Ohio Teacher Drags Autistic Child by Foot

Sadly this type of thing happens all the time to autistic children. When did a business an autistic child become an acceptable standard practice?

There are too many videos of stories like this. It just brakes me heart to watch this video. http://m.wlox.com/wlox/db_383186/contentdetail.htm?contentguid=XgCcqgk2

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2012 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 1,900 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 3 years to get that many views.

Click here to see the complete report.

The City of Angels (A dream lost and reborn) A tribute to Los Angeles

the City of Angels (A dream lost and reborn)
There once was a dream that was Los Angeles
A dream that was once whispered in the halls of power
So as to not vanquish the idea as it wafted through the air
A whisper so soft it seemed as if but a dream
There once was a dream that born in the bosom in the Lady of the Angels
A dream that inspired hope into millions
but underneath that dream lay the nightmare
A nightmare of false illusion and fantasy that destroyed the city.
but even nightmares are dreams of what could be and not of what is.
there once was a dream of a city like no other
a city that inspired dreams and fantasies
a city with possibility and a future as bright as when the city was founded in the bosom of the Lady of the Angels

Ivory Requiem (a novel I’m working on)

CHAPTER ONE
My life is an open wound. This story is not about the past although it does play a big part. This story is actually about the future. I am not going to begin with the contrite saying this story begins whenI would not do that to anyone who happens to be reading this.
Parts of this story were related to me after the events had transpired. I do not have the ability to be omnipresent, but it was necessary to state all the events that had transpired because some of them were beyond my scope and the scope of humanity.
Before I begin, I must explain who I am and what I meant by the very first sentence. My name is Eric Cromwell, and I am the proverbial jack-of-all-trades. I seem to be blessed with the gift of being good at everything I do, and I can do a lot of things. My past shaped my life, and events led me from the innocent childhood I once had listening to my mother play the piano to a jaded law enforcement officer who was part of the Special Investigations Bureaus Rave Unit. My job is to go to the raves in Los Angeles and monitor the activities of those selling drugs to the ravers. The most notorious of these pushers is Benny “the Skunk” Carlisle. It has become my mission in life to destroy him. Because of his bad drugs, many people have died, including someone very close to me, but for some reason law enforcement does not want to go after him.
I always know at which raves he is going to be. He only goes to the big ones. The Skunk is not the only reason that I go to the raves although he is the reason I came back to them. About a year or so ago I caught sight of a young woman who had the face of an angel and a very sensuous body that must have aroused an immeasurable amount of jealousy in Aphrodite. I had never met her in person but I knew who she was. Her name was Avery Norris. She was a pianist as my mother had been and was the utter embodiment of Love.
Growing up I used to sit in the living room and listen as my mother practiced for her performances. Every time she made a mistake she would look at me and we would laugh. The best times were when she would teach me how to play. Sometimes we would play Chopsticks together.
I was twelve years old when my life was destroyed, and all that I have left is my mothers piano, which I refuse to play. When my mother was killed, her body was so badly charred by the fire that destroyed our home it was unidentifiable. The only things that survived were the garage and my mothers Wurlitzer piano, which was inside. Anyone who knows anything about pianos
would not keep one in the garage. My mother did. She had just gotten a grand piano, but it was turned to ashes in the fire, like her dreams of one day playing at Carnegie Hall. She was working on a piece that she called “The Waltz of Death.” Despite, its macabre title, it was sweet and lyrical. I can still hear her playing it, while my imagination envisioned an orchestra conducted the Great Maestro (Death). Everyone dances this waltz from the time our birth to the time when the conductor waves his baton for the very last time. My mothers dreams of playing her waltz went up in smoke during the fire that consumed my childhood.
I never played the piano after that day. I have taken up painting and drawing. I have to do something with my hands. The funny thing is that we as human beings try to run so far away from things that we end up running right into them. That is the way it was with pianos and me. I seemed to be always caught in a vicious circle trying to shadow box my memories without realizing I
was perpetuating the very thing I was trying to avoid. Life is like that.
I have never tested the veracity of my beliefs, but I know they are true, which is why I find myself attracted to Avery Norris. She played with such skill and passion that it seemed as if the Angel of Music herself was playing Averys piano. Averys playing reminded me of the ghosts of my mother. Full vicious circle.
All of this was running through my mind as I watched the dancers at a rave in the San Fernando Valley. The rave took place in an abandoned warehouse and it attracted many of the young, local denizens of LA. Including Avery Norris. The warehouse had been abandoned for at least a good ten years. In the year, 2032, nobody in his or her right mind went into the Valley. Ravers were never in their right minds, which is why they chose the Valley to hold all their raves.
Those SIB agents who monitored them were even crazier. Many of the monitors were ex-ravers like me, so they knew how to play the game. The warehouse was large. About twenty thousand square feet of youths, music, and drugs. The whole place was illuminated by thousands of tiny lights powered by electric generators. The DWP had long since cut off the utilities to the Valley, which had been completely abandoned in the years following the Third World War.
A rudimentary stage had been set up where the DJs worked their magic and created the hypnotizing beats of the style of music known as trance to which the ravers danced. Many of who moved like people caught in the rapturous sensations of sexual intercourse. In fact, some of them were doing it in some form or another. The others were just too caught up in the sensations caused by the Ecstasy that they had taken to give a damn about what their bodies were doing.
I had the sickening sensation that someone was going to die. My mothers waltz echoed softly in the recesses of my mind. I tried to drown it out in the din of music that surrounded me, but it was to no avail. I took a sip from my water bottle. It was not Evian, but I did not really care. Water bottles were sort of standard fare at raves because Ecstasy dehydrated the body so much so that ravers needed to be constantly drinking water to keep from overheating like radiators.
> The music filled the air, and the stage lights created a cascade of colors as they swung back and forth and in every which way. Opposite the stage, where the DJs were located, the eerie nighttime darkness cast the absence of light through the massive steel garage-style doors. I watched some people enter then I caught sight of Avery. She entered with her usual entourage of friends and stood there for a moment looking around her body already gyrating to the beat of the music. One of her friends caught me staring at her and whispered something in her ear, Avery whispered something back. She turned to look at me, and our eyes locked. Suddenly I felt like a nerdy teenager admiring the most popular and most beautiful girl in the school. I felt so inadequate at that moment. To me, she and I existed on two different planes. Her friends left her while she picked up a water bottle from one of the ice chests.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a familiar figure talking to two of the ravers. He was tall and slender with a clean-shaven face and light brown hair. It was the Skunk. The three of them were standing by a metallic staircase that led to the catwalks above. The Skunk handed something to the other two. I knew it had to be drugs. I was startled by a sultry female voice. I whirled around and found that Avery was standing only inches away from me. She had on the carefree smile of someone who was caught up in the euphoria brought on by Ecstasy…or at least it could have been Ecstasy. Now there was a new club drug on the market known as R-486 jokingly named after RU-486 the famed “morning after pill”? The drug R-486 was highly addictive and left feelings of euphoria in the user for a period of twenty-four hours. Anyone who wanted to get the drug in West LA had to go through the Skunk to get it. The drug looked like ammonia and the Skunk had been known to make the switch on people who had not paid him, thereby killing them.
Avery continued gyrating to the music “Ive seen you before, havent I?” she asked.
I shrugged and watched her dance for a moment, “Maybe at one of the other raves.”
Avery paused, the light show dancing across her face. She shook her head slowly, “No, I dont think so. It was at my show at the Troubadour this past March.”
I remembered that show The Troubadour was one of Los Angeles established nightclubs where many musicians performed while doing the circuit on the LA music scene. I sat at one of the tables in the back a few moments before Avery performed. As she played, she seemed to glance in my direction as if she was singing only to me.
Avery smiled her blue green eyes gazing directly into mine, “You felt it didnt you?” she asked >
For a few, brief moments the rave disappeared and it felt as if it was just Avery and me standing and talking I had felt like that at the Troubadour as well. Each time she looked at me while performing I felt a connection that was so intense it transcended the physical realm. We stared at each other for a moment Then Avery rubbed her forehead. “I dont feel too good,” she said.
“Maybe you should sit down and drink some of your water,” I suggested.
She nodded slowly, and together we started to walk towards some benches near the entrance that had been set up for those needing to rest from dancing Avery never made it to the benches. She collapsed about halfway there. I quickly knelt down beside her and checked her pulse. She barely had one A few of the ravers had gathered around us euphorically grinning. I glared at them as I began to perform CPR. “Dont just stand there, call the paramedics.”
One of them laughed, “Theres no emergency services around here.”
I barely noticed as Averys two friends came running over to where I was performing the CPR I did not notice their crying as I stopped pounding on Averys chest, for I was too lost in my own misery to take heed as her friends cried out her name, All I could hear in my mothers waltz echoing eerily in the recesses of my mind.
The Great Maestro had put away his baton and the music was no longer playing for Avery Norris, leaving only an empty silence in her wake. I was left without a chance at love and would have to wonder what might have been. For me, Love had died, and all that was left was the uncertainty of Chaos. My life truly was an open wound.

Posted via email from Robert’s Posting Place

The Ballad of Billy Joe

Billy Joe had always believed in love
Until her husband Brian beat her beliefs out of her
She would tremble with fear
Hoping that he would not come home drunk
Because if he did,
His fists would come raining down on her like a hail of bullets
Their son would see this
And beat on kids in school
Using the same words that Brian used
Like father like son
Billy Joe loved her son dearly
And hated Brian
His constant abuse had left her broken
But one day Billy Joe found the resolve to fight back
Her end to the abuse was simple
She did it without even realizing what she had done
The prosecutor called Brian's murder a crime of passion
Billy Joe always maintained that it was self-defense
Through the trial
And into the sentencing
When she stood before the judge,
He gave her life in prison without the possibility of parole
Simply because she wanted to have a life free from abuse
And a free life she had in her jail cell
Her friends abandoned her
And her son refused to see her
Billy Joe spent many years in prison
Until one of the guards found her
She was hanging from the ceiling by her belt
At her feet was a small note addressed to her son
It said simply: I love you
Her funeral was very small
It was only attended by her son and his wife and daughter
All her son could think about was the lesson he had learned
Love has nothing to do with control or fear or denigration
Love is commitment and respect and devotion

The City on a Hill

I wrote this speech several years ago.  It defines the general philosophy in which I approach life and other people. Our are often filters for what is truth, but they don't always interpret truth as reality. Sometimes they let us see what we want to see. Its sad that I only developed this philosophy after the partial loss of my vision. I guess losing my sight helped me gain insight.

The City on a Hill
 
The way you look in this mirror is the way everyone else sees you.
People tend to make judgments with their eyes.
The eyes lead to the brain where judgments are made using the information that is given to us.
In my life, people have judged me quite often
because they have no idea what it is like to be me
People strive for tolerance
but we do not have to like what we tolerate
Last spring, I had a conversation with a friend who is blind.
I asked him what it is like to be blind?
He replied and said: "Its like closing your eyes."
I am sure that at some point we have all clsed our eyes so we can see what it is like to be blind.
What I am asking you to do is not all that different.
If you close your eyes, you will be more accepting of those who are different from you.
Acceptance will lead to more relationships and better friendships.
Acceptance is the city on a hill.
It overlooks the vast wasteland of ignorance.
The Road of Understanding winds up the hill, but the way is frought with peril.
The road passes through the city gates:
Tolerance.
Yet, we only stop there and do not enter the city.
We stop because of fear.
If we passed through the gate, then hatred and prejudice would end,
but if not, we would be carried by the winds to the valley below,
and we would destroy ourselves.
If you want to live ,
close your eyes
and take the first step.

Billy Joe

 

Billy Joe had always believed in love

Until her husband Brian beat her beliefs out of her

She would tremble with fear

Hoping that he would not come home drunk

Because if he did,

His fists would come raining down on her like a hail of bullets

Their son would see this

And beat on kids in school

Using the same words that Brian used

Like father like son

Billy Joe loved her son dearly

And hated Brian

His constant abuse had left her broken

But one day Billy Joe found the resolve to fight back

Her end to the abuse was simple

She did it without even realizing what she had done

The prosecutor called Brian’s murder a crime of passion

Billy Joe always maintained that it was self-defense

Through the trial

And into the sentencing

When she stood before the judge,

He gave her life in prison without the possibility of parole

Simply because she wanted to have a life free from abuse

And a free life she had in her jail cell

Her friends abandoned her

And her son refused to see her

Billy Joe spent many years in prison

Until one of the guards found her

She was hanging from the ceiling by her belt

At her feet was a small note addressed to her son

It said simply: I love you

Her funeral was very small

It was only attended by her son and his wife and daughter

All he could think about was the lesson he had learned

Love has nothing to do with control or fear or denigration

Love is commitment and respect and devotion

 

Flying to Make Believe

I wrote this because my inspiration seems to have left me for the moment.


She’s gone to the wind
Never to return
I shall miss her so
But the winds of fate have flown her away
To that far a away land of make believe
Where gossamer hopes become reality
And the future remains unseen
And the possibility of what once might have been never looks back
As the light touches the ground in the land of make believe
In the arms of the melodies she sings
Placed there by the music of the world she has taken to be her everything
But I would give anything to have her back
to hear her voice
Her laugh
Her smile
And her tears
I am thankful to have known her
Yet I would give up my pen if just to hear her voice
For my pen is the only gift I have to sacrifice
And I am nothing without it
But sacrifice it I would
So that my Muse may smile kindly on me
Once again

The Forever Love

It lingers on idyllic nothingness
Yet dances to the beat of the heart
As the heart sings of all the joy in the world
While the eternal beat
Thump thumps
Causing the universe to expand and heave with each breath
As infinity wells in the eyes
And perhaps what should be never ends
While the dream chasers
Keep their loves fleeting
But in their hearts and souls
They know their love is forever
Like the daylight it breaks a virtuous new dawn
Of faith, hope, and love
A love that does not judge
And is as unconditional as the day itself
Which casts a light on the darkness in my heart
Showing that the dark is light
And lasting forever
This forever love
Although separated by time and distance
Has never failed or faltered
But has shined in the vast infinity of time
Which measures out love in seconds and minutes Traveling straight and true
To the point
Where faith, hope and love
Intertwine once more
Swirling like oil paint on the canvas of the universe
While the Great Artist paints a picture of forever love
That inspires a beautiful eternity
Of hoping, believing, and loving.

No Facebook: Day 3

Life seems to get a little stranger without the use of the ‘book. Since it took up most of my time, I am now spending my time either studying more or just trying to find anything to do. Being off the ‘book has had its advantages not spending hours on the computer at the very least keeps me from getting dry eye like I used to.

Still the idea of what to do with my time vexes me. Today I was helping m friend Kami out with a project. She is interviewing me for a project for one of her grad school classes and she asked me what I like to do as hobby. I remember struggling to answer that question and finally saying that I go to the movies. To be honest it was the only thing I could think of to say. I really did not have any other hobbies or any at all for that matter because I was so addicted to Facebook and spent all my free time on the site, and as mentioned in my first blog when my friends were around.

Now I am spending my time trying to figure out what exactly it is that I like doing because honestly I do not have the slightest idea.