he never paid no mind to the abuse he heaped on his body

he reasoned it was his abuse and went forward in his life with reasonable expectations that if he wanted to do as he wished he would have to endure discomfort or pain to keep himself fitit wasnt like he was enslaved turned inhuman turned into desperate machinery which untold tens of millions over time(and Manunkind) had heinously suffered

he liked to think that had he been a slave(he may have) he wouldnt have lasted longhis fury would have had him at his overseers throat at the Johnnyjumpers at as many as he could before they killed him

it hung in the air

            he lived in a country whose backbone was raised by First People and Negro slaves  

its devout Greatestits gross Entitlement  its warmly embraced Indispensable Nation status(it conferred on itself) was made on the backs of people who had no say and if they said it would likely it cost them a body part or their life  which it ultimately did anyway  and the majority of White people incountry have made(the only thing they can rightly say theyve made) an amnesia about American slavery Thats history Water under the bridge

that smellthe stench   hanging in the air    

is their ungratefulness

their amnesia also enforces their utter lack of intellectual curiosity

they were dumb to slavery(because it didnt happen to them) and at its pronouncement their eyes grew black and cold

insensate    zombies

but he could only suppose thats how ignorance works

they didnt object to the term ghetto(maybe their fingers crossed for an American Final Solution) it referenced now the innercity(forgetting the squalid divvied out reservations) they accuse those who inhabit them of having no ambition  failing(never trying) to recognise the historical circumstances and manipulations the people were born into

the Amnesiacs fail to recognise their benefits their White Affirmative Action which made their GI-induced and -enabled suburbias

thats what ignorance gets you

he wasnt one to heap abuse on others

unless they warranted it

1624,  Twosday,  21  3. 17

0802,  Friday,  24  3. 17

1398 days remaining or fewer

 

Dale Cooper Quartet and The Dictaphones - Mon Bibliotheque  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LIu-7PNR00M

(its not often I write in first person)

I stood outside along the deck railing writing on paper held fast in my Bear-of-a-Clipboard(I salvaged it from a businesss trash in 1980)

on the pages opposite side I can see theres an advertisement for a Valentines Day event at a health club 

my sentence pierces its prominent red heart like Cupids arrow

inside the house before coming out I lit a cigar

Ill admit I was tempted after blowing the match out to count the extinguished matches laying in the ashtray I tossed it in beside 

each match represents a cigar and typically a wrioting

I let the temptation subside

Im very good at throttling temptation 

it can express itself momentarily 

then I let it go

no temptation is my master

today is a silver grey dayit threatens rain  but it must forget this is California

rain is mythic

sometimes a rain falls but it dries up in the atmosphere before touching the ground

its like my temptations

at once realthen irreal  

a ghost

I see ghoststheyre real

I dont see them as often as my mate  my second me

I love her as I love myself

her qualities mirror mine

mine mirror hers

our differences are only in the completeness or incompleteness of them

so she sees ghosts better and more frequently than I

but she is haunted

I am too aware of myself to give them berth

with me they are shy  unprovocativethey hint  but their hints are too subtle and subtlety has always been lost on me since I was a boy

they are too ethereal to punish me but they can punish her

they make themselves known

but only in kind as I can hear an unseen hawk cry I know from what direction  I just cannot see it

unseeing isnt the same as unknowing

therefore the ghosts know me I know them were shadows to each other and we are faded in that light of knowing

my mate knows better

I listen intently to her stories her bright defining illustrations  yet as she proceeds they still remain hints to me 

we know there are reasons unknown to us why I cannot see better

it is worthless to agonise over our differences

it is like regrets about the past

it is past

there is only the present and how it passes a day at a time

I accept that

she is learning and when she learnsand she will  I will hand her the mantle and follow her

there is no shame in following someone who is more perfected

I call that love

1400,  Monday,  20  3. 17

1032,  Day-between-Two-Ts,  22  3. 17

1400 days remain or less