this is… The Neighborhood
the Story within the Story
ADDICTION
There’s something inside me
That pulls beneath the surface
Consuming, confusing
This lack of self control I fear
Is never ending, controlling
– Crawling by Linkin Park
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the late Amy Winehouse
w/ Back to Black
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LONG LIVE LINKIN PARK
In the year 2000, a young singer named Chester Bennington – as front man of Linkin Park – would redefine the rebel yell. Hybrid Theory was, in a word, spectacular. If The Beastie Boys are credited with rap crossing over to a young white audience, then Linkin Park would bridge the gap between hip hop, rock and grudge; a trifecta that sent their debut album into orbit with over 11 million copies sold in the United States alone. And while it was the rapper that made them hip and the beat that made them original, it was the primal scream of Chester Bennington that pierced the soul.
But like so many of the best – Whitney Houston, Kurt Cobain, Phyllis Hyman, Amy Winehouse… – his story would end the same: suicide fueled by depression and addiction to drugs.
Chester Bennington March 20, 1976 – July 20, 2017 RIP
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ADDICTION
by Kendall F. Person
She made international headlines for a very different reason. The lines were drawn in the sand and a fight for her life became the cause celeb. On June 26, 2013, at 52 years of age, at 6:37 p.m. Kimberly LaGayle McCarthy was pronounced dead. She became the state of Texas’ 500th member of death row to be executed, done so by lethal injection. And with her final words – This is not a loss. This is a win. You know where I’m going. I’m going home to be with Jesus. Keep the faith. I love you all – it was lights out. The 13th woman to be executed by the government in American history is worth noting, but regardless of which side of the line on capital punishment we stand, the more important issue was lost: how she got there in the first place.
Hers was drugs, but addiction comes in many forms. It is a clever beast, that sneaks into our lives, and brings hell with it. Ms. McCarthy, a beautiful and by most accounts (although information about her young life has been challenging to locate), lived a normal life. She was married and gave birth to what would be her only child. She was employed as an occupational therapist, and had no long criminal history. Sometimes referred to as an inner tiger, addictions start slow, but rather they take months or years, the tiger always grows. And on July 27, 1997, there was little of Kimberly left.
On that day, Kimberly McCarthy had only one thing on her mind, to feed her addiction. She telephoned her neighbor, college psychology professor Dorothy Booth, under the guise of borrowing sugar. When Ms. Booth answered her door, the tigress stabbed her five times with a butcher knife, and savagely beat her to death. She cut off her victims finger, to access her ring, stole her money, her credits cards, brazenly jumped into her now stolen car, and gave no further thought of the life she took inside. I imagine, that even as she smashed the solid steel candle holder, repeatedly against 71-year-old Dorothy Booth’s head, somewhere inside was the real Kimberly LaGayle McCarthy, the mother, the daughter, the member of society. But the addiction had overpowered her and she was unwilling or unable to fight. So she gave into the tiger, jumped into the car, threw it in drive, and with no further consideration….sped directly to the drug spot.
∞∞∞
When at the end of the road we find
that we can no longer function as a human being
…we all face the same dilemma. What is there left to do?
– We Do Recover
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THE FIGHTER STILL REMAINS
by iamzg
Addiction is a game of inches.
My father was addicted to the bottle. That’s why he walked out on us when I was two years old and the reason we had no contact for twenty years. I know today it’s the reason he called me drunk at two am shortly after my first son was born to tell me that I wasn’t a man. A few more inches of trying and maybe we could’ve had a relationship.
I’ve hit more bottoms more times in my life, than I like to admit, but those misses made me who I am today. One moment too soon or too late, and I may have missed out on grace.
The funny thing is you couldn’t have told me that I had a problem with any of my addictions. I wasn’t a junkie. Junkies come from junkie families and have meth mouth and take out a second mortgage. I was from a good family, my parents loved me and I could quit whenever I wanted. Even though I crossed every boundary I ever set, I wasn’t a junkie.
That’s the biggest lie of addiction.
As your reach lower and lower into the abyss of addiction you continue to seek out people worse off than you, so you can look at them and say, “See, I’m not THAT bad.” Always a few inches ahead of the game. But the truth is, water seeks its own level.
You cannot accurately describe hitting bottom to someone who has not experienced it. It’s not like the movies. There is nothing beautiful about it because there’s no soundman or director or musical score to make it seem poetic. It’s nasty and ugly. When you wake up to the fact that your drug no longer works, you are suddenly the last man on Earth. There is no real connection to others. It is truly inches from death.
Addiction – be it alcohol, crack or blackjack – is not at all about the drug. It’s about reaching emptiness. Selling your morals for that next fix, leaves you spiritually hollow; and feeling like a gale force wind is blowing through the hole in your soul.
If there is an addict in your life, do not give up on them. There is always hope. I was strung out by seventeen years old. I was spared years of torture and suffering because people didn’t give up on me. There was always someone there to give me a hug or tell me they loved me. Often this was what kept me going.
You never know when that addict in your life may need your hope, because they have none of their own, always leaving them inches away from giving up.
And if you are an addict and you happen to be in The Neighborhood, don’t give up on yourself, and whatever you do, do not ignore your moment of clarity, because that moment may be your miracle happening.
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from Toronto Canada – Choir! Choir! Choir!
with I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For
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When I was pulled from the American River, I awoke the next day in a hospital bed surrounded by my family and close friends. When my eyes opened, all I could see was the pain and relief in their beautiful faces, that only hours before, I thought I would never see. I had not stolen from anyone. It was my gold I plundered, but that offered no consolation, for upon seeing their faces I realized, addiction is not a victim-less crime. It is selfish and destructive. It is wasteful and disrespectful. It is meaningless and it is ruinous. But for many, it becomes a part of life. I cannot erase those empty years, nor can I have them back. But I became a different person, even far removed from the me-first youngster.
I cannot offer a hard luck story, for I grew up with a loving mother, and both sides of my bloodline, stand wise, spiritual, and strong. My schools, my friends and my sands were rock solid. My jobs were fulfilling, my vacations were joyous occasions. And my early career as a writer, had been supported and given a grand send-off. Why would I give up such a beautiful life in exchange for the pain that addiction would bring, I may never know. But what I do understand, is I have no one to blame but myself.
Addiction does not give a damn about me or Whitney or Amy or Heath or the nameless addict, who panhandles on the street. It will never be your friend and it will never be satisfied. And if by the grace of God you survive, the precious gift of noticing the blue sky, becomes intensified, and the meaning of your life becomes glorified and the fire to lend a hand, becomes magnified, and the knowledge you acquired, you cannot hold inside, and you recognize your gift of words, do not belong to you, so you share outside, and the mission to spread peace shifts into overdrive, and the value of life becomes rarefied, and the desire to meet the world is mesmerizing, and the energy received from those you meet, is electrifying, and the idea I may inspire, is gratifying, and the meaning of my life, materializes and comprehending those years were not lost, if my addiction can save a life.
LONG LIVE THE FIGHT FOR SOBRIETY.
– Kendall F. Person
The Neighborhood. society online’s creative conscious
Gamblers Anonymous Narcotics Anonymous Alcoholics Anonymous
All About Addiction, Medical News Today Guide to Quit Smoking, American Cancer Society
Al-Anon, Family Groups
INSIDE THE MIND OF…. YOU
The mind is everything.
What you think you become.
– Buddha
∞∞∞
from London England
Harold van Lennep with Dreams
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INSIDE THE MIND OF YOU
written & edited by Kendall F. Person
If we escape inside our mind
not forever or even an extended period of time,
just long enough to find, an undiscovered world
of wonder and beauty, a unique type of find
that only lives inside.
Do not be afraid to close your eyes.
Turn a deaf ear toward the world.
The voices, the people
the agony that defeats you.
Go to your quiet place.
A room or along the shores
of your favorite beach.
Find the time. Dammit!
A day, an hour or a moment, if that’s all you have.
Breathe….. Exhale….. Again.
Now go inside and meet your closest friend.
Inside the mind of our own self
may be a scary place at first.
Demons and nightmares we have tried to escape
also live there. The first time may be hard,
you may want to scream,
to open your eyes and cry. It’s okay. Go ahead.
You are in your safe place, so release your pride.
Stare down each memory that serves you bad.
Even inside, life can be sad
or why would it store the bad.
Too painful? That’s alright.
Leave that door behind and
if you have to run – run away, but not outside.
Our journey is not through.
Stay with me because I need you too.
We have moved passed our dread.
Either slammed the door
or we will deal with it the next time we are here.
Move forward.
Do not turn around.
It is time for an introduction to the beautiful you inside.
Fall from grace has left you cold?
Up ahead is the warmth, that has existed all along.
Thought your dreams were shattered?
Look to the right.
Those are new dreams, you did not know you even had.
Inside your mind is a wondrous place.
Full of imagination and
belief and love and understanding for all good things.
Eureka! You have found your dreams.
Now you know where to find your passion;
to sing or paint or write or dance.
A little tired, not ready to make your move.
No worries.
You can go inside your mind…..
again.
— The Neighborhood
cover artists:
mind piece by Tumisu,
broken by Brook Loren
tired by Mo Riza
for the Story within the Story,
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LIKE MAN
“Nearly all men can stand adversity,
but if you want to test a man’s character,
give him power.” – Abraham Lincoln
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the 1st of ten nominees
for 2017 Song of the Year
To Leave Something Behind by Sean Rowe
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You must not fight too often with one enemy,
or you will teach him all your art of war.
– Napoleon Bonaparte
LIKE MAN
written & edited by Kendall F. Person
In the remote and untamed Katavi National Forest in Tanzania, the infamous dry season does not simply refer to its lack of rain, but its shortage of water. The rivers that flow in abundance during the rainy season, like drunken patrons after hours, have their source cut off from the sky as well as the mountain waterfalls and lakes. As the searing heat penetrates the scorched land, water becomes a precious commodity, and the wild animals that are generally use to wide open plains, are reduced to patronizing the same watering holes, eventually stressing all but the fittest inhabitants, until they break.
Even in times of plenty, the Hippopotamus is one of nature’s most aggressive and dangerous animals, but they are also the most sensitive, as the hippopotamus are prone to dehydration faster than any other mammal, having the need to keep their entire 3000 pound body completely submerged in water, during the hottest times of the day. As the dry season lingers, water sources in some regions dry up completely, forcing a mass migration of animals – hunters and grazers – by air, land and dwindling river streams.
Cape Buffalo and elephants, the other mammoth herbivores, bulldoze their way to the waters, not meaning to make a ruckus, but frankly, not giving a damn if they do. Crocodiles, the only survivor of the dinosaur age swarm in large numbers, patrolling the water, with lion prides blocking all the exits on land. As the heat intensifies, and as water sources disappear, and as the number of animals invading their space skyrockets, it is the hippos that become the most intense.
Hippos tend to huddle among each other, delivering, quite convincingly, the allusion of civility and uniformity. But even the allusion is a precarious one at best, and can be broken by the same straw that men use in breaking the camels back. As the water level lowers, and the temperatures soar, everything becomes an annoyance – a bump, a jump or the slightest breeze, all a wild card, as to which the straw will be. And once the calm is broken, the aggressive 3000 pound hippo explodes, setting off a calamitous chain reaction, usually leaving the young and the weak, wounded or dead.
So truth be told, with all of the hazards and trap doors that the dry season brings – be it the ruthless sun or the circling carnivores or the encroachment of the poachers – the number one killer of the hippo, are other hippos…. like man.
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society online’s creative conscious
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BALTIMORE’S 72 HOUR CEASEFIRE IS A HAIL MARY – BUT WHAT IF IT WORKS.
click image to Baltimore Ceasefire Page
Dancing is talking in action.
Don’t talk. DANCE.
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nominated for The Neighborhood’s 2013 Song of the Year
from Baltimore Maryland, A.U.T.O w/ MOVIE
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In the first six months of 2017,
Baltimore Maryland hit 160 murders.
– CBS Local News
BALTIMORE’S 72 HOUR CEASEFIRE
IS A HAIL MARY, BUT WHAT IF IT WORKS.
written & edited by Kendall F. Person
In 1921, the Greenwood District in Tulsa Oklahoma was one of the most affluent African American communities in the nation. A sprawling residential neighborhood surrounded a thriving business district so robust, it was referred to as the Black Wall Street. On May 30, all anyone really knows, is that a young black man and a young white woman, were on the same elevator alone. But when word got out, and the story traveled from mouth to mouth, White Tulsa became enraged and only the nigger’s blood could douse the rising inferno. The city paper – The Tulsa Tribune is said to be by those who remember – the institution that fanned the flames.
The young black man was arrested, and was in custody when the lynch mob arrived. When the Sheriff turned them away, he had no way of knowing, that by following the law of the land, he saved the life of one young man, but the cost would be great; the white mob would singe, then multiply. Hours later, by land and by air, with guns and fire bombs, once the destruction of Greenwood District in Tulsa was underway, it would not end until Black Wall Street was annihilated.
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Baltimore Ceasefire is a bold grassroots movement, an imaginative solution in walking a different way. The cynic may ridicule and the realist may belittle, but Erricka – one of six community members behind the 72 hour plea, that there be no murders from August 4 thru August 6 – is steadfast and resolute. She understands completely, that there is no magic wand, and that murders can be spontaneous and murderers void of conscious. But without flinching she says, “We have to try something. It has affected our way of life. Seems we are always in tears.”
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The late 1980’s and early 1990’s was a boom and bust time for young African American males. College enrollment was on the rise, and the hip hop artists were becoming the industry. Then the crack epidemic and gang violence exploded in Black communities nationwide. The body count was staggering, and Baltimore rivaled Detroit and Los Angeles for which city suffered the most blows. But this time, there would be no white mob, only black on black violence; intense and widespread. Only a minority of Black American families went unscathed. (In 1989, my youngest brother was shot in the head at point blank range, and died as his blood turned the rain water red, just as our Mother arrived). While many theories existed as to how such a formidable drug could saturate the inner cities, ultimately it did not matter, it was a problem that had to be solved by the community itself.
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What The Neighborhood finds most sincere about the ceasefire mission, is while Erricka had no shortage of words, she neither wanted credit for taking action, giving it all to the Baltimore residents, and nor – not once – did she blame historic atrocities like Tulsa, nor make comparisons to the 80s gang violence, that nearly crippled Black America.
“It is not about blame it is about starting a dialogue. It is about 72 hours of peace.” Unlike many marches and causes, that speak a big game, but aimed at law-abiding citizens, Baltimore Ceasefire is walking head up into the line of fire. They are starting a dialogue with anyone and everyone, from drug takers to drug dealers, in the most crime infested parts. When asked of their response – is when Erricka seems most hopeful, “They hope the ceasefire works, because they are tired of living the way they do.
When there is a void, crime fills the vacuum. And when the city is unprepared or overwhelmed, when death and misery become standard fair and when six murders take place in less than a 24 hour day, no reason to believe the vacuum affect will not swallow the ceasefire whole. But what if it works? What if a city where a murder occurs every 19 hours, gets a 72 hour reprieve because the residents asked?
Hail Mary full of grace.
Crime in Baltimore, Health Care in Appalachia, Climate Change in South Florida. What is the most pressing cause in your city and want are you doing to contribute to a solution?
this fall… Don’t talk. DANCE
MARCH OF THE FLAMINGOS
“Permanence, perseverance and persistence in spite of all obstacles, discouragements and impossibilities: it is this that in all things, distinguishes the strong from the weak”. – Thomas Carlyle
cover photo
Two Orange Flamingo Birds by Harun Asrori
score
Pillars by Renan Javier
from 2015…..
March of the Flamingos
written & edited by Kendall F. Person
At once beautiful and thriving, Lake Makgadikgadi has been undone by the brutality of the Kalahari, which engulfed the waters several thousand years ago, leaving unforgivable terrain, known today as The Makgadikgadi Salt Pans. Most years, the lake attempts a comeback, with the rains falling up to 20 inches in some places, offering the allusion of paradise. Perhaps it is this allusion or maybe the Greater Flamingo, one of nature’s most beautiful and majestic creatures, has forged its own course in survival of its species. Dry, salty, dusty and unfathomably hot, this salt pan, one of the largest in the world, delivers the cruelest of ironies (or perhaps it is the jungle version of not judging a book by its cover). The flamingo may play the role of a diva – beautiful and majestic – but there are few creatures alive that brave such a harsh and demanding test — at birth.
When the eggs in the colony hatch – up to 50,000 – the water has dried up and the mirage has been replaced with a grim reality. Vultures circle high above, knowing that the march of the flamingos means a certain banquet for them all. There is water and there is food, but it is more than 100 miles away. The hatchlings, at such a tender age not yet able to fly, and so they march. In the searing, scorching, baking heat. Over sharpened salt crystals that often slice through their webbed feet. The adults have already flown ahead. Some fly back bringing food to the survivors, while others circle above delivering condolences to those breathing their last breath. Days turn into weeks and the ruthless sun unrelents. Many have already died, while others fight, carrying the weight of dried mud around their feet. But they persevere nonetheless.
In the distance, the hatchlings see their colony and an energy that should have long been exhausted, drives through them onward, as they wobble toward the lake, into the waiting embrace of their families and of paradise, at last.
So the next time you feel like giving up and throwing up both hands, and falling victim to the madness of man, think of the flamingo….. and march straight ahead.
this is… The Neighborhood
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