Friday, January 28, 2011

(excerpt 10) Prophecy of a Gypsy Girl

Prophecy of a Gypsy Girl
Basic training was a joy to me. It was designed to train the mind into taking orders and strengthen the body to go beyond its threshold of pain. I loved the challenge of pushing my body as far as it could go and beyond. Military life suited me just fine. It sharpened me up like one of my grandfather’s deadly steak knives.
I was beginning to embrace a measure of freedom now from my depressed uncertainty, from the Negro drama of college and the high blood pressure of corporate America. The military looked like a perfect vehicle for me to work the full extent of my magic. Basic training put me in a high where my physical body was humming with the same intense vitality as my mind. I was under no delusion of patriotism though.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

(excerpt 9) Quilted Genealogy, A New Constellation

Quilted Genealogy, A New Constellation
Cryptographic hieroglyphics: computers speaking in tongues – a multiplex of information. Words are numbers are symbols are signals.
As psychoanalysis strips away layer after layer of ones’ pysche until the real you is laid bare, signal analysis unravels layer upon layer of information, purposely encoded to obscure its core, its secrets.
I would be trained in radio telemetry, signal analysis and wave propagation. How appropriate! My heart’s desire was to strip myself bare of all artifice, until the genesis of me, that voice of the soul that loves me, is all there is of me. To strip away all the bullshit until I am tabla rasa, a clean slate, a clear mirror, free of dust.
Transmitting and receiving radio transmissions is a facsimile of the process of mental telepathy. So why not learn the art and science of radio telemetry which is akin to the art and science of the mind. Why not uncover the secrets of the world? Why not listening in on the secrets of nations, governments, all the power players on behalf of the biggest power player – America?

Tuesday, January 25, 2011


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(ponyo excerpt 8) MERITOCRACY

Crystal Roberts just shook her head.
Around that time General Electric began cracking its doors a little for Negroes to elevate above custodian status. One of the executives clued Mister Lushus in who, in turn, clued me in.
I went up there and completed a battery of tests. As always I aced it. The hiring officer was this Northern cat, Allen Goldberg. Everything about me, my dress, my verbiage, my background, my attitude, just bedazzled him.
Goldberg made me an offer that day. I would be the first Negro in upper management. Shall I do a little buckdance for you?
The money was good and the work was lite. I bought a sparkling white 1957 Chevrolet. Six months down the pipe I go to the doctor for a routine checkup. I’m diagnosed with high blood pressure.
High blood pressure? I’m twenty-two years old, in tip-top shape. What the hell am I doing with high-blood pressure?
The doctor asked me if I’d made any major life changes recently, if I’d been doing anything different. Nothing, except maybe my new position at General Electric. My intuition kicked me in the ribs.
If this job has given me high blood pressure after six months, I’ll be dead by twenty-five. This is the advancement we’re marching for?
Michael Thomas came down for a visit. He was facing a similar dilemma.
“College is bullshit.” “So what you gonna do Bo?” “I don’t know. If you catch something clue me in.” “If you catch something clue me in!” I will.
MT, being very light-skinned, could easily cloak himself into the confidence of white folks, especially with his affable personality. I’ve always admired him because he could have gone his entire life as a white man but never did. Anyway, he struck up a conversation with this military man from Arlington outside a museum.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

(exerpt 7) Elixir: Love

Elixir: Love
June Donahue was my first major love affair. Her father was a juvenile court judge in West Virginia. The Donahue name easily tipped the scales of influence and prestige in the state of West Virginia.
June was a vision of ultra-feminine mystique. Like a young starlet in the glossy pages of Vogue or like Elizabeth Taylor in National Velvet, she possessed an equestrian refinement that would easily magnetize even the queers at college. She was a young socialite, a debutante, a miss this and a miss that.
She’d host elegant affairs at the home of her father, the judge. She had a younger, equally adorable sister.
C.J. scored an invitation to one of her spring socials and invited a few friends to accompany him. Always open for adventure I decided to go.
We drove into a stately, gated mansion encompassed on all sides by lustrous automobiles of status.
Being the swashbuckler, I stepped in all continental swagger, like a young Errol Flynn. I wore a tan turtleneck, a mahogany blazer, black pants, chestnut shoes and cap. I sat down to assess any prospects and there she was, this slender, dark cinnamon diamond with huge doe eyes. She wore a low-cut cucumber-green gown, which offered a glimpse of two delightfully plump breasts, her accouterments translucent enough to invite your eyes down the curvature of her body - the intelligent arch of her behind, the subtle sway of her hips. We made eye contact and the earth ceased to revolve.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Ponyo (excerpt 6) Higher Education?

Higher Education?

Michael Thomas and I graduated high school at the top of our class. MT scored a full college scholarship, academic and athletic. We were linked by an umbilical cord of intuition, sharing an entirely freelance view of the world.
We despised religion, particularly the Jim Crow Christianity mumbo- jumbo. The civil rights movement was completely insulting to our sense of self. Why would I permit someone to beat me upside the head in a march? Why would I sit down and demand to be served in a filthy restaurant or sit on a nasty toilet?
We considered ourselves superior to white people. I had my own toilet and I could go to the store and buy my own food to cook in my own kitchen. The civil rights agenda of integration was complete foolishness to me. The burgeoning “black power” movement was still very abstract, but we totally agreed with the “kill my dog, slay your cat” philosophy. Damn right.
But in the main nothing was a challenge for us, nothing was hip enough. We considered ourselves the masters of it all, probably the sentiment of most twenty-year olds.
Going into college my self-confidence verged on ego mania. New York City had sharpened all my life skills, my power with women, and my street knowledge.
I was a dashing aristocratic cat. I was walking in my grandfather’s footsteps, always immaculately dressed and smelling like paradise. I styled myself as the swashbuckler who miraculously showed up and took charge, vanquished the evildoers and ran off with the girl. College was a hell of a disappointment.
My parents businesses were taking off so I could go to any school I wanted. I chose a historically Black college in the state of West Virginia.
Integration was all the rage, but this college was integrated in reverse. White teachers and students had been slowly migrating there for years. As a result, the accreditation standards were far above the standards of other “Negro” schools, it had quite a prestigious reputation.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Peace & Blessings From Bahia!


Everything is straight where we dwell @.
Just wanted to let everyone know that and also to remind you all that we are creators of our own reality!
This is not a time of suffering or the End for us!
This is a time of Change.  We are rising up!  We are Lords and its time to start manifesting our desires and dreams.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

(excerpt 5) Psycho-Neurosis of Slavery

Psycho-Neurosis of Slavery
No sugar, no salt, no alcohol, just rice. Brown rice that is.
There is a wisdom tradition that adheres to a diet centered on brown rice. Apparently the brown rice provides all the nutrients and amino acids needed to bring the body back to a state of equilibrium.
Obviously, alcohol dulls sense perception and stunts electromagnetic receptivity, paling the chakras. Sugar is a straight up poison producing static in the subtle body, in one’s thinking, inhibiting Supreme Consciousness. Salt taints one’s bodily fluids producing a high acidity, again blocking the ability of the human to receive and transmit light.
Every cell of your body is a receiver. So the brown rice diet was part of an effort to cleanse and stimulate the human body, to reverse the atrophy.
As there is a bleaching process turning brown rice into white rice, brown sugar into white sugar, and a fermentation process to produce liquor, there was a process which turned noble, proud Africans captured during slavery into a Negro, a necro, a zombie with no will of his or her own.
Lynching, quartering, tar and feathering, all the sadistic torture techniques were just bulwarks to enforce the damage done. Thus producing the psycho-neurosis of slavery: deeply embedded morays, habits, ways of thinking, acting, reacting and not acting at all cemented firmly into the collective Black American psyche still evident today.
One of the many outgrowths of the psycho-neurosis of slavery is a matriarchal society among Black folks.
Black men were totally demasculinized, physically and psychologically; our innate masculinity robbed. The X and Y chromosomes functioning only biologically.

Monday, January 3, 2011

Elixr of Ponyo (excerpt 4) New Pleasures, New Excitement

New Pleasures, New Excitement
New York City has always been a playground for the biggest egos. Mine could climb the Empire State and eat airplanes with a fine Harlem debutante in my arms.
Mister Lushus first exposed me to the wonders of the city as a youngster. In those delectable summers, Michael Thomas and I would take the train into Grand Central Station. The whole world would seemingly be there; buzzing, busy little bees.
At LaGuardia Airport we’d watch the planes take off, imagining ourselves landing in some exotic locale wet for adventure. I’d even accompany MT to the symphony where he’d play air conductor to Beethoven’s bravery or Mozart’s magnificence and wake me when it was over. Not to mention Coney Island where we’d gorge on the world’s best Rueben sandwiches and Nathan’s Hot-dogs.
Like a bashful baby-sitter, New York turned into a scandalous temptress in our teenage years, ready to give us new pleasures, new excitement.

Sunday, January 2, 2011


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