..."purple rain...."

Whatever they have denied you, we will re-institute into a labor suit since you had been denied due process under Labor's rule of litigation. Think about it! The moment you became a felon was the moment that you were singled out to suffer under the guise of restoring social order. You Know! "Stay in your place" or suffer under the 'Jim Crow" era mentality of judgement over others to keep self in check. Segregation is a form of control over those who labor in Society's work force. Do yourself a favor: ring out with hope that this UNION could bring about change. To hell with the Status Quo; they fucking preach redemption for those who prostate themselves under "good boys & girls of America" as it unfurls the system's lockstep aptitude. Absolute denial: this is where you are when they judge you a felon; they, those in the System, are all masters of history, especially your history. As was once told to me, by the judge who was judging my personal moment before his judgeship, he said to me, as he stood up behind his bench, in his black robe minus white wig regalia, "do you really think that you are going to win this moment in my court room?" Remembrance: There will never be a seat at the table; because, as of this moment, you are not invited to attain the fruits of labor under the 14th amendment of the constitution of the United States of America, merry Christmas to one and all- out there in felon's land. You Know! It is your choice whether the System takes you seriously or not, and invites you back to sit at Society's table of opportunity. This will only come if and when you are unionized - a position that gets you recognition.  www.theiciclegarden@gmail.com
       

...truffles!... anyone....

Day one of my cochlear implant's sojourn: Sitting as I'm looking around the room, I live here; I know the room. The problem being is this: I can't pick up more than five(5) lbs. Doctor's orders. Now! I have a nice room; it's laid out so that it is free of walls other than the outside walls of the house. My coffee cup is sitting right here beside my computer as I look up wishing that I could spend some time on my bow-flex resistor. It gives a good work out; you know.  So all I can do is sit here eating my Bon Courage Truffles. Yes! The box is much less than five(5) lbs. But those little truffles just melt on your tongue; they are quite naughty, if you know what I mean? Now! my bowflex is still calling out to me. I can't get away from it because it sits up in my loft over looking the living area of my room. The loft's rode iron railing raps around the loft and down the thirteen(13) steeps as it decorates the staircase. Like a black bow on an auburn colored box sitting under the Christmas tree, yet to come. This is my house. I'm sitting in it. My bedroom is up in the loft with my bowflex; I'm sitting at the dining room table; the kitchen is open as is the rest of the house, except the bathroom of cause. Now, since my left ear has this cochlear implant, the head set for the TV which is sitting next to my computer, is of no use to me because of the way in which my left ear has been bandaged to protect the new cochlear implant. Still! There is one caveat: when those sensors of yours start copulating with the drippings from those chocolate truffles swimming throughout those titillated juices of yours, you too could find somewhere deep down within your psych for offering up understanding due to chocolate truffle syndrome.      

Dream merchant

I just got a cochlear implant in my left ear. Now! As of this moment, and for the next thirty days, I'll be going down the up staircase. My hearing is 75 years in the making with all of its circuitry going from neuron to neuron as it gets sound sifted through language, music, nature, etc. etc. etc. for understanding. In the world of one hundred percent, my handicap is eighty two (82). This means I'm getting eighteen(18) percent right when interpreting what you might have said. So! Over the next six months my cochlear implant will put me on the pathway for regaining my losses due to sex, drugs, and rock & roll. Therefore, I'll be better at interpreting your projection's vocal expression. I'll be able to recognize what you articulate, not necessarily understanding its meaning because it's convoluted or incomplete. I'll hear your letter string, handicapped only by your accent, if any. Meanwhile, my brain has to adjust itself to the pieces being implanted within it. Just like a good soup, it's best when you let it mature over night in the refrigerator allowing the ingredients time to coalesce. If you want an excellent stew, you allow it thirty(30) hours to commingle in the refrigerator - whereas it takes your brain thirty(30) day to habituate to the cochlear implant. Than I will hear sounds long forgotten from those who were out & about with me as we flirted with our aspirations -dreams forgotten because it was just too difficult to put up with their or my idiosyncratic natures. So now with this new technology my dreams to interpret your uniqueness has given me hope to understand the patterns of integration, new dreams to fuss over.       
              

"...fantasy's unfurling....!

We all have fantasies that we live with daily while looking out the window.  I had one come to fruition just last week; it lasted for about a day and a half. And then! I was like a balloon without a string, again.  My fantasy of having my own slip on the Ashley River, for the boat yet unattained, came out of one of the tragedies brought about by Hurricane Irma, 2017.  This is the situation: I'm living in my condo & my neighbor is living in his ten million dollar home next door. Yes! we are side by side with a 10ft wall between us; it's very friendly. Well! His one thousand foot long dock on the Ashley River was destroyed by Irma. I had been looking at his dock, with regret for my neighbor for the past couple of weeks; yet, it did appear to me that there was an opportunity for me in this situation. So I jumped the gun by attempting to put together a group of my neighbors, each contributing twenty thousand dollars to this venture to rebuild the dock for the neighbor with no cost to him so that we could build into the dock's reconstruction five boat slips for our own fantasy of "outing and about-ING" on the Ashley.  In my fantasy, he would have to be insane to refuse such a serendipitous offer of neighborly comradely, helping one another in our time of need. He would take the deal, he had to take the deal because I convinced my neighbors that it was a done deal. All they had to do was give me their money; and that I would give them their fantasy of having their own slip for their fantasy boat on the Ashley. I went to bed with my first "hard on" that evening, it usually happened in the morning when I woke from my night's slumber, still raging from my fantasy of having a slip on the Ashley for my fantasy boat yet attained. Than it occurred to me that he would have to be a fool to take this offer because he was selling his ten million dollar home on the Ashley and of course anyone who could afford to purchase a house on the Ashley could afford their own expenses as far as restoring their own private dock not encumbered by neighbors like me. Holly shit! I messes up again.
             

...a penny's worth....

Fear is a 'fickle nickel' when one is attempting to taste the unknown. You Know! What is a nickel worth in the overall balance of the moment, not to much. But! When its a 'fickle nickel' brought on by some errant thought seeping up from the murk of your understanding. For example,  I spent five(5) years of court-ordered probation living at 22 Bennett St. My job during that probation period was boarding house manager for 22 Bennett St. You see, 22 Bennett St. was a boarding house; it had as many as 10 to 15 occupants at any given time. Charleston is a college town where people come and go and all they need is a safe room to occupy while on their temporary side of the times. You know! Cheap housing is the difference between being able to do some thing or not. 22 Bennett Street was black market housing - therefore it did not exist in the mind of the judge who said it "can't be counted if its not on the books" If it's registered as a single home than that is what it is even if you say differently. It's a 'fickle nickle' when the judge makes a senile decision because off her ebbing mind, as she did in my case. My 'fickle nickle' cost me sixty thousand dollars because of this decision. OK! it's a 'fickle nickle' when it causes you so much stress that you attempt suicide. 
           

"...Spider's web...."

If I were to tell the truth: the processes from which I witnessed this resurrection, its failed attempts of acceptance, has left a very great divide in my psyche . You know! think, dysfunctional socialization. Yet! they are still one of the fastest growing populations in society. The way in which a felon is treated: It's society's slave class like the cast system of India, the untouchables. They are contagious through association. It is sort of like this comparison: in prison it is said "once you go 'black' you never go back. Now! out in society it's sort of like, once a felon, always on their way back to being black on the inside again. This is because our society has to many new members coming on each year, swelling the 'rank and file' out of balance. There for, society does not want to have to pencil in anyone who has been subject to incarceration because of the vicarious learning experiences of torture being witnessed between other inmates within each others shared space. It's sort of like living in the town mall where its population is never allowed to go home. So! All of the bartering is going on within its system's prejudices. For example,  I was denied entry into England because I spent time incarcerated in the US. prison system. I'm just another felon caught up in the spider's cell.

..."me-too"...!

 I have a new opportunity: becoming Mr. Gabriel Allon out of a Daniel Silver novel by restoring a painting by using the paint by number and letter system stenciled on the canvas. It's a beach scene for Granny porn on the banks of the Ashley river. or maybe it's Folly Beach out there at the end of  the great divide. The painting will require 12 unique colors as well as colors made up from those basic 12 colors. Yes! As you may expect, I have a dozen unique paint brushes to apply those colors to the stenciled out painting. And just like Mr. Allon, I'll hope to give it my everything. But! I too have my divergences. For you see, unlike Gabriel Allon, an Israeli super character,  I'm the underdog out to create a labor union for felons...so that, I can sue the states of NM & SC whereas Mr. Allon  is out to defend Israel against its union with the Middle East! We try to prevail even when we go up against "our self best interest" because of the situation at hand. For example, I had a problem with the contractor who is refinishing the interior of my condo. All he had done was to escalate the problem into a much more outrageous 'flimflam' scheme to take money under false purposes, fraud.  He lost his contractor's license because it was in his wife's name and she split. My wife says, "he is broke and lives in a trailer ;" there is nothing to gain in her mind other than the emotional cost to her psyche if she chooses to take court action. Now! I say sue the his wife and she will find a way to punish him.  
       

Confession...!

It's life's 'Trojan horse'  that is living among yesterday's fallen saints: we are a population of fallen saints, waiting around to be saved. You thought it was a gift, some fxxxing gift. That's right, all along there were hidden layers tethering its acceptance; this gift of a  'horse with no name.' As for myself, the horse keeps giving it to me right up my Hershey highway. Truth! I was on my way to my next failure in life when I had an unfortunate run-in with the "horse with no name;" they're all so full of their own 'shit,' waste unfurling from the folds of their time. yes! Their droppings are a nuisance to one's mental health.  This is why I never fit in with the in-crowd; you know! It's that our differences are so different. Yes! just because some of them had a moment of despair where you were required to be the fodder of their consumption. You know! They are yesterday's saints because you have moved on leaving them without an audience. Sort of like the landless reactionaries watching their Syrian environs dissipate under the strain of ideologies born out of demented hopes that Saladin will emerge from the ashes of time, or maybe Suleiman's (1200) taking back the advancement put out by the Crusaders trying to save the Pope's idea of spirituality.  The thing is this: the Middle East was all of Suleiman's domain to rule as he wished until, its morphing through many generations came into the power of leadership; these leaderships were all Sunni in nature. the last leadership in the middle east was Ottomans(1924) It was governed as a Sunni would govern on behalf of the tribe. The Ottomans were their own tribe; they ruled 'the middle east' for hundreds of years and lost their power because they backed the Germans in WWI, and lost their bet.  You Know! " when you are on a horse with no name...." it's still Trojan by its nature.       

"...exploding 'C'abbage head...!

I'm as I was at my birth; naked, as if I had just dropped off of the cabbage patch truck when the farmer made his sharp right hand turn onto the road for his morning deliveries. Now! What does a head of cabbage do to survive in such foreign lands. Because every day the farmer makes another hard right hand turn onto the road for his deliveries, another head of some sort drops off his truck landing into these foreign lands. We are all naked felons in these foreign lands; we have become the farmer's droppings. They call us felons. Who will help socialize us so that we too can become one with society again? Now! Until someone steps forward with a plan to socialize the ever growing population of felons existing in these foreign lands, I'll be as naked as I have been since my birth. And! If you look up into the picture's center you will find me exploding into pieces because I have become unglued due to the stresses of being naked in these foreign lands. It's kind of like the tale of "Humpty Dumpty": there are just so many pieces to put back together that one is forever fragmented through out time. It's my memory being molded by fragments yet found; therefore, all of life is situational depending upon your resources, or lack thereof.  So now the secret is out: sperm is all protein.   

...pink eye...!

I went out dancing the other night, came home with "pink-eye." Went to the doctor, got tested; I'm on some antibiotic for two weeks. Yes! I'm contagious if I'm not careful. Anyway! The dancing was great. I had the floor to myself for about an hour. I was with my niece celebrating her ascension to the next year; she too knows how to occupy her space on the dance floor. I even did a few squat type moves touching the 'toes'. You know! Now I have a theory about those dance moves because I was washing them down with gin; a very good gin poured over crushed ice with a twist of lemon skin. Just the skin, no pulp from the lemon. The club's interior is grounded in the Black jazz age of yesterday, solid & comfortable around the dance floor. The floor's apron contained tables with two chairs apiece, and there were the booths with table and mirror wall to free up the room, exposing its patrons' reflection off of those glass mirrored walls; accenting each and every patron's presence at play, dancing & prancing back and forth between the bar and their seats. It was nothing like Tiny Tim 'skipping through the tulips' on the Johnny Carson TV show.         

a Picture's portrait...

New pictures of my mind's eye: me melding with the lens of my camera. I went into the art galleries around my location while I was in Chelsea, not every gallery in the city, New York. I took 457 shoots, digital. I take the original piece off art as my backdrop, eviscerating its simplicity. For example, looking through  a four pained window, holding the piece of art behind the window pane divides the art into quarters, than using the inner four corners of the window pane you will find the artist's 'play.' There are five places for them to hide. Each with its specific range and domain. It's my mapping system to see if I can find one of them in the art work. It's like finding the X on the old treasure map. pirate's treasure. It's the confluence between 'me & lens' which frees the voyeur in me. Because it  "gives me what I want when I want it." Attitude is where it is; it's the game. If you want me to stick around, you must feed me. You must be very gentle with me. I'm your moment to moment; you see because I'm it, as in "give it to me when I want it" -" give me what I want when I want it." I'm 75 years old & I'm sorry to say that I never had anyone to talk to about it. This is all my making; I played all of the roles on all of the stages within my moment. Yes! I was the 'fool' among others: they knew that I was a 'fool.' They let me live the part of a fool...be careful with me. Anyway! Life is beautiful in its own way.

Chelsey's affect....

So! this is my story: I'll tell it my way. As I have been told: I'm on the bottom of life's pile of shit; my batteries are 'pooped' out as they say. Now! You may ask -why I would go out of my way to do such a thing-. like it's 'now or never'. It's given me what I want when I want it; give it to me 'now' please. What I can say to justify my behavior is that it was 'fun'! Yes indeed, Jazz was in the mix; one of those nights I had the pleasure to be in the audience at the "Village Vanguard'' listening to its jazz orchestra. Yes! a table overlooking the orchestra. The key to Monday night jazz is its jam session; for these are the masters you see when you go out to anyone of the other clubs during the week. These 'guys' come from the best clubs in the "Big Apple." Now, it is also true that I had one of the best seats at the bar when engaging the "Blue Note's" exciting quiver. Bobby was behind the bar attenuating to my enjoyment.  The hamburger which I was so enjoying, was out of this world. The jazz was Chick Corea & Steve Gadd, confluence mystifying their audience with shared joy. If I go back into my memory banks, which are very weak -due to aging. I come up with a flashback to the "Blue Note" in Paris, France. It was back in the days of Errol Garner, a man & his piano. Back in the mid-60's the 'Blue Note" was the back door into the Lido Cabaret on the Champs Elysees. I lived in Paris for three years, plus or minus serving my country's needs.Anyway! one night I was out & about, tooling around like only some twenty two year old dude could do; I walked into a night of remembrance, Garner was on the piano doing his magic; his way. I was at one of the few occupied tables enjoying my libation. Now!  Back to the week at hand, there was the night of "Kinky Boots,"  kicking ass on Broadway. From the beginning to the end of this production, I was occupying my seat. You-know! Holding on to the belief that as a member of the audience, I could believe & let go of disbelief. Hokey, it is true;  suspension of disbelief. Also! We ran around from one art gallery to another creating some very special art. I ended up at another jazz joints called Dizzy's Club Coca Cola. Another seat at the bar, a small bar; it had maybe 6 or 7 seats, high back seats so that when you turn around in the seat to face the music, you are comfortable to once again suspend your disbelieve, freeing those notes hidden deep within your soul. Yes! I gave them all up this night to Paquito D'Rivera doing his south American thing.   


     

Black mold....!

The time has come to turn off "Trump." So I'm looking at myself as if I were me; therefore, I say I'm dead. I found myself swinging on the porch's swing. There I am sitting on the swing reading a mystery off of the New York Times' best seller list. It's my niece's house; her porch & swing. I have a place on the Ashley river not far from here. It's less than 50 feet from the water when the tide is up, high tide. They found 'black mold' & I will leave it at that, no more said. OK! Now! Because of the black mold, I have to leave my home. I can no longer live there. I have to live somewhere.  This is just getting underway. I'll be moving out and about. Every few days my wife will move me around, this relative or that friend. They all have wonderful accommodations. Believe me when I say this: I have the greatest fear of waking up in the middle of the night, not remembering where the bathroom is because I'm not sure where I'm sleeping this night; there will be so many different twist and turns to getting there. I don't want to mess the bed up, you know! See the problem with me is that my memory has limited capacity.  Like, you go from point A to point B and upon arrival you forgot what it was that you came into the house for, B. In this situation A is outside on the porch's swing. I do this all the time. For example, something pops into my mind's eye; I go to execute, yet there I backfire as they say. Yes! Just like now, I'm sitting at the table writing in my diary, wondering who out there will ever get its message. Trump is there, it's his position to stay. So get over it. Shape up your self esteem; this political stage upon which Trump will "trickle, twirl, and swirl." Not understanding that they use the Machiavellian approach when interacting with him. Trump is the novice in some off Broadway play, filling in for the Star - trying to unravel his creativity like a producer of a reality show. But! I need to pee so that I do nothing to shame on my wife. I'll have to find a tree, maybe.

Donald Duck....trumping his horn

We all change or "morph" as we experience life's interactions with our peers, or the generalized other, as when one interacts out and about town with others, those cherished personalities. It's especially true for me today because as I was going through my closet's offerings. I came upon a pair of whitish/yellow faded linen pants that I had worn when attending a special wedding between two dear friends. Yes! It was in France in a village in the Dordogne. I wore green socks and sandals, making a 'statement. Don't ask me what it was because it was a long time ago and I can't remember how I feel about last week; never mind, what I trickled, twirled or swirled through those many wonderful days hopping around Europe after attending their occasion: two fantastic people with wonderful open hearts; down to earth,  understanding that it's the moment's outlook while reveling in this special convergence through marriage between loving friends. That is what counts. Now! I'm an Irish 'teetotaler' when I'm back home, you know. But here on the European continent, one is obliged to 'tip the elbow' as they say to  play with the 'local' offerings. For example, Barcelona, Spain has 'Gaudi' and I did taste its, Barcelona's offerings. I was in Lisbon last month, tipping an elbow or two while enjoying the back streets around the city's market places. There were many tasty morsels, one after another as you hopscotch across its horn of plenty. Well, let me tell you about those pants: they fit and they are loose! So it was a monumental moment, knowing there are many more morsels I an eat and many more monuments to see before becoming obscene. I'm only just beginning my 75th year of life in my journey toward normalcy. Please! I'm not the 'naked prince or emperor' you know, for right next to the linen jacket I found one of my old Hawaiian shirts, yellow, tan, green and grey pattern representing the Island. So that, the outfit works like a trio of jacket, pants, shirt. Let me tell you this: it doesn't need the 'gold or silver' thing to work! It fits you know!

Brexit....fxxx -it..

YES! I got caught going into England because I followed the "rules." What do I mean by being caught? Well, Border Force, England's watch dog, is taking back its borders from the influence of the European Union. So what happened? My wife and I had been vacationing in Portugal and Germany; we were coming from Hamburg, Germany on the way to London, England, flying on British Airways Flight 965. We presented ourselves to the customs/passport agent; she decided to seize me and dump my wife in the hall way where she sat waiting for four hours to find out if I was going to be able to enter the country of England. Border Force decided that I was a threat to the people of England; so they put me on the first British Airways plane traveling to the United States without putting my luggage on board the aircraft - therefore causing my luggage to be lost, maybe even stolen from Heathrow Airport, as well as causing great emotional trauma to my wife, who is in her late-sixties. Yes! England's Border Force left my wife waiting for many hours at the airport thinking that I might be able to join her so that we could continue our vacation. At the very last minute, they informed her that they were putting me on British Airways flight 227 to Atlanta, Georgia within a few minutes. I was held incommunicado by the Border Force. At the last minute I was interviewed by one of its agents who asked me to sign a forming stating that I was treated in a very favorable manner. Now at this point I was under the impression that she was going to let me enter London so that my wife and I could continue spending our money, stimulating its economy. Otherwise, I would not have signed their form because I knew that my wife, Jinny, would be under great stress not knowing what was happening.  Sidebar:  My wife Jinny is a professional in her world; she was scheduled to meet Marge the following night, May 8th, at the Lamb and Flag discussing their personal ambitions as they abate the so many options to chose from. Jinny was truly looking forward to this respite between 'sisters' etc., enjoying the ambiance that London is so noted for. No! What really happened was that Jinny had to fend for herself in London waiting all that night. She was in the dark about where I was; she needed to find out where they were shipping me off too; so that, she could make arrangements to join me. Border Force said it was to Atlanta and that is what she thought until she went to a British Airways desk and was told there was no record of me on a flight. She could not stay in London not knowing where I was. Now could she? So here is the Fxxxing kicker: It was my 75th birthday; she wanted to do it "right": 21 days spread out over Portugal, Germany, & England. ending with a "girl's night with an old friend." What did she get:  Extra! Extra! read all about it!: England's Border Force hit another  $1000 dollar a day "tourist" out of the park, over the fence. It's taking back those borders without defining the nature of this new border they call: We are not European Union.  
 

...go, Henry...!

Visiting with others can be strange. With me it is never what it could have been. You Know! It's a thing of socialization.  I never was socialized. What do I mean? Young Henry, who is six years old,  knows the name of every state and its capital like, Boston to Mass. He knows their locations on the map as well as the shape of the state on the map. He is also learning the order in which the states became states. Then he performed on the "Keys," his piano. I was more than impressed. He comes out of a caring family. Sidebar: I'm a 74 year old guy who is intimidated by how much he must have missed because of his socialization or lack there of. Now! Ask if this behavior was ever encouraged in your family or any fact similarly to it? He is more in tune with life than most of us who are out and about today.  OK! I'll admit it; I'm F***ing jealous. But, as is said: "the beat goes on;" Now! Surely, you too can have a companion to be the proverbial  'fall guy' from which you let your voice be heard. It's just a little bit of 'disassociation,' or altered state of consciousness. recognizing a more pleasurable environment to reside in. Rather like the association I had with Bernie, mentor - mentee. Bernie was the Banker behind my production. He financed all of my contracts; otherwise, I never would have qualified for M.D.R.T. status in 1975- million dollar round table in the Insurance world. So! that my image of myself was tethered to Bernie. Bernie was the 'door opener' in those days. He was part of the incrowd. To me he was the incrowd. Therefore, if little Henry's brain stays on course, when he gets to the incrowd, he will be GOD.  - because his family of origin is being a -mentor mentee- an environment of creativity that fosters understanding. Yes! Like Henry's family.