tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58489313361344378492024-03-08T16:37:33.544-08:00Harry's Corner - Quetzaltenango, GuatemalaGuatemalan art, literature, languages and philosophy.Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.comBlogger69125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-77666213453814474122021-10-22T07:14:00.001-07:002021-10-22T07:14:28.923-07:00<p> POEM OF REFLECTION</p><p><br /></p><p>Come with me then</p><p>On a sojourn</p><p>In time</p><p>A gift of the muse</p><p>And meant to rhyme</p><p>Truth is found by thought</p><p>Wisdom can't be bought</p><p>The words I use are mine</p>Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-45828931837656161972021-07-05T08:32:00.002-07:002021-07-05T08:32:40.860-07:00<p> THE RHYME</p><p><br /></p><p>But if the plan</p><p>Was not meant</p><p>For meaning</p><p>What then</p><p>Has rhyme</p><p>To do with it?</p><p>Testing a kind of</p><p>Taunt reality</p><p>May disburse</p><p>The past</p><p>In stilted symmetry</p><p>And when it returns</p><p>In ashes</p><p>A single ember</p><p>Might once more</p><p>Flare</p><p>Into eternity</p><p><br /></p>Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-34987600530619616772021-07-04T08:40:00.004-07:002021-07-04T08:40:59.936-07:00<p> THE END</p><p><br /></p><p>Click</p><p>Snap</p><p>Everything</p><p>In place</p><p>Low flying</p><p>Instruments</p><p>Of timeless</p><p>Trouble</p><p>And space</p><p>One side</p><p>Believing</p><p>And then</p><p>The other</p><p>Click</p><p>Snap</p><p>And it's</p><p>All over</p><p><br /></p><p> </p>Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-5181434787263560802021-06-13T09:53:00.003-07:002021-06-14T08:56:49.692-07:00<p> ANY OLD SHOES TO BE REPAIRED?</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> ''No, really Comandante Marx, you have to leave this country environment and return to the capital, where there are many new kinds of protests going on...'' the young man exclaimed to his former professor.</p><p> ''ANY NEW SHOES TO BE REPAIRED?'' inquired an itinerant craftsman in Spanish, in a melodious voice, in front of the house. It was met with the mooing of a cow, chewing grass there.</p><p> ''Well, Freddy, you have your life as a lawyer now and I am a retired professor, as well as a guerilla fighter. I congratulate you, not because you are able to earn a lot of money, rather because you achieved your goal in this life and that is admirable,''the comandante explained.</p><p> ''Yes, yes, it is admirable to jump into the sea and be able to swim in order to survive and live well. In the capital you can see luxury cars like a Maserati or a Ferrari, tooling around the streets, but I didn't become a lawyer to imitate that kind of excess. I really want to help the people who need help, '' the young lawyer related, in a voice of commitment.</p><p> ''ANY OLD SHOES TO BE REPAIRED?''</p><p> ''I imagine in a country where some go around in Ferraris and others barefoot, there is certainly need of assistance. Such economic extremes impede development. There are many such countries in the world today, not only on this continent, but Africa as well.''</p><p> Comandante Marx was his nom de guerre, during his country's civil war, which lasted thirty six years. His real name was Enrique Perez and he was a pure Marxist. He learned about this philosophy first in the national university, with professors who had studied in Moscow and Havana. He majored in philosophy and graduated in three years. After that he formed groups of new students to study Marx and explained that it was the only solution in saving their country. Their meetings were infiltrated with spies, called ears and they were denounced to the military government as Communists. Many disappeared, were tortured or killed, but some escaped and one of those was Enrique Perez. After that, he had no choice, but to joint the others in the mountains.</p><p> At first they were a small group, supplied and trained by foreigners. They spoke of Marx as their savior. It was a difficult life, but the alternative was trying to exist in a police state, which was the government. They believed that Marx was right in his claim that his philosophy was destined to change history.</p><p> Enrique showed such knowledge and enthusiasm for the subject, that he was elected to indoctrinate the new recruits. He was so fanatic and convincing that he earned the nickname Comandante Marx.</p><p> The foreign trainers endorsed the theory, but equally insisted that all revolutions were decided by the bullet. Thus, there was a lot of fighting. Most of it was in the interior of the country, since the capital was protected by the strength of the army, led by the general, who was also the president.</p><p> The president was elected from the only political party of the country, backed by the American embassy. Of course this truth was hidden, but with their assistance, the war continued. It also finished at their insistence and the real power remained in the north.</p><p> Comandante Marx fought and survived, although he was forced into exile. He lived many years in the neighboring country, where he taught Marx in the national university. He became such an authority on the subject, that professors from other countries came to listen to him. When the peace was signed, he returned to his own country and took up the same job as a professor at his old university. He wrote books about Marx and won prizes, until he had enough money to retire and return to the village where he was born. Now he realized that his life's theory could never be applied in a capitalistic world. In other words, he not only failed, but also waisted his life. The only consolation might have been, that it was a noble dream.</p><p> ''Listen Comandante Marx, there are so many new protest organizations emerging today like gay rights, human rights, women rights and even peasant rights! Maybe you can even go back and live in the mountains!'' the young man proclaimed with pride, to his former professor.</p><p> ''I thank you very much Freddy, for the invitation, because I know it comes from your heart. Maybe it's good you have something to fight for, while you're still young and enthusiastic. I know now that my visions can never be reached and therefore I have little left to live for. I made a little money to allow me to reitre in the country and this is a contradiction to the philosophy I built my life on. What irony!'' Enrique Perez, Comandante Marx, exclaimed, with a breath of pure reality.</p><p> ''ANY OLD SHOES TO BE REPAIRED?''</p><p><br /></p>Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-5416998553054962982021-04-01T15:11:00.001-07:002021-04-01T15:11:40.753-07:00<p> The death</p><p>Of light</p><p>And night</p><p>Prevail</p><p>Because</p><p>The darkness</p><p>Lingers on</p><p>Beyond the war</p><p>Of mighty</p><p>Empires</p><p>Or the breath</p><p>Of unborn</p><p>Wonders</p><p>Which bring</p><p>The science</p><p>Of satisfaction</p><p>To the</p><p>Human blight</p><p>Determined</p><p>To kill</p><p>The rose</p><p>And the</p><p>Soul</p><p>Of the poet's</p><p>Delight</p>Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-10201584902672016822021-01-12T08:29:00.000-08:002021-01-12T08:29:04.600-08:00<p> G-2</p><p><br /></p><p> When he moved, it was with two sticks, which he used to drag his twisted legs forward, in a most wretched fashion. His scared face was not able to show the anguish and physical pain he felt, and his eyes were too clouded to evince a cognizance of same.</p><p> Two men saw him, but only knew who he was, while the other took some coins from his pocket and put them in the hand-weaved bag he had around his neck.</p><p> ¨Poor guy. I wonder how he got like that...¨Jorge, the uninformed one asked.</p><p> ¨I know, because we were in the army together, ¨Roberto, the other man volunteered.</p><p> ¨Really?¨Jorge asked with surprise.¨What happened? I'd really like to know.¨</p><p> ¨It's a long story...¨Roberto replied, shaking his head with regret.</p><p> ¨Ok, I'll buy you a beer to hear it..¨Jorge offered, as they stood in front of a cantina...</p><p> Roberto didn't need any convincing, so soon they were seated at a rustic, wooden table, with two cold beers in front of them. Roberto put lemon and salt into his beer and without looking at anything, he began: ¨It was during the time, of early years of the civil war, when the army needed more soldiers. They used to come and kidhap us when we were working in the field. The guy's name is Pedro Pac and he came from the same village as me. We were both kidnaped and thrown into trucks, without even being able to warn our parents where we were going. It was a bad time for everyone, but especially for the Indians, like me.¨ Roberto admitted, hugging the bottle with distraction...¨Anyway, Pedro and I adapted to that kind of life and Pedro did so well that he became a sergeant and that was the highest an Indian could go. We stayed together and eventually were sent to the Military Zone, which was the largest in the western part of the country. It was the center of what they called Intelligence. That's what they called it, but really it was the center for torture. That's what they did in order to extract information about who was involved in their ranks and what their plans were. The section was called G-2 and they used select soldiers to carry out the torture. It is difficult to imagine someone to be able to do that, but Pedro became one....It was a good position because you got many special privileges' and more money than a regular recruit....The G-2 occupíed a rear portion of the Milirary Zone and was supposed to be far enough away so as not to hear the sound of the screams...¨Roberto reflected with remorse...¨It was assumed there was a hidden graveyard somewhere...Anyway, they knew most of the guerrillas came from the national university, so they decided to kidnap the president of the student union, who was named Pepe Morales....There's a bust of him, in the martyr's hall on the campus there...They never found the body...¨A voluntary respite ensued. as each of them sipped his beer and contemplated man's inhumanity to man.......¨What they would do was to go through different levels of torture, that they learned from other countries that also had intelligence centers...It would begin with something simple like death by drowning. What you do is have a barrel of water there and you keep ducking the head under it, until he feels like he's drowning, but, you always pull him back before that. It gets to the point that the guy really wants to drown and get it over with!...Then comes the burns on all parts of the body, with a red hot, metal póker...That's before the extracting of the finger and toe nails...All of this precedes the worse of the electric shocks on the genitales. No-one ever survived all that...At least none I ever heard of...¨Roberto admitted...¨So, the guerilla, university students had to get revenge, for their leader. They had spies on their side, just like we had our own. They were called ears and they found out it was sergeant Pedro Pac who carried out the execution, so he became their marked man....They caught him one day, right here in this town. He was looking for someone to take back to the Military Zone and that's when they grabbed him and left him like you saw him today. They didn't want to kill him, but leave him so that he'd rather be dead...I don't know...What do you think Jorge?¨ Roberto asked, as he finished off his beer.</p><p> ¨Well...one has a bust of his memory on the university campus, and the other the curse of a life worse than death.¨</p>Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-24358190965327008032020-11-06T08:24:00.000-08:002020-11-06T08:24:15.790-08:00<p> AN UNPREDICTABLE LIFE</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> Felix Gonzales was a minor official for the Superindependencia de Administraciones Tribunal, commonly know as S A. T. In other words, he was the tax man.</p><p> He had held the position for twenty years andwas about to retire in December. It was already October, He was of average height, color and mentality, with a degree in accounting from the National University, where he graduated in the middle of the class. As such, he was perfect for his position. He performed his duties according to the dictates of his superiors, whether that be transparent operations or cohort swindle. Such was life, Felix reasoned, it was all quite predictable.</p><p> In December Felix was going to get married, following a ten year engagement. He was going to be fifty in December and she was already forty. They had been together for twenty years and Felix calculated it was now time to start a family. He had purchased a piece of land, in order to build a house for the future clan and the last payment was due in December. He had paid cash, with a loan from a rural cooperative, thus cutting the interest in half, if he would have made a mortgage. The construction would begin in December, when he received the ideminization check, for his twenty years of service. In short, everything was falling into place for Felix Gonzales, who was a predictable fellow.</p><p> Since the pandemic, he had limited his services to the public to half the time. This caused delays and serious problems, especially for the poor peasants, who lived far away. His desk was on the third floor and was regularly sanitized by a female employee, who also checked Felix every hour, with a plastic device, to see if was free from infection. Felix wore two protective face masks, covered by a plastic shield. He also wore plastic gloves. It all loaned the image of a furistic being.</p><p> ¨Please cover your nose with your mask and wash your hands with the liquid on the desk. Do not touch the desk top and spray the papers with that other container, before you hand them to me...¨Felix explained to an older peasant, who remained subservient to his wishes. At that point he received a call from Veronica, who was shopping for the coming event, which would be the culmination of her existence.</p><p>¨Si, mi amor. What is it that you need? I am a little busy right now...¨Felix asked with a smile, before it changed to a frown, to the Indian across the desk, as he glanced through his tax expedient. He listened to his future wife a little longer and then informed her...¨You can buy all that for half the price at the Chinese Discount Store. It might not be of the best quality, but we have to stay with the budget. I'm sure you understand. A big hug and a kiss, my darling and thanks for calling,¨Felix concluded, disregarding any opposition on the matter. He was right and that was all there was to it.</p><p> After glancing at the native's paperwork again, he shrugged his shoulders and handed him a slip of paper for another appointment, causing the old man to blanch in disappointment. He then dismissed the rest of the people waiting on wooden benches in the hallway and went to lunch.</p><p> Felix always ate in the same place. It was a little, three table restaurant, which was part of the corner store. The food was not the best, but it was within the budget and he felt it was worth it for the soup alone.</p><p> Now he had to lift the plastic shield and lower two face masks, before he could put the spoon in, but it was necessary and Felix was a practical man. As he ate he considered what kind of a family he should have. The average number of children was two and a half, but since he could not pregender a half, he had to settle for two. Veronica could certainly handle that and the nice thing was she could have them all for free. That was because Felix qualified for the national health program. Of course it would have been better to go to a private hospital, but that would take away the money that was destined for the construction of his new home. He was certain Veronica would understand.</p><p> When Felix returned to his office, he felt what he thought was heart-burn and attributed it to the chile he put in his soup. He would have to watch that in the future.</p><p> October gave way to November and the cold weather set in, in the highlands. Felix had always walked the mile to his office, all year round, but this year he felt it was causing him to experience a shortness of breath. Thus, he decided to drive his car. It was an added expense, but he could always steal a few pesos, from an unsuspecting peasant. It was nothing, compared to the amount of graft that went on, in the higher levels.</p><p> Precisely one week, before all his earthly goals were to be met, he was suddenly awoken by a panic, due to a lack of oxygen. He had never felt this way before and in desperation called the emergency number for the bomberos, which was next to his bed. He could have called the emergency number of the private hospital, which was also there, but the firemen didn't charge anything. They took him to the government hospital, where he was immediately put on a ventilator.</p><p> All his defenses declined quickly and within a week, he lapsed into a coma. On the third of December, the day when Felix was to fulfill his desires, he passed away from the Coved-19 virus. He became number three hundred and thirty four for the number of deaths on that day. It was all quite unpredictable.</p>Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-42528931230536063732020-08-23T10:49:00.001-07:002020-08-23T10:49:34.493-07:00<p> THE MAN THAT COULDN'T DIE</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> ¨Look! Here it is! The tusa I've been trying to catch for so long...¨ my handyman, Pepe said, with his face mask hanging from one ear and a genuine grin on his dirty face and a vacant mouth</p><p> ¨What are you going to do with it?¨I asked, observing the comical picture of this little man holding a miserable creature by the tail.</p><p> Pepe, which is a diminutive for Jose in Latin America, stood about five foot tall. He was by no means handsome, but his ugliness was covered with dirt, as though it didn't really matter. He wore equally soiled,mended garments and presented a rumpled existence, from his battered, cowboy hat, to the worn sandals, that covered his ageless feet. The creature he was holding, is a cousin to the groundhog, with powerful claws that can bring down a tree or an adobe wall. That was the reason that Pepe tracked down the tusa, to protect my humble abode.</p><p> ¨I'm going to eat him. It's very good meat. Something like a rabbit, but more delicious.¨</p><p> ¨I don't think I'd like to taste a tusa, thank you:¨I volunteered, turning my head away.</p><p> ¨It's funny how the old boy kept avoiding my traps. It's like he didn't want to die...Something like that happened to me one time, on the coast. I wanted to die, but I couldn't,¨he confessed, altering his smile to a reflective grimace.</p><p> ¨Sounds interesting Pepe. Why don't you come in and tell me about it. I have some drinks on the patio table. You can leave the tusa here.</p><p> ¨Oh no Don Francisco! The dogs will eat it! I have to take it inside,¨he insisted.</p><p> I imagined there wasn't too much difference between man and beast in this case, so I shook my head and replied:</p><p> ¨OK, you can leave it inside the door and wash your hands in the pila.¨</p><p> He knew where the wash basin was because he had built it, along with the rest of the house.</p><p> We seated ourselves on either side of the table, with several octavos on top. They were filled with eighty percent alcohol. There were also lemons and glasses. I had arranged it before, because I was going to do an article for the online magazine I was writing for. This story sounded more interesting however and it proved to be just that.</p><p> ¨So what's this story about trying to kill yourself Pepe? Why would you want to do such a thing?¨</p><p> ¨Because of love...or really treason!¨he said, snapping off the metal top and pouring half the octavo in his glass, He squeezed some lemons and then said..¨Salud¨</p><p> ¨Salud ¨I countered and we touched glasses. ¨Sounds like a girl walked out on you. Who was she?¨</p><p> ¨My wife,¨ he confessed, before taking a long swallow and exclaiming,¨Ah! that tastes good....We were on the coast because it was the time of the sugarcane harvest. Before everyone worked there for a few months, so it was nothing new. I had been married for a short time, but we already lost one child. I don't know how it happened, but you know how it is on the coast...the heat, mosquitoes...I don't know.Many people get sick and die.¨</p><p> He said this with a sort of philosophical equilibrium, inherited by the people whom inhabited this place. The survivors of the Maya civilization.</p><p> ¨I'm sorry to hear about that Pepe,¨I said, with sincerity.</p><p> ¨Well, maybe that was the reason my wife became a tramp. She ended up laying with anyone in the camp. I beat her, but she didn't stop, to the point that I wanted to kill myself!¨ he declared, draining the glass and pouring in the rest of the octavo.¨What I did was to go to the field where they sprayed the insecticides. I just lay down there and let the plane fly over me. I turned completely yellow and I was certain I was going to die.¨</p><p> ¨I can imagine Pepe. That sounds pretty desperate, but I guess you weren't successful. What happened?¨</p><p> ¨I went back to the camp and collapsed in my tent. The woman wasn't there of course, but some friends stopped by and took care of me. They saw what had happened and quickly bathed me and gave me some medicinal herbs to drink, but that wasn't all. They said I had to sweat it out. So, do you know what they did?¨</p><p> ¨I have no idea,¨</p><p> ¨Well, there was a coral with four posts and they told me I had to run around and kick each post three times. I don't know how I did it but I did until I finally collapsed. They took me back to my tent and this caused a tremendous fever that night. In the morning, I was all right.¨</p><p> ¨Amazing Pepe and what happened to your wife?¨</p><p> ¨I don't know. I never saw her again after that, but some people still remember what happened and they call me...the man who couldn't die!¨he said, raising his glass and nodding his head in tribute to his former misfortune.</p><p> ¨That's an interesting story. ¨I conceded, while I fixed up my own drink and as an afterthought asked him: ¨Do you think you'll survive this new pandemic Pepe?¨</p><p> ¨Definitely!¨he exclaimed, and I believed him</p>Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-6676336199794596702020-07-20T09:57:00.001-07:002020-07-20T09:57:26.946-07:00 THE MAYA MURDER<br />
<br />
<br />
I live in a time and at a place that when I wake up in the morning and open the front door, I half expect to find a dead body there. It could have been a victim of a drug trafficking deal or simply the result of an intoxicating brawl. The idea is the murder would be blamed on me. Fortunately, this has never happened, but when I read about the murder of Julio Pac Puac and his wife, it were as though their bodies had been thrown on my door step.<br />
<br />
I knew Julio first as an English student and then a collaborator with my linguistic studies, for he was a native K'iche speaker. He stood about five feet tall, dark skinned, with a large nose. He could have stepped out of the Dresden Codex.<br />
<br />
I remembered the trouble he had at the university, where he studied medicine. He kept failing courses and repeating the year so many times that he finally gave up and disappeared. It was by chance that I met some of his neighbors from his village and they informed me to the degree that I imagine his end was wrought like this...<br />
<br />
¨Maybe I'll have a chance to attend a few patience at the clinic before we eat supper,¨ Julio suggested to his wife, as he turned on the headlights to his new Toyota.<br />
<br />
¨I think you work too hard Julio,¨ his wife complained, with feigned sincerity.<br />
<br />
¨Yes, but I am well rewarded for my efforts,¨he replied, unable to conceal a smile, as he felt the pleasure of such a beautiful machine, under his control.<br />
<br />
It was never conceived before that someone from his family linage and race, could have achieved such economic prowess. He not only had this new car, but a modern, brick house, a medical clinic and money in the bank. One could not ask for more and yet...<br />
<br />
¨Ingrid wants us to go live in Switzerland for a while...¨Julio confessed as they traveled down the macadam road. that led to his village. They were returning from their monthly shopping at the main town of the department, which was still quite provincial.<br />
<br />
¨But why would she want that? You are doing such a good job here and the people love you...¨<br />
<br />
¨Maybe not everybody.¨<br />
<br />
¨What do you mean?¨<br />
<br />
¨Ingrid believes some people know about the human transplants, that are being carried on with the help of my clinic.¨<br />
<br />
¨How? A lot of your patients have returned cured after sending them to Switzerland and those that didn't return because they died of complications there, were always well compensated with money.¨<br />
<br />
¨Those are the ones she's worried about.¨<br />
<br />
¨Ingrid doesn't know about the life here. She doesn't understand that because you are part of these people, in language and custom, they would never believe that you would betray them.¨<br />
<br />
¨Any way we would live very well there and I will have a chance to study at a German University. That's where the NGO is based and I already speak a little German. Then finally the idiots at the university here, will know that an Indian can be a doctor too!¨he pronounced with bitterness to which there was no consonance, for the idea was buried deep in his being. These thoughts accompanied them, down an untraveled road, surrounded by darkness.<br />
<br />
******************<br />
<br />
A battered, well worn pick-up remained visible, a distance up then hill from the village. Two men were seated inside, armed with automatic weapons.<br />
<br />
¨He will be coming along this way soon, along with his wife,¨the man at the wheel said, as he slipped down further in his seat and adjusted the woolen scarf around his neck. <br />
<br />
¨Must we kill her too?¨the other asked with lingering uncertainty.<br />
<br />
¨They both know what they're doing, so they must die together,¨the first man said, who had lost a daughter at Julio's clinic. She experienced physical complications after her last child birth and they told him she must be operated on in Switzerland. She never returned. They said she had died on the operating table. They gave him money for his loss, but then he was informed from a Mexican friend, that they were part of an international organization that trafficked in selling human organs. He even showed the prices they charged over the internet. This knowledge was shared with the village elders, who pronounced that the verdict should be death. He had volunteered to carry out the mission.<br />
<br />
¨It is difficult for me to understand why a man, who is one of us, would do such a thing,¨ the other man said, breaking the malignant silence his friend was experiencing.<br />
<br />
¨It is greed. Greed and pride. Look at the nice house he has, the clothes he wears and his new car! Therein lies the greed. The pride comes from the fact that he pretends to be a doctor. But he never graduated from the university. He calls his clinic ¨Angel from Heaven¨ but he is really a devil who must be eliminated.¨ he rasped with bile. ¨They will see my pick-up in the middle of the road and think I have broken down. that will stop him and when he gets out to investigate, I will kill him. You hurry to the other side and kill the woman,¨ were his instructions.<br />
<br />
[****************<br />
<br />
¨How long do you think we'll have to,live in Germany Julio?¨<br />
<br />
¨A few years, but I would prefer a lifetime! I mean everything is modern there, not like our primitive country. Once you learn the language, you'll be very happy there. I guarantee you!¨ Julio proclaimed. with mounting enthusiasm.<br />
<br />
Presently he noticed a pick-up stranded in the middle of the road. He slowed down and when he approached it he identified the vehicle as belonging to a man whose daughter he had transferred to Switzerland to be operated on. He recalled she never returned. But the fellow had been handsomely compensated and they had remained on good terms, Julio knew and decided it would be good to lend him a hand. He kept the lights on as he saw two men approaching. He started to get out of the car, before he realized the men were armed. It was much too late for Julio Pac Puac, who answered to the call of justice...this time.Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-15160282962816473922020-06-17T14:47:00.000-07:002020-06-17T14:47:58.967-07:00 UNEMPLOYED IN THE CEMETERY<br />
<br />
<br />
Pedro Petz worked in the city cemetery, like his father did and grandfather before him. It was an inherited position and was secure, since everyone had to die. Besides that, Pedro was an Indian, so it was hard for him to get employment, since he was on the last wrung of the status quo of his country. On the top sat those with Spanish blood, for it seemed the conquistadores never left.<br />
<br />
Pedro was one of the workers who tended the grounds around the numerous graves. He never went to school, but what the learned there was a worthy education. For instance, in the entrance were the mausoleums. There were sculptures made by Italians, who were imported to do the work. These belonged to the very wealthy, mostly of Spanish linage. The one exception was dedicated to a gypsie named Sasha, who committed suicide when her Spanish beau returned to Spain to marry into royalty. There was an effigy of her on the tomb and a belief that she would give you good fortune in romance, if you asked her. The youths wrote messages of supplication on her image. Pedro saw all this and noted that sometimes their wishes were answered.<br />
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There was one part of the cemetery where there was a Christmas image on all the graves. It was a six point star, just like the ones they used in the processions for the Christmas celebrations.<br />
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In another section there was another symbol on some of the graves. It was a strange combination of to angles joined in opposite directions. It left a foreboding feeling for Pedro. The area was rimed with trees that gave a remorse shade, for they never turned green. He did not know what a swastika was, nor was he aware there had been a world war.<br />
<br />
Pedro learned that the extreme poor were not laid under the earth. They were put in niches above the ground, that the city had built. There they would rest, in simple boxes for so many years. He never found out how long that period was, nor what happened to the coffins after that. He never asked but realized that if you were very poor you could not go back to the earth you came from. You had to wait your turn for that.<br />
<br />
If you were not desperately poor you could afford to purchase a plot of earth for the displacement. It was six foot down and had a wooden cross to mark its location. Later, those who were able to improve their economic situations, covered the cement graves with tile or even artificial marble. If finances would permit, they might build a little ch apple at the head, over the tomb stone.<br />
<br />
For these improvements, the caretaker received a pittance, which most of them used to buy home made liquor, to lift their spirits. That was because to live with the dead left you with nothing less than a morbid cognizance that, within time, you would occupy the same space below. Therefore, the liquor helped to soften that reality.<br />
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There was no such a thing as cremation. It was not practiced, nor was it the custom of Pedro's Maya predecessors.<br />
<br />
As such Pedro Petz passes his days and years, which was supposed to go on until the end, in the tradition of his ancestors. Then, something completely unexpected happened.<br />
<br />
The cemetery caretakers were informed that new virus had arrived at his impoverished country. It came from somewhere called China and that there would be thousands and perhaps millions of deaths because of it. At first Pedro thought that would create more work for everyone, which was a logical assumption. But, that didn't happen and the city officials decided to close the cemetery. The arrangement was based on the scientific speculation that the virus traveled in open spaces, filled with people, who carried the disease from unknown places.<br />
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At least that was the way that Pedro understood it, as he walked through the iron gates, now unemployed in the cemetery.<br />
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Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-89247517476372432732020-05-24T09:23:00.001-07:002020-05-24T16:52:09.179-07:00 THE SCIENTIFIC REPTILE<br />
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<br />
' When Pasteur discovered that the fermentation is a process of life rather than death and that life does not create spontaneously, he did not know he was preparing himself to understand the diseases in animals and men, result from microorganisms within the host....' Profesor Goldman related to the members of the closed session of independent, liberated scientists, who had gathered to foment possibilities toward a panacea for all bacterial plagues, including the current virus, which was causing epidemic proportions on a global level.<br />
<br />
' In other words professor, the present bacterial virus could have evolved from a previous experiment in creating the same thing...' Dr. Dawson mentioned, as though giving voice to his thoughts, rather than posing a question.<br />
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' The error of probability remains in that theater of thought,' professor Goldman replied, to which the others shared a unanimous concordance determined through not only scientific experiment, rather historical repetition of similar plagues.<br />
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' Then the real question here rests not so much under mathematical solutions, although that is paramount, but it seems to lead to the possibility that it was humanly created. If that is so, then the reason must be explained.' Dr Lee presented verbally, what the rest determined by sifting mental priorities, without a voice.<br />
<br />
' I think we all agree that there is enough evidence to claim it was humanly created,' Dr Shaw stated, while all heads nodded in wordless concession,' and further that it began in China, so it would be logical that it was created there. Using that as a tentative base, can anyone offer a reason why?'<br />
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' All wars are based on economics, Professor Garcia declared, ' and in this case, it was a reaction to the western world and in particular the United States' domination over the world economies because of the dollar. It is known that China wanted to create its own economic center, using the Chinese currency, for the Far East. This would eliminate the dollar threat and perhaps make the United States a second class trading partner. That might be the reason, to create the virus.'<br />
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Dr Ilich, who was the oldest one present, at seventy five, smiled to himself before saying..'Napoleon said..Don't wake the sleeping dragon..but now that it's fully awake, it is aware of the same thing, while content that it cannot be proven. It is sufficiently pleased that the western world has suffered enormous economic setbacks. I wonder if any of this will ever be exposed?' he asked and pregnant silence ensued.<br />
<br />
' It is already exposed, which is part of the reason we have met here,' Dr Goldman volunteered.<br />
<br />
' In order to dictate a sentence of annihilation, for the ofender, coupled with a rapid reaction from the other side,' Dr Brandt enunciated, while an impenetrable silence inferred concurrence. ' Then it has all been worked out scientifically and is well known to those who need to know. We will survive, but the planet will be a different place in a different time. This much we know, following that....exactly why are we here Dr Goldman? Do we stand a chance of survival as a human species?'<br />
<br />
The answer was not immediate nor spontaneous, for Dr Goldman was composed of weighty wisdom. When he did speak, it was to no one in particular, which was understood as verbal contemplation. His tone was equally separate from a mundane treble, as he began...<br />
<br />
' Unless we are merged with some kind of mutation, I believe we will remain in our reptilian and savage way. In a sense, we are gripped by instinct for survival and competition. It has made our species constructive as well as destructive and this destroys us and our planet. We are still basically the same element we were forty thousands years ago, when Cro-Magnon displaced the Neanderthal...and so, in our quest for survival, we have fostered a greed, like something so vile, as to resemble a human beast!' he said, almost without taking a breath, while they all knew it was impossible to add to or take away from what Dr Goldman had said, After a time, one of them asked...<br />
'' What can we do Dr Goldman?'<br />
<br />
' Wait...even this will pass.'<br />
<br />
<br />Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-55833843868599647752019-11-22T09:59:00.000-08:002019-11-22T09:59:14.083-08:00 THE BATTLE OF ORLEANS<div>
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So here we was see, me, Tommy the Irishman, and my pal, Nick the Greek, see. He did his high power, undergraduate work, in Chicago, while I studied under the greats at Al's pool room, in Pittsburgh.</div>
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So there we was, see, doing some time at the Cape, when the women folk asked: ¨What are we going to do tonight. How about trivial pursuit?¨ So I said I was not interested in answering who Supie Sales was and tried to cajole Nick into finding a pool table on this Mass retreat. ¨Nah,¨ he said, ¨Come on Tommy, what are you talking about? You don't want to shoot pool with me. I mean I'm talking about pool!¨ ¨So am I Nick! So am I!¨ I said, and after a few more vodkas, we decide to see if this tight ass, Harvard accented peninsula had a place for such an ungentlemanly sport like pool.</div>
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Well, we piled into his Rabbit and braced ourselves for the night traffic in Eastham.</div>
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¨Let's try that place,¨he said, spying a miniature golf, video game joint, off to the right.</div>
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He pulled in, maybe over the curb and that, but heh, we was lookin ta play pool.</div>
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¨No sir,¨the nurd behind the counter said, as thought I was coming from anther planet, or at least another generation,¨we don't have a pool table here,¨and then ¨No sir I don't know if there is a place on the Cape that has a table.¨</div>
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¨No luck,¨I reported, but we was determined and the next place where I suggested we try, was a small shopping area. There a guy, who was eating soft ice cream, said:</div>
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¨Yeah, you're looking for a pool table. There's one in Orleans, near the gas station, in that bar there.¨ and I was off, cause I knew we scored this time, and when I told Nick, he remembered the place too.</div>
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So there he was see jut a little package about six foot three, and maybe two twenty or so. And there I was, Little Tommy, who although not six feet, could pump iron with the best of em, back in my day. But heh, we was just looking for a friendly game, and when we entered the joint, we was gravitated to the green felt at the other side of the room.</div>
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¨Sorry, you can't use the pool table until nine thirty,¨a guy from behind the bar said,and by my watch we was right on time. But heh, it was only a gentleman's game, so we waited.</div>
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We nursed a couple a bruskies, se until we could put that thirty five cents in and start to play some serious pool. So up comes our turn see, and it didn't last long until we was putting in another thirty five. Now by this time the room starts ta get a little tense, see. they was watching a couple a guys who maybe weren't doctors, in the art, but it started to look like we had some credits toward our master's degrees. It got so thick at one point, that the same guy comes out from behind the bar and says:</div>
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¨Heh, I don't want no trouble here...Got it?¨</div>
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¨Yeah, we got it. Just a friendly game, see,¨ I says, ¨between a couple a gentlemen, see¨so the bum goes back ta pumpin suds.</div>
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But then something happened. cause this group a guys start putting their names on this here blackboard, see, wanting to get a piece a the action, see, and little did we know we was about ta make history, or at least carrying on with the illustrious tradition of keepin Harinas Port on the map.</div>
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Well, there was this thing about being hot. see. Like I couldn't miss, and this was startin ta piss off the other young punk, so I figured he must a been Irish, with a temper like that, but when I asked him, he got more pissed off, see, and says he was American and that was that, ¨Sure,¨ I says, Ï'm American too,¨ and all that, ¨but I'm also Irish, see, and I was just wonderin if you was Irish too?¨ So he finally admits that he was of Irish descent, and all that, right, but then he goes into this big deal about his ole man, who did a lot of traveling and told him that America was the best place in the world, see, and that he should be proud of it,and like that. So, I tells him that I agrees with all that, but not because somebody told me, but because I've been livin most of my life outside of the States, and the last fourteen years in Central America, and you think I was tellin him I was a friggin Commie or something. So, then, when I'd miss a shot or something, I'd start swearing in Spanish, which was my custom. Well, it weren't a bad thing, cause since there was ladies present, and this way they wouldn't know what I was sayin. Heh, they might have even thought that I was receitin some beautiful line from Cervantes or Lope de Vega or even Garcia Lora for Christ's sake! the words are: ¨Hijo de puta!¨ or just ¨Puta!¨ which means, ¨Son of a whore,¨or just plain ¨whore,¨ and that really ain't bad, when you think about the flowery language in that department today. But the whole thing is gettin to him, and finally his turn comes up. Jesus! You'd think it was a grudge match between two Irishmen, or a fight between communism and freedom. Heh, you gotta remember my side of it. I had agreed with the bum, and when you got my Irish up, I was poetry, songs or close friendship. But, there he was, taking his time on every shot, and making a couple of them too, butt the man just wasn't at peace with himself, so he just had to miss. </div>
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¨So, what do I got?¨ I asked him, staggering around the table, as I took another sip of my beer, ¨The little or the big?¨</div>
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Now this got him even mor irate, cause he thought that I didn't see all that fancy shooting he was doing, but what got him more is the fact that I beat him. Did it real clean like too. Straight pool it was, and a real tribute back to Al's in Pittsburgh. But my friend there, all he could say was,¨Puta!¨</div>
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So, things went on like that see. They was all wooden Indians. Nah, sittin ducks they was, and they all went down, one after another. This is what happened until I came to another guy called Nick. He was the nicest guy in the joint and had the best stick too, so I didn't mind too much, when my luck ran out, and I scratched on the eight ball. </div>
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But, heh, then it was Nick the Greek's turn, and when he started, I was just happy to say I knew the bum! I'm talkin about pool! Combinations and things, until the other Nick wen down like a trooper. He even shook hands, but now the board was filled up with names, cause they just wanted a chance to get a piece a the action called Nick the Greek!</div>
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So games they had, and from the beginning, it was all over but the cryin. But you should a seen the array of weirdos they had.</div>
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There was this little fag from P-town or something and he had put his name down on the board before, but somebody had erased it, and the guy was fit to be tied. He probably would have looked great in a nice, white straight jacket, but I was feeling sympathy, and so i tells him like this see: </div>
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¨Heh, I know you put your name up on that board, cause I saw you do it, but heh! I'll just tell Nick there he's got ta beat you too. How's that?¨</div>
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¨Fuck you!¨he says, ¨All I want is a chance to shoot pool with this guy,¨ so I took that as an unfriendly gesture and went back to my bruskie.</div>
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¨So, I was feelin good and enjoin the hell out f a game that Nick was shootin, with a kid that looked meaner than hell. He had on a sleeveless, black t-shirt; black, skin tight, sleazy pants, which he held up with a spiked belt. You could see why he didn't want sleeves on the T-shirt, cause both his arms were all decked out in tattoos. He went down hard, cause he had a good stick, and probably if it hadn't been Nick there shootin, I'd a given him half a chance. But things bein as they were, my man was not about to loose that night. No way!</div>
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Then the P-town fag comes in, and boy this little guy, in the clean white shirt's got blood in his eyes. This man proceded to shoot a serious game. Now, what would a fag like this be doin shootin pool lie that? But then Nick got his turn, and the fag was turnin greener than the felt they was playin on. Nick proceeded to dazzle him with so many combinations, that his head began to swim.</div>
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He went down too, and by and by that was all she wrote. Every last one of them bit the dust. Things were startin to change though, cause now everyone wanted to buy us a beer, but we wouldn't have none of it, see. One guy even comes up to me and says: Ï got it. You two are hustlers! You started off taking on the first few, because your buddy lost to you in the beginning. Then you set him up to wipe out the house. Right?¨</div>
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¨Heh, what are you talkin about? Do you see any money on the table? It was a gentleman's game; all right?¨ I says, and none too soon, cause Nick finally scratches on the eight ball and calls over:</div>
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¨Heh Tommy, let's blow this joint!¨so I take the hint, and the two of us get out fast like, with all these faces of hate and envy following us. But, we're not runnin, see, cause we didn't break no laws, and neither of us says a word to the other, until we get in the car and we are out of there.</div>
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¨Well Tommy,¨Nick says ta me, matter a fact like, ¨you know we made history in there tonight.¨</div>
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Ï couldn't believe it, the way you were on tonight!¨</div>
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¨Yeah, I never shot a game like that in my life, and maybe I never will again.¨</div>
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¨Damn Nick!¨I says, ¨This is a story all right, but what are we going to call it?¨</div>
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¨The Battle of Orleans,¨he says, ¨We didn't shoot until we saw the white's of their eyes!¨</div>
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Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-65005138598005046552019-09-18T09:59:00.001-07:002019-09-18T09:59:22.638-07:00 ES CÍCLICO LA VIDA?<br />
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Cuando pregunte a mi amigo porque se caso tres veces, me dijo..."Es cíclico!"<br />
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Después de la carcajada, me quede pensando que ta vez tenia razón. La vida era en muchos de sus aspectos, cíclico. Solo con el clima atestigüemos que hay tiempo para sembrar y tiempo para cosechar.<br />
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Todos los días en todos los idiomas, se habla de...Calentamiento Global...Cambio Climático...o una especia parecido. Se hecha la culpa a todo...contaminación con la energía fósil; deforestation, deshechos en los aguas duces...y el raíz de de todo esto es el capitalismo!<br />
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Obviamente estoy de acuerdo con todo eso, pero sin capitalismo, no podemos tener ropa fabricada; ni papel, ni tinta para escribir esto. Sin embargo no quiere meterme en asuntos económicos aquí. Mi propósito es examinar los ciclos de la vida.<br />
<br />
Un ejemplo que viene a la mente, es cuando Josef se fue con el Faraón para interpretar su sueno de: siente anos productivos y siete anos de mal cosecha. Por supuesto Josef dijo que fue Dios que le dio el mensaje al Faraón, y si fuera hoy día, tal vez pudiera agregar que fue debido al Cambio Climático?<br />
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La misma cosa pudiera haber existido con la civilización Maya. Muchos preguntan: Que paso con la civilización Maya?...Podría una contestar: El Calentamiento Global ?...Quien va a decir que esto no es cíclico?<br />
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Bien.El clima es cíclico, formando un patron que se puede identificar por periodos de corto y largo plaza, pero: se puede identificar la grandeza y decadencia de una civilización igual?<br />
<br />
Parece que la historia se inclina hacia esa conclusion y seria interesante hacer unas comparaciones aquí.<br />
<br />
En el principio la civilization Griega, con su centro en Atenas, las mujeres cubrieron sus cuerpos cuando se fueron a la playa. En dejar visto su tobillo, fue considerado indecente. Muchos anos después cuando los Persas llegaron para conquistarlo, las mujeres se acostumbraron andar desnudos en las playas. La misma civilización, con ciclos diferentes.<br />
<br />
Vi algunos fotos de la gente en la playa de los Estados Unidos en el principio del siglo veinte. Todos estaban vestidos bien modestas con respecto a sus trajes de bano. Hoy día, si uno va a la playa en California, se cree que la prenda no fue inventado todavía....Un lapso de mas de un siglo...Un ciclo de tiempo?<br />
<br />
Con respecto a la economía, podemos ver un cambio incalculable con el Imperio Romano. Según la leyenda, Roma fue fundado por dos huérfanos, quienes ni tenia la oportunidad de chupar leche de una mujer, sino de una bestia! Pobreza extrema, pero después de este principio miserable, el imperio fue tan poderosa que todos los países en el mundo mandaron tributos al Imperio Romano. Su población fue creado por bandidos y gente infelices, pero a través de los siglos se convirtieron en los mas destacados poetas; oradores, politicos y artistas de todos los tiempos. Todo esto tardo siglos o ciclos marcado con subidas y bajadas.<br />
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Una idea paralelo se puede notar con los Estados Unidos. Su población original fue compuesto con prisioneros de Inglaterra, o gente con otra religion. Incluso a los que fueron condenados a la muerte, pudieron escoger ser mandado a la colonia inglesa en el nuevo mundo. La economía de la colonia fue un fracaso, porque Inglaterra solo quería ganar, sin invertir y sus paisanos despreciados, los sacaron, para hacer su propio país. De un principio polémico, el país salio para calificar como la economía mas poderoso del mundo hoy. Los anos forman pruebas por ciclos marcados.<br />
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Siempre había guerra. Parece que el hombre no puede existir sin esto, y va por ciclos. En Europa tenia una guerra que tardo cien anos. Pasaron siglos hasta que toco la Primera Guerra Mundial. Veinte anos después estallo la segunda Guerra Mundial. Ahora estamos setecientos anos mas tarde, haciendo un ciclo largo. A la vez el negocio de los armamentos es lo mas rentable en el mundo. Tiene esto una apariencia peligroso? Yo creo que si, pero vamos a ver que destino tiene este ciclo.Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-6243624807627687352019-07-11T15:26:00.001-07:002019-07-11T15:26:43.806-07:00 THE LOST BOOK<br />
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It was never really lost, nor could be completely forgotten, by those of the "House of Cavek." who were the keepers of the book. It had been orally transmitted from father to son, for millenniums, preceding the Spanish conquest.<br />
<br />
At that time a Catholic Bishop asked to see all the written material their ancestors had produced. The Maya priests, who were in charge of the sacred books, willingly brought them, for they were convinced that the new conquerors were interested in knowing about their wisdom. It was a mistake, for the Bishop made a bonfire of them; throwing in some priests on top of it.<br />
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That was when the "House of Cavek" decided to put it down on paper, in the hieroglyphic language that they used.<br />
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Now, after more than five hundred years since then, an old man, descended from the "House of Cavek," was wont to bring it to light to modern man. The only problem was he did not believe the people would appreciate it, nor heed the advice that it contained. Nevertheless, he translated the ancient book into the modern language, for he was the last man to know it. This is the essence of same:<br />
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In the beginning there was nothing; only the sea extended. There were no people. It was made in silence. The silence was made in heaven...the old man wrote and then how the gods tried to make man. It took four trials, before it was done. This was the end of the first part.<br />
<br />
The second part concerned the trials of the twins sent by the gods in heaven, to the lords of the underworld. The twins lost their lives, by trickery, to the lords of death. They were the lords of the underworld. One of the boy's head was cut off and turned into a squash. He brought himself and his brother back to life, by impregnating Blood Woman, who was the daughter of Blood Gatherer. She was impregnated by merely spitting into her hand...the old man remembered, with some humor. Then the twins were revenged and defeated the lords of death. They were the rulers of the underworld. They did it by magic, given to them by the gods in heaven. This would show how the good wins out over evil, the old man considered, and evil is death.<br />
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The next part relates to the four progenitors of his race. They were created by the gods in heaven. They were perfect in every way. They spoke and they wrote. they saw everything in the heaven and on the earth. They knew everything, and therein lay their defection...the old man reflected, for they should not know more than the gods that created them. Therefore the gods diminished their powers, least they should become too proud. That was sound advice, the old man knew.<br />
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Next he traced their migration from where they came from, to where they would go to found their new kingdom. The journey was wrought with great suffering and then wars. The gods were testing their human development, because they feared their pride would destroy them. After all, they were created by the gods.<br />
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So it was before the men came from the other side of the sea to make slaves of us; bringing with them their military power and vice. The Maya people could not withstand them, so they did their bidding. Thus, the old man finished the book.<br />
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At the same time, his people maintained their ancient language and costumes. This had kept them alive for all these centuries, the old man knew.He also reasoned that the lessons on how his people had survived, might be worthy intelligence for the foundering generation in which he now lived. They seemed to be lost in darkness and this book could bring them light, if he would give it to them. At length, he realized that this would not work, for like the four progenitors, their power had to be diminished. No, this generation had to pass, until the lost book would once more be found.Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-70052667826404734502019-06-26T09:28:00.000-07:002019-06-26T09:28:20.583-07:00 A CANDALARIA LIFE<br />
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She was born with a blessing and a curse; but she could do nothing to avoid the one, nor give thanks for the other. It was so ironic, that the paradox caused the people to marvel and refer to the factual events as simply:" A Candalaria Life."<br />
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The blessing was her God-given beauty and the curse, what came after.<br />
<br />
When she was merely a child, the town of San Felipe crowned her as their queen of the local fair. She rode in the back of the mayor's Toyota pick-up, which had been decorated as a float, with ferns and flowers. She sat on an elevated chair, covered with colorful, hand-woven material, where the queen with her crown reigned.<br />
<br />
The people watched her beauty open up like the pedals of a sacred flower, while her parents observed with caution.<br />
<br />
They owned the neighborhood store, where Candalaria worked after school. She was a favorite of all the customers, due to her vibrancy and lust for life. She was quite enchanting. At fourteen she was as developed as a mature woman. That was when she met the tall, fair skinned youth, who came from an enc live of Spanish descendants. He literally swept her off her feet and promised her the moon, if she would only run away with him. She did so and he took her to the capital city, where he abused and left her stranded.<br />
<br />
At length she managed to return to her village, completely humiliated, but fortunately without child. Reluctantly, her parents were disposed to accept her again. So, she went back to work in the store. She was now contrite and humble, the people observed, with pity. They shook their heads while declaring surreptitiously: "It's a Candalaria Life."<br />
<br />
Several years elapsed before she met her second disaster, He was a law student at the national university, but had left because the government accused him of being a revolutionary. Unlike her former suitor, this one was dark skinned. with fiery eyes and the constitution of an active volcano. He spoke to her in words she could not understand, about how the people should rise up against the dictatorship; while they drank liquor together in a hidden corn field. His name was Francisco and he asked her to escape with him to Cuba. She agreed, but he made the mistake of returning to the university one more time, where he was shot outside the gates.<br />
<br />
Candalaria was beside herself with grief and insisted on wearing black. It was known that the university student had been her lover and now she was brought to another kind of grief. It was "A Candalaria Life."<br />
<br />
Her beauty remained but the years sped by without her getting married. It was understood that if a female was not married, at least at twenty, she would remain an old maid.<br />
<br />
Candalaria no longer attended the fiestas, because she considered herself too old for that. Neither did she socialize with her childhood friends, who now had families of their own. She simply attended the store, giving no thought of the future.<br />
<br />
Fate, however, visited her at the age of thirty. It was in the form of a traveling salesman. He wore a suit and had his own car. He came from the capital city monthly to sell medical products to the local pharmacy. He stayed at the only guest house and shopped at Candalaria's store. He invited her to dine at the village's restaurant, where he informed her of his future plans. He was going to build a two story house, outside the capital. Moreover, he was going to go in business for himself, selling medical supplies all over Central America. In other words, he was going to become very rich, but at thirty-five he needed a wife to share his good fortune. He wanted to start a family and asked Candalaria to marry him. This time she faltered and when he asked her why, she told him about her past. She was surprised when he laughed and explained that those were merely youthful experiences. They were now both adults, who could enjoy a mature relationship. It sounded reasonable, so she agreed to go to the beach for the weekend, to consolidate their plans.<br />
<br />
They made love and she was happy again with her Romeo, which happened to be his name. He dropped her off at her home, promising to return in a few days. A few months went by before discrete inquiries were made by the owner of the pharmacy. He informed Candalaria that the salesman was married, with three children.<br />
<br />
The news traveled fast and soon everyone knew what had happened to their childhood queen. It was all so queer for such a fate to befall this rare beauty, that they had no other recourse but to call it..."A Candalaria Life."Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-41532804512167721482019-06-17T09:04:00.001-07:002019-06-17T09:04:56.118-07:00 A FEW STEPS FORWARD<br />
<br />
<br />
SOMETIMES<br />
A FEW STEPS FORWARD<br />
BELAY THE PAST<br />
IN SYMMETRY<br />
<br />
DEFINED IN REPETITION<br />
OF UNDISCERNABLE<br />
FACTS<br />
WHICH ARE NOT SO<br />
<br />
FOR IF THEY WERE<br />
THEN WHY DOES CIVILIZATION<br />
KEEP ON FAILING<br />
OVER AND OVER AGAIN?<br />
CREATING<br />
DECIMATED CITIES<br />
HUMBLED MEN<br />
<br />
<br />Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-31509576911458764522019-05-27T09:08:00.000-07:002019-05-27T09:08:21.857-07:00TO BOMB OR NOT TO BOMB...THAT IS THE QUESTION<br />
<br />
<br />
Outside of Arlington and not a great distance from the White House, is found a colossal architectural structure, which probably could be seen in outer space. It has the shape of a mathematical pentagon and thus was baptized as same.<br />
<br />
It was thrown up during the Second World war, with haphazard ingenuity, and remains an unfathomable labyrinth of undecipherable bureaucracy. It was paid for by the people of the United States, in the form of taxes. That was the theory, and yet the whole world knew there were other sources of revenue. It was the lair of destruction.<br />
<br />
Now the date may be misjudged; mismanaged or misapplied, since the West cannot meet the East, without the sun outdistancing it. But you could create a weapon that could meet with that inequality on equal terms. In a sense, you could create a different date, according to a different time.<br />
<br />
You must apply all the knowledge accumulated to date and create a hexagon duplication of a square. This coincides with the environment where the weapon will be created, with enough darkness, to penetrate the light.<br />
<br />
There are no faces here, yet there are people, who are neither round, nor rectangular. They are not even square. They are humanoids in the shape of humans, although it would be difficult to define them.<br />
<br />
They exist because they are well cushioned and comfortable in their role of creating the perfect weapon. Oxygen must be pumped in and there are no windows.<br />
<br />
It was here that the destructive devise was created and presented to the select few, responsible for its use. The meeting was recorded as such:<br />
<br />
<br />
"Gentlemen, the situation is detailed concerning the new weapon and its displacement and the means of its deployment. The world is no longer ours and it should be. It must be and to that we are committed; not morally, but otherwise. Therefore we must release the military might which we have developed over the years, in order to make certain the rest of the world respects our wishes..."<br />
<br />
The speaker paused here and nothing stired. The silence was continuous. If it were day or night, no one knew. It was all the same thing.<br />
<br />
"Yet, this is still a Democracy, thus I inquire to you all...To bomb or not to bomb...that is the question?"<br />
<br />
Everyone recognized the paraphase from Hamlet and thught it erudite. Several even suggested that they name the new weapon Shakespeare, but it was not decided. In fact nothing was decided, so the meeting broke up and each one reteated to his mysterious, innocuous habitation; with the knowledge that, in reality, everything had already been decided. Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-64327580102666123382019-05-16T09:21:00.000-07:002019-05-18T15:44:17.395-07:00 ANOTHER DAY IN THE CANTINA<br />
<br />
<br />
"Good! The gang's all here!" the man they called maestro, exclaimed, inside the one room adobe establishment. It was the only place in the neighborhood, that served liquor. It was a small drab, fetid environment, with cracked walls, from previous earthquakes and a wooden bar, that had been painted, who knows what color, a long time ago. There were two, small, worm eaten, wooden tables, that contrasted with the new, plastic chairs, which served the patrons. It was not a pleasant place, but it was a second home for these men. They referred to it as "The Office."<br />
<br />
"Please come in maestro and take a chair," a man declared with sincere respect, standing up to vacate his seat.<br />
<br />
"Than you," the other replied, with accustomed gravity, as small bottles of ninety percent alcohol, were passed around the two tables.<br />
<br />
There were six of them, including the maestro. One was a bus driver, another an electrician. Another young man cut firewood in the mountain, for a living. Then there was the thief and the guy who sold marijuana. They were all between twenty and thirty years old, and were remotely interested in what was happening around them, in the so called, global village. Lemons were squeezed and the first swallows from the Styrofoam cups, preceded the first question. It was posed in general, by the electrician;<br />
<br />
"Do you think the gringos will invade Venezuela?"<br />
<br />
"The Russians won't let them!" the woodcutter pronounced, with fierce conviction.<br />
<br />
"They did it here in the revolution of 1944; didn't they?" the bus driver affirmed, with a stab of wisdom.<br />
<br />
"But it's not the same thing today," the electrician insisted, "The Russians are better armed and they both are determined to take the oil."<br />
<br />
"The big fish eats the little ones," the maestro tried to explain, as the discussion began to become heated by alcohol fumes.<br />
<br />
He was not really a teacher, rather a metal worker. He had lived in Mexico, and there they called each other maestro. That's how he got his nickname. His metaphorical reference to the workings of nature and man, made everyone pause as another round of bottles were passed around.<br />
<br />
"Yes," the electrician finally agreed, breaking the silence,"and the big fishes today are the Gringos, the Russians and the Chinese.They all want to control the world energy."<br />
<br />
"This is my energy!" the thief exclaimed, as he gulped down what was in his cup, with a pleasant smile of contentment.<br />
<br />
"What a beautiful asshole you are!" the marijuana salesman proclaimed, hugging him on the shoulder, while all the rest broke out with laughter.<br />
<br />
This called for another round of drinks, with each one contributing their share for he common good. The cups were measured so that everyone would get a fair share. The political insights seemed to stimulate their consumption, making them feel like they were part of this big wheel of global fortune, and not the little clog they really were. They were all feeling quite comfortable when the thief explained:<br />
<br />
"I guess you all know that sometimes a thief gets caught and has to spend time in the can. That happened to me one time in Texas."<br />
<br />
"What did you steal" the woodcutter asked.<br />
<br />
"Nothing. In fact I was working but since I didn't have papers, they deported me."<br />
"That's easy enough," the bus driver shrugged.<br />
<br />
"Yes, but first they put you to work in jail for a month."<br />
<br />
"And how was it?" the electrition asked.<br />
<br />
"No bad. The food was good and I had a nice bed. I worked in the laundry. so it was only a few hours a day. They even paid me a dollar an hour."<br />
<br />
"That's more than I make!" the woodcutter lamented.<br />
<br />
"So what you're saying is that if you have to live under another government, the Gringos are better than the Russians or the Chinese," the maestro stated.<br />
<br />
"I was never in their jails, but I don't think I would like to try them out," the thief replied, with lamentable sincerity.<br />
<br />
"Now that marijuana is legal there, maybe I can get a job. That's my field of business!" the salesman volunteered with pleasure.<br />
<br />
"Forget it! They have better stuff than you and deliver itt to your door, like a pizza!" the thief exclaimed.<br />
<br />
"Are you serious?"<br />
<br />
"Definitely!" the other proclaimed, downing his drink to seal the pronouncement.<br />
<br />
He was the one who ordered the drinks this time, since he had recently sold some religious relics he had stolen from the nearby Catholic church. Things became a little more blurred, as the drinking continued, while the distant reality faded into a tangible indifference. After all, this was still Latin America and just another day in the cantinaHarryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-91046258432168748562019-05-08T10:21:00.000-07:002019-05-08T10:21:46.924-07:00 THE MILLIONAIRE<br />
<br />
<br />
He was a century old and never lived anywhere else than the adobe hut where he resided. It was the inheritance from his parents; his grandparents and all those who had gone before them. It was incalculable and not worth the calculation,<br />
<br />
He was taken care of by his offspring who numbered great grandchildren, from legitimate wives, plus countless concubines. He was still an able bodied man, who maintained all his senses and walked well, with a cane. In a real sense, he was a millionaire<br />
<br />
At the same time he inherited extensive plots of land, which his ancestors had bought for a few cents and was now worth millions of pesos. He knew this but he never let it enter his thoughts. His name was Pedro Yax, but in his native language he was called Lu'. Most of his life he was called Pedro, however, since he lived in a Spanish speaking environment. They were the conquerors and remained the government. It was usually ruled by a dictator, who raped the land and women, while making slaves of the native peasants. The peasants worked the land while the dictators distributed the wealth to their cronies. Therefore they stole the land of Pedro's ancestors. That was before the revolution.<br />
<br />
The new, popularly elected leader, instituted a land reform that gave the land back to the peasants,who were the original owners. Unfortunately this idea clashed with foreign interests, so the president was exiled and another form of dictatorship ensued. Thus the land was once more taken away from Pedro Yax.<br />
<br />
Pedro survived several revolutions and in retrospect, they seemed almost the same. Each side wanted the land and what it could produce. In that way, it had changed hands over the years.<br />
<br />
Pedro worked the land that was taken away from him. It was given to a ladino crony, who turned it into a cattle ranch. During this time he sired children. He saw wives die and be replaced by others and the gaps filled in with numerous concubines. He became a regular Patriarch. At the same time he knew, that if he waited long enough, either the patron would die or maybe the dictator and then he would get his land back. It took twenty years, but finally it did happen.<br />
<br />
The capitalist overseer in the north insisted on a democratic government and subsequent investment of capital. Thus, his village turned into a town and the nearest town turned into a city. There they had modern malls; supermarkets, high tech shops, boutiques and even gay bars! In a word, they were up to date! It happened that Pedro's land was in the center of a place where real estate speculators wanted to build an expensive, housing project. They therefore entreated his offspring to make him sell his land. Everyone went to work on Pedro, but it was not an easy task.<br />
<br />
Pedro knew what they wanted, so he accepted their acute attentions, with certain demands. He wanted them to call him Lu' and not Pedro. He also demanded they speak to him only in his native tongue. He wanted to be fed in the same healthy diet his mother had given him. He also wanted his adobe dwelling whitewashed, inside and out. All of this was carried out with alacrity, as his in satiate offspring waited for him to die. They knew he could not live forever and then they would all share his fortune. At least that was what they thought.<br />
<br />
Their patience was awarded one day, when he died. It was determined he had suffered from old age.<br />
<br />
That was the beginning of a legal war, for the deeds of the land were said to be no longer valid. This caused a flood of lawyers to carry out the case for years. Everyone knew the land belonged to old man Yax, but you had to prove it with lengthy, court room battles and bribes extended in the right places. When it was settled, most of the money went to the lawyers and real estate people. His siblings ended up with the least percentage of the millions of pesos the land was sold for.<br />
<br />
Pedro Yax...Lu'...was buried next to his whitewashed dwelling, where he was born...a millionaire.Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-39699712750640096232019-04-30T08:22:00.000-07:002019-04-30T08:22:08.915-07:00 FLIES AND CONTRA-FLIES<br />
<br />
<br />
"Flies are the reincarnation of human beings, who have come back to haunt us..." Leonardo da Vinci<br />
<br />
One does not know exactly how many millions of years these insects have existed; but they remain to torture the office worker and peasant farmer alike. It is said they have a short life span, but it is enough to cause considerable mischief, during that time. Is that because they are relentless and all pervading? Perhaps and their aggressiveness has allowed them to survive, while multitudes of other insects have disappeared from the face of the earth.<br />
<br />
Of course they assemble well on anything decayed; be it plant or animal. Therefore they are present at all wars, from Egyptian to Persian and rounded off in the Roman theater before the New World got into it.<br />
<br />
There was always the butcher and the butchered, but eventually each met their own fate, while the flies remained the victors.<br />
<br />
That much history tells us, until arriving at this point in time, where wars and weapons don't leave bodies on the battlefield. There are rockets; planes, submarines and space stations...all encased in metal and thus...fly proof?...Not so! This was when the contra-fly evolved. Nature simply provided them with a harder shell. This, in turn, allowed them to continue to buzz in planes; submarines and even an astronaut had the mischance of finding one in his helmet, following take off.<br />
<br />
Scientists were left to figure out how these insects survived wars that did not create masses of mutilated human beings; rather devastating craters, which allowed nothing to remain...not even an ash.<br />
<br />
At length they came to the agreement that it was all cyclical. That is to say nature gave the new species this hard shell, so that they could continue to molest the living in their new arsenals. Their former species didn't need this in order to attend to their purpose. It was therefore determined that nature had created an insect to cope with the technological funk, while reserving the right to return to its former condition, when the times required it.<br />
<br />
Everyone agreed that the world was in motion and changing, as well as the society within it. Nature was the only fixed truth and this was the proof of why there were flies and contra-flies.Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-23543959214966925322019-04-23T13:51:00.001-07:002019-05-18T15:47:51.702-07:00 HOPELESS ETERNITY<br />
<br />
<br />
Ansuelo Lopez was born in a remote area, in the highlands of Guatemala, some 103 years ago. That was not certain, for there were no records at that time. The ruling Spanish minority did not consider the Maya native inhabitants human. Thus it was not necessary to record their births or deaths. They were eternal serfs, without souls, who were born to serve, rather than anything else.<br />
<br />
Ansuelo's real name was Aj Pop, but the Missionaries changed that and his Christian name became Ansuelo Lopez. That was 100 years ago according to their judgement. The former three years remained in his conscious only. Perhaps they represented the nutriment of his true being, before it was defaced by what it had to be.<br />
<br />
Ansuelo was chosen from out of his village to go to a Catholic school and he did so well, that he was allowed to live in the other world, outside the indigenous pale.<br />
<br />
For the first 50 years of his life, he worked as a field laborer, despite his education.Then things began to change. The country was informed that it must form a Democratic Republic, by its patron, the Yankee Empire to the north. That meant there had to be liberty for all...almost. Because the indigenous population was the majority, it had to be represented in a Democratic government, as stipulated in the new constitution. The country was still in the hands of the Spanish landlords, but it became necessary to seek out a tractable individual to act as a liaison between the two factions: the rulers and the governed. This individual proved to be Ansuelo Lopez.<br />
<br />
At first he was appointed governor of the Provence where he came from. He obeyed the wishes of the military rulers and spoke Spanish so well, that he was given, through popular vote, the rank of a national Congressman, representing the Provence where he was born. In a sense, he was the indigenous representative to Democracy.<br />
<br />
Ansuelo was now 70 years old. His hands were calloused and so were his feet, so that he could only wear sandals. That amused his Congressional colleagues, who encouraged him to do so. The result was he appeared in his traditional dress in the Congress.<br />
<br />
Ansuelo tried to issue legislation that would help his people, but very little of it was approved. Most of it was filed in the trash can. This went on unchanged until he was 90. That was when the Civil War broke out. A portion of the people protested against the despotic Democracy that the military rulers maintained. Thus, they precipitated a guerrilla war. They sought and received international money for armaments. The other side did the same thing and the peasants began to suffer. Ansuelo was threatened because he was a Maya Indian, so he fled to the mountains where he was born. There he directed the guerrilla forces through the hidden secrets of the terrain he knew so well. He was so successful that the other, better equipped, government forces, were paralyzed. This went on until he was physically incapable of leading that kind of suffering life.<br />
<br />
There was nothing else that he could do, save return to the adobe dwelling where he was born. His family and friends were all dead. He was alone and treated as a ward of the village. No one knew he was 103 years old. He could not walk; see or hear and his existence was counted in days.<br />
<br />
He was born a Maya native, then baptized a Catholic spirit, before serving his country's landlords and then sub subsequently becoming their enemy. The people did not know that he had survived all that and he remained a living symbol of Hopeless Eternity.Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-18841214548046005982019-04-17T14:27:00.000-07:002019-04-17T14:32:20.606-07:00 THE CONVERSATION<br />
<br />
<br />
It was during the rainy season that we were seated in the Spanish style patio, of my adobe dwelling. I had made the furniture, so we sat around a rustic table, on comfortable, sturdy benches, with a bottle of rum in front of us. There were three of us: a young man getting his MBA, a Menenol Catholic Priest and myself, who had taught them both Spanish at my school. It was a kind of celebration. <br />
A fine rain began to fall, making its own music on the corrugated, tin roof. The college student and myself imbibed, while the priest refrained from the liquor. He was a thin, wiry sort of a fellow, with a scraggly beard. He seemed to like to curl up, rather than sit, and remained eternally restless. The college student was a wholesome American type. He poured the rum, adding Pepsi, while I squeezed the lemons. The priest only drank Pepsi.<br />
"We were kicked out of Venezuela for trying to help the poor people, in the rural areas."<br />
"What kind of help were you giving?" I inquired, taking a sip of my drink and lighting a cigarette.<br />
<br />
"Well, we gave them loans so that they could bring in portable water and then electricity."<br />
<br />
"They must have lived very far out."<br />
<br />
"They did, and the government almost forgot them."<br />
<br />
"They didn't forget them, but obviously didn't like your Socialistic methods." the NBA candidate concluded, scoffing the charitable efforts of the Catholic Church.<br />
<br />
"There was no question about the political or ideological issue here. The people were in need and we were able to help them, but the government didn't like it, so they began by killing the peasants and then finally they killed a priest. That was when the rest of us left."<br />
<br />
"And Socialism went the way of the ex U.S.S.R."<br />
<br />
"Paid for by capitalistic bullets."<br />
<br />
"And sanctioned by the billion dollar racket in Rome, where the Vatican bank is run by the Mafia," the student ranted, as the rain picked up a little and he refreshed our drinks, with a humph and a physical shrug.<br />
<br />
I felt the edge of their differences as blatant as the opposite axes-es and expected a verbal poniard, to pierce each other's hearts, as a final decision. There was a brittle silence, which was broken only by the rain, before the priest could find the words his mind was seeking:<br />
<br />
"I don't know the economic status of the Vatican, but I do know that good deeds require money and that the salaries of the priests are minimal."<br />
<br />
"And therefore your project failed. Now if a private company would have gone into the same countryside, with the measure and means of profit involved; the employees would have been well paid for their efforts and the plan would have been carried out efficiently," the student proclaimed, gulping his drink triumphantly.<br />
<br />
The rum was definitely making its effect, I noted, as he poured us another drink and the priest took more Pepsi. I felt that they were equally right in their separate ideologies. It might have been due to the liquor, which always made my thinking more tractable, but I desired to find a measure of acceptance in their lingering confrontation. As such, I ventured to suggest:<br />
<br />
"But what would happen if the lamb and lion lied down together in peace? I mean here Socialism and Capitalism, metaphorically."<br />
<br />
"Well, if the lamb doesn't eat the lion then the lion has to eat the lamb. That's nature and capitalism too!" the NBA man exclaimed, with final conviction.<br />
<br />
"Perhaps that's true, but I still prefer to remain a priest," the other concluded, as the rain stopped and he took his leave for the evening.<br />
<br />
The student stayed, for one more serious drink. He drained it quickly, as though he had acted too rashly, in his logic. This became apparent, when he stood up to go, and in an unsteady manner remarked:<br />
<br />
"Maybe I was a little too hard on him," he admitted, while I walked him to the front door, "but I still say capitalism is the best system!" he concluded, walking off into the night.Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-18445750980782371612019-04-10T13:40:00.001-07:002019-04-10T13:40:57.730-07:00 HIGH NOON<br />
<br />
<br />
He was not a student at the University, where the English-Dramatics class was studying the movie High Noon, for possible permanent psychological damage, concerning the violence therein. It was already determined that Gary Cooper was an arch-axis model of determined evil; but he knew nothing of that, since he was only in high school. Nevertheless, he was equipped with the latest technological advancements and an automatic pistol. He lived in Renalds, about sixty miles east of Portland, Oregon.<br />
<br />
It was not all planed but it was well thought out. He had started to play violent, internet games before he was able to walk, so that when he reached puberty, he was violent inside and an angel without. No one could have ever imagined this thing that he was planning at High Noon.<br />
<br />
That was the time for the lunch break at Renalds High School. He could get a clear shot of those he wanted to kill and those who must die. It was that simple and he didn't even know who Gary Cooper was.<br />
<br />
He had to make sure he got there when the guards at the metal detectors were off to lunch. He was a student with high marks and slated to go on to college. No one could possibly expect what he was planning to do...or could they? He pondered this in his computer, trying to extract the possibilities of failure. The data came back as fast as he put it in. He was assured that mathematically, his plan would succeed. So, he put the automatic pistol under his coat and Macintosh on top of that. There was an Oregon rain going on, but that was natural and might even help him to escape, although he knew he never would. There was something that could not be defined. He must kill, but he didn't know why. Was it because he was trapped in an internet thralldom of unexplained proportions? The concave world of modern technology had made a mess of his existence. It was all filled with pornography, or worse. He was only fifteen, but he knew it was all useless. He was not old enough to say he had tried, although he cried, even though he didn't know why.<br />
<br />
If he could kill his classmates and the teacher he disliked, then they would know too. It was a decisive matter, which was soon to be resolved.<br />
<br />
The rain was now incessant and the students were all inside. There were no plain-cloths men at the door.<br />
<br />
He walked in and took off his Macintosh. No one noticed that there was a bulge beneath his overcoat. He noticed that the teacher was eating a ham sandwich and that the students were fed on cheese sandwiches.<br />
<br />
That was the last thing he remembered, beside the fact that the hateful teacher offered him a part of his ham sandwich.<br />
<br />
He quietly pulled out the automatic pistol from under his coat and began to shoot. The first one he killed was the teacher and then he killed all his classmates, allowing for one bullet, in order to blow out his own brains.<br />
<br />
It made international news and there was one psychologist in Hollywood, who suggested it was like the movie High Noon.<br />
<br />
There were scrambles for his last confessions on the internet, which did not appear. A movie was later made called "Middle Noon" but it flopped at the box office. Nothing was resolved and the world went on as usual.Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-18912623566952810522019-04-08T13:53:00.000-07:002019-04-08T13:53:39.662-07:00 UNA COPA MAL...<br />
<br />
<br />
"That song reminds me of the time I lived in Mexico..." said the man, who was the only one to break the silence in the moldy cantina. It was about a guy who had one more drink and they were all about at that point, at this place which could be anywhere in Latin America...."I was in Renosa on the gringo border near MacAllan, Texas. In those days you could cross from one side to the other, without much problem, so I eventually became a coyote. That was a long time ago but there was still money to be made.<br />
Then on one trip, there was this Mexican girl in the group. Her name was Renosa and that gave me the poetic feeling that she was made for me. Really it didn't matter, what her name was or where she came from. It could have been from another planet, for all I cared, with such beauty. What huge, black eyes with full, red lips and radiant, black hair. There was no comparing her body, but her eyes had both a mischievous look and that of a virgin. I think it was the paradox that I liked and I never did find out if she was a virgin, even though we made love one night in the Arizona desert. She said she was but I never saw any blood on the sand.<br />
Anyway she said she was going to Los Angeles, where she had some relatives. She was supposed to contact them in Phoenix and they would get her out there. She was about seventeen, although I never asked her age.<br />
I personally helped her to make her connections and didn't charge her anything more. She thanked me by making marvelous love one more time. It was in a real bed.<br />
We parted but promised to keep in touch and we did for a while, through the internet.<br />
Apparently she became obsessed with that thing and plugged into every program from Facebook on down.<br />
As I said we were in touch for a while and then she didn't answer my emails for a long time. I didn't understand it really, because if we weren't lovers any more, we could still be friends I figured and then I found out the truth of the matter. She had been abducted by one of those obscure contacts and turned into a prostitute. I know it was against her will, even though she did have a mischievous look when I first met her, because I still believe she was a virgin....So she stabbed a customer when she was blazing drunk and he slit her throat. It was all over the internet..."the man murmured, despondently, as he finished his cup of tequila and the Mexican song ended, with the lamentable morn of......una copa mal....Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5848931336134437849.post-62292394986478241032019-04-04T09:18:00.000-07:002019-04-04T09:18:12.856-07:00 IT'S HIS WORD AGAINST MINE<br />
<br />
"Well now Lester...which way are we gonna have it? This court is open to your plea...Are you guilty or are you not guilty?"<br />
<br />
The man was in his sixties; dressed in working overalls, with the smell of manure still in them. He leaned his head to one side, with the mop of white hair under a straw hat and closed one eye, as though he were thinking to himself. Then he replied:<br />
<br />
"Ya see judge, it's like this...When my grand-pappy settled in these parts of Alabama, he done finish one war with this here Mr. Lincoln, before he had to fight another one with the Yankees that came after him. I guess it was right about then that the Klan got started..."<br />
<br />
"Lester, I don't need a lesson on how the Klan got started and everybody knows that you're a Coulpepper and that your family's been around these parts for a right spell. But what I wanna know, straight out is did you kill Axel Geese deliberately or was it in self defense?"<br />
<br />
Lester shifted from one boot to another. They both had manure on them, but the man was used to that, while this other kind of interrogation, he was not. Thus it took him a few minutes of deliberation before he replied:<br />
<br />
"Well now judge, it all depends on what you mean by self-defense. That's kinda why I spoke about my great grand-pappy and the Klan. Ifin I'm right, they might be called terrorists today and ifin I'm wrong, then what they did was in self-defense." Lester explained, to which the exasperated judge demanded:<br />
<br />
"Did Axel pull a knife on you Lester before you shot him?"<br />
<br />
"Sure! All niggers pull knives judge. You know about that. It's part a their culture and that's why we got the Klan..."<br />
<br />
The judge, who was a distant kin to Lester, going back to the Civil War, which wasn't so civil, scratched his head and tried to ignore the stench of manure. Of course it was necessary to correct him, so he composed himself in a sober manner and said:<br />
<br />
" You can't say that word Lester and ifin you do, I have to fine you."<br />
<br />
"What word was that judge?"<br />
<br />
"The one you used to indicate the assailent with the knife."<br />
<br />
Lester thought for a moment and then replied with almost lamentable sincerity:<br />
<br />
"But ifin I'm thinken that word..Why can't I say it?"<br />
<br />
"Because Congress decided to pass a law against sayin it. You have to call them Afro-Americans today or else you get fined."<br />
<br />
"The Carpet Baggers again?"<br />
<br />
"I guess you could say that," the judge agreed, reluctantly, "But that's not the point here. Now since Axel Greese is dead and there were no witnesses," he paused, taking a deep breath, "Did the Afro-American pull the knife on you, before you shot em?"<br />
<br />
Despite his appearance, Lester was not an idiot. He knew that if he answered one way, the judge would put him in jail; but if he answered in another way, he would remain a free man. It didn't matter if it were the truth or not. It was just a matter of the law. It was as simple as that, so he replied:<br />
<br />
"Yep, that's the way it was judge. He pulled the knife first and then I shot em!...After all...it's his word against mine!"<br />
<br />
Harryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15560944626747499473noreply@blogger.com0