Tag Archives: philosophy
God: The Construct
He has the whole world in His Fumbling Hands.
Half a century’s long quest, only to find nearing the end of my journey, that God is a man-made construct. Like many of the things we see every day, such as cars, houses, our clothing, and furniture. First of all I must explain the previous statement. I was born into a Southern Baptist family, an arena of holy rollers, Bible thumpers, and Rapture advocates. Any questions that I might have had, or any theories or thoughts spoken out loud, that conflicted with the words of the Son of the Most High, “Jesus, the Great White Savior” was dealt with swiftly. (Usually involving a leather belt, willow switch, or razor strap.) Over time, and more than a few ass whippings, I relented to accept Him as my Lord and Savior, because it was a battle that I would never win and I knew I would waste a vast amount of time and energy, trying to change this paradigm. Recent events in my life, has re-awakened my quest for understanding of the world and it’s origins. So within the confines of my Stockholm Stressed mind, I found that I no longer had to fear the Wrath of the Congregation, or that of the world. Although, they had indoctrinate me, to believe that God is in control of all things….. I began to question again, if this were so, He would have also condoned the actions of “evil” doers in this over world of His, by His silence or unconcerned inaction, in the wake of their unauthorized acts. Can this be so? I had wondered, how could a good and loving God be tied to these kind of unrepentant action? A nursery rhyme type song that we were force to learn in Sunday school says “He got the world in his hand, he’s got the whole wide world, in his hands.” This was exacerbated when I learn that the Sabbath was Saturday, and that the fourth of the Ten Commandments was to ” remember the Sabbath and keep it holy”. Needless to say that I no longer believe in this or any other like religion. There are just too many unanswered questions and too much “just believe on blind faith” answers to validate my faith in any thing that they teach. Then, there is this blatant overlook of simple basic logic, oversight that would dismay any rational person. I cite for example, where did Cain’s wife come from if Adam and Eve were the first man and woman? Any other coupling would be incestuous, because he could only choose his kin to mate with. It ignored the prior passages in Genesis, where the bible reads “Let us make man in our own image, so He created them both male and female, and He commanded them , be fruitful and multiply and replenish the Earth.” If you wished to get drummed out of the church, insist on saying that Adam was not the first man on Earth, but only the first and only man in the Garden of Eden. They will quickly toss you out on your keister.
Next, we then move along to the Tower of Babel, where God supposedly confused the linguistics of the human race, because they refused to spread out over the Earth. When a drought or famine would have accomplished the same thing, without confounding all language and causing thousands of years of confusion. All you thought he was not a God of confusion? There it is in the front of your holy book. Babel means confusion the Hebrew tongue. Since He cause all of the confusion, and He is God, why is He not the God of Confusion. There are numerous other stories in the bible that defy all logic and reason, such as the Great Flood. In this teaching Noah supposedly built a large ship and gathered two of each animals onto it. The problem comes in with the weight of the cargo. With two of each animal on board, (some animals, such sheep and goats, were brought on board in groups of fours or sevens). The ship would have quickly sank even if the birds would have been kept flying the entire trip. And what about the remnants of dinosaurs, of whom I was told that never existed. I had been told that the bones of these great beast were placed here by the Devil to break our faith. Many of those species, were thought to be extinct, were later found alive in the after the global flood. Maybe the”Great Flood” was not so great. So if the entire world was inundated with water, how did these non-swimming , and flightless, land-lubbing creatures survive this global extinction level event? This, with many, many other inconsistencies made me realize that what they are teaching, is less about god, and more about justification of what man believes, and what money it can draw. “God”, who was in my sleeping mind, the most powerful being in the universe, was receiving an emergency downgrading, after my awakening. He became for me, a human construct, a belief conceived in the minds of men who were frightened by the dark, and by the unknown. This fear became a good hustle for those with guile that were too aged, in-firmed or just too lazy to go out and hunt with the others for food, or to help gather the crops. He says to them all” I must commute with the Maker of All things, and He will prepare me, to help all of us to do His will and His wishes, for we all have sinned.” History is full of sages, fortune tellers and magician who commuted with the spirits. The chiefs of these groups of gullible people, allowed the priest to be amongst the people, to help keep them in line, and allay their fears of the unknown. And so…. religion was born.
If America began to tax them (religious organizations), like they tax all the people and businesses, we will see how they truly are. We will find out if they truly trust in God, or if “In God we trust” is the true god that they worship. Note: This sudden taxation of faith, cannot be modeled like the businesses considered “to big to fail” such as the big banks (thieves) and campaign funding big corporations (more thieves) who hold all their wealth in the Cayman Islands to prevent U.S. taxes on their money and have the audacity to borrow from our cash strapped government (more thieves, but elected ones). Putting the rest of us (the fleeced pheasants) further in debt.
Still, I don’t know where it all came from…… but I do know that some force, that I can only describe as a God made everything that I know, I am certain that the One that many of the religions around the world send their prayers to, is not that divine creator. Perhaps there is no good, or evil. It is a matter of perspective. How can God be God if he does not act godly? So, what I see, is an impotent god construct, fashioned by a series of goldbrickers, to wrench 10 percent out of ignorant villagers. That is, if He ever really existed in our reality, at all.
When thinking about my belief in God, and all the bullshit that surrounds religion, I am reminded of a scene from “Law and Order” with A.D.A Jack McCoy. McCoy tells of visiting a friend at a hospice, and his older friend recalls his time in Vietnam. As he lies on his deathbed, he denounces his belief in God, because of all he’s been through that brought him to his early grave. But just before he dies, he says “God forgive me if I am wrong.” His statement allays my feelings as well.
“God forgive me if I am wrong.”
Venger, formerly known as Volcano Sunset RIP Oct. 2, 2013
Scratch’s Weekend BBQ
©2013 volcanosunsetpress
The Tradition
Summertime brings warm weather and outdoor outings. Nicky Jameson’s yearly barbecue was always a neighborhood event that brought rib seekers from all corners of the community. Blacks, Whites, Hispanics, and Asians from throughout the city, came to sample the cuisine. But the primary attendees were those that lived on the block and those surrounding homes of 13 Perdition Circle. So many in fact, that Nicky would charter a City Bus to ferry guest from the nearby Wal-Mart parking lot to alleviate parking problems on his street. He was thinking that next year he would have to move the BBQ to a entirely new venue, perhaps at the lake, or to River Front Park.. In all the years he had been having this cook out, there had been only minor incidents that threatened to put a damper on the festivities, it was usually due to some guy getting drunk and making an royal ass of himself. or maybe a couple of near fights, or maybe a fender bender or three. There was never any real trouble per say. Not until this day.
The Gold Rush
Nicky, who everybody called by his new nickname of “Scratch” because he had won 2 million dollars by buying a scratch off lottery ticket. He was an ordinary guy with a knack for cooking scrumptious Cajun Style BBQ ribs. The winning ticket was hidden in his lunch pail for a month, before it was discovered by his then girlfriend,Miranda. She gave it back to him to scratch off, after complaining to him about his wasting of fifty dollars of her hard-earned money, when they were busting their asses to pay all the damn bills as it is. They lived each day from cutoff notice to cutoff notice, and a couple of times they came home to a darkened house. Nicky had bought the ticket while on his lunch break that Spring day and forgot to scratch it off away from her critical eye, so he hid it to prevent Miranda from discovering it and chewing his ass out for gambling. She was truly a wonderful woman, with a heart of pure gold, but her tongue spewed acid and burning brimstone when she was brought to ire. Especially when it came to money, and the money was all hers, both his money and hers. She had two girls, from a previous relationship. but Nick claimed them as his own. After they won the money, they moved into a middle class neighborhood, not that fancy. Miranda made sure that Nicky didn’t let the money go to his head and put him on a tight leash when it came to spending his good fortune. They went down and got married on the very day, before he signed the ticket over to the Lottery Commission. Something that Nick would have done whether he had won the money or not, but they had never had enough between both of their paychecks to spare for the license. They basically lived from one check to the next, every payday they would decide who would get paid, and who would get lied to. The lottery winnings changed all of that, they bought one new car and one good almost new used truck. The house was in the 160,000 range, nice but not fancy, but far better than the shitty rat traps they’d been renting in the past. Miranda insisted on paying cash for everything, after their first payout, they banked the rest of the money and lived off the money that came from their jobs. Miranda was a shrewd business woman. But she allowed Nick a few indulges. She let him get a small Bass Buster boat, and she let him have his yearly BBQ. Which cost about 1800 each year. She always wears a scowl until Nick could no longer see her face, then she smiles when he is outside with his friends, being the life of the party at his annual BBQ suppers.
The Street
The street was filled with police cars, ambulances , fire trucks and further down the cul-de-sac were news vans. The Hostage Recovery Team was standing by as the patrol officers escorted injured detainees to a waiting city bus. There were 26 city cops, 7 county deputies, Three highway patrolmen, 3 Fire Companies, 9 Paramedics and as far as the eye could see, the local media, all of them. The air hung heavy with pepper spray and CS gas from the spent rounds from the riot guns. They were using plastic cuffs on the last of Scratch’s BBQ attendees. The sixty-eight guest, now being booked in at the police department Mobile Command Center, were in various states of disarray. The really agitated rioters, had been whisked off to the local jails, a dozen of the BBQ revelers were now occupying the city’s drunk tanks. All of this commotion was said to be started over a misquote of another sleazy politician running for office. The quote was that Barack Obama has put more people on welfare than any other President in U.S. history. Which in itself, was wholly not true. But that was enough to get the ball rolling. A volley of flying statistics broke down quickly into name calling, attempts at being a peace maker drew more onlookers into the growing fray. It reached critical mass, when the “RR” (Racist Republican) words flew out it mushroomed into a brawl. Now, most of these very same people supported the Obama re-election, and it’s a mystery of why this turned the way it did. The heat, the booze, and the current state of the economy certainly played its role in this fisticuffs. But the underlying discontent of the average American pilgrims (or more properly pigeons) is that he doesn’t see money from the rebounding economy. They only saw the rich getter richer and that they were working harder, only to get poorer. The flaring tempers were not at each other, but at the “Automated System of Things” that gave them ¹Sisyphus’ job and never told them. The people that they were truly angry at, were unreachable. So they turned upon one another. There were no life threatening injuries, only minor cuts and scrapes and of course, exposure to riot gas. The children at the soiree were frightened out of their wits But the first officers on the scene immediately called for back up when they heard the commotion in back of 13 Perdition Circle. Cpl Tannhauser stated that “We have a large riot in progress when they opened the side gate on the Jameson’s home. Send all available units right away!”
The Outcome
The twelve that had been taken to jail and plead guilty to disorderly conduct and public intoxication. The remaining 68 received a citation for disturbing the peace. Nick was not charged, but he would no longer allowed to have barbecues of that size in his backyard. Later his wife bought a bait and tackle shop for him to run on the weekends, in other words, she bought him a part-time job that requires full-time hours. He still has his annual BBQs at the lake house, and last year he burnt the lake house down when then fire got away from him.
The Spoils
Those wonderful tasting BBQ ribs got rave reviews at the homeless shelter that evening, and even Nick’s mongrel dog, Pontchartrain got his fill of Louisiana’s best tasting Cajun Style BBQ ribs.
¹Sis•y•phus (ˈsɪs ə fəs) n.
The Tradition
Summertime brings warm weather and outdoor outings. Nicky Jameson’s yearly barbecue was always a neighborhood event that brought rib seekers from all corners of the community. Blacks, Whites, Hispanics, and Asians from throughout the city, came to sample the cuisine. But the primary attendees were those that lived on the block and those surrounding homes of 13 Perdition Circle. So many in fact, that Nicky would charter a City Bus to ferry guest from the nearby Wal-Mart parking lot to alleviate parking problems on his street. He was thinking that next year he would have to move the BBQ to a entirely new venue, perhaps at the lake, or to River Front Park.. In all the years he had been having this cook out, there had been only minor incidents that threatened to put a damper on the festivities, it was usually due to some guy getting drunk and making an royal ass of himself. or maybe a couple of near fights, or maybe a fender bender or three. There was never any real trouble per say. Not until this day.
The Gold Rush
Nicky, who everybody called by his new nickname of “Scratch” because he had won 2 million dollars by buying a scratch off lottery ticket. He was an ordinary guy with a knack for cooking scrumptious Cajun Style BBQ ribs. The winning ticket was hidden in his lunch pail for a month, before it was discovered by his then girlfriend,Miranda. She gave it back to him to scratch off, after complaining to him about his wasting of fifty dollars of her hard-earned money, when they were busting their asses to pay all the damn bills as it is. They lived each day from cutoff notice to cutoff notice, and a couple of times they came home to a darkened house. Nicky had bought the ticket while on his lunch break that Spring day and forgot to scratch it off away from her critical eye, so he hid it to prevent Miranda from discovering it and chewing his ass out for gambling. She was truly a wonderful woman, with a heart of pure gold, but her tongue spewed acid and burning brimstone when she was brought to ire. Especially when it came to money, and the money was all hers, both his money and hers. She had two girls, from a previous relationship. but Nick claimed them as his own. After they won the money, they moved into a middle class neighborhood, not that fancy. Miranda made sure that Nicky didn’t let the money go to his head and put him on a tight leash when it came to spending his good fortune. They went down and got married on the very day, before he signed the ticket over to the Lottery Commission. Something that Nick would have done whether he had won the money or not, but they had never had enough between both of their paychecks to spare for the license. They basically lived from one check to the next, every payday they would decide who would get paid, and who would get lied to. The lottery winnings changed all of that, they bought one new car and one good almost new used truck. The house was in the 160,000 range, nice but not fancy, but far better than the shitty rat traps they’d been renting in the past. Miranda insisted on paying cash for everything, after their first payout, they banked the rest of the money and lived off the money that came from their jobs. Miranda was a shrewd business woman. But she allowed Nick a few indulges. She let him get a small Bass Buster boat, and she let him have his yearly BBQ. Which cost about 1800 each year. She always wears a scowl until Nick could no longer see her face, then she smiles when he is outside with his friends, being the life of the party at his annual BBQ suppers.
The Street
The street was filled with police cars, ambulances , fire trucks and further down the cul-de-sac were news vans. The Hostage Recovery Team was standing by as the patrol officers escorted injured detainees to a waiting city bus. There were 26 city cops, 7 county deputies, Three highway patrolmen, 3 Fire Companies, 9 Paramedics and as far as the eye could see, the local media, all of them. The air hung heavy with pepper spray and CS gas from the spent rounds from the riot guns. They were using plastic cuffs on the last of Scratch’s BBQ attendees. The sixty-eight guest, now being booked in at the police department Mobile Command Center, were in various states of disarray. The really agitated rioters, had been whisked off to the local jails, a dozen of the BBQ revelers were now occupying the city’s drunk tanks. All of this commotion was said to be started over a misquote of another sleazy politician running for office. The quote was that Barack Obama has put more people on welfare than any other President in U.S. history. Which in itself, was wholly not true. But that was enough to get the ball rolling. A volley of flying statistics broke down quickly into name calling, attempts at being a peace maker drew more onlookers into the growing fray. It reached critical mass, when the “RR” (Racist Republican) words flew out it mushroomed into a brawl. Now, most of these very same people supported the Obama re-election, and it’s a mystery of why this turned the way it did. The heat, the booze, and the current state of the economy certainly played its role in this fisticuffs. But the underlying discontent of the average American pilgrims (or more properly pigeons) is that he doesn’t see money from the rebounding economy. They only saw the rich getter richer and that they were working harder, only to get poorer. The flaring tempers were not at each other, but at the “Automated System of Things” that gave them ¹Sisyphus’ job and never told them. The people that they were truly angry at, were unreachable. So they turned upon one another. There were no life threatening injuries, only minor cuts and scrapes and of course, exposure to riot gas. The children at the soiree were frightened out of their wits But the first officers on the scene immediately called for back up when they heard the commotion in back of 13 Perdition Circle. Cpl Tannhauser stated that “We have a large riot in progress when they opened the side gate on the Jameson’s home. Send all available units right away!”
The Outcome
The twelve that had been taken to jail and plead guilty to disorderly conduct and public intoxication. The remaining 68 received a citation for disturbing the peace. Nick was not charged, but he would no longer allowed to have barbecues of that size in his backyard. Later his wife bought a bait and tackle shop for him to run on the weekends, in other words, she bought him a part-time job that requires full-time hours. He still has his annual BBQs at the lake house, and last year he burnt the lake house down when then fire got away from him.
The Spoils
Those wonderful tasting BBQ ribs got rave reviews at the homeless shelter that evening, and even Nick’s mongrel dog, Pontchartrain got his fill of Louisiana’s best tasting Cajun Style BBQ ribs.
¹Sis•y•phus (ˈsɪs ə fəs) n.
a legendary ruler of Corinth, punished in Hades by being compelled to roll to the top of a slope a stone that always escapes him and rolls back down again.
A right on the mark message!
Warning: I might shake up FB with this post but here it goes.. I’m watching a reality show that has beautiful women with jacked up emotions. It got me to thinking a lot about relationships. Women of all color, creed, socioeconomic status, please listen to me. When you present yourself as nothing, why do you expect a man to value your worth? When you present yourself as a whore, why do you expect a man to make you a housewife. When you present yourself a weak, how do you expect a man to make you strong. When you present yourself as a sideline, why do you expect to be the “only” one. When you lie with dogs, why do you expect to walk around free from fleas. Women we get what we bring to the table. Bring nothing you get nothing. Bring much you get much. It’s time for you to go back and check your self worth, self value, and get a new self appraisal done..(drops the mic and exits the stage)
Protected: Judgement from the Crazy Ole’ Bum
The Star of India
©2013 volcanosunsetpress
A North star is guiding star, one that gives
directions to travelers in the dark of the night….
I have worked on the late shift at Rahman’s Market & Convenience Store ( My dad calls the store the Stop and Rob) for the last six years now. I started here in the 10th grade and have kept the job through college. We had a little trouble here and there, but it’s been pretty safe to work here, so far. Mr. Mohammad Rahman is a short, bald-headed, middle-aged man, with a great big gut, an immigrant from India. He is well liked by all the Black people in the neighborhood, I think mostly because he understands the nature of poor people. Most of our customers are teetering on the poverty line, with many of them on food stamps. There was a week when the food stamp cards were not working, and instead of turning food stamp customers away, he took IOU’s. I thought he might have had 8 or 10 thousand dollars out in the community. Many of them paid him back, a few did not, but no matter how they treated his generosity,he never changed his willingness to lend a helping hand. In fact, Mr. Rahman even gave me a job, after he caught me trying to steal a submarine hoagie out of his store.
I had gotten up late for school that morning, I had missed the school bus by three minutes, so it was either ride the city bus, or go back home and have my sleeping pissed off dad take me to class. Dad’s shift at Mannington Mills was on the night shift rotation that month. I was not up to waking the sleeping dragon that morning. I went by the market, on the way to the city bus stop on the boulevard. I went into the store, Mr. Rahman stood behind the counter talking that “Hindu” on the his phone. He acknowledged me as he continued to babble in his incomprehensible language. I walked by the snack cake rack and picked up a bear claw pastry, then headed by the cooler doors to get an orange juice. As I went by the glass door containing the fresh sandwiches, one of the hoagies called to me. It was if I heard its voice…… as clearly as you now hear mine.
The next thing I knew I was standing at the open glass door, rescuing it from the chilling air of the cooler. With the close of the door, I realized that I had only seven dollars. It would be two dollars for the bus ride and a transfer, even at student fare. The bear claw and the O.J. would be close to five, the submarine sandwich was 3.99 by itself. I heard my Dad’s booming voice in my head. “Put it back Herman Travon Putnam Jr.!” It started me, and as I reached for the door handle again, my eyes traveled back towards the counter where Mr. Rahman stood, his back was turned. He was engrossed in his conversation, his little bald head bounced as he talked. The ear bud gleamed next to his tanned skin. It had always seemed to me that when the Indians talked to each other, especially when they were two men talking, they were in an argument. I knew that they weren’t, because Mr. Rahman was laughing. I put the sandwich inside my coat, as I looked at his back. Thinking he would not miss this one, it was mostly pork anyway, they did not even touch the package of things made with pork. We bought some bacon once, and when it came time to ring it up, he asked my Mom the turn it over so he could scan the bar code, and gave her the bag to put it in. He handled pork as if he was handling dead human parts. I often wondered how he got it from the Wal-Mart to his store! I went on and got the orange juice and went to the counter to check out.
Mr. Rahman ended his call with a shalom, and rang my two items up. Locking eyes with me, he ask me if that will be all. “That’s it” I said as I pulled my money out. His next series of questions, raised a fright in me, though none of his words were threatening in any way. Still they stirred fear in me. “You are Herman Putnam’s son aren’t you?” I had no idea that he even knew my Dad by name. Let alone that I was his son. He had operated this store since we moved here ten years ago, and like the others shopkeepers and owners. At the end of the day, they closed up their stores and joined the caravan of Toyotas out of the neighborhood and back to wherever the Iranians go. Maybe even all the way back to Iran! I ‘d never thought he had ever had a conversation with his customers, outside the normal conduct of business. I didn’t imagine that they had any need to talk beyond that.
In response to his question, I answered slowly. ” Yeah, that’s my Dad.” Mr. Rahman held me in his gaze and asked me “Then why would you dishonor him in this fashion? Why would you damage your family’s honor by stealing a pig sandwich? In that moment, I knew that he had eyes in the back of that bald head. I was looking right at him when I slipped the hoagie into my coat. There was no way he could have seen me. That moment was worst than the day Mom walked in my room while I was jacking off. I thought I was a home alone, and don’t know how long she was standing there, as I was about to reach that magic moment, I heard her say “Oh my God” as she turned and went out of the room. She never said anything about it, but that incident would forever hang between us. Just like this moment would linger between me and Mr. Rahman. Mostly with me, I think Mr. Rahman forgot about it immediately. Mr. Rahman was not upset, just disappointed. Until that day, I had never been made to feel small, by a man, who was essentially a stranger to me. I felt lower than the family dog, who has just been caught on the dining room table. Eating the Thanksgiving feast, while the gathered family gives thanks in the adjacent room. That moment hung at the counter like a stinking fart in a small, hot, and crowded room. Mr. Rahman took a plastic bag and started putting my O.J. and pastry inside, he held the bag open waiting for me to pull the sandwich out of my coat. He scanned it, and totaled up the register. He took the receipt and had me sign it. “This will come out of your pay. When you get out of school today, you come back to clean this store. I will see your father later when he comes in for gas. I will ask him if it is okay for you to work. If you don’t show up, then there will be trouble for you!” I left Rahman’s Market and Convenience Store with a job, seven dollars and my first lesson in being an honorable man. I felt like a death row convict, that had been granted a last-minute reprieve.
As I am in my last year in college, I have entertained what I might be doing after graduation. Including an offer to manage a new store that Mr. Rahman is opening. I don’t want to seem unappreciative, Mr. R has done a lot for me. He saved me that day he caught me stealing from him, and instead of putting me in jail, he put me on the payroll. He stood on my neck to make me finish school, he helped me get a car, and he sat with my family during my high school graduation. He is a Grandfather and a Godfather all rolled into one. He always said that life is a precious gift, and it is never to be taken for granted. Every moment should be lived to pay homage to Allah. Just like my folks beat me over the head with the Bible, he beat me over the head with the Koran. And even though I am an atheist, I still gave them respect for their beliefs. Because they would all ask me, “Who am I, without God? What is the purpose of my life, if I wink from nothingness to life, then back to nothingness. What was the point?” These and other questions they would pose to me. I have never converted, but I learned to trust them in all their faiths in God. I met a man claiming to be the all-powerful deity once, wearing the guise of a dirty stinky old transient. He almost convinced me that there is….. something out there. Almost. That was a month before the robbery.
I was in Physics class when I got the news. The text had only said that Mr. R was injured, and that they had taken him to the hospital. I bolted from class and went straight to the emergency room at Central Presbyterian Hospital, the closest Trauma Center to the store. The E.R. was filled with police officers, I made my way through the swarm of detectives, to the Rahman family. Tanvir and Saifur were with their Mom, Mrs. Rahman. When the Indian surgeon came through the door, the expression on his face told me that the The Star of India was dead. Everyone else begin mourning at the announcement that Mr. Rahman had died, for everyone but me. I didn’t feel sadness….I felt anger. White hot anger.
The news cast replayed the video tape of the robbery over and over, for 36 hours straight. One of the robbery suspects was turned in by his family, the other was hold up in an abandoned house. With a growing mob of Blacks, Hispanics and Whites outside surrounding the house. The Swat team was called to extract him from the scene, for the suspect’s safety. He came out without resistance, handcuffed and in a Swat team vest and helmet. The news media continued to rebroadcast the details of the robbery/murder after both suspects were in custody. Some of the customers rumored that the altercation had begun earlier, over the fact that the defendants did not have I.D. to buy cigarettes. Even though one of them was over 18. Over the days and nights following the murder. I thought of Mr. Rahman’s concern for poor people and was always trying to help them out. I’d asked him why he took such a risk when the food stamp machine was broken, he took IOU’s from all those folks when he didn’t have to. My philosophy was “No money, no ticket!” If they don’t have the cash, then what did they come in the store for? This was not the Help Center! He explained it by telling of his boyhood back in India, and a child he befriended that was the son of one of the “dalits ” or servants that worked for them. He said that India still had a caste system, where people of one caste did not mix with other lower caste. Those of the lower caste were required to remove their shoes when walking on the grounds of a higher caste. It was much like the segregation practices of the United States up until the late 1960’s practiced by Whites on Blacks in the South. The dalits could build your house, but after it was built, they could no longer enter it because if they did, it would be considered unclean from then on. His family was not allowed to be touched by his dalits and certainly never play with their children. So, the friendship that should have never been, was formed anyway by Mr. Rahman and the dalit child Samir. A few months passed, with their friendship continuing to grow each day, Then one day Samir’s mother showed up without him. When Mohammad ask his father where the little dalits boy was. His father told him that his parents sold him, because they were poor and not able to feed all the children in their family. Which is still a practice done by the poor in India. Mohammad pleaded to his father to go get Samir and bring him back to their home. His father said that it was time that Mohammad learned to accept the facts of the world. There is a destiny for everyone, and some peoples are destined to be poor. A tiger will always be a tiger, and cannot decide one day that he wants to be a bird. Mohammad brood in sadness for Samir in the weeks that followed, and he decided that when he was a man, that he work try to help the poor whenever he could. He would be the first tiger, to become a bird.
Notes Mr. Rahman is murdered by two men during a robbery, initially because he would not sell them cigarettes without I.D.. My feelings about that, and the community reaction.
Invitation to an Amway Meeting
©2013 volcanosunsetpress
I have been medically retired since 1999. One of my Academy classmates called me about two weeks ago from out of the blue, and invited me to a Fish Fry out at the lake. Now Mike is a younger man who I thought highly of, and I could depend on him on every call that we made while working on our local Police Department. I was one of sixteen African-Americans to work as a cop for this small Southern city, and I was the only one who stayed for 15 years, instead of being lured away to some other large metropolitan city for better pay and benefits. Our city had about 300 police officers on the force, and less than one percent were minorities. So whenever our academy would graduate any minorities, as soon as their two-year contract was up, they were off to larger cities or armed security force with their police certificate in hand.
As I said, I stayed with the department because this was home. In late 1998, I was involved in an accident, that caused me to have to retire. Although our academy graduates stayed in touch, we didn’t hang together like we did when we were a bunch of young adults trying to make it through one of the most stressful times in our lives. We all just slowly drifted away from each other, much like many families do. Needless to say that I was shocked to hear Mike Eastwell on the phone asking me to come to a gathering. The Eastwells were a fine White family in our community, but Mike had told me the his Grandpa was a Klan member, and that he had tried to pass it on to his children. Mike said that his Dad and the rest of his siblings would not openly defy his Grandpa, but they didn’t share the same sentiments with him, except for his Uncle Roy. Mike said that Uncle Roy had once said to him that “Niggers are just obsolete farm equipment”. He said “Uncle Roy got killed on a deer hunt accident that following fall, on of his son’s friends accidentally shot him on when he tripped, trying to climb over a fence.” I was fairly certain that he wasn’t inviting me to a Klan rally or anything like that. But it did raise my suspicions as to why he’d call me to a meeting out in the sticks and I seen he maybe eight or ten times since I left the department. I agreed to come, and he gave me all the when, what and where. As I hung up I thought aloud “I hope this isn’t one of those damned Amway things!”
Me and my current wife, May went to the gathering. It was well laid out and I was shocked to see that there was no alcohol being served or consumed at a meeting of cops and firemen. There were many military types among the throngs of people, of all different races. The American flags re-ignited my fears the this was the preamble to an Amway or Amway like rally. The crowd was called to order, we said the pledge of allegiance, and the nation anthem was played. The thoughts of the oncoming Amway sales pitch dominated my mind. An older gentleman approached the podium. He announced himself as Retired U.S Air Force Lieutenant General Ray Lewis. He continued with ” If you were invited here today, be sure and thank the one who had invited them, they may have saved your lives. And no, despite all the flags and the patriotic setting, this is not an Amway meeting! ” There was a roar of laughter from the crowd. “There are some information packages circulating among the guest, it is a membership application that needs to be filled out before you leave today. You must fill them out or you won’t be allowed to hear about our organization. But let’s take a short break and eat and socialize, then we will take up the applications and adjourn those not willing to go any farther.”
The food was delicious, some of the best prepared fish, coleslaw, potato salad that I’ve ever tasted. While I ate, I glanced at the membership package. It was a simple pledge to follow the rules of something called the “Dawn of New Mankind”. It smelled of a cult, a brain-dead, poison Kool-Aid drinking, dying to meet God kind of cult . Flashes of Jim Jones and David Koresh went through my thoughts. Maybe that’s why there is no beer! I looked at May, and we both seemed to have the same thoughts. “What the fuck has Mike Eastwell invited to?” Right on cue, Mike sat down besides us with his food. How he responded to us, it was as if he knew what we are thinking, “Jonesy, you need to trust me on this. Go ahead and fill it out so you all can hear the rest. This is a small leap of faith. If would still want to opt out, we will burn that piece of paper in front of your very eyes, and you will have nothing else ever to do with us again! But you all need to hear about what’s about to happen, I beg of you to listen.”
I had known Micheal Devin Eastwell for 29 years, after we serve our rookie year out on patrol, we were partners on a squad. He was the one who suggested that I get a DNA tests performed on my third child with my first wife, it saved me tens of thousands of dollars in child support. He had backed me on hundreds of calls, as I had backed him. He camped out with me at the hospital, after the MVA (motor vehicle accident) that ended my police career. He had said that I should trust him on this. I felt as if his hands were tied, and that he wanted to say more but he was being prohibited by some unseen force. I looked again at May, and I asked her with my eyes, “What do you think?” She glanced at the pledge, and back to Mike, who sat waiting on a verdict. “Let’s sign it, it is obviously very important to Mike. He has been with you in the worst of times in your life, and if it is important that we hear what going on, then let’s hear him.” A sigh of relief came from Eastwell, as if he was waiting on a prognosis from an emergency room doctor about whether a loved one will survive the lifesaving surgery. He said ” I promise you that you won’t regret it.” About forty-five minutes after everyone had finished eating, many of the host were bidding the guest goodbye. Many of the departing guest seemed sorrowful at not being able to sign the pledges. Most of them just didn’t have enough faith, in their host to become involved with this group because they needed to know more about what they were pledging to. As to the host, many were visibly shaken by their invitee’s actions, and seemed to be looking at them……. as if they were seeing them for the last time in their lives.
The General took to the podium again, and after a quick prayer for those who did not sign the pledge, he called us to order. He scanned the group of maybe 150 people left at the gathering and said to us “You and your immediate families and a few other families in groups like this, scattered all around the world, will probably be all that is left, of the human species on Earth.” A gasp of fear, crawled through the crowd. Murmuring began and the speaker held up his hand, calling for silence. ” In about ten days, a comet will collide with Earth’s only natural satellite, the Moon. The expected the fallout, will turn the Earth into a shooting gallery. It will be an Extinction Level Event. 96 percent of all life will die on Earth, within 9 days of this event. Because we can save only a few hundred thousand people, it was decided to choose them in this fashion. You will be sequestered today, our security teams will gather you family members and bring them to your assigned bunkers. I am sorry that I have to tell you of this horrific news, but this was our only chance to save humanity.” My assistants are circulating pamphlets containing all the information on what we know about the upcoming collision, and our hasty contingency plan. The transports will be here soon to carry you to a bunker that was created for the nuclear exchange scenarios of the 196o’s, they have been updated for probable other world disasters, most recently this one. I have decided that I won’t be joining you, because at my age I’d be more of a liability, than a help. Besides, a new world will need strong young folks, if we are to have a shot at living through this.
“AS THE GHETTO TURNS” ep.8 “That Jiggaboo’s Administration”
Season 1 Episode 8 —“That Jiggaboo’s Administration ”
©2013 volcanosunsetpress
For the first time we have a President that shows his true “Blackness” through his genes. And many Americans hates him for it. Does Bill Cosby and Barack Obama look-alike to them? (You know they all look-alike) The country was in the worst shape it has ever been, a war on two fronts, and we were facing a financial collapse of unseen proportions. After Bloody George’s 8 years, we could have elected a dog catcher and improved our disposition. However, we elected an honorable man. He has been as diligent as many other Presidents have in trying to manage this country. But we tend to forget that the United States looked like this when Obama took over:
Yet now its seem the “We the People” want to blame the current problems facing the country on that Zebra (that half black and have white Tar baby and his Ghetto Administration. Never mind what the previous tenant of the Oval Office did to America, never mind the broken windows left in the U.S. economy by monster American corporations with off-shore assets. (They don’t pay taxes on that money you know!) Never mind the expense of a Two-Facet Wars fought on fictitious terrorism. Yes, I believe that the events of September 11 occurred, But what I don’t believe is that our intelligence agencies dropped the ball and cause us to fumble and lose the game on that big of a scale. We are not that inept! If Osama Bin laden was such a terrorists, then what was he doing hanging out in the U.N.? (The world headquarters are in New York you know!) Was he having tea? Maybe someone financed his acts of terrorism. Maybe someone in our government, were the financiers of this scheme, maybe some defense contractors stood to make trillions of dollars off of our fears? But just like the question of how many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop, the world may never know…..
Anyway getting back to that Jiggaboo’s Administration open shenanigans in the formerly White House. I’m sick of listening to a bunch of whining about Barack Obama as President of the United States. The election is over, that damn “coon” won again. I am and have always been a Republican since Ronald Reagan, but I could not vote for a buffoon like Romney. Even he didn’t believe the lies that came out of his own mouth. So Republican Party, If you want your candidate in office in 2016, put somebody that will stand with what he believes, even if it is UNPOPULAR! And stop blaming the other side when we have a problem, let’s just go back to work and get it solved. Because really, do you think that America doesn’t know that all political parties are on the same side? Politicians are All on the politician’s side! We have seen you high-five each other after each election, saying to each other “we put another one over them again”, referring to the one the people thought they elected. Both sides are bleeding our pockets! When have you all voted to take a pay cut, to help cut down the Federal deficit? Uh Huh. I thought so.
P.S. We know that some of you still call us racial slurs when we are not in earshot, it’s okay because we still call you racial slurs in our little circles too! It’s going to take a few more decades of misery from the Powers that Be, for all of us to get over that. We can start by ganging up on those that have been pulling our strings for a thousand or so years! If you are out there we will find you, soon. Ollie Ollie oxen free!!!
Next time on “As the Ghetto Turns
Episode 9 Slavery….. It wasn’t really so bad. (This episode will be moderated by Cantankerous Poppa Willie)
“AS THE GHETTO TURNS” ep.7 “Mountains of Hot Brass”
Season 1 Episode 7 —” Mountains of Hot Brass ”
©2013 volcanosunsetpress
An argument over the wearing of different colors, gang territory, and gang signs leaves senseless carnage all through our communities. We watch the news, shake our heads, and ask ourselves. “When will it all end? ” But our commitment to end the violence, fails with the next day’s sunrise. We say “What a damn shame, or that was such a waste” but we go back to the more interesting fictions of the television and internet. America, your house is on fire! Once the fire starts to burn, it will quickly get out of control, it won’t be confined just to the Ghetto. The flames will go wherever it can find the fuel. We would be naive to think that it won’t affect us. The violence will inevitably spill over into our lives, just when thought that we are safe, from the flying bullets.
In the past, gangs were formed for protection. The gangs in this century, they are formed for the acquisition of money, and perceived power. Many of today’s gangs are tied to organized crime.
Stopping the manufacture of weapons, will not slow the social hemorrhage. We have to begin by bandaging the minds of the youth.
There is no magic pill that will solve our problems overnight. No treatment centers or Rehab for this epidemic. But it seems to me that while I was growing up, we were too tired from working to go find any trouble to go get into. Our elders made sure, that every child went to work after school, or during any other break in the school year. The last days of the school year weren’t necessarily welcome in my generation. If you were still at home when my parent got up to go to work, you had better be deathly ill, (They had once made a deal with a big Black man called Big Mac, to take us to the fields to work. Sometimes hay, cotton, peas, turnips, etc. Big Mac was a good man, but don’t ever piss him off! Not unless you were tired of living.) He also would take us on Saturday during the growing season. At the end of the day, all of our energy and will to fight was left in those sun-drenched fields. There were gangs in my neighborhood, not as well armed as today’s gangs, but still deadly. But if they had parents like mine, they were out there avoiding snakes and bull nettles, just like we were. I was more afraid of seeing a disappointed look on my parents face, than I feared a whole legion of gang members. I don’t know if it’s the cure for this disease, but sticking our fingers in our ears, will not muffle out the gunfire. There is just one other thing I should add. We should make these “kids” responsible for their own actions. These dealers of death, should be dealt death. If they commit adult crimes, then they should receive an adult punishment. If that means that some of them will go to the death chamber, then so be it. It is far better, than burying the innocent children. It doesn’t matter, that they didn’t intend the kill that girl, or little child. It only matters that they did. Let’s not wait until our own neighborhoods are filled with mountains of hot brass.
These are the words from the mouth of the Volcano…..
Next time on “As the Ghetto Turns
Episode 8 “That Jiggaboo’s Administration”
How the first Black President has been treated
“AS THE GHETTO TURNS” ep.6 Predators
Season 1 Episode 6 —” Predators”
©2013 volcanosunsetpress
These are the true appearance of some of the businesses of that infest economically depressed neighborhoods all across America. Companies that finance unwary and usually uneducated people hoping to enjoy some of the “American pie”. Now there is nothing wrong with a person trying to make money hawking their wares, doing legitimate business in any place. But these companies depend on taking from those that don’t have anything to start with. Loan companies, bail bondsman, car dealers, insurance companies and the list goes on.
Furniture stores are probably the most innocuous, they finance low quality furniture and appliances at exorbitant prices. The customer will pay five times what the item is worth, due to the long term pay out. For example, if a consumer buys a television, at 22.99 a week for 24 months. That calculates to be 2390.96, or 2400.00 for a television that retails roughly 500 cash at any Walmart. If the customer can save his projected weekly payments, he could buy it outright in five to six months, and still have the extended warranty. The rent-to-own predator know exactly what the poor person is looking to buy, in an attempt to elevate himself and make his bleak outlook on life, look better.
Payday loan companies are by far the most predatory of all the Predators in the Black communities. They promise fast cash at unbelievably high interest rates. (On an average of 321%) All you need is a checking account and a source of income to become their willing slave. You can constantly renew your loan, and never get close to paying it off. In the end you will owe far more than you initially borrowed, under the persistent threat of ruining the credit, that you never had in the first place. It is the 21st century version of sharecropping. Usury interest rates are allowed not by our government, but still more and more of these companies pop up every day, and then they sell your information across the web, for even more money! They in essence yell out to the world “Victim Here! Victim Here! Get on the bandwagon, and help us beat him financially to death!”
“ROOTS” a 1976 film written by Alex Haley
With the use of candy, they encourage children to smoke.
A drowning machine.
More often than not, an innocent parent will forfeit their homes to put up bonds for their children.
A necessity to live, for many Ghetto residents.
The high priced food, in a convenience stores are also predatory somewhat, however this is where a person’s personal responsibilities has to take its blame. You don’t have to shop where the prices are traditionally double of what you pay in a grocery store. And they don’t hold you at gunpoint, and rip the money from your pockets. The tobacco companies and alcohol vendors also parade around in business suits, but underneath, they are Predators as well. They have been pushing their poison on Black folks for years. Alcohol’s effects are obvious, but what is not obvious, is why then use such lethal names. Things like “Colt 45” “Silver Thunder”, and “King Cobra” when they just should call it “Nigger Killer” because that is who they designed it for. In truth, it would be simpler to just put a skull and crossbones on the label. A new label might even increase their sales.
As far as the tobacco companies go, the old saying goes, “We used to pick it and now they want us to smoke it?” applies to their dealings with the Black community.
Predators hanging out on the block, without their camouflage.
Next time on “As the Ghetto Turns” – Episode 7 Mountains of Hot Brass
We look at the cause and effect of violence in the African American community.
“AS THE GHETTO TURNS” episode 5 A Hood Rat”s Jackpot: CHILD SUPPORT
I hit the Jackpot!
©2013 volcanosunsetpress
Season 1 Episode 5—— A Hood Rat”s Jackpot: CHILD SUPPORT
It is the responsibility of every parent to provide food shelter and security, for every child that they bring into this world. With that being said, the effects of parental support will invariably influence a child’s life through adulthood. It will affect how a child will be live, learn, and grow. A child that is hungry, in need of clothing, medical attention or a stable home to come home to, will fall behind in school and life. I have seen many instances, where children will learn what is necessary to keep themselves alive, no matter what the cost. Despite the belief that they enter the world innocent, a child of five years of age can manage to care for themselves, but not without consequences. Many mothers in the “ghetto” are struggling to care for children alone. Even with a pittance of child support, it is tough to make it. I have heard men say of former spouse or baby’s momma “ She buys that fake hair and fake nails with my child support money, Ain’t one dime of that money going to my kids! That nigga she f*cking now, needs to be buying all that bullsh*t!” These men seem to think that they should be able to decide what a woman buys, with the chump change they pay in child support every month. I know it is not really an issue with me anymore, all my children are grown. But if the situation dictates that one spouse or another has to pay support, they should pay it and go on with their lives. In cases where the mother is made to pay support, the same rules should apply, because the child needs are not going to change, just because of a change in custody.
But getting back to the reason for this article. I have known women, some of whom are my relatives. Who go out to get pregnant intentionally, by men in economically well to do positions . In the ghetto, they are called “gold diggers”, a slang term for a person solely after wealth. Now don’t get me wrong, I think that a man is supposed to support his children, but these females are not women, they are hood-rats. Their only desire is to find someone to take care of them, and they don’t care who it is. These hood-rats do there homework, finding out everything about a potential mark. Marital status, length of time on a job, perhaps even a credit report. She will then make herself available to the potential mark, hoping to lure him into a sexual encounter. She will force him to use a condom, which she provides, which of course may have holes in it. She will makes sure that she is the most fertile when they have sex, she is in this for the money. (she will also tell him not to throw the used condom in the toilet, that it may stop it up, so she can retrieve them later, if need be.)If she is successful, she can start demanding money within the next few months.
Next time on “As the Ghetto Turns” EPISODE 6 Predators
Hitting the Skids
The only upside to hitting the bottom, is that you can only go up from there.
invisible
In an age of technology that has never been witnessed before, we still have people who are forced to live this way. Tupac Shakar (2PAC) said “We have money for war, but can’t feed the poor?” What wisdom can come from this man, if we fed, clothed, and provided a shelter for him? Maybe one of those abandoned building could be converted. Our society will be ultimately judged, for what we do for the least of us.
“AS THE GHETTO TURNS” episode 4 “The White Man’s Ice is Colder”
Season 1 Episode 4 —–“The White Man’s Ice is Colder”
©2013 volcanosunsetpress
There is a myth in the Black community, or more accurately, an unspoken truth in the minds of Black business owners that African Americans will not patronize their establishments when the could drive two miles to buy at a non-minority store. I have looked in American cities with a predominantly African American population and I’ve observed that most of these cities have a low number of Black owned businesses. Being a child of the sixties I can recall the segregation practices that forced minorities to buy most of their goods from other blacks. Now they can buy where they want, but observe the attitudes when they go into an Asian owned store. They think that everything should be in their favor, and that the owners should go back to their “Country” and open a store there. If you live like the people in the video below, would you want to go back? By the way, the have factory fires that kill hundreds of people, because they are locked in after they come to work. If these customers don’t like the store they are shopping in, then they should go spend their money elsewhere. You don’t have to buy there, and even better, go open your own store!
If I were a Black business owner, I would probably hire Asians/Indians to run my stores, because it seems they are the only ones who are willing to serve “these” people. As a Black man, I loathe to see certain people come into a store, namely the ignorant types. You know who I am talking about, the ones that are always found by a new reporter to do the interview, about trouble in the neighborhood.I had some friends in college from Nigeria, we were at an off campus function. Sharif asked me why I’m not like the others from the U.S.? Not knowing what he meant, I said what others? He said that the Blacks over her are not African, he said the are called “cotton pickers” when mentioned around other Africans. He said that most Black American have “chained thoughts” and really have no identity beyond the neighborhood or city where they live. They think like slaves. Somehow he thinks that I was different. I don’t know if Black people are aware, of the slums that many people that work in these stores come from, they came from far worse conditions than any Americans have lived in.
Angry Blacks enter these stores, and attempt to vent their frustration out on these store clerks. Chances are good that the clerk is not the owner, but people who have lived the lives of those seen in the video above. Most owners, are the well to do Doctors that you’ve been running to! Many of the new owners are escaping poverty that none of us have ever experienced. And had to fight to get here.
People without self-control, or the sense to stay out of the store, if they have no money. My folks taught me to never go into a store with no money, it will cause you to steal.
Then there are the protests, when a fool goes and assaults a clerk and gets shot! I bet the gun surprised him! Ali Mohamed was packing! Don’t start trouble where there could be guns present.
Finally you have the customer who thinks he can cuss out a clerk, and not have the clerk cuss him back! All of his intellectual worth, destroyed by a few cuss words, and a loud or (Nigga’) tone.
Many Blacks believe that they should not spend their dollars at Black owned stores because they will always get less value for their money. If you want your car fixed right, take it to the White man. Them Black shade-tree mechanics will mess up your ride! Black people would say. I have heard incidents of Blacks driving thirty miles past a Black dealership to pay more for a car at a White dealership. I buy my ice here because it colder, than down there where those Blacks have that store! In other words “THE WHITE MAN’S ICE IS COLDER” (think about that)
But I say to those reading this article, that this kind of thinking chops off Kunte Kinte’s foot all over again, because every dollar that goes out of Black hands does not come back. As a people we need to step up and buy our own self worth back. By investing our dollars in people that look like us. We could reduce Black unemployment by regaining the flow of Black dollars. We should imagine that “Jim Crow” is still in affect, and act accordingly with our spending habits. As a closing statement, I heard a Black man say that he didn’t want a Black mechanic to fix his car, so he took it over to a White shop, who in turn back it to my uncle’s (Black) shop and had it repaired and charged the man double priced. He pulled into our service station and showed us how well it runs, we never told him that we were the ones who had repaired it!
5 A Hood Rat”s Jackpot: CHILD SUPPORT
“AS THE GHETTO TURNS” episode 3 final chapter
Season 1 Episode 3 —” The Torture Chamber of Nadine Henderson – final chapter ”
©2013 volcanosunsetpress
After I got her car out of the shop, Nadine seemed to settle down somewhat. Her phone calls became less and less frequent, and she didn’t just pop in out of the blue. I began to think that she finally got the message. I kept in touch with J.D., and over time we began to become “friendemies”, not that it was a word back in the eighties. But I guess it best described our relationship. I found out that he wasn’t the ogre’ she made him out to be, in fact, I think we might have been friends if we had met under different circumstances. He wasn’t a very well-educated fellow, but he was street wise, and he turned out to be a hard worker. Which in my set of values, is a plus for anyone. About a week before Nadine’s due date, J.D. called me and said the she threw him out of their apartment, at the behest of her mother, Mrs. Henderson. Now, I have never been one to sit around and listen to gossip. It’s just not my cup of tea. But this time I listened, mainly because Mrs. Henderson had accused J.D. of stealing money out of her purse. My short exposure to him, let me know right away that there was something wrong here. As I have said, J.D. was a hard worker and a bad liar. The truth would always spill out of him, if you pressed him for details. It’s something that would cause him to lose a poker game, with a winning hand, because he simply couldn’t hold on to a bluff. You could read his hand, just by looking at his face. He went with Nadine to her mom’s house, after they had been there twenty minutes or so, Mrs. Henderson came out saying that some money was missing out of her purse, he was the first to say that he didn’t take it. Nadine said that it wasn’t her, that she knew better than that. After five minutes of accusing J.D., she told him to get out of her house. J.D. waited for Nadine to say something, when she didn’t he left. He saw Mrs. Henderson’s hand bag locked up in her car as he was walking past her Ford Tempo. He said that he started to turn around and go back and confront her with this new evidence, but that he thought better of it. How was he supposed to steal from a purse in a locked car? He said that he just kept walking and went back to their place. Nadine came home later and told him that he needed to move out, so he left and has not seen her since.
Mrs. Henderson called me on the due date, asking me to come sit with Nadine while she picked up her daughter from school. I asked immediately “Where was J.D.?” She hesitated a moment and then said, “They had a fight and he left. She said that she ain’t seen him since last week. I don’t know where he is. But my Grand daughter gets out at 3:30 and I need to go pick her up.” I saw an angle being worked out, Mrs. Henderson had no idea that I had just talked to J. D. the day before yesterday. It was raining that day and we couldn’t work in the mud, to many bad things happen on construction sites in the rain. Truck drivers get stuck on those muddy roads leading into the gravel pits, you could get stuck down so far, that they can’t dig you out with an earth hauler. So I told her that I’d be there. I went to John Peter Smith Hospital, and found them in labor and delivery. Mrs. Henderson said that she had a couple of other errands that she needed to address and if I don’t mind she would be back around six p.m. . I told her that’s fine, just come back after you’re done.
As I waited there with Nadine, she was her usual talkative self, until her contractions became closer. She was taken to delivery while I was still there. An older Black nurse asked me ” Are you going to the delivery room with your wife? In my mind I was Captain Kirk, commanding the U.S.S. Enterprise. Surrounded by hostile alien starships, the helm reports “No power to the weapons or the shields, Captain! I dramatically turned to her, as if I were Kirk turning to face the enemy on the main view-screen. A resolute “No!” came from my lips. I further said “I am not her husband, and that is not my baby! Then she said “Okay, I know this is a scary thing for young men, but sometimes you have to do things that make you uncomfortable. You can wait in the room outside of Delivery.” She went out and went with the others, as they took Nadine to birthing. After she had her baby and I sat outside in the waiting area chain-smoking, (in the 1980’s you could still smoke in the hospital ) a nurse tapped on the window with Nadine’s tiny baby boy. I went over and saw him all wrapped up in hospital blankets and wailing to beat the band. I remember thinking “Kid, if you knew what you’ve fell into, you would start to climb back up right now!” Nadine’s mother returned shortly after the baby was born, but not before the old nurse came back with a form for me. She place the clipboard down and asked me to write a name on the baby’s birth certificate, and sign in the father’s slot. I told her again that I was not the father. (I think that Maury Povich got the famous line for his show, from me.) After my second refusal, she took the form and went back to her station.
Mrs. Henderson returned with her granddaughter, and that form that the old nurse had tried to get me to sign. She looked it over while I brought her up to speed, at one point she asked me to read it, because she couldn’t see it very well in the hospital lights. I informed her what it was, and she nodded that she understood. Then she said “ How come you didn’t sign it? You know that child is going to need someone stable in his life. ” Without another word, I walked out of the hospital. I never had any further communication with Nadine or Mrs. Henderson again. My education was now complete.
Next time on “As the Ghetto Turns” We visit the thought that people in the African-American community should own the businesses that serve the Black community. But many feel that other Blacks will not patronize Black business. In episode 4 “The White Man’s Ice is Colder”
On the list?
I was conversing with a fellow blogger about the change in the way the media disseminates the “news”.. Now, I have never believed in conspiracy theories, or a second shooter on the grassy Knoll, or any other kind of that fertilizer, being spread around by the paranoid public. I, like many of the bloggers in this country, don’t worry that our government is going to come and get me in the middle of the night and take me to a death camp and snuff me out! It would be cheaper to cut my brake line and let me do the rest. But I said to this blogger, “how do we know that the people who (they) parade in front of the cameras are really the ones responsible for the “terrorist” act?” Then I thought about it, hell, they could parade me out there as a terrorist, and just saying that they have the evidence, will sink my little paper battleship without benefit of a trial. I could have been walking at the Boston Marathon and threw something in the trash can, and they set off their bombs and implicate me, I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on! If they kill me and say I acted alone, the case is closed! But even still, they will gain more access to curtail you rights, and it only cost a few victims and a patsy! We truly need to guard what we allow to enter our minds, because there is no guarantees that everything that is broadcasted is the truth. Every single one of us could be vilified by the media, and none of us can protect ourselves once they got the ball rolling.
Writer Killed in a 18 Vehicle Pile-Up.
A multi-vehicle collision on Interstate 40 East claimed the life of newly famous Author Vertis Jones who wrote under the pen name Volcano Sunset. Jones was pronounced dead at the scene by Department of Safety Trooper Pat Stoler at 10:15 yesterday morning. The 52-year-old journalist was the only person injured in the crash. Mr. Jones was known for his newly published book “As Told by a Shoeshine Boy“. The book has begun to gain notoriety in many literary circles, for some inflammatory short stories contained within. Sources say that Jones was on his way to his hometown of Beaumont, Texas when the crash occurred. Jones leaves behind his wife of thirty years, Sharon Thatcher Jones , three sons, and host of grandchildren, nieces and nephews. Arrangements are pending, with Lone Pine Mortuary in Beaumont, Texas.
As you might have already guessed, that the rumors of my demise are very premature! I, like most of the mortal world, think about my inevitable, impending demise. Perhaps I think of it a little more than the average Joe. Namely because throughout my life, I’ve chosen occupations that were on the dangerous side. I can’t tell you of how many times that I came close to “buying the farm”. A couple of times I didn’t even realize that my actions were ones that “thinned out the herd”. If you don’t know what that expression means. Let’s just say, that the strain on the resources of the population is relieved somewhat, by the dumber ones in the group, doing something that gets them killed. For example, an antelope that refuses to stay in the safety of the herd, is picked off by the stalking cheetahs because it was too close to react to the flight of the others in the herd. In humans, these victims are amateur stuntmen, thrill seekers, and people who go around making videos of themselves, catching dangerous animals. Not to forget, smokers, drug addicts, winos, and people who text/talk and drive, and lap band patients. In thinking about death and dying, one rarely entertains things not likely to happen, like drowning in a bath tub. (I don’t have a tub, that’s one thing that I can cross off my list!) I always feared getting trapped in an old refrigerator, with the latches in front! This also, will not happen, I haven’t seen one of those in years, even in an antique shop. I had a dream the other night of chopping down a tree with my Step-dad, and the tree fell over on our neighbor’s house, there was no one was left to complain. My Step-father said before he died at 91, that you should always mark your time. He said go to a wedding, a funeral, a graduation, or go to visit at the maternity ward. Doing that, at least once a year, will keep you mindful, that your days on this Earth are numbered. It will keep you from just sitting around on your duff, waiting on death to come and collect you. If you have something to write, then write it! From the Dead Poets Society, “Gentlemen, we are food for worms!” My Step-father had a saying that I still use today, When Old man Death finally catches me, he will have his tongue hanging out, polishing his shoes, from running to keep up with me!
P.S. I know I got cha’! Many of you feel slighted cause I’m still alive!……….Get over it! Don’t be mad, leave a like, or dislike, a comment, or a low rating. Something!
“AS THE GHETTO TURNS” episode 2
Season 1 Episode 2 —” The Torture Chamber of Nadine Henderson part 2 ”
©2013 volcanosunsetpress
After the Dallas Police arrived to take a report, they questioned me as to whether or not that I had hit her. I said no, that I just left and came to this phone and called them. I recall that the officer clicked his ball pen, and started actually writing on his pad, although he was standing there talking with me for a two full minutes, with that pen at the ready. What went through my mind, was that he was ready to take me to jail, if in fact, that I had retaliated against her for hitting my car. He made the statement “That’s a good thing, Mr. Jones….” as he clicked his pen. ” I’m glad you didn’t because you and I would be having a very….. different…. conversation right about now!” (That was lesson number five, in a domestic quarrel, the man will always be considered to be the aggressor. Thinking back on this today, I’m certain Nadine knew that and in fact, counted on it!)
After they finished their report, ( I say they because the number of squad cars kept growing, as we talked) he went back to Nadine duplex to finish his report. I followed him back to the scene to see that she was hosting a platoon of cops of her own. The all got together and compared notes and issued her a summons for disturbing the peace. I didn’t hear anything from her for two weeks. Until she showed up at my Uncle’s shop, where I was working on the compressor on my dump truck, with $300 dollars, for my half of the deposits on our apartment, and the shattered T-top glass, and an apology. I was surprised at her apologetic overture, but being burnt in the past, made me leery, as to her intentions.
The following Sunday, Nadine, her daughter and mother brought dinner over to my brother’s house. It was a nice outing, but I was determined not to be sucked back into Nadine’s vortex. The next day, I came home to my now clean, efficiency apartment, that I had moved into after our break up. Nadine had come over while I was at work, and got the key from my property manager, (a cantankerous, old Black, pit bull of a woman ) claiming to be my wife. I don’t even know how she found out where I lived! She was lying across my bed watching a rerun of “Mayberry RFD”, and she had cooked a meatloaf , cornbread, spinach, and mashed potatoes. I explained to her again that we were through, and she said she understood, but she stayed all night anyway! ( The answer is no! I kept my hands to myself, and did nothing to encourage her! At this stage I knew that she was missing some mental pieces of her puzzle!) During her stay, she said that she had moved back into her mother’s and she was trying to get her life back together. She told me all about the drama with J.D. and that she wished that she had listened to her mother. She said that she didn’t feel that I really loved her because I didn’t show any passion for her. When I asked her what she meant by that, she said that I didn’t react when she provoked me. My next question was ” How was I supposed to react?” She said that “you were supposed to react by preventing me from doing things, that I knew was wrong. Show some emotion in the situation, like the day when you came over to get your shoes, you wouldn’t talk to me, about anything. You just got your shoes and left me standing on the side of the road looking silly! So, when I went off on you. You had to react. I was surprised when you didn’t hit me, and that’s when I knew that you really did care for me, but you didn’t know how to express it.” A light came on, in my head, about what she viewed as a show of affection. Aggressive displays of emotion is what she was seeking. I told her that my parents taught me to never hit a woman, except to get out of a life threatening situation. And even then to use extreme caution. That moment seemed to bring her a little more understanding of me, but it didn’t change her pursuit.
She left the next day, and I would hear from her the following Saturday with a new crisis. She called me from a phone booth in Saginaw, Texas at 2am Saturday morning asking me to come and get her and her daughter from the side of the highway. Saginaw was about 13 miles from my place in Fort Worth, so I had to get up and go to my uncle’s shop and get his wrecker. Then I drove to Saginaw and found Nadine,her daughter, and…….her boyfriend J.D.! I started to turn right around and leave the trio on the side of the road…..I truly struggled with that urge. But since I’d been duped already, I pulled over and got set up to tow the car back to Ft. Worth. I tasked J.D. to crawl under the Pinto and hook up the safety chains. He said he couldn’t a place to attached them, so I slid under the car and hooked them to the frame. I was double pissed now! We rode back in total silence, I think that they felt that I would go ape shit if they did otherwise. When I stopped by her mom’s house, I dropped Nadine and her daughter off first, she kissed me as she got out of the truck, with J.D. standing right beside the open door. Now, I knew she was insane. After they were out, J.D. jumped back in and had me drop him off two blocks from the shop, which was about 3 miles away, on Verbena street.
I could tell that he wanted to talk, by the apprehensive way he looked over at me, he built up his courage, he and asked me ” Why did you break up with Nadine. She obviously loves you, a lot more than she ever cared about me? Since she met you, that’s all she ever talks about! At first I thought she was saying all that to make me jealous, but now I know the she’s for real.” I looked at him and said ” She told you that I broke up with her? …She left me! … I came back to our apartment and found it empty!” He looked down at his feet and said ” She said you had left her two weeks before I helped her move her stuff out of that apartment, I even gave two of my friends twenty dollars a piece to help me load that stuff on a U-haul! I’ll be damned, sneaky ass heifer!” He told me all the things that went on from the time that she met me. He said,” She even wanted me to drive your car one day. I told her hell no, because I was sure that the car wasn’t hers, and she had already caused me to get in a fight over something else, that she lied about. I might have been born at night, but not last night! I ain’t going to have some nigga’ shoot me in the ass, just because she likes drama! I dropped him off at his house, and he left me his phone number, he said that we could stay in contact and know what she up to, and know the whole story. I took the wrecker back to the shop, I had started to rain so I left the car hooked up. The mechanic would unhook it in the morning.
I was about ten o’clock when the mechanic José called me to tell me that my car was ready, I was still sleepy from the night before so I asked him “What car?” José, who spoke more Spanish than English said “ The little amarillo, Ford Pinto. It’s ready, I put on a new starter, and charged the battery, the generator’s good, but the starter, she was all burned up… finito!”
When I called Nadine, I relayed what José had told me, I told her that it was going to cost 45 dollars. She said “I don’t have 45 dollars! “ I fought hard, not to counter with one of my classic snide remarks. I just said “What about your passenger? Maybe he could pay for it, and you could pay him back later? Or maybe get it from your mom?” I was enjoying watching her dangle on a string, but the amusement quickly died when she pretended to cry. I said “ That’s all I can do, I’m tapped out too! “ I hung up the phone and I called back to the shop, and told José that I’d be back down to pay for it, but he should call her and tell her you need the money anyway. I waited about three hours before I called her back, and told her to go down and pick her car up, I told her that I borrowed some money and paid for it. She never knew that I paid for it straight out of my pocket, and that was the way I got my money back!
Next time on “As the Ghetto Turns” Watch as Nadine’s mother’s attempt at duplicity, in the final chapter of “The Torture Chamber of Nadine Henderson”
When enough, is too damn much!
I happened across this video researching another rant. I immediately set this aside, to give it the attention it deserved.
We once had a dog that did this very same thing. We got her fixed. But Mr. and Mrs. Taxpayer will have to foot the bill for this human dog and her human “pups” for a grand total of 300 years. That’s estimating 20 years per child, or 15 x 20= 300! That’s only if they don’t go to prison, a mental health facility, or adult day care facility at a young age. Don’t we have the right to turn off the faucet???
What do you say?
“AS THE GHETTO TURNS”
While commenting on a new friend’s blog,
Marital ‘Unbliss’ – ‘See finish’ or Apathy
I was inspired to write about my experiences with a young lady. Nadine schooled me in the art of love and romance, with such speed and skill like I’d ever seen. This is the pilot episode of the newly created “AS THE GHETTO TURNS”. Enjoy!
Season 1 Episode I —” The Torture Chamber of Nadine Henderson ”
©2013 volcanosunsetpress
I met Nadine after I first moved to Fort Worth, at a dive of a bar off Rosedale Street. She was short, slender and pregnant, ( she was not showing yet) and we hit it off right away. I had a friend that I’d met on the job, a guy by the name of Johnny B. He was ten years older than me, but he was good company and a good mentor. Johnny and I were out bar hopping where we met Nadine and another lady. We talked and danced until late that night and Johnny left the club with his new friend to parts unknown. Nadine was riding with her, and asked me if I’d drop her off at mother’s house when I left the club. I said okay and we blew that dive. We went by a restaurant called Drake’s and ate, then instead of going home, we rode all around “Cowtown” until the wee hours of the morning. (Unleaded was only 80 cents a gallon back then!) I dropped her off at her mother’s place and we made a date to see each other again soon. The next workday, I saw Johnny and he asked me how things went Nadine. He listened closely, then said that it would be wise to watch my step with Nadine. He didn’t know her personally, but he felt that something was little off about her. I heard him, but I didn’t really hear him.
Over the next few weeks, we (I) fell in love. She worked in the Hospitality Room for a large hotel in Fort worth, and lived in a duplex apartment. She had a six-year-old daughter, and was two weeks pregnant by a guy named J.D. . She complained that they were broken up, (Warning alarms going off!) and that he wouldn’t go away. At the time, I was living in the house with my older brother and his wife, and trying to find a place of my own. She suggested that we move in together, (Warning alarms going off! Red lights flashing!) and set up house. We found a nice apartment off East Hattie Street and everything went swimmingly, or so I thought. After we were together two and a half months, she did her signature “Bust a move” act on me. We made love that previous night and she got up and made breakfast for me that next morning. Something that she had never done, I worked in a gravel pit, and had to be in line to get my truck loaded at 5A.M. (No Fred Flintstone jokes please!) I had to be at the job site by seven, over in Dallas. If you got caught in the rush hour traffic, you were screwed. My truck was kept over in Stop Six, in our family’s truck yard. So I had to leave the house at 4 A.M.. She kissed me and said “I love you and have a good day!” as I left that morning. I felt something was off, as I drove off in her beat-up 72′ Pinto while she kept my new Cadillac Seville, because it had air conditioning and she was with child, during the summer.
I made record runs that day, and I was driving by our apartment around 2P.M. that afternoon. I thought I’d drop in and grab a Coke and a sandwich. I parked on the street, and seeing that she wasn’t home, used my key to unlock the front door. It’s funny that you notice the most minute sounds when something is different. When I put the key in the lock, and turned the knob, there was a strange echo, a hollow sound. I went in and saw that every stitch of our rent-to-own furniture was gone… All of the clothing was gone… All the food was gone….. The utilities were all off, and the apartment was rent ready except for the missing light bulbs, even the one in refrigerator was gone!
I was like a runaway locomotive by the time I got to her mom’s house. Mrs. Henderson said he could hear my truck coming a mile away. There is a device on heavy diesel trucks called a Jake Brake (short for Jacobsen Engine Brake, it uses the engine exhaust to slow the vehicle down) it causes a rattle of a sorts, when you down shift suddenly. She said she could tell it was me, just by the intensity of the engine. She said that Nadine knew that I was going to get upset, and she was afraid that I might hit her. Mrs. Henderson said that all my things were in her garage and my car is in the back. After I went and took my dump-truck back to the yard, and brought her little struggle buggy of a car back to her mom’s house. Mrs. Henderson and I talked at length that evening. She said that she told Nadine that she was making a mistake, but Nadine was so hard-headed and she wouldn’t listen. After our conversation, I slinked away, with what was left of my dignity and went back and told Johnny he was right. I even talked to Nadine later that week, and I wished her well. I didn’t hear anything from here until a week before the busted T-tops incident. She called my dispatcher and left a message, saying that she had found my Converse shoes amidst her things, and I could come over and get them. This was about the time that name-brand shoes had started to get expensive. The Converse shoes she was talking about, were a little over a hundred bucks, and I wanted them back. When I knocked on the door of her new apartment, ( mistake number three, returning calls that lead to obvious traps) she answered and had me wait a couple of minutes while she retrieved them. She gave me the shoes, while asking how I was doing, I said that I was doing well, and turned back toward my car. She came outside and grabbed an old axe handle that she kept for stray dogs, she was terrified of dogs, in any size they came in. I thought nothing of it, and continued toward my car, stopping only to look at my new Jheri Curls in my car’s tinted window.
As I was getting into my car, she said “We need to talk about us! I wanted to know if we are going to get back together again? I realize that I made a mistake, and I’m still in love with you. ” Now, I still had feelings for her too, but leaving me in that empty apartment sealed the deal for me. As far as I was concerned, WE WERE DONE. I said ” You have already made your decision, and I don’t see anything else left to talked about.” (mistake number four, refusing the keep the argument going, at least until you out of her striking range) She stood there until I put the car into reverse and started to back out, then with a WHAM! came the axe handle through my T-top, showering my newly conditioned locks with tempered glass. For a moment, it seemed to rain glass out of the cloudless summer sky. I slammed the car into park, and caught her in the twenty steps to her front door, stopping only to retrieve the axe handle from the ground, where she threw it. I watched her cringe and cover her head as I caught her by the arm. She was in shock when I threw the stick down, and walked away. After I brushed the glass from my seat, I drove away with her yelling her best ghetto rat obscenities she could throw at me, complete with the ghetto head shake. That was the first time that realized that she believed that if a man doesn’t hit her, then in her mind, he doesn’t love her. I’ll tell you how I came to that conclusion in another episode. Anyway, I drove to a phone booth and called the police. As I sat there waiting for the cops to come, I asked myself “What was I thinking that was I going to do with that stick, when I caught with up six month pregnant, 110 pound Nadine Henderson?”
Join us this time next week for further updates on “AS THE GHETTO TURNS!’
TO BE CONTINUED………
Through the Looking Glass 