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


Friday, June 11, 2004



Sheeba's Eulogy (in honor of those who somehow survived):

Conspire This!

So ... the folks at The
Randi Rhodes Show Blog predicted ... on May 7th that Reagan would die before the election (yeah ... it was supposed to be an October Surprise, but hey ... the day the liberals get it together will be the day I lionize Reagan ... how's that for incentive? Kinda funny ... the oh, how we love him, oh how we're like him, oh how he was such a good guy that Gipper! (see the pinching cheeks) is falling right into place.

The good news: Kerry's poll points keep climbing. I honestly believe that MOST of the country (despite wherever the camera's are rolling) was sick of this story by Sunday. The Dubya's vote-for-me! site has been taken over by Reagan-ass-kissing. He seems even more gleefully ignorant of Nancy's straight-up-dis of him then he is of the 'we-love-torture' memo's Ass-crack is trying to hide from Congress. (BTW: Sidebar to Biden -- love ya. mean it. time to lay way off the Viagra, brah.)


Ah ... but for the love of conspiracy theories: GIVE THESE A GO!


Will the 2004 Election Be Called Off? Why Three Out of Four Experts Predict a Terrorist Attack by November - Maureen Farrell at BuzzFlash.com


Dubya Putsch


OOPS! Was that Dubya or was it .... all's I know is, it's feelin' a bit like 1923 and I got the same question now as I woulda had then: Where the hell can a cat get a nip o' the Gin in this here town?!


Neo-Cons on the Brink


Now. I don't know if by "Conspiracy Theory" you thought I meant somehow "false". I don't think I did.

Thursday, June 10, 2004

Reagan: Farewell to Coverage. A future, remembered.

(title stolen from Steven Colbert, The Daily Show)


So, as a 10-year-old tabby cat, I wasn't even born when Reagan was in office. You'd think that would keep me safe and sound. But NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. I spent my first, formative weeks in The Pound. So listen ... I know all about livin' la vida welfare. Reagan? His dirty, bloody hands were all over my cage. Yes, even then. (No, he never remembered it.)


One who does not take alzheimer's lightly (family troubles ... personal issues ... the ol' Feeder's greatest fear lies somewhere scripted in the movie IRIS) ... I do tend to think that people's evil karma takes many forms. Reagan's ... well, he had his. Reagan's family? Doesn't the family always suffer the sins of the father? It's all a bit too typical to even comment upon.


However ... I'll attach the appropriate links as my own protest to: THE WEEK OF SUCKING REAGAN'S DEAD WHITE DICK ... (insert echo chamber sound f/x).


From what I hear ... everyone from Nicaragua to Botha's South Africa has a little ditty to add to that song. Here's The Feeder's during-his-lifetime input from the visage of 1980's Detroit Rock (i.e., Motor) City (with nods to the following: Michael Moore for keeping it real from Flint, Darlene @ NBC for bringing the cool cat crispies):


A THURSDAY NIGHT HAUNTING OF RONALD REAGAN’S DREAMS


Listen:


all i’ve ever known how to do is build things. spent the last 20 years of my life making cars for a living. spent the last 20 years of my life buying bread the day after it wuz baked, buying water which ran free in the river not far from home, buying cars i built with my own two hands yet still could never afford. i sang that song, dreamt that lie, awoke to the whistle of the coffee brake bell.


my sweat becomes oil. my pistons take your families wherever you want to go—at least i remember when they did. i wuz born in this town now heavy with the ghosts of all our children who could not afford to stay. i wuz never bookish though, content to fix bikes and brake pads, to see my creations go. but my greatest creation also went.


my daughter was bookish enough for the both of us. yet, after 18 years of sweat, i still couldn’t afford to send her to school. it got so i had even to beg for bread—things weren’t supposed to be like this. whole cities built by people creating life washed away by the swath of a pen. so much mightier was the profit than our souls. spirits wasted, frozen cold on the old northern streets where once we bled for what you hastily bought and sold. we believed in our work, our livelihoods, never once thought what we were building could be so disposable.


and we will chase you. I will. chase you into sepulcher nightmares. we won’t let you awaken. and we will make you sit quietly, listen to our stories without interruption, watch exhaustive, poorly edited trailers depicting beautiful children destroyed, pictures of devastation all over the nation you sought to rule. there will be no toll free number, no address where you might send a check.


I’ll begin when the moon is high, work my way into high noon, capture you slowly. you will give us our nuremberg. quite soon you too will wish you could die. We are merciful. We love our children. We will make you sit quietly, listen to our stories without interrupting. We will allow you to keep your wife’s concerned smile close at hand. We will not allow you to reach it. Sit quietly.

Listen.

ISLAM: For Hotties!




Muslim-Refusenik.com: The official website of Irshad Manji, author of The Trouble with Islam

So I think I want Ishrad Manji to be my new momma. The Feeder needs to get with this one, yo.

For the rest of anyone out there who's tripping on that whole -- hmmm ... so many terrorists, but my gas station attendants seem so friendly! What gives?

Check it out. As a daughter of Islam, sorta (I'm a feline who's down w/ my heritage, after all) I'm always happy when someone breaks down the humanism that ties Muslims together (check out the big 5). However, that humanism -- the love, the giving, the togetherness, the prayer -- seems (and, check out the Reagan-deification to understand the whole Things-Are-Not-Always-What-They-Seem -- DAMN. I WAS GOING TO SEE HOW LONG I COULD GO W/O MENTIONING REAGAN. I guess I picked the wrong week to keep listening to even minor media.) overwhelmed by fundamentalism.

Ah ... check it out folks.

Me? I'm thinking about summering in Jordan.