PERIODICALS — “IN THESE TIMES”; “UTNE READER”; “THE NATION”; “FREE INQUIRY”; “LOWDOWN”; “THE PROGRESSIVE POPULIST”; “THE ATLANTIC”; “MOTHER JONES”;”FUNNY TIMES”;
RADIO AND TELEVISION — KKFI – “ALTERNATIVE RADIO”; “DEMOCRACY NOW”; “LAW AND DISORDER”; “BETWEEN THE LINES”; “THE BIONEERS”; “JAWS OF JUSTICE”; KCUR – “UP TO DATE”; “CENTRAL STANDARD”; “BBC”; “ALL THINGS CONSIDERED”; “HERE AND NOW”; KCPT – “POV”; “FRONTLINE”; “INDEPENDENT LENS”;
INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALISTS — PETER KORNBLUH; GLEN GREENWALD; GREG PALAST; JEREMY SCAHILL;
DOCUMENTARY FILMS —FAHRENHEIT 11/9; SICKO; WHAT THE BLEEP DO WE KNOW?; HARVEST OF SHAME; THE PANAMA DECEPTION; HIDDEN COLORS, VOLS . 1,2,3, & 4; MAAFA 21 (BLACK GENOCIDE IN 21ST CENTURY AMERICA);
BOOKS — PEOPLE’S HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES (HOWARD ZINN); INDIGENOUS PEOPLE’S HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES (ROXANNE DUNBAR-ORTIZ); WHITE TRASH (NANCY ISENBERG); HARVEST OF EMPIRE (JUAN GONZALEZ); THE FIRST EMANCIPATOR (ANDREW LEVY); WHITE CARGO (DON JORDAN AND MICHAEL WALSH); JUST MERCY (BRYAN STEVENSON); THE CROSS AND THE LYNCHING TREE (JAMES H. CONE); THE HISTORY OF WHITE PEOPLE (NELL IRVING PAINTER); OPEN VEINS OF LATIN AMERICA (EDUARDO GALEANO); DEVIL IN THE GROVE (GILBERT KING); GOD – A Human History (REZA ASLAN); BREAKING THE SPELL-Religion as a Natural Phenomenon (DANIEL C. DENNETT); PATIENCE WITH GOD-Faith for People Who Don’t Like Religion (or Atheism) (FRANK SCHAEFFER);
OTHER SOURCES–MALCOLM X; MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR,; DICK GREGORY; MORT SAHL; LENNY BRUCE; PAUL MOONEY; RICHARD PRYOR; LEWIS BLACK; PAUL ROBESON; TOM LEHRER; BILL MAHER; BILL MOYER; JOSEPH CAMPBELL; GEORGE CARLIN; KAHLIL GIBRAN; THOMAS MERTON; RAM DASS; SHELLEY BERMAN; W.E.B.DUBOIS; LERONE BENNETT; MUHAMMAD ALI; CARTER G. WOODSON; BRIGADIER GENERAL SMEDLEY D. BUTLER; ARUNDHATI ROY; MICHAEL MOORE; VANDANNA SHIVA;
WRITERS — Langston Hughes; James Baldwin; Ta-Nahesi Coates; James Cone; Philip Appleman; Howard Zinn; Chris Hedges; Mark Lane; Ralph Nader; Michelle Alexander; Bryan Stevenson; Mark Twain; Richard Williams;J.A. Rogers; Henry Louis Gates, Jr.; James Loewen; Martin Luther King, Jr.; James W. Douglass; Malcolm X; Elaine Pagels; Seymour Hersch; Chester Himes; Paul Lawrence Dunbar; Richard Wright; Richard Wolff; Alice Walker; Walter Mosley; Kahlil Gibran; Rumi; Sonia Sanchez; Nikki Giovanni;Langston Hughes
The countenance that seems to show contentment sometimes hides envy, bigotry or greed; or smiling, grinning eyes shown unto others oft mask a heart of hate, shield evil deeds.
False faces help to create the illusions that some would have the world to judge them by, while way down deep inside their hiding places, their truest selves and darkest secrets lie.
A need to hide a fear, belie a danger, or cover up depression, angst or pain, can summon up a mask to hide the real self, so others may not an advantage gain.
Sometimes to warrant sympathy or pity, conjured tears seem normal, commonplace. Desire to gain a confidence unworthy could make a sickly grin transform the face.
Each one in time may wear a mask for comfort, protecting tender selves from public view, You can mislead, can be misled by others, but ‘neath the mask the soul can speak the truth.
Be wary of the “face” designed to fool you; search with your heart and disregard your head. Examine thoroughly “face value”‘s meaning. Behind the mask, seek out the soul instead.
Hey there! Have you ever heard of me? I’m the space that was known as the HUB BOOKSTORE, and I was “born, lived and died” in Kansas City, Kansas. I was the northern portion of Cundiff’s Drug Store on the northeast corner of 5th and Quindaro Boulevard, and before I breathed life as the HUB, I had been known as Duvall’s Grocery Store and then as Porter’s Grocery Store. That was a few years ago and when those businesses closed I was left standing as a huge, empty building, address 2103 North 5th Street…just waiting to “become”, … and turned out to become the HUB BOOKSTORE.
I came to life in the late 1960’s … the time when all kinds of activities were occurring around the country. If you remember, this was a time when Black people, African Americans, Negroes, (they hadn’t decided yet what they wanted to be known as) were getting active, trying to learn exactly who they were, where they came from and where they were headed in this country. This was: the time of the Vietnam War; after the assassinations of President John F. Kennedy, Medgar Evars, and Malcolm X; during the Lyndon Johnson administration; in the midst of Freedom Riders, sit-in’s, protests and anti-war demonstrations. There were still protests against school integration, and Civil Rights movements, and church bombings. The news of the day featured Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., the Black Panthers and J.Edgar Hoover and his FBI with their COINTELPRO operations, etc. At the same time, nationally, a Black Renaissance was underway and Kansas City, Kansas was not excluded. There was a group of Afro-Americans who were searching for information about themselves, their history and accomplishments and found it difficult to obtain, locally. Their only source of books relating to blacks came from the paperback selection at the local Katz Drugstore because libraries, at that time, carried very limited material relative to blacks.
A few activists, namely James McField and his wife, Dorothy, Chester Owens, Jr. and his wife, Lillie, Andre Swancy and his wife, Evelyn and a few others got together and decided to gather as much material on Black History, Literature, and Art as they could find so that they could display it to the public. Using their personal collections and funds they shared their materials by and about black people. Mr. Robert Roe from Kansas City, Missouri shared his huge collection of slave artifacts and African American memorabilia; some people shared books from their personal libraries; local artists provided their art works; records by various black musicians were played; African art pieces were shared by persons who had collected them through the years; and in addition, films were rented from B’nai Brith and other Civil Rights Organizations and shown, and for enticement home baked cookies and lemonade were served. They called it “Project Heritage” and presented these programs on Sunday afternoons at the public space at Juniper Gardens.
Project Heritage was rather well received by the community, but as the search for more books about and by Negroes continued, the fact was that neither Kansas City, Kansas nor Kansas City Missouri had much of a selection. In fact, the search revealed that in Kansas City, Kansas there was NO bookstore at all, except for a Christian one, which dealt with, as one would expect, “Christian” subjects. That lack of reading material in the Greater Kansas City area put an idea in the head of McField, who said, to himself, “Let’s open a Bookstore!”
And so, I began as most living entities begin … as a seed … this time in the mind of James R. McField. Since the McFields and the Owens were already partners in AF-AM Enterprises (owning two apartment houses) it was a small step to convince the Owens that they ought to partner in opening a “BOOKSTORE”. So off they went … McField, in 1968 (working at the VA Hospital as a Research Assistant to Dr. James Davis, in Platelet Aggregation and Hematology, but eventually quitting to open and manage the Bookstore); his wife, Dorothy, unemployed, a stay-at-home mother of three, their last child only 3 years old; and Owens, working as an Agent at H.W. Sewing Insurance Company, and his wife, Lillie, mother of three girls, associated with Crusader Life Insurance Company, at the time. (NOTE: Crusader later became American Woodman Life Insurance Company and Lillie became ‘head honcho’). And so they began. (ANOTHER NOTE: BOTH families had 3 kids and mortgages. JESS A. PHOOL was born concurrent with James R quitting his job at the VA and opening the Bookstore!)
First, an empty space was needed to house this idea that was trying to be born into life. That’s where I came in … the empty space that they were able to rent from Mrs. Cundiff, the owner of the building. McField described me as this “great big, empty, high-ceilinged space that needed a huge cleaning.” James, with partners, families and friends mopped me, scrubbed me, and cleaned my windows, while James proceeded to build bookshelves, racks and counters, section off the office space from the rest of the store with burlap and paneling and furnish me with used furniture including showcases obtained fromMr. Morgan (a used furniture dealer and friend), and with the rest of the “crew” transform me into a “store that sold books”. They also created space for sitting around a coffee or tea pot for just “chewing the fat”. This venture or adventure was shaping up to be something radically different from anything else that had been available in the area of 5th and Quindaro Blvd. in anyone’s recent memory.
Second, there needed to be some books to sell from this store. So at their home, the McFields started checking out the Public Library’s BOOKS IN PRINT, where they started identifying books by and about African Americans, contacting the Publishing Companies to learn what their minimum requirements were, and using their meager savings, proceeded to purchase as many books as their stash of cash would allow. This didn’t give them a huge inventory … but it was a start. The books were delivered to their home. A few booksellers/agents came to the house and after learning exactly what the plans for the bookstore were, expressed the notion that “unless ‘Bosoms and Thighs’ or ‘Tits and Asses’ were sold, the store would never be financially successful”. But since the intent was never about making a living out of a bookstore, I understood that these salesmen were sent on their way with a “NO THANKS, WE’LL DO IT OUR WAY”. It was just as well they hadn’t planned on “making a living selling books”, for in the process of gathering information on the bookselling business, they learned that the markup on book sales was so meager, it could hardly support one family of five, let alone two families. Thank goodness the Owens’ already had an income, but it would fall upon McFields to “run the bookstore” with “help” from the Owens. For business’ sake a “salary” for his wife of $25.00 per week was allocated. Wow! Talk about operating on FAITH!
The license to operate was obtained; the lights, heat, and water were turned on and my space was readied for an OPEN HOUSE as THE HUB BOOKSTORE, a “General Bookstore Specializing in African American History and Literature”. The monetary value of the initial inventory was not known to me, but books at that time sold for about $1.25 to $5.00 and there was a good variety of literature for adults and children, covering… history, culture, art, etc., almost exclusively by or about African Americans. Lots of research was occurring at the same time, discovering “black” Bookstores in other cities in the United States, like SOSTRE’S and others in the East, ELLIS’S in Chicago, among others, and to their knowledge, none west of Kansas City until California. Connecting with them was enlightening and productive; sharing ideas, sources, promotional and managerial ideas felt really good to the owners and even I could feelthe exciting spirit growing inside my walls.
New books arranged on the freshly painted shelves, used cash register shining on the counter, tea pot and cups readied on the side; appropriate music from McField’s record collection at the ready meant that an OPEN HOUSE was in the offing. Plans were made to hold this open house on Sunday, April 7, 1968. The shocking news that REVEREND DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR. HAD BEEN ASSASSINATED IN MEMPHIS ON THURSDAY, APRIL 4, 1968, (exactly one year to the day that he gave his most memorable speech at the Riverside Church in opposition to the war in Vietnam and American foreign policy), required rescheduling the opening. On the night of King’s assassination, McField and family came to the bookstore and set up a display in the window: a clock, indicating the time of his death, was draped in black, along with King’s picture, and the announcement that the OPEN HOUSE would be delayed until the following Sunday … Easter! (I learned from the comments and news media that things were really hot in the town on that night and McField told the story of waking up the next morning and discovering Army trucks bivouacked on the street at the north intersection by his house! Scary stuff, I imagined!)
THE HUB BOOKSTORE: WOW! LOOK AT ME! In addition to members of the two families and their friends, my Open House brought in many guests who were local dignitaries, local persons of interest and position, and family members and residents from the surrounding neighborhood, offering both positive and dubious responses. Some people came out of excitement, enthusiasm and/or curiosity and some showed up, just wanting to know what the heck these crazy people were doing, trying to open a book store on 5th and Quindaro…and asking themselves, “Who did they expect to buy books from them?” All in all the Open House was an exciting, successful event that was well-attended.
Although my presence became more widely known in the Greater Kansas City Area, there were still many mixed receptions and responses to my presence. The parents of McField and Owens were supportive of the venture, while still a bit apprehensive about the current climate and the store’s future. Some of the family members had not quite adjusted to the times … the days of the Black Panthers and all the Civil Rights activities. They had heard of the crackdowns on the current protest movements and were concerned that the store and its emphasis on black subject matter might affect the safety of their loved ones. Their anxieties were relieved a bit when the KANSAS CITY KANSAN newspaper wrote and printed a very positive article, “Bookstore Becomes a Symbol of Hope”, with pictures, praising the BOOKSTORE; you know, like a “stamp of approval” had been placed upon the HUB…and it helped.
I turned out to be a gathering place for lots of exciting events, some more exciting than others. Generally speaking, I attracted some really powerful, notable personages to the space between my walls: black authors (Dudley Randall, Don L. Lee, Alex Haley, H.W. Sewing, Lerone Bennett); African writer Chinua Achebe, who was brought to the Bookstore by Professor Priscilla Tyler (UMKC); other University professors (Thomas Copeland (KU) and Ed Chasteen (William Jewell); professors and instructors from Junior College, Arrowhead School; black politicians (Ron Dellums, George Haley); ministers (Porteous, Beverly, Murray, Banks, Father Stitz); neighborhood families (Breedloves, McGee’s, Burlesons, Quinns, Betts, Fergusons, Cates, Riggins, Kelseys, McCords, Francis, and many others); and many other notables. And all the while the hangers-on at the Gas Station across the street took up chairs to watch the daily comings and goings.
Some of the most requested books were those by J.A. Rogers, one of the most well-known historians in the country, including, but not limited to “Africa’s Gift to America”, “Sex and Race” (3 vol.), “Nature Knows No Color Line”, “5 Negro Presidents”, and “From Superman to Man”. Orders were received from School Districts and individuals in varied places throughout the country, including California, Arizona, New Mexico, Florida, and others.
Visitors and customers often came with suggestions of additions that might be made to the space. Because the suggestions were often heeded, many items, other than books, were added and began to attract other customers with different desires. Lil Bucknam suggested gourmet foods and hooked the owners up with Liberty Imports, who as a vendor provided escargot, steak and kidney pies, pickled okra, baby corn, English shortbreads, Kona and Jamaican coffee and gourmet teas; Nation of Islam patrons suggested daishikis, candles, jewelry and African carvings; individual artists, like Sydney Cothran, Lonnie Powell, Phillip Richardson, Andre Swancy, and Arthur Locke, brought their artwork, jewelry and other creations for display and sale; concert lovers suggested selling tickets to local concert and dance events, which was done as an outlet for Foster’s Record Shop; patrons seeking greeting cards with brown faces, may have provided the impetus for Hallmark and other greeting card companies to produce ethnic cards; music lovers suggested varieties of artists’ records for sale; children wanted candy and gum; many patrons needed keys cut and re-cut, and this service was available because James had taken a Locksmithing Course; customers looked for newspapers and so papers like the Kansas City Call, and others not usually available locally like, Los Angeles Sentinel, Pittsburgh Courier, Muhammad Speaks, the Black Panther Paper, were carried.
Some enthusiastic supporters of the HUB contributed significant items they felt would add to the HUB’s appeal. Latell Jennings, who owned a miniature ranch near Quindaro Park, donated an antique wooden wagon wheel, with a pronounced hub, symbolic of the HUB bookstore; Father Stitz, from Atchison, set up a reading room and purchased large numbers of books to make available to persons who visited his space; following a trip he made to Africa, he donated a collection of genuine African artifacts for the HUB to display; a farmer from Leavenworth made a connection and brought fresh farm products which he sold at the HUB; the Sisterhood set up bake sale items on a weekly basis for a short period of time.
From time to time, small groups gathered to talk and sip tea; a group of students from Strickland’s Peppermint Nursery visited the HUB; often children who were suspended from school came in, settled in corners and read books, asked questions, studied maps, did homework, and spent their time inside, instead of out on the street; owners developed a traveling exhibit and on numerous occasions, when requested took it to events throughout the area … and so it went!
I understand that so much about Bookstore business was learned through experience as this venture progressed through the years, such as how much of a drain the unexpected expense of repair and maintenance would have on limited finances. Who knew, for example, that the huge plate glass windows cost a fortune to replace if a rock pierced a portion of it? That information explained why a number of stores in “inner city” areas had front windows that were segmented into multiple panes and why others had boards with only small amounts of window showing. It led the owners to explore the possibility of acquiring a loan. I understand that these idealists spoke with one lender who was only interested in making a loan much larger than the small loan that they desired. This lender would have required that they move their location to a more “desirable” area with a larger amount of foot traffic, and a greater possibility of financial success, (in other words, a greater likelihood of repaying the loan). That was a “no-no” … this location was special, it was a HUB! They already knew enough not to get entangled in that red tape. However they did acquire a small loan from the Small Business Administration for operational expenses. They learned about the costs of doing business: the fees for business license and insurance; the sales taxes for local, county, state, federal, income, withholding, unemployment, and all the others that seemed to appear out of the blue. In addition they quickly learned about people’s attitudes concerning small businesses, that is the seemingly never-ending requests for ADS and donations. (“You’re a BUSINESS, aren’t you?”). To make sure that they didn’t screw up, they created their CAN SYSTEM. (On one occasion the owners were visited by a Business Economics Class from KU who were curious to know how a bookstore in the inner city could survive. They wanted to know what business model was being used …and were told about the CAN SYSTEM! The class had never heard of such a system, so the owners explained, with tongue in cheek: “There was a CAN FOR SALES TAX, ONE FOR FEDERAL TAX, ONE FOR COUNTY TAX, ONE FOR STATE TAX, etc. ad infinitum, and the way it worked was that after each sale the amount due to these places was placed in a CAN, so when it was time to pay up, the funds were there.” The Class shook their heads in bewilderment, thanked the owners and left, while the owners smiled and said “Good day!”)
They also learned that some items were returnable, so neighborhood children and family were recruited to strip newspaper headings and magazine fronts to return to publishers for credit. To cut down on expenses, like replacing busted plate glass windows, there was only one paid (if you can call it “pay”) employee, and all the rest of the help were unpaid volunteers…mostly the McField and Owens children. Cindy Owens accompanied her father and McField on Saturdays to Kansas City News Distributors, our source for periodicals, records and paperback books, to pick up supplies. The unpaid volunteers also dusted book shelves, called customers who had ordered books, checked books in and out and sold items from the store. And there was a brief time when a few children in the neighborhood were actually paid a small wage for their services in the store. It did have to be explained to the questioning “family member volunteers” that the reason they didn’t get a “wage” was because they got to eat supper at home on a regular basis … and this did seem to calm the potential storm.
To say that the HUB BOOKSTORE was controversial was to be understated. Almost as soon as the HUB opened, the owners hung the red, black and green flag of Black Nationalism beneath the American flag outside every day. It was called “Communist” or the “Viet Cong flag” by numbers of people who had no clue, ignorant skeptics who didn’t bother to check with the BOOKSTORE to learn something. And to really confuse the “gang” that hung out across the street, one day a couple of Afghanistani motorcyclists stopped in to say “howdy” because they saw the red, black and green flag outside and informed the owners that the flag of Afghanistan was also red, black and green. Remember that this is the 1960’s with all the agitation going on around the country and the HUB in the middle of it with their choices of reading materials and visitors. And speaking of visitors, there were some questionable ones, three I can especially recall: first, a very vocal young militant who ranted about the need for the owners to carry books and manuals about arming individuals so they could ‘prepare for the revolution”; second, a tall, dark, caped, suspicious stranger wanting to know the names of the “most militant organizations” in the city and the names of their leaders; and third, a strange, female with a ‘prison’ odor, who swept in, surveilled the place in swift motions and left the impression that she was a provocateur of sorts, who could only mean trouble. And then there was the FBI, including agent (Hank Boyd) who came from time to time. to share a cup of tea or coffee and listen to outsiders’ assessment of current politics. They told me about the phone taps, the strange cars reported outside the McField and Owens residences, the phone calls made and reached before either party actually touched the phones … strange, so strange, but considering the atmosphere around the country, not unanticipated. The HUB was shunned by most local preachers and active politicians, patronized by some individuals whose intent was uncertain and by others who didn’t want to be ‘left out of the loop’, in case there was a ‘loop’; the store was ‘protected’ from would-be devilment by local young folks of uncertain reputation; watched by the establishment through local police presence…just in case the owners were ‘up to something’; and watched from a distance by ‘upstanding citizens’, waiting for the arrests, so they could say, with conviction, “I told you so.” And lukewarm support was given by the black bourgeoisie.
And if there was not enough excitement going on in the area, in 1971, McField, who’d been showing up at local meetings carrying charts showing the lack of diversity of School Board and city government representatives and calling for District Representation in both, decided to run for Mayor. Contradictory reports suggest McField coerced Owens into being his campaign manager … (and this, too, is a story all its own). Suspicions of drugs being placed in the store prompted contacts with the FBI to make them aware…(the owners had read about one Black Bookstore owner out east, Sostre, who had been illegally charged with drug possession, given lots of problems and jailed).
It’s now the 70’s and locally some individuals decided to give the HUB some competition. A couple of other Bookstores opened up…guess they thought the HUB was making money hand-over-fist…but they must have really been surprised because they closed up before they got going good. Nationally, the mood was swinging in another direction…in addition to big box bookstores opening up with the ability to purchase in volumes and having return privileges, they were attracting the same customers and competing with the HUB; Black Capitalism was being pushed by President Nixon; more emphasis was being put on economics than before and other cultures were beginning to raise their voices. The HUB had started carrying materials from other cultures, as after all these were also minorities who had been underrepresented. Anyway, signs started arriving that it might be time for a shift, a change in circumstance.
And then there was a break-in! The first! The few things that were missing were easily peddled items…tickets to concerts, jewelry, records…but not surprisingly…no books! The owners had survived: the shoplifting; some youngsters’ threats to disrupt business; agent provocateurs; being ignored by those ‘higher echelon, saditty’ black folks who couldn’t bother to frequent such an area as 5th and Quindaro without sufficient protection and certainly not after dark. The HUB survived much with the help of neighbors like LT and some of the guys that hung around and protected the store. But with the break-in, the time seemed to be at hand to call a halt to this grand adventure.
So somewhere close to a holiday in 1975, over a weekend, (I was never open on Mondays, anyway), books were boxed up, shelves dismantled, furniture was removed and with the help of some of the ‘faithful’ I breathed my last breath and died. Just as James had sat and screwed shelves together, he sat and unscrewed them and in one short weekend, it all disappeared; overnight it seems, the HUB was transformed once again into the huge, empty high-ceilinged hollow space it once was. Everything was cleared out, nothing left undone. Its debts had all been repaid, including and especially the SBA Loan (which had not been the case of other SBA loans taken out by other small businesses at the same time as the HUB); no publishers or vendors were owed any money and all the taxes and other debts were paid.
The HUB was born, lived and died in a few short years; however my memory lives on in the minds of its creators and many of the patrons who partook of its services. I did make an impression … one example of the impression that I made on some people was a story that one of the owners told to me: It seems that at a local seminar in the late 1990’s, a young lady expressed loudly of her pride that Kansas City, Kansas had a Bookstore … on the corner of 5th and Quindaro … called “THE HUB”… to which the owner inquired, “How long has it been since you were at the HUB?…It closed 20 years ago.”
I spend my days in solitude, thoughts grinding in my head, worming their way through the crevices of my brain, tunneling their way through my mind, conversing with my other selves arguing the merits of their value. No one to share them with, they dialogue with their own obtuse parts, their fragmented selves, weaving their tufts into blankets that smother, then warm, then comfort, then chill. Loose ends dangle and pretend to define, hoping to complete a tapestry, worthy of recall, fooling no one, especially me.
11-16-2003
DOWN INSIDE
I dig deep down into the past, find darkness, vagueness, blurred images of what used to be…me. I stare long and hard, try to discern what once was…me. Small lights flicker, flame and die, snuffed out by ancients puffs of ego; withering hands pull back the curtains hiding…me, revealing embers of dead dreams, long-forgotten plans, visions. Shards of broken pledges to myself of what was to be…me still lying scattered about the past, forgotten, now remembered; too late to sweep them up, glue them back or create anew? Each moment is a new beginning, a whole new life on a whole new doorstep in a whole new doorway waiting to be entered; a whole new path waiting to be walked, opens up to… me.
2-23-2004
EMPATHETIC
My whole soul aches when I consider man’s inhumanity to man. Rage takes over to obliterate this mirror of our hate, our fear, our insecurity, our uncertainty. Tears burn, eyes blur as I weep for the divine of our-selves, the demise of our-selves, the destruction… of our-selves.
3-21-2004
CAUGHT
My disorganization is catching up with me. Trapped like a fly in a spider’s web, overwhelmed by stuff,– Tar Baby and the weasel,– locked in my own interests and seeking, fighting my way out of a plastic bag that does not yield, only stretches. Smothered in idle pieces of memorabilia, sinking in memories I don’t want to let go of, drowning in life and life’s stuff. Given this all-consuming interest in so many things, it’s strangling me! Head swimming, foggy, trying to locate something that needs to be dealt with now. It was where I put it when I gathered it, now replaced by other stuff that was important at the time. Too much time – a day? – has passed since it was gathered and now it can’t be used because it can’t be found! Whittle it down! There’s got to be light at the end of this tunnel, that is, if this is a tunnel and not a cave and that is a light and not an oncoming train.