Transmutation
by Catherine Cho
He woke with his hand curled in her hair
She'd been baking all morning
He could smell it
on her skin.
Pineapple cream and
cookie shaped hearts.
He took her hand
Tongue tracing over
her fingers -
catching the grains
of sugar stained skin.
Wishing
eyes closed
As if he could hold her
there
sugar on his tongue
But he could feel it
disappearing already.
dissolved.
--
Is it selfish
of me to only want parts of you
divided up
a butcher’s market –
your hands –
the way your fingers curl
and your body shakes
yes those things I can say
for those I have fallen
the intake
and the gasp
as you fight
and I remain.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Saturday, May 24, 2008
maybe now we don't fit together but / you've got your arms around no one but strangers
the actual video is awesome, but universal sucks and disabled embedding on it. oh well. go to http://youtube.com/watch?v=Q0hlqHHgSX0 and love it.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Friday, May 16, 2008
trips to paris i civilize every savage / gimme one shot i turn trife life to lavish
jill has a blog. http://heavydiscussion.blogspot.com/
photos next time actually
this is from it.
photos next time actually
this is from it.
Monday, May 12, 2008
FUCK THE SFPD!!!
Hogtied, arm breaking, whatever. I fucking hate the SFPD, for all the progressiveness SF tries to front, this city is still a police state. Cops don't get into trouble for shit and at this rate they probably never will! The Office of Citizen Complaints is garbage, they don't do shit! And I will testify to that. They don't tell you anything about the officer/s you file against, whether they have 1, 3, or 20 complaints against them. There are no hearings, no follow ups nothing, but apparently once in a very long while you will get a mystery check for $235,000 because you are a petite pre school teacher being attacked by a fucking gorilla who probably wears sunglasses at night.Police groups are only making it harder to pass bills that would allow officer misconduct records to be made public. 
and yes, this is actually the fucking guy
S.F.
settles excessive force suit for $235,000
Seth Rosenfeld, Chronicle Staff Writer
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Kelly Medora, a petite preschool teacher who weighed about 118 pounds, went out with a friend in North Beach one Saturday night in 2005 for some fun.
Instead, San Francisco police officer Christopher Damonte, who weighed about 250 pounds, arrested her for jaywalking, twisted her arm behind her back and broke it with an audible crack.
Although Damonte and the city denied wrongdoing, the city recently mailed Medora a check for $235,000, the largest amount ever to settle a lawsuit claiming San Francisco police used excessive force not involving a weapon.
The Office of Citizen Complaints, meanwhile, has found that Damonte used excessive force in the incident and that another officer failed to investigate Medora's complaint. Damonte faces a disciplinary hearing at the Police Commission and potential punishment including dismissal. Damonte, 41, a six-year veteran of the department, has been the subject of other misconduct complaints, according to city sources. He was admonished in 2003 for inappropriately threatening to arrest a woman without authority, and he is among more than 18 officers disciplined for their role in the controversial 2005 Bayview Police Station videos, which Mayor Gavin Newsom denounced as racist, sexist and homophobic.
Damonte declined to comment. Matt Dorsey, spokesman for City Attorney Dennis Herrera, said the officers in the Medora case did nothing wrong, and the city settled only to avoid a potentially more costly jury verdict.
Eileen Burke, Medora's lawyer, said the case showed police failed to properly investigate misconduct claims. In a 2006 series, The Chronicle reported that the Police Department had a history of failing to control officers who repeatedly resorted to force. Chief Heather Fong said at the time that she was developing better ways to identify problem officers. "We've made a lot of progress," said Sgt. Neville Gittens, department spokesman.
The North Beach arm-breaking incident highlights the kind of police misconduct records that have become secret under a recent state Supreme Court ruling known as the Copley case. Gittens cited the ruling in saying the department would have no comment on the Medora incident. Details of the incident became public because Medora filed a lawsuit in federal court accusing Damonte of intentionally using excessive force. In defending the suit, the city was required to make public some evidence.
According to court records, the evening of Jan. 23, 2005, began serenely for Medora, 27, a teacher at the Helen Diller Family Preschool. After dinner in her Russian Hill apartment, she and a friend walked down to a club on Broadway, where each had two single-shot vodka and soda drinks, according to testimony.
They left at about midnight and walked west on Broadway, which was crowded with revelers. Her friend stepped from the sidewalk between two parked cars to hail a cab. Medora stepped off the curb behind her. There was no oncoming traffic.
Seconds later, Damonte approached. From this point on, the officers' and teacher's accounts diverge.
Robert Bonta, the deputy city attorney representing the police, said in court records that Medora and her friend had endangered themselves and others by walking into Broadway. He said Damonte and another officer asked them to get out of the street and said they would be cited.
Medora walked away. When Damonte caught up to her, he said, she refused to give him her driver's license. When police detained her, she allegedly screamed, struggled and struck an officer. The city later said she was drunk, but the officers didn't cite her for that.
According to Medora's account, Damonte seemed "irate" and "angry" from the start.
"I was fearful just of his demeanor," she testified. "He was definitely very threatening with the questions he was asking and his body language and his facial expression, the tone of voice he was using.
"
Damonte grabbed her friend's arm, held it up by her face and demanded she tell him her age, Medora said. Damonte said he would cite her, but didn't say why. Medora saw the name "R. Fitzpatrick" on Damonte's jacket - he had borrowed it from another officer - and asked if that was his name. This seemed to set him off, she said. He said yes and demanded why she wanted to know.
"I don't believe you're treating my friend appropriately," she replied, court records show. "You haven't told us what we're being cited for. Please let go of her arm.
"
Medora said Damonte started to scream at her. Fearful, she said she turned and walked up to another officer and complained about Damonte. By her account, Damonte then demanded Medora's driver's license. Medora said she'd give him her license if he told her what she did.Instead, Damonte said "detain her," by this account, and he and two other officers surrounded her. She said she did not resist them, but merely clutched her purse. Then Damonte grabbed her right arm.
"It all happened very quick," she testified. "Like he physically took my arm and twisted it up back by my neck to a point where I was completely immobilized. And I said 'ow, ow.' And he pulled even harder, and he snapped it.
"
There was an audible "pop," according to a police report.
The city's lawyer said in court papers that Damonte used an approved method of holding her arm, but she struggled. Then "in an effort to escape," she squatted down and "broke her own arm.
Lawsuit's claims Medora cried out in pain. Police called an ambulance and cited her for jaywalking.
At Kaiser Hospital, she was treated for a spiral fracture to her right humerus. Medical records state she was not intoxicated. Medora said she phoned police from Kaiser to file a misconduct complaint, but no one responded.
Instead, an officer delivered a new citation for resisting, delaying and assaulting an officer. The charges were later dismissed.
In her suit, Medora said Damonte had used excessive force, and that another officer, then-Sgt. Timothy Oberzeir, failed to investigate the incident. Oberzeir did not respond to a call seeking comment.
After U.S. Magistrate Judge Elizabeth Laporte ruled there was enough evidence for the case to go to trial, the city settled.Laporte ruled that a jury could find that Damonte "intended to cause her extreme pain and distress by breaking her arm." There was even a question of whether the officers had cause to arrest Medora for jaywalking, the judge ruled.
Police Commission staff refused The Chronicle's request for a copy of any disciplinary charges pending against Damonte. Such records used to be public, but in an August 2006 decision urged by police groups, the state Supreme Court ruled them confidential personnel files. Assemblyman Mark Leno, D-San Francisco, introduced a bill last year to make police misconduct findings public, but the measure failed after police officers' groups lobbied against it.
As a result, while Californians can readily learn about sustained disciplinary actions concerning doctors, lawyers and judges, similar information about police officers is secret, said Terry Francke, a First Amendment lawyer with Californians Aware, a nonprofit group that advocates open government.Meanwhile, Damonte has filed a $1 million lawsuit against the city, saying Fong unfairly disciplined him for his part in the Bayview police videos. His suit is similar to a pending case brought by 18 other officers disciplined in the video case. The city denies the claims.
E-mail Seth Rosenfeld at srosenfeld@sfchronicle.com
Thursday, May 15, 2008
illegal life trigger trife till we old and grey
JARED CAMPBELL WINS!
JACK GREER SECOND!
AMALIA CHILD AND PETE CAVANAUGH GET THIRD and FOURTH!
&C.
THNX 2 U ALL
I WAS gonna quit the blog but i decided to keep doing it, so maybe an update soon? fotos. it's summertime in new york i hear.
JACK GREER SECOND!
AMALIA CHILD AND PETE CAVANAUGH GET THIRD and FOURTH!
&C.
THNX 2 U ALL
I WAS gonna quit the blog but i decided to keep doing it, so maybe an update soon? fotos. it's summertime in new york i hear.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
i stand in front the judge about to lie plus i'm high too
i just got a last entry for the contest. still vote on the previous comment box
"my girlfriend asked me 'what's up' just now. i said i wanted to break up with her because i didn't want the responsibility. it's new york. and it's summer"
"my girlfriend asked me 'what's up' just now. i said i wanted to break up with her because i didn't want the responsibility. it's new york. and it's summer"
Sunday, May 11, 2008
tanning beds explode with rich women inside
in perhaps a show of boredom with $ the first annual morethangalenandmiles writing contest $, i only got three entries for the second round. i don't really know of a particular voting method, so let's say that whoever gets the most votes in the comment box by 8 in the evening on wednesday is the champion. not that i can stop you, but only voting once seems the most honest. good luck, thanks.
1) Hello Jack, I say. He’s not really listening. No, he’s not really listening. Jack, instead, is playing with shadows and walking down the sidewalk playing with shadows and not listening.
Jack, be careful with your bounty. There will be a man and this man will want to take what it is that you value and he will give you danger in a felt tight sack. I tell him this, but he only walks down past playing with shadows.
Jack is whistling now and doing tricks like yo-yo gimmicks and ups and downs and cheap feats and children’s treats. Jack is not prepared for what is about to happen.
It is three in the afternoon and the market is alive. The market is a rotting fox carcass through a fast-motion lens; there are too many people. Jack is a little scared, but he thinks of his mother and he thinks of the food he has not eaten in too long, how long? he cannot count. Twenty dollars, Jack. That is what your mother told you.
A man buried in poverty comes up to Jack. The man, thinks Jack, smells like a step dad. Not inherently evil, but not inherently good. I tell Jack not to trust this man, but I am not audible. I am a brisk of wind, a finger dragged across the back of the neck and replaced by the scratch of the hand. Jack does not have a need for me. There is a desperation in the eye of poverty like the seal of a virgin. An oil spill honesty, the man presents Jack with a touching story book-ended by bullshit.
The man pets Jack’s cow and circles around the beast like a Westminster judge. The cow is not a blue ribbon; the cow does not make milk. The man thinks with a silly face. He thinks by making a face that says: I know this game better than you, son. The cow does not look American. Her ribs ride through like she has no air in her lungs and her body has already been raped of its meat. Jack, I say, make your way out. This man is a coyote and has ill intentions. Feed your friend with your neighbors plot, and she will give you what you need. Jack still doesn’t hear me.
2) For Whitney
When I met God today, I was surprised to find out that she’s a woman. But that didn’t stop me from asking her to dinner. She invited me back to her place where she offered me her body. We began on the divan.
Later we moved to God’s bathroom. She has a large mirror on the wall above her vanity. I liked it. I could watch myself fuck God from behind. She began to thrust powerfully back into me. I stumbled backward into her towel rack, a thin metal horizontal bar. It snapped in the center, and the two halves clattered to the floor.
Without looking she knew what had happened, but regardless, she asked me: “What did you do?”
“It wasn’t me. It was your power ass.”
It didn’t take long to find out God’s forgiveness is not eternal.
3) It was the worst day ever; the kind of day when the L train says "FUCK YOU hipsters stay where you belong and I'll just shuttle you from Union to Bedford and you can fester in the East Village until your one pair of pants is worn to threads and your B.O. makes the dogs crawl away in disgust and don't even try moving further into Brooklyn you can't handle it."
That kind of day, when a guy on the street takes up the whole sidewalk because he's attached a plastic bag to an umbrella and is using it to smear dog shit all over the pavement for no reason. When you're writing an awful paper about falconry in The Taming of the Shrew and it's your last paper ever for undergrad and you've printed it and are walking to hand it in when you realize you've left out the bibliography and it's two minutes to deadline so you have to say fuck it. When the 86-year-old receptionist at the publishing company you work for asks you to plug the cord of his computer mouse into the hard drive, which requires kneeling on the floor and bending over until you're under the desk with your legs in a short skirt and heels poking out for his special view. When one friend asks you to come along to the awkward birthday and stay as late as she needs because her ass hole friend is freezing her out and she needs you to act as her buffer but your roommate calls because she's locked out and needs you to come home as soon as possible. When another friend borrowed your earrings last week and forgot to tell you she lost one but when you ask if you can have them back she says, "I feel sooo bad. I'll replace them," and you have to try not to sound bitchy and pathetic when you say, "Yeah, they were my mom's from the 80s so don't worry about it I don't think you'll find them. I'll try to make this one into a necklace."
When your vendor makes your coffee wrong, and everyone's half an hour later than they say they'll be for things they invited you to, and no amount of beers manages to get you drunk enough. That kind of day.
So when you get to 8th Ave to rush home and let your roommate in and it's 11:59PM on one of those weekends when the L goes wonky like a motherfucker and the guards tell you to "take a ticket and catch the M14 to Union" and you say fuck the M14 so you walk and beat the bus, but when you hit the platform a train is pulling out and the next one won't come for 32 minutes and then it comes and you make it to Bedford and wait 25 more minutes and finally snag one of those fold-out seats that you're supposed to give up for handicapped people, who you never see on the train anyway, you're bound to think, "This is going to be the day that a handicapped person needs my seat," but you close your eyes and lean back and it feels amazing. But as the train pulls out and you open your eyes just for a second because even after this fucking day you're all wired, you can't be surprised when a blind man is hovering over you and you have to add not giving up your seat to a handicapped person to the list of things that makes it the shittiest day ever.
1) Hello Jack, I say. He’s not really listening. No, he’s not really listening. Jack, instead, is playing with shadows and walking down the sidewalk playing with shadows and not listening.
Jack, be careful with your bounty. There will be a man and this man will want to take what it is that you value and he will give you danger in a felt tight sack. I tell him this, but he only walks down past playing with shadows.
Jack is whistling now and doing tricks like yo-yo gimmicks and ups and downs and cheap feats and children’s treats. Jack is not prepared for what is about to happen.
It is three in the afternoon and the market is alive. The market is a rotting fox carcass through a fast-motion lens; there are too many people. Jack is a little scared, but he thinks of his mother and he thinks of the food he has not eaten in too long, how long? he cannot count. Twenty dollars, Jack. That is what your mother told you.
A man buried in poverty comes up to Jack. The man, thinks Jack, smells like a step dad. Not inherently evil, but not inherently good. I tell Jack not to trust this man, but I am not audible. I am a brisk of wind, a finger dragged across the back of the neck and replaced by the scratch of the hand. Jack does not have a need for me. There is a desperation in the eye of poverty like the seal of a virgin. An oil spill honesty, the man presents Jack with a touching story book-ended by bullshit.
The man pets Jack’s cow and circles around the beast like a Westminster judge. The cow is not a blue ribbon; the cow does not make milk. The man thinks with a silly face. He thinks by making a face that says: I know this game better than you, son. The cow does not look American. Her ribs ride through like she has no air in her lungs and her body has already been raped of its meat. Jack, I say, make your way out. This man is a coyote and has ill intentions. Feed your friend with your neighbors plot, and she will give you what you need. Jack still doesn’t hear me.
2) For Whitney
When I met God today, I was surprised to find out that she’s a woman. But that didn’t stop me from asking her to dinner. She invited me back to her place where she offered me her body. We began on the divan.
Later we moved to God’s bathroom. She has a large mirror on the wall above her vanity. I liked it. I could watch myself fuck God from behind. She began to thrust powerfully back into me. I stumbled backward into her towel rack, a thin metal horizontal bar. It snapped in the center, and the two halves clattered to the floor.
Without looking she knew what had happened, but regardless, she asked me: “What did you do?”
“It wasn’t me. It was your power ass.”
It didn’t take long to find out God’s forgiveness is not eternal.
3) It was the worst day ever; the kind of day when the L train says "FUCK YOU hipsters stay where you belong and I'll just shuttle you from Union to Bedford and you can fester in the East Village until your one pair of pants is worn to threads and your B.O. makes the dogs crawl away in disgust and don't even try moving further into Brooklyn you can't handle it."
That kind of day, when a guy on the street takes up the whole sidewalk because he's attached a plastic bag to an umbrella and is using it to smear dog shit all over the pavement for no reason. When you're writing an awful paper about falconry in The Taming of the Shrew and it's your last paper ever for undergrad and you've printed it and are walking to hand it in when you realize you've left out the bibliography and it's two minutes to deadline so you have to say fuck it. When the 86-year-old receptionist at the publishing company you work for asks you to plug the cord of his computer mouse into the hard drive, which requires kneeling on the floor and bending over until you're under the desk with your legs in a short skirt and heels poking out for his special view. When one friend asks you to come along to the awkward birthday and stay as late as she needs because her ass hole friend is freezing her out and she needs you to act as her buffer but your roommate calls because she's locked out and needs you to come home as soon as possible. When another friend borrowed your earrings last week and forgot to tell you she lost one but when you ask if you can have them back she says, "I feel sooo bad. I'll replace them," and you have to try not to sound bitchy and pathetic when you say, "Yeah, they were my mom's from the 80s so don't worry about it I don't think you'll find them. I'll try to make this one into a necklace."
When your vendor makes your coffee wrong, and everyone's half an hour later than they say they'll be for things they invited you to, and no amount of beers manages to get you drunk enough. That kind of day.
So when you get to 8th Ave to rush home and let your roommate in and it's 11:59PM on one of those weekends when the L goes wonky like a motherfucker and the guards tell you to "take a ticket and catch the M14 to Union" and you say fuck the M14 so you walk and beat the bus, but when you hit the platform a train is pulling out and the next one won't come for 32 minutes and then it comes and you make it to Bedford and wait 25 more minutes and finally snag one of those fold-out seats that you're supposed to give up for handicapped people, who you never see on the train anyway, you're bound to think, "This is going to be the day that a handicapped person needs my seat," but you close your eyes and lean back and it feels amazing. But as the train pulls out and you open your eyes just for a second because even after this fucking day you're all wired, you can't be surprised when a blind man is hovering over you and you have to add not giving up your seat to a handicapped person to the list of things that makes it the shittiest day ever.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Sunday, May 4, 2008
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