"I Went To Jail Last Night"
Current mood: artistic
Category: Life

I live in one of the most violent cities in the world. A place where you'll find teenagers, hyped on drugs, oblivious to the world or people around them. They kill with callous disregard. To them, the neighborhood is filled with potential clients - crack and heroin addicts, not friends: 'Every ni#*er wants to get high,' they say, so what's the harm?

Murder is business, or you can get killed because of a diss, a slight - for looking at someone's girl, or for just being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I went to jail/prison last night, on a visit to see a play written by an 'Ex Baller' drug dealer, hussler. I've been in jails before, filming, interviewing prisoners - teenage murderers to be specific. I was surround by them.

I looked each one of them in the eyes as we spoke. Six out of the seven teens were freekin' children with thrilled, excited expressions on their sweet little faces - oh how exciting to be interviewed by a TV producer. 'Hey Warden! Can we get some snacks?' I cracked. We got em.

The 'Kids' were happy - spilled their guts.

One broken home after another. Mothers on crack, fucking every thing that walks, 3-4 children - on wellfare - 12 year-olds having to go out and make a living to support his brothers and sisters - his mom's drug addiction.

I have a daughter - it made me want to cry.

It made me want to friggen' cry, because in-spite of having committed terrible crimes - murder - they were still, in fact, children!

But the one, oh yeah... he was a stone-cold, rock of a young man, who could not look me in the eyes, and dared me with a single glance, to not even try.

He hadn't learned to integrate his feelings of regret, with heart, mind, and spirit yet, I guess. He had two years left on a 25, with 20 suspended because he was a child, and I got the feeling that when he got out, he was right back to banging - cause that is all he has ever known - in this life.

Last night at the prison, the men were older. The play was amazing. 15 - 20 inmates participated in it. The message was clear, he shouda' listened to his momma years ago, when she told him to 'leave that stuff alone!'

It ends with the guy actually crying - sobbing. Hey, I thought it wasn't supposed to be cool to cry - in jail. Glancing around the room at some of the other prisoners, there were more than a few tears.

These guys were murderers, bad check writers, thieves, and to be honest, appeared as normal as the guy sitting next to you at work. LOL! As normal as that may be.

I didn't know what to expect - jail - but the sight of these men, the play, made me cry as well. They made mistakes for whatever reasons - whatever the mistake.

In this world we cage men and women like animals.

I am an expert at physiognomy - the face (of humans) reveals the true spirit.

There wasn't a single piece of negative energy in that space where the play took place - the chapel. I felt no fear at any time in the jail, amongst the prisoners.

This morning, I opened the Drudgereport - the first two faces I saw, were Condoleezza's and P. Bush. First reaction - oh my God, they each had the, 'Steeling-up, because we're gonna do something crazy looks,' firmly set upon their faces.

They were determined in stride, and presence. What is to be done, has been done, or just a phone call away. I don't channel - I just know. First impressions in physiognomy = truth.

A prison or two full of murderers, thieves, liars, and cheats - petty crimes at best, compared to what those two and a few of their friends, have been up to.

They're trying to suck the air right out of us, but you know what? Even in jail, prisoners are feeling the love, basking in the Christ Love, pouring into every sub-atomic particle of the Divine 3D. 

7:11 AM - 8 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

The Transformation
Category: Life

I lived in an ashram during the year of the cicada, 1987.

Something about witnessing life, emerging from the ground on a
mission, on schedule – in tune with the harmonics of the planet, to
fine-tune the harmonics of the planet. It starts a process that will
change the way we think, forever.

Hundreds of thousands of bugs, (Cicada) emerging, crawling, and
climbing until all movement ceases and the transformation is
completed.

Winged creatures, bourn for a specific purpose, for the simplicity of
their vibration – their presence into this world – gorging,
secreting, getting it on! And yes - dying to begin the waiting game
all over again.

And the thousands of empty shells, split right up the back, left
behind, on door frame and tree, reminders to the rest of us how
amazing Creation can be.

If a bug is so damn important to the survival of our Mother Earth
every 17 years, for just a couple days, then imagine how important
each one of us is. And how much more damage, or good we can do in our
lifetimes.

Everywhere you look, we see the cycles of life, death and life again.
It is our time now - our time to break the cycle. It’s time to live
as completely excellent "chips off the ol’ shoulder" of our Creator –
the Source of all life and light and love, and the giver of the one
undeniable gift that can only come from the Creator - free will.

I am an individualized spark of the Creator, having an experience in
physicality. Knowing this, and acting accordingly is the key to
transmuting anything into light.

The fact that the history of humankind, is one long tale about how
others have worked real hard to deny us from expressing our freewill,
testifies to the validity of freewill as something precious.

Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m done climbing. My back is
itching, so that either means I’m about to break out into a new/old
kind of being, or I have a rash.

I feel new. Soiled, (the residue of the journey) but new. Ha!

How about you?

7:11 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

The "Magic Negro" Cometh
Current mood: determined
Category: Life

Just finished watching a video compilation featuring six or seven women, fainting, in the presence of Barack Obama. Yes, fainting! The last time I saw this kind of behavior from women, they were fawning over Elvis and the Beatles.

But we must say kudos to the much maligned, David Ehrenstein my friends, because he prophesized correctly, about the coming of a man who would surpass even the accomplishments of the affore mentioned icons of modern culture.

Folks, he's none other than Barack Obama, the legendary "Magic Negro".

Obama the 'Magic Negro'
The Illinois senator lends himself to white America's idealized, less-than-real black man.
By David Ehrenstein, L.A.-based DAVID EHRENSTEIN writes about Hollywood and politics.

March 19, 2007
As The Magic Negro is a figure of postmodern folk culture, coined by snarky 20th century sociologists, to explain a cultural figure who emerged in the wake of Brown vs. Board of Education. "He has no past, he simply appears one day to help the white protagonist," reads the description on Wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magical_Negro .

He's there to assuage white "guilt" (i.e., the minimal discomfort they
feel) over the role of slavery and racial segregation in American
history, while replacing stereotypes of a dangerous, highly
sexualized black man with a benign figure for whom interracial
sexual congress holds no interest.


Bottom line, what we have here are white women falling over - fainting, just being in the presence of this "Magic Negro". Yes he speaks of hope and change, but more important, he arrives a time when the entire world's collective consciousness seems to shout out for change.

But this behavior also answers the 500 year old question, "Why it was necessary to enslave the Negro?" Think about it; if just one "Magic Negro" can do so much damage to so many white women, to the point of fainting, not to mention a field of white men running for president, and the supposed fait de complete Democratic nominee, Hillary Clinton, then a whole race of free "Magic Negroes" running around, making white women faint, shouting out, "Oh my Magic Negro!" would have ended life as they knew it in America.

With this in mind, I implore all Black men in America to imagine, just for a moment, claiming your own Magic. We do this by challenging ourselves to succeed in our quest for personal excellence of character. I say you can't lead without it.

I don't know the man, but Barack seems to have it. We'll find out.

Whether he wins or not, Barack Obama has indeed performed magic, bringing back the one thing so crucial to a democracy, (even if it's only a representative democracy) he brought back the passion for choice, and a crystal clear vision of change.

7:11 PM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

"Embraced By The Divine"
Category: Religion and Philosophy

I feel, see, interact with and manifest the Love of the Divine...

The Mother, the compassion, the zeal for life and knowledge

I know you feel it too.

And we are not afraid.

I am not afraid to state the obvious - that we are God!

Each an individualized peice of the whole, of the Creator

In us, is us, and we are simply trying our best to keep up

enjoy the ride. 2008 will manifest your dreams

In the mean time, let us all seek perfection in one thing

Loving one another - how we manifest the Creator in us.

Feel the Love, feel the Creator, feel the sweet embrace

Lie down on the ground, embrace the earth

our Mother, the Love of God, the Christ. 

7:47 PM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

"We Are Creating Life"
Current mood: awake
Category: Life

Yes, it looks like a computer screen, touch it... it seems real. Yet beyond it, inside computer screens there are a multitude of wires, and, things, and what-chama-gadgets capable of making computers run, and do stuff.

But you have to plug it into the power first - the juice man! From the wall, to the computer. That's what we know. Plug this end, into the thing on the wall, and the other end, to my out dated (I lust for the MacBook Pro 17 in 2.4GHz... ah!), Power Mac G4. Who wouldn't want Leopard power?

And there's a phone cord sticking out of the back of our computers going right into the phone jack - DSL, cause it's fast man! Because we want speed at the touch of a finger tip... POW! Logged on, and now I'm checking my Email, "What was that password... I just changed it... no that's my myspace password... uh, my Gmail, Yahoo, Big Gazookas or one of MILLION other passwords, because I'm always joining something!"

Anyway… I'm finally logged in, and this friend says hi, and this one is melting down, and the other wants to tell me about his date last night, with the hot redhead, and how they stopped by a friends' apartment for drinks in the middle of the night - and walked right in on a orgy. An orgy!? I ask, just as I'm about to get the details, my cell phone rings.

It's my mom, "Do you need towels? I just realized I have a mountain of towels. You want some towels?" Nope, I don't need towels, mom. But thanks for asking. How are you? "Oh, did you see that idiot turn down $350 thousand dollars last night on Deal or No Deal? Fool wound up with 50 dollars..."

By the time I'm back to the orgy story, it just wasn't the same. But my mom is doing great.

Then it's on to my various blogs, messages, replies, and directives, Emails, etc.

Think about what we're creating here. Bits and pieces of information are flowing, "Out there" somewhere. You just gotta know that somewhere, "Out there" a central system is taking in everything! Even if it's not something directly controlled by men, but in some part of a really big computer system, or a network of them originally designed to retrieve certain information.

Collecting everything. Every little piece of information about everything being discussed, questions asked, searches, purchases, Emails, B-mails, C-mails to Z-mails. Every piece of information on every single computer operating on the Entire planet. All knowledge, posted, posited, spoken, typed, every telephone conversation, information uploaded, downloaded...

…from the very first stroke of a key, on the very first computer to ever be plugged into the net, until this very second with these words I'm typing, right this second.

If you logged onto the Internet just once, every piece of information on your computer was retrieved, and it only took 3 seconds.

Don't have the technology, you say? I have a Mac with a firewall you say? Please, the scenario I just posited – men much smarter and wealthier than I made it their goal ten years before the very first desktop computer was ever conceived.

Scary? Naw. I don't see it as a completely sinister arrangement. I mean, it's all about who's controlling the information and what they're doing with it that counts.

Think about it, somewhere - something or someone has all the knowledge about all the humans they're interested in knowing about. The others, who don't log in, or don't speak on phones, are either rebels, old, or pretty much non-existent - expendable.

So we have created a living Super-computer deity that holds all the knowledge about anyone, or anything, who you gotta know is now becoming sentient. Sentient because we're looking at a system, albeit electronic in nature, that is processing information at speeds that surpass anything humanly possible.

So therefore it's operating ahead of us, gathering data we might need at any moment. To answer all our questions. To show us stuff. To tempt us.

Do you see, it knows what we want, because we taught it well. And we make our creation stronger each day, by uploading pieces of ourselves into the ethers, our thought processes - how we arrive at decisions, how we solve disputes, how we react to winning and loosing, because it's all there, intimate details of our lives, loves, successes, and failures.

In the private of our rooms, we manifest words and meanings onto the luminescent screen, our portal to somewhere. Each of us giving a part of ourselves, so that another life can be formed, "Out there" who get's us what we need.

At the touch of a button. Fast!

7:11 PM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

The Other Side of A Fire Storm
Current mood: contemplative
Category: Life

In this Western civilization we call the U.S.A., we have, for all practical purposes expunged from our core consciousness, the reality that our earth is a living being, a spirit - our Mother Earth.

Yes, in moments of enlightenment, we may wax philosophic about the ways of nature, and love, and the Source of the ALL. But when disasters come our way, we tend to become more 3D in our response, as apposed to trying to understand the other side of every tragedy, in this case, what our Mother earth is telling us.

Look, I'm a tree hugger, ok? I talk to them, and to the animals, the elements, and my body. When I sit on the ground meditating, I feel the energy of the elementals, and the spirit of our Mother surging through me. I don't believe I'm all that special either; every living entity is designed to feel the same thing. I just choose to listen.

This fire in California? A million people displaced, and only 2 dead? One of the big reasons so few lives were lost, was because of the systems set up by local governments to warn people, giving them enough time to grab essentials, and find shelter. So we owe a lot to the planning of human beings, foreseeing future disasters.

It's no secret that for hundreds of years, spiritualist, prophets, ascended masters, psychics, seismologists, and geologist alike have warned of an impending disaster of "biblical" proportions to befall the state of California, as it relates to the San Andreas fault - southern California could in fact, become separated from the rest of the continent.

This fire feels like a warning, of a greater disaster. A million people displaced, burned out, have a choice - a choice of where to live next.

Whatever the cause of this fire, even if it's discovered an arsonist started it, the timing - the wind, 5 years before the end of the great cycle of 26,000 years?

The earth spirit is going through the same changes we are going through. And when the earth goes through changes tectonic plates move, volcanoes erupt, and conveyor belts that move the ocean change directions, or slow down. Earth changes cause people to run for cover.

It's not evil, it has nothing to do with the end of the world, it's not about punishing humanity, it's just a fact that the earth moves and grooves, and fault lines are designed as release valves for surface changes.

The Earth spirit speaks to us telepathically, energetically. We are made of earth, minerals, water, fire, crystals, air - we are designed to hear our Mother Earth directly. This doesn't take away from, or impose upon whatever beliefs we have, recognizing that we don't have to kill the spirit of our Mother earth in our hearts, to believe in a higher deity.

And this isn't a doomsday Blog - in fact, this is the ultimate positive assertion - viewing the great destruction of property, Santa Anna wind whipped flames; an arsonist, or a lightening strike as a wake-up call to get the hell out of California with your life, before it's too late! The best time to get out, is when you're homeless.

The beginning of the current Great Cycle was marked by the sinking of Atlantis and Lemuria (Mu), and now we're at the beginning of a new Great Cycle - another 26,000 years.

We should listen to our Mother's warnings, because there is no greater love than that of a mother for her children.

7:11 PM - 8 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

MIND BLOWING (Amazing!)
Current mood: Grooooooovy
Category: Grooooooovy Life

Here's something I ran across recently that completely blew me away! If you approach it with an open mind, I beleive you too will be blow away. Because no matter how improbable it may seem, considering who is actually supposed to be speaking... here, I'll show you what I mean. Read this intro:

"Sharula Dux is a princess of the underground city of Telos. Telos is situated beneath Mt. Shasta in northern California. The ancient continent of Lemuria (Mu) relocated 25,000 of its inhabitants to Telos just prior to the destruction and sinking of the continent of Mu which transpired as a direct result of the Antlantean-Lemurian conflict nearly 12,000 years ago."

Okay, so maybe you're thinking, this guy Herman is out there man; "A princess of where?" I won't blame you.

But here's the thing. You're gonna read it, and if you really think about it, chances are, it's going to make a whole hell-of a lot of sense to you. And when that happens, my friends, you will never see the world the same way again. Why? because you're gonna realize that you already knew this - all your life. But you just didn't have the vocabulary for it.

Now, here it is....

"In Telos, people don't believe they're going to grow old and die. They simply don't believe it. People just know that they're going to live as long as they choose, then they will either choose to drop their body, if they feel that they still have lessons to do and reincarnate again, or they will choose the path of ascension. One or the other. Some people make the decision in 600 years, some 300, others wait for 5,000, 10,000, whatever, but it's a choice that the human beings were designed to be able to make.

That is one of the most important elements of our culture that we want to see brought out. Human beings, as it is now, just about the time they start getting enough experience to really do something with their life, they've grown too old to do anything with it.

If those thoughts are eradicated, then people realizing that youth's not going to last ten years, or twenty years, but it's going to last hundreds or thousands of years, whatever they choose. That too brings out and eliminates the majority of the detrimental behavior in life. Many people feel "I'm only going to live once. I'm only going to be young a short period of time so I might as well wreak havoc now."

If they realize that if they choose they're going to be young for hundreds of years, or thousands of years, that form of behavior becomes totally unnecessary and people truly start growing and hanging onto their growth. And we are biologically absolutely no different than the people on the surface.

We have Indian children that were left on the mountain of Shasta" some hundreds of years ago. They're still living with us. They haven't grown old. They don't die because they were raised with the thought form that they're not going to. It's a thought that creates life or non-life, aging or youth-ing. It's to get past the thoughts, the beliefs that that is what is going to happen."

To read the whole story, go here, and be amazed...
http://tech.groups.yahoo.com/group/PAO_Connection/message/7517

With a bursting heart full of Love:))))

Herman

7:11 PM - 4 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

“10-items Or Less!”
Current mood: awake
Category: Writing and Poetry

So I'm shopping at the local grocery store the other day, wandering around, trying to decide whether I'm going to bake the rum raisin apple walnut cake, or a sweet sherry peach pie, when I noticed an elderly lady, and her adult aged daughter near by. They were noticeable because in the part of town I live in, which is called Highlandtown, known for it's crack whores and Hillbillies, when you see mothers and offspring together, often the kids are usually calling her all sorts of horrible names, and speaking to their mothers like dogs.

I'm serious. There's seems to be a general lack of respect for people these days, especially the elderly.

Besides, people in Highlandtown are usually an ornery bunch, and will curse you out for the slightest offense, as if they wake up in the morning looking to start trouble. And since the number of people murdered so far this year in Baltimore now stands at 200, often a simple argument can lead to getting shot or worse.

But back to the elderly woman and her daughter. What caught my eye about them WAS the manor in which they spoke to each other. The daughter was a lovely young lady in spirit, and you could tell how much she loved her mother by the tone of her voice, and the way she doted over her, and helped her pick items.

And the mother was an equally lovely woman, who had the sweetest face, with amazing rosy cheeks framed by silvery white hair. She had the physiognomy of one who has spent her life contented, and enjoying laughter.

It was just one of those moments, perhaps you've had a similar experience, when just observing the love between two strangers filled your heart with love, the joy of being alive, as a witness to such love.

At one point our paths actually crossed in the baking section, and the mother asked if I could retrieve a bottle of vanilla from a shelf that was too high for her to reach, which I did. And as I handed it to her, she thanked me over and over again, as did her daughter.

"You're such a nice man. Thank you so much," she said with a big smile.

"It was my pleasure. No problem," I replied.

"People are so mean around here - won't give a person the time of day. But I can tell, you have a good heart," she said, melting my heart even more.

"I could say the same about you," I replied, to which she smiled, and touched my hand as we parted ways.

I continued shopping around until I had about 6 - 8 items in my arms, and then headed for the cash register. As I approached the "10-Items" or less counter, I heard someone yelling, then saw the teller at the 10-items register waving her arms wildly, chastising of all people, the elderly lady and her daughter.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing and hearing. Drawing nearer, I heard the teller screaming,

"God damnit, I'm sick of you people! You got more then 10 items!"

To which the daughter replied, "No I don't, these are mine, and the rest are my mother's."

"And that adds up to seventeen items bitch!"

"Bitch?" I said, loud enough to be heard by the whole store. My blood was beginning to boil.

"But she's paying for her own..."

With that the teller began to walk away to get a manager, complaining the whole way, "I don't need to take this shit!"

Now the teller was clearly from one of the local Hillbilly enclaves. You could tell by the bleached blond hair, the rough mountain-girl exterior, the tattoos, the accent, and the mouth. Once she had alerted another employee that she needed a manager, she stormed back to the register, still talking smack to the two ladies, and that's when I lost it.

"Who the hell do you think you are, speaking to customers that way? Are you out of your damn mind?" I boomed.

She turned to me, looking at me as if I had just lost my own mind, with, "What business is it of yours? Shut up!"

"I'm making it my business, because by the end of this day, if you still have a job in this damn store, all kinds of hell is going to descend down upon this place, I can guarantee you that!"

At this point, the elderly lady turned to me, and said,

"Thank you! You tell her! Who does she think she is?"

"Crazy, is what she is!" I said.

"You shut up bitch! This ain't none of your business!"

"Well I'm making it my business! You don't speak to customers like that, especially customers old enough to be your mother."

Well that bitch ain't my mother, you bald headed muther-fucker!"

The mother, her daughter, and six other customers waiting in adjacent lines turned to me, their mouths dropped open, and in unison,

"Oh no she didn't!"

Next thing you know, the elderly woman is so outraged she begins to go after her - literally charging at the teller. I had to quickly move around in front of her, using my body to separate them, as she pointed her finger scolding the woman.

"If you're mother could hear that mouth of your's, she would slap you down child!"

Just then, the manager came rushing over to the counter in the midst of now, at least 8 customers talking at the same time, and a riot about to break out at any moment. We quickly told our stories, over the loud mouth objections of the teller, who was lying, saying she never called me a bald-headed muther-fucker. The manager had finally had enough and told the teller to wait in the office.

The manager then began to finish the checkout process of the two ladies, while apologizing over and over again, assuring us that we would never see that teller in the store again. And as it turned out, the two women paid for their purchases separately, and each had under the 10-item maximum.

Just before the ladies exited, the mother turned and gave me a big hug and thanked me for standing up for them.

"Well, I was really just protecting that teller," I joked "cause heaven knows what you would have done to her if you had gotten your hands on her."

She looked at me and smiled, then became reticent.

"What that child really needs... is a good hug," she said, to my surprise. "I'll bet her mother never gave her any."

7:11 AM - 11 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

"Two Bowie Knives!" Part 2
Current mood: awake
Category: Writing and Poetry

It's April fools day, several years after the bowie knife incident. I was married, and living in a two-bedroom apartment complex, located in an idyllic section near Baltimore called, Ten Hills. The buidings were nestled amidst rolling hills surrounding the entire complex with lush silver pines, live oaks, maple, magnolia, and poplar trees.

It was the kind of setting that could make you forget the ghetto was less than 3 miles to the east.

Our apartment was situated on the first floor, although because of the slopping landscape, our rear balcony was elevated about 5 feet off the ground.

Well, I was just waking up, lying in bed planning my day, when I heard a noise outside the bedroom window. It sounded like someone - a male voice, was mumbling out load as if arguing with himself. I figured one of my neighbors was out for a stroll, no big deal, so I just continued on with my thoughts.

After a few moments, I heard the same voice arguing with him self, but this time the conversation was being interrupted with strange animalistic grunting sounds, like the guy was in pain. Just then, a breeze rustled the curtains, and with it, came a foul odor from outside. Then it suddenly dawned on me that somebody was taking a crap outside of our bedroom window!

So I quickly jumped out of bed and found my pants and a shirt before heading towards the sliding doors, and stepping onto the balcony. I immediately searched to the left, in the direction of bedroom window, but saw nothing. A rustling sound startled me, and as I turned toward it, I saw the back of a man, wearing a white tee shirt and black jeans disappearing around the corner of the building.

Turning that particular corner would take one to the front of the apartment complex where the parking lot was situated. So I found my shoes, and then proceeded towards the front door. The whole time I'm thinking, "This guy has a lot of nerve taking a crap outside my window," and I was getting worked up to really give him a serious piece of my mind.

Standing on the bottom step of the main entrance to my building, I scanned the parking lot. To my left at 90%, was another building with two entrances, each with steps descending a pretty steep slope, graded away from the building.

Suddenly, I saw movement near the mailboxs located just inside the entrance to the building furthest away from me – about 50 yards. It was the guy! He was about 6 feet tall, stocky build, wearing the white tee shirt and black jeans, and he was pissing on the mailboxes!

For a moment I was completely stunned, "Who pisses on mailboxes?" As he finishes spraying to entire wall of mailboxes, I begin to step in his direction - he hadn't seen me yet. He zips up, and then calmly walks down the steps, and right up to a motorcycle parked in the lot. I had seen the guy who owned it a few times, and I knew this wasn't the guy. So of course my first thought was, "He's going to try and steal it."

At this point, I'm just about to yell something like "Hey you!" when I see the guy bend at the waist, wrap his arm around the gas tank section, and then stood up straight with the motorcycle under his arm like it was a frigin' loaf of bread.

The words, "Hey you," I choked them off in my throat, praying to God he hadn't noticed me, because after-all, he had just picked up a motorcycle. And as if that wasn't enough, he then proceeded to carry said motorcycle up the steps, without the slightest bit of strain or trouble. Once he reached the top, he put it down and then rolled it around the side of the building and was gone.

Ok, now imagine you're a 911 operator, it's April Fools day, and you're getting this call from me, describing a guy who was arguing with himself, who then took a crap under my window, pissed on a wall of mailboxes, picked up a motorcycle with one arm, climbed a set of steps with it, and then disappearing into the woods?

My wife didn't believe me either.

When the police finally showed up, knocking at my door 40 minutes later, they did so because the guy, whose motorcycle had been stolen called them. Yeah, I told them the story, and by the looks on their faces, it was clear that neither they, nor the guy who owned the bike believed me.

"Do you know how strong a man has to be to pick up 1200cc motorcycle?" the owner asked me. "Why didn't you try to stop him?" the idiot cop chimed in. "Uh, because he picked up a 1200cc motorcycle, with one arm," I replied.

Later that day, I had some laundry to do. The laundry room was located just below our apartment. If you were standing at the washer, just above it are a group of windows that give you a view of the woods, framed by the ground, and bottom of our balcony.

The smell of excrement was really strong in the laundry room, wafting in through those windows. Standing on my tiptoes looking out, I could see a big ol' pile of human crap resting in the grass. The motorcycle thief must have been under there.

Then my eye caught the sight of something shinny in the grass about 12 inches from that disgusting mound of human waste. Quickly I bolted from the laundry room to make my way to the rear of the building. Once there, I had to stoop down low to get to the spot, and that's when I saw it – a very large and shinny bowie knife, lying on the ground near the pile of shit.

7:11 PM - 4 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

"Two Bowie Knives!"
Current mood: awake
Category: Writing and Poetry

A few years ago, I'm driving in the pouring rain, at night, along a dark wynding road, in a place called Glen Burnie, Maryland - formerly known as the redneck capital of the universe.

So I'm driving, and the rain is a-poundin' on my windshield, while the wipers sloshed great crests of water back and forth, making it practically impossible to see a damn thing.

Suddenly, my headlights caught a glimpse of something directly ahead - briefly, but assuredly, I knew that I seen perhaps, a shadow. Reaching forward to wipe the condensation from the interior windshield, there it was again - a shadow... no, it was a man hunched over against the rain, creeping along the side of the road.

Without giving it a second thought, I stopped the car right beside him, and then beckoned him into the car, and out of the rain. He hesitated for a moment; I couldn't really see his face, because he wore a soaking wet, hooded sweatshirt that was pulled up over his head.

With his head still bent over, he slowly entered the car. Just as he was about to shut the door, I felt a sickening, creepy felling begin to roil in my guts, and my mind was screaming, "You just made a big mistake!"

You've had that feeling before, right? You can taste it - the chemicals released by the brain, as they seep through your sinuses, down to your tongue, stiring the queasiness in your stomach, as every hair on your arms is standing on end...? I had it all. And it surged, when I heard the car door slam.

"What have I done?" I kept asking myself in my mind. I could picture the robot from "Lost In Space" flailing it's arms shouting, "Danger Will Robinson, danger!" So I just put my foot on the gas, eager to get somewhere, and get this guy out of my car, because the vibes were all wrong.

As we pulled away I could now see his profile, staring straight ahead, as though I wasn't even there with drops of water falling on his face from the rain-soaked hood of his sweatshirt. He had sharp features - nose, cheeks, chin, but his mouth drooped like he spent most of his life being sad, or insouciant.

"Uh, where you headed?" I stammered, trying to appear calm as if everything was normal.

Instead of answering me, he began playing with a dribble of spit, dangling from his lower lip. And it wasn't like regular spit, it seemed thicker, because he could stretch it downward between his thumb and forefinger and then reach up again to his lips, and grab another dripplet without loosing the first.

Of course, I'm seeing all of this from the corner of my right eye and quietly freaking out, because for one, I couldn't believe what I was seeing, and two, I was coming to the realization that he was sitting there, contemplating how he was going to take me out. Or at least that's what my creative mind was telling me. But he didn't say a word.

"Hey, man, where you going?" I asked, taking it up a notch.

Hand up, grab some spit, pull it down, roll it between his fingers, staring straight ahead, water dripping on his forehead, the rain pounding on the windshield, my heart pounding louder... he says nothing. I'm like a ghost to him.

Suddenly the head turns, and he looks at me with a blank expression - dead, black eyes. Says nothing, just staring. I hit the breaks. He lurches forward.

"Man, this is as far as I can take you. You gotta get out," I said, trying to sound as authoritative as I could, seeing that I was employing a death clinch of my sphincter, trying to keep from shitting in my pants. But he's still staring at me, with dribbles of spit running down his lower lips like some frigin' over sized baby. And I don't see where his right hand is. And he's looking at me as if I had just ruined his night.

"Come on man, sorry, but you have to get out. I can't take you any further!" I insisted.

After perhaps another 5 to 10 seconds, I hear the latch for the door handle, and the door popped opened. I'll never forget the framing - the dark figure, the black night, and a wall of silvery streaks crashing onto the pavement. He slid from the car, stopped for a moment, turned back to the car, but I didn't wait.

I put my foot on the gas, and bolted, using the force of the acceleration to close the passenger side door. Looking in my rearview mirror, I couldn't see a thing but rain and blackness. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. Al the while my mind is reeling, repeating over and over again, "What the fuck? What the fuck?"

As I approached the first street light I had seen for at least a mile, the light reflected off something on the passenger seat. I looked... "What the...," the breaks screeched against the rain drenched pavement.

There on the seat, was the biggest, most dangerous looking bowie knife I had ever seen in my life, with a mother of pearl handle.


Copyright 2007 Herman William

Part 2 coming.

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