After having read this article:

http://www.wired.com/threatlevel/2010/01/china-responds-to-google

I believe China's response did not attempt in any way to justify the hacking of Google. It was a response to Google's question of self censorship and had nothing to do with the hacking incident. I do not support the Chinese government's policy of censorship, but I also do not support wild finger pointing on our media's part, nor do I support Hilary Clinton's unwise assumption that it had been the Chinese government that had hacked Google.

Many things have been done by the CIA and other government tendrils in the media in the attempt to damage China's reputation, and although the ostensible intent is to spread our values of freedom everywhere, the end does not justify the means. And before you say, "China is using its ends to justify its means," or "If she's doing it too, why can't I?" I have to ask you, "When was the last time China's foreign policy involved asking countries like Jamaica to lower the value of its currency? When did China set up puppet dictators in Banana Republics so that Disney and Hanes could get decades of cheap labor from proud, prospering farmers who were cut off from their market when the U.S. dumped its subsidized surplus harvest into their countries? This is not capitalism or globalization. It's new-age "slavery via the mechanism of debt" (I'll have to look up the documentary again).

We've got the big stick part down; now we need to stop yapping like Chihuahuas and start getting people to take us seriously again. Even T Roosevelt failed his own saying when he built the Panama Canal, which, by the way, still struggles with military violence to this day.

You may not realize this, but the Chinese government does not see itself as Big Brother. It sees itself as a nation rising from the ashes of foreign invasions, opium dumping, mass starvation, government corruption greater than what it has now, and foreign occupation. It's still in emergency mode, with racial conflicts still simmering around its more remote regions. Again, I don't agree with certain parts of China's internal policy, but the evolution of a nation takes time, and I don't think the U.S. would have appreciated Britain, Japan, or Australia's condemnation when we were going through the Civil Rights movement.

You don't treat a fellow country like a microwave and hope all your kernels pop. Every country and organization feels instinctively defensive under criticism, and neither the U.S. nor China are exceptions to that rule. And for the record, the U.S. has flipped off Latin America's human rights protesters more often than China has flipped off the Western media.

Please, dear White House, grow up, clean up the mess you've created in the Western Hemisphere, and learn to play your political cards right instead of brooming everything under the Chinese or Iranian Conspiracy carpet. Luke:41-42, you imperialistic hypocrites. Keep telling other countries they can't have nuclear weapons, and I guarantee they'll flip you off and start building that plant you accused them of hiding. Remember Hitler? He didn't just lead. He catered to a fraction of his country that felt isolated and despised and picked on by the rest of the world. Keep doing what you're doing, and you'll create Hitler II. Keep hitting the Snob button, and you'll keep shooting all of us in the leg. Grow up and stop it.

All my sad, sad love,
Janet Shen - a Canadian proud to live in America

P.S. Give Haiti back its wealth and dignity. Yes you guys, IMF and World Bank, trying to keep your greasy paws on the rest of us, you poor, soulless tools.

Just saw the blog again. Got nostalgic. Boy, was I pushy. I suddenly feel loved, by no one in particular. Is it the winds of Montreal, of Toronto? The coming on of maturity? I need to stop stressing out about how people see me and start thinking about how much I know, how prepared I can be for the next meeting. Gotta correct that paper for Vu. Is it a god? Am I high? I am watching these people, sitting one inch above my chair. My head's bobbing over my neck like a tethered balloon. I feel so very, very... light.

I need to fly.

I need to go after one butterfly. Any butterfly. Just one butterfly.

She thought her hair was graying. When it came to her, melanin was in short supply. She wasn't surprised, however, by her fading hair. Twenty-four, after all, was middle-aged for the Sheng's long line of tall, long-haired women.

Except she was stuck at five feet and two inches.
Except her hair had always been a puff of baby down.
Except her name was Penny Sheng, not Sheng Yang or Sheng Jing Lian -- or Sheng Yin or Sheng Yi.

Penny held up her fingers like xylophone mallets and delicately rubbed the dark rings under her eyes. She rubbed her shoulders.

Meanwhile, Vivaldi's Concerto No.3 puffed away in the living room, like a winged, ballet-dancing grandfather clock -- hour hand pointed at some dark, jaded number in the ante meridiem. Violins shook her flimsy window as she pulled the curtains aside. Penny loved living on the fourth floor, loved looking into the maple tree's hair as it shed golden sheets to the grass.

Her flip phone rang: Mozart. Penny hit the spacebar on her laptop, halting the concerto. "Good morning, you."

"Hey Penny! What's that noise?"

"What noise?" Penny looked at her phone. "Want to call me back?"

"What? Oh, sure. Whatever."

Penny's phone rang again. "Hey you," said Penny.

"Penny, can't you turn off the music?"

Penny glanced at her laptop. "What music?"

"Stop playing with me, baby. Night shift's almost over, but I'm not in the car yet."

At that moment, a barred owl chose to dive through the golden leaves and slam into Penny's window. The mass of feathers cast big black eyes on her. Penny froze. When time regained its senses and decided to move on, the owl squeaked a few inches down the glass before falling off.

Penny's boyfriend breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I know you like Classical, but keep it down when you're on the phone. We don't have the best carrier--"

"Fluke, I have to go."

"Go? Go where?"

Penny pressed her face against the window, trying to see the ground directly below her. Her hands splayed out on the glass, causing it to quake. When the trees turned to rubber and the windowsill folded on itself, she stepped back, clinging to her desk for balance.

She landed on the floor anyway. Coping with anxiety was never her forte, but several deep breaths later, she was up, searching for her one jacket among Fluke's forest of windbreakers. She web-searched and called the local Animal Services office. Go home, she heard herself thinking. Penny glanced at her laptop. "I'm already home."

She could expect the grocery worker to knock any moment now. Getting groceries was the least Penny could do for Fluke; she was developing programs from home all the time. Would she -- should she -- answer the door today?

Shaking in old rubber boots, Penny flipped the deadbolt open. The doorknob felt poisoned in her hand. Penny snatched her gloves from the umbrella stand. "If someone is on duty up there," she said, "don't let me fall."

For someone who has only gazed at it from a peephole for three years, an apartment hallway is a flummoxing place to walk through. Right angles moonwalk on your peripheral vision. Apartment numbers dive in and out of the fake wood surface that cocoons its sleeping residents. Carpet, shmarpet. Cold, steely vibrations rocked Penny through the soles of her feet. She leaned against new wallpaper, thinking of turning around, running, no matter what she ran into, as long as she ended up inside.

Deep in her pocket, Penny's phone rang: Beethoven's Fifth. She flipped the phone open, composing herself.

"Hello?" said the caller.

Penny closed her eyes for a bit.

"Hello, Josephine? Can you hear me?"

Penny sidled a bit toward her open apartment door. A glimmer of sun was calling from her window. "Dr. Klein? I'm sorry, you have the wrong num--"

"Penny! How are you?" The doctor continued before Penny could put in a word. "I can't hear you. Music's loud, but it sounds like you're running out. Sorry for the confusion. Bye!"

The click was ensued by more of Beethoven's Fifth. Penny thumbed the red hang-up key, pummeled it, pushed it till her phone turned off. She gazed longingly at her door, then back at the elevator. While she was talking to Dr. Klein, the "down" button had been inviting her, well within reach.

Hell, the owl was waiting for help.

Penny ran through the elevator doors when they opened, plastering herself to the mirror closest to the alarm button. Which button again? she thought. One? No, L for Lobby. Why, she wondered, give the last floor some fancy label? Maybe she was not alone in fearing the very bottom.

She turned her head a bit too fast, and her reflections grew till the elevator had halved in size. When the elevator doors opened, Penny bolted out, stumbled her way to what she thought might be glass doors, and pushed. She danced with panic through the yard of trees until she found golden leaves under her feet. Embracing her maple tree, Penny searched the ground below her bright, gleaming window.

From its angel-like respite in the leaves, the owl continued to cast its big black eyes at Penny. It hooted like a monkey that had just, holding an apple, conceptualized gravity. "Oooh!"

Penny took from her pocket a sterile, sparkling-new poncho. She had seen a bagged hand pick up everything from fresh-caught fish to dog excrement thus far. An owl could be no different.

The flip phone vibrated in her other pocket.

"Oooh!" said the owl. "Ooo-oooh."

With one hand on the tree, Penny shook out the poncho and laid it just below the owl's neck -- what she thought was the owl's neck.

Flapping its good wing against the plastic, the owl screeched. It struggled like a baby -- feeble, yet terrifying for Penny.

Before Penny could scoop it up in her poncho, the owl grew quiet.

(To be continued...)

Aliens who make disapproving sucking noises through their lips and teeth manage to keep it on the DL in human costume.

He genuinely cares. I melt a little when he looks at me like that... He's sweeter than any other guy I've met. I feel cared about and secure. I'm happy.

reltsihW ehTThe Whistler

I met him on my way to work
Whistling my tune
About unlucky butterflies
Flying from a tomb

And ‘twas my tune; he stole it fast
Waiting in my brain
I thought I walked by squealing tracks
Passing under trains

But nothing else did sound by me
Whistler was his name
And ‘twas my tune that he stole fast
Waiting in my brain

If he could choose a body now
Choose another street
He would not be the Whistler Ghost
Humming me a treat

Maintenant, je pense que l’amour est une idée complètement foutu. Je ratterais n'importe quoi dans ma vie. Ce que je voulais, j'ai jetté. Ce dont j'avais honte d'accepter, je l'ai répondu oui avec une sourire. Je dépends sur des monstres illogiques pour guarder ma propre logique. Je ne sais plus ce que je veux. Je ne sais ni mes amis, ni les vaches qui piétine sur les morceaux de mon direction. Ça serait tellement facile à recommencer...

Hide me somewhere
I need a dead bear
To hollow into
Gnaw at like a baby gnat
Thrash around where no one can see
Wail when no one can hear
Rest with flesh steaming away its dying life

How emo is that, yo.

Not very. I've seen better.

Gawd damn it. What if it was a rabid bear, a ZOMBIE bear? Like that hand in Left 4 Dead.

Now you're just yanking your own chain. Bye.

... ... I hate you.

Why? Who died and made you Janet's self esteem?

You did. *Steps on Jiminy Cricket* Rub your legs now, INSECT! ... Me needs ice cream.

put on some smiles
just big enough to patch over the gnarlY knot in your chest
like heartburn that hikes up your esophagus
banging at the gagging gate of tongue-tied anxiety
lOss




wait a little longer


pending


i'll be right there


imminent loss


where's the door handle
actUally
where's my door handle
where's my key
where's my Camera
your knot is picture perfect
just let me wAtch it from this side of the glass
thaNk you
oh, my bloody feet have broughT me to the new door between us
shall we tAke a walK?
slow down, thank you
wait for mE, thank you
and let's talk about knots
smiles? no, let's not, thank You
Once
Under
Redwoods

Beautiful
Lilacs turned
Orange
Overnight
Displaying
Yesterday's pink

Thursday
Insulating rays in cotton
Making it grow, a knot in the
Esophagus

Things synonymous with BLEAK:

-That American actor who wears black-rimmed glasses and features in eye drop ads on TV.
-White
-Dark
-Flat
-Uneventful
-Hopeless
-The career choices of a philosophy major
-The sky above Everest
-The jump from Everest <-- appropriate time to deposit a sign: "Blame the British."
-People
-Silence
-British dental health
-As it should be for a man who hits a woman, Chris Brown's career
-A cloudless sky
-"Wait a sec"
-As it should be for a man who hits a woman, Sean Connery's nether regions. Let me scalp and beard him legally and I'd do it, if you know what I mean.
-"My dear, itsh naught wuh-king out."
-The taste of Beer <-- debatable
-Beginning to cope
-Blah
-Getting out of bed in the morning after the realization hits you again that there would be no more schmoozing with the same mountain of wonderful, sparkling neurons known to you as your ex.
-Realizing afterward how insignificant our choices can be, and how the ratio of their real importance to us divided by their total importance to this world jumps from 40% to 90%.
-Knowing how really selfish you are at the end of the day.
-Depressing
-Finding out all of your chocolate has fruit in it <-- debatable
-Bleaker
-American foreign policy intelligence
-Three-inch slices of pumpernickel
-American intelligence
-Alaskan governing and voting intelligence
-Moodiness, from the perspective of the people around you who have to deal with it.

Give an ant your bathing suit
Teach a bear to pilot
Demand the moon to snow
Alas, they'll tell you no

no, No, NO

My friend, sit back
And take a nice looooooooooooong look
At all six legs
That you shaved the fur off yesterday
How hairy will you get
Before you ski naked down Rainier
And land in that pine tree you've been eying?

Ask a sick clown to make you happy
You might as well;
Your shoulder being too cold
For you to climb down

Leave me alone

Nous étions des fous, nous deux. Tout ce temps je le regardais les yeux, mais j’ignorait l’entaille de sa jambe, et en même temps, je souhaitais qu’on pourrait marcher ensemble dans une nouvelle direction. Que j’étais bête. Je voulais faire voler une abeille noyant. Que je suis bête. Que je suis bête.

Est-ce que ça me ferait du mal à grandir un peux, d’abord? Maudits émotions. Merde... J'ai envie de jetter quelque chose...

His laughing smile a spurt of sweet lemon
His honesty outshining mine

Would I have noticed
His spray of freckles
His open heart
His embrace
Had the night not been cold and lonely
Had I been humane, considerate,
Logical?

Ten years from now we may be a lost speck in the wind.
Today I devour your heart and our time.
I know not why I do, only what I do.
I am sorry

~Silk Wing

I'm standing on the edge of a lonely, grass covered canyon. Rays of sun drift in through the clouds, and a violin from nowhere seems to play a high, wandering melody. My scapulae rise to the occasion, unraveling into the threads of my being, reaching for the sky. First, they hug my chest from behind. Then they twist away from me, snapping and sticking as they weave.

I jump.

The wind blasts my face, and the river below approaches. Suddenly, a gust yanks me. My limbs kick the air, all six of them, and after a face-crushing climb, I see trees turn to circles. The river becomes a line.

The clouds above me drag their gray cotton through the sky -- fluffy fabric of fog that rips as it blankets the sky. I could reach out and devour a clump.

There are no windows between me and the cool, sizzling air.

I am home.

I see a giant twice my height. People walk through him, around me, and out from under our bridge. The late winter sun is up, and the breeze has a hint of engine oil that makes me think of warm lilacs.

There are some things about a friend you will never forget. For Goose, it's the fact that he's my height when he gets on his knees. It's also the crushing hugs I never get tired of -- like the one he's giving me now. I think something just popped out of place, but that's just fine and dandy. I'd laugh, but my lungs are a bit short on air at the moment. Hah-- ha... ow.

The sun out there is turning a golden orange, and pink petals are floating in from the quad. I blink, and it's all gone.

The sky looks bleak again, but that's okay. A giant walks in my head.

A toaster glued to your eyebrows
Muscle relaxant in your hands
Jello in your spine juice
Frozen napalm in your stomach
A skipping hard drive in your brain
A chatty voice in your head talking about Super Sayan powers
And murder
Love notes with no words
A sudden hankering for cloning yourself
Fleeting images of mental alchemy
Or becoming Dr. Xavier or Jean Gray
Time to keel over now.

The sun seemed to make the room dimmer this morning.  Thinking of his smile, I watched him fade.  My body lay like stone, my mind numb, and I realized that those giant fingers would never play with mine again.  My sheets turned to ice, and I hugged my knees, shut my eyes.