Home2024-05-27T15:22:58-04:00

Never in our wildest fantasies …

This Homo sapiens choir is scheduled to perform at the Kennedy Center on … the day hell freezes over!

Warning: Video, the choir, its members & message of hope are all fake (4 min)

The Achilles heel of the Homo sapiens species is “hope.”

This short rendition of the famous song, We Are the World, sung by the most incongruous, bizarre, dissonant, unharmonious, collection of human beings is a wonderful metaphor for the impossibility of ever finding peace among humanity. Plus, it exhibits the incongruous bunch of thugs who truly think they “are the world.”

This little AI performance is as false as the fiction we put up with all around the world, fabricated by so-called leaders singing from different song sheets (i.e., ideologies, religions, politics – conservative, liberal, socialism, communism). And it reveals the absurdity, the impossibility, of hope. We humans will never sing from the same song sheet, never be in harmony. We are not capable.

“We have met the enemy. And it is us.” – Pogo

In just four minutes this fictional performance exemplifies, in sound and color, the folly of the hope that we cling to, have been clinging to since … time began.

“Never doubt that a small, thoughtful group of people can change the world. Indeed, it is all that ever has.” – Margaret Mead

Maybe they’ll sing “The Impossible Dream” next?

By |March 24th, 2025|0 Comments

“People are the worst”

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Coming 2026

My personal history is the stuff they write books about. And that's what I am doing. The working title, "Chains of My Father: Marry White."

"The ghostly image of the tragic mulatto trapped between two worlds." - Barack Obama

This perspicacious line from the Prologue of Barack Obama's "Dream from My Father" wrenched my aspiration into action. I started writing, furiously. Unlike Obama's perspective, my pain had been for the opposite reason: I was not seen by whites as a "tragic mulatto," rather I lived every day of my childhood hoping whites were not "searching my eyes for some telltale sign" that I WAS mulatto. This is my story.

It's historical fiction because I cannot find enough records to substantiate all facets of the story. I've combed the genealogy, traveled to my father and grandmothers' birthplace, walked the graveyards, searched the churches and ... well, all the facts aren't there. I have written three books based on the genealogy of other families but my ancestors emerged from a journey that left too few records – slavery.

My paternal, great grandmother was a "freed slave." My grandmother, Amelia, was born to a mixed race slave named Mary (we do not know her last name) and a white, French plantation owner, the Count de Poullain, in Grenada, West Indies. Amelia was raised in the "Big House" and in adulthood, in an attempt to escape her black heritage disowned her mother, telling her, "Get out and never come back." Amelia, as a mother of twelve children, enshrined into the family commandments, "Marry white." Many did, including my father. My mother was a lovely, white, Anglo-Saxon protestant born in England. They met in Canada where my dad studied and became a doctor.

It has taken five generations for the descendants of Mary to free themselves from the stigma of their black heritage but today my children embrace it. Unfortunately, the past 250 years have been a wasteland of bigotry, racism and bullying. But, on closer look, we see not only the brutality, fear, violence, and murder but also the self-respect, dignity, love, kindness, perseverance and indomitable spirit.

As of the spring of 2025, the depth of historic perspective and the sweeping inspiration of oppressed people has created a two-volume duology of which I have only arrived at the middle of the 19th century. 1840 is the year my great grandfather was born, the beginning of Volume II, and he's pushing me to make sure our story is published by the summer of 2026.

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