New Weblog

Hi to all chinchillers!

This is Dr. Indiatsi speaking and he has a new website/blog up! I have been working on the design for a bit and now its finally up. Please check it out and comment where necessary. Most importantly, Enjoy

http://www.ratchet-effect.com/

FREEDOM FROM NUNS

fighting to eat, and praying for laughter.
struggling to live, and hoping for sunrise.
with life already so tough, why complicate
further by restraining your access to life?
so here is one to all the chillers who take
life in their stride.

i love my chillers. i am in botswana right now and need sneha!

A CHILLER MOSAIC

so i am back in botswana. it is fun and dandy sometimes, and sometimes i am lost. i find myself gravitating towards expatriates and not being able to hang with the batswana themselves. my friends are zambian, zambian, english and indian. why is that? chillers, help.

Stay knocked down
limp, after contortment
and envelope the tomorrow

in your throbbing thighs,
in the yearning of their lips
that salivate day long, waiting

to be sought once more.

CORTEX FRONTAL

you came in and knocked me on my face -
i never thought i'd fall for you like this.

you came around and you knocked me down.

***
sometimes love comes around and it knocks you down -
just get back up
when it knocks you down.

if you know me at all, you know that my hero passed away last week. the man whom i always looked to in order to learn what art was about, and how to give audiences more than they expect - nothing held back. 

dear michael,

i love you. i am going to Neverland on tuesday to remember you with other fans. my art will speak your name and your lessons will show in it. my first facebook picture which i had on for months was one of you moonwalking because you are the force i wanted to associate my art with. i will forever strive.

Evolution

You're mesmirized by their stength
You know that to stay close you have to be better
You have to evolve to make sure their desire stays
Lest as your strength rises as was demanded
You're punished.
You're rising too high - they say
You feel your heightened power - they can see it
You know nothing - they say
You'll never evolve enough to pass me by - they say
You'll leave once you've sucked the power away from me
You'll find another to mould as I have taught you
You're worthless, remember that
No matter what you do you'll never better yourself enough
Never enough to keep me happy...

So what am I to think?
Of Evolution?
Of your Trust?
Your Love?
Evolution...
Manipulation and games..
I never do enough yet I've done too much

and i can feel and explosion coming

your look of disdain says it all

MEDICINAL

i need your therapy i 

need you to come,

and lay hands on me. 

i need for me to close 

my eyes ease my mind 

and let you

work your psychology.

STOP SIGN

my tears were not bitter but sweet, you said,
and that is why you always tried to make me cry
during hot and sweaty sex.

four years - because my tears are sweet. i loved it.

but after the great sex of last week in New York i say
this has to stop because sharing has to
give way to exclusiveness -
you will still be my friend, my best one.

frontal cortex

pain

explodes from the telencephalon and
radiates out, and localises
in the frontal region where

I throb until I gradually forget

I banged my head

you're too much of everything.

if i was nothing but beautiful
inside and out my past included
now, wouldnt'that be wonderful?
but i wouldnt' have cried and sweated to earn you.
you're too much of everything and i'm just a man.

you're so many other things
that only i understand
you're too much of everything
and i'm just a man
but i love you like no other can.

you're too much of everything
but i love you like no other can.

if i could be perfect
only to match one half of you
then i would be perfect
but with nothing else left to prove to you,
how could i deserve you?

you're too much of eveything and i love you
like no other can.

tootsie roll: part 2

only we two know why there is a "coincidental" mirroring between
his paintings and my words.

only he and i know why his art stands side-by-side with my poetry
because the poems that are not about him are about his art,
the paintings that are not about my poems are about his love for me
and my love for him.

tootsie roll

secrets protect our friends,
sometimes. and yes,
sometimes secrets themselves
should have no friends
or hearts for shelter.

williamstown to england

only the two of us knew why there was a secret in the bond,
only we two know why i wrote a poem entitled 'my black dandelion',
only he and i know why his art stands side-by-side with my poetry.
for years, four years no one knew.
williamstown to england, my greatest love. from
williamstown to england - a few people know now.

I fell today, into something like love. Not precipitously and headlong, but more subtly, in a manner akin to the drift of a floating feather till what I think is my heart landed gently somewhere by her feet, and mine. I entertained the thought of her and I for while and then, reluctantly, I moved on.

So, I have been debating this issue for years – my mind has time to ruminate on it. Finally can I strongly say I don’t believe in dowry. I said the same thing last year and my grandmother was appalled. Naturally.

In Setswana culture as probably is other cultures that esteem dowry or bride-price, much stigma is attached to not giving dowry, or giving insufficient dowry. A woman will be stoned with gossip for leaving her mother’s house for free, a man will be castrated with names for not being manly enough to pay, to provide.

Although I understand how dowry may be seen as a gesture binding two families rather than a transaction, I don’t believe it should be a sine qua non factor. We should be able to marry without it. What do girls think, and what do guys in societies where dowry is received by the man think?

Please look at this video to see the plight of women around the world because they give insufficient dowry to men. I am moved: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e85mnwHuaoM


I look forward to hearing your views, everyone.

LADY MARY:
-all the inspiration this man could ever need

i can see her standing alone,
all the men in the world and
she longed for none
...and i know they said things that hurt
but you didn't speak a word.
i can see her bowing her head.
...and i wish i was there to defend you, Lady Mary.
i will honour you in my heart, Lady Mary.

خَمْرٌ أَحْمَرُ


the kind of love that fits right like a glove is what will help my neck hold up the weight of my head on the fateful eighth day of june. the kind of strength that grows from hearing underestimated capabilities, lowered expectations is what will pull the sun to rise on that fateful day. you will be sorry you were ever an asshole to this guy. i lift a glass of red wine to you.

happy judging to you, happy life.

Mujhe thunde aur geele hawaa ke beech khada rahena pasand nahi hai

i hear they fucked a robot in order to make it feel, i hear they they made a list-of-code give oral sex, i hear they fucked a lunatic to make her feel sane, but still the creature remains rough as a brick, devoid of humanity - but still the doll remains in a fog judging itself into a grave.

So...I am near the end of freshman year...I have had a difficult year to say the least...I have tried hard in academics....and succeeded to some extent...there have been many nights where i stayed up..struggling understanding how to derive Newton's Law of Electromagnetism...or some shit like that from Gauss's law..I have also stayed up late thinking about the oppositte sex....and I have had an epiphany recently...How come when I played games with her and didn't take her seriously..she threw herself at me...and when I realized that i really liked her...and honestly tried to be nice to her...she didn't care about me?.... I fail to see the logic...any comments?

PS this is my first blog post ever...so I apologize if its a bit short...

I'm Brown (a chiller-ish post from my travel blog)

As each day passes and my hair gets increasingly curlier with growth and my complexion increasingly darker with sun, my appearance inspires such fun, yet possibly problematic comments as, "Wow, you really do blend in." Or "You're looking especially Arab today, Tony." Or "When you came up behind me I thought it was another(...?) creepy Arab man." Of course, the racial ambiguity that leads to these sorts of double takes is a reality that I must deal with. Indeed, it's a reality that I sometimes take advantage of. For example:

About a month ago, I made a week long visit to Egypt. My (mis)adventures there were shaped by a number of interesting, amazing, fun, scary, and confusing experiences. One such example happened at an overwhelmingly large market called Khan El Khalil, a bustling haven for eager tourists. A combination of common sense and first-hand knowledge led to my discovering that I was being ripped off in nearly every single transaction that took place during the hours I spent here. However, when comparing prices for nearly the same items with my friends, I learned that they spent a great deal more money on these items than I had.

In one instance, I bought a small, glass hookah, complete with tobacco, coals, rubber hose, and two bowls for about 11USD. My friend, however, got a similarly small, glass hooka, with tobacco, coals, a fabric/plastic hose, and one bowl for about 23USD. Of course, in the states either of these prices is insanely cheap, but in Egypt it's a different story--chilling isn't a luxury, it's a way of life. Why the difference in price, you ask? Well, I'm neither a mind-reader nor an economist, but that reliable combination of common sense and first-hand experience I mentioned earlier leads me to think that it's because my friend is white.

So what did I do in the midst of one of my few experiences with a preferential racial treatment that grouped me among the benefited and not the exploited? I milked it.

When we went back to that market I told every salesman who detected my not so-subtle accent, subsequently asking where I'm from, that I was Egyptian. Why can't I speak Arabic? I live in the United States; I'm visiting family.

Now this isn't to say that all buys following the revelation of my newly acquired identity were cheap and easy. I still had to put up a bit of a fight, but I'm sure it wasn't nearly as fierce as my white friends.

While I understand how the manipulation of racial privilege is problematic and unproductive in all of its nefarious forms, perhaps even when its benefiting the historically oppressed, I just couldn't help myself. And honestly, I don't feel that bad about it. Not simply because I got my variously important tourist trinkets for a reasonably cheaper price than my white counterparts, but because the history of colonialism, exploitation, and oppression that continues to define so many people's lives is alive and real. It's nice to feel what it's like to be in the 'majority,' to bask in the various privileges associated with that status, despite the fact that my inclusion is ultimately an illusion. Nevertheless, as I walk around various places in this region, I feel myself abstracted from the various partitions that would ostensibly separate me from my Arab hosts. The sometimes insurmountable barriers of culture, ethnicity, language, etc. seem to crumble in the face of our phenotypic commonalities.

This imagined solidarity is most powerful when I walk in groups with my white friends. As we stroll carelessly down bustling Jordanian streets, eliciting stares, glares, and gawks with our difference, I emerge unscathed by the smiles or smirks that comb through my group of friends. Of course, sometimes my clothing and earring get caught in the fray, but everything else is invisible.

I suppose this new found invisibility is so powerful to me because of where I've grown up and gone to school. Memphis is a city defined in black and white terms, the end. And as for we folk who lay somewhere in the fuzzy gray areas of race, we are forced to choose our alliances. In Williamstown, a thoroughly homogeneous town in a thoroughly homogeneous region of the country, I stick out like a soar thumb. Strangers in both places usually assume that English is my second language and that my political commitments lie beyond U.S. borders. Here, people make the same exact assumptions, but they do so with a familiar ease and not an exotified apprehension.

Perhaps in the end what I've come to realize is that the bonds of hair texture, skin color, and facial structure are far more profound than those of culture, language, or politics. For some people that is. I don't usually count myself among those who think so, but it's been nice to do so, just for a little while.

I leave you now with a picture:



That's me. I'm the brown one next to the car.

abeyance

flowers of the season smile open in the summer rays and spray wild perfume, sweetening the morning air – a lazy breeze on my balcony. …i open my eyes. i yawn. blink. …the celing is blank white. the breeze is so listless, the delhi heat is already curling around my neck licking my skin wet. …i feel good. …from the palm of this hand to the scar on my upper lip, from the cap of hair on my head to my cracked heel, a sweaty caramel-skin blankets my frame and nothing bleeds… the arch of my back holds up the body of a man comfortable. …i blink. i blink. …sweat is my thing. …from between white sheets of satin i emerge… like honey slowly escaping a pool of milk. i stand there beautiful, naked. why must i camouflage? two steps forward and the mirror catches me. i turn and stare. two steps forward and i plant these feet on the balcony, this pelvis against the rails. a woman on the street is selling vegetables from a cart.

the mascot ou quoi?

Domestic chinchillas can be kept as pets. Chinchillas are crepuscular, somewhat nocturnal and typically do not like to be disturbed during the day, which may make them less favorable as pets to some people. Chinchillas are naturally very skittish creatures and generally do not like to be held, although they can become very attached to their owners. Because of their high-strung disposition, they are not usually considered to be good pets for small children. However, chinchillas can be very friendly animals if sufficiently acclimated to human touch as kits, making them excellent pets for patient owners.

worlds will open up and the heavens will rain pula when discovery shall reign and we

will parse the statistic that women blink nearly twice as much as men. more questions. when

fore-fathers will be honored, we will wonder what we were before if we were. more questions.

we never stop questioning and wondering because horizons are like mirage – imagined. we

question more. the jew will question pork and my child will question why butterflies taste with

their feet, why a duck’s quack doesn’t echo, why elephants are the only animals that can’t jump.

and when questions are asked, chillers will chill and bhaang will dissolve. more questions?

… and she said, “I can see so clearly now, even with those hunks of dolerite obscuring vision in both my eyes!”

ANGER
is permissible
but RAGE
does not avail much
FERVENT PROTESTATIONS in search of VINDICATION
are as efficacious, and as misdirected, as a puff of air exhaled
in the face of a gale when one is so transparently complicated
let’s continue to talk past each other
our understanding is mutual

still, i wanna put this out...

who does she live for? surely not herself. she did not open her eyes to her body until it was unhealthily dangerous. all the time, all all the time, all the time i see her eyes pass judgement and i want to burn her hair. will she ever learn? will she ever be one of us, someday join us as the Lennon song goes?

Or is she "happy" to be functioning like an appliance, and struggle like a child retarded. she judges harshly, like sand grates the dry eye…judges and judges and judges everyone like a sage, yet she is yet to grow and learn that she is a woman now and can’t hide her face behind a doll. wisen, girl and chill the bile.

fucked up by elitism yet she lives among the poor and carnage, she judges herself, gets conflicted and bleeds. and fills up with bile again. like poison out of her lips, it is all she spurts. she is a tool, an instrument against who she is. she is needy, awkward. and refuses to take a leaf out of the book of chillers - a gospel of being happy for who you are.

i promise you, for as long as she lives to judge people and mock their passions, she will never find happiness, she will die by her hand, like a harlot, because all the hearts she hurts because of who she thinks she should be will curse her to the grave. my heart curses her future if she should have one.

the fucked-up judge

she lives a disconsolate life overflowing with dissatisfaction, emptiness - because like a dog she has been trained, and like a dog she learnt. like an android metallica, she knows no other logic.

will she ever fuck a boy and not nose-bleed about it?
huh?
will she ever light a cigarette and puff away like a chiller bold, a chiller liberated? Like me? Like Sne?
no.

she has been indoctrinated to hate and judge, to hate herself for feeling. to be insecure to the chronic point of not being able to offer a compliment. she closes her eyes and secures a dream unreal, a longing to be a cyborg – an automation of all that is perceived to be ‘right.’
how fucked up, man? fuck you.

Sarfaroshi ki tamana ab humaare dil mein hai

Rebellion's hope is still in our hearts.

Salut parents of change. Borne of the dust
we salute.
Let us, modern effigies,
glance back...

Great people, we know, founded our lands. Men of steely minds and bodies darkened with their kindred earth. They were down on the ground, vibrating with pulsing vision, Pain: punishment. adversity. imprisonment. nay! Nay! The courage to remove the glass roofs; to bow to the sand and cower no more.

These are our founding fathers. Think not that we do not wear their genes today. We will bear a country of our will. Produce the world according to I. All else forgotten save Identity.

I know that I may sound low,
but I think that it’s because I like elephants a little less right now.

Also, my plant is dead.
It was fine last night,
and in its second season, as far as I could tell.
Next time, I shall cut a longer section
or maybe not cut one at all.
Just planting, and then watching it grow.
Also, I shall keep a few free to the open air,
to observe the number of cycles before senescence.
I feel a little sad about this; I loved my miraculous wonder-plant.
so beautiful and so unlike anything I have ever grown.

Next time, I shall keep a half dozen.

chillers chat a stream.

every time we smoke we affirm the life in us, we cement a testament - the cloud of smoke that departs our lips is a waving flag that is saying i am alive hahah and it wafts in the wind hoping to settle on a non-ers heart mmm yes, there's something awfully empowering about blowing smoke

"Seretse" is Setswana for "clay" or "mud"

i shall staple this script and pray God to read it...

...i see the ink on paper and close my eyes, i see a moving picture
of the epic - bloodless but grand, unknown but Biblical.
i shall squiggle more words that will whisper to the grand souls of the
land, and rouse us to knowledge - how we got our colors of blue,
black and white. i am he and this blood between us is the
ink i write with, about one who bound the nation
together like muddy clay: white, black and indian; blue, black and white . i will draft and perform. and when i get older they'll call me freedom just like a waving flag.

Abeyance

The Romantics, they speak of the seduction in wait; the tint of titillation in the parsing of passing. But I do not parse the pastures, I bend to the grass and I am grazed. Can I really stomach it? Unlike the four-stomached bull, I have only one: one plane self, buried beneath. My hope will uproot me. But for now, my dear, I am dormant- till the seedlings arrive.

BLISS IN BANGALORE

That day in Bangalore, bhaang was galore...and chillers chilled.

Tying My Shoe...

soon mr. moon will be shining bright so the best day ever will last all night. yes, the best day ever's gonna last all night now.

THAT RUMANIAN FRIEND / THAT RUMANIAN

this assumption about me has hurt me.
to assume things about me, believe them and spread them like i am a stranger? hurts.
there i crawl back into my dark place -
if i begged and if i yelled, would it change the sky tonight?

a cloud hangs over my head.

i always give - and give.
give - and give to a world
not willing to give of itself but take!
snatch!

a cloud hangs over my head, and rains
on my face.

who is there to listen to me without judgment
when i am done listening to everyone else with all my heart?
where is my sneha to talk to?

it does not rain but pour,
and my tears remain permanently inked on my face -
like the face of a cheetah.

Chiller To The Core

- Please look at this clip:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=drI4BRMpaJM


She is such a chiller of note,
constructs realities at will
and lives them fearlessly!

Viva! Viva!

WWCD?

- What Would a Chiller DO? / "Jai Hind"

Okay, so I have been wondering what chillers would do in certain circumstances. It became clear to me that although the chillers on this blog have suffered airport drama, and dare I say trauma, we squash it like a bug everytime. By relaxing. By chilling. Now I want to show you an example of behaviour that is NOT chiller at this link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xbVw7entkxg&feature=bz302

The Curious Case of Holy Smokes

she crosses herself 

at the slight sight of earthliness, 

she drowns her face in the sand 

the same way she sub-

-merges her soul in holy water, 

and prays blindly like a child.

...meanwhile across town on 42nd and 10th...

her daughter is a healthy, 

thriving 

lesbian
with a 

flourishing crop 

of hair 

on her 

head.

GRAND KENYAN


creation’s own chosen crown royalty - eyes dark
powerful as a fire.
lips black and black from cigarettes, the smile
obscures the sun’s grandeur.
like a whirlwind you showed up unheralded
planted yourself in my path.
and i gaped entranced, breathed a little.
and learned a bit of swahili because i want some of that swahili itself…is this is a stick-up,
stick up?

Child Of The Universe: No Borders

breathing through the people and always seeking them, them always seeking you so you can breathe together, have a collective dream. Humanity.

Isaiah 60

"Look around and see what is happening:

Your people are gathering to come home!

Your sons will come from far away;

Your daughters will be carried like children.

You will see this and be filled with joy;

You will tremble with excitement."

WHAT IS IT? / GRAND KENYAN

here is the thing.
they make beautiful people in kenya.
i have a crush on every kenyan i come across, until i meet another kenyan and shift focus.
it is standard procedure and i’m used to it.

but damn…this one kenyan is made from something else because when on that day i sniffed a sweat, i went bananas insane, i gasped and broke a big
sweat to try and put out the sweet fire with it.
what is it with this very one?
skin wonderfully dark as wet clay remains in my dirtiest thoughts and
lips black from cigarettes make me yell blasphemy –
this one kenyan remains
remains
remains
damn remains my grand kenyan.

Enlightenment: Getting lost on the way.

Once we have divulged our subconscious, we must let the air of life heal it.
It peeps through every side path. The planes we bask in, high minded.
Touch the feet and step forth.

Let us share deeper truths. I ask the soul chilled to confess through commentary to this post.

I esteem the most gentility and openness in my relationships.
I am found intimidating as a woman subverting "image".
Psychology and basic human goodness are my divinity.
A lover of mine has to be emotionally intelligent.
I breathe through people, they are my wind horse.
I offer myself through laughter.

SIDE EFFECTS

you were a man i was a girl / you were a man i was a boy.

i loved you under duress,

on me you put a red dress.

you were a man i was a girl / you were a man i was a boy.

and

like that dress, i still tear and fizzle/divide and fizzle.

Inside me lies a knotted ball,
Multiplying.

Someday soon her eyes will zap-
neurons hit a nerve-
into form.
Impulse.

They are wide
shut,
as her lustrous lips.

Me in me,
She kicks and screams
But who will hear in love’s tureen?

She plunges down the melting pot-
Drowning,
Choking,
Flailing,
with each breath.

She will not have the chance to be born.
To cry, as if to say:
Here I am, unto thee to love and scorn.

She will divide and fizzle.

Silencio!

NIGHT OF THE IRISH PUB

Good DESI-gins while AFROdizzy

today goodness came in neither the form of jelly candy or delectable popeye's with medicinal soda water for the party body. rather it came in the form of blinking long eyelashes, lush lips and sweaty hair... today goodness came, it did not tower when it did but crouched in the corridor until it was chilled into the room; today goodness came in the form of endless eyelashes…

“Sameer! Sameer! Ek chilla doongi rakh ke!”

“Chilla! Chilla! Ek hockey doongi rakh ke!”

“Teek Hai.”

PEACE OF THE DYING FLAME, UNTO YOU.

i rise from a fire so bright that i almost look like an angel,
beaming in almost full white regalia pure as the heavens.
before me clouds part and it feels like the skies are opening up.
and to God i chant:
A Bulegile! (They are open!)
Magodimo a Bulegile! (The heavens are open!)
i rise from a fire, for i am of the fire
but it still hurts to open your eyes when
the light itself so bright.
i make fists and shake them before I reach for my scripture,
mouth a prayer and to the coals I say, “I forgive You.”
to God I chant:
A Bulegile! (They are open!)
Magodimo a Bulegile! (The heavens are open)

KABHI ALVIDA NAA KEHNA

Donald,

I understand that Dean ***** is working on setting up a meeting when we might discuss your recent email. In advance of that, I want to be very clear in my overall response to the concerns you raise in your email. First, you obviously are not satisfied with the grades that you received in the class. As I've said, I am happy to sit down with you so that I can explain more fully the reasons for the grades that I assigned. While it is not usually my practice to change grades unless some technical error has occurred, I am certainly willing to listen to your concerns more fully as well. I believe that we can have a reasonable discussion about this.

Regarding, however, the suggestion in your email that students of color may have been treated differently from other students in the class, I have to tell you that I am deeply saddened. I have taught college students for over twenty years, at five institutions in five different states. I have taught large classes and small, almost always with mixes of students from varied backgrounds, interests, cultures, ethnicity, etc. Not once in all those years—until I received your email—has anyone ever suggested that I have treated students of color in any prejudicial way. Not that this situation should be extraordinary—indeed, it should not, it should be the norm for all of us in the academic world. I just want to emphasize, as I mentioned to you earlier, that such uneven treatment would contradict everything I believe in and try to practice in the classroom. I would never knowingly disadvantage a student in any way based on irrelevant factors such as skin color or ethnicity.

Now, having said that, I do believe that perception is a powerful force, and if you or any other students felt at any time something was not right in that classroom, then I take at least some responsibility for that. In a seminar such as we had, the instructor sets the agenda and tone in the classroom, and largely guides the discussion. If you felt that there were patterns of behavior by me, or anyone else for that matter, that were inappropriate, then it would have been my responsibility to address that, and find a way to reverse the practice, or to make sure at the very least that the perception was in line with reality. And this is where I really wish that you, or others, had said something to me at the time. I would have been absolutely ready and willing to work with you on addressing any such issues. Indeed it would have been my responsibility to be responsive in that way. Alas, there is little we can do at this time.

What I do want to do now is to reach out to you, and to any other students with similar concerns, to talk and listen, and to try to understand each other's position better. I believe that open and honest dialogue is the only way to find successful resolution to this type of issue. So I hope you will be willing to listen to my perspective; I am certainly ready to listen to yours.

SHIT SAMPLE 2

Donald,

As I mentioned to you, I would be more than happy to discuss all of
the issues you raise in person.  But, one point of clarification is
in order.  You mention that you "got in the high 80s or low 90s
percentage-wise for the first midterm."  Since I gave the graded
tests back, I do not have the numbers you refer to.  What I have is
the grade record that shows a "B"  (and not a "B-" as you suggest)
for the midterm grade.  It was this midterm grade of B that was used
to calculate your final grade for the course.

As I mentioned in class, students who received combined numbers in
the 80s received Bs.  Students who received combined numbers in the
90s received As.  If you in fact received "low 90s" in the combined
numbers on the midterm, then your midterm rightfully should have been
an A.  If that is the case, then I made an error of either addition
or transcription, which can be corrected.  This would in fact raise
your final course grade to a B.  I would need to see the original
copy of the midterm exam to verify this scenario.

Best,

RB

FUCKERY SAMPLE 2

Donald,

Now that you are back on campus, I think it best that we discuss your
concerns in person.  I am available most of the day tomorrow (except
for class 11:20-12:35).  Let me know if there is some time when it
would be convenient for you to come by.  I am certainly willing to go
through your paper with you, and to more fully explain my rationale
for the grade you received.  Regarding your other concerns, I must
say that the idea of treating students of color any differently from
any other students is
contrary to everything I believe and try to practice in the
classroom.  But, as I say, I think these things are probably best
considered in person, so I hope we can find a time soon to discuss them.

Best,

RB


On Feb 8, 2009, at 3:54 PM,  wrote:

> Hello Prof.
>
> I have been in Tanzania for Winter Study where I had limited access
> to internet and so could not communicate. But now that I am back on
> campus, I would like to re-open discussion about my grade in your
> "Plays and Performance" class last semester. I have already spoken
> to you about how I found the grade profoundly frustrating given my
> work in the class.
>
> I, as well as four other students of color in your class were
> unhappy with the way the class was conducted and eventually graded
> and we expressed out concerns to Dean Merrill, Dean McKeon, Dean
> Sneed and the Multicultural Center. Lauren Young and I were
> especially vocal about the fact that you never picked us to speak
> in class even when we raised our hands, and when we were able to
> speak, you interrupted us and that evidently hurt our participation
> grades as you described that I was "disengaged" in class.
>
> I will not attempt on behalf of Morgan Phillips-Spotts, Lauren
> Young, Jordanne King. About my grades in particular:
>
> - I was one of two or three students who got either in the high
> 80's or low 90's percentage-wise for the first midterm. Everyone
> else got much lower, the results were curved (or even inflated) and
> I still got a B- for the midterm.
>
> - My final paper which you wrote was "frustrating to read"is I
> believe work that deserves better than a borderline fail grade of
> C-. I would like a different professor in the department to cross-
> grade it.
>
> - The final exam itself was very tight on time and it was a stretch
> to expect a full-fledged paper that ties in THREE plays, after
> addressing them individually for about a page each. Given the
> constraints and the quality of the work, I believe this exam I
> submitted is more than borderline C work.
>
> - I am not going to argue my class participation grade of B
> although I did express my concern to you during the semster that I
> feel that my participation was thoughtful when I was picked to
> speak and you agreed, although emphasis was put on the frequency of
> talking in class as opposed to actually putting solid contributions
> on the table to advance the class conversation. People who got
> rewarded are people who did not read the plays and came class and
> just said over and over, "I thought the play was weird" with no
> intellectual value whatsoever.
>
> I would like to let you know that my Theatre major is very
> important to me and I am only asking for this cross-grading as a
> way of making sure that I get what I deserve, after putting so much
> work and effort into a class that I did not feel a part of half the
> time. I looked past the discomfort of the class to actually being a
> good student and I feel that I am going to claim my transcript as
> my own, it should comprise of grades I deserve.
>
> Thank you for your time and I hope to hear from you soon about this
> matter.
>
> Leungo Donald Molosi '09

FUCKERY SAMPLE 1

Donald,

You requested a break-down of your grade.  It is the following:

Midterm Exam: B
Paper: C-
Final Exam: B-
Class Participation: B

I have placed your graded paper and mid-term exam in an envelope 
tacked just outside the door of my office.  After you have had a 
chance to review these, I would be happy to discuss the evaluations 
with you.  I have reviewed the work based on your concern and see no 
reason to change the grades.  I am, however, always willing to 
discuss work with students.  If you'd like to make an appointment to 
do so sometime after January 5, please let me know.

Have a happy and safe holiday season.

RB

On Dec 17, 2008, at 4:45 PM, Donald Molosi wrote:

> Rob,
>
> Also, I have been advised that if I would like my exam grade to be 
> reconsidered
> I could get a fellow professor or two to read my work, including 
> the exams and
> have a conversation about with you involved. This would of course 
> re-grading
> and seeing if we end up with the same grade or not.
>
> So, please keep a copy of my exam that you graded. I have a copy of 
> the ungraded
> one as  a back-up. I believe all my work to be first-class in this 
> class and if
> I am wrong I would like to see why it falls below the A-grade range
> (with other
> professors' views accounted for as well.). And why below the A mark 
> by so
> much.
>
> Thank you for understanding,and I will copy our correspondence to 
> my advisors
> and email them separately as well. I take this very seriously and I 
> hope you
> will take another look.
>
> Happy holidays, and I hope to hear from you about this.
>
> Donald
>

IT IS AT THESE TIMES WHEN I AM SO ANGRY AND FRUSTRATED BECAUSE OF A RACIST PROFESSOR THAT I WISH I COULD PICK UP THE PHONE AND SPEAK TO MY FRIEND SNEH

Hello from Jordan Fellow-Chillers!

I think of myself as our foreign correspondent of sorts. The man on the ground, experiencing Jordanian chilling at its finest. And let me tell you it's fine. Argeeleh (Jordanian 9amiyah word for hookah) is amazing. Comes in all flavors and locations, and definitely gets the job done.

Anyhow, just thought I'd say "hi" and offer a glimpse into my world: The pic is an action shot from a chiller cafe in downtown Amman.

Chill on,
Tony

The unseeing eye

As far as my eye can see,
It is me who I seek.
Shelley’s love of similitude,
Caught as the heart exudes,
--Till I am unhinged by a greater being.
Unmasked: she is freeing.
I walk outside my customary zone
And still I find my own.

How fucked up are we?

Just how fucked up is man,
That his actions should oft be incongruent with his feelings,
That he should so want to conceal the truth in his heart,
Even if pain and sorrow to others this brings?

PARENTS

Parenthood has many charms. And here's one more. It's a great suicide preventive in married women. So reports a team of Norwegian physicians who enrolled a million women in a study and collected information about them over the next 15 years. The married women turned out to have a lower suicide rate than the unmarried. No surprise-almost every study has shown that single women have a higher suicide rate than their married sisters.

WhErE hUmAniTY rEsiDEs

I have got to the point where I do not put much stock on blood; I weigh character more. That is why I believe my family is scattered all over the world, in every nook and cranny where humanity resides. And I am going to travel the world and find them. My children also, are all over the world. Blood is not thicker than anything, at times. In my experience and those of chillers I esteem, the blood-bond has been used to hurt, limit and abuse. Enough said.

In the name of my father

LACKING

The fond heart of absence.
Silence brimming sense
of being me, thee, she.
Travesty to see.

MUM AND DAD – THEY FUCK YOU UP OR WHAT?

So, I have just returned from sunny and sexy Tanzania where I enjoyed my time a great deal. While in Tanzania and travelling through the gem that is Dubai, I was certainly constantly chilling, and contemplating when necessary. And naturally the existential questions sprouted in the mind as they do.

“Why do people have children?” I wondered over and over again. Simple question it seems to be, but I thought long and hard and wondered whether people just want to see clones of themselves in the children, want to legitimize their marriages, want to witness a person
(or something) grow, want to re-live their lives, want to offer someone else a better life than they had?

I mean, the way some people treat their children once those children are born is almost as if they entertain the idea of a child but not so much the existence of one. I know this is a very Philip Larkin type of post but I would like to hear what the chillers’ thoughts are on this. There is just no way that EVERYONE who has children wants to have children.

Flash in the pan

See-saw

Ethno me sore

-Rise

Or do we fall within? Be-littled by consuming sensation

Can we feast daily?

Gorge the soul!

Flippant to flutter?

Even the oak

Breathes from the breeze.

Wafting stalwart

His toes hardened, roots planted for life

to Ascend.

Growing beyond.

Dying to live.

Is he conscious of the sapling? Or does he find it just pure sappy-

Does the internal eye negate the world?

let the sparks ignite,

even when we are pyre-wood.

PHYSICAL PHYSICAL: The Other (Wo)Man's Story

you picked your own roads in the end,

you towered beside a younger pretty face .

you gasped, entwined yourself with her until i was

but a shadow from times gone by. still

it is that tower of man that beckons to me again; and 

i dream of kneeling in its shadow where

i shall cry ecstasy.

Slumdog soundtrack

D: It is written

You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one:
An ode to the Convergence

EPIC

Earth born and bound, we kiss the soil we share
Placid, in the Galaxy, souls lay bare
I am but a slumdog millionaire-

Canter in.




Farewell.
Escape artists we must so-journ,
as we are accustomed
and adjourn.