Tag Archive: Boulware

‘The Rails, Some Hemp, and A Hanging’

"A Believers' View"

“A Believers’ View”


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:


~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!”


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




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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  



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


Mr. Gregory Vernon Boulware   (Author)




"A Believers' View"

“A Believers’ View”

Gregory V. Boulware

“My Vengeance Needs Blood”
~Marquis de Sade~

I did not convey all that should have been…needed to be told regarding the old gentleman’s organs beneath the floor. The brief allusion as to what transpired according to one author who reported me as being so stupid a “tattle-tale,” that I’d spilled my guts to the gendarmes.

Ha…what a laugh! The misguided scribe had very little to report, as did Mr. Poe, who mentioned something about a heart thumping underfoot in the old man’s house. The first writer, as mentioned quoted:

“A knock came upon the door… Two men, plainly dressed in tie and coat, accompanied by two in uniform appeared. My eye peered at them through the semi-opened door. I opened it just a crack, as I did not wish for them to hear the pounding beneath the floor.

The pounding noise would not stop. I had to find a way to make it stop. Don’t you understand? It had to stop. It began to pound loudly. It was too loud…very Loud! Do you not hear it? It’s driving me mad, mad I tell you! Through the crack in the floor, the orb peered out at me.

It was fixated upon me! It glared at me all the time. I could not look on it any longer… I had to make it go away. Even if I had to pluck it out of the head of the old man while he sat in the rocking chair. That is why I had to put him and that vultures’ eye under the floor. There wasn’t time enough to dispose of him and it properly. It wasn’t his fault that the evil eye stared at me. It would not be able to gaze on me if it was under the floor out of sight.”

Hah…that’s what the author put in his collection of stories and reports. He didn’t know the half of it. Allow me to complete his rendition before I trust you with further details.

“Readers can visualize the gruesomeness of the pale blue orb, described as a ‘vulture’s eye;’ the evil eye covered by a thin film like that of a fish. It was terribly nasty to look at. In a frenzied dismemberment of the old man’s body, I was preparing to dispose of it and the f…… heart that I kept hearing beat beneath the damnable boards of the floor. I was a vile individual who had every reason to believe that I could make and escape of paying the price for taking the life of an innocent soul.”

The truth is he was not as completely innocent as some would have you think…

I laugh to think I was brought here by my father along with the family from the cold dark and dank alleyways of ‘Edinburgh.’ To think my life so bad that we had to move away to another town filled to the gullet with more cold dark and dank alleyways. Some call the eerie traverse-ways as bastions of hell’s corridors. These causeways are the birth canals of the butchering ‘Ripper.’

My course throughout has lead me astray due to the raptures and starving readiness of servitude. A short stay in ‘Her Majesty’s Royal Navy did me no good either. After cutting a man’s throat from ear to ear, they tossed me in the bloody brig intent on making a date with the gallows’ hangman who was in competition with the axman.

My tale of woe and contempt began there, at home, and continued to escalate while I was sitting and stuffing my belly full of mutton, gruel, and a tawny red port. When that was done, a nice bottle of claret did suffice. The cognac was a bit tasty indeed. Down on my luck, I hadn’t two copper coins to rub together. I needed work. I needed a place to lay my head. I had to eat. When was it last that I’d eaten? Two days ago, maybe three… I can’t quite remember.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned. The mustached and bearded man smiled at me while pouring a glass of claret. He shoved the goblet under my nose. Its bountiful aroma was unbearable. I had to taste, to drink of it, to swallow it. I downed half of the goblet’s content. Through the stupor of my drunken gaze, I turned once again. I wanted to thank the smiling stranger. He accordingly nodded and poured once more.

“I do understand good sir, that you are in need of gainful employment and boarding am I correct?”

I dizzily nodded in agreement and emptied the chalice again. The alcohol laden beverage really had a firm grip on my vision… It played with it gaily and freely. The room did appear to be moving in a dizzying circle of brilliant lights, and dulling dark grey from the floor to the ceiling and back again. The smiling man was mouthing something. I couldn’t make it out. His eyes seemed to flash a reddish hue to one of brilliance and an awe of menace. He appeared cheerfully adept at gaining and commandeering one’s confidence. His smile began to cause me worry and threatened concern. Yes, even through the thick veil of a drunken stupor that has engulfed me. His smile seemed to change from one of comfort to that of a sinister and frightful sneer and gloat. Now, correct me if my recollections are incorrect…did I mention his smile? Oh yes, I did. He made a few gestures at two men sitting in the back of the pub…I think.

They gulped down their grog and responded to his beckoning. The candle and lantern lit room continued to dance and play verily with applauded merriment. I could almost swear I heard the inn keeper’s deep-throated spittle-juiced voice raising a fuss. I wasn’t really sure; I thought I heard him say to his barroom lackeys, “Get the bastard out – take him if you will – we have no need of a drunken penniless vagrant – get him the hell out!”

I don’t believe the smiling man was in cahoots with the innkeeper of whom he held an acquaintance. But he did not hesitate to succumb to the owner’s request.

Someone said that I went mad. They said that I went stark raving mad when they tried to lift and remove me. They said I screamed and screamed, “Don’t let the devil take me – don’t let him get me! Please save me…! Did I truly gaze upon the face of Lucifer?

They all gave assistance to the smiling man and his two friends. It was said that they carried me to the coach of black, pulled by four black stallions along the way. It bore, on the coach door, the markings of the rich old man’s family crest who resided up above on yonder hill.

No one remained in his employ for long…not longer than three or four months; a fortnight at the least. No female, single or no, would ever venture up there. They preferred to remain in the safety of here, down here under the auspices of the castle-like mansion up yonder, overlooking ‘Putney Hill,’ just outside of London Town.

I awoke on a cot in the back of a warm fire lit kitchen. My head did ache and was complimented with waves of nausea. I felt as though I were going mad.

There was a tall thin yet ghastly man named Cyrus. He was the old man’s man-servant. I couldn’t tell who was more the ancient between the two.

The rotund woman with a face of stone appeared. She attended to kitchen chores and food preparations. She never looked me square in the eye. When she saw that I had stirred and stumbled to the table, she placed in front of me, a bowl of hot gruel. It was hot and steamy but smelled to high heaven. The stench caused me to heave and turn from sight. The cook woman continued her chores of meal preparation. She busied herself by skinning and chopping into pieces, a rather large and slick slimy black skinned eel. She did this while the wiggling writhing thing remained alive.

I was then directed to a wash area just outside. It entertained a rather larger than normal bathtub. It wasn’t for me to use. It was used by frequent and privileged members of the household. That was when the house was filled with life and children. The estate employees rarely took baths if at all. The belief in body protection was the law of the land. It kept the vermin off and the germs out of the pores. The household help was mainly hired from the villages close and near the mansion some called a castle. It had a mote and bulwarks for defense and battle. This house was reported to have been full of activity and visitors constantly coming and going to and fro. Today, it is like that of a tomb.

The old man was all that was left of a great and bountiful family. Myth has it they were all killed off by poisonings and other feats of jealousy over the family fortune as opposed to its posterity.

Once finished with the forced washing from the wooden bucket in the barn near the horse stables, I was directed by the tall man servant as to what my duties would be. Most of the chores that where assigned was to be on the grounds area around barn, garden, and outside of the building. Several other duties were in and around the kitchen, basement, and occasionally hauling furnishings and supplies upstairs. In certain areas in the interior of the estate were not without the strictest supervision and or under direct orders. I was not to go anywhere in the house without the watchful eye of the tall man servant or the stone faced cook. I would soon violate that directive. Someone told me the old man kept his moneybox in his room; under his bed. It was said to be full of nothing but golden coins of immense value and worth. If that was so, it would not be long before I too, would be a rich man.

In my mind’s eye, I could see the smiling man smiling at me – that wry slick sinister grin of a smile.

I pondered over whether I needed a partner or not. Did I truly need assistance in removing the servants from the house? The brew I was drinking ran low and warm. I summoned for another. My current wages of more than two months now, have allowed the purchase of a few luxuries. I haven’t had the privilege of having the ability to afford such things. I wasn’t able to do this since my last sailing vessel. My God, it seemed like ages ago.

The fat cook and the damned tall butler had to go. That’s final. The problem was how to get rid of them.

Today, I was to clean the stables. It’s usually done on Saturday morning, but since there was to be a wake on Sunday afternoon into the late evening, some chores were postponed while others simply cast off. The master would not be alone until Sunday afternoon into Monday early morning.

My plan was now laid before me. Sunday afternoon into early morning was my free and personal time. The only other free time was after dinner through the week for two or three hours. Even then, I could be located by the staff should I be needed for anything the master might require of me. On occasion, I’ve had to hitch the team of horses to the wagon or buggy and fetch the doctor who resides about 20 kilometers to the north.

On a bright crisp and chipper Sunday morning, birds and squirrels made adequate noises that aroused and soothed the senses. The trees were riffled thoroughly by the strong brisk wind. The boughs reached for the bright yellow sun that teased the tulips and bade them to open lovingly to the warmth. And I, oh yes, I listened intently to the preacher’s sermon. I had to stick very close to the master this morning. No one noticed that the butler or the maid were not in attendance, save one.

The wake of the old man’s cousin, a last remaining blood relative that was to be buried after this morning’s church service, went off without a hitch.

I aided the tall manservant in bringing food and refreshments to the guests. The cook-maid-housekeeper also utilized my services for the betterment and saving of expenses. Having me double-up on my duties and foregoing my free time after dinner in order to serve them. How dare they assume such a position as to make me their servant. Dog am I? I’ll fix them… They shall soon see who the servant is and who the master is. Oh yes, they shall soon see…

The last dinner guest stumbled out of the door a little past one on Sunday morning. I had nodded off in the driver’s seat of the cold and wet carriage. The coal black stallions waited impatiently for nearly an hour. They stamped and pranced, snorted, and grunted in the watery darkness. They desired to complete their mission, their assignment to deliver and or retrieve the passenger and return to the warm hey matted stalls of the barn. They, like I, desired sleep. But, they and I still had work to do.

It was just past three when I arrived back at the mansion. The team of stallions were happily bedded down for the remainder of the night. It was about four a.m. when I started for the inside of the house. I’d decided to call off the plan for now. I was too tired and sleepy. Besides, I still hadn’t decided if I needed help or not. After all, the tall manservant was indeed a formidable foe. The rotund cook woman was not to be trifled with either. With her brooms, sticks, pots, and cutlery…she could easily stretch a man upon yon table in preparation for dissection. On there, she would be able to skin him and chop him like that of the massive live eel that perished not so long ago.

Upon placing my boot soles upon the mud scrapper, the door of the back kitchen violently flew open inwardly. The tall man was standing there snarling at me.

“Where in the f… have ye been, Monkey-boy? Aye, ye must’ve been sloshing at the pub, getting drunk and shirking your duties, I’d say!” The spit form his verbiage splattered about my face and chest. The ponderage of contempt that I was entertaining toward him suddenly leaped into a full blown rage. I struck him with my right fist and then with my left. I hit him once more with my left for good measure. Before he could bring himself from the floor, I’d already stuck him in the ‘Adams’ Apple’ with my ‘Jim Bowie Knife.’ He bled like a butchered stuck pig. He made not a sound. He made not a sound because he could not. He made an attempt to scream to no avail. The shocked and bewildered look on his dead face lost all semblances of color and life. His eyes were frozen and stuck wide open. I left him that way.

The fat lady screamed and cried in fright. I really did expect her to put up a fight. I mean, her constant boasting and order barking was enough to make a grown man sit up and take notice. However, she did not fight or retaliate. She simply turned to run. She screamed and cried in fright, turned and ran. Her round plump figure did not waddle as she usually did when traversing room to room. She quickly and smoothly floated over the floor as if on wheels or that of a cloud. It did her no good though.

My aim was good and true as my throw. My blood laden blade stuck firmly in her back. The plopping noise made by her plop to the floor was loud and thunderous. She was trapped between the stove and cutting counter. She kicked and screamed in an attempt to get up. Her efforts availed her not. Her struggle was fruitless.

She bled practically all over the place. The bleeding was even more intense when I removed my ‘Bowie Knife’ from her severed spine. The kicking and moving ceased. Stepping around to face her, I squatted down on the floor to get a real good look. Her eyes were moving. She was looking for me, at me. The inquiring look of why was communicated through tear filled eyes.

I decided to explain things to her. After all, I feel that I owe her that much, especially after all that barking, shouting, and ordering me about.

“Well ya see, Ms. Lizzie, you all thought you was better than me. Ya thought you all had it made… But you didn’t! Now who’s the one doing the bowing and scraping? Who’s the one pleading and begging for help? It’s you bitch!

Now that the f…… slimy and smelly old man is going to pay me big time and neither of you can stop me. All them times ya’ll sent me up there to that stinking room to fetch his piss and shit…hell, it was bad enough that I had to eat, sleep, and take a shit with the animals in the barn. And you made me wash his stinking ass when I couldn’t wash mine! He got to use that great big tub full of hot water while giving me a bucket of cold. Now just how do you think that made me feel? A do give ya’ll credit for looking after me when I first got here. I really did appreciate it. You should have kept up with being nice to me. I would have cut you both in on the take, but all ya’ll wanted to do was serve and protect that bastard old man. Well now I’ll get it all while you and the tall man eat shit. I’ve been meaning to tell you about that wretched dog’s eyes! I hated to look at the damned things – they are the ugliest and most horrible eyeballs I had ever seen, the one on the left in particular. But now, I don’t have to look at them slimy orbs any longer. I’m going to pluck the f…… things out! First, that large pale blue film covered vultures’ eye with the snot-like slime all around it. Then there is that other grey looking droopy laden thing on the other side of his hideously bumped and pickled face. I’m going to remove those things so that they see no more. Then I’ll recover my fortune and depart this accursed wicked place.

Now, to put you out of your misery… Your spinal cord is severed. Therefore, you are probably not feeling any pain, yes?”

What a shame…that pleading look in the cook’s eyes changed from one of tearful inquisition to that of full blown dread…of terror and horror. I felt exhilaratingly exuberant excitement with the thought of them finding her butchered corpse on the cutting table and severed head in the kitchen sink.

The smiling man was leaning against a large maple tree when they arrived at the church this morning. He smiled at the old man and winked and pointed a gnarled and rotted finger at me. We continued on into the building.

The butler’s body was taken out and dumped in the hay-baling machine… It was easily chewed and spit out into a reddened bale of hey at the end of the thumping and crunching cycle. They came out in a group of four bales before the reddening ceased coloring the golden colored hay. I stacked them in a nice neat stack beneath the correctly colored ones. They could not be seen without moving the stack. In time, the worms and night crawling vermin will devour the blood stained bails. If not, the horses will.

I made up my mind to clean up when I returned from the old man’s room. I’ve decided what I needed to do with the old man before I’d pack to leave. First, I must find the money box.

Oh, how awful the smell is. The air within the old man’s bed chamber is putrid. How in hell does he breathe in here? I choke and gag every time I’ve had to come in here. Thankfully, the scarce times have been few. The room, the very air itself has the aroma of death and disease. The horrible menace of ‘Prince Prospero and the Red and Black Death which weighed in across the land, destroyed more lives than protect. Bodies amassed throughout one nearby kingdom. It, ‘The Red Death,’ appeared at one of the Princes’ guest parties where the participants dressed as animals and crawled about the floor. They apparently had run amok and truly believed they were the things they portrayed. The orgies were of and with one another as well as the real animals that were brought into play. The feast was all the rage. The Prince had his bowman kill the husband of one of the women he had bedded at an earlier party held within the castle. The bowman shot an arrow into the man from up high on the castle bulwark. The report of killings and mass mutilations spread quickly throughout the kingdom.

I paid particular attention to the vicar’s sermon this morning. He spoke of God’s vengeance upon murderers.

“Behold, there shall be retribution!” He shouted from the pulpit. Then his voice took on a gentle and soothing tone after the thunder. I do believe he was speaking directly to me. The thunder rose again…

“Thou Shalt Not Kill!” Once again, I got that ice-cold chill. I tried in vain not to look up at the preaching holy man. He was looking directly at me. I, in the midst of a battalion of Sunday worshippers, could not help but believe the message within the sermon was directly pointing at me!

“Satan robbed the human race blind when he tempted Adam and Eve in Eden.” Jesus described Satan as a thief whose purpose is “to steal and kill and destroy.”
(John 10:10)

The preacher continued. “Satan is doing this thing, robbing God’s people of the gifts he wants us to have, including our joy, peace, and purpose. Are you ever stumped about what to do or where to go next?” The speaker on the pulpit scanned the room after that question. His eyes bounced to and fro, and then came to rest upon me. I cast my gaze downward.

The vicar continued on with his sermon.

“That confusion is the result of Satan’s work. Before their fall, the only wrong choice, scripture tells us, that Adam and Eve could make was to eat the forbidden fruit. Every other option they had was a good one. But after they sinned, they had all kinds of good and bad choices to make.

The devil is also stealing our financial blessings by tying us up in debt that’s often the result of a greedy desire for more. We get those letters congratulating us on our outstanding credit and offering us another shiny coin that will give us the buying power and financial independence we so richly deserve. But the back end or that deal is financial bondage that could take us years to get out of.

Even more tragically than all of this, the devil is stealing our marriages and our families. We’re told that divorce among Christians has caught up with adultery and lasciviousness. That will never do in a Christian Kingdom of God.

The devil never tells you the deal up front. If a thief with a knife and mask knocked on your front door and asked to come in, what would you do? You’d slam the door and lock it! But thieves don’t do that. They’re deceptive, sneaking into the house when no one is looking. Since Satan is a master deceiver, we need to be on the alert for his approach!”

I felt the messenger’s eyes, once again upon me.

Monday morning came rapidly. It took all night to dispose of the bodies. The barn would have to be set ablaze due to the gore which spilled over the side of the large wash tub. The grass and hay bales failed to mask the spillage.

Hot boiling water and raw soap successfully removed the mess of the cook from the kitchen and pantry. Some stains remained on the upstairs floorboards of the master bedroom. There was also other various spotting underfoot. A nice fresh coat of paint and varnish should take care of that. What to do with the smell? It’s so rank and putrid, maybe lime powder and sulfur would explain the foul odor.

The old man’s body was not as difficult to dispose of as compared to the others… He was small, frail, and puny. They were not. Their parts had to be made smaller. The dispersal was a multi-tasked effort. The tall man was pretty damned heavy for a long and lanky fellow. After removing his limbs and burying those in scattered places for the worms and nocturnal creatures’ dinner treat. I thought of dropping the torso down the abandoned well located about 500 yards from the back of the castle’s kitchen. The new water pump pumped fresh well water right into the kitchen cook area. The hay-baling machine made a nice and neat package for the delivery. The buried parts would take too long to dissolve. I dug those up and added them to the menu of the manual hay-baler as well. This gadget worked wonders on many a farm that could afford to pay to have one built. The skilled farm servants constructed a way to make bales of hay and stalked wheat and barley by way of a compression grinder. It chopped, ground, and packed the coarse produce into square clumps that could be bond with ties, keeping them intact and easy to mobilize and feed to the animals. Only the rich lords of the realm cold afford to have them on their fields and farmlands. The contraption was a mass of turning and churning razor sharp long curved blades on a series of pulleys and wheels. These wheels were turned from the outside handle by the farmhand operating it. It proved to cut and chop a number of things that were recycled and or disposed of right back into the soil.

The cook was prepared in the manner of a fine dining affair. Her parts were carved up like one would carve a slaughtered cow. It was done in such a manner to drive one into believing he had before him a dissection chart like those displayed in butcher shops across the land.

The master of the house was fast asleep. The dark empty night provided ample cover and time to do the dastardly deed. He would prove to be the easiest of the three.

He pulled and yanked upon the bell chord, over and over again. I watched to see what he was doing through the crack of the butlers’ room door and its’ molding. It was to no avail, for he would from now on receive no response from any or either persons, save one…mine!

Flinging open the door between the tall man’s room and that of the master of the house, I stepped in to answer his call.

“You rang sir?” I responded with evil intent and a wicked smile of enthusiasm.

“Where is Cyrus?” he demanded. “As a matter of fact, I haven’t seen him all day –not since last night.” His voice was of an annoying high pitched variety. It squealed in raspy high tones splashing in gurgle. The spray of spittle saturated as he spat forth words of difficult understanding.

He never said a word while we sat through the Sunday sermon. I didn’t have to look upon the wretched fool’s eye through the day. He wore spectacles with darkened lenses. They were of the type that kept out the majority of the light with designed smaller lenses that shaded from the side of the eye. They appeared to be wrapped around the face of the wearer. I’d seen only one pair Manufactured of this type, designed to keep out the light on one other person. I had the misfortune to attend another funeral. It was the ‘Lady Ligeia.’ My crew and I were working the grounds after the fox hunt and the funeral as well. Verdon wore spectacles such as those previously described. They would be a perfect pair of glasses for a blind person who wishes to hide their eyes from curious and prying people.

It was I who brought him his morning gruel, toast, milk, and tea. I also made ready his morning bath. I dressed him and made him ready for church services. It was I who carried him down and out to the ready and waiting carriage.

Upon our return, nary a word was spoken between us, save, “Yes M’ Lord and this way or that M’ Lord, and watch your step M’ Lord.”

All this I did without once having to gaze upon that evil, slimy, and horrible vultures’ eye. As successful as the day’s endeavors, it should, I expect, will end in a finality of fruitfulness. Just as easily as I’ve managed this day, I will end it with the night.

The freshly sharpened knives were at the ready upon my arrival from the pub. Two pints of grog along with an ample amount of rye was all that I needed to re-induce my lust for blood and booty.

Many a time was I warned about mu loose lips and rum indulgences while aboard ship. Many a time did I find myself in the brig or the alley after consumption of spirits and wine. This time was not unlike before when I was shown the street by way of the door. I do not recall speaking of murder and bloodlust, or bounty while sitting with those whom I thought to be friends…kinsmen. Two suited gentlemen sat in a darkened corner of the room. They rarely took away their gazing upon me throughout my rather gay and boisterous visit. I do not believe that I was drunk when my forced departure became relevant.

The muddy sloshy walk home was, it seemed, a bit difficult. But my direction was clear and I had a job to do, just one more job to do.

The room was dark except for the candle light emerging from behind me. The light from the butler’s room caused me to appear like that of a spectre in the night, a death dealer, a necromancer of evil intent.

At first, I decided to look for the moneybox. Crawling and scrambling about the floor, I could not find it. I searched under the bed and through the drawers and closets…nowhere was there a clue to be found.

Forgetting the noise made in my frantic panicky hunt, the master was awakened. I was positive that he would sleep through the ordeal. I was wrong. He was wide awake and clearly lucid.

“What the devil are you doing in here, boy?” he shouted in that nasty sounding tone. “Get your ass the hell out of here demon – you are a thief in the night – get out you thieving peasant!” His voice made me angry and anxious as he screamed for the tall man and the cook.

“Listen to me you bloody old bastard,” said I. “You’ll tell me where you keep your gold, silver, and money – the moneybox before I cut out your foul heart!” I meant every single word. And he knew it too.

The old man continued screeching as he jumped up and out of the bed. He scratched some match sticks on the box and lit the lantern before I could stop him. Instantly the room was flooded with light. He had time enough to lite two more candles. And then it happened just before I sliced off his head.

The interviewers started to argue amongst themselves. One waved a wrinkled and drying hand, gesturing me to stop talking. He was the assigned legal defender who encouraged me to stop talking. I did not…

It is true that I am nervous, dreadfully very nervous. Is it possible that I had been mad? Maybe I had been and am; but why would you, will you say that I am mad? The disease of alcoholism had sharpened my senses. It did not dull them. My sense of hearing was acute. At that moment, I heard all things in heaven, the Earth, and hell. So why would you say then, that I am or was mad? Am I not conveying to you my portion of the events in a calm and healthy manner?

My attorney sat down and the arguments of the colleagues did cease. They all sat quietly in ponderance and observance.

It is nearly impossible to say how I first decided to accept the idea of robbery. My friend at the pub merely mentioned that he would have liked to have the old man’s riches. I was of a different contemplation… The idea of becoming rich haunted me day and night. There was no real existence of pain or passion, simply irresistible and exhausting desire.

I had had enough of his screeching and bellowing. I asked – demanded once more for him to tell me where the fortune was hidden. He continued to defiantly disrespect and disregard my orders, my demands when that monstrous film laden eye fell upon me. The lantern and candle lit room intensified its’ hideous stare. It was the eye…the pale blue eye with a nasty snot-like slimy film over it – a vulture’s eye.

Now if you think this was the point of my madness, you could very well be correct. It was this evil eye that made my blood run cold. It completely sobered me. You should have seen me. It was then and there that I wisely proceeded with caution, foresight, and dissimulation that I went to work.

The vulture eye never once removed its starring gaze from my eyes. It held me frightfully fast. I could not move. I hesitated. In that moment of hesitation, there was a chilling calm just prior to my raising the butcher’s blade. The eye left me for an instant that may well have been a minute. It looked down. It looked down at my foot. I was standing on a very expensive Persian rug. The floor boards beneath it creaked.

“Ah, you have spilled the beans Old Man.”

Just as soon as that statement escaped my lips, the damned evil eye was upon me again. It fell upon me in such a manner, that I have not seen before. It caused me to hesitate, I nearly refrained my actions of intent all together.

The old man’s mouth parted in an attempt to speak. Off went his head before he could accomplish the act. The vulture’s eye never closed as his head bounced upon the floor and carpet.

The bleeding seemed to never end. It bled from the neck as well as from the head. The gory mess spurted more forcefully from the body. His hour had come.

I then smiled gaily. The deed is finally done. The problem would be in cleaning up this mess. The gore seemed endless as it was splashed, leaked, and dripped from everywhere in the room. It remained deathly quiet for what seemed a very long time. Although I could hear something…I wasn’t sure what it was or where it was coming from.

I knew that no one was here and the nearest house was half quarter mile away. Should you continue to think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the carefully wise and patient manner in my plan to conceal the body. But before I do anything else, I must recover the moneybox before it is soaked in blood. I still have several more hours of darkness before the morning Sun.

The heavy floor rug was moved away without effort. I threw it over the old man’s headless body. The head sat upright, looking at me through the film covered vulture’s eye while the other bloodshot one looked away. There seemed, I thought, to be a kind of thumping sound not unlike the one heard earlier, although faint.

The night began to wane. I removed the three creaking planks in the floor. Truly, the fortune was underfoot all the while pleading and demanding the old man’s untold secret.

Inside the brass box was two small burlap pouches of gold coins, bank bonds, and some other legal documents of no concern to me. I could not return the bloodied rug over the replaced flooring planks because it was soaked in the old man’s blood. The boards were replaced with accurate precision. No human eye, not even mine could have detected any difference than the rest, except for spilled and spotted blood upon them.

I had to replace the blood-spoiled rug with that of another from another room. It fit perfectly. Wise was I to think ahead to place absorbent free canvases and water repellent linings under the old man’s bed without his notice or knowledge. This operation took place while he was asleep sitting upon the privy on Saturday night.

Upon completion of cleaning the walls and floors of the bed chamber, I preceded to remove the body to the large tub in back of the house. The thumping by this time had increased ten-fold. Someone would hear this upon arrival. It must be stopped. Where is it coming from?

I searched all over the mansion to no avail. The thumping was by this time, nerve shattering. Returning to the tub, I was preparing to carve up the frail body and place them, the body parts, in the hay bailer. But there was a problem. The body was gone. The old man’s head and body, were not in the tub where I left them. The blood was still there – no body or head!

The horrible thumping continued. Along with the thumping came the chilling sound of the old man’s voice in a mocking spirit-like laughter.

The old man was sitting in his bed when I arrived back to his room. He was laughing at me. The slimy blue evil vulture’s eye was upon me…more intense than before. The room was brilliantly lit. I do not know til this day, from where it came. The thumping and the laughter and the gawking evil eye where just too much to take at one time…

I threw myself upon the old man. Ripping, pulling, and punching on him, I sliced off his head again. I did it with my ‘Bowie Knife’ this time. The other blades were washed, cleaned, and stored. They would be found in their original place in the kitchen after the fire burns down the property.

The head came right off. It was easy. It kept laughing while the eye kept gawking at me. I threw the head with that nasty eye, into the fireplace of the old man’s room. That’s when I discovered the source of the thumping. It was his bloody heart!

After all had been done, the packing of my things, the removal of any evidence indicating I’d been there, were removed. It was twilight. On one side of the house the Sun was rising. On the other side it was still as twelve o’clock midnight. The damned thumping heart was in my hands when a knock came upon the main door of the mansion. It was a loud demanding and pounding knock. I froze with fright. Who was there? What was I to do with these remaining body parts? I turned to see the headless body. It was gone…again! It disappeared. I must have been dreaming. I think I was not! The thumping heart remained in my hands, dripping and oozing fresh crimson blood. The bell on the outside of the main door rang with insistence. It rang in the same demanding manner as the knock upon the door. I jumped from the freshly made old man’s bed and threw back the replacement rug, exposing the three planks in the floor. In it, the hiding place, I dropped the old man’s loudly and violently thumping heart.

The beating did not stop. The pounding upon the door grew louder and more demanding. I did believe that I heard voices shouting and ordering the opening of the door, forthwith!

It seemed like hours had passed while I stood still, very still. I remembered the slight planning of this horrible deed. I should have taken more time at that stage.

In my mind’s ear, I heard a groan, a slight groan. Along with the groan came ice cold dread and mortal terror. How would I pay for this crime…this sin? I heard another groan, a slight groan. It was not the groan of pain, suffering, or grief; no it was not. It was the low pitched, though rising, sound that comes from the bottom of the soul and supercharged with awe. I was momentarily distracted with these memories of the event. That sound has taken me away at many a midnight dream. When the whole world was sleeping, I did not.

Welled up in my bosom, the weight of deepened dreadful echoes of terror kept me awake. The drink…the drink of the spirits, brewery, or the fluid yield of the vine was all that was needed to quell the storm that keeps me from sleep.

I knew how the old man felt. I did observe him closely at the church this morning. I had the strangest feeling that he knew what I was thinking, what I was planning. I think he knew it well. I didn’t know whether to pity him or not.

That murdering night, he looked at me. Sitting in his bed, he looked at me with that accursed eye. And the thump, thump, thump, and bumpity heart pounded in my head til it hurt. He laughed. He is laughing at me still; that hideous satanic laugh. He had indeed attempted to comfort himself with several suppositions.

“It was just a mouse scampering across the floor, it was just the wind blowing the chimes, or that of a timid cricket, chirping his nightly music.”

In vain they all had been, because death approached him quickly. He had seen the black shadow before me, somehow. Was time standing still? I could not take from my sight the hideously distinctive dull blue veil over that evil vulture’s eye. It sent ripples and currents of chills through the very marrow of my bones.

I could remove from my hearing the awful thumping, thumping, and bumpity thump of that dreadful heart; the heart of which I was standing over. It bumped and thumped underfoot, beneath the planks. I didn’t have time to wrap it. I didn’t have time to wash my hands. Upon opening mu eyes, I did expect to see the headless body of the old man upon the bed. I did not see him. I did not see the blood on my hands as they reached for the lock on the front door. Was I blind? Was I imagining all this? Yes, it had to be a drunken dream. Am I, have I gone completely mad?

The pounding suddenly and abruptly stopped. It was completely silent. It seemed, in a distance, I could hear voices. The voices sounded as if one were standing in a tunnel or a vast train station with the echoing of hundreds of thousands of voices speaking all at once. Then it came. It came up from the voices. It began to separate, to single out from amongst them. The laughter grew closer and louder. It was familiar to me, to my dreams. I was afraid, very afraid.

I felt as if I were standing on a cloud. I suddenly felt light-weighted, very light-weighted. The laughter grew to a thundering pitch. It was very close to me. It was all around me. The distant voices weren’t distant any longer. They too, were all around me, but where? The face that I had seen more than several times was stating me in the face. It began to smile, and it began to laugh. Yes, that was it…the repulsively vile and evil laugh of the smiling man!

He stood fully in front of me, taller than I. He waved one arm and produced the thumping heart. It was larger than recollection. In the other hand, he held the head of the old man. It also laughed. It laughed with its eyes closed. I closed mine and found that I could not. I saw it. I saw the old man open his ugly eyes! Of the two horrible orbs was that dull blue and hideously veiled evil eye of a vulture that chilled the very marrow of my bones, again and again. The smiling man looked down, right underfoot, the floor did open. It opened into a massive fiery pit of yellowish red and black glowing beings that appeared to be human forms – human beings. They were clambering and clawing at one another in fits of agony and painful gyrations of obtaining freedom. It was all vividly seen, right underfoot. The laughter, the crying, the pounding thumps, and the brilliant light did take away, drive me insanely out of my senses…completely out of my mind.

Three men entered when the street door opened. They introduced themselves authoritatively as policemen. One of them spoke and said, “Someone, a neighbor heard a shriek in the night. They were aroused by suspicions of foul play. They did telephone the station while another arrived in person. Several patrons at the pub also reported the possibility of misdeeds at these premises prompting us to investigate.”

This statement was reported after I’d asked the reason for their visit.

“The shriek was mine officers.” I replied. “I was having a series of bad dreams during the night.”

Allowing their inquisitions by welcoming them, I mentioned the old man was not at home.

“Alone in the house are ye?” The officer asked.

“Yes, the master of the house is residing at the summer residence in the countryside.” I smiled and conducted a tour of the house and grounds while leading them all about, I did my very best to lead them away from the master’s bed chamber. Once there, they scrutinized everything. They examined his valuables and moneybox. Everything was complete. I had not the time to complete my packing of the gold, silver and bonds in my packed belongings. They inquired about my packed bags. I told them that I was to join the master and the other household servants at the summer residence tomorrow.

Their interrogation appeared to be nearing its end while seated in the old man’s room. My chair, in my arrogance, was posted directly above the damned hellish heart. I smiled fervently and often. My manner, it seemed, was convincing. I answered cheerily while they rifled question after question. Familiar pieces of conversation were chatted between them. My head began to grow heavy. The pounding, though faintly low, began to thump. Laughter in the distance was eerily threatening. I looked eagerly into their eyes and faces and wondered if they could hear what I was hearing. I wished they would leave, leave now.

They continued to sit and chat. I joined in freely in an attempt to get rid of the ache of dread. I wished they would leave.

The distinctive noise of laughter and the pounding beat of that hideous heart underfoot, would simply give me away. My dulled and frightened senses could no longer distinguish the real or unreal. Where there was once a bloody headless corpse, a vulture eye laden head, and blood splattered room with the gaping hole, was the gate of hell…right there underfoot.

I was still sitting and chatting with the three interrogating policemen. How is this possible? How could this be?

I spoke more fluently and with a brightened voice. I boasted as if in a drunken state. The noise continued to grow. They heard it not. The chatted as if I was not there. I spoke louder in an attempt to overspeak the laughter of the smiling man and the pounding heart. The floor boards began to move beneath my feet. I stomped on the boards to keep them still. I smiled, almost to a fiendish grin. They talked, the laughing as loud, and the heart pounded like a drum.

They looked at me while continuing the conversation. They looked at me with an accusing stare. No, they weren’t there. Oh, but I was there. No, I wasn’t there…it wasn’t me!

They saw him…they saw the smiling man holding the head of the old man in one hand and the beating heart in the other. At his feet, right underfoot laid the headless body of the old man, and the other two corpses in their various forms of murdered remains, right underfoot. Could they not see this? It was plain enough to see… The horrible hole of hell lay right underfoot!

I remember someone saying, “If thy eye offends thee, pluck it out.”

The oily film covered vultures eye offended me and I plucked it out from the head of the old man. I did this thing right in front of the policemen…I think. I think that I was glad. I showed them the horrible film covered eye…I showed them how awful it is.

My blood ran cold. I was no longer in the old man’s room. The police were nowhere to be found. Where were they? I could not see them. I could not hear them talking.

I remember, I think, my bloody wrists in shackles. My hands and clothing were covered in red gore. My boots were covered in mud from my trek across the rain soaked back grounds of the mansion to the waiting prison wagon. I do recall many forms of investigators marching through the kitchen, barn, and stable of the old man’s property. Many different things…cutlery, and gadgets were being removed as well. They were committing a thorough search and seizure.

A tiny slither of moonlight slices the darkness through a crack in the cold slimy wall. My bed of rags and dried muddy straw lay just underfoot. Adjacent to the crack is a port sized glassless concrete window, sealed in by three iron bars that prevented escape through this particular conduit. The view from the window atop the bulwark of the prison citadel was to the left and to the right.

On the left was the silhouette of the guillotine, on the right was the view of the gallows, and above them only sky.

Justine Tisdale pondered a thought:

~”Man, Behold Thy Story – The Conqueror Worm”~

(E. A. P.)

The Devil is a real person…a real person indeed.

Til Next Time…

“The Tell Tale Heart,” Inspired by Author, Edgar Allan Poe, and “Tattletale” by Gregory V. Boulware
Tony Evans, “Free at Last”
The Marquis De Sade, “My Vengeance Needs Blood”
“The conqueror Worm,” Edgar Allan Poe

“When we see men of a contrary character, we should turn inwards and examine ourselves.”
“Learning without thought is labor lost; thought without learning is perilous.”

“Oh, I was so much older then but, I’m younger then that now!”

“Tattletale or The Tell Tale Heart”



“Selling Your Soul to The Devil” – Demonrising
Colleen Douglas




“Book Crossing”


“Article Posting Sites”





http://www.BoulwareEnterprises.com http://thebookmarketingnetwork.com/profile/GregoryVBoulware





About Me:




The Ghost Writer Interviews – Pt. 1:


The Ghost Writer Interviews Pt.2: “So You’ve Become An Author, Why?”:


Pt.3 – Closing Statement – “So You’re Going Where?”




“Arc of the Prophet”
Gregory V. Boulware


“Osiris was beautiful of face, but with a Dull and BLACK complexion”

“Two Nations are in thy womb and two manners of people shall be separated from thy bowels; and the one people shall be stronger than the other people; and the Elder shall serve the Younger.”

The Golden Rule:
“Strong Family Loyalty, Ancestor Worship, Respect of Elders by Their Children and of Husbands by their Wives… Family is the basis for Ideal Government.
“Do not do to others what you do not want done to yourself.”

“If the core of the Hebrew Culture has always been religion, then is it truthful to say that through religion, it has most strongly influenced the Western World.”

Talking heads continue talking and protagonizing the word of the few in power and struggling to keep it so. They either have no clue or belief in prophecy as prescribed by the Most High who has taken effort to re-deliver his message via heralds of many stations; Elijah the precursor of the Messiah.

“Many Christians are stuck in spiritual quicksand. The harder they struggle to progress in their walk with (Yahshua, Jehovah, Christ) Jesus, the faster and deeper they sink. Becoming frustrated by the inability of their increased efforts to produce the joy, peace, power, and victory they have heard so much about, many believers have simply given up the struggle and have allowed themselves to sink in the quicksand of spiritual defeat, accepting it as their lot in life. These well-meaning saints go to church faithfully and attend every Christian conference they can find. They read Christian books, listen to Christian radio, and watch Christian television. They dedicate and rededicate their lives to the Lord until they are tired of walking the aisle, crying and begging God for help. Some have fasted and prayed and even sought Christian counseling to deal with their frustrations, yet there seems to be little payoff for their efforts.”

“Some of the saints are stuck in sins and circumstances they know they should be delivered from, but while they whole-heartedly desire deliverance, it continues to elude them.”
~Tony Evans~

“Why are churches, pastors, evangelists, members, saints and friends spending so much time trying to preach the gospel and win souls to Christ?”

“The United Kingdom in the Pan Am Flight 103 bombing trial” – Mandela

Eliza Earsman’s message in her book, “Days of Elijah,” accounts the true-to-life exposure of pure evil. It’s attempts to dominate our daily lives, our very existence. The standing members (a little known secret society that has had members involved in most major events in world history for the last two hundred years) of the demonic, cultish like, power yielding brokers portrayed, are in fact, at this very moment, indulging in the colloquious masonic cause of their “New World Order!” The practice of “Divide and Conquer” is an essential tool in this quest for the mental chaining and continued enslavement of the world economy and constant devilish manipulation of human kind.

“Let the workers do as they will…let those in the depths use force and do wrong, so that we can be justified in using force against them…behold a New World Order!”

Despite failed attempts to silence this author, details emerge of the spiritual contentions and intentions of Britain’s Mountbatten-Windsor Royal family, their inner circles, and other horrifying realities behind the Scottish Ritual Freemasons. Their World War III agenda is exposed. This evidence will move, shock, and sadden readers as a story of loss, faith, love, action, and grief unfolds.

“Being my Brothers’ and Sisters’ keeper, treating others as they would treat Me – It’s not too late to Stop the War!”
~Barack Obama~

“This True Story, as written by Eliza, takes the reader on an amazing journey that involves the Mountbatten-Windsor family, relatives of Sir Winston Churchill, builders of the United States White House, and much more. Now, after years of hardship, running from “those in power,” and finally touched by God, the author Eliza Earsman has had the courage to step forward and share her story with us. What is so interesting about this story over those of others is its sheer unbelievableness. Yet all the facts are clearly presented.

In today’s world of globalization, concealing how the powerful families continue to control much of the world’s financial, economic, and political resources is becoming harder and harder. Yet, at the same time there has been little in terms of facts and hard evidence to clearly demonstrate this. In Days of Elijah: A True Story a few of those facts have been put forth. Like all good stories – and empirically based history.”

“I can say that after reading this book my eyes are open a lot wider, I’m asking questions a lot more, and I’m examining the patterns between power, politics, and religion a lot closer.”
~Peter N. Jones~

“…thou shalt break his yoke from off the neck!”

The book, ‘Spirit of The Soul and The Death of Morals,’ authored by yours truly, espouses and concurs with descriptions concerning the ills of world society as does book titles, ‘Days of Elijah’ and ‘The Choice: The Issue of Black Survival in America.’

“A Presidential Commission found that relatively few white Americans would protest massive repression of Blacks. Presidential advisors have urged the internment of Black (Hebrew) youth on the pretext of rehabilitation. Sterilization and birth control programs are aimed against Blacks while masquerading under the name of hunger relief. In a December speech, President Richard Nixon dashed the hopes of many by not proposing any specific measures for immediate relief of hunger. His primary concern obviously was toward reducing the number of the hungry – not hunger itself – for it was on how to reduce the hungry that he had specific recommendations and specific action. The most emphatic of his three recommendations to the 4,000 conferees at Washington’s Sheraton-Park Hotel, urged that congress support his birth control proposals to congress.”
~Samuel F. Yette~

“There is no avoiding war; it can only be postponed to the advantage of the enemy”
~Niccolo Machiaveni, 1502~

In America, just as the governor of Pennsylvania, Tom Corbett has done, state governments have reduced if not completely eliminated the ‘Food Stamp Program’ to the poor and needy. This particular ruler has publicly stated that he would not release educational dollars earmarked for public schools in the state’s two largest cities. Primarily, The Philadelphia School District… The plan was without question a viable way to eliminate and eradicate an entire group of dependents at the beginning level…the children. Satan is constantly whispering in the ear of government. It is the easiest and fastest way to destroy mankind enmass.

“If you lead correctly, orders are unnecessary and useless.”

“Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the great and terrible day of the Lord comes. And he will turn the hearts of fathers to their children and the hearts of children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the land with a curse.”
— Malachi 4:5–6

According to the Bible, Elijah lived a mysterious life. The Aggadah naturally did not fail to supply the Biblical gaps in its own way. In the first place, it was its aim to describe more precisely Elijah’s origin. Several different theories regarding Elijah’s origin are presented in literature found within the Aggadah: (1) he belonged to the tribe of Gad (Midrash Genesis Rabbah lxxi.) He was…
(More…): http://arcoftheprophet.blogspot.com/





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Gregory V. Boulware


Imagine an enjoyable evening walking with your family; your wife and children viewing the beautiful moonlit sky. The earlier part of the tour began with a very pleasant and fulfilling afternoon luncheon in the park. The leaves are beginning to change colors from summer to fall… All of you are taking in the wonderful visit when one of you turns up missing. All hell breaks loose! Panic and terror evolve into the shear realization that one of you is missing! One of the children has gone missing and the only thing that is found is a rather large bestial footprint and a pool of blood. Imagine this in your backyard… Your neighbors are all shocked with horror! No one knows what to do or whom to suspect. What are We to do?

Can One Imagine “The Horror of It All…!”
http://comingsoonthehorrorofitall.blogspot.com /

…four men were pounding and kicking on my North Philly door. Two were in suits. The others were in dark black leather cop uniforms with the shiny threatening over-the-calf-length riding boots. One of them was Black with a sneering and calloused disposition.

They grabbed my half asleep body right from the half opened door and slammed me fully into the stairwell wall. I was still unclothed. My under shorts were all that I was wearing. It was damn cold.
The scary looking cops were from the child support unit. They told me I was under arrest for not showing up in court, a failed appearance to a Montgomery County Court Hearing. On the way to Norristown, we stopped (they stopped) for doughnuts and coffee. They gave me a plain white bread and fried egg sandwich along with a half pint carton of milk.

After they roughed me up in my North Philly apartment, they, allowing me to get dressed with a pair of socks, shoes, blue jeans, and jacket. I was then handcuffed, shackled, and shoved and pushed into one of two waiting squad cars. The servant’s portion of our continental breakfast was a gesture of kindness on their part.

It’s true that I informed the judge that my daughter was living with me for more than a month. We were living in Los Angeles…


“I languished in that stinking jail for more than one hundred days as a hostage…while wondering and worrying about my young daughter who was expecting me to pick her up from school, by these jailers who would not even attempt to find out if I was the man they were looking for!”

The newly released imprisoned Black Man went on to describe his horrible ordeal. He described the terrifying experience and what the inmates were forced to eat. He spoke of spoiled, rotten, and awful food that was being served in the prison. The description entailed poor hygienic practices of the inmates selected to serve food and beverages as deplorable. He said it was not possible to maintain an appetite knowing, seeing, and smelling the vile body odors mixed in with the stink of the food. The filthy hands served meals and handed plates and spoons (forks and knives weren’t allowed). Inmates would leave the restrooms without washing their hands. They picked their noses and scratched between their legs and ass cheeks while extending handshakes and swapping food and snacks. Several diabetic prisoners had infections from glucose pin pricks. The open sores were apparent. The wounds were not covered by Band-Aids.

The man forcibly walked into the prison system drug-free but soon appeared like that of an ungroomed, underground living crackhead. The guards brought in bootleg movies for the inmates to watch on one of two flat screen TVs. With the consideration that buying and selling bootleg movies is a crime, it’s baffling to know ‘the powers that be’ see no evil in showing these films, even while they’re still shown in theatres across the country.

“Staring into the eyes of a killer, one late and rainy fall day, we were traveling along in the prison van. We were chained together with handcuffs. Can one imagine a face-to-face with a man who had mercilessly butchered four people, including a three-year-old baby girl?
This guy was being transported from one jail to another. This latest exchange was just another appearance, appealing the death sentence he’d received.
I’d been locked up now for about three months. Child support was the issue. A minor discrepancy for a misplaced payment recorded by the court clerk went missing. It was found after the fact.
Sitting right next to this murdering coward, who slaughtered Heather and Lisa Greaves, twenty-seven and twenty-three, and Heather’s three year old daughter – I wanted to whip his ass! He was from the suburbs and I was from one of the toughest projects in Philly. He was Montgomery County’s most notorious killer of all time. He was sentenced to death. I was defending my right to defend the right to support my child and wound up in jail for doing so – chained to this motherfucker!
I wondered, what the criteria was regarding putting a death row inmate in close quarters with someone who was being held hostage for a contempt citation?

I thought this nightmare would soon be behind me. After all, this kind of shit doesn’t happen to a ‘Host of the Annual Odunde Festival in South Philly does it?’


ISBN-10: 1491086270
ISBN-13: 978-1491086278
“The Horror of It All…!”






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Word to The Wise

Word to The Wise

“Treatment Denied!”
Gregory V. Boulware

A 60 year old “Registered Nurse” walked into a Philadelphia Community Health Center seeking help. The pubic clinic was supposed to open at 7:30 A.M. The staff inside did not open its doors until 7:50 A.M. The crowd of about twenty-five people began arriving at or before 7 A.M. The old and the young lined up with no place to sit there weary, sick, and aching bodies. A pole alongside the building was the only comfort zone. The people were made up of a multi-racial community. Some where able to walk while others walked with canes or where in wheel-chairs. The woman (once inside), who lined the patients along an inside wall, treated the people like they were illiterates. She spoke like that of a ‘Master Drill Sergeant.’
“All right, now listen up closely! I don’t want to repeat myself! All those of you who are here for the first time…line up over here! All of you who have received treatment before – that means if you’ve been here before, as I’m sure that many of you have…line up over there and have all of your paperwork ready! Does any one have any questions before I walk away? Good, now let’s get to it! Yo lady, I said over there, didn’t you hear me?”

Doesn’t this just make you angry?

Some of the old folk weren’t able to hear, move, contemplate, or suffered some other debilitating ailment that prevented them from adhering to the rigorous et al instructions. The nurse seeking help for severe arthritic pain and swelling depended on a cane to assist in her limited mobility. She spent several hours in the mix of ailing individuals who were, like her, seeking medical assistance. Every emergency telephone number that was contacted suggested…insisted that she seek emergency medical assistance and guidance via the Philadelphia Community Health Center. I watched as many of the individuals who were waiting on line since before 7 A.M. depart, nearly as soon as they were briefly interviewed. They all waited in the heat for an hour or more only to be told that you had to seek assistance elsewhere or we cannot provide assistance to you. Some folks who appeared to be homeless, for some unbeknownst reason, where not turned away for lack of treatment. The help-seeking nurse was told they couldn’t help her with her painful knees of severe headache. They gave her a list of other community health centers and sent her on her way.

Prior to this health treatment sojourn, the 60 year old nurse did attempt to capitalize on the new healthcare programs. Once inquiring online, the telephone jumped off the holder. The quoted and listed premiums were priced so far out of reach, one would need a six figure salary in order to affordably qualify for coverage. The 40 year veteran registered nurse; for 15 years, worked part-time as a nursing assistant instructor for a prominent healthcare workers union, is not able to afford the healthcare she has provided to thousands upon thousands of patients at many hospitals and nursing centers throughout the Philadelphia area. This professional, proficient, and highly knowledgeable registered nurse served in this profession until her knees have virtually disintegrated. Standing, let alone walking has become an unbearable to nearly impossible task. However, she has managed to attend her students throughout this ailment that has plagued her for many years.

Doesn’t this just make you angry?

The schedule for nursing assistance training classes is sporadic, thus allowing for breaks or separation in employment status. Not being able to qualify for general medical assistance or disadvantaged enough to take advantage of government healthcare programs, is like being “between a rock and a hard place.” What’s a person to do when you make to much to qualify for the help they say you can afford while the reception of unemployment benefits say otherwise?

Help was sought at the nearest hospital as well. The emergency room staff were pleasant enough. The medical staff weren’t to quick to see patients. It appeared that this nurse would finally receive the deeply needed health care attention after her blood pressure was taken. It was extremely high…high enough to produce a stroke. The Med Students practiced their bed-side manner on a woman who had been in the business before they were born. She didn’t tell them she was a nurse. The only one that knew was the intake clerk. They simply patronized another patient seeking care without a chance in hell of receiving treatment. They would not send the poor woman to the x-ray department because she couldn’t pay for it. They wouldn’t treat the high-blood pressure symptoms because, as the excuse went, its only been one day. This reporter recalls having a headache for more than three days. I made an attempt to ignore the pain, but it just wouldn’t stop. The fifth day at ‘Chestnut Hill Hospital,’ my pressure was taken and treatment was ordered immediately. I was right at the cusp of having a stroke. I didn’t have health insurance (at that time) either…and I was not turned away because the high pressure reading was only detected for just one day! They (and my wife) saved my life!

So how is it that the medical staff at ‘Jeanes’ Hospital’ can, in earnest, deny a needy patient assistance? Let alone, a colleague?

Advisors have suggested applying to Social Security. By the time that process is processed, a body could become quite dusty in the wait. And that includes the possibility or probability of “No You Don’t Qualify!”

I think, in some sort of conscience clearing, they provided a knee immobilizer to hopefully help another human being who happens to be a colleague…maybe.

Doesn’t this just make you angry?

If it doesn’t, you’re probably a very rich or financially well-off individual without a sense of what it is to be poor; or working class poor and have never had to live from paycheck to paycheck; nor have you ever had to wonder what its like to wonder if you’ll be able to feed your kids – if you’ll be able to care for yourself once you’ve become old.

Meanwhile, as the bones crumble further, and the popping of over-the-counter-headache cure-all’s, healthcare patients who were health care providers are continually (like everyone else without coverage) kicked to the curb with a parting song of “don’t come back unless you have some type of health coverage.”

Is this how we want to treat our healthcare professionals…the people who have helped and saved us over and over again? I can’t help but wonder how many of you remember how our troops were and are treated upon there arrival home – i.e., our ‘Viet Nam Vets?’

What would you do if or when this happens to you – “Treatment Denied?”

Til Next Time…





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"The Way of Four"

“The Way of Four”

“A Drink of Four Rivers”
Gregory V. Boulware

“Our country has changed”
“A concerted effort has been made to end racial discrimination in voting.”
Thanks to the Voting Rights Act
“The court errs egregiously”

The clock has been rolled back, once again. The Supreme Court has spoken. “Woe unto Thee!”
It has taken years of sacrifice and death to get things done in this country. The ‘Voter’s Rights Bill’ has once again found itself under siege. Will the same happen to the ‘Bill of Rights’ or the ‘Human Rights Bill?’

It was my intention to not comment on this controversy until the final act in the play had unfolded. However, it became apparent that I might have had to wait until hell freezes over. But, for the life of me, I cannot stand idly by and say nothing. A few thoughts crossed my mind as it relates to some historic occurrences in and of ancient times. As many of you are aware, I am a firm believer of ‘History repeating itself – along with its mistakes and dire consequences.’

“And God saw that the wickedness of man was great in the Earth, and that every imagination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil, and it grieved Him at his heart. And the Lord said, “I will destroy man whom I have created from the face of the Earth; both man, and beast, and the creeping thing, and the fowls of the air; for it repenteth me that I have made them.”
(Genesis 6:I-9:29) ‘The Flood’

“And ye are the last rulers over this people on this mountain; for I know that not one will be left you to beget children on this Holy Mountain; neither shall any one of you rule over the children of his people; neither shall any great company be left of you, on this mountain.”

“He who does injury to the soul of man, does injury to his own soul, and there is no cure for his flesh, not pardon for all time. How it is not fitting to kill man neither by weapon nor by tongue!

He who works the killing of a man’s soul, kills his own soul, and kills his own body, and there is no cure for him for all time.

He who puts a man in any snare, shall stick in it himself, and there is no cure for him for all time.”

Enoch said also to them, “Watch over your souls, and hold fast by your fear of God and by your service of Him, and worship Him in righteousness, innocence and judgment, in repentance and also in purity.”

“Supreme Court Invalidates Key Part of Voting Rights Act”
Stephen Crowley / The New York Times
Wade Henderson, president and C.E.O. of the Leadership Conference on Civil and Human Rights, criticized the decision on Tuesday.
Published: June 25, 2013 1273 Comments
WASHINGTON — The Supreme Court on Tuesday effectively struck down the heart of the Voting Rights Act of 1965 by a 5-to-4 vote, freeing nine states, mostly in the South, to change their election laws without advance federal approval.

A Guide to the Supreme Court Decision on the Voting Rights Act

The court divided along ideological lines, and the two sides drew sharply different lessons from the history of the civil rights movement and the nation’s progress in rooting out racial discrimination in voting. At the core of the disagreement was whether racial minorities continued to face barriers to voting in states with a history of discrimination.

“Our country has changed,” Chief Justice John G. Roberts Jr. wrote for the majority. “While any racial discrimination in voting is too much, Congress must ensure that the legislation it passes to remedy that problem speaks to current conditions.”

The decision will have immediate practical consequences. Texas announced shortly after the decision that a voter identification law that had been blocked would go into effect immediately, and that redistricting maps there would no longer need federal approval. Changes in voting procedures in the places that had been covered by the law, including ones concerning restrictions on early voting, will now be subject only to after-the-fact litigation.

President Obama, whose election as the nation’s first Black President was cited by critics of the law as evidence that it was no longer needed, said he was “deeply disappointed” by the ruling.

Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg summarized her dissent from the bench, an unusual move and a sign of deep disagreement. She cited the words of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and said his legacy and the nation’s commitment to justice had been “disserved by today’s decision.”

She said the focus of the Voting Rights Act had properly changed from “first-generation barriers to ballot access” to “second-generation barriers” like racial gerrymandering and laws requiring at-large voting in places with a sizable black minority. She said the law had been effective in thwarting such efforts.

The law had applied to nine states — Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, South Carolina, Texas and Virginia — and to scores of counties and municipalities in other states, including Brooklyn, Manhattan and the Bronx.

Chief Justice Roberts wrote that Congress remained free to try to impose federal oversight on states where voting rights were at risk, but must do so based on contemporary data. But the chances that the current Congress could reach agreement on where federal oversight is required are small, most analysts say.

Justices Antonin Scalia, Anthony M. Kennedy, Clarence Thomas and Samuel A. Alito Jr. joined the majority opinion. Justice Ginsburg was joined in dissent by Justices Stephen G. Breyer, Sonia Sotomayor and Elena Kagan.

The majority held that the coverage formula in Section 4 of the Voting Rights Act, originally passed in 1965 and most recently updated by Congress in 1975, was unconstitutional. The section determined which states must receive clearance from the Justice Department or a federal court in Washington before they made minor changes to voting procedures, like moving a polling place, or major ones, like redrawing electoral districts.

Section 5, which sets out the preclearance requirement, was originally scheduled to expire in five years. Congress repeatedly extended it: for five years in 1970, seven years in 1975, and 25 years in 1982. Congress renewed the act in 2006 after holding extensive hearings on the persistence of racial discrimination at the polls, again extending the preclearance requirement for 25 years. But it relied on data from the 1975 reauthorization to decide which states and localities were covered.

“The current coverage system,” Chief Justice Roberts wrote, is “based on 40-year-old facts having no logical relationship to the present day.”

“Congress — if it is to divide the states — must identify those jurisdictions to be singled out on a basis that makes sense in light of current conditions,” he wrote. “It cannot simply rely on the past.”

The decision did not strike down Section 5, but without Section 4, the later section is without significance — unless Congress passes a new bill for determining which states would be covered.

It was hardly clear, at any rate, that the court’s conservative majority would uphold Section 5 if the question returned to the court in the unlikely event that Congress enacted a new coverage formula. In a concurrence, Justice Thomas called for striking down Section 5 immediately, saying that the majority opinion had provided the reasons and had merely left “the inevitable conclusion unstated.”

The Supreme Court had repeatedly upheld the law in earlier decisions, saying that the preclearance requirement was an effective tool to combat the legacy of lawless conduct by Southern officials bent on denying voting rights to Blacks.

Critics of Section 5 say it is a unique federal intrusion on state sovereignty and a badge of shame for the affected jurisdictions that is no longer justified.

The Voting Rights Act of 1965 was one of the towering legislative achievements of the civil rights movement, and Chief Justice Roberts said its “strong medicine” was the right response to “entrenched racial discrimination.” When it was first enacted, he said, Black voter registration stood at 6.4 percent in Mississippi, and the gap between black and white registration rates was more than 60 percentage points.

In the 2004 election, the last before the law was reauthorized; the Black registration rate in Mississippi was 76 percent, almost four percentage points higher than the white rate. In the 2012 election, Chief Justice Roberts wrote, “African-American voter turnout exceeded white voter turnout in five of the six states originally covered by Section 5.”

The chief justice recalled the Freedom Summer of 1964, when the civil rights workers James Chaney, Andrew Goodman and Michael Schwerner were murdered near Philadelphia, Miss., while seeking to register Black voters. He mentioned Bloody Sunday in 1965, when police officers beat marchers in Selma, Ala.

“Today,” Chief Justice Roberts wrote, “both of those towns are governed by African-American mayors. Problems remain in these states and others, but there is no denying that, due to the Voting Rights Act, our nation has made great strides.”

Justice Ginsburg, in her dissent from the bench, drew a different lesson from those events, drawing on the words of Dr. King.

“The great man who led the march from Selma to Montgomery and there called for the passage of the Voting Rights Act foresaw progress, even in Alabama,” she said. “‘The arc of the moral universe is long,’ he said, but ‘it bends toward justice,’ if there is a steadfast commitment to see the task through to completion.”

In her written dissent, Justice Ginsburg said that Congress was the right body to decide whether the law was still needed and where. Congress reauthorized the law in 2006 by large majorities; the vote was 390 to 33 in the House and unanimous in the Senate. President George W. Bush, a Republican, signed the bill into law, saying it was “an example of our continued commitment to a united America where every person is valued and treated with dignity and respect.”

The Supreme Court considered the constitutionality of the 2006 extension of the law in a 2009 decision, Northwest Austin Municipal Utility District Number One v. Holder. But it avoided answering the central question, and it seemed to give Congress an opportunity to make adjustments. Congress, Chief Justice Roberts noted on Tuesday, did not respond.

Justice Ginsburg suggested in her dissent that an era had drawn to a close with the court’s decision on the Voting Rights Act, in Shelby County v. Holder, No. 12-96.

“Beyond question, the V.R.A. is no ordinary legislation,” she wrote. “It is extraordinary because Congress embarked on a mission long delayed and of extraordinary importance: to realize the purpose and promise of the Fifteenth Amendment,” the Reconstruction-era amendment that barred racial discrimination in voting and authorized Congress to enforce it.

“For a half century,” she wrote, “a concerted effort has been made to end racial discrimination in voting. Thanks to the Voting Rights Act, progress once the subject of a dream has been achieved and continues to be made.”

“The court errs egregiously,” she concluded, “by overriding Congress’s decision.”

A version of this article appeared in print on June 26, 2013, on page A1 of the New York edition with the headline: Justices Void Oversight Of States, Issue At Heart Of Voting Rights Act.

“Things that are equal to the same things are equal to each other!”
‘Balance, Fairness, and Justice’

The 13th Amendment:
Congressman (‘Beanpole’) Burton
“White people cannot bare the thought of sharing this country’s infinite abundance with Negroes!”

Noah asked:
“Who is he of us that shall be left?”

“A river flowed out of Eden to water the garden, and there it divided and became four rivers. The name of the first is the Pishon. It is the one that flowed around the whole land of Havilah, where there is gold. And the gold of that land is good; bdellium and onyx stone are there. The name of the second river is the Gihon. It is the one that flowed around the whole land of Cush. And the name of the third river is the Tigris, which flows east of Assyria. And the fourth river is the Euphrates.”
—Genesis 2:10-14

“What is a Man who does not try and make the World Better?”

Perhaps the governing bodies need a cooling drink from the Nile, just like Ramses, Pharaoh of Egypt?

“Let My People Go!”

Will we never learn?

Til Next Time…

“As The Clock Turns”




‘Tenkamenin’ King of Ghana': “One of Many Great African Kings!”
As Presented by
Gregory V. Boulware


“King Tenkamenin was born in what is now known as Ghana and Mali.He is related to us because his people were one of the first to create iron of metal tools in West Africa.

Ghana was extremely wealthy, often being referred to as the “Land of Gold.” They controlled the trade route between gold and salt mines and offered protection to the traders in exchange for gold nuggets. The Ghanas received the nuggets and only allowed gold dust to be traded. In addition to the nuggets they also taxed the salt being traded. Ancient Ghana discovered iron and used it to make more effective tools and weapons. As a result, Ghana became a more powerful empire and had greater control over the trade routes. They also utilized the camel for their trading endeavors with other kingdoms.

Ghana was influenced by arab traders and was actually divided into two towns, one being muslim, the other housing the king and traditional society. The traditional society was pagan and worshipped idols. However, many of the king’s officials were muslim so arabic writing was used to record information. Also, arab architecture, such as mosques, were present in the muslim town.

Although some schools were in existence, much of the education was passed down through “griots,” or storytellers. In the evening, people would gather around to hear the griots and would learn about their traditions.

Ghana produced beautiful fabrics. They used mud to make designs on cloth and then they let the sun bake the mud, creating a permanent design in the fabric. They also created many masks and figures.

Ancient Ghanians were very wealthy, due to their control over Western Africa’s trade. The gold mines were in the south and the salt mines were in the north. Being located between these two was a huge advantage. Aside from taxes, the kingdom would gain money through silent bartering. Gold would be left at a special place for traders to take. If ample goods were not left in exchange, trade would be stopped. Rather than take advantage of this, most traders would leave more than enough goods in return. They were afraid that powerful Ghana would close them off.

Around the 12th century, a drought hit the kingdom. Most of the resources the area depended on, especially gold mining were cut short. The drought had a large affect on how the land could be used. What was once a fertile place brimming with cattle, sheep and goats, became dry and dead. Ghana slowly lost all of their trading power. The gold was mined in other places and the economy went elsewhere. Nearby civilizations began to attack the failing empire, starting with the Sosso people. In 1235, the Mali empire officially took over.”


“The country of Ghana reached the height of its greatness during the reign of Tenkamenin. Though his carefull management of the gold trade across the sahara desert into West Africa, Tenkamenin’s empire flourished But his greatest strengh was not in economics, but in governance.

Each day Tenkamenin would ride out on horseback and listen to the problems and concerns of his people, he insisted that no one be denied an audience and that they be allowed to remain in his presence untill satisfied that justice had been done.

His principle of democratic Monarchy and religious tolerance made Tenkamenin reign one of the great models of African rule.”





“We Will Not Die Like Dogs”


“At Least 50 in Africa Paralyzed by Bill Gates Meningitis Vaccine”




At least 50 African children paralyzed after receiving Bill Gates-backed meningitis vaccine
Ethan A. Huff
Natural News
Jan 23, 2013






Meningitis Vaccine Developed With Gates Foundation Drives Africa Cases To Lowest In Decade
Reuters | Posted: 06/06/2013 4:14 pm EDT


LONDON, June 6 (Reuters) – Case numbers in Africa’s meningitis season this year were the lowest in 10 years thanks to a cheap new vaccine designed to treat a type of the disease common in the so-called meningitis belt, the World Health Organisation said on Thursday.

The vaccine, called MenAfriVac, was developed with funding from the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation specifically for use against meningitis A, a type which causes regular epidemics in Africa.

Detailing data for Jan. 1 to May 12, the United Nations health agency said that just under 9,250 meningitis cases, including 857 deaths, were reported in 18 of the 19 African countries under enhanced surveillance for meningitis.


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“All We Ask Is Equal Rights”

Interview with Harold R. Boulware, lead attorney in Elmore v. Rice, 1947, as recorded by “Quest for Human/Civil Rights”

The First African American to pass the bar in South Carolina since Reconstruction and A Front Line Participant with the NAACP in the FIGHT FOR THE EQUAL RIGHTS MOVEMENT!


A native of Irmo, Harold Boulware (1913-1983) was educated at Harbison Agricultural Institute, Johnson C. Smith College and Howard Law School. At Howard he was trained as a civil rights lawyer by Thurgood Marshall and Charles Houston. Returning to South Carolina, Boulware passed the bar examination and was licensed in 1940. Soon he was Chief Counsel for the NAACP in the state and litigating civil rights cases. He brought suits on behalf of teachers, black voters, the families of lynching victims, and veterans.


Harold R. Boulware, Sr. (1913-1983)


Interview with Harold R. Boulware


In the 1940s, South Carolina sought to maintain a whites-only Democratic primary. George Elmore, an African American man eligible to vote in general elections, was denied a vote in the primary in 1946. The National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) supported Elmore’s claims that his constitutional rights to choose members of Congress had been violated because of his race. Elmore’s case was successful. In the August 1948 primary, 35,000 African American South Carolinians were registered to vote.

Harold R. Boulware (1913-1983) was the chief counsel for the South Carolina NAACP beginning in 1941. He gained fame as one of the lead attorneys, along with Thurgood Marshall, in Briggs et al v. Elliot et al. Boulware participated in many of the civil rights cases filed in South Carolina. His participation in Elmore v. Rice is discussed in this interview taken in 1980 for “Quest for Human/Civil Rights.” 23 September 1980, SCAR T9, Newsfilm Library, University of South Carolina, Columbia, South Carolina.

Interviewer: What was the name of the case?

Hon. Boulware: Elmore versus Rice. We went to the Supreme Court on that… The most interesting thing about it was that Judge Warring said when he was writing his opinion was, “It’s time for South Carolina to rejoin the Union.” I thought that was classy, a very classy statement. But we had to go all the way to the Supreme Court of the United States on that one. And we succeeded. And the Supreme Court handed down its decision.
The irony of the thing is the court made the decision to open the primary to blacks, but blacks did not know, (some blacks of course) didn’t know that that decision was made in the Supreme Court. And instead of making it a news item, like it would be if it happened today, we had to buy radio time to tell the Blacks, “All right, you can vote now.” We had to pay for it.


Two men became the first men of their race elected to a judgeship by the South Carolina General Assembly since Reconstruction. Known for his fairness and sense of humor, Boulware served until his death on January 27, 1983.


Attorneys and Litigants: Brown v. Board of Education











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“Mountainfolk Hospitality – Subtle Progression 1913 – 2013”

Pocono Manor Stables

Pocono Manor Stables

Gregory V. Boulware

Pocono – A “Stream Between Two Mountains.”

The Pocono Mountains are a popular recreational destination for local and regional visitors. While the area has long been a popular tourist destination, many communities have seen a rise in population, especially in Coolbaugh Township and other communities within Monroe County. The region has a population of about 340,300, which is growing at a rapid pace, largely attributable to vacationers from Philadelphia, New York, and New Jersey turning vacation homes into permanent residences. The region lacks a major population center, although there are municipalities such as Stroudsburg, East Stroudsburg, Mount Pocono, and the townships around them. Monroe County, where the population is 165,058, which is about half of the total population in the Poconos – located in northeastern Pennsylvania.

The Poconos, located chiefly in Monroe and Pike counties (and parts of Wayne, Carbon, Luzerne, and Susquehanna counties), are an upland of the larger Allegheny Plateau. Forming a 2,400 square miles (6,200 km2) escarpment overlooking the Delaware Valley and Delaware Water Gap to the east, the mountains are bordered on the north by Lake Wallenpaupack, on the west by the Wyoming Valley, and to the south by the Lehigh Valley. The mountainous region is a defined area encompassing portions of Carbon, Monroe, Pike, and southern Wayne counties of Pennsylvania. In total, the Poconos encompasses over 2,500 square miles (6,500 km2). The Poconos are geologically part of the Allegheny Plateau, like the nearby Catskills. The Poconos’ highest summit, Elk Hill’s North Knob, reaches 2,693 feet (821 m), while its lowest elevation is 350 feet (107 m) in Pike County.

The wooded hills and valleys of these beautiful mountains have long been a popular vacation area, with many communities having resort hotels with fishing, hunting, skiing, and other sports facilities.

The Delaware River flows through the Pocono Mountains and gives the region its name, from a Native American term roughly translating to “Stream between Two Mountains.” The Lehigh and Lackawaxen Rivers also flow through the region, totaling about 170 miles (270 km) of waterways.

Today, seemingly, it’s not the name, it’s the face. The Indian culture in this beautiful mountainous region does little in the reflection for the indigenous souls of this un-obscure heritage. The Pocono’s have, in the past, reflected a spirited kinship between its inhabitants and arriving settlers. Today, the region has become diseased with the stain and stench of capitalism. It’s beautiful and serene routes of traverse, trails, hills, and valleys have all been corrupted with signs that display marketing and competitive targeting for the dollars and cents of all who come to visit, pass through, and/or settle.

“If You Know I Have A History, You Will Respect Me!”

A ‘Black Indian Woman,’ a student said that in 1968. William Katz wrote extensively about the history of ‘Black Indians’ from coast to coast in America. His books have endorsed and included stories and historic facts about Black Folk and Indian relationships.

“Citizens celebrate this country’s daring break from colonial rule, and rejoice in the plucky minutemen who challenged the British at Lexington and Concord. Black Indians made a contribution to the entire US society that deserves recognized consideration and inclusion.
For the earliest European colonists, the Americas were truly a land of opportunity. They came from a continent torn with religious strife. Kings, nobles, and merchants regularly dragged their people into land and sea wars. The plight of ordinary men and women was terrible. About two percent of the population owned ninety-five percent of the land. Common folk wallowed in poverty and want, without hope or security. They were forced into labor battalions or conscript armies. In a democracy, majority rules…are there truly more white folks in America than the combined number in folks of color?

Everywhere a rigid intolerance held sway. Europeans lived by a rural British slogan:
“He’s a stranger, hit him on the head!”
Europeans greeted the people of the Americas with hostility and a lust for profit.

In dealing with non-Christians, they saw little reason to observe common rules of ‘fair-play’ and rarely did. They tramped into the American wilderness with a Bible – (dictated and practiced according to their desires and needs) – a musket, and a diplomacy that knew no rules.
Black Indians, like other African Americans have been treated by writers of history as invisible – their contributions were denied or handed to others, i.e., ‘Jean Baptiste Pointe Du Sable,’ (son of ‘Sacajawea’ – The Lewis and Clark expeditions) was “The Founding Father of Chicago” – circa, 1779.

White folks in the Pocono area should be reveling in pride and joy of their diverse community and not the green of the dollar bill. All people should be reminded of who did what for the betterment of all – not the meager few who would promote superiority and separation. The forty-fourth president of these United States is, after all, the product of diversity or a racially blended culture. A golfing legend is another fine example of the common good – diversity. Barack Obama and Tiger Woods are simply two current bi-racial figures of US prominence. But, oh yes, they too face discrimination, separation, and hated by evil, envious, and villainous white folk. No one in these United States misunderstands the definition of the “One Drop Rule!”

Africans began arriving in 1502 by European slavers. The ship that brought the Hispaniola governor, Nicolas De Ovando, wrote Katz.

‘They sure as hell wanted their money – while not wanting their presence!’

A couple in their early sixties has been frequenting the Pocono Mountains for more than two decades. Racial disparity has always been noticed…while in many circumstances tolerated, ignored, or accepted. For the most part, the dollar factor ruled over many in the position of hospitality.

After a day of shooting eighteen holes of golf, the couple, married nearly forty years; with two adult sons and two beautiful grandbabies; decided to end the warm and sunny late afternoon with a cooling and refreshing pitcher of beer.

The mountain resort, of which they were housed, provided no such available refreshment. Having some knowledge of the many area shopping and entertainment spots in the Mount Pocono Region, they ventured out into the arena of the local mercantile in search of the thirst quenching liquid. The week-long vacation accommodation was located in the locale of ‘East Stroudsburg, Pa,’ just off route 209. There were not many taverns or beverage sit-down places available in the immediate vicinity. Upon the discovery in patches of blended old, new, and not so new buildings – the one available establishment availed itself to invite weary and not so weary travelers and patrons into its’ abode.

The inviting and invitationally large and plaquered cadence of the sign read:

Well, the contented couple pleasurably and enjoyably exhausted themselves with eighteen holes of golf. Albeit, ‘mini-golf.’ A senior couple (or individual) climbing up and down steep walk-ways, stairs, hills, creeks, rocks, grassy knolls, and other obstacles included in the fairway game fields, could very easily cause an older person to not complete the course while out in the beaming hot midday sun, let alone on a cool day. I mean, golf is golf, right?

The man and woman parked their vehicle and entered the white and green trimmed building founded with brick and mortar. The pub was a cute, quaint, table and chair setting with a small bar located in a semi-private corner of the building.
The establishment was catered by a couple of waitresses and a barmaid. It was a self-seating restaurant – a no-waiting for the maître d’ or hostess to seat you. The couple decided to sit at the bar. Food was not being sought, only liquid refreshment. A cold mug or pitcher was not available, according to Sandy, the self- manufactured robot-like bar attendant. The woman sported hair of orange, red, blonde, and another streaking color that wasn’t quite identifiable. She also appeared to be of a senior age as well. The man seated with his wife, suspected she was a tad younger than her mid-sixties exterior. Not intending to get to far ahead with this picture, I’ve failed to mention the chilly ambient reception of the couple after the establishment threshold was crossed.

I did mention that it was warm outside, yes? It was a rather nice day for a mid-May Wednesday late afternoon in 2013. The air was cool inside. The joint was jostled and bustling with busy cordial conversations. That all died when this couple entered the establishment. The cool room transformed into the polar ice-cap, feeling like that of the frozen tundra. The instantaneous silence was quieter than quiet. The eyeballs of the patronizing patrons fell upon the newly entered senior-aged mini-golfers who happened to be Black and White. The man, a 6ft. tall and formidable appearing gentleman brandishing awareness armored with a presence that demanded a commandment for respect and attention. The woman, a beautiful and petite German-Scottish descendent with golden blonde hair highlighted with a natural redness that could be described as strawberry. Her eyes, large and bright while iridescently hazel with green highlights that change in color upon the donning of a differently colored attire; intelligent with a mastering effect that netted immediate attention, respect, and admiration.

The barmaid gathered her composure and made a clumsy attempt at being a cordial and welcoming professional. She offered the food menu which was declined. The beer thirst was addressed and settled upon with the cold glass and bottled beer which was placed on the bar in front of the freshly seated patrons. The bar attendant forced a remanufactured smile and began to speak again while placing the glasses and bottles of beer on the bar.

“We only have bottled beer in the brands displayed on the shelf,” said the barmaid. Two white men, one possibly in his late fifties to early sixties, the other, clearly in his mid to late sixties, genuinely displayed an annoyance with the couples’ entrance. While not seemingly appearing to look into the eyes of the Black man, they did attempt eye-contact with the white woman, as if to say, “How dare you come in here with that!”

“We don’t have cold mugs but we sure have cold glasses.”
The woman behind the bar robotically looked at the stern, albeit, stoic face of the Black man and said, “What’s your name? I’ll run you a tab.”

The man answered politely with his name while tossing a smirking glance at his wife. The mind meld of the two allowed a smile between them.

“What makes her think that we would continue to sit here in a room filled to the brim with bigoted ambiguity and egregious aggregation? A tab…who said we wanted more than what we’ve asked for? What made her assume that we would spend our hard earned dollars with people such as them?”
The couple was well aware of the importance of income and revenue sources to locals of any rural job starved community.

What is the price for being unnecessarily rude and obnoxious?

The dollar factor becomes an overwhelming factor and forcefully allows people to look past the racial boundaries…momentarily. The transaction did hold some similarities, however. The couple, wanting the beer while not wishing to venture into another ride, travel, and search – the biased separatists coveted their money as opposed to the despised physical presence of the bi-racial couple.

The wife inquired masterfully, about take-out beer. The husband chose the brand of the six-pack. The dual glass of beer was consumed quickly; in just a couple of sips and a gulp or two. The wife produced a credit card, bartering the transaction and exchange. The barmaid processed the payment after fetching the bottled six-pack. The receipt which bared the coding numbers and server’s name is signed and the couple prepared to make their exit.

The couple tossed insincere, sarcastic, and mocking cordialities in the direction of the sinister barmaid. She was mentally forced to respond to the wife because of the intended loud and boisterous “Have a good day.” The woman behind the bar appeared to fancy herself as ‘pleasing to the eye of gentlemen,’ did not respond to the husband’s previous ‘Thank you’ gesture. She merely grunted “Yeah…right,” in response to the exiting woman. The elder of the two men at the bar, walked outside. The man who walked outdoors was sitting on a bench in front of the restaurant. He was smoking a cigarette while watching the couple enter their car. He watched the car with the president’s name on the rear bumper. The ‘99%’ statement shared a space on the bumper with the cadence sticker ‘Save Medicare’ as well.

The husband hesitated just before leaving. He wanted to see what the woman behind the bar was going to do with the used beer glasses. He held vivid recollections of what white owned bars and restaurants did back in the day, when Black patrons drank from their glasses in the ‘East Falls’ section of ‘Philly.’ They did not wash them – they destroyed them! The gentleman only saw the glasses remain on the bar after the beer bottles had been disposed of. He chose not to wait any longer.

The husband said to the wife, “Do you suppose she was mad because we didn’t leave her a tip?” The bill came to about $13.00. She replied, “Why would we leave a tip – our patronage was not appreciated or deserved!” The husband smiled in agreement as they drove away.

‘They sure as hell wanted their money – but not their presence.’

“It all started with Columbus’ 1492 arrival and invasion, in the name of Christendom.” His son, Diego, served as governor of Hispaniola, an island of Spain in the Caribbean, a colony was started on the mainland of South Carolina.

Lucas Vasquez de Ayllion of Santo Domingo founded the Eastern South Carolina colony at the mouth of the ‘Pee Dee River’ in 1526, eight decades before ‘Jamestown.’ Many white folks like to believe in the ‘Mayflower’ landing with English-speaking Anglo-Saxons. Ayllion sent Captain Francisco Gordillo, in 1520, to locate a good landing site and to build a good and friendly relationship with the current local inhabitants. Instead, the captain teamed up with a slave hunter by the name of Pedro De Quexos. The two invaders captured seventy native Indians and brought them back to Santo Domingo as slaves.
It was the first European act on what is now US soil – making slaves of FREE MEN and WOMEN. When he began ordering the Africans to begin building homes, he launched Black Slavery in the United States.”

You know…based on Indian history and the membership of the Algonquin Confederacy, wouldn’t it be prudent to focus our recognition and homage be given to the Delaware Indian Nation in the Pocono Mountains as opposed to who’s hotel, paint ball, of ski resort is better than who’s?

What about the disparaging superior and separatist attitudes of the capitalistic merchants and their servants of deception? Should they not be brought out and into the light of true goodliness, acceptance, respect, and fair play?

“The Delaware, a.k.a. ‘Lenape / Lenni’ (“True or Real Men”), a major member of the Algonquin occupied confederacy from Cape Hen Iopen to Long Island, center of the Delaware River Basin, were/are the most important tribal nation on the Atlantic coast. They occupied most of New Jersey, Delaware, and Eastern Pennsylvania. They were called “Grandfathers” by other eastern Algonkian, especially the ‘Nanticoke,’ ‘Shawnee,’’Munsee,’ and the ‘Mahican,’ who claim to be their descendents.

The peaceful, civilized confederation stands symbolic of the many Indian cultures. The Delaware Chiefs, or Sagamares, ruled through persuasion rather than force. The Medicine man, or Shaman, had considerable influence. Everyday life flowed between primitive agriculture, hunting, and preoccupation with the spirit world. They knew the ‘Great Being’ was/is the owner of the Earth. Wampum was not merely shell money, but possessed a sacred significance. In the Algonkian language, there are different plural forms for animated and inanimate nouns. Wampum was always animate… It was called the “White String,” “Old Dark String,” or “Indian Stones.”

What is the difference in the spiritual significance of Wampum and “IN GOD WE TRUST” green and metal American money worshiping by Americans of yesterday and today?

How many of us have heard the opposite for the possession of money – any kind of money?

Life was rather dreamlike. It held no sharp demarcation between the real and the spirituality of existence. Mountain life for the Indian entertained no political of military ambitions. They held no distain or hatred for people or travelers who looked different than them. They simply drifted along, slowly and inevitably, to their destiny at hands of the whites.

The vacationing couple did identify the offending establishment on rte. 209,in East Stroudsburg, PA. They warn kind spirited people of the atmosphere within ‘The Landmark Café.’ There are many circulars, pamphlets, and newspapers in and throughout the Pocono Mountains. They always tend to display ‘well-to-do people’ who are not of color. The photos of books, espousing the advent of ‘Bushkill Falls’ depict figures of the 1900’s straw hat wearing – Gatsby looking individuals in suspenders and long pants hawking their hot dog and ice cream carts, taxis, buses, and bicycles. The only Indians seen are statues, figurines, and photo arrays.

Should one think that this is or could possibly be a slanderous report – think again… The establishment was providing a public service that was erroneous. The restaurant was represented by a selfish, greedy, and rude employee that could not properly serve the public. Her rude and unacceptable demeanor and behavior was biased and mean-spirited. There is no place for personal opinions or positions while serving the public at large.

Did we people of color (Blacks, Native Indians, Puerto Ricans, Asians, Hindus, etc.) exist in this world of mountainfolk life? Maybe some Stroudsburg folks hold a different opinion other than that of their white counterparts.

“If Europeans came from nations, so too did ‘People of Color!’ Dark People ignored the boundaries drawn by Europeans – especially in their move from one country to another in search of Liberty, Justice, and/or a Better Life!”

Til next time…


‘Pocono Mountain Literature’
‘Black Indians, A Hidden Treasure,’ William Loren Katz
‘A Pocket Guide to Native Americans,’ Westhorp and Collins
‘Indian America, A Geography of North American Indians, Marian Wallace Ney – Libby Lambert
Webster’s Dictionary

“Book Crossing”




“Escape Into The Word”


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