...third rail...!~

Thank you, my friend, for your comment. If you will play along with me: let's think 'the big bang theory' as seen in evolution. OK.  Now let the Cadillac represent the ideal toy for the middle class status within the US. The building which the Cadillac crashed into represents the immovable force of let's say," "Fountainhead/ Ayn Rand. Also, "the structure determines the experience," you see. The red Cadillac is excitation screaming out against inhibition of what 'is' -think Clinton: depends on the meaning of 'is.' Hold that picture; look at the license plate; it is selling all of the pieces that came out of this collision -big bang. Rock store!  Yes, when you go into the rock store you will find each and ever piece off the collision 'sliced & diced' so that you can buy it as a memory of what could have been, maybe a piece of coal, maybe a diamond. It's business as usual; a rock is a rock by any other name. It's not a rose. Now let's play a game, my friend, where we compare even juxtaposition, the rock pieces to the babies of the dying middle class because they clashed up against the density of the building's structure, power. So! if you were going to insure the pathway of the child, than go as Henry's family did. Instead of the 'criminal justice system' which is being managed by the private sector to be run as a profit growing business, cash cow. For example, felons are becoming one of the fastest growing populations within the US because the middle class families of today are living at a lower standard than their parents. Their education suffers because it is becoming more of a populations of classes of people of wealth and those without. You might think of it as a "a tale of two cities." There used to be labor unions that protected the middle class. When 'the middle class' was talked out of their leverage from unionizing, you saw a shift of the middle class wealth from its debit side of the T-bar to the credit side of the top 1 % of its population. Now, my friend, Bernie was 'old school' - he believed that the deal had to be win/win not Zero sum. Bernie was all about people, creativity -a better environment for all. You can think of Bernie as the old Community bank on the corner which kept your money -in play- in your community. As you know, Patrick, the community bank of yesterday's proclivity is dead because money, like a shark, must keep moving on; because it is a myth put out there by the Bankers from the ever growing New World Order. Anyway, my friend, if you want to get confused again read my complete blog, it might give you some food for thought. It's not Santa Claus on the horizon; but the criminal justice system doling out crimes of opportunity, riding the third rail.          

Question...?

Give me a break, You Know!, I'm the one who got a dick up his ass; This is not about the money. This is about "how it was orchestrated." For example, how did a judge in a small town end up with two warrants issued by the Governors of the States NC & SC?  Yes, both warrants were served on the same day, according to the presiding judge in Carrizozo, NM. Now! This could be just a coincidence, or it could be collusion on the part of corrupt politicians, as well as power elites, such as those who collided with my position on Pecos Valley Christian College. So, as far as I'm concerned, I was kidnapped. I was emotionally tortured by the State's ultimate power to bring forces to bear upon an individual to such a degree that it renders you impotent. God I must be dumb & That is why I do not believe. For I witnessed first hand that in the game of life, we are not all equal under the law; but, under the political power behind its fiction, "thank you Jesus." As well as, follow the money behind the scene. Therefore, one could stretch their mind's eye to conclude that maybe I'm a "political prisoner" without rights. Anyway, like Jesus who got a crown of thorns as he was being tortured on the cross by the Roman army, felons get the crown of "razor wire" to shred their souls as they are mentally raped/tortured by the forces of the criminal justice system. What do you think?

...Today's slaves....!

The purpose behind "the black market.me" is to build a platform from which I can ease felons' burdens by giving them a voice, a place to congregate. It's a digital world, right or wrong; it's the stage from which we hope to launch a conversion of uniqueness through an evolution, evolving over time. So play along with me, suspend your disbelief, observe how when I'm playing around in my own mind, I'm someone else. It's like I'm living in my own head; outside of the forces which I'm tethered to when I'm not playing around in my head. Reality check. I have been branded and isolated so when I first wake up in the morning, I'm lifeless. There is no meaning behind my inertia's limp state of mind. So! I turn on the 'light of consciousness'  via breathing in a taste of 'weed.' This opens up my soul to the world of acceptance; for example, today when meditating I saw the light coming down from on up high, its avalanche scared the shit out of me. I knew that it was the light at the end of the tunnel of my life. This was 'death' knocking at my door; it wanted me to come out and play in its light of warm acceptance, draining me dry. I didn't stick around; I ran away. I took my blood pressure; it was 176/85. this morning at the doctor's office I was 132/82. Yet, the thing that what worries me the most is that I'm going to stroke out leaving a body behind as a lament to my sins yet confessed. So I opened up my eyes, allowing the stench of life's rejection from its bounty. Now I'm again tethered to my body. because the brain cannot live without its body; where as the body can live without its brain -in stroke out, living death.  And this is the 'felon's'  journey too -their why of life; because it's a corporal-class distinction that tells others that this is what you can prey upon, lock them out; neuter their ability to compete against you in the market place of ideas. They are today's slave class. You know! I'm also a felon; I'm suggesting that if there are some 70 million potential members to hock -up & organize through the union there could be a very big bang in the form of political posturing.
 

...pieces....

When does it become a necessity for you to comply with the situation? How much of you do you have to give up to make others comply with your direction? When is 'it' the right time to comply under your understanding of the situation? This necessity of the moment, regardless of its fear: it's up to you to adapt to the skills from your quiver - experiences through living? What is in your quiver today, my friend?  Imagine that, this is where the mind plays -like who else is 'out & about' in this playground of the mind -one's quiver?  For example, response cost refers to the amount of time lost between inaction to action, distraction loss due to attenuating competing interest. - reaction time. The time it takes to get ready to react with follow through, like after drinking beer's necessity, while driving down the highway of life. Now! it seams to me that it is lacking in flexibility, this thing called 'necessity' because you would want to learn through those that are smarter than self. It only makes sense to hire someone smarter than self, to learn from as the task proceeds. Wishful thinking coming out of the questionable mind's eye. It's questionable because my father was my mother's pimp: he sent her of to work on the assembly line for Honeywell; one of the biggest & bests companies with offices around the world. He took her money, used it to play with the one of his many Dollies. He hated her. I hated both of them because it had great effect on how my brain was being wired. Deprivation out of their association caused me to lose what could have been if they had been a nurturing couple. Wishful thinking is the only thing out there in the world of Necessity, let its flag unfurl.
   

...Roswell...

Strange stories come out of strange places. In my case it's Roswell, NM, of all places. As you know, it has its own history. Like The Donald, it has their -alternative facts. It's a tourist attraction dedicated to Space Aliens. Yes, you guessed it, these were the friends & neighbors of Pecos Valley Christian College. Acting as its interim President, we were trying to bring the power of hermeneutics into the cauldron of shimming individualists. The operational definition of hermeneutics is the study of the methodological principles of the interpretations of the text, bible. Roswell has a long history; its very own & strange way of interpreting evidence associated with the supernatural, in particular, space visitors from outside of our galaxy, the Milky Way. On behalf of the school, PVCC, where I was their interim president, I was interviewed on the local radio station, as well as being a guest speaker at various venues around town. To tell you the 'truth,' I'm still not sure of what it was that I was a witness to when Ms Taylor, founder of PVCC, took me to someone's back yard gathering. We are all strange in our own uniqueness but these folks in Roswell were alive in their beliefs. Believe me when I say that I wish that I could levitate; as of yet, I can't levitate at will. Even though there was a belief by those who attended the affair, as I had, that they had seen the holy-spirit pass through me as I spoke out in Tongues. But I can't remember the Roswell incident, even when it was occurring. I was out in left field at the time. So, as you know, or maybe believe, the concept of free will is just as hard to get your head around as it is to believe that somehow someone could have levitated at one of these preacher sponsored breakfast gatherings. Or speak in tongues. I hope you know what I mean? The funny thing about it was that it was for the prison ministry, those who took care of  -fallen souls. And because of it, they warned me about the pending attempt on my life when I was being transferred out of Albuquerque, NM.  No, I survived but I was kidnapped by the state of SC to be set up, purged because it valued "the good old boy' s system of justice, based in its aristocratic beliefs. Thankfully, I was pulled out of lockup just in time by those two SC cops who were escorting me. They were still in the vicinity when I was about to be attacked; I screamed at the first pass of the knife; they jumped in at the nick of time. I ended up in solitary that night; the following morning I was paraded through the airport, shackled with hands & leg irons. Everyone was looking at me as I walked by, a shackled white "cracker' and two Black strapping officers from the sunshine state of SC. Slavery is alive and well, in the old days it was a black runaway slave being repatriated without any institutional rights. Today it's a white Irish boy without any constitutional rights.
     

...icicle garden...

The icicle garden is a place of razor -wire where you learn how fucked up life can be on a day by day 'playful' way. It's also called a prison.  Imagine standing in the middle of a football stadium, its  perimeter a wall of razor wire like the icicle storms bring after a hard rain on a cold winter morning. Now! Imagine that this is your life from here on out.  Anyway, theiciclegarden has a new home on Facebook; look us up & check us out. It's looking to UNIONize felons so that they can participate in the good old fashion American way as those "dreamers" are today, 2018. It's good politics to champion the children. Yet  The moment you are labeled a felon you automatically move to the bottom of the pecking order in the "free market system." That is to say -in the good old fashion American way. Now this -to me- becomes a labor issue because the System is shunning its felons. Maybe like in Germany when the Jews had to wear their STARs. It's limiting your ability to fend for your family, as well as self preservation. Ask yourself this question: why are the children of illegal aliens more entitled to finding their dreams over the children of felons who of no fault of their own lack the socialization needed to attain their dreams too. Why! It's quite simple. Shunning -social sterilization propagated by the System - keeps the concept of 'slavery' on the table -as in the good old fashion American way.  Please heed this: Trump's wall could be used to keep you enslaved, as well as to keep others out. In remembrance, ponder the "Berlin wall" which came down in 1989. How many generations well it take before Trump's wall comes tumbling down around those like you huddling behind it, something like Humpty Dumpty -Trump. Will you or your grand children be caught up in its razor like tentacles?      

"...jelly -fish...."

Fear to me is frightening because I grew up in an environment of chaos where my parents were constantly in a state of dissonance between themselves, society. My father hated my mother because she attempted suicide and failed. This action caused a "4-f" classification against my father; therefore he could not go off to fight in this courageous war, WWII. He hated me because I was the child being carried in "mommy's" womb.3/29/42. That being said: Society's social fabric welcomed me with open arms. I had every opportunity that anyone could hope to have; yet I failed at every one of them in one way or another. This I know to be true: if you are not socialized within the your family of origin than you could end up lacking in the skills needed to get along with others, as you interact on the many social stages that are need to facilitate society. Simply said, you are limited in life when you can not walk among those who know how and when to change their understanding of the task at hand, defining themselves in a way so that others in contention can connect with you, your needs. As for me, it mattered not on what stage I was anguishing, I lost because my mind was up my ass over whose authority I "should" acquiesce too. I also had a problem with the devil because I was tempted by drugs, their false promises of perspicuity, acute awareness to knowledge, "my way or the highway." The only problem with it was that I was the one who was always on the way down the highway. But Society continued to offer me opportunities; therefore it gave me the false delusion that there was some merit in the way that I processed information. For example, imagine this scenario:  Let me attempt to fill in some of the 'blanks,' as regarding said subject, GOD. So the first and only piece of evidence I came to believe was that of the 'jellyfish." Yes! I came to this conclusion because, as you know, the 'jellyfish' is the longest surviving vertebra in the ocean waters  of the world. That means it has been around longer than anything else inhabiting within Nature's waters. It has no brain because it is a brain, just like your brain does not have a brain, it has your head. Therefore you are a jellyfish caught up in the pool between your ears. Am I right, you sometimes fell like "jello" as the congress of the US believes that they find their sitting President, Trump? I should say, as a caveat,  my socialization lacked proper schooling between kindergarten & high school. Also Being Irish catholic in my my day meant that you could be processed through social advancement toward industry's labor pool. Nobody ever thought that I could have been consequential in any meaningful way. How about you; what do you think?


               

...heart's ....

I'm a male 'lesbo'. Now, I didn't start off that way. I was a 'hetero' male, even though my environment was robust with sexual innuendo. You know!  you have to have a feeling that there is more to life than there seems to be. When this occurs the only thing to do is allow for your feminine other to take control of the psyche. Now! you have duel control of self, two ways in which to scratch that itch -with no name. Imagine: It's like what happens when you are young and slender, convicted of a crime, sent to prison where you become one of the he/shes servicing the needs of the Alpha males in lock up. You got there because maybe your prosecutor was female wearing her 'strap on' prison style; its function is to fuck over on you because you would not cop a plea; or otherwise, she was working her Alpha side of power. Girls do it too. It's not just men who wheel their power in a negative way as we see portrayed across the air ways, today. Just ask anyone who works in the service industry; as I did, especially if there was a contract needing her signature, show me what pleasure is all about, this is her mantra: give me what I want when I want it. Those kitty cats want to get you gone -back on the highway. Sidebar: "reading between the lines" - in this story, you sold her husband on the idea of pleasure for the wife -your silver tongue got him into "time sharing" as a romantic way to spice up life.
       

..."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.