By R25288 ( c ) 2006-2007
Chapter Thirty-Two
Death
“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
Dylan Thomas
In The Ghetto
By Elvis Presley
As the snow flies
On a cold and grey Chicago mornin’
A poor little baby is born in the ghetto
And his mama cries
’cause if there’s one thing that she don’t need
it’s another hungry mouth to feed in the ghetto
People, don’t you understand
the child needs a helping hand
or he’ll grow to be an angry young man some day
Take a look at you and me, are we too blind to see,
do we simply turn our heads
and look the other way
Well the world turns
and a hungry little boy with a runny nose
plays in the street as the cold wind blows
in the ghetto
And his hunger burns
so he starts to roam the streets at night
and he learns how to steal
and he learns how to fight
in the ghetto
Then one night in desperation
a young man breaks away
He buys a gun, steals a car,
tries to run, but he don’t get far
And his mama cries
As a crowd gathers ’round an angry young man
face down on the street with a gun in his hand
in the ghetto
As her young man dies,
on a cold and grey Chicago mornin’,
another little baby is born
in the ghetto
Notes from my journal of 11-26-04, Friday, 6pm:
I didn’t see J.D. all day. “Mother”(his grandmother) died. I saw him at supper and gulped my food down to catch him, and he told me. I patted him on the back. She died yesterday, at age 71. I told him to remember all she had taught him. A funeral is planned. It was his mother’s mother, and she’s OK. He is a size 8 & 1/2 on his little finger, and I’m a 6 & 1/2. I was juice man in the kitchen today and got out early. Hopefully, law library tomorrow. I told J.D. that I would come see him if the right staff were on duty. I walked the track x2 today, alone, except for a Hispanic with legal questions. He said, “How much you charge me to do a motion?” I told him to get a law clerk. (There are many that asked me for legal help-I only helped a couple, and never charged).
Notes from my journal of 12-2-04, Thursday, 7:45pm:
I was not on the law library call out for some reason yesterday, so J.D. went alone. When he came back and found me, he said, “I’d be lost without you.” I sensed fear in his voice, and I told him, “It’s OK, I’m here,” and touched him on his stomach. Later I told him it was real “tweet” what he said. Steve sent me some $, so I bought J.D. and me some food stuffs. When he left for work at 11am, and I walked him to the gate, he said, “Remember, you and I aren’t here anymore,” as he signaled with his index and middle fingers, pointing at his eyes to mine, “we’re here,” pointing to his heart and then to mine. I said, “Yeah!” We both remembered to say “White Rabbit” yesterday.
“What we’re saying today is that you’re either part of the solution or you’re part of the problem”
Eldridge Cleaver, 1968
Goodnight Saigon
By Billy Joel
We met as soul mates
On Parris Island
We left as inmates
From an asylum
And we were sharp
As sharp as knives
And we were so gung ho
To lay down our lives
We came in spastic
Like tameless horses
We left in plastic
As numbered corpses
And we learned fast
To travel light
Our arms were heavy
But our bellies were tight
We had no home front
We had no soft soap
They sent us Playboy
They gave us Bob Hope
We dug in deep
And shot on sight
And prayed to Jesus Christ
With all our might
We had no cameras
To shoot the landscape
We passed the hash pipe
And played our Doors tapes
And it was dark
So dark at night
And we held on to each other
Like brother to brother
We promised our mothers we’d write
And we would all go down together
We said we’d all go down together
Yes we would all go down together
Remember Charlie
Remember Baker
They left their childhood on every acre
And who was wrong?
And who was right?
It didn’t matter in the thick of the fight
We held the day
In the palm
Of our hand
They ruled the night
Seemed to last as long as six weeks
On Parris Island
We held the coastline
They held the highlands
And they were sharp
As sharp as knives
They heard the hum of our motors
They counted the rotors
And waited for us to arrive
And we would all go down together
We said we’d all go down together
Yes we would all go down together
Donations payable to R25288, and mailed to P.O. Box 5514, Clearwater, FL 33758-5514 are always appreciated.
