tyra banks can bite me

yesterday turned out good. choppy internal seas calmed thanks to some writing and then lunch with jayne in which we concluded that hormones are a rollercoaster of shit and that the only solution is a good cry and some cake. drinks in muriel’s followed (photo’s below) with lovely folks, and then ikon Last Supper at The Roost.

it was a privilege. peterson shared poetry, an extended scene from doin’ time in the homo nomo halfway house and a wonderful extract from a brand new project he’s writing.

and then peterson’s partner, glen retief, shared an incredible chapter from his memoir, the jack bank, which is due to be published in 2010. an equally powerful extract available here. their offerings left me speechless, shaken and stirred. amazing stuff.

::

which brings me to today…
my plan was to return to dublin this morning but instead i’m staying an extra night. am heading to QUB tonight for an event peterson’s doing (details here), and looking forward to a final nightcap with P&G after.

and the morning has proved rather eventful…

i awoke to find my plan B for 2009 of applying to be on America’s Next Top Model cycle 13 (all models under 5’7″) is no longer necessary. which is a relief, since Celia was knocked out of cycle 12’s final 4 for being “too old”. at 20-fricking-5.

so this plan B is in the bin thanks to,
(1) getting notification from UCD that,

“The Graduate Board of the College of Human Sciences has approved your application for the MA Women’s Studies programme (full-time)…We hope you will accept the offer and look forward to seeing you here in September”

colour me saying, “i will.”

and

(2) at the age of 35 and a 1/2, i’m now adding “cover girl” to my resume – *without* the help of the above mentioned ms banks. seventeen magazine?, i hear you ask. oprah magazine? french vogue? ms.? bitch? bust? national enquirer? fly fishing weekly? nope. Christian Century. details here on pete’s blog. the article’s actually an interview with pete but the cover makes for a kind of ikon where’s wally? of familiar faces and silhouettes.

as of tomorrow i’m gonna follow in ms evangelista’s footsteps and won’t get out of bed for less than $10,000. i presume this means i need to purchase a cathater forthwith.

::

photos of some of the lovely folks of the week – sadly missing is a pic of steve lawson, who surprised us with a visit. he managed to convince me of the beauty and possiblity of twitter. and did so without the use of thumb screws. i usually don’t get to see steve any other time than greenbelt so this made for an unexpected treat.

peterson and ian (mrs tumnus) strike a pose in muriel’s…

LittleBird and Pád, my love…

The Father (our host for the week) and Glen sharing a lunchtime pint at The Nook,
before walking down to the Giant’s Causeway on Monday…

right, i’m off to meet the rollins for lunch. which reminds me,

friday night, centaur, gb09. ikon will be committing theological arson. we is rubbing our collective and collaborative hands together gleefully at the plan that is coming together… we’ve now 3 months to do a Macgyver on it…

LB

p.s. i’m really rather proud and admiring of fr tim bartlett for standing up for his convictions. tim’s a nice guy, was very supportive of zero28 and i’ve seen him faced with some very difficult questions over the years in various fora. but none as difficult as last sunday.

"terror is easier to face than confusion", he said

i’ve been reading the analysis of dick cheney’s speech to the AEI last week. wondering at the horror of the torture committed in afghanistan, abu ghraib and guantanamo. at the attempts to justify it, deny it.

and feeling powerless despair. we call it inhumane. but it was humans who did it. authourised it. legal-eased it. and there seems nothing but silence with which to respond. wordless in the face of images indicting us with just how far we humans will go to prove our might, our power, our authority, our triumph over the will of another. and as we rob the other of their dignity, strip it, beat it, break it, we lose our own…

i think of my infant nephew and feel the conflict of welcoming him into this world. for there is goodness and beauty but there is so much else besides. so many whose lives are marked by sadness, pain, suffering, horror. for whom this place is hell. i see the images of naked men, hooded, taunted by dogs, leashed, bound, and i think of this tiny boy starting out on his journey and wonder at what he will make of this world. wondering at what his life will be for… and if we can only tell him and his sister that we are present to a kingdom of beauty if we look the other way….

i think of the persisting scandal in the british parliament threatening to topple a government and i think of the abuse of so many at the hands of the irish church, of mass rape and mutilation of girls in Africa, which ilke enhanced interrogation appears to threaten no one. i can’t help but wonder that the expenses scandal is but distraction. and matters more to people because it came out of their pocket but does not affect their conscience. it’s perhaps not ethic that drives us but (love of) money. ethic should not be found on a sliding scale but this seems disproportionately scandalous… perhaps we choose our outrage by what we are willing to face. by what we are willing to pay attention to.

and in truth i fear all this is little more than a distraction from other things more personal that are pressing in unexpectedly and rubbing at wounds i thought i’d moved past. i feel the all too familiar claustrophobia setting in and i’ve been struggling not to resort to counting the hours ’til i can run. retreat to safer soil and be away from the triggers currently setting off tiny explosions of grief. it’s not funny how the total degradation of strangers never cuts quite as sharp as the mere slights of others against us. even the words and actions we choose to see as slights, whether intended as such or not. and usually not.

but it feels upsetting to feel oneself regressing and in need of retreat. especially when surrounded by lovely, beautiful people. and then grace comes in and i don’t know what to do with it either. feeling close to the brink, with it all caught up in my chest, trying to mask the twist of feelings keeping me from breathing easy…

i got to be at tuesday group last night. the unexpected chance to see mo and lynn’s soft smiles was balm. we sat and read tobit chapters 3 and 4. tobit and sarah both pray to YHWH to have their lives taken from them, believing it better to be dead than bear the insults of others. both pushed to the brink by scorn and shame. and like them, i pray. in tears. because sometimes tears are the best prayers we have next to silence. i pray perhaps not for death, but for release from shame and anger and hurt.

when i touch the tiny wooden cross at my throat, i think, this is what we do… and i am no different than the rest…

LB

small arms = big problem, big business, big damage

picked up over at the daily dish’s Cool Ad Watch…

from The International Action Network on Small Arms (IANSA) – the global movement against gun violence – a network of 800 civil society organisations working in 120 countries to stop the proliferation and misuse of small arms and light weapons (SALW).

LB