Air Force One veered past us last night and I forgot to flip the bird! I respect the presidency, but not this particular president. And I've been getting into heated discussions about what a European or, for that matter, anyone who's not American, can and should say about the state of the union and/or the POTUS.
It's true I don't have to live in your country, abide by your laws or even listen to him speak, or tweet. But I have to live with the consequences of his actions and words. I have to share a planet with this man. A man who happens to have a considerable amount of power, power that has repercussions beyond your borders. A man with more confidence than competence. So whenever what he does touches my life or liberties, I do think I have the right, responsibility even, to speak out. To call out. To shout out.
No one is beyond reproach or above the law, agreed?
What? Not a peep about Putin? I don't hold him to the same standard. He is an oligarch, the autocratic leader of a plutocracy. The last time he pretended to care about democratic values was way back in the 1990's, pretended being the operative word. President Trump, on the other hand, has sworn to preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States, a democracy. He seems more interested in preserving his image of "successful businessman", protecting his business interests and defending his friends and partners. Just like every other oligarch. It's a corporate takeover. And you don't want that. A rentier state. Rentier capitalism. Look it up.
Dita Parker
Tuesday, July 17, 2018
Monday, June 25, 2018
The leftovers
Life goes on. That's what they say. That's what I've been told, that's what I've told myself, that's what I've told others upon the loss of a loved one. Truth be told, it's but a half-truth. Sure, your life goes on. You wake up happy to find a pulse and get on with whatever your life is made of. But a story within your story has come to a full stop. Just like that? Just like that. You don't get to see how it plays out. The future has come to a full stop. Plans you had, dreams you had, are now plans and dreams frozen in time.
Life goes on. But so does death. Those we lose will remain lost, tomorrow, next month, five years from now. The loss is forever. It's been five months since my mother-in-law died, but I haven't had the heart to tell my husband the bad news yet; that it will always hurt, that there is no use trying to run and hide, pain and grief ride a horse that never tires.
I'll start with the good news. What won't last forever is the bleak, the dark, the black. Colors will reclaim their rightful place as the black block grows smaller and smaller. And love...love and gratitude never die. You never bury those, those you get to keep and cherish for the rest of your days. And some days will be better than others and soon most days will be better than the rest and maybe, as time goes by, that stunted story will make sense or, at the very least, you will come to accept that it never will, and that's just the way it is.
Life goes on. But so does death. Those we lose will remain lost, tomorrow, next month, five years from now. The loss is forever. It's been five months since my mother-in-law died, but I haven't had the heart to tell my husband the bad news yet; that it will always hurt, that there is no use trying to run and hide, pain and grief ride a horse that never tires.
I'll start with the good news. What won't last forever is the bleak, the dark, the black. Colors will reclaim their rightful place as the black block grows smaller and smaller. And love...love and gratitude never die. You never bury those, those you get to keep and cherish for the rest of your days. And some days will be better than others and soon most days will be better than the rest and maybe, as time goes by, that stunted story will make sense or, at the very least, you will come to accept that it never will, and that's just the way it is.
Wednesday, May 16, 2018
Dita did a bad, bad thing
I know. The den is closed. But I still have the key so I’ll
stop by if I want to. And I need a moment. A safe place. And since no one comes
here now that we’re closed there’s no safer place, right? So let me sit here
for a moment as I take a good hard stare at the error of my ways.
Don’t tell anyone I admitted to this, but I’ve been writing.
Fiction. In English. It just...happened. Burst out. People started bursting
out. A deluge of dialogue. POV dilemmas I found myself pondering on lunch breaks,
storylines coming at me at the crack of dawn, descriptions, the perfect blurb
to a story I never sent out, thousands upon thousands of words, as if I’d
been taken over by whatever spirit moves these things, forcing my hand, messing
with my brain.
Is there a pill for this? A specialist? An exorcist? Can you
help me? What am I gonna do? Don’t say, “Write!” I…can’t. I don’t have time. I
don’t have enough time for an orchestrated, concentrated effort. So what do I
do? It’s as if I have to get it out, and those who write, who create anything,
know what I mean. You have to get it out. But why now? Why at all? Do I close
my ears and mind’s eye? Not working. What the hell do I do?!
And I know what’s going on. At least I think I do. Writing
makes me a better translator and translating makes me a better writer, and right
now I’m off-kilter. Too much academia and not enough arts. Too little fiction
and too much fact. Too much discipline and not enough creativity. I’m off
balance and it’s showing. It’s making itself known. I feel it. The pull. The
tug inside. The tug of tales. It’s exhilarating and consuming and bloody awful
and totally inconvenient. What am I supposed to do with it? What the hell am I
supposed to do?
Remember Bukowski?
if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
Remember Nike?
Just do it?
Nancy Reagan?
Just say no?
Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
Thursday, January 7, 2016
Tuesday, December 22, 2015
Closing time
The last sunrise in two months has cleared the horizon in our northernmost towns. I can only imagine what it's like living in perpetual darkness broken by a fleeting twilight. I've seen some very atmospheric pics and those accustomed to it vow you get used to it, but I doubt I'd survive without the sun.
News broke that these parts have already seen a 2+ degrees temperature rise, courtesy of global warming. Winters are getting warmer and stormier, weather records keep breaking with flora and fauna trying to cope, some succeeding, some failing. Climate change rolls at a FF speed here in the Thule and since none of our known species existed the last time such rapid warming and changes occurred no one really knows what fate awaits them. Scientists speculate and it's not a happy outcome on all arenas. Some will go the way of the mammoth and become extinct, some will adapt and survive.
How blind we are to things happening right in front of us, but when you're in the thick of things and likely to be affected by changes in the status quo you tend to employ some motivated reasoning, maybe even denial. Belief and confirmation biases loom large and you'll always find information to support your views and opinions if you just dig deep enough. It may be your interpretation and your imagination at play but by God you'll have proof no expert can take away. Besides, everyone knows experts can be bought to interpret findings to suit any need.
But. Facts are still facts. Underlying truths are still underlying truths, bedrock to be uncovered and insanely hard to eradicate. You can cover them with muck and malarkey, coat them with lies, polish them using evasion and diversion while shirking responsibility and accountability and even succeed in your dastardly deeds for long periods of time. But not indefinitely. Because you're entitled to subjective views but you're not entitled to subjective facts and the fact is our species has made things worse for all species. Wars, storms, flooding, drought, famine and the unrest and migration that inevitably follows will make things worse still, so much worse before things gets better.
But we're not quitters, are we, sweetie darlings? We know it's never too late to mend! If it's man-made, it's mendable. It has to be. Or we'll go the way of the mammoth and you don't want that, but that's always an option, and Mother Nature will do just fine without us. It's we who depend on her, not the other way around. She may need our help cleaning house but if she sees none forthcoming she'll have no qualms showing us the door. Her way or the highway, folks! The choice is entirely ours.
Speaking of evasion, diversion, shirking responsibility and accountability: I'm still waiting on reversion of rights for my books with EC. Fact: I'll never write for them again. Underlying truth: I leave with a bad taste in my mouth. And when the ROR comes through and true? I don't know. Maybe I'll come across a siren server whose song I won't be able to resist but those are the opposite of freedom so right now the computer says No.
Self-publishing sounds more and more like serfdom. We talk about controlling our books, our careers, our fates, but the more you look into those services and servers the more disillusioned you feel. Or I feel. How do you feel? About Amazon and suchlike? I bet you're a happy buyer. Are you a happy seller, a happy author? Their template. Their playground. Their game. Their rules. What's the alternative, you ask? Good question. But not the one I'm asking. What I'm asking is are you satisfied with the service(s) provided? Are you?
I still write fiction but, more and more, writing is what dancing or drawing is: a reset button, a thing for moments when I'm alone with my head, alone with things that either need to be said and remembered or let out and forgotten. I'm violently glad I have more than one language, genre and sphere in my tool belt. Something doesn't work? Live and learn and move on. And I have.
And speaking of things I'm thankful for: She paid me a visit in dreams the other night, a dream where she stood under a bright yellow umbrella outside the kitchen window, smiling warm and wide, a ray of light in the rain. She waved and I waved back, she turned to leave and I couldn't follow. No pain. No tears. No pleas. Peace. Love. Hope.
That's what they are, the departed. They're like the dying light of the stars we track at night. Long dead but still transmitting. You know it's the past, you know that just like those stars they're not really there, that what you're seeing is no longer there. But they leave a trail, a long tail, a light for you to follow and remember them by.
The present? The present is a pressing matter. It's an emergency and I'm on call. Such is life, sweetie darlings; forever temporary, often arbitrary, but we had fun, didn't we, now we'll just have to have fun somewhere else. Sounds like an adventure. I'm always up for one. Coming along?
Last call! Join me for the parting glass? Can't leave and go home without one. Yes, I'm buying. So. What are you having? All set?
Here's to memories of the past and hopes for the future, to mistakes made and lessons learned.
Here's to Mother Nature and the Universe, to truth and consequences.
Here's to lovers and dreamers, to fighters and warriors of light.
Here's to the walking wounded, those shot through the soul.
Here's to authors and artists, to readers and keen listeners, to all of you with open hearts, eyes and minds.
Here's to fun and friendship, to passion and love.
Here's to courage and curiousness, to goodness and kindness.
Here's to health and happiness, to a long life and a quick death.
Here's to you, dearest denizens, wherever you are.
Cheers, saúde, santé, skål and sláinte, sweetie darlings. Joy be with you all!
Joy be with you all.
News broke that these parts have already seen a 2+ degrees temperature rise, courtesy of global warming. Winters are getting warmer and stormier, weather records keep breaking with flora and fauna trying to cope, some succeeding, some failing. Climate change rolls at a FF speed here in the Thule and since none of our known species existed the last time such rapid warming and changes occurred no one really knows what fate awaits them. Scientists speculate and it's not a happy outcome on all arenas. Some will go the way of the mammoth and become extinct, some will adapt and survive.
How blind we are to things happening right in front of us, but when you're in the thick of things and likely to be affected by changes in the status quo you tend to employ some motivated reasoning, maybe even denial. Belief and confirmation biases loom large and you'll always find information to support your views and opinions if you just dig deep enough. It may be your interpretation and your imagination at play but by God you'll have proof no expert can take away. Besides, everyone knows experts can be bought to interpret findings to suit any need.
But. Facts are still facts. Underlying truths are still underlying truths, bedrock to be uncovered and insanely hard to eradicate. You can cover them with muck and malarkey, coat them with lies, polish them using evasion and diversion while shirking responsibility and accountability and even succeed in your dastardly deeds for long periods of time. But not indefinitely. Because you're entitled to subjective views but you're not entitled to subjective facts and the fact is our species has made things worse for all species. Wars, storms, flooding, drought, famine and the unrest and migration that inevitably follows will make things worse still, so much worse before things gets better.
But we're not quitters, are we, sweetie darlings? We know it's never too late to mend! If it's man-made, it's mendable. It has to be. Or we'll go the way of the mammoth and you don't want that, but that's always an option, and Mother Nature will do just fine without us. It's we who depend on her, not the other way around. She may need our help cleaning house but if she sees none forthcoming she'll have no qualms showing us the door. Her way or the highway, folks! The choice is entirely ours.
Speaking of evasion, diversion, shirking responsibility and accountability: I'm still waiting on reversion of rights for my books with EC. Fact: I'll never write for them again. Underlying truth: I leave with a bad taste in my mouth. And when the ROR comes through and true? I don't know. Maybe I'll come across a siren server whose song I won't be able to resist but those are the opposite of freedom so right now the computer says No.
Self-publishing sounds more and more like serfdom. We talk about controlling our books, our careers, our fates, but the more you look into those services and servers the more disillusioned you feel. Or I feel. How do you feel? About Amazon and suchlike? I bet you're a happy buyer. Are you a happy seller, a happy author? Their template. Their playground. Their game. Their rules. What's the alternative, you ask? Good question. But not the one I'm asking. What I'm asking is are you satisfied with the service(s) provided? Are you?
I still write fiction but, more and more, writing is what dancing or drawing is: a reset button, a thing for moments when I'm alone with my head, alone with things that either need to be said and remembered or let out and forgotten. I'm violently glad I have more than one language, genre and sphere in my tool belt. Something doesn't work? Live and learn and move on. And I have.
And speaking of things I'm thankful for: She paid me a visit in dreams the other night, a dream where she stood under a bright yellow umbrella outside the kitchen window, smiling warm and wide, a ray of light in the rain. She waved and I waved back, she turned to leave and I couldn't follow. No pain. No tears. No pleas. Peace. Love. Hope.
That's what they are, the departed. They're like the dying light of the stars we track at night. Long dead but still transmitting. You know it's the past, you know that just like those stars they're not really there, that what you're seeing is no longer there. But they leave a trail, a long tail, a light for you to follow and remember them by.
The present? The present is a pressing matter. It's an emergency and I'm on call. Such is life, sweetie darlings; forever temporary, often arbitrary, but we had fun, didn't we, now we'll just have to have fun somewhere else. Sounds like an adventure. I'm always up for one. Coming along?
Last call! Join me for the parting glass? Can't leave and go home without one. Yes, I'm buying. So. What are you having? All set?
Here's to memories of the past and hopes for the future, to mistakes made and lessons learned.
Here's to Mother Nature and the Universe, to truth and consequences.
Here's to lovers and dreamers, to fighters and warriors of light.
Here's to the walking wounded, those shot through the soul.
Here's to authors and artists, to readers and keen listeners, to all of you with open hearts, eyes and minds.
Here's to fun and friendship, to passion and love.
Here's to courage and curiousness, to goodness and kindness.
Here's to health and happiness, to a long life and a quick death.
Here's to you, dearest denizens, wherever you are.
Cheers, saúde, santé, skål and sláinte, sweetie darlings. Joy be with you all!
Joy be with you all.
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