richardmurray

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.

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.

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.

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=/

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.

The Black Fratrem

The original work stated, top text bubble to the bottom: Dad what is the best way to get into college, good grades and hard work can lead to a scholarship, dad what is the best way to get into college, a big fat check.

Black Statians love to treat college as an issue of merit and it is not. The educational non military college in the usa was a place for junior fraternity, until president woodrow wilson < the hater to all black people but also a disliker to uneducated whites > starting with the college of new jersey started to demand educational higher quality. While educational quality has a factor in the modern educational college in the usa, the role in the college never changed. It is a fraternity, or a sorority, or a fratremity. The whole concept of alma mater make every graduate from a college a fratrem to every other graduate from said college. The fiscal rich kids have a financially higher fratremity, while the fiscal poor kids try to raise the fratrem they are in through the diploma, which they have to earn through scholastic merit. Said merit is not the purpose of college, said purpose is fratremity. The purpose fiscal poor black statians attribute to it, has become mythologized in the black statian community, thus the original comic. And that is why I oppose it. The original comic alludes to a meritocracy. The USA was and is not a meritocracy, and no amount of preaching will make it one. The USA was and is a militaristic community based on genocide/slavery/fiscal capitalism. Black Statians spent over one hundred and fifty years, since the war between the states ended and Black statians gained < not earned , ask why if you want to know > a status higher than slave but lower than citizen, trying to will the USA into a meritocracy through nonviolent racially integrated comradery. Black Statians failed.

The original art is from SLANTED PLANET The Cheating Elite

Daylight Savings Time 382020

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"

Fiyah asked a question< LINK>: What are some tropes about Black characters in futuristic stories that you think need to be left in the past?

None, no trope warrant a blockade based on any bias or allusion in it. For non black written future stories I dislike the lone black murdered in the future trope most. For black written future stories I dislike the absent fourth wall trope most. Too few Black written future stories are like the following:

...The children from earth were forced to new worlds; two are planets side other bodies orbiting about a star far from Earth's sun. One planet is a large white planet, with white people on it, and no moon. The other is a black planet, five percent the size of the white planet, with black people on it, that has a moon. The black people on the black planet were tired of looking at the white planet; and, they chose to use their moon to house a fission engine array in a gyroscopic lattice to inject neutrons into an element called obonyx,only naturally existing in or obtainable from the Geb Asteroid,  to start and manipulate a black hole. After the engine was installed, project whiteout was initiated. And the former moon, now a black hole is pulling the Black planet toward it while moving toward the white planet. The people of the Black planet had a week long holiday as their Black hole whited out the white planet. ...

Black written future stories are sinfully concerned with sentiments of modern readers or the modern reading environment.

MARDI GRAS 2020 Story

tum de de dum dumm, I can hear myself snapping as the sound of horns parading up and down the city streets fill my ears. The spring wind is coming. But Mardi Gras is already here. I suddenly feel jolts. Again, and again, I am not in the mood. My eyes open and Nissa looks in front of me.  

"Wake up Richard". I try to pull the cover over me, but she insists and swipes the covers away. Tonight was a good night, I don't need the day. But she insists. Time to get breakfast. I know it is her bed and breakfast and I know I needed a room, but everyone in here is knocked out. I even heard her boast last night, and I quote "of having the tightest pussy along the Mississippi". The Mississippi is a huge river, alot of pussies is next to it. How this grandmother has a pussy that tight amazes me. But, time to get breakfast for the folks.  
Can I get an apple? I ask the lady at the local deli.

My entire time in New Orleans, I swear this woman has never smiled at me. I know sometimes I lose myself and my hands start wandering when a sister is about. Maybe I accidentally on purpose swiped at her bottom. A man's loneliness can prey on him. Anyway, she keeps looking at me. Those eyes are so pretty what am I going to do. Then she says: "are you going to buy", unchanged face. I look down and notice two apples. Then I realize, I have been talking to myself the whole time she held my two apples. I realized I may have made a similar inner monologue every day, maybe that is why she looks at me with that unimpressed face. She sighs and I realize I still have not paid and she is still holding the apples. I twitch and get the money out of my pocket and pay for the apples. Now time to get a move on. Wait, why did she give me two when I asked for one. I wonder what that meant. Well, I can see her later today when the parade runs.
I get a message from a relative; my cousin’s, sister’s, brother’s, wife’s, niece. I am part of a big bloodline. I click the message and some glittery text, a wassup from Jamaica. I scroll down to see the photo.

The text at the end says, enjoying the sun. I am very happy for her. I have to make breakfast this morning for others, for part of my payment for room and board. I imagine she has some stella got her groove back guy saying:"ya lookin fine" and she is twitching all over the beaches of Jamaica while he strolls behind her. well, I am happy for her. I reply: "good morning"
The last shop I have to go to is the flower shop. Nissa wants flowers for every person at the bed and breakfast for their meals and et cetera. The shop is a little rusty looking on the outside but when you go in, olfactoric magic. This must be what the great regal gardens in times past smelled like. The first person I see is the owner's daughter Sammy. She asks do I need the usual. I tell her I need quadruple today. She calls her mother. Oh Billy, billy billy billy. She comes from the back and gives a good morning.

I tell her, I need four times as much today. She turns and sighs. She tells me she has orders for today, a special party, and may not have enough roses. I call Niss and Carnations will do. She asks me which ones. I have many bags so she is considerate and will pick them. I am not too proud to admit I asked for the lowest ones, after for feigning to high ones, just to see Billy bend over four times. Lovely hanging fruit on Billy. A few days ago, she cussed a guy out bad, he was a little drunk to be honest, after he tried to propose to her. But, during Carnaval, some men get a little drunk and, her fruit is too large to not notice.  I bet a drunk man sees a set of linking rings. Her slap across his face the city noticed and my face is to gentle, so I have to play it cool. She gathers the flowers she picked plus the others from Sammy and wraps them up. After I pay for them, she asks to help me. Billy gently places the flowers on the bags I am carrying and then punches me in the side, and gives me a smile, winking her eyelashes innocently. I take my wound and leave a fortunate man.
...I finally get back to the bed and breakfast and look to get in the shower and probably go back to bed. Have a nice naughty dream. I get in the shower and I hear a knock. It is from a woman in a room on the first floor, Candice. She asks if she can come in for a second, she needs the mirror. I say no, I need a peaceful shower with no female vibes. Nissa opens the door for her, she is paying with dollars I am not. "Don't want to look at you anyway" : Candice utters . Nissa leaves unconcerned. I suddenly stop cleaning myself. "You can do whatever you are doin": Candice utters. I am perturbed but naked, wet, a non paying guest in a bed and breakfast. I decide to do the movie male act and see if I can see Candice.  I can see her in the mirror.

I, honorably, do not touch myself in the shower but I stare at her, big ass. She seems to not care for me. Suddenly, "You masturbating yet!" I retort immediately: "First, I have never once thought about masturbating to you, and please lower your voice, the last thing I need is odd rumors" "MMMhmmmm": Candice reply. She walks out the door, and I continue my shower erect.
Nissa tells me to deliver breakfast to the lady at the second floor on the right. I get the breakfast with my white outfit on, like I am in a tobacco barons house. And go to the second floor, and to the right. I knock on it and a boy open the door. His brother is playing with him. The lady, their mother tells them both to stop, and let the man in for breakfast. I come in and one boy asks: "are you a butler". "This is a bed and breakfast son": I say without looking toward him, a smile on my face, yes a smile on my face. The littler brother speaks a spell:" B-U-T-L-E-R". "You have nice sons maam": I look to the lady. She moves over, while her sons are eating: "take a seat". In less than a nanosecond I think of, I think I love my wife. I ask in strategic preparation: "what if your husband comes in?". "He had to work, so we three are enjoying it alone": she calmly state to me, and I go to sit. She continue:" My family are from here and my father wants his grandsons to join him in the brass band this year" "oh cool, which brass band is that": I look over to her.  

"The Riverboat Stompers": her natural stare, hypnotizing my movements. I shake my head like the charmed snake, the other head is waiting for orders. I shimmy in the seat and reply:" I know of the band, I think Bojangles had a role to play in them"   She is taken aback and confirms I am correct. "If you will like I can," :a bell interrupt her. Nissa needs me and I tell the lady: "my name is Richard". She replies: "mine is Mrs. Williams". The words Mrs. Williams struck my heart, I was hoping like all men who risk passion, the possibility of danger. I guess not. But, I feel eyes on me as I leave. Maybe I am just imagining things.
In the afternoon, I am told to bring the medical kit to the first floor room on the left. This is Hilda's room. Hilda is a marathon runner. Every day she gets up before anyone else and runs and usually comes back around the afternoon. I once asked her, will she enjoy the mardi gras festivities. She said on the last day, but she usually has quiet time at night enjoying the sound quietly in her room. I knock on her door. And she beckons me inside.  

she was waiting for the kit. Her ankle seem a little swollen. I asked her how she got it. She said southern roads are unkept. I asked her did she need anything else, and she said no. So I left.  
I wait at the attendant desk and a boy put up a flyer for the special party.  

I think I know this woman. She acted in the show, Granddaughter Pancake. A pretty big star, I recall she left the show when she no longer liked dressing up as a schoolgirl. It is amazing they thought they could have her playing that role as a grown woman. I know the heir to a pancake fortune, living in a huge estate, will not be like a girl in the projects. But, after spending years in the projects, with her last remaining blood relatives, she will change her ways somewhat I imagine. Pretty big party to have her headline. I wonder what that special party is about.
It is dusk and the noise is growing outside. I enjoyed an hour with Mrs. Williams and the boys at her grandfathers. But now back to the attendant's desk. The woman at the first floor on the right, asked if she had any calls.

I told her no, and she chose to sit in the living room. I wonder who she is waiting for. She smells like honeysuckles, and I notice one hidden in her hair. I recall Billy saying today was a big day. I never saw anyone, any guy, come and meet her before and she became a resident a day after me. She smells really good. I see her check her phone and turn. A chocolate covered car, looking like a pierce arrow is outside. A driver in a chocolate uniform comes out and waits. I see a man's hands on a diamond hilt cane, chocolate gloves, in the car. I guess she is his flower for the evening. well, she is definitely in bloom. I watch the car go off.
Seven days ago, when I got into the city and was desperate, and luckily found Nissa's bed and breakfast. I found myself standing next to Claire in the rain, about to go in. I shook and got wet all over her clothes, she was not happy, and my apology, to be honest, was not concerning. But, after I made my deal, later that evening I was told to go to the second floor room on the left. When I went in I realized Claire had it. I at first, was apologetic for earlier and we exchanged simple pleasantries, thus I learned her name. She told me her plans in seven days time. She wanted an escort to a special party. I told her, I am not an escort. Then I felt a chill behind me, and it was Nissa. I turned back around and asked Claire: I apologize madam, wherever you want to go I am willing to go, I even made the pantomime tip hat and bow motion. She giggled, which I appreciated and then turned and invisibly swooshed me away. Now, I at Claire's door. I open it and she seem unsatisfied.

I ask her is everything alright and she says the man she planned to meet at the special party cancelled on her. I told her not to worry, she is a beautiful woman. And I told her I called a cab already and will be with her to the event space. ... When we got there she was not happy, but I told her not to worry. I talked to Nissa and she told me, about her brother. He happened to be in the party. And was unaccompanied. I told Claire to look at the door, and there he was, in a lipstick red suit, very Denzel Washington in his posture, his grace. I looked over and Claire was happy. She gave me a kiss on the cheek, I admit I got a nice erection watching her walk away, but smiled and went on my evening walk, I think I will stop by that deli.
I walk about and follow the human movements, I happen upon Miss Williams grandfather's brass band and I notice the boys, up at night, killing it. I try to see where she is but I cannot find her, the crowd is too big. I am standing next to this lady looking for someone.  

I ask her, is she alright. She confirms she is looking for her husband. I ask her what he looks like and she gives me a description. I look for him too. He surprises her from behind and they go off into the crowd. I notice their loving slow embrace with power cut through the crowd, and wish them well. I look around a little lonely and notice the deli is not far.
Yesterday, was one hell of a day, and the night was mystical. I recall fragments in a dream, where I was surrounded by black roses. I tried to get a whiff but every time I came near, they wilted, but when i went farther they came into stronger bloom. I wonder what was in that drink Tilla gave me. I don't know. I can not sleep, sweat is all over me. I get up and the bed and breakfast is quiet, like the city, MArdi Gras is done. I notice Hilda is running to Bourbon. This is pretty late for her. I guess she couldn't resist that guy who kept making her laugh. I saw them go into her room, I am glad they had a good night. I will walk around the block and get a little stretch in, maybe settle me to go back to bed. I round the second corner and a woman is enjoying the morning to.

Neither of us speak, we both seem to had great evenings. I stop and turn to see her turn the corner. I pause in that moment and I can hear the brass bands sound shimmer in the sunlight.

CAST

@SoulOfAWoman619 Nissa
@Jessica1198 Lady at the local deli, Tilla
@Ms_Bee_Mer my cousins, sisters, brothers, wifes, niece
@SEXIXI80 Claire
@SexiiT2981 Billy, mother to Sammy
@katrinapri candice
@emmarldclark miss williams
@sharmaine173 Hilda
@tmurray504 woman in the flyer
@KOKOLAT first floor on the right
@sweetpamela60 the unknown woman
@Mimi_131 the married woman at night

thank you @Mel Hopkins

Malcolm X died today years ago, what say you to the themes in his life?

Garveysim, UNIA, Black lawyer, Hustler, Miscegenist, Prisoner, nation of islam, muslim, harlem

@Mel Hopkins I like the name, bittersweet soul

I concur that soul is a secular version of gospel. All black music is from gospel from slave days/blues from the earliest days free/jazz from new orleans.