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Justice Putnam Self-Portrait / copyright Justice Putnam

The Justice Department is on Netroots Radio.com Sundays 8pm to 9pm Pacific and Mondays 9pm to Midnight Pacific. Powered by Unity Radio Net!

I'm Special Agent DJ Justice; Radio Host and Program Director for Netroots Radio.com; and I'm manning the dials, spinning the discs, warbling the woofers, putting a slip in your hip and a trip to your hop.

The playlist for Sunday 16 February 8pm to 9pm Pacific Edition of The Justice Department: Musique sans Frontieres

 ~~ "Our Future House Burning Like A Star On The Hill" ~~

1 - Bobby Womack -- "Across 110th Street"
2 - Rose Batiste -- "Nobody Loves Me Like My Baby"
3 - Brenda Holloway -- "Starting The Hurt All Over Again"
4 - Brook Benton -- "My True Confession"
5 - Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell -- "Your Precious Love"
6 - Linda Jones -- "I'll Be Sweeter Tomorrow"
7 - The Four Tops -- "Still Water Love"
8 - Marvelettes -- "Destination Anywhere"
9 - The Velvelettes -- "He Was Really Saying Something"
10 - Bill Withers - "Just The Two Of Us"

Station Break

11 - The Stanley Brothers -- "Pass Me Not O' Gentle Savior."
12 - Big Mama Thornton -- "Wade In The Water"
13 - Little Axe -- "Down To The Valley"
14 - Bobby McFerrin -- "Psalm 23"
15 - Chris Thomas King -- "Revelations"
16 - Gram Parsons, Emmylou Harris & Linda Ronstadt -- "In My Hour of Darkness"
17 - Daniel Lanois -- "Where Will I Be"

Who luvs ya, baby?

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The Netroots Radio Player








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Daily Kos Radio, Vintage James Baldwin, Labor History, Native American Documentaries, Flashpoints, Free Speech Radio News, Democracy Now, The David Packman Show, The Union Edge, Angie Coiro, The Professional Left with Driftglass and Blue Gal, West Coast Cookbook & SpeakEasy 6 Minute Recipes, Jim Hightower, ACLU Minutes, Nicole Sandler, Shannyn Moore, Science and History Specials, your Netroots Radio Favorites... and so much more, on right now!

Go ahead, now you can listen while roaming the Big Orange and beyond!

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(12-String Ovation Balladeer Astoria, Oregon / copyright Justice Putnam)

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There are trees and they are on fire. There are hummingbirds and they are on fire. There are graves and they are on fire and the things coming out of the graves are on fire. The house you grew up in is on fire. There is a gigantic trebuchet on fire on the edge of a crater and the crater is on fire. There is a complex system of tunnels deep underneath the surface with only one entrance and one exit and the entire system is filled with fire. There is a wooden cage we’re trapped in, too large to see, and it is on fire. There are jaguars on fire. Wolves. Spiders. Wolf-spiders on fire. If there were people. If our fathers were alive. If we had a daughter. Fire to the edges. Fire in the river beds. Fire between the mattresses of the bed you were born in. Fire in your mother’s belly. There is a little boy wearing a fire shirt holding a baby lamb. There is a little girl in a fire skirt asking if she can ride the baby lamb like a horse. There is you on top of me with thighs of fire while a hot red fog hovers in your hair. There is me on top of you wearing a fire shirt and then pulling the fire shirt over my head and tossing it like a fireball through the fog at a new kind of dinosaur. There are meteorites disintegrating in the atmosphere just a few thousand feet above us and tiny fireballs are falling down around us, pooling around us, forming a kind of fire lake which then forms a kind of fire cloud. There is this feeling I get when I am with you. There is our future house burning like a star on the hill. There is our dark flickering shadow. There is my hand on fire in your hand on fire, my body on fire above your body on fire, our tongues made of ash. We are rocks on a distant and uninhabitable planet. We have our whole life ahead of us.

-- Zachary Schomburg
"The Fire Cycle"

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Voices and Soul appears on Black Kos Tuesday's Chile; poetry chosen and critiqued by Black Kos Poetry Editor Justice Putnam.

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(Cut Stones and Arch St Ceneri, France / copyright Justice Putnam)

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Question: Who is your audience? What are you here for?

Answer: Tribal Alliances, Heart-felt Convictions, Passionate Reason, Random Abandon, Sustainable Civility and a kiss; to comfort the sad and the mad Ones; the Ones roaming the International section of the American Supermarket at night; or roaming the neglected streets looking for an angry malaprop to sink their teeth into; the Ones who seek without seeking and learn as much as they teach; the Ones who embrace and kiss and embrace again; the Ones who sing the song of the city and the ballads of the forest; the Ones who chant the rhythm of the sea and hum the melody of the desert; the Ones who sing the prayer of Her name and Her name is the World. Yes, those are the Ones.    -- JP

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(Man, Girl and Broken Window Klamath Falls, Oregon / copyright Justice Putnam)

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(Can you help folks in need heat their homes and cook their food on the Rosebud and Pine Ridge Reservations. Navajo has an important diary posted with all the particulars. Even a small amount can work towards building the minimum.

Could you please help?)

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So that explains it... !

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Sunlight and Water Pitcher Muir Beach / copyright Justice Putnam

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... Or does it?

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(Holy Bible and 3 in 1 Oil Berkeley, California / copyright Justice Putnam)

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(Rail Road Crossing, Sonoma California / copyright Justice Putnam)

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(Farm Road and Running Fence, Olema, California / copyright Justice Putnam)

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"Many heroes lived before Agamemnon, but they are all unmourned, and consigned to oblivion, because they had no bard to sing their praises."

 -- Horace

"Still the race of hero spirits pass the lamp from hand to hand."

-- Charles Kingsley

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I could
Remember
The days

When innocence
Was blowing

Like across

A Van Gogh
Meadow

Caressing the
Hillsides and woods
With a
Fragrant
Shimmering
Color.

Innocence
Rising

Above the
Vulgarity
In which the
Existence
Of nearly every
Individual
Is spent.

But I had become
Bound by guilt

And dubious
Of the truth.

I came to believe
That in a sense

Innocence

Was the same
As failing

Holding onto
Innocence
Meant becoming

Dog-lipped
And stranded
In the park

Alone.

I came to believe
That the measure
Of love

Was the amount
Of emotional
Hurt
I could survive.

Not quite
Like a crushed
Butterfly
Picked apart
By a colony of ants

But I had often
Cut my finger

From the beauty
Of a long-stemmed rose.

So I realized
In those final moments
What had actually
Happened

My life was
A series of patterns

A self created
Maze that offered
No escape

So overwhelming
In its
Awesome-ness

That I was
Incapacitated
By its weight

I had no
Resiliency
Left to survive

I punctured
Myself
With my own
Pursuit of
Beauty.

Again
And again
I had sought

Compassion
And heart-pure
Connection

Between the legs
Of Beauty

Only to make
Visible
My own
Impure

Weakness of heart.

I would

Give up.

I would

Let sadness
String itself
Between my fingers

And memory

Became
A fading
Melody.

(Portland, Oregon and Los Angeles, California 1978)

(from: Part 3 "And Memory Became A Fading Melody")

© 2006 by Justice Putnam
and Mechanisches-Strophe Verlagswesen

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Rest in Peace Aaron Swartz

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(Morning Fog And Surf, Muir Beach, California / copyright Justice Putnam)

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Originally posted to The Justice Department on Netroots Radio.com on Sun Feb 16, 2014 at 07:50 PM PST.

Also republished by Netroots Radio, Black Kos community, LatinoKos, and Protest Music.

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