Not a poem but in protest of flagging truth about racism in Traverse City, Michigan


Traverse City, Michigan: Racism is still alive and well in our area.

We weren't always welcoming
Cross burning's (City of Traverse City, MI)
I'm born and raised in Traverse City, Michigan and still living in the same neighborhood where I grew up. I can remember when blacks were not welcome in most parts of town and the one or two around were military visitors.

We had two known cross burning incidents. One back in the late 80's or early 90's the other was around 1924, ******* groups like Ku Klux **** was behind both cross burning incidents. I found old articles on the earlier one but someone is trying hard to white wash history of Traverse City by hiding evidence of the most resent one. Ones like me who were there remember those dark days like it was yesterday. It don't bode well for tourism or the Cherry Festival if there's a record of racism in our city.

Copy pasting one two different retelling of story reported by our sometimes biased Record Eagle articles regarding the first and and will continue to dig for the other one.

January 31, 2009
KKK was active in early '20s

The 1924 bombings and cross burnings in downtown Traverse City were not the first **** activity in northern Michigan.

The Record-Eagle reported flaming crosses in the Mancelona area on Aug. 1, 1923, a full year before. Six weeks later, Traverse City commissioners refused the **** permission to hold a Sept. 17 open-air meeting at the corner of Front and Cass.

About 300 people showed up anyway and marched to a vacant lot west of Front and Union after the unidentified property owner gave permission, carefully noting that it "did not commit him to any relationship with the organization," the newspaper said.

The Record-Eagle also passed on information from an identified **** source in its Sept. 17 report:

Two, maybe three organizers had worked for weeks in Traverse City. About 150 Traverse City men from "among the leading citizens" had joined. An open-air ritual with the traditional fiery cross burning on a hillside would be held "sometime but not yet" in or near Traverse City, and it would be "merely a part of the **** ceremonies and have no special significance."

People who expected to see hooded men in white robes performing rites at the Sept. 17 rally were bound to be disappointed, the paper said. A new state law banned wearing masks in public. It also would be difficult to tell how many in the audience were KKK members because "every person who has signed the Ku Klux card has pledged to keep his membership an absolute secret."


Traverse City, Michigan wasn't always welcoming to people of color.


Traverse City Record-Eagle

February 1, 2009
Ku Klux **** terrorizes TC in 1924

KKK cross burnings, explosions rock city

By LORAINE ANDERSON
Black History Month has special significance, since it begins fewer than two weeks after the nation's historic inauguration of its first black president, Barack Obama.

But there are parts of that history that Traverse City, like the rest of the nation, would rather forget. The city never had a large black population, but it did not escape a visit from the Ku Klux **** during a frightening night of downtown explosions and cross burnings on Aug. 9, 1924.

Traverse City has never seen anything like that night of terror. Buildings shook. Store windows cracked and shattered. Houses as far away as 16th Street quaked, the Record-Eagle reported.

And though outside agitators were blamed, some local people may have been involved.

It started about 8 p.m. after three explosions went off across the river from the Lyric Theatre, where the State is today.

The crowd at the Lyric all but stampeded toward the door as women and children screamed. Panicked shoppers spilled out of downtown stores. City police phones jangled with alarm.

A large cross burned on the north side of the Boardman River near Cass Street. About 50 smaller burning crosses appeared almost simultaneously at the centers of intersections across the city. Each was crudely nailed together and swathed in oil-soaked rags. Sparks flew when several cars struck them. A city fire truck raced through town to douse flames.

Then, a "touring car" with four men, robed and hooded, though not masked, slowly trolled down Front Street carrying a sign surrounded by red flares blazing three letters: KKK.

Copies of the Ku Klux **** newspaper, "The Fiery Cross," later were found downtown, and police determined that at least two cars were involved in planting and lighting the crosses.

**** leaders called the explosions and flaming crosses a recruiting gimmick, but it was more than that. The 1920s was a reactionary time in the United States. The **** had risen again, starting in 1915, widening its anti-black focus to Jews, Catholics and immigrants, particularly those from southeastern Europe. Its membership was strongest in Illinois, Indiana and Ohio.

The ****'s most powerful year was 1924, when it reached an all-time high of 5 million members nationwide and virtually controlled the government of Indiana. Its most popular slogan was "100 percent pure American."

The **** had a solid base of support in Michigan. The **** fielded two candidates in the Republican gubernatorial primary in 1924 and a ****-backed candidate was elected mayor of Flint. A write-in **** candidate even made a strong showing in a Detroit mayoral race.

In June 1924, 1,000 men joined the KKK in an Oakland County cross burning attended by about 8,000 people. Traverse City's demonstration took place just two months later. But who was really behind it?

"There is some doubt among the authorities as to whether the offenses were actually committed by local people or men from outside. They believe that local people were associated in the affair," the Record-Eagle reported.

An unidentified spokesman for the local **** denied responsibility, speculating that it was the work of **** enemies or rogue Klansmen. He told the Record-Eagle that the **** repudiated terror tactics and burning of "unwatched crosses."

Two weeks after the bombing, city police obtained felony and misdemeanor arrest warrants accusing Ku Klux **** organizer Basil Carleton of Richmond, Ind., of setting off explosives. Indiana police arrested him on Aug. 29.

Witnesses testified in two trials in December and January that Carleton had purchased 25 pounds of dynamite, fuses and three caps from Hannah & Lay Mercantile Co. about two hours before the explosions. A Park Place Hotel clerk said he saw Carleton hurrying away from the direction of the explosions about 10 minutes later. Two **** members testified that Carleton was not at the scene.

Yet he was never convicted. Juries acquitted him in both cases because the prosecutor could not prove to their satisfaction that he was at the scene of the explosion or that he personally set off the dynamite.

The bomber escaped justice. But the good news was that in Traverse City, no night of terror like that happened again.

It was this event that sparked the cross burning in Traverse City. We had only one black family in our city, when Betty Ponder and her family left Traverse City for the first time due to no one wanting to rent to them, population of blacks in our predominately white city drop to zero.


******* Movement Targets Northern Michigan

by Robert Downes

National Alliance advocates the creation of "two Americas"

Traverse City, Mich., noted primarily for its beaches, tourists and cherry pie values, appears to be erupting as a national battleground of opinion over the ******* movement, with forces on both sides of the issue coming out of the woodwork to vent their outrage over racial issues.
On Thursday, June 5, residents along stretches of Washington and Front streets in town came home to find a slick package of information from the National Alliance hanging from their doorknobs. An outgrowth of the American **** Party, the National Alliance is a ******* group which advocates the creation of "two Americas," one of which would be "White Space only with no Jews or blacks." The Alliance, advocates genocidal practices if need be to achieve its goals, and plans to distribute 1,000 information packets in Northern Michigan.

Protest organized to oppose July "NordicFest"
The incident arose only a day after more than 150 people from throughout Northern Michigan gathered at a "Hate-Free TC" meeting to oppose the NordicFest, a skinhead rock festival sponsored by the Ku Klux ****, to be held at a secret location 20 miles south of town, July 3-6.
The NordicFest is being advertised on the Internet and will feature at least six skinhead bands featured on Stormfront Records and Resistance Records -- both of which are purveyors of neo-**** hate music. It will also reportedly feature speakers from the Ku Klux **** and Aryan Nations.

Thus far, the NordicFest's location has been a closely-kept secret by David Neumann of Bloodbond Enterprizes, the concert organizer and a former director of the Michigan Knights of the Ku Klux ****. Neumann has told local media that 300 tickets have been sold for the concert -- about half the number he expects to sell. Reportedly, concertgoers will be provided with maps to the secret location at a checkpoint.

Bands expected to play at the NordicFest include Intimidation One, Aggravated Assault, Blue Eyed Devils, Max Resist and the Hooligans, and No Alibi.

Local churches offering seminars on the ******* movement and the importance of diversity
GATHERING STORM

Journalists have made inquiries on the NordicFest from as far away as London, New York and Colorado as a result of the Northern Express story circulating on the Internet. A segment for National Public Radio is expected to take the issue nationwide, possibly focusing the world's attention on Traverse City on the eve of the National Cherry Festival -- an event which draws more than half a million visitors, many of them from ethnic minorities.
"We're creating a rainbow ribbon that we hope everyone will wear in rejection of skinheads and the ****," said Rabbi Stacey Fine of Hate-Free TC. "We hope to have hundreds of ribbons during the time the **** is here, available from downtown merchants."

Fine says the group also hopes to march in the National Cherry Royale Parade with a three-by-eight-foot banner covered with thousands of signatures in a show of support for racial and cultural diversity. Thus far, Cherry Festival officials say they have received no applications from Hate-Free T.C., but will consider the request if approached.

Dottie Kye of Hate-Free TC says the group doesn't plan to try stopping the NordicFest despite their opposition ot the concert. "We're ignoring it," Kye says. "We celebrate anyone's right to organize and free speech. But our thing is unity and celebrating diversity." In addition to several church seminars on the ******* movement and the importance of diversity, Hate-Free TC is organizing a three-day "Unity Festival" which will feature dozens of musicians, artists, poets, actors and peace activists at the Traverse City Opera House, July 3-6.

Concert organizers Tim Hall and Tom Emmott say that more than 40 musical acts will send a pro-diversity message to area teens, with performers including Willie Kye, Alright Already, John Greilick, Samantha Moore, the Motor Town Juke Boys, Bentley Filmore, the Sisters Grimm, and Lack of Afro, among many others. A concert with Fishbone is planned for later in the month.

"Even if the NordicFest doesn't happen, something positive is going to come of it because it gets people thinking about the prevention of violence"
THE TEEN CONNECTION

The Unity Fest counter-concert is seen as a vital tool in fighting the influence of the ******* movement on teens in the area. After the initial story broke, the buzz in local high schools was that the NordicFest would be offering free beer to minors. Although that notion is clearly erroneous, a small number of teens in the area still cling to the idea and have also been attracted by the rebellious nature of the skinhead rock scene.
Tim Hall believes that his Unity Fest concert will help turn that tide. The three-day concert will be located in the heart of Traverse City in the old City Opera House, with easy access for the hundreds of teens who hang out downtown, often with little to do. "Our message is going to be one that values racial and cultural diversity," Hall said. "And we've had a great response so far. We had to put a lid on the performers when we reached 40 acts, because everyone wants to play at this event."

The Unity Fest will also coincide with the Annual Reggie Box Memorial Blues Blast, which was created five years ago to bring the heritage of black music to Northern Michigan for the overwhelmingly white Cherry Festival. This year's Blues Blast will feature John Mayall, Marcia Ball and the Bihlman Bros. in a free concert downtown on July 6. The concert will also feature a strong message promoting diversity.

The law enforcement view Traverse City Police Chief Ralph Soffredine says members of the law enforcement community, including the State Police and sheriffs from Grand Traverse and Wexford counties, are taking a wait-and-see approach as to whether the NordicFest will even be held.

"People ask what we would do if the skinheads wanted to march, and it's our position that they have the same rights under the First Amendment as anyone as long as they're obeying the law," Soffredine said. "It's a neutral situation for us. We just want to maintain the peace."

He added that skinheads coming to Traverse City would be treated "no different than if longhairs come into town, or square dancers. We'd certainly observe them and respond if there's trouble."

The chief noted that a similar event occurred in the Buckley area several years ago when several motorcycle gangs gathered for a rally. While the event was monitored by local police agencies, few people in the area knew that it occurred.

"Even if the NordicFest doesn't happen, something positive is going to come of it because it gets people thinking about the prevention of violence, which has become a serious problem in our community and our schools," he concluded. "The unfortunate thing is that it sometimes takes a ******* or a racial issue for people to get active."

"Sheriff Barr implies that people who have the courage to confront them will be put in jail."
ANGER FROM ACTIVISTS

Not everyone is happy with the neutral attitude of law enforcement. Judy Lowenzahn of Traverse City thinks that local police agencies should get tough on the **** concert, which has no legally-required bond or liquor license.
"These hateful groups are using skinhead music to recruit soldiers for their facist movement," Lowenzahn said. "If they are allowed to hold this event, in violation of local, state and federal laws and in violation of common decency, we will be capitve audience to their deranged homophobic, anti-semitic, racist, sexist ideology. Those who protest this message, along with those who are their scapegoats will be targets for hate crimes."

Lowenzahn upbraided Grand Traverse County Sheriff Barr after he made comments in a local paper that "I'd just as soon personally let them have their little event and be on their way." Barr added that if there was a confrontation between the skinheads and protestors, "there's going to be someone in jail."

"Does Sheriff Barr suggest that people of color and others who don't fit the aryan model hide inside their homes for the holiday weekend?" Lowenzhan responded. "Rather than offer a plan to protect the community from the violence that grows whenever white supremecists do outreach, Sheriff Barr implies that people who have the courage to confront them will be put in jail."

Northern Michigan targeted because of the predominantly white population
KLUELESS

Up to now, the vast majority of Northern Michigan residents have been klueless on the **** and the ******* movement. Many, for instance, had no idea that there even was a Ku Klux **** operating in the region until Neumann revealed that there are about 60 members operating mostly as "a fraternal organization" between ******* and the Mackinac Bridge.
Similarly, the existence and agenda of the National Alliance is all-ne

The ****** told it with drollness…I heard it like this:

The 5000 children were waiting before sunrise
Each brought three items for the Creep to sign
They love him—he is their passion, their hero
They love his genius and style
To them he is a breathing masterpiece

They praise the darkness that he brings into the atmosphere
And get high off his eerie aura

The Creep was tired but willing
His Organizer could see the stress shine off him and gently she rubbed the Creep with ice
Within the first half hour his eyes were wilting, his frown was turning to stone
“My fingers are bleeding,” he mumbled as he scribbled a child’s copy of his misery
“Can you get me some bandages?” he asked his Organizer

“Wait! No!” a kid protested. “Don’t bandage him until he bleeds on my book!”
Every child in line heard this and a chorus of 5000 cried, “Not fair! If the Creep bleeds on his book he has to bleed on my book!”
*** is what went through his Organizer’s mind

Creep’s jaw fell
She couldn’t believe this poet didn’t know what to say—he was caught off guard
“They’re your fans,” she said
He spread blood on each of those kids’ three things
He was very sustainable with his blood, deepening each wound before cutting a new one

…The ****** told this story with pleasure and wit
The audience laughed, as if it were the ****** who had to cut his fingers for 5000 kids

Dear Poet Friends, and all true lovers of Jazz!  Being a lover of Classical and Smooth Jazz, I had composed first two parts in Verse on the History and Evolution of Jazz Music. Seeing the poor response of the Readers to my Part One here, I was hesitant to post my Second Part. I would request the Readers to kindly read Part One of this True Story also for complete information. Please do read the Foot Notes. With best wishes, - from Raj Nandy of New Delhi.


THE STORY OF JAZZ MUSIC : PART-II
               BY RAJ NANDY

        NEW ORLEANS : THE CRADLE OF JAZZ
BACKGROUND :
Straddling the mighty bend of the River Mississippi,
Which nicknames it as the ‘Crescent City’;
(Founded in 1718 as a part of French Louisiana
Colony),  -
Stands the city of New Orleans.
New Orleans* gets its name from Phillippe II,
Duc d’ Orleans , the Regent of France ;
A city well known for its music, and fondness
for dance.
The city remained as a French Colony until 1763,
When it got transferred to Spain as a Spanish
Colony.
But in the year 1800, the Spanish through a
secret pact, -
To France had once again ceded the Colony back!
Finally in 1803 the historic ‘Louisiana Purchase’
took place ,
When Napoleon the First sold New Orleans and  
the entire Louisiana State, -
To President Thomas Jefferson of the United
States!     * (See notes below)

THE CONGO SQUARE :
The French New Orleans was a rather liberal
place,
Where slaves were permitted to congregate,
For worship and trading in a market place,
But only on Sabbath Days, - their day of rest!
They had chosen a grassy place at the edge of
the old city,
Where they danced and sang to tom-tom beats,
Located north of the French Quarters across the
Rampart Street,
Which came to be known as the Congo Square,
Where one could hear clapping of hands and
stomping of feet!
There through folk songs, music, and varying
dance forms,
The slaves maintained their native African musical
traditions all along!
African music which remained suppressed in the
Protestant Colonies of the British,
Had found a freedom of expression in the Congo
Square by the natives; -
Through their Bamboula , Calanda, and Congo dance!
The Wolof and Bambara people from Senegal River
area of West Africa,
With their melodious singing and stringed instruments,
Became the forerunners of ‘Blues’ and the Banjo.
And during the Spanish Era, slaves from the Central
African Forest Culture of Congo,
Who with their hand-drummed polyrhythmic beats ,
Made people from Havana to Harlem  to rise and
dance on their feet!       (see notes below)

CULTURAL MIX :
After the Louisiana Purchase , English-speaking
Anglo and African-Americans flooded that State.
Due to cultural friction with the Creoles, the new-
comers settled ‘uptown’,
Creating an American Sector, separate from older
Creole ‘down-town’ !
This black American influx in the uptown had
ushered in,
The elements of the Blues, Spirituals, and rural
dances into New Orleans’ musical scene.
Now these African cultural expressions gradually
diversified, -
Into Mardi Indian traditions, and the Second Line.^^
And eventually into New Orleans’ Jazz and Blues;
As New Orleans became a cauldron of a rich
cultural milieu!

THE CREOLES :
The Creoles were not immigrants but were home-
bred;
They were the bi-racial children of their French
Masters and their African women slaves!
Creole subculture was centred in New Orleans.
But after the Louisiana Purchase of 1803,  -
The Creoles rose to the highest rung of Society! @
They lived on the east of Canal Street in the
French Sector of the city.
Many Creole musicians were formally trained in
Paris,
Had played in Opera Houses there, and later led
Brass Bands in New Orleans.
Jelly Roll Morton, Kid Oliver, and Sidney Bechet
were all famous Creoles;
About whom I now write as this true Jazz Story
gradually unfolds.
In sharp contrast on the west of Canal Street lived
the ***** musicians,
Who lacked the economic advantages the Creoles
possessed and had!
The Negroes were schooled in the Blues, Work Songs ,
and Gospel Music;
And played by the ear with improvisation as their
unique characteristic !
But in 1894 when Jim Crow’s racial segregation
laws came into force,     # (see notes below)
The Creoles were forced to move West of Canal
Street to live with the Negroes.
This mingling lighted a ‘musical spark’ creating
a lightening musical flash;
Igniting the flames of a ‘new music’ which was
later called ‘Jazz’ !

INFLUENCE OF THE EARLY BRASS BANDS:
Those Brass Bands of the Civil War which played the
‘marching tunes’ ,
Became the precursors of New Orleans’ Brass Bands,
which later played at funeral marches, dance halls,
and saloons !
After the end of the Civil War those string and wind
instruments and drums, -
Were available in the second-hand stores and pawn
shops within reach of the poor, for a small tidy sum!
Many small bands mushroomed, and each town had
its own band stand and gazebos;
Entertained the town folks putting up a grand show!
Early roots of Jazz can be traced to these Bands and
their leaders like Buddy Bolden, King Oliver, Bunk
Johnson, and Kid Orley;
Not forgetting Jack 'Pappa' Laine’s Brass Band
leading the way of our Jazz Story !
The Original Dixieland Band of the cornet player
'Nick' La Rocca,
Was the first ever Jazz Band to entertain US Service
Men in World War-I and also to play in European
theatre, came later.     (In 1916)
I plan to mention the Harlem Renaissance in my
Part Three,
Till then dear Readers kindly bear with me!

CONTRIBUTION OF STORYVILLE :
In the waning years of the 19th Century,
When Las Vegas was just a farming community,
The actual ‘sin city’ lay 1700 miles East, in the
heart of New Orleans!
By Alderman Story’s Ordinance of 1897,
A 20-block area got legalized and confined,  
To the French Quarters on the North Eastern side
called ‘Storyville’, a name acquired after him!
This 'red light' area resounded with a new
seductive music ‘jassing up’ one and all;
Which played in its Bordello, Saloons, and the
Dance Halls !         (refer  my Part One)
Now the best of Bordellos hired a House Pianist,
who also greeted guests, and was a musical
organizer;
Whom the girls addressed respectfully as -
‘The Professor’!
Jelly Roll Morton, Tony Jackson author of
‘Pretty Baby’, and Frank ‘Dude’ Amacher, -
Were all well-known Storyville’s ‘Professors’.
Early jazz men who played in Storyville’s Orchestra
and Bands are now all musical legends;
Like ‘King’ Oliver, Buddy Bolden, Kid Orley, Bunk
Johnson, and Sydney Bechet.      ++ (see notes below)
Louis Armstrong who was born in New Orleans,
As a boy had supplied coal to the ‘cribs’ of
Storyville !          ^ (see notes below)
Louis had also played in the bar for $1.25 a night;
Surely the contribution of Storyville to Jazz Music
can never be denied!
But when America joined the First World War in
1917,
A Naval Order was issued to close down Storyville;
Since waging war was more important than making
love the Order had said !
And from the port of New Orleans US Warships
had subsequently set sail.
Here I now pause my friends to take a break.
Part Three of this story is yet to be composed,
Will depend on my Reader’s response !
Please do read below the handy Foot Notes.
Thanks from Raj Nandy of New Delhi.

FOOT NOTES:-
New Orleans one of the oldest of cosmopolitan city of Louisiana, also the 18th State of US, & a major port.
Louisiana was sold by France for $15 Million, & was later realized to be a great achievement of Thomas Jefferson!
Many African Strands of Folk Music & Dance forms had merged at the Congo Square.
^^ ’Second Line Music’= Bands playing during funerals & marches, evoked voluntary crowd participation, with songs and dances as appropriate forming a ''Second Line'' from behind.
@ Those liberal French Masters offered the Creoles the best of Education with access to their White Society!
# ’Jim Crow'= Between 1892 & 1895, 'Blacks' gained political prominence in Southern States. In 1896 land-rich whites disenfranchised the Blacks completely! A 25 year's long hatred
& racial segregation began. Tennessee led by passing the ‘Jim Crow’ Law ! In 1896, Supreme Court upheld this Law with -  ‘’Separate But Equal’’ status for the Blacks. Thus segregation became a National Institution! This segregation divided the Black & White Musicians too!
+ Birth of Jazz was a slow and an evolving process, with Blues and Ragtime as its precursor!    “Jazz Is Quintessence of  Afro-American Music born on European Instruments.”
++ Jelly ‘Roll’ Morton (1885-1941) at 17 years played piano in the brothels, – applying swinging syncopation to a variety of music; a great 'transitional figure' between Ragtime & Jazz Piano-style.
++ BUDDY BOLDEN (1877-1931) = his cornet improvised by adding ‘Blues’ to Ragtime in Orleans  during 1900-1907, which later became Jazz! BUNK JOHNSON (1879-1849 ) = was a pioneering jazz trumpeter who inspired Louis Armstrong.  KID OLIVER (1885-1938) =Cornet player and & a Band-leader, mentor & teacher of Louis Armstrong; pioneered use of ‘mute’ in music! ‘Mute’ is a device fitted to instruments to alter the timber or tonal quality, reducing the sound, or both.
KID ORLEY (1886-1973) : a pioneering Trombonist, developed the '‘tailgate style’' playing rhythmic lines underneath the trumpet & cornet, propagating Early Jazz.  SYDNEY BECHET (1897-1959) = pioneered the use of Saxophone; a composer & a soloist, inspired Armstrong. His pioneering style got his name in the ‘Down Beat Jazz Hall of Fame’! LOUIS ARMSTRONG (1890-1971) = Trumpeter, singer, & great improviser. First international soloist, who took New Orleans Jazz Music to the World!  
% = After America joined WW-I in 1917, a Naval Order was issued to shut-down  Storyville, to check the spread of VD amongst sailors!
^^ ”Cribs”= cheap residential buildings where prostitutes rented rooms. Louis Armstrong as a boy supplied coal in those ‘Cribs’.
During the 1940 s  Storyville was raised to the ground to make way for Iberville Federal Housing Project.
ALL COPYRIGHTS RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR : RAJ NANDY **
E-Mail : rajnandy21@yahoo.in

TO PUT the art and talent of Mindanaoan fashion design into the spotlight, Kagay’anon fashion designers put their hands together to organize the 5th Mindanao Fashion Summit at the Limketkai Center Rotunda from August 4 to 6, every 4 p.m.

“Being a core event of the Higalaay festival, the opening salvo, the Mindanao Fashion Summit can really highlight fashion designers here in Cagayan de Oro and also in different points of Mindanao to let everyone see what they can do in the world of fashion design especially now that there are only so few opportunities for these designers to show off their works to the public. This is why we have the Mindanao fashion Summit because Kagay-anon designers believe that even if they join national fashion shows like the Philippine Fashion week, most of them still aren't getting the right encouragement as a fashion designer.” said Robbie Pamisa, the overall organizer of the event.

The Fashion Summit is a three-day event composed of seven sub-categories such as the Mindanaoan collection, the Menswear collection, and the Ororama orange collection for the first day, the Guest Designers’ collection, the Fashion Institute of the Philippines collection and the Loop Lifestyle Fashion Show for the second day, and the Holiday Grand collection for the third day which will serve as the culmination of the fashion event.

Mindanaoan Fashion designers from Cagayan de Oro as well as Davao, Butuan, Iligan, and Bukidnon have come to showcase their talents. Some of the fashion geniuses of the event include Alma Mae Roa, Angela Soriano, Ann Semblante, Benjie Manuel, Boogie Musni Rivera, Gil Macaibay III, John Mark Magellan’s, Joshua Guibone, Juniel Doring, Kiko Domo, Mark Christopher Yaranon, and Mavy Cooper de Leon.

One of the highlights of the event is the Oro Fashion Designers’ Guild and the Designers Assembly featuring a collection of clothes using Mindanao material such as the Mindanao silk. Sponsors such as Ororama and The Loop Towers will also be showcasing their products in the fashion event.

“Even student fashion designers from the Fashion Institute of the Philippines have been encouraged to participate so that they will be able to experience how a fashion show works. This is also a way for us to fulfill our mission to be another avenue for fashion designers to show what they have,” Paisa said.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses

Dear Poet Friends, I had posted Part One of the Story of Jazz Music in Verse few months back on this Site. Today I am posting Part Two of this Story in continuation. Even if you had not read part one of this true story, this one will still be an interesting portion to read especially for all lovers of music, and for knowing about America's rich cultural heritage. I love smooth & cool jazz mainly, not the hard & acid kind! Kindly do read the ‘Foot Notes’ at the end to know how the word ‘Jass’ became ‘Jazz’ way back in History. Hope to bring out a book later with photographs. Thanks, - Raj Nandy, New Delhi.


STORY OF JAZZ MUSIC  IN VERSE PART – II

    NEW ORLEANS : THE CRADLE OF JAZZ
BACKGROUND:
Straddling the mighty bend of the River Mississippi,
Which nicknames it as the ‘Crescent City’;
Founded in the year 1718, as a part of French Louisiana
colony.
New Orleans* gets its name from Phillippe II, Duc d’ Orleans,
the Regent of France;
A city well known for its music, and fondness for dance!
The city remained as a French Colony until 1763,
When it got transferred to Spain as a Spanish Colony.
But in 1800, those Spanish through a secret pact,
To France had once again ceded the colony back!
Finally in the year 1803, the historic ‘Louisiana Purchase’
had taken place, -
When Napoleon First of France sold New Orleans and the
entire Louisiana State,
To President Thomas Jefferson of the United States!
(See Notes below)

THE CONGO SQUARE:
The French New Orleans was a rather liberal place,
Where slaves were permitted to congregate,
To worship and for trading in a market place, on
Sabbath Days, their day of rest.
They had chosen a grassy place at the edge of the
old city ,
Where they danced and sang to tom-tom beats,
Located north of the French Quarters across the
Rampart Street;
Which came to be known as the Congo Square,
Where you could hear clapping of hands and
stomping of feet!
There through folk songs, music, and varying dance
forms, -
The slaves maintained their native African musical
traditions all along!
African music which remained suppressed in the
Protestant colonies of the British,
Had found a freedom of expression in the Congo Square
by the natives, -
Through their Bamboula, Calanda, and Congo dance forms
to the drum beats of their native music.
The Wolof and Bambara people from Senegal River of West
Africa, -
With their melodious singing and stringed instruments,
Became the forerunners of ‘Blues’ and the string banjo.
And during the Spanish Era slaves from the Central African
forest culture of Congo, -
Who with their hand-drummed poly-rhythmic beats,  
Made people from Havana to Harlem to rise up and dance
on their feet!   * (see notes below)

CULTURAL MIX:
After the Louisiana Purchase, English-speaking Anglo and
African-Americans flooded that State.
Due to cultural friction with the Creoles, the new-comers
settled ‘Uptown’,
Creating an American sector separate from older Creole
‘Downtown’.
This black American influx ‘Uptown’ brought in the elements
of the blues, spirituals, and rural dances into New Orleans’
musical scene.
These African cultural expressions had gradually diversified,
into Mardi Gras tradition and the ‘Second Line’. ^^ (notes below)
And finally blossomed into New Orleans’ jazz and blues;
As New Orleans became a cauldron of a rich cultural milieu!

THE CREOLES:
The Creoles were not immigrants but were home-bred.
They were the bi-racial children of their French masters
and their African women slaves!
Creole subculture was centred in New Orleans after the
Louisiana Purchase of 1803,
When the Creoles rose to the highest rung of society!
They lived on the east of Canal Street in the French
Sector of the city.   @ (see notes below)
Many Creole musicians were formally trained in Paris.
Played in opera houses there, and later led Brass Bands
in New Orleans.
Jelly Roll Morton, Kid Oliver, and Sidney Bechet were
famous Creoles,
About whom I shall write as this Story unfolds.
In sharp contrast on the west of Canal Street lived the
***** musicians;
But they lacked the economic advantages the Creoles
already had!
They were schooled in the Blues, Work songs, and Gospel
music .
And played by the ear with improvisation as their unique
characteristic,
As most of them were uneducated and could not read.
Now in 1894, when Jim Crow’s racial segregation laws
came into force,       # (see notes below)
The Creoles were forced to move west of Canal Street to
live with the Negroes!
This racial mingling lighted a ‘musical spark’ creating a
lightening flash, -
Igniting the flames of a ‘new music’ which was later came
to be known as JAZZ !

CONTRIBUTION OF STORYVILLE :
In the waning years of the 19th Century, when Las Vegas
was just a farming community,
The actual ‘sin city’ lay 1,700 miles East, in the heart of
New Orleans!
By Alderman Story’s Ordinance of 1897,  a 20-block area
had got legalised and confined, -
To the French Quarters on the North Eastern side called
‘Storyville’,   - a name which was acquired after him.
This red light area resounded with a new seductive music
‘jassing up’ one and all;
Which played in its bordellos, saloons, and dance halls!
The best of bordellos hired a House Pianist who greeted
guests and was also a musical organizer;
Whom the girls addressed respectfully as ‘The Professor’!
Jelly Roll Morton++, Tony Jackson author of  ‘Pretty Baby’,
and Frank ‘Dude’ Amacher, -
Were all well known Storyville’s  ‘Professors’!
Early jazz men who played in Storyville’s Orchestras and Bands
now form a part of Jazz Legend;
Like ‘King’ Oliver, Buddy Bolden, Kid Orley, Bunk Johnson,
and Sydney Bechet.    ++ (see notes below)
Louis Armstrong who was born in New Orleans, as a boy had
supplied coal to the ‘cribs’ of Storyville!   ^ (see notes)
He had also played in the bar for $1.25 a night,
Surely the contribution of Storyville to Jazz cannot be denied!
But when America joined the First World War in 1917,
A Naval Order was issued to close down Storyville!   % (notes)
Since waging war was more important than making love,
this Order had said;
And from the port of New Orleans the US Warships had
set sail!
Here I pause my friends to take a break, will continue
the Story of Jazz in part three, at a later date.
                                               -Raj Nandy, New Delhi
FOOT NOTES :-
NEW ORLEANS one of the oldest cosmopolitan city of Louisiana,
the 18th State of US , & a  major port city.
LOUISIANA was sold by France for $15 million, which was later
realised to be a great achievement of President Jefferson.
*Many African strands of Folk music and dance had merged at the
Congo Square!
^^ ‘SECOND LINE MUSIC’ = Bands playing during Funerals & Marches evoked voluntary crowd participation, with songs & dances as appropriate forming a ‘Second Line’ from behind.
@ =THOSE LIBERAL FRENCH MASTERS OFFERED THE CREOLES THE BEST OF EDUCATION WITH ACCESS TO WHITE SOCIETY!
#’JIM CROW’= between 1892&1895, blacks gained political prominence in Southern States. In 1896 LAND-RICH WHITES DISENFRANCHISED THE BLACK COMPLETELY! A 25 YRS LONG HATRED &RACIAL SEGREGATION BEGAN. TENNESSEE LED BY PASSING ‘JIM CROW LAW’. IN 1896, THE SUPREME COURT UPHELD THIS LAW WITH ITS ‘’SEPARATE BUT EQUAL’’ STATUS FOR THE BLACKS ! THUS SEGREGATION BECAME A NATIONAL INSTITUTION. THIS SEGREGATION DIVIDED THE BLACK & WHITE MUSICIANS ALSO.
+ BIRTH OF JAZZ WAS A SLOW AND EVOLVING PROCESS, WITH BLUES AND RAGTIME AS ITS PRECURSORS . “JAZZ WAS QUINTESSENCE OF AFRO-AMERICAN MUSIC BORN ON EUROPEAN INSTRUMENTS.”  See my ‘Part One’ for definitions.
++ JELLY ‘Roll’ Morton (1885-1941): At 17 yrs played piano in the brothels, applying swinging syncopation to a variety of music; a great Transitional Figure- between Ragtime & Jazz Piano-style.  ++ BUDDY BOLDEN (1877-1931): His cornet improvised by adding ‘Blues’ to Ragtime in Orleans; which between the years 1900 & 1907 transformed into  Jazz! BUNK JOHNSON (1879-1849): pioneering jazz trumpeter, inspired Louis Armstrong; lost all teeth & played with his dentures! KING OLIVER(1885-1938): Cornet player & bandleader, mentor& teacher of Louis Armstrong; pioneered use of ‘mute’ in music. KID ORY(1886-1973): a pioneering Trombonist, he developed the ‘tailgate style’ playing rhythmic lines underneath the trumpet & the cornet, propagating early Jazz !
SYDNEY BECHET (1897-1959): pioneered the use of SAX; a composer & a soloist, he inspired Louis Armstrong. His pioneering style got his name in the Down Beat Jazz Hall of Fame!
Louis Armstrong(1890-1971): was a trumpeter, singer and a great
improviser. Also as the First International Soloist took New Orleans music to the World!
% = After  America joined WW-I in 1917,  a Naval Order was issued to shutdown Storyville in order to check the spread of VD amongst sailors.
^ ’cribs”= cheap residential buildings where prostitutes rented rooms.
# "JASS" = originally an Africa-American slang meaning ‘***’ ! Born in the brothels of Storyville (New Orleans)  & the Jasmine perfumes used by the girls there; one visiting them was  said to be 'jassed-up' . Mischievous boys rubbed out the letter ‘J’ from posters outside announcing  "Live Jass Shows'', making it to read as ‘'Live *** Shows'’! So finally ‘ss’ of ‘jass’ got replaced by 'zz' of JAZZ .
DURING THE 1940s  STORYVILLE  WAS RAISED TO THE GROUND TO MAKE WAY FOR ‘IBERVILLE FEDERAL HOUSING PROJECT’ .
  * ALL COPYRIGHTS RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR : RAJ NANDY

My calendar isn't on paper
it doesn't hang on a wall
neglected pages to be turned
two months behind.

It isn't on my computer
in the cloud
synced to all my technological tortures
physically formed as notifications
short chimes to coax time forward.

My calendar is plastic
it sits on the toothpaste coated
counter in my bathroom
and I tell the day by which
of the seven perfectly segmented
little boxes are open and closed.

S, M, T open
it must be W
Wednesday
the red capsule and three white tablets remain
it is still morning
i trust my calendar
the light outside
or the absence thereof
can be a trick of my mind
day and night are not so
clean cut as the purple pill organizer
which contains my madness for me.

When things seem clearer
I approach my calendar
knowing beforehand which
cube on the string I must open
and retrieve these drugs
that keep my feet planted firmly
on the rich earth.

When I know the day
I rue these pills.

Why do I need them when
each day flows effortlessly into the next
like iridescent pearls strung along
into an unending sequence
of beads on a string
each one singularly unique
imbued with the essence of
the divine mollusk who incubated
this precious day?

When I can turn the pages
of the socially acceptable
calendar on the wall
I am a perfect imposter of
what is considered the norm
and I can look at days as
units in months
or years.

I stop living inside a partially
opened weekly pill organizer
and I am convinced
that I've taken up residence
outside of that gravitational
pull of the underworld
who buries me six feet under
to suffocate by the weight
of the soil pressing in.

My castle
my palace
is seated atop
a mountain carved into
the rugged stone
enveloped in a downy blanket
of cloud.

I'm miles from madness
light years from the person
who doesn't recognize her
face in the mirror
distorted
melting.

It is a seemingly endless summer
the easterly sun's warmth on my face
harking morning's glorious arrival
and hazy lilac hues dancing
an unparalleled pas de deux
with the sun's last pink rays
peeking over the western horizon.

My mornings are not
one red capsule
one white tablet.

It is a morning flight
free amongst the last stars
clinging to the pastel blue
of night's retreat.

Night is no longer
two white tablets
one yellow
it is sitting on my
mountaintop and watching
the god of the sky
falling in slow motion
imperceptibly lowering
into the horizon.

And the cycle repeats itself
in a euphoric loop
of twenty-four hours of heart-breaking beauty.

But the cycle is not in fact endless
just as day turns unfailingly to night
my cicada days
turn to static
and the churning black clouds
take hostage my paramour
the sun
and lost in the abyss of un-delineated time
I run to my mistress.

The weekly purple calendar.

it's the emptiness
it's the hatred that builds up in the creases of your
smile, of the laughter you hide your disgust with

it's the appointments you tear from your organizer
the holes in your stomach
the sunburn on your shoulders; the redness of your nose

it's your incurable phobias
your cut-up legs
your bleeding nose
your teary eyes
your itchy back
your raw skin

swollen lips
bare nails
unkept hair
ugly voice
tiredness

why the ****'d you think spring would fix you?

i am a woman who hasn't gotten over her girlhood strifes. i am alive in conflict & chaos; when storms still i tremble. i struggle with questions of my own importance. if i am your leaning post, why do i feel so alone? i am one ocean with many seas, rivers, harbours & waterfalls - each with their own names. i am not of this realm, yet my father calls me worldly. i struggle with questions of my own identity. if everyone sees me as one solid being, why do i feel so broken? i am a lover of opposites, of balanced scales, of reflections: black & white, girls & boys, sea & sky, everything & nothing, always & never. the sometimes, the somewhat, the earth, transvestites, grey zones: they don't sit well with me. & yet i am spokesperson for the exceptions (i before e, except after c. using drugs to have *** with people is assault, except for ******. i only like to write with black pens, except when I want to use a pencil. i only drink black coffee, except when I crave a double-double. i only **** girls, except when i need a ****). each girl has her own firm resolve, that is contradicted with another's opinions: my whole existence is self-hypocrisy. i struggle with questions of conflicts in my own interest. if i am decided, why do i peer with longing at the other options? i am a planner, an organizer, a sorter: i put my problems in piles. i am erratic, scatterbrained & impulsive. i use my abilities to try to outsmart my destructive tendencies; to try & balance the scales. my flighty adventures often win over my obsessive habits. i struggle with questions of my own intent. if i am scared of commitment, why do i keep promising?

Right now
in your kitchen
on the bottom rack of the dishwasher
resides a secret;
a dark spot on your soul –
a malignant little horror
that threatens to destroy
your sense of self worth.

Maybe it’s a butter knife
with an in-congruent rust spot
on one side of the blade…
Maybe it’s a random salad fork,
the final piece remaining
from a long forgotten flatware set,
with a fossilized chunk of radicchio
lodged between the third and fourth tines.

Probably it’s the fork.

There it has sat
without being moved;
without being touched;
just existing as the metaphor that it is
for 8 straight wash cycles.
The result has never varied.
The dirt remains.

Soon will come a ninth wash cycle.
You hope that things will change.
You know that they will not.
Despite this unwavering conviction
that the fork will always be *****,
the next time you run the cycle,
open the dishwasher door,
peer through the gauzy veil
of lemon scented fog
and see the small bit of filth
you will still feel disappointed.
You will grow a little bitterer.
You will be a little more contemptuous.
The world will be a deeper shade of gray.

It doesn’t have to be this way.

You can go
right now
into the kitchen
to the bottom rack of the dishwasher and
reach down
with a trembling hand
to grasp destiny.

You are bigger than this fork.
You are bigger than this fork.

You
are bigger
than this fork.

With a sense of control firmly clasped between your fingers
take that 15 uncomfortable seconds
to scrape away the debris with your thumbnail
and then be free.

BE FREE

Deep and resounding will be
the sigh of relief;
the utter completion;
the contentment absolute
that you experience
when you place that clean salad fork
back in the drawer.

It will never match
the new silver
that your In-Laws gave you last Christmas, but
at least it will be clean and
in its home
safely ensconced
in that wire organizer.

Right now
in your kitchen
on the bottom rack of the dishwasher
is a chance for redemption.

It's people like me who can rule the world,
just by knowing simple little things like Fear.
Fear is one of the main driving forces behind all of mankind's actions.
Fear eternal torment? **** up to "God."
Fear the unknown? Deny it or mock it.
Fear superiors? Make yourself the superior one.
Without fear we won't do anything,
with fear we can only get worse as a species;
We're really slowly moving towards constantly fearing everything;
Especially each other.
Along with things known like;
No humans are equal.
With differing talents, differing thoughts, differing opinions,
how can we claim to be the same?
The strong will enslave the weak,
humanity will revert to olden times,
with fear we deny yet again, though it matters not.
The only question is, who will be strong and who will bow down?
the basics of human nature will come back,
Dominant verses submissive mindsets,
manipulators verses manipulated,
corruption verses purity.
People like me don't have much to worry about;
People always naturally follow and listen to me, and if they don't;
I can be forceful.
I'm a master organizer and networker,
throwing together alliances, plans of revolution, takeover,
by the time the sun rises.
Differences are seen in how you train your people,
much like dogs at that point, with either fear or affection.
Affection and care yields listening and following,
kind cooperation and content with and for a likeable face and likeable words.
Ingrain fear, order,  into them and reap the profits,
they'll listen because they have to, and won't revolt because they fear what would happen.
I wouldn't hurt 'em (usually),
I'm highly capable of doing damage;
It's important they know that.
Throw a demonstration of power, knowledge, in once and a while,
so they don't get used to me, and boom;
With all of this you have an overlord.
I don't think I'm a bad person though,
people like me are just human-smart.

Too thrilled by the case,
Sherlock just disappears,
To begin with a chase,
John is let alone,
To get a cab, and go to Baker St. .
But wait- wherever he goes,
The telephone booth starts ringing!
He waits for somebody to pick up,
And continues to walk;
The third booth starts ringing,
The caller must be desperate to talk.
A black, shiny car,
Pulls over for John to ride,
The destination seemed far,
In this conversation-less hour.
"Anthea", answered the accompanying secretary,
When asked her name,
Fake it was,
Absolutely.

The anxiety was over,
John was confronted by a well-dressed man,
Who offered him money, to spy,
The guy, who deduced Watson's army background,
By his tan.
The "arch-enemy" of Sherlock,
As he introduced himself,
Told John about his psychosomatic disorder,
"You are back in the game,
You don't fear danger,
You've missed this lifestyle."
True it was,
Pretty much,
"Could be dangerous", wrote Sherlock,
And there he was dashing into 221B.


Sherlock was quite disappointed,
When he got to know about the declination,
Of that tempting offer,
"Pity, we could've split the fee",
He suggested John for the next time.
Isn't Mr. Holmes quite irksome,
Calling John from the other end of London,
Just to send a text?
No, this was not an ordinary text,
An SMS was just sent,
By Mr. Watson's phone,
To the murderer.

The murderer?
But why?!
Elementary for SH.
Found the case within an hour,
Which was now in front him.
His mind, is truly above par!
One thing missing from the suitcase:
Her organizer, her phone.
"Nah, she's is a clever woman,
A serial adulterer,
Would never leave her phone at hotel",
This Holmes said, backed by balance of probability.

They waited at a restaurant,
And the wait was long,
But worth it.
Had to chase a taxi,
which was done successfully,
Thanks to Sherlock's excellent memory.
Hence proved it was,
The psychosomatic limb of Doctor.

A drugs bust had occurred at their place,
Seriously, this man, a deduction ******, would have drugs?
"I'm not a psychopath Anderson,
I'm a high functioning sociopath,
Do your research!"
Snapped Mr. Punchline.
Just a couple of minutes later,
This brilliant sleuth realized-
"Rachel! Yes, Rachel!
This woman in pink, Jennifer,
Is clever,
And she's dead!",
much to Mr. Holmes's displeasure.

The suit in question
Is grey. Pin-striped white.
Double-breasted. Three piece.
Blue tie, grey hatching.
An absolute nightmare to change into.

I drop my jeans
In the monastery stall,
Shed my shoes.
Old friends.
The trousers, slacks,
Rise morning fog
And sleep in the stratus
Of my waist.

I really wonder how
The men of the then
Could have worn them.
So much taller.
So much grander.
So much straighter.

White shirt with
The butterfly tracks,
Make-up stains
From a billion ancestors.
Dead relatives that don’t
Respond to the call.
I take their places
Without a single
Crumb of guilt,
O feel the guilt.
The vest. Easy enough.
Yeast but grey and it
Rises horizontally.
I’ve just noticed pockets
Sewn into maddening teases.
The barest suggestion
Of an opening.
It holds like the bowl of the moon.

The coat. The great monarch.
Organizer with a clipboard
Ensuring the quality
Of a burlesque of silk.
So strange.
So other.
So queer.

In a minute or two, the
Hyperhydrosis.
It really is my only hope
Of describing my true temperature.
I will ignite in a biological
Soliloquy that can
Pronounce all those tricky
Thoughts I’ve given up
For the stage.
Gentle gravity,
Cruel crushing backhand.
Burst my complexion,
Steal my aqueous words.

Again, this suit.
How many Lomans,
Bankers, adjudicators,
Businessmen and Babbits
Have lived out their deaths
In you?
Brave rain cloud,
Where is your lining?
I feel the quip swelling
And project it to the back wall:

Only the costume knows true reincarnation.

First up, first out
Adventure.
Life in the street
Awareness.
Running in new Keds
Activity.
Today marbles and stickball
Organizer.
Here's how we will do it
Leadership.
Back for breakfast.  Gulp.
Out to achieve.

Fashion Week is coming to Brew City Thursday through Saturday, with 24 designers showcasing fashions ranging from athleisure to bridal and evening wear.

“Fashion is more than L.A. or New York,” said Deborah Reimer, the event’s primary organizer. “We’re not just about beer and cheese. Milwaukee has a lot of talent and the fashion industry is growing, and it is time that it gets seen in the public eye.”

Nightly fashion shows will feature eight designers each. About half of the designers are new to Milwaukee Fashion Week, while the rest are returning from the 2015 show. The designers range in experience, with students from Mount Mary and the Art Institute of Wisconsin participating. The shows draw designers from the Milwaukee, Chicago and Madison areas.

In its second year, the event moved to the Hyatt Regency Milwaukee in the hotel’s circular rooftop ballroom, Vue. Last year, fashion shows took place at three locations downtown. During intermission and at the end of the show, designers and models will interact with the audience, who will get a chance to look at the garments up close.

On Thursday, see Emily Ristow's unique everyday wear and Erin Aubrey's custom dyed, high fashion designs. The show includes men’s designers too. Allison Jarrett creates tailored looks for men and women.

Friday, check out Moda Muñeca for something with an edge. The line is designed by Chelsea Stotts, who was the RAWMilwaukee Fashion Designer of the Year. Jordan Weber's classic and elegant evening wear will also go down the runway.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/****-formal-dresses

Kudos to the Promoter –
The oblivious n’ obliging  
That planned and precipitated
This Perpetual Peninsular Planet
  
Kudos to the Governor
Who lit nuclear fire in far fulcrum
For a clear day light delight
Creamy kind to the mankind
  
Kudos the Sole Soul Administrator
Who gifted circular air corridor
And nosed it down into lungs
To beat to the heart’s content
  
Kudos the Chief Organizer
Who sponsored organic life around
Induced conducive premises
To belong and live long along
  
Kudos to the Ace Architect
Who opened up infinite cosmos
To host finite entities to thrive
Cycle and recycle thru infinity
  
Kudos to the Ubiquitous
Who master minded gene n’ genre
To organize sensory organs
And make chosen living

there are two types of cancer.
there's the kind that's caused by an uncontrolled division of abnormal cells; we call them malignant tumours.
and there's the kind that's boys born on july 9th - 5'11'', with expressionless brown eyes, and in desperate need of a haircut;
we call them malignant *******.

i can't shave my head in preparation for everything he will ruin, and requesting time off to cope with the fact that i loved this person is not a valid option.

MRI scans won't show you what happened to my brain after he told me i made it hard to hate the world or what happened after he told me i was the worst person he met in it. they won't tell you what it looks like to be told you're loved, hated, and then not cared about at all.

side effects include:
mood swings, triggered by those who are as infuriating as they are infatuating
loss of sleep because he wants to rant to you about socioeconomic structures until 3 in the ******* morning
dissociation of time because it doesn't exist when you can make someone laugh and tell you about his favourite jewish children's book and why he doesn't like big dogs and that even though his family is full of jerks and idiots, he'd still do what was needed to support them.

more severe side effects include:
writing about him months after he's made it harder to breathe, but willing yourself to talk about it to a room full of strangers
being crippled by the fear he might stumble lost in manhattan again and find the cafe you are complaining about him onstage in

i want this to be a survival story and tell you that i do not have business cards for being a tragic event organizer who throws the best pity parties in town. i want to tell you that i had enough self respect not to call him when i got re-diagnosed, despite the fact that he once told me diseases like cancer exist to **** out little pests like me and because he was the only person who told me i was going to be fine, live longer than him maybe, and to stop talking like it was the end.

but that was really hard because there's two types of cancer, and he's the one that did a significantly much better job at making me feel like i was dying.

Say it with your chest.

Black trans lives matter.
Black trans lives matter.
Black trans lives matter.

There’s a lot of reasons
to say
No
to being in the streets.

Anxiety.
It’s a work day.
It’s dangerous.
What are you even doing there?

And you still go.
It feels more right
than being at your desk job
in a 80% white county.

So you make the drive.
You write numbers to call on your arm
tentatively,
hoping you don’t need them,
but it’s too late to turn back anyway.

Somehow this feels right.

And it’s hot.
The sweat is melting
the numbers off your arm.

And you’re hungry
because you didn’t eat lunch
and didn’t pack anything.

And your ex is here,
and you can deal with it,
but it’s still uncomfortable.

And you don’t know most people here
and there are so many white people,
and what are you doing here?

And in spite of everything
somehow this feels right.

You stand to the side.
Sometimes you can’t hear the speeches.
Sometimes you have to sit down.
Sometimes you lose track
of the friends you came with.

And there are
so many reasons not to be here.
But you’re here now
and you can’t turn back.

Say it with your chest

Black trans lives matter.
Black trans lives matter.
Black trans lives matter.

And you join the crowd to march.
You don’t know
where you’re going
but you’re going.

And as you march
at some point
it doesn’t matter
how many people are white,
because at some point
you feel it.

You don’t live here
but you feel it:
community.

And you are quiet,
recently wrote a whole article about it,
about how protests could never be your thing.
But then
you remember
what a black trans organizer said
before the march:

Say it with your chest.

Black trans lives matter.
Black trans lives matter.
Black trans lives matter.

And then
you are shouting too.
You are weaving through cars,
you are sitting down in the streets,
and cars are honking in solidarity,
and workers raise their fists
from behind closed doors,
and anxiety melts away,
because this,

this is important.

And it is hot outside,
your feet hurt,
you haven’t eaten for hours,
you’re thirsty,
and there were so many reasons
to stay home.

But you showed up.

And eventually
the march ends,
and you learn
that the police didn’t know
what to do about all of you.

And your ex thinks
you’re flushed with panic
but it’s not panic,
it’s adrenaline.

And your friend
thanks you for showing up,
and tells you
that your trans life matters.

You are not black,
you are brown,
and this is not about you,
you’ve always known this,

but for once
you feel validated,
you feel community.

And will there be victory
in your life?
You don’t know.
But your friend is waving the trans flag
out the window
and you are going to Burger King
and making fun
of white people,
of the police who couldn’t keep up,
and it’s enough.

And this was not without risk,
but this feels right,
and anyway,
if there is no risk
there is no reward.

This day will be over,
but remember
today,
and every day:

Say it with your chest.

Black trans lives matter.
Black trans lives matter.
Black trans lives matter.

Falen: You are kind, home-loving, hospitable and friendly. Since you take responsibility well, you are a good organizer of social affairs. Compassion for others is an outstanding trait. You are a great lover and a great flirt – an artist, musician, actor, teacher, nurse. Your character can be contradictory. You are practical, yet idealistic and intuitive; capable of selfless devotion to someone you love, yet look to receive payback.You are bold, independent, inquisitive and interested in research. You know what you want and why you want it.
You are always looking for an opportunity to achieve financial and emotional security. You are basically peacemaker. You understand the law of harmony and desire to balance your life with those around you. You may feel incomplete without someone to share your love, ideals, wealth or work. You can be very sensitive and could appear a bit shy and perceptive. You have developed intuition, patience and the ability to nurture others. You can achieve the state of happiness if you are willing to accept your needs in a complimentary relationship and go to create them.

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Kudos to the Promoter –
The oblivious n’ obliging  
That planned and precipitated
This Perpetual Peninsular Planet
  
Kudos to the Governor
Who lit nuclear fire in far fulcrum
For a clear day light delight
Creamy kind to the mankind
  
Kudos the Sole Soul Administrator
Who gifted circular air corridor
And nosed it down into lungs
To beat to the heart’s content
  
Kudos the Chief Organizer
Who sponsored organic life around
Induced conducive premises
To belong and live long along
  
Kudos to the Ace Architect
Who opened up infinite cosmos
To host finite entities to thrive
Cycle and recycle thru infinity
  
Kudos to the Ubiquitous
Who master minded gene n’ genre
To organize sensory organs
And make chosen living

1) groovy dancing hippie shepherd of love

2)  intrepid communist/anarchist revolutionary

3) wandering shaman/healer

4) african anointed of black liberation

5) messianic community-organizer

6) spokesmouth for free-market capitalism

7) stalwart working-class carpenter

8) cynic hellenistic philosopher

9) ascended master who studied with himalayan yogis

10) witty rabbi who sold out to rome

11) ****** rastaman babbling about ethiopia

12) refined orthodox prince on background of gold

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Out of touch,
Out of tune,
Out of step with the times
Yet among a bit younger
Still often reminds
Me respect
Is upbringing
Integrity walks
And when court is in session
The leadership talks
Orchestrates the defense
Sets the pace of attack
And with sportsmanship
Runs any losses right back

(I was asked to be part of a four-person panel at a conference in Glasgow dedicated to the arts and mental health. The work of Leonard Cohen was explored in our panel of a journalist, a musician, a poet and a mental health /arts organizer, all sharing a deep fondness for Leonard and his music/lyrics/poetry. On my way home I wrote this poem about the panel experience:)

For an hour
four of us spoke of you
today
sharing views
how it was listening to
the music that you made
how you helped us
make it through
the darkness
of our days
You soundtracked lives
from Quebec
to Glasgow town
in the UK
the place from which
you ran away
to the dry
Aegean Hydra Isle
to meet the muse
named Marianne
whose beauty was unstained
whose mountain you would climb
to wash
your eyelids in the rain

We are not fans
though we would stand
for long days
to see your face
to hear your songs
special sounds sung
coming through
from you
so we could hear
through blessed ears

We are not fans
We are fortunate ones
Who have touched the philosopher’s stone

Sean Hunt April 20th 2017

Every family has at least
One visionary-
One missionary-
One womanizer-
One organizer -
One *******-
One lazy ***-
One bookworm-
One pretty woman -
One Angel-
One rebel.

Every family has at least
One gold-digger-
One beggar-
One *****-
One witch-
One Singer-
One dancer-
One adventurer -
One lecturer.

Every family has at least
One family man-
One handyman-
One *******-
One lazy ***-
One soldier -
One hustler-
One good cook-
One smooth crook.

Every family has at least
One dangerous man-
One generous man-
One family head -
One **** head-
One smoker-
One joker-
One pastor-
One doctor
Or one writer!

©️IB-Poetry
2/24/2018

Saint John the Apostle says: "Zephian, the computer of the Duoverse of the Verthian world, signals the order of his creation of the world according to the transcendental vegetable living matter in the interstices of time itself that exists within sidereal time. Pointing out that matter and time are governed by mythological beings in a compartment with monotheism defined by atavistic laws, which are the omnipotence of the intense hiding place of procreation, super-providing large contextual residences, for habitat and a world on the scales of non-resident elders who go from passers-by between lines and cosmological phenomena in the Duoverse, facing the vicissitudes of stars and physicality added to the arcs of the reminiscence of emotions. Thus the main task and how the structure of the experience surpasses wisdom, making the orthogonal movement of the Universe fictitious, but Verthian with great explorations of matter that is absolutely quantified and volatilized to the field of incorporeal existence. The laws will be governed by its demiurge organizer Zefián, describing codes that will verify pivotal performances in the reactions of the mutant universe. His refractions when reasoning of the consummated phenomenon start from here in the distinguished biological one, which will surpass the laws of physics, since its ratio-value is above the limits allowed by the brave line of gravity that bounces off the lines and their distances, promoting more criteria to resist the threats of a possible tiring case, a product of some relative dominance not included in all the worlds among themselves or in some judgment that does not rescue us from the loss of links of a certain omitted coordinate, attracting us to a universe ruled towards hemicycles of merely material and non-biological-existential particles. The dimensions range from the beginning of the universe itself, more delayed than the interval of the second limit of space that rests to inaugurate the next one. It will be the orbit of translation twice rotating to the sun, but nth times turning on itself to go out to another stellar dimension not present. Its geometry will be the administration of the resumption of cinnabar in Tsambika and Helleniká, to annul each other by making and integrating it in Patmos, on the shores of Skalá, with curvatures that validate the nullity of successive factions of material lives, among spiritual victims if alive. The oblation and concavity of the Duoverse will be of universal contact in excessive proximity in a few radios to support the equidistant gravity between both atmospheres, adopting the subsequent consequences with a shared micro-existence in both universal Astro units, as a dense but fractal particularity fragmented to changes coercive in the conception of creation, of the original true world, gestated in a pristine Kosmous and resistance modeling of high intermediate masses of temperatures, expanding above what surrounds, under a flexible world that opposes resisting, but that unfolds to relocate to its origins of integrity and adaptable physical material. Duoverso is born and will reappear every time the years are subject to the devastation of everything quantifiable and not, under the dim light that will light up all the darkness, Zefián being in paronymy in what is missing to appropriate sustenance and merit of having it adsorbed. in the tabernacle of the Vas Auric and its namesake Medayllon, in the privilege of appearance itself, adding in what is preserved from physical support without a doubt right there. A fair sidereal speed will have to travel on its own axis of rotating time in the paradoxical gear of the One-Dimensional Beams with the same reconverted into vital angelic luminance, creating orbits of optics in the visions of Christian profanity. It empowers them to enable them in overexcited that derive from disorders of intermittence and physics of time, to reinsert themselves in the sequence that inhabits the residual velocity of the Beam, as a Theo-Philosophical entity, and of the cellular multiplicity in seasonal cells. of the retrograde lapses frozen in Qumram, so as not to depend on its Kabbalah sustained by the regime of a compound past, and of the inconcrete yesterday. The immediacy was surpassed, preserved in the conviction of the One-Dimensional Beams (Kafersesuh), observing itself more densely when all revolutionary extinction admits to being in the proper place to integrate and ponder peremptorily, attracting organic and inorganic matter suspended in the richness of a world of scientific but unique Faith. , and Single incessant prayer, more anti-gregarious and dilapidated than what is supported by vain walls, which do not exist in Verthian emotional matter. Its movement and translation are always advanced, even before we coexist, already being domains of being transposed of what was, is, and will be transposed and floating in its abrogated form!

The movements, being physical, take us over conjectured layers to discern their magnitude by percentage the rigor of their measurement on us, in exchange for Zefián's ambivalence, delivered both chromatics of the Dark and White Duoverse, with the reference of the behavioral alternations of the Diospyros, spring of the arboreal, for the procreation granted in the hands of Leiak. Sustaining from this equational exercise, with less time to design for its genealogy, but rather in its apocalypse reinstalled in null primary unknown spaces, to have it again in the light of consciousness, recognized as an inert matter of the past, and more alive of the immanent eternity of nebulae that personalize the Abrojo earring, taking temporality but null as it does not ****** any hand to tear it from its own. Every divided and subdivided elementary particle of the Duoverse will gravitate under what is speculated, rising in total harmony through the accommodating compressions of a whole material accessory, especially in sudden death processes, which occurred illustrated and not compressed in the percentage eternity of materiality of the dark. (current) and luminous (happened), being those who govern it will manifest anticipations of everything dark (present) and luminous (past-future), for the energetic alternation succumbed so many times, like a uniform cross in the center of the world after so many times having fallen in past-future.

Says Vernarth : "in the rhetoric of the Universe-Duoverse theorem, it is worth noting the topic of the past with a present and future entity as well but atopic or out of place Hellenic, connected to the time of Verthian inspiration, Holderlin-Heidegger indefinite in terms of habitability physical, as a complement to the entity that anticipates the present/future in the vicinity of death in the topical past and future, but tangentially with lively whims of atopic mortal-existentialism, being a way of renting virtual death, and as a way of being dwelling in death itself and its act of embodiment, then having existed but with its own edict after having rented it. The Verthian World appears in this stereotype, prolonging existences from the atopic non-existence, granting it a complementarity of more past scientific romantic life, after an uninhabited death. Ontologically, this theory is born from the One-Dimensional Beams of Kafersesuh, in Ein Karem. Essentially paleo-Christian, as the matrix of existence between Ein Karem (Manger of the Messiah) and Gethsemane, inter nexus of the materiality of metaphysical inflections product of the immaterial purpose of unlived and hypothetical life, as an urgent sacrilegious decline, anticipated of the dimension of the life-death-life process of Comparative Christian Messianism.

Vernarth says: "with the slaves, in my disparate hands I picked up what the other carried. With my right hand, I took the Duoverse, and with the other my bearer; that I had my commands on the maxims of Elpenor before falling to the cliff. One naughty day but with the worst pain in my chest I went to see him in his room, and I structured him as an immortal when it came to forming the world "not even knowing of being part of an identity" favoring him to be part of my deflagration convulsed by the friction of the Universe on the Duoverse. Such was that bravery and affordability, that he decorated me with some unexpected laments of belonging by imprisoning me with superfluous boasting. But his boldness will be mine, and he will have to anticipate it in the middle of a fight, such as in Gaugamela hurting my two spirits, one deleterious and the other not..., Says the Porter: "I have to accede to your mandate, my lord Vernarth, I have arranged my horse emetics to take him to the empyrean, more unusual at nightfall. I know that my own absence will also take her, because we are double lives loving her, falling into a night given over to the seventh Phalangist soldier. Between souls already diluted by the misfortune of the sap, in the figure of eternal death that refuses to receive us discouraged" Says Vernarth: "I don't know if I am or will be brave, therefore I have forgotten to take the herd, rather I don't I know what it is?, but in the midst of the horses and hosts of the block, from the Syntagma in Gaugamela that I have not felt again what it is to take my herd after feeling my hands and legs divided, but not feeling when appropriating some parabens amputated. I know that among the hypaspists we tricked umpteenth arrows in the mobilization of the war machine 665, but in a wasteful jump we gathered the delusion of the Phalangist command in the Seleucid 666 ringlera, rather detached from all men, substantially inclined to Alexandrian life, "Of course it was already in the hands of eternity, which hurts more than the tip of an arrow even if I perjured myself to its annihilation" Vernarth's act of intrepidity and daring would take him over the precipice that even skewed and declined the world as it sustained him, putting his fellow man face to face, as antagonist and protagonist at the same time with his chest flowing over the white linens that they spoke of certainties of a scaffold, still where others surrounded them with peace and Olympian protection, making him..., only today the pair of himself abstracted with contemptuous lineage..., even having to reinstitute himself as Vernarth most elusive of being alive and eternal, still having in its vocabulary the essence of knowing Being Heideggerian, with firsts of erudition, starting from the nova on excitation, having cognition and knowing oneself diligently about the entities alter evidences of the recent-present, and not in the tyrannized Universe, rather of its present-event of the new universe for itself negative, and towards a gift of neatness granting it recklessness that continues to disperse its entity, its dimension, the locus of it, the distances, the matter to welcome in its be. Vernarth besieges his cogitative discursive, raided in tides of tenements and scales of belatedly changing vibration with all the heroics of following and all the world ideologies of harassing technical acumen with the target in the necropolises that he speaks resurrected, not lying the chimera in the best districts to the leisure to revive, more immortal than a district..., and learned steps with constitutive slogans in "cities succumbed, without blemish..., with eternity", connoting after all transfer abolished, in the present infinity between two units of mortal rank, the Carrier and Vernarth, Vernarth and Heidegger, but here the last one bringing the closest radiogram between the herd and eternity with a significant dilemma (End and chaos) and eternity (creation), in the limbo-purgation ratio, as source and potion. The generality of success and affinity in Heidegger's dialectic, a moment signs his reincarnation in the raving of finite eternity, moving away from Verthian ontological and metaphysical reasoning. He magnetically juxtaposed the Universe, bordering on restless ambitions, such a substance of perpetual equanimity towards the unworthy survivor of Vernarthian theories. So far no resemblance that compares to whoever wants it or not is part of any estimate or conjecture sheet of a complex Duoverse, but rather dreaming as an active or vague star without anything or anyone knowing that it springs from it or that, abstracting from the nullity of a nihilistic kosmous of itself in the Necropolis of Hellenika. Within the emerging frontis of a progeny, there are ranges derived towards the first to form rows composed of shelters of the Giant Camels that from Jerusalem escorted them with their planting consciences to Ein Karem, then returning to Gethsemane to end up in the port of Jaffa. Originally arranged by the children of Israel and bastions; Vernarth, Saint John the Apostle, Eurydice, Raeder, and Petrobus with the animality, Etréstles, and Kanti, to finally cite King David and his velvety phylactery addressed to his edicule before they departed for Jaffa, to return west to Patmos. Of this primogeniture, the legatee is Vernarth, being presented as co-first-born by abnegating his portion to Saint John the Apostle for fiduciary assets for the benefit of a third party for both and granting the patriarchal reinstatement to each of his inheritances, the purpose being expedited in liberation from the world that sheltered them inauthentically in the midst of ascending ancestors. This prerogative will be decisive in defining the dimension of the Duoverse and One-Dimensional Beams, since a brotherhood of worldliness, nascent and simultaneous, will diverge them in the beams that support the universe, and from this, they will be transferred to the vision of Vréfos- (child-man) , Child-Cherub, for the purpose of specifying the Universe-Duoverse physically composed of four areas of consistency. Time, Being, Divinity and the Four Wings of the Cherub, as a concept of biodiversity in Lepidoptera, Bumblebees, Bees, Wasps, and Fireflies so that these tetra-winged animal entities cause warnings and impositions on the cardinals poles of its primogeniture, being born from chaos, until now as Duoverse constituting the alpha Vréfos, nascent of the Animalia and "Andres" intermediate perspectives in the heights that guide the material essences of the distributive physics and spiritual and imperishable elemental. The ineffable matter, the stars will prostrate themselves before each pause of advent and herds that carry Secundum Dictus Vivere, in pursuit of a gnoseological doctrine made a pledge of servile an instant rescinding in another, for the study of the sense of conceiving itself in diligent part of a new orb In the dividing lines of the unknown and the repelled nothingness, suspecting himself of a living arterial vile in the skeptical nothingness. We tend two of non-existence that ratifies it, or perhaps of a twin-univiteline Duoverse and of the chaos of non-fertilized nature..., rather empowered towards the first fiduciary by the jurisprudence of the district of the unattachable Messiah. Allow yourself thus, before this premise of history, to continue and be part of an establishing whole looking for Hashem in an unknown world and Kosmous too..., more so swaying before the appearance that sustains you, as cardinal knowledge of values and immobile Certainty. The centric lineage hypothesis will define the blood lineage, unifying the Duoverse.

Quick to St Rita’s cold creaking pews

where throats were blessed

No rainbow’s bones caught

but walking reverie punished

with Alocoque’s Sacre Coeur

smothers communards’ ashes

             27 May 1871

Ate Pollux, forty francs for his trunk,

rats from 60 centimes

bread adulterated, catacombs’ milled

bone meal commons ate,

       where Sacre Coeur

raised up Commune began

Eugene Varlin, bookbinder

union organizer shot twice

Twenty to thirty thousand died thus
      
De Goncourt observes

solution brutal but next revolution

deferred a generation

Here beginning returned to,

only memory can go forward.

for Out magazine

I.
Footprints trailed behind us as we stumbled across the moon-bleached sand, watching driftwood float across the angry sea like rescue boats. The world around us was silent, except for the crash of waves tripping over themselves. Inside my head, it was anything but quiet. There was a tornado of sand spinning inside my skull, each grain of thought impaling my brain.

“Dad?”
He looked over to me, light from the headlamp obscuring his face from my vision.
“I’ve started dating someone.” I studied the stiff blades of grass, poking up from the sand like little swords. “She’s a girl.”
He stood up from the burrow he stooped over, “Okay.”

II.
After my parents separated, every life event suddenly required two different stories. When I went on a date, I would come home to mom’s house and throw off my bag. Its contents would spill over, coins lodging into the cracks in the wood floor. I’d sit on the countertop, knees folded in, recounting the events of the night as my mom eagerly listened. Days later, after the night had long since turned stale, I would tell my dad too. It continued like this for eight years.

III.
When mom and dad were married, dad used to work all the time and mom stayed home with my brother and me. I was a fashion designer and my brother was my muse. On one occasion, I dressed him up in my favorite ariel swimsuit and a pink tutu. We pranced around the neighborhood, mom speed-walking behind us like a dog walker who couldn’t keep up with her pets.
“You have such cute daughters.” said a Lady on the way home. Mom just laughed.

IV.
Sometimes, I wonder why I chose to tell Dad first. Mom and I were closer. She was the first person I told anything and everything. But, they were never together anymore. I didn’t just have to come out to my parents once, I had to do it twice.

V.
Maybe it was because I knew my dad wouldn’t ask questions. He would deal with it on his own.

VI.
My mom wasn’t afraid to ask questions, and she asked a lot of them. I told her a week after I told my dad. We were sitting in her car, outside the house. I studied the crack in the windshield. It had been there since I was ten. She nodded, and told me she loved me, and then turned her gaze to the side window.
“Do you want to have *** with a girl, then?” She asked me. Color flushed my cheeks and somehow I knew from the expression on her face that there was a right answer.
“No,” I said.
“Okay.”

VII.
Three years after I came out to him, dad and I were sitting in the car. I watched the lines on the highway fly by as if being eaten by the front of the car. He turned his head to face me, his eyes still occasionally flicking back to the road. He adjusted the wheel accordingly.
“I thought that it would be something we’d get through.” He paused as if his words were clinging on to his tongue, unable to come out.

“Grandpa always tells me how proud he is that I’ve supported you and I’m thinking, It was never a big deal. I never think about it.”

“Yeah, that’s the crazy thing. I didn’t think that’d happen either, honestly” I shifted in my seat uncomfortably.

“Yeah.” He said. “Mcdonalds for breakfast?”

VIII.
When I was younger, I liked to put on my mom’s clothes. I’d climb into my mother’s closet like it was a cave, pickaxe in hand. I’d stomp along the floors, my naked toes fumbling with carpet, my shadow dissolving in the surrounding dark. Along the walls draped shirts and dresses, sheathed in their suit bags like bats, hanging by their feet, sequin eyes glittering in the silent black. I’d show my mom my creations and when the fashion show was over I’d stare into the mirror, wondering “What woman would come to fit this dress?” I stared into the silence of the cave, at my reflection, draped in the clothing of a woman I wished to become.

IX.
My mom would still ask me questions like the one she asked the day I came out to her. When I mentioned getting married and having a wife, she paused and leaned over the kitchen counter. “Do you think you’ll marry a woman?”
“I don’t know,”
“Are you going to have kids?”
“Yes.” I knew the correct answer to that one. She looked me up and down.
“Don’t you want kids with your DNA? With your husband’s DNA?”
“I guess.” I furrowed my brow “But I’d be okay with a ***** donor too.”

X.
My dad was right, My sexuality was never a big deal for me. When I sat in the park with a girl I liked, our legs dangling from the swing set, I never thought about how she was a girl. Some people think that the word “homosexual” is etched on the inside of your eyelids and that every time you close them, you come face to face with reality. In truth, I hardly thought about my sexuality. But, I got the impression that my mom thought about it much more than I did.

XI.
Both my mom and my dad were supportive of me. Dad supported me with his silence and indifference. While mom supported me with her constant reassurance. Sometimes it felt like she was reassuring herself more than me.
“I got you this magazine,” she said to me one morning. It was a copy of Out.
“Okay”
I tossed it into the paper organizer by my desk and continued tapping on my computer.

XII.
I wanted more than anything to feel like mom wasn’t disappointed in my coming out. Or that she didn’t think of me differently because of it. At times, when she’d ask me about it, my skin would bubble and boil in anger.
“Maybe your next date could be a boy?” She would say, and my heart would plummet like a faulty elevator. I’d be teleported back to that day inside the car, staring at the cracks in the front window, perfectly symmetrical to the spiderweb splayed across the driveway in front of us.

A poet
An activist
A lover
An organizer
A writer
I sharpen my tongue
And clip my nails
My weapons laid bare
For all to see
The prose I speak
Is meant to move mountains
Shift policies
Change laws
Tug hearts
Deafen my enemies
My words are all I have
And I will give them to you
Friend or foe

I swallow my med
like one uses a lifesaver,
with desperation

you are my sunshine,
my only sunshine

the people around me are somber,
the world is gray,
I am lively

you make me happy
when skies are gray

I drop the pill back in the organizer
the first of many to remain in that box

I learn to create my own sunshine

“...Uncertain Circumstances”

                  In re John Cornford, 1936

One of the many bad things about being
A fervent Communist organizer is
That pretty soon some other Communists
Organize you

The Shame of your 'Civilised society

Organized stalking is a form of terrorism used against an individual in a malicious attempt to reduce the quality of a person's life so they will: have a nervous breakdown, become incarcerated, institutionalized, experience constant mental, emotional, or physical pain, become homeless, and /or commit suicide.  This is done using well-orchestrated accusations, lies, rumors, bogus investigations, setups, framings, intimidation, overt or covert threats, vandalism, thefts, sabotage, torture, humiliation, emotional terror and general harassment. It is a “ganging up” by members of the community who follow an organizer and participate in a systematic “terrorizing” of an individual.”

I confronted WHITE Criminal Neighbours
who broke into my wife's and I Flat and burgled us.
I said I was going to raise a petition to have them evicted.
We have never committed any crime, both my wife and I had always been in employment. I paid taxes, I never harmed or injured anyone in my life.

But we instantly became gangstalking victims and our lives torn apart and destroyed by Criminal gang stalkers.

They have slandered and defamed me
Hounded me out of work
Hound me everywhere
and is subjected to a relentless systematic campaign of harassment,
bullying, humiliation, provocation, abuse, cyber bullying and cyber trolling, sabotaging, gas-lighting, intimidation and misrepresentation. They have discredited me and hidden the truth from all those helping them and the community. How can an innocent man, who never committed any crime be the villain here.

All these and more for standing up to RACIST BULLYING
THIEVES.

CONGRATULATIONS ALL YOU INVOLVED.....