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INSTA(NT)-STORIES

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Insta(nt) Stories is a reaction, an echo, a written imitation of the story sharing feature on Instagram. It is a collection of moments that would have been captured visually for the platform in the summer of 2018 but have alternatively been documented as written snapshots instead. This period consisted of some of the most challenging times of my life.

I.
July 4, 2018 – 12:37 pm

I do not want to post a story of this moment, but I do want to
remember it. I want to document it somehow, so I guess
writing will suffice. We are somewhere in northern California,
near Pleasanton. We, my parents & I, are visiting an old friend
of my father’s. A man he’d known in Oklahoma– perhaps for
longer. The water is rustling here as if it is raining, but
it’s not. It is warm & sunny with a fresh breeze that seems
to run through every half hour. // The flowing water is from
the small fountain made of stones built against the hillside.
My dad’s friend made it himself– took him four years. The
portion where the water collects has about half a dozen
koi fish in it. Their enclosure seems a little small for them.
From what I’ve read, fish need plenty of space. This garden
is abundant in overgrowth. The outgrowing leaves are where
you find the most shade. The fruit is plentiful, aching to be
plucked. There are blossoms, bound in metal to keep from
bursting, & coniferous leaves, prickly at the stem. I’ve eaten
all the sour grapes my mouth could capture, & I only want
more. There are blackberries, apricots, & tomatoes I pray
to bite into. We are surrounded by a crown of pine trees.
I took my shoes off long ago.

 
II.
July 7, 2018 – 12:10 am

Baba told me a story today about the Revolution– انقلاب
(enghelab). Whether or not, it is true or untrue I don’t know. I think
it is a joke they tell. But it went kind of like this:

During the enghelab, there were lots of
demonstrations. There was a man yelling chants
into a microphone. One of the chants was a rhyme about
Khomeini & spilling blood. & everyone repeats.

Mommon won’t let me write it down.

Someone steps on the cord connecting to the guy’s
mic & he yells, “Get off the cord!”
& everyone else chants along, “GET OFF THE CORD!”
              A cheer.
The man retorts back to the crowd, “No! This isn’t a cheer!
Get off the cord!” & the crowd chants back like an echo
the same.

My dad chuckles. He says the moral of the joke is that
during the Revolution– انقلاب (enghelab), no one knew
what they were doing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tomisin Oluwole
Ode to Pink II, 2020
Acrylic and marker on paper
14 x 22 inches

Click here to check out our interview with Tomisin Oluwole, a a literary and visual artist based in Long Beach.

Instead of gunking up our site with ads, we use this space to display and promote the work of local artists.

 

 

 
III.
July 31, 2018

There’s a boy here named Mohammad. I know this,
because I hear his mother calling for him from the showers.
It is a week before my brother’s wedding & there is
stress. I wandered intentionally to the beach; I knew my
destination but came upon it by happenstance. I deposited
some checks today (finally), got myself a salad (to-go), &
drove to Laguna so I could meander my way though
the seaweed to get to some good ocean. I am nearly fully
disassociated now, hanging on by a tether pole. Even
the spark of cold seawater couldn’t wake me up. But the
ocean was more-or-less welcoming today. I saw a little baby
leopard shark, which I would usually be amused by, but
after the spider incident, all living things make me
jumpy– including people.

I want to be a child of God.
I want to be back with the earth.
What must I do to wake up?
Which body must shake my own?
There are children here in all their
                    people
                     men
      soaked clothes,
      running into the water, laughing,
sitting in the sand, taking in the day’s heat. 

Insta(nt) Stories is a reaction, an echo, a written imitation of the story sharing feature on Instagram. It is a collection of moments that would have been captured visually for the platform in the summer of 2018 but have alternatively been documented as written snapshots instead. This period consisted of some of the most challenging times of my life.

I.
July 4, 2018 – 12:37 pm

I do not want to post a story of this moment, but I do want to
remember it. I want to document it somehow, so I guess
writing will suffice. We are somewhere in northern California,
near Pleasanton. We, my parents & I, are visiting an old friend
of my father’s. A man he’d known in Oklahoma– perhaps for
longer. The water is rustling here as if it is raining, but
it’s not. It is warm & sunny with a fresh breeze that seems
to run through every half hour. // The flowing water is from
the small fountain made of stones built against the hillside.
My dad’s friend made it himself– took him four years. The
portion where the water collects has about half a dozen
koi fish in it. Their enclosure seems a little small for them.
From what I’ve read, fish need plenty of space. This garden
is abundant in overgrowth. The outgrowing leaves are where
you find the most shade. The fruit is plentiful, aching to be
plucked. There are blossoms, bound in metal to keep from
bursting, & coniferous leaves, prickly at the stem. I’ve eaten
all the sour grapes my mouth could capture, & I only want
more. There are blackberries, apricots, & tomatoes I pray
to bite into. We are surrounded by a crown of pine trees.
I took my shoes off long ago.

 

II.
July 7, 2018 – 12:10 am

Baba told me a story today about the Revolution– انقلاب
(enghelab). Whether or not, it is true or untrue I don’t know.
           I think
it is a joke they tell. But it went kind of like this:

During the enghelab, there were lots of
demonstrations. There was a man yelling chants
into a microphone. One of the chants was a rhyme about
Khomeini & spilling blood. & everyone repeats.

Mommon won’t let me write it down.

Someone steps on the cord connecting to the guy’s
mic & he yells, “Get off the cord!”
& everyone else chants along, “GET OFF THE CORD!”
              A cheer.
The man retorts back to the crowd, “No! This isn’t a
              cheer!

Get off the cord!” & the crowd chants back like an echo
              the same.

My dad chuckles. He says the moral of the joke is that
during the Revolution– انقلاب (enghelab), no one knew
what they were doing.

 

III.
July 31, 2018

There’s a boy here named Mohammad. I know this,
because I hear his mother calling for him from the showers.
It is a week before my brother’s wedding & there is
stress. I wandered intentionally to the beach; I knew my
destination but came upon it by happenstance. I deposited
some checks today (finally), got myself a salad (to-go), &
drove to Laguna so I could meander my way though
the seaweed to get to some good ocean. I am nearly fully
disassociated now, hanging on by a tether pole. Even
the spark of cold seawater couldn’t wake me up. But the
ocean was more-or-less welcoming today. I saw a little baby
leopard shark, which I would usually be amused by, but
after the spider incident, all living things make me
jumpy– including people.

I want to be a child of God.
I want to be back with the earth.
What must I do to wake up?
Which body must shake my own?
There are children here in all their
                    people
                     men
      soaked clothes,
      running into the water, laughing,
sitting in the sand, taking in the day’s heat. 

Sheila J. Sadr

Sheila J. Sadr

Sheila is an OC and LB based first generation Iranian-American poet, journalist, educator, and resident cow enthusiast. She serves as one of the core staff members for FORTHE and is the project lead on the forthcoming poetry video series “Give Me Lip.”

sheila@forthe.org

Contact The Author

[1] Militarily demobilized. Since WWII—which was both the death knell of European colonial empires as well as the starting shot of the American neocolonial era—Europe has had notoriously scant standing armies, and has been able to consistently slash government military spending domestically and as a percentage of their contributions to international diplomatic bodies such as the UN. This is because nowadays European nations very rarely find themselves in situations where they need to independently send their militaries abroad in order to secure trade routes, foreign resources, or privileges within markets overseas; the U.S. has been fulfilling that hard-power obligation for them for over half a century. The social results of Western Europe’s decreased militarization are striking, especially when contrasted with the U.S.: there is not a single country in Western Europe without universal healthcare, labor rights and welfare systems are strong, value is placed on corporate and financial regulation, environmental policy is lightyears ahead, and, not least of all, there is a robust governmental approach to curbing digital surveillance and reining in tech monopolies. Japan enjoys a similar arrangement with the U.S. in which it, too, is militarily demobilized yet is given full access to, and prominence in, the global economy. In the last decade there has been a reversing trend of remilitarization in some of these nations. That trend was hastened during the last four years as a result of Trump’s ultranationalist politics, but is likely to continue even after his departure in large part due to the growing bipolar geopolitical climate of competition between superpowers.

The “owner” bit of home-“owner” appears in scare quotes throughout the text for reasons that will shortly become apparent.

Nothing signals trouble quite like consensus.

More on them later.

And, anyways, what exactly remains “obvious” in an era “post-truth”?

I take as my starting position that even the “obvious” must be won.

It’s like Lenin said, you know…

Whether directly, or through a chain of investments, or through the wider speculative market in real estate.

I use “banks” in this piece as a stand-in for several sources of income that derive partly through the mortgaging of property and/or investment in institutions that have the power to mortgage property.

That is just its “ideology.”

The Ricardian “law of rent” explains that any location with an advantage over another location, can accrue an economic value, called “rent,” to the owner.

This happens without the owner needing to pitch in to create the advantage.

If the owner does pitch in, then the value accrued from that advantage cannot be called “rent.”

“Rent,” in economic terms, is only, precisely, the value accrued from that portion of the advantage for which the owner is not responsible. That is what we mean when we say, “Rent is theft.”

This does not mean places with lower property taxes ipso facto have higher property prices—and that is because the property tax is only one of the contributing factors. You could have zero taxes on land in Antarctica, for instance, and it would still sell for $0. This is why the introduction to the analogy controls for such variables.

This is the logical conclusion of believing two premises:

(1) All humans have an equal right to the Earth.
(2) Vaginal birth is a lottery system

Prop 13 is rent control for home-“owners.” You can learn more about its history and impact here.

“Hamlet” by William Shakespeare. Act 4, Scene 5

This is why the lobbyists who spend the most money to support the mortgage interest deduction are bankers, mortgagers, and realtors.

Term

Definition