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Saturday, January 30, 2016
I am in Jackson
Square in New Orleans reading Tarot cards for a living
.
Its been along time. I'm back.
Wednesday, October 02, 2013
A Month of Rainy Ash Wednesdays
When we saw the banana trees were yellowed, dying, burnt looking mounds, surrounded by patches of dirt with blades of grass peeping through and the litter of beer bottles and cigarette butts, my heart sank and my son always wiser then his years said “Somebody died can’t you see it?” I could see it, but I didn’t want to believe it. The yard was never a manicured or well thought out kind of garden, more an urban jungle with shrubs, azalea bushes, and the famous nick named Gary banana trees vying for attention in a haphazard sort of way. The yard always looked green and loved and watered, with the bottles, butts, and litter that accumulated every night picked up by someone in the famliy every morning. The porch swing that sat between the two apartments in the family leased duplex that had served as a family meeting place with someone usually sitting and swinging on it was gone, too.
It’s the day before Mardi Gras, Lundi Gras they call it and we pick him up from the hospice and he’s as yellow and dying as his banana plants, with tiny purple veins bursting on the side of his face, his eyes jaundiced and his skin a muddy pinkish brown. (I'm a nurse and I've cared for end stage liver and AIDs patients and I know these signs.) I see the ascites stretched across his tight abdomen, but I don't want to see him like this with my nurse eyes, but I can't help it. He tells us that Pops and his Step Mom (my sweet beautiful, elegant, forever, party friend Margaret) both died last year, all of a sudden within three months of each other and the family (what was left of them) let the duplex go and he ended up staying here. It’s a very, very nice Catholic run facility for end stage AIDS patients with smiling pleasant staff members, and clean halls, it’s the model of efficiency.
He has his own room, and it’s a world away from the rest of the place decorated like a New Orleans bar with all different kinds of Mardi Gras masks, and beads, and bright purple, gold, and green feathers all over the walls. Mardi Gras always was our holiday, our favorite. One time we lost our ride at a Drag Queen Ball at the Cajun Dome in Lafayette. And we were both wearing black velvet formals and we tried to hitch hike home in our tux and ball gown. Our friend finally drove from Baton Rouge and rescued us. We ended up waiting all night for her at a biker bar in Breaux Bridge. Boy were those guys laughing at us, but we always had a good time, every day of the year, nothing but laughter, when we were together.
25 years of Mardi Gras and he’s too weak this year to go to the parades, so we end up at a booth at the Chimes by LSU drinking pots of coffee and eating all the appetizers on the menu instead of ordering dinner. He tells me that they’re busy trying to cure him of his addiction to pain pills, a kind of a twelve step program when he only has maybe two or three faltering painful footsteps left and somehow we both laugh at this. In between mouth fulls of cheese sticks and fried boudin balls, he asks me to write his eulogy. I have known him forever and I‘ll know him forever and I don‘t want to say goodbye. (Not while he is still alive)He was and is my very best friend, a sister, a soul mate. He tells me that they say he has less than six months to live. And I don't tell him, but I know that everyday for the rest of my life will always be like the day after Mardi Gras without Gary, my life will be like a whole month of Ash Wednesdays.
So how do I go from Mardi Gras to death to Ash Wednesday to a eulogy? Before we left Gary took all his Mardi Gras stuff off the walls of his room and gave it to me and my son and we hugged goodbye a little longer just in case it was for the last time. I desperately don’t want to leave him, but I have a job, a home, and a sort of (misfit) life 400 miles away. I head west through Port Allen over the new Mississippi River bridge and finally due north. It starts to storm and I start to cry, the windshield wipers need replacing, and I can’t wipe my eyes fast enough to see, so we stop in Natchitoches. Eddie my son purchases crawfish pies, Kleenex, and wiper blades and we eat and cry and talk and do the needed repairs. Somehow I make it home over the next seven hours and I try to think of ways for him to live, and I refuse to write this damn eulogy, or say goodbye. I get home and hang up the feathers and the mask and the beads and all the pretty stuff he gave me that he’s collected over the years. It’s decorating my bedroom and I wake up in the middle of the night staring at a purple sequined mask with his face hiding somewhere behind it in my dream/wake state and with the dull nagging voice of my unconscious saying, “What will you do without him?” I don’t know. And I'm thinking that if I was there with him that I might be able to nurse him back to health, to some sort of remission, and I feel guilty and sad and angry. He took care of me for so many years. He fed me and clothed and let me stay with him when I had no place to go. He bought all my son's baby clothes years ago when we had no money. He was the best friend you could ever hope for when you were down and out. And now it's another rainy Ash Wednesday and I don't know how to help him.
Frankie (another extended family friend) died on this past Christmas Day of HIV complications. They put him in a hospital right at the end, that’s the way they do it and you’re very lucky if you don’t die out on the street or on a family member’s spare couch because hardly anyone gets treatment. So many of us are dying now of HIV, Hepatitis B or C, chemical industry related cancers, that they barely manage to dispose of our bodies, nobody can afford burials or funeral services anymore, it’s too expensive, just a quick cremation, and the ashes go to who ever loved you the most or has the most clout in the family. There’ll be no grave markers or tombstones for any of us, you’ll never know we existed at all; I don’t know if that is good or bad, it’s just the way it is right now. Whole families decimated. This is Louisiana and I can almost hear the police officer/doctor/ politician/court reporter/orderly say good riddance as they zip us up in body bags and move on the next one.
Melanie Burke-Zetzer for Gary White
(I have more to say)
When we saw the banana trees were yellowed, dying, burnt looking mounds, surrounded by patches of dirt with blades of grass peeping through and the litter of beer bottles and cigarette butts, my heart sank and my son always wiser then his years said “Somebody died can’t you see it?” I could see it, but I didn’t want to believe it. The yard was never a manicured or well thought out kind of garden, more an urban jungle with shrubs, azalea bushes, and the famous nick named Gary banana trees vying for attention in a haphazard sort of way. The yard always looked green and loved and watered, with the bottles, butts, and litter that accumulated every night picked up by someone in the famliy every morning. The porch swing that sat between the two apartments in the family leased duplex that had served as a family meeting place with someone usually sitting and swinging on it was gone, too.
It’s the day before Mardi Gras, Lundi Gras they call it and we pick him up from the hospice and he’s as yellow and dying as his banana plants, with tiny purple veins bursting on the side of his face, his eyes jaundiced and his skin a muddy pinkish brown. (I'm a nurse and I've cared for end stage liver and AIDs patients and I know these signs.) I see the ascites stretched across his tight abdomen, but I don't want to see him like this with my nurse eyes, but I can't help it. He tells us that Pops and his Step Mom (my sweet beautiful, elegant, forever, party friend Margaret) both died last year, all of a sudden within three months of each other and the family (what was left of them) let the duplex go and he ended up staying here. It’s a very, very nice Catholic run facility for end stage AIDS patients with smiling pleasant staff members, and clean halls, it’s the model of efficiency.
He has his own room, and it’s a world away from the rest of the place decorated like a New Orleans bar with all different kinds of Mardi Gras masks, and beads, and bright purple, gold, and green feathers all over the walls. Mardi Gras always was our holiday, our favorite. One time we lost our ride at a Drag Queen Ball at the Cajun Dome in Lafayette. And we were both wearing black velvet formals and we tried to hitch hike home in our tux and ball gown. Our friend finally drove from Baton Rouge and rescued us. We ended up waiting all night for her at a biker bar in Breaux Bridge. Boy were those guys laughing at us, but we always had a good time, every day of the year, nothing but laughter, when we were together.
25 years of Mardi Gras and he’s too weak this year to go to the parades, so we end up at a booth at the Chimes by LSU drinking pots of coffee and eating all the appetizers on the menu instead of ordering dinner. He tells me that they’re busy trying to cure him of his addiction to pain pills, a kind of a twelve step program when he only has maybe two or three faltering painful footsteps left and somehow we both laugh at this. In between mouth fulls of cheese sticks and fried boudin balls, he asks me to write his eulogy. I have known him forever and I‘ll know him forever and I don‘t want to say goodbye. (Not while he is still alive)He was and is my very best friend, a sister, a soul mate. He tells me that they say he has less than six months to live. And I don't tell him, but I know that everyday for the rest of my life will always be like the day after Mardi Gras without Gary, my life will be like a whole month of Ash Wednesdays.
So how do I go from Mardi Gras to death to Ash Wednesday to a eulogy? Before we left Gary took all his Mardi Gras stuff off the walls of his room and gave it to me and my son and we hugged goodbye a little longer just in case it was for the last time. I desperately don’t want to leave him, but I have a job, a home, and a sort of (misfit) life 400 miles away. I head west through Port Allen over the new Mississippi River bridge and finally due north. It starts to storm and I start to cry, the windshield wipers need replacing, and I can’t wipe my eyes fast enough to see, so we stop in Natchitoches. Eddie my son purchases crawfish pies, Kleenex, and wiper blades and we eat and cry and talk and do the needed repairs. Somehow I make it home over the next seven hours and I try to think of ways for him to live, and I refuse to write this damn eulogy, or say goodbye. I get home and hang up the feathers and the mask and the beads and all the pretty stuff he gave me that he’s collected over the years. It’s decorating my bedroom and I wake up in the middle of the night staring at a purple sequined mask with his face hiding somewhere behind it in my dream/wake state and with the dull nagging voice of my unconscious saying, “What will you do without him?” I don’t know. And I'm thinking that if I was there with him that I might be able to nurse him back to health, to some sort of remission, and I feel guilty and sad and angry. He took care of me for so many years. He fed me and clothed and let me stay with him when I had no place to go. He bought all my son's baby clothes years ago when we had no money. He was the best friend you could ever hope for when you were down and out. And now it's another rainy Ash Wednesday and I don't know how to help him.
Frankie (another extended family friend) died on this past Christmas Day of HIV complications. They put him in a hospital right at the end, that’s the way they do it and you’re very lucky if you don’t die out on the street or on a family member’s spare couch because hardly anyone gets treatment. So many of us are dying now of HIV, Hepatitis B or C, chemical industry related cancers, that they barely manage to dispose of our bodies, nobody can afford burials or funeral services anymore, it’s too expensive, just a quick cremation, and the ashes go to who ever loved you the most or has the most clout in the family. There’ll be no grave markers or tombstones for any of us, you’ll never know we existed at all; I don’t know if that is good or bad, it’s just the way it is right now. Whole families decimated. This is Louisiana and I can almost hear the police officer/doctor/ politician/court reporter/orderly say good riddance as they zip us up in body bags and move on the next one.
Melanie Burke-Zetzer for Gary White
(I have more to say)
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Gary April 2005
my house on Sleepy Valley
in Hot Springs
u were laughing in your sleep
Chuckling in between snores
You slept with your eyes open
Kind of a strange trait
If you were snoring then I knew you were asleep
The next morning
You said you were dreaming about champagne wells
All so improbable
You said
Some people you didn’t recognize
Were digging a well
And they hit a geyser
And champagne came gushing up
out of the ground
(land of milk and honey? Heaven has champagne wells)
And it was so funny
That you couldn’t believe it
And that’s why you were still laughing
And later as you slept
You said you dreamt that your step mother
And father stood at the foot
Of your bed
Not saying anything
Or looking any different after death
Just standing there staring at you
And then you woke up
All in one night
But it was a good night
That night
Because you weren’t hurting
Gay people pray
Gay people believe in God
and every night and morning
you said a prayer
all the way to the last day of your life
on may 13, 2005
and you would hold my hand
and you always included me
and you made me feel so special
worthy of prayer and even blessings
but we couldn't go to church
you and I
not here in arkansas
because the hatred and ignorance
spewed from the pulpits
about being gay
made me nauseated
like all these right wings
bible beaters
can think of is sodomy.
and if
Heaven is a spiritual plane
without hormones or flesh
would our earthly body chemistry
even matter
I mean really what if
Heaven is chock full of sweet people like you
(I hope)
They can't put you in hell
you'd make it too nice of a place
you, my friend
who happened to be gay on this earth
what will those preachers of hate and intolerence say
if you stand next to God
and St Peter is flying a rainbow flag
I remember the first time I met you
in Baton Rouge
I was 16 and you were 17
Your brother macho Mitch introduced us
And you came flying into the room
Almost on a mission
Moving about the apartment and talking so quickly
From one project to the next
Showing off new shoes
A flower arrangement
What you were cooking for dinner
You were so pale
hair so blonde almost white
5'11 130 pounds
Your body and your hair seemed to blend into the walls
Except for when the light
would bounce off your skin
And make you glow
Your eyes were sky blue
You were like a woodland sprite
A true fairy
An air of cheery other worldliness
Hung about you
Your feet rarely touched the ground
As you competed with the sunshine
with your smile
YOU
were
Always laughing
back in those days
that’s the first thing that I remember about you.
Later that night we were already best friends
Sitting in an empty gay bar
called The Emporium
on Highland Road
just outside the gates of LSU
On a Monday light
Listening to what ever pleased the DJ
And getting up to gyrate on the lit dance floor
Just you and me
I still miss you
my house on Sleepy Valley
in Hot Springs
u were laughing in your sleep
Chuckling in between snores
You slept with your eyes open
Kind of a strange trait
If you were snoring then I knew you were asleep
The next morning
You said you were dreaming about champagne wells
All so improbable
You said
Some people you didn’t recognize
Were digging a well
And they hit a geyser
And champagne came gushing up
out of the ground
(land of milk and honey? Heaven has champagne wells)
And it was so funny
That you couldn’t believe it
And that’s why you were still laughing
And later as you slept
You said you dreamt that your step mother
And father stood at the foot
Of your bed
Not saying anything
Or looking any different after death
Just standing there staring at you
And then you woke up
All in one night
But it was a good night
That night
Because you weren’t hurting
Gay people pray
Gay people believe in God
and every night and morning
you said a prayer
all the way to the last day of your life
on may 13, 2005
and you would hold my hand
and you always included me
and you made me feel so special
worthy of prayer and even blessings
but we couldn't go to church
you and I
not here in arkansas
because the hatred and ignorance
spewed from the pulpits
about being gay
made me nauseated
like all these right wings
bible beaters
can think of is sodomy.
and if
Heaven is a spiritual plane
without hormones or flesh
would our earthly body chemistry
even matter
I mean really what if
Heaven is chock full of sweet people like you
(I hope)
They can't put you in hell
you'd make it too nice of a place
you, my friend
who happened to be gay on this earth
what will those preachers of hate and intolerence say
if you stand next to God
and St Peter is flying a rainbow flag
I remember the first time I met you
in Baton Rouge
I was 16 and you were 17
Your brother macho Mitch introduced us
And you came flying into the room
Almost on a mission
Moving about the apartment and talking so quickly
From one project to the next
Showing off new shoes
A flower arrangement
What you were cooking for dinner
You were so pale
hair so blonde almost white
5'11 130 pounds
Your body and your hair seemed to blend into the walls
Except for when the light
would bounce off your skin
And make you glow
Your eyes were sky blue
You were like a woodland sprite
A true fairy
An air of cheery other worldliness
Hung about you
Your feet rarely touched the ground
As you competed with the sunshine
with your smile
YOU
were
Always laughing
back in those days
that’s the first thing that I remember about you.
Later that night we were already best friends
Sitting in an empty gay bar
called The Emporium
on Highland Road
just outside the gates of LSU
On a Monday light
Listening to what ever pleased the DJ
And getting up to gyrate on the lit dance floor
Just you and me
I still miss you
Saturday, April 13, 2013
***************************************
I wake up in the middle of the night
With the dumb foggy room realization
That someone suffered
The only dull ache comfort
Other than pillow and blanket
Is that
Thank god it wasn’t me
Ruthless prayer
Like a warm wind on a humid day
I can’t cry out or seek forgiveness for what
I didn’t do
Survivor guilt
Apparently my shoot opened
I landed here
When I finally wake at 6 am
and make coffee
I am surrounded by the lush green pine
Hard bark stretch to the sky
soft pink champagne and orange juice trees
Litter my roadway with fluff
Skies thick with clouds hang heavy
Interspersed with bright patches of sunlight
Steam rises from leaves and frogs
and snakes sunning on sharp jagged gray slate rocks on water’s edge
Every morning my first thoughts are the night before
Wakeful moments never to be dreams
startled to eyes opening
Twilight nightmares
Other people's pain
Problems with no solutions
No logic to suffering or dying
Or how to prevent what has already occurred
Tears can’t soothe wounds on their corpses
My half wakeful mind doesn’t know this
I can’t stop last minutes or make it any better
I spend a lifetime of nights
Seeking redemption for something
That I didn’t do
Grateful for every sunrise
I smile at every blade of grass wet with dew
Blackberry bushes ripening twenty feet from my door
On soft June morning
Tiny rabbits run ahead on deer trails
I bury my conscience day in sight, sound, smell and taste
Children playing in the woods
Water splashing on creek bed
We do things like drink strawberry margarita
Boil shrimp in lime and talk about the weather.
Hedonism is the order of every day
Shallow comforts skin thick
no salty tears
to rub in wounds as long as the sun is shinning
I am happy to be alive and have shelter
And eyesight and hearing and legs
Very lucky and knowing it.
Not understanding why
I was blessed.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Monday, February 11, 2013
HEY Woody Guthrie We Need Your Fascist Killing Machine
in New Orleans
In Jackson Square
The people walk by you
And act like they know you
Call you a crack head right to your face
While laughing at how poor you are
And discuss how you must be illiterate
and all you can read are Tarot cards
They wrinkle their noses as if you smell
Even though you had a bath that morning
Make fun of your clothes
and apparently clothes can be homeless with you
and
Homeless clothes are a reason
To not let you use the restroom
But you when you bought them
You had a home
And they hung in a closet
Just a short time ago
Dying of thirst
And no where is the water free anymore
Close your eyes on a park bench
During the day
And you get a ticket
My long dead
wobbly father
who worshipped you Woody
is rolling over
In his grave
Even he can't believe
That
Its against the law to take a nap
in the city of New Orleans
This is
Your land
Buy, Buy
Woody Guthrie
We need your
Fascist killing machine
back again
OH Wait
I forgot
all the fascist killing machines
must be in by 8pm
and that's a shame
cause everyone knows
all the fascist
come out fashionably after
9
New rules
for a new, new
New Orleans
in the new gentrified
city
we used to call big easy
you cam't play music too loud
or
too late
don't party too hard
cause the rich people
living in the quarter
wanna go to bed by a quarter to 8
I might go all Villon
on their asses
one of these days
start naming names
You
called me illiterate, uneducated
you over rated bitches and snitches
with your commissions
and citations
and decibal meters
I'll spit on your graves
after I'm dead
and Woody Guthrie's ghost is gonna play
all night
in your Mausoleums
damnned if you'll get
any rest at all
after you die
We'll dance on your graves
and the fiddles, guitars, drums, singers and horns
will play every night until
dawn
you fuckin bitches, snitches
fascist, tyrants and scalawags
ruin New Orleans
and
Marie Laveau is gonna get
all you bitches
even after you're dead
she'll reach in your graves
so
anyway while you're all still living
if that's what you call it
And
Friday, January 11, 2013
my father Eddie in his boat on False River Circa 1949,
My son Eddie in Jackson Square
This is me and my Mom, Madeline partying in the quarter
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
@}--------}---------------
Eddie Cane
Hey check out my very talented son. All those workshops/readings with Codrescu, Lott, Ginsberg, Snyder,Williams, Ferlinghetti (a generous dose Corso from me) and hanging out at the local Poet's Loft, when he was a just little boy apparently paid off, and anyway bringing him to class with me was so much cheaper than hiring a babysitter, but please don't tell him I said that. Mom's are so embarrasing and he's 24 now and writes his own lyrics, music, and beats.
Strap down for a little street poetry/ hip hop/ rap. Art is in the eyes and ears of the beholder.
He is very good
Ladies and Gentlemen
Eddie Cane
My favorite song Eddie and his best friend Trouble(his name)
Eddie Cane Ft.Trouble - Hit Me Up
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Friday, April 01, 2011
# Chernobyl Legacy Paul Fusco @}---------}---------------------------
$ NEW Wiki Poetry Haiku Leaks
From Fabrice
Free Julian Donate to Wikileaks Operation Payback
Ok now off message Good luck and Godspeed to the activist community. * The Raging Pelican and Have a look $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
SORRY AIN'T ENOUGH NO MORE $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
$ NEW Wiki Poetry Haiku Leaks
From Fabrice
Free Julian Donate to Wikileaks Operation Payback
Ok now off message Good luck and Godspeed to the activist community. * The Raging Pelican and Have a look $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
SORRY AIN'T ENOUGH NO MORE $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
*
Why does LISAFUCKINGJACKSON still have a fucking job?
?
@}------------------------------------------------
THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS
@}------------------------------------------------
Why does LISAFUCKINGJACKSON still have a fucking job?
?
@}------------------------------------------------
THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS
@}------------------------------------------------
Sunday, July 04, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
Now they want to execute Lil Boosie. The man is a poet you dumb fucking pricks. The man is an artist, not a killer. Sticks and stones. I am pissed. I write auto biographical fiction. It’s a genre not a crime. Examining lyrics/poetry for criminal indictments makes no sense at all. Rap is street poetry. Fuck, fuck fuck fuck and fuck.
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
HOME
Louisiana
The evil is rampant
I think of going home helping
Breathe in deeep a life so far
One more time
The mighty Mississippi is a sewage line
The Gulf of Mexico already a large toilet bowl
Chemical plants line the riverside from Baton Rouge to New Orleans
Another Bhopal
is waiting
Just around the corner
from the Louisiana State Capital
in an area nicknamed
The CC or (Chemical Corridor)
in North Baton Rouge
Exxon Refinery and many other chemical plants
like the infamous Honeywell
sit across the street
from people's homes, Elementary Schools.
Churches, and Daycares
for those unlucky enough
to live, attend school or work there
It's always
another Day, another
CC lockdown
Better known as the shelter in place rule
every time there is a chemical spill .
Reminds you of those 50's short self defense films
where everybody hides under a table until the atom bomb
blast is over.
You know the curtains blow a little,
so does the cloth on the table, but everything is intact
and junior, mom, and dad are just fine and go on cooking dinner like nothing happened.
No rare incurable cancers, or childhood Leukemia's to see here folks just move along.
It's exactly like that during CC lockdowns.
And they actually tell you to
stuff towels under your door.
The worst part is that
You can't leave or flee
even if you want too
Because
the state troopers
block the entrances to the interstate.
AND YOU THOUGHT THIS WAS THE FIRST TIME THE LOCAL POLICE
worked for Multi-national Corporations and harassed citizens.
Terrified citizens who want to run as far as they can from the latest deadly toxin are stopped and told to go home to wait.
It’s over and over
And worse things
are waiting
Watch how they act and what they do.
Petro-Chem
Responding to the supposed non- crisis
But don’t be as surprised the next time
Tragedy Strikes at their hands
Chernobyl, Ukraine, Alaska
3 Mile Island
These man made disasters
Are disgusting
Especially when you know
greedy, spoiled. children posing as men
are at the bottom of this oil slick
(or at least we wish they were down there
plugging the fucking hole. )
I think we should take Tony Heywood
and the rest of the Corporate Heads at BP
(pun and punishment intended)
and put them on spikes at the mouth of the Mississippi
Their bodies forever incased in cement
Around the well at the bottom of the GOM
As a warning for what happens
if you fuck with U.S.
I'm just saying
They maybe better off in prison isolation
then left to the kind of justice they really deserve
And Cheney, Bush and so many before them and with them
So many years, closed door handshakes, hand jobs, blow jobs
and enough other kinds of blow
to sustain any fisherman's family for at least a 100 years.
That's why no one worried about the blow out preventer's at the MMS
They were too busy letting BP and big oil be blow out enablers
at the MMS
Don’t blame this one on Obama
We all know who started it
But who are we going to hold responsible for how it ends
if it ever does.
Louisiana
The evil is rampant
I think of going home helping
Breathe in deeep a life so far
One more time
The mighty Mississippi is a sewage line
The Gulf of Mexico already a large toilet bowl
Chemical plants line the riverside from Baton Rouge to New Orleans
Another Bhopal
is waiting
Just around the corner
from the Louisiana State Capital
in an area nicknamed
The CC or (Chemical Corridor)
in North Baton Rouge
Exxon Refinery and many other chemical plants
like the infamous Honeywell
sit across the street
from people's homes, Elementary Schools.
Churches, and Daycares
for those unlucky enough
to live, attend school or work there
It's always
another Day, another
CC lockdown
Better known as the shelter in place rule
every time there is a chemical spill .
Reminds you of those 50's short self defense films
where everybody hides under a table until the atom bomb
blast is over.
You know the curtains blow a little,
so does the cloth on the table, but everything is intact
and junior, mom, and dad are just fine and go on cooking dinner like nothing happened.
No rare incurable cancers, or childhood Leukemia's to see here folks just move along.
It's exactly like that during CC lockdowns.
And they actually tell you to
stuff towels under your door.
The worst part is that
You can't leave or flee
even if you want too
Because
the state troopers
block the entrances to the interstate.
AND YOU THOUGHT THIS WAS THE FIRST TIME THE LOCAL POLICE
worked for Multi-national Corporations and harassed citizens.
Terrified citizens who want to run as far as they can from the latest deadly toxin are stopped and told to go home to wait.
It’s over and over
And worse things
are waiting
Watch how they act and what they do.
Petro-Chem
Responding to the supposed non- crisis
But don’t be as surprised the next time
Tragedy Strikes at their hands
Chernobyl, Ukraine, Alaska
3 Mile Island
These man made disasters
Are disgusting
Especially when you know
greedy, spoiled. children posing as men
are at the bottom of this oil slick
(or at least we wish they were down there
plugging the fucking hole. )
I think we should take Tony Heywood
and the rest of the Corporate Heads at BP
(pun and punishment intended)
and put them on spikes at the mouth of the Mississippi
Their bodies forever incased in cement
Around the well at the bottom of the GOM
As a warning for what happens
if you fuck with U.S.
I'm just saying
They maybe better off in prison isolation
then left to the kind of justice they really deserve
And Cheney, Bush and so many before them and with them
So many years, closed door handshakes, hand jobs, blow jobs
and enough other kinds of blow
to sustain any fisherman's family for at least a 100 years.
That's why no one worried about the blow out preventer's at the MMS
They were too busy letting BP and big oil be blow out enablers
at the MMS
Don’t blame this one on Obama
We all know who started it
But who are we going to hold responsible for how it ends
if it ever does.
Thursday, April 08, 2010
To those who have labeled this frivolous come cry with me sometime.
old new post just now able to share this
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Posted 8:29 PM by melanie
GOOD BYE GARY rantNow I put up my 2005 King of The Hill calendar and exotic landscapes and pictures of Mediterranean and Caribbean beaches will decorate my walls for 2006 and familiar months will reappear without him. May the 13, I said good bye to one of the best friends of my life ( 25 years of friendship) Gary. He called Renee in Baton Rouge just two days before his death and died on her birthday May thirteenth and she relayed the message right away and was going save it ( so I could hear it) and he said that he loved us both and it seemed like we had all been friends forever (he couldn’t call me because it was long distance) and then the next day her young son got in a car accident with his half brother and we held our breaths until we knew both boys were going to be ok and Gray’s last message was lost somewhere in the flurry of phone calls and saved messages from different ERs.And then I didn’t even know that he went into a coma and was in ER and intensive care, himself (He was dying of liver disease and HIV) because I let my son and his friends use my phone for employment applications and reference numbers (I seem so stable to them/ how funny) and one of them saved the message that he was in intensive care and forgot to tell me (teenagers) and I was working and I didn’t know it was there and his family (some of them ) misunderstood and thought I didn’t care about him and I heard of his death two days after it occurred and I called Renee and told her that he died on her birthday and she cried because we couldn’t recover the message and then said that now we can always remember him because he died on her birthday and we would celebrate his life with hers and she said Marie even though I don’t have his last words they were sweet ones and he loved you so much.Good bye Gary
SAME DAY DIFFERENT YEAR
MAY 13, 2007 (I Love you )
JOE died.
You haven’t heard from me in a while.
This is why?
The coolest human being on earth,
Died
JOE HOPPER
Who am I going talk to NOW?
JOE?
Down the street Hot Springs
Central Avenue
Lucky’s Bar.
Beautiful women always
Surrounded him,
Always
Julia, Jessica, Paula, Dahlia, Marlena
Me?
JOE
Red hair
Flying in the air.
Going so fast
The Tourist are in slow motion
Behind your chair
JOE
I can not believe I won’t ever see you again
JOE
my
LOVE
May 13th 2007
What is with that date.
Love always
I promised two weeks before you died
I'd never forget
your kindness
I love you
JoeHopper.
old new post just now able to share this
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Posted 8:29 PM by melanie
GOOD BYE GARY rantNow I put up my 2005 King of The Hill calendar and exotic landscapes and pictures of Mediterranean and Caribbean beaches will decorate my walls for 2006 and familiar months will reappear without him. May the 13, I said good bye to one of the best friends of my life ( 25 years of friendship) Gary. He called Renee in Baton Rouge just two days before his death and died on her birthday May thirteenth and she relayed the message right away and was going save it ( so I could hear it) and he said that he loved us both and it seemed like we had all been friends forever (he couldn’t call me because it was long distance) and then the next day her young son got in a car accident with his half brother and we held our breaths until we knew both boys were going to be ok and Gray’s last message was lost somewhere in the flurry of phone calls and saved messages from different ERs.And then I didn’t even know that he went into a coma and was in ER and intensive care, himself (He was dying of liver disease and HIV) because I let my son and his friends use my phone for employment applications and reference numbers (I seem so stable to them/ how funny) and one of them saved the message that he was in intensive care and forgot to tell me (teenagers) and I was working and I didn’t know it was there and his family (some of them ) misunderstood and thought I didn’t care about him and I heard of his death two days after it occurred and I called Renee and told her that he died on her birthday and she cried because we couldn’t recover the message and then said that now we can always remember him because he died on her birthday and we would celebrate his life with hers and she said Marie even though I don’t have his last words they were sweet ones and he loved you so much.Good bye Gary
SAME DAY DIFFERENT YEAR
MAY 13, 2007 (I Love you )
JOE died.
You haven’t heard from me in a while.
This is why?
The coolest human being on earth,
Died
JOE HOPPER
Who am I going talk to NOW?
JOE?
Down the street Hot Springs
Central Avenue
Lucky’s Bar.
Beautiful women always
Surrounded him,
Always
Julia, Jessica, Paula, Dahlia, Marlena
Me?
JOE
Red hair
Flying in the air.
Going so fast
The Tourist are in slow motion
Behind your chair
JOE
I can not believe I won’t ever see you again
JOE
my
LOVE
May 13th 2007
What is with that date.
Love always
I promised two weeks before you died
I'd never forget
your kindness
I love you
JoeHopper.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Saturday, November 01, 2008
Ok time to get up off my ass and go vote (early) and yes, Mom and me are voting for OBAMA. Oprah annoyed me, but there is no way I would ever, ever vote for a Repuke. So yes we are OBAMA voters all the way. I am very fond of and loyal to the Clintons (still, and always will be) and I would love to have seen Hillary as our Leader and Chief, but it didn’t happen like that, and know way do I want that Alaskan BIMBO as our possible next president. OBAMA will be our next president and I wish him and his family well and every prayer I have is with him and his whole awesome family.