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‘The Rails, Some Hemp, and A Hanging’

"A Believers' View"

“A Believers’ View”

By

Gregory V. Boulware

/*

The Sun hadn’t risen to light up the world this morning. This pain-in-the-ass of a war has proven fruitless. It has put us all in a terrible bind. The ‘Blue-Bellies’ outside were laughing and joking right under the window of my jail-cell window. And as I recall, I think I could see several ‘darky’s’ planting, plowing, picking, and singing in the distance. The damned ‘Yankees’ have taken all that belongs to us…

A couple, maybe three of four birds chirped and sang in the distance. There could not have been any more than that, I’m sure. The Yankee soldiers outside reveled in their mastery while enjoying the aromatic scents of ‘Hemp’ and ‘Moonshine.’ There was no other way to get liquor other than someone making it themselves. There was no store-bought liquor to be had for miles in any direction. The company had its share of ‘shiner’s’ on both sides of the war-torn fences. Their horses bayed and pranced in the cold damp yet dark beginning of the day’s morn. My hanging tribunal was short and to the point. My foolish guilt could not be reversed, albeit, my hatred for these ‘Blue-Coats’ and their Black supporters surpasses my pain and sorrowful agony. I do long for the fragrance and joys of home… My dear sweet ‘Abbey,’ my darling wife and young’uns; my plantation and memories of France cut at my brain.

In France I was broke, poor, and penniless… Here in South Louisiana, I have become rich, powerful, and wholesome. I have more than a hundred acres of land manned by two-hundred and eighty-five of the best young and strong Black livestock in the territory. Four hundred head of cattle graze on my lands. The farmyard houses chickens, geese, ducks, pork, and several dozen head of living horse flesh along with a few dogs and cats. I am a very wealthy man indeed.

These invaders, these usurpers, these Black-defenders who have confiscated our properties…must all return to their northern domains and domiciles or die. We have made and taken great lengths and efforts to drive them out. They will not relinquish our belongings…they will lose theirs!

Cowards and subordinates have taken the places of my one time friends and neighbors. They have cravingly crept into running, hiding, and collaborating with the disciples of the leader of reform, abolition, and reverse slavery for white land owners and the young’uns. I sir, will not allow it, not at all. Someone ought to put a bullet in the head of that tall and long bearded charlatan in that ‘White-House’ Capital of theirs!

I will fight them to my last breath. I will spit on thee and kill thee upon sight of your blue coats. Bounties have been imposed on you white folks who hire, save, utilize, employ, and/or hide any Black run-away slaves or so-called Union Soldiers. I will kill them, and kill them until I can kill them no more. I will shoot their horses, cook their dogs and livestock…and hang anyone who interferes. Their buildings, houses, transportation, bridges, and trestles are game subjects for the targeting of my wrath and abhorrence for their tyranny! Resistance will not be futile.

Did I kiss my wife and daughters this morning? I, for the life of Me do not recall. I cannot remember!

The drifting tufts of the smoking hemp are most gratifying… I’d like a pipe-full. My pipe-full, did I leave it on the terrace table next to my comforting rocking-chair? I do believe that I have. I left it for my return to relaxation once the bridge is blown. That will stop the intrusion, the advancement of these ‘nigger-lovers’ from coming down here, through here.

The morning…its’ beginning was indeed ominous. It was strangely and mysteriously overcast with heavy thick clouds of gray and dulling-whiteness overhead. One bird made a noise that I could hear. The keys of the jail-house door clang and rattled. No breakfast did I receive; no water for washing or drinking was permitted either.

The voice-less ‘Blue-Bellies’ had come for me. It was a time to reflect my misgivings. Do I have any? I wonder. The coldness of the morn and the trembling of my fear, have caused me apprehension to begin the procession to the bridge. I did resist. I did struggle against them, my enemies. But it was all for naught. And then I complied with their directions. We marched from the jail-house toward the desolation of the ‘Owl Creek Bridge.’

A Posted Warning:

‘ORDER…ANY CIVILIAN CAUGHT INTERFERING WITH THE RAILROAD BRIDGES, TUNNELS, OR TRAINS WILL BE SUMMARILY HANGED!’

~This 12 of April 1862~

The posted sign warned all who would keep men as slaves while opposing a right and just law. But this stalwart southerner, tried to blow up ‘The Owl Creek Bridge’ anyway.

“Yes, something occurred at ‘The Owl Creek Bridge’ one morning during the war. It was a chilly, misty, and cloudy one at that.

I was a private when we hung em.” The officer continued on with his recollection. “He was defiant as hell, right up until the end, well, least ways when we put that ‘hemp-rope’ around his neck. We tied his legs and feet so’s they won’t kick and flail. He cried. We then stood his cowardly ass atop a nice new plank…and dropped him like a sack of ‘tatter’s’ in the drink. Lucky for him there was no ‘gators’ swimming about.”

The drum-roll sounded. A bugle blew the morning ‘reviles.’ An owl was heard hooting just as I heard the commander bark the order:

‘First squad, stand-fast! Forward hupp!’

Then, the sound of marching boots…including those which covered my feet. The owl began to sound like a child’s whistle, a flute, or maybe a turtle-dove.

The first Sergeant; with my eyes I did see him un-winding and unraveling the knotted hemp. This was being done in preparation for the perfect noose-fitting around my neck. It simply did fit just perfectly.

Wet from perspiration, my jet-black, long wavy hair did drip the sweat all over me. Blowing through was the wind, but not through the dead looking, leafless trees all around. They just stood there staring at me, laughing at me without an ounce of pity or sorrow; the dead looking, and lifeless gray things. They appeared to be burnt wistful embers of black, gray, and white sinews.

The snow fell from the sky a few days ago. I trembled. I heard my pocket-watch tick…

“Take his watch!” A voice ordered. It was taken away as I stood backward upon a fresh new plank of wood.

Was I dreaming this horrible thing? Abbey, Abbey, my dear darling ‘Abigail.’ Am I not home with you and the babies, my darling? Do I feel the warmth of our bed and the tender bliss of our happiness?

‘A living man, I want to be a living man…’ My dearest, I am with thee, I see thee – I do; I feel thee.

 

~ ‘A livin man, a livin man… I wants to be a livin man.

In all da world, he moves around, he walks around, he turns around…

I sees each tree, I reads each vein, I hears each worm upon each leaf…

The buzzing flies, the splashing fish, they moves around this livin man…

A livin man, a livin man – I want to be a ‘Living Man.’~

“At ten-hut!” shouted the commanding officer. I cried some more… Plunging down, down, and further down into the cold, cold drink, I was suddenly shocked. The cold icy-water pulled me straight to the bottom. My shiny new black knee-high boots filled with creek liquid. I was forced to part with them once I was free of my bonds. The fish gazed and gawked from in front of me and from behind every crevice. I hurriedly swam to the top for air. At the surface, there was plenty to be had.

I heard the birds singing and chirping. I saw the flowers and blooming blossoms on the trees. A beautiful spider was mending her web as a wondrous green frog leaped from one leaf to another… A shot splashed close to my left ear. I saw the soldiers up on the train’s bridge. They were training their weapons upon me…they are going to shoot me, to kill me!

They were steadily shouting at me as I quickly swam away. I swam very fast as though my life depended on it. I outswam their bullets. Under the water, the fish and a tortoise joined me in the trek. I surfaced for air and swam a bit further. A ‘Cottonmouth’ saw me and wiggled in my direction. Diving beneath him allowed an avoidance. They kept shooting at me with handguns, rifles, and cannons. The hemp was still about my neck. Somehow, it had broken from the fall off the bridge.

“He must be hanged! Sergeant, give the order to open fire!”

“Yes sir!”

“If it’s necessary, fire the cannon as well!”

“PRESENT YOUR ARMS! STAND FAST MEN! STEADY MEN, STEADY…AIM, FIRE! HE MUSTN’T ESCAPE! THERE HE IS…HE’S STILL MOVING. HE WON’T GET FAR. HE’S LIKE A RAT IN A TRAP… IN A TRAP, A TRAP, A TRAP! FIRE AT WILL!”

They continued firing and reloading. The bullets and shells hit all around me in the water. The more I swam, the lesser the fire-power. The white-water rapids were now upon me. They threw me this way and that way, hither and fro…they carried me closer and closer towards home.

The forest changed from cold dead limbs to lively and beautiful green leaves with healthy foliage upon the ground. I ran heavily through the fields and into the woods. I ran and ran for what seemed like endless hours. The gunshots and cannon-fire drowned and disappeared in the distance behind me. Then suddenly a familiar pathway opened up in front of me. It pointed, beckoned to me to come hither. The trees, the tallest redwoods or dogwoods that I’ve ever seen stood on either side of the roadway. Wagon traffic must have traversed these woodlands. The pathway was worn well. I ran and ran some more…I ran toward home.

It was familiar, yet it was not. The twenty foot tall wrought-iron double gates stood closed at the end of the pathway. They opened wide upon my approach and closed tightly behind me after I’d passed through. I kept on running, running towards home.

My shoeless feet bled as I began to walk. I’d fallen from running. I was tired but rejuvenated with my new found freedom. I began to skip through the pussy-willows. I then saw it. The multiple tall white columns that adorned the veranda was a welcomed sight indeed. My heart jumped and skipped with gladness. The porch, upon which my rocking-chair sat, the table whose top kept good my corn-cobb pipe filled to the brim with the best flavored hemp, accompanied by a bowl of my savory smoking tobacco. Next to it was my little brown jug.

The mansion’s multi-paned windows gleamed in the bright and warm sunlight. The immaculate and tasteful clothing that I wore were now tattered, dirty, and full of filth. They were shredded to mere rags. I did not care. I was home.

There she is, there she comes… My dear sweet and most beautiful Abbey. I could hear my children laughing and playing…she ran to me – for me…Abigail, my loving wife.

She saw me running toward her. I could not get there soon enough, fast enough. My rags flittered in the racing wind. What was left of my once magnificently embroidered vest simply hung from my shoulders. My pantaloons were mere shreds about my hips and thighs…I did not care. I was finally and completely home!

She reached for me and hugged me. She kissed and caressed me. She held me tightly. I felt her breast upon mine. I felt her warm and full lips upon mine. Her heartbeat was strong as she held me fast and firm. I was home – fully and completely home.

“This is strange dear Abbey…it’s eerily and suddenly quiet. Where are the ‘darkies?’” She quietly smiled. Her pearly white teeth and ruby red lips simply smiled at me. Her beautifully long thick black hair flowed with a sudden gust of wind as she kissed me once more.

“To bed my dear…I wish to bed thee now. It seems like it’s been so long since we’ve made beautiful love. The warmth of you and our bed will feel oh so very delightful, indeed.

Where are the children – where are all the animals?”

She hugged and kissed me some more…and simply smiled as we turned toward the house and the bedroom.

I was happy, oh so very happy and relieved.

I began to cough…it grew worse and would not stop. Abbey smiled and reached for me with open arms and a deliciously delightful kiss that I did not, could not receive. The pain in my neck…on how painful it was.

“My ears heard a pop and a snap while my eyes beheld the bridge full of soldiers above and the cold murky water flowing below… The steady swinging portrayed the cold gray sky and the wispy willows of the dead and lifeless land …all about.

My mind’s ear heard singing. It was the voice of a Black singing an old familiar song of the south. Was this sound also a dream?”

~

‘A livin man, a livin man, I wants to be a livin man…

In all da world, he moves around, he walks around…

I sees each tree, I reads each vein, I hears each worm upon each leaf…

The buzzin flies, the splashin fish, they moves around this livin man…

a livin man, a livin man – I want to be a ‘Living man!’ ~

~

Peyton Farguhar was just plain stupid. He was not a soldier nor was he involved in the activities of the war. He was a civilian southern plantation owner with a family and the owner of slaves.

Peyton was a secessionist who wanted to be a soldier. He wanted to strike a blow for the sovereign states of the south.

Farguhar suckered himself into involvement by acting on an opportunity to fulfill his wish.

“I’ll blow up the damned bridge!” He was warned not to take action on his own by participants of the horrible conflict and that of his close friends. After his capture and sentencing, he dreamed of home and family like so many of the Black slaves once did, the people he despised, with his neck in a noose.

The bridge intended for destruction, stood over ‘Owl Creek,’ bearing the plank that bared the weight of the doomed believer of the confederacy. Peyton Farguhar wished that he’d remained at home.

‘The Bridge’

~Pg., 13-14, ’HALLOW,’ a journey into now and then~

‘Occurrence At Owl Creek Bridge’

Ambrose Bierce, ‘The Twilight Zone,’ Rod Serling

“A Living Man,” Henri Lanoe

/*

~BoulwareEnterprises~

http://www.BoulwareEnterprises.com

“Article Posting Sites”

http://ezinearticles.com/?expert_bio=Gregory_V._Boulware

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http://www.linkedin.com/pub/gregory-boulware/10/435/44b

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7237172.Gregory_V_Boulware  

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http://koobug.com/GregoryVB_Author?p1498

http://about.me/gregory_boulware

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“Amazon”

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And

 

“Twitter”

https://twitter.com/#!/AuthorBoulwareG

*/

“The Spirit of the Soul and the Death of Morals: From Whence Comest Thou?” http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18377562-the-spirit-of-the-soul-and-the-death-of-morals  

“ONE PEOPLE, ONE PLANET, and THE CHILDREN OF ONE GOD!”

 

“The Un-Obscure”

http://theunobscure.blogspot.com/

 “FAIRMOUNT”

http://www.boulwareenterprises.com/FAIRMOUNT.html

http://aneastfallssonontheschuylkill.blogspot.com/2014/07/on-schuylkill-eastfalls-son-twitter.html

 

‘The Triplets and One’

http://theeyeofcain.blogspot.com/

http://thehebrew-israelitesandjapan.blogspot.com/ http://theessenceofinvasionandannihila.blogspot.com/

http://yahvehthefatherthelosttribesoftwelve.blogspot.com

 

‘BookCrossing’

http://www.bookcrossing.com/mybookshelf/GVBoulware/all

“The Spirit of The Soul and The Death of Morals”: Whence comest thou? Paperback – Large Print, January 12, 2012

By

Mr. Gregory Vernon Boulware   (Author)

http://www.amazon.com/The-Spirit-Soul-Death-Morals/dp/1468190997/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top?ie=UTF8

*/ 

 

/*

“The One Thing I Know Is…”

In the Lab

“Well Dr. Caldwell, what do you think is wrong?”

“I’m not sure… I might need to do a more thorough investigation to the problem at hand.”

“Doc, can you please tell me what the nature of the problem is…?”

“I don’t know.”

“But Doc, what do you know?”

“The one thing that I do know is…I don’t know. Do you know how many people are willing to admit they don’t know something?”

“No Doc, how many?”

“I don’t know.”

The quote from the title refers to what the character, ‘Dr. Caldwell’ of the hit television show of the seventies fame, ‘Sanford and Son, uses in response to questions he doesn’t have the answers to.

Now, this author doesn’t practice the art of knowing everything…just makes attempts at trying to know about anything and everything. If you can dig it!

“The one thing that I do know is…How to Understand Technology!”

 

Business Intelligence (BI) and Information Technology (IT) virtually, methodically, and basically go arm-in-arm. Students who are majoring in business, i.e., administration, management, marketing, accounting, etc., will find that BI and IT have morphed into one entity. One does not do without the other.

http://ezinearticles.com/?IT-and-BI&id=714057

When a program or a computer is not operating the way that it is supposed to, we take steps to correct them…we want it fixed. When a person is sick or not behaving the way that one should, we call a doctor or a particular professional to make things right again, right? Well a patch is what IT pros (and non-pros) use to make corrections to the program or computer. They fix the things that are wrong in the program or the computer. Many would rely on a computer geek to get their PC’s up and running. That’s one of the reasons that IT personnel rely on updates to offset the possibility of glitches or malfunctions. In the case of the Matrix movie, “Neo” can be described as the patch, the thing or program that is sent to make things right. One could also interpret the Neo program as the ultimate program or an upgrade. What would the purpose of the all-seeing, all knowing Oracle represent? Can it be viewed as an “All Mighty Being?”

The cloud as we know it; a metaphor for the Internet based upon how the Internet is depicted in computer network diagrams; is a style of computing in which dynamically scalable and often virtualized resources are provided. SaaS (Service as a Software) over the Internet, as I’ve mentioned in previous postings, is the driving force.

http://ezinearticles.com/?The-Platform-On-The-Cloud&id=5458157

 

It definitely takes new tactics and skill sets in order to acquire a position in the new world of IT, Communications, and Analytics. Sentiment Analysis is gauging the mood of Social Networks and is being incorporated by companies monitoring Community-Driven Websites.

http://ezinearticles.com/?Destruction-and-Creation—A-New-Jobs-Hyperbole&id=7182865  

 

The jobs creation claims it’s logical for Microsoft to point to the cloud providers. Tech vendors plan to double its’ workforce this year. They’re saying cloud and mobile applications are giving birth to millions of U. S. jobs.

That perplexing boast causes me to wonder; if that’s the case, why is the national unemployment rate at record highs? The United States Unemployment numbers read between eight and ten percent. These numbers are devastating to the U. S. economical system.

 

A Few Tech Definitions From A to Z:

ActiveX:

A loosely defined set of technologies developed by Microsoft. ActiveX is an outgrowth of two other Microsoft technologies called OLE (Object Linking and Embedding) and COM (Component Object Model). As a moniker, ActiveX can be very confusing because it applies to a whole set of COM-based technologies. Most people, however, think only of ActiveX controls, which represent a specific way of implementing ActiveX technologies.

Ad Hoc:

Description of Research Group:

An ad hoc network is an autonomous system of routers (and associated hosts) connected by wireless links–the union of which form an arbitrary graph. The routers are free to move randomly and organize themselves arbitrarily; thus, the network’s wireless topology may change rapidly and unpredictably. Such a network may operate in a standalone fashion, or may be connected to the larger Internet operating as a hybrid fixed/ad hoc network.

This group is concerned with the study of Ad hoc Network Systems (ANS). Ad hoc networks are complex systems, with cross-layer protocol dynamics and interactions that are not present in wired systems, most prominently between the physical, link and network (IP) layers.  The IETF community and the wider research community could benefit from research into the behavior of ad hoc networks that would enable advanced routing protocol development. This research group will endeavor to develop sufficient understanding in topic areas of interest to enable the desired protocol specification work.

ADJUDICATION:

Administrative Law; to resolve legally, rulemaking, investigation and enforcement, administrative process. The administration of law by administrative agencies.

Adjudication/Subrogation

 

DDL:

Short for Data Definition Language, DDL is a computer language that is used to define data structures. In Database Management Systems (DBMS), it is us…

/TERM/D/DDL.html

Short for Data Definition Language, DDL is a computer language that is used to define data structures. In Database Management Systems (DBMS), it is used to specify a database scheme as a set of definitions (expressed in DDL). In SQL, the Data Definition Language (DDL) allows you to create, alter, and destroy database objects.

(EZT)

PHP:

PHP is responsible for powering an extraordinarily large segment of the Web, driving significant parts of many of the world’s most trafficked websites, among them Facebook and Yahoo. Facebook’s reliance on PHP is so great that they’ve even gone so far as to create Hip-hop for PHP, a utility that converts PHP code into highly optimized C++, resulting in the ability of the Facebook API tier to double its performance while reducing CPU usage.

Distributed Denial of Service (DDOS)

Attacks The Problem:

There are several tools being distributed on compromised computers that allow vandals to remotely control those computers to launch attacks rendering a victim’s computers inoperable. The attacks of several prominent Web sites during the week of February 6-12, 2000 used these Distributed Denial of Service (DDOS) attack tools. The nature of the attack is such that it is very difficult to stop and next to impossible to prevent single-handedly. Some sites have experienced several days of downtime while trying to restore services.

The core problem is the existence of the compromised computers used to create the attack

(note 1).

RSS: Rich Site Service

RSS Optional Channel Elements

In creating an RSS feed (also called an RSS document) Optional Channel Elements are tags you can include in your feed, but are not required in order for the feed to work. Optional channel elements are added in the beginning of your feed and require an open and close tag.

REAL ESTATE 101-A FEW FUNDAMENTALS

                     Real property and the law

                       Land use and Development

                       Interest in Real Estate, Legal Descriptions

                       Forms of Real Estate Ownership

                       Transfer of title

                       Landlord and Tenant Interest

                       Environmental Issues in Real Estate

                       Real Estate Taxes and Other Liens

                       Title Records

                       Real Estate Contracts

                       Real Estate Financing

                      Pa. Real Estate Licensing Law

  1. Air Rights–The right to use the open space above a property, generally allowing the surface to be used for another purpose; The rights to use the open space or vertical plane air above the land. Air rights may be redefined by the courts to include Solar Access Rights. (ex.-Tall buildings to be interfering with the smaller building’s sun rights.

REAL ESTATE LAW

FOR

HOMEOWNER & BROKER

 

ACCEPTANCE OF DEED:

The physical taking of the deed by the grantee.

ACCEPTANCE OF OFFER:

The seller’s agreement to the terms of the agreement of sale.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT:

A formal declaration of one’s signature before a notary public.

ADJUSTABLE RATE MORTGAGE:

A mortgage which charges an interest rate which may rise or fall dependent on the movement of the standard by which the interest is gauged.

Diversity Training, The Do’s and Don’ts

Summary Diversity training can improve the company’s bottom line. Tailor diversity training to your needs. Don’t tolerate harassment or weak diversity efforts.

Before you roll your eyes and groan the next time your boss announces a diversity-training workshop, consider this: Diversity training, when conducted properly and under the right circumstances, can dramatically improve not only employee relations but a company’s bottom line.

This book is packed with a whole bunch of factual IT/BI data, Technical Techniques, and loaded with time tested solutions to your Information Technology Library and Study Reference. It’s the perfect learning tool for the novice or beginning Tech Student as well!

The P-O-S-D-C Of Management – A Student Aid

Students should also become familiar with the process of management and what is required to become a manager. The best managers are well informed and are acutely aware of team needs. The needs of the team are met with the managerial support reflecting alternatives and suggestions for a team coordinated solution.

http://ezinearticles.com/?The-P-O-S-D-C-Of-Management—A-Student-Aid&id=3885372

Pupils need every available edge when it comes to studies, whether they know it or not. They should take advantage of every bit of information available, i.e., research articles, white papers, periodicals, magazines, and yes…blogs.

“I was working as a ‘Database Insurance Analyst’ for an insurance company in Blue Bell, Pa., in a contractor capacity, when I wondered what would happen if someone hadn’t shown me how this all worked, you know, computers. I was highly prepared to “hit the ground running” when I walked in the door!”

 

This new book by Mr. Gregory V. Boulware will be available in the printed version real soon…it’s on the way to the printers shop as we speak!

 

STUDENTS, GET YOUR COPY FOR THIS UPCOMING SEMESTER and USE AS A REFERENCE GUIDE FOR YEARS TO COME!

 PreGraduation Photo 4 2004

“It’s a simple decision.”

 

/*

~BoulwareEnterprises~

http://www.BoulwareEnterprises.com

 

“Article Posting Sites”

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http://www.linkedin.com/pub/gregory-boulware/10/435/44b

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7237172.Gregory_V_Boulware  

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“Amazon”

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And

 

“Twitter”

https://twitter.com/#!/AuthorBoulwareG

*/

“The Spirit of the Soul and the Death of Morals: From Whence Comest Thou?” http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18377562-the-spirit-of-the-soul-and-the-death-of-morals   

“ONE PEOPLE, ONE PLANET, and THE CHILDREN OF ONE GOD!”

 

“The Un-Obscure”

http://theunobscure.blogspot.com/

 

“FAIRMOUNT”

http://www.boulwareenterprises.com/FAIRMOUNT.html

http://aneastfallssonontheschuylkill.blogspot.com/2014/07/on-schuylkill-eastfalls-son-twitter.html

 

‘The Triplets and One’

http://theeyeofcain.blogspot.com/ http://thehebrew-israelitesandjapan.blogspot.com/ http://theessenceofinvasionandannihila.blogspot.com/ http://yahvehthefatherthelosttribesoftwelve.blogspot.com

*/

 

Don’t forget to view:

 

‘A Philadelphia Story Teller’

A Couple of Stories From:

“Hallow II”

‘A Portentous Epoch of Sagacious Redolence and Epiphany’

http://philadelphiastoryeller.blogspot.com/

http://boulwareenterprises.wordpress.com/2014/09/12/a-philadelphia-story-teller/

 

“The Pendulum of Hades”

http://thependulumofhades.blogspot.com/

~”Hallow” A Sojourn Into Now and Then”~

*/

 

 

‘A Philadelphia Story Teller’

A Couple of Stories From:

“Hallow II”

‘A Portentous Epoch of Sagacious Redolence and Epiphany’

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

By

Gregory V. Boulware

http://philadelphiastoryeller.blogspot.com/

“Howl Of An Angel”: Pt. 2 ‘The Loch of Satanus’

 Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

 My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

~Robert Frost 1923~

/*

Eddie and Isabelle were ill-greeted when the odious oaken doors opened. The six-foot nine inch Brother called ‘Lucious,’ stood directly in front of them. His stern and stoic glare created pause on the part of the invading pair.

“What do you want here?” snapped Lucious. “We have had our share of usurpers…desecrators! Go away, go home before you of the outside cause more grief, agony, and world disaster.”

“Please Brother… We have traveled long and far. It is cold and damp – we have no shelter for the night – would you turn us away? I have a young frail woman with me who is ill! Please grant us shelter for just one night?”

Brother Lucious bade them enter and immediately went into a ranting rave:

“A Protestant Physician, Casper Peucer, told of the full-blown conception of witches’ going to a Sabbat, led to the assumption of parallel gatherings of wolves.

The story was repeatedly told by demonologists with regard to ‘lycanthropy.’ The increase in trials for witchcraft at the end of the sixteenth century led people to believe a man could actually become a lycanthrope or werewolf [Germany: Wahr-Wolffe; French: Gerulf or Loup-garu; Italy: Lupo Manaro].”

*/

Many people on the planet profess to know just about everything. There are those who know it all. There are those who know absolutely nothing but boast to the contrary. Haven’t you met people who know everything about anything and everything about everybody? Sure you have…

How many Philadelphians recall the summer of 2003 and the insertion of those beige and red double-decker buses running around in Philadelphia’s Center City District and Fairmount Park? Today they are owned and operated by a reputable local tour bus company. I’m sure many do remember the infusion of those novelty buses from England’s London Town, “The Big Bus!”

They were a bit old indeed, but fun nonetheless…

Now dig this… How many Philadelphian’s and its’ visitors recall that it was a Black Man Supervising its Corp. of Dedicated Driver Operators? Oh yes, the Driver Operations and Garage Housing was run and operated by none other than your neighboring author, Gregory V. Boulware! He was hired as the first lead driver to head up the company’s major campaign of a fleet of ‘Double Decker Tour Buses in Philadelphia’s touring industry and the major sites in and around the city including the ‘Art Museum’ area , “Let Us Storm The Bastille” – The Northeastern State Penitentiary, and The Philadelphia Zoological Gardens, ‘America’s First and Oldest Zoo!’

Two New Stories…GVB~ (2)

Announcing…a New Completed Book!“The One Thing I Know Is…” on the way to the printers!

One story from: “Hallow II” ‘A Portentous Epoch of Sagacious Redolence and Epiphany’

http://nomoreroominhellwhen.blogspot.com/

http://howlofanangel.blogspot.com/

“Howl Of An Angel”: Pt. 2 ‘The Loch of Satanus’…expected launch date – ‘Halloween 2014!

/*

Leading them down a darkened corridor of musty aromas and candle-smoke, the Brother continued speaking, “I must tell you this because your life and the lives of all human-kind are threatened by the danger herein.”

The Brother could not disallow the need for shelter, especially on a cold, dark, and damp night such as this. The young frail woman did indeed appear to be ill, just as Eduardo described. However, the Brother vividly recalled what had happened a few short months ago. The tragic event reflected the deeds of another sick and weary traveler…one Mr. David Ellington.

“I will allow you both sanctuary, but it will come at a risk of your own. The evil one has been let loose upon the world. We of the ‘Keep’ expect his return…hopefully well-guarded by the warriors and warlords who are in the service of ‘Halle’ (Hebrew for Father/God) and not revenge seeking minions of the ‘Beelzebub.’”

Brother Kristophus looked this way and that way as he unlocked and opened another oversized double gate-like doors. He allowed them in and warned of the necessity of being interviewed by Brother Jerome. Brother Lucious had simply disappeared into the blackness of the castle. He explained to the intrepid yet spent duo how the Brothers of the ‘Keep’ would not oblige welcoming treats or gestures. Kristophus made it clear that they are perceived as the enemy, the usurpers; the violators of peace and harmony. Instructions on behavior and body language, was conveyed by the Brother, a history of sorts; concerning immediate and long awaited horrifying terror.

Isabelle was comforted with warm compresses, the drying of her clothes, and a warm woolen blanket. She rested in one of the candle-lit rooms near the ‘Keep’s’ front entrance. Eduardo and Brother Kristophus sat close by.

The Brother continued on with preparing them for what’s possible to come. He told serious stories of malice and ill-will upon man by man, then and now.

’Herman Loher’ fell into the hands of a witch judge, circa 1650 A.D. He wrote:

“Is it just, if a condemned person were forced to fight with lions, bears, and wolves for his life, and prevented from protecting himself, since he is deprived of weapons of every device?”

…Hochnotige Unterthanige Wemiitige Klageder Frommen Unschiiltigen (A Most Pressing Humble Complaint of the Pious Innocents).

Loher was not one who allowed his imagination to run wild Mr. Hushmanzata; he was in the thick of it – The Great and Un-holy Inquisitions!”

His book is a one-of-a-kind edition! It was the only one in existence. He had been an official of the law court at ‘Rheinbach,’ near Bonn, during the two fantastic waves of persecution in 1631 and 1636, which killed one person out of every two families. In the proceeding hundred years, the village had not known one case of imprisonment, let alone an execution. But things changed with the visitation of a special itinerant judge, Franz Buirmann.

Loher, as one of the court’s seven local assessors, saw terror grip the village, and contributed to a common bribe to get the judge to go elsewhere. Buirmann went, but returned in 1636. Loher then joined the mayor and one other official in opposing Buirmann, but they received little support; and Loher, having quietly liquidated as much of his property, real and personal, barely escaped with his family to Amsterdam. Buirmann brazenly confiscated the remainder of Loher’s property on August 3, 1636.

Loher became a Dutch Citizen, set up business again, and lived to be over eighty years of age. Loher felt compelled to record his experiences in order to enlighten the authorities for justice in a uniform criminal procedure among humble folk in small towns and villages.

Three points were stressed in Loher’s writings:

1) innocent people who are tried in the witch courts are tortured and die innocent; 2) victims lie when they are tortured; 3) all victims can be forced to confess anything, especially when the torture is repeated.

The author urged the local ‘Princes’ in Germany to scrutinize the court records, to reduce the high fees the officials received for trying each witch, and above all to stop the torture.

Loher vividly describes how a typical witch judge conducted a trial, raging at and cursing the accused – one such judge, Franz Buirmann:

“You apostate, you witch, you dumb dog! Confess your sin of witchery; reveal the names of your accomplices! You filthy whore, you devil’s wanton, you sack cloth-maker; you dumb toad, speak and confess in God’s name! Swallow the holy salt! Drink the holy water! Tell who it was that taught you witchcraft, and whom you saw and recognized at the witches’ Sabbat.

Then you will not be tortured any longer, but have eternal peace and life.”

According to the book and a recorded encyclopedia entry, Loher started collecting his materials when he came to Amsterdam, but did not publish his book until 1676, at eighty-one years of age. He delayed publication for fear of reprisals from the authorities. Upon his realization of the need to speak out, ‘The Hochnotige’ was illustrated with plates of witch torchers – the book was secretly entrusted to one of Loher’s illustrious colleagues and friend, Johannes Kelpius Senior, father of Johannes Kelpius, II; founder of the ‘Rosicrucians,’ forebearer to the ‘Kelpius Society.’ He was given the book for safe keeping before Loher agreed to publishing copies available for the public at large. Prior to that, it was later exposed for a wide Kelpian circulation. The original copy remained with the ‘Kelpians’ who migrated to America in the 1700s.

Some of the books content included several celebrated trials for lycanthropy.

“The Pendulum of Hades”

http://thependulumofhades.blogspot.com/

~”Hallow” A Sojourn Into Now and Then”~

“Listen to me, my friends.” The candle light dimmed and the room appeared to further darken. “This story is very true and all too real… Believe it or not, once, there was an old ‘Nanny-goat’ who had seven kids. She was just as fond of them as any mother over her children. One day, she was going into the woods to fetch some food for them, so she called them all up to her and said:

“My dear children, I am going into the woods to fetch our food. Beware of the dastardly, sneak…the wolf!

If he gets into the house, he will kill you and eat you up, skin and hair, and all. That fiendish rascal often disguises himself, but you will know him by his rough voice and black feet.”

The kids replied, “Oh we will be very careful, Dear Mother. You can assuredly be quite happy about our awareness.”

Bleating tenderly, the old goat went off to her work.

Before long, someone knocked upon the door, and said:

“Open the door, sweet children. Your momma has come back and brought something for each of you.”

Now the kids knew full well whose voice it was. They knew it was the wolf.

“We will not open this door,” they answered. “You are not our mother. She possesses a soft gentle voice; while yours is rough and coarse and we are quite sure that you are the ‘Big Bad Wolf.’

With that, he went away to a shop and bought a lump of chalk, which he ate, and it made his voice quite soft. He then went back and knocked on the door of the goat’s house and said:

“Open the door sweet children. Your momma has returned home from the woods and has brought something for each of you.”

Slick as he thought he was, he put his paws on the window sill, right were the kids could see them. The said to him:

“We will not open the door. Our mother does not have black feet like you; you are the big bad wolf…slick and sly as you think you are!”

Then the wolf ran off to a baker, and said:

“I have bruised my feet; will you please put some cooling dough on them?”

When the baker fulfilled his request, the wolf ran off to the miller and said:

“Sprinkle some flour on my feet.”

The miller thought, “This slick ole wolf is up to no good. I wonder what he’s up to.” He refused to comply with his request.

The wolf then said to the miller, “If you don’t do it, I will kill you and eat you up!”

So the miller frightened as he was, complied with his requests and whitened the wolf’s paws.

For a third time, the wolf approached the door and said:

“Open the door, sweet children. Your dear mother has come home with something for each of you from the woods.”

The wary kids were overly cautious due to the last two visits. Show us your feet first, so that we may be sure you are our mother.”

The wolf did as they asked. He placed his paws on the window sill. When they saw that they were white, they believed all the things he said, and opened the door. Of course it was the big bad wolf that walked in. The kids were terrified and frightened out of their wits. They attempted to run and hide. One of the kids ran under the table, the second jumped into bed, the third jumped into the oven, the fourth ran into the kitchen, the fifth climbed into the cupboard, the sixth jumped into the washtub, and the seventh hid in the tall clock-case. The wolf found them all except the last. He made short work of them…he swallowed one behind the other except the youngest one who hid in the clock-case. The wolf did not find him.

When he had satisfied his appetite, he took himself out of the house and into the woods, where he laid down and fell fast asleep.

Not long after the deep slumbering, the old nanny-goat came back from the woods.

Oh what a horrifically terror-filled sight met her eyes! The door of the house was left standing wide open. The table, chairs, shelving, benches, and other furnishings were overturned, broken, and thrown about. The washing bowl was smashed to atoms. The covers and pillows were torn from the bed. The old nanny-goat screamed and searched all over the house while looking for her children. They were nowhere to be found.

One by one she called them by name, no one answered. When she called the youngest, a tiny voice answered:

“I am here Mother! I’m hiding in the clock-case!”

She ran to the grandfather clock and freed her youngest kid. He told her all that had transpired throughout the hideous occurrence. The mother goat cried and sobbed in unholy despair. In her grief, she went out, the youngest offspring ran alongside. When they arrived at the meadow, there lay the big bad wolf under a large shade-tree. The branches shook with his strong and powerfully loud snores. They examined him from every side, and they could plainly see movement within his distended belly.

“Ah, Heavens to Betsy!” thought the mother-goat. “Is it possible that my poor children are still alive after the wolfish feast?”

She sent the youngest kid running back to the house to fetch scissors, needles, and thread. She then cut a hole in the sleeping beasts’ side. Just as she had begun to cut, the hole in the wolf’s side was a bit larger than a button, a kid popped out its head, When the hole was big enough, all six kids jumped out of the wolf. They were all alive, and suffered not one injury. In his greed, the beast had swallowed without chewing or biting – he swallowed all of them whole.

The mother hugged and kissed her babies while skipping and jumping all about full of joy and happiness. She momentarily stopped the fervent and eager joy. Realizing that this monster could awaken, she sent the kids for rocks and stones. The mother goat and her kids stuffed the wolf full of stones and rocks. She then quickly sewed him back up, without his having noticing anything at all.

Finally after several hours had passed, the wolf had enjoyed enough rest and sleep. When he tried to get up, he felt unusually heavy. He also felt very thirsty. He wanted to get a drink of fresh spring water to quell his thirst. As soon as he began to move, the stones began to rattle and roll on his insides. He cried aloud:

“What’s this rumbling and tumbling that sets my stomach grumbling? I thought it was the flesh and bones of the six kids inside. I find it to feel like nothing but rolling stones.”

Stumbling about, the wolf found it difficult to manage or maintain his stability. When he reached the spring, the unwary monster stooped over the water to drink. The heavy stones dragged him down faster than a weighted submariner. He drowned miserably. He felt as though he were cheated and robbed of something – his life maybe? He swore revenge from the watery grave.

When the she-goat and her seven kids saw what happened, they came running up and cried aloud – “The wolf is dead, the wolf is dead! Hooray!” And they danced and cheered with joy and happiness; they and their mother.”

*/

“Even a man, who is pure of heart and says his prayers by night, may become a wolf when the Wolfsbane blooms and the Autumn Moon is bright.”

The Brother held fast the attention of Eduardo and Isabelle. “This story reminds me of an old tale my Grandmother used to read to my siblings and me at bedtime – it sounds like something from the ‘Brothers Grimm of Grimm’s Fairy Tales.”

“I’ve said to you once Mr. Hushmanzata, you may believe what you wish – but I advise you to take heed to the message…”

Brother Kristophus looked up into the eyes of the two travelers. He arose to his feet from the sitting position and reached for his six foot walking staff. Nodding to the figure standing behind them; Brother Joseph had entered the room unnoticed. After turning to see Brother Joseph, the pair turned back to Brother Kristophus. But he was gone. It was like he was never there at all – he simply vanished.

Brother Joseph began speaking while motioning the duo to follow him. “I am Brother Joseph, the Guide. I will prepare you and bring you to the door of Brother Jerome, The Guardian Watcher. During the audience, it is he who will decide whether or not your stay is welcomed or not.”

The Brother walked and talked without turning to look at them. He picked up right where Brother Kristophus left off…

“A fox was one day talking to a wolf about the strength of man. The wolf claimed the title for being stronger and smarter.

‘No animals, ‘he said, ‘could withstand man, and they were obliged to use cunning to hold their own against him.’

The wolf answered, ‘If ever I happened to see a man, I should attack him all the same.’

‘Well, I can help you do that,’ said the fox. ‘Come to me early tomorrow, and I will show you one.’

The wolf was early to rise, and the fox took him out to a road in the forest, traversed daily by a huntsman. First an old discharged soldier came.

‘Is that a man, asked the wolf?’

‘No, answered the fox. He has been a man.’

After that, a little boy appeared on his way to school.

‘Is that a man?’

‘No,’ he is going to be a man.’

At last the huntsman made his appearance, his gun on his back, and his hunting-knife at his side. The fox said to the wolf – ‘look! Here comes a man. You may attack him, but I will make off to my hole!’

The wolf set on the man, who said to himself when he saw him. ‘What a pity my gun isn’t loaded with a leaden-metal ball,’ and fired a charge of black powder in the wolf’s face. The wolf made a wry face, but was not frightened, and attacked him again.

The huntsman gave the wolf a second charge. The beast swallowed the pain, and rushed at the huntsman again. This time he drew his bright and shiny but large hunting-knife, and slashed out to the left and to the right with it. The blade struck home and smeared itself with streaming blood. The wolf ran back to the fox and said:

“Brother Fox, Brother Fox!”

…The fox turned to the wolf and asked, “How did you get on with the man?”

“Brother Fox. I’ll tell you this – I never thought the strength of man would be what it is. First, he took a stick from his shoulder, and blew into it, and something flew into my face, which tickled frightfully. Then he blew into it again, and it flew into my eyes and nose like lightning and hail – then he drew a shiny rib out of his body, and struck at me with it until I was more dead than alive!”

The fox looked up at the wolf and asked “why are you clutching your haunches with both hands?”

“Well Brother Fox, I don’t think I’ll be able to sit or make a discharge from my rectum again. I do believe that I will be dead momentarily. Not only did the shiny broad and sharp rib cut at me real good, I heard the man scream out:

‘If I do not have at the ready, a leaden-metal ball, I sure as hell have these silver ones. I then heard and saw the black powder explosion from the stick he carried. I turned to run but fell down when the shiny orb struck and pierced my behind. The pain that I felt was indescribable. It felt nothing like the orbs thrown at me before. They only itched after contact and caused me to scratch. But this one has caused me to bleed and feel pain – this pain along with the pain and bleeding caused by his big shiny and sharpened rib. I feel my strength and consciousness ebbing Brother Fox. I am dying while man is stronger than we…’

“Now you see,” said the fox, “what a braggart you are. You’ve thrown your toothy face out so far that you can’t get it back again.”

Eddie and Isabelle were left standing there, facing each other. They turned to question Brother Joseph. He was gone.

The broad oaken door in front of them slowly, very slowly opened along with the sound of an eerie groaning creek.

“Come in, enter and be seated my children.” The loud and strongly masterful commanding voice frightened them. Seated behind a large desk of wooden antiquity was the tall and sinister figure of Brother Jerome.

The sound of a howl and a loud strong bone-chilling growl emanated from the shadows and aided the two in hurrying into the quarters and presence of the ‘Keeps’ number one occupant.

‘You have no doubt been educated of our world perplexing dilemma and responsibilities by the good Brothers; have you not?”

The uneasy travelers trembled slightly in his presence.

“Yes Brother Jerome,” Eduardo answered. Isabelle shook her head in agreement.

“Good,” said Brother Jerome. “I can’t emphasize enough the gravest of dangers awaiting the world have been securely suppressed and confined within the walls of this Keep. Recently the father of all evil escaped from imprisonment due to the interaction with an outsider. His invasive and damaging intervention allowed for such an atrocity to occur. We’ve warned him in every way possible…to no avail. We have pleaded with him while we aided in his healing! All we wanted him to do was leave us in peace…leave us in our world of solitude; our business. We entertained and enlightened him. How did he re-pay our indulgences and hospitable generosities? He did not take heed of our warnings! It was he who aided in re-releasing of that horrible man-killing entity upon the vulnerable existence of mankind! The goodness of it all is his intrepid search and tracking of the beast. Along with the aid of sanctuary Brothers across the globe, we will soon have him back inside, with the grace and will of God.

And now we have you two… Can you not wonder why we do not offer or accept hospitality or sanctuary from or to outsiders?”

Brother Jerome held their full attention. When Eduardo and Isabelle attempted to explain their reasons for the intrusion, the holy-man shrugged and waved for them to stop talking.

“I am fully aware of why you are here and how you have come upon us. So that we fully understand what it is you intend to do from this point forward, remains to be seen.

In order for us to properly protect you while you are here, we must provide you with as much pertinent information as heavenly possible. You will need to arm yourselves – prepare yourselves, should we fail to do so; no man-made weapons will defeat this evil. The only salvation is guidance from the ‘Most-High’ and his humble but vigilant disciples.

Brother Jerome reached for a book high up on the highest of shelves in the northwest wall of his office. The volume was old and dusty but firm and fully intact. The thickness of it readily suggested an abundance of recorded knowledge.

The holy-man sat back down behind his opulent oaken desk while motioning the travelers to do the same. He then fumbled about the inside of his robes and produced a small pair of reading spectacles. The brother proceeded in further espoused enlightenment. He leafed through a few pages before reading to them samples of the text therein:

“It is said that once a lion planned to go live in another land. Then all the beasts held a convention. He told them all of his intention, and they ‘should select a king.’” He thought he’d not be back again. The beasts requested that he provide another lion. He answered that he had no heir. He had not raised one – he did not dare. Among themselves must be their guest to find the one who’d govern best. And thus it was they who chose the wolf, for no one else was bold enough to dare take anyone but he (even though all of them thought the wolf was a villain).

Yet he assured them all, and swore he’d love them best forever. They went to the lion next and stated the wolf had now been designated as king. He said to doubt not in the least. That they had picked a clever beast, extremely fast and versatile, provided that his heart and will were as they ought to be – sincere.

But one thing caused the lion fear – that the wolf for counselor would pick the fox who knew well how to trick; both are insidious and base.

If from the wolf they wanted peace, on holy relics he must swear that he’d touch no beast anywhere and that forever he would not eat any meat, no matter what.

The wolf then most willingly swore to more than what was asked of him. But when he had been bound by oath, and whether lion set out, the wolf had a vicious craving for some meat. He made plans for deceitful purposes. He intended to get the beasts to all agree and give him leave accordingly.

The wolf them summoned a ‘Doe Deer,’ and secretly questioned her. If for his love of truth, she would tell about wolf’s breath – how did it smell?

She said it smelled terrible, almost unbearable. The wolf was very angry then. He sent a summons to his men. He questioned all those who had come. He asked them what kind of sentence would be given when someone spoke such things to his Lord’s face, such words of shame, slur, and disgrace. Should this one die, they all attested. The wolf then had the deer arrested. While they all watched, he killed the deer and ate the better part of her.

To help cover his crime, he proclaimed that he’d share portions of the kill, what remained, with them.

After his hunger pangs had ceased, he called for yet another beast. He questioned her in the same way as the first. How smelled his breath – what would she say? The poor thing would much rather lie than tell the truth for fear of suffering and death. So she replied that she knew of and smelled no scent. It was fragrant and very excellent.

The wolf summoned his cabinet and asked his barons, when they met, what punishment he should decree to one who would lie so deceitfully. They all judged that she must die. When they caught her, they brought her before the wolf. He killed her, tearing her limb-from-limb, and ate her all up right in front of them.

Time passed. The wolf observed a monkey. He was fat and quite well fed. Oh how he had coveted that monkey. He desperately wanted to eat him, to devour him.

One day, the wolf went to him. He inquired about his breath – did it stink or smell quite sweat – “what do you think?”

The monkey was extremely sly. He was in no way intending to die. So he replied that he didn’t know. The wolf didn’t know what to do. The monkey could not be condemned because no intended harm was done.

The wolf went to bed feigning illness. He complained to all the beasts. He thought he would never get well. They all came in turn, paying him a call. They sent out for doctors so that they may know if he’d be well again. The doctors were all at a loss to know. None of them found or saw a thing wrong nor could they find a cause. There was no injury to cause such a mood. If only he would desire some food!

“I have desired food, good doctors. I have entertained no other wish for some time now. I have had no other wish except to eat some monkey flesh. Of course you know of my oath, where I loath to touch another beast unless I can justify it very well; my barons could ratify it!”

They all gathered together and gave this view:

“That is what he must do. There is no cure for what ails his heart’s desire, no cure.”

Their remedies could not be sure. When the wolf king heard of what they advocated, he seized the monkey, killed him, and ate him. On all in turn, one-by-one, sentence was passed:

His oath to none of them was fast or sure.

Thus by the wise man we are taught that we, no matter what, must not ever make a wicked man ‘seignior,’ nor show to such a one honor.

His loyalty is as much a pretense with strangers as it is with his close friends. And toward his people he will at as did the wolf, with his sworn pact.

Brother Jerome closed the book and stared at the man and woman for what seemed like a long moment.

“They say there is no sin in killing a beast, only in killing a man… But where does one begin and the other end?”

Isabelle and Eduardo looked at one another and then back at Brother Jerome in bewilderment. They had no answer to give.

Brother Jerome smiled and rose to his feet. He walked over to the bookshelf and returned the big book to its proper place. Breaking the silence, he asked, “Why is it, the so-called educated, do not have or acquire the good sense of knowing better?”

Brother Jerome walked over to the window and peered at the full moon. It provided a brilliant light against the blackened nighttime sky. It cast a broad spectrum of white, silver, and grey light over all that was touched by its glow. He motioned for the pair to come over and join his gaze. Once they arrived, he pointed to a field of shrubbery. It appeared like a field of black foliage in the night. The Brother explained to them in the day light, the plants are a brilliant green with small and vividly white blossoms when I bloom. They only bloom in the light of the full moon.

The puzzled man and woman looked at each one another with frightful bewilderment and astonishment. Somehow, the explanation had contained…a familiar ring to it; an eerie memory. They heard a growl. It was an intensely loud growl and not too far away. It, the growl, was followed by a ferociously sinister howl-like that of a wolf.

Shaken with fright and ice-cold fear, they turned to see Brother Jerome standing behind them, clutching tightly to his walking staff. He stared at them intently and began to speak – almost trance-like…

“Even a man, who is pure of heart and says his prayers by night, may become a wolf when the wolf-bane blooms and the Autumn Moon is bright!”

Brother Jerome’s frightful yet stoic during his trance-like look broke the silence once again…

“Well now my dear, you cannot leave here tonight even though we do not want you.”

Eddie questioned his statement and the meaning of why they couldn’t leave.

“Eduardo,” the Brother took him aside so that Isabelle could not hear his words. “You and your companion cannot leave because she bears the mark of death…”

“Bullshit Mr. Holy Man!” Isabelle could clearly see that whatever the holy man said to Eddie surely shook him up – and she knew the conversation was about her as well. “She hasn’t got a mark on her! She only felt a little sick and feverish because we were caught out in the elements… What damned mark of death? Man, you all must be crazy or high on something in here – you’re all full of shit! We’ve got enough for our research and story. Come on ‘Izzy,’ we’re getting the hell out of this Looney bin!”

Eduardo reached for the tearfully and frightened woman. They started for the door.

“STOP!” shouted the monk, STOP Mr. Hushmanzata – should you and she leave here tonight you will surely meet your deaths!”

The horror-filled pair kept moving toward the door.

“STOP Mr. Hushmanzata – look at the right palm of her hand!”

They stopped moving and stepped back away from the door. Eduardo turned Isabelle’s hands over, palms up. Shock, spine tingling horror, and blood curdling terror would not be strong enough words to describe their current demeanor or disposition. The shadowy image of the five-pointed pentagram – the five pointed star that disappeared and re-appeared on the entire palm of her hand gave them blue vein cold fright. It brought them to a high level of indescribable fear and graveyard-cold terror that no one has ever been able to present to a living soul. They backed away from the door, fumbling for the chairs they recently occupied as Brother Jerome attempted to provide some form of comfort.

~”Hallow II”~

View the continuing saga:

Expected Launch Date…

~’Halloween 2014’~

 … I’ve decided to go back to the Philadelphia Library, the local branches, and then the main building on ‘Vine Street.’ That particular branch is well known for its humungous compilation of literary facts from damn near the beginning of time.

I’ve also managed to dig up several interview and essays on our illustrious if not notorious Kelpian Society. The new and current president is known by the name of Thomas Carroll.

“When There’s No More Room In Hell”

http://nomoreroominhellwhen.blogspot.com/

http://thependulumofhades.blogspot.com/

  ‘The Mystery and Quest for The Monks of the Wissahickon’

Part One:

‘Valley Green’

(End of Part One): Next

Part Two:

“And The Darkness Comes”

“I’m not at all averse to the idea or belief that Kelpius may have been murdered,” said Rafael Piccalleo. He makes the statement while glancing back at me in a mischievous manner.

“He managed to bring quite a few valuables and artifacts with him from Europe. One of which, I might add, is a fascinating refractive sundial. When filled with water, time appears to be moving backwards, or in reverse. This reference of Biblical proportions is highly significant to the Rosicrucians. A piece like that would, I believe, drive a person to murder for its possession. Many of these irreplaceable treasures are still in circulation today.”

I’ve managed to secure an interview with a Mr. Rafael Piccaleo, a former docent for the Wissahickon Wildlife Association. He granted the interview based on his curiosity of what I intended to write. He assured me of the Rosicrucian desire for complete and utter privacy, but would assist me in telling the truth about the order. His wiry physic and intense yet comforting charming mannerism complemented his long greying hair allowed me to feel quite at ease with him. This settling behavior opened a comfort zone while listening to his raptured recitation. He was highly excited to spread the word of goodness, like that of a religious missionary discovering the new world and a horde of people waiting to be saved. I knew him to be a stone mason by trade. Mr. Piccaleo considered the past-time of treasure hunting enjoyable.

“I seek the greatest treasure that the world has ever known, and that is the truth.”

He motioned for me to gather my things. We then packed our belongings into a waiting SUV. We arrived, sooner than I thought, to the parking area on ‘Forbidden Drive.’

We spent several hours clambering around and through mounds of shrubbery and thickets. Piccaleo talked while we walked and climbed. He recounted several different facets of Kelpius’ history. He accredits Kelpius with astounding alchemical abilities as well as being the first teacher in the ‘New World’ to offer free education to all, regardless of race or ethnicity.

Piccaleo is enraptured as much by the Kelpius legend as he is about history. He has extensively researched both obsessively while being unable to resist adding his own flourished by tangentially connecting Kelpius to everything from ancient Egyptians to the Holy Grail.

Many of the German artifacts that arrived in America with Kelpius and his followers, Piccaleo believes are still scattered around Philadelphia’s vast park lands.

We came upon a rock outcropping that Rafael believes the monks used for astrological observations and the possible site of their worship hall. It’s located directly under the ‘Henry Ave. Bridge.’ While observing these stones and prayer locations, Piccaleo produces a book from his hiking pack. It’s a local history book relating the legend of Kelpius’ death.

Piccaleo cited Alan Holm, an architect, founded the Kelpius Society in 1986. He became fascinated with the story and legend after a chance encounter with a group of Rosicrucians who happened to be worshipping near the Kelpius cave in the Wissahickon Valley Green location.

“We’re not a bunch of people walking around in robes chanting through the woods,” states Holm in Rafael’s book. “We want to be taken seriously as an organization – maybe some of our members do that sort of thing, and that’s fine…but both sides have a place here.

We approach a portal to one of the caves and Piccaleo cautioned me to step carefully because sometimes people use that cave as a toilet.

I wondered why he pointed out that particular cave. We continued walking. The cave was dank, dark, and deep. Examining evidence along the way, our battery powered lanterns and torches allowed excellent if not limited illumination; the ruins of a cottage appeared at the exit outside the tunnel/cave into a complete patch of green life – a complete circle! In the middle of this large circle was a cottage. It was the ruins of a 19th century cottage that may have been built on the foundation of Kelpius’ house in the woods.

Arriving here, we – I was extremely excited. Piccaleo had been here before. Despite his most grandiose claims, Piccaleo makes it clear the “cave” was probably a spring house or root cellar of unknown origins and that Kelpius, given his illness, would probably not have chosen to mediate in this place – a damp pit. Piccaleo pointed to a slope in the hillside, near a spring that was actually used by the monks. He speculated that Kelpius’ secret library and alchemical lab are buried somewhere underneath that ground.

We were now standing in a little stone grotto, the current stone entranceway into the Kelpius cave. A marker honoring the monks stands erected and installed by Rosicrucians, complete with cartouches and other obscure glyphs sits nearby.

I could resist asking Piccaleo the same question that I asked the friendly neighbor. I resisted…but the dead or missing kids were now vividly upon my mind.

“Mr. Piccaleo, what do you know of the man; also from Transylvania, and possibly a passenger onboard that sailing vessel who could also be a ‘Kelpian’’ or ‘Rosicrucian’; named ‘Vlad Teppes,’ member of the order ‘Dracul?’

His face suddenly went stoic and white as marble. His manner changed abruptly. All evidence of cordiality and color was dismissed from him. Hid gaze was suddenly and allusively defiant.

“I know of no such man – no such person!”

“Then why sir,” I badgered, “why do these stone slabs, these alters, if you will, show evidence of a recent cleaning…remnants of soap and dried blood along the sides?”

A Viral Epidemic:   

The medical examiner was at a loss to explain the two puncture wounds on the rear left side of the dead boys’ neck.

My notes and research show the probability of a failed murder attempt on the head monk of the Rosicrucians – it did not specifically identify Kelpius as being the target. Two spikes of oaken wood were found in one of the caves in the Wissahickon Valley. One was on the floor, the other caked in blood, laid vertically atop the alter of cool marble.

To my horror…in my mind, fingers began to point in the direction of the hermits in the Wissahickon Valley Green. The missing children in the northeast region of the city of Philadelphia began as an accusation – as it did with the ‘Dungeon Queen.’

Part Two:

“And The Darkness Comes”

>

~“FAIRMOUNT”: Terror In The Park; A Preview~     

~“FAIRMOUNT”: Terror In The Park; A Preview~“FAIRMOUNT” https://www.createspace.com/Preview/1129978 /* “The Horror of It All…!” The race against time begins in Philadelphia’s Fairmount Park.
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“The Spirit of The Soul and The Death of Morals”: Whence comest thou? Paperback – Large Print, January 12, 2012

By

Mr. Gregory Vernon Boulware   (Author)

http://www.amazon.com/The-Spirit-Soul-Death-Morals/dp/1468190997/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top?ie=UTF8

“They say there is no sin in Killing a beast, only in killing man…

But where does one begin and the other end?”

Til Next Time…

GVB

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‘Another Racial Divide’

view fr balcony 12th fl 8 10 09

By

Gregory V. Boulware

http://blackhistory.com/cgi-bin/blog.cgi?blog_id=269823&cid=10

 “When law becomes a science and a system, it ceases to be justice.”

“The segregation in St. Louis has been a pressure cooker for so long I’m surprised that protests over a shooting haven’t happened sooner!”

Is GOD and the rest of the world watching?

Black Last Supper

‘Two rallies, one racial divide over Ferguson shooting’

Reuters

By Nick Carey and Edward McAllister

http://news.yahoo.com/two-rallies-one-racial-divide-over-ferguson-shooting-004209133.html

Rival Rallies As Peace Returns To Ferguson

By Nick Carey and Edward McAllister

Calm holds in streets of Ferguson, Missouri two weeks after police shooting Reuters

Officer in Missouri shooting unaware teen was a suspect: police Reuters

Protesters mark two weeks since police shooting in Ferguson, Missouri Reuters

Missouri takes control of security away from Ferguson police Reuters

Protesters rally after black-teen’s shooting.

~Associated Press~

FERGUSON Mo. (Reuters) – As the crow flies the two rallies held Saturday afternoon over the fatal shooting of an unarmed black teen by a white policeman were about 10 miles (16 km) apart, but the racial divide that separated them made that distance seem infinitely greater.

In Ferguson, a crowd of around 500 people marched under a blistering Missouri August sun to protest the killing of 18-year-old Michael Brown two weeks ago by Darren Wilson, on a route that took them almost to within sight of where Brown died.

Meanwhile, supporters gathered at Barney’s Sports Pub well south to rally for Wilson, the officer who shot Brown dead. Some 70 people attended at the rally’s peak in the dark, low-ceiling bar with dart boards, pool table and an old cigarette machine.

The stark difference between the two events was their racial composition. The crowd at Barney’s, which is frequented by police officers and firemen, was entirely white, while the marchers in Ferguson were mostly black.

The killing of Brown on Aug. 9 has sparked sometimes violent protests, laying bare long-lingering racial tensions in the United States and prompting international condemnation of the clashes between police and demonstrators. On Saturday the differences that separate some in the black and white communities and their current moods were on full display.

Sondra Fifer confronts demonstrators supporting Ferguson Police officer Darren Wilson during a rally.

The rally at Barney’s was peaceful, but participants expressed anger at the way Officer Wilson and the police force have been treated since Brown’s death. This is a community that has been on the defensive after Brown’s death and one that on Saturday sought to make its voice heard.

Many participants would not give their full names, citing a fear of death threats. Others expressed anger at media coverage of the fatal shooting.

 “An officer that has abided by the law has been tried and found guilty without the evidence,” said Laura, 48, who carried a placard on the sidewalk in front of the bar that read, “It’s not about Black or white, it’s about rule of law.”

 ‘WE’VE GOT YOUR BACK’

Navy blue T-shirts were on sale to raise money for Wilson’s family reading “Darren Wilson I stand by you.

Supporters of officer Darren Wilson hold placards outside Barney’s Sports Pub in St. Louis, Miss …

“We are here to support you, officer Wilson, and we’ve got your back,” said St. Louis resident Mark Rodebaugh whose wife’s family owns the bar. “He has been vilified in the news but his story is coming out.”

Early in the day Sandra Fifer, an African American woman, drove up and disrupted the gathering. Walking among Wilson supporters, Fifer, who came alone, shouted

“Why are the police not shooting on you?”

 Although the rally up in Ferguson was mostly black, there were plenty of white protesters among the largely quiet and somber crowd. They included St. Louis County police chief Jon Belmar, who marched at the head of the rally alongside Ron Johnson, the black Highway Patrol officer who has been in charge of policing efforts here for over a week.

Among the white protesters was Jennifer McCoy, a 48-year-old lawyer who lives in the St. Louis area and attended with her daughter Blair, 10.

 “The segregation in St. Louis has been a pressure cooker for so long I’m surprised that protests over a shooting haven’t happened sooner,” McCoy said. “So I’m here to show my support.”

 The mood among the black participants varied. Nicki Taylor, 33, a nurse, was grim faced and determined.

 “I’m tired of the injustice that is being inflicted on our young black men,” she said. “I’m going to keep doing this until Officer Wilson goes to jail for the execution of a young unarmed black man.”

 But there were also those like Robbie Bailey, 47, who works for General Motors and spoke of a need for America to recognize its racial problems and police tactics but also said he was praying for Officer Wilson’s family.

 “Both families are going through a really hard situation right now,” he said. “The problems we have are much bigger than two men. They’re much bigger than one community.”

 “We’re talking about the entire system and America needs to acknowledge the problem so we can fix it,” he added.

The choke hold was applied and death was the end result – the death of another Black Man By The Hands of the police… This case has been placed before us in the determination that this young man was shot multiple times while his hands were raised, in the frontal torso and the top of the head by an attacking police officer; a pathologist report and eye witnesses…

So, who are we to believe (the truth of this case), the cops or our lying eyes?

 ‘The Jurisprudence of Every Nation’

“When law becomes a science and a system, it ceases to be justice. The errors, into which a blind devotion to principles of classification has led the common law, will be seen by observing how often the legislature had been obliged to come forward to restore the equity its scheme has lost.”

~Landor~

 

Til Next Time…

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“A Battle For Freedom And Independence In And Beyond Colonial Times, Surrounding the Lives of The Cliveden House”
‘The Battle of Germantown, An Incident in History – What Began As A Summer Retreat, To A Colonial Landmark” 1763-1998
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
By

Gregory V. Boulware

http://blackauthorsconnect.com/content/269813/a-battle-for-freedom-and-independence-in-and-beyond-colonial-times

9.18.98

 Paying close attention to the ‘scuttle-butt,’ gossip, and rumors about, I remember hearing something about an occultist and his group back in history class. It was something about George Washington and a mystic back in the 16th or 17th century. It was during, I think, the French-American and British war of the colonies. The old mansions in Germantown reflect upon the general’s visit along with the French leader, Lafayette.

The mansions along ‘The Great Road’ held a complete and authenticated history of events from back then.

What I do know up to this point is what has been said, stored, and recorded:

~ “The Battle of Germantown” occurred at the Cliveden Manor. “It was also the country home of Pa. Chief Justice Benjamin Chew. On October 4, 1777, a British regiment occupied Cliveden and defended it from full assaults by the Colonials. Over 70 soldiers died on these grounds. Although it was an American defeat, Washington’s bold strategy helped to win French aid for the cause of independence.” – “The First Protest Against Slavery was here in 1688, at the home of Tunes Kunders, an eloquent protest was written by a group of German Quakers. Signed by Pastorius and three others, it preceded by 92 years Pennsylvania’s passage of the nation’s first state abolition law.” ~

What began as a summer retreat, to a colonial landmark, became the site of a viciously nasty war, “The Battle of Germantown.’ Many have wondered if this was an accident in history.

Cliveden Manor is a story of a colonial family, the servants, and its slaves.

Before William Penn and the Mayflower, the Native Americans lived on the land now known as the United States of America. Here in the northwest, the Philadelphia-Germantown area is where the Quakers settled to farm and establish businesses. They were mostly of German descent, hence the name Germantown.

This area was also a haven for runaway slaves. “The Underground Railroad” ran through this region of the country as well. There existed a number of “Safe-Houses” for escaped African-American Slaves (not known then as African Americans) such as, The Mennonite Meeting House and the Johnson House. The route to freedom for Black people often led to Canada, although a number of African descendants decided to settle in Germantown where they felt safe from persecution.

The great-great grandfather of Chief Justice Benjamin Chew (1772-1810), John Chew arrived in Virginia from England in 1622. The Chew family and the Penn Family were friends and business associates. The protégé of Penn, Benjamin Chew was legal counsel to the Penns’ and eventually family tied by way of marriage of Chew and Penn offspring. The two families also had ties with other prominent families in Pennsylvania and other colonial settlement areas.

It took Chief Justice Chew four years to complete construction of the Cliveden (1763-1767). The house was named after a mansion that Chew admired. The Cliveden was specifically designed to become a summer retreat from the home in the city, Philadelphia, six miles away.

Philadelphia was then the capital of Pennsylvania.

Philadelphia was a bustling town. Everything came out of and through the city of “Brotherly-Love,” such as, mail, business transactions, shipping, etc.

The ‘Yellow Plague’ drove the Chews to reside full-time in the sleepy rural farming community.

The Chews were among several wealthy families in the region. Not only was Ben Chew a protégé of Penn, he was a prominent Philadelphia lawyer-jurist and served as a representative of the three lower counties of Delaware, Maryland, and Connecticut. Later, his service led to a political career.

With the “Great-Road” (Germantown Avenue), the view of the mansion was majestic. Its’ majestic stance was not obstructed by tall trees and shrubbery, as it stood atop a hill, basically, alone in those days. The year 1777 marked the ‘Battle of Germantown’ between British and American troops. British Commander Colonel Thomas Musgrave, head of the British regiment, quartered in the house of the Chews, while his troops bivouacked behind the orchards of the Cliveden. The house was placed under British protection.

General Washington’s troops marched down from the ‘Skippack’ farming area through Chestnut Hill and into Germantown on October 4th, 1777. During the dark early morning, with visibility at a minimum, the fog thickened sky was enhanced by thickening smoke of cannon and musket fire.

From the ‘Billmeyer’ house, not more than a city block from Cliveden, General Washington commanded the American troops during their engagement with the British troops occupying Cliveden.

At times, neither side could tell who the enemy was. There were incidences of friendly fire deaths (where soldiers accidentally shot each other by mistake). The American soldiers donned white pieces of cloth, sticking out from under their head-gear, so that their brethren could tell who they were. They tried to burn the house; it would not burn. It was unscathed by musket and cannon fire, most likely due to the thickness of Cliveden’s walls. The Americans withdrew to the ‘Peter Wentz’ farm up through Skippack Pike, to their previous camp and later to ‘Valley Forge,’ from their unsuccessful siege on Cliveden in the winter of 1777-1778.

“The Revolutionary War” has many chapter levels throughout for the fight for independence from England. The “Battle of Germantown” was a bitter defeat for the American army. The Chews reportedly were not at the house during the battle.

Mr. Chew was in exile during the battle, after an arrest warrant was issued. Even though he lived in America, he was British. His loyalties to America were called to question.

The “Mischianza” was held at the Walnut Grove, May 18th, 1778, honoring the farewell of General Sir William Howe. He was scheduled to return to London, England. Two of the Chew girls were escorted by Brits to the Ball. The ‘Mischianza’ was a festive occasion with a mock tournament of medieval knights, their squires, and pages; in jousting events, dancing, colorful fireworks displays, and an elaborate banquet.

‘Blair McClenachan’ (owned the mansion thru 1779-1797), lived in Philadelphia during the war, he made most of his fortune by outfitting privateers. This man also had political aspirations. Mr. McClenachan held republican sympathies with France while serving the democratic society in Philadelphia. Like Chew, he also used Cliveden ad a summer retreat. While he and his family resided at the Cliveden, McClenachan suffered economic reverses. He sold off all his land investments, Cliveden being the last property to go. However, before that he entertained some prominent individuals during his tenure at Cliveden. The English translator of the “Marquis de Chastellux” was one such visitor; General Washington was another.

The war began to change its’ tide in favor of the Americans by late spring, 17178. Mr. Chews’ exile-imprisonment came to an end.

Benjamin Chew, believing himself to be a practical man, maintained a low profile for the duration of the Revolutionary war. Around 1779, he and his family moved to Delaware, where a plantation was owned by his family. This is the same plantation along with the plantation in Maryland where Chew sent his slaves after being written out of meeting by the Quakers for owning slaves.

According to a census report, Chief Justice Chew owned slaves from the eighteenth century into the first decade of the nineteenth century. His father also owned slaves. The census taken in 1820, reported Chew owning two male slaves; their names were not recorded. In 1797, a report showed ownership of three slaves. Also, in the Chew service were four free-Blacks, who were slaves, three males and one female. There was one Black Man that the Chews had a fondness for. His name was “James Smith.” Mr. Smith entered the Chew services in 1819 until his death in (age 52) 1871. It was believed that Mr. Smith also had a fondness for the chews.

Although it was not uncommon for whites to own slaves in the north as well as in the south, the Civil War, and the “Emancipation Proclamation” changed the horrible and despicable practice of slavery.

The Cliveden Manor owned by Blair was rented to the Spanish Ambassador, Don Juan de Miralles. This was a burden he badly needed to dispose. He owned the mansion from 17179 thru 1797. He died in 1812.

The Chew family re-acquired the Cliveden for the Marquis de Lafayette on July 20th, 1825, as part of his triumphal tour of Revolutionary War Sites. With the victory of the Americans, George Washington also returned to Germantown, and a visit to the Cliveden in the company of Philadelphia Mayor, Samuel Powell.

Chief Justice Chew, Sr. would probably feel right at home in the Cliveden of today, as it has changed very little, with the exception of some modern conveniences added to the dwelling. The current household furnishings are those used by the Chews at Cliveden and/or the families’ other residences.

In 1972, Cliveden was acquired by the National Trust for Historical Preservation, for all people to experience.

Anne Sophie Penn (1805-1892) and Samuel Chew, III (1832-1887), were the two people throughout the Chew generations that were most impressive. The relationship and hardships that these two shared and endured showed a great belief and love of the Chew house would have probably disappeared altogether. They struggled through the family squabbles, the wars of the country, the monetary pressures, and the changing of the times and neighborhood.

“Samuel Chew, III, who died at the early age of fifty-five, was a man of gentle manners, or great kindness of heart, and of dignified courtesy.”

“For Anne, life at Cliveden was a mixture of joy and tension. She and Sam divided the responsibility for the care and management of the land. Anne worried about the future of Sam and Mary’s children, while Cliveden remained a center of social activity.” By the 1880’s, the estates’ place in history was assured. Cliveden was now recognized as a historic site.

The stair, hall, and entrance hall, both hold and entertain great beauty and interest. The three long guns (muskets) give a sense of presence of the soldiers who fought and died in the ‘Battle of Germantown’ (the framed survey map-boundary line between the Pennsylvania and Maryland), lend a real sense of history.

The ‘Civil War,’ ‘Slavery,’ ‘The Emancipation Proclamation’ – the ring of freedom for all Black People and People of Color, leaps into mind with a powerful explosion of pride and passion. The painting, “Storming the Chew House,” also promotes a vivid glance of history.

Just across the street, behind the mansion, the existence of ‘Slave Quarters’ stand erect today while being occupied by residents of color – remind us all, “Slaves were born and bred in this area of Philly (bought and sold in Center City – Head House Square), ‘Germantown,’ ‘Roxborough,’ ‘Mount Airy,’ ‘Chestnut Hill,’ and beyond…the suburbs of ‘Colonial Philadelphia’ and its ‘suburbs.’

The Suburbs? Are they truly a heaven from the rigors of city life or are they the heaven of retreat from the horrors of the past and present – the lying lie of “No Slavery in The North,” when there is no more room in hell, will the dead truly walk the Earth?

Are the ‘Kelpian’s’ continuing the tradition of Sabbat?

http://nomoreroominhellwhen.blogspot.com/ 

 

Til Next Time…

 

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“We Are Not The Minority”

By

Gregory V. Boulware

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Hans Massaquoi ‘The Black In Nazi Germany’

“His skin color made him a target for racist abuse.”

~The true nature of Nazism~

 

There have been myths in circulation concerning a so-called identity crisis of ‘Bi-Racial’ individuals. The statement claims “the children won’t know who or what they are!” Several young individuals have expressed their heavy laden burden of being bi-racial by identifying themselves as “mixed.” This reporter has attempted to remove that piece of their problem in the ‘gone-does not exist’ receptacle. I use the metaphor of ‘baking a cake or a pie’ as one example of the non-sequitor. Messages received in response have been pleasingly jovial and understood. Several ‘Bi-Racial’ social connections as well as those of whom I know personally, have eagerly engaged in the topic, have accepted and continue to make changes in the description of people like them…with pride.

 

Many people who are ‘Bi-Racial’ have been perceived as ‘Black’ unless it benefits or pleases the eye of the beholder. Not to mention those who have been described as passing – (for white). Many children who are Bi-Racial have been raised in the Black community. However, that particular count is misleading. The billions of Bi-Racial Children all over the world have not been included with the groups of Bi-Racial Children in the states. When you consider Germany, Italy, France, Russia, Ireland, England, Spain, China, Japan, Turkey, Israel, and all of the other countries, nations, and states throughout the world that Black People have at one time or another, set foot by visitation and/or planted roots; babies were born and bred without a thought, to the contrary or otherwise – it was a normal thing to do.

 

The article ‘Outnumbered’ has put the challenge of that argument, hopefully, to rest. However cases of said anxieties are not to be considered non-existent. So, to those of you who question yourselves and your identity…bear with me for a moment and continue to absorb the following text.

 

Nine U.S. counties in five states saw their minority populations across all age groups surpass 50 percent last year.

 

So-called Minorities made up roughly 2.02 million, or 50.4 percent of U.S. births in the 12-month period ending July 2011. That compares with 37 percent in 1990.

In all, 348 of the nation’s 3,143 counties, or 1 in 9, have minority populations across all age groups that total more than 50 percent. In a sign of future U.S. race and ethnic change, the number of counties reaching the tipping point increases to more than 690, or nearly 1 in 4, when looking only at the under age 5 population.

 

The number of white births fell by 11.4 percent, compared with 3.2 percent for minorities, according to Kenneth Johnson, a sociologist at the University of New Hampshire.

 

The Pew Foundation found other findings within the research report:

The migration of Black Americans back to the South is slowing. New destinations in the South, including Atlanta, Charlotte, N.C., Raleigh, N.C., and Orlando, Fla., saw sharp drop-offs in black population growth as the prolonged housing bust kept African-Americans locked in place in traditional big cities.

 

“OUTNUMBERED?”

 http://boulwareenterprises.wordpress.com/?s=outnumbered

http://biracialandoutnumbered.blogspot.com/

 

Do you still entertain some level of doubt in yourself? Do you still feel unimpressed and unconvinced? Are you feeling downtrodden or perplexed – defeated? Take a glimpse into the life and times of Brother Hans Massaquoi.

 

The Nuremberg Laws were passed in 1935; Massaquoi was classified as a non-Aryan. With a view to becoming an expert machinist was encouraged by his mother to embark on an apprenticeship.

 

He was unable to pursue a professional career and instead A few months before finishing school, Massaquoi was required to go to a government-run job center where his assigned vocational counselor was Herr von Vett, a member of the SS. Upon seeing the “telltale black SS insignia of dual lightning bolts in the lapel of his civilian suit,” Massaquoi expected humiliation. Instead, he was surprised when he was greeted with “a friendly wink”, offered a seat and asked to present something which he had made. After showing von Vett an axe and discussing his experience in working for a local blacksmith shop, Massaquoi was surprised to be informed that he could “be of great service to Germany one day” because there would be a great demand for technically trained Germans, who would go to Africa to train and develop an African workforce when Germany reclaimed its African colonies. Before Massaquoi left the interview, von Vett invited him to shake his hand which was another source of confusion to Massaquoi.

The daily life of the young Massaquoi was remarkable. He was one of the few mixed race children in Nazi Germany, and like most of the other children his age, he thought about joining the Hitler Youth. There was a school contest to see if a class could get a 100% membership of the Deutsches Jungvolk (a subdivision of Hitler Youth) and Massaquoi’s teacher devised a chart on the blackboard which showed who had joined and who had not. As this was filled in after each person joined, Massaquoi felt left out, and he recalled saying, “But I am German…my Mother says I’m German just like anybody else”. He then persuaded his mother to let him join the Jungvolk. He went to register at the nearest office but he faced hostility.

 

Massaquoi lived a simple, but happy childhood with his mother, Bertha Nikodijevic. His father, Al-Haj Massaquoi, was a law student in Dublin who only occasionally lived with the family at the consul general home in Hamburg. Eventually, the consul general was recalled to Liberia, and Hans Massaquoi and his mother remained in Germany.

 

Massaquoi describes his childhood and youth in Hamburg during the Nazi rise to power. His biography provides a unique point of view: he was one of very few German-born Bi-Racial children in all of Nazi Germany, shunned, but not persecuted by the Nazis. This dichotomy remained a key theme throughout his whole life.

 

Hans-Jürgen Massaquoi (January 19, 1926 – January 19, 2013) was a German American journalist and author. He was born in Hamburg, Germany, to a white German mother and Liberian Vai father, the grandson of Momulu Massaquoi, the consul general of Liberia in Germany at the time.

 

Increasingly, however, he realized the true nature of Nazism. His skin color made him a target for racist abuse. However, in contrast to German Jews or Romani, Massaquoi—an Afro-German—was not persecuted. He was “just” a second-class citizen, which was actually a blessing in disguise. During World War II, his “impurity” spared him from being drafted into the German army. As unemployment, hunger and poverty grew rampant, he even tried to enlist, but he was abusively rejected by the officers. In this time, he befriended the family of Ralph Giordano, a half-Jewish acquaintance of their swing kid age, who survived the war by hiding and ended up being a journalist as well.

 

Massaquoi dated a white girl but they had to keep their relationship a secret, especially as her father was a member of the police and the SS. Such relationships were also forbidden and classified as ‘Rassenschande’ (race defilement) by the race laws. To keep the relationship secret, they met only in the evenings, when they would go for walks. As he dropped his girlfriend off at her house one night, he was stopped by a member of the SD, the intelligence branch of the SS. He was taken to the police station as he was believed to be “on the prowl for defenseless women or looking for an opportunity to steal”.

 

Fortunately for Massaquoi, he was recognized by a police officer as living in the area and working:

“This young man is an apprentice at Lindner A.G., where he works much too hard to have enough energy left to prowl the streets at night looking for trouble. I happen to know that because the son of one of my colleagues apprentices with him”.

The SD officer closed the case and gave the Nazi salute, and Massaquoi was allowed to leave the station.

 

Immigration:

 

In 1947 Massaquoi was able to visit Liberia, and was fascinated and shocked by its raw, rural nature. He grew estranged from his father Al-Haj. He left his mother and whom he considered arrogant and tyrannical.

 

Massaquoi immigrated to the United States in 1947. He served two years in the army as a paratrooper in the 82nd Airborne Division and became a naturalized U.S. citizen in 1950. With his GI bill he studied journalism at the University of Illinois followed by a career at Jet magazine and then Ebony magazine, where he became managing editor. His position allowed him to interview many historical figures of the arts, politics and civil rights movement.

 

Over the years he visited Germany many times. He’s stated that “Germany is still my homeland.”

 

Personal life:

 

Massaquoi’s beloved widow is Katharine Rousseve Massaquoi. He had two sons by a previous marriage, Steve and Hans Jr., who also survived him.

 

The bloodlines (remember Adam and Eve?) of many different groups of people (if not all) have been blended since throughout time all across the globe. Biracial children, the mixing of the so-called races has existed all over the world since the beginning of time. How does one account for the many different hues and colors of the many different people from everywhere? Is it possible that someone continues to believe that his/her bloodline is truly made up of one individual racial group? Purity, if you will?

 

Mixed? Well it has been argued that the term is a possible slang for “mixed-bloods.” But when one describes herself or himself as “mixed,’ you have to wonder or question their state of identity.

 

Surely, those who continue to believe they are superior and outnumber their description of so-called minorities; one must know by now…that you are truly and indeed outnumbered.

 

Til Next Time…

 

Refer:

‘Many Rivers To Cross’

The African Americans

~Henry Louis Gates, Jr.~

PBS.Book/DVD

 

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“The Spirit of the Soul and the Death of Morals: From Whence Comest Thou?” http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18377562-the-spirit-of-the-soul-and-the-death-of-morals   

“ONE PEOPLE, ONE PLANET, and THE CHILDREN OF ONE GOD!”

 

“The Un-Obscure”

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“FAIRMOUNT”

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http://aneastfallssonontheschuylkill.blogspot.com/2014/07/on-schuylkill-eastfalls-son-twitter.html

 

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“The Pendulum of Hades”

‘Ultima Thule’

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“The Foxy Grandpa, Billy the Poet”

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“The Land of OZ and the Land of Babel”
There have been many attempts to relay the fact that “Something Wicked This Way Comes!” But they wouldn’t listen, would they? They all thought,”this little girl is crazy!”
 

“The Land of OZ and the Land of Babel”

“And the Little Children Shall Lead!”

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