A safe harbor.

There is no way to write this without sounding crazy. Most folks will roll their eyes and say I am exaggerating. I don't think so.
I am surrounded by terrorists.
Not like the two nitwits in Boston who are indeed terrorists but more like the dumb assed petulant youth kind rather than murderous ideologues.
No, I am talking about an international network of sophisticated religious right winged zealots that dedicate every minute of the day to the destruction of Democracy and liberty....all under the guise of protecting Democracy and liberty. Hard to balance a call for a theocracy and respect the rights of individuals deemed abominations in the eyes of God.
So what in the hell am I banging on about?
The Westboro Baptists?
No. Even though those folks give me the willies I must respect their honesty and conviction to what they believe. No obfuscation here. You know exactly what they want and they carry their beliefs out to their logical conclusions.
The network I fear is as insidious as the Taliban and uses many of the same tactics and vocabulary as the Muslim radicals. Both see tolerance and being progressive as a fast track to hell.
The American Family Association is our little nest of well funded and highly influential zealots who are right in line with everything the Westboro crazies spout but they are much better at sugar coating intolerance and making it seem like our patriotic duty to defend the nation and our immortal souls from the scourge that is secularism. We must defeat the Godless infidels and heretics. Hmmm....where have I heard this before?
Freedom of speech I cry! And I truly believe these evil bastards have every right to spout their musty hateful bullshit.
My appeal is to you my fellow humans. It is up to us whether to accept or deny ideas. All this blather is just so many words unless folks accept these ideas into their hearts and minds.
Then we have problems. Unjust laws are written. Bent clergy and political leaders normalize intolerance. Good plain folks harbor terrorists.
Nobody stood up for the Boston bombers. Sure friends and family members couldn't believe these two could do such a horrible thing but nobody was going to aid and assist thoughtless murderers.  
But think back to Eric Robert Rudolph.
Olympic bomber. Abortion clinic and Gay night club bomber. Bombed for the unborn and against the sodomites. Oh yes and set secondary devices to kill first responders.
Now most folks say this man was a murderer and terrorist but I know many good Christian patriotic Americans living in western North Carolina who gave aid and assistance to this terrorist when he was a fugitive. They saw him as a defender of freedom and was helping to take "our country back".
And this is where it all comes back to the AFA.
Ugly ideas and careless words of insurrection and revolution plant the seeds for thousands of evil deeds and convince good folks that violence and intolerance are tools to bring about liberty, honor, and brotherhood.
We must give safe harbor and nurture the best parts of our nature.
 To the grind stones of hate and intolerance, we need to let these drop.

A garden is revolution enough.

The New York Times got their picture but they got the story all wrong. The Volvo station wagon filled with dirt and an American flag on a pole coming out through the sun roof screamed NIMBY and disgruntled Yuppies in Birkenstocks. The beige auto sat firmly planted atop a hill next to the clearing for the new highway which cleaved the hip neighborhood in two. The image was perfect but at the bottom of the hill the reality was more akin to 1968 Prague than a corner Starbucks.

Tom Moreland was the head of the DOT in Georgia for forever and his pet get rich quick scheme had always been 2.2 mile highway that would start in downtown Atlanta and dump commuters onto tiny East Ponce ave.
In a rush to get things started the DOT bulldozed 2.2 miles of nice middleclass intown homes before a court order halted the project. For 20 years!
In the south nature abhors a vacuum.
 Over the foundations of demolished little houses grew a truly phenomenal highway of kudzu. It was like having the Ho Chi Minh trail in the heart of Atlanta. Rats the size of bulldogs cruised the tunnels along with junkies and rapists and the mentally ill that wanted to live an invisible urban life. Entrepreneur pot farmers tried growing their crops in the seemingly impenetrable jungle only to see the budding plants vanish before maturity.
Next to this wild river of green at the bottom of a hill was an old two story wood house that was the home to the Albemarle Community garden. Filled with an array of wild haired hippies and a couple of master gardeners the home was a good halfway house between Atlanta and the wilderness of the kudzu.

The garden started atop the ruins of what was unbeknownst as the house next door. The first beds plowed unearthed a rubble of bricks, splintered lumber and old mangled plumbing. Over five years the garden grew from a couple of anemic furrows to an acre of organic wonder. A hub of the community dug out and nurtured from the edges of a bureaucratic boondoggle.
Ah, but every boondoggle has its day.
In 1980's through a bit of ex presidential pressure the project was back on and in a bit of deja vú Tom Moreland fired up the bulldozers and went hell bent for leather with his project not waiting for any damnable court orders to spoil his fun.
Seemingly overnight the kudzu jungle was gone. The roadway was graded and footings for overpasses were being pounded into the red Georgia clay. The river of green was now a bright reddish orange quagmire of mud.
And at the edge of this new geological development sat the Albemarle community garden. A lush oasis of horticultural delight
which according to DOT blueprints was to be paved over for a DOT vehicle parking lot.
The morning the bulldozer showed up to plow the garden under the operator was met by a handful of hippies wielding pitchforks and machetes.
He dismounted his machine and said "I don't get paid enough for this shit".
He was a long haired fellow himself and right nice when he saw there was going to be no violence. He told us that we had 48 hours to try and slow things down before another bulldozer crew would be sent out. He had to inform his company of protesters and said we should watch out for cops later that day.
He eyed the giant concrete drain pipes that had been delivered the day before that were to be laid in the middle of the garden to drain the new parking lot.
"Ya know those things are pretty sturdy but the collars on them break real easy. A shame too because if they break they're no good and can't be used. Another thing," he said looking at a line of old junk cars that lived on the street, " company is really skittish when it comes to moving vehicles. Could hold things up for a couple of days".
Strangest thing happened that night.....every one of those pipes kinda got their collars broke and I'll be damned if all those no running cars and vans didn't up and drag themselves around the perimeter of the garden and take their wheels off. The Volvo made it to the top of the hill before its wheels fell of and it filled itself with dirt.
The next day Wild Bill the welder showed up with a flat bed full of scrap iron and concrete posts and set about an all day welding marathon in which he put together mighty fine tank barricades. Between the junk cars and giant metal x's of the barricades the garden kind of took on a Mad Max ambiance.
On the news that night we saw the incredible fireball of a ruptured national gas main that had been damaged by a construction earth mover up on the 285 interchange project. They showed a quick picture of the operator....oh my god isn't that the same bulldozer guy? Nah, couldn't be.
Next day down the block Mary Jane climbed the construction crane and handcuffed herself in the cockpit.
Well that made the news which woke up a judge who broke out his pen and froze the whole damn project for another five or six years.
The road finally got itself built but not before going through many neighborhood friendly changes. Now Freedom Park runs along both sides of the highway and is the biggest park in Atlanta. And the garden.... It is still there.

A good night out.

"kiss me."
"No".
"You don't have to make that face. Come on kiss me."
"I don't wanna".
"You'll like it..."
"No I won't."
"How do you know if you've never tried it? Come on, put those juicy full lips of yours on mine. You know you want to."
"You do have nice full lips as well... It's just that I'm afraid our moustaches will stick together like Velcro and we'll never get back apart."
"And that is a bad thing? Kiss me."
"Oh for the love of Christ..."
TWO HOURS EARLIER........
Lady D, Mark and I have gone to this new movie that everyone is raving about. All I know is that it is about the IRA and has Stephen Rhea and Forrest Whitaker in it. Pretty good film so far and the girl is smoking hot. She kind of looks like my girlfriend Lady D but D isn't that tall. Same lovely color and sharp tongue.
What a fantastic story line. This movie is really good and it looks like a sex scene coming up to boot! Why are Mark and D looking at me and not at the screen? I Know they have already seen the movie but damn this is hot. Oh boy about to get her naked......?
"oh my god!" I gasped loudly to the giggles of those around me in the theatre. Never saw it coming.
Mark asks after the film "so what do you think?" D is smiling at me as he asks.
"I think....that might have been the most romantic film I've ever seen...even the bit where she kills that awful woman".
"She?"
"Well yeah...I mean...well yeah, she. What is a bigger part of her anatomy her brain or her penis?"
BACK ON THE COUCH......
"Kiss me".
"Mark, I don't feel that way about you. When I look at D I get all jelly in the knees and there is a pulse in my gut of love...of desire."
"Like that fellow in the film had for the girl? My my wasn't he surprised."
"But he was attracted to her as a girl."
"Yet after he knew differently he still went to prison for her. Now that is love."
"Well...hmm. That is love and he did desire her".
"Oh so you don't love me, we're just buddies. But you will kiss your girl buddies."
" No man, I mean, yes I love you. You are my best friend. You are sweet and smart and I guess I do have that pulse in my gut that tells me I love you but-"
"I think you have your pulses a little mixed up. I think that pulse you're talking about is a little lower than your gut."
"But I can't help it. That's just how I am."
" Me too. This is just how I am. At least you have thought about this instead of closing your mind and eyes as to who I am and who you are."
"Awww, kiss me you little scamp."
My toes didn't curl. Nor did I burst into flame or suddenly become gay.
"Mark, you reckon they get together after he gets out of prison and they live happily ever after?"
"yes most definitely my romantic friend."

So right that everything is wrong.

My first inkling that things had changed came at the Detroit airport. The young man sat down besides me in the crowded waiting lounge.
He wore an Arsenal scarf. Good lad.
I asked him where he got it and he said he was just back from covering the riots in London for a Communist newspaper.
Too cool. I had the opportunity to talk to a real live Red and an Arsenal fan to boot. We had a great time talking about the Presidential campaigns and the decline and fall of Western civilization. It was about the time we were discussing the balkanization of U.S. politics that I looked around the crowded lobby and was alarmed at the distressed expressions on the faces of those folks sitting around us. I smiled at the woman sitting next to me and she recoiled like my hair was on fire. I turned back to my young commie friend and he smiled at my confusion and said " you get used to it...that and don't talk so loud in a crowd."
 I reckon folks get spooked when you get off the 1st amendment's well worn acceptable paths and wander around the plains of free thinking.
I suddenly felt like Natalie Maines surrounded by pissed off country fans. Poor gal says an unpopular opinion (which over time turned out to be pretty damn well embraced) and her career is over.
I thought artists were supposed to challenge how and what we think.
Not so much anymore ever since Fox and Conservatives have made an industry out of beating the shit out of liberals and anyone who questions the right.
'Twas not always so.
I was screwing around on YouTube and found the song "The Universal Soldier" by Buffy St. Marie. Wow! Now there is a song that questions the root of war to a very uncomfortable level. Personal responsibility. Each and every soldier.
 An artist would be crucified way beyond a boycott if they made this song today. But then I messed around some more and found a version of this song performed by Glenn Campbell on Shindig. Radical pacifism on primetime TV.
A little more surfing and I found Johnny Cash and Buffy St. Marie performing "Custer don't ride so good anymore" on the Johnny Cash Show. Celebrating the massacre of anAmerican general and his cavalry regiment on a family variety show. WOW! This would take out an entire network these days.
I've noticed there is a lot of looking around the room before we speak. Sizing each other up to see if it safe to say what we really mean.
Can I talk like a Klansman circa 1958 Mississippi? Can I question gun control? Can I talk about secession? Can I question religion?
What I am seeing is a sharp rise in very noisy and indignant bigotry and a vast majority of good folks afraid to say what they think in fear of being labeled unpatriotic or even worse a Democrat.

Unpleasant phone calls.

So I'm sure we have all gotten this call:

"Hello Kristopher Robin Ludwig, this is Agent Daniels from the FBI field office in Jacksonville."
  "HaHa,pretty funny Farris."
"Sir,I assure you this is the FBI. Call me back at this number." Click.
Oh shit oh shit oh shit.....
(Brrrring) "This is Agent Daniels."
"Okay okay,I can explain everything!"
"I haven't asked you anything."
"I'm taking a wild guess and bet you want to know about a phone message I left on an answering machine about material and payment and some violent subcontractors." "Yes in light of all that has happened we are following any leads."

My phone had been cloned twice that year. It got so bad I would turn it off when I got anywhere near NYC. I received an $800 phone bill in June for hundreds of calls to Bolivia and Columbia. I would get calls in the middle of the night from people yammering away in Spanish. Shit cloned again.
In August I got a call from some guy speaking Dutch. He left a voice message which I took to mean oh boy another round of fighting with Verizon. So I called the number back with the intention of giving him a good ol' profanity laded outburst. His answering machine had a robot voice speaking Dutch so I decided to give this hacker something to worry about. He cloned the wrong phone....

"Where the fuck were you? We have the material. Where the fuck is our money? You can't just not show up for a drop. These associates are not agreeable when you piss them off. Now they want an extra $10,000 or they keep the material and liquidate everyone on this side. What the fuck were you thinking? These people have no regard for anything but their cause. Tomorrow you had better show up or we're all dead." I never heard back from him.
In September...well we all know what happened on 9/11.
In early October I got the call from Agent Daniels.
"I'm so sorry for wasting your time and resources but I swear I was just trying to scare a phone hacker."
"We know. What was that voice you used, Boris Badenov?"
"Yes! I love Bullwinkle."
"Yeah, me too. I guess we are going to write this one off to really bad timing eh, Kris?"
  "So we're cool right? You don't think I'm a terrorist?"
  "We know who you are. By our records you are not dangerous."
Ay caramba, nice to know I have a dossier.

Murder. Anatomy of a murder part III

Oh the price we have paid for our actions. What we did, we did because we thought we were right and would save the family from torture. Perhaps the damage was already done and all we succeeded in doing was trading one pain for another. Our victory saved no one. We all paid dearly. Right or wrong? We did what we had to do. We roared up the street to the end of the cul du sac ready to rush the house. We had decided on a blitz into the house. No words. No negotiations. We were stunned to see his car gone. Shit he was home an hour ago. My mind pondered if this was a sign from God. I had been waiting for some sign to warn us of the folly of our ways. Ern and I were both deep in thought when our sign came up to our window. Berta’s neighbor came up to my window and looked at us sitting there with weapons in our laps. She was a county sheriff who was in uniform about to go to work when we came to our screeching halt. She told us Tony had left about 20 minutes ago. She looked at us for a little long time and shook her head and told us next time don’t make so much noise. She also told us she wouldn’t be back for 14 hours and the other house on the cul du sac was empty. "just be quiet and get rid of the body. I didn’t see anything today." She drove off leaving us with mouths agape. We knew he wasn’t coming back anytime soon so we decided to go in the house and see what we could find. And thus our lives changed. The abuse? We found blood on the kitchen floor, in the sink. No food in the refrigerator for the youngest daughter to eat. In the bedroom we found a movie camera and a tape that I still can’t get out of my head. Please let this monster come home now, PLEASE. I would have relished torturing the son of a bitch at this point. We tossed the place expecting to find drugs. We didn’t but what we found was good enough. We found a hidden drawer full of stolen passports, social security cards, birth certificates and credit cards. We found immigration applications with false names to go with the pictures of strangers. "Hey look My girlfriend D. is from Ethiopia and wants to come to America. Boy won’t she be surprised." We found my stolen shotgun in the ceiling along with more stolen documents. Bingo. Between the sex tapes and identification fraud evidence we realized we didn’t have to murder this stupid ass after all. He was going to jail. We boxed up two crates of documents and the foul tapes to turn over to the police who in turn gave them to the F.B.I. who shared them with Immigration. We were ready to leave and felt confident Tony was done but we felt frustrated by not personally reaping vengeance. It was then Ern stepped up. Bless you Ern where ever you may be in the Diaspora we created that day. Ern wanted to scare Tony as bad as he terrorized us. Ern had a plan. In his theatrical studies he had learned how to make fantastically real looking blood and set about to make a gallon of the ghastly stuff which he then used as paint in a Mansonesque display of wall painting of Ibo evil signs which he had learned in his African/ metaphysics studies. You really can’t underestimate the benefits of a good education. Tony called late that night incoherent with fear. He fled the house as soon as he saw the bloody symbols on the walls and never realized we had seized his stolen goods. He was arrested soon afterwards and sent to a federal prison for four years before being deported back to Nigeria. Berta never forgave us. She holds me in contempt to this day. It took years for her to reconcile with her daughters and the whole affair seemed to poison us all. D. broke up with me. Prin divorced Ern. Everyone paid for my decision to destroy the man. I have no regrets other than having to make such a harsh choice. Sometimes our options bring us no peace but are necessary none the less.

Anatomy of a murder part II

After the initial mile of our murderous cross town trip we look at each other. Ern is chain smoking and silent as he has been all day. The look in his eyes is one of resignation to the madness we are in. We begin to talk going over the reason we are choosing murder. We want to be sure there is no other choice. Tony won’t leave. Of this fact we are sure. He is finally positioned where he wants to be. He is a tall strong man from Nigeria who came into our lives through a back door on the coat tails of dubious friends of Berta. She was enjoying the freedom of divorce with reckless abandon and meeting a wide and disturbing caliber of men. She was married for such a long time to Rob, over 20 years. They were the first interracial couple legally married in the state and had spent the first half of the years united together to fight off the prejudices of this backwards region. In the waning years life settled down and the fire went out. They were just another couple and like so many couples he cheated on her. She kicked Rob out in the blink of an eye. How could she get so mad at this nerdy little civil rights lawyer who had been with her for years and given her three daughters yet she wouldn’t leave Tony even after four beatings and the abuse he was giving to her youngest daughter. She said from her hospital bed it was her fault. She had aggravated Tony with questions about his business dealings. She blew off the threats he made to her daughters not believing he would say such horrible things. Whatever hold he had on her was working. She was in the hospital. He was alone in her house. And that was as good a place as any to gun him down. What unlikely assassins we are I thought. Two laid back peaceful men. Ern a theater graduate from Howard who was fascinated with metaphysics and me who has never been in a fight in my life. Yet here we rode resolved to murder. We had talked with Tony after the second beating. He denied any wrong doing defending himself with cries that we did not understand his culture. Ern had no patience with the man. Years of dealing with shady Africans in D.C. had immunized him to Tony’s appeals of cultural misunderstanding. An asshole is an asshole no matter where he’s from. After 30 minutes of driving and debating the wisdom of our actions we reached Berta’s neighborhood. We turned into the sub division that looked so normal but we felt so far from normal it was comical. I expected to freeze or panic or just chicken out as we got closer to her street but a hyper sense of awareness kicked in and in a manic clarity we both did a speed round of the charges against Tony and asked the question of justification. He had driven an entire family mad and threatened rape and death to all. Right. Unleash the dogs of war. We turned at her corner and could see the house at the end of the cul du sac. I readied my pistol and Ern took out a vicious crescent shaped Arabic knife. We were ready.