cinemind

[cinemind]

A Middle School Memory of MLK

Excerpt from “The Adventures of MysticKid on Planet Earth” by SAWiltse

A guiding star on the Earth’s dark horizon flickered and went out and with it all the sunrises that might have been. A single photo captured his dying. The shepherd lay murdered at the feet of his flock, who all pointed accusingly somewhere off into the night. From every broadcast and every newspaper his voice still spoke of “mountaintops,” as if he had quoted that scripture in the throes of some terrible premonition. Somehow he knew there would be no “promised land” for him. Martin Luther King was dead. From all accounts, he would never have wanted any American city to burn as tinder for his funeral pyre. Yet burn many did.

Who had known there were so many ghettos, or that a place called “Watts” even existed?

The struggles of the civil rights movement had been a distant thing someplace else. We’d looked upon King with suspicion, as if he were just grandstanding somehow. Why was he stirring up such trouble all the time? Could there really have been something so wrong with our nation, if we’d never heard much about it? But now his death made the truth of it all too clear. No one ever again could say that they had not known of a murdered black man in America, not now, not ever again.

Leslie Brown and her mother were the only colored people I’d ever been aware of before going to Hackett. Once the novelty of it wore off they were just like anybody else, aside from the fact she had a parakeet and her mother liked to make their house stinky cooking up some weird, awful green stuff called ‘collards.’ But wasn’t I different than everybody else, too? Wasn’t everybody different in some way or other? Where were they now? Was Leslie okay?

For the first time I noticed just how many dark faces passed me in the halls and stairways at Hackett. Where once there had been a kind of defiant boredom about them, there was now pain, anger, confusion. Who could blame them for feeling resentful. But what could one say that could make it any better, that wouldn’t bring up other very awkward truths. We braced for a revolt that never came to our safe, quiet, all-white ‘academically talented’ classrooms.

Why didn’t the shabbiest kids, or even at least the hungriest ones, demand their right to the advantages we had always had, and had always taken for granted? “Finish your plate for the starving Armenians,” I’d always been told by my loving grandmother. Were these kids Armenians? But how does my getting too full feed someone else? That was a question neither Sunday school nor confirmation class ever answered.

#mlk #martinlutherkingjr #1968 #childhood

[cinemind]

04x11 // 07x06

[cinemind]

“I was born halfway between poverty and the sun. Poverty kept me from thinking all was well under the sun and in history; the sun taught me that history was not everything.” - Albert Camus

Happy birthday, Camus. 

[cinemind]

Episode 136: Beauty – Once Upon a Podcast (Once Upon a Time 7×04)

This week’s episode of Once Upon a Time set aside the new characters of season 7 in favor of a return to a some of its more traditional fan favorites. In it, we bid a heart-wrenching, but satisfying, farewell to a favorite character. “Beauty” capped off an epic love that started way back in season 1 between Belle and Rumplestiltskin in “Skin Deep,” with parallels to that episode along with other nods to a few Disney favorites. This episode also kicked off a new – and quite possibly final – quest for Rumplestiltskin to one day find his way back to Belle.

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 56:15 — 51.5MB)

[cinemind]

We sat together unnoticed surrounded by empty chairs at the back of a large meeting hall. We surveyed the backs of several hundred people seated rows ahead of us who were listening intently to a presentation about the 1987 tv series “Beauty and the Beast.” The actor who played “Father” in that series, Roy Dotrice, leaned close despite all the excess spaces around us. I snuggled up in return unable to stop the shiver that I knew he could feel. “I’m scared to death.” I confided. “So am I.” He whispered back. “You too!?” The first time this accomplished thespian had admitted that to me, I had scoffed and thought he was joking. This time I knew better. Roy looked back upon the first time he’d addressed a convention of fans with more than a little embarrassment. He hadn’t a clue what was expected of him and so told the audience his entire life’s story— a very interesting one, mind you —but all at once and at length. From then on he would plan some bit of performance for every Q&A, to keep himself grounded. This, then, was to be my first, ahem, ‘personal appearance’ in front of an audience. Worse yet, my ‘job’ on stage was to debate with another fan about whether the show’s highly-controversial third season (without its lead actress) should be supported by its community of admirers or not. I felt a poor champion indeed for the show and its staff. It was their livelihoods that were now as dependent on the whims of network suits as they were obliged by a fickle, largely invisible viewership …and a very vocal, sometimes even hostile, fan base. I resented having to be drafted into such a gladiatorial game. It should go without my having to say it that those who make imaginary worlds and beloved characters come to life should themselves be at least as important as their own creations. Well, shouldn’t they? I leaned in even harder and loved at the warmth of Roy’s arm against mine and was comforted —glad for us to go unseen together for a little while longer. I've always loved actors, made the acquaintance of more of them than I ever expected to, but never before or since have I been as befriended in real life as by this strong, kind soul. Happy Birthday, you lovely man! Love, Steff your 'MysticKid.'

#roy dotrice #beauty and the beast

[cinemind]

Ever wonder what having a thought looks like?

#vimeo

[cinemind]

[cinemind]

What we've observed reminds me of Maslow's "hierarchy of needs." Trump, like Hitler before him (and I'm not just using him as a bogey man) appeals to people who have already been made to feel insecure about their basic survival and security needs. This effect works on both conservative and liberal, right and left. Even as the marchers experience the benefits of belonging to a group / cause larger than themselves, their very empathy will leave them vulnerable to care for and about those who doubt them and/or their motives. Only those who can use the experience to self-actualize and become self-contained will remain sufficiently motivated. In the meantime, the strategy from the White House is to make conflicting statements on an almost minute-to-minute basis, which will keep the largest group of insecure picking and choosing what to believe on the basis of comfort. It also exhausts the emotional energies of the opposition, and further stigmatizes those who remain resolute. This works. It worked in Nazi Germany and we all should (but obviously don't) know how that ended. Here's an example of the power of such propaganda: By the time WW 2 broke out most of the entire population of Germany believed themselves to be living in a rural, agrarian society when, in fact, the majority had actually been living and working in cities for some time. This mass delusion has been dubbed the "illusion of restoration." http://userpages.umbc.edu/~rhusak1/German%20Society,%20Hitler%20and%20the%20Illusion%20of%20Restoration%201930-1933.pdf

#womensmarch #trump #propaganda #illusion #illusion of restoration

[cinemind]

The 'Pink Tide' catches a wave and carves some seashore instead of just moving sand.

[cinemind]

I've witnessed two of these secondhand in my lifetime. One I was too young for and now another when I've gotten just a little too creaky. The energy is remarkably similar, but this one, thanks to the internet (and antipathy toward #Trump), is on an unimaginable scale. Our world has to catch this wave this time. Like all waves they end at a beach. It's up to us whether this wave carves seashore …or just moves around some sand. Here's how I remember the last time: "'Women of the World Unite' said a banner that fluttered from Lady Liberty’s crown. A new protest marched 50,000 strong down New York’s Fifth Avenue. The hard hats didn’t like them any better than they liked hippies. But this time there were no batons or guns. I’d never seen so many bell-bottomed, hip-hugging jeans or so many long, straight haircuts parted in the middle, or so many determinedly smiling faces linked arm in arm. Not all protests begin in anger. Some first steps can be guided with a more hopeful purpose in mind. This was good to know, even if I didn’t quite understand yet what they were marching for. "

#womensmarch

[cinemind]

From a yet-to-be published memoir— about our last “Christmas” dinner with my great aunt Rosena:

“By Sunday I was too tired to hardly move, but Gram got up early and not only made us all breakfast but started in preparing Sunday dinner. This was to be her surprise. It was why she had gone off by herself in the supermarket. Soon the smell of roasting meat wafted from the kitchen.

Instead of knitting, Rosena and I obediently peeled vegetables and set out the fine china. When everything was in readiness we sat Rosena down with much ceremony and curtseys and served her and then ourselves a feast fit for royalty. Roast beef and yorkshire pudding, boiled potatoes with real butter and fresh cooked parsleyed carrots. It was a perfection of love on a platter.

“Just like at home, dear!” Rosena complimented.

Gram beamed.

But Aunt Rosena IS home.

It took a moment to register what ‘home’ Rosena meant. Their home. Their home in England over sixty years before. It didn’t really matter what century the two were in or what continent they were on. The littlest girl from the old family photographs had won her eldest sister’s approval and couldn’t hide her pride even if she wanted to. Then came dessert. What would it be? Jello? Or my favorite? Bread pudding with raisins in it and hard sauce …or maybe even ‘rum’ butter?

An orange!?

Gram placed one before Rosena who picked it up lovingly and held it to her nose, “Christmas, Sevena!” She smiled, rolling it around between her hands, caressing it. “They were all we had.”

“A great delicacy!” Gram exclaimed. They both nodded in agreement and laughed.

Gram took it back and cut it into slices. The fresh smell of zest filled the room.

They were both transported by it.

I tried to imagine what they were remembering together. Christmas in a little stone row house on Ramsden Street in Barrow-in-Furness. An adoring father, their sailor turned railwayman. Their strict and vinegary mother. The proud older sisters, Rosena and Lydia back from their work as "downstairs” housekeepers to help support the family. Home only on holidays. The only presents they could afford to bring the younger children were …Oranges.“

[cinemind]

Check out "The OA" on Netflix

[cinemind]

https://soundcloud.com/mystickid/a-sea-fog-christmas

[cinemind]

https://soundcloud.com/mystickid/a-sea-fog-christmas

[cinemind]

at United States Senate

[cinemind]

From a Facebook Posting 11/27/16… #LookUp #SpeakOut

#lookup #speakout

[cinemind]

The Department of Justice is tallying phone calls regarding those who want the 2016 Vote Audited. (A shift of just 55,000 Trump votes to Hillary in PA, MI & WI is all that is Needed to Win.) Considering everything that is at stake, a vote audit should be done. Call the DOJ at 202-514-2000 ex: 4. Here's a good script: “My name is ___, and I’m a registered voter. I’m urging you to support the call to audit the vote, investigate voter suppression, particularly in North Carolina, Florida and Wisconsin, and investigate Russian tampering of US election results.” SHARE THIS WHERE POSSIBLE. COPY AND PASTE. SPREAD THE WORD.