This is Nala :3

I’ve wanted this book since I was a Stirner-crazy 16-year-old and NOW IT’S HERE!

'It's Not Work, It's Slavery'

learnedby-heart:

Today in poetry club we created another piece-meal poem from the collection of poetry from the university 20 some years ago: Whakarongo ki te awa: Listen to the River (ed. Trevor Hayes: Old Farm Press 1993). The page numbers are noted here.

It’s Not Work, It’s Slavery

I believe the tears of children contain the magic potion princes died for
Washing the carcass free from blood, I stand and carry my prize back to the tent
There was something else he wanted to say but he had forgotten what it was
and frantically pushing them back in
CAN YOU FEEL IT
contemptuously I laugh
The apple of Eden has gone bad
Do you know how we found god?
The Milky Way and a million and one stars up high in the sky
How would she explain that the man who has ears cannot hear what you say
The dark side conquers
I seek completeness

'Hinemoa' by Ngahuia Te Awekotuku

A Maori writer and retired professor came and read this story to our Community Psychology class last week, so I thought I’d share it here. The intro’s pretty interesting so I’ve included it too:

The legend of Hinemoa and Tutanekai is one of the great love stories of the thermal regions of Aotearoa and of the Maori world. So great was her love for him, the story goes, that Hinemoa braved the midnight waters of the lake, Rotorua, and incurred her family’s wrath to claim her heart’s desire, Tutanekai. The lovechild of a chief’s wife, and, therefore, not Hinemoa’s social equal, he was an inappropriate match; but she wanted him, and she got him. Films have been made about it, and many songs have been written. Tourists continue to applaud the tale, still recounted in song and dance on the concert party stage and in cultural theatre.

As a descendant—one, indeed, of many, many thousands—I grew up with Hinemoa. My grandmother portrayed her in the 1914 film version, the first full-length feature movie made in Aotearoa. She has always been part of my life. As a child, I puzzled about how she went to him; my kuia commented on this, too. It seemed unusual in a tribal environment where we were continually reminded that men took the lead, took the initiative, as right. Obviously, there was something else going on here.

This is how the story was told. In Grey’s Polynesian Mythology, first published in 1855 and adapted from the manuscripts of Wiremu Maihi Te Rangikaheke, young Hinemoa is wilful, determined, but essentially feminine. She defies her parents’ wishes, and while Tutanekai passively waits, she swims across the lake to his arms.

Decades later, A. W. Reed (1974) produced Myths and Legends of Maoriland, presenting yet another version of this story. Written in more modern language, it reinforces the notion of heterosexual romance, with the frisson of the forbidden.

Recently, in The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Maori Myth and Legends, Margaret Orbell (1995) has presented the same narrative. This is ironically enhanced by the cover picture, a portrait of Hinemoa painted by a Maori woman artist, who is also a descendant. In many of the carved meeting houses of my community, Hinemoa is one of the few women represented visually; and I took note of this, too, as a child. There were so many versions of her; I wondered, who was she, really? What was she like?

Making it to university, I was determined to read the original Te Rangikaheke manuscripts written in Maori. And I wept over what I discovered. Tutanekai enjoyed a particular relationship with a special male friend, his “hoa takatapui”—translated by Williams as “intimate companion of the same sex.” This word has since been claimed by the Maori gay and lesbian community as our word for us. He was nowhere near as impressed by Hinemoa as the romantic Victorian narrative had construed in Grey’s English translation. The Te Rangikaheke version of this story, though recorded by a missionary-educated elder of noble birth, raises many questions about sexualities, relationships, and the nature of desire in the precontact Maori world

I felt as if I had found the Hinemoa who had been waiting for me on an island in my own lesbian consciousness, and across the dangerous midnight waters of tribal tradition, constructed romance, and heterosexist orthodoxy, I had to swim and claim her.

To describe her as a lesbian would be imposing a construct upon Hinemoa that is as ill fitting and inappropriate as Grey’s colonizing romanticism. Instead, I set out to celebrate her as I imagine her to have been: a woman of courage and strength; a woman conscious of the many erotic possibilities offered in her world; a woman who chose a man who preferred his own sex—just as she preferred hers. A woman who was a warrior, and a lover.

Here is a retelling of her story…

Read More

six word poem 7/25/14

atonguewithbutsixwords:

Prompt: “my dad died. i miss him, I’m confused and sad and just want to hear him one more time. would you please write one of your poems to provide comfort for me?”

Listen closely
to your
DNA humming.

(via cosmogyraal)

izxxcpp:

Rites of Spring- Drink Deep

do you remember what it was like to be 16? no? let this help jog your memory.

xinfinitebeings:

I permeate all the universe in my unmanifest form. All beings exist within me, yet I am inconceivably vast, so beyond existence, that though they are brought forth and sustained by my limitless power, I am not confined within them. Just as the all-moving wind, wherever it goes, always remains in the vastness of space, all beings remain within me // The Bhagavad Gita

There’s a Stephen Mitchell translation of the Gita?? Must possess!

xinfinitebeings:

I permeate all the universe in my unmanifest form. All beings exist within me, yet I am inconceivably vast, so beyond existence, that though they are brought forth and sustained by my limitless power, I am not confined within them. Just as the all-moving wind, wherever it goes, always remains in the vastness of space, all beings remain within me // The Bhagavad Gita

There’s a Stephen Mitchell translation of the Gita?? Must possess!

(via plsssnooo)

learnedby-heart:

ifpaintingscouldtext:

Paul Klee | Strong Dream | 1929 

"if paintings could text" haha

learnedby-heart:

ifpaintingscouldtext:

Paul Klee | Strong Dream | 1929 

"if paintings could text" haha

Amidst the Nausea

corpus—callosum:

I had difficulty delving in to Sartre’s book Nausea so I had to do a bit of background research. Once I understood the sentiments behind the character and his experiences, it presented a more visceral experience.

The book follows the diary of a man who experiences the onset of Nausea which lingers on continuously for days. He justifies that the gut-wrenching feeling in his stomach is the result of existential angst. We follow his psychic journey through his detailed reconstruction of different experiences he’s had with people along with his sensory perception of the objects around him.

What I liked is the contrast between the past and the present, self and other. The character in the book aligns himself with a historical French aristocrat he has been researching, however the comparison brings him an overwhelming sense of Nausea. The character then resolves to define their own existence, focusing entirely upon their own sensory experiences and interactions with other people.

The fact that the character records his own experiences in a diary tells us a great deal about the importance of these experiences in affirming his existence. He records the seemingly insignificant mundane events of the everyday in great detail, as though he were forcing himself to believe that he exists. These experiences which seemed fleeting are engraved in to his diary which gives a sense of permanence, a form of immortality that transcends the bodily experience. In doing so, he is extending beyond the sensory experience and transforming it in to a personal narrative. He also records the various encounters he’s had with different people, detailing their idiosyncrasies and his thoughts about them. In doing so, he is reinforcing the bridge between self and other where his interactions with other people reaffirms his own experiences. Perceiving in the moment isn’t enough to convince him of his existence so he resorts to diary-keeping as a concrete reminder that he is present.

I enjoyed the sentiments of the book but as for the reading process itself, it wasn’t very smooth. It wasn’t an easy read and I felt that I had to be in the perfect mindset in order to be able to fully explore the depths of the story. It does tend to drag on and I found myself spacing out in between as Sartre darted from one experience to another. There were times when I felt that the entire book lacked any inherent meaning but I suppose that is what Sartre was aiming for; to invoke the same feeling of nausea experienced by the character within the reader.

-

“I can’t complain: I recognise here her love of perfection. She always wanted to enjoy ‘perfect moments’. If the time was not convenient, she took no more interest in anything, the life went out of her eyes, and she trailed around lazily like a gawky schoolgirl at the awkward age.” —Jean-Paul Sartre

Hua Tunan, Color Parrot (2012)

Hua Tunan, Color Parrot (2012)

(Source: huatunan)