richardmurray

Memorial Day <last monday of may originally may 30th, originally called decoration day> - create writing or art that involve the the death of Black soldiers who died serving on the battlefield for the us military or others Joan or Arc canonized <may 16th>+ Jumping Frog Jubilee <every third weekend in may, honoring MArk Twain's first published work> https://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/entry/261-mothers-day-art-or-text-craft-parade-good-news-blog/?do=findComment&comment=901 Mother's Day is May 10th , Photos or text involving art /live model/stories involving black mothers Story 1 https://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/entry/261-mothers-day-art-or-text-craft-parade-good-news-blog/?do=findComment&comment=897 Story 2 https://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/entry/261-mothers-day-art-or-text-craft-parade-good-news-blog/?do=findComment&comment=899 Earth Day, is april 22nd, show art or text or fiction involving the earth Story 1 https://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/entry/261-earth-day-art-or-text-craft-parade-good-news-blog/?do=findComment&comment=894 Story 2 https://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/entry/261-earth-day-art-or-text-craft-parade-good-news-blog/?do=findComment&comment=895 Eostre Easter is April 12th in the year 2020, the name is derived from Ēostre the real or unreal germanic goddess but the date and most modern traditions refer to Pascha which roguhly translates to passover, the Jewish holiday. But, I want to focus on Ēostre. For easter, include the real or unreal traditions attributed to Eostre, like rabbits, or make your own.You can show photos of art OR text of fiction The photos can be to->sculpture/knitting or sewing/graffiti/tattoo or any craft depicting Eostra real or unreal traditions The text can only be fiction based on the following: Real or unreal traditons of Eostre. Orthodox catholic easter comes a week after roman catholic easter. Story 1 https://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/entry/261-eostre-art-or-text-craft-parade-good-news-blog/?do=findComment&comment=892 Story 2 https://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/entry/261-eostre-art-or-text-craft-parade-good-news-blog/?do=findComment&comment=893 April Fool's day April 1st http://houyhnhnm.github.io/aprilfool/index.html March Equinox art or text craft parade The March Equinox is March 19th 11:49 pm EST UTC -5 , it is the beginning of spring in the northern hemisphere, fall in the southern hemisphere share photos of art OR text of fiction The photos can be to->sculpture/knitting or sewing/graffiti/tattoo or any craft depicting Black people in fall in the southern hemisphere, any country <south america/caribbean/africa/south asia/australia> OR Black people in spring in the northern hemisphere, any country <north america/europe/northern asia> The text can only be fiction based on the following: Black person or peoples at the first day of spring or fall AALBC STORY https://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/entry/261-march-equinox-art-or-text-craft-parade-good-news-blog/?do=findComment&comment=878 Story 2 https://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/entry/261-eostre-art-or-text-craft-parade-good-news-blog/?do=findComment&comment=890 Story 3 https://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/entry/261-eostre-art-or-text-craft-parade-good-news-blog/?do=findComment&comment=891 Saint PAtrick day https://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/entry/261-eostre-art-or-text-craft-parade-good-news-blog/?do=findComment&comment=889 Mardi Gras is February 25th in the year 2020. I ask you to make a journal of your day in New Orleans during mardi using photos from wherever you like to paruse Story 1 : https://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/entry/261-eostre-art-or-text-craft-parade-good-news-blog/?do=findComment&comment=885 Story 2 : https://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/entry/261-eostre-art-or-text-craft-parade-good-news-blog/?do=findComment&comment=886 Black Hearts Day or Valentine's Day good news - Any Love , story or image stating Black love, any language, any geography, any religion. Love is meant to be shared everyday,but giving it a day in the year to itself is not an evil or bad thing. Enjoy Black people together. In the usa it is feb 14th Richard Murray Valentines day album 2020 LINK Martin Luther King junior Day - His actual birthday is the fifteenth of january but the federal holiday is in a monday for three day weekends, like others. It is celebrated on the third monday in the month of january in every year since its inception in the Statian Empire. I ask you to share , historical fictions/prose/graphical artwork in any style concerning MArtin Luther King jr....I do wonder why Blacks in the U.S.A. can not come together and demand a true day off for this federal notice. And also share, officials days in a country outside the usa for a black person in history? In Amendment Why the holiday is on his the third monday and not his true birthday? https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uniform_Monday_Holiday_Act MLK jr's views on Financial Accountability https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RnKP__N7MNI MY 2020 speech https://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/entry/194-richard-murray-creative-table/page/7/?tab=comments#comment-820 January Perihelion The perihelion is the moment in the path the Earth make about the Sun ,elliptical orbit, where the Earth's position is closest to the sun. It will occur : January 5, 2020 2:47 am EST or UTC-5. The June Aphelion is when the earth is farthest away. Please provide any art or text concerning a sun coming closer, and don't try the twilight zone episode. December Solstice art or text craft parade The December Solstice is December 21st 11:19 pm EST or UTC-5 , it is the beginning of winter in the northern hemisphere, summer in the southern hemisphere share photos of art OR text of fiction The photos can be to->sculpture/knitting or sewing/graffiti/tattoo or any craft depicting Black people in summer in the southern hemisphere, any country <south america/caribbean/africa/south asia/australia> OR Black people in winter in the northern hemisphere, any country <north america/europe/northern asia> The text can only be fiction based on the following: Black person or peoples at the first day or summer or winter November 28th Native American Harvest Art Thanksgiving is November 28th , share photos of art OR text of fiction The photos can be to->sculpture/knitting or sewing/graffiti/tattoo concerning Native Americans enjoying food only -can include Black seminoles- no colonists from europe The text can only be fiction based on the following: Native Americans communities around harvest - black seminoles allowed- no colonist from europe November 11 Veterans day is November 11th, share photos of art OR test of fiction, guest comments are allowed The photos can be to->sculpture/knitting or sewing/graffiti/tattoo concerning Black Veterans, any country any time, any army The text can only be fiction based on the following: Black Soldiers who fought against the USA for the british/ Black soldiers during the Haitian Freeing/ Black Seminoles during the time of osceola/jonas caballo/Black soldiers who fought for Menelik II in the first Abyssinian-italo war EXTRA A Day, and Most Night, At The Uffizi Daylight savings time 2020 Arcane Idol 2020

May 18th 2020 For today's blog, after Saturday's poll result honoring Joan of Arc's canonization, I will present fastidiously, the interview from yesterday, the positively incomparable senior rapper Simon Wheeler the third as my guest, and query him concerning a man over ten thousand voters do not know, Leo Smiley, advocate to the homeless Leo Smiley, and display it after I explain some reservations. I have wondered the purpose behind my fanbase, even if they are free or real as the random write in winning a poll is the definition to modern falsehood, hoping it is not to convey information about JSmiles1, who Leo Smiley knows too well as episode 69 concerning banned internet words attest, and convey information about Leo Smiley will help a thesis for an online class I am taking, while JSMiles1 is not worth telling children about. Simon Wheeler the third was at a replica of Angel's Hotel in his house, kept a mask on even though he lived alone, eyes showed a love of life, a pizza stain on his captain planet shirt showed a love of food, he never looked at me during the interview, he looked to the left when sad, to the right when happy , to the ceiling when quiet, to the floor when bellowing, he seemed to be preaching to the world about a prophet, though I did not ask about one. So, I asked him one question, if he knew about Leo Smiley, and he gave his reply, which concluded our interview. He replied: Ohhhh, you know there was a playa, name JSmiles1 I tell ya, he live two blocks down the road. I think his ancestor, a simple harvester, came as a pilgrim , not the one's in films then, while eight others came from the east. But when he received, and after he was Extremely pleased, his first phone , a ring tone to moan, came after every messaging. For no one wanted, he was not stunted, to message him first you see. A simple moan, not like a loud one from ol' Joan, was all he wanted to hear. If he saw anything, whether or not a plaything, he wanted to text message it , announce or boast it, right then and there. If he saw a couple, even if their life seem supple, arguing in their home, he made a texting tome. If he saw a squirrel, whether still or in a twirl, busying about a tree, he will text how later it flee. If kids were playing ball in the street, he will text it; if a pigeon took bread and flew away, he will text it. If he saw two kids flying paper airplanes he will text it. If he saw some fellas, all of them brothas, on his favorite corner, not the one with music by werner, singing or drinking about,... he will wait, cause it's never too late, for Hakim Johnson , graduate of the Harlem boys choir, and invitational caroler to the Vatican twice the pride of his sire, to etch out a tune, with magic like a rune, and do it with a smile, like all the good unpaid acts of the Hollywood miles. If he saw a kid, not one that hid, on a bike being chased, he will follow his trail, longer than the route for mail, and message every step of the way. That is why whenever JSmiles1 was about, every kid, lady, playa, knew his route. He message anything he could, if messages was water he'd fill up the woods. One time a woman named Janine, fell from the city heat, and her fall made a loud scene. I can not say who picked her up, or her apartment or who put medicine in her cup, but JSMiles1 came in her place, and looked all interested at her face, and was told she will be all well, three high fathers and two hail mary’s, yes. JSMiles1 merely texted, "She ain't recovered yet" JSMiles1 had a video game system, officially it was called a Listem, but folk called her Susan, with eyes near the control port and all. To start took five minutes to load, the sound of popcorn waiting was always to explode, cause she would never turn on, with her insides all done, cause of rain, or some pain, after a lifelong injury with a fall. Her game was simple, shoot through a space like a fipple, all the players always let her go first. If cable was on she will pause, or maybe it was the telephone that was the cause, but the user always gained huge points, but before the winning tally, in each and I mean each and every rally, she will come out with a glitch, and literally say one word on the screen, ditch , hitch or witch, and then she win. And, he had a brown basketball, more like a handball, seemed to let out gas, with each and every pass, but whenever he was shot, turned into a perfect pi-rock, and clear out rivals from the lot. Some tried to use a different ball, but a calamity will always predate its fall, truck/knife/bullet or something where Ronald Reagan which is the name of the ball, passed around dead and dying, JSMiles1 telling all the angry they lying, until he get the ball whop, a shot go in and mouths drop, while JSMiles1 message what he saw. That ball was always good for a story, various literal glory, till the day the kids played with brown ball, bigger than a common handball, Reagan tried to replace him, but he wasn't able to trick him, and disheartened the old ball puffed all his air out. Ronald was a good ball, and could had made it onto Ringling brothers, but no call came before his fall, and he was unlike any of his others. Shed a tear, let the drink drop, the last great basketball I was once near, sad he went out a flop. The great JSMiles1, the only one, had a jump rope, dice, a rooster, a genie's collection of everything, so he could message about anything. He one time caught a frog, hopped into his hand from a fog, in the local park, texted "I have a green son to teach", for months he spoke like a lark, teaching under a year the hopper. Hop over a toy car, hop over the plastic star, catch a fly over an orange juice glass, catch a fly under the chair for his wee lass. The frog has no limit, he said, over and over again, each day teach a lil bit, he said, believe in him, believe in him. I saw Steph in my home, right behind me, begin a tome, "in the beginning flies " for no fee, and faster than superman, a hop over a stan' , then more stoic than a Tibetan monk as if all his ambition sunk. No frog was ever like him, before or afterward. JSMiles1 love to boast about the little green beastie, kept him safe when he traveled in a pocket made side his hoodie. One day, a loner, a stranger on the block, asked: "what is that thing on your neck, a sock". JSMiles1 say:"yoyoyo don't talk about my son, he may bite you like a snake or leap at you like a rat, but he is just my pet, frog" Surprised, the guy wonder what's it talent and why. JSMiles1 smile and smile: "he is the Frog that I always message everyone about, the frog that can outleap any other frog you can find or see" The distant neighbor shake his head, no and no and no. "I am willing to put my money where my mouth is": JSMiles1 preach. "You have not studied the fine art of frog training, clearly, you only seen things on tv... He can out jump any frog in Calaveras county, cause he always did, and since your shirt show you a trader, I am willing to bet forty dollars, my fellow playa" The stranger hummin: "To bad, but I will never know and neither will you. I have no frog, but if I did... I will bet you" And JSMiles1 brighten: "wait a minute, stay right there, here is my hoodie I will be right back" The fella took out his wallet and sat down on the fire hydrant; he ponder to himself, about the possible new wealth, and took the frog out his blanket, and remembering his lunch, pushed in a bit from chopped rotisserie chicken, as a late frog brunch. On the concrete the frog sat, still like a wrestler out for the count on the mat. JSMiles1 returned all muddy, clothes colored around a ruddy, with a common wild frog in his hands and say: "ok, we are now ready. Here... and place him next to Steph Hawkin, that is my frog' name, and you best remember it after this. On three we will let them go" Both men held their racers, each hopping a hop is no different than phasers. The stranger give a gentle tap, and the wild frog hop elsewhere on the concrete map. But, Steph just sat there, wonderin like the hippies did over there. No matter what his frog just sat and JSmiles1 had to admit, in his message, where his frog was at. The guy took the money and went on down the sidewalk, but before he crossed the street, he look to Steph and balk: "us another simple frog I see" JSmiles1 was upset, and stared at his son now set: "What is wrong with you Steph, tell me" After a lift he noticed his weight, and all comprehension concerned his former fate. He saw the stranger turn a distant corner and raced after him getting warmer, and warmer, but he never caught him. And Suddenly a yell, the rapper leaped from his seat and placed his face close to the screen: "Stay right there , brother man" But, I think I learned enough about the infamous JSMiles1 and doubted much will come about Leo Smiley so I cut off the video conference with a polite message. Immediately after, I got a reply from Wheeler, about JSmiles1 Volkswagen beetle his grandfather gave him. But, I had no further inclination and took my leave. Happy Belated Canonization of Joan of Arc Happy Belated Jumping Frog Jubilee based on the first story published by Mark Twain, the Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County …If you enjoyed this tale check out the others utilizing the links below Bookbub https://www.bookbub.com/profile/richard-murray-16885e64-6c28-459e-bf5f-45c7d458ce49 Poetry or More Audiobook https://www.kobo.com/us/en/search?query=Poetry%20or%20More&fcsearchfield=Series&seriesId=06baba96-5af5-5d24-9b8a-f06360287dc9 Visasiki Audiobook https://www.kobo.com/us/en/search?query=Visasiki%20Series&fcsearchfield=Series&seriesId=965aea81-4e13-53fe-8bc8-22fcb6d28a39 Short Story Collection https://www.kobo.com/us/en/search?query=Richard%20Murray%20Short%20Story%20Collection&fcsearchfield=Series&seriesId=014c67c4-d29d-584e-ada0-62c0fa015714

I remember walking alongside you in this park Ma. Just like that baby duck, but walking. The sun was brilliant every time we went out. Hey stop that, I don't need preening. Here click the shot then. ... I am not preening you back, no way. Yes I know the baby fox look cute but I am not a baby anymore. Ha! Don't look like that. Well alright, I will let fate decide. I will kiss you on the cheek while I take the photo. ... ... I will get an exhibit in this gallery one day, don't worry Ma. No this is a collection from various photographers. Ha! you like that one. Ha! I wanted to play drums with Morris. I had to help my brother find his vocation. I can't wait to hear him later tonight. ... I have a question, does Dad still get a taste? I am not ashamed to ask a valid adult question to my mother in public? I am not tasting them now... I am not done doing it, I merely moved on to greener pastures. Ha! Yes, Rose and Makeda will meet us at the art exhibit. ... Yes, I stole milk from my daughter. Rose knew it would happen, she was complicit. ... Look at those cheeks, sleepy head. I wish we can see inside a baby dream. I wonder what wonder. I was meditating Ma?! I was relaxed, in your arms was comfort, and during a hug... still is. ... Yeah, I love black mothers too. Amazing the happiness under such duress. ... do the dance now ? I know you have not forgotten. Did you do it when you held Makeda? ... Wait, here is my dance for my grandchild to be... Ha! ... ... Hi! there they are. ... You want some water Rose? Nanna gets all the attention huh? ... I love you to Makeda. ... Love the opening selection. Yeah she does. I remember when you looked like that Rose, I know Pop will say the same to you Ma. ... yes, it seems all females know it is time for another kind of strength when motherhood come. ... yeah, it is universal ... It's Mary Magdalene... a woman in Christian lore little one. I agree Ma, Makeda was cuter. Oh thank you. I know you were cuter my love. You want to be a mom one day Makeda? Ha! ... I think that is Vishnu... Oh I see, I am glad you can read Makeda. Will you continue to help your father?... Don't blame your grandmother lil one, she tried very hard to teach me to read. Be thank full you have your mother. You want to go to India Rose? hmmm Ha! yes, Ma, we all should go, two couples and a peanut to India. ... Yeah, Grandma was no nonsense eh Ma. ... hmm I am loving that hat too. But, why do the black kids in these always looked shocked. No need to mention the past wife... No need for you to know Makeda. But know I was just a child like all the others. Haha! well yeah. ... This is my favorite hands down. Reminds me to you three ladies when Makeda was born. Rose was snuggling her, lil peanut butter self, and you were comforting Rose, an eternal garden, a senior mother to a new one and one to be. Love all you moms ...If you enjoyed this tale check out the others utilizing the links below Bookbub https://www.bookbub.com/profile/richard-murray-16885e64-6c28-459e-bf5f-45c7d458ce49 AALBC https://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/blog/29-richard-murray-hearth/ Poetry or More Audiobook https://www.kobo.com/us/en/search?query=Poetry%20or%20More&fcsearchfield=Series&seriesId=06baba96-5af5-5d24-9b8a-f06360287dc9 Visasiki Audiobook https://www.kobo.com/us/en/search?query=Visasiki%20Series&fcsearchfield=Series&seriesId=965aea81-4e13-53fe-8bc8-22fcb6d28a39 Short Story Collection https://www.kobo.com/us/en/search?query=Richard%20Murray%20Short%20Story%20Collection&fcsearchfield=Series&seriesId=014c67c4-d29d-584e-ada0-62c0fa015714

Dear Readers, I tend to enjoy reading various articles on writing , the industry, the concepts, et cetera. parallel to craft articles. These topics can be fun or engaging. As some of you know, I have a controlled electronic footprint, meaning, I don't keep old posts. This blog never had fifteen posts and never will cause I don't like ejunk. But, I realize, aside my posts to what I created and create, I need a post to just chit chat if you will. So this post will serve that function, through its comments I will posts various topics concerning writing. Work Cloud EBook List- see below , Onmyoji Contest Entry , Pacific Rim contest Entry , Bettering American Poetry Anthology Entry , White House Carol , Maple Me entry , We Happy Few Wellington Wells entry, Fiyah Magazine- , Killens Review-, Audiobook list , ? Creative Cloud Questions to think about , How We Define Art a response , Lessons from Last Action Hero , Black Soldiers fighting for the British against the USA during USA secession why no memorial , Levar Burton Reads , Ethiopian apocalyptic film , Is Biography the biggest genre today circa 2018 , if they remade Cleopatra jones? , which cliche you dislike most? , Grammar Check , those who write love are making money, have you done a collaboration .. on a train , be your character on social media , who are afro latinos ? , a short history to the internet , What describe best the Native American experience in fiction , Get Out early - what do you think compared to the final film? , Prince and religious friction in film , Let us compose something together using these rules, what other language will you say if you can? , AALBC community book- in progress till made , not any time soon but... , A Glengarry Lead , silhouette in film , Get Out defined , inspiration listings, the return of poetry and some fun , written and sun by Aretha Franklin , Unconventional art , Der Tchrumpfs , Selections from poetry through the native female pen , a question to multiculturalism , Nonqonqo in A Warm December , Peola Edit- Immitation To Life 1934 , concealed carry models , Ann Gorman Edit- Follow Me Quietly 1949 , censoring online , MLKjr2019 , Black Party to governance , Star spangled why, Audio EXcerpts , False Civility , US , Glass submission story , code geass, Juju webseries official poster , acting , lee daniels workshop , black anti immigration , silent sundays , a positive child bride story? , a fictional character to be president of the usa? , Ta-Nehisi Coates , George Lucas , open marriage in fiction, kobo audiobook , Fiyah nanowrimo writing groups , Black Solidarity day 2019 , The Comeback Of Sexual Chocolate , no time to die poster content , Overdrive , lt uhura dollypartonchallenge , emoney, a day and most night at the uffizi , raprushmore , Malcolm 2020 , daylight savings time 382020 , the black fratrem , a saint patrick day past, heavymetal sixart challenge, startwithlove , to arbery from maurice jackson, ? Calligraphy Mirror Kiss of a dagger , Angelique Noire , ? Engineering Cloud Fixing Plastic , Blacksmithing Basics , multi electromagnetic wave observation , AMP in Email , Makers jobs or cosplay , ? Email Gazette Fragments fifth issue , tenth issue, eleventh issue , twelfth, thirteenth , fifteenth ,sixteenth, seventeenth ,eighteenth , 19/20/21/23 ,24/25/27/29/30/31/32 , 33/34/35/36/37 ,38/39/40/41/42/43 , 44/45/46/47/48/49/50/51/52/53/54 , 55/56/57/58/59/60/61 , 62/63/64/65/66 , 67/68/69/70, 71/72/73/74/75/76 , 77,78,79,80,81,82,83,84,85,86,87,88,89,90 , ? Question Cloud The Internet without the USA, are marvel movies theme parks or cinema, joker of our times , the greatest native american warrior in film , is dr serikawa the special effect , isn't it time for a pro nazi german film, Ligt and Daenerys , liking online , what does joker 2 after the joker film with joaquim phoenix mean , when is a culture allowable , history book Kamala Harris side Corey Booker , who will be your fictional fertilizer , MLK jr. day 1202020 , what tropes are you tired of , still alive obstinate , ? EBook LIST Richard Murray Short Story Collections Kobo Link OverDrive Link JIHI series Kobo Link Overdrive Link Poetry or More Audiobook link Kobo Link Visasiki Audiobook link Kobo Link Gospel of Joseph Kobo Link Overdrive Link Richard Murray Collages Kobo Link SanaTambo Versions Overdrive Link Kobo English Kobo Francais Kobo Portugues Kobo 日本語 Kobo 中文 Der Tchrumpfs Kobo Below is a collage i made to Ty Wilson Art Be Safe

The artwork above is from MAurice Jackson, the post I gained it from is deleted now.... I can easily talk about the various frictions in the Black Statian community but I rather make a point to the solution to the frictions. In my mind, the solution to the frictions in the Black Statian <meaning Black people who live in the usa, Black defined by phenotype, not geography of ancestral origin/language/religion/geography of birth/gender/financial level/membership to party of governance/ or anything except phenotype or appearance > requires an organization or a group that has the desire/resources/plan to unite the various Black Statian tribes, from the Black Militant to the Black non violent. But my second point is a question to you, What can unite the modern Black Statian? The commentary to the art above from Black people proved this art did not bring unity, among the various groups. What can?

It is so warm mommy, stay there, don’t move around, I need to get my sauna time in. But I will be hungry in a little while. Oh wait, wait, let me get my pose in. Kata Stance!!! … Mommy, that baby look like me, but why it covered in gold. why mommy? Poppa paint it that way. Poppa tickle my feet, I like that. But he wrong, I rather drink milk than look at your neck mommy. You call me Rosey, just like those things. But you say I’m cuter, I agree with you. Oh pappa want to hug us, hold on mommy. later, other mommy and baby. … I want to run, like that kitty kat. Let me go and run mommy or you run with me, please?! Where is papa? why he play so many games? Your neck is shiny, can I see your neck? thank you. Ha! there is papa, he hide mommy. He hide behind a bush. What is over there? … MOMMY! I want to play with the cards now! MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY! It is not funny Papa MOMMY! … Thank you mom, thank you for this, I know you had to reschedule a conference. I think papa will like this photograph. Behave yourself Cocoa! Play the thumb game and be still for us, please. Ok go mama! Oh, yes… I remember when Papa showed that photo to me. It is not funny, I wanted to play with those Kemet cards. I still got them too. HOLD STILL! ok ok Got it! … Yes Malika, isn’t this setup a nice concept. Ma told me about it years ago while your husband was in her womb. Lil Hakim is like him, so at peace. Remember to always call ma when you need assistance, I know I have for my little one. Yes, Malika, one month due… oh, there she is now, BUT HOLD STILL, this is it …If you enjoyed this tale check out the others utilizing the links below Bookbub https://www.bookbub.com/profile/richard-murray-16885e64-6c28-459e-bf5f-45c7d458ce49 AALBC https://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/blog/29-richard-murray-hearth/ Poetry or More Audiobook https://www.kobo.com/us/en/search?query=Poetry%20or%20More&fcsearchfield=Series&seriesId=06baba96-5af5-5d24-9b8a-f06360287dc9 Visasiki Audiobook https://www.kobo.com/us/en/search?query=Visasiki%20Series&fcsearchfield=Series&seriesId=965aea81-4e13-53fe-8bc8-22fcb6d28a39 Short Story Collection https://www.kobo.com/us/en/search?query=Richard%20Murray%20Short%20Story%20Collection&fcsearchfield=Series&seriesId=014c67c4-d29d-584e-ada0-62c0fa015714

A double dose of creativity... Start With Love deviantart competition. I hope the planets can help humans comprehend how to socially distance happily. https://www.deviantart.com/hddeviant/art/StartWithLove-entry-840717043 Heavy Metal sixartschallenge : arzach /lorna/den/taarna/ranx/el borbah all in my style https://www.deviantart.com/hddeviant/art/Heavy-Metal-Sixfanart-entry-840716492

A spirit to a world speak: "hmmm, I feel my grandmother as I sleep. She is singing to me, a song of timelessness. When she was a little star swimming free in the bottom or topless sea. I wish I will live as long as her, but I know I will not. At least some of my children are not marsupial and they may go on and live on their aunts and uncles or others in my large family... I feel the need to wake up to end my sleep. I see myself as I wake" "I need to speak to one of my children today. In my waking dreams I can hear them speak to me. But, what was it about? I think it was to celebrate something. I guess I will make an avatar". ... an avatar to Earth form in a bright afternoon. And the earth avatar walked about a small town, walking along the main avenue, the green bushels forming her hair gently brushing through the air. People are in shock looking at this natural automaton. The earth spirit only know it remember someone is important today. She stop and look about and suddenly, a person claps. And another clap and the whole street fills up with people, clapping. The earth spirit is still unaware to the why or how? Then she see a banner: 'Happy Earth Day'. And a couple come out hand in hand and the woman speak: "this is for you Earth!". Servers came around a corner with little plates or folded tables holding cut pieces of dirt. The man speak to earth, winking at her: 'you taste good earth'. The earth spirit is flushed, unaware to what he was suggesting and she speak: "well, my water is nice right?" A little child go to the avatar and say: "I love water" and the earth spirit in the earth avatar on her body, grab the child and tickle their belly. The servers set the tables and place the sweets. The woman speak to the earth avatar: "do you want to know how you taste like?" The earth spirit look down and see the plate of sweets. She look to it and sniff, and grab one block of earth looking sweet and offer it to the child, who loves the taste. The child say: "I love you earth" The earth smile and say: "I love you too"

The elders say cats always walk the way to the lair of the Earth Seed. A child of earth born once every turn of the Earth about the Sun. Some say an earth seed is a child of earth with the sun, but no one has ever recorded such an event accept the plants. The elders also say, you know when a cat is close to an Earth Seed when a cat cross the mushrooms that grow wildest. The elders say, if you follow a cat, long enough, though no exact distance is ever known, you will reach an arcade of trees That is only the gateway to an Earth Seed when a cat on the path goes through it, otherwise it is just an arcade of trees on earth, not unlike any other. In the year 1970, a man painted a moment in time in the year 1936 when he followed the town cat who lived in Mr. Madsen’s barn past a set of oddly wild mushrooms and through an arcade of trees in Decatur Iowa. The experienced man, then a young man, did not know what he would find in that little wood. But it surprised him. At first, he thought a dragon, but he never saw a dragon that seemed to be made of algae. The creature seemed so gentle, or unassuming, it merely looked at him and then went back into its nestling. Days came and the man enjoyed its company. In the painting the man showed his younger self giving the Earth Seed an apple. He recalls his younger self being perturbed when the dragon puffed the apple away. He did not know what to do and wondered why it had scars on it, while it never left this area. Time past and the experienced man is now decades older and he is standing in the same green way years in the future. A man whose secrets about the Earth Seed will seem to die with him, for reasons the common people may never know. But, standing in full glory before this man whose time is nearly up is a fully fledged Earth Seed, no longer algae-ic with wings cut into by the ills applied to earth, or that is what some suggest cause the wounds, but now a serpentine with wild leaves about itself. A gallant dragon needing to speak to its father. The experienced man can only look at the Earth Seed fly up into the sky and to beyond. The Experienced Man near the end of his time say a prayer: “or helping this life, please earth, sun, moon, stars, please help the other children of earth”. And the Earth Seed flew up into the sky. Days later astronauts in the International Space Station said they saw a brilliant green light emit on the atmosphere of earth. They explained that the ions outside Earth’s electromagnetic field collide at it and produce the illuminations commonly called the Northern Lights, but what the now dead experienced man knew, and all those who get to aid an Earth Seed know, it is in those moments when the sun touch the earth , as the lords of the Nile depicted, when the Earth Seed can leave its mother and provide blessings to all children of earth, if the other children earned it.

The Text Based Zenith Power Collage can be accessed using the following link. Tell me what you think and if you will like to see the Legend Collage below in audio form? https://aalbc.com/tc/blogs/entry/179-richard-murray-collages/?tab=comments#comment-513 CLICK anywhere in the image above and it will take you to a story, click on the tale to go back Richard Murray Collages Book 2 The following Collage ebook ,similar content to the slide above,is based on the 1985 film legend. The Collage was interesting as the themes of Evil/Love/Fairies/Demons encircled each other. Legend source story is more romantic and the Evil is not as straightforward as some will like to think, to be fair it is darkness not evil. Like the prior week , Please use the kobo mobile app to view. Please tell me your thoughts in private message if you are part of my email list or in guest comment here... Lastly, I am pondering what the next collage book should reference, the private collage series will involve black stories like john henry or three the hard way getting the treatment, so any ideas to another non black story you will like me to collage? https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/richard-murray-collages-book-2 Links exist below to view the film or read the scripts. the film for those that do not know https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1M7N_TSZdic Legend first script- one of the finest scripts I have ever read in terms of flat out imagination and beauty. the opening scene with the princess needed to be made http://www.figmentfly.com/legend/script3a.html Legend second script with the truest darkness- the black unicorn, lovely http://www.figmentfly.com/legend/script3b.html Legend third script made into the film http://www.figmentfly.com/legend/script3c.html COLLAGES LIST THE FIRST POWER LEGEND - look above ? Who is next, give me a suggestion

Each child from Earth is part in a community and between each perihelion the Earth must speak to each child's community at least once, per the agreement with the Sun. In the oldest swamp from Earth the human season come again, the time of Eostre, when the spirit in Earth take a humanoid form to speak to her human children. She slowly form the body deep in a swampland so thick, the morning sun seem a sunset. It is said if you are lucky to witness the spirit of the Earth before she settles her form, the Earth will allow you to take a piece from in her. But, I myself have never been able to witness such a thing to prove it myself. The spirit of Earth, after forming the body, begin to walk out from the swamp to speak to the humans. She meets a hare, basking in the sunlight. The hare turn to look to her and cognize her immediately. It hop to her feet and ask:" what can I do for the earth Spirit". The Eostre ask the hare:" please take me to the human tribe". The hare bow and escort The Eostre out the swamp, out the wood and into a human roadway. A human man turn a sharp corner near the wood exit and is astonished at the figure before him. He ask The Eostre if he can take a photo of her. She nod her head. He ask her to take a look at it. He ask her name, and she look down at the Hare, who head shake in disagreement. The man sulk off looking at the photo. The Eostre look down at the road and ask the hare: "how far are the humans from their.... road" "Not far earth spirit, about ten thousand hops, but beware humans wearing odd smelling metal clumps" And The Eostre leave the hare, at the side of the road. The Eostre walk and walk, observing the humans in cars going by. In the late morning, she observe a small human girl carrying eggs in one hand, picking up an egg in the other. The Eostre go over to the girl and ask: "why did you take that egg and have an egg basket?" "Its easter": the little girl reply. "YEs, I know but egg is meant to be cared for not, thrown about, you never know what kind of life it may bring" The little girl stand confused or bored. The Eostre ask her to sit the egg she just found down. After the little girl did, the Eostre tap her foot once and the egg grow, and grow, wiping away decorations and a small dragon pop out. The little girl is very happy, even though the baby dragon tried to snap her finger off; she place the baby dragon in her egg basket. And, grab The Eostre hand and say: "Please, come home, my parents will love to meet you, my dad does magic and my mom loves dragons" "you think it is wise for your mom to see a dragon" "yes, lets go": and the little girl drag The Eostre to her home. The little girl ask The Eostre to notice the eggs on the table and say: "my dad made them" The Eostre look at the eggs and smile. You know, it will be good to talk to your parents. And The Eostretime happened successfully, albeit an initial shock of nudity from the parents to the little girl.

It is April 12th 2020, Ess Mae Murard walk by her Easter painting aside her grandchildren. The boy ask: “I never seen that painting before” “No you have not Hakim, it is one I did a while back but I only present it for Easter”: gently replied Ess Mae. “Why grandma S?”: reply a girl. “I was going to ask that Shaniqua!”: cut in Hakim. “No need to shout Hakim, it was a good question anyway right?”: Grandma Ess tickle Hakim and Shaniqua, either laugh. Grandma Ess continue: “to answer the question you both want to know, I must go back to earlier days”. She take a photo off a desk. “Grandpa Clay!”: reply both children in unison. “yes, your grandfather with me before church,1947, I was a little sad, a commission I was hoping to get was obtained by D. Scott, made me quite mad”: recall grandma Ess, and she continue: “We went to church, your grandpa Clay had to do some work in a white man’s house, So I chose to go to St. Nicholas park and sit to gather my thoughts and that is when I saw her…”: the children are attentive:“Eostre”:the children interrupt Grandma Ess. “who is Eostre”:ask Hakim. “yes, please tell us grandma S”: Shanique pull on her grandmother’s arm. Grandma Ess continue: “… hmmm, well, at first I did not know who she was and I said, nice hat, she found that amusing and seemed interested in what I had to say… I learned she was the Earth”: the children look confused and Grandma Ess continue: “well, the spirit of the Earth who once every turn around the sun makes an appearance as a human to humans” Grandma Ess look to the children who are still confused, and smile. She continue: “think of it like this, we live on a planet, called Earth, and she is living so, she has a spirit, but her spirit is special, not like a humans, her spirit can inhabit many kinds of bodies.” “why grandma Ess”: ask Shaniqua. “The earth is very old and powerful, I can not explain all in why Earth reacts the way it does in any way… but we talked about many things, and when she was done she offered me a chance to paint her” “So that is her, the spirit of Earth”: ask Hakim. “hmmm rather, that is the form the spirit of Earth took”: reply Grandma Ess. “but why only show it during easter”: ask Shaniqua. “well”: a car horn cut off Grandma Ess, and she speak to the matter: “you two, lets go , we can talk about it later ,lets go outside”: she take a photo. The three leave the house and meet a woman waiting by a wall. “come on Ma!”: speak the woman. “coming chile, now go on you two, go to your mother”: suggest Grandma Ess, but Hakim shake his head and Shanique tighten her grip. “So you two want to bother your grandmother about something, alright, but just get in the car, ok”: and after the mother speak, the grandchildren usher into the car quiet and wait for grandma Ess. … while driving to church Grandma Ess was active on her tablet and asked the children: “you two ready to learn why that painting can’t be shown”. “I see now what is going on”: the children’s mother smile. “Don’t say anything mommy”: request Shaniqua. “yeah, we want to hear it from grandma”: demand Hakim. “ok ok, may I listen to”: ask the mother, and the children nod. Grandma Ess smile and say: “take a look at the image on the tablet”: and she hand the tablet to the children in the back seat. Hakim plus Shaniqua look at the image. Grandma Ess begin to finish her story: “well… once long ago, great birds existed, these birds could be ridden like a horse. Humans lived well with adult ones but could never breed children, but it didn’t matter for they continued to be born in the wild, until one day…”: the children gasp in preparation and grandma Ess continue: “the earth changed. These birds had only one nesting ground, and it was destroyed in a great earthquake, that burned the sky so none could fly away… the humans who used these birds was very angry cause these birds was the only way they could reach some of the remote locations where they lived. They asked the Earth to make more of the birds to restart their bloodline… but the Earth refused. The humans who rode these birds, became very angry and cursed all our mother… do you have an idea why the painting can not be seen now?” Hakim think, but shake his head. Shaniqua think and say:“ the eggs? ” “Yes, Shaniqua”: smile Grandma Ess, Hakim cry out in agony, their mother laugh. “But, those little eggs in the painting are the eggs of those huge birds” “no, but they are the map… The Eostre made a map of eggs, utilized correctly, which I will not say how, they provide a map, the painting gives clues to those who know, thus the spirit of Earth demanded I not make that publicly shown… and I have kept my promise, and as your mother has kept it , I demand you two” Shaniqua plus Hakim smile: “yes grandma Ess” “Ok guys, we at church your” “Daddy!”: yell the two children in unison cutting off their mother’s instruction. The mother open the car doors and the children are out; she blow a kiss to her husband. “You know my sweet Roe, you can make a few more eggs for me to tell my story too”: explain Grandma Ess to her daughter. “Momma , I am not going to be laying tons of eggs, I know you and Rick been talking and plotting, now enjoy your church, I will be back to take us all to Black Fort for lunch”: say Roe, as she watch her mother exit the car and meet up with the husband plus kids.

Once long ago, a beautiful forest bloomed in spring. But what few humans knew back then and fewer know now is that the trees can make the fairy folk bloom. But it cannot be any fairy, it has to be the one hundred and twenty fourth fairy in line from the last one bloomed. Meaning, if a fairy bloom, only her 124th descendant in line can bloom after her and so forth. Fairies are tiny and thus sometimes, a bloodline end and only special magic can force a blooming. But that special event is for another story. This story is about Asukume, and how her bloom survived. Asukume was the 124th descendant of the last fairy to bloom with the beautiful forest and she was very happy. She imagined all the great things her blooming can do. Unlike most fairy folk born from the flowers in a forest, when a fairy bloom, that child is not a fairy but a umoyuswi. They can make fairies even stronger and thus lie the danger. Some fairies betrayed their parents and seek to control nature, not serve her. One is Queen Itshe. Normally in stone. She is no bigger than a walnut, safe from human eyes but kept hidden by her allies the squirrels. She placed a spell on herself to rise every 124th blooming to acquire an umoyuswi. When she rises she is a deadly grey color. But her intent is clear. To take a umoyuswi's power, energy, and use it to not only revitalize herself, but extend her control. Forcing more to be here allies in the red-blooded tribes: humans, bears, et cetera. Asukume knew the danger, and always kept moving to make sure she was never in one spot long enough for Itshe or her squirrel spies to find her. Fortunately, Asukume had her baby. And in time it grew and blossomed into a fine umoyuswi. Her butterfly wings glittering everywhere. But she was still young. In her newness, she wanted to talk to everyone and forgot the warning her mother gave about talking to squirrels, and she talked to one. The squirrel informed Itshe and she came floating in. Asukume daughter was scared at the dull white sight of Itshe, but the squirrels held her down and Itshe began to absorb the energy of Asukume daughter. Itshe was reveling in getting her color back, intoxicated with a success that had to wait thirty thousand year. In her hubris, she forgot one key weapon, a name. Asukume daughter had not given herself a name, per the custom of umoyuswi. Asukume did not know the rule but a flower did and it spoke to Asukume daughter while being drained. It told the child to choose a name. The squirrels were to slow in chopping the flower down and Asukume daughter chose a word she heard her mother use, dodging through the expanse of the forest. Her mother always called the forest an ocean. And so, Asukume daughter named herself Ulwandle. With her name, she could do more and since Itshe had stolen so much color, she figured she needed to keep it and she turned her into a flower, a carnation. She turned her squirrel servants into one being, a dog. And after that Ulwandle, butterfly wings flapping, flew high up and promised her mother a safe return from the school in the moon.

Most times when the Spring come, I know it by the trees. Many colors, many flowers, vibrantly coloring the world. It is a common arrangement. But, this spring , it is worse. It is one hundred and twenty-four days since the arrival of the first elf. Let me show you on my phone. She just popped up surrounded by this white light. Did she drop into the white house? no. Did she drop into the United Nations, perhaps with a powerful electronic or mechanical assistant, perhaps even boss? no. Did she make herself known anywhere the television people or movie people alluded to in the past? no. She made herself known in the women’s bathroom at the local park, at Riverside. Police and some three-letter people arrived but she seemingly had no worries or need to worry. It took a while but someone asked her a simple question, why is she here? She said it is a secret, and then disappeared, reappearing and disappearing per her desire throughout the one hundred and twenty-four day. Now, whenever you go outside you may see something like this stranger. I could had asked, did you know, flowers are growing around you, blossoming more by the second. I did not ask. At least like so many of the others, he seemed content with the magical green flung all over the city. But I forgot his plight quick, when I saw her. This big chocolate orange leaf floating around little orange leaves. She paid me no mind, and was totally focused on playing with her fellow leaves. I pushed myself on her and asked her name. She said, Onluleon. I loved the way she sounded it better than the way I thought it. Onluleon I watched for hours playing with the leaves, never tired or concerned with any other. I left my bench and went back over to her, asking. You know it is the beginning of spring. She looked at me dumbfounded. But, she didn’t ignore me, and took me by the arm. She went to a purple tree where a songbird was grabbing nectar. She asked me: “isn’t she lovely” “The tree”: I replied. “No, the tree is a he, I meant the songbird” I guessed she was right. I was happy just getting this time in. The songbird suddenly fell onto the ground and bloomed into a woman. The purple leaves coating her, with some sticking to her hair. I asked the former songbird; how does she feel. She simply stared at me and whistled away. I tried to go after her but I felt stiff. Too stiff to move fast. Onluleon ,I bet an Oriole at one time in her life, started sniffing me and I realized I had a flower growing out of me. I hobbled back to where I saw that guy and I realized he was no longer there, but a small blossomed tree sat in his general location. I wondered if he even comprehended me and how long did I have to be comprehended. I called for Onluleon and shook her faintly. I was frightened as I saw my vision covered in leaves. It all occurred to me, that spirit was going to turn the human into the plant, and the non-human into the human. One hundred and twenty-four days to bloom, and we all missed it. I missed it. If I can no longer think like before I settled my mind knowing that I will have time as a tree to bloom into something else later. A cardinal, turned into a ballerina for my last sight.

A little boy in the house with his father side mother, come into the study of his father. He hold a coloring page. "Hey Papa, my school wanted me to color this shamrock image any color I wanted and share it online" The father look on and say: "Nice choice of green son" "What do you know about Saint Patrick's Day Papa": inquire the son. The father nip his son. His son rub the nipped spot and give a little smile, in a face of confusion. The father open his arms and the son sit on his lap, coloring page in hand: "Your grandmere nipped me if I didn't wear green on Saint Patrick's day, but beyond a little, I do not know much. We are not Irish. But I know someone who knows far far more" "Oh yeah, who dad" "Well, where do I begin..." Many years in the past, the father, a younger man, unmarried unparent, stand in front of a bar downtown Manhattan. A poster is in their window, and the day is Saint Patrick's day. He goes inside and take a seat side friends. A waitress come by and ask what they will drink. R and LD, or D and A want Guinnesses. The father to be, alone, choose the same. A waitress come by with a drink. He takes his sip and all five enjoy the day. As the sun is soon to sleep, the two couples go to their homes and the husband to be is alone, walking to fifty ninth street. He could had gone into the train station to get on the A train back home to Harlem, before the Blacks were pushed out. But, he chose to take a seat on a park bench and think of a lady on the other side of a southern sea. He walk about a bench when he gets a nip. He lift his foot up and he can not believe it. A little man is looking up at him. "Amadán mór thú!" : yell the little man and he continue: "Ní thuigeann tú mé ... ahhh watch were ya going you fathach seacláide!" The father to be look to the street. "Iontach!, what do you think you are doing, dreaming, or drunk" The husband to be squat and speak to the little man:"maybe I am" The little man howl a laugh: "I once out drank Fionn mac Cumhaill who as a boy was better than most men, when he last saw his wife, before he ventured away I challenged him to a contest of wine made in the deepest cave in Tir na nog by the loveliest tuathe de women... ahhh now we were truly drunk, you are merely a weak bellied" The father to be rise: "well, I apologize, happy saint paddy day" "AHHHH!!!": the little man yell out:"You dhaoine associate the shamrock with that blue scarved baiste, that is not the truth". The husband to be, sit on a park bench. The little man sit next to him, and he look out. "Don't worry, none can see me": and the little man continue to shine a shoe, a pendant made for a bigger neck rolled up at his side, and he continue as the father to be smile at him: "the truth is, saint patrick was a good man, but he never wanted all this philandering and ag ol. He wanted calm, serenity, for when the real magic happens" "Real magic?": query the husband to be. "Yes, like when someone like you step on an old shoe shiner like me": the little man hold the medallion and continue: "You need to be transported to a church for that old saint Patrick, the banshee will be there" The husband to be startle: "banshee" The little man laugh:" calm down, a banshee isn't like in your te-le-vi-sion stories, banshees are helpful, very helpful... they tell you who will pass away soon, sometimes appearing as loving ones". The little man throw the medallion to the husband to be and snap his fingers. Suddenly, the father to be is in a church. Seemingly empty, the father to be hear names in the wind. He walk down the isle of the church looking for the speaker. He opines to the calm air in the church:"Ms or MRS Banshee" He hears names over and over, whispered. The air begin to mist and the voices get louder. He feels a cool behind him and sees a female emanation, that look like a stranger She wails out names, and turns into a younger girl, and then a man, and then an elder. The husband to be do not comprehend why so many, who is going to be gone. The father to be then realize the truth. The medallion shine in his hand, and he snap from the church to the bench. The father to be look incredulous at the little man:" I don't get it" "The lesson is for you to figure out, that is what your kin never comprehend, the world you call magic is safe, so are old folk like from it, but your lives are mortal, are fragile, but your spirits are eternal, their magic is why we can speak to you sometimes, try to guide you, though..." : and the little man disappear from sight, the medallion leave the hand of the father to be, and the voice of the little man continue:"... we usually fail" The father to be rock in the park bench and get up, shaking his head, before the trek into the subway. Back in the present, his son ask a question. "Did you remember the names you heard, ever see that little man again?" The father hold the son tight: "no, I can not recall any name, but today I realize, the lesson" The son ask wondering: "what lesson" "The kin of each person is each other person" "Ceia is ready!": a female voice call out. The son run out of the room, the father smile behind him, and exit his chair. The father get to the door and he hear the sound of a tiny cobbler, and smile without turning back, to get his supper.

A windy night in the city, a clean city; it no longer is the urban lair for street musicians, affordable hookers, or hungry hustlers. It is a countryside city, where the cats no longer sing to the light from the moon, where the streetlights make up the stars you see when you look out. No time for porno shows at one after midnight, no time for a coffee handed to you by that waitress you have desired for months. This is a clean city, where morning, noon, and night is on schedule. But, nothing is absolute, and if you look in the city, past the lights, the tourists, the fearful citizens, a small bit of darkness still exists. A small onyx sun attracts the last remaining city dwellers who know magic exists. We watch one enter an establishment with a wooden door. His jacket is made from mudcloth, the hoodie underneath is for extra warmth needed when one never gets home. He sit down at the third table from the left, two row back; it is his common table cause he leaped by too many others. He places his jacket on his chair and sit comfortably in the chair facing the window. A waitress come by, shirt a little too tight up top, plump thighs and hips swinging gently to the table. She smile and speak. "The usual Ben" "Of course Sheeda, but I wouldn't mind your bottom" The Waitress giggle, and shake her head in reply:"but my bottom is married, why would it be unloyal for you". Ben wiggle in his chair:"Tell me the other problem, and maybe I can make it halfway" Sheeda turn to the counter:"then you will never make another step, a pervert can't stop but be perverted" Ben smile: "Some men wish they had my vitality". Sheeda walk to the counter, shaking her head. Her hips stared at by Ben. He smiles while he look past the window. Suddenly, the bar door blast open. "Did I miss his failed attempt at you Sheeda!": yell a man with a camera around his neck and a worn leather shoulder bag. His white khakis offsetting the wooden floor. "You know it!": Sheeda yell across the bar. "Karl!": say Ben, with his hand out. Karl and Ben shake hands while Ben continue: "do you find my failures entertaining?". Karl sit down and reply:"No, but it is a mystery how a smart man can be that foolish." "Well... Did you succeed in your part of the bet?": snicker Ben. Karl sigh and lament:"I almost did... I put my camera down on automatic shutter, as the statue made from virgins bones was animating before my eyes, Zara said she only needed to give it a father, and I said, I would for a kiss, but I had a vile of water graced by Ametarasu, and broke it in my mouth while she had her mouth open. I never got to actually kiss her" "Oh Karl, so close, so close" Karl look at his camera:"It gets worse, the damn camera's automatic shutter failed on the first revolution, I didn't even get one photo of that thing for the paper tomorrow" Ben laugh:"Oh Karl" "Well... what about you?": Karl starts his audio recorder, and Ben smile. "Ok Karl, I will let you in on it.... As you know, Piye is a global phenomenon, millions of fans everywhere, from Chatter to Xhersize or P-US-eye, they all love her, she generates more traffic than any other. I myself couldn't resists her, but after I did some research I found out, she looked like a Black dancer in the 20s and those earrings of hers was the key" "I saw those too, what is it about them" "I admit, I di": Ben is interrupted the bar door slowly opening. "Get in here Jimmy": yell Karl, not turning his head, while he keep recording. Ben signal to Sheeda, who already is preparing drinks. "Jimmy, I was telling Karl here, how I won our bet". Jimmy look tired, and sit back in his chair, while Sheeda place drinks. And, Ben continue. "ummm I admit, I didn't think she would let me close, but she said I reminded her to someone she knew long ago. She told me to sit as she told me a story, a story of a Nubian acrobat and some unique earrings, supposedly from the ancient waters east of the nile" "you mean the atlantic ocean": chimed in KArl. "No Karl, not atlantis": rebuked Jimmy. "No karl, not atlantis, I place she called an eden, but I wonder after tonight... anyway, she obtained the earrings which keep these special jewels spinning, and she says they are the source to her power. Her unparalleled ability to manipulate the video streams, offering secret images that even the streaming services are unable to detect yet are spoken off in every chat room on a daily basis, sometimes to her, sometimes to more... that old looking mat is supposed to be a game board, snet, or something and it helps amplify the power of the earrings. She said, she even learned a spell that works through that tattoo under her eye, some book of the dead spell or something, and a-" "So how did you get the kiss Ben!": pushes Karl. Jimmy laughs. "I got lucky... I told her to pity me and... she did": Ben laugh incredulously,and continue:"She told me, she does pity me, and in my ear told me why..." "well": rush Karl. Ben become stoic and reply:"Maybe another time Karl, but here is the photo, signed and delivered." "She was naked": yell out Jimmy. Everyone in the bar laugh. Karl look suspiciously at Ben. Ben look toward Jimmy. "Well, another hard night?" Jimmy lean over the table: "today yeah, today she wanted to talk, I tried to get close, get intimate, but she jumped off the rooftop and didn't pay me any mind." Karl side Ben giggle at Jimmy. "You had the hardest of all Jimmy": chime in Karl. Suddenly, everyone hear police sirens outside the bar door. Sheeda go to the door, and Ben watch with sadness as she reaches the door and open it quickly. Flashes and an evening ends in the city, a windy evening. MAgical women, magical events, will remain unknown, unreported, and the little semblance of life in the city, took another hit.

It is a hot day, in a late Summer, in Salvador,Bahia, and people are walking about the Lift Series, interchanging people from the Baixa to the Alta or vice versa. Two blocks from the eternal bustle of the Lifts, at the Baixa, sits a painters shop. In it, the owner, a painter is nearly finished his painting of Catalina Ndule Freedman da Silva, a most busy patient. Catalina chose ninety year old Pedro cause he painted her mother and grandmother, both Ialorixa in the Ile Irin; as a new priestess in the temple, granted entry by Oya’s blessing, she earned the right to have a painting under the vitral of Oya in the AnelOrisha of the temple, aside other priestesses or priest accepted by Oya. The painting’s theme was based on Oya’s blessing her, while she was using her hyper acute high powered mineral driver to successfully cut away unwanted elements from an eclogite deposit, mostly filled with white quarts, to reveal a diamond shaped heart within. But, the painting will have to wait, again. She has a meeting with Fernando, and she needs to meet him before his airship starts to the Amazon. Catalina runs out of the shop, and takes a lift up; a small child on a lift down notice her and smile; she take out her tungsten electrochromic circuit balloon and blow it, her small battery allowing it to switch colors in its spirals; the child cheer visibly as it disappears beneath her. She walks through the multicolored pastel pelourinho neighborhood with bitterness when her family was forced to leave by the Mayor’s edict, granted approval by the King. Finally, she reaches Fernando , past the rainbow. Fernando stand perturbed. Panting Catalina reply:“I had to wait for the painting, my Mae told me to get my painting done soon, before the Orisha find insult” “Sim, if only the Orishas knew how to deprive us of the King”: he jest. “Silencio, behave… Well, do you have it?”: Catalina put out a hurried hand. “Hungry aren’t we. The shops in the Amazon are full of many curiosities, o Marajo made tech from wood, bits e’ pieces are here e’ there, I couldn’t verify whether that dealer was honest”: proclaimed Fernando with his free arm going into his coat. “It was an acceptable arrangement for the trip, besides what I need is a piece within, not exactly the whole”: Catalina snap her fingers, and Fernando produce the goods. The Marajo relic is partially broken or withered or gone, but the lenses are in tact. Catalina smile and kiss Fernando on the cheek. She wish him a safe journey on his airship and will see him when he return for his families arrival from Maputo. In her home, Catalina ponder if the lens will work. She places the lenses in the helmet of her narrow band electromagnetic filter, no problem. She look at herself in the mirror, the cat paws are stylish, her colored tattoos about her right arm are eternally cool, she is ready to use. She goes outside and cuts on the helmet. Next, she fine tunes the frequency she determined from explanations to the sounds made when flashes appeared over the Caribbean in the journal of Juan Garrido. She noticed nothing in the sky. Perturbed she put down the helmet. And, she went to her desk, thinking over everything. Night came, and her mother called her to supper. She freshened up and exited her room. Her mother greeted her. “my fofofilha, I know, eu sobre, something is wrong”: she smiles at her daughter. “I just did everything, I was just hoping to see the signal, it can lead me to the lair of the phoenix, I know it”: huff and puff Catalina. “I noticed your notes, did you take into account everything”: query gently Catalina’s mother. Catalina look inquiringly, and her mother continue:“well, I noticed the sequence he presents throughout the three days and I recall the measurement of time used back then, I am certain he missed an hour, between his measurement of time and his travels about to the Americas”. Catalina is stunned. Her mother hands her the calculations and Catalina runs into her room. Her mother smiles as she walks away. Ten minutes later, Catalina look to the sky with the changed frequency and see the purple light emitted from the lens based on the emissions beyond. The pulses are clearly coming from the north, slightly west, somewhere near Caracas. The phone ring, and Catalina answer, and listen to her mother. “Thank you Ma, for everything, I will be down in a minute to eat, thanks for saving me some spicy acaraje… yes, I will tell you all about the purple glow tomorrow… I need to give Benjamin a call, he probably thinks it is to late to call me, but forgets we don’t use daylight savings time here, so I am still in yesterday”

I am walking alone, far from bourbon street. Far from the sound of beads hitting bare breast, drunken stammers acapella through the krewes horns, just a man alone with the moonlight looking down upon me. I see a small shop, too small to have a sign, only the merchandise in the window provide any clue to the innards. Nothing particular I notice: masks/cloaks/old horns with stories to tell. But wait, a small figurine catch my eye. A simple figurine ready for Mardi Gras in an appropriate outfit. I hear a sound in my ear as I look upon the figurine. But I cannot decipher it. "venez ici": I hear clear while subtely. I shake my head wondering why I am hearing french. "come here": I comprehend but I do not know from who. Again, the voice repeat and I notice my attention to the figurine. She is not moving, she does not seem mechanical, and yet I seem to know the voice is from here. I enter the shop. "Bonjour": is the shopkeeper courtesy. I am surprised he think I know a lick of french. I ask about the figurine in the window. He say, she is very old, made for a gens de colour libre woman. I ask him the price, a gentle fifteen dollars. I accept, and he gathers the figurine and place her in a box with bubble pop for cushion. I leave thinking, I have no wife or daughter and I am getting a cute figurine. Well, at least I can tell people she is old. "trouver ma peinture": I sense from the figurine but I keep on walking. "find my painting!": and I face the unchanged figurine, holding it high above my head, and ask a silly question: "where is your painting?" I wait but no reply. I continue to walk finally satisfied this nocturnal magic is finished with me. "North roman entre Beinville et Iberville" I recall the two streets, I think I know where she mean. I take out my map and recall I passed that location and I begin to walk there. My companion stay muted even as I approach the methodist church at the locale. I look down to the figurine and wonder if this is alright. A light is on, inside. I walk to the door and knock. A cleaning man open the door. "Why aren": he stop speaking and seem in a daze. I wave my hand in his face. No change. I decide to go inside foolishly, not knowing if the magic I did not use will come again if more strangers find a stranger in their church. But I look about the nave or the walls and see no painting. I look behind a column and see her. Somehow I know the figurine is happy. But then a question occur to me. This painting is you. I thought you were given to a gens de colour libre girl, not that you are a gens de colour libre woman. The painting then wink at me. I look up and she speak. "Bon soir anglo, I... need your help": she speak simply. I ask her, what can I do to help you. "You need to face the woman who did this to me and then face me to her, i can do the rest": she speak surely. I have many doubts. "Whomever did this to you is way beyond me, I am no sorcerer": I say escapingly. "Y do not need to know how to wield the magic, just know I need your actions to aidez moi... and the woman in question is located in La Fourche, you will find here where three tree intertwine": and then the painting became still. I look at the figurine and nothing. I go to the door of the church and the cleaning man is still quiet, so I slip past him and close the door behind me. It can be unwise walking around new orleans or around cajun country at night, even during mardi gras but I figure the figurine will help. I buy a sandwich from a local deli and a pack of cigarettes. I eat while I walk, figurine safely in her box, and I keep walking. By the time I get to La fourche I am smoking cigarettes. A car with a confederate sign, fill to the rim with white men who are looking at me, drive but do not stop. I know I need to make this quick. I go by homes, some literally at the river edge, and look for the three entwined tree. I hear a scream. I see a man violently moving and decide to hide behind a bush. I creep near the window and see a dangerous sight. I look down at the figurine and wonder if this little magic will not get me killed. "Sud, sud!": I hear in my head. Clearly my wavering got the attention to my master. I leave the scene, and hope I can find this tree before I end up in a horror movie. I walk south and finally I see the tree. But no one else is there. "Speak these words anglo...Je te donne mon cœur, tu me donnes un objectif, personne ne doit le savoir": the figurine speak hurriedly in my soul. I am hesitant but finally I decide, all well what the hell. And, after speaking the words, nothing. "PUT ME AWAY QUICK": the figurine speak, I can hear her ceramic heart beating, the black priestess soul underneath determined. Suddenly, a half of a mask appear on one side of the three twined tree. The eye behind one half of the mask seem to be a fluid blue. I hear a loud sniff. and, a woman appear from behind the tree. A forked tongue hiss whisper from the mask: "You are pretty fonce to be down here, anglo...now what is your goal, if your coeur is not heavy enough, I get the rest of the deal". I reply firmly: "alright ma'am, though I already gave my heart to another, though I cannot comprehend exactly why": and I pull out the figurine quickly, facing the masked woman straight away. A hiss is heard from all angles and I hear the figurine in my head:"Vous devez m'avoir oublié, imbécile. Joséphine vous l'a toujours dit, pour faire attention aux vieux sorts que vous lancez." The masked woman, writhing, spit out in french:"Anacaona, mais je connais le sang de ta famille, tu n'avais pas de descendants, pas de clan pour t'entendre." The figurine spoke again:"Imbecillia, vous avez oublié que le membre du clan peut avoir n'importe quelle distance, et l'esclavage de votre côté de notre famille a profité d'éclats faits dans mon clan il y a longtemps." And, a flash. Something knocked me down but someone not present helped me up. "LEve! anglo, leve!": said a woman, a black woman in the gown from the tree woman. Her hair pure white. She kneeled down and looked at a figurine on the ground. Suddenly, I realized where is my fifteen-dollar figurine. I hear a giggle from the stranger masked woman:"it is me, the figurine" I am amazed. And then I realize the figurine on the ground is the woman formerly behind the mask. My figurine, pick up her nemesis, and say:"retourne, go back to new orleans, and thank you". My honesty perk up. I did not do anything. She smile and say:"This magic was not really of spells but circumstance, will a descendent of mine find me, me living in a porcelain figurine in a small shop in new orleans, but you found me, pure chance and that was the magic that tipped the scales, no spells, no incantations". I stand up and offer a hand, and I notice her hand has age. "aucun problem anglo, I have been dormir a while": she lift up and give me a hug and continue:" I will be alright, I think I know where I can help myself around here, and I thank you for that". Before I can speak, a sole horn player, standing aside a wall is playing, while the rest of bourbon is empty. It is very late. I think to go back to the three entwined tree, but I am tired, and I need to get rest. For some reason, I need to get rest, and I do. ... Back in New York City, I wonder if I had a dream induced by someone planting something in a drink or spraying me with something. I think on that for weeks. And then I get a postcard. I turn to the back and I see Anacaona Liber's name attached to that old churches address. Her message is:" Figure I needed a new painting with a new style, I will wait for you to decide about listening to your heart" I realize, what may have happened but hesitate to confirm and when I turn the postcard back around, the image wink at me.

ba-bedee-debede-doo Bonjou Nouveau Orleans, I have returned. The morning is bright or magical, as I step from the shore into the city. The sound of horns audible even from this distance. I wonder if anyone will remember when I was here last. If anyone will remember what I did. Well, I have to step forward to find out. Just follow the sounds, as they get deeper. ba-bedee-debede-doo-boo-badoboop-ba Some people are celebrating, and I see a krewe coming like a grass from a storm. Suddenly a woman pops out. She is on a mobile float like a little island, floating between the streets. A lovely glaze from her skin is given no interference from the sunlight, the latter choosing to shine away rather than muddy her complexion with its cloudy difference. I am in new orleans. I wonder if I can get to the old bar, I wonder if it will be there. I awe at the spirit bird going away on her magical island, like all the other men, and as the island turns, I turn back onto the road north, to the Treme, to the storyville, to my old grounds. I wonder about the families of my friends and I, what happened from then to now. Could our stories have ended? I see, a family dressed up. I Want to ask them their names, one looks familiar, but I see no men. It is ungentlemanly to speak to women unaccompanied. They may take great offense. so, I decide to keep it moving, let’s not get startled. In my pocket is an old daguerreotype. I take it out and shed a tear. Suddenly the beautiful collage of horns is no longer interesting. All I can recall are the chants of yore, when instruments were too expensive, when the priestesses still roamed the noir streets of the city. Gens de magique femme . I am amazed it survived the passage through time but I hope it will not be a memory discontinued. It takes hours to get back to my home, ici le tempeste, no longer here, nowhere, I remember when a storm passed through the city. Everyone’s shanty was destroyed but mine, mine remained, mine survived the storm. But that is cause it was a storm itself, shaking uncontrollably absent proper supports, leaking wildly absent a proper roof, a collisions of sounds, made it an orchestra for any who lived in it for any time. It taught me more than any human ever could about sound. I see this small storefront where its porch stood and go to it. The cover over the window has a small gap and i see a woman dancing inside. An angel, like the one on the floating island before, but this one is in a room of cotton, gently cushioning her every move. Her face… her face look like my fofo, I love her most of all. I wish the ancestors allowed me to take her too. I need to speak to this woman. I go inside, the woman pays me no mind, entranced in her own routine. I ask her, can she tell me where to find the descendants of Madame Fofo, my fofo. She does a pirouette and stops facing me. She seems startled by my old-style clothes, the first in these future times, but tells me to go to a party at the beach, where her cousin is. She is the best historian she knows. So, I travel back out and go back from whence I came, back to the waters about my city, back to the waters that can take you anywhere. And, a party existed where I stepped out of. People drinking, partying, listening to music. I recall the description of the cotton angel and look about, even get a free sausage from finely ground meat that is put in between a fluffy bread shaped similar. I imagine to myself, i may never find the historian but then I notice a woman from afar who may be her. I keep walking toward and I am certain she fit the description. I face the potential historian standing next to her friend I assume. The friend, like an Incan princess, notice me first and realize my stare. I approach and the historian turns to me. I ask the historian her name and it matches what the cotton angel told me. I explain to her I am looking for Madame Fofo, my fofo. The historian looks to me in disbelief, and pulls a letter out of her pocket, telling me she found it in the archives and keep it for inspiration. She tells me, to read it. I read the letter and it says: Mon amour, mon corniste, mon Tontton, j'ai fait ce dont tu avais besoin. J'espère que vous trouverez notre avenir sûr. Je veux vous demander, vous dire, beaucoup de choses. Mais, je ne peux même pas savoir si vous lirez ceci. En l'état, je dirai ce que vous devez entendre. Où est ta corne? C'est là que nous nous sommes embrassés pour la première fois. la touche tape sur la perle blanche. La mélodie que nous avons faite ensemble. I comprehend instantly, hand the letter back to the young lady and go to Bienville street, and to where we kissed for the first time. The lamp is still there and I see at the base the bumpy surface and a white bump exists. Then I tap on the it with my shoe. ba-bedee-debede-doo-boo-badoboop-ba-ba-badoboop-badoboop-bedee-debede-bedee-debede and a latch open. My horn! I play our melody on our horn and I can see it is all worth it, as the world reverse before my eyes, like an old movie, Bienville street is going to the way it was in the past. Past I do not know, but past looking closer to my own. Now I know it is worth it, now I know I was right to risk this. The priestess said the Cardinal’s spell on our child needed someone to risk their life, where only love can succeed. I trusted in my Fofo and she trusted in me, and I am coming back. Better keep playing my horn. ba-bedee-debede-doo-boo-badoboop-ba-ba-badoboop-badoboop-bedee-debede-bedee-debede and on and on and on, I see her. STOP! It is the evening, and My Fofo run to me, and embrace me. But she isn’t alone, someone is in a carriage next to her. Someone who look a little like us both. Ancestres! “Mon amour, voici notre fils. L'annee est” I kiss my wife. I do not need to know that. We have all the time in the world.

A Day and Most Night At the Uffizi One of the few thing I want to do in Europe is go to the Uffizi. Not cause I am Italian or want to be Italian but cause I think decently to the Uffizi. Unlike most global museum, the Uffizi actually is filled with art from its local. The Metropolitan Museum of Art in the city I live in, the Smithsonian in the capitol city of the government I live under, the British Museum , The Louvre are all thief holds, where stolen or captured or taken or some negative word work from some people somewhere is placed in perpetuity, for tourists. But the Uffizi is not a thief hold, it is actually Italian. It is Italian through the ages. I like that love of self, of your own kind, the Uffizi represents. And so, I am off the plane and here I go. It took me a while to get there, you know I had to walk and finally, I am here. Oh the Medicis, bless those bastards, hate bankers, but those bankers clearly knew how to support the arts. I wonder if I could had made an impression, achieved a small commission. Maybe something in acrylic, like a Salvador Dali meets Florence before Dali was born. I wonder. Well, time to go in. Wow! A friend of mine went to Las Vegas one time and shared a photo, where this walkway was under a neon laden arch. But this is an oil bubble. How did they do that? I know northern Italy has some technological advances but wow!... I want to... I want to pop that balloon. how do I get up there, better go inside... excuse, excuse... come one, thank you..excuse I avert my eyes; a woman is scratching herself before me. She is staring. I am a male and I am not used to a woman, in modernity, being so old fashioned. I look left and right, no security, no police. No attendants to help me. I walk forward, and try to ask this woman. How can I get to the roof, to pop that bubble? But she keeps staring at me. I see a worker looking through a box in the distance. Her superior, maybe dressed up for a period piece, a show, is telling her something. They are either too busy to hear me, or don't speak English, or are rude. A flash. Some tourists with I heart America shirt next to me, nearly blinded me with the flash. But, when I look toward the scratching woman I see, she is just a painting. I realize the small erection I had, small erection to a large clay mold, is unfortunate. And, I leave the staring scratching woman to her devices. I go to the second floor, I got to pop that bubble. I look for it through the windows but see nothing, maybe it is gone. I lay my hand on a wall for a rest. And, I realize I smudged art. I look around, no one seem to notice someone has placed graffiti on a wall in the uffizi, but it is quite good. My hand only slightly smudged the right breast. I hope the artists will forgive me. I saw the statue near, a greek statue modified by the Romans later, who added the left hand holding the patera, who knows what the hellens had there. Circa 150 a.d. It is labeled in Italian. I asked a tourist, his name is Mike Fitzpatrick, what did the label say, he said "Statue of a Woman with an Ideal Portrait" . I wonder what the Hellenistic sculptors would had thought to BF's drawing. hmmm well, I look outside and the sun is coming down. I walk to the other side to see if I get a glimpse of bubble. No luck so I look for the downstairs. And a bunch of tourists seem still like statues about me. I wonder why then I turn to face what they are looking at. My first thought is, I know that painting. I made a variant of it in high school. It didn't look like this, but... maybe the painting is sick. Then I hear a voice from behind the shell: "Liberate me!" and I realize I got to get out of here. Now I comprehend what is going on. These tourists are weak minded. But this traveler is free. The eye of the woman slowly starts to open and I turn around. "Not tonight, no sir, not me, not tonight": and I run back over to BF's side of the building. Wondering what will happen to those tourists, who will know. I am not telling. I look at the window and see a dark cloudy sky, no bubble. Time to go to the hotel. Outside I choose to look at the Uffizi at night. I notice the side with the Botticelli Birth of Venus is totally dark. Well, tomorrow may be a brighter day. I take out my drawing pad and find a small cafe, where I will sit quietly and enjoy my remaining evening, before the hotel. Or at least, I think the hotel is after...

VERNAL EQUINOX TALE 2020 https://flickr.com/photos/kanaristm/29353776801/ It is the beginning of Spring in a small southern town in Mississippi. A home older than one hundred and fifty year, made to be a tombstone to an old world but used to bloom a new one, glisten in the light. As movement abound in the house, floor boards creak. The man in the house awaken, with noise or confusion. The people in the house notice the noise and search for it. An axe break through old wood and light shine on the man in the house, for the first time in one hundred and twenty-four year. A strong male hand offer itself and the man in the house take it. The man in the house is fatigued, facing a clan in shock. "Who is this?": a silver haired black woman ask. A little boy and a teenage girl take a photo and post it online. "Stop that you two... I don't know grannie": a heavy-set man ponder what to do and ask: "who are you?" "...Jonas": The man formerly in the house reply. "Where do you come from, how can we help you?": The heavy-set man ask. Jonas look at the house and reply: "This is my home, at least 124 years ago" All but one in the modern clan laugh or giggle. Grannie tell them all to shush and she think, and ask a question. "Are you the Night warrior?" Jonas look toward Grannie, incredulous. Grannie continue:"Our family have a tradition. One that was taught to me by my mother, it is of the telling of the Night warrior". Everyone look to Grannie. She begin to hum. "Oh be a McDowell, oh run on the road, the ghosts are coming to kill you don fret my girls, don fret The Night Warrior will save you waiting under the step, waiting under the floor" waiting till one hundred and twenty four" Jonas ask her: "Was more said?" "No, but I never forget asking my mother the same thing, she said her mother told her, the same thing she would tell me, the Night warrior will know" Jonas ponder the words from Grannie. Grannie gesture to everyone else with her hand and they all obey. "Wait Chelle": she grab her grand neice:"help him get set up in the attic ok" Chelle smile at Jonas. https://www.blackplanet.com/riprene2002/photo/2000455418 She escort him to the attic and hand him toiletry and other items and tell him: "take it easy, grannie will be up here to explain more things" ... Jonas worked all morning on the farm outside the house he was in, doing what he know how to do: till the land, work the land, be the land. It is the afternoon and Jonas ponder the world he is in. He ponder what became of his community. Grannie filled him in: disappearances, hangings, pain, fights he didn't agree with, fights he is sad were lost. He confessed to Grannie why he was put to sleep. He was meant to be a tool in a future that never was. A blooming that never became. A priestess from New Orleans asked the spirits to plant him the home, the house be his shell. He wanted an all-out fight but his sister said no. She had lost her husband and daughter and was not about to lose her niece, Grannie's mother. After one hundred and twenty four year he can arrive and start the fight. But Jonas realize, he has no one to fight alongside. The modern Black want to battle absent a physical blade. What does a warrior of the blade do? He see the heavy set relative to Grannie outside the Horse bin. https://www.blackplanet.com/AyeDrayDray/photo/2000434450 "Josh, I will take Mamba out riding": Jonas inform Josh. "ye ok" The horse has one mind with Jonas and come to him. Jonas get on and gallop gently away. Josh shake his head, not knowing where this will end. Jonas and Mamba are casual near the river when Jonas see a riverboat. The name strike him:" Cassie's Cry". He remember Cassie was the name of the priestess. She told him, he would have to look for her in the future. He only told his sister about it. Jonas tell Mamba to go home and jump into the river and intercept the riverboat. Two crewman guide him on the ship. He asks, do they know who this riverboat was named after. The two crewman do not answer, but take him to a sitting area, with some people gambling. Jonas sit patiently, alone, listening to odd machines. The door open and a hippy woman step in; she walk over to him and lean over, smiling in his face. https://www.blackplanet.com/sexy_shyjade/photo/1101583505 "Interesting, leave us": she wave her hand and crew man leave, only a few customers present, and she continue: "well , Jonas, it is you , isn't it" Jonas is excited and start to be inquisitive, but is interrupted. "I am not Cassie, she is my mother" Jonas look surprised and the daughter to Cassie continue: "After what she did for you, do you doubt her abilities?... I can take you to her, but you will have to work on the riverboat, small labors, you may even enjoy the kind of world on this boat". Jonas accept and shoveled some coal and waited on customers, black or white on the way to Baton Rouge. ... The Daughter to Cassie, escort Jonas from her riverboat to a simple house. She leave him waiting in a second floor room for Cassie. After a time, Cassie arrive. "Bonjour Jonas, it has been a while": Cassie sit next to Jonas and continue:"... yes I look a little younger than when you saw me last, it happens when you're a priestess" "... It was a waste of time... a total waste": lament Jonas. Cassie smile: "A waste, your wrong, if you had died, a rare person would had been killed to soon" "Yes, but why didn't you save others": yell Jonas. "Everything in nature has rules, and the natural side unnatural are in nature, thus all have rules" "So... what am I to do" "Live your life" "WHAT! I am told black children were found burned alive, not too far from here and your reply to me is Live Your Life" Cassie snap her finger. https://www.blackplanet.com/Skyyee44/photo/2000440967 The room go colorless and Jonas is unstable at the sudden change. Cassie snap her finger and normal vision return. "... I just don't see what to do" "My dear Jonas, bloom, you must bloom, a one hundred and twenty four year bloom, your bloodline still own that house, make it more" Jonas is not convinced but he spend the day at Cassie's before he head back up river on the riverboat. ... Days later Jonas is tilling the land, being one with the land. Grannie ring the bell for everyone to come inside for breakfast. Jonas bump into Josh, Chelle, side others. Everyone is hungry. Grannie ask Jonas to bring something from the refrigerator. Jonas acquire it, but is intercepted. https://www.blackplanet.com/Chocc115/photo/2000270158 "You are not boring, old man": the interceptor press against him slightly. "I need to bring the lemonade in": reply Jonas calmly. "what is wrong?": question the interceptor. "Nothing, but I realized I am a seed, I don't need to rush my growth, and your adopted mom, will not like you messing around with me" CAST @Skyyee44 Cassie @sexy_shyjade daughter to Cassie @AyeDrayDray Josh, heavy set relative to grannie @Chocc115 adopted daughter of grannie @riprene2002 as Chelle grand niece of grannie If you like more of my stories check out my Short story collection series https://www.kobo.com/us/en/search?query=Richard%20Murray%20Short%20Story%20Collection&fcsearchfield=Series&seriesId=014c67c4-d29d-584e-ada0-62c0fa015714 And I am on Bookbub https://www.bookbub.com/authors/richard-murray-16885e64-6c28-459e-bf5f-45c7d458ce49 Deviantart https://www.deviantart.com/hddeviant/journal/Vernal-Equinox-2020-tale-834328255 Tumblr https://richardmurrayhumblr.tumblr.com/post/613000215536992256/most-times-when-the-spring-come-i-know-it-by-the Tumblr Stories https://richardmurrayhumblr.tumblr.com/tagged/submission DeviantArt Stories https://www.deviantart.com/hddeviant/journal/?catpath=/

A Saint Patrick Day Past A little boy in the house with his father side mother, come into the study of his father. He hold a coloring page. ... Read the rest using the following link https://www.deviantart.com/hddeviant/journal/A-Saint-Patrick-Day-Past-834180689

I was asked a question If you're willing to do so, would you mind expanding upon this concept? I'm a white writer carefully reading this thread, but I'm a little confused by the phrases "still alive obstinate" and "change their minds against them." Trying to better understand! No pressure obviously https://twitter.com/Brianna_daSilva/status/1239685850926960640 My Reply is Well, in the beginning there was darkness:)... I do not mind communicating to any writer, even if you are a writer of white supremacist fiction. All artists must remember, our purpose is to provide messages, not to choose the messages people want. That is what separate the artists from the proselytizer...Anyway, the best method is to use examples. I will use a tweet sequence, I tried to make it as few as possible. But I placed a link at the end to read it whole. ... I will use three character. The little black brother in V<the television sci fi series>, a native american female character in a short story in a sci fi magazine i read years ago, Eric Kilmonger in the black panther film. Yes, the native american woman is not black african but native americans come in all phenotypes, and are definitely people of color, people of color defined as those non white europeans or of non white european descent. The black panther film had black writers but the base characters were written by a white man, the great stan lee. All three characters start off obstinate to the system. System defined as the culture of white european characters in the particular story. The little black brother in V, admits he is gaining opportunity with the green lizard aliens, he never did in the white human order. But, once his big brother is murdered by the lizards, he replaces his big brother to get the world back to the way it was, absent a mention of how his past activities may play out for him or anything else. He is alive but no longer obstinate. The native american woman is serving the aliens. In the short story which is a blend of "They live" meet "To serve Man" the aliens have got the whole planet forgive me, but they don't need to hide. The white protagonist is trying to do like in V, get earth back. He see an old acquaintance, the native american woman. They fornicate. She hands him to the alien lawmen. She says, this is revenge for the plight of the native american brought upon by the white order. She is alive obstinate. Finally, eric kilmonger chooses to die rather than live in prison. He dies obstinate. And, yes, wakanda is the most advanced community on earth while also Black, but their policies of non involvement relinquished the world control to less technologically advanced whites, which is kilmonger's base problem. To quote agent smith, we are free but not free. A long multilog to the writers choices concerning that is for another time. But, of the three obstinate characters, the native american woman, still alive obstinate is rarest by white writers. Obstinate characters themselves are less common than colored friends by white writers. The older black brother in V the common colored friend. But, that is why I said, I will like more Black characters from white writers like the native american woman in that short story I read years ago, still alive obstinate. Now if I am honest, I comprehend why it is rare, and I don't disagree to it. White writers nor Black ones nor any , have to cater to anybody, or any idea. All writers are free to write the worlds they want. Why would white writers commonly produce worlds where non whites are dominant? Fiction is just that, not reality, and caters to ourselves. what makes us comfortable. That is why I also replied what I want from Black writers. Black writers don't need to reflect peaceful integration desires in the real world.