The Orphan I Am Chronicles – 128

•December 17, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Leave the Children Out of It, Please.

In 1971, Marvin Gaye released one of his most powerful songs, What’s Going On? The decade that surrounded this socially masterpiece that brought injustice into the forefront as well as many other disturbing, unacceptable social issues. That was the 70’s, as much as it was relevant then, the song is even more relevant today.

Earlier today, another tragic attack on innocent people (children) took place. Seven Taliban terrorists attacked a school ( an army public school ) in Peshawar, Pakistan, murdering 141 people, most of them children. I’m not writing this while ignoring the many other terrorist crimes that may or may not have been committed by one or more countries in that region. Children are not collateral damage, they are not pawns to force one countries hand in favor of another. These premeditated attacks in the name of whatever supreme being they believe in are ever-growing and heartless.

What I see in these news reports here saddens me, it makes me question if the people in charge truly treasure their future at all? How can they? When the most important parts of their future, the world’s future, is gunned down while being educated. Tragic and sad,

“What’s Going On?”

The Orphan I Am Chronicles – 127

•December 6, 2014 • Leave a Comment

I’ve never quite gotten there.

Thought I had but was mistaken.

To awaken lost and alone.

I walked the miles as the sun passed over.

My destination unknown, my purpose confusing.

An unread letter I left behind.

To open would have left possibilities.

You might say that I had run from something.

When in fact I chose to run towards someone.

To seek clarity and closure, I moved and moved again.

I have to know if she still exists.

To wait for the breeze to bring her scent.

To be lost this way is the norm for me.

Careful to fall in love, again

The Orphan I Am Chronicles – 126

•December 6, 2014 • Leave a Comment

I love being Different, I love being a bit Strange, I love being Me, just asked Anybody.

The Orphan I Am Chronicles – 125

•November 28, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Peaking My Interest, My Curiosity

Through out my life, I’ve come across things that have made me more than just curious, such as a building which has some years on it. Perhaps even a courtyard in front of old abandoned mansion. Some times it would be easily accessible and other times the entrance, usually an iron gate of some sort would be padlocked.

rusty  Most people would quickly give the gate a rattle and go about on their way, but not me. I would take a step back while observing, admiring and studying this secure portal to Lord knows what. With its iron rusted, painted over many times, dried bubbles of paint struggling to remain part of this, but finally giving in and almost magically departing as colorful flakes, now resting just below, there are your feet. To admire the enormity of this which towers far above my head, as ancient rose beds line the left and right. The etchings, surely to be symbolic. But why would someone choose to hide what was meant to be seen?

Before I look beyond the gate, I inspect the gate’s hinges, large and securely rusted, I wonder, if I somehow opened this which has been ignored and forgotten, would the hinges squeak loudly announcing my presence? Does this gate swing both ways? Could I enter and never to exit, to become part of this beautiful, weathered decay. I rise slightly on my toes, to peer beyond the over grown front yard, hoping by some miracle my sight would somehow be allowed to look past the curve in the cobblestone walkway.

I could see just over the trees, a top edge of a wooden roof, its wooden shingles resemble more that of a patchwork quilt, my adrenaline kicks in, I can’t contain myself, should I? Would you? I look left then right as I carefully ease myself between the iron rails and the rose bushes. I ignore the occasional snag of my jeans, the prick of my skin, a small trickle of blood runs down my leg. Just as my body sat perched on the rail, I see a metal sign staked in this endless yard. The sign although very old could still be read, ‘Keep Out’. So with that, I begin to lower myself, abandoning my quest. A final glance and I see the faded curtains just to the right front door drop back into place. Someone had been watching me, but who?

As I made my way to the street, I took note of that address and just knew I’d return, but only after finding out more about who resides inside. My curiosity had now become an obsession and a mystery of what exists beyond this gate. A gate that may that may or may not swing both ways.

peace tone

The Orphan I Am Chronicles – 124

•November 27, 2014 • Leave a Comment

An Unpleasant Cycle – Ferguson

This is the type of blog I didn’t want to write, I wanted so much to avoid it for many reasons, one which is the ugliness that accompanies the actions of a person or persons who may have committed a foul, due to either his or her irresponsible action which in itself creates a chain reaction, in this case, a young man, for whatever reasons, decided to go into a store, steal some cigars and from that point, a series of events take place, him pushing the employee who at that time was in charge of the store. So once this young man walked out that door, not only would his life change, but also that as his immediate family, as well as the local community and all those that make that community function, prosper and unite.

That above paragraph does not even begin to explain nor define what, where or how all this actually began. Was there a single incident? Why yes, there were many ‘single’ incidents, some dating back generations and in my lifetime, I’ve witnessed such incidents of racial discrimination, racial profiling, people making mistakes which unfortunately escalated into tragedy, someone being killed, far too soon. I myself, raised an orphan, as I have written about here many times, was brought up in an area of Houston which was made of up of many minorities of different races. So in regards to myself, I was not on the outside looking in, but I myself was in the inside. My best friend back then was a black male and as we went about our young lives, I saw and felt sorry for him due to the constant being ‘under suspicion’.

I could write all night about the sacrifices many Black Americans have made on the civil rights front, but instead I will look at this latest tragedy as a confused, angry and saddened man. If you ask me who is at fault here I would have to say that there are many who share the blame, many. One’s action, whether it be something positive or in this case negative was the spark that invoked such reactions that it not only left a community angry and wanting answers, but as it such incidents like this do, it shook tens of millions about this country awake. As an earthquake would disrupt the world around you, prompting the response, ” here we go again.”

I sat on my couch with my cat Jasmine at my side and was angered, stunned at what I saw taking place after the irresponsible delay of announcing the grand juries decision. I saw the hundreds of peaceful protestors, exercising their rights to assemble and be heard being silenced by the violent actions of many who unlike the peaceful gathering, these were hell-bent on destroying, looting, while making many like me, flash back to all those violent and intense images I witnessed in person as well as the broadcast of such incidents which brought about more awareness and certainly more anger.

I still today feel that Zimmerman pursued Trayvon Martin and killed him, no one can change my stance on that. After that trial ended, I said to a close friend, “we haven’t heard the last of Zimmerman, this asshole is no good.” Later we all would see the news reports of Zimmerman’s continual disregard to the civil rules that apply to each of us. But with the Michael Brown killing, I surely expected a trial, I was certain this cop would have to answer for his decision to pull his weapon and fire seven bullets into another human being. But with the announcement there would be no such trial, this pot of boiling frustrations, this ever-growing want of justice that some are entitled to while many are not, boiled over. Am I trying to justify a mass of people destroying their own community? Certainly not, but like many, I saw it coming.

f7  Protest in itself should always be the definitive step that ensures opening the door of justice or the attempt of justice. For those who make such decisions to go to trial or not expect everyone to just except what words they put on paper as gospel, we don’t. Do you really think that just because you say you’ve investigated this incident and processed your reports that people would just say that they believe you? How can anyone believe something that they know in their bones to be untruth.

f5 I myself will never be convinced that the cop needed to put seven bullets into someone in order to keep that person from advancing a cop who has already fired his weapon. The only time I’ve heard of such bizarre behavior by a person is when that person is on PCP, aka Angel Dust and no, Michael Brown had no such drugs in his system.

f8 Images which remind us of another time, same problems.

f10 Powerful images, f4

Where do we go from here when no one person is at fault? How does one even begin to heal? You certainly can’t forget.

f9It’s not just a black problem, this is everyone’s problem, we all should care, it begins at home and branches outwards, doesn’t it?

f13  f2There should be a trial, there must be accountability, the faults must be exposed, there has to be a fair attempt at justice. The family deserves this as well as the millions of others who are watching this take place and with each day that passes, more frustrations build up. With the meaningful protests which are taking place in many cities across our nation, how can you continue to ignore the want of the people for justice, a fair trial. If the cop did nothing wrong, then why are they afraid to go to trial?

Whose at fault? Hell, everyone is at fault.

peace tone

The Orphan I Am Chronicles – 123

•November 22, 2014 • Leave a Comment

So I’m thinking Ghosts,

The story/book I’m working on will actually be book one of a trilogy and in book one and two, it does briefly into paranormal, to be more specific, Ghosts. However, it is not a ‘paranormal’ tale but has more a paranormal flavor to it. Confused? I already have extensive knowledge in that field and have always enjoyed the stories that usually accompany a photo, especially the photos that have been dissected in an attempt to prove real or hoax. So this afternoon and evening, I have been on-line looking for a particular type of photo(s) to help me with a ‘sticking point’ in a crucial scene I’m working on. I came across two photos that caught my attention, one in particular that even had me recollecting my first summer spent at summer camp in Spring, Texas.

ghost1  This photo shot near a railroad crossing just south of San Antonio, Texas. Caergwrle Bridge Ghost

Ghostly image taken on the Packhorse Bridge, in Caergwrle, Wales.This bridge is an entrance to a former burial ground. Both photos I found on-line and not taken by me. This images made me think back when I was about eleven years old, I had snuck out of a cabin very late at night to meet friends. We had walked a few hundred years away from the camp and to an area rumored to be visited by ghost. The origin of this began after a couple had died when their home burnt down to the slab of concrete foundation. I, as well as the others suspected the tale was fabricated by those counselors who worked the camp, we found out that nothing could be further from the truth.
   We had stood around, some actually giving up and left for their cabins, but three of us remained and just as we ourselves was about to call it a night, the only girl with us cleared her throat, motioned for me to look behind me and there it was, an off white image, it moved about the slab. It’s appearance was petite and more blurred from about its waist line area to the ground, which btw, never actually touched the ground. It was when one of us coughed that the image turned our way and looked. It was a she and her face more visible than the rest of her body, we ran away as quick as our feet would take us.
   I only mention this memory because it is something that provides me with a better visual of how I would eventually direct an indy film with a believable scene for my audience. The name given to the ghostly image at Pine Tree Camp was, Old Lady White, typical tag for a ghost eh?
   So just like the hoax photos/videos of UFOS, there are an over abundance of photos of ghostly images, many hard to distinguish from real or fake due to the excellent software programs at our disposal, for example – Photoshop. I do like that at my fingertips, I can surf the web and find anything to research, anything to fuel the fire. The two photos I’ve included with this simple blog are said to be actual images, witnessed by many over time. Who really knows?
   But as I now must break away from this simple blog to return to book one, I must say that I am delighted with the blogs I have been following here on Word Press, you all are very good at what you write, with your own way of presenting it.
peace tone

The Orphan I Am Chronicles – 122

•November 19, 2014 • Leave a Comment

A Bench, My Bench, Your Bench

bench   I came across this pic on-line this morning while bypassing the ever-growing grim news that saturates the web. At first, it reminded me of a point in my life, a period of time where I felt it was me against the world. It was a couple of years before my divorce which I not only noticed the darkness closing in on me, but I actually felt that darkness. Anyone who has ever went through such a gut wrenching, heartbreaking intrusion into one’s personal life, can relate.

But enough of that grim period, the bench, ah yes, the bench, Often big enough to sit 3-4 people, I would sit as far left of it as I could, always with the hope that some lone figure would appear blocks away and that figure would become more clearer to me as it neared. I mentioned this because I myself relied on the darkness itself along with an isolated street lamp and often a bench to sit, in my attempt to forget. I wanted someone to walk past me and then miraculously turn back to face me, to ask, “Are you okay?” For the most part, no one asked, so while sitting, I wrote in my journal, mostly about what my family was going through,  I wrote on a notepad, story ideas and such.

Sometimes in the blackness of the night, I would walk and walk until I would find “the perfect spot” to sit, there had to be a source of light of course to write. My normal routine was to leave my bed, usually after midnight and drive to Galveston’s seawall, as I’ve written about here previously. The first few times, I would open my journal with my black ink pen and let my thoughts rush the length of my arm, through my hand onto paper, the words to be baptized by my tears. Over time, I became more aware of what was taking place around me, an ocassional moth fluttering under the beam of the street lamp, a gull passing overhead and that stray cat, the one which hide in the darkness, just inches beyond the lights beam, it waited and would pounce at that fluttering moth, a tid bit of an appetizer.

I so desperately hoped that someone would come along, sit beside me and just listen, but no one did,until a police officer on patrol drove by and stopped to walk over and question my presence here at this hour of night. I’m sure he thought I was homeless and after my brief explanation, he to acknowledge that he himself had just went through what I had gone through, informing me that the work/life of a law enforcement officer is never easy on a relationship/marriage.

Over the next few weeks, months, my spur of the moment urge to drive south on hwy 45, became a place to escape, to put my mind in a creative space, to absorb all around me while filling pages with words, describing what I was feeling and forming characters and distinct situations they would be in, while often blending pieces of my life into the stories. Question, do I consider what I’ve written as fact or fiction?

Over time that stray cat wandered closer to me as I tossed a morsel of something for it to eat. Over time this pleasant escape became more of light than darkness, it became a place for the occasional writer’s block, a place which provided a multitude of natural and unnatural things to stimulate my senses, in short, I had awakened. Then there was this one night, a night which every star above made itself known, a night which a car pulled over some yards away from mine, a night which she exited her car while looking my way. As she carefully walk to the sidewalk, she had a decision to make and even from that distance I could see her head look left than right. She even stepped briefly to the left but changed her direction and walked to the right along that sidewalk and with each step she grew closer to me, with each step her face became more clearer.

Her intentions? Certainly to not walked past me, but to pause and say, ” I drive by here every once in a while and I’ve been wanting to ask, are you okay?”

truth, peace tone

 
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