"...from my young life"

When some one loves you really loves you. You are offered a bright burning star. How does one accept, and give such. How to even imagine. The nights are made of fire.

 "...two tone"

I remember a China town apartment. I’m laying on the rug beneath a portrait of Chiang Kai-shek. This with Chinese nationalist flags about it. I was playing with wind-up toys Grandma had got for me,…probably from Mott Street. Of our very early lives we just have unconnected images. Knowledge of the complications come later. Given our multi-ethnic family. We all thought as kids that a mommy could have a baby of any color. It was sure happening in front of us.

Also about the name change on my Maternal side. This from Wong to Cameron. Seems our Great-grands took the name of a friend of the family because it sounded more American. Other American ethnics did the same back then. In our case it was to downplay our Chinese heritage and emphasize the Negro.

This to get around immigration restrictions in the 1920’s. At the time this country was very hostile to Asians. This is happening again. American racism was, and is complicated. Color tone gradations, and nationality. One needed a slide rule.

For a while in parts of the States it was actually safer being Black than Yellow. The heritage of the attempted genocide of the Natives Peoples, and the Slavery of Blacks distorted the American Experiment. We are still slowly so slowly recovering.

See flags. I have family in both China's. The Mainland, and Taiwan.

I also have kin in both America's. Texas, and Brooklyn.

The American race game changes from generation to generation. The game is near it’s end hence the extremes of confusions, and hostilities. Give it another generation or two to calm down. Then we can all agree on the real enemy,…the French.

Flag of the pro-Nazi

Vichy French.

These morons are about to elect a Trump Clone.

The French,...figures.

"Eh,..."

All Creatures Great, and Small. What would an alien species make of our Literature art politics theologies or we of theirs. If they had any. Another evolutionary tree would cook up unique pathologies. Imagine if the folks from Planet X took our books, and theater politics theologies as solid realities. Suppose their neural wiring can't make the leap from fact to fantasy. Granted folks here have problems with this as well, but bear with me.

These saucer guys would likely say: "...Holy fucking shit these weird folks can create whole worlds whole new realities just like that!" No amount of our telling them it's just made up bullshit will help. From Bugs Bunny to religions to commercials our Alien pals take the lot at face value. 

The implications for robbing these rubes blind are on the overwhelming side tempting. What an interesting profitable, and for them terrifying ride our relationship will be.

"No Gort ya just don't get it!" 

"Look we just made that bullshit up. Made up as in ain't for real. No that Santa guy Godzilla,...yeah even Batman,...no they ain't real. Eh you getting this? No you can't speak to Wonder Woman about it,...not Zeus neither." Lady Gaga. Um,...well she's part real. Remember I told you about actors. No you can't speak to Bob Hope,...not Fritz Lang neither or that robot."

"...October"

First of all, it was October, a rare month for boys, full of cold winds, long nights, dark promises. Days get short. The shadows lengthen. The wind warms in such a way, you want to run forever through the fields, because up ahead, 10,000 pumpkins lie waiting to be cut.

It was the October of my 12th year when the seller of lightning rods came along the road toward Green Town, Illinois, sneaking glances over his shoulder. Somewhere not far back was a terrible storm. Even now, on those special autumn days, when the air smells like smoke and the twilights are orange and ash gray, my mind goes back to Green Town, the place where I grew up.

In my memory, I’m back on Main Street again, among the neighbors who gave me my first glimpses into the fearful needs of the human heart.

“Something Wicked this way Comes”

Ray Bradbury

*From the screenplay, but close enough.

"...tableau"

A friend mentioned a book to me. “The Language of Flowers” I have that title. It was was of the few items I took with me to the street. It’s a small joyful book. Flowers their names how they got them, and their place in artistic mythology. Tho' battered I still have it.

As in a scene from a movie. I was resting,…not sleeping such is suicide out there. It began to snow. My first night in snow. Insulated with news papers I read the story of flowers.

A tear jerking tableau.

I can hear the heartful music. Ya has to know how to work an audience. Though at the time I was just trying to stay warm, and sane. The dramatic possibilities came much later.

This among the reasons I never did that play. The one act performance of my Houseless year. Always seemed manipulative.

I didn’t, and don’t want pity.

I wanted to know how people could be thrown away. Their worth stripped from them. They become ghost walkers. Unseen. Then as now I want to be seen. We are all living aware beings. We must be acknowledged as being alive, and of value.

"...Flow"

A few photos I took while “Houseless” on the Outside. 

There are many morning shots because come dawn I had to clear out. The alley shown is one of where I rested,…not slept. This till my sister put me up in hotels while a home could be found, and renovated. 

Even then I’d crouch, and doze in the corner of the hotel room. Laying down was not done.  On the street such is suicide. I’d position myself so I could see every angle out there. Even in a four star hotel I listened for movement. 

The habit was with me for years after. That first hotel night I felt heard 86 movements. I remember because I wrote it into a journal I kept. I had meant one day to do a one person act based on it. I never did. 

I left or tried to leave it behind me. It was a long while before I could sleep in a bed. Longer before I stopped counting sounds. Try that. Count the movements that surround you. You will find that even birds have shadows. 

This will give you a sense of the outside. I don’t write these notes to upset. I write because I must. Sometimes like now it just comes back. Like a memory of war. I can’t stop it only flow with it.

"...unknowing"

The Solstice. I time portaled. Peach Bonnet Wisconsin December 21st 3:26pm 1904~CE.

Yule decorations were up. Not as many nor gaudy as later years. They were homespun. Warmly sincere. The quiet strikes you. The air pristine.
The main street unpaved. Shops gas lit. ...So quiet.
A woman with a child came out of a Sundry store. A 7-11 to us. The woman nodded the child openly smiled. People not yet afraid of strangers.
I walked this place. This peaceful though complex human place. So unknowing of the terrors, and wonders to come.
I took a quick snap of folks across the way. This with a period box camera. As new to them as 3-D iPhones to us.
I'll come back in their Spring my next afternoon. This when Peach Bonnet will be in full leaf.

With that I shifted back to Tomorrowland.

*( I'm storing this story for Christmas eve...I hope I remember I put it here.) 

"...shot dead"

 

I found this online handy list of helpful instructions for Negros. Make a copy, and review it constantly.

“…it all comes down to not resisting arrest.”

Don’t stop resisting arrest. Never stop resisting resisting arrest. Also, don’t put your hands up. Police view this as deadly force. If you do put your hands up especially when ordered by police you will be shot dead.

Don’t walk to the store walk on the street drive a car ride a bus or train especially don’t sit on a park bench. These in many circumstances these are viewed as capital offences. Don’t defend yourself. while walking home unarmed.  A white vigilante stalking you in an SUV with loaded guns will see that as just cause to kill you. The police, but especially judges will agree.

If you insist on being a Negro working  in a gas station. Don’t play your music. A white man who might not share your particular musical preferences. They’ll call the police who may, and have at times shot Negros dead for this offense.

Don’t defend yourself. Not ever in any circumstance as this will be seen as attempted murder on your part. Don’t commit petty misdemeanors,…well you shouldn’t anyway. However this usually gets small fines or verbal warnings if you’re white. If you ain’t that can, and will get you shot in the face. Also, don’t mind your own business and be sure to mind your own business. Don’t obey or disobey the laws.

Don’t drive a car. Don’t question white authority. Don’t show too much deference to white authority as this seems fishy. Don’t ever question any white man woman or child. This can get you killed.

Don’t stay home hiding in your house. Police will kick your door in, and kill you. Then they’ll find out they had the wrong address. They’ll have a good laugh then go next door, and kill the right Negro.

Everything above has in recent times happened. It’s still happening, and will continue to happen.  So please keep this list with you at all times. Unless the police find it assume you’re subversive, and shoot you on general principal.

Otherwise have a nice day, and Happy Halloween.

"...ice nine"

Here's another memory from years ago. "I remember "Ice Fog". It never happens in the City. However I remember being with friends long ago driving around upper Vermont. We drove into something we'd none of us had ever seen before. A shimmering fog. We stopped got out, and walked in it. It was an actual fog of ice crystals. A fog of diamonds. So amazing. A routine miracle of nature. I say routine because nature just does this,...if we would just stop, and look."

"...dragonflies"

I set my portal pocket watch for farthest I’ve ever gone. Three thousand years. The fifty first century.

Specifically the Bronx May19th 11:16am EST, 5019~CE.

I figured that part of the former City would still be above water. …it was. 

There above the the remains of an ancient subway exit. The 241st Street/Wakefield Avenue stop. 

I climbed the overgrown stairway to the open air, and wilderness. What remained of the city was engulfed in tropical rain forest. Much as the Inca towers before it. 

Giant dragonflies flew above me. 

It was very warm, and humid. No trace of people as far as I could see.

However the city portions above the deeper ocean is home to insects, and small mammals. 

I sat on a moss covered log, and read my emails. How brief are empires. 

“…kind”

I went back to July 23rd 3:47 EDT, 862 BCE Manhattan. Wilderness, and rather cool even though summer. The long jump froze my dark matter pocket watch. There three days, and a night. This subjective time as it rebooted.

No native folks I could find.
Though they found me, and were watching. I awoke on the second day to dried fish, and nuts wrapped in leaves next to me. I spent three days living, and being fed, and protected by the Mannahatta people.
I never saw the kind folks that took care of me. On my last night I left them a small carved blue jay. 

I shimmered neon blue,...and was gone.

“…tea for two”

I’m sleeping too much albeit in small installments. Times of stress are like that. In the old daze when I was a part time drug addict,…well okay maybe not addict.

When I got to know ‘real’ addictive comrades I found out what a total amateur I was.

These heroic pharmaceutical maniacs sucked down quantities of chemicals during a weekend binge that would have taken me two years to score, and do!

One pal described a gleeful cocaine angel dust speed whiskey cocktail that would have killed a dozen Cossacks, and the draft horses they rode in on.  …and then went back for seconds.

Where was I?

Right dreaming of dust buster parties past. I recall back in the fading 1980’s doing what we called “Biggles”. Named after someone in a Monty Python skit.

A Biggle is basically a quarter gram or more cocaine line. Eh back in the day the recording, film video, and general broadcast industry ran on speed, and coke. Hey it was another era different values gimme a break.

Anyway to prove your insanity one would snort down the whole thing in one quick zap! This to the demented applause of your pals. If you didn’t 'die’ you were rewarded with a vodka martini..extra dry.

Ah I gleefully recall the summer of '83. What me, and my old pals calls the “Martini Summer”. 

One of our TV/radio host comrades whom you’ve heard of, but for legal reasons goes somewhat nameless here was once a bartender in a Madrid dive. He remembered his skills well!

Anyway this suicidal “Biggles” thing was the custom among the engineers back then. Yeah I had a terrible drug problem,…I was always running out of the stuff, and it was terrible.

Flash forward near 30/40 years, and all the survivors are basically teetotalers. 

So like I sez now instead of snorting up Peru I attempt chemical-free sleep. I even succeed somewhat. 

Nutty dreams too. 

"...Col. Kohler"

Barbie Kohler born West Germany 1946.Heidelberg University of Science 1967.Qualified pilot Heer Luftwaffe 1969 Bundeswehr Intel Analyst 1972~1998. 

Retired a Colonel.

Current status Model  Actress Action Figure.

 

I was born in the wrong century.
Either hundreds of years too late or centuries too soon.
I think this may be a common problem.

 

"In my heart I seem to be waiting for something."

Comments:

Sylvia Lewis

So many need you and your many talents! You should audition for some Broadway shows; volunteer in your community!

Justin Belshe

While you're busy waiting for it, it's happening all around you.

Daryl Romain

You are the patriarch, reach out. What you have, we can all use, self included. Don't you know you are loved?

Sidney Smith

I hadn't thought of that. I'm the oldest living male of my family's boomer generation. Patriarch. Imagine. Do I get a cool hat or a cape? Loves ya Daryl. Btw you're next in line.  ...I'll send you the handbook on protocols.

Daryl Romain

You get the cape. Second in line gets the hat. I already have the handbook. It's blank inside. Love you too.

Sylvia Lewis

Sidney Smith Yes! You’re it! You are on the family throne now! Yes. Get your cape, suits, uniforms, hats! But then again, lucky you, our family has long been a matriarchy!

 

I ran away from home when I was nine or so,...nobody noticed.

My note was where I left it unread.
There's a short story in that.
In the old days so long as you turned up alive for dinner no one paid much attention. It was an innocent time.

Comments:

Sylvia Lewis

Those were the day when kids were sent 'outside to play'! Bullying was the norm. We were all told to defend ourselves! Anyway, like you, I ran away too. I went a few doors down at a neighbor's house! I think you went to several neighbor's homes till dinner time.

Sidney Smith

I did or the park just past Utica Avenue. You, and I used to go on those long walking adventures all over Brooklyn. We always got back fine,...it was so different then.

From Alison Armstrong. ...4 years ago today.

 

Thoughts on Crime Punishment, and Jury Duty.

Part I

May 1, 2019

I was at Court yesterday for Jury selection.
This brought certain matters to mind.
Justice, and law very rarely meet. Both are multifaceted, and usually contradict. One the arbitrary rules of civilization built up over many generations. The other instinctive rightness. Which is intuitive, and eternal.
In it's more extreme circumstances matter, and anti-matter. Which has an inevitable reaction when they meet.

Part II

On this grey chilly May Day I went for Jury Duty. The Brooklyn downtown Supreme Court Building. No personal photos they took my camera while I was there. Met a bunch of nice folks.
It was like getting drafted. You meet the whole cross section.

There was a "pony show" where they explained our rule of law how it applied. The nature of our sort of democracy,...such as it is. Mostly we just sat, and waited.

It was a bit anti-climatic for me.
In the approval interview I was excused for medical reasons. Apparently health matters more now. Before if you were breathing you were in. My recent surgeries, and ongoing conditions were an issue.
So no Perry Mason event. I think this is my last call.
I may be too old in the next round-up. We'll see.

Btw: Back in about 1995 I was excused from a vicious murder case. I told the interviewers that I had a contempt about that sort of killer...I really could not be impartial...who could? Not just a killing,...a butchery. Defense really didn't want me. The prosecution did in they tried to get me to modify my statements. Such is the law.

Comment:

Cassady Smith

“It appears to me that, in this savage murder, there were fine people on both sides.”