This is a science fiction interpretation of The South Bronx
of America when it had the concrete cancer of Europe after WWII and to see how
some African Americans and some Hispanics had hollow looks of cattle on
plantations lit by candles made from fat.
Pistol whipped by cops that brought The Troubles that
justified painkiller abuse, bitch slapped by an Irish priest in my childhood
when it clearly saw better to free a suffering Jew who made the blind see, lead
me to terrorism by truth, justice and the comic books.
It’s Judgment Day on me who, in the beginning of my Wonder
Years in TV wasteland, wanted to be a pointy-ear devil of a science officer on
a starship now ancient like Win98 saved from junkyards to repair memories and
enabling me to write programs while Bob Dylan wails rolling stones. What’s the power point of it all?
History is a waste of time travel for faceless narcissists
filled with envy on Face Book.
Didn’t I make up my mind to leave cyber cave people behind
in the future of smart devices getting smarter? Why am I still here with an
uncertain smile?
How does it feel to be free on your own light cycle without
directions home?
O Danny X Machina loves this song by Joy Division: Love
Will Tear Us Apart.
Again.
To Sleep, Perchance To Pitch Nightmares To DreamWorks: Comic
Book Cyber Journal Of The Better Angels Of Our Nature By Danny Aponte of P.S
161
There are 8 million stories in The Naked City and more
beyond borders.
You’re now one of them on police line-ups.
Gotcha.
Japanese Anime South Bronx style!
Copyrighted 2014 by me.
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