Sunday, November 29, 2009

Post Script from Ghettoville

I must say with all due respect that the Phase 3 and The Arrivals - the online remarkable series and programs have been very compelling for me and my friends - This series certainly make the unaccustomed to thinking - think. Through these vague and hard to find online programs and my online curiosity I slowly figured out that the US Federal Reserve which was created in 1913 despite being unconstitutional - a global corporate entity that pinned the US dollar to abstract numbers and debt to the future; while removing the dollar from being based in silver or gold... is our nearly 100 year old slave master. What are the numbers behind the debt that defines the US dollar standing on? What is the US dollar pinned to? The Answer: Human lives - from when ones parents pay the Hospital for the birth of a new soul - for the necessary medicine and vaccines - for the very food to nourish - for education whether state tax payer or private - for health "care" - for work or a "career" as an "occupation" - for mortgages to come home to - to find shelter and family in - To retirement and finally the cashing in on the dying process in a hospital or nursing home to the inevitable death tax: A dying process strung out on medicine to prolong the life span of a living human as a resource to be tapped out. That is what the Allah Almighty US Dollar is pinned to. Souls. ...and now there is no where to run to - no way to live outside of this control grid. No way to unplug like in the film the Matrix. You can wake up and see your chains but you cannot exit Plato's cave of control for the blind. And if you do open your eyes and wake up it is as a prisoner of Palestine - which is held captive to show the world what non-compliance means. And now Palestine can be erected anywhere for anyone. Hell begins on Earth and there is no way to avoid it when you have no soul it is your destiny. I'm glad I know this but the resulting personal depression and feeling of powerlessness is all I am left with. I still would rather know. But I cannot change this Matrix of Control. My very life compels this system - I am guilty of it an accomplice for playing a part in it - however small and pointless. My conclusion is I want off the planet - in a space ship that looks like a coffin. Wake Up but there is no way out. After a lifetime within this control grid one has no soul left. I do not have the time or space even to pray or meditate - even if I believe in some form of Allah Almighty God of good and wisdom and compassion. No one here gets out alive. Wide Awake in the prison of life in today's world. I am waiting on the Angel of Death but fear there is none. I am a slave without a soul or a life. I am the silver and gold behind a worthless international currency. In short I am meaningless. Like oil I am a resource to be used up for someone else. ...Wide awake and free thinking in my mind only from a prison played out on either side of the retail checkout counter - in a life lived out of discarded super paver parkinglots to nowhere. I can't see the razor wire but it is everywhere and inside me. Ghettoville, USA Matt
Sunday November 29th 2009

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Midsummer's Summer Garden Before the Color Fades

Random backyard snaps of wildflower seed results... Flanders Field poppies remind old folks of WWI Vets.
A Cactus blooms in an Ohio garden. The rest of the photos look like a moment from The Wizard of Oz when Dorothy and friends fall fast asleep thanks to Elphaba the Wicked Witch of the West distracting the Yellow Brick Road travelers with a field of poppies in bloom - distracted by their destination of illusions while in Ghettoville people chase weedy pipe dreams from parking
lots - car parks - not city parks... parks for cars - not parks for people:
But of super paver parking tarmac places to nowhere, of nowhere for nobody...
In a nation who does not know what "place" is or why it is important and why a monument - not a retail marquee are imporant things for the soul set in place in those very places to make space for place.

I can't put up flowers for all of the dead in all the cemeteries I know so this is my garden to those loved ones who have passed on.
When I see this riot of colors I have to remind
myself that November always brings the death of winter frost and freezing cold. The anniversary of tragedy and loss returns again and again - decade after decade.
It just doesn't seem possible right now from a balmy green world where I am barefoot and in jeans and a T-shirt...

Parkinglots are dead places, for the walking dead - never moreso aparant than in this economy of rubble.
Let the markets decide - they did and they packed up, boarded up and moved out and left us behind in Ohio.
Debt is the liquid in the broken up dreams of a failed nation's veins and the parkinglots stand cracked, weeded up, fenced up, forgotten in front of old strip malls of the cheapest buildings possible.... Mocking the reality that Western Societies only present the illusion of Democracy - and that Western Democracy's only present the illusion of freedom. Freedom is not just a free market for the wealth.
Cement block architecture and metal sheds with plate glass windowed fronts... Facades of plywood all boarded over... set back behind colossal monuments of flat tops to nowhere to the trickery of free market Capitalism and the power of the nightmare of the American dream. The fear of the dream being a nightmare is the fear that controls the masses...
There are no corner shops or corner cafes here. There is no here or place - no metropole. Nowhere to walk to. A drive through, yes, for too hot coffee or a drive through for liquor, beer, cigarettes and greasy junk food for
a nation with a huge hole in it to drive through...
A hole where there was once soul - even Route 66 is a phantom memory of stretched out tar in chunks for miles.
Not much need for a flag pole this fourth of July given the legacy of the Bush trauma years...
The ghosts of Reaganism has come home on the horses of the Apocalpse to roost. The Beast of the Apocalypse was Capitalism who seduced us with a shiney new car... As a nation we have lost our dignity and our wallet. As a nation founded on stolen land and stolen lives what did we really expect?
We sit in cars that aren't moving - and if they are moving
then those cars really aren't going anywhere, nor are they, like we, who are not really from somewhere, going anywhere - while the air conditioner is on and the electronic music plays.
Parks for cars, Parks for houses, Parks for golfers but very few parks for citizens... or people. The forgotten city park and it's importance cannot be revived when there is no
place here in Ohio.
No healthcare, no jobs, no unemployment office. No one to call for help with these basics on the hard facts of living. But the creditors will call you but they won't help you - even if you ask.
How many people sit with a hand gun in their lap and a creditor from health care bills on the telephone.
And there is no one to ask for help. It's the Fourth of July, I despise the sound of fireworks - especially this year. Illegal fireworks from a neighborhood brought up on contra-band fire works from the over sized sofa with an over sized pizza and cable TV... for over sized people. Cars that go boom to houses that go boom - for the red white and boom. The reverb is on and everyone has passed out intoxicated and oblivious.
A President of such proportion walking through history calls on us to have Hope - Hope in ourselves - but right now we need a hand up and not a hand out. We need to brush ourselves off and take a much needed vacation - a holiday. We need to sit in cafes and at talk - talk at the corner shop about what we are going to do but those places don't exist like much that we once took for granted. Working poor in debt to time working for corporations while indebt to other corporations.
Carcasses in the abandoned super paver parking lots to Nowhere - Lives played out at the bottom of the retail food chain from both sides of the check out counter - Lost souls on an existentialist ride around and around - year in and year out with no place for destination.
One more trip around the sun - on an axis of four seasons - sure why not - but why? How many more times around in this repetition of ignorance - this annual banging our collective head on the wall to learn what...? What exactly of why we are here and what we are to do with what we have - the stolen, polluted ground beneath our feet or the hijacked and polluted sky above our heads. What kind of sinister place is this that we have made with that mantra of let the markets decide? A grey November gardern not so far away awaits - What do we see in reality mocking us from the parking lots of a nation when the color fades.

Monday, June 8, 2009

Recent Letters Between Belgium and Ohio

Belgium: Hi again

Ohio: I'll try to answer your e-mail letter questions this way -- the rain has stopped and the heat and humidity have set in I can't write a proper letter to answer your great and kind letters...

Belgium: Matt... there is so much sadness and bitterness in your mail. That is so, so sad.

Ohio: jawell c'est la vie, non?

Belgium: I always like to remember you as the guy that made us crack up when he was talking about the things he experienced in good ole' Brussels.

Ohio: yeh well its still me - i was always depressed - its the source of my art and humor...

Belgium: Never thought you'd miss it!

Ohio: what Belgium, Brussels, Bart anything with a B in it?

I miss people and places... Bart got the house, the neighborhood, all my belongings that were shipped over, even the things from before I met him - stuff from my family - they are still there (i hope - Bart says they are but who really knows), the dogs, my friends - jeezus - all he needed was a power dildo and dishwasher and he wouldn't need me or Gert.

Belgium: Why on earth are you staying in Ohio!!!! I don't get that.

Ohio: well you just answered your own questions... where am i going to buy a house in Belgique for 12,ooo dollars... Aalst? Genk?

Belgium: Of course you have your house there now - but still. If you're not happy, go away. You lived here - and I KNOW how different it is - and even if we're the 'old country' we are SO MUCH more 'modern' (the word is 'vooruitstrevend' but I don't know that in English)

Ohio: Progressive i think is the closest match... but yeh you all are very modern - and sometimes i think trapped in that very modernity.

Belgium: ....(more modern) than the States.God, it IS better to live here! We saw some real poverty last year, quite amazing. Patrick's host mother lives on 2 euro a day for food. That is incredible! I don't think I can make breakfast for that money - at least not a breakfast that is good & healthy.

Ohio: yeh life here is really bad - i have never seen it like this.... Europeans just have no idea... I am glad you have a feel for things tho.

Belgium: About Bart... We see him once in a while. We meet. I've always liked Bart a lot and I still do. Don't be too hard on him. I think he's a rather traditional guy and he needs things he can 'hold on to'. Gert is more like that I think. A lot more traditional. I'm sorry I talk about him - but that'll be all.

Ohio: I love Bart a lot more than my own life - he is my best friend and my only family. He divorced me - whatever... good for him and Gert...

Belgium: You were a VERY different person in the end than when we first met. We didn't really understand things in the end.

Belgium: What with Yemen?

Ohio: (i consider Yemen my home - i live to go back - i belong there - it might seem like a contradiction but its a very good way of life)

Belgium: With the beard?

Ohio: (what is it with post Roman society still being obsessed by a clean shaven face - after Yemen and those places - western men all look effeminate to me now - like you can see their mothers faces in their clean shaven face - I call it the Gillette Conspiracy)...

Belgium: The Muslim thing?

Ohio: 1.6 billion people can't be wrong can they? Or do you just think they are - all - wrong - all one big thing - all with the same views etc... Lahore - my god i never saw so much sex drugs and rock and roll - it beats Amsterdam any day - and none of it commodified... it is not based on money...

Belgium: I mean - those people are very homophobic,
aren't they?

Ohio: again I think you answer your own questions... you have a bright mind - don't fall into the traps of dominate (white) cultures ways of thinking....

Belgium: We don't have anything against Muslims - not at all - but there are some of their ideas I really find appalling.Not like they're all that good with minorities or even majorities - like women!

Ohio: You can deconstruct and analyse that sentence for yourself - it sort of really says it all...

They all find the wests attitude very frightening... our relentless support of Zionism despite the appalling human rights abuses by the Israelis... The US's economy would tank even more than it has already if the US didn't invade other places and create enemies to manufacture war....

The answers to your question that relate to me personally are in all my blogs and on Facebook whether it's about sex, drugs and rock and roll or my own quest for personal spirituality and mysticism - its all there and been self published and charted and posted as it all evolved from the point my mother died until now - past my father death and past the relationship that will remain the love of my life - i will not have another relationship like that nor do i want one... I just hope i don't kill myself hurting from Love Lost - I am trying to evolve beyond that but I actually might not... time for me might just have stopped when I got served those divorce papers.

c'est la vie... ultimately life is really sad. every relationship ends - either in life or death, both are murder for those who survive.

The answers to your questions about Islam and the Muslims are apparent to me in how you have framed those questions - which come across more like accusations... your mind has already been made up about the answers with western media like views based in fear and misunderstanding so lets not waste each others time on that.

Belgium: What's with your sister? A maximum security prison? What on earth happened?

it was a terrible tragedy of banality:

She was raped at 13 which sent her life on a different course than any my parents could comprehend - she ended up with a very bad man - had three kids before she was 21 and all in less than four years and then he abandoned her - she tried to commit suicide after a long history - since the initial rape (the first of three violent ones) of mental illness - (no surprise there) and in the process killed her children but didn't succeed with herself... she received a paupers plea bargain of three life sentences rather than the electric chair. She wanted the electric chair but my parents didn't want to do that to me and my brother. In Europe she would have received mental health care for a few years and been rehabilitated - not locked away for three life sentences which she will never live long enough to serve. It is very hard to live with - grow up with. Very, very hard... Most people i know find it fascinating but they do not ever have the capacity to comprehend the grind of it all over three decades - Margo is the only family I have now - She is my best friend - we talk and talk and talk - we joke about how we carry out the tradition of the family Sunday dinner at Grandmas at the prison once a month... it's our way of laughing at the whole tragedy of our lives. I need to be near her - she is much older than me and going blind. The sadness just doesn't end.

I am learning to embrace sadness - run towards it - die with it. like making peace with my own mortality - my own limitation - the fact that I will die with a broken heart from the summation of all of this....

when I got back from Belgium i was called up for jury duty coincidentally for the Judge who was Margo's prosecuting attorney at the time - he was young then - now ready to retire after a successful career - she made his career - i refused to sit on jury duty for him. Life is Gothic. This is my own American Gothic.

Belgium: Matt, I hope you will find some happiness inside of you. Don't let the bitterness take over. Life has it's turns and one has to accept it. People die, they go away, shit happens all the time. And we all get our share, you can be sure of that! It's a lot about the choices you make. Don't let unhappiness or bitterness choose for you, but look at all the options and go for it. Sometimes life doesn't treat you all that nice - but often that's because of the choices YOU and only YOU made. All things that are happening now, are your choice. If you realise that, you can change things for yourself in the future. Choose with your heart and only choose what makes you happy. You really, really, really need that!

Ohio: Well what you say is very true but it is also very Southern Lowland sort of thinking, typical to Northern Europe - it's just not my way. My friends from the Den Haag write to me in much the same way as you - it's all post Catholic/post Calvinist post religious thinking which doesn't set with well most other cultures.... The US is a very religious place in a grocery store variety selection sort of way. Bart never got that about me -- but it was my upbringing because my parents though mostly secular thought after Margo i needed a moral upbringing and all. Meeting up with Moroccans and Muslims and Islam in Belgium - where Catholicism is like an exquisite corpse was an interesting experience for me. It reminded me of the Christian Nazi upbringing i had. It was fun to reframe all that American Christian gay identity with Muslim same-sexers Moroccan transvestite Belly Dancers and bearded men in galalibiyyas - it was too much for the little Flemish Quartier of Brussel - but who cares... I feel like i contributed to Flemish culture in Brussel - but it was the Marocians in Brussels who spoke Flemish that I love - So that is probably why i bonded so well with Marocians and North Africans in Bruxelles - who though born there - were like me - we shared a commonality that I am very happy to have experienced - we were mutually confined to a life outside of the two Belgian mainstreams - occassionally we would get let in to be a part of things but it's not comfortable for either the indigenous Belgians or the Belgians whose culture is from abroad. There is some overlap but honestly Europeans don't want all that multi-culti stuff that has been forced on them. I just never expected my intellectual Belgian pals - be they Flemish or Francophone or both (lol) - to take my Orientalist bohemian ways as treasonous and cut me off - I thought they could just roll with it and evolve with their New North African origin Brothers and veiled Sisters - boy was I naive - even my Americaness was too much for most Francophones... but all of that was a surprise - so much for progressive northern Europe...

Over here even in Ohio - i have the space and freedom to continue doing Moroccan mens drag instead of transvestite drag... lol there are now many Muslims here - unlike in Belgium here they are the very rich and they missed out - like me - on the economic crisis that has brought so many people down from the tyranny of the Bush II years. Here we have Somalians - Palestinians - all Arabs - Pakistanis and a few Moroccans - I stay in their parts of town... African Americans just hate Somalians and the "sand niggers" as they call em - African Americans display acts of blatant racism to these new Americans that Whites from the nineteen fifties showed blacks... oooh times have changed and turned in on themselves... it is all rather interesting.... but there is space in North America - that Flanders reduced in size as it has been over the unkind centuries doesn't have the hospitality for. The mindset here is more medieval but we have the space to live in our own fantasies of life. But i prefer Brussels to be honest.

Belgium: You 'feel' very, very lonely to me. I'm sorry about that. I hope you will find a new, better way, one that makes you happier anyway! You have so much talent! You have a great sense of humour! Use it!

Ohio: Ever since my sister's demise in 1976 I have been a depressive - it is my struggle - it is a hard thing to grow up with - alongside... burdened by the state - then my love life with Bart was burdened by the state with all those residency issues (all of which were resolved ironically in time for the great divorce) - my life was harder than it should have needed to be... it made me a better person... Once bart achieved a petit bourgious sort of way of life in Brussel - something he would not have had the courage to find without me - he was content to level off - i still have to evolve even now... Right now I am just trying to figure out what is next. I really don't know... I am just trying to get over Bart - but he is with me 24 hours a day - i curse him for that.
I miss Bart
I miss home there
I miss "our" things

I don't like the world Bart wants with Gert anymore than Bart wants my Arabesque Internationalist, post Western, post gay, world - where being gay is considered a from of white colonialist decadence and a byproduct of an aging demographic phenomenon... not that the Arabian world or Pakistan don't have same sexers - they do - they, just - like Marocians in Belgium - do not subscribe to the middle class, middle age, white identity of being gay - it doesn't apply in their world anyways.... All of that - their courage and their adaptations of our culture - really impressed me... Palestinian gay guys, whether Christian or Muslim in culture, are just the sweetest people you will meet and with the saddest family stories - stories that we can relate to each others with.

Like feminism in those places is hard work that goes on unrecognized by the women in the west - here where Feminism is a theory confined to academia and suburban rich women who complain a lot but know nothing of the struggle of women beyond Western media shock headlines... feminism is dead in the West but very much alive and confrontational and working itself out in Arabia and Asia... The West has closed its mind to everything - it just forces it all on the rest of the world but it is a one way exchange - the West doesn't learn from the East but the East is learning from the West and adapting... those civilizations that adapt will succeed - I am afraid the West won't - it certainly isn't working in the states....

Everyone says that i should write a book - i hear this all the time... people don't read. Publishing and journalism and newspapers are in a crisis of modernity and changing technologies... i fell through that huge crack... oh well...
but i do hear this a lot - why don't you write a book (it gets annoying to hear this) i know i already have - i have self published it on the Internet unedited - raw... now you need to read... go read... send me your money while you are at it....

I just wish my writing and illustrating would pay the bills...

I'm not impressed.

but yeh I do miss Brussels very much - i just couldn't do it again... it would break my heart to go back anyway with things as they are...

wasn't it weird though...

that time in the old Flemish quartier of Brussel/Bruxelles/Brussels/Bruselas....

and then it was over

just like this essay of letters I'm posting right now....


Friday, May 15, 2009

Here Where Apache Tears are the Fragments of Black Glass Stones

I can stop crying now
'cept I'm not crying
I'm over medicated
if I werent
I would be crying
I can feel that.
and really
I wouldn't
stop crying.
I don't get
any of this
but I will say
a lot
of all this
seems better
but harder
at my end
of the pike
than yours
but at least
there is Margo
the sky
is blue
the weather
the people
it's just all
not me
not me
I am
an exile
of an exile
of love
and its a lonely
sort of place
that I can't seem
to get used to.
Waking up
with those dreams
those nightmares
is unbearable.
but nobody
or comprehends
and if i tell them
they scold me
about you
it just all
my social
and loneliness
I was socially
and cut off
in Brussels
but not like
I am here
That might
seem hard
to imagine
but my life
is lonelier
and harder
than it was
in that attic
in that apartment
in Sint Joost.
I have
to do
what I have
to do
to survive.
It's going well.
but me
and my alone
and interior
and subconscious life
are still
though medicated
You can't change
any of that.
I'm just glad
my demons
cant hurt you.
no mores...
I'll be glad
when I am
off this planet.
But until then
I intend
to find the desert
and the blue sky
and as many
starry nights
from anywhere
on this planets surface
that I can find.
that gives me reason
and hope.
I really miss
those lands
with the calls to prayers
the roof tops there
or the desert rock floor
from the trance
I find
from all those over-lapping calls
from all those Minarets
to prayer.
Not this silence
of life
in the automotive
of going there:
Back to Arabia.
only that
keeps me
hanging on
with what
I am doing here
if I am
at four
in the morning
I know
I will
never have
such luxury
of travel
I will be
to get out
of this
glue trap
of Ohio
For that
I wish
I would have
Sint Joost
in Brussel.
But look
at all
I have done
will you
(experience it ever)?
but still
I am not
with myself
I want
I should
have went
to Yemen
oh no
now here
no where

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Voting for Parks and Nature on Cinco de Mayo

So, here, I, Matthew J. Crouch, being of sound mind and body - (despite being what some call, mentally "ee'ill") - am writing from the Ghettoville-USA blogette desk located in my home between Mecca Park and lil' Moghadishu at
2292 Albert Avenue,
Mecca Park,
Mifflinville Township,
The old autonomous area now within Franklin County,

I voted today for the tax levy to help maintain, build and preserve nature while hopefully setting up bicycling paths with the tax levy money...

As you can see from the Park photos taken du jour some of the Area Parks are in decline... and logistical neglect. Me and the K9-unit named Rusty had fun climbing over this fallen tree...

At the voting poling station at the Mifflinville or Mifflin Township Community center behind the Mifflin Police Station I was one of a few
people who had seen the inside of that voting place today so the people working there were quite happy to see me walk in.

While there before voting when asked about the Mecca Park Estates park lawn which is hardly ever mowed - a park with at least two abandoned vehicles from various decades in the brush and overgrowth... I said "A neglected park is better than no Park at all"... Which is true - too much netty maintenance and the natural aspect of a parks conservation becomes out of balance with the nature and ecology of the land and all the life forms it hosts. For certain a forgotten and neglected is better than no Park at all. It beats a McWal-Mart Super Paver Parkinglot anyday.

The post on the limited and unconnected bicycle path had some public made art - graffiti which is the last stand of publically understood Art in these States by the masses - Art that is misunderstood by the powers that be - Someone had scrawled in neat hand writing "Muhammad The King Of Art" - which with its layers of meaning (intended or not) of course appeals to my Islamic sensibilities - for Muhammad the Last Prophet* - who was really the only Messanger who spoke the most of Nature and Art: (Despite the Catholic Churches disregard for that little fine print part of the Bible about no graven images) - So all of central Ohio Muslims should be voting for the parks and recreation tax levy today if they are bothering to vote at all... It seems in this neighborhood nobody is bothering to vote.... Indeed I myself didn't even know there were special elections today until one of my environmentalist activist friends e-mailed me about it.

I asked my African American neighbors if they were voting today - some of whom are inter-racial like our Great New President - Barack Obama - and they were full of out dated excuses from the decades of White Governance and Apartheid politics that ran the USA for its entirety... I guess old habits and ways of thinking - despite the Brotherhood connection - are hard to break even here in G-ville...

For that I am truely sad.

A mind is a terrible thing to waste - here it just isn't the minds that are wasted by cannabis (which should be legalized) and alcohol but lives and generations for people of color have been wasted by economic grid lock based on Aparthied economic isolation American style. This dynamic is Barack Obama's and his Administrations biggest threat - not the Repulligans and their Zionist Military Industrialist Media and McChurch agenda ready to trounce on this great country and resume their greed based economic policies based on lies and no compassion for We the People...

* At this point readers who are Muslim should meditatively reflect on the Peace and Blessings for their Prophet and His Message for the World.

Sunday, May 3, 2009

Le Quartiers du Ohio Centrale

 le Quartiers du Ohio Centrale: Ghettoville, Gangstaville, Thuggahville, Nowhereville, Cristelleville, Metheville, Gothville, Cracqueville, Hashville, Redneckville aka Poubelle Blanche-ville - all surrounding the empty car park that is now the ever popular Marche aux Drogues - there really is nothing to do here but go to church and be a religious extremist or be strung out on dope all the time.

  In the photo are some families of tribes of wild geese with goslings afoot... It's not apparent from this photo but this is actually a massive parking lot - this is the reserved green space. I remember when this area between the Scioto and Olentangy rivers - where this view is - well - I remember when this once ridge and valleys was farmland, woodland and wetland with the occassional single family home. That's all changed in three decades though - now that whole area is tract housing, strip malls, apartment and motel barracks that look like minimum security facilities. There are Public Storage sites, car dealerships, condos - housing developments... But the Ohio wildlife Geese still remember in their DNA that this was one of their stops in their North American migrations. Needless to say there is the Ohio Wildlife roadkill strewn about the roadside and parking lots....

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Ohio Revisited as a Flemish Belgian Imposter Just Directly South of the Most Southern Tip of Canada

Exhausted after closing at work - laying on the floor in front of a TV in a house with no furniture - propped up with pillows and pilled up watching The Vampires of teendom: Edward and Bella...Rosalie and Emmett ....Alice and Jasper....Esme and Carlisle - Characters from Stephenie Meyers Twilight books brought to life on the big screen by Catherine Hardwicke in remarkable understated ways that corporate Hollywood could never comprehend. Sort of like True Blood from HBO for high schoolers and adults like me who want to remember something better than our own dull and miserable past lives in the time of youth.

I miss Anne Rice and her Southern grandieur, grace and polite society - her literary history and knowlege of art history - at least in print. That Stephenie Meyers does makes Vampire stories much less gratuitous excuses for blood and gore as a metaphor for our planetary ecologically consuming human selves . But the other "supporting cast" characters from Twilight wether in the book or the film intrigue me more than the plot dominating Vampiric forms of Scarlet and Rhett as Bella and Edward.

That movie Twilight I must have seen in the cinema ten times... Like when a boy I must have seen the film The Lost Boys at least 25 times during matinees of loneliness.

Tired of this alone-ness, these Twilight DVDeez go better with klonopin king pins in a solid state lonely life, lived out on an existential road trip to nowhere.

Super paver parking lots - trapped in retaildom - Dreaming of Arab North Africa and on towards Easter-wards...

Having seen Twilight so many times with Ben - hanging out tonight with Rusty the black dog as such - it's like someone - anyone, human or non-human, are curled up here too on the floor - farting like that darned dog.

Catherine Hardwicke understands the Twilight Vampires like no one else could or will - perhaps even better than their creater Stephenie Meyer.

If you got a man or wo-man in your life named Khaleb or Khalil or Khadeja then my advice would be:
Hold tight to that Khaleb you won't regret it. Vivian Vivance Kalebz or not keep him closer to you than your own hearts beat.

My only pal Benoit is a good buddy bender friend of the discarded animals lives like mine - it is like he has a psychic power to find discarded lives of field mouses, cats, dogs and people like me. People like Ben for all their self abusing bad habits go to heaven for their animal charities.

See you Ben around the bend, like in the blog Baghdad Burning, "where hearts can heal and souls can mend". Ben. Bender. Bendahar from Kumar....

All I look forward to are the visits to the Ohio Reformatory for Women (ORW) to visit my sister Margo (or to see or hear or read you buddy Ben or dear reader if you even exist)....

Rusting and broken down neon signs along the roadside of the old Ohio high ways and free ways all cluttered with wildlife roadkill and garbage - discarded - former life forms that we all were - if we can just admit that everything we want and desire are already in this big Universe now in the past tense. At least in the West.

... Betty Butterfield and the Scientologists or the Buddhists - I've seen it all on Youtube! Seen it a hundred times to keep myself laughing when I have no reason for laughter or a smile. Google it - Youtube it - Betty Butterfield -Forget it - car insurance and the community meetings... super paver, meaningless, cosmic, existential, parkinglots to nowhere... ....write... ...recite...

Nowhereville or is it Ghettoville or is it that Bronte Villette or did I loose my heart to Bruxelles mon amour back in Belgique and old, really old and forgotten Flanders - Vlaanderen - from the south of Hollandia and into the north of what is now France. Miscellaneous Flemish dialects of the Old Dutch language mixed up en Francais Belgique Bruxeloises....

Back in Brussels there is a museum with a room full of ornaments in the shape of hearts. My heart is nailed there to the wall also.

Pharmaceutical electronic driven to distraction and subsequent life, now replete with an Ohio emptiness - alone in my aloneness. In this prison nation I care for no one anymore. Even though I don't want to, or forget how to, care.

Even though my pal Benoit - there is nothing he can do or say to help make a difference in me or our collapsed world.

But its the laughter and stories he seems to pull out of a magicians hat that keep me holding on...

Yeh, I guess I've been a psychological, emotional, psychic vampire mess for everyone who knows me, one way or another, including through this here blogette to nowhere.

Some of my getting back in touch with myself has been in those long belabored bloggetry of personal essays to you dear reader.

I suppose if/when I get a boy/girl/(or both-tranny-lol) - friend then I'll stop needing companionship. Elusive and non-existant companionship at present in my empty (literally and figuratively) home life. Life lived off the floor keeps me humble and connected to the mother Earth.

But, whatever, I deal with things stoically now - learning how from my sister self surviving in her personal Palestine in Marysville, Ohio in prison incarceration.

....But that house in Brussels that was once home - all nine feet wide of it with five floors - under terra cotta roof tiles and red brick and all just endless wooden stairsteps - my friends there in the neighborhood, the dogs, my being so easily replaced as it were, the things of mine from before all that which were shipped over from Ohio; things accumulated during those long years in Brussels or things I accumulated abroad - or even say charcoal drawings from college art school days - that all ended up over there - never guessing in a million years I'd be back to Ohio - I guess until all of that is dealt with - as if it could be dealt with - I just feel lost and without family or tribe or clan or place or purpose or language - like you, dear reader, if there is one at all - you are all that is stuck with me - which is better than the alternative of....

...being ignored... negative attention Oscar Wilde once said is better than no attention.

I don't want to apologize for writing too much - I do it to survive mentally and I though we were having a good time. I was at least I thought I was. But, yeh, I am always happy when I see the rare comment post on this here blog. I do though feel sorry for anyone who reads me and gets into my self torturing brain to read...

Americans here are generally so much more so literally and figuratively embracing than Europeans and everyone in Belgium who all to easily accept the inevitable detachments in life with a sturdy sadness. So it makes it hard to be that way with myself - that now foreign, collective and material past, still in Villette, as my old self back in Bru-town. Confined now to memories and non-existance.

Forgotten by Belgians with disregard that is considered polite.
Keep your drama, mama said, to yourself.

I really don't like being American again: Me and my past Euro-Belgian-Moroccan Muslim life are in such vastly different realities and time zones and cultures - Like I have separated into the ultimate Geminoid contradiction where both of us have changed in ways the other doesn't know or that we wouldn't recognize ourself in the ourselves - That it makes holding on impossible. Maybe i should stop trying to understand the Salvadore Dali persistant Pesistance of Memory.

My Flemish pal Wannes just in says "in life these little tragedies happens in between the big tragedies"...

So I just try to understand Wannes' logic about these things...I really have been wanting for two years from someone from over there to arrive here and find out who and what I am (and what I am not) in this post relationship void. A void to avoid in life.

Relationships should not end like this in excommunication or dislocation.

I wish I could just face all that I am not now - and be cool with it - I've adjusted to it. But I am a fraction of what I once was in Belgium as a Belgian-American - here or in Belgium. Maybe I don't want to see all that. I can't say that I blame anyone for not wanting to be remembering me back there - back then as such. I still try to live in the past because things on some level were better than this Ohio Revisited life - a life here as a discarded human being in a literally discarded and disregarded part of the world.

I used to spend a lot of time with my dogs in old town Brussels named Buddy and Sagan both like me from Ohio - it is hard just having to ignore them - to have to forget them back in Belgium in another home and hope they forget me and the many days and ways we spent together over so many years and miles or kilometers and dog walks along the canals of Brussels.

I try to just think in terms of not owning things: Animals or material possessions. Not because I want to but because I have to in Buddhist like ways - detach from all that or go insane trying to hold on to something like mercury - the Geminoid quick silver that cannot be held in your hand that is so poisonous. I try to think of animals as having a home or a place "in a family" - being a part of a family - not owned. Nothing stays the same - So I just hope those dogs have a place as I know and trust they do - even if I can't be with them throughout their lives. The only consolation in going back recently to De Hague, in not going onto Brussels, was that I thought it better that the dogs not see me briefly. I don't want to think about any of this any more - it all yields so much grief of things now out of my hands.

I sometimes show a good neighbor Witch my writing here - she is astonished - floored even by my writing ability. I like the things she sees in what I write that I cannot see. It's not writing I consider I am doing - it is called surviving this brain and body and society and modernity of soul-less-ness and nowhere-ism.

I see my sister Margo tomorrow. Going to the Ohio Reformatory for Women - the old ORW - it is hard for her to comprehend me now or my previous life's decade abroad. Margo can't even endure car rides to the world outside ORW just to the medical clinic at the Ohio State University which she is occassionally taken to like a lab rat. Because she lives in such a small non-automotive world in confines of a locked down convent like community that covers less acres than what people without cars can easily walk - imagine that for three decades - So being in the prison transport van to drive into Columbus makes her terribly car sick - whole years can go by and she won't be in an automotive van, so the effect is something the rest of us can't imagine - extreme car sickness. Imagine what that means for everything else in the world outside ORW since time for her stopped in 1977. Time Suspended like Time was Suspended for Palestine in 1948 - waiting with lives defined by razor wire and concrete control. She can't go on a long walk without getting dizzy because there is no long distance except in circles within all that razor wire control, locked down, over populated, prison community. To think about her or my life now, it induces grief. Just grief that is to the core - to the bone - to the flesh of this souls mortal coil that I am entombed by until death stuck with a brain that won't leave me alone. As if that brain were some Alien implants brain without a mercy for its symbiotic host showing me the world I live in from a foreigners point of view.

Like when I think about Brussels it induces grief. People do not come out to the sticks of Ghettoville, Central, Ohio where I now live - it is hard - people do not walk by - there are not even sidewalks - and the house is set far back from the street. Then what is close - the neighbors to the east and the west - my kitchen window looks into to theirs - in the summer we can talk to each other through open windows for a laugh or over hear each others conversations even if we don't want to. My neighbor to the west where the bedroom window looks into their bathroom and bedroom windows - we keep these windows shut for privacy and mutual respect.

When I look around the strange and empty and foreign house I live in - my clutter piles must provide some comfort - if everything was in order - I'd remember what I don't have here that was left like a refugee in Belgium.
If all that materiality from my past life were here that would be worse - Then I'd really feel trapped here. No going back.

I guess I should just return my Belgian passport and ID for it sadly won't get used anytime soon now.

My life now plays out on a retail dance floor of a stage, like a cheap version of Belgian Art groups like Damaged goods, her holiness of dance mother Anna Theresa deKeersmaaker and that immense woman from the Need Company - The best Belgian Diva since I don't know when Tin Tin's only female character. Then there is also my fellow American Meg Stuart or Stewart... Willem Dafoe from the Wooster Group days performing at the Kaaitheater and it's studios - my life played out like some student work at P.A.R.T.S., stage life like Rosas dancers. Jan de Corte and Siegred and Tooneelhuis. Not to mention Toona and the marionettes. Or Arno and other local Bru-town celebs like that flakey Christophe Coppens the mad hatter of Brussels... my life was suffocatingly fabulous compared to this present spartan monk like solitude - stage performance without an audience. In a land with no Art funding or public concept of Art.

I wish you knew - dear reader - but if you did - I would be ashamed.
The people I do encounter here are the lost souls of post United States American ghetto life - They are not always people you want to speak to for you see the frightening and wild and feral look in their eyes.

And yet I want you to see, to see what you would approve of in my self determination of a life. It is just nothing to write home about.

I just don't have relationships and exchanges so I suffocate anyone who will listen or read me - like old people do. When I look into my minds crystal ball... I see... through the fog of pollution and Ohio haze:

I see hard work loneliness and a road ahead of indeterminate length that ends in death with not much else by way of distraction.

That is why I dream of travelling across Arab North Africa - from Morocco across the Atlas mountains on to Algeria and Tunisia and over and across to Libya and into Egypt - across the Sinai to Medinah and Makkah - south to Sana'a and Taizz and Aden and Mukallah - eastward into Oman and Muscat - over to Dubai and the multi-colored desert sands of the UAE - stopping in Qatar and Bahrain and Kuwait City before checking out old Damascus or bullet riddled Beruit and on into what remains of once grand and humane Palestine. Across Jordans dreamlands and tranversing Iraq and into Iran over land to Afghanistan - to see - really see for myself - what is going on and where. To find the Khyber Pass and make my way back to Multan and without missing stops in Peshawar and Quetta - passing somehow via airplane through Baku in Azerbaijan or wandering around Kazakstan.

Really it's all a trip to go on to never return from.
Dreams like this are how I hold on.

When I dream of travelling like this I want to be captured by Yemeni tribes men - held ransom for government money as a human collateral of a tool of negotiation - except that is a dream of mine - they would never get me to leave their tribal village so I wouldn't be of much use.

Being truely free means being willing and able to die at any moment in time - even if most of the time - there is no reason in doing so - living or dying. But until everything including my pulse can be lost - I can't live.

Ohio is a nightmare trap sort of place. Run by an Oligarchy of merciless self serving Capitalists who care nothing for Ohio or its remarkable history or its once beautiful land and ecology - to say nothing of the weird modern people now stuck here who have no work, no healthcare, no where to walk to, nowhere to drive to and nothing much to do but drink liquor, smoke cannabiss to bliss themselves out with - get caught up in Crystal Meth, Crack or the Heroin hills surrounding central Ohio's flatness....

One begins to wonder if we don't have Al Qaeda and the Taliban all wrong. To places filled with urban ghetto warfare - or anarchy in Moghadishu or post Soviet/American Afghanistani tribes, lost in the vacuum of all that confusion, by Western and Soviet meddling - for all their primitive applications of Islam - those forces, however primitive, might bring stability for people. I'm not so sure we can blame them for the harm the US or old Soviet or present day China induces, ironically, for the free markets of Capitalism. Wether its the Somalian coast guard being branded pirates so that the West can dump toxic waste in their territorial waters or so that China can fish all the fish out of those waters while Somalians on the land have no food and water and not much governance left.

And G-ville, Ohio - or Detroit City - despairing lives and parkinglots to nowhere might eventually need some of that Taliban bearded chic to restore order because the greed of American styled consumerist human commodification of lives lived as human resources for Capitalism isn't going to build inner city towns and gardens for food much less flowers and trees.

I'd move to Afghanistan or the SWAT area of Pakistan in a heartbeat. I'd move to Sharjah if I could get a job there. Dubai - I'd rather be a retail slave laborer there than here in Nowhereville, Ohio...

All that is left for me here is my sister self locked up for good without end in a womens "reformatory" with no chance for release even after three decades and still going - how does someone locked up like a Palestinian for six decades re-emerge into a strange, super fast changing, technologically advancing, mercilessly fast, for a Capitalists world based on shameless, self serving, greed? Explain to me this womens reformatory reform process then, exactly - Ohio. My life is locked up there too with all those women - like all those broken families and people and children in Gaza.

Despite all my built in life contradictions to it - Islam - is the only way out of this prison planet lifestyle in this here decadent and declining and self and annoyingly righteous West. What do you do when you find that the rainbow of the rainbow flag takes your life on a ride full circle? There aren't no red or silver shoes to take you back to Kansas because Kansas is a McWal-Mart-ers super paver Chinese owned parkinglot to a boarded up store front.

So much for the amber waves of grain and endless mind boggling vast prairies under big blue sky with little fluffy Orb like clouds...

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

From the Jungian Archetypical Landscape of Nightmares and Parkinglots

...its only 4am:
I awake to a dream in which I am holding or clinging, in some humiliating begging style, to Barts knees while he sits in a chair - sobbing into his lap because he and Gert are going to sell the house and I can't buy it for the price they could get for it on the market over there.

Bart tells me " can never,
never come back, etc..."
My heart hurts - it just doesn't stop - this heart - the beats or this pain.
Before also:
Dreamt I was in the Ardennen/Ardennes trying to drive in those hills and valley's during rain and fog and heavy dark low looming clouds.
I commented to Bart that I forgot how not flat Belgium was.
Now: Here in my Ohio waken life.... before sunrise...
....lost in a test market city
stuck in retail with no way out.
Like Bart came and went
Into my life and fifteen years of my life just vanished like they never happened
I just cant bare any of this interior pain...
...during the day or night
I ache - my heart aches
My hair is nearly blond again from the Ohio spring sun, my face brown and older looking
I do not recognize myself or where I am.
I speak the language but do not understand anyone. I wonder does anyone I know or don't know:
Know these depths of senseless, seemingly self inflicted, pain?'s probably Demonically true but I forgot one sinister dream sequence where Bart snapped back to my crying:
Speaking in implications the way that Euro-types do in cold hearted and nasty ways,


"...none of this would have happened if it wasn't for your little fad" - meaning my interest in Islam which I learned of and went on an Odysseus like experiential journey within Moroccan Brussels and then abroad to places Americans never go.

After acquainting myself with what I call the New Tangiers of the North

Meaning present day old city Brussels,

That new part of which Belgians try to ignore and pretend isn't there, yet, all that is crazy and wonderful and enchanting about the culture and people of Morocco in Brussel or Bruxelles and throughout Belgium - was what ended up intriguing me the most about old Flemish Bru-town... They, "the Marocians", like me (American ex-pal Matt) back then, we shared a common denominator - lost and stuck there in le Belgica - after having forgotten why or how we all got there: But life went on, caught up with us there anyway. Playing us out in ways we didn't like.

Now, I dream of going to al Maghreb, Maroc, Arab North Africa and on a transcontinental Saharan road trip headed East to Makkah and beyond - in some fantasy version of Nicholas de Bouvier (the 1950's euro Jack Kerouac - book, le livre en Francais, translated into English) "The Ways of the World" - Trying to be post literary Rimbaud selling guns in the Yemen of the past or building a rainbow window-ed lit house in Ethiopia of another century. In this sense my life is all different - like a wrecked car.

...all dented beyond recognition... ....if it weren't for these dreams or nightmares.... really would be like that Bart never came and took me away from here
as in Ohio here
saving me inadvertantly from the tyranny of the Bush II years
only to drop me off back here for the Obama Administration of our collective self empowered counter corporatist Hope and Change...
So we in G-ville could believe in ourselves again.

and I went back to where I never wanted to be
or in
or in
Ohio centrale
I forget which now.

This is when I am grateful for the mercy in ritual.

Right now, right here, as I write this: It is al Fajr - predawn prayer time in G-ville, YO'hi-O...

In that Qur'anic Arabic recitation and ritual repetition, in a foreign language I scarely know, there is comfort. Consolation, if not purpose.

I wish I could hear the call to prayer from the nearby but silent Minaret which stands aloof and in eye-sight - just down the street. A street I call Koning Albert2delaan or Avenue de la Roi Albert II - King Albert Avenue of Belgium - my street chez moi maison bleu - that here passes through what I call lil' Mogadishu: Where the minaret stands architecturally punctuating with grace this dusty third world style road I now live off of.

The birds are singing like it is the end of the world but it's just the end of one more night alone at the begining of another day. Alone again. Outside the air is fresh and a morning star or planet looms in the sky too bright and too low that it is unsettling.

Last night at Magreb time (evening prayers around dusk) - at that time just before al Fajr arrives to Makkah that I follow via Satellite - the crescent moon here hung over head in this comforting ways at twilight to be found in the tree tops.

Two raka's figuratively kiss the Earth and give thanks. Obedience yielding and returning dignity.

On a psychadelic magic carpet ride that I pray in prayer that takes me back to somewhere I have been - anywhere but here.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Dream Journal or Uncommon Nightmares

I've been reading online from links sent by e-mail (or is it e-female lol) pals to stories featured at Common Dreams... Some of which make me think that e-paper should be titled Uncommon Nightmares...

I had an uncommon nightmare of my own last night... I awoke to psychic network of dreams of Zionist Israeli demolishions and incursions into the old remnants and quartiers Arab East Jerusalem. Never been there but from what I gather, what is left of Arab Palestine - be they Christian, Jew or Muslim - the soul of that place and all those people now around also scattered around the world - resides there - not in sentimental notions of a mythical land without a people, for a people without a land... and fantasies of a new state - the I-Word state... Those old and paved over Palestinian towns and villages that spawned Christianity fared better under multi-cultural Palestine and the forgotten 600 year old Ottoman Empire, than some sort of Sci-fi American version of the Israeli-ification of an unwanted past, people and all the cultures and societies that went with that old place - in favor of what exactly? Some bland form of automotive culture and red roofed McInternationalist style and relentless Capitalism that could be anywhere and simultaneously nowhere. Nowhere-ism at it's best or worse....

Why am I though on some psychic frequency dreaming of Old Palestine and Her last stand in the unique parts of Jerusalem? Not to mention Ramallah or Gaza City or what was once under Tel-Aviv. I'd rather not be in bed here in old Ohio waking up to other peoples present day suffering over there that my tax dollars here help fund. I'd rather be in Arab North Africa, from anywhere in (Morocco) al Maghreb to Cairo - or Arabia - or any one of the cool stans... Afghanistan, Pakistan, Uzbekistan - Iran - Azerbaijan - somewhere with Mosque and Minaret is where I day dream of travelling to.
But East Jerusalem - old al Quds should be saved - preserved and not forgotten as too many people from too far away see it as a spiritual metro pole and a cultural antiquity of sorts. A place like that should not be demolished and repressed to be replaced with an bland Westernized uniformity of modernity.

Aren't we all sons and daughters of Abraham/Ibrahim?

Who here remembers Rachel Corrie and her brave selfless last stand.

What the United States doesn't understand is that if we don't rise up and start pointing our collective conscientious finger at Zionism then all that razor wire and checkpoints will be sprouting up over here in the other big Israel. All those Wal-green/CVS intersections with cameras at the traffic lights will be the future checkpoints - enormous concrete walls can be built anywhere and justified by fear.

Monday, April 20, 2009

Nightmares from the Ohio Wildlife Roadside Roadkill

So, I am just awake... so this might all be incoherent...

Had this strange long dream that I think my retired teacher pal who was visiting Maysville, Kentucky who posted all these fab old town photos induced... Maysville is on the Ohio River on the Kentucky side.
Those photos combined with where I now work at a deluxe Wal-Mart if ever there were one with an admirable politically correct vision at least - (that sits on an area which I remember as an empty farmland area of two lane roads and wood/wetland areas replete with native Ohio wildlife)....

So, the dream began and I was in an Ohio wetland area with woods flanked by forgotten old abandoned family farms... there were streams, trees, wildlife everything was green and shaded...
In the dream I was with a gaggle of people on a tour... a Wal-mart corporate tour... some executive-type was showing us where there will be a store entrance - right where he was pointing to were these tangle wood trees... I asked, "well, what about these unique trees...?" Everyone was silent - like collectively saying "duh" - CAT - as in Caterpillar would raze them all... then I said, well, at least wouldn't they make a nice natural and unusual alternative entrance to frame the entrance area.... silence...

And meanwhile it is the company Caterpillar who is the machination of bulldozing once grand Palestine.

Then the pasture like prairie in front of all that future Wal-mart-o-rama was teeming with insect life, I asked what would that pasture area be... (again, wrong question)...
...and everyone was silently saying - the super-paver parking lot...

I then said that I suspect that Sam Walton never envisioned all this - this is all just a cult - I then went on in the dream to say to my corporate tour director that my dad - rest in peace - used to dress formally - albeit simply - in brown leather shoes, actual slacks and a sports coat like tweed jacket - kinda dapper until that Wal-mart guy made athletic shoes socially acceptable - pull on synthetic pants with an elastic waistband and a zip up jacket, also synthetic - and that mom (RiP) - wore the same exact same thing - adult versions of children's pull on clothes without any dignity... and they were dead and I blame Sam Walton for their disgraces before the end of their lives, for having lived in such clothes, out of Wal-mart super paver parking lots, eating and dying from fast food and buying up recreational-ly - devoid of purpose - cheap made in china crap - that they thought was American made...Well, I didn't make any friends or sympathies in that strange mute gaggle of people I was with, all nameless and faceless and speechless...

Then, we, as the afore mentioned gaggle, were in an old Americana town somewhere in old and forgotten Ohio - old terracotta brickwork everywhere - streets, sidewalks, structural facades all terracotta brickwork with simple yet elegant arches - grand pillared churches poised on hilltops - Lots of business on the High street - independent opticians, A temple like Public Library, bookstores, barber shops for men and beauty salons for women, cafes, green grocers - butchers and bakeries... Remember, I lived in a small country called Belgium which still, at least in some half and half way, functions this with the independent family owned service businesses with corporate American style supermarket stores as competition.....

In the center of town was a beautiful town hall that still functioned as such - lots of trees, green spaces, shade, the ever present red brick that seemed vaguely Dutch or Flemish in style and hills and no grid of street alignment. Narrow streets too...

And yet all this was the 21st century and somewhere in forgotten Ohio..... and what was once a grand turn of the last century city park behind the town hall - get this - a huge three story deluxe Wal-mart was having its grand opening... and I was having, all of the sudden, visions of the beautiful old Ohio town going out of business and becoming obsolete overnight... then in the dream I was in the town hall standing in the waiting area of a grand lobby - again somehow with Bart the Belgian - like at the town hall in Brussels... (a grand medieval place still used as such).... anyway.... we were in this Maysville styled town hall - waiting on the Mayor... This Mayor - he had replaced his old carved paneled wooden door to his office with a security but plastic Tupperware brand or was it a Rubbermaid brand petro-product plastic flap of a door... From in his office Populist conservative like news was blaring from the radio or TV... and I realized that Mayor got paid off by McWal-Mart of this country's sinister Military Industrial Complex Corporate-o-cracy to build that Wal-mart in a town like that on top of a historic park... with the purpose to erase our collective American, once grand and yet simple brick and elegant history replete with architecture that yielded human dignity from its very proportions by some Jeffersonian intent - But that the media had an agenda to, like I said, just erase our past, which perhaps, was in reality all a modern day and socially acceptable Capitalists cult of all that. The local media which somehow by its incessant yammering, convinced all the groovy independent business people to go along with the Mayors plan to sacrifice the grand old park for a deluxe flagship Wal-mart with a parking lot out back (rather than in front - the effect of which would literally turn the town inside out - back asswards as it were)... because acres and acres of Dominion type vinyl housing was going to be built surrounding the town guaranteeing the independent businesses more business despite the obvious colossal competition... oh, it was just a nightmare...

In the dream I was having literal visions of new Dominion brand type gated community houses, McMansionettes and townhouses, condos and apartments, cheap chain motels, only a couple years old falling into foreclosure and disrepair and standing empty - the independent shops boarded up and empty - out of business signs - the Wal-mart - empty and closed up - denuded of its sign-age - the once beautiful gracious town looking like it was neglected and forgotten for years - and anyone still left there was stuck strung out on crystal meth...

Then I woke up...

Awoke to a rainy day of suicide skies...

And thought I felt like Jimmy Stewart opposite Donna Reed in the Christmas time black and white holiday film - It's A Wonderful Life.... I was remembering that film was referenced in that jerk of an asshole, Mr. (James Howard) Kunstlers book titled The Geography of Nowhere - that book is great but the author is a nasty sort of human which I experienced first hand through e-mail...

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Magic Carpet Ride

Magic Carpet Rides - or doors as Portal to other Kingdoms, other worlds as seen from G-Ville central Ohio.

My Palestinian refugee friend and Brother - A tall and handsome Arab named Muhammad - sent me a delux Saudi made Prayer Rug to encourage my cosmic journey explorations from within.

In Coleman Barks book The Essential Rumi - there is a

Jellaladin Rumi poem about a Prisoner receiving a prayer rug from a friend from the outside - when what he really needed was a key to the locks of his imprisonment. But through the prisoners use of the Prayer Rug in the pattern he noticed a design that was the tumblers and bolts of the locks of his imprison and thus found his way out.

I admit that has been my experience and longing with this Prayer Rug of a Gift from a generous Palestinian living as a refugee in The Kingdom of Humanity.
In one photo here in the backyard the rug points from the North American direction to the Qibla or towards Makkah. The rug is in a private corner of the backyard - Ironically or humorously - the satellite dish from which I stay connected to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia - to Makkah and Madinah and the sounds of the call to prayer defines my homes Qibla - literally and figurately...
Those Arabian satellite TV networks from Al Jazeera to Sharjah or Qatar or the Yemen are all serving all of humanity - to those willing to tune into knowlege and Message of the Last Prophet.

I just don't trust any man without a beard regardless of their religion or lack of it.

New Doors

There is a saccharine Christian saying - or was it from the terrestrial TV days or rather nights - from the repeat broadcasts of the film the Sound of Music? I forget - it doesn't matter anyway - but it went...
"When the Lord closes a door, He opens a window" - Implying for one to crawl through an unexpected window as opportunities to move seem to close like a slammed door...
Then I can't help remember the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe....

Through that wardobe door one left one world and ended up in another... Where one could find Prince Caspian and take a Voyage on the Dawn Treader...

I installed these doors in the photographs here in self determination Thomas Jefferson style on my post World War II Am-vets neighborhood cracker box house - decades beyond its expiration date... This is my own personal Monticello or castle if you will. I've got the red hair too with Jefferson and all the Liberal notions as well. Where you see 15 glass paned doors there were once walls...

The desk was my design my from re-used (Thanks President Jimmy Carter for that) Habitat for Humanity wooden kitchen cabinetry better built than any kitchen cabinetry on the market these days and some cheap counter tops - that's where my antique computer sits from the Ghettoville, USA blogette desk I write to you, dear reader, here from...

The things about Blogs is no body is reading them - not that I care. My broadcasts here are like all the mute and silenced Minarets of North America... They are there if you choose to see them standing like never before - unnoticed and especially unheard. I blog - keep my journal - write down the days and sometimes the nights as they pass through me. I wonder if science fiction like time travelling will bring a purpose to all these blogs on the internet. Uncharted Lives from unknown times across the Universe like a faint radio signal.

I would like to climb through the door of a plane and disembark through that door and find myself under the skies of North Africa, Arabia, Persia, or any of the cool Stans - Pakistan, Uzbekistan, Afghanistan or the Cholistan desert.

Mostly, I long to return to the roof tops of Old Sana'a - the last place I travelled through that finally felt like my only earth bound temporary home. I would like to see Sharjah and visit Mosques in the Kingdom of Humanity.

I watch the al Fajr prayers (the pre-dawn prayers) on TV from the Kingdom of Saudia Arabia - KSA on Channel One (KSA1) for Makkah with the view of the Ka'aba 0r on Channel Two (KSA2) from Madinah with the voice over in English. When it is pre-dawn prayers there I can pray here simultaneously with those fortunate Brothers and Sisters in the land of the Prophets and beards and clean white clothes.

It's either that or Al Jazeera in English or TV from Sharjah or Qatar...

This might be Ghettoville and the West in decline and from social and cultural poverty but via satellite I can travel to more dignified places and in virtual ways - in real time - participate and learn to be a better person defined by self determination and self respect: From a willingness to know other things, other people, other places, other customs...

There is something about the media Sheikhs in white from distant lands that if you choose to see them and tune in to them with a private satellite dish - like some old terrestrial radio antennae - it is possible to tune into and find a key in the pattern of ones prayer rug to unlock the doors of restraint from here in the "free world" of the West.

I am not the job I work at.
I am not the car I drive.
I am not the neighborhood I live in.

In central Ohio dreaming of desert night skies from places like:

Kuwait City

G-ville Backyard Spring Moments

Here are some photos du jour of G-ville chez moi: My washed clothes hanging out on the line, environmental activist style, clothes drying... I was even using the clothes line in the cold Ohio winter. It's not that I am not too cheap to use the electric clothes dryer - there is just something about the act of putting up clothes on the line and letting them wave like peaceful prayer flags. Plus on a sunny spring day like today out on a line they will
dry faster than in an electric and costly machine to run...
Maybe, I miss the sense of Mother or Grandmother that a clothes line invokes. In fact often times clothes out on the line dry faster than in the dryer anyway - hanging up the clothes is good for stretching the muscles without having to do Yoga. Once the clothes are dry I leave them out waving in the breeze because even my boxer shorts remind me of colorful Tibetan Prayer flags carrying prayers out along the breezes.

I planted a few small Spirea late last autumn that are starting to blossom - My folks had their backyard lined with Spirea, Lilac and Forsythia which they dug up from around the foundation remains of the old farm house that was torn down to build the housing development they moved to in the early nineteen-sixties... My folks, RiP, were recycling, unaware, long before the days of being environmentally or politically correct - they were just cheap! lol - Then again I am generally cheap or trying to practice being so as a virtue...

I still day dream and night dream of making road trips across North Africa from al Maghreb otherwise known as Morocco through Algeria, Tunisia, Libya, across the West of al Mesr (Egypt) and onto the Kingdom of Humanity - Saudia Arabia - before ending up in Dubai in the Emirates detouring to Muscat and back to Sana'a and Taizz and back to the UAE. From there I'd like to make an extension into Persia to pass through Esphahan and then trek across the mysteries of Afghanistan before finding my across the Kyber Pass to check out other places like Peshawar and Mystical Multan.

The thing is mostly I am at work or in my back yard just hanging out - but my heart was bewitched by Arabia - I fell in Love in Arabia with a place as if it were a mysterious and magical woman - My souls earthbound home is in Yemen - I learned that from staying there one summer...

I really don't know why I am in Ohio. How I got here, much less how I ended up back here. I don't know who is coming to take me elsewhere but I associate Ohio with some strange forgotten ancestral Native energy - a swampy morass of wetland and woodland and spirits mingling between the heavy humid sky and damp ground. Now entirely cleansed of Native people as if it were Palestine of today which is still being cleansed in progress due to our Western minded dis-regard. Here the wetlands and woodlands succumbed to farms - then factory farms - then subdivisions and strip malls and the rampant parkinglots to nowhere. Then came Wal-mart - Good Lord I get a headache just thinking about Wal-Mart. Those acres of retail tarmac were once pure Ohio woodlands and wetlands. And yet the wild life returns to where the cars are now parked - The drivers of those shiny metal boxes oblivious to what once was here...

Mostly the wildlife I see is roadkill which is why I identify with myself being Ohio wildlife roadkill. It's just a matter of time until my body is a discarded carcass strewn and forgotten alongside a busy Ohio road.

And yet I dream of North Africa, Morocco, Makkah and Madinah - Dubai - Tehran - Kabul - Quetta - Peshawar - Multan (the ultimate Sufi magickal mystery tour of a city!)... I want to make a road trip like none other - from one realm of Mosques and Minarets cultures and tribes and its modern city life - following the reminder of the broadcast Calls to Prayer from different areas. I really don't want to live anywhere where I can't hear the Minaret reminding me that this Earth bound life is not all there is, because this life is just in no way, especially right now, from Ohio, enough.

Ironically, I chose to live on a central Ohio street with a Minaret - the minaret was designed with architectural sympathy and a nod to the prevailing culture and architecture here from this region - Not a slender Egyptian or foreign minaret - but a sturdy thick barn silo style minaret attached to a Mosque built with architectural dignity and grace - not like an aluminum shed of the drive through church variety so common in this neighborhood. The Minaret I can see from house from down the street is a silent Minaret - And this is the land with freedom of speech and freedom of religion... The ice cream truck though daily broadcasts many times throughout the day hawking ice cream loudly to an impoverished neighborhood.

At least I've got satellite TV and can explore the dignity and grace of people and places who have not forgotten the real meaning of Allahu Akbar - God is Greater. Greater than any of this....

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Abrahamaic Monotheism Version 3.0

In Dutch the word for Tulips are Tulpen...
Pictured here are some evidences of Spring springing up - rising up from the dead of winter - from out in the backyard on my existential trip to nowhere from where I watch the seasons change and feed the birds.
I also had to mow the lawn today with my People Powered Mower - (no electric, no gasoline - just pushing)...
Meanwhile the laundry is hanging out on the line to dry... I hung it up myself on the line outside to dry after I washed in a machine - there is no Misses Crouch. The windows in the house are open letting in fresh air even though it really isn't warm enough for all that... No suicide skies today.
I can't help but remember familied Easter Sundays in years past - when I was a kid - before all this roadkill lifestyle of mine descended up on me. Those were happier if not more ignorant times - less alone times.
Meanwhile, this might be Ghettoville - or G-ville - but I hear a dog off in the near distance barking - not my own. Birds chirruping and some singing. Mostly I hear nothing but the gentle cool breeze which takes imagination to achieve.
Whenever some one asks me directly point blank: "Matt are you a Muslim" I suddenly fall into a K-hole of thinking and think, how in Islam, anything that is created by God is Muslim, including the person who just asked me that annoying question whether they know it or want to believe it or not. Then I get to thinking: "Am I created by God" (insert question mark) - For all I know I am a child of Shaytan in the land some Persian types refer to as the Great Shaytan - which, incidently, I agree with those Revolutionary old men. Well, I believe in God - like in Arabic - Allah Almighty Akbar - Allah is Greater. But God is God and he has 99 names in Islam and quite a few other as well in other monotheistic religions of which there are the Big Three - Abrahamaic Monotheism Versions 1.o, 2.o and 3.o and probably all the sub categories of the .1 and .5's plus myriad in between, but who is counting? Who cares if you pray sitting down, standing up, bent over or all three combined, 0r even, who cares if you don't pray at all...
It ain't, nor should it be, anybody's business if you do... or dont.
Is the point - if after I'm gone, as in dead and gone and some one wakes me up then asks me about what I believe, or believed and whatever I achieved, or didn't achieve - or thought and felt, or tried to do - good or bad - I mean, if that were to happen, as I believe it will, or hope it will, (because this life does not feel like enough!) - Not because I want to Believe but because it was chosen for me, long before there was a "me" or and "I" or a tooth for a tooth... I know what I believe - I know what I am running from and running to and how I seem to, statistically speaking, run back and forth.
I think the bearded Prophets of Old are cool - especially the ones you see on the streets and satellite TV of today. I really do want to visit Makkah under Arabian skies. I want to spend more time in Arab North Africa as well - anywhere within earshot of the call to prayer from the Minaret - before dawn or before sunset and all the times in between - but, no, I am not very good at what I believe or practice or disbelieve in but I try to keep it all to myself. Neither do I see myself travelling anytime soon - But I practice being optimistic about that. I need to travel - back to Arabia - which is like simultaneously time travelling to a dusty past and an inter-galactic New Las Vegas of a future when you land in that DBX - Dubai airport!
The Universe is very big.
I often times find myself remembering Yemen. The rooftops in Sana'a, Yemen are magical - they are divine and meditative places above the cachophony of a crazy modern and ancient Southern Arabian city of the Prophets of old. It really is the mystical Arabia Felix. Back there to this day in old Sana'a women glide along dressed in Ninja black... Those images of dark fabric dignity and mysterious eyes of silence and grace. I keep having this compelling image haunt me - specifically also of me laying on my back on a roof in some city such as old Sana'a with such a woman - a sister-wife in the religious sense - who like me - enjoys kicking back and watching the nighttime stars turn by on their big wheel. Holding hands in silence watching the stars in the sky - not side by side in some separate chairs getting fat together watching the stars on TV - but laying back on the roof, holding hands in silence - content with watching the stars glide by on a warm Arabia night breeze.
That dream is replete with al shay (the tea) with cardamon and sugar setting out in little cups and a metal tea pot.
Jellaladin Rumi translated by Coleman Barks, in the book, the Essential Rumi taught me a lot - that led me to read and re-read a mod translation of the Majestic Qur'an with the calligraphic Arabic and English side by side - I want to visit the Kingdom of Humanity - the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. Are there any other questions and does any of this really matter in some Western styled pointed confrontation: Yes my past and present life contradict me but this is the Soul bound by the mortal coil that I am wrapped up in and all I know as me that gets called Matt or sometimes when I am really lucky, Mustafa. I really do want to travel more but essentially I just want off this planet.
On a side note, I sincerely wish Barack Obama and his family and the Administration of the White House at present would have inherited a much better National condition - all of non-white America deserved better - legal or illegal - We the People deserved not the discarded carcass of a gaggle of nasty blue eyed Zionist Corporatist Vampires of Capitalism - All of Us in G-ville have Hope and desperately want a form of Change we can believe in - one that will include all Gods children.

Friday, April 10, 2009

Crucifixations or Death and Taxes

Oh yeh I have to say I have had third world styled food poisoning - at a moment when the only toilet in the house had been taken out - and I was really in the shit sprays for days - still left with a severe headache from all that. More evidence if we needed any that life here in the US is a third world country - food poisoning.

I got hired today in some under-employmend situation but under-employed is better than un-employed - and despite being sick as a dog at that! Plus I contacted my old job and got them to FAX my W-2's and I have an appointment to get my taxes filed tomorrow... so once that's done i'll rest a little easier...

I keep asking myself if today has any religious effect on me in some lingering memory like way? I will say today I got a lot done despite being sick and felt like someone was looking out for me - maybe that was because I visited my sister yesterday - and seeing Margo is like seeing an old friend and hanging out with the good ol' Crouch family for Sunday Roasts... (back in the early 70's) plus seeing her connects me back to when mom and dad were around and even before Margo ended up incarcerated when Grandma (Crouch) was around - before all this that I now know as life caught up with and depressed me down to near half dead paralysis of a road kill life.

I still have to pinch and remind myself that I am also a Belgian and a "gay divorcee'" of a Belgian at that... But moreso - what seems ever more dream like is the time I spent abroad - Yemen now seems so exotic and dream like - I can't believe I not only went there but thrived there better than in Belgium.

For the short time I was there I still have vivid memories of the UAE. And then Pakistan except for some rough times there (which despite what I remember when I kind of tripped out in Lahore - from stress of all that full on culture shock that caught up with me there - where - I still remember the internet cafe in vivid detail where those e-mail correspondences to Bart and other friends in the west occured from - where I was saying "help, what did I get myself into?" - but then later recovering lol) is equally an exotic memory experience that I am tremendously proud of.

I never stop being amazed at how freaked out Midwesterners (even hip urbane ones) can get when I speak of having been to those places... (and sometimes all the Belgium years included).

...So somehow Margo and where she is connects me to the good past parts of the Crouch family - and my kinda cousin who is Margos only friend in the free world left - well - my visits with him connect me to my moms side of the family - and makes me feel less detached and like a lost soul here - that I feel that way here where I am from (meaning central Ohio) is baffling to me - maybe because this place lacks any real sense of place other than all the wal-mart super paver parking lots - oh the horror of wal-mart as Betty Butterfield says on Youtube.

But it is odd that, that old communal visiting hall, at ORW, which hasn't really changed in 31 years - now is an architectural construct memory in my mind more familiar to me than the home we were all brought up in. I must say it is weird having 31 years of my 40 years revolve around my sisters Margo's incarcerated, prison, check point, razor wired, humiliated, dehumanized life - and that somehow even when she needed mental health care and medicine - when she got nothing but a plea bargain poor persons prison (way to go Ohio) - she managed to succeed within the state imposed limitation on her life. She, not me, is the remarkable person here.

I should really think about all that some more because too many memories are coming back...But Margo has some great stories about Mom and Dad that either Mom and Dad would never have told me - for who knows what reason - propriety or their ideas of parental responsibility or because with their rigid twice monthly for years visits to see Margo - in some ways my living under my parents roof then kept me at a greater personable distance those years - I don't know...

I do like hearing the family stories from Margo and my cousin that I just, stories that I never knew about. But really Margo is heroic - we all have to admit that now in her ability to survive - Including that Kafka-esque Parole Board.

My ex-teacher pal from dads old widowered condo life post mom was telling me about this LD kid an artist kid who burnt his art (in the sink in the high-school art studio - responsibly no less - and ended up being forced on medication - then when he turned into a zombie from meds he got put on more meds - which is ultimately the real control formula that made my condo pal retire from teaching early) - To which I said that really good artists have always burnt the work that they didn't want created - which I think is a virtue and a sign of some genuine rare genius...

The post Bush II Administration system in place that puts this sort of bright lived lives down is just plain wrong. I also told my pal that Americans need to admit that public school in the US is day care so that parents can be unhindered human resources - and that college in the US is really just to get those Americans who do go on to that to be on par with European high school kids. And that Grad Students here are only equal with European undergrads.

Until we can admit this is the education reality in this country we can not evolve and better this place as a nation - until we can admit that this country has huge population mass third world debt traps (houses, schooling, cars, healthcare etc). Even the whole idea of a middle class might be a myth of a pipe dream - an ever elusive pie in the sky American Dream - but life here is in reality an unending ever unfolding multi-faceted nightmare of debt and traffic.

While at the grocery foods car park today I saw by accident some female goose made a nest out of fresh mulch in the parkinglot under a parkinglot landscape area tree between parked cars. I remember when that whole area was a big wooded wetland that ran over the hill between the Scioto and Olentangy Rivers where it wasn't farmed - generations of geese later on still collectively remember that too.

Then while sitting in the car just taking in the suicide sky an old little woman walked up to the geesette offering bread and said in this little voice "you are doing a good job" to the mother goose - like the goose was some little teen mom living out in the parkinglot. Imagine what the goose was thinking - fight or flight... what is this crazy, upright, two legged, scary, white headed, two uncontrolled flaying armed, human doing to me now?

Everywhere I look I see Palestine under the Israeli Occupied Forces seige - even in the nature and parkinglots here. Well that little old woman meant well but can only think in humanizing terms with nature - as if nature were just like a childrens Beatrix Potter story - where all of Old Englands wildlife are characters like people...

This country needs more dissent - more public protest in the streets. Corporate/politician heads should roll in their own blood more often. Well despite all this and the house nearing completion and ready to be flipped (as if that is going to happen any time soon in this market! lol HA!)...

If I can't travel abroad like I used to again then really I don't care if my life ends early because this American Matrix experience is just not working for me in any way with meaning. I know you know what I mean but I had to write this... I've been sick with food poisoning for three days cooped up in the house with the shits - at one point the toilet had been ripped out and I was using a hole in the floor or a bucket for the endless shits - can you imagine...? My Gawd my travels in the third world were never this primitive!

Well I got through it and the toilet got reinstated - and I got a job - and faked it, though sick as a dog, in that corporate nonsense intimidating interview - that thank God I was just too sick to care about and that probably got me through the intimidation part - lol - Well - jobs these days in reality if you can find one are just a stepping stone - no company wants lifers despite what they might say about any of that - I just wish I could bicycle to work - because the commute is insane - Central Ohio should be a bicycle city given how generally flat it is like the whole of bicycling Holland or like Copenhagen.... who knows - maybe it will happen sooner rather than later... I don't know but this house is finally looking like it will get finished... Which is one big psychic relief to have a clean space to live my life in and out of.

The Mexican guys who work here though despite the difficulties of communicating are really great and actually put up with me and fix the things I complain about without loosing their sense of humor - which is actually nice to have around. But my gawdh that crazy Mexican radio they listen to loudly when they work drives me batty if I'm on the phone... I do use Spanish around these guys so maybe they appreciate that - I have learned a lot of Spanish with them just being around and I'm not afraid to try to use it. When I do they laugh at me - not with me - but I don't care - it's the laughter that I appreciate so much. Plus they work fast and cheap without being stressed about it all so who cares if they leave the beer bottles everywhere in the yard like they had a party - it kind of goes with the neighborhood...