...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.