NOT ONE DAMN DIME DAY - THURSDAY, JAN. 20, 2005.

NOT ONE DAMN DIME DAY - THURSDAY, JAN. 20, 2005.THIS is how we can make our dissent felt.You save money AND you express your dissent against the warNot One Damn Dime Day - Jan 20, 2005Since our leaders will not speak out against the war in Iraq, since no one has the moral courage to oppose it, Inauguration Day, Thursday, January 20th, 2005 is "Not One Damn Dime Day" in America.On "Not One Damn Dime Day" those who oppose what is happening in our name in
Iraq can speak up with a 24-hour national boycott of all forms of consumer
spending.
During "Not One Damn Dime Day" please don't spend money. Not one damn dime
for gasoline. Not one damn dime for necessities or for impulse purchases.
Not one damn dime for nothing for 24 hours.
On "Not One Damn Dime Day," please boycott Wal-Mart, Kmart, Target...
Please don't go to the mall or the local convenience store. Please don't buy
any fast food (or any groceries at all for that matter).
For 24 hours, please do what you can to shut the retail economy down.
The object is simple. Remind the people in power that the war in Iraq is
immoral and illegal; that they are responsible for starting it and that it
is their responsibility to stop it.
"Not One Damn Dime Day" is to remind them, too, that they work for the
people of the United States of America, not for the international
corporations and K Street lobbyists who represent the corporations
and funnel cash into American politics.
"Not One Damn Dime Day" is about supporting the troops. Now 1,200 brave
young Americans and an estimated 100,000 Iraqis have died. The politicians
owe our troops a plan-- a way to come home.
There's no rally to attend. No marching to do. No left or right wing agenda
to rant about. On "Not One Damn Dime Day" you take action by doing nothing.
You open your mouth by keeping your wallet closed. For 24 hours, nothing
gets spent, not one damn dime, to remind our religious leaders and our
politicians of their moral responsibility to end the war in Iraq and give
America back to the people.
Please share this email with as many people as possible

Hay un miedo siniestro que invade sus ojos.
-Me nubla la vista, me roba el sueño, me da vertigo. Tengo miedo.-
Me perdi por un momento, ya no quize presensiar como el miedo lo invade.
Y me pregunto si las reses, cuando tienen la mirada de muerte, mientras esperan ser fileteadas en el rastro, se sienten igual que un humano con alto colesterol y azúcar, con miedo a la muerte.

EL MANIFIESTO THE LA POCHA

I’m thinking in English, but first I have to think in Spanish and then translate into English so that I can think in English and then speak and write in English. But it’s just not working. I’m writing in English and sounding like I'm speaking in Spanish. But when I speak, with an accent, I speak like if I’m thinking in English. And wherever and whenever I speak, and write, I don’t sound like I’m supposed to.

Is it a coincidence that I’m linguistically oppressed because I’m bilingual?

I don’t think so! I speak a new language, a language that has our own rules of grammar. We don’t need your rules, especially the weird ass English grammar rules. We are doing fine with out you. Especially when in our reality, we are not really allowed to be part of your educational system. The majority of us that make it, have to struggle at least twice as much as you mono-culturists. We are the rejected ones. So call me pocha. I don’t mind.

Hoy esta aquí un maestro Yoreme. –Hoy 12 de Octubre, el día que Colón descubrio que se perdió.- Y los jovenes se rien.

Lila Downs en concierto

Ayer te buscaba en la esquina del metro Quevedo, en línea, en la casa de Lizette, en el identificador de llamadas. Hoy te encontré.

–Me voy para mi tierra natal.-

Gracias por arruinar mi regalo de cumpleaños, el feeling de Lila Downs, mis recorridos mentales mientras manejo por la carretera. Tenía tanto que decirte. Había un aire de miedo que me envolvía. Y te vas. Ya no te busco, ya no me encuentres: en la barra preferida, en estas líneas, en conversaciones ajenas, en largas distancias, en otro continente. Ya regrese a mi hábitat natural (con mi osita, mis tortillas, frijoles, nopales y chilito, mi motita fresca (hash vale madres) mis colores azules, my friends, my accent, my people, my students). Me siento segura.

Ando picando la vida...

me gasto las horas por ti

A Poem to Americans by a Palestinian Youth

Eye to Eye By: Gihad Ali

Look into my eyes
And tell me what you see
You don't see a damn thing,
'cause you can't possibly relate to me.
You're blinded by our differences.
My life makes no sense to you.
I'm the persecuted Palestinian.
You are the American red, white and blue.
Each day you wake in tranquility.
No fears to cross your eyes.
Each day I wake in gratitude.
Thanking God he let me rise.
You worry about your education
And the bills you have to pay.
I worry about my vulnerable life
And if I'll survive another day.
Your biggest fear is getting ticketed
As you cruise your Cadillac.
My fear is that the tank that just left
Will turn around and come back.
America, do you realize,
That the taxes that you pay
Feed the forces that traumatize
My every living day?
The bulldozers and the tanks,
The gases and the guns,
The bombs that fall outside my door,
All due to American funds.
Yet do you know the truth
Of where your money goes?
Do you let your media deceive your mind?
Is this a truth that no one knows?
You blame me for defending myself
Against the ways of Zionists
I'm terrorized in my own land
And I'm the terrorist?
You think that you know all about terrorism
But you don't know it the way I do.
So let me define the term for you.
And teach you what you thought you knew.
I've known terrorism for quite some time,
Fifty- four years and more.
It's the fruitless garden uprooted in my yard.
It's the bulldozer in front of my door.
Terrorism breathes the air I breathe.
It's the checkpoint on my way to school.
It's the curfew that jails me in my own home,
And the penalties of breaking that curfew rule.
Terrorism is the robbery of my land.
And the torture of my mother.
The imprisonment of my innocent father.
The bullet in my baby brother.
So America, don't tell me you know about
The things I feel and see.
I'm terrorized in my own land
And the blame is put on me.
But I will not rest, I shall never settle
For the injustice my people endure.
Palestine is OUR land and there we'll remain
Until the day OUR homeland is secure.
And if that time shall never come,
Then they will never see a day of peace.
I will not be thrown from my own home,
Nor will fight for justice cease.
And if I am killed, it will be for Falasteen.
It's written on my breath.
So in your own patriotic words,
Give me liberty or give me death.