Monthly Archives: November 2018

Weird couple by Paul Woods

You can follow Paul Wood’s work in instagram: Insertbrainherecomic

For more from Insert Brain Here Cartoons, HERE!

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So by Bohdan Yuri

So, …
there was a war.
your great grandfathers
killed my great grandfathers.
my grandfathers
killed your grandfathers.
your father
killed my father.
I will kill you.
your  son
will kill
my son.

so, …
always,
there will be
a war.

 wa001

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More Berserk Alert! #283 by Tony Zuvela

For more Berserk Alert! HERE! & HERE!

For more Ovi Cartoons HERE!

And don’t miss Tony Zuvela’s new book HERE!

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All day I’ve dreamed of you by Abigail George

All day I’ve dreamed of you
(for the Dutch poet Joop Bersee)

Once, once you were like Persia to me.

    For the last time, show me the ways
    to love. Cue me its despair. It’s hardship.

afr001This deprivation that must follow its

demise. This starvation that must follow
its poverty. This progress. This madness
that eats away at my soul. It twinkles like noisy stars,

those glam beauty queens with their own illustrious alibis,
their lunar emptiness and subtle-subtle
subterfuge.

No more walking in circles for me, friend.
No more wishing the past is gone while
sitting in at my kitchen table. I’m over that bridge.

These stars have their own silent-silent
moon-sick horses. Moon-sick bones. Butterflies in their governing
confusion leaving scratch-marks on

the seawalls of my stomach. The red brick
walls of my lungs. I think your parade
beautiful. I think you’re lovely. I think you’re

Jupiter. Does it matter. Does it matter.
I think of those Caucasian stars pasted
on the ceiling of the night sky. I am ready to confess.

Does it matter that I am only ready to
confess now. I am trying to erase the beast-monster.
Monster-beast that has made me suffer so.

The forest was painted. It even had
wrinkles. Age lines made out of soul.
Spidery leaves marking the end of

time, that

hourglass country, a hive found there
in the segmental ruins of the God-supernatural
found in the honey and milk and blood-

work of the desert. Let’s take a trip
out there to where the wind blows. That
infant deed. Can you tell. I’m dreaming

of those Parisian-syllables. The ethereal.
The apparition of that high mountain-top.
That drum. That prophet. God’s lions.

Elijah. David. Jeremiah. Job. Jonah.
God’s chosen. There were others. There were others.
I’ve written about this before. Falling in love

and falling out of love but I’ve never
written about our love before. You made the veins in
my heart splendidly narrow so that only

the pure river could flow through.
The smell of roses. Old wounds forgotten.
Only the reigning legend of the

sparse river could get through
before anything else. Before the blood itself. I wanted you to
know that I’m pressed for time. That

you’ve been a legend in my life before
you became a legend in real life. I’m
writing this to thank you for not taking me

all the way to madness like the others
did. You were the virtuous one. You
were the one who saved me. I just

thought that you should know that.
I’ve been carrying that around with
me for the longest time. You were

genuine. They were fake but I ate
their cake anyway because I was
young.

I called myself victim under a
million stars.
I just wanted you to know that life

is different for me now. I’m no longer
running up streets and down streets in
Johannesburg.

I’m authoritative when it comes to
my feelings now. I don’t try to slip a yes in
when I mean no. I’ve learned how to say no.

Oh, I also know what thirst is.
But I don’t project my hate unto
other people and I listen to others (which I never did before).

This grid, I have put it away.
It is an exile like me. I don’t
know yet if it must be forgotten.

I keep watch over spring or
it keeps watch over me. I don’t
know which. I only know this.

Sometimes when I get angry
my anger is as hot as a desert and I don’t
ask for permission. Only that you listen. I forget.

Please forgive me when I forget. Please,
please, forgive me when I forget myself. Once, yes,
once, you were like Persia to me.

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Abigail George has two books in the Ovi Bookshelves,
“All about my mother” & “Brother Wolf and Sister Wren”
Download them, NOW for FREE HERE!

life_06_400

Ovi magazine

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Walk & talk 822 by Thanos Kalamidas

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Highlighting the Need to Combat the Use of Rape as a Weapon of War by Rene Wadlow

The co-laureate of the 2018 Nobel Peace Prize, Denis Mukwege, has become an eloquent spokesperson for the effort to outlaw the use of rape as a weapon of war. Rape has often been considered as a nearly normal part of war. When an army took a city or town, the rape of women followed, a reward to brave soldiers. Military commanders turned a blind eye.

However, whatever may have been past practice, rape has now become a weapon of war, often an effort at genocide. Women’s reproductive organs are deliberately destroyed with the aim of preventing the reproduction of a group – one of the elements of genocide set out in the 1948 Genocide Convention.

mag001_400Denis Mukwege has created a clinic near Bukavu in South Kivu, Democratic Republic of Congo – a country that is democratic only in name. He and a number of younger doctors whom he was trained try to care for women who have undergone rape by multiple men, one after the other, often in public in front of family members and others who know the woman. Known rape, even by a single person, can be a cause of family breakup, lasting shame, and an inability to continue living in the same village. There are also negative attitudes toward children born of a rape. Multiple rape is often followed by deliberate destruction of the reproductive organs.

The eastern area of Congo is the scene of fighting at least since 1998 – in part as a result of the genocide in neighboring Rwanda in 1994. In mid-1994, more than one million Rwandan Hutu refugees poured into the two Kivu states, fleeing the advance of the Tutsi-led Rwandan Patriotic Front now become the government of Rwanda. Many of these Hutu were still armed, among them the “genocidaire” who a couple of months before had led the killings of some 800,000 Tutsi and moderate Hutu in Rwanda. They continued to kill Tutsi living in the Congo, many of whom had migrated there in the 18th century.

The influx of a large number of Hutu led to a desire to control the wealth of the area – rich in gold, tropical timber and rare minerals such as those used in mobile telephones. In the Kivu, many problems arise from land tenure issues. With a large number of new people, others displaced and villages destroyed, land tenure and land use patterns need to be reviewed and modified.

However, violence in the eastern Congo is not limited to fighting between Hutus and Titsis. There are armed bands from neighboring countries – Rwanda, Burundi, Uganda – who have come on the scene attracted by possible wealth from timber and mines of rare minerals. In addition, local commanders of the Congolese Army, far from the control of the Central Government, have created their own armed groups, looting, raping, and burning village homes.

There is a United Nations peacekeeping force in the Congo, the U.N.’s largest peacekeeping mission. However its capacity has reached its limit. Its operations are focused on areas with roads, leaving villages on small paths largely unguarded.

There has been a growing international awareness of the use of rape as a weapon of war. The issue was raised during the conflicts which followed the breakup of Yugoslavia as well as cases brought to the International Criminal Court. The Association of World Citizens has raised the issue in U.N. human rights bodies in Geneva.

Yet there is much yet to be done to make the outlawing of rape as a norm of humanitarian law and especially to prevent its practice. The Nobel Peace Prize to Denis Mukwege should be a strong step forward in this effort.

Ovi magazine

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Pinholes by David Sparenberg

Pinholes

If you shine a light
size and shape of a pinhole
into the innermost inward,
you might catch a glimpse,
form and face,
from the mythology of dreams,
of the world’s most enchanting woman.
Her name is Rhiannon
or Deirdre, Brigit Bright, Miriam
Virgin, or Helen of Troy.
But it might just be
Ayano or Sasha
Etta, Evie, Zoe, or Gea.

davi001_400If you shine a light
size and shape of a pinhole
into the innermost inward
you might see
a wise old man, a
benevolent, ancient sage,
with elevated candle, lucent,
or lantern, luminous, in hand.
He is called
Lao Tzu, maybe Merlin, possibly
Gandalf, even Einstein,
or any such magical name.
Radiant he will be
in quiet thought and spirit-power.

Now:
now if you shine a light
the size and shape of a tiny pinhole
into the innermost inward,
you might behold
the presence of a shadow,
a combustible darkness
from the deep-down of dreams
or dreamtime’s cauldron of nightmares. A
Humbaba or Grendel, Caliban called
or humped Quasimodo –rejected
lump with poet’s soul in
burdened limp and
twisted limbs—condemned
among gargoyles; a spark
spewed out from lips
of a tragic god, encased
in opus of alchemic stone.

The phantom is your own.
You must own this shadow
if you would be whole.

Shadow abides
in cave primeval,
or in the alembic hidden
glass of your socialized
dis-integral self.  If
you look…

look into dreamspheres
you may see some masks of
gods in mirror-shards of
collective memory scattered
in the glimmering amid
oak and laurel, fig and ash
willow, aspen, pomegranate, and apple.

Do now
as the doctor prescribes:
play at archetypes.

In images of dreams
feel as you peer through pinholes,
how puzzle pieces fit.
Accepted
and rejected pieces fit.

Now tell me, honestly,
dream-maker, how visible
is the invisible in your dreamtime?
In what orchard are you rooted?  Who
is at the center of your circle? Do
you know you are a circle to be centered? What
angel prays before you; what
candle burns in secret of your soul?
What darkness yet
by light
waiting to be discovered? What forest
out of time, awaiting
for your awakening to re-find?

One favor, one only:  Stop
waiting for the homunculus
in the cubicle of false learning.
For all you know in exile, navigator,
myth-singer-sailor, these pinholes are
soul-charts of your guiding stars!

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Check David Sparenberg’s NEW BOOK
THE GREEN TROUBADOUR A Source Book of Performance Ecosophy
is online now and you can download for FREE HERE!

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David Sparenberg has also 2 more Books in the Ovi Bookshelves,
“Life in the Age of Extinctions volume 2 – Threshold”
Download for FREE HERE!

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Ovi magazine

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