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 "...you 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?
....it'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,

saying:

"...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....
...it 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
alone
or in
Brussels
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.

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.

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...

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:

Makkah
Madinah
Marrakesh
Sharjah
Muscat
Sanaa
Jeddah
Kuwait City
Baghdad
Tehran
Cairo
Kabul
Multan

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....

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.