Sunday, May 13, 2018



BSC, CA – Our featured picture would not be here except for my mom, my magical mother. I have been involved with the civil rights economic boycott of the downtown stores to open their lunch counter to blacks, called Negros, in those days. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. had come to town earlier that year, see page 64, Memoirs of Mr. Pete & Mary Jane Green.

The Easter boycott named Nothing New For Easter [button motto] shut down a main conduit of revenue to Louisville's white merchants because 'black folks' love to sport their stuff at Easter. Hundreds were arrested in the months we protested. All my friends were, many more than once. My family never got wise until one day six weeks into the daily protests, there was a photo-opted National pic showing staged black protestors because the real protestors were all high school students [the real news], I never missed a protest, and I never got arrested or photographed once. At this time I did not know that one day I would be a wizard.

Though there was a dust-up the day my family found out, the moment passed, thanks to my grandfather, and my protest attendance and unblemished police record stayed that way. No one seemed to notice but I told my mother about it because it was 'very lucky' to me, and we were buds, she being 19 when she bore me. At the start of the summer another protest issue came up; integrating the local amusement park, our wonder warf, Fountain Ferry Park. I got the call and got ready to go over on my bike. My mom asked, I told her, and she gave me her blessing. The picture above resulted. Where am I?

I have 3 sons. My writing and reporting here at this web site is my way of having the 3 of them out in the garage on Saturday morning after cartoons, a sesh of sorts. Since that's not likely to happen as it hasn't in almost 73 years, this is my passing on an imprint legacy in hopes of explaining why they see things the way they do. However, on this special day, it has to be noted that each of their moms was special, or they wouldn't be here.

Mom #1 is a practical mom, religious in that strange Catholic way. Our romance started with a kiss in Iroquois Park. Son #1 is the Only son of Mom #1 who is a PhD now and who both live in the same town.

Mom #2 is a unicorn inside a person suit. Again, before I knew my magical side, I uttered the reverse spell of saying 'don't fall in love with me' after she kissed me on the dance floor. She is a romantic. My mom was a romantic hence the attraction. Son #2 is the First Son because she had been told unicorns can't reproduce. Son #2 made Mom #2's dream come true, to be a mom.

Mom #3 is a good witch from the branch of Douglass. They are descendants of Little John, the guy who taught Robin Hood how to fight with a staff. There is a strong sense of natural nature to her you can sense. A natural mother, Mom #3 finished raising a wizard before giving birth to Son #3, a new wizard. All the things I thought strange, I now accept to be true, thanks to Mom #3's family life.

The last two Moms are also special in their own ways and style.

The first of these Moms is a conglomerate Mom. I met this Mom through Occupy LA, a flashpoint for those on the vanguard. If ever there was a Spirit of the Hollywood version of their Wonder Woman, the individual Moms of Moms Across America, past and present members, incorporate that through their determination to not bow down when their children are at stake. Like other groups around the world fighting multi-national giant companies like Unilever and others, these women don't just stand on corners holding banners. These moms educate and mobilize; trends show their actions are bearing fruit for families everywhere.

'GMOs? We're Not Buying It!' printed on Anvil Organic cotton
And last but not least, this list can't end without bearing a Mom who made me laugh, and once cry as I watched her live on Ed Sullivan's when she sang Abraham, Martin, and John, shortly after Bobby Kennedy had been assassinated. She was tamer than Redd Foxx and salted her pepper with homespun wisdom and jokes bout those who could illustrate her points. These were thinking jokes because it took a second to catch the punch line, usually. Though her delivery was definitely ethnic, it wasn't ghetto. Now enjoying a resurgence of sorts through YouTube, I can only mean Moms Mabley, the 'Moms' of my generation.

Where am I?

 The last in line, as is my place among the Rothschilds. Opening and closing photo from ISBN 978-1-935497-36-3.

Wednesday, May 9, 2018

Tabanero hot sauce - unboxing, taste test and review



BSC, CA – Today's report topic is aptly named to point out everyday instances that reflect the tragic reality of this Matt 24 generation and why JC said to be aware, and hold on, I'm coming [Sam & Dave].

The other day I came to the intersection at Blaine & Canyon Crest. Riverside has audible signals that indicate the walk sign is flashing and lit using a small domed speaker on the selected direction traffic pole. A young college girl was waiting to cross in the same direction as I, across Blaine. Blaine, which can be busy certain times of the day, hardly had any traffic this time of morning. The young woman was not on her phone or wearing headphones. In fact, she just had a small backpack on.

The light changed and the signal went off, but the green light was for Blaine, not Canyon Crest the direction we were both heading, her for campus and me for the bus stop. And then, just like Pavlov's dog, the woman stepped into the street and preceded to cross Blaine, against the light. Reaching the other side, she reminded me of my mother's saying, “God takes care of fools and monkeys.”

Two other things you should not see; college students riding their bikes on the sidewalk with bike lanes available, and no new soccer arena in the space where married college students used to be housed, and where thousands of birds still are. This decision happened because the students objected to the idea, showing the spark of common sense still exists at the top over the pyramid, at least in the young.

Something else I didn't expect to see was some sort of message that was sent to my phone which then sent me into a telemarketer loop. Every day I get about three or four calls a day from supposedly out-of-state Magic Jack numbers. So far cell numbers these states have showed up: California, North Carolina, Chicago, ILL [Hi Barry, and the other guy, Ron. How's Hugo?], THE UNITED STATES, Florida, Maryland, and Oregon, plus various different cities in California, all in a round-robin fashion.

They then leave a message which says “Press 1 to get a half-off free assessment or press 2 to be placed on our 'do not call' list. Thanks for your time and be healthy and blessed,” in a young female Christian-sounding voice. Since this harassment started after ignoring two texts from the Democratic Party and US Poll, respectively, the Dems are on my shit list. The following message is for those robot-call handlers.
Holes in buildings are things you shouldn't see, in my opinion. These two holes below happened to a building's rear wall, with the interior business being ABC Pharmacy. Actually only one of the holes worked because the first hole missed the drugstore. The robbery occurred between the hours of 4AM and 6AM. The tree stump pictured was dug up prior, earlier in the evening, then used because the wood doesn't make the clang sound of metal against brick. These guys weren't union, just druggies spun and probably homeless.

A month earlier the front door of Aloha Pizza was smashed and the thieves made away with $4 flat. The cost of the insured repair - $900.

Speaking of 'the druggie homeless, they are in a class of their own. Besides the window rap over the buses to make the unfortunates blend in better to the unnoticed background landscape, the 'pay' toilet is back. Though no coin box is on the stall [last used in the state of Indiana until the WSJ outed them], today's pay toilet system means no store purchase, no right to use the toilet. The last bastion of public commercial toilet use, the restaurant, has closed ranks most other business. A few years back a building code ruled a business had to provide a public toilet. Still, it depends on the establishment and the generosity they choose to exhibit.

In cases where the RTA has removed passenger benches, the old motto of 'any place I lay my head' is the reality. In truth, when the end cycle of crystal meth hits, you crash and burn.

The plague of homeless is worldwide and has always been [reported by Jesus] but a combination of events have brought these poor chickens upon our personal roosts. We have only one enemy to thank. You see, Sports Fans, we can blame this upon the banksters like in the movies or failed policies like the public opines, but that is thinking like a free man. In reality, just 6 years afterAbe freed the slaves and they killed him, we and our ancestors were put back into bondage, becoming a resource [asset] of the corporation THE UNITED STATES. The following video will explain this fact more fully.

And the last thing we should not see is a subject that I have not heard broached by any sermon from the Big 3 religions on any platform.

Friday, May 4, 2018



BSC, CA – In 1895 Riverside, CA, was the state's most prosperous city. Since that time many things have happened; assassinations, A-bombs, Roswell, GMOs, even the cycle of being in, then out, to back in vogue for the world's mightiest plant, but through it all the skill set taught the world by the Ancients for growing food has never fallen out of grace. We organic machines have to eat, and sleep, sex is optional.

Throughout California there are repositories* of agricultural practices that are constantly being studied and upgraded, then recorded for those in the area to read and become a part of in passing down the close-to-the-soil results. In Riverside County, that agency is the RCRCD, or Riverside-Corona Resource Conservation District which oversees the Riverside-Corona Conservation District. The RCRCD office is located at 4500 Glenwood Dr. in building A.

With a small table and information booth set up at the beginning and end of the bird watching trail, I looked at the literature available to the general public. After the jump we present a selection for our readers' perusal plus a link. It must be again noted that the CAP grant for last fall's arroyo area cleanup resulted ultimately in this two part article.

And now, let's see what's growing on.

OK, so that was a gimme, but moving right along...

For more information on CAP and RCRCD.

(*- repositories; birds of a feather, be they government, private sector, or grassroots.)

Tuesday, May 1, 2018



BSC. CA – If money makes the world go round, death makes the spin stop and you gain focus. When you have animals around, you have to expect death to pop in now and then.

I live with two dogs, a big dog and a small dog. The big dog is astute; the small dog is an attention whore, and a pain in the ass. Neither dog is mine but the small dog is a train-wreck, and a killer. Had the latest kill been the gopher whose presence has been detected, that would have been a good thing. But no. this kill was an opossum, an animal that eats cockroaches and other pests to people.

The landlord identified the dead animal and said take care of it. I picked out a nice shady spot, found some dirt loose enough to dig in, dug a hole and buried it, after saying a few words over the grave. For me, I figured that was it. It isn't often that I have to perform as a pallbearer in The Circle of Life. However, as long time readers know, two is my number.

Several days later, I happened to take notice of something seemingly out of place, this.

At first I was not sure exactly what this was, but soon after looking closer at the sharp pointed stinger-looking beak, I knew. One of my hummingbird buds had flown his [or her] last mission. I didn't know the circumstances but he had chosen to land in that space to find peace. Perhaps he didn't want to be some meal for a forager, like the roaming cat from next door. I put this 'to do' on the list and waited for the weekend [last Sunday].

Showing my respect when Sunday afternoon arrived, I carefully climbed the footstool and removed the tiny bird. He was lighter than a feather but not flimsy, with tiny eye lids. Part of his tongue was out, like for that last bit of sweet life he could get before going on.

Not having access to examine one of the little guys alive, I carried my departed friend out back and posed him in the sun for different angles of light exposure.

A sadness unlike any for a person, but similar in intensity grew inside me as I went through my photo angles.

Then it was time to find the spot somewhere in the same area of yard section but under a different bush, and I knew exactly the place.

There is a big bush really close to my window and the right edge [room view] just appears in a quarter of my window's view. I think some birds may have a nest somewhere in that bush. I see birds working the flowers and tree buds regularly. Also after a year of being here, the birds know where my room window is. When a favorite feeder goes empty, several hummingbirds will fly by the window, stop and look in.

I found a spot, worked the dirt which was hard as a rock at first, then gradually dug a small grave in the shade. The area already had some flower pedals so it looked perfect.

Then I laid my fellow traveler in his grave and covered him with the dirt. I put two branch sticks up to mark the grave spot, finally saying some words over it as well. My eyes got wet.

After a bit, I decided to go out front and sit on the porch. For those who have read Bird Wars, you know that to me the birds are my neighbors, not pets, creatures, or animals, just people as it were, in animal suits.

I sat there on the porch bench, having a vape of Forbidden Shoes as the early afternoon feeding sesh started, and talking to the dinners that came and went, I told them that I had laid one of their fellows to rest earlier that day. Recalling where he had come to rest up on the roof notch, I gave directions to his grave - “under the bush outside my window, between the house and the bush trunk, in a grave marked with two sticks.”

I stayed outside on the porch probably about 30 minutes, repeating the information when a whole new crew would cruise in for some juice.

I then went back inside and soon returned to my room. It was time for a nap. Before I drifted off, not being overly sleepy but sad, I saw a hummingbird come up to the window, stop about mid-window level with the top branches, then dive down out of sight. A few minutes later several others came up to the almost same spot. Then a second bird flew over and he dove down. The others followed. A single bird came through like he was looking. A little later a single bird came over and dropped right down out of sight also.

When I went back out on the porch in late afternoon, I wasn't sad anymore because I felt the birds knew their friend was properly buried. Those who had known him in flight got to say their goodbyes, and know where he was laid to rest.

Curiously enough, the late afternoon feeding seemed like a wake with all the activity that followed.

Ravens are also reported to honor their fallen by visiting their graves or where they died.