Stop being a consumer, and start living.

"Stop being a consumer, and start living." This is my new mantra.

There’s a tendency, even among those who are trying to buy less stuff, to call everyone “consumers”. The company needs to please its consumers … we consumers need to vote with our dollars … we need watchdogs to protect consumers … consumers are buying less during the recession.

Let’s stop that. We are not consumers.

We’re people.

When we allow ourselves to be branded with these types of corporate terms, we’ve given in to the consumerist mindset. We’ve allowed the debate to be framed around buying: should we buy organic or local? How can we protect consumers? Do consumers have rights? What’s the best way to spend our money on products? How can we be savvy consumers? How can we affect change in society by making ethical or conscious buying choices?

What about the question of whether we should be buying or not? That gets thrown out the window, because it’s already assumed in the term: we’re consumers. Of course we buy. It’s just a matter of how, how much, where, from whom, how often.

But if we stop thinking of ourselves as consumers, and start calling ourselves “people”, then we open up the question. Should we even buy in the first place? Is it possible to live a life without buying?

We talked a bit about that in society, reimagined … that we can grow our own food, make and trade and share everything we need. It’s possible — of course it’s possible! Human beings (not consumers) did it for hundreds of thousands of years, and at least 10,000 years in civilized society: we lived and worked and played and loved, without buying. We did it in tribes, of course, but also in larger societies that weren’t based around the basic unit of corporation -> consumer.

I’m not advocating a return to tribalism. I’m saying we need to change the debate. We need to stop calling ourselves consumers. We need to open up our minds, so that a different way is possible.

a.r. monko

The Snow I loved: a visual poem


It snowed yesterday
and you weren't there

The cold whiteness covered the sky
and you were not there

I saw the branches of the pines almost break with the weight
and still you weren't there

The snow I loved was no comfort; just cold, blinding me forever

So I crept inside my mind, away from the frozen, the white, the barren,

And found you there.


-A.R.Monko, 2010

painting my sorrow

i know nothing but
the subtle scent of lavender
in the air
and the sound of my paintbrush
on this coarse canvas

my skirt flutters at my knees
bringing me back

reminding me
of the fickleness of tranquility
and our surrender to sorrow

post ppd

i sat on my son's bed tonight and wept.
uncontrollably.
holding his infant clothes up to my face.
trying to connect to what i was never able to connect with.
my infant.
my newborn.
my love.
he is two now. and with me. safe and happy.
i know i mustn't cry. i know i mustn't be sad. we are happy now.

but there is a void within me-- an emptiness--
that howls- as my breath rises in my body.
a haunting-
of days that passed with anxiety, depression, isolation
and no connection to my thriving, loving, little boy.
i will always miss you.

untitled

i used to say, in the still night air, that it was difficult because everything was so different.

i could not find my compass because my entire world had been turned upside down-- my compass was out of loop. the magnetic directions had been tied-up and twisted. the magnetic forces no longer worked-- to make the connection.

i just don't feel like myself anymore because i cannot recognize my life, that must be normal. i mean, when your life has changed so much in such a short amount of time-- one must need time to re-root, right?

yeah, sure. he'd say. reassuringly. softly. and yet, the ground from under me was rocking, cracking, and edging away at the seams of my existence.

nothing could reassure me. i had to find my way back to me. but how, nothing was the same anymore. my body looked so different, it felt so different. i was supposed to celebrate this blossoming belly, this life inside of me-- this child of mine and the mother i was to become. celebrities say that it is the sexiest they have ever felt, then why do i feel nervous, swollen, and big? do they not experience the same things other women do? what about the nausea, vomiting, heartburn, stretch marks, lack of sleep, constant need to pee?

nothing was the same, even my breathing had changed. my breath, the rhythm, the sound. in yoga, they say, find yourself through your breath. the simplest direction back to myself, had been altered. it was a different course altogether. and i knew it. finding my breath reminded me of the loss of self.

i was hopeful that once the baby was born, i'd realize myself again. except, by then, i had forgotten exactly who it was i was searching for. i had died such a sudden death that it had gone unnoticed. i had died my death so long ago, that the memories of me had faded into obscurity.

i stopped searching. i numbed. i fell. i swam deep into the fog. crawled right into the shoebox of broken compasses.

breath

the blue light fades into the hush of the dark atmosphere
i am breathing
alone
in this space i have created
a sanctuary in my mind
i close my door and close my eyes.
alone
at last
alone

they are fighting for democracy

in iran,
they are fighting,
using their lives as weapons-

so naive at midnight

the lists fill my mind-
there is no empty warmth here.
there is nothing but everything
it buzzes above my own breathing
i can't calm down, and i can't stop it

he's asleep so soundly
i don't want to wake and worry him
his warmth brings me solace and yet i am ashamed
that i am like no other: normal without pain

is that the truth or what we chose to see
what we chose to reveal:
a fake california closet-- organized, designed, and oppressive

and i
always
buy into it

i can't help it,
i am very busy measuring and judging myself.
too busy trying to fit-in and do the right thing
trying to be the best that i can be
i always fall short, it's impossible to recreate that dream. that image.

so, i buy into the ones everyone tries to sell me
it helps to keep me feeling inadequate

good girl

the blue light dims
as whispering voices fall into a hush

my heart beats to the energy of my youth
palpitating through my body

nervousness and cunning assurance fill my heart
i feel my breath in my lungs and my ribcage moving

so alone

yet

full and complete

i walk the walk-- there is not another way,
or so it seems to me, at this bold age

i say the lines, they have taught me to say,
alone on this big bright stage.

it's coming on christmas

i love joni mitchell. do you know she's canadian? it's very awesome that a canadian artist is one of the most prolific and influential artists of the world.

it's coming on christmas, they're cutting down trees, they're putting up reindeer and singing songs of joy and peace, i wish i had a river, i could skate away on.

this song has been used in many movies-- it is one of my favourite songs of all time.

when i was twenty my parent's constant fighting and struggles got real bad. this song saved me. this song, and my brother. i wanted to shield him from all the troubles in my parent's marriage and all the sadness in our family.

the song gave me solace.
my brother gave me reason to be happy, stay connected, and make it the best christmas i could, for him. i look back fondly on that christmas.

the power of love, the written word, and joni mitchell.

I loathe political apathy - it's soooo uncool!

What's political apathy? Our very trusted wikipedia states that political apathy is public and/or individual indifference towards political events and movements.

When I was a tweleve or thirteen years old, Whoopi Goldberg presented the poem "First they came ..." at the Oscars. This poem sent shivers down my spine. Especially because it was read by a black female (making me think of the struggles faced by her ancestors and herself as a black female in america). This poem is attributed to Pastor Martin Niemöller (1892–1984) about the inactivity of German intellectuals following the Nazi rise to power and the purging of their chosen targets, group after group (Wikipedia). However, the precise origin of the poem is not known.

I have thought of this poem many times in my life, especially while I was getting my B'A in International Relations and lately with the state of affairs in our province.

Here is the poem as read and presented by Ms.Goldberg. I hope it inspires you to action.

First they came for the communists, and I did not say anything- because I was not a communist;
Then they came for the catholics, and I did not say anything- because I was a Protestant;
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not say anything- because I was not a trade unionist;
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not say anything- because I was not a Jew;
Then they came for the Blacks, and I did not say anything- beacuase I was not Black;
Then they came for me- and there was no one left to say anything.

Yesterday - in the proper font

That was long before sitting in the backseat of a car made me nauseous.
When the crisp air of a star-filled night stirred excitement instead of the need for a good cup of tea and a cozy fire.
Getting into bed when the birds started chirping stirred a sense of accomplishment, not resentment.
But, relishing in a past- leaves nothing but the falling rain.
I'd rather be still and mesmerize in the current stream that runs past me than look back at where I started from.

My recent letter - published in our local paper

To Whom It May Concern,

I am writing out of concern for our province. I am looking at the front page of the Wednesday September 30th North Shore News and lamenting our future and well being. The two front page stories are about budget cuts to a program helping North Shore women and children confronted with domestic violence and an award winning North Shore substance abuse program.

I am not surprised but I am saddened. When one looks at the decisions made by our Provincial Liberals, one sees a continued disdain for social programs and public well being. We are only as strong as our weakest link-- and the decisions made by the provincial Liberals are weakening our social fabric. Do not be surprised if crime rates rise (due to a rise in drug abuse), stories of dead women and children take-up more than half of our nightly news programs, gang violence continues to soar (due to cuts in public education and various counselling programs for family and youth). I can only see a bleak view of our future. And what baffles me is that they are cutting so much, and yet asking for more money (in the form of the HST and hikes in our MSP premiums), so what are we getting in return for all this money we are made to dish out to them? Where is our hard earned cash going? This government whole-heartily believes in the "trickle down effect"-- but I caution each voting member of this province to examine that theory. Perhaps our premier needs to stop acting like a CEO and start taking care of the people of this province. We are not a corporation, we are a society of people who need to be respected. We have to live with the decisions these people are making.

A few year from now, Gordon Campbell will be sitting on the board of many companies, perhaps living in a gated community-- immune from the troubles he has caused us middle-working class people. We are the ones who will face gun shots on our streets, an increase in crime rates, deteriorated conditions in our public schools, and in our public services. We are the ones that have to cut our spending in other areas of our lives to pay for the HST meanwhile getting little in return.

I am extremely saddened by the state of our province and by the continued loss of pertinent social and public services.

Sincerely, Sareh Donaher

Oh to California

Mom's voice like peach fuzz

Memories on blankets of soft white silk fluttering in the warm wind-
rippling back to me with the tide.

Dad's strong hands, rough and tired from hours on the stearing wheel. Reaching from behind the seat. Finding my soft pink hands.

I see his broad smile and glimmering eyes in the rear view mirror.

Love

A slow drive down south to California.

Asleep on the bumpy road with their murmurs and low laughter lulling me to dream.

I love E.E. Cummings

The following is a beautiful poem by E.E. Cummings (born Edward Estlin Cummings)-- I just wanted to share it with you.
~~~~~~~~~~

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)
i am never without it (anywhere i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)
i want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)