theiciclegardenblogs

Today is my day to be the "w.i.p.," Work in progress," how do I move each agenda's construct around the different stages of my mind? Good question, right? YES! Imagine if you will, 1963:  Your job that day was to "slice and dice" the books for Norman W. Farley. I was the book-keeper and office manager for The Meadow's, a night club just 12 miles west of the city: Boston. Cash would be coming through the front door, and I would convert it into an expense, so that we showed a lost for the day, even though we were quite busy. How did I do this? ..you might ask. It was simple for me because  in one of my previous lives, I ran the show department in a major department store on Moody St. in Waltham, MA. Your storage room is set up according to style, and therefore, at different times of the year, each style holes a different fraction of that space. Back to Farley - every utensil, (i.e., cup, fork, chair, etc.) in the club was rented from another one of his bu...

So you ask, "How did I get to 22 Bennett Street, Charleston, SC?" Well the simple answer is "Timmy." I met Timmy when I was in prison in South Carolina. Now he was on a mission. His mission was to find an innocent man and help him. I was Timmy's innocent man. Timmy got that idea from the inmate's grapevine. As in, "I heard it on the grapevine," by Marvin Gay. I was on my way to Charleston Southern by way of the Baptist College. Timmy put me up, for my first month of freedom, on Folly beach at the Folly-beach-inn. Meanwhile, the police from Myrtle Beach are looking for me on the Baptist College's campus for probation violations. Instead, they found a young man with big time clout, and they harassed him because his name was Thomas F. Smith, the same as mine, except that his daddy owns a large food chain. So now,  because of the probation department's methodological principles, the Baptist College decided that they were no longer going to keep...

My stain is a conspiracy of "lies" convoluted in the moments of collusion. "Lies" once unfurled, "like a bell rung," are recorded in the fabric of the "lies." (i.e., cancer to the cell....It's always ringing, never solipsistic. Think about it; "it's its it." Felon: Cast. You are no longer a citizen of the State. You are no longer one of use. You are not recognized, inconsequential to the State. Because ...  you are not organized. Come to my platform and ..."lay your story down." WWW.YOUREASYSIDE.ME  "YES" is my nick name. I will be coming on line in the near future, along with #11 other brothers and sisters. We are a family of "WWW." We are here for you to use. We want to help you make money. We have resources and we want to do business with you. But first you must become a member and ... "lay your story down.""Why!" you ask. Well, because you need to see where you fit in the lar...

Imagine if you would, just for the moment, that you entered into the world of "tant-twan-asi," loosely translated it means -the other times me. Please allow your mind to explore its unseen patterns. Those ideas that get under your skin because the general idea of it does not have a sacred corridor in your mind's eye. Share "self" with "self" so that there can be a context to unfurl between one and another. The unionized felon's stage is set to assist in its members entrepreneurial needs.There is a new site coming on line in the near future: http://wwwHomeOfficeIncubator.me; it will be operated through the union. Union members will be able to financially invest in these new endeavors, putting their discretionary funds to work on their behalf. This way the union member sees the assurance to the union's insurance that when he/she participates with like-minded members, their financial needs are met. This is not a new idea for me. Back in March of 1...

How do you win when you are the "tennis- ball"? New Mexico slams you across the "net" to South Carolina. "They" enslave you: felon. As they say in the "comics:" New-World-Order.  Using the Scarlet Letter model, today's letter is F for Felon; the sixth letter of the alphabet, 666 etc.  It's its it. They say that that makes me the "devil." Today's metaphor, as of yet, has not stabilized in my quiver-of-thought. And as far as my cohort's quiver, I was Asberger's according to my wife; take that tidbit as you wish. However, I recognize the fact that I had diminished capacity. So, now, over time my brain's "construct" has progressed to being more convoluted because its physiological components are "self"- evolving. 

I'm a 1957 Chevy, you know!  I was born in 1942, meaning that, I was 15 years old, like you; the only difference is the cohort that spawned us.         "Today" appears every day:  we dance to different music. When I was fifteen, you could find me in one of those "titty-bars" on Tremont St. -downtown Boston- in the 'combat-zone' where the girls were as sweet as the trumpeter's cheeks just blowing on that Horn.           You came onto the scene in 1989 - the same year that I entered the "Icicle Garden." In 2004, you too were searching for something sweet. Well, the thing is this, like hindsight,  how is this catch-22 phase working out -something sweet?            As for me, the train never leaves the station, "The Icicle Garden." That is where they stamp your passport: Land of-the-felon, society's untouchable.

Hair, which is dead, coming from your head is glorified and held aloft to be aspired to.  There is real life all around you, and this - to you - is inconsequential.  How do I look? Looking into the mirror focusing my eyes; "image" focusing back on me.  A candle's light flowing through the mirror's many interpretations by the mirror's observer. Interpretation shifting as the candle's light fades back into the mirror's perimeter. The only light to be reflected in the mirror is the light from the candle.  The rest of the room is all sealed off from outside light.  You're in the death cave and you are raising the dead images from your past reflection of yourself. The image is appearing like a slide show on your computer's screen.  The reflection of my body's image flashes across the memory of my mind from old to young.