Chapter 8a.

You sure know how to tell sad stories, too.

So, because of what would have happened to a songstress or two from somewhere. Those who'd happened to get their early start singing in church all night long, down there, of course, and daytime too. They then went on to make a name for themselves singing other songs for him and you, other than those that they used to sing in churches' long queues. Making a name big enough that everybody everywhere knew it, even you. Just because they did that, they would have managed to reach those meteoric heights.

But then, might have happened to fall like a kite, shush! Then rise and fall again, seven, eight, nine times, ten, and many more times than that, my friends. Just because of those things, every chance that you get to point this out, the fall part of those stories comes from the mouths. You do just that, you point out how those people would have fallen flat. But you never once talked about how they'd risen, up the charts, all that many times, rising. How about those others who would have traveled along those very same paths, but had never fallen so fast, among the thieves, not even once? Or, at least, not so much as to become a headline, on which to feast, as an example of folks who have fallen from grace.

So that those other folks, like you, of course, can have them to show and tell to the latter end. Not you, though, just them, yes, wink and pout at them. They use those as examples to talk about as reasons why other young and gifted people who, from time to time, may rise from amongst you, should do nothing. You'll bombard them with those stories as reasons why they should not even consider doing anything. Be it great or small, with the great talents that they may now have, or might sometime in the future, be found to possess. Lest they too should go the same way; the fall way, I guess, and from the blessing of the day.

Isn't it rather peculiar, though, isn't it curious, that you never seemed to remember to mention those other very talented folks on the bus? Those who would have come up the same way, and would have gone on to make something of their lives? Would have stayed at the top of their game, even to the very end of the knives, making their names. You never bothered to tell their stories to those young and talented folks amongst you, such a shame. One might wonder why, why not? In the meantime, though, you take them and their talents and use them on show every chance that you'd get (or didn't get). For nothing other than a thank-you card and a promise of blessings from the lord, you bet.

Which were never to be forthcoming towards? You know, like, towards the payoff of the debt. Until they (those very gifted ones from over on that side of the way) wear out, lose their talent, waste away, and die, in utter poverty, oh my! Gone are they, to the upward way, to heaven, you say, upon the heights. To that other city, pure and bright, such a waste, such a pity, but the beat goes on; boom, boom, boom. Say it isn't so. Say it's not the way it has always been, or go. Come on, bring your strong arguments along, and come, Barrington.

"Don't use your talent for the devil," you say. All the while pointing the finger at the many talents that were to pass through the church and down your way. They then went on to become household names, but some would have fallen on hard times sometimes, or passed away. Being careful to mention only the "fallen on hard times" parts and use those as reasons to support your arguments of sorts, in your sermons. Never pausing for one moment to note that, for something, or someone to fall, that something, or that "someone" person, had to have been at a higher place previously. How did they get there? How high were they?

How many times have said individuals risen (or fallen?) Those were never a part of the sermons as given from? well. In contrast, though, to your nose, for every one of those, the vast number of others, many more of the same type of folks like them, those who'd have fallen. There were, in fact, many others who would have done wonders for themselves, on the clocks, to the high end, coming from the very same sorts of background, even, as that. The Aretha Franklins of the world, the Ray Charles'. Chuck Berry and the list goes on, on the causes, for Papaya, and Cherry.

But they were never mentioned in your sermons, we never mentioned those. Except for when they die, on those occasions, they're likely to get a passing mention from us, in disguise from the mainland. From you, and the likes of you, and with glowing admiration too. Who knew? Then there was that other one, the brother man who would not be tamed, the one who was a wild ass of a man, and the blamed. He, too, had hopes and dreams, and a meager get-out plan to steam. Talent? Maybe not so much.

He was amongst you, though, and crushed. He'd set out on a mission to do some things and grow, thought it would be good to make it known to you, like so, you know, in the sense of community, the spirit of togetherness, you see. We rise and fall together, right? Yes, preferably the rising part tonight, since there ain't much further falling space left for the likes of us and in your faces and sight. Some of us know it, but you don't.

So, he told you what he was thinking of doing to try and progress ahead of shoe-shining. "No," you'd said, like always before, mi bred. Because that's the only word you and yours seemed to be familiar with, when it comes to these things and the causes, no, sit. Yes, that's what you'd said, "no," to the young man. Your reasons were many, varied, and quick in coming at hand, to get buried. But this wild ass of a young man was not to be deterred by that. So, he went out and did what he had to do, and then came the fallouts, coming from who? Them, no doubt, and now? Come, come over here and look at this.

While seagulls are in the valley, bickering over droppings of blood and fatty tissue. The eagle is mounting up, going, going, gone, up with the carcass, and eyeing the catastrophe issue.

Which is about to unfold in the form of an avalanche bearing down on them, in the valley, about to swallow them up, and cover them on the trolley. I know, an avalanche may not be such a great threat to seagulls in a valley, with you. "Seagulls have wings," you say, they'll mount up and fly away, and out of alms' way. Yes, I know that much. But what if we're not here talking about those kinds of see gullibles, I mean, seagulls, sorry.

What if we're talking about something else, far away from here, on the belts and terrible? What if the eagle has other reasons for not making the seagulls any wiser, be it about the avalanche, the pending danger, or anything else for that matter, for us to go out and eye-stare her? What if it all fits perfectly well into the schemes and plans of that self-same eagle and the man? After all, if all the seagulls are gone, there will be one less enemy for him to storm.

Yes, one less competition for him to worry about, Mom, and perhaps, much more spoil for the taking of that eagle, and for feeding the mouths of Pops, and the weevil. Wouldn't there be? Just asking, you see! I'm allowed to ask, am I not?

"Red," you say they are, like, red something, or another car. From the head top down to the shoulder scar. But they'll be something before they're older, by far. That man and his brother, though. No, not the other. But as for me, and you? Holy Father! "Ooh-ee."

Your male folks compared muscle to strength and might, and never managed to get anything right, except for the few here and there, of course. Your female folks? They show off their bodies and shapes, with nothing between their ears, and nothing but nonsense gets to escape through those very ears and noses. Except for the few here too? - ?"And fragrance from Rose Sis?" True. Guess where those few end up? Yep, over there serving the other guy, boo, bringing in the teacup, oh my! Yeah!

To the same one you'd said was weak, and who you still thought about as recently as this past week, especially at the end of the week. You like to boast too, always boasting about how he's your inferior, and too sweet for you. But they, too, (our successful few?) are busily helping him to build his country, aren't they? Just the same as you, and me, yay, all of us.

We're all here building this strong country, his fortified cities, his mighty armies, some of them can be found right there, yes. Those armies of theirs are based over there on your? I mean, our little piece of ground, on the square. Or on what should have been so, our piece of ground, so I hear. But? While you were there, standing over him and flexing your very strong muscles around his skin, and such. He was applying himself to gain knowledge and understanding of sound. (Don't touch!) technical know-how, too, and commanding.

He's now running all over necks, and you and your kind of kings stand too, and you don't even know enough to have known that much. He's sending men to the moon and beyond, and you? As for your god, or your myriads of gods, and moms, wow. Oh, how mad she must be, she's surely going to be angry at me when you're done reading this, if you ask me. Ask none rod, I mean Nimrod, ask Nimrod again, he'll tell you, my friend.

This leads me to the next question at the day's end. Or to ask it again, since I might have asked it already somewhere else, on the ends. How and when did these people (my people) How and when did we get to become so comfortable in our misery, so much so that we've forgotten that we are miserable, and how to be mean? How did we allow ourselves to be manipulated into such a state as this, and unclean?

Husbands and fathers become irrelevant in the homes and the lives of our children. At someone else's be-est and to thrill them. While it's "the government" that now provides for the family, our women say, Wow, yes! This is good, this is very good for me, and I said, No, and they said to me, go, while they were pointing a finger to show me the doe. As if it were standing beside me in the doorway. Because you, they said, you don't even know nuttn, not anything, now go away. So, I had to leave among them and go that very day, just like she'd said. To be continued.