Dear Followers, Friends, fellow Workers:

I have just begun a new blog/zine called
Chirot Zero Zine A Heap of Rubble--
Anarkeyology of hand eye ear notations
the blog is more exusively concerned than this one with presenting essays, reviews (inc. "bad reviews") , Visual Poetry, Sound Poetry, Event Scores, Manifestos, Manifotofestos, rantin' & raving, rock'roll, music all sorts--by myself and others--if you are interested in being a contributor, please feel free to contact me at
as with this blog, the arts are investigated as a part of rather than apart from the historical, economic, political actualities of yesterday, today, & tomorrow
as with al my blogs--
contributions in any language are welcome

Free Leonard Peltier

Free Leonard Peltier
The government under pretext of security and progress, liberated us from our land, resources, culture, dignity and future. They violated every treaty they ever made with us. I use the word “liberated” loosely and sarcastically, in the same vein that I view the use of the words “collateral damage” when they kill innocent men, women and children. They describe people defending their homelands as terrorists, savages and hostiles . . . My words reach out to the non-Indian: Look now before it is too late—see what is being done to others in your name and see what destruction you sanction when you say nothing. --Leonard Peltier, Annual Message January 2004 (Leonard Peltier is now serving 31st year as an internationally recognized Political Prisoner of the United States Government)

Injustice Continues: Leonard Peltier Again Denied Parole

# Injustice continues: Leonard Peltier denied parole‎ - By Mahtowin A wave of outrage swept the progressive community worldwide at the news that Native political prisoner Leonard Peltier was denied parole on Aug. ... Workers World - 2 related articles » US denies parole to American Indian activist Leonard Peltier‎ - AFP - 312 related articles » # Free Leonard Peltier 2009 PRISON WRITINGS...My Life Is My Sun Dance Leonard Peltier © 1999. # Prison Writings: My Life Is My Sun Dance - by Leonard Peltier, Harvey Arden - 2000 - Biography & Autobiography - 272 pages Edited by Harvey Arden, with an Introduction by Chief Arvol Looking Horse, and a Preface by former Attorney General Ramsey Clark. In 1977, Leonard Peltier... - # Leonard Peltier, American Indian Activist, Denied Parole And Won't ... Aug 21, 2009 ... BISMARCK, ND — American Indian activist Leonard Peltier, imprisoned since 1977 for the deaths of two FBI agents, has been denied parole ... - Cached - Similar - #

Gaza--War Crime: Collective Punishment of 1.5 Million Persons--Recognized as "The World's Largest Concentration Camp"

Number of Iraquis Killed Since USA 2003 Invasion began

Just Foreign Policy Iraqi Death Estimator

US & International Personnel losses in Iraq &Afghanistan; Costs of the 2 Wars to US

Number of U.S. Military Personnel Sacrificed (Officially acknowledged) In America's War On Iraq: 4,667

Number Of International Occupation Force Troops Slaughtered In Afghanistan : 1,453


Cost of War in Iraq


Cost of War in Afghanistan

The cost in your community

flickr: DEATH FROM THIS WINDOW/DOORS OF GUANTANAMO--Essays, Links, Video-- US use of Torture

VISUAL POETRY/MAIL ART CALL Cracking World’s Walls & Codes Concrete & Virtual

Cracking World’s Walls & Codes Concrete & Virtual

No Sieges, Tortures, Starvation & Surveillance
Deadline/Fecha Limite: SinsLimite/ongoing
Size: No limit/Sin Limite
No Limit on Number of Works sent
No Limit on Number of Times New Works Are Sent
Documentation: on my blog
David Baptiste Chirot
740 N 29 #108
Milwaukee, WI 53208

Miss Universe Visits Guantanamo: 'A Loooot Of Fun!'

Miss Universe Visits Guantanamo: 'A Loooot Of Fun!'

The current 'Miss Universe' Dayana Mendoza (formerly Miss Venezuela) and 'Miss America' Crystal Stewart visited US troops stationed in Guantanamo Bay on March 20th, the New York Times reports. Here's Mendoza's account of the visit from her pageant blog last Friday. She says the trip "was a loooot of fun!"

This week, Guantánamo!!! It was an incredible experience...All the guys from the Army were amazing with us. We visited the Detainees camps and we saw the jails, where they shower, how the recreate themselves with movies, classes of art, books. It was very interesting. We took a ride with the Marines around the land to see the division of Gitmo and Cuba while they were informed us with a little bit of history.

The water in Guantánamo Bay is soooo beautiful! It was unbelievable, we were able to enjoy it for at least an hour. We went to the glass beach, and realized the name of it comes from the little pieces of broken glass from hundred of years ago. It is pretty to see all the colors shining with the sun. That day we met a beautiful lady named Rebeca who does wonders with the glasses from the beach. She creates jewelry with it and of course I bought a necklace from her that will remind me of Guantánamo Bay :)

I didn't want to leave, it was such a relaxing place, so calm and beautiful.

Friday, October 28, 2005

FIRST COLD: its effects on hands and materials

FIRST COLD: its effects on hands and materials

First cold is coming here in Milwaukee--cold air--means that working with
things outdoors as i do, the objects and surfaces i am making rubBEings and
clay impressions of are also cold--cold to the touch. The hands feel cold,
the materials cold.
I usually carry along varying amounts of clay to make impressions
of raised letterings and of various objects too large to cart back home or
lug to sites whre i can work without dmaging property or plant life. I
spray piant the clay one or many colors and then press paper down onto the
painted clay--then pull the paper of fand see the letters/words/forms in all
thier painted glory.
(I also do them in black when want a good dirty or a very
clean effect on the page--dirty meaning that the areas around the letterings
are smudged and torn and non-liinear--that is, the letters and forms are
more intensely apprehended as shapes, forms in themselves and not words
only. The clean effects are made by using clay strips that are not much
wider or longer than the letters/words/froms. When painted and pressed onto
paper they have a relatively neat look to them and the letter/word/form is
(I use the terms "dirty" and "clean" as this distinction has
been made for some time regarding two differing ways of presenting the
materials. I'm not sure i particularly care for the terms, but they are the
ones in common usuage.)
In the cold, the clay is less malleable and i have to press and
pull much harder on it to get it into the right lengths for the word or
objects i wish to cover and make the impressions of.
Banging with my fist on a siirp of clay to lengthen and widen it,
brought back memories of working in summer. When warm, the clay begins to
stick to surfaces, like chewing gum does. One hot day i was so excited
about a certain plaque i wanted to make impressions from, that i didn't take
proper note of the heat. The plaque was a black metal--and was like a Black
Hole in space, absorbing all the light and heat it possibly could. I applied
the clay and watched it begin to smear and slide and slither about my
fingers and palm as i pressed down. I went to pull the clay off and it was
like pulling taffy. It just stretched and stretched into colorful bands.
Some children playing nearby came over and watched with laughter.
The first cold also brings back memories which will be used to
plan ahead for the winter. How long can one stand it, making rubBEings in
ice, cold and snow? It varies with all sorts of factors--if one is working
in shaodw or sunlight, which direction and speed the wind is coming, what
sorts ofmaterials one is working on. Metal of course gets the coldest--next
comes rock, cement, etc--wood is quite cold and hard also.
Usually i work until my hands start to get numb or burn, the
burn before they plunge into an icy pain. I don't mind it as long as i was
able to get some good rubBEings or clay impressions.
For now, the air is only a bit nippy at night--but since i
often work well past sunset i notice it already. It's a good feeling
actually--i'm happy to be working away outdoors feeling these changes come.
Every change brings a joy because one's attention with the
hands and the materials is being continually developed. I love working
outdoors because the physical awareness i feel is teaching continually the
hands and eyes and ears esp an ever greater sensitivity with small changes,
small shifts of light, wind, heat/cold, hardness or melt of materials. This
joy & awareness i hope in some small ways finds its way into the works made.
They are thanks for being participant in al this that is happening,
continually. Notations of the continually changing . . .
"The basis of art is change in the universe."--Basho

Don�t just search. Find. Check out the new MSN Search!

Wednesday, October 26, 2005


Tuesday 25 --Wednesday 26 October 2005

"I will write down my thoughts here as they come and in a perhaps not
aimless confusion. This is the true order and it will always show my aim
by its very disorder.
"I should be honoring my subject too much if I treated it in order,
since I am trying to show that it is incapable of it."
--Blaise Pascal, PENSEES 532, Scepticism.

"The most beautfiul world is a heap of rubble tossed down in
confusion (or:' heap of rubbish piled up at random', alt. version)."
--Heraclitus, Fragment

"I do not seek, i find."
--Pablo Picasso

Welcome to all who, passing by, stop for a moment here. Hopefully,
conversation shared, looking & listening--uncanny recognitions, celebrations
of the found. Sitting in quiet. I walk & work a good deal outdoors, so this
site may well be pretty much field notes & snatches of songs, sights &
sounds & signs among rubble.
As i work with found materials, there is no great pre-plan or
sought-for-goal i work with or can offer. My hope is to share materials &
methods, which may be of interest and use.
Working with the found, what may be "new " to me may be something
anachronistic, out-of-date, ancient, of yesterday, or of a moment for anyone
else. It may also be brand new: just-out journals, works,
events--whatever one comes across to be shared.
"A poem can be made of anything" (W C Williams) "A poet
regards everything, each street corner, each encounter . . . as material for
use." (V. Mayakovsky)
(The poet as stealer of fire--or a junk collector--or both at
once . . .)

My deepest thanks to Jim Leftwich and Jukka Kervinen for, out
of the blue, creating this blog to present my works and notes. I hope I may
give thanks for their immense generosity by bringing things truly of
interest & use, with "the care and the attention" (C. Olson) which are found
with and in all things.

Visual Poetry & la vie en rose.

Waiting for the bus at 29th & Wisconsin, in the West Central
City where i have lived the last three years.
A stocky dark skinned woman moving at an adamant speed towards
me through the ragged traffic. She pulled up beside me panting a bit, her
face split open in an immense smile and her eyes shining madly, glistening
with a dancing light. I offered her a cigarette to keep her hands busy
while she gathered herself together, straightening her jacket, adjusting her
hat, pulling at her handbag.
Years ago in Quebec i noticed that in so many small places one
went into--bars, eating places, etc--the diamond shapes of wall ceiling and
floor patterns were an alternating pink and black. I remembered my aunt
Merence ("may-ronsse") as a child had a fascination with pink. Her hair was
pink, her glassses' frames, her immensely finned Chevrolet, the bar in her
house and the house itself. (My grandfather told me he was sure she only
dreamed pink dreams. When i was older and knew what it meant i told him
--'elle vit la vie en rose'--she lives the life in rose colors--rather than
she sees it in rose.)--Once her husband had died, there was a continual
pink explosion. If one looked into the dimness of the bar area, however,
there were still the pink and black diamonds on ceiling walls and floor.
Even in the pinkness, there still had to be Quebecois pink and black.
The woman talking with me had very beautiful black skin--and she
had painted herself pink. Pink circles huge around the eyes, pink eyelids,
pink lipstick, pink blush on the cheeks. Pink nail polish, pink open toed
lattice heels and pink handbag. A pink plastic belt. Her hat had pink
designs in a bright blue field.
"It's my birthday, my birthday," she kept repeating. "Want to
celebrate with me? Got time before work? Just a quick party. We can go
around the corner." She made a small gesture with her hands--meaning
smoking crack cocaine - and said--"i got some rocks".
The bus came and i watched her through the spotty windows
approach another man.
Visual poetry isn't of the page and mind alone.
It's a way of life.
Pink and black--since childhood--some colors of it.

Express yourself instantly with MSN Messenger! Download today - it's FREE!