8.19.11 how not to stop coming home: collaborative generating #12

8.19.11 how not to stop coming home: collaborative generating #12



in response to bushra’s note on gratitude,

yes! I like this practice of gratitude.

I look forward each morning to see what has arrived through the day and night. Your words and ideas taking form, taking flight. Thank you for being in the path and for your gift of time and energy to be present. Your presence is necessary 🙂



every day this starting

again this blue light

when the breathing stops

secure the locks

half-submerged {I wish you could hold me}

chattambee 100 thousand stones

two ravens complaining

{consecutive kinds of submission}

to traffic. a single verb. to restore

on the edge of salish sea the pidgin


to pay my mother’s karma

everyday the ignition

rainwater in my sandals

say flesh blue heron I’m

coming home

walk the other way


(made from the words of Monica Hand, Carol Gomez, Hari Malagayo Alluri, Melissa Morrow, Serena W. Lin, Evangeline Ganaden, Melissa Sipin and Bushra Rehman. With nods to Khadijah Queen & Natasha Marin.)


Promptings for your writings:


from another collaborative project curated by ana-maurine lara, a 36daysweeksmonthsyearslifetimes, photo from luo yu.

36 days, weeks, months, years, lifetimes -- from Ana-Maurine Lara's collaborative project!



Millay slug, photo by Cristián Flores García:



Where children don’t sleep
In resting tremor and shelling
The earth is a pomegranate

Fady Joudah


Carrie Mae Weems:

By Any Means Necessary


Image from And 22 Million Very Tired and Very Angry People, 1989-1990


nothing you can see is not a flower
nothing you can think is not the moon
– basho (via Hari Malagayo Alluri)


My prompt for today is collaboration in the form of the following progression of three videos, posted here in order.

A little background: the theme was created for the show “Game of Thrones,” which is based on the fantasy book series, A Song of Ice and Fire by Gorge R. R. Martin (first book published in 1996, the fifth book just published this summer, the story not yet finished and ongoing into the future).

Video 1: The fully orchestrated theme, as created for the HBO show:

Video 2: A fan’s interpretation of the theme on violin:

Video 3: A fan’s interpretation of the violinist’s interpretation of the theme, posted on YouTube as a “heavy version”:

via Melissa Morrow


P. Diddy: “I thought I told you that we won’t stop.” – via Melissa Sipin


I’ve seen God in the sun, I’ve seen God in the street / God before bed and the promise of sleep.” Belle and Sebastian

or the way I heard it: I see God in the sun, I see God in the stream. – via Bushra Rehman


13 Responses to “8.19.11 how not to stop coming home: collaborative generating #12”

  1. hari malagayo alluri Says:


    man’s geography is a cycle of archipelagos and crescendos beating
    hearts into two submissions: vibration, dissipation,
    both in the key of life. on one page, a list of places to send light,
    where the children don’t sleep, their waking dreams caught
    in a game of thrones that promises not to stop until the night
    when only funeral songs and dirty jokes remain.

    lolo felt the ambush coming. years later
    he stubbed his foot on a rock.
    the gangreen eventually took both his legs.

    today, like all days, your breath will touch every generation before you. prophets, cockroaches, gazelles, genocides, dinosaurs, worms, an infinite regression of ancestors wishing they could buy
    any means of protection for their families. litanies of mourning (funeral songs, dirty jokes) ice and fire. dear god
    of resting tremors and shelling, grant me another cigarette

    cypher: ching-in, mel, gorge r.r. martin, violins & guitars, suheir hammad, stevie wonder, melissa, puff daddy, bushra, belle n sebastian, basho, fady joudah, carrie mae weems, harlow shapley via david suzuki

  2. hari malagayo alluri Says:

    um, prompt:
    ben harper via maya angelou

  3. Monica Hand Says:

    the hills
    the rivers
    the world spinning
    spinning to sound awakening
    sting of the bamboo against my bare flesh
    plump with expectation
    16 violins playing in unison
    collapsing into my grief
    like the bow presses against the strings
    exhaling sound

    I am listening
    hear me I am the metronome
    the sound booth
    the drum syncopation

    I see God in me
    she won’t let me stop
    nothing I see is not the mother
    nothing I think is not the mother

    by any means necessary
    She will rise

    from all three videos (full orchestrated theme, interpretation on violins, and “heavy version”), Basho, Carrie Mae Weems, Melissa Sipin, Bushra Rehman, Maya Angelou, Malcolm X, P Diddy and all the channelers posted here

    Prompt – does the grief for the loss of the mother (earth) ever heal?

  4. racruzzo Says:

    My grandmother’s voice vibrates from the play button.

    …Layug, Barcelona, Sorsogon, Paghalubon

    (How do you spell Layug?)

    L-A-Y-U-G, A as in Ahhh…

    Where children don’t sleep

    The government told us to evacuate

    The moon is a tremor resting in the rice fields

    (But you didn’t leave, did you?)

    No, I didn’t leave Layug because I wanted
    to be with my children

    Everything you can see is a pomegranate,

    In our barrio, Japanese soldiers stayed there for a week.

    They asked for cigarettes, sugar and coffee from our store.
    I got everything that they liked. Sometimes they told my husband
    to catch chickens that they liked to eat.

    (But did they try to threaten–)

    They also liked to eat pigs.

    Nothing you can see is not fire.

    (But did they try to threaten you with guns–)

    No, no.

    A rolling pin of necessity.

    And then, one time, I was really scared. My son was sleeping in the hammock, and I was cooking lunch. One soldier came to our house. I ran away, and I left Jamie in the hammock! (Laughter) Because I was scared! Good thing they didn’t shoot me.

    (What did they want?)

    A broom sweeps dust and cockroaches, on guard.

    When I went back, I said, what would you like? They said, Mosquito netting and pillows.

    (Did they try to do anything to you?)

    No, no. And he left. And he is kind to me.

    A mother is not a flower, not the moon, not a violin. A thorn, a smile.

    (words from Bonificia Figueras Odena – my grandmother, Jeanine Odena – my cousin, the interviewer, Fady Joudah, Basho, Carrie Mae Weems)

    “In the family albums everyone
    is always held by someone else,
    in siesta or in fiesta.”
    -Karen Llagas

  5. racruzzo Says:

    The formatting didn’t work, but I hope the poem still translates. Thank you all.

  6. toddw Says:

    nothing you can see is not a flower
    nothing you can think is not the moon
    – basho (via Hari Malagayo Alluri)

    antiphon, nothing you ape, not
    the flower you reverb as rubber bounces off me–
    you’re glue, sticks to you–
    nothing you parrot, not me me me
    is a body, a sky body, one up there.

  7. Mel Says:

    Images from Home

    all rubbed clean with chemicals
    see, I should be ashamed of myself
    or how about this one
    my brother bought a gun
    protection a hot commodity
    when one becomes family head
    or this old standby: when will I finally
    get married, have babies, get a real job
    let go of that queer phase and grow up
    here’s an image to keep me up all night
    my mother turning my old room
    into her new “woman cave”
    where she makes scrapbooks
    white women love arts and crafts
    does my old school photo
    need to be bedazzled
    can we talk about how we
    didn’t talk about my first period
    what about my woman cave
    I tried to come home and my family
    changed the locks
    blood a red herring
    flesh made to walk away
    they don’t want to hear me
    talk about impolite things
    just be happy to be home again
    they say, over and over
    not knowing I have made
    home somewhere else
    home is hard to come to
    when we no longer speak
    the same language and politics
    are so much quicksand
    they don’t want to hear about
    tired or angry people
    I thought I told you
    We won’t
    Stop I won’t
    I told you
    I see dream in the home god
    I went home, felt another ambush coming
    what a waste, they say
    she’ll never be the same
    As we are and they try
    By any means necessary
    Coming home is screaming
    in a sound booth until the moon
    warbles out in my grandmother’s voice
    just be nice and I yell back
    what about the veiled threats?
    nothing I am now cannot be used to start a fire
    so what if they use words and not guns
    on the ones they claim
    to love? going home is no fun
    when I’m made to feel
    like I’m aping whatever
    it is they used to love

    (made possible with words from Monica Hand, Carol Gomez, Hari Malagayo Alluri, Serena W. Lin, Evangeline Ganaden, Melissa Sipin, Bushra Rehman, PDiddy via Melissa Sipin, Belle and Sebastian via Bushra Rehman, Rachelle Cruz, and Todd Wellman)


    “Corinna” by Taj Mahal:

  8. Evangeline Says:

    yet by any means necessary:

    ~ every day starting towards the stones
    around and tangled up, flesh this remembering
    ~ rouse my burning dreams, my bits of ash
    even without mirrors throwing pith and bark
    ~ tongue that burns with history, upuan, ulan, loss, halik
    my gamble my harder wish
    ~ if there were such a thing as easy horizons
    would you?
    ~ the stolen red that still belongs to us
    those endings

    with words from Monica Hand, Carol Gomez, Melissa Sipin, Serena W. Lin, Rachelle Cruz, Hari Malagayo Alluri, Ching-In, Melissa Morrow, Bushra Rehman, Yael V, Todd W, Carrie Mae Weems

    (repeat) Prompt:

    I’m traveling in some vehicle
    I’m sitting in some cafe
    A defector from the petty wars
    That shell shock love away
    There’s comfort in melancholy
    When there’s no need to explain

    But you know I’m so glad to be on my own
    Still somehow the slightest touch of a stranger
    Can set up trembling in my bones
    I know – no one’s going to show me everything
    We all come and go unknown
    Each so deep and superficial
    Between the forceps and the stone

    – “Hejira” by Joni Mitchell, sung by Cassandra Wilson at the Hollywood Bowl, August 17, 2011

  9. Meiver Says:

    Querida amiga,
    …thinking about labor and the phrases below replay in my thoughts as I work, everyday. They’ve become inspiring meditations that remind me of Mo, Carol, Nisha and of you, Ching-In – as I work:

    “La revolución es cultural”
    -heard anew in July 2011 from the lips of “Slow” Miguel Martínez, of Colombia’s ChocQuibTown. A link worth enjoying: http://youtu.be/yb_jD–Yfp4

    “Process is dope”
    -inspired by Carol and Monique’s amazing work.

    “Dance is labor and love”
    -inspired by the body’s reliable joy when dancing, even with aches and pains.

    “Work dignifies you”
    -Chile, 2003. Shared by a hard working musician, friend.

    These phrases are all about the work we do, and help me through. I hope they encourage you too. Let’s work together again soon.

  10. caroljg Says:

    (catching up on a missed entry from friday, c~)

    brooms fly, sweeping dust and wings out onto a body of sky ~ ~
    the moon warbles on guard….watching children sleep
    catching their dreams like mosquito netting ~ ~
    breathing collapsed into pillows
    panels of invisible paper screens caught mosquitoes in flight,
    wings pressed
    like dried flowers ~ ~
    doped up by the night’s process
    a young boy plays the cockroach with his bow
    making crackling sounds

    …..god better be here before sunrise!

    racruzzo, ching-in, ana-maureen lara, lou yu, fay joudah, christian flores garcia, meiver, mel, evangeline, monica, toddw, hari, melissa, bushra

  11. clarissa rojas Says:

    the patterns in the mangle of branches.
    where mother’s karma remade. to return to intuition.
    archipelagos crescendo the beating heart’s waves
    dissipating light the waking dreams of children
    remain the sour in the mourning hills rivers
    canta vihuela to the key of life send me running
    into the sliver of moon of what is left. mother everything i see
    the seed of granada bleeds ripe. the fire rolls its weeping.
    the cave takes hold. the rain. slow shed the flesh here.
    sweep the bones becoming sky.

    gracias ching-in hari monica racuzzo mel carol

  12. clarissa rojas Says:

    prompt for another time: to love the freak, the magnificence of divine

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