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Jasmine Roper Feb 2017
I asked a variety of people to say the first word that came to mind when presented with the noun “Crisis”

I heard many different responses; “a problem” “a catastrophe” “an unbearable disaster”, and yet, never did I hear the biggest Crisis of all

Education.

E-D-U-C-A-T-I-O-N

Allow me to dissect that word for a second,

The abbreviation for education is made of the first three letters “E-D-U” you find it on website domains somewhere in your textbooks

However the first three letters are the least important.
When you drop that edu you’re left with a word, a word extremely crucial to the English language.
Caution

For people who don’t understand this word “caution” It means to be attentive, alert, to take enough care to best avoid error, danger, or making mistakes.

Uh, funny right, students are constantly punished in schools for mistakes, errors, not being attentive enough.

Constantly being told to “ be quiet’ and to “settle down” or
“Turn to page 155 and and stop looking around”


Let me change this path a little
Allow me to alter your focus for a second

We are speaking of a crisis, one larger than education as a whole. A part of education that has been belittled, spat on, or strapped on a leash and taken for a stroll.

Black education.

Every year our classrooms get larger, with larger quantities comes more diversity. And yet, our units get smaller, and the best education are given to those with the largest dollar.

The truth is, we no longer care about the information we are being taught.
Because it only presents the people and white wars that were being fought.  

It is hard for students to identify, accept and appreciate the information in front of them if it never directly relates to them.

I’m sure everyone in this room is aware of MLK’s “i had a dream speak” or Rosa parks famous word “nah.”

But what about the playstation, wii or xbox you used last night? Thank Jerry Lawson for that, and yes, he is black.

From such a young age we learn about the theories and discoveries that Benjamin Franklin gave
but not once are we told about Lewis Latimer, the man who invented the carbon filament,used in all light bulbs above our heads today

We’re held up to this standard of excellence, they expect us to be cautious, meticulous, and strive for nothing but perfection. Something said to be achieved by a proper education

However please explain how is that education rumored to be so proper when I try my best they say please God stop her.

Black education must be taught or it’ll enlarge as the crisis very soon to be fought.

While I calm down and allow that to sink in
Know and understand
Black education must never end

They say we're too violent that all we do is fight
And yet all we do is look for our ancestors in our textbooks every night

Every head shouldn’t turn towards me on the topic of slavery
If it weren’t so taboo; they wouldn’t have to be.

As i tie up my tongue and sit back in my seat
I continue to pray that history doesn’t repeat
Marsha Lenihan once wrote, "People with BPD are like people with third degree burns all over their body, lacking emotional skin, they feel agony at the slightest touch or movement."

I used to cry when I said goodbye to my father after our weekly Tuesday night dinners
I'd play out games of Go fish and Rummy like there was no winner, but I was victorious next
to my daddy.  
His eyes still crinkle in the corners and his smell will always be long car rides with blankets, books on tape, and a wide range of conversations even though he was always late
But I'd weep like he actually just dropped dead every Tuesday night because I was petrified

My small but portly frame would crumple and I would mumble the worries I was too scared to say
I was afraid I'd see my daddy for the last time that day
I thought I had asthma because I was always fat and sometimes choked on the air in my lungs as if it was strangling me but I had my first panic attack in grade three

I was sitting in Mrs. Arlotta's classroom ladida
just like any other story about a schoolday when I was punched in the stomach
with a fist of "I miss my ******* dad"
there was this bully beating the **** out of me with no prologues warning
Just to remind me Despair
is not some abandoned pit people place their pity into
Despair, can be like an earwig, you use hope like tissues to squash out intrusion
but earwigs are smart, experts at delusion
earwigs know where to hide until you go to sleep

Every other weekend I used to sleep at my dads house with his british girlfriend
and his lovely cats and soothing hot tub
and his british girlfriend
and the fireplaces and the tribal music
and the british girlfriend
and the beautiful homemade pond and the greenhouse
and the british girlfriend

I liked roasting marshamallows until their crisp outer layer began to bubble but not for too long for if they fell in the fire there was trouble
Bort are you seriously letting the girl eat sweets tonight, god knows she doesn't need them

I liked riding my bike through Elizabeth park their flower garden was absolutley breathtaking
"you know Haley if you got off your *** more often moving your legs wouldn't be such a chore"

And I loved dinners with freshly picked herbs and seasonal tablecloths tucked in the curbs
"go ahead, have another helping, you're just like your mother, disgusting"

Well Karen I hope I'm like her and I hope she's disgusting
I hope she tasted disgusting on the leftover edges of my fathers lips
when you two were thrusting, could you also taste the hasty goodbyes he tossed like
rubber ducks to a family
waiting in line for him to come home
and waiting and waiting for him to never ******* come home

I loved my dad.
yes despair was everywhere but seeing my dad was like finding religion
if a child could comprehend the task of going to church

Christine Ann Lawson once wrote, " The borderling queen expreiances what therapists call oral greediness.  the desperate hunger of the borderline queen is a kin to the behavior of an infant who had gone too long between feedings.  Starved, frustrated, and beyond the ability to calm or sooth herself, she grabs, flails, wails until the last ****** is planted securely and perhaps too deeply in her mouth.  She coughs, gags, chokes, spits eyeing the elusive breast like a wolf guarding her food.  Similarily, the queen holds onto what is hers taking more than she could use, in case it might be taken away prematurely."

Did my eyes taste sour when you few times you kissed my lids goodnight maybe that's why there wasn't one ******* hour without a glass of wine, another beet, hide your shots of tequila behind the birthday cards I made you.

There was an ache of despair that you wouldn't always be there that when you decided you wanted to participate it was way past the expiration date
I said goodbye to my dad after dinner last night without a second look back, I forgot he could be dead when I was blowing lines to stay alive

Experts say a key symptom of borderling is chronic emptiness
Maybe if things had been different dad, I wouldn't be such a ******* mess
and you would have to pay Connecticutcare less.
Lauren Fehr May 2013
it's empty in the valley of your heart {the cave - mumford & sons}
breathing in snowflakes {the a team - ed sheeran}
standing in the dark {standing in the dark - lawson}
on the corner of first and amistad {you found me - the fray}
fading out the light softly saying {shuffle - bombay bicycle club}
life's too short to even care at all {cough syrup - young the giant}
i miss our little talks {little talks - of monsters and men}
now i'm driving round on the boulevard {swim good - frank ocean}
chasing after gold mines crossing the fire lines {between the raindrops - lifehouse}
trying to erase the memory of your face {warzone - the wanted}
but on a wednesday in a cafe i watched it begin again {begin again - taylor swift}
there's nowhere we can hide {demons - imagine dragons}
i'll build you shelter out of the rain {shelter - hedley}
and i will try to fix you {fix you - coldplay}
as long as you love me {as long as you love me - justin bieber}
even if you said i was wrong {perfect - hedley}
one minute i held the key next the walls were closed on me {viva la vida - coldplay}
london calls me a stranger {the city - ed sheeran}
but my shadow days are over {shadow days - john mayer}
nothing's fine i'm torn {torn - natalie imbruglia}
you're no good for me but i want you {diet mountain dew - lana del rey}
you make me feel like i'm intoxicated {intoxicated - the cab}
off last night's whiskey and coke {cold coffee - ed sheeeran}
is there something to believe in {makes me wonder - maroon 5}
i'm lost in the heat of it all {lost - frank ocean}
say what you need to say {say - john mayer}
i'm just waiting for the moment to arrive {gold rush - edd sheeran}
like ships in the night passing me by {ships in the night - mat kearney}
mirror on the wall here we are again {mirror - lil wayne}
but i'm not afraid {not afraid - eminem}
in your eyes i have seen all the feeling and the rain {venice - the lighthouse and the whaler}
you ran away in your sleep {paradise - coldplay}
but i won't give up on us {i won't give up - jason mraz}
like the colors in autumn so bright {red - taylor swift}
i loved you first {loved you first - one direction}
the lingering question kept me up {enchanted - taylor swift}
will your mouth read this truth {little bird - ed sheeran}
i've been loving you for quite some time {stay stay stay - taylor swift}
there's things you need to hear {the heart of life - john mayer}
you don't know how lovely you are {the scientist - coldplay}
i'm in love with you and all your little things {little things - one direction}
i belong with you  {** hey - the lumineers}
you belong with me {you belong with me - taylor swift}
i'm lucky i'm in love with my best friend {lucky - jason mraz feat. colbie caillat}
i wrote this yesterday
it's a plethora of lyrics from songs off my ipod
Brian the cool vinnies bloke


you see brian allan was looking for something to do, to get him from being street trash

and a very nice lady named rowena said why don’t you work for vinnies, and brian said why not

and the next day, he was given an interview with helen, who was the boss at vinnies, and

she thought it would be great to have someone to do the bins and vacuum the floor before the start

and after 4 weeks of being there, brian thought he would like to be santa claus, and had to make uo

a proper reason for doing it, so brian said, i like the idea of giving the kids, who hate shopping with parents

a treat and helen thought she will make gingerbread men, to tickle the childs taste buds a lot,but helen was

in a bind, because i haven’t got a beard and she suggested i spray paint my real beard, but my parents were against that

because it would go against everything that santa stood for, but brian got angry with his parents and told them

that if they spray painted his beard, there will be no smart alek of a kid to pull his beard off, and as brian said that

his father yelled out, THAT’S ENOUGH, thinking i cared nothing about the kids of this city but that offended brian a lot

and made him hit his father, and this got brian really hyped up on being the best santa claus in canberra, and then

when brian explained to helen that it was causing a stir with the family to spray paint the beard, helen decided to

get a fake beard for me to use, and on the first day i played santa, i offered some of the adults gingerbread men

and they said, save them for the kids, and one little girl, who had the same resemblance to my eldest niece, said

i was a fake santa, and the santa at the mall was more real than i was, and some of the vinnies ladies brought their

own grandchildren in to get their gift from santa and i did my first year of santa, despite some smart a lek of a kid

attemptng to pull my beard off, but i was too smart for him, and after christmas was over packed my santa suit away for the first time

and then i met david who did the shoes, and i found him very good to talk too, you see i said when he dies he will be the

shoe shine man in heaven, but he sounded like he hated the idea, and he liked to joke around with stephen and mable and

i vacuumed the floor and then went outside to empty the clothing bin, and i did this all the time, ya know every day, and i had ken and brian

to help me, but brian thought it would be cool to bang on the clothing bin, while i was still in it and i told helen and she said

you should speak up for yourself, because i seem to let people walk all over me, and really i can’t be bullied by this so called brian

character, and then i started something new, you see i thought, it would be nice to to cook lunches 3 days a week at the new mental health

building, called the rainbow and i learnt how to do creative writing as well as meeting the messiah and a man named barry, who was a

really cool poet, sort of reminded me of my father, mainly because of his poem sounding like banjo patterson and henry lawson, and barry

was a lover of fitzroy, and supported the brisbane lions afl club, and i went to the club i do the bbq for, to watch the game with him and

he left before the end of the match and, i continued to go about my merry way, cooking meals at the rainbow and going on trips with the rainbow

having sing-a=longs and one man, warwick, swam 45 km at once and helen got a fire engine and i sat in it, and a star canberra raiders star

came to vinnies and signed a ball for me and my second year of santa claus went well also, i wrote fly burgers also that year, which was

funny and when i read it out, everyone was laughing along with it and they clapped it, and i read out the fact i missed scott macdonald also

and i went to queensland that year also, and when i got in my santa suit, i was visioning i will tell the kids i am an australian santa and instead of

living on the north pole, i lived right here in canberra but my parents who were strict on keeping kids imaginations flowing, hated me disillusioning

the kids minds, you see here is a poem about the aussie santa

ya see g’day mate i am the real santa

i don’t live at the north pole

i live in canberra australia, ya know the hot place, around christmas day

ya see ya know christmas is great as i do my gigs at vinnies

and as a treat i give out gingerbread men and lollies

you see christmas is fun for all ages dudes, yeah it’s fun oh yeah that’s right mate

i hope you don’t do ya santa gig way to ****** late


you see i thought i was given this gig, to bring the cool into santa

and one year i was doing my gig with an orange soda

who loves orange soda, i love orange soda

is it true, oh yeah it’s true ooh ooh ooh oh yeah

and in the following year, i was feeling fine, and my psychiatrist reduced my medication and that pushed me straight to the psych ward, where i thought

i died, and the psych ward was the gate to heaven and that ended the cool vinnies kid reign but i came back and i was more interested talking with david

and doing santa claus and that year i was checking tapes, but that only lasted 5 months, because there were getting more tapes coming in, i couldn’t keep it up

and santa was the thing, and because i was a good worker, suddenly everyone wanted me, but that was because of my manly charm, and helen left and glenn

came in and he had this little jingle, brian brian brian everything is fine, brian brian brian he’s a friend of mine brian brian brian makes the carpet shine?

you see his name is brian brian brian, and glenn sang that song to me every time i did the vacuuming at the shop and then after a few more santa gigs, glenn left and

paul s came in after vinnies had no boss, but i was still santa claus there and paul s was the official photographer for my santa claus gig, and that made me feel cool

and now, i am not santa anymore, but i really enjoyed the attention.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2015
the donkey-drawn cart etches the night with the remnants of a forgotten soberness, and for all those 1930s american sensibilities that spawned al capone and many more pharmacists of lost names more associated with mt. everest and mt. rushmore - a siamese of both heavy baritone drone song and a lotus dance on the windowsill emerges to illuminate over the cloudy night, so at least one fallen star might strike flint-on-flint with this coal heart; but on a sober note, if whiskey tangles words, let the same whiskey allow the orca thought to exhaust the use of words and make entry into the tomb of sleep more pleasant.*

it was shiva on the windowsill bopping along to
the evolution of classical music:
not much drumming in beethoven, is there?
no wonder modern music took to excess drumming
to the point of shunning the winds and the galloping horses
captured with the lazy swing.
but the best beer i ever drank was - franziskaner weissbier...
i tasted a melody of vanilla in it,
then i downed a bottle of whiskey, and as rich girls
selling advice said: alcoholic men are unavailable...
em... we are... but to cats...
i can get the she cat’s attention in her cushion in the corridor
to walk up to me while i walk down the stairs and
when descending start to wear an imaginary niqab,
she then decides to prance along to my twitchy eye comedy
and the stroke...
we’re available alright... but not for self-help therapy sessions
of two rich girls trying to aim at a powerless caesar with
fear of virtue and criticism - i’d allow your disciples to learn
the same mistakes as you before selling them advice
elephant in heels lawson and rayner - i have a french attitude to death...
ah crap **** crème brûlée (è eats the last e.... crem... and û = oo, like
drool - two point connectivity in the u like i dotted to an i to double up,
and the remaining e is missing, added for annoyance when the
é stresses the bull charge) - when will i regain my body without your subjects?!
tomorrow? golf help me, eagle ahoy!
let them the same freedom you had and **** up,
don’t let them **** up with your advice... at £500 a piece that’s
too much of life wasted... let them **** up as you did and stop giving advice
as a business model for you to **** up some more!
out of the two? persia lawson i’d do blindfolded with her mighty thighs.

p.s. as nietzsche suggested, we will only continue our belief in god if this parallels our belief in grammar, and since i've taken advice to do the opposite and bypass the twinned trajectory of god & grammar (=) having instigated my own presence and prevalence to understand these insignia (≠), i de-categorised several words, leaving each use of a word to float in ambiguity where obvious, although by stating this i also managed to conspire against another thing nietzsche said: a thinker who tells us what is thought and the manner in which it is thought? what a *******! well, my redemption comes from the fact that nietzsche prevailed in a belief in grammar to the extent that his writings are aware of linear limitations of an aphoristic narrative, not the geometric complications spinoza favoured.
jas Aug 2018
Wow. I think to myself, its already 10 AM, i really wasted two hours of my life bullshitting on that pathetic website. But, it was nice to feel like i was doing the community a favor. That is, steering them in the wrongful path of someone that isn't myself. Ironically hysterical.
       I log off and shut my laptop as i take a sip of my coffee that was already cold. Ugh. I dump the rest in my kitchen sink and leave the mug there to be washed later. Procrastination at its finest. Reaching my room i search my closet and grab a dusty old t-shirt and a pair of joggers. Tuesdays were cycling days as well as working out at the rec with my buddies.
       Running close to 50 I'm glad to say i stayed in great shape. Most people let themselves go. But not me. Of course, i would rather overpower my trophies, rather victims. Plus, the lean strong type of body attracts the younger woman. They melt away at the thought of a strong older man to care for them. A nurturing man, that is one mask i enjoy. Mainly because it gets me ***. Who can resist?
      I reach into the hall closet and pull out the bag of cat food. Hmm, almost empty. Note to self, buy cat food. Ares , meaning God of war, has been with me for about 2 years now. One late night of me sitting on my back porch i heard meowing in the back of my alley. So tiny and helpless, all wet and covered in mud. I took him in as my own.
        He pretty much keeps to himself, much like me. Perhaps, in such ways i am also like a cat, minus the sleep. Quiet, tends to his own needs, watches from a distance out the window searching for prey. Maybe that's why i keep him around.
        The sun shines bright enough making me squint my eyes all the way to my car. A classic 1969 ZL1 Chevrolet Camaro , V8 engine, up to 500 horsepower perfectly made just for me. Not compared to the camaros nowadays, complete trash if you ask me. Nobody appreciates the classic older culture but of course society changes everyday.
        About 30 minutes from Anytime Fitness, the gym that me and my buddies usually meet up at. Although, today i was attending alone. I had much tension to work out given the anxiety of the search for the killer going national. I had about two hours to spare until our cycling group was going to meet up. Perfect.
                Ah, the smell of sweaty ***** in the men's room, followed by too much of that Axe body spray being thrown around to disguise the smell. Yeah, because that works. They really should invest in some Febreeze if you ask me.
I approach my locker and put my duffel bag away. Really all i need is my water bottle and my pair of favorite headphones.
            Treadmills are the devil. Cardio is the devil in fitness form. But yet i never miss a day. The longest 20 minutes of my life. And that's just the warm up. HA. Continuing with my workout , dripping in sweat, i wonder if i too smell like a dumpster. Leg days are always the easiest for me.
           I approach the locker showers and quickly rinse off the stench. Of course, unlike these men, I engage with body wash and deodorant. Drying off my skin, i sit for a minute and realize i am just going to sweat outside some more once me and the boys hit the trail. How unfortunate. At least i wont smell entirely bad.
      
-----------------------------------------------------------------­--------------------------------
    
                Old Fall River Road , our favorite spot to cycle. Located in the all but famous Rocky Mountain National Park. We all enjoyed it because there was basically no traffic to be bothered by and not many people dared to walk the trail. Of course being 12,000 feet from sea level and a long curvy road with no guard rail to keep you from falling, who would want to? I do enjoy a thrill.
         Parker Anderson and Miles Lawson, two of the best sons of guns i could ever meet. Parker was a real estate agent and actually sold me my house. That's how we met actually. Somehow we bonded over our love of shooting guns at the range, fishing and of course getting drunk. Occasionally every Friday, we head out to any local bar, grab a few brews and just relax. Talking **** and picking up girls, our two best qualities.
           And than there is Miles. He's about 5 years older than me but his features show him younger. Must be ******* nice. He's married with two kids well off in college now. He was a friend of Parker's first before i ever got introduced to him. Overall great guy with a wicked sense of humor. Wicked enough for me.
           Parker approaches me first with a handshake and Miles with a casual nod.
  Parker  -  " Yo, what's up bud? Getting bigger I see."
  Miles -   "Yeah from jacking off I bet" ,as he grins and chuckles.
   Parker - " And? Nothing wrong with that."
     " Alright guys, y'all done? I'm ready to hit this trail." I say. Honestly i just didn't feel the need for gossip. Keeping up with my mask of a social life was tougher than people make it seem.
    Miles " Yeah yeah just don't want me ******' on you. Alright let's go, my wife wants me home in time for dinner at five. Who the **** has dinner so early? I'm going to be hungry within the next two hours."
    Me-    " Bro, you're literally always eating. I don't know how it hasn't caught up to you."
    Parker - " OK boys, enough chit chat. Let'***** it."

        We really should have thought this through. Colorado weather was roughly in the 60's nearing this time of year, but man that sun sure was something. Cycling our way up the trail gave us a moment of pure silence.
Building our stamina all the way to the top and then resting for a few gulps of water.
     " Nobody should have to do cardio more than twice a week, let alone twice a day."
      Parker - " Twice? Who you running from? The cops?"
      Miles - " Yeah right, i bet the cops would be running from him."
Well, they got that right. Either way made sense , but i just grinned.
  " I worked out right before i came to meet up with you guys. How you think I look this good? Not everyone can appear so young like Miles."
   Miles - " Jealous *******."

        We continue cycling down the path and finally reach the end after about two long hours.
       "****, I don't know about y'all but I'm burnt."
      Miles - " Oh **** me, its already 4:25, at this point and all this traffic I'm cutting it close."
   Parker - " Tight leash, huh?"
      Miles - " My wife is always on my *** about something. Says I'm always out with y'all and not home. Clingy as ****."
" You know you remind me why i never did the whole married life scheme. Too much drama. And for what? Love?"
     Parker - " Ay, I still believe in love after all it's worth."
     Miles - " Well yeah, don't get me wrong I love her. Can't live without her, but **** does she get on my nerves."
     Ah, love. I experienced it once. I was in my early 20's , still fresh meat in the military, and met her when i was stationed in some tiny town up in Texas. She was the most gorgeous girl I ever laid eyes on. Met her at bar , actually. Can you believe she had the nerve to come up to me and introduce herself? I was in shock. Love at first sight.
      Of course , everything comes to and end and i was already being transferred to a different location. I had offered her to come with me and she declined. Said her life was here and she didn't want to be traveling around. She wanted stability and to be settled down. She didn't want me. I was devastated and left without saying goodbye. Last time i ever felt love.
       We continued to walk our bikes to the cars, on account of more traffic and civilians crowding it up.
        Miles - " Alright guys, I'm already late so catch up with you later."
Parker looks at me. " Okay, what do you say, wanna grab some brews?"
" Nah, let'***** it on Friday. Your boy needs to rest. This old age ain't no joke."
He rolls his eyes at me. " I guess. Just hit me up." And he climbs into his mustang and jets off.
  
        Once I reached my house I quickly jumped in the shower, AGAIN. I heat up some leftover chicken from the other night and turn on the news.
            *" Local news authorities report the release of the suspected custody, Dave Anderson. According to his lawyers, he was released based on insufficient evidence. This means in fact that the Woods-bury killer is still out there. We advise you to stay safe and indoors. If you have any leads please feel free to call our hotline 1-800-1111. " *
      ****, i knew he would be released sooner or later. That just means the police are searching for the real killer. Me. Although, I wouldn't call myself a killer. I put people out of their misery. I save people who need it. If only they'd understand and let it go. After all , it was only 5 bodies. Might just make it six so i can have someone to pin it on.
        Killing is bad. Don't do it. What kinda monster could you be? Yet, people **** animals everyday with their famous hunting ritual. That goes unnoticed. We are carnivores, meaning we are hunters.
          Explain the difference between humans and animals and only one I can find is that we are 'civilized'. Ha. Civilization is some kind of simulation brought onto humans thinking we have some sort of control over our lives. Control. Authority has played a big part in my life, since i was in diapers.
     Parents tend to have control of their offspring. Until, the child reaches a certain peak that spirals into denying the control. Losing the main dominance in such a relationship causes arguments and such. I, on the other hand, followed my parents control. I knew my position and i played it quite well.
     On my 18th birthday, both my parents ended up passing away. Murdered while i was away with friends. Adulthood had an all new meaning. If this meant losing your parents, so be it. I needed structure but i knew i couldn't find it at college.
       Hello marines. I left with no chance to grieve. I grew into the person I became today.Being in the war so young taught me great value of certain things. I had nothing to lose except my innocence. I had control. Kills became that much easier. Fun, even. 20 years of living life on edge and I ******* loved it.
       Once i got out, the urge was still there. Festering inside of me.
I had to find a way to **** it, but the only way I knew was killing. Thus, hello Woods-Bury killer. Aka , me.
woods-bury killer continued... still a work in progress
Chloe Cresse Sep 2013
A situation happened a couple of years ago
Pain no one will ever know
I was pressured and forced to be right
but on the inside I knew I would never win this fight

Every night I would cry alone
Sometimes I thought about taking my life, yes my very own
I walked into the court house on July 5th or my birthday
Only to be forced to be sent away

I still feel your tears as you wept on my shoulder
Please don't cry.
Stand Tall Old Soldier.


I remember driving away that day
Watching everything turn to gray
I thought you would never forgive me
I was only doing what Lawson wanted I plea

Now I only see you 15 times a year
I wish everything was clear
You were my faith, my rock, everything I had
but others would call you my loving dad.
This is a VERY old poem of mine that still has a lot of meaning to me. I wrote it on February 11, 2013. Now my life is clear and I am happy.
I have a loving family, trustworthy friends, and poetry who will always help me release emotions. I remember reading this poem to my poetry club last year. I couldn't help myself but cry.  Although it felt like like I was looking through a thin layer of water, I still stayed up there and finished... I love my father with all my heart and soul. No, he isn't the perfect dad but no dad is. No matter what I will love him forever <3
I sense life’s precarious balance    hushed
Stilled    moving to the negative
Our aging rusty colored companion
Lying camouflaged on his brown tattered rug snug
In front of the warmth of the fireplace
Appears uncommonly restless
The living room Kmart clock    a
Plastic cheapness hanging between two white candles
Gives a strike    a moment today or tomorrow

It is bloodless white mid-morning the dog with a start
Throws head back making tags ring letting loose a feeble howl
Our bodies give a quick convulsive ****.
Innate fear acknowledges.
Coming distant its portentous screams shatters    sneaks
Into being     matter of factly taking sway of our simple lives
We sit in coated silence awaiting the
Arrival.

Defeated we stand
Early frost beneath the skeletal body of the silver maple
Grey shapes emanate from the silent visitor
Take form holding her brown corduroys and red sweater

Mom is pushed by unseen hand to her kness
Head bowed no sound
Her only movement hysteria of shoulders.
The tree bark softens allowing dad’s right hand
His face bathed in earthly blood
Gazes upward      my eyes follow up through the maple
Autumn bared     the stars shine beyond the naked limbs.

“Mr. Lawson, we found this underwear along with the clothes in the trunk of a parked car out on Bell Road close to the pond. We’re going to get some more men out there to drag it.”

The underwear was stained with blood.

The family huddles around the fire in the sanctuary of home
As the nets sieve the frigid waters of the silent pond.

Darby jumps up onto dad’s lap
His hand unknowing strokes the
Reddish fur    his eyes as the dogs
Shut to offerings given
Mom sits in the kitchen on the
Edge of a wicker back chair
Taken from grandma’s house
She is holding sister’s white tennis
Shoes against her chest
Rocking back forth back forth
I stand with my left arm crooked
Around the back of her neck
Remembering we once went fishing
At the pond on Bell Road
The hand strokes her heavy black hair

Out the window first light
Shows the tree line of the ridge
The net is empty

Mom is done
She get’s up to brew more coffee
While dad and I go outside to sit on the grey flaking
Front porch and confront the passive morning
Absently I read the comics
Dad lights up a Lucky Strike
The smoke issuing from the mouth
And nose coalesces with that rising from the water
Laden grass     he looks at me
I put down the paper   helpless in the
Company of his pain
Flipping the **** onto the newly graveled driveway
He stands   releasing me
It is still
We listen silently to the lone ringing
From the bell tower of Corinth Church
Up on the hill beckoning the people to
Worship the Methodist brand of God.

Somehow I knew
Dad walks   then runs   toward an old woman
Coming from around the corner from
Behind the woods   she is stumbling
Along the roadside as if drunk or lost
The old woman begins to turn away but – doesn’t
Dad picks her up cradling her as an infant
He slowly walks toward the house
The silence of the bell a muted scream

She is covered in an old grey granny dress
Imprinted with small purple and yellow flowers
Her bare feet are bleeding

After the others had their fun
One of the six
A middle aged man
Had taken her to a dilapidated barn
With **** skins spread eagle on the walls
While moving the sharp edge of a fish cleaning
Knife up down up down between her labial lips
He offered “Cry and holler all you want! You have no home to go back to.
We burned it! Burned it straight to the ground with your precious
Family inside.”

After his play the man took her to
His grandmother’s house up on Ridgeview Road
Just a couple of miles from ours
The old woman looked upon her nakedness and
With the dress   blessed her.
From the vacuous room a whispered
“Jesus Forgive Us “was heard.
A poem that has been published numerous times. I am considering a re-write....any thoughts....
Marsya Ian Dec 2013
Love approaches just when you're about to turn around
Giving up or fall down
Love gives you an intense hope and glowing promises
Nods down with any compromises
Love offers you someone who is more charming than the tempting world
No matter how clever the magic twirled
Love cheers you up for no good reason
Caught yourself smiling when Lawson's aired on
Love steers you to whatsoever that is possible
Including destroying something impossible

Love walks off ruthlessly without any remorse
Forgot the way it magnetize you like an attractive force
Love broke off the agreement and vivid faith
Cruelly put an end to something you create
Love shows how life propose something greater than loving a person
Makes you clueless of what to do then things get worsen
Love now seems to gloom every side of you
Minimize your spirits into few
Love steers you to whatsoever that is possible
Including destroying something impossible
Michael ayodeji Mar 2018
PREACHER MAN

What  use is of a sound?
Which fails to marry the dancer step
What good is of a song
Which does not appeal to the ear
What good is a sermon
Which does not remind man of empyrean

A singer is as good as his song
A preacher is as good as his sermon
But what good use is both him and his handwork
When they are egregious
With no iota of morality

Sermon that is mendacious
Therefore, preach me no more your sermon of insanity
Because when you preach it
I see lugubrious faces of men of my race
Because when you preach it
I see deluge of blood of slaughtered men of my nation
Because when you preach it
I hear the wailing of the native of the street

Preach me not the sermon of democracy
Also when you ring the gingle of your sermon into my hearing
The death of justice and truth
Rings in chambers of my mind

Preach me not the sermon of democracy
When it is kakistocracy
Preach me not the sermon of bravery
When they are never seen

Preacher man
Preach me not your sermon
Until it is innoxious

By
Ayodeji Lawson lawmyk
©2018
Michael ayodeji Mar 2018
GENOCIDE
.
The Thunder stuck
Pillars got hurt
Dreams got blunt
Wishes ceased to come
.
The fire started
The house got burnt
The fire sang the lullaby
The flames danced to it, the steps of ballet
Suddenly, it changed
The skin of our aged wall
What is this again?
.
A strange boot broke the door latch
"Who is there?"we asked,
A dumb being answered
in a primitive language
"Who are you?"
This was my question
But hard knocks gave me answers
.
Bad thoughts ran into my skull
But I ward them off with a slap
"It's not my turn"I said,
.
Spirits dying
Hands trembled
Words remained unvoiced
Actions ceased to be done
Leaves remained impotent
Strong men hid under their women
At the sight of  the beings
Who are not humans
They are around
Those two legged rodents
Who disturbs our farms
with their four legged wards
Those who defiled
Our old lady
Sons of Eli
The Elder brother driving the nay-tion's truck
The younger one planting nails on its routes
.
They have traded
their one plank flocking bridge
With the American deadly sticks
They let out a boom
On an innocent soul
He raised a hand as if to bless
He immediately dropped it violently
and let his eyes  Opened
The man died!
.
The earth refused to accommodate us
It protest
When the diggers kisses it
We wept
Our tears flows to the stream
And it rejects them swiftly
And the dirge turns to our anthem
Our ancestors clasp their hands
And watch us die
.
Lo!
A major fragment of the globe is dying
They just committed a genocide
.
By
Ayodeji Lawson lawmyk
.©2018
Danni May 2014
When I return,
I'm running.
Running home,
I'm running.

Home to where the tan sand lays,
beaten by the waves that just want
        to stay.
Home to where we sail
till Lawson becomes a snail,

so small and so unnoticed,
like the little town covered in tourists.
Boston to my right,
and Gloucester in sight.

We tell stories around the flames,
put the passing train in shame.
Looking up at the floating embers
as they become stars to remember.

Lighting up the harbor, rock by rock,
keep the candle going with all your
        luck.
The Luminaria will make you gasp,
the little town is hard to grasp.

So little with so much beauty,
my little town is an opportunity.
Art by hand
and art by land.

When I return,
I'm running.
Running home,
I'm running.
Emma Whittle Apr 2017
I'm up for grabs
But you would never grab
You hold me knowing that I can't be held,
And knowing that to hold is not to have.

-JonArno Lawson
Michael ayodeji Apr 2018
***** AND GOMORRAH

A perverted city
Whose occupants
Unseats the natural order
Wonderful city of mysteries
Where truth smells martyr
And falsehood wallow in legitimatecy

A *****
Where sodomites *******
Hookers bookers
We find solace in our deeds

Smokes from hose
Fills thé house
Yet we call on the lord of host
So in empyrean we might get a post

Skulls as Cups
Bloods as wines
Sacked bills
Paralysed our conscience
We never got to understand
The temporality of the temporal

Our city,
The euphoriant
Which makes the ticket of empyrean
Slipped away from our palms
In the temporal space
We will rest but not in peace
we are sodomites
Forever we will be

By
LAWSON À MICHAEL
Michael ayodeji Apr 2018
A perverted city
Whose occupants
Unseats the natural order
Wonderful city of mysteries
Where truth smells martyr
And falsehood wallow in legitimatecy

A *****
Where sodomites *******
We found solace in our deeds
But the opportunity of the second phase eludes us

Skulls as Cups
Bloods as wines
Our existence grace dwindle
We never got to understand
The temporality of the temporal

Our city,
The euphoriant
Which makes the ticket of empyrean
Slipped away from our palms
In the temporal space
We will rest but not in peace
Because we are sodomites


By

Michael A Lawson
Michael ayodeji Mar 2018
THE SEED OF TALENT

.The mustard seed
Fell on the thorny part
It found it death

.The winter marƙed its funeral
The summer
markeɗ it resurrection
Now green has becomes it hue

.The amorphous unrefined pebble
Has wiggled leisurely
To the workroom of the goldsmith
He has made
the iron passed it's aggression on it
And it ***** ***** has turned golden

.The one quarter of the talent
Has found its way
to the care of a productive servant
Riches has he made from a little talent


.Green has it becomes
The mustard seed of talent
Golden has it become
The amorphous pebble Of divine gift
Riches has he made
From the little talent

By
Ayodeji Lawson lawmyk
©2018
Michael ayodeji Aug 2018
GOOD MORNING. DEVIL

Your eyes you close oh saucy sun
You oceans our first sons are gone with you
The frith we called our abode
Its the patheon of the seven headed viper

The morning comes with tearful noise
Hands journeyed to north, and legs to south
Heads rolls from the cut of an invisible axe
Its the death of devoted worshippers

What path have we troden?
Who called our master an impotent?
Where is the entrance to the forgone shrine?

We are mortals
Who believes in our immortals
In Our finest robe we danced to their dirge
We have God but seeks gods
We have chosen this path, and forever we will be theirs

Esu bear us witness, we rejoiced when you descended
But in the ides of march
In your house we paid tributes
But here we are with tribulations
Today of all days
You sit with your neck to the sky
Staring at us, with palms on cheeks

Your chains we pulled
Our hearts is free of palm-oil
Give us peace we clamor
Your gold we want not
Give us joy, you decline
Though, you are not a god to serve everyday
But your praises we will sing all day
Good morning




Lawson ayodeji Michael
06-08-2018
13;00
I like this poem because its talks more about rituals
Michael ayodeji May 2018
DARK DAYS

If Only,
I could mute the tick of the clock
And give it's hands a moment of respite
I will go gaga in the joy of doing so

If only,
the craft can take me back
Back to the dark days
when skins compliments care
I will surely pay my
driver a million dollar

If only,
Those days could be my messenger
I will give it a job to
peep into its successors
A microscope I will get for it
Because I know
Tears of agony will run down it's cheeks
That it's tomorrow has made us fail it

If only,
The sun could standstill
And tomorrow refuse to come
We will be glad to be young forever

Surely,
they have gone into obscurity
Days that comes with joy
Have in your amorphous minds
That the souls in your tomorrow has failed you
But yet
They Awaits your return
In the second phase


By
LAWSON A MICHAEL
©2018
TheRadicalThespian
Michael ayodeji Apr 2018
ADIEU TO A GOOD NAME

Diamond amidst stone
A deity in the patheon
Shinning star in the wide blue sky
Was my name before it demise
Farewell to it

It stood gallantly by me
From the very seconds
I stepped into an elusive world
We came together
But I was careless enough to let go of it

A good name is a god to midas
So also was mine
But the ****** of its existence
Rang it's bell the moment,i forgot my source
My tears ran to the ocean

The world a thief
Life a rogue
They stole the gold
A glitter they gave in return

It's letters ran into the furnace of doom
Embers it's has become
It's remains is gone
with the ferocious cyclone

Its a coin tossed into an ocean
Never shall it be found
It's a bomb blast victim
Never shall it's pieces be found
It's dead and gone to the seventh heavens
In obscurity it resides forever

I mourn a good name
I shed tears of a lost diamond
I will live to sing it's dirge all day
Farewell to a good name

By
LAWSON A MICHAEL
Michael ayodeji Apr 2018
FANATIC

In liturgies,
He never missed the front pew
Paid rapt attention to every syllablic sound
he believed that was his sword
He was a combatant of christ

He kneeled at the slightest order
Pressed his lips hard to the cross
The wafer,was his daily bread
He never sat with the one that smokes
He thought , the commandments he broke
"He was a sinner", he said

He never gave to Cesar's
What's Cesar's
He never respected the temporal principles
Said "I'm of heaven".

It's time,he heard the clarion call
Amidst stream of tears
He was thrown into obscurity
He opened his eyes lids
At the gate of empyrean,he found himself
Here I am",he shouted
With confidence he banged on heaven's gate
But the gate keeper didn't relate
What's wrong?
Have they embarked on strike actions?
Is he deaf?

He asked the chauffeur behind the wheel
Am I not worthy of a compartment here?
But he doffed his crown
Saying, "We don't give rooms to dogmatist"

He sorted to see  empyrean authorities
To make his ordeals known
But he had no luxury of time
In the pit of fire
He burned to embers.

By
Ayodeji Michael LAWSON
©2018
Michael ayodeji Mar 2018
Man of no race
Beast of no forest
Animal of no species

In the middle of the day
Serves as man's saviour
Always dotting,nursing man's wound
But at the darkess hour
As vampires , ******* on man's blood
Is that your appetizer?

Man rest for him not to die
Only for him to wake up and see...
Blood...A deluge of blood
Flowing beneath him
And this marks his journey to the great beyond
                
Beast of no nation
Man of no birth
Turns the nation into a bogaboo
Streets flowing with blood not waters
The earth dance in agony
Whenever the digger hits it
It is the entry of another innocent soul

Pots filled with man flesh
Hands as breakfast, feet's as lunch,
Dinner Comes with blood
Coffin as dinning table
Is that what you need to quench your hunger?

Man of no race
Beast of no forest
Animal of no species
Homeless beast

By
Ayodeji Lawson LAWMYK
©2018
Michael ayodeji Aug 2018
DEATH WE CALL NOT DEBT

Sounds from the rambling and mumbling
Of minds, to the outer fringes of life
With open hands we embrace grace
But we stumble in the race
We hit the hard side, but we won't  break
In joy we leap in the lake
The lake of the worlds

Bills fly's
Fortunes hoovers
Like a baby looking unto her mother
We stir and stare
But yet  fortune dews never fall
We dine with chicken feeds
That hardly feeds chickens

If fortunes avoid our path
Let death hoover like a bat
With open hands we will pat its back
But its counterpart draws it back
Death its you  we call not debt
We are bretherns, worldly not
Yet shall experience heavens wrath
Where do we go from here
Heaven or hell?

We are the brave traitor
The land that bred us, we desecrate
On the blade of our swords
Readily going for tour
not to heavens gate
But to the forgone part of the worlds
Because debt wish us death not

By
Lawson ayodeji Michael
19-07-18
19:00
By me Lawson. Ayodeji Michael
AD ASTRA  

by

TOD HOWARD HAWKS


Chapter 1

I am Tod Howard Hawks. I was born on May 14, 1944 in Dallas, Texas. My father, Doral, was stationed there. My mother, Antoinette, was with him. When WWII ended, the family, which included my sister, Rae, returned home to Topeka, Kansas.

My father grew up in Oakland, known as the part of Topeka where poor white people lived. His father was a trolley-car conductor and a barber. Uneducated, he would allow only school books into his house. My father, the oldest of six children, had two paper routes--the morning one and the evening one. My father was extremely bright and determined. On his evening route, a wise, kind man had his own library and befriended my father. He loaned my father books that my father stuffed into his bag along with the newspapers. My father and his three brothers shared a single bed together, not vertically, but horizontally; and when everyone was asleep, my father would grab the book the wise and kind man had loaned him, grab a candle and matches, crawled under the bed, lit the candle, and began reading.

Now the bad and sad news:  one evening my father's father discovered his son had been smuggling these non-school books into his home. The two got into a fist-fight on the porch. Can you imagine fist-fighting your father?

A few years later, my father's father abandoned his family and moved to Atchinson. My father was the oldest of the children;  thus, he became the de facto father of the family. My father's mother wept for a day, then the next day she stopped crying and got to the Santa Fe Hospital and applied for a job. The job she got was to fill a bucket with warm, soapy water, grab a big, thick brush, get on her knees and began to brush all the floors clean. She did this for 35 years, never complained, and never cried again. To note, she had married at 15 and owned only one book, the Bible.  My father's mother remains one of my few heroes to this day.


Chapter 2

My parents had separate bedrooms. At the age of 5, I did not realize a married couple usually used one bedroom. It would be 18 years later when I would find out why my mother and my father slept in separate bedrooms.

When I was 5 and wanted to see my father, I would go to his room where he would lie on his bed and read books. My father called me "Captain." As he lay on his bed, he barked out "Hut, two, three, four! Hut, two three, four!" and I would march to his cadence through his room into the upstairs bathroom, through all the other rooms, down the long hallway, until I reentered his bedroom. No conversation, just marching.

As I grew a bit older, I asked my father one Sunday afternoon to go to Gage Park where there were several baseball diamonds. I was hoping he would pitch the ball to me and I would try to hit it. Only once during my childhood did we do this.

I attended Gage Elementary School. Darrell Chandler and I were in the same third-year class. Nobody liked Darrell because he was a bully and had a Mohawk haircut. During all recesses, our class emptied onto the playground. Members of our class regularly formed a group, except Darrell, and when Darrell ran toward the group, all members yelled and ran in different directions to avoid Darrell--everyone except me. I just turned to face Darrell and began walking slowly toward him. I don't know why I did what I did, but, in retrospect, I think I had been born that way. Finally, we were two feet away from each other. After a long pause, I said "Hi, Darrell. How ya doing?" After another long pause, Darrell said "I'm doing OK." "Good," I said. That confrontation began a friendship that lasted until I headed East my junior year in high school to attend Andover.

In fourth grade, I had three important things happen to me. The first important thing was I had one of the best teachers, Ms.Perrin, in my formal education through college.  And in her class, I found my second important  thing:  my first girlfriend, Virginia Bright (what a wonderful last name!). Every school day, we had a reading section. During this section, it became common for the student who had just finished reading to select her/his successor. Virginia and I befriended each other by beginning to choose each other. Moreover, I had a dream in which Virginia and I were sitting together on the steps of the State Capitol. When I woke up, I said to myself:  "Virginia is my girlfriend." What is more, Virginia invited me to go together every Sunday evening to her church to learn how to square dance. My father provided the transportation. This was a lot of fun. The third most important thing was on May Day, my mother cut branches from our lilac bushes and made a bouquet for me to give Virginia. My mother drove me to Virginia's home and I jumped out of our car and ran  up to her door, lay down the bouquet, rang the buzzer, then ran back to the car and took off. I was looking forward to seeing Virginia in the fall, but I found out in September that Virginia and her family had left in the summer to move to another town.

Bruce Patrick, my best friend in 4th grade, was smart. During the math section, the class was learning the multiplication tables. Ms. Perrin stood tn front of the students holding 3 x 5 inch cards with, for example, 6 x 7 shown to the class with the answer on the other side of the card. If any student knew the correct answer (42), she/he raised her/his arm straight into the air. Bruce and I raised our arms at the same time. But during the reading section, when Ms. Perrin handed out the same new book to every student and said "Begin reading," Bruce, who sat immediately to my right, and everyone else began reading the same time on page #1. As I was reading page #1, peripherally I could see he was already turning to page #2, while I was just halfway down page #1. Bruce was reading twice as fast as I was! It was 17 years later that I finally found out how and why this incongruity happened.

Another Bruce, Bruce McCollum, and I started a new game in 5th grade. When Spring's sky became dark, it was time for the game to begin. The campus of the world-renown Menninger Foundation was only a block from Bruce's and my home. Bruce and I met at our special meeting point and the game was on! Simply, our goal was for the two of us to begin our journey at the west end of the Foundation and make our way to the east end without being seen. There were, indeed, some people out for a stroll, so we had to be careful not to be seen. Often, Bruce and I would hide in the bushes to avoid detection. Occasionally, a guard would pass by, but most often we would not be seen. This game was exciting for Bruce and me, but more importantly, it would also be a harbinger for me.


Chapter 3

Mostly, I made straight-A's through grade school and junior high. I slowly began to realize it took me twice the time to finish my reading. First, though, I want to tell you about the first time I ever got scared.

Sometime in the Fifth Grade, I was upstairs at home and decided to come downstairs to watch TV in the living room. I heard voices coming from the adjacent bar, the voices of my father and my mother's father. They could not see me, nor I them;  but they were talking about me, about sending me away to Andover in ninth grade. I had never heard of a prep school, let alone the most prominent one in America. The longer I listened, the more afraid I got. I had listened too long. I turned around and ran upstairs.

My father never mentioned Andover again until I was in eighth grade. He told me next week he had to take me to Kansas City to take a test. He never told me what the test was for. Next week I spent about two hours with this man who posed a lot of questions to me and I answered them as well as I could. Several weeks after having taken those tests, my father pulled me aside and showed me only the last sentence of the letter he had received. The last sentence read:  "Who's pushing this boy?" My father should have known the answer. I certainly thought I knew, but said nothing.

During mid-winter, my father drove with me to see one of his Dallas naval  buddies. After a lovely dinner at my father's friend's home, we gathered in a large, comfortable room to chat, and out of nowhere, my father said, "Tod will be attending Andover next Fall." What?, I thought. I had not heard the word "Andover" since that clandestine conversation between my father and my grandfather when I was in Fifth Grade. I remember filling out no application to Andover. What the hell was going on?, I thought.

(It is at this juncture that I feel it is necessary to share with you pivotal information that changed my life forever. I did not find it out until I was 27.

(Every grade school year, my two sisters and I had an annual eye exam. During my exam, the doctor always said, "Tod, tell me when the ball [seen with my left eye] and the vertical line [seen with my right eye] meet." I'd told the doctor every year they did not meet and every year the doctor did not react. He said nothing. He just moved onto the next part of the exam. His non-response was tantamount to malpractice.

(When I was 27, I had coffee with my friend, Michelle, who had recently become a psychologist at Menninger's. She had just attended a workshop in Tulsa, OK with a nationally renown eye doctor who specialized in the eye dysfunction called "monocular vision." For 20 minutes or so, she spoke enthusiastically about what the doctor had shared with the antendees about monocular vision until I could not wait any longer:  "Michelle, you are talking about me!" I then explained all the symptoms of monocular vision I had had to deal without never knowing what was causing them:  4th grade and Bruce Patrick;  taking an IQ test in Kansas City and my father never telling me what the test was or for;  taking the PSAT twice and doing well on both except the reading sections on each;  my father sending me to Andover summer school twice (1959 and 1960) and doing well both summers thus being accepted for admission for Upper-Middler and Senior years without having to take the PSAT.

(Hearing what I told Michelle, she did not hesitate in telling me immediately to call the doctor in Tulsa and making an appointment to go see him, which I did. The doctor gave me three hours of tests. After the last one, the doctor hesitated and then said to me:  "Tod, I am surprised you can even read a book, let alone get through college." I sat there stunned.

(In retrospect, I feel my father was unconsciously trying to realize vicariously his dreams through me. In turn, I unconsciously and desperately wanted to garner his affection;  therefore, I was unconsciously my father's "good little boy" for the first 22 years of my life. Had I never entered therapy at Menningers, I never would have realized my real self, my greatest achievement.)


Chapter 4

My father had me apply to Andover in 8th grade to attend in 9th grade, but nobody knew then I suffered from monocular vision;  hence, my reading score eye was abysmal and I was not accepted. Without even asking me whether I would like to attend Andover summer school, my father had me apply regardless. My father had me take a three-day Greyhound bus ride from Topeka to Boston where I took a cab to Andover.

Andover (formally Phillips Academy, which is located in the town of Andover, Massachusetts) is the oldest prep school in America founded in 1778, two years after our nation was. George Washington's nephew sent his sons there. Paul Revere made the school's seal. George H. W. Bush and his son, George, a schoolmate of mine, (I voted for neither) went to Andover. The current admit rate is 13 out of every 100 applicants. Andover's campus is beautiful. It's endowment is 1.4 billion dollars. Andover now has a need-blind admission policy.

The first summer session I attended was academically rigorous and eight weeks long. I took four courses, two in English and two in math. One teacher was Alan Gillingham, who had his PhD from Oxford. He was not only brilliant, but also kind. My fondness for etymology I got from Dr. Gillingham. Also, he told me one day as we walked toward the Commons to eat lunch that I could do the work there. I will never forget what he told me.

I'm 80, but I still remember how elated I was after my last exam that summer. I flew down the steps of Samuel Phillips Hall and ran to the Andover Inn where my parents were staying. Finally, I thought, it's over. I'm going back to Topeka where my friends lived. Roosevelt Junior High School, here I come! We drove to Topeka, going through New York City, Gettysburg, Springfield, IL, Hannibal, MO, among other places. I was so happy to be home!

9th ninth grade at Roosevelt Jr. High was great! Our football team had a winning season. Ralph Sandmeyer, a good friend of mine, and I were elected co-captains. Our basketball team won the city junior high championship. John Grantham, the star of the team, and I were elected co-captains. And I had been elected by the whole school to be President of the Student Council.
But most importantly, I remember the Snow Ball, once held every year in winter for all ninth-graders. The dance was held in the gym on the basketball court. The evening of the dance, the group of girls stood in one corner, the boys in another, and in the third corner stood Patty all alone, ostracized, as she had always been every school day of each year.

I was standing in the boys group when I heard the music began to play on the intercom, then looked at Patty. Without thinking, I bolted from the boys group and began walking slowly toward her. No one else had begun to dance. When I was a few feet in front of her, I said, "Patty, would you like to dance?" She paused a moment, then said, "Yes." I then took her hand and escorted her to the center of the court. No one else had begun to dance. Patty and I began dancing. When the music ended, I said to Patty, "Would you like to dance again?" Again, she said, "Yes." Still no one but the two of us were dancing. We danced and danced. When the music was over, I took Patty's hand and escorted her back to where she had been standing alone. I said to her, "Thank you, Patty, for dancing with me." As I walked back across the court, I was saying silently to the rest of the class, "No one deserves to be treated this way, no one."

Without a discussion being had, my father had me again apply to Andover. I guess I was too scared to say anything. Once again, I took the PSAT Exam. Once again, I scored abysmally on the English section.  Once again, I was rejected by Andover. And once again, my father had me return to Andover summer school.

Another 8 weeks of academics. Once again, I did well, but once again, I had to spend twice the time reading. Was it just I who realized again that if I could take twice the time reading, I would score well on the written test? Summer was over. My father came to take me home, but first he wanted to speak to the Dean of Admissions. My father introduced himself. Then I said, "I'm Tod Hawks," at which point the Dean of Admissions said enthusiastically:  "You're already in!" The Dean meant I had already been accepted for the Upper-Year, probably because he had noticed how well I had done the past two summers. I just stood there in silence, though I did shake his hand. Not another application, not another PSAT. I was in.

Chapter 5

Terry Modlin, a friend of mine at Roosevelt, had called me one Sunday afternoon the previous Spring. "Tod," he said, "would you like to run for President of the Sophomore Class at Topeka High if I ran as your running mate?" I thought it over, then said to Terry, "Sure."

There were eight junior high schools in Topeka, and in the fall all graduates of all the junior highs attended Topeka High, making more than 800 new sophomores. All elections occurred in early fall. I had two formidable opponents. Both were highly regarded. I won, becoming president. Terry won and became vice-president. Looking back on my life, I consider this victory to be one of my most satisfying victories. Why do I say this? I do, because when you have 800 classmates deciding which one to vote for, word travels fast. If it gets out one of the candidates has a "blemish" on him, that insinuation is difficult to diminish, let alone erase, especially non-verbally. Whether dark or bright, it can make the deciding difference.

Joel Lawson and his girlfriend spoke to me one day early in the semester. They mentioned a friend of theirs, a 9th grader at Capper Junior High whose name was Sherry. The two thought I might be interested in meeting her, on a blind date, perhaps. I said, "Why not?"

The first date Sherry and I had was a "hay-rack" ride. She was absolutely beautiful. I was 15 at that time, she 14. When the "hay-rack" ride stopped, everybody got off the wagon and stood around a big camp fire. I sensed Sherry was getting cold, so I asked if she might like me to take off my leather jacket and put it over her shoulders. That was when I fell in love with her.

I dated Sherry almost my entire sophomore year. We went to see movies and go to some parties and dances, but generally my mother drove me most every Friday evening to Sherry's home and chatted with her mother for a while, then Sherry and I alone watched "The Twilight Zone." As it got later, we made out (hugs and kisses, nothing more). My mother picked me up no later than 11. Before going over to Sherry's Friday night, I sang in the shower Paul Anka's PUT YOUR HEAD ON MY SHOULDER.

I got A's in most of my classes, and lettered on Topeka High's varsity swim team.

Then in late spring word got out that Tod would be attending some prep school back East next year. I walked into Pizza Hut and saw my friend, John.
"Hey, Tod. I saw Sherry at the drive-in movie, but she wasn't with you." My heart was broken. I drove over to her home the next day and confronted her. She just turned her back to me and wouldn't say a thing. I spent the following month driving from home to town down and back listening to Brenda Lee on the car radio singing I'M SORRY, pretending it was Sherry singing it to me.

I learned something new about beauty. For a woman to be authentically beautiful, both her exterior and interior must be beautiful. Sherry had one, but not the other. It was a most painful lesson for me to learn.

Topeka High started their fall semester early in September. I remember standing alone on the golf course as a dark cloud filled my mind when I looked in the direction of where Topeka High was. I was deeply sad. I had lost my girlfriend. I was losing many of my friends. Most everyone to whom I spoke didn't know a **** thing about Andover. My mind knew about Andover. That's why it was growing dark.


Chapter 6

I worked my *** off for two more years. Frankly, I did not like Andover. There were no girls. I used to lie on my bed and slowly look through the New York Times Magazine gazing at the pretty models in the ads. I hadn't even begun to *******. When I wasn't sleeping, when I wasn't in a class, when I wasn't eating at the Commons, I was in the Oliver Wendell Holmes Library reading twice as long as my classmates. And I lived like this for two years. In a word, I was deeply depressed. When I did graduate, I made a silent and solemn promise that I would never set foot again on Andover's campus during my life.

During my six years of receiving the best formal education in the world, I got three (3) letters from my father with the word "love" typed three times. He signed "Dad" three times.

Attending Columbia was one of the best things I have ever experienced in my life. The Core Curriculum and New York City (a world within a city). I majored in American history. The competition was rigorous.  I met the best friends of my life. I'm 80 now, but Herb Hochman and Bill Roach remain my best friends.

Wonderful things happened to me. At the end of my freshman year, I was one of 15 out of 700 chosen to be a member of the Blue Key Society. That same Spring, I appeared in Esquire Magazine to model clothes. I read, slowly, a ton of books. At the end of my Junior year, I was chosen to be Head of Freshman Orientation in the coming Fall. I was "tapped" by both Nacoms and Sachems, both Senior societies, and chose the first, again one of 15 out of 700. My greatest honor was being elected by my classmates to be one of 15 Class Marshals to lead the graduation procession. I got what I believe was the best liberal arts education in the world.

My father had more dreams for me. He wanted me to attend law school, then get a MBA degree, then work on Wall Street, and then become exceedingly rich. I attended law school, but about mid-way into the first semester, I began having trouble sleeping, which only got worse until I couldn't sleep at all. At 5:30 Saturday morning (Topeka time), two days before finals were to begin, I called my mother and father and, for the first time, told them about my sleeping problems. We talked for several minutes during which I told them I was going to go to the Holiday Inn to try to get some sleep, then hung up. I did go to the motel, but couldn't sleep. At 11a.m., there was someone knocking on my door. I got out of bed and opened the door. There stood my father. He had flown to Chicago via Kansas City. He came into my room and the first thing he said was "Take your finals!" I knew if I took my finals, I would flunk all of them. When you can't sleep for several days, you probably can't function very well. When you increasingly have trouble getting to sleep, then simply you can't sleep at all, you are sick. My father kept saying, "Take your finals! "Take your finals!" He took me to a chicropractor. I didn't have any idea why I couldn't sleep at all, but a chicropractor?, I thought. My father left early that evening. By then, I knew what I was going to do. Monday morning, I was going to walk with my classmates across campus, but not to the building where exams were given, but to the building where the Dean had his office. I entered that building, walked up one flight of stairs, and walked into the Dean's office. The Dean was surprised to see me, but was cordial nonetheless. I introduced myself. The Dean said, "Please, have a seat." I did. Then I explained why I came to see him. "Dean, I have decided to attend Officers Candidate School, either the Navy or Air Force. (The Vietnam War was heating up.) The Dean, not surprisingly, was surprised. He said it would be a good idea for me to take my finals, so when my military duties were over, it would be easy for me to be accepted again. I said he was probably right, but I was resolute about getting my military service over first.
He wished me well and thanked him for his time, then left his office. As I returned to my dorm, I was elated. I did think the pressure would be off me  now and I would begin to sleep again.

Wednesday, I took the train to Topeka. That evening, my father was at the station to pick me up. He didn't say "Hello." He didn't say "How are you?"
He didn't say a word to me. He didn't say a single word to me all the way home.

Within two weeks, having gotten some sleep every night, I took first the Air Force test, which was six hours long, then a few days later, I took the Navy test, which was only an hour longer, but the more difficult of the two. I passed both. The Air Force recruiter told me my score was the highest ever at his recruiting station. The recruiter told me the Air Force wanted me to get a master's degree to become an aeronautical engineer.  He told me I would start school in September.  The Navy said I didn't have to report to Candidate School until September as well. It was now January, 1967. That meant I had eight months before I had to report to either service, but I soon decided on the Navy. Wow!, I thought. I have eight whole months for my sleeping problem to dissipate completely. Wow! That's what I thought, but I was wrong.


Chapter 7

After another week or so, my sleeping problems reappeared. As they reappeared, they grew worse. My father grew increasingly distant from me. One evening in mid-March, I decided to try to talk to my father. After dinner, my father always went into the living room to read the evening paper. I went into the living room, saw my father reading the evening paper in a stuffed chair, positioned myself directly in front of him, then dropped to my knees.
He held the paper wide-open so he could not see me, nor I he. Then I said to my father, "Dad, I'm sick." His wide-open paper didn't even quiver. He said, "If you're sick, go to the State Hospital." This man, my father, the same person who willingly spent a small fortune so I would receive the best education in the world, wouldn't even look at me. The world-famous Menninger Clinic, ironically, was a single block from our home, but he didn't even speak to me about getting help at Menninger's, the best psychiatric hospital in the world. This man, my father, I no longer knew.

About two weeks later in the early afternoon, I sat in another stuffed chair in the living room sobbing. My mother always took an afternoon nap in the afternoon, but on this afternoon as I continued to cry profusely, my mother stepped into the living room and saw me in the stuffed chair bawling non-stop, then immediately disappeared. About 15 minutes later, Dr. Cotter Hirschberg, the Associate Director of Southard School, Menninger's hospital for children, was standing in front of me. I knew Dr. Hirschberg. He was the father of one of my best friends, his daughter, Lea. I had been in his home many times. I couldn't believe it. There was Dr. Cotter Hirschberg, one of the wisest and kindest human beings I had ever met, standing directly in front of me. My mother, I later found out, had left the living room to go into the kitchen to use another phone to call the doctor in the middle of a workday afternoon to tell him about me. Bless his heart. Within minutes of speaking to my mother, he was standing in front of me in mid-afternoon during a work day. He spoke to me gently. I told him my dilemma. Dr. Hirschberg said he would speak to Dr. Otto Kernberg, another renown psychiatrist, and make an appointment for me to see him the next day. My mother saved my life that afternoon.

The next morning, I was in Dr. Kernberg's office. He was taking notes of what I was sharing with him. I was talking so rapidly that at a certain point. Dr. Kernberg's pen stopped in mid-air, then slowly descended like a helicopter onto the legal pad he was writing on. He said that tomorrow he would have to talk not only with me, but also with my mother and father.

The next morning, my mother and father joined me in Dr. Kernberg's office.
The doctor was terse. "If Tod doesn't get help soon, he will have a complete nervous breakdown. I think he needs to be in the hospital to be evaluated."
"How long will he need to be in the hospital," asked my father. "About two weeks," said Dr. Kernberg. The doctor was a wee bit off. I was in the hospital for a year.



Chapter 8

That same day, my mother and father and I met Dr. Horne, my house doctor. I liked him instantly. I know my father hated me being in a mental hospital instead of law school. It may sound odd, but I felt good for the first time in a year. Dr. Horne said I would not be on any medication. He wanted to see me "in the raw." The doctor had an aid escort me to my room. This was the first day of a long, long journey to my finding my real self, which, I believe, very few ever do.

Perhaps strangely, but I felt at home being an in-patient at Menninger's. My first realization was that my fellow patients, for the most part, seemed "real" unlike most of the people you meet day-to-day. No misunderstanding here:   I was extremely sick, but I could feel that Menninger's was my friend while my father wasn't. He didn't give a **** about me unless I was unconsciously living out his dreams.

So what was it like being a mental patient at Menninger's? Well, first, he (or she) was **** lucky to be a patient at the world's best (and one of the most expensive) mental hospital. Unlike the outside world, there was no ******* in  Menninger's. You didn't always like how another person was acting, but whatever he or she was doing was real, not *******.

All days except Sunday, you met with your house doctor for around twenty minutes. I learned an awful lot from Dr. Horne. A couple of months after you enter, you were assigned a therapist. Mine was Dr. Rosenstein, who was very good. My social worker was Mabel Remmers, a wonderful woman. My mother, my father, and I all had meetings with Mabel, sometimes singly, sometimes with both my mother and father, sometimes only with me. It was Mabel who told me about my parents, that when I was 4 1/2 years old, my father came home in the middle of the workday, which rarely ever did, walked up the stairs to their bedroom and opened the door. What he saw changed not only his life, but also that of everyone else. On their bed lay my naked mother in the arms of a naked man who my father had never seen until that moment that ruined the lives of everybody in the family. My mother wanted a divorce, but my father threatened her with his determined intent of making it legally impossible ever for her to see her children again. So that's why they had separate bedrooms, I thought. So that is why my mother was always depressed, and that's why my father treated me in an unloving way no loving father would ever do. It was Mabel who had found out these awful secrets of my mother and father and then told me. Jesus!

The theme that keeps running through my head is "NO *******."
Most people on Earth, I believe, unconsciously are afraid to become their real selves;  thus, they have to appear OK to others through false appearances.

For example, many feel a need to have "power," not to empower others, but to oppresss them. Accruing great wealth is another way, I believe, is to present a false image, hoping that it will impress others to think they are OK when they are not. The third way to compensate is fame. "If I'm famous, people will think I'm hot ****. They'll think I'm OK. They'll be impressed and never know the real me."

I believe one's greatest achievement in life is to become your real self. An exceptionally great therapist will help you discover your real self. It's just too scary for the vast majority of people even to contemplate the effort, even if they're lucky enough to find a great therapist. And I believe that is why our world is so ******-up.

It took me almost eight months before I could get into bed and sleep almost all night. At year's end, I left the hospital and entered one of the family's home selected by Menninger's. I lived with this family for more than a year. It was enlightening, even healing, to live with a family in which love flowed. I drove a cab for about a month, then worked on a ranch also for about a month, then landed a job for a year at the State Library in the State Capitol building. The State Librarian offered to pay me to attend Emporia State University to get my masters in Library Science, but I declined his offer because I did not want to become a professional librarian. What I did do was I got a job at the Topeka Public Library in its Fine Arts division.

After working several months in the Fine Arts division, I had a relapse in the summer. Coincidentally, in August I got a phone call at the tiny home I was renting. It was my father calling from the White Mountains in northern Arizona. The call lasted about a minute. My father told me that he would no longer pay for any psychiatric help for me, then hung up. I had just enough money to pay for a month as an in-patient at Menninger's. Toward the end of that month, a nurse came into my room and told me to call the State Hospital to tell them I would be coming there the 1st of December. Well, ****! My father, though much belatedly, got his way. A ******* one minute phone call.
Can you believe it?

Early in the morning of December 1st, My father and mother silently drove me from Menninger's about six blocks down 6th Street to the State Hospital. They pulled up beside the hill, at the bottom of which was the ward I would be staying in. Without a word being spoken, I opened the rear door of the car, got out, then slid down on the heavy snow to the bottom of the hill.

A nurse unlocked the door of the ward (yes, at the State Hospital, doors of each ward were locked). I followed the nurse into a room where several elderly women were sticking cloves into oranges to make decorations for the Christmas Tree. Then I followed her into the Day Room where a number of patients were watching a program on the TV. Then she led me down the corridor to my room that I was going to share with three other male patients. When the nurse left the room, I quickly lay face down spread-eagle of the mattress for the entire day. I was to do this every day for two weeks. When my doctor, whom I had not yet met, became aware of my depressed behavior, had the nurse lock the door of that room. Within several days the doctor said he would like to speak to me in his office that was just outside the ward. His name was Dr. Urduneta from Argentina. (Menninger's trained around sixty MDs from around the world each year to become certified psychiatrists. These MDs went either to the State Hospital or to the VA hospital.) The nurse unlocked the door for me to meet Dr. Urduneta in his office.

I liked Dr. Urduneta from the first time I met him. He already knew a lot about me. He knew I had been working at the Topeka Public Library, as well as a number of other things. After several minutes, he said, "Follow me." He unlocked the door of the ward, opened the door, and followed me into the ward.

"Tod," he said, "some patients spend the rest of their lives here. I don't want that for you. So this coming Monday morning (he knew I had a car), I want you to drive to the public library to begin work from 9 until noon."

"Oh Doctor, I can't do that. Maybe in six or seven months I could try, but not now. Maybe I can volunteer at the library here at the State Hospital," I said.

"Tod, I think you can work now half-days at the public library," said Dr. Urduneta calmly.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing, what he was saying. I couldn't even talk. After a long pause, Dr. Urduneta said, "It was good to meet you, Tod. I look forward to our next talk."

Monday morning came too soon. A nice nurse was helping me get dressed while I was crying. Then I walked up the hill to the parking lot and got into my car. I drove to the public library and parked my car. As I walked to the west entrance, I was thinking I had not let Cas Weinbaum--my boss and one of the nicest women I had ever met--know that I had had a relapse. I had no contact with her or anyone else at the library for several months. Why had I not been fired?, I thought.

As I opened the west door, I saw Cas and she saw me. She came waddling toward me with her arms wide open. I couldn't believe it. And then Cas gave me a long, long hug without saying a word. Finally, she told me I needed to glue the torn pieces of 16 millimeter film together. I was anxious as hell. I lasted 10 minutes. I told Cas I was at the State Hospital, that I had tried to work at the public library, but just couldn't do it. She hugged me again and said nothing. I left the library and drove back to the State Hospital.

When I got to the Day Room, I sat next to a Black woman and started talking to her. The more we talked, the more I liked her. Dr. Urduneta, I was to find out, usually came into the ward later in the day. Every time he came onto the ward, he was swarmed by the patients. I learned quickly that every patient on our ward loved Dr. Urduneta. I sat there for a couple of hours before Dr. Urduneta finally got to me. He was standing, I was sitting. I said, "Dr. Urduneta, I tried very hard to do my job, but I was so anxious I couldn't do it. I lasted ten minutes. I tried, but I just couldn't do it. I'm sorry.
"Dr. Urduneta said, "Tod, that's OK, because tomorrow you're going to try again."



Chapter 9

On Tuesday, I tried again.

I managed to work until 12 noon, but every second felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds. I didn't think I could do it, but I did. I have to give Dr. Urduneta a lot of credit. His manner, at once calm and forceful, empowered me. I continued to work at the library at those hours until early April. At the
beginning of May, I began working regular hours, but remained an in-patient until June.

I had to stay at the hospital during the Christmas holidays. One of those evenings, I left my room and turned left to go to the Day Room. After taking only a few steps, I could see on the counter in front of the nurses's station a platter heaped with Christmas cookies and two gallons of red punch with paper cups to pour the punch in to. That evening remains the kindest, most moving one I've ever experienced. Some anonymous person, or persons, thought of us. What they shared with all of us was love. That evening made such an indelible impression on me that I, often with a friend or my sisters, bought Christmas cookies and red punch. And after I got legal permission for all of us to hand them out, we visited the ward I had lived on. I personally handed Christmas cookies and red punch to every patient who wanted one or both. But I never bothered any patient who did not want to be approached.

On July 1, I shook Dr. Urduneta's hand, thanked him for his great help, and went to the public library and worked a full day. A good friend of mine had suggested that I meet Dr. Chotlos, a professor of psychology at KU. My friend had been in therapy with him for several years and thought I might want to work with him. My friend was right. Dr. Chotlos met his clients at his home in Topeka. I began to see him immediately. I had also rented an apartment. Dr. Urduneta had been right. It had taken me only seven months to recover.

After a little over six months, I had become friends with my co-workers in the Fine Arts department. Moreover, I had come warm friends with Cas whom I had come to respect greatly. My four co-workers were a pleasure to work with as well.

There were around eighty others who worked at the library, one of whom prepared the staff news report each month. I had had one of my poems published in one of the monthly reports. Mr. Marvin, the Head Librarian, had taken positive note of my poem. So when that fellow left for another job, Mr. Marvin suggested to the Staff Association President that I might be a good replacement, which was exactly what happened. I had been only a couple of months out of the State Hospital, so when I was asked to accept this position, I was somewhat nervous, I asked my girlfriend, Kathy, if I should accept the offer, she said I should. I thought it over for a bit more time because I had some new ideas for the monthly report. Frankly, I thought what my predecessor's product was boring. It had been only a number of sheets of paper 8 1/2 by 14 inches laid one on the others stapled once in the upper left corner. I thought if I took those same pieces of paper and folded them in their middle and stapled them twice there, I'd have a burgeoning magazine. Also, I'd give my magazine the title TALL WINDOWS, as I had been inspired by the tall windows in the reading room, windows as high as the ceiling and almost reached the carpet. Readers could see the outdoors through these windows, see the beautiful, tall trees, their leaves and limbs swaying in the breeze, and often the blue sky. Beautiful they were.

Initially, I printed only 80 TALL WINDOWS, one for each of the individuals working in the library, but over time, our patrons also took an interest in the magazine. Consequentially, I printed 320 magazines, 240 for those patrons who  enjoyed perusing TALL WINDOWS. The magazines were distributed freely. Cas suggested I write LIBRARY JOURNAL, AMERICAN LIBRARIES, and WILSON LIBRARY BULLETIN, the three national magazines read by virtually by all librarians who worked in public and academic libraries across the nation. AMERICAN LIBRARIES came to Topeka to photograph and interview me, then put both into one of their issues. Eventually, we had to ask readers outside of TOPEKA PUBLIC LIBRARY to subscribe, which is to pay a modest sum of money to receive TALL WINDOWS. I finally entitled this magazine, TALL WINDOWS, The National Public Magazine. In the end, we had more than 4.000 subscribers nationwide. Finally, TALL WINDOWS launched THE NATIONAL LIBRARY LITERARY REVIEW. In the inaugural issue, I published several essays/stories. This evolution took me six years, but I was proud of each step I had taken. I did all of this out of love, not to get rich. Wealth is not worth.

My mother had finally broken away from my father and moved to Scottsdale, Arizona. I decided to move to Arizona, too. So, in the spring of 1977, I gathered my belongings and my two dogs, Pooch and Susie, and managed to put everything into my car. Then I headed out. I was in no rush. I loved to travel through the mountains of Colorado, then across the northern part of Arizona, turning left at Flagstaff to drive to Phoenix where I rented an apartment.

I needed another job, so after a few days I drove to Phoenix Publishing Company. I had decided to see Emmitt Dover, the owner, without making an appointment. The secretary said he was busy just now, but would be able to see me a bit later, so I took a seat. I waited about an hour before Mr. Dover opened his office door, saw me, then invited me in. I introduced myself, shook hands, then gave him my resume. He read it and then asked me a number of pertinent questions. I found our meeting cordial. Mr. Dover had been pleased to meet me and would get back to me as soon as he was able.
I thanked him for his time, then left. Around 3:30 that afternoon, the phone rang. It was Mr. Dover calling me to tell me I had a new job, if I wanted it.
I would be a salesman for Phoenix Magazine and I accepted his offer on his terms. I thank him so much for this opportunity. Mr. Dover asked me if I could start tomorrow. I said I would start that night, if he needed me to. He said tomorrow morning would suffice and chuckled a bit. I also chuckled a bit and told him I so appreciated his hiring me. I said, "Mr. Dover, I'll see you tomorrow at 8:00 am."

I knew I could write well, but I had no knowledge of big-time publishing.
This is important to know, because I had a gigantic, nationwide art project in mind to undertake. In all my life, I've always felt comfortable with other people, probably because I enjoy meeting and talking with them so much. I worked for Phoenix Publishing for a year. Then it was time for me to quit, which I did. I had, indeed, learned a lot about big-time publishing, but it was now time to begin working full-time on my big-time project. The name of the national arts project was to be:  TALL WINDOWS:  The National Arts Annual. But before I began, I met Cara.

Cara was an intelligent, lovely young woman who attracted me. She didn't waste any time getting us into bed. In short order, I began spending every night with her. She worked as the personnel director of a large department store. I rented a small apartment to work on my project during the day, but we spent every evening together. After a year, she brought up marriage. I should have broken up with her at that time, but I didn't. I said I just wasn't ready to get married. We spent another year together, but during that time, I felt she was getting upset with me, then over more time, I felt she often was getting angry with me. I believe she was getting increasingly angry at me because she so much wanted to marry me, and I wasn't ready. The last time I suggested we should break up, Cara put her hand on my wrist and said "I need you." She said she would date other men, but would still honor our intimate agreement. We would still honor our ****** relationship, she said. Again I went against my intuition, which was dark and threatening. I capitulated again. I trusted her word. It was my fault that I didn't follow my intuition.

Sunday afternoon came. I said she should come over to my apartment for a swim. She did. But in drying off, when she lifted her left leg, I saw her ***** that had been bruised by some other man, not by me. I instantly repressed seeing her bruised *****. We went to the picnic, but Cara wanted to leave after just a half-hour. I drove her back to my apartment where she had parked her car. I kissed her good-bye, but it was the only time her kiss had ever been awkward. She got into her car and drove away. I got out of my car and began to walk to my apartment, but in trying to do so, I began to weave as I walked. That had never happened to me before. I finally got to the door of my apartment and opened it to get in. I entered my apartment and sat on my couch. When I looked up at the left corner of the ceiling, I instantly saw a dark, rectangular cloud in which rows of spirals were swirling in counter-clockwise rotation. Then this menacing cloud began to descend upon me. My hands became clammy. I didn't know what the hell was happening. I got off the couch and reached the phone. I called Cara. She answered and immediately said, "I wish you wanted to get married." I said "I saw your bruised *****. Did you sleep with another man?" I said, "I need to know!" She said she didn't want to talk about that and hung up. I called her back and said in an enraged voice I needed to know. She said she had already told me.
At that point, I saw, for the only time in my life, cores about five inches long of the brightest pure white light exit my brain through my eye sockets. At that instant, I went into shock. All I could say was "Cara, Cara, Cara." For a week after, all I could do was to spend the day walking and walking and walking around Scottsdale. All I could eat were cashews my mother had put into a glass bowl. I flew at the end of that week back to Topeka to see Dr. Chotlos. I will tell you after years of therapy the reason I was always reluctant to get married.



Chapter 10

I remained in shock for six weeks. It was, indeed, helpful to see Dr. Chotlos. When my shock ended, I began reliving what had happen with Cara. That was terrible. I began having what I would call mini-shocks every five minutes or so. Around the first of the new year, I also began having excruciating pain throughout my body. Things were getting worse, not better.
My older sister, Rae, was told by a friend of hers I might want to contact Dr. Pat Norris, who worked at Menninger's. Dr. Norris's specialty was bio-feedback. Her mother and step-father had invented bio-feedback. I found out that all three worked at Menninger's. When I first met Dr. Norris, I liked her a lot. We had tried using bio-feedback for a while, but it didn't work for me, so we began therapy. Therapy started to work. Dr. Norris soon became "Pat" to me. The therapy we used was the following:  we began each session by both of us closing our eyes. While keeping our eyes closed the whole session, Pat became, in imagery, my mother and I became her son. We started our therapy, always in imagery, with me being conceived and I was in her womb. Pat, in all our sessions, always asked me to share my feelings with her. I worked with Pat for 20 years. Working with Pat saved my life. If I shared with you all our sessions, it would take three more books to share all we did using imagery as mother and son. I needed to take a powerful pain medication for six years. At that time, I was living with a wonderful woman, Kristin. She had told me that for as long as she could remember, she had pain in her stomach every time she awoke. That registered on me, so I got medical approval to take the same medicine she had started taking. The new medication worked! Almost immediately, I could do many things now that I couldn't do since Cara.

At Menninger's, there was a psychiatrist who knew about kundalini and involuntary kundalini. I wanted to see him one time to discuss involuntary kundalini. I got permission from both doctors to do so. I told the psychiatrist about my experience seeing cores of extremely bright light about five inches long exiting my brain through my eye sockets. He knew a lot about involuntary kundalini, and he thought that's what I experienced. Involuntary kundalini was dangerous and at times could cause death of the person experiencing it. There was a book in the Menninger library about many different ways involuntary kundalini could affect you adversely. I read the book and could relate to more than 70% of the cases written about. This information was extremely helpful to me and Pat.

As I felt better, I was able to do things I enjoyed the most. For  example, I began to fly to New York City to visit Columbia and to meet administrators I most admired. I took the Dean of Admissions of Columbia College out for lunch. We had a cordial and informative conversation over our meals. About two weeks later, I was back in Topeka and the phone rang. It was the president of the Columbia College Board of Directors calling to ask if I would like to become a member of this organization. The president was asking me to become one of 25 members to the Board of Directors out of 40,000 alumni of Columbia College. I said "Yes" to him.

Back home, I decided to establish THE COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY CLUB OF KANSAS CITY. This club invited any Columbia alumnus living anywhere in Kansas and any Columbia alumnus living in the western half of Missouri to become a member of THE COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY CLUB OF KANSAS CITY. We had over 300 alumni join this club. I served two terms as the club's president.  I was beginning to regain my life.

Pat died of cancer many years ago. I moved to Boulder, Colorado. I found a new therapist whose name is Jeanne. She and I have been working together for 19 years. Let me remark how helpful working with an excellent therapist can be. A framed diploma hanging on the wall is no guarantee of being an "exceptional" therapist. An exceptional therapist in one who's ability transcends all the training. You certainly need to be trained, but the person you choose to be your therapist must have intuitive powers that are not academic. Before you make a final decision, you and the person who wants to become your therapist, need to meet a number of times for free to find out how well both of you relate to each other. A lot of people who think they are therapists are not. See enough therapists as you need to find the "exceptional" therapist. It is the quality that matters.

If I had not had a serious condition, which I did, I think I would have never seen a therapist. Most people sadly think people who are in therapy are a "sicko." The reality is that the vast majority of people all around the world need help, need an "exceptional" therapist. More than likely, the people who fear finding an "exceptional" therapist are unconsciously fearful of finding out who their real selves are. For me, the most valuable achievement one can realize is to find your real self. If you know who you really are, you never can defraud your real self or anyone else who enters your life. Most human beings, when they get around age 30, feel an understandable urge to "shape up," so those people may join a health club, or start jogging, or start swimming laps, to renew themselves. What I found out when I was required to enter therapy for quite some time, I began to realize that being in therapy with an "exceptional" therapist was not only the best way to keep in shape, but also the best way emotionally to keep your whole self functioning to keep you well for your whole life. Now, working with an "exceptional" therapist every week is the wisest thing a person can do.

I said I would tell you why I was "unmarried inclined." I've enjoined ****** ******* with more than 30 beautiful, smart women in my life. But, as I learned, when the issue of getting married arose, I unconsciously got scared. Why did this happen? This is the answer:  If I got married, my wife and I most likely would have children, and if we had children, we might have a son. My unconscious worry would always be, what if I treated my son the same way my father had treated me. This notion was so despicable to me, I unconsciously repressed it. That's how powerful emotions can be.

Be all you can be:  be your real self.
(alternately titled no particular reason:
bring unto “fake” trumpeting Caesar
seven salad dressings from deep freezer
and lettuce deign at your plea azure.)

Graced with boyish good looks,
innocence and naiveté to boot,
an especial loathing toward me
chicken legs re: spindleshanks

(which serve as laughingstock
of dis hair reed ole coot)
oft times clad with deep purple
polka dotted sweatpants
don this nontrumpeting galoot

Asian old wise owl chimes utters
embarrassing non repeatable hoot
thus even bestowed with ample loot
to purchase peloton bike
would be laudatory suggestion,

nevertheless vigorous exercise point iz moot
cuz said skinny limb foregone conclusion
impossible mission anatomical feature aye
(nor anyone else could ever troubleshoot).

See them dang toothpick
aforementioned limbs used walking
permanently stunted courtesy anorexia nervosa,
I experienced during prepubescence
comprises subject of mooch talking
especially if yours truly wore shorts,
or even daresay skivvies out in public.

Both above listed portion of poem I write
surprisingly, truthfully, and
aye preferably, and uncomfortably uninvite
today (night) May 12th, actually tonight
electronically date/time stamped
05/12/20  10:06:21 PM

presented scary sight
regarding every other
regular instance I showered
as occurred earlier... quite
lamentable, these twiggy
body parts give Lesley Hornby

Dame Lesley Lawson DBE
blink to fast, and she becomes an oversight
born September 19, 1949
still going strong, flitting light
to and fro, hither and yon
an English model, actress, and singer,

renown during the nineteen sixties
approximately 5′ 6″ in height
widely known by the nickname Twiggy
get a serious a run for her money
totally unbeknownst to her
if so, she would serious take flight.

Matthew Scott Harris bejesus, he tried
(think self starvation)
nearly successful being unseen,
yours truly set his permanent physique
as one wimpy, scraggly, and nerdy teen

unlike above faded former star
regaled as Twiggy on silver screen,
yet his posthumous fifteen
minutes of fame encompasses
poetic style like (like for real) never seen

arose during 2020 pandemic
i.e. coronavirus CPVID-19 quarantine
and commenced quirky endeavor
crafting slapdash poetaster philistine

nonsensical, heretical (rather hair reticle),
and atypical ridiculous rhyme
wondering if ye keen
find any redeeming quality
courtesy this human haz been.
Michael ayodeji Mar 2018
It's Cold out here
In the snowed Street
Dead silence it's voice
Lighten with the pale yellow moon
Tossing around like a restless coin

The cyclone festive moment is here
Let it wiggle to the rhythm of jolification
As it make's the iced stones hover
like western birds Searching for prey

The sky let out a screechy cry
Tears runs down it's face
Which turned the land into a quagmire
It's Cold out here
Like the hallway of a dog's nostrils
It's Cold out here
Let no man dance unclad


By
Ayodeji Lawson LAWMYK
©2018

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