"A Touch of Genocide, We killed In Ocean City."

A swarm of bees showed at my apartment complex. I found it amazing to watch them. I found it such a unique sight I told my neighbor. Bad idea. The first thing they do is call someone to come over and response is to kill them. It seems there was enough poison from last year to kill this years swarm. With a shortage of honey bees I can't see how people think its okay to kill them, but that seems to be the twisted thinking of American Suburbia. I guess after the boy and the clam story I should know better. Every time I share something unique to people it might be death sentance.  2nd edition, My bad. its my birthday spent it alone. no excuse. THOR oh and I'm 43.

“A Boy and a Clam”

     This is a story about a nine year old boy who grew up on the East Coast and was visiting the beach on Ocean City Maryland. Ocean City is the closest beach resort to the Washington D.C. area, it is fourteen miles long and four miles at it’s widest, and during the height of the summer there maybe up to a million people vacationing at one time. On the beaches there was nothing but skin and sand from the boardwalk to the surf. The beach was broken up by large jedies to keep the sand from eroding every two-thirds of a mile. Within these areas, groups of children gathered to play. This is where we find our little boy playing in a group of boys around his same age. They spend the day; body surfing, building sand castles, or digging sand crabs. Today our little boy is out beyond the surf doing something not many people do; he is swishing back and forth digging his heels into the sand under his feet. When his foot hits something hard, he does something which no one does; he flips upside down diving to the bottom. Now there are only two things under the sand a crab and a clam; furthermore, a standard practice for the dealing of each one. If it’s a crab which only the most boisterous of personalities would bring it to the surface, letting out a great roar when rising above the water, and tossing it the unfortunate terrified crab out into the surf. A clam is handled in much the same fashion. The clam is shown to the diver’s fellow swimmers the thrown far out into the sea. This little boy does some thing that no-one has done before. He takes the clam in, pausing where the water reseeds, and the sand is at its hardest. He raises the clam above his head, and drives it down with all his might smashing the clam on the sand. Suddenly he is surrounded by sea gulls winging, squawking, and diving in their mad rush to retrieve the flesh of the clam. In this frenzy they approach much closer than they ever do ever do even when baited or pursued. All the other boys are fascinated by this display, and ask the boy to show then how to do it. The little boy who is normally a loner or outcaste is the center of attention and the resident expert on the surf digging of clams. People of all ages begin asking for information, and he displays his knowledge with great pride. He’s on top of the world. After a while he tires and sits to take a snack. He sits in the sand eating cheese puffs and gazing up and down the beach, still in his euphoria from his great triumph. As his gaze wanders farther, he can see the gulls from every corner of the fourteen mile island now hovering over the coastline. The feast of their lives is being served by the crowd. The boy is suddenly horrified. He realizes he has created a mass slaughter. He begins running up and down the beach yelling, “Stop! Stop! You’re killing them all!” The people just laugh at him or ignore him; for he’s just a little boy. Finally, exhausted, frustrated, and crying he goes to find comfort with his father, yet he himself does not understand his son’s change in mood. The boy is left in his private misery, only he knows what he has done. Later that day when the beach begins to clear the boy and his father go out to dig some clams for dinner. Hours before you could find a hand full in a few minutes, now it takes them both forty five minuets to find a dozen. In fact, most of them are large Quahogs found under six feet or more of water. The clam population has been decimated in one day all in the glee of destruction, spectacle, and the ecstasy of feeding the gulls. During that winter hurricane Agnes rolled up the coast. The beaches which had long rolling breakers were swept of their sand; for there were no clams to hold it in place. The beach was now a steep incline. The waves crashed against the beach without the gentle slope that had been there for centuries. Maryland spent the equivalent of 200 million dollars today to push the sand back in place with great giant bulldozers to no avail. The power of one idea is great. This one a mere whim was one of destruction. This story is true. I know, I was that little boy. I now have another idea, one of creation and just as powerful.

“Peace-UP!”

Thor  

To the Homeless of Eugene Oregon, and America,

                                    “Down but Never out”

            I would awake in the dark some mornings with frost on my sub-zero sleeping bag and start getting ready for school. I lived on a stoop at the corner of 4^TH and Monroe where the big mural is in the Whitaker neighborhood for the beginning six weeks of my first year in the culinary program at Lane Community College. I remember this cat that would wait for me every night and crawl into the bag with me; he defiantly helped keep my feet warm. I would take two busses and be at school by 8:00 am. I would make my classes and spend extra time studying or working with other students on assignments, or I would stop at the Eugene library to have a warm place to read if it wasn’t sunny and warm out. I had a few friends, who weren’t homeless and they helped me by letting me cook food at their house or using their laundry room to keep my uniforms clean and white. I found a home in November of that year, yet found myself with an alcoholic roommate who I thought I could live with. When your on the street some times you make compromises; this was one that came back to haunt me when we had a falling out. I became very ill for three weeks during the winter term missing school and to top it off had not found a new place to live. In short, by February, I was homeless again fighting a resurgence of the flu which took me out of school for the rest of the term. I filed for a reinstatement and refund and was awarded both. I found a new home and was back to school by spring term. I learned two very important things. Those who succeed never give up, and to believe in myself; not just that I could make it, but that I merited and deserved to succeed.

After that I went to drug court graduated, started using again 17 months later, walked away from my home Last Easter. I was homeless again for a few months. I stayed in school got back off the street. I have earned credits amassing enough for an A. A. in General studies, and A.A. in Culinary Arts. My Brothers and sisters Stand up right now and say, “Yes”. Never give up. Never quit. Never believe you are not worthy; for, I love you. I got your back.

 THOR

Peace-UP Fire III

I am doing my best to get thing's up to date with my writting of Peace-UP; for, I have repeadly said It's not about me. IT's not about me.

 I wrote Peace-up fire in 2005 during an ice storm.

Peace-UP III Fire

“The Breakdown”

           

            The unrelenting finger of media hysteria, pointing at the atrocities and dysfunctions that plague our community by the culprit “Drugs,” as they deem, is still not addressing the cure, only a symptom of the sickness. This sickness has two sides; the other and most deadly side is the fall out from the “Drug War.” The greatest casualty has been the “Socio-Community,” or the community that used to lie right outside our doors. It consisted of our neighbors, our families, and those leaders of our communities whose ears listened, whose wisdom and compassion were respected, and whose voices were heard. This all-so-important part of our community which, recognized and was a first response to the improper social actions in our daily lives, died the summer of 1984 in the surrounding areas of Washington D.C. The only deterrent needed to check, hinder, and vaccinate against the actions that led to dysfunctional behavior was attacked and removed from the American cities.

Most people were too close to see what was happening, or too far away to care. They sure care now; for the repercussions of that summer and the demise of the Socio-Community, has allowed the greatest breakdown in our community to thrive unchecked, taking with it the cornerstone of American culture, the family unit.

 I was there. I remember what happened. This, the greatest community breakdown, ever to assail the American people has for thirty years been kept a secret. I will now tell its story.

            In 1984, at the age of sixteen, I began making forays into the projects in Langley Park, Prince Georges County, Maryland. In the beginning of the summer a person could make a run with little concern for molestation. The Socio-Communities were in full swing, gathered together by ethnic groups and living right next to each other. The windows, doors, and drapes were pulled back, so the women, ever vigilant of the children’s activities, could monitor them from in their homes. The women, as always, had an ear for the goings on of their neighbors’ and consequently were a vast communication network for their community. The stoops were alive with music, and the children’s laughter and intermittent calls filled the air. The men, posted in groups, reviewed local events, shared drink and conversation, and aired their opinions in the manner of an open forum. The weed dealers stood by the road and did business like a street vender.

Things were peaceful. The racial tension from the ‘60s + ‘70s had given way, in the late ‘70s and early ‘80s to an unprecedented sharing of cultures within the projects, barrios, and ghettos. The leaders of these communities had the ear of mainstream America, and their voices and wisdom were heard and respected by all classes of people. A great breakthrough was imminent. Then the whole game changed.

            Did you ever paint a room a different color? After awhile, you acclimate to the new color and don’t really remember the feel of the old room. This is what happened on a vast scale. A “Blitzkrieg” if you will. The cocaine/crack hit the streets just in time for the “Drug War” to begin. The Socio-Communities went inside, shutting their doors, their windows, their drapes. Seclusion seemed the only answer to the “War on Drugs” The menace was all too evident, for the game was now a dangerous and unsure playing field with the possibility of violence all too real. The violence came in many forms: from street thieves who wanted the fast score, to “Crack-heads” overpowered by their addiction, who would jump through windows, open or smashed, if they saw an item of worth, to “Gang-bangers” fighting for the new costly turf and soldiers recognition.

One of the scariest things I witnessed was conducted by the “Police.” The projects were set up in a horseshoe. The police shut down the entire area not allowing any person entry without being questioned and providing I.D. This would go one for an hour or more at a time. Because most of these people were minorities or poor, their plight was quiet and considered of no consequence. I, being mullato, was chosen for runs to get smoke, for most of my friends were white and would be instantly stopped and harassed by police. The price of smoke doubled in one month. My garb had changed to shorts, tee-shirt, and tennis shoes with a ten dollar bill hidden on my person. To carry anything else was inviting trouble.

This change happened over the summer of 1984. I remember, we all thought that next year, when it got warm things would get back to normal. They didn’t; in fact, the situation became more permanent. The “Drug War” began to divide our families, our communities, and our nation. The Socio-communities whose growth and communication would have led to a distribution of power which eventually would of led to a system that catered to the diversity of American culture had been, exterminated. The social vaccine to dysfunctions and hidden addictions was gone, and the family lay prey to this disease.

            Let me put this in an example that we all can relate to. Let us say, before the breakdown, Bob, a married man with children, has an affair with June, on his wife Mary. The community, with its social network, finds out about the affair. There is a confrontation. The Socio-community’s women band together to help both Mary and Jane with the problem, and the children are cared for as well. The men of the Socio-community speak to Bob and remind him of his family duties and responsibilities. This attention by the community allowed for immediate action and greatly insured a positive outcome for all those involved.

After the breakdown, however, the course of events, would be far different. The affair would continue unchecked because no-one knows. Mary starts drinking and becomes an alcoholic because no-one knows. In her pain and anger, from her failing marriage, she begins hitting the children because no-one knows. Bob and June begin smoking crack cocaine because no-one knows. June becomes addicted and Bob can’t afford her habit. She begins selling herself because no-one knows. Bob is angry at June and finds bruises on his children. He beats his wife because no-one knows. In so many different forms, places, and homes, this story became a reality to the family and neighborhood. Why? NO-ONE KNEW!

            Well, here we are, thirty years later, still suffering the repercussions of a war that has been directed at the American people. The creation of an International police force and the “Drug War” was not supposed to hit the American home, yet it did. The dysfunctions, addictions, and broken homes still continue to sweep the nation like a plague, driving us further into suffering and seclusion. It is time for us to wake up, open our doors and lives to our neighbors, thus erasing the imposed fear that has a stranglehold on the nation. “We the People” in order to form a more perfect union, must not allow this” “Breakdown” to continue.

PEACE-UP

THOR

rm.

Incident on the White House East Lawn

            The year was 1977, and I was 9 years. My father was invited to the “Easter Egg Hunt” that was being held on the East Lawn at the White House, and took me along. I remember the other children who I saw dressed in their best clothes wearing a sport jacket with an emblem of their Ivy League private school. They seamed more concerned with whose children they might meet of heads of state, congressmen, or foreign dignitaries. The clown, who was hired for the event, tried as he may to fulfill his duties of being the entertainment for the children. I being a boy of the natural order was there for the fun and candy. I saw a small spaniel sitting on the lawn, and I ran over to pet him. Naturally little boys love dogs. As I sat there a little girl with blond hair wearing a pink frock, white stockings, and the black buckle over shoes that were popular at the time sat down on the other side of the pup. We were suddenly surrounded by News people. They asked me “Do you know who that is?”

I replied while petting the dog feverishly “Yeah. It’s a dog!”

They had a good laugh at that. Again someone pointed at the girl who sat next to the pup and asked “Do you know who that is?”

            I scrunched up my face while looking around the dog for I thought these people were just plain silly and said “Awe that just a girl” while sneering. Naturally little boys don’t like GIRLS.

            They really laughed at that. Nobody I guess had ever called Amy Carter the Presidents daughter “Just a girl”

One of the News people straightened me out on the fact that I was sitting next to the Presidents daughter. All in all she was still just a girl to me. I think maybe that is what really drew her to me, for nobody ever treated her as just a girl before. We spent the day playing together. She took me up into the West Wing where she and her family stayed and showed me around. I really wasn’t too impressed though; I thought the kitchen in the basement was cool and so was the man in the elevator who waited there just to give rides up and down for whoever wanted it.

I often look back on such experiences with the wonder of an adult who sees himself through the eyes of a child.

Happy Easter Megan

“THOR”