Showing posts with label stand. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stand. Show all posts

11 March 2017

SXSW 2017: Tech Takes a Stand For Transgender Rights, Planned Parenthood

Alyssa Newcomb
NBC


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01 October 2016

US top judge ousted over gay marriage stand (Ghana)

Press
starrfm


Judge Roy Moore

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25 April 2016

28 April 2015

LGBT activists hope city's progressive stand can inspire SCOTUS

IVAN PEREIRA
AM New York


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23 April 2013

poetry #1

Entries such as these have been rare for me since my stroke.  Last week, I picked up a volume entitled "Modern American Poetry". I've really dug the poems, but most especially those of Lyn Hejinian, whose stream-of-consciousness poetics struck a chord for me.  No, not every one will like this.  If stream-of-consciousness really suit your style,well, seek another poet.  But if you like Lyn, I hope you'll like this too.  Enjoy! (PS - feel free to lend your thoughts in the "comments" section.)

(#1)
The soil did not stand; it blew away.  Last night I turned, nuzzled your roughening cheek.  The things I knew, I do not know.  It is time.  I insert the token into the T.  Let the game be Monopoly.  The music is played upon a viola. There is no sound.  The woman from Spain swung her maracas about. Stubby fields bind but do not break.  He cast aside the thronE.  A poem writ large and confusing.  His pubic hair rests between my fingers, gently.  We are comfortable, lying near the dune.  The Appalachian mountains are high, forbidding.  We are alone.  The feet of the tiny dogs go clickclackclickclackclickclack.  My pocketbook was laying about.  A silver earring came off, laying next to me.  How many miles is it to Traherne?  My knees ache and scar from your mounting of me.  The sparrow's wings are so lovely.  Sorry, sir, your money has no value here.  Swords drawn, we fought the wild fauna.  The bartender gave a cup to the tired man.  The name others gave me is not the name I gave to myself.  The trees, the knotty ones, are set to be cut down.  We rub each other, gasping.  My head arches back, digging into the old Indian blanket.  A ghost comes near to me, smiling.  We peer far ahead, seeing a tiny empty church.  The rain starts as mist, ends as torrential downpour.  His arms touch my shoulderblades.  It is love.  Or not.  Either way, I am sated, sated.

*ezs*

22 November 2010

Transgender Puerto Rican woman’s alleged murderer to stand trial (Edge New England) (Yes!)

To Ms. Ocasio:

I know that the loss of your daughter might not be one that you will heal from. I hope that in some small way that the man being brought to justice will help. Please know that we all care for you, even though we might not know you personally.

Warmest regards,

ezs


(more in blue/above)