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?
