richardmurray

I am a huge fan of Viola Davis, long before her larger popularity. She is correct in her point. I quote her in double brackets

<<I got the Oscar, I got the Emmy, I got the two Tonys, I've done Broadway, I've done off-Broadway, I've done TV, I've done film, I've done all of it. I have a career that's probably comparable to Meryl Streep, Julianne Moore, Sigourney Weaver. They all came out of Yale. They came out of Julliard. They came out of NYU. They had the same path as me and yet, I am nowhere near them. Not as far as money. Not as far as job opportunities. Nowhere close to it. But I have to get on that phone and people say ' You're a black Meryl Streep' . There is no one like you. Okay, then if there's no one like me. You think I'm that. You pay me what I'm worth. You give me what I'm worth.>>

Her point is simple. Make the wages based on merit. The problem is, fiscal capitalism in the USA is based on two things: ownership, race. First ownership, ownership means the financier, the producer, the revenue stream, the person with the money. The owner decides first and foremost where their money will go. Before the civil rights act of 1964, before the War between the States, few white people in ownership positions decided to hire black people, not most, not many,but a few did. What does that mean? Ownership has a record,albeit slightly, of operating against the majority scenario or common comprehended ruleset. Second is race, in the usa the main racial category is phenotype or appearance, the ruleset say, white people look a certain way, black people look a certain way, and  white people profit more than black people. A simple rule but one reinforced as a commonly comprehended unwritten, meaning not in the written constitution, law.

The question going forward is: How does a country go from an ownership/race based employment style in majority to a merit style in majority?

I will provide a fantastic example

If I am a trillionaire, and I want to spend most of my money on making a movie studio with the sole intent of hiring black people for the entire creative process: I am the producer, I hire black directors like Julie Dash and Antonie Fuqua <equal number of male and female directors each paid the same>, Black writers like Tanararive Due and Steven Barnes <again equal quantity male or female plus equal pay>, Black thespians, set designers, musicians for the scores, production assistants, food trucks. Black men/women/descended of enslaved/african/asian/caribbean/south american/european/lgbtq+/paraplegic/drawf/muslim/christian/atheist/over80/under20/latino/anglo/bantu. But what if a director, Shonda Rhimes, for a film wants to hire Sandra Oh, a colleague or friend, and I say no? what if I say yes, but don't allow Sandra Oh to get paid as much as Cirroc Lofton?

Now some will say SHonda Rhimes must demand Sondra Oh is paid per merit, but I tell Shonda she can leave if she doesn't like my way. I am the money. How can I be forced to pay Sandra Oh what she warrants? If it is up to me, in this example, I say an unchanging no. If I will not change then how can merit be enforced or demanded in my studio? I am paying for the studio, all the money is mine. 

How does a country go from an ownership/race based employment style in majority to a merit style in majority?

https://twitter.com/MrNiceGuy18_58/status/1278065496412299264

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In the future, aside Mons Huygens, in the capitol of the E.N.U., a school for age 6s in district five, Gandhi Academy, has Origin Day. The children wait for the box of noted old things from Earth’s past to be revealed.  

A teacher open up the box, flanked by her peers, and various items are present. Each child in the school’s roster take an item.  

…

Marianne look at the storage unit and read from a letter, by White Feather.

“My grandfather was told by his grandfather, as they opposed the building of a pipeline, that he remember his son, my great grandfather, fighting in the original American Indian Movement. How these white men came and took his son’s daughter one late evening. They found her weeks later two states over in Illinois. Local authorities or federal authorities never found out who did it. But, my great grandfather, with the bow he made, lived in the street and hunted those men with the old ways. He eventually found those men and murdered them. The police nor other law enforcement came but the family knew as he told them how he did it, and it coincided eerily to the news report. My grandfather was told this tale during the video presentation you are watching. The AIM flag was not preferred by my great grandfather but after avenging my great grandmother, he flew it proudly wherever he went”

Gentle Cougar took out an old photo and read a letter from Candace Nascimento.

“My grandmother was a field nurse during world war I. She knew about the field from her grandfather, a former buffalo soldier, who had a forebear that served the British during the united states war of independence. He told her he was forever shamed about his tenure in that unit and she should never serve the USA in any fashion, giving him the chance to kill for a fantasy. But, during the war to end all wars, she saw many of her friends heading off and wanted to join them. And she did. She lost her fiancé in Southern France, a sander from Louisiana, deterring the main German offensive. The USA never awarded him. But she survived and was emboldened to be a pan africanists. She wanted to find her way to a Black country. And she is waving the flag in this photo. Some white cops later that month confiscated all the money they had gathered to make a boat with provisions. It broke my grandmother’s heart. But, she found her husband, Rodrigo, later that year and he was always proud of her waving that flag, as he never had saw such an exhibition in Salvador”
 

N'Dule took out a colored photo and read a letter from Georgina Blake Jefferson.

“My grandmother grew up in the bayou, in true cajun country. She never finished elementary. And decided to work as a house cleaner for the elites in New Orleans. One day, soon before her eighteenth birthday, a group of guys from the North were partying for Mardi Gras. They waited for her to leave her shift and grabbed her. She couldn’t struggle against a group of five men. She learned later, her brother as a member of Beauregard’s men secretly patrolled new orleans to keep the cajun women safe. And, even though one had violated her, before the others could get there turn, her brother and his friends found the rig of her captors. She never forgot seeing the beauty of the battle flag of northern virginia on their jackets. It represented a safety the stars and stripes never did, a pride in being southern. This photo she took at her birthday party later, she would always carry a battle flag with her wherever she went”
 

Carlos Tenji took out a drawing and read a letter from Madiba Patel.  

“My grandfather was a refuge and his family chose the usa cause it was the biggest option. Any country in europe seem smaller and already too congested, and no one spoke chinese or russian or portuguese. My great grandmother spoke english so that was an assist. My grandfather was an internet millionaire with his roaming cinema verité. Going around hitchhiking, taking online viewers on his journeys. This graphic was designed for a government official. Some people were tearing it all down. My grandfather gained a limp trying to stop them. He told the people, he wasn’t trying to change them, but asking them to stop trying to change others. If we learn to live side by side unlikely neighbors, neighbors we oppose while we don’t try to change, we can have true peace, not a deceptive slavery. It took many decades but we finally did learn how”
 

…

Other kids presented items from yore but none were flags.

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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

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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

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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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.