Monday, December 9, 2013



Blogging With Myself With No One In Sight

 

The day after Nelson Mandela died, teenagers rolled marijuana into tobacco in the littered hallways of the building my mother lives in. After midnight, they came in and out loud as jet planes overhead. The peephole of our apartment was like Point Of View on Channel 13.  Without a camera, all I can do is record with words the activities of those moved out of homeless shelters and into a building of long time tenants bewildered by old age in The New Millennium. Things have changed. Every apartment now rents for $2,800.

 

Greed is like a super storm.

 

The city of the world is paying for this. The taxpayers are paying for this. It’s no wonder why the landlord wants my mother and me to move out. Make us homeless to make money from the homeless? This is progress in the 21 Century? Vandals have broken front doors and our mailbox ripped out while graffiti grew like mold on bathroom walls. Cops have been called more often than the fumigators that always leave three glue traps for a growing population of rodents far from a childhood fable on three blind mice. 

 

Where do we go from this icon of poverty?

 

I saw the final season of Dexter.

 

The kids are pleased to meet you! And they don’t have to guess your name! The DVD was on the shelves of The Public Library where I saw The American Dream, a book written by an anchorman from the TV station with the All Seeing Eye logo.

 

 Now I’m Dexter with a pen mightier than a sword.

 

Writing truth cuts deep into the heart. I recall tattooing on wrist my Social Security number in case of being robbed and killed.  There seems to be legions of gangsters in the city of illegal guns and roses and stop and frisk for everyone of me who used to carry Ann Frank in my arms when I was a child who walked in long shadows of bullies and burnt-out buildings. The torch has been passed on to a new generation, began a speech by a space age president killed like Super Man with a bullet to his head. By the time you read this, I committed suicide by freedom of expression. God bless Cyber Space.

 

Now media knows me and when I lived. This is the final season. But life movies on against The End… This was my journal to be found in 2188, a future free from social ills.

 

This was my years of living dangerously in The South Bronx of America

 

This was a historical mural of dreams for the City That Never Sleeps.

 

One door closed in my Face Book…

 

And another one opened…

 

And justice for all…

 

Finally.

 

P.S: If anyone in the media failed to see my point, I’ll jab pen into your all seeing eye.

 

Period.

 

Vast Wasteland To Vast Wasteland: An Essay By Images And Painting By Words

 

 By Danny Aponte formerly of P.S 161

 






 

Copyrighted by Daniel Angel Aponte

 

Why is China laughing?

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