Sheeba's Old View from the Window

What happened? What's happening. Sheeba's view from the window. Mine, on occasion, from wherever. Yours, from ... where.......?

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Samiya Bashir’s books of poetry, Field Theories (Spring 2017), Gospel, andWhere the Apple Falls, and anthologies, including Role Call: A Generational Anthology of Social & Political Black Literature & Art, exist. Sometimes she makes poems of dirt. Sometimes zeros and ones. Sometimes variously rendered text. Sometimes light. She lives in Portland, Ore, with a magic cat who shares her obsessions with trees and blackbirds and occasionally crashes her classes and poetry salons at Reed College.

samiya bashir dot com


Wednesday, June 02, 2004

Like Americans Without an Idol




Like a night sky, starless (cityscape)
Like A. Sharpton without a perm (viable)
Like a cat in window, blogless (bored stiff)
Like a man without his sperm (el presidente!)

Like a No. 2 pencil, dulled (keep it on point)
Like a messasge-free Dem at dawn (Bring it on!)
Like a gun without a bullet (Bush)
Like a Bush without a lawn (11:2004)

I'm a Cowboy. On a Steel Horse I Ride.

Ah ... and now I get to one of my favorite little bits of:
(drumroll please)

FUN IRAQ TRAGICOMEDY!
(insert high-pitched, giggly laugh track here)

We've run out of bullets.

Here's a quote:
"Winning a war without bullets is like trying to educate kids without any books. Oh, right, I guess we're doing that too."

Okay ... no first of all, neither I (nor my Feeder, I must say) endorse anyone that we don't go "WE ENDORSE THIS MADNESS" to.

But really ... these freakin' Hawks (pause for licking of drool from mouth-fur) go to all kinds of trouble, waste billions of dollars, bomb the hell out of entire families, wedding parties, villages, ensure that -- oh -- thousands of years worth of priceless artwork and and cultural artifacts are destroyed and/or lost for centuries, send in scads of untrained, improperly armed, unprotected, unshielded weekend warriors to do the job of, well, full time ones ... AND NO ONE TAKES A MINUTE TO STOCK UP ON THE AMMUNITION?

Come on folks. The original GW rowin' up the Delaware had better forethought then that ... and he had to measure powder from a leather bag for every shot he wanted to take!

This is where the insane meets the ridiculous people.

This is where cats and dogs have to take paws (pause? i can never spell that one) and say: hmm ... what's the point of the chase again? Can't we all get along? If we can't ... can I at least get some freakin' bullets for the battle?!

Even Jon Bon Jovi (and yes, later on I'll allow Feeder to bore the hell out of you w/ her story of how she was forced, in her formative teenage years, to spend the night outside of the Michigan Union so that underage baby sister could get tickets. Oh, the shame to her high school rep. -- a story i've long grown bored of) had the sense to cut hair and act when the time came.

Got gun? GET A FREAKIN BULLET!
The Hawks who have the nerve to spend entire lifetimes planning wars should take this one little hint from HAWKERY FOR DUMMIES: if you plan on hittin' it ... you'd better come packin' (generously reprinted in "So You Wanna Be A Dyke Top?" (High Risk publications, 1995). (nod to dinner)

Hissssssss.....

(read on)

Red Cross Rice anyone?

Turning the Tide: Humanitarian Interventions?

Check out Noam Chomsky's li'l ol' blog ... he has a bit on Somali / Rwanda talktalk on there which is worth a quick read. There's much more in there.

He's so serious ... does he never take a moment to just give the Grey Lady a good ol' piss on? I say he should.

However, serious or not, he can be pretty on point.

Any hey, in deference to The Feeder, anyone who even so much as MENTION'S Somalia (and the ridiculous Operation Restore Hope ... haha! That's like the renaming of Abu Ghraib "Camp Redemption"! (Thanks Randi Rhodes for that tidbit ... you know what i like about those good ol' gals at the Air America ... Laura, Randi, the like ... when you give assignmetns of shit to look up.)

So, here's yours bloggers!

SUBMIT (and click)!
(you know you want to)

Tuesday, June 01, 2004


Okay ... gotta give it up to my boy McGrudder. In the (anti-homophobic) name of all who need not see hairy-bootied men in general, and especially in the midst of torture, I say: HERE HERE. So ... let's stop the violence. Vote like you have a brain, will ya?

BRING IT ... to a freakin' halt.

That is all. I got a hairball just thinkin' about it.

Fat Chicks.

Haha!
I was going to go off on a day-long treatise on obesity in America (largesse begins at home) ... but fuck it.

Size Matters

I mentioned how much I loved (yes, I snuck in on a matinee. i'm small. i'm fuzzy. who's gonna argue?) SuperSize Me. Now you can see why. Click above to check out this gnarly interview w/ Morgan what's-his-face who did the flick.

That Mother Jones ... she sho-nuff was a big ol' woman. And gives a hell of an interview to boot!

(speaking of ... i'm ready for all the puss-in-boots comments now. thank you for giving me a moment to slick my fur back. now, you may begin.)

You Think America's in Bad Shape ... You Should See California!

American Liberalism's Achilles Heel

American Liberalism's Achilles Heel

Okay, so while my Feeder is putting in 30 million hour shifts at the so-called "office" (read: Abu Times Square), I'm just going to go ahead and log on here from the window sill and break a few things down (with all due thanks and pointy-eared head nods to her (p.s. where's my Friskies?!).

So, she had a lovely weekend (so I observed from afar) hanging w/ the various and sundry lovely doyennes of Aztlan.

First: The North.

A&C came through for a little vacationary trip. She got to hang w/ A & C & L a few times having a lovely dinner, checking out this fantasmagoric Philipino joint in SoHo (go figure). It's right next to the new Toys in Babeland, so if the food don't getcha, the "pinwheel" (figure it out and get one) will. She sometimes neglects to tell me the names of things in her sleep (that's where the best chisme comes from) so you know ... check back.

Hung out in the park on Saturday -- gorgeous -- walked a million blocks through the park, from west side to east side (hail to the Met!) and back. Tried to buy a bike. Failed. Giving big-ups to the neighborhood willie who just may come through with a hookup.

Next: The South.

Sunday, had another hang out in the park day. Full of lovely ladies (Viva la freakin' Raza homes!) and sunshine sunshine. A (a new A), J's friend from L.A. (J has all the best LA friends, in case you were wondering) and she's (a) FINE, (b) sweet as hell, (c) cool and dope and interesting. So they did the whole hang out in the sun thing, then split out to the BK for a fiesta they were too tired & lame to enjoy for long.

Finally, Headed Back Up North like Jim Crow:

Monday, once she realized she'd completely forgotten most of her Spanglish (KWKW-La Mexicana ... donde estan?) she went back to work. Been there ever since.

Actually bucked out for a few ours w/ the Northern Cali ladies ... hung out w/ various & sundry literary folk and had various and sundry literary conversations. However, was a bit ill and couldn't enjoy as much as she wanted. Came home all cranky and pissed at about 3am (after going back to the office like a f'in drone).

For those who haven't heard the ridiculous dramas of the Barbara Boxer / Dianne Feinstein ritual backstabbing of the California electorate ... do a bit of research. Anecdotal evidence makes me cry for my home-cats.

SPECIAL NOTE TO BACK-SLIDING, PSEUDO-LIBERALS: If you're a self-proclaimed, leftist, democrat, black/women/gay-vote-bating, woman running for office in an imaginarily democratic state (medical marijuana meets arnold schwartzenegger, nee reagan ... all in one spot? nuffsaid) ... COME CORRECT! This is the shit that had me clutching at the bars of my pound/prison/guantanemo-mesh walls screeching to aunti-mina: GET ME OUTTA THIS PLACE! (I had yet to me Old Man Winter. harumph.)

So, today. I got to watch the thuderstorms. That actually kinda rocked. They were banging up the sky like my Detroit Home Slices the White Stripes! Like a Seven Nation Army (everyone on the damn UN team except for the U.S. of course -- cuz they like to go it alone) to hold back the rain! Rain on storm clouds!

SPECIAL NOTE TO THE RESIDENTS OF THE JAZZ ON THE PARK HOSTEL: SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! AT 3 IN THE MORNING, EVEN *I*, laissez faire tabby extraordinaire am ready for some f'in sleep!

Now, today, despite the construction on Janet's new spot across the way, I enjoyed thunderstorm watching, Ellen re-run viewing, 360 (hey AC/JR/kathleen & tommy!) viewing -- do vote on their polls, I watch. I want you all to agree w/ me -- www.cnn.com/360.

Now ... The Feeder left me this morning w/ her standard so-long "Goodbye Sheeba! Have a great day! I'll be home this evening!" She says this every day upon leaving the house ... like some sort of Bahston Red Sox twitcher. Like if she didn't say it she wouldn't come back. I ain't complainin' though. Once she's gone I fire up the Powerbook and get my fill of the news of the day.

SPECIAL NOTE TO FOFIE: I GOT THOSE FREE TIX TO THE CHAD VS. URUGUAY SOCCER MATCH YOU ASKED FOR!

Some woman (DC ... tsk tsk tsk. The Feeder, while having no love for the District, attempts a fair amount of compassion for those who (For some reason) choose to live there. I have no such loyalties. All those bitches can kiss my furry striped ass. I hate that "town" and all it represents. I hated every minute I lived there. Just thinking about it makes me wanna go piss on her chair or something. So ... Some woman had the nerve to sound surprised at my "acerbic wit" ... like, cat's can't be witty. AND THIS WOMAN'S MET ME! Trippin. I piss on you and your limited understanding of the true gravitas of the feline class. I bite your ankle. I leave you to your lame non-ascerbic cats. This is exactly why civil rights have yet to arrive ... let women be women, let blacks be people, let dykes get a fuckin sex scene ... let cat's be their witty ascerbic selves ... (this blog has been temporarily interrupted for the following public service announcement: the views in this blog are solely Sheeba's and do not represent the feeder.) <-- SHE MADE ME INSERT THAT!

Now, where was I?

Ah, yes. The news of the day.

Didja hear that KERRY is pulling "let america be america again" as a possible new campaign slogan? Check out my fave old gray broad's side on it:
Link


I say yes ... let the bitches revel in poetry again! Langston rules, and poetry keeps me in Fancy Feast and scented litter ... so I ain't hatin.

I actually spent a week-day w/ no Air America. I'm feeling MUSICOLOGY. Prince rocks. Don't let the haters hype you away from the truth.

Of course, I like Guns-n-Roses. So go figure. I'm a f'in bloggin, cursin, spitting out the window screen tabby cat. I can be eccentric.

I also liked the piece about Grey's plays. (look it up you lazy fucks)

Now ... I'm out for now. Maybe I'll share some words of not-so-wisdom later.

Right now, I see a piece of very important paper I have yet to chew up. I'm off the sill.

--Sheeb

(CHECK BACK SOON! and if you punks don't comment soon ... i tell ya what ...)

The Prison Atrocities You Haven't Heard Of ...

'Homies Were Burning Alive'

AlterNet: 'Homies Were Burning Alive'

This, I must say, is ridiculous. Typical. Of course f'in Giuliani would have some hand in this mess.

Read on Homies ... Read on ...