Just my feeble attempt to pay in my humble way… to try to pay proper tribute to the memory of a Great, Brave American Veteran…
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“Medgar Wiley Evers (July 2, 1925 – June 12, 1963) was an American civil rights activist in Mississippi, the state’s field secretary for the NAACP, and a World War II veteran who had served in the United States Army. He worked to overturn segregation at the University of Mississippi, end the segregation of public facilities, and expand opportunities for African Americans, which included the enforcement of voting rights.”
“Evers was assassinated in 1963 by Byron De La Beckwith, a member of the White Citizens’ Council in Jackson, Mississippi. This group was formed in 1954 in Mississippi to resist the integration of schools and civil rights activism. As a veteran, Evers was buried with full military honors at Arlington National Cemetery. His murder and the resulting trials inspired civil rights protests; his life and these events inspired numerous works of art, music, and film. All-white juries failed to reach verdicts in the first two trials of Beckwith in the 1960s. He was convicted in 1994 in a new state trial based on new evidence.”
Text Credit: Wikipedia
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Cheers Y’all
Appreciate what a Wonderful, Rich, Sometimes Sad, Heritage We Share.
I Love To Laugh (at me) And My Chasing at Sobriety
“Hey Lance! What would you do if you ever caught the Sobriety Bus?”
“Burn my nose on the tail-pipe–I don’t know–haven’t thought it through.”
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(Ed. Note: The Bob Marley Vid ain’t Necessary, nor requisite. But I find it a ‘Nice Touch.’ Watch it if you want. Don’t if you don’t.)
“Totally ”Down-Stroyed'” I love a play on words!
(When it works…)
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So I discover a small lake in my ‘Head’—Bathroom. “Whatever does this mean?” I asked the Resident Gnat Watch-keeper. “You’re the Fucking Genius, Tell Us.” he replied.
I scoped it out.
Sure as shit, The Shitter was leaking out of its ass. I closed the water supply, emptied the basin, found some towels, threw same upon the floor. Went back to my neglected beer.
Then came a knocking upon my door… “Mister Marcom, is there a leak in your bathroom? Water water everywhere in this hall.” Deb said. I replied, “Uh, Yeah, but I fixed it.”
(Don’t want no trouble)
Deb said, “I’ll send Cynthia around to check it out. My ‘Guy’ isn’t here today.”
(Shit!)
Presently, My Love, My Cynthia, arrives.
“How you doin’ Baby?” (She always calls me ‘Baby’—It is a ‘Black Woman Thing’)
“I’m Fine Baby.”
(I can do ‘Black Woman’ vernacular too)
“Y’all got a leak?” “Yeah, it’s the toilet, but I ‘fixed’ it. Turned off the water and emptied it.” “So, you need a new toilet?” “I suppose.” “Okay Baby. Tomorrow…” “Cheers Baby. And Thank you. Ciou”
And she left.
Now I have something to look forward to: Some smelly fat white-guy Plumber invading my Sanatorium to replace my toilet and displace what little concentration I have left.
(As an Old–Fat, Smelly White Guy Myself–I know far too well, the Breed, and what to expect.)
There are no less than thirty empty wine boxes in my head. Curious as to how ‘Plumber Man’ will deal with them…
“I should not talk so much about myself if there were anybody else whom I knew as well.”
― Henry David Thoreau, Walden: Or, Life in the Woods
(Ed. Note: This Post has kinda Gone off the Rails & morph’d into an Annie Lennox bit)
Sorry. Not Sorry.
Scroll Down
In most things Politic, I list heavily to Starboard. But at other times I list slightly to Port.
My Ship Never straddles
The ‘Safe’ Middle.
I am ‘Complicated.’ As are all ‘Thinking People.’
I am delirious with pain right now.
Ignore me. Wish I had some of the ‘good’ drugs…
Ed. Note: I know I have promised BOTH of My Faithful Readers to write some longer, better, substantial Shit, But This Screwed-up neck of mine, along with the accompanying pain makes it almost unbearable to bend over this ‘IBM Selectric’ Typewriter
C’est Moi!
for more than a few minutes at a time.
Now, returning to the subject meat of this matter,
(“More Matter, Less Art.”–Thank you Gertrude)
Was there a ‘subject’ ?? Oh Yeah. Right vs. Left Spy vs. Spy Yin vs. Yang Peas vs. Carrots Madness
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My Adventure in trying to get published:
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Footnote:
I forgot I had left a glass of wine in the ‘head’ (Navy parlance for ‘Bathroom’); now I have a platoon of
