Lessons to be learned by dropping out and living in poverty.
 The Rules of the road, while traveling through life.
The people in our lives tell us what to do. They have carved in stone a building of laws.
These tribal laws are past down from generation to generation by word of mouth, as this
bundle of yarns roll, it picks up pieces of useful information.
We as children do not believe that these rules and laws are of much good, we rebel,
wanting to learn for ourselves.
Some children do learn in the first years of schooling, some children learn though trial and
error (Tomas is this example).
Dropping out and living in poverty is a good way to learn these laws the hard way, the
way that makes law understandable. You start out by scratching your butt in the woods,
completely lost in your total darkness. Then you learn to wash the crap off your hands.
Then you learn to build a fire for warmth and light, then you build a shelter for the winters
rain and snows. Pointed sticks from the fire for poking and digging in the earth. While
burning clay in the fire, you burn your hand, you are forming clay into tools. You draw a
smile in the flat clay tablet. You learn to bind wooden branches with vines. Sharp rocks
hurt your feet and you learn to scrape or pound with them. You eat whatever is available
and soon learn that some thing brings an ache to your knotted belly. You choose to eat
whatever does not hurt. In the back of your mind you come to understand the lessons
learned in the schools, the language to speak, the tools to create objects, the ability to
While you are learning, the great greedy machine rolls through the green lights. You want
to stop the machine, slow it down a little, teach it to watch for children. The machine
whines and says that it knows about children, as you quickly move the child out of the
way of this steaming breath.
Why am I writing?
Putting words on paper, exorcizing the writing skill. Thoughts and ideas have left for the day. Is there some way to make these words understandable and poetic?
We know love when we see it and feel it. Our throats swallow and our tear glands work.
 Memories, movies and beautiful stories sometimes convey the emotions of love. We sometimes love a written story or emotion, we sometimes love another being, we sometimes love life. I have been blessed I have loved them all, I have loved another human, I have loved life, I have loved the written alphabet that conveys ideas to others. I love the fact that I can send an emotion of love to the world.
People ask me to try to convey my good emotions to the world. I have a lifetime to try.
We are interwoven strands of ideas, colorful patterns in tapestry. Our lives intertwine with words and thought. We want the earth to be at peace. We care and speak truthfully.
Time has moved forward, we still love and speak clearly.
Why am I writing?
I want the world to know that I care. I want the world to know that if they know what I think. They will have a friend that understands. People say that the mind sometimes is lost in depression. A depression that does not allow people like me to come too close. I always feel that a mood can be changed with understanding.
People tell me that what I think cannot help the person with the will of depression. That these people are beyond help.
I only wish that they have a nice day followed by another. I hope that the wheels that turn in their heads look at the life at their feet. I only wish that they have a nice day followed by another.
Decipher every word that I write. Get a dictionary out and study each word that I write. Understand what I write.

Subtle changes in respect for our friends on earth.
I see on the river small-scale abuse relating to the respect of our fellow men of color.
I see people politely forgetting to inform our friends of color the small known dangers up ahead on the river.
These are subtle examples of politely forgetting to share the wealth of knowledge on this planet.
Subtle changes in respect for our friends on earth
I see people simmering with hate just below their cordial attitude.
Their cordial attitudes held in check by the laws of man.
I see people that would explode if the laws of man were lifted
Subtle changes in respect for our friends on earth.
I see people that forget the small man that smiles.
The quiet man of labor that endures quietly without making a sound of vocal protest.
They are too proud to make a scene, but are enduring the jarring smack of not being seen on this planet.
I see people that do not see the mind that is slightly ajar, quietly simple..
Subtle Changes in respect for our friends on earth.
Minds looking up, minds looking down.
Where is the open mind?
I see minds that kiss butt and never look back.
I see minds that always look down on the other man.
I see that minds that forget the road that they have walked.
Subtle changes in respect for our friends on earth.
Minds looking up to god, minds looking down on man.
Where is the open mind?
Where is the mind that sees equality?
Subtle changes in respect for our friends on earth.
Here is the mind that sees equality.
Our Heartbeat
Our heartbeat has been a wonderful communications rhythm.
Mothers have laid their child against their breast in a soothing manner since time can remember.
Man has communicated with other men by pounding on a near surface.
Messages have been sent across our air space of canyons.
Wives Tales of Wonder have survived through the mind and the pounding of a rhythm.
Spoken words and chants have deciphered the rhythms of man for centuries.
Today the pounding is still heard.

Music & Suppression
Before I could understand its meaning, music was heard in my ears.
The first memories of where the music came from came though via an old RCA Victrola
with a hand crank at its side and a stainless steel needle.
My mothers family the Arellanes’s (silent lls’) had this machine in their living room.
A serape was always used as the living rooms couch cover. Mexican records were stacked near the Victrola.
Toreador, matador, a bullfighter. Early childhood musical images.
 I do not remember the names of the tunes played, but I hear them from time to time. Some of the recordings were Spanish flamenco; Malagueña moved me at an early age. It was played on a Spanish guitar. I wanted to be a bullfighter, standing tall and proud, back swayed in elegance, asking the bull to come and dare harm my soul. That pride I understood early.
Christian Christmas carols.
The radio was next, followed by a round T.V.
I guess these musical interludes had meaning. These were only background music.
The next music that I heard that moved me was “Shaboom” by the Chords. “Life could be a dream Shaboom if I could take you out up in paradise up above, shaboom.” This was first taste of rhythm and blues music for me. This was music that I had never heard before. This was music from a different area of life. Someplace that I had never been. Why was this music kept from me? A new world was being placed before me. This was moving my soul, this music was crying with grief. This new music was pounding in rhythm with my soul. I soon learned where to find this music on the am radio dial. This was not the music that I could listen to on our living room floor. This was music I had to listen to at some friends’ home or out in some remote area.
My emotional body was tugging for love and knowledge at these times. I could lose myself in the emotional rhythms of early rhythm and blues. I was hooked, why was I not told of this musical genre.
Bill Haley Rocked Around the Clock and Elvis Presley burst upon the scene singing the rhythms of the Memphis Blues.
I was so happy to realize that someone had the courage to sing the rhythms of the South.
Everyone around me was swept up in the new wave of Rock and Roll.
Elvis was singing the songs of Little Richard, Little Richard sang his songs so much better than Elvis.
We never heard the sounds that we are hearing now.
The am radio sound was scratchy, fading in and out with the weather.
There was no surround sound or the beautiful clarity of our FM radio systems.
Everything we heard was not very clear in those days.
The nineties CD brought the original clarity to the music of the forties, fifties and sixties to our homes.
This is something very new, very new.
I later learned that my father was listening to Nat King Cole, Duke Ellington, The Mills Brothers, Billie Holiday, Cab Calloway, Paul Robeson, Lionel Hampton, Louis Armstrong, Count Basie, The Ames Brothers, Billy Eckstine and Lena Horne.
He had a particular fondness for Nat King Cole, The Mills Brothers and Billy Eckstine.
We listened to popular music on the car radio at that time in our lives. I did not know that my father liked all the above.
Just like the R and X rated movies are suppressed from our children today so was the black music suppressed from our homes in those early days of WW2, McCarthyism and the Atomic Bomb propaganda era. We are suppressing our children from the entire content of the new Internet. The V2 Chip flies above our living room and bombards our children when they watch the wrong channel.
My favorite song, "Good Golly Miss Molly", by Little Richard
Walking on rip rap
Some are small, some are large. Some stones are firmly in place, some are loose.
Some look firmly in place, but are loose. Some look loose but are firmly in place.
You never know what will happen as you place your feet on the stones.
Your foot may want to lean to the left or maybe to the right.
You are always balancing, constantly adjusting your weight over the stones.
Like everything else in life, these stones are a constant source of pain, because they are not meant to walk on.
Some of us have to travel on difficult paths. We do not have to put our selves in these positions, but we do.
Twisted ankles and scuffed knees, arthritis, stomach ulcers and head aches, aliments that we all endure.
I read in Peter Coyotes’ book “sleeping where I fall” where a being walked more than five miles one-way
(maybe more) to get some fuel in cold and freezing weather.
They persevered for their cause, they moved their body where it did not want to go, they did a job that had to be done.
We have all placed our bodies in places where are bodies did not want to be.
Pain has sometimes moved though our nervous systems when it did not have to.
We endure, we place our bodies in strange places for a cause, sometimes menial, sometimes meaningful.
pull and tug
Sometimes I am lost in the world of thinking that your world is better than the space I occupy.
“The bear went over the Mountian”.
Why do I lose the perspective that life is grand here at my feet?
What images move my mind into far away dreams of dancing bears and fairies?
Over yonder hill and dale the movement is swell.
Why does my mind go off into places it wants to be.
Or maybe this is just an emotion that passes though the mind.
When I look out and see the colors I am here.
When I read about your habitat I think I should be there.
Why does life pull and tug at our garments like a small child wanting something.
When I step on the moon, the golden arches will be on the wal-smart facing.
No matter where ever I go, be it heaven or hell, I will be confronted
with the golden arches on the wal-smart facing.
The pearly gates will have a logo,
"Over 1000 billion have entered these pearly gates".
I'll need a card with a magnetic strip to pass forward into oblivion.
Pearls on beautiful ladies.
Sun shinning on golden faces.
Glasses to push up.
Thought, we travel on dreams and walk on reality.
Forward our minds tinker with thought.
Forget the sense of style, we are.
Proper grammar wants to make sense of it all.

A Message in the Dust
Red barns with tin roofs rusted. The red painted barns, light gray with age, are the relics of the past. Here they are leaning to one side. The farmer is the only one knowing that his barn will not fall or fail. I can count hundreds on my way to work. Some would not make good kindling, other could adorn "a cow and barn" by MasterPainter.
I see people asking to say hello, others are beyond being asked. Nothing has changed in thirty years. Some people play the flutes and some people follow. Some people look down on garments and hair, earrings and lashes and chubby cheeks. Some stand aside in lavender embers and watch.
I could stand like "Scarlet" atop a green hill and pour ashes from an urn.
The dust and ashes could move aloft and swirl into our eyes.
Why do we want to impress the crowds with harps and jubilee?
Why do crowds avoid some visions?
Some people seek comfort in style. Some people cry and are ignored. Such is the style of our system. The haves and the have nots. Dust and ashes could move aloft and swirl into all our eyes, the haves and the have nots. We seek who to talk to, the rest we ignore.
What a pisser.
There is a little bird out side this window, picking at a mop, trying to fly away with the mop strings, she gave up and flew up and dropped a message in the dust.
I step out into the darkness
bonga, bonga, bonga *
I step out into the darkness.
I look up and see the moon full.
I walk over and sit on a cushion, give a twist to my wrist and illuminate the darkness.
Out through the darkness twin beams of light cut a tunnel of light.
I move forward, still seated in my comfort.
bonga, bonga, bongaDid I illuminate the darkness?
bonga, bonga, bonga*
I am moving forward at a terrible speed, I adjust my vision and demeanor, everything is normal.
Everything is normal?
Who is in awe?
I assume normal behavior, is this normal behavior typing about moving in the darkness at a high rate of speed?
We assume.
The red haired boy sat and giggled as I walked by.
What am I to assume?
I move forward into the light and then into the darkness.
I arrive at work and continue assuming that all is normal.
Now I can speak about this gift, this wrapped up package of ours.
This being walks and rides in the light and darkness.
bonga, bonga, bonga*
*Note :bonga bonga bonga is Ramons
Words and language and the improper use of Whoo.
What I write seems garbled and unclear. I was taught in school about
nouns, verbs, prepositions and la la.  I could only write if I followed
the standard procedure, until then I would have to sit on the backburner
and stew, wash dishes and clear off the table's son.
Something happened and all the rules went to Whoo. So now that I really
do not give a hoot, I can consume a great amount of energy and place
characters on monitors throughout the world.
Doing rather well, being rather good.
Another simple statement.
I am listening to the William Tell Overture.
I am aroused.
My feelings go immediately to the Lone Ranger and Tonto. My childhood heroes of the
1950's, how could anyone not try to do the right thing when they grew
up? While my father was out doing what men do in the fifties, the Lone
Ranger was telling this young man to be good. The Russians and Americans
were trading barbs on the newsreels. Communist's were shunned into
little corners of the Americas for their Marxist and socialist values.
People wonder what brought on the evolution of change in the fifties and sixties.
Change has always been a way of life for the people in these United States.
People have always wanted the world to be a better place.
Every place we looked we saw people wondering why people were not
treated as they should.
Well finally the children in the sixties said, "Why not…!" And since
were going to make this world a better place, lets treat the beings
around us equal. That is not too much to ask.
So that is where we stand, equal.
I have just found Alicia Bay Laurels web site. I have tag it to our home. I have pointed arrows in her direction. I have told friends where to look. Now I read words, her daily chats about old and new friends along the path that she has paved. The careful way she walks on this planet. She stops and sits and lives each day, meeting the world, telling the world about our planet.
Some thing that I did find out recently is how far behind Kentucky is, so far behind in the world of caring for the planet. I live fifteen years behind the times. It is as if I live on an island far from thecaring world. Find her web site and read, you will become one being filled with care. She lives in the swirl of color. She speaks of early bohemia. What I remember of bohemia are the dark black coffee houses along the beaches of Huntington, Newport, Tin Can and Seal Beaches.
I have to go to work, see you soon. Speak freely, there is no cost.
Reading Alicia Bay Laurels web site gives me great insight into the way of life of an author, maybe some insight into the upper middle class folks that she meets along her journeys.
Kentucky is a long way behind into the attitudes of giving, living a dream and the lifestyle described in her writings.
This is poor state with plenty of targets on animals.

Green damp lawns mowed, cars park on an asphalt lot, birds singing in a partly cloudy sky.
Rusty outbuildings are standing with junk.
Pleasant emotions are here. The cats taking a bath, the day is new and cleansed, it rained.
As I droved home last night in a thunderstorm, the wind lashed, the rain fell, green leaves blew across the black asphalt road.
I drove twenty mph in the storm.
It was a little uncomfortable, I'm thankful to be alive.
A big potato bug looks at me. We spoke and I said how I envy you. You
are so round and plump, fleshy.

When we all speak in unison, fine glitter moves about our being. Some of
us sing, some of us speak, some of us write, some of us paint. Some of
us labor with love. Some of us learn to speak again. When we all speak
together we gather friendship and patterns of thought. Our mosaic is
indeed fine. Again we must say that we have aged rather well. Light has
brightened the night. I am reading what the angel says.
Like round drops of water, pure and clean, we cleanse and brighten the earth.

I am reading more about the enchanting lady as she steps forward among
the beautiful people.
Rain drops.
Rain drops from the clouds, raindrops clear and clean, raindrops gather
dust as they fall to the earth. We know that each drop is different,
just as we know that each one of us is different.
Sparkling clean our earth appears after the rains of last night.
The potato bug rises from the earth, ugly to us, we shiver at the way it
looks. We want to walk away, turn our backs and forget that it exists. I
have not seen one for over fifty years, I did not want to see one now,
but I knew that they were. I looked and found a meaning on line, they
were as ugly as I had thought. It has to take its place among the
beautiful creatures of earth. I am not to decide about its fate or turn
my back when it arrives in my garden.
When angels swirl above our heads in our dreams. We only see them as
angelic, not limping with stubbles of beards. Why is that? Who washed
the dust and scrubbed the cheeks until they were rosy? Where are the
angels that look like demons? In hell? God forbid!!
Our world is truly distorted.
Laurel and I step forward. We walk this earth. Equal in the eyes of
lifes mysteries. I step forward arrogant and proud, I guard my peace, I
proclaim that peace dwells around this aura of life. I decide to be at
peace. I step forward a peaceful creature and speak of beauty.
Kentucky is into having possessions. Most of these folks my age grew up
on farms with only a small school education at the end of a dusty road.
Intelligent but poor, was the norm in the fifties and sixties. Now all
the roads are paved, the schools have been centralized and people are
building four bathroom homes that cost  $150,000.00. Those that cannot
afford these homes park doublewide trailers on old home places.
The middle class children go off to school or work in other parts of the
country. They do not return, some return when they retire.
On Thanksgiving the men go hunting and come home for the dinner. That is
the norm.
These people are hunters.
What can inspire? What can inspire a person to just see normal behavior
as something outstanding and genuine? When I look out the same window
day after day, what could inspire one being to wonder? The same greens
and grays that were seen as a child, paint a subtle different picture
today. I can complicate the matter by placing a glass before my eyes,
half full, half empty. Whatever reason I still see. Moment by moment
subtle changes before us reflect / interact an emotion.
I stop by and visit the online Morningstar friends. I go about my daily
work schedule and they go about theirs. I reflect on what is available
online, always happy to see lines of words tapped on the Most or their
web sites. When someone says hello or says hello again it brings joy
into being.
We truly live in the present.
The beauty is there to behold.
Burgundy veins move into a deep green. There is new growth on a three-year-old tree that I walk by everyday. New life is seeking the warmth of the sun. A new leaf, a refreshing existence seeking life. The beauty of a being that is new, seeking an existence.
I acknowledge its being.
The beauty is there to behold.
Speaking the same language, people share the same emotions about living on this earth.
Each passing day we see something before our eyes that we want to share with the world.
Sometimes it is something as simple as a new leaf seeking life or
reading about other beings that share your emotions about
the beauty that is before our eyes as we step forward on our paths.
There is something that we have learned that is unique and simple.
I am starting to read again.
Reading had been putting me to sleep.
I read what Ramon and Pam wrote about Morningstar.
I decided to write about the person that is out of place, out of mind and a little upset with the world for being their scapegoat.
I was writing thinking that I would put the world in it’s proper prospective for the young minds of tomorrow.
What I was writing about has already been said by other beings.
I voiced my opinion and spoke of what the world did to my mind.
I am starting to read again.
Reading is putting new ideas into memory.
Simply human, simply being.
I stand naked, clothed in garments.
An aura of peace surrounds this place and time.
I am at peace, until I cross the line.
If I remain at peace I will not harm.
I can choose when to decide to do harm.
I am responsible for creating harm.
If I harm another with weapons, I am not at peace.
It is a choice I make.

To be at peace or to harm.

It is a choice I make.
If I harm another with weapons, I am not at peace.
I am responsible for creating harm.
I can choose when to decide to do harm.
If I remain at peace I will not harm.
I am at peace, until I cross the line.
An aura of peace surrounds this place and time.
I stand naked, clothed in garments.
Simply human, simply being.
Wind.Color.Movement.Oh! Being.
See the human.
See the sun.
See the planet.
The wind blows the trees, branches bend to their minor limits.
Colors are reflected in our daylight.
Life moves, a soft gray mouse scurries under a leaf pile. People move silver plated carts in parking lots.
Oh it’s so splendid to see the planet and its creatures move about, being a part of this planet in motion.
Again and again I speak of being. What is the big deal? We all wake up each morning. Different moods greet us, planning our day.
Organized folks move to their assigned places. Scatterbrains rub the sand into their eyes and step on their shoes and moan.
Some folks place pencils and words in place. Others rub their bellies and try to open their eyes. Some top their tanks while others wonder why their vehicle has stalled. Some folks circle the wagons to maintain the peace or fight for the dignity of self-esteem. Others spit tobacco into the wind. Some folks paint yellow lines to maintain order while others wonder why?
No matter, I have given my love to the women I have embraced.
A morning view, for this thinker, there is a pleasant day. I wish I could paint the mood and maybe live as long as I wished to write.
For as long as I write I wish that I could affect/infect the world with good feelings and good understanding for their day.
I wish that your garden was as fruitful as you wish.
Tall tan grasses are swaying in the afternoon breeze.
The suns heat has removed the moisture from the top of the grasses.
They stand, golden, swaying, offering their seeds to the sun.
They will fall to the earth and begin another cycle.
The farmers here have cut hay this month.
I see one hundred round bales of hay scattered across a new green field.
Gee! Those are pretty flowers! Our friends utter some Latin Varity name.
Bonga, bonga, bonga.
The flowers are light blue and rise toward the sun.
I’ll mention their names when I know, if I’ll ever know?
Our world is named and cataloged. Some of us know every name.
Some like my self know only the greens and the colors,
the basics, simple.
How do you tell the world to behave? You can’t.
Our day revolves around the sun. We try to maintain some sort of decent form of lifestyle.
We have heard the words to the songs and we try to behave as well as we possible can.
I could have said as humanly possible, but that involves too much carnage.
I have lived through the forties, fifties, and blossomed in the sixties.
The first rays of light did not pass through my being in the sixties.
I became aware of the beams of light that passed through our system of life in the sixties.
The world has changed because I changed during the peaceful revolts of the sixties.
I will always understand the way we can be on this planet.
There is no excuse for not being the other wise man or woman.
Life cycles, the earth cycles.
Some want the dust, others do not, I stand, I sleep, I read, I speak.
How could I possibly understand?
Walking Together
Walking together, we have common bonds. Nothing else is needed. No need
to speak or write. We have lived on this planet together, that is all
that is needed. Walking together, we have this common bond.
It has been a pleasure knowing you. That is all that is needed. I have
no place to go, no agenda, no goodbye to say. Just a note, something to
highlight the space we have enjoyed together on this planet. Just a note
saying that it was not in vain. We have put meaning into this world of
ours. A body has to speak, a body has to share a moment in time, we have
done that very well and now the world knows. Nothing else is needed but
peace of mind.
An emotion to share.
Take care your self.