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Blog Comments posted by richardmurray

  1. 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.

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



    March Equinox from kanaristm.jpg


    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.



    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.  



    "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.



    "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.  



    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.  



    "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"

    @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


    And I am on Bookbub







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    DeviantArt Stories



  4. 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.

    • Like 1
  5. 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


  6. 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"

    • Like 1
  7. 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.

  8. mardigras2020gif.gif

    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.



    @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

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  9. Black Hearts Day or Valentine's Day good news 2020
    Richard Murray Valentines Day Album

    Dawn- beginning of twilight before sunrise
    And soon, both of us,Learned to trust,Not run away,It was no time to play,We build it up
    Twilight-sun invisible but atmosphere illuminated
    and now, I’ve got a song, to sing, tellin the world, about the joy you bring
    Sunrise-sun going above equator
    And all the while, inside, I knew, it was real,The way you make me, feel
    Morning- sunrise to noon
    I, can open, your eyes,Take, you wonder, by wonder,Over, sideways, and under
    Noon-temporal middle of the day
    Ain’t, no second chance,You got to hold on to romance,Don’t let it slide
    Evening- end of noon to the beginning of night
    Let me hear, you tell me, you love me,Let me hear, you say, you`ll never leave me
    Sunset-sun setting beneath equator
    As soon as I, get you, out my head, I’m in, your car, again
    Twilight - sun invisible but atmosphere illuminated
    Pour the wine, light the fire, Girl your wish, is my command
    Dusk- darkest phase of twilight
    I won’t pretend, that I intend to stop living, I won’t pretend, I’m good at forgiving
    Night- darkness between sunset and sunrise
    Love them, and leave them, that’s what I used to do,Use them and abuse them,Then I laid eyes on you

  10. EMoney -

    The problem with the creators is the environment online itself. The online environment was engineered to aid the military/the intelligence community/big business interests this means, individualism. This is why all the large websites online have weak communal functions if any. Labor Unions are not going to happen online. In parallel other communal activity is hard to exist online. Sequentially, the creators have no way to demand it. No law demands creators are given a larger percentage and any boycott of creators or exodus from creators will not go to a boycott or exodus by the userbase. Sequentially, if most creators (ninety percent) leaves youtube, their viewership will not follow. The key to truly undoing large sites is getting the youth to use alternative websites. You want facebook/instagram/youtube/twitter to diminish, you need to stop indoctrinating the youth to them. Although, many who make their money online support the four I mentioned. So, I comprehend they want a bigger piece of the pie but the only way to truly get a bigger piece is to change the website or mode they use. Ebook/smaller focused websites is the key.


  11. MLK jr day 1/20/2020


    Many presented videos or text concerning M.L.K. junior today, the twentieth of January. As a point of note, Martin Luther King junior's birthday is on the fifteenth of January, not the third Monday of every January. I am not interested in trying to rewrite the legend of MLK junior. MLK junior like most other historical figures in the USA was made legend after doing legendary things by others, not themselves, by those with agenda. It is more important to change the message in current media than to try to change the influence of past media using current media.   

    My issue is ownership. Martin Luther King junior, asked a simple thing to the black statian, the black community in the USA. Do not use the ways of whites on the path to ownership. It may sound simple but, it is not, historically the ways of whites have never been undone concerning ownership.  

    Comprehend a simple historical fact. People of white European, white is a phenotypical label while European is a geographic, descent are not the majority owners in the united states of america based on positive merit, or decency, or any positive angle. Every inch of land in the u.s.a. today is owned or controlled by the u.s.a. government, itself ranked mostly with whites, or in private white ownership, through various transfers after it was originally taken by killing native americans. Absent land how many firms will exist in the USA? What will the banks or the agricultural firms be in the u.s.a absent slavery? For all the technological modifications by usa based agricultural firms or investments in Silicon Valley in the stock markets, where will any bank or agricultural firm be in the usa without their original fiscal activities involving slaveholders accounts or slave labor for growing produce. Notice I did not refer to an individual person. I am speaking to the white community. The white community in the usa used negative means to become owners and then become financially successful owners.  

    Martin Luther King junior spoke to Black people, grow, be strong, become owners of your own community and beyond; but don't kill another for their land, don't take another person's land, don't enslave another, do not do for yourself, your bloodline, your community by harming others. This is the reality of ownership in the u.s.a. White people help themselves, their community, built on their forebears originally harming others or themselves continuing to harm others. 

    Martin Luther King Junior did not want black people to develop a negative character, a negative legacy, to be unmerited while trying to help their own. He asked a very challenging thing. Martin Luther King junior once said, it is a crude jest to tell a bootless man to lift himself up by his bootstraps. But he also felt the bootless man should not lessen his character by stealing another man's boots. He felt the bootless man should be strong enough to merit his boots through craft, labor, or another's kindness. As a black kid growing up, in a black community, incorrectly labeled but widely labeled, the black mecca, I realized how little the black community in Harlem owned. And in parallel, I knew how much various white communities in New york city owned, more importantly how they owned them. What would the Irish or Italian or white Jewish communities be in new york city absent their mobs, correctly glorified in constant movies. It was the white jewish, italian or irish mobs, the gangsters, the rum runners, the extortionists, the thieves, that had a largest or initial role in the development of ownership in those communities in New York city.  

    I end, with a simple truth, the Black community in Harlem, a cultural district in Manhattan in new york city in new york state, in the united states of america, owns little to nothing in Harlem, yesterday or today. The history of the u.s.a. proves all ownership in the u.s.a. comes from those who were willing to negatively, or through negative actions, earn it. MLK junior asked black people to reject that historical truth, even when we own so little.  

    If the Black statian can keep that hope of MLK jr. alive and one day exist in a u.s.a. where Black people own more than all others, or at least enough to not need another community. It will be a testament to MLK junior’s faith. And make the Black community have a pride, worth more than all the years whites owned far more. 

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  12. IT is the moment in the elliptical orbit of any body around our sun when the sun is closest to it. In this case, the earth was closest to the sun in a moment in jan 5th. Every day after the perihelion the earth is farther away from the sun in the elliptical orbit until the aphelion, what i call the natural midyear. After the earth is farthest away from the sun in the elliptical orbit, the aphelion, the earth will continually move closer to the sun till the perhelion. When I say closer or farther  I mean based on distance from a line from the center of the sun to the center of the earth.  @Mel Hopkins

    fair enough, in many ways, mlkjr's views/philosophy/desire has had another grand rebuttal.

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