winter,

I saw you there, floating, like God and breath

down, down, down

upon the earth-like surface,

then I saw in your place, lay a pile of dead leaves,

and I knew it wasnt you.

D.

Start, Go, Begin

and then

STOP.

You must sleep now, or your body will never wake.

I

Patterns.

Ice Age coming, let me hear both sides, let me hear both sides....

This is really happening. He said it.

There is this indescribable feeling of freedom and peace that I receive from driving alone at night to my house. It might have been the conversations that have preceded it or the music in my ears, but both, no matter how loud, we're at minimal volume in relation to my thoughts. decibels rising.

The wastefulness of grace. Freedom in truth. The will of the human heart. The breaking of spirit. The breaking of bread. It is from here that I choose to walk forward. Will you follow? I'll light my cigarette and wait awhile.

If I could capture these feelings in words, it would be trivial. Holding hands was years ago, but these butterflies never dies. Cocoon to full flap back to cocoon. Hibernate for a while and awake when the night is cold. Life is learning the pattern. Rally-route-rally-route-rally-route.

If I die tomorrow, I will at least have lived today. Will you follow?

"We're still trying to locate us."

A Pilgrim at Tinker Creek - done. Find the gaps and dwell in them.

Where do you go from here? You and me? Everybody. These thoughts make little sense. Watching the divine conspiracy unfold and engulf. Its hard to see where you stand in relation to your feelings, but very rarely your thoughts. I have a lot of thoughts. I have a lot of feelings. So what do you do? You walk into whatever dark room is in front of you and gently whisper, "I'm coming in and if there is something waiting for me then I will face it." Sitting in the dark and waiting. "Sit in this awhile and ponder your place." I'll find that light switch. I'll find it if its the last damn thing I do.

She told me last night that she loves to go to sleep. I hadn't seen her in what must have been years. She told me that she selfishly waited for sleep, begging her to come in dreams. Wherever she is, she is there now, I can't keep beckoning her back. She cant, neither can I, but it seems as if we still want to. I never knew her, the dream-girl, I only knew what they said about her. She never knew her, the-other-girl, and there was no one to talk to about that. It never makes any sense. Always rambling on about some loss that I knew could take place. I choose this. I choose this and I would choose it again. Lay down beside me for awhile, "I never knew anyone could make me feel like this." Who did, sweetheart?

When there isn't much to say and nothing to be found in some foreign fermented substance, you read. Read about nature and stalking, about fecundity...

• the intellectual productivity of a creative imagination
• fertility: the state of being fertile; capable of producing offspring
• fruitfulness: the quality of something that causes or assists healthy growth

... I never knew what it meant until now. Thank you Annie Dillard. I know you never meant to use your name, but in some odd, self-centered sense, I am glad you did. You read about liberty, social and civil, you read about divinity and the cosmos' calling, you read about orientals and the -isms that follow, you read about God and politics and the misinformation, you read about Him and, you read about me. I read and I write and I smile at the smallest clandestine thought. It isnt meant to be understood, just felt through freedom. What freedom? I'll let you decide.

Decipher if you wish, but I promise no golden truth or treasured thought. A simple feeling perhaps. A small wave to be enjoyed. A innermost calling for the kingdom of another world, here now, not to come, but reigning here with you and with me. All are welcome.

Now its time. I am going to find that light switch and I am going to turn it on.

Screwtape

"You must have often wondered why the Enemy does not make more use of His power to be sensibly present to human souls in any degree He chooses and at any moment. But you now see that the Irresistible and the Indisputable are the two weapons which the very nature of His scheme forbids Him to use. Merely to override a human will (as His felt presence in any but the faintest and most mitigated degree would certainly do) would be for Him useless. He cannot ravish. He can only woo. For His ignoble idea is to eat the cake and have it; the creatures are to be one with Him, but yet themselves; merely to cancel them, or assimilate them, will not serve. He is prepared to do a little overriding at the beginning. He will set them off with communications of His presence which, though faint, seem great to them, with emotional sweetness, and easy conquest over temptation. Sooner or later He withdraws, if not in fact, at least from their conscious experience, all those supports and incentives. He leaves the creature to stand up on its own legs-- to carry out from the will alone duties which have lost all relish. It is during such trough periods, much more than during the peak periods, that it is growing into the sort of creature He wants it to be. Hence the prayers offered in the state of dryness are those which please Him best. We can drag our patients along by continual tempting, because we design them only for the table, and the more their will is interfered with the better. He cannot 'tempt' to virtual as we do to vice. He wants them to learn to walk and must therefore take away His hand; and if only the will to walk is really there He is pleased even with their stumbles. Do not be deceived, Wormwood. Our cause is never more in danger than when a human, no longer desiring, but still intending, to do our Enemy's will, looks round upon a universe from which every trace of Him seems to have vanished, and asks why he has been forsaken, and still obeys."


maybe...or maybe not...but always maybe, and that seems like it might be enough in some sense of the word.

There was a dream and a vision, there was today and tomorrow

Where do we go from here?


Clouds settle on a mountain. I am above them. This is what I saw, who can refute that? "Unsocial sociability" is what Kant said about history, "cunning of reason" for Hegel. We all see it but we hardly ever realize it.

In actuality, I am standing in a place that knows no surroundings. The path is there, but I can barely see it.

I squint harder. Where are my glasses?

in England.

"Being and Nothingness"

Its a weird feeling to admit to yourself. Knowing that you really do share some similar qualities, feelings, and/or thoughts with someone or some people that you wish to categorize as "other." Its something I find myself fighting against on larger, national, regional, and global scales, but when they are your neighbors or just old friends, it becomes a lot easier to consider them alien to yourself. I'd like to take away their validity (as if I can do that) to be completely honest. In some aspects, I wish not to know them. I think somewhere, somehow down inside of myself I possess what could be called "coolness" or "realness" because when I look in the mirror its what I tell myself, but after looking at another's blog, I find that "the mirrors lie, those aren't my eyes." I only possess humanity. And so do they.

If I am really honest, which in most cases I'm not, then I will admit that I have gone through this before, only to lose interest in bettering myself. It is from that point that I forget what I just learned, and fall back into infancy, or something of the sort. Comma Splice.

So old friends, I think we may be more connected than you or I'd like to admit. You distance yourself from the world, living in a fictitious land of dreams you claim as your own - which inevitably perpetuates you perceived freedom, and I, well, I distance myself from your perceived freedoms only to perceive myself free in other ways. "I cannot be free to, without being free from." Looks like we are both chained.

Question: Does choosing to limit your freedom negate your true, acausal, personal freedoms? To be free to choose limitations would therefore presuppose you have negative, anti-deterministic freedoms. Okay, stop thinking.


1. I am alone now, at least for a few days. Dancing Goats and Arabic literature. Thoughts of you and questions that arise from myself. All in a day's work, or so they say. Fair enough.

2. I am willing to sacrifice much to wait this one out. I don't think I have anything worthy of that task. There is a mountain there, with clouds hung low. Dreams and visions are born. Watch me summit. Watch me rise. There is no god there. No, He is here...

I open my eyes and wait.

E. Texas Ave.

Your house chased smells of sweets and cakes,
strolled down around the bend.
After rain, rising, springing.
Aspiring to be a hill.
I'd hang my hat in Hartford union.
Strolling down the way to River Park, around the bend.
Like gentle stemmed flowers we bloomed where we planted,
so seasonal like sand.
I'd hang my head in.

The Promise Ring

Tender and Aloof

I

“What did you do to your hair?”

“What did you do to your hair?”

It’s so much longer now.

“…Only when you’re not there,”

If you could feel what I feel,

Then you’d see I don’t care.

II

Speak, spoken, spoke, tired of you old slowpoke!

Don’t speak to her like that! Don’t speak to her like that!

These words mean nothing when you run from your folks!

I wish you knew what it meant to have nothing to say.

I just wish you knew I said something.

III

My friends, those old blue heelers,

Watch them kick and scream, bark and dream.

If you see them starve, if you see them steal…

Their paws to the dirt, but their stares to the stars,

Fur all wet, growls all real

They’re not tender, their hearts aren’t tame.

Slights of hand, they’ve been reclaimed

By solar flares and lucid dares,

Catch ‘em if you can,

But

You

Wont.

Ida and the thoughts of being idle

Lyrics to Post Prom Disorder :
"some days are heavy and some days are mean
some days fall somewhere in between
today i would like to tear you apart at the seams

taking a plane is the worst kind of day
holding your breath in the sky
you should never write a letter that high

speaking my mind is not what i do best
but i have to get this all off my chest
open this window and hope that these words will fly

but hey what does it matter now
cause turning back pages is not something time will allow
but wait i never got to say
you were digging into me and then you just got away

so how can you say that i'm wasting time
after all of the years i have spent trying to fill up the hole
that you left sitting there in my heart

and i'm taking it back
and i'm making it mine
i am still trying

oh ohhhh oh

some days are heavy and some days are mean
some days fall somewhere in between, in between"



I don't really know what to do when i look at this anymore...

I just want some rest

I hate to look at my bed. I hate cutting apples, and shopping at whole foods. I hate making breakfast or making food. I hate vegan delights and delicious fried tortillas. I hate hummus and falafel. I hate cool soaps and skipping class on rainy days. I hate naps and talking for 24 straight hours. I hate all of these things because I love them.

I love them in one specific context.

and that is,

with

you.

It has almost been two months and I am not the same. Never will be.

If you look at things long enough you see that faith and fear are more likely to be opposites than unbelief. We act, we move, we dance, we dream in hopes to rid ourselves of fear, in hopes to find some place to lay our faith. This is the process, this is the finale, this is the end.

Ive felt more and feared more in this moment. Ive seen truth blossom into faith and I've felt the freedom that comes from it all.

Tomorrow might be a nice day, but tonight is a real night. I'd gladly trade a lifetime of convenience for an honest day or two.

I've been down the road and believe me it runs parallel to the sea but it diverges somewhere at some point. Sometimes you simply have to walk away from the path, into the sea, and learn that sometimes you're already walking on the water you thought was created for you to sink.

To sink... that's the lie. To walk...that's the gamble. To believe it... that's the truth.

The Ringstrasse

I feel as if I am a rational or logical person, yet when it comes to faith, I act in the most illogical ways. Is this a picture of my inability to believe, the death that comes from my unbelief, or it it somehow a portrait of faith, the nature of the beast or perhaps the lamb? Who is to say anymore? I wish I could soften my heart to hear the voice.


Sometimes I have nothing but doubt, wrapped in hope, overshadowed by fear. And I should know better...

ha

I am 20 now. We've hung out almost everyday. There is something there that I cannot explain, but I know I like it.

All in a day, all today

I feel like letting my thoughts run wild. the beasts of imagination breathing down my back, "the only thing left to lose are their chains..." or so they say in Marxist propaganda.

They pile on top of each other willing to be burned by the first spark that presents itself. a funeral pyre of ambition. an aimless ramble. the power of expression. it all goes to shit when you take control.

I have so many things competing for control of my thoughts. each one presenting an argument, each one describing how legitimate it is...

...overwhelmed with the newness of conversation, with ambiguity and mystery. I haven't felt this in so long that I don't even know what to do with myself. It seems as if everything is weighing down and tightening and my spirit is lifting, floating. it's all so surreal. ethereal. I am not hungry. Her hair looks soft.

The fork in the road simply points in every direction. "Choose!" it demands so much of me. How am I to choose when the only road I know is the one I walk everyday...the one right by your house, to the left of the abandoned lot, next to the tree growing little by little but stronger everyday. I flutter to the ground without a care.

There is a hole in my shoe and this is all so sensational. There is a whole in the world, and I think it's found wherever we lay our roots, or wherever they see fit you take hold.

... I've walked her home twice now.

A message to a friend. It doesnt matter what was said...its about what was felt.

I am sitting in my bed after a long day of working and reading for school and I saw your name listed on the side of my friends. Its almost fall out and I spent the last hour procrastinating and having an awesome conversation with my roommate. It was enlightening. "Some days are heavy and some days are mean, some days fall somewhere in between." I really dont know why I am aimlessly writing you, but somewhere it makes sense. Somehow the fall time puts me in a spell, binds my emotions and whispers, "remember" as if it were a secret in my ear.

I came across your facebook page (I wish I would have just ran into you), and it hit me. I dont know who you are now. I knew you 5 years ago (was it really that long ago?) and I knew ashley, and we all knew each other, and we were each other's world, and now we are strangers that once knew of a similar time.

I am sorry that this is so overly nostalgic and sentimental. I could have just said, "remember when?" But that didnt seem right. In fact, it seemed wrong. I hope you remember all the names and car ride we shared. All the pain and joy. Its all episodes, seasons if you will, of pain and joy and trying to understand how they are so intrinsically connected to each other. ebb and flow. change and grow. make friends and remember them at odd times of the night.

Don't forget, Lindsey Irvin, because even when I do, I remember. Somewhere, sometime, in the middle of an Autumn night, with my hoodie on and my memory intact, I see us all standing there at 15, wondering what would happen next.

-Micah Aaron Hughes

Introducing Palace Players

It beckons, it breathes, its so quite, and I always leave...


I ran as fast as I could. The car sped away without stalling. I stopped and wondered if the feeling of forgetfulness ever lingered in its simply complex structure, in it's oiled heart. The mid seasons always pass by unnoticed, and unmoved by my persistent begging to stay awhile and talk. The coffee is always cold when the conversations are good. Brian wrote a poem that rolled in my head as if they were die in the hand of one ready to cast. Casting shadows in artificial light never sat well with me. Emptiness ensued as the sun's reflection bounded away off the top of the automobile. Automatically. I am not mobile and fear is never noble. If I could reach into my heart and shake these feelings loose, I'd set them beside you and ask why they were such an awkward fit. You can try them on if you'd like, but they might shrink. Your favorite colours away fade when what's supposed to keep them clean, only makes them a fragment of what they were, once upon a time. Yet they are still our favorite. Like memories, like endless rambling words, like stories that have no meaning...yet they always mean something to me.

...or so it seems.

Dear Bruce

I seem lost in the world of my friends words. I couldnt explain it if I tried, because self pity never gave me good reasons why. I beckoned to my dreams and they discretely hid in the shadows. If I lay in my bed long enough, I can hear your whispers of something in tomorrow, I just cant sit there long enough to tell you if I'm free.

It's all possibility...
maybe...



I just want to say the Bruce Hanglider is my good friend and whatever he says is undisputed truth.

Thank you and now I am going to think.

Is it possible?

I want this:

The Master’s program in Arabic provides a foundation in both Arabic literature and Arabic linguistics, with Linguistics or Islamic studies as possible minors.

Applicants must have at least three years of Arabic and are expected to enroll in advanced Arabic seminars. Arabic language courses taken to enable students to reach the seminar level do not count towards the degree credits. Advanced proficiency in Arabic is demonstrated through enrolling in advanced Arabic seminars and passing a proficiency test in Arabic administered by the department and testing listening comprehension, speaking, reading and writing.

Master’s Degree Course Requirements:

Candidates for the Master’s degree in Arabic take a program of 36 credits (12 courses) plus a research paper. The distribution of the courses is 7 in the major and 5 in the minor. The minor may be in Linguistics or in Islamic Studies. Students are required to take at least ARAB 392, ARAB 547, and ARAB 555.

Arabic Core Courses (7 three-credit courses)

• ARAB-361-362 Intro to Lit and Style (3,3)
• ARAB-392 Fundamentals of Arabic Linguistics (3)
• ARAB-460 Topics in Arab Culture (3)
• ARAB-525 Qur’anic Exegesis (3)
• ARAB-531-532 Classical Arabic Poetry (3,3)
• ARAB-533-534 Classical Arabic Prose (3)
• ARAB-535-536 The Qur’an (3,3)
• ARAB-543-544 Modern Arabic Prose (3, 3)
• ARAB-547 Issues/Methods: Teaching Arabic as a Foreign Language (3)
• ARAB-548 Arabic Proficiency: Current Issues (3)
• ARAB-549-550 Arabic Short Stories (3, 3)
• ARAB 555 Introduction to Arabic and Islamic Studies (3)
• ARAB-627 Intro to the Hadith (3)
• ARAB-701-702 Arabic Lit and Culture (3, 3)

Minor Subjects

A. Islamic Studies (5 three-credit courses)

• ARAB-351-352 Introduction to Arabic Culture (3, 3)
• ARAB-373 Women in the Qur’an (3)
• ARAB-444 Introduction to Islamic Civilization
• ARAB-525 Qur’anic Exegesis (3)
• ARAB-535-536 The Qur’an (3,3)
• ARAB-555 Introduction to Arabic and Islamic Studies
• ARAB-609 The Qur’an in History (3)
• ARAB-610 Science in the Islamic World
• ARAB-611 Islamic Thought on the Eve of Modernity
• ARAB-627 Intro to the Hadith (3)
• ARAB-760 Arab Historiography (3)
• THEO-350 Readings in Sufism (3)

ARAB-444 or its equivalent must be taken as the “gateway” course to the minor in Islamic studies. In addition to the courses offered in the Department of Arabic, a range of courses in Islamic studies are offered in the Department of History, Center for Contemporary Arab Studies, Center for Muslim-Christian Understanding, and the Theology Department. With departmental approval, some of these courses may count towards the minor in Islamic Studies. A partial list of these courses is included under the Islamic Studies PhD program.

NB: Islamic studies courses may count toward the major if they are based on and require study of texts in Arabic. If, however, they are conducted in English and assignments are in English, they may not count toward the Arabic major.

B. Linguistics (5 three-credit courses)

The linguistics course requirements may be satisfied by taking courses in Arabic linguistics or by taking courses in the Linguistics department, or a combination of both.

Courses in Arabic Linguistics offered by the department include:

• ARAB-390 Fundamentals of Language
• ARAB 392 Fundamentals of Arabic Linguistics
• ARAB 404 Arabic Morphology and Syntax
• ARAB 492 Arabic Dialectology
• ARAB 493 Field Methods in Arabic Dialectology
• ARAB 520 History of Arabic Linguistics
• ARAB 547 Issues and Methods in Teaching Arabic as a Foreign Lang.
• ARAB-548 Arabic Proficiency: Current Issues (3)
• LING-711 Classical Arabic Phonetics

Linguistics Department courses cover a wide range of subfields including theoretical linguistics, applied linguistics, sociolinguistics and computational linguistics. Students are encouraged to specialize in one field for the minor. Applied linguistics is recommended for those interested in the methodology of language teaching and second language acquisition; theoretical linguistics is recommended for those interested in phonology, morphology, syntax and semantic theory; for those interested in language variation, dialectology intercultural communication, and discourse analysis, sociolinguistics is recommended; for those interested in computer applications of Arabic linguistics, computational linguistics. Consult with the graduate adviser to determine the most suitable courses for your interests. Please consult the Linguistics department course offerings online.

Arabic Proficiency Exam

Masters candidates who are not native speakers of Arabic must pass a written and oral proficiency examination in Arabic. This exam may be taken at any point during the student’s program, but must be completed before the student takes the comprehensive examination.

Time-to-Degree

In accordance with Graduate School rules, students admitted to the Master’s Degree program are allowed three years from matriculation to complete all requirements for the degree and to graduate. In the case of students who are studying part-time for the Master’s Degree, a five-year limit is imposed.

relevance

This has always been the place where I release my guilt, but it never really leaves. I am prone to using rhetoric of the self, as if I can leave it here, or that leaving it here does not mean that it stays here. I often come to gather older guilt in exchange for something new. Now I have come to see, or it has come to me, that I have not the power to take guilt or leave it. Maybe one has to take it from me? Maybe I have to be willing to give it? but, to Whom?

I think it is a relevant thing to ask. I think its also relevant to expect an answer.

InshAllah

God, Save Palestine

Dead Bones Will Dance

infinite feelings

if only...

Dreamtigers

A series of dreams, connected or not, they are frequent.

1. Sitting on the couch at my parents house, I see a spider. It is small, yet I can see EVERY single detail vividly. I look at it and watch as it jumps off of the couch and lands on my arm, sinking its teeth deeply into my flesh. I quickly remove it from my presence with a flick, and look at the bite expecting to feel fear due to what in my dream, I recognize as a conscious worry of being bitten. But, to my surprise, I feel no fear, only faith that I will be okay. In fact, I insistently demanded that I would be okay and physically restricted my arm from allowing the poison to course through my veins. That is dream one. 7-10-09.

2. Now dream two is very much different, because this time I was fearful of what everyone else was not fearful of. I was in a strange place, but apparently in my mind it was familiar. Many people I knew where there in a summer camp sense. My parents along with past school faculty were working on I dont know what. A flood came and quickly rose higher and higher. Everyone else had left except those working and myself. I wanted to leave but the building, or most of it, was beneath the water, but we were somehow okay due to, airtight doors and windows perhaps?
It is kind of hazy what happened here, but I remember getting outside and seeing all the water and soon after the storm stopping and my father saying, "I told you we'd be fine." I then saw my car and has been completely submerged, yet now it was okay. The bike rack was on the ground, off to the side. I felt that storm would be back. This is dream two. 7-11-09.

3. This dream is more recent, it was actually last night. I woke up with a completely different feeling. I was in longing for this to be true and I do not know why.

I was at the place where I work with a friend, who works there or had worked there, I will not say, but was related to the place in which I work at some point in time. Although it was work, it resembled something more laid back, I do not remember helping any customers, or seeing my employers. Nevertheless, I went out back with my coworker and we were taking the trash out together. Now keep in mind, I was at work, but outside looks nothing like the actual place, but in my mind, I was still at work. Well I told her I would give her a piggyback ride to the dumpster, and she agreed. Jumping on my back, awaiting the ride to the trash can, I felt a sense of excitement, I had butterflies, and I was happy with it. With her hands wrapped around me, we went to finish our job. On the way, for some reason I had the courage, and decided to kiss her hand. She stopped and walked with me somewhat excited that I had done so, saying something to the effect of, "We'd be happy, we could sleep close to each other, and shower together." (sorry this is what she said). All of this being said, it was not in a directly sexual way. From here, I dont know what happened, other than we were at a restraunt in a strange place that was falt and desert like, but had a consistenly busy atmosphere. We were with "friends" but I did not recognize them. This girl that I was with, got up and went to the restroom, and I followed in order to ask her about today. She walked ahead of me, not maliciously, but I just couldn't seem to catch up. She was walking with another guy, who was married, but was talking intently with her. I went to the restroom and then she and I walked back together. She said she was interested, but... and never resumed, for we were back at our table. From there we went back to my work late at night. We were able to open the doors knowing that it was closed. She turned on some reggae-esque hip hop and then went to the back of the store, I followed her, trying my best to formulate questions to ask her, about the "but..." moment we had earlier. I woke up and for some reason wanted it desperately to be true. 7-14-09.

4. This was my last dream. It was terrible violent so I won't go into it. It was almost as if I was on a movie set, and to be honest, I think I was...

I was in the dream, but it wasnt me. I seemed to be doing the action, but as a superhero that was trying to bring justice to a man shooting at him and others. I remember that I could not die, but could still feel the pain of the gunshots. I manuevered around him, not knowing what I was doing, yet knowing that it was soon going to trip him up in some way. Finally I caused him to wreck his car, and I tied something around his neck and was choking him, and beating him, and choking him more. It was vivid and colourful also. I stopped when a car drove by and asked for me to stop, and to let "her go." I was suprised because it was a very large man I was beating. I stopped and then, he stood up, except he was now a she. This girl got into the other car, and went away fine. The last thing i remember was a montage of video clips, where the girl who petioned for the other girl, and the girl I had aparantly fought, were acting together in movies. And then I woke up feeling disturbed. 7-14-09.


any ideas?

Read for yourself without my comment

Instead of hating the people you think are war-makers, hate the appetites and disorder in your own soul, which are the causes of war. If you love peace, then hate injustice, hate tyranny, hate greed - but hate these things in yourself, not in another.

- Thomas Merton,

New Seeds of Contemplation

...and in other news....

Food libel laws

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

(Redirected from Veggie libel law)

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Food libel laws, also known as "food disparagement laws", "veggie libel laws", or "veggie hate laws", are laws passed in 13 U.S. states that make it easier for food industry interests to sue their critics for libel. These 13 states are: Alabama, Arizona, Colorado, Florida, Georgia, Idaho, Louisiana, Mississippi, North Dakota, Ohio, Oklahoma, South Dakota, Texas. ^[1] Many of the food-disparagement laws punish First Amendment-protected expression, establish a lower standard for civil liability, allow for punitive damages and attorneys fees for plaintiffs alone^[2], regardless of the case's outcome. Meaning, even if you are found innocent of Libel, for questioning whether or not hamburger contains ammonia or ecoli, you pay the legal fees of your persecution... Usually a team of very expensive lawyers from the best law firms money can buy.

Contents [hide] 1 History 2 Alar 3 See also 4 References 5 External links

[edit] History

In 1996, television talk-show hostess Oprah Winfrey and one of her guests, Howard Lyman, were involved in a lawsuit surrounding the Texas version of this law. Although they were not the first people to be sued using this type of legal action, this case created a media sensation and is the example most people associate with food libel litigation.

These laws vary greatly from state to state, but they typically allow a food manufacturer or processor to sue a person or group who makes disparaging comments about their food products. In some states these laws also establish weaker standards of proof than are used in traditional American libel lawsuits.^{[citation needed]}

In a normal U.S. libel suit, the plaintiff must prove that the defendant is deliberately and knowingly spreading false information. Under the Texas food disparagement law under which Winfrey and Lyman were sued, the plaintiffs — in this case, beef feedlot operator Paul Engler and the company Cactus Feeders — simply had to convince the jury that Lyman's statements on Winfrey's show deviated from "reasonable and reliable scientific inquiry, facts, or data."

One obvious trouble with such a law is that two reasonable, reliable scientists may not always agree. The subject that Engler and Cactus Feeders were suing Winfrey and Lyman over was BSE (also known as "mad cow disease") which has seen respected, reliable researchers reach quite different conclusions. Such a law partially shifts the burden of proof from the accuser.

Winfrey and Lyman won their case in 1998. However, the lawsuit also had the effect of silencing Winfrey. She stopped speaking on the issue, going so far as to decline to make videotapes of the original interview available to enquiring journalists.^[3]

[edit] Alar

Proponents of food libel laws often cite the Alar "scare" as proof of the necessity of such laws, as farmers' protection against a loose-lipped public. In the Alar incident, a CBS report on a carcinogenic but widely used apple agrichemical led to a brief slump in the apple market^[4] on Alar and a ban on the chemical. Apple growers subsequently sued CBS under existing libel laws and lost. "Never again — not another Alar" became a rallying cry for the food industry.

[edit] See also

• Chilling effect

[edit] References

1. ^ http://cspinet.org/foodspeak/laws/existlaw.htm
2. ^ http://www.thirdworldtraveler.com/Environment/Veggie_Libel.html
3. ^ Sheldon Rampton, John Stauber (1997). Mad Cow USA: Could the nightmare happen here?. Madison, WI: Common Courage Press. pp. 192. ISBN 1567511112.
4. ^ "Fruit Growers Pull Commercials To Protest Report by CBS". New York Times. May 7, 1989.

[edit] External links

• "Serving You Tonight Will Be Our Lawyer". New York Times. March 7, 2007
• "Farmers' Right to Sue Grows, Raising Debate on Food Safety". New York Times. June 1. 1999.
• "Apple growers bruised and bitter after alar scare". New York Times. July 9, 1991.
• Chilling effect of laws from the Center for Science in the Public Interest
• Existing laws by state Center for Science in the Public Interest.

And last but not least...

CHECK THIS OUT IF YOU EAT FOOD!

Proof

Ezekiel 47:21

“So you shall divide this land among yourselves according to the tribes of Israel. 22 “You shall divide it by lot for an inheritance among yourselves and among the aliens who stay in your midst, who bring forth sons in your midst. And they shall be to you as the native-born among the sons of Israel; they shall be allotted an inheritance with you among the tribes of Israel. 23 “And in the tribe with which the alien stays, there you shall give him his inheritance,” declares the Lord GOD.

Taken From Freegaza.org

An Open Letter to President Obama
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News

Wednesday, 03 June 2009 17:59 Written by Free Gaza Movement
03 June 2009
Dear President Obama,

Tomorrow you travel to Egypt to give one of the most important speeches of your presidency. With the words you deliver you have said that you want to “reset” U.S. relations with the Muslim world and create a fundamental change for the better. We sincerely wish you well. But you have also said that “part of being a good friend is being honest.” Let’s be honest.

Israel’s ongoing occupation and colonization of Palestinian land and the United States’ unquestioned financial, military and political support for Israel is at the heart of the negative perceptions and bitter anger that many Arabs and Muslims have of the United States. Tomorrow, we hope to hear from you a commitment to aligning U.S. policy in the Middle East with U.N. Resolutions and international law.

The Universal Declaration of Human Rights gives everyone the right to freely enter and exit one’s own country. You will exercise this right when you arrive in Egypt tomorrow and then return to the United States. This is a right that Palestinians--particularly those trapped in Gaza--are routinely denied.

* Over 200 Palestinian medical patients in Gaza, many critically ill, are unable to seek adequate treatment because Israeli authorities regularly deny Palestinian patients the right to travel abroad to receive the medical treatment that is not available in Gaza; at the same time import of many medicines and medical equipment into Gaza is prevented by Israel.
* Over 700 Palestinian students in Gaza, many with scholarships, are unable to attend their universities abroad because Israel regularly denies them this right.
* Thousands of Palestinians abroad are unable to visit their families because Israel will not allow them to re-enter their own country.

When you arrive in Egypt you will travel to your accommodations in a car maintained with spare parts banned to Palestinians, powered by gasoline denied to the people of Gaza. You will use electric lights that do not often work in Gaza, because Israel blocks the fuel needed to run Gaza’s electrical grid. You may enjoy a cup of coffee or tea during your visit - commodities Israel will not allow into Gaza.

The truth is that Israel lets in less than 20% of the ordinary supplies needed in Gaza, and allows no reconstruction materials whatsoever to enter. As a consequence over 95% of all industries have collapsed, creating massive unemployment and poverty. The purpose of the Israeli blockade is to punish and break an entire people. Collective punishment is strictly prohibited under international law, yet it remains Israel’s primary policy in regards to the Palestinian people.

On June 25th, the Free Gaza Movement sets sail on our eighth voyage to challenge the brutal Israeli blockade of Gaza. Though we have been threatened and our ships rammed by the Israeli navy, we will not be deterred. We sail in the spirit of the Freedom Riders who, in the year you were born, risked their lives so that African-Americans could travel freely in the United States. We sail in the spirit of international cooperation that helped create the United Nations, in the spirit of the international civil resistance that overcame Apartheid.

President Obama, you have based your political career on what you call the “audacity of hope” - the faith that each of us, individually and collectively, can change things for the better. But faith without action is dead. We too believe in hope, but from our experience we know that hope alone will not change the world. Like you, we know that the price and promise of our mutual humanity demands that each of us treat one another with dignity and respect, and that all of us strive to insure that our sisters and brothers around the world are free to make of their lives what they will, and pursue their full measure of happiness.

Mister President, you led the fight in the U.S. Senate to insure that aid was actually delivered to people after Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans. A man-made disaster continues to devastate the people of Gaza; due to Israel’s ongoing hermetic closure of the Gaza Strip over 80% of the population there require food assistance just in order to survive. We hope your speech tomorrow in Egypt is successful but, at a minimum, you must use your privilege to demand and secure open access to Gaza for all international humanitarian, reconstruction, and developmental supplies. Words matter, but words are not enough.

We in the Free Gaza Movement will sail to Gaza again and again and again, in vigorous unarmed resistance, until the Israeli blockade is forever shattered and the Palestinian people have free access to the rest of the world.

Please recognize that the fact that we even have to ask (let alone risk our lives) to be allowed to provide food to the hungry, medicine to the sick, and shelter to the homeless is in itself an obscenity. We look forward to hearing from you an uncompromising commitment for the immediate end of the criminal siege of Gaza, as well as an assurance that respect for the human rights, dignity and equality of the Palestinian people will be at the core of your administration’s policy toward the Israeli-Arab conflict.

Sincerely Yours,
The Free Gaza Movement Board of Directors
Huwaida Arraf, JD
Greta Berlin
Eliza Ernshire
Derek Graham
Fathi Jaouadi
Ramzi Kysia

Thank You, Jesus Manifesto and Samuel Clemens.

"It was a time of great and exalting excitement. The country was up in arms, the war was on, in every breast burned the holy fire of patriotism; the drums were beating, the bands playing, the toy pistols popping, the bunched firecrackers hissing and spluttering; on every hand and far down the receding and fading spread of roofs and balconies a fluttering wilderness of flags flashed in the sun; daily the young volunteers marched down the wide avenue gay and fine in their new uniforms, the proud fathers and mothers and sisters and sweethearts cheering them with voices choked with happy emotion as they swung by; nightly the packed mass meetings listened, panting, to patriot oratory which stirred the deepest deeps of their hearts, and which they interrupted at briefest intervals with cyclones of applause, the tears running down their cheeks the while; in the churches the pastors preached devotion to flag and country, and invoked the God of Battles beseeching His aid in our good cause in outpourings of fervid eloquence which moved every listener. It was indeed a glad and gracious time, and the half dozen rash spirits that ventured to disapprove of the war and cast a doubt upon its righteousness straightway got such a stern and angry warning that for their personal safety’s sake they quickly shrank out of sight and offended no more in that way.

Sunday morning came — next day the battalions would leave for the front; the church was filled; the volunteers were there, their young faces alight with martial dreams — visions of the stern advance, the gathering momentum, the rushing charge, the flashing sabers, the flight of the foe, the tumult, the enveloping smoke, the fierce pursuit, the surrender! Then home from the war, bronzed heroes, welcomed, adored, submerged in golden seas of glory! With the volunteers sat their dear ones, proud, happy, and envied by the neighbors and friends who had no sons and brothers to send forth to the field of honor, there to win for the flag, or, failing, die the noblest of noble deaths. The service proceeded; a war chapter from the Old Testament was read; the first prayer was said; it was followed by an organ burst that shook the building, and with one impulse the house rose, with glowing eyes and beating hearts, and poured out that tremendous invocation:

God the all-terrible! Thou who ordainest! Thunder thy clarion and lightning thy sword!

Then came the “long” prayer. None could remember the like of it for passionate pleading and moving and beautiful language. The burden of its supplication was, that an ever-merciful and benignant Father of us all would watch over our noble young soldiers, and aid, comfort, and encourage them in their patriotic work; bless them, shield them in the day of battle and the hour of peril, bear them in His mighty hand, make them strong and confident, invincible in the bloody onset; help them to crush the foe, grant to them and to their flag and country imperishable honor and glory –

An aged stranger entered and moved with slow and noiseless step up the main aisle, his eyes fixed upon the minister, his long body clothed in a robe that reached to his feet, his head bare, his white hair descending in a frothy cataract to his shoulders, his seamy face unnaturally pale, pale even to ghastliness. With all eyes following him and wondering, he made his silent way; without pausing, he ascended to the preacher’s side and stood there waiting. With shut lids the preacher, unconscious of his presence, continued with his moving prayer, and at last finished it with the words, uttered in fervent appeal, “Bless our arms, grant us the victory, O Lord our God, Father and Protector of our land and flag!”

The stranger touched his arm, motioned him to step aside — which the startled minister did — and took his place. During some moments he surveyed the spellbound audience with solemn eyes, in which burned an uncanny light; then in a deep voice he said:

“I come from the Throne — bearing a message from Almighty God!” The words smote the house with a shock; if the stranger perceived it he gave no attention. “He has heard the prayer of His servant your shepherd, and will grant it if such shall be your desire after I, His messenger, shall have explained to you its import — that is to say, its full import. For it is like unto many of the prayers of men, in that it asks for more than he who utters it is aware of — except he pause and think.

“God’s servant and yours has prayed his prayer. Has he paused and taken thought? Is it one prayer? No, it is two — one uttered, the other not. Both have reached the ear of Him Who heareth all supplications, the spoken and the unspoken. Ponder this — keep it in mind. If you would beseech a blessing upon yourself, beware! lest without intent you invoke a curse upon a neighbor at the same time. If you pray for the blessing of rain upon your crop which needs it, by that act you are possibly praying for a curse upon some neighbor’s crop which may not need rain and can be injured by it.

“You have heard your servant’s prayer — the uttered part of it. I am commissioned of God to put into words the other part of it — that part which the pastor — and also you in your hearts — fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard these words: ‘Grant us the victory, O Lord our God!’ That is sufficient. the *whole* of the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory–*must* follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!

“O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle — be Thou near them! With them — in spirit — we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it — for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.

[pause]

“Ye have prayed it; if ye still desire it, speak! The messenger of the Most High waits!”

It was believed afterward that the man was a lunatic, because there was no sense in what he said."

I never really tried as hard as I said I did.

It is not eloquent or easy to read. There is nothing about it that should be easy to digest, that is exactly why it should be read. In memory of both the oppressed and the oppressor... we have to believe that there is liberation and renewal for both. Christ, we ask for amazement, energy, and redemption for both the Israelis and the Palestinians.

***

Jean Stewart
El Sobrante, CA
©2008


"I wrote this poem partly in response to the Israeli policy of home demolition by bulldozer.
Palestinian families whose homes are targeted for destruction are notified by loudspeaker.
Sometimes they’re given barely half an hour to carry out their belongings and vacate their
homes. Many elderly and disabled Palestinians have been buried in the rubble of their homes
because they could not, or would not, leave.
I also wrote the poem in response to the many incidents in which pregnant Palestinian women
have attempted to make it to hospital, only to be stopped at checkpoint by Israeli soldiers who
refuse to let them pass, forcing them to either turn around and drive home or give birth at
checkpoint. In either case, these births take place under circumstances of extreme stress and
danger, without medical assistance, with sometimes disastrous consequences.
Both of these scenarios—women giving birth “in extremis” and Palestinian families made
homeless when their houses are demolished—have become commonplace in Palestine. In my
mind I’ve tended to view them as two separate—though obviously related—narratives, but
recently it occurred to me that somewhere in Gaza or Jenin or elsewhere in Palestine, the two
horrific scenarios are bound to converge, if they have not already."


THE CHOICE


“I ask you youngest citizens to believe the evidence of your eyes. You have seen that life is fragile, and evil is real, and courage triumphs. Make the choice to serve in a cause larger than your wants, larger than yourself, and in your days you will add not just to the wealth of your country but to its character." -- George W. Bush

In Palestine the about-to-be
firstborn of a twenty two year old
woman roils and churns in amniotic
unease his journey having
hit a snag when checkpoint
soldiers deny his parents passage
thwarting all thought of
hospital birth.
They turn and drive home.
Not yet a citizen of
the human world he doesn’t
see how his mother’s sweat
wets the sheets glues brown hair to cheeks
nor how his father hovers: Love I’m here
Don’t cry Doesn’t hear what
his father now hears: the tanks.
If he were a born boy he’d see his father
turn on the television
2
loud slip from the room to race
outdoors arms aloft pleading
No stop my wife—
while she
grips the mattress, arching her back.
He’d see his mother lost
in labor oblivious to
loudspeaker
gunfire tanks
She wails stops wails
Her brown eyes fix
on the American who sits
at his desk amidst marvelous order—
just a few papers in one neat stack—squinting
back at her and speaking. The camera moves
outdoors to gaze at the White House
shimmering in sun. Presidential words
vibrate glinting like tossed coins.
Courage triumphs
Look Hassan! Such green green
grass!
Serve in a cause
And flowers! Hassan let’s plant—
In those moments just as
her body loses itself in a wild red
flowering of flesh
he the unseeing
the neverborn
he of the tiny
bulldozed bud of a heart
makes his choice
and will carry it
will carry it
will carry it on.