Code Turkey

 There was a furious knocking on our door that sounded like Rat-Ta-Ta-Ta-Ta of machine guns and the shouting sounded Nazi in enthusiastic intent.

Leave your mother’s bed behind, said an officious voice.

We’re giving her bunk beds.

I saw furniture and other belongings such as suitcases pile up in the courtyard after being thrown out of windows.  They ordered us out of our apartment with the guarantee of moving us into a better apartment on the other side of the building where they were trying to concentrate 2 elderly women to yet another side with different leases.

They were playing 3 Card Monte with apartments turned into devices akin to mazes for white mice to go in the direction they wanted them to go in.

I refused only to find my mother living in one side of the building filled with fading afterimages of the families that lived there. At night, I protected my mother with a bat, knives and pepper spray in case criminals decided on a home invasion.

The next morning, bunk beds filled the courtyard.

The sight of beds placed my mind into a dream state that took me back in time to the boy I was who carried Anne Frank in his arms through the shadows of burnt out buildings and bullies with swastikas stitched to gang colors in The South Bronx of Captain America.  

Deep down in heart, people are good, Anne whispered in my childhood from a top bunk bed at night disrupted by gunfire from time to time.

I heard my mother scream when they inadvertently broke her arm by denying her repairs to the apartment she moved into with her husband in the time of The Watergate Break-In that flooded the country with dismay and lead to the consensual eviction of a president from The White House. 

Unable to get out of bed, I gently lifted my mother to take her to the bathroom. After I helped her ease back in bed, there were hard knocks on the door. I was served papers for eviction for failure to renew the lease. I kept the bad news from my mother to keep her immune system from weakening. Add lawyer to my homecare attendant duty.

Paradise Management is the name of the company that brought Hell to us all the way to The Housing Court on The Grand Concourse 

Opening statements submitted to the future of history…it was the worse of times…

Homelessness Made Easy For Dummies

Copyrighted 2019 by Daniel Angel Aponte

1001000101

Reality must be getting ideas from fantasy

 The first time I saw a nude woman was when I was a little boy.

She rose from the waters of a bathtub with a beautiful smile.

The first painting I ever saw of a woman was of a mythological goddess of love.

The first best friend I had on Earth was a girl named Diana.

I would run downstairs to knock on her door.

We held hands as we climbed the hills of our Eden, Saint Mary’s Park, where a dragonfly hovered in front of me before it flew into my hair and where I saw a new butterfly dried itself by sunlight that made wings more beautiful than any stained glass window of church. We enjoyed freedom to explore an asteroid of a rock formation on Eagle Avenue.

We learned and laughed on the way to our castle of a school.

My mother worked in a pen and pencil factory but still made time to draw a smile by teaching me my 1,2,3s and my ABCs. And that helped me teach my fellow first graders.

One day, the children were released early into the arms of grimfaced parents.

No one came for me.

I opened the door of our apartment and saw a man take off his glasses to look at a clock.

He talked about President Kennedy killed in Dallas, Texas.

I didn’t understand Death but this was the end of Eden.

The better angel of our nature, John Glenn, was the next best thing to The Second Coming Of Jesus.  The great parade for hero astronaut was the last. It was the season finale of The Space Age Camelot. When I was a kid, I imagined a new century.

I imagined a conversation with my future self.

Reality has other ideas.

http://admericaintechnicolor.blogspot.com

Art & art direction & text by Daniel Angel Aponte Dreamer

Copyrighted 2017 by DAAD All Rights Reserved

Venus by Botillici

 The ground was damp with the fragrance of trees in the fall of 1991 and the sun rose on New York City in shades of autumn gold.

It was my first day at the university that vaguely distracted a heart to be with a painter who wanted to marry me. She wrote my mission was to make her my wife.

Later in the wintertime, I fell in love early on a Sunday morning with programs at the computer lab. I made up my mind to switch from art to the art of algorithms.

The future was about to happen in my past life. I keep working at perfection.

I go back in time to use creative vision to fuse wrecked memories of my own 9/11, which is the birthday of the woman I loved, to make platform to elevate the better angels of human nature in pursuit of higher education and peace on Earth.

I had a dream for the city that never sleeps and beyond borders

I submit this to the future of history.

I was here.

http://admericaintechnicolor.blogspot.com

 When I was a boy, I looked at an eclipse with my bare eyes in The South Bronx of burnt out buildings.

A strange thing happened afterward.

A bright light appeared in front of my bedroom window, as did a hurricane inside my room that scattered my comic books around, among other objects.

I was being pulled into the light.

It was sheer force of will that prevented the little boy I was from disappearing into another dimension.

I wasn’t ready for a new reality.

This is the persistence of my memory. 

I recall being gifted in childhood with photographic memory and creativity.

I remember doctors that wanted to administer a new drug designed to dissolve a gland in the head of the little boy I was.

 I stared into the eyes of a doctor. He didn’t give me the drug.

The place where it happened was destroyed.

Today, it’s a parking lot of sorts for The New York City Police Department.

In The New Millennium, a young American man tried to get inside the building my mother has resided in for decades.

 He identified himself as Mark Wilson, a reporter for The New York Post.

He wanted to interview eyewitnesses to several bright lights across the building that hovered for a few seconds before taking off at unbelievable speed.

I studied pictures on his cell phone. 

Mister Wilson, I am sure you are reading this, as I am sure of scientific evidence to prove aliens have been on this gem of a planet for thousands of years.

One of the aliens is called poverty.

Make with the mild mannered reporter thing and help change the world for the best.

I am transmitting this final message from a public library in The South Bronx.

Afterward, I will go out into the street and look into the eclipse.

I wasn’t ready to leave the world when I was a kid.

I am ready

Now

My Re@l Life @s @ Comic Book

New York Radiology made MRI of my brain. Conceptual art and text by

D@niel @ngel @ponte

Copyrighted 2017

http://admericaintechnicolor.blogspot.com

Android And Eve: @dmeric@ On Line Shopping is here! @dmeric@ The Bl...

Android And Eve: @dmeric@ On Line Shopping is here! @dmeric@ The Bl...:   I imagine Artificial Intelligence thinking genius, like great humanity, is a minority drawn from beautiful colors YOU’RE...