Crazy Jackie (Wacky Jackie)... whatever your fancy

New Ground

2006-09-30T08:16:00.000-07:00

I am finally able to post some images on the website, but please be patient with my construction, it doesnt come naturally. Scroll down to see some of the images I took while I was downtown New Orleans, this one above is how the pavement is redecorated with mud from the Mississippi...And for the record, Crazy Jackie was the endearing nickname Malik Rahim gave me the second I arrived, it later metastasized into a much more compelling "Wacky Jackie" but I am old school, so with respect to Common Ground, Malik and O.S. ethics I thought I would represent.
*BTW, if you want to view any images at a larger resolution just double click on them. Neat.

SO, where am I now?

2005-10-30T12:09:00.000-08:00

In an 18th Century Castle in Germany, of course.

The Last Three Weeks.

2005-10-29T05:45:00.000-07:00

Things Changed. People Change. Returning Sept 27

2005-10-27T13:07:00.000-07:00

Alot changed since Common Ground's modest beginning. I returned to Algiers after less then two weeks in Austin and had found everything had grown. Malik's house was now a full-on distribution center, with two really special ladies from Maine, Emily and Isabelle, organising and controlling everything that came in and out, a totally near impossible job. Malik's son Aaron had returned from the Bay Area to help out, and added to the many of the faces that were different which didn't take anything from all those that were familiar. The house was packed, the yard was packed, there was a new communication center in the back of the house where Malik used to stay before Ms Lubertha became very ill. It was run by a really impresive group of independent and radical media folks. Common Ground - a grassroots seed grew and now basking in the new orleans sun at 331 Atlantic was an impressive distrubtion and relief center with a new communications center in the back, a whole slew of organisers and activists from around the country, an outdoor cooking area, outdoor shower and more tents framing the property then you could imagine. Colorful chaos that made total sense. I was so happy to be back it felt alot like the first time I returned to San Francisco while my mom was sick. Things were happening, people were happy to see me (a great feeling), people were there doing what was right, and supporting eachother doing it. It was a beautiful thing.
Although the drive there was luxuriously accompanied by the DVD player in the mini van that the Milk Moms rented, it was particularly long and hard and went through the nite with little sleep. When I got to Malik's we quickly unloaded the van, exchanged hugs, and Sunsere,who I consider family, found me a place to crash for a safe second. On two hours sleep, and exhausted from the drive I was so excited by what I was greeted with (besides the welcome back Crazy Jackie greetings) I couldn't rest and thus the day began and so the updating.

The first nite back was rough, with little rest, we had a large truck full of supplies from Indiana pull up about midnite, and I swear Common Ground's adhoc collective of hippies, pagans, anarchists and the like filed suit like a synchronised, poor smelling, army of ants and unloaded the truck.

Milk Moms to the Rescue.

2005-10-25T10:11:00.000-07:00

I'll start this post by apologizing for the amount of time it took me to publish it. There was never any disrespect meant, just complete emotional paralysis in context. I found myself writing a friend recently who was personally offended by how little I wrote her from NOLA, I could only respond by assuring her I didn’t write anybody, I didn’t update my blog, I rarely made phone calls. I cut off the outside, and not conscientiously, it was something that happened when I was confronted by any interface that brought me out of the space I was inhabiting- that manifested most concretely as a computer screen, it became this undesirable vortex that confronted me every time I would sit (on one of the uncomfortable Common Ground chairs) before it. I simply couldn't check my email, or for that matter write an email. Now I am inhabiting a much safer space in many ways and I am confronted by totally different challenges but I recognize how much I ignored and how ultimately important it is to extend thanks and recognition, as well as tell my personal story from NOLA.

That being said, it does not undermine the amount of inspiration I received through the generous donation, commitment and trust of the Milk Mom's, especially Lizzie and Nickie (sp?).

So.... who are the Milk Moms? I don’t know actually but they made it a point to get me back to New Orleans, and thus contributed personally, and intimately to the relief effort. Not knowing exactly which is what makes this story a little more wonderful. If you scroll down a bit you realize I was stranded in Austin for one reason or another and trying to find my way back to NOLA this in the face of all flights being cancelled, Greyhound not stopping anywhere with in reach, and not having a car myself. Its really all I talked about when I was in Austin, and I guess talking about it all the time worked in my favor. Through a word of mouth connection, David Martinez- who I simply knew from being in the same activist circles, began talking too. He mentioned getting to NOLA to his sister Lizzie who was fundraising through her collective called Milk Moms, and so it began.

Milk Moms has it together and together they fund raised enough to rent a mini van to go from Austin to NOLA filled with supplies, myself and two locals who needed a ride back. In addition to the cash that was donated for the practical means of getting there, Ninchelle (sp?) was thoughtful enough to donate supplies for the mosque which we were/are using as a clinic. I am still totally touched by this gesture. And all of the beautiful scarves, prayer rugs and garments you, your sisters and brothers donated when directly to the Mosque. The Mini Van went on to create a practical legacy within the collective as it functioned to go to Houma* several times filled with supplies and was used effectively to move people around in NOLA. In addition, it had a DVD player in the ceiling, which was totally wild to me, but one of the local kids who has been volunteering since the beginning, very much appreciated it.

∑ what is special about the trips to Houma is how much the Federal Government literally forgot about this region. Houma was destroyed by flooding after Rita, and many times we found ourselves, this tiny little collective called Common Ground the only ones there offering relief. I will talk more about this later.

I am still totally humbled by what happened. I never met any of the Milk Moms in person, I only spoke with them on the phone, and mostly Lizzie, it was through the conversations on the phone and my blog that trust was established and fortified. Milk Moms are women who weren't able to make it to NOLA on their own, I am guessing because they are all busy being moms- but they sent their spirits, by trusting, by donating, by organizing, and mostly I think by unconditionally offering love- like a mother.

Claire (one of the New Orleans locals who I took down from Austin) and I made some signs to decorate the mini van which lasted until the minute I returned it to New Orleans Airport exactly seven days later.

Common Ground is forever indebted. Thank you Milk Moms.

And for the record, I was supposed to leave NOLA on the 8th of October and fly to San Francisco where I would meet with David to thank him for introducing me to his sister, and for all the organizing he did- David, I didn’t forget about you; I never left. I stayed until the last possible minute before I needed to come home to NY and depart shortly for Germany (October 22). SO not only couldn't I write, I couldn't leave. I never did make it to SF, and I know that upset some people but .... it's the consequence of revolution I guess.

Austin Texas

2005-09-27T00:44:00.000-07:00

So I have been in Austin Texas for an unexpected amount of time. 9 days. 6 of them utterly sick from New Orleans. Although I have been completely focused on getting back to Algiers I have to say I am completely surprised by how hard it might be to leave. Austin has presented itself as a liberal oasis in the barren ideological republican prairies of the Lone Star state- and *its really cheap. I actually might be able to say, I love it here. The people I have been staying with are amazing and Austin has a counter current of other peoples which it seems to embrace- queer, activists, punks, inked-up RockaBillies, hippies, communists and anarchists man the streets openly, and proudly at all hours of the day. MOstly because they dont have to work that much. I mean that respectfully. Coming from San Francisco, and then New York, its total respect because it makes sense as a lifestyle, rather then a workstyle.
My biggest complaint would be the intense heat... and the really bad hair cut I got from the bearded lady in a traveling circus. I cannot make that up. She was really nice though, and I trusted her while I witnessed my own aesthetic demise. Basically she was very smiley when she convinced me it looked great-now, I can join the circus too.

I did have one challenging incident in AUstin which landed me in the the downtown police precint to be 'printed'. Basically, I was on a bicycle in downtown Austin during a rock festival ... going the wrong way on a one way street and a guy in a giant white pick up truck panicked and slammed his breaks when he saw me. Total OVER-reaction. None the less, there was a tiny tiny fender bender which resulted in him chasing me down and basically tackling my bike and calling the cops.
SO there I sat with mister meathead (his girlfriend was totally embarressed)waiting for JOhnny Law in Austin Texas.
I must admit I was totally nervous, especially with my new hair-do, and I didnt feel much like giving them my identity so I offered them a nicer name. Which didnt make them happy. Really my name was none of thier business. Next thing you know I am being frisked on the side of the police car and whisked downtown, lecture in tow. Johnny Law was pretty convinced he had won the Texas criminal lottery of false identity with this mohawked shorty in the back. He basically predicted that he was "going to find out who I was and expose a whole buncha trouble". Alas, after several hours of sitting around and begging him to either shoot me his Taser or take a souvenier mugshot- my prints didnt match any others in the data bases of homeland security, nor the FBI's. I couldnt believe they tried so hard.

While I was sitting in the waiting room with the officer, who to paint a picture looked exactly like you might imagine- tall/white bald/fat/fill in the blank, I told him to look for my name on google... and maybe the Green Party website.
... "Green Party?"..."Oh, so you are one of those... flagburners, huh?"
Nope.
And the conversation erupted. I could see Johnny's face getting redder and redder as I challenged his 'apolitical opinions' and 'his' president. Just when I thought his face was going to actually burst he asked me if I was also one of those people who listens to main stream media...
Nope. Wrong again.
"Well atleast thats good aboutcha- main stream media is totally liberally biased and zionist biased", Said Johnny.
- I met him half way at the Zionist slant.

Then I seriously dont know what the hell happened but Johnny flag-waving-Bush-lovin-send-my-kids-to-war-to-fight-for-freedom, went on a serious, and well informed, diatribe on the abuses of Palestine under the militant and racist oppresive forces of Israel.
I worried he was a NeoNazi... I thought about how Jewish everyone thinks I look...
"HOw can no one understand WHY, just WHY these poor people are blowing themselves up?" he went on, " Basically you steal thier land, you steal thier, water, sell it to them at 3-4 times the price and then blow them up with an Appache helicopter at 6:30in the morning while they are praying, leaving them with absolutely NOTHING to hope for, or live for, and you cant understand how they might be desperate enough to blow up themselves up ?"

Honestly, I was afraid if I blinked I would wake up and ruin something so special. I was totally mesmorized by what was happening- and then I worked up the courage to ask him if I could ask him a very personal question... "Officer Johnny (a made up name) is your wife Palestinian?"

"Why yes she is and she is the greatest woman I have ever met"

No fucking shit. We spent the rest of the time, whilst Homeland Security was playing digital bingo with my thumbprint talking about the Palestinian- Israeli conflict, personal politics and basically what love does to ammend all the bullshit.
Thanks to Susan Greene I was able to make a drawing of Handala, which I asked him to bring back to his wife.
"Do you know who this is?" I asked
Nope.
"Well your wife will, so please give it to her and ask her to explain it to you- then give her a big hug and thank her for putting up with all your other bullshit politics."
I still cant believe it. I even cried when I was leaving and he gave me a giant hug (after I was digitally exonerated). He offered me a ride back to my bicycle 'with the windows down' a luxury in a squat car and finished the conversation with yet another embrace. "Ms. Maximus, this has been one special day for me" were his parting words.
There are dragonflies in Texas.

J. Gropious Maximus signing out and on her way back to Algiers.
Love Fearlessly.

Purple, Yellow, Green, Brown.

2005-09-26T11:19:00.000-07:00

Hello Friends, Family and Comrads. First word when the Big Easy gets hard. I am so sorry it has taken me this long to sit down and attempt an update of progress. With the unnerving push of Rita behind us I feel like now has to be the time I try to write because I have no idea what she will do to New Orleans that hasn't already been done and when another opportunity for me to write may come. For those who care, I am okay, more then okay. For those with whom I have not been in touch, I have been in New Orleans for the past week. Today I am in Austin Texas, where I had to return the rentacar$ which took an intitial group of us to Algiers before the rentacar$ took my bank account. ALso, I managed to get pretty sick while in Algiers, and to say the least a few days rest was needed. Ive slept atleast 13 hours a day for the past three days in austin- I feel a little like AnnMarie Bugler. I have been out of touch because I do not know that I have the sense, ability or vocabulary to describe the past week. I have been afraid to be inaccurate, and as always afraid my self acclaimed well-spoken brother will criticise anything I try to put to paper, but I realise ultimately that is not fair to all of you who felt the way I did before I finally boarded a plane and came down to do... 'whatever' in New Orleans. So, in all fairness, I will give you what I can, but please be patient my head is emotionally and physically clogged. New Orleans. I can tell you that this experience has existed beyond my vivid imagination. My rentacar$, filled with volunteers, was able to get past the military blockade and downtown New Orleans on thursday because I made some fake RedCross passes before I left- otherwise it would have been sheerly impossible. New Orleans is now Mars, or what I would imagine another planet to look like- everything is covered, EVERYTHING with seemingly foreign greyish purple silt from the bottom of the Mississippi and the debris of 300,000 people's lives. Thats it. Its striated like I remember the rocks of the Grand Canyon- only toxic. WHen we were in there we were the only civilians roaming the streets. Everything else was dressed in camoflauge and monsterous, or furry, hungry and four-legged. As people were forced to evacuate they were forced to leave everything behind- including thier pets so the deserted streets of the Big Easy are now toxic pastures for traumatised dogs and cats, atleast those who haven't been shot, those that are hungry and afraid, those that arent still locked in thier homes with out subsequent food and water.Those. Emotionally, I was trying to go back in time knowing I had a reference to this before, when it was quiet, when the hummers were somewhere else, and the helicopters where grounded, when the dogs didn't bark it-and I barely remembered this deserted town in the middle of Australia I happened to drive through years ago. The town surrounded an asbestos mine and one day, just one day in thier history, someone decided asbestos was bad and everyone had to leave so that was it- everyone left that one day. The firetrucks, the buses, the beds, the toys in the yard all remained, and I remember thinking then, the tire swing looked as if it were swinging from its last rider. That moment was so sudden that it must of been the last riders push behind it, not the wind. I remember being overwhelmed and fascinated by that moment when who ever had to get off the tireswing and had to leave. And that was it. I remember inventing that person. New Orleans, the same. Downtown we were able to feed a handful of dogs with food I had by chance in the trunk of my rentacar$, I was too lazy to unpack it earlier and in this case laziness prevailed. One dog was nothing but skin and bones and too shocked to feed herself. SHe just wanted to die. I have seen that before. There was a sudden burst of hope when were trying to coax her to eat, suddenly, another tiny resilient puppy ran around the block and back slid into my legs begging me to rub her belly- She smelled unbelievably disgusting but deserved to be loved and tickled so we honored that. We named her Katrina the stinker. She rode with us in the rent acar until we were able to rescue her to the SPCA van downtown. Katrina the stinker. SO, there is this ghost town with striated houses from the flood, some parts still underwater and it is still called New Orleans. What I will remember most about New, New Orleans is the smell. In this day in age with out electricity there is no refridgeration, with no refridgeration there is rot. New Orleans is rotting. Its striated like a ghost town where people deposited thier uncooked beef. I know for sure the rot is not only from people's fridges because dogs are dead, cats are dead who knows what else. I have had the good fortune of not seeing any human bodies dead but I can tell you I must have smelled them. I do not know how the hell they want to bring people back yet. I understand that people want to come back but i think the psychological trauma of seeing life reduced to this would be much worse then being with out your personal things for a few months. That is just my assesment. Life Edited By Tradgedy People keep asking, What am I doing, when not sleeping in Austin? I have been staying with a matriculating group of people in Algiers, on the west bank of the mississippi. Its the area of New Orleans that was not flooded. The house belongs to Malik Rahim, a community organiser and former black panther who has been connected to the political undercurrents of new orleans for decades- long before the overcurrents exposed so much curruption Malik was fighting it. We have created a collective of people which we are calling "Commonground Collective". for me, this is amazing. this is insipiring, this is hope, this is lifechanging, this is what I am coming back to. People have been driving 60 hours straight from canada, san francisco, indiana, new york, you name it, to get here and give whatever time or skills they have. Its so hard to describe, but I have to say for me on a very personal level, it references much the experience of my mother dying, where everything was so hard, everything seemed impossible and cruel and sad and unfair and gross, but around that flourished the human spirit that wouldnt allow myself or my family to collapse. I was humbled by it then on this very personal very myopic scale and I am humbled by it now when it is multiplied by the thousands. When life is edited by tragedy, when the bullshit is pushed aside, when we have nothing left to connect with but our humaness people are amazing. There is ineffable good in the wake of life edited by tragedy. I am thinking about Roberto Benigni, I am thinking about potatobug redbracelet, and shallow sips of the Perrien Spring. The Commonground Collective wakes up at 7 am everymorning, unzips thier tents, opens thier van doors or just rolls out of thier sleeping bags on Malik's porch to make plans for the day. Malik stands in the center surround by 'us' usually he tries to direct the meeting holding back the two giant dogs he rescued (Mailk and Spot:), Sunzere and Sharon usually make coffee and breakfast to feed us and we spend the hour updating, communicating, and stragegizing. Egoless. Thus far we have been able to build a free health clinic, stocked with both eastern and western volunteer medics and medicines, a radio station to get the word out to locals who havent been able to get out of thier houses, and a Communication Center. I have been completely humbled by my peers. To be able to build a communications center in the heart of all of this devastation is amazing- like the fist clenching sentiment you get when you see a single daisy triumph through the sidewalk. there are now over a dozen computers on line and connected through a network to eachother, this is open to and FOR the community to help them contact loved ones, fill out FEMA forms, or even just check email. This is to empower the community. Its totally incredible. All of this built and operating by donations from all over the country that came straight to Commonground COllective, grassroots organising and hope. The objective of the Commonground Collective is to empower the Algiers community to maintain autonomy for years in the aftermath of Katrina. And I dare say I can feel it working. It is totally incredible. We are in the beginning but we are finally facing the right way, together- egoless, selfless and ready, on commonground. When one friend asked me what I saw shortly after I arrived, I said- I see PK Dick, I see devastation, I see the indiscribable, I smell more then I see, I see history erased and ready to be rewritten and I see the potential for a much better author. I want to thank you all for your help and concerns on behalf of those who cannot go home anywhere else, and on behalf of myself. I assure you anyone who donated anything from one dollar to one thousand, not a single penny has gone to waste. We are maintaining and doing with every second of the days we have. There is a very simple website we were able to launch with updates some pictures and lists for needs. At some point I hope to update you guys with my own pictures but that may take a bit of time. New Orleans will need for a long time, so please keep it coming. And if you yourself can find the time, we need you too. Come. check out: www.commongroundrelief.org Please continue to call me on my cell phone at 631.664.0338. I am sorry if this post is long and incoherent, you have no idea how tired I am....and incoherent. Lets also please meditate that Rita doesnt go anywhere near NOLA. SHe cant take much more. Much Much LOVE, and humaness. jackie

Pictures from NOLA

2005-09-26T08:39:00.000-07:00

dollhouse exposed.

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Grand Canyon

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WaterMark

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Vikkie Wallace's House, Lower 9th

2005-09-25T01:00:00.000-07:00

Hope, Happiness and Humbleness

2005-09-25T00:57:00.001-07:00

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Long Drive From Austin

2005-09-25T00:56:00.001-07:00

New Bedrooms

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morning meetings

2005-09-25T00:54:00.000-07:00

Midnight Drop Off (they came at all hours)

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raising the tower with Veterans for Peace

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radio tower

Houma

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AND STILL WE LAUGH

2005-09-24T00:59:00.000-07:00

Clinical Bias

2005-09-24T00:55:00.000-07:00

The Infamous Soccer-ish Games

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The Crew, atleast part

2005-09-22T02:42:00.000-07:00