Tell me what is wrong
Was I unwise to leave them open for so long
And as each moment has unfurled
I’ve been waiting to awaken from these dreams
I never noticed them until I got this feeling
That it’s later than it seems
Tell me what you see
I hear their cries
Just say if it’s too late for me
The Killing of General Suleimani Has United Iranians in Anger Against the U.S. So says the New York Times here. A comment by Laurie in New Jersey offers another perspective.
I think it is an error to say, as the author of this article does, “Iran is united—in anger at the United States”, and “the nation rallied behind its leaders”. The silent majority of Iran stays silent as they cannot speak out truthfully. I have Iranian family, who tell me that the vast majority of their fellow citizens despise the Islamic government, and are very happy that Suleimani was killed, as they consider him an evil killer of their own people. They cannot say what they really think because they fear arrest, torture, or death.
Late this afternoon I drove past the Federal Building in Westwood CA and there was a medium sized group of Iranian Americans who I believe were not united in anger against the U.S. But I’ll leave their protest signs to speak for them.
Whenever I get down on LA, which is more often than I’d like to admit, it’s always helpful to take a ride down Western Ave. to remind myself why I live here. To most people in this town that would probably sound ridiculous. I think it reflects my background and I’ll leave that part right there. But there’s a dignity and a realness there that hasn’t changed in the 30 years I’ve lived in Los Angeles. Seeing it all again, feeling it, never fails to change my channel from the endless and often repulsive extreme affluence loop of the Westside. Anyway.
Down on Broadway
There’s a woman
Name of the woman
Funky Broadway – Arlester Christian
I remember something that was in circulation back around, I believe, the 1990s. Went like this:
Women just want to be listened to and men just want to be trusted.
Okay. At the risk of losing a great percentage of readers at this point, I have to admit that, yes, this actually resonated with me.
Because somehow I’ve always wanted more than anything else that every women I ever encountered, even if I’d just exchanged a glance with her, could trust me.
And when I leave this earth, I never wanted any woman or girl to be able to say, that guy was physically inappropriate with me. He was a creep.
Sadly, many could (and doubtless will) say, that guy was physically inappropriate FOR me. But that’s another problem entirely. 😉
“Tara Pixley often felt isolated in the newsrooms where she worked as a photographer or photo editor. As a “black woman who was the child of immigrants, raised by a single mom, and also a first-generation college student,” she struggled for a decade to fit in. She was the only woman of color in the photo departments where she worked and was ignored or treated dismissively.”
“In his introduction to Robert Frank’s seminal photo book, “The Americans,” Jack Kerouac claimed the photographer had captured “scenes that have never been seen before on film.” He was referring not to particular people, places or objects but to “the humor, the sadness, the EVERYTHING-ness and American-ness” Mr. Frank documented as he traveled the country on a Guggenheim Fellowship beginning in 1955. At a time when mainstream publications tended to favor a rosy view of American life, Mr. Frank presented a comparatively stark vision that also challenged the aesthetics of popular photography.”