Western Sahara Awareness Week is coming everyone.
We spent the day with Carlos Gonzalez and this insightful, knowledgeable, warm persona should have every focus on him so people can listen to the important experiences he has to share. at 7pm today, Monday, he will be in Cleveland L3 from 7 to 8.30 presenting his documentary and talking about his being taken captive by Moroccan police for documenting Saharawi students in the occupied territories. He was accused of being a Venezuelan spy. He will especially be talking about students and people who have been subjected to torture in Moroccan prisons (for their speaking out about the repression), discrimination of Saharawis in schools, and he will shed light on the deliberate elimination by Moroccan authority of all Saharawi literature, history and culture in schools in the occupied territories.
So this should be an important talk...
Please come to it!
Nina
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Grow Not Then
Has gone or passed this shade of fainted blue?
This circulation of blood not full yet dark blue
Burned and buried long in turn with yearning,
Yet still turning, never getting there
But in a sudden there, there with seconded sight saw
The blue it, which downcast, spelling
An image into ground descended
Sprung out of heart a long-borne love
(Whose colors too few chosen make visible)
With heart and love then dies
A phantom of deluge, hazed and dashing
Arrows at a leaflet, in gesture still tinged with
Coursed events of naked, green, wicked, life
Delight for years of general tries blended blue with sparkles.
Hues of winter, springs of bells, vibrating banishment of the life far too oft not acknowledged and gloomed through a looking glass tormented along a torrent of glue looming in the bite of an irregular fruit whose injury proves ominous save till once who will glimpse the fountain gone?
Grow not then, for it will banish this fountain gone,
As the Evening rises in that twinkling hour, when it became
Backs bouncing in a lake of blue ripples, that reversing motion
Still written in the deep dark glistening blue
This circulation of blood not full yet dark blue
Burned and buried long in turn with yearning,
Yet still turning, never getting there
But in a sudden there, there with seconded sight saw
The blue it, which downcast, spelling
An image into ground descended
Sprung out of heart a long-borne love
(Whose colors too few chosen make visible)
With heart and love then dies
A phantom of deluge, hazed and dashing
Arrows at a leaflet, in gesture still tinged with
Coursed events of naked, green, wicked, life
Delight for years of general tries blended blue with sparkles.
Hues of winter, springs of bells, vibrating banishment of the life far too oft not acknowledged and gloomed through a looking glass tormented along a torrent of glue looming in the bite of an irregular fruit whose injury proves ominous save till once who will glimpse the fountain gone?
Grow not then, for it will banish this fountain gone,
As the Evening rises in that twinkling hour, when it became
Backs bouncing in a lake of blue ripples, that reversing motion
Still written in the deep dark glistening blue
The God of my Heart is the God of my Soul.
Whereupon it rained, said the shepherdess.
It shined through, that day, wrote the shepherd.
Was it dignity?, added she.
Were it not for your pride, chided he.
For indeed it had been so many hours, so many years, so many forevers ago, that she had beheld her sanctuary. With all her pride she had beheld it. And it was gruesome, for God's presence filled the paradise.
So beautiful, so splendorous, was the place, darting about her dreams, her brightest sunshine, that such a world would never cease again.
Words that were left to render it present became a continuous thread, woven along the specks and glitters of Time Itself. Of all that ever was, ever is, ever will be.
It shined through, that day, wrote the shepherd.
Was it dignity?, added she.
Were it not for your pride, chided he.
For indeed it had been so many hours, so many years, so many forevers ago, that she had beheld her sanctuary. With all her pride she had beheld it. And it was gruesome, for God's presence filled the paradise.
So beautiful, so splendorous, was the place, darting about her dreams, her brightest sunshine, that such a world would never cease again.
Words that were left to render it present became a continuous thread, woven along the specks and glitters of Time Itself. Of all that ever was, ever is, ever will be.
But memory is never lost, whispered she.
Will you then ever find it? breathed he.
Will you then ever find it? breathed he.
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