Haiti earthquake

[ haiti. all photos from the Times online Photo Gallery]





[ . Eduardo Munoz Reuters]

Thousands of homeless people sat on the darkened streets of Port-au-Prince in a daze or gathered in public squares, singing hymns.

The headlines did not lie. 12 January 2010 saw tragedy crush an ill-equipped yawing mousetrap of an island.

Comment from a blogger in Haiti:

I didn’t actually fall on the ground, but I stumbled around quite a bit. When the tremors ceased, a large dust cloud was rising from the building a few doors down.

A 3 story school full of teenage girls had collapsed. I stood around looking stupid for longer than I’d like to admit. I looked at the truck from Toyota, tried to call my wife (the service was out) and looked around me at people’s reactions.

Virtually everyone reacted in strange ways. Eventually, I went to the school and started working to pull trapped students from the wreckage.

The work was very hard because I was working by myself. People would come up and shout into the wreckage, “Is so-and-so inside?” at the top of their lungs repeatedly.

... I got one girl out, who was very frantic. I told her to stop shouting and pray for help.

She was about 10 feet deep under the collapsed cement roof of the building. At one point I went and borrowed a hammer from someone to break up the large piece of cement that she was trapped behind. The aftershocks scared the crap out of me, and I really didn’t like being under that cement slab. There was an obviously dead woman under the slab with us.

When the girl was out, I took my hammer and moved over to find the next trapped girl. All I could see was her face and left arm, and she frantically called out to me. I asked her to calm down because it would help me to work and asked her to pray for both of us.

... There was some sort of object behind that rubble and when I went to move it it turned out to be another girl’s bottom. The girl cried out but I could barely hear her – her whole head was underneath rubble.

At this point I began to realize that I was in over my head. All I had was a hammer, and it was quickly becoming pitch dark with twilight fading and no electricity anywhere. I tried to borrow a flashlight, but it was impossible.

I had a moment of feeling intense helplessness. After thinking and praying for a minute, I told Jacqueline that I had to leave her and find more help. I couldn’t do anything without a flashlight, and she needed to keep praying and remember that her parents were coming to look for her.

I walked 4 or 5 miles to a place where I could get a bus, then got on one eventually made it home just after 9pm. On my way home, I resolved to return to Port au Prince the next day with 2 trucks full of tools and workers to do whatever we could.

I met a guy on the bus who was holding a sandwich. He had left his house to go buy a sandwich when the earthquake hit. He returned to his home to find it flattened, then went to the school that he teaches at to find it flattened. With nothing left but a sandwich in his hand, and $7 in his sock, he set out for Cap Haitien to be with the rest of his family.

I slept a little bit last night even though I kept thinking of Jacqueline and her classmate stuck in the rubble, in the dark. This morning all of the workers enthusiastically loaded all the tools we could use into the trucks along with food and water and set off for Port au Prince.

I took them to the school and quickly made my way to the place Jacqueline and the other student were but both of them were dead.

-Chris Rollings

... On the bus he met a man named Amos who had gone out to get a sandwich and minutes later found his house was flattened as was the school where he worked. He took his sandwich and got on a bus headed for Cap Haitien because everything that had made up his life in Port was gone. Amos is sleeping in our dorms and when I took him sheets and towels and asked how he was doing he simply said, with a smile, “M’ pa pi mal, gras a Dieu. ” I’m not bad, by the grace of God.

-from his wife, Leslie Rollings

inspiration.

[ .from Jessica Naomi [flickr])

in flashes and bright sparks,
they excite, choke-
there seems neither next nor past,
it takes me up in its life.

then gone and spent,
i'm left changed.
there seems no reason nor impetus
to explain the event.

Stolen Auschwitz sign.

[ Poland, Auschwitz. from the BBC ]

Four dawns ago, the sign bearing the Nazi slogan "Arbeit Macht Frei" was stolen.

It was neither murder nor rape. Nothing monied misplaced. But along with many others, I felt a quiet shock. And learned, again, that in the vast territory that is the human world, no one thing is uniformly sacred.

Today, the five thieves were apprehended. The 5-metre sign was found cut into three pieces.

We forget, dismember, pillage. And in undermining the markers of our humanity, we undermine our own.

And oh yes, those thieves were 'art thieves'.

something i felt today.

[? . from whysharksmatter ]

(one of the comments)
Despite all the knowledge and technology we possess we continue to destroy things that we don’t fully understand.

us people always seemed to me more self-conscious than self-aware, more inclined to the strange Other than attuned to mapping our interconnectedness. and i'd always thought the devastation on plants and animals a tragic evidence.

there may be mtv* specials galore courtesy of al gore campaigns and wonderful mega-documentaries [see list of EXCITES to the right] out to showcase the world we could be losing, but so long as we only see in parts and in terms of Other..

sharks have been pretty much elevated and distorted in the consciousness of most singaporeans. they are exoticised sleek machines from waters far and away. they also make for delicious sharks fin soup. they are both mythical and part of tradition; a power combo hard to change.


those are two reasons why i'm anticipating “Why Sharks Matter: Using New Environmentalism to Show The Economic And Ecological Importance of Sharks, The Threats They Face, and How You Can Help", by David Shiffman (scientist guy in above pic). follow his shark-crusades here.


*by the way, mtv videos always hit the 'cool' mark..

MTV Global Warming Campaign from Justin Gedzus on Vimeo.

fatvertising.

[ usa, ny. anti-obesity ad]

The ads — which cost about $277,000 to develop over three fiscal years, including money for creative work and focus groups — will run in 1,500 subway cars for three months. (The $90,000 cost of the subway advertisement comes through a private donor, the Fund for Public Health in New York.)


someone asks: but are these images we really need clogging the arteries of our subways every day?
i: yes, i think so. i think we sometimes need a jolt that things aren't sugar, nice, and everything innocent (everything that's put) out there.

it nicely ties in with the other bit we often have in our hands. the burger, otherwise to be known as the bad bits of unhappy cows genetically engineered by the companies.

the real green engineering.

[ india, cherrapunji. rootbridges. all other images from theoriens ]

what happens when man can't build a bridge.

why, grow one of course. this northeastern bit of india is one of the wettest places on earth (monsoon winds from the bay of bengal ensure that), streaked by many swift rivers and mountain streams. it is also native to the rubber fig, its use as a bridge better explained by its scientific name ficus elastica.

for generations now, people have been splicing betel nut tree trucks and guiding roots of the rubber fig through them.



the literally named 'double decker root bridge' can hold over fifty people at a time, which already include quite a few tourists.

this just took my breath away. apparently it also takes ten- fifteen years to be fully functional; i'm glad that here at least, human patience (inevitable or not) has allowed such a feat testament to the harmony nature and man can achieve. tolkien would be proud.

the golden spruce.

[ northwest, united states. from STRIKE ]

i got alot more than i'd bargained for when i picked up the golden spruce. tree, land, wind, sea, air and man, -above all, man- i did not realise the combustable combination they were.

take a long look here: imagine how a tree could have grown through centuries to become so; imagine its place and what it fought, what it strove for, its comrades in the pursuit of life. imagine how man first came upon the giant; imagine how man saw how it could be used, and how he thought up clever ways to harvest it all; ruthless being conquering being-
[march 04, 1906, at rock pile creek, sonoma, california]


i'd turned myself towards rows of page-bound greenery. i was looking for an insight into the inanimate mass we both depend on and plunder. oil, water, air, fuel, crops.. then forests: stoic browns and proud plumes, quiet and relentless, all knowing, still, wilderness, i'd thought. how quaint my ideas were. but the story of a man in the middle of it all is indeed all wilderness, all madness.


from chapter 14, after the tree falls,

al wanderer, hadwin's former colleague from lillooeit, could have been speaking for all woodsman through history when he looked back over his own empty corner of british columbia and said, "good god. i didnt think it was possible to log this much."

"man", (George Perkins Marsh) wrote more than 140 years ago, "who even now finds scarce breathing room on this cast globe, cannot retire from the Old World to some yet undiscovered continent, and wait for the slow action of such causes to replace...the Eden he has wasted." That year (1864) saw the creation of california's yoesmite state reserve, which included the continent's first federally protected trees.

by 1919, just as a group of wealthy californians was forming the Save the Redwoods League, the first portable chain and circular saws began appearing on the cover of Scientific American.

einarson picked up his train of thought: "another reason i like falling," he said, "is i like walking around in old-growth forests. it's kind of an oxymoron i guess - to like something and then go out and kill it."

When dust dance, far.

[australia, sydney. 1-3. from Brendon Thorne/Getty Images]
[ 4. from Shisberg]

Sydney Morning Herald:

... And everywhere there was dust. It coated footpaths, shop floors, train stations and any other surface the wind could penetrate.

Cityrail trains carried it through tunnels and into underground stations.

"When I got on the train at Cronulla all our seats were covered in this red dust," Robyn Jaques said.

... Up to 75,000 tonnes of dust per hour was blown into the waters off the coast and particle pollution was the highest on record - over 15,000 micrograms per cubic metre at times, when a normal day would see less than 20 micrograms.

The choking dust was far thicker than bushfire smoke, which commonly contains about 500 micrograms per cubic metre.

... Loose red dirt from the arid outback was blown east by strong winds, in what was described by The Sydney Morning Herald as "the day the country blew into town".

... Strong winds following the hottest August on record sucked up dust from a decade-long drought in what experts said was the biggest such incident to hit Sydney since 1942.

joy in a tin can/ get yer fix

[ . www.theflowmarket.com]

anything can be sold.

it doesnt have to be real.

a cap so fine.

[ uk, cardiff. the senedd]

[ usa, illinois. bahá'í house of worship]

[ turkey. erzurum holy mosque. all photos via thedeputydog]

(sometimes i think) the very act of tilting the head up is reverence of one beyond yourself, is contemplation of a possible other.


[ israel, mount carmel. enchantedceiling]

(try putting into words/ tell me what you mean)

[ . ein tintendropfen from deinhero2 ]

there was a bird in the kitchen today. i went near, and it was so shocked it flew out and hit the window glass. flapped for a few seconds, almost hovering, trying to go through. then fell.

.....- hc.

advertising for human rights.

[ kim jong il. all images from eagereyes.org ]

(a data-ack!)

id recently been surprised that government communications and public areas were commissioned to private agencies (but- of course. if even water that flows is). more precisely, i was almost touched that simple figures such as train station 'exit' signs might have been produced by world leading graphic design companies- very lovely that functional pieces could be rethought for better expression, to go easy-on-the-eyes, and perhaps even lean into an art quirk or two..

so why not (one of) the world's biggest PR agencies do up an ad for the International Society for Human Rights Watch. as Data.gov goes live, german ogilvy and mather go funny:


[mahmoud amadinejad.]

...nice timing too, while kim flexes his nuclear/nuclear ambitions, and iran re-elects its dictator as president. perhaps we really do need the selling power of commercials to remind ourselves of what we ought to fight for, what we ought to be living for.


btw, despite the hype over his main rival reformist mousavi (and his equally reformist wife) and the supposed unpredicting gloom of iran's economy:

Az Zaqqum · 13 hours ago
Astagfirallah!! WTF??

What happened to the women's vote???

Can't believe it.....neither can my dog......woof!

For those who don't know, walking your dog is illegal in Iran.

y.z. kami's portraits.

[ .by y.z. kami. via dailyserving ]


"kami emphasizes the flux between matter and spirit, life and mortality, the outer layer and the inner soul."

this line hit it for me. is the in-between an ever seductive intangible. its a accessible tie to both extremes; it offers definitions for both.

it promises all but reminds of nothingness.

mmmm- maybe that is why we go on to only stare?

when cows walk on man's land; when children grow under man's grand plans.

[senegal, yoff, dakar. all pictures via the deputy dog ]



[india, dharavi, mumbai. ]


[indonesia, citarum river, west java.]



[italy, naples]

a piece of greeting meat.

[ . from lovecreative ]

there's oh so many things one can read into this. but oh well.

name card design meat and greet meet and greet meat to greet greet meat man of meat man for meat man and meat skin flesh raw power hunt dominance relations earth red blood meet self meat neat suit neat face cold hands killing fields cutting changing using distorting hiding natural

what's it to me.

[ .NY Times ]

(terrorism that's personal: a woman whose ex-husband threw acid on her face after she'd divorced him. he was not caught; she is not unique in this. a piece by nicholas d. kristoff. short, unburdened by opinion, it was a narrative stuck to my mind like a damp feather caught in a weave.)

i saw her, and then him. or perhaps more accurately, i saw this picture. it seemed one of disturbing confrontation, the kind in which you squirm not out of aggressive defense, but because you feel complicit, responsible.

i felt uncertain. here is a woman, scarred. and my righteous self calls armies to the unjust lines, bounding this woman, her son, and others like them. trample the hurtful, and jail the hateful! protect the weak, and return law to law! but for herself, do i dare conjure too many ideas about her being? she is the wronged, the victim, the ever-marked.

how dare my compassion be muddied with my ivoried ideals.

i do not know her, or her life. i do care to know, but what is it to me?

what's it to you?

a man is drinking at a lonesome bar
his bruised knuckles are primed for more alcohol
his wife is at home, trembling, flipping through the phone book
his children lie in bed, fighting their nightmares

a phone rings at an attourney's office
his specialties are domestic abuse and divorce
his secretary is taking down notes for him
his daughter lies about homework and sleepovers

a foetus is growing in her abdomen
his father's favourite pastime is pornography
his mother, the attourney's daughter, is walking to an abortion clinic
his abortionist-to-be goes to church sometimes

a pastor is preaching about the meaning of life
his parishioners think the answer is meaningless
his cousin is staring at the water below the bridge
his brother, the attourney, is crying in his office

a soldier adjusts his rifle strap in Iran
his sergeant has just shot a bomb-strapped child
his sister, the secretary, is judging the wife-beater
his professor spends his saturdays sleeping with the attourney

a drug-pusher flicks his cigarette butt into the trash
his mortgage and debts forced him into the trade
his girlfriend, the abortionist, has liver cancer
his uncle, the soldier, hates all Muslims

a politician is calling the fire brigade
his home was set alight by the cigarette butt
his aunt is a discreet elections officer
his grandson is about to be aborted

the man drinking at the lonesome bar gets a call
his in-charge wants him to get into his fire rescue gear
his inebriated driving will run over the drug-pusher
his accident will be the topic for tonight's tabloid

a society is going through its motions
what's it to you?

- sineprole.blogspot.com

depends on what youre blind towards

[ ICZ. the blind ]


[ .circular from The Substation ]

...how often do you get images and talks from the Institute of Critical Zoologists ?

i think theirs is a worthy mission, a timely institute.

not only crucial to the conservation of wildlife, but especially pertinent to our -humankind's- perception of the land we share, lest we become an dominant class of the plundering blind beyond our own kind.

that is to me a greater injustice.

how humans view animals
Urban societies live in relative isolation from animals
our demand and gaze upon them have grown significantly
relationship between animals and humans has reached an appalling state

...We seek to develop a Critical Zoological Gaze that pursues creative, interdisciplinary research that includes perspectives typically ignored by animal studies, such as aesthetics; and to advance unconventional, even radical, means of understanding human and animal relations. The institute also discourages anthropomorphism in the appreciation and understanding of zoology

good intentions.

[ (unknown). Matsuo Bashō]

except sometimes the owner of the begging bowl would rather you take your frigging flowers away, and not take up space in what was meant for rice.

and often, other people have a committed interest in your own begging bowl, and wish you'd stop frittering away with flowers what was meant for rice.

underdogs.

[ . from Consortium of Pub-going, Loose and Forward Women]

the group moniker is highly clever. i could already imagine the trouble my friends would have if i joined it. what hypocrisy, claiming to be a pub-goer. but i thought the pink chaddi (basically, underpants) was a brilliant fling in the face(s) of the sri ram sena.

plus, enemy credentials cant be too disputable for lack of fulfilling one adjective. if one is loose and forward, then she (men, you understand this only applies to the fairer and weaker sex) most probably visits pubs, the bastions of dank sinfulness. the converse is more true, for 'to do' or 'participate' is stronger than merely 'to think' or 'be so'. if one is found in a pub, whether or not that place actually meets the criteria for being a propah pub, then she is most definitely very loose and so forward she'll without a doubt fall flat on her face sometime later in life (bringing down the entire name of her family and forebears) unless we rein her in and slap her down.

hitting nightspots, wearing flatteringly clothes (ironic how the tighter your attire, the looser you're sposed to be) and speaking a lil too loud, too much is probably a triple heart attack to a real sri ram-er. i imagine they'd be ready to raze g-strings off if they see such 'happening, loose and forward' women on a mass scale, in stranger permutations. i'd like an interview with one of them. i'd like to fly one of them over. or fly with them to hollywood-la-la-land (where i spose most degrading cultures originate). of course, to get on his (could there be 'hers' in the sri ram sena?) good side, i'd be wearing my best loosest sari (to show how uptight i am).

Pramod Mutalik, the SRS leader, said at the time that his followers were “custodians of Indian culture” who had prevented the women at the pub from going astray. He has vowed to force unmarried couples found together on Valentine’s Day to either get married or to tie rakhis – string bracelets – on their wrists signifying that they are brother and sister.

Other officials have voiced support for the idea that is “unIndian” for women to visit pubs – or even to hold hands with men in public. “We definitely condemn the incident where women were attacked but the pub culture must stop,” Anbumani Ramadoss, the Health Minister, said last month.

back to the pants. i wonder how many piles of these pink chaddis have winged (eheh, wing) their way to Pramod Muthalik. Does he seethe in anger at the pink hordes? And given that he finds it distasteful and very "unindian" for (indian?) women to traipse around town, would he be turned on or off by the sight of so many female intimates?

Also, does he have facebook? His PR assistant should hook him up, and have him read the wall posts in the group. This would allow him a better view of the challenges he faces in reel in loose women and unmarried couples on valentines day, even if only in Karnataka.

Sidenote. If Paris Hilton turned Indian, can you imagine how many millions the global (because you know, one individual here does affect the economy there) economy would lose if she weren't allowed to booze and shop her way through many nights and days. "It's really scary about the economy right now. So the way I'm playing my part in helping is doing a lot of shopping wherever I go."

eclipsed.

[philipines. manila bay. from the telegraph ]

a partial solar eclipse gave a setting crescent on 30th january.

that's a red anyone can respect.