Disruption of a San Francisco Eviction Boot Camp by members of the LGBT community. Next time bring skunk oil and clear out the filthy capitalist piglets. Great job Gay Shame! You show us all, all of us, all over this country how to take on these villains. Click on the photo for the action.
Walt Whitman our poet our gay hero.
A true gay hero, compassionate toward the wounded, dying and with love soothing making all whom you came in contact with feel that they had not been forsaken. Your poems nurture us to today, teach us about compassion and love, and we know what it truly means to be a gay man. You brought to life the emotions of the war on a very intimate level. We celebrate Walt Whitman as a true gay hero of our people.
Angel Price’s has this to say, “Besides firsthand diaries of soldiers, the most poignant scenes of the Civil War come from Walt Whitman’s wartime prose and most distinctly his book of poetry entitled Drum Taps (1865) Many of its poems resulted from his years in Washington, D.C., spent as a psychological nurse to sick and wounded soldiers. Whitman wrote to a friend in 1863, “The doctors tell me I supply the patients with a medicine which all their drugs & bottles & powders are helpless to yield” in reference to the aid of his cheerful disposition and careful attention to the welfare of the soldiers.’
A Glimpse from the Calamus Poems: The “Calamus” poems are a cluster of poems in Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. These poems celebrate and promote “the manly love of comrades”. Most critics believe that these poems are Whitman’s clearest expressions in print of his ideas about homosexual love. Read the rest of this entry »
Want to learn more about prisoners organizing? Check out this great article.
To our Comrades, Friends and Readers
We have decided to close down this blog and some of us here at furbirdsqueerly hope for good and others hope that we pop up again sometime. The principle blogster wants to paint pictures all day rather than post and sit at the computer writing things to post or finding “information please” postings for our readers. We apologize to our readers from far and wide, especially to our readers who pop up from Singapore and other far flung places. Yesterday and today we had visitors from India, Germany, New Zealand, Japan, France, Spain, the Russian Federation, South Africa, United States and of course our favorite of all times, Singapore. We love you and thank you.
We have also decided to drop off the face of facebook and not spend so much time checking out the wonderful postings that our friends and folks publish. We have enjoyed keeping in touch with the world and thank everyone for the informative postings that you have done over the years.
Wrapping up our cares and putting them in storage.
To put it out there, we are just plain tired of the world and all of the caring that we are expected to be doing about issues. You know one of us in now 66 years old and has been caring since he learned to care way back, back, back. Caring gets to be too much trouble, too much surrounding, and just too much to care about. We figure if we don’t see any releases then we won’t start caring. Since we do not watch the news or read a newspaper we can live in a world of not knowing that there is something that there is to care about. Sometimes over the years we have forced ourselves to care even when we really didn’t just because to not care would not be right at all and to not get the news out to readers would not be correct. So with that in mind we are turning the blog to private not deleting it so we can on a moment’s notice pop back up and out if we need to or get bored with our painting. Read the rest of this entry »
We count Chelsea Manning in a long line of our queer revolutionary heroes. From the early dances of the Mattachine expressing opposition to the laws of the church and state in European society, to Robin Hood and his merry men. To trans* man Louise Michelle at the Paris Commune to the October Revolution of 1917. On to Magnus Hirchfeld, Emma Goldman, Harry Hay, Compton’s Cafeteria and to Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera at the Stonewall Inn and to the many freedom fighters thereafter. Queer folks have a long history of standing up against any societies beating stick, breaking the stick and freeing themselves and many others in the process.
Our people when faced with injustice have always stood up and fought back. We have always spoken truth to power. More times than not those who have spoken the truth have been jailed while the criminals have run free. It is time that we go forth, free all political prisoners, catch the real criminals and jail them.
Chelsea Manning a trans*women spoke truth to power and is in jail. We are proud to embrace Chelsea Manning and join with others in the LGBT/Queer communities around the globe that call out, DROP ALL CHARGES!!! FREE CHELSEA MANNING NOW! Manning’s only “crime” was to pull the knowledge of the U.S. government’s criminal actions out of the closet. For that, Manning is a hero for the cause of liberation from oppression, for queer people and for all people. This is the true legacy of PRIDE. This is the true soul of our movement.
We stand up and out for the army whistler blower who has risked everything to give the public real facts about our government’s war in the Middle east and Foreign policy worldwide. We will not turn our backs on Chelsea Manning just because it doesn’t play well with the Corporate Masters, government officials or with some in the LGBT Mainstream. We do not turn our backs on true revolutionary hero’s.
We stand in solidarity with others around the globe that live in fear of violence and oppression simply for being born into a particular group. We as a people know that violence, we know that fear. We know what it is like to be stereotyped and witch-hunted to be accused. We see daily what americkkka’s policy has done and is doing to folks everywhere around the world. We say enough! Stop this! Read the rest of this entry »
” I write to give voice to my communities—Mexican, malfloras, la jotería, writers, academics, familia—and to all my homes. I write to bridge and fill in the gaps in the literary world. I write so that queer youth, straight kids, neighbors, Mexicanas/os can see a reflection of themselves in literature. I write to give voice to my jota experience. I am a poet for el barrio. I am the East LA Poet.”
Up the concrete river of the northern highway
the crusty-mustard Volvo smelled of dogs, cigarettes
The passenger stared out the speckled window
The windy sky was spotted with kites bursting open
Reds, yellows, orange hues streamed the blue dome
The driver announced, I take my dogs to that park
The passenger, Xochitl, nodded her head oh, yeah
And she spotted the green hilly ground spawning
Far off to the west a brown-feathered speck swirled
She said nothing and only watched the dips, rises
They trekked up the state freeway to Napa Valley
and peering across the land of green mountains
The tips of white wings pulled her attention up
Xochitl’s eyes glanced northwest of the horizon
and a hawk danced in the empty turquoise sky
She noted the curves, swirls of the brush strokes
The image stuck in her mind, a hawk’s painting
and all along the paved trails they drove up
Gray licks of road suffocate the semi-moist land
and Xochitl saw a hawk floating in clear water sky
It plunged into the coolness of the sparkling air
She touched, cupped her lip, mumbled inside
herself, ‘Was it the same hawk from before?’
And it disappeared as quickly as it emerged above
Passed the Bay’s cusp of land and empty sky
she saw the hawk glide to the midpoint between
It dove between rocky landscape and openness
And Xochitl cocked her head to look a bit more
The driver, an old friend, talked of haikus and stuff
Words flitted by and went out the cracked window
Her keen eyes trailed its flight in the northern sky
And she squinted, ‘Was the hawk following her?’
In town she sipped red wine on a Sunday of evening blue
Heard poetry of bewilderment floating across the court
A poet said ‘a shorn of monkeys’ jumped from tree to tree
The trees swayed, leaves rustled against the sky’s canvas
And she dreamed of the hawk dipping lines of white paint
At the coffeehouse Xochitl sat on the green patio chair
She sipped freshly brewed French roast while gazing out
From her periphery between the roof’s edge and black wire
she saw a glimpse of a beak, wing, and gazed to the left
And in the afternoon sky, a hawk swirled in the open air
And for a moment, she truly thought it was the same one
And for a moment, she wondered if it meant something
And for a moment, she wondered about her Amá, the hawk
And for a moment, Xochitl truly wondered if it was her
A conversation with Veronica Reyes on Bordered Lives and Poetry by Olga Garcia Echeverria is a must read. Read the rest of this entry »