This what wasn't in the documentary, a seperate tale. Maybe they cut it out. Occupied Cascadia. They were asking Jensen about his experience as an acitivst. Talking about the land in the Nortwest. Loving the land, loving the trees and the forest and the plans to protect it.
"Embrace me in your arms, as if for the last time." -Stephen Harrod Buhner
The woods were keeping their distance from him and Derek felt like a stranger. Days went by, sleeping under the boughs where he felt like an outsider, like he didn't belong.
On the third day a man came and began tagging trees to be considered for removal. Logging.
Derek flared up and yelled at him. Told him to get the fuck out. Made him stop marking the trees. Made himself big as a douglas fir and the man left. Then Derek felt the shift and the trees welcomed him. He suddenly felt at home. He had earned his keep in the forest. In the world. In the universe.
They say the trees in Port Angeles swallowed the machines that were cutting them down. The earth opened up and feasted on metal bits. They left that place and it's crazy trees.
There have been fights lost. Few fights won.
If They Come in the Night
Marge Piercy
Marge Piercy
Long ago on a night of danger and vigil
a friend said, why are you happy?
He explained (we lay together
on a cold hard floor) what prison
meant because he had done
time, and I talked of the death
of friends. Why are you happy
then, he asked, close to
angry.
a friend said, why are you happy?
He explained (we lay together
on a cold hard floor) what prison
meant because he had done
time, and I talked of the death
of friends. Why are you happy
then, he asked, close to
angry.
I said, I like my life. If I
have to give it back, if they
take it from me, let me
not feel I wasted any, let me
not feel I forgot to love anyone
I meant to love, that I forgot
to give what I held in my hands,
that I forgot to do some little
piece of the work that wanted
to come through.
have to give it back, if they
take it from me, let me
not feel I wasted any, let me
not feel I forgot to love anyone
I meant to love, that I forgot
to give what I held in my hands,
that I forgot to do some little
piece of the work that wanted
to come through.
Sun and moonshine, starshine,
the muted light off the waters
of the bay at night, the white
light of the fog stealing in,
the first spears of morning
touching a face
I love. We all lose
everything. We lose
ourselves. We are lost.
the muted light off the waters
of the bay at night, the white
light of the fog stealing in,
the first spears of morning
touching a face
I love. We all lose
everything. We lose
ourselves. We are lost.
Only what we manage to do
lasts, what love sculpts from us;
but what I count, my rubies, my
children, are those moments
wide open when I know clearly
who I am, who you are, what we
do, a marigold, an oakleaf, a meteor,
with all my senses hungry and filled
at once like a pitcher with light.
lasts, what love sculpts from us;
but what I count, my rubies, my
children, are those moments
wide open when I know clearly
who I am, who you are, what we
do, a marigold, an oakleaf, a meteor,
with all my senses hungry and filled
at once like a pitcher with light.
Kevin is on a drunk rant again, but this time it's different.
On Friday's folks stand in front of the bank, on the busy intersection heading into downtown on Wall and Greenwood. They've been here since I've been in High School. Since 2003 when the war in Iraq started. I was involved then, making my mom drive me to peace walks. Lighting candles. Music being played. Redemption song. It was a small movement and has remained small, flaring up on occasion. There are usually the same folks, older. The diligent ones. The mainstays. The bedrocks.
Kevin walked by them the other day and he told them what they were doing was useless. Protesting was useless. Standing there, wasting their time, he grumbles to me.
I'm listening incredulously. It's hard to find the words to say.
Of course. They are small. They are the small axe. They hold their signs, "PEACE" "NO WAR"
Simple things
Make your voice loud.
Do you remember the riots in Gothenburg
in the summer of two thousand and one
Boy, we sure had fun
I held your hand so proud
it was shaking from what I learned was doubt
in the warm summer sun
And I saw my face on a screen
they filmed us from a helicopter
The most frightened face I've seen
red in the face like a lobster
Do you remember the riots in Gothenburg
in the summer of two thousand and one
Boy, we sure had fun
Down the avenue
the black black crew
were throwing rocks at the cops stand
everyhing stopped
They started a bonfire
a couple of days prior
I wanted to do that too
burn down the avenue
And I saw my face on a screen
they filmed us from a helicopter
The most frightened face I've seen
red in the face like a lobster
And your hands slipped out of mine
I couldn't see no love in your eye
and I knew what I had to do
burn the avenue
And I'm not a political fighter
and I don't even have a cigarette lighter
But I wanna see that fire
I just wanna see that fire
I just wanted to see that fire
Burn down the avenue
Do you remember the riots in Gothenburg
in the summer of two thousand and one
Boy, we sure had fun
in the summer of two thousand and one
Boy, we sure had fun
I held your hand so proud
it was shaking from what I learned was doubt
in the warm summer sun
And I saw my face on a screen
they filmed us from a helicopter
The most frightened face I've seen
red in the face like a lobster
Do you remember the riots in Gothenburg
in the summer of two thousand and one
Boy, we sure had fun
Down the avenue
the black black crew
were throwing rocks at the cops stand
everyhing stopped
They started a bonfire
a couple of days prior
I wanted to do that too
burn down the avenue
And I saw my face on a screen
they filmed us from a helicopter
The most frightened face I've seen
red in the face like a lobster
And your hands slipped out of mine
I couldn't see no love in your eye
and I knew what I had to do
burn the avenue
And I'm not a political fighter
and I don't even have a cigarette lighter
But I wanna see that fire
I just wanna see that fire
I just wanted to see that fire
Burn down the avenue
Do you remember the riots in Gothenburg
in the summer of two thousand and one
Boy, we sure had fun
There was this rant a boy posted on his facebook about the apathy of his peers, this generation, our generation. "Who are your friends?" I asked. Who did young man surround himself with? Everyday my friends were coming out of the closet, organizing events, writing radical zines and cookbooks, growing gardens, going into the woods and learning the old ways and passing them on to each others children.
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