Hey all!
Here's the link to my latest publication on Yahoo Voices via the Yahoo Contributor Network:
Shakespeare's Twelfth Night Or What You Will: A Consortium of Crossing
This article is a discussion of cross-dressing plot devices in Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. You'll find information regarding crossing life stations (rich/poor), cross dressing, crossing gender divides, and crossed attitudes to name a few ways Shakespeare utilizes crossing as a plot device.
As always,
PAX
~Monique
25 April 2014
My Congrats to the Short-Listers
It is that time of year. Nominations are done. Finalists have been chosen. At the coming awards ceremonies, the winners will be announced. Congratulations to all the 2014 finalists!
So? You say. What? You say.
The Goldies and the Lammys. I say. Check it out. I say.
Goldies
Lammys
***BTW: The Finley Human Experience is among those short-listed for a Goldie! Thank you, Beth Mitchum and, congratulations on having two titles in the Goldie runnings.***
So? You say. What? You say.
The Goldies and the Lammys. I say. Check it out. I say.
Goldies
Lammys
***BTW: The Finley Human Experience is among those short-listed for a Goldie! Thank you, Beth Mitchum and, congratulations on having two titles in the Goldie runnings.***
11 March 2014
Poem: Woke up in Ukraine
Here's a paragraph poem for you, Ukraine, for those who suffer and those who fight for the end of suffering...
I woke up this morning in Ukraine. So many told me there'd be Russian bombs raining and ICBMs falling from clear skies. I cried out. What else was I to do? Skies were to bleed the red blood of life lost for political gain. And, I wondered how I found myself here. I wasn't sure where here was...you see, I've never been to the Ukraine before. I saw doors opening and closing rapidly. I wanted to help, begged for someone to open their door to me. Things are never what they seem. I wasn't anywhere. I was everywhere. I wasn't there. I wasn't here.
How can I judge the actions? How can I judge the reactions? Who am I to make assessments regarding the politics of people half-way 'round the globe? Not like I ever wore the black robes of justice to cover up the words I ought not say, nor the thoughts I ought not think. But, here we are on the brink - of what? Russian intervention in a Ukrainian civil war? What's in store for those who know not what doors open and close? It's not like those alive today chose the path their countries' must take. In all actuality they're walking the paths chosen by generations that came before. Some like vampires trying to avoid stakes to the heart, forget that lack of sun is not the hard part. We're all walking paths put down before us by people long gone before they ever got to know us. We're riding on some yellow ass school bus waiting for the driver to take us to places we'd rather not be, with people we'd rather not see, doing things we'd rather not do. I'd say sue, but who can sue when their government is on the brink and waiting to sink into a sea so dark they call it Black? I'd say it's a crime, but what crime can be in a place called Crimea? No crime is less than that old fashioned Holodomor, death by starvation always worked for Stalin, Hitler, you know, the kings of terror?
Just ask the rest of the world's starving children with their stomachs extended in want of nutrition, in want of a wealthy nation's contrition (not that contrition ever fed the hungry). But, how is it we find ourselves in the same places, in the same spaces, arguing the same topics? I thought by now we could claim: "We've got this!" I hear them sing: "We don't got a thing, 'cause we ain't got that swing." And, smart hearts all twinge at the repetition of horrendousness that's swept through the globe like technology never existed. It exists. We exist. Word of these crimes run naked through cyber streets faster than protestors with a destination so clear the MSM suggests mass evacuations. I heard the rumble of tanks, the whir of fighters, and I looked to the skies wondering, when will the bombs start falling? Then, all of a sudden, I was startled awake. I was in my bed not the least bit asleep, not half-way 'round the world, not in the line of danger. I'm just a stranger having nightmares for those with no choice but to live out their daymares. I woke up at home with worried thoughts of Ukraine and I wondered how many weary others have done the same?
I woke up this morning in Ukraine. So many told me there'd be Russian bombs raining and ICBMs falling from clear skies. I cried out. What else was I to do? Skies were to bleed the red blood of life lost for political gain. And, I wondered how I found myself here. I wasn't sure where here was...you see, I've never been to the Ukraine before. I saw doors opening and closing rapidly. I wanted to help, begged for someone to open their door to me. Things are never what they seem. I wasn't anywhere. I was everywhere. I wasn't there. I wasn't here.
How can I judge the actions? How can I judge the reactions? Who am I to make assessments regarding the politics of people half-way 'round the globe? Not like I ever wore the black robes of justice to cover up the words I ought not say, nor the thoughts I ought not think. But, here we are on the brink - of what? Russian intervention in a Ukrainian civil war? What's in store for those who know not what doors open and close? It's not like those alive today chose the path their countries' must take. In all actuality they're walking the paths chosen by generations that came before. Some like vampires trying to avoid stakes to the heart, forget that lack of sun is not the hard part. We're all walking paths put down before us by people long gone before they ever got to know us. We're riding on some yellow ass school bus waiting for the driver to take us to places we'd rather not be, with people we'd rather not see, doing things we'd rather not do. I'd say sue, but who can sue when their government is on the brink and waiting to sink into a sea so dark they call it Black? I'd say it's a crime, but what crime can be in a place called Crimea? No crime is less than that old fashioned Holodomor, death by starvation always worked for Stalin, Hitler, you know, the kings of terror?
Just ask the rest of the world's starving children with their stomachs extended in want of nutrition, in want of a wealthy nation's contrition (not that contrition ever fed the hungry). But, how is it we find ourselves in the same places, in the same spaces, arguing the same topics? I thought by now we could claim: "We've got this!" I hear them sing: "We don't got a thing, 'cause we ain't got that swing." And, smart hearts all twinge at the repetition of horrendousness that's swept through the globe like technology never existed. It exists. We exist. Word of these crimes run naked through cyber streets faster than protestors with a destination so clear the MSM suggests mass evacuations. I heard the rumble of tanks, the whir of fighters, and I looked to the skies wondering, when will the bombs start falling? Then, all of a sudden, I was startled awake. I was in my bed not the least bit asleep, not half-way 'round the world, not in the line of danger. I'm just a stranger having nightmares for those with no choice but to live out their daymares. I woke up at home with worried thoughts of Ukraine and I wondered how many weary others have done the same?
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