S&L #74 Winter 2003
I hit a real slump this past fall, which I can fortunately say that I have now come back out of. Even though it’s the middle of winter and colder than I can remember in years, my spirits are pretty high. I’m still waiting for the big snow storm that I just know is coming. But in the meantime the ground here in Richmond is actually frozen and that rarely happens. I’m hoping it will be enough winter to kill the ants so that I can have a new start to the garden this spring. But enough of that.
Pirate Dreams and Dark Blue Stories
The Tijuana River is little more than a crystalline stream as it trickles down from the mountains outside Tecate. Trout splash around in small pools and for much of its upper reaches, it's clean enough to drink out of. But then the river drops a few thousand feet and weaves its way back and forth across the border with the graceful curves of a drunk driver. Destination? A sultry, brackish rendezvous with the ever so sexy Pacific.
It's been months since I hung out with other punks. The Sea and this needy old boat have captured so much of my attention that I go to sleep at dusk and wake before dawn. Being so far away from my friends and lovers floods me with an apprehensive loneliness, but at the same time, has given me tons of perspective on the scene and all of its eccentricities.
So this column, so unlike other column’s I have done for this magazine, starts out with some drawn out, personal story, before it gets to the central point that I am trying to get at. You may think this is a waste of words, but I look at it as ‘setting building’ where I personalize the political, making the theorizing more accessible for you, the reader.
Before I left New Orleans nine months ago, I had been playing drums with my partner Icky (who played tuba) and my friend Stella (on guitar) in a punk band called the Foreheads. It was our first real band, and we were all nervous and trying to figure out how to be on stage without feeling like pissing every ten seconds.
So, for some reason animal activism appears to be on the downswing these days or rather these years. I have really noticed the difference here in Richmond. About five years ago animal activism was a priority and a strong entity in this town. Many of the activists from that time that still remain in this city are doing nothing related to animal rights or welfare and in addition are not even vegetarian or vegan anymore. Naturally, I cannot help but want to understand this. I realize that folks that are aware of factory farming and have been act
bitter cold, shameless self promotion, lung cancer and thrash...
I want to do a fatherhood issue of my zine - its about time. I mean, I am so woman-centric being a woman and all. Do men write about fatherhood as much as woman write about motherhood? All you got to do is check out the hip parenting sites to see that apparently not. Does mothering cover most of the basics of parenting and all fathers need to do is learn good mothering skills?
I see the brightness of the distant mountain peaks and a quiet peace stirs inside. Staring at the sky and breathing in the cool mountain air, I bask in the resultant calm. And in the true fashion of someone with an overactive mind, I begin asking myself why I feel this way, why I have this intense affinity for nature. Of course there are the aesthetic and survival reasons, but for me, there is something that underlies it all. I want to find something real.