Poem: Choke

I wrote this poem about three years ago. A friend of mine at the time was going through a period of significant loss. Her brother and cousin were murdered. Her birth mother died, and her niece was raped all within a year time period. I was living across the country from her at the time, and I watched from afar as she struggled. This I wrote for her.

Choke

It takes her again
wraps stiff fingers around her throat
chokes her until the tears run
burning channels into her cheeks
reopening half healed runnels
coffin-nails have left on her face
she calls me gasping
why
too much
too many
why her
why him
why them
bang bang
they found him in a lake
they found her in a ditch
he was murdered
she was murdered
why
why
why
the violence overshadowed by
the mist that leaders her voice
sodden from her throat
she exhales between questions
I don’t have the answers she needs
the ones she deserves
can’t loosen the grip of too much time
cut short
wrapping around her throat
can’t breath enough for her
can feel the damp
as it pours out of my phone
fills my mouth
runs out of my eyes
mother-brother-aunt-cousin
two killed
unsolved crimes
two taken too early
all died
this year and last year
too few years between them
too little time for healing
while prayers and prairie dirt fill the holes
they left behind
we’ve sat up nights talking
trying to make sense
of senselessness
of grief
of acceptance with no understanding
while the reaper keeps on reaping
scything through native lives
her life
cutting
cold voice laughing
hollow
like lines dug in her face
hollow
echoing
empty
open wounds festering
fearing that she might use alcohol to sterilize
knowing its ability to cauterize
too far away
too far away
to fly to her
pry death away
breath for her when she can’t
pray for her when she can’t
promise her what I can’t
that it’s over
when my promises
are drowned out
by the laughing of the reaper

Poem: These Streets

I wote this poem a while back. Sometime early last year.

These Streets

I’ve been down these streets before
walked them so many times
my feet need no directions
know every sidewalk crack
houses
weeping flakes of paint like sunburned skin
vibrancy a long gone memory
these colors are barely surviving
but the patterns left behind tell stories
plainly
there for anyone that can read the street patois
the pig Latin of the ghetto
that gives young eyes the gift of x-ray vision
lets them see the roots beneath the sidewalk
through the sagging sheets hanging in the windows
beyond the rib cages of yard dogs
skin stretched tight
kinship found in hungry canine eyes

I’ve been down these streets before
walked down t hem so m any times
watched dreams cashed for rent money
watched rent money cashed for a dream high
watched the junky prophet proclaim prophecy
whispered in his ears by the monkey on his back
toothy, grinning, picking hopes like lice
lips smacking
the monkey savors each one, whispers and waves
as the street opens up
swallows them whole
I step over the chalk outline
the street grave marker
requiescat en pace
a memorial
until the next rain
or morning piss

I’ve been down these streets before
seen single mothers press bottles of Similac
into mouths screaming umbilical rage
at fathers that found peace in fists pounded into pregnant bellies
into the girl-next-door, high school sweethearts, white picket fences
that never lined these streets
lined fantasies in heads
nobody told us that white picket fences were meant to keep us out
loan denied
bad credit
pickets turned into red lines
by bodies hurled against them
fences made of white steel
reinforced
indivisible
liberally distributed
one nation
divided in two
all for some
and little for us

I’ve been down these streets before
cuz these streets pave my mind
a city built and peopled by our fears
the can’t dos, and the can nots
the not qualified enoughs
the you speak so eloquently
the relapses
the system tracking
the racial profiling
the unemployment
on these streets there ain’t no schools
only prisons
on these streets every home is broken
and no way to fix them
on these streets segregation has been perfected
it is illegal to sit with yourself
high treason
to ask yourself why
premeditated murder
to come up with your own answers
sedition
to better yourself
your only choices
drugs, jail or death
all available without a prescription

-Brandon Lacy Campos
-Minneapolis, MN
-2008

Taking a Bite Out of the Big Apple

A week ago, I was on my way home from a conference in Los Angeles where I met with a cadre of professional and lay people interested in issues of net neutrality and media justice. In the room were everyone from an elder who was just learning how to use to the internet to Parul Desai--a fierce communications lawyer with Media Access in DC. A week later, I am sitting in David and my studio (mostly David's), preparing the final arrangement of my manuscript, It Ain't Truth if It Doesn't Hurt, in my new home city of New York, NY.

Getting here has been a journey.

The first time I declared that I was moving to New York was in 2002. I was looking for a job, and I had a a promising lead at the Gay, Lesbian, Straight Education Network (GLSEN). I thought the job was a slam dunk. It was coordinating the National Day of Silence (NDOS). NDOS was founded by Jessie Gilliam in 2006. I knew Jessie and coordinated a NDOS at Warren Wilson College in 2006. I was one of the first folks to organize a NDOS event. Makes sense that I would be a shoe in to coordinate the program. Well. It didn't happen. Thanks Christopher!

Then, in 2003/2004 I visited my friends RJ and Jeremy. And I declared once again that I was moving to NYC. Life and circumstance conspired against me in that instance as well (plus, well, Jeremy is crazy---love him...but he is nuts). Finally, last summer, the Liberty Tree Foundation was running out of money, I had to find a new job, I applied for five in NYC...and ended up getting one in the Bay. And then, after some interesting experiences (please note the editing right now...oh lord)...the work in the bay didn't work out...and my man said...pack your shit...and get thee to the City.

So here I is. I feel as if the Universe was letting me have a glimpse of my future life here, but it was also letting me know that I was going to be here on its time and not mine. Hell, I have been coming here on and off since 2000. I partied at Limelight. I partied at Roxy. I partied at Crash before it moved to Manhattan. I have watched West Harlem go from Dominican ghetto fabulous to gay. And I have been here enough to know that when white folks start making up the majority in Crown Heights that some shit has really broken off.

I am excited about the possibilities of New York. Now its time to make a strategy around taking advantage of the city. From the Minne-Apple to the Big Apple...it's time to put that shit in blender, make some apple sauce, and spread it all over my body.

It's All About Me Damn It!

I got this from one of my readers today. I thought it was hilarious. Thanks for passing it along my friend!

BETTER THAN YOU

This is an official
notice to decree that the
bearer of this item
is indeed better than you
in every respect of everything,
this includes intellect,
personality, social status,
number of loyal friends
and the ability to destroy
your life if they feel the need.
You have been privledged
to read this as you’ve spent
a prolonged amount of time
in the bearer’s presence.
you should now leave.

It is
all about
me
Damn You!

Damn

I am too annoyed to even blog. And that is saying some shit.

C-YA Oakland

I am going to miss a few things about Oakland, but, you know, the ride here has been hella-interesting. I made mistakes--quite a few. And I spent a lot of time dealing with the mistakes of others. A lot of time. Peace Oakland. Peace.

One Liner of the Week Award

So it has been a while since I have given out a One Liner of the Week Award, and this week we have a new recipient: Melissa Tangye.

I met Melissa years ago. I was in the midst of my own Great Depression. I basically was unemployed, drinking, and using my entire apartment as my bedroom. It was note cute.

Anyway, Coya brought her over, and she proceeded to teach me the Fart Dance. It kind of looked like George Jefferson's walk but done to a beat.

Anywho, I sent her a message today telling her that I was moving to New York, and she responded:

"You move more than a pair of titties in a jazzercise class hombre!"

And that is most definitely the One Liner of the Week.

It Ain't Sunny in L.A.

Today has been somewhat of a challenge. I got up this morning in a dead panic when I received a text message from David. I thought I had overslept and missed my flight to Los Angeles. On top of that, I had gone to the movies the night before, and I could not find my cash card, so I wasn't sure if I could get out of Oakland to L.A.

I did find my cash card. Which was some relief. Went to the atm. Got cash out for the cab to the airport, and the damn card broke in half.

I had just enough money to get to the airport. But no money for food. David to the rescue with his credit card. Thank god. I ended up sitting next to a beautiful little girl and her Grandma, and I coached the peanut through her first flight. In exchange she taught me a game called "Picachu," which to someone over the age of 12 would be called Rocks, Paper, Scissors.

I arrived in Cali and got a solo van to Occidental College. That was awesome. The conference has been awesome so far. Though I am in a room surrounded by a bunch of media/media techies....which is always interesting. And, frankly, I am scared that at this point I actually understand most of the conversations.

In the interest of not spilling too many personal details of my relationship (you, my faithful readers know that I would normally tell all....but David is a bit more squeamish...such a lady). Today is one of those days that is totally challenging me. And to show mad love to my partner...he has been great. And I am saying publicly that though you are pushing every one of my insecurity buttons today....I am behind you (well not behind you,....ooooooooo holding back on the inappropriate comment...barely holding on......whew)...but I hope you have a blast...in my own selfish interest I hope it is a relatively quick blast.....and I love you.

GEEEEEEEEZZZUSS! Self censorship today is REALLY taxing my strength. Baby...we are going to have to talk about my blog....this is my outlet....and I am going to have to bust through and share sometimes...I am...yes I am...

but not today.

Damn.

Pray for me ya'll.

Somethin's Cookin' In Hell's Kitchen

Whoever thought of the name Hell's Kitchen deserves a fucking award. Imaginative. Descriptive. I like it. And, I am moving there. Life and the universe have a way of pointing you in the direction you need to go. This time the universe dropped kicked my ass towards this particular destination.

I am both so excited I could just pee all over everything like our new house puppy Fausto and so scared that I could just pee all over everything like our new house puppy Fausto.

Moving to New York has been a dream for years. Living with David has been a dream for almost a year. Combining the two is enough to make my head spin around. And it is enough to make me wonder if the universe is playing a big fucking joke on me.

The closer I get to Wednesday the more I feel as if this is all some big ass joke, and that I am still on that mental health ward at University-Riverside and at any moment Nurse Buffy is going to pop in and tell me it is time to head to Occupational Therapy (I never understand that name...call the shit Coloring Class...cuz that's what it is).

I know that something big is in the works. I know I have a TON TON TON TON TON of personal shit to work on. Last night David and I tentatively agreed to some minor rule changes to make our relationship stronger.

I feel so fucking grown up. And I feel like a kid taking his first steps. The dichotomy and the oxymoron imagery is not lost on me.

My love told me today that he is feeling like..."let's get this show on the road already. This long distance thing has SUCKED."

I could not agree more.

The long distance thing has bred insecurities that may not have been there or may have been less intense, it has created a helluva a time getting into a groove that is long term and sustainable. It has created roadblocks in our various artistic endeavors, it has created situations where when we are together a chunk of our time is necessarily consumed by processing instead of just being able to relax and have non-lesbionic feminist process fun.

I am definitely looking forward to waking up next to him everyone morning and going bed next to him at night. I know that we will have our own lives and our time apart, but I want to know that when the sunrises and the sunsets he is there. That I go to sleep with the taste of him on my lips and the smell of him around me. So sweet. So home.

New York, New York

I am moving to New York.

Holy shit.

Days Like These

So there are days like these that are generally a mixed bag. All in all the day has gone well, I finally hooked up with a hottie from DC that had been trying to get at both David and I since before we got down here. He was sweet, cute, buff and had a huge penis.

A New Poem: Chief Joseph’s Song for Those That Cannot Change What Is

For Frank Inman: Heal. and for the LCO Band of Ojibwe, my great-grandma Susannah Johnson, and her mother Bim We We.


I shall fight no more forever
Lay down my bow and arrow
Set aside my shield
Take up my sorrow
Like a shawl
Drape it carefully
Around low slung shoulders
Use the last light of the setting sun
to clasp it to my breast

I shall fight no more forever
Spread my arms and embrace the rising tide
Use my body to shield
Those things most precious
until my last breath
is my grave marker
and the grass is churned into concrete
the North wind whispering
here fell the shadow of man

I shall fight no more forever
From where the sun now stands
no more dawns will I greet freely
no more the war path will I take
no more shall I know peace
that I lay aside too
only here now lives sorrow and sadness
coldness
our blankets are thread bare and hollow

I shall fight no more forever
Stealthily among the young
An ancientness has invaded
Like a cavalry rampaging
Slaughtering innocence
Herding what’s left
Into dusty reservations
The secret land where Death hides it kingdom

I shall fight no more forever
I surrender
There are those that will find new ways
Warriors to resist
But the song my children sing is hunger
Their Fathers are buried in forgotten places
Their Mothers dry bones thrust up from the tall grass
And I have only emptiness to feed them

I shall fight no more forever
Until one day
When the sun rises again
When songs of hunger
Are set to war drums
When fires are built
From broken treaties
When love turned bitter
Is honey sweetened again
When the judgment has passed
Then, then
Bend near to this place
Place your lips on the ground
And whisper my name

-Brandon Lacy Campos
-New York, NY
-8 March 2009

-The photo is courtesy of David Berube and was taken at the National Portrait Gallery, the Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC.

Happy International Women's Day

To all of my women identified friends and family, whether you were born female bodied or have embraced an identity that encompasses that of a woman, I wish you a year with greater strides towards gender freedom and gender liberation. The power to walk freely in this world, without shackles and weights attached to the body you demonstrate, is a gift freely given to those called men, but those called men also fail to feel the invisible restraints created as a counterbalance to the awesome oppressions we have visited and maintain on bio and genderqueer women. The impact of sexism and heterosexism is felt widely and broadly without regard to the genitalia found below your beltline. But overwhelmingly the violence and oppression that maintains the power structure of sexism is targetted at women and the genderqueer. On this International Women's Day, it is my wish that we all remember that our liberations are truly tied up together with one another and that each of us has a deep and abiding role to play in freeing ourselves and rejecting the power of privilege that maintains cycles of violence and continued oppression of the women in this world. Much love.

By the Grace of Phyllis Diller

So the last couple of days have been interesting. Once certain circumstances have changed, I will have much more specific commentary on some of what has gone down. But, instead, I am going to focus on Phyllis Diller.

The first time I became aware of Phyllis was when watching Scooby Doo as a child. Phyllis was a guest on one of the shows, and I remember that she had a dozen or so husbands, and I thought to myself, "One day that is gonna be me."

Well.....I may not go through twelve husbands, but I have definitely gone through about 12,000 boyfriends...but I finally found one that is going to be my husband. He knows it. I haven't asked him officially yet. But I will get around to it at some point.

I am still in DC and looking forward to learning more about the legislative process from the backside. I have come to know some things about myself, and I have come to know a lot about some other folks. And in the end, I am secure that who I am and where I am is a lot better place than some of the people I happen to know.

Mr. Lacy Campos goes to Washington

So, I am on the Bolt Bus on my way to Washington, DC. The world is full of wonders in that I am traveling at 60+ miles per hour and have free wireless internet on the bus. These new fangled inventions and technological progress never cease to amaze me. Hey glory.

I am actually on my way to Washington, DC to do a three week federal lobbying fellowship with Consumer's Union. I am deeply looking forward to this experience, as it will be both personally and professionally exciting. Public policy, in general, gives me a woody. The ability to not only craft it but the point of sale moment is what I thrive on. My recently released article framing DTV as a social justice issue is one example of how you take a particular policy viewpoint and then translate it into language and imagery that allows it to resonate with the population in general. Public Policy is meaningless if it can not be popularized and translated so that the young and the old can understand it with equal ease.

I also had the honor, last week, of talking about my article on the syndicated radio program, CounterSpin. Check out www.fair.org and click on CounterSpin to listen to a podcast of the broadcast.

I started this fellowship trip by flying into NYC. Between Mrs. Harris passing last week, work issues, and relationship issues, I needed to see and spend time with and make love to my partner. I did those things, and I felt at peace. There was no drama...even when I had to spend time alone with David's ex-boyfriend. Tildon the Wonder Dog broke into his creepy yet sweet doggie grin when I walked into the room. As a matter of fact, he wedged himself against me for most of the time I was there at night. And he definitely gave me the reproachful, "you are a bad Step-Dad," eyes when I wheeled my suitcase out today.

I love my partner. I am going to see him in four days, yet the weight of our separation and the short time spans together (this staccato visits) are both necessary and torturous. Necessary in that I get to breathe in the scent of him that drives me insane. There is something soft and visceral about his skin. I love it. It is torturous because as soon as I get centered with him again, we have to jet out. I know in the next few months that this will be resolved as I am moving in with him. But between now and then I must own the suckage with the grace.

British DTV Article

I was quoted in this article, and I didn't even know it ;-): http://www.ipsnews.net/news.asp?idnews=45837

It's Not About Ugly Betty: The DTV Transition and Why It Matters

On May 3, 1963 the North was stunned as it saw broadcast images of Birmingham Commissioner of Public Safety, Bull Connor,turning fire hoses, dogs, cattle prods, and billy clubs on peaceful black protesters that had organized a campaign targeting the local business community. The response was immediate and profound. The public outcry forced President Kennedy to send a negotiator to the city. By May 10 the campaign was ended, the Southern Christian Leadership Conference had won, and television was catapulted into the national arena as a tool for social change.

Over the next decade, images of violence from the Civil Rights movement and from the Vietnam War entered U.S. homes on the evening news. For the first time in U.S. history, people far removed from the realities of the South and urban black communities, people that could not find Vietnam on a map, found themselves staring at images of violence, death, destruction, segregation and apartheid. And the nation was moved. A national consciousness, begun by community organizers working in the streets and fields, was broadened and deepened by the family television set.

The right to information is a fundamental human right. More than 80% of American households still receive the majority of their news and the issues that impact them through their local television broadcasts. Anything that threatens easy and bountiful access to timely and accurate news and information has very real impacts on the lives of American people. The Digital Television Transition, ill conceived and corporate focused, is poised to strip millions of Americans of their ability to receive the information they need to make decisions about their lives.

Although Congress passed legislation changing the digital television transition date from February 17th to June 12th, 491 stations are choosing to switch early. Combined with those stations that have already made the transition, there will be more than 700 television stations broadcasting in digital after February 17th. And yet, at least 21 million households are either completely unready or will have significant problems when the switch happens. Indeed, already, the DTV Assistance Centers created by the Media Action Grassroots Network (MAG-Net) in partnership with the Leadership Council on Civil Rights, have received hundreds of phone calls from families that are experiencing major difficulties, and some, after having followed the esoteric instructions for connecting the DTV converter boxes, are finding that they are still left with black screens despite their best effort and the promises of a smooth transition.

Fundamentally, the digital transition was ill conceived. From its inception it was focused on corporate media giants. Scarce resources were allocated for the transition, and poor outreach was done to ensure that those most impacted by the transition--people of color, low income communities, people with disabilities, and the elderly--were prepared for the switch. The federal coupon program ran out of funds more than two months before the switch. National retailers, looking to profit from the underfunded federally mandated switch, refused to carry the $40 converter boxes, creating an undue economic burden during a time of economic crisis. And local community organizations, already cash strapped and overworked, were left to pick up the pieces and develop solutions to problems created by Congress.

And, unfortunately, the public discussions about the switch have either been complaints with few solutions or have dismissed the switch as unimportant in the context of the current state of the U.S.A. From the left and the right, people have exclaimed that “TV is not a right!” And they are absolutely correct. TV is not a right. This transition is not about ensuring that folks get their Ugly Betty fix. This is about the fundamental human right to information and the the responsibility of the federal government to ensure that right is protected for the least as well as the privileged. And this right is directly tied to economic and racial justice.

When a transition occurs or a decision is made, and those impacted or left behind are people of color and working class people, it is clear that there are race and class implications to the decision. As we move forward with rebuilding our economy, those that have ready access to the most current information will be those that succeed in getting newly created jobs and finding new opportunities to support their families. When millions of low income people and people of color are locked out of the information system, they , too, are locked out of economic opportunities. As we continue with massive corporate consolidation, radio stations run remotely, and disappearing newspapers, television will continue to maintain its hegemonic place as the common green.

But it is not too late to close the gaps in this transition. There are solutions. MAG-Net is launching a national Socially Just and Responsible Transition campaign. The campaign is targeting electronics retailers with the aim of having the major national chains in multiple metropolitan and rural communities commit to providing a $40 converter box with analog pass through capability and closed captioning. Each retailer will receive a certification that they have taken the Socially Just and Responsible Pledge and will receive a designation indicting such.

Congress has included funds in the economic stimulus package geared at making sure that the coupon program is sufficiently funded. In addition, Congress must also provide significant funds to support the grassroots organizations across the country that are providing direct assistance to their communities to ensure that the 16.5% of Latinos that are currently unready in Phoenix and the 13% of the households in Albuquerque are prepared for June 12th.

Further, Congress should work with the FCC to create impact guidelines for future major shifts in communications policy. President Obama is committed to building a broad band infrastructure, the digital switch is opening analog spaces for public consumption, a battle is being waged over free speech rights on the internet with regards to content, “net neutrality,” and as new media and communications systems are developed new communications policies will be developed. The FCC and Congress should create guidelines focused on the racial and economic justice issues of major transitions. Questions should be asked, in advance, that will ensure that low income communities, people of color, immigrants, elders, and people with disabilities are not left scrambling to catch up. And resources should be allocated to ensure that government and community partnerships are able to make sure that America and not just corporate America is ready for these changes.

We now have the opportunity to rectify one of George Bush’s many mistakes. The work is happening on the ground, in San Antonio, Oakland, Seattle, Philadelphia, New York, Minneapolis, Kentucky, and elsewhere. Community organizations are stepping up to and doing work that they can ill afford to do. As we make our break with the corporate values of the Bush administration and re-center the value of the people in the national consciousness, we must act proactively, with vision, and use this transition to lay the ground work for future communications policy that works for the people instead of including the people as an afterthought. The air waves are a public trust. And the public should be able to trust that they will have their full use by June 12, 2009.

A Letter to the Harris Family and "Mona"

The world lost an amazing woman this week. She changed my life. Here is a link to Mrs. Harris' obituary. After the letter is a poem I wrote to remember Mrs. Harris.


Dear Harris Family:

For 17 years, you have welcomed me into your lives, and into your home. I have spent Thanksgivings, Christmases, and Easters with you. I have met Grandmas and Aunties, cousins and siblings. I can remember Marcus before Shelley, Shane before potty training, and Nicole when she started dating Erik....the first time.

I remember the first time I met Mrs. Harris. It was after the regional speech tournament. I had just won a medal for storytelling and Mrs. Harris gave me a ride home from South High School. I think I talked non-stop through the entire ride from S. Minneapolis to Camden. That poor woman.

Over the last almost 20 years, your family has become my family. If I didn’t show up for a holiday, I heard about it the next holiday...from the entire family (including new relatives that I hadn’t even met yet).

When I heard Mrs. Harris was sick, I wasn’t worried even a little bit. I had just lost my cousin to cancer. So I refused to believe that God would take away two people that I loved from the same disease. Plus, I thoroughly believed that nothing short of the second coming would move Mrs. Harris from here to Heaven. That woman was a force of nature. But, God had other plans for Mrs. Harris, and, as happens more often than I like, his plans and my plans weren’t the same. Good thing He is running things and not me. When I got the call from Noodle last weekend that Mrs. Harris was in hospice, I quite seriously was unbelieving and stunned. I had just spoken to her not too long previous to that. I had just spoken with Mr. Harris more recent than that. When Noodle called to tell me that Mrs. Harris had gone home to her King, I was walking down the street. And I felt like the world had gotten colder and darker. A great light was taken away from all of us on Monday.

I believe in God. I believe in his mercy, his love, and his justice. I don’t understand Him sometimes. And I don’t undestand this. Perhaps I am selfish. But I want to hear Mrs. Harris’s laugh again. I want to see her smile. I want her to hug me. She once came to visit me in the hospital. I had been with friends all evening, and I had not cried. But when the nurse said that she was there. When I saw her. When that beautiful spirit walked into my darkness, the glory of God was made manifest and for a moment, I had hope and the darkness was blasted away by the power of her spirit. She held me as I cried. She made me believe that I would be ok. Mrs. Harris knew all my secrets and she still loved me. She taught me that I didn’t have to hide anymore. That I was worthy of being loved. I never really got to tell her what that meant to me. She was the angel God sent to me that day. She never treated me any differently. Her heart and her home opened wider to me. And I thank God that Mrs. Harris allowed me to be a part of her life.

I wish I could be there with you all today. I wish I could hug Mr. Harris and thank him for 17 years of laughter. I wish I could hug Marcus and tell him thank you for the years of joking and welcome. I wish I could hug Shane and thank him for being a part of my family. Most of all I wish I could hug Noodle, my big sister, my friend, and give back some of the love and warmth that she has given to me since I was 14 years old.

I never once called Mrs. Harris by her first name. I was raised old school by my Mom. And the parents of friends are Mr. and Mrs. Period. But, I thought, this one time, Mrs. Harris wouldn’t mind.

Love,
Brandon


Mona

I remember her smile, can call it to memory
like her laughter
like her phone number
the only one
besides my lover’s
that I have memorized


I remember the angel
that walked in a mother’s clothing
in a minister’s robe
in a sister’s body
in a wife’s spirit
in a friend’s embrace
who cooked banquets
fed spirits
til they swelled
with blessings
til they filled
with hope

I remember the woman
who loved me
when I was too lost
too alone
too scared
too broken
too heart worn
too burdened
too wounded
to love myself

I remember the gift
that opened her home
and her heart
her family
and her life
to an awkward boy
who loved her daughter
who laughed too loudly
who stayed away too long
who left a voicemail
to say goodbye

I remember the teacher
who dedicated her life
and her body
her wisdom
and her strength
to tear down obstacles
to clear paths
to build roads and bridges
into brighter futures
for Northside children
that the world
tried to ignore
or throw away

I remember Mrs. Harris
the woman
the gift
the teacher
the bridge builder
the wife
the Grandma
the Sister
the Mother
the friend
the angel
that God called home too soon

-Brandon Lacy Campos
-Oakland, CA
-12 February 2009

Fuck It! We're Going Live: DTVforthePeople.blogspot.com

So you think the digital television transition is simply about better quality broadcasts and ensuring you get your "Ugly Betty" fix?

Think again.

It's about access to information and a fight for public space. Upwards of 80% of the American people say local TV news is their prime source of information to make decisions about their lives. And, at least in theory, the airwaves belong to the people.

With up to 20 million people, including seniors, low mobility, low income, people of color and rural communities unready for the transition, we must ensure a no cost digital transition in the interest of democracy and the common good, not corporate profits.

http://DTVforThePeople.blogspot.com is a media relations blog advocating for a just and socially responsible transition, brought to you by Media Action Grassroots Network.

Mrs. Mona Harris

Today, the world lost a beautiful spirit. Mrs. Mona Harris. She was there for me at times when my own Mother was unable to be there. I love you Mrs. Harris. I love you Mr. Harris. I love you Nicole. I love you all. Thank you for the gifts you gave to me Mrs. H. Thank you for the gifts you gave to us all.

You are at Peace now with your King. You believed in him and his mercy. You believed in his grace and his love. He has prepared a place for you at his table. There is no pain and no tears, no more suffering, and there you can watch over us all.

I love you.