the ‘long hall’

the ‘long hall’

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

 

 

The trek to ‘the gallery’ at the J.Wayne Reitz Union is not at all an easy one for me. The building is huge-I’m not even sure how many floors,I think four;but it is also connected with the parking garage and the campus hotel.
The gallery is on the second floor-the corridor in the photograph is a part of that floor-there are four such and the same length.
It is easier to say it is like running for shelter from a hard rain-like running across the grocery parking lot to avoid getting wet. That is what it is like for me to get into the building and into the gallery. It is like a sanctuary there-almost like going to a funeral home to pay respect to a lost friend…peaceful.
The compression of the doors closing behind me begins the rain storm…begins the phobia of some crazy deja vu’ and makes me anxious.

I haven’t been faithful to the exhibit this season-in the sense that I’ve only visited once since it has opened,that was Sunday.
It is not by choice-gasoline and my distance into the city has limited my travel. I actually am sad that I haven’t been able to make the trip-it was a therapy for me to go there each day…last year on Tuesday I went from seeing Charlotte to cross the highway and walk across campus to the gallery.
My plan is to try for today-I have enough gas to make it in and back.

My usual steps are to park on the street behind the VA hospital and walk through Shands. I go the 11th floor there to use the restroom (it is almost as if it is my private restroom) and then back down and through the hospital I go.
Shands is connected to the VA by a tunnel. It is a rather long tunnel-very brightly lit and very often used by indoor speed walkers,it is measured for how many miles you walk by how many times you go back and forth.
The tunnel reminds me of the tunnel at the Pan American Union in Washington DC. The tunnel there connects the Union to its administration building-two blocks away.
As you walk through the tunnel at the VA the scene is almost too bright from the lights and the white walls and floor tiles…so bright it is dull.
I often think about the mural in the tunnel in Washington-some 200 yards long,painted by Carlos Paez Vilaro (titled “The Root of Peace”). The tunnel itself is very dismal-low narrow and grey except for the mural. Bare bulbs light the way-not the bright lights like at the VA. It always amazed me how the artist had to spend such a long time in that tunnel…my research is poor-how it took is unknown to me,but in my own speed of painting…it must have taken months and months.

(actually-the tunnel was painted in 1959-1960 and was repainted in 1975 by the artist.It is the worlds longest mural-it took 900 pounds of paint and 300 brushes-the brushes were contributed by the Inca Paint Company in Uruguay,the home of the artist)

Just rambles of notta from the head today…empty, just like this long hall.

the survivors art exhibit

my studio

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

This day will be a new kind of day for me.
Today is the day the art exhibit is ‘hung’…I guess you could say-I am going to a ‘hanging party’.
Actually-these may just be my words,they may have another name for it in the gallery world…but this is the day,and this time I am going to be a part of the group that does the hanging.

This day will be a first for me.
I have a long story to tell-you have only found a part of it here in these pages of past. I have only written basics….I’ve never set the real foundation of what happened to disrupt so much in my family as a boy and a teen and how I ended up not finishing high school - and entering the Navy.
I may have said a thing or two here or there-but never have written all of the things that happened in Tuckahoe (Richmond Va.) when I was 13-14 years old.
I once told Charlotte (my former therapist) and we talked about it a number of times-but I told her that it is hard enough for me to comprehend the things I’ve talked about to date…more less try to expect any other to believe it all happened as it happened. All of it-from Mr.Hoke to my brother Carl-and for this that I have left alone….and the Navy? All of my life has such a pattern of one wheel off the track,it is hard to explain.

All that said has to do with this-my participation in scholastic activities in junior and senior high school were nil. There was none-plain and simple.
It was a mistake I wish I could turn around-but…not what I wanted,it just was.

Three years ago when I learned about the survivors art exhibit-you could’nt believe what a genuine thrill it was to be standing in the lobby of the great building of the where the gallery is and seeing up to 500 people come through (at the opening reception) and see our art-and my art. I never did finish high school,getting my real high school experience through my sons…I was a band parent! You cannot imagine my feelings seeing my art hanging on the walls of a gallery in the center of the University of Florida campus.
Today I will experience something new.
I will be working with a group of others to carefully place the paintings of other survivors on the walls of this gallery. I am nervous and afraid of the beginning-but I know who most of whom will be there and that relieves me.

My life of working with others has been in a world far apart from this one. My life as trucker made sure I worked alone. I wanted it that way.Building scaffolds-that too was work where you were apart from the group. It is hard to entice others to climb 90 feet and higher on a pipe 2″ diameter,so it is a job you do alone.
The mortuary work speaks for itself.

The other part of this….being in a building like the J.Wayne Reitz Union-this place is huge. The minute the doors shut behind me and I hear that whomph sound of the pressure of the air as the doors close…I am afraid.
But I know the group of people I will be with-and these are gentle good people all of us are survivors. So I believe this will be a truly good experience.
It will be a new kind of day for me.

in one city

gated community-jay herron 2007

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

 

 

There is too much in my head to make sense about anything. I heard this morning that a man named Charles Chatman was released from prison after 27 years incarcerated for a crime he did not commit.
I feel very strange sometimes about how I lament about my circumstances and how my life has been affected by my time in barracks D…short of two months,and yet the memory was with me when I woke up this morning….what memories this man will have.

Here I am going through my morning routine checking emails and reading the obituary section of the local paper and the news on NPR has this piece about Chatman-his words were so interesting…”life has to go on where ever you are”! That comment after being wrongfully convicted and sent away for 27 years….whew.

Then I learned there have been others…15 wrongly convicted men sent to spend their lives in prison,all from Dallas Texas,have been released because of DNA samples as proof of their innocence.
To date-they have 450 more cases under investigation,just from Dallas.
This from the same state that has recently taken the 400 plus children away from their mothers because of a religious belief.

Another snippet of news comes across my zone this morning-about how the military has accepted convicted felons to fill the ranks…some of these include those convicted of sexual assault and child related sexual convictions.
I found this information which was based on study by The Michael D.Palm Center,at the University of California.

www.palmcenter.org
It appears the Army has reinstated the second chance program-which means not enough men and woman are coming forward to stand up for their country.
And yet…when someone becomes victimized by these criminals…they say it did not happen.
How is it a city like Dallas can screw up and allow (so far) 15 innocent people go to prison for life?
How can we teach young people to respect their country and laws and the honor of serving in the United States Military-when they fill the gap with men convicted of rape and child molestation?
How will newly freed men be? What will their lives be like?

I really wish I could comprehend it all and sort it out. This morning I am going out to walk the streets of the city to post the poster for the art exhibit-these are the slick and finer poster,so these require going into shops….I’m already stressed,I fear this every time.
And why is this? What kind of lives did these men live-and their feelings and futures taken away and the freedom to post posters would be a dream….
and then,how fair is it in such as the case with Charles Chatman having been wrongly convicted of rape and being sent to prison for over 27 years-and yet in other states (if not even in Texas) men that are criminal and are also convicted of rape can go work it off in the military?…and potentially harm those innocent who enlisted because they were taught it was an admirable thing to do?
I know I sound confused…I am.

survivors art

survivors art invite

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

The Survivors Art Exhibit is just about a week from beginning and this one will be the third time I will have art on display.
The artists are comprised of individuals who have experienced some form of interpersonal violence in their lives-not limited to sexual assault,and does include artists who have survived various forms of attack from the hands of others.

As a male rape survivor it is difficult to explain the way your personal esteem is so damaged by the events of sexual assault. I guess this is partly that in my particular case I was arm-stronged into the assaults almost daily-with no authority offering to protect me. When someone forces you like that you become less than anything.
I just fear the more I try to explain it the more confused it sounds,but the way things were after the opportunity for the men that were assaulting me ended was that it never ended for me…they were gone,but the damage was always going to be with me.

I have always goofed around with drawing-when I built scaffolds my sketch work was often as I had to quick draw some parts of buildings for reference. I’ve always found enjoyment by making something come out of my mind through a pencil and paper,and paints often dreamed-but never imagined,that my art would be seen by others.

My paintings are’nt easy works-most of them are not pleasant and most likely are more startling and bizzarre…but that is my release-and my tension goes out into the object onto the ‘canvas’…in my case,plywood!
My paintings are more medicine than an attempt to be artistic. Most everytime my paintings are just as much a surprise to me as they are to the viewer because I don’t have a plan to paint the things I do…they just come out-usually I go over to the studio (which is what the walked home home now is) the next morning to see what it is I did the night before. Sometimes I go into a slight form of ‘damage control’ and try to destroy what I did the night before-only to find out it added to the painting in a postive way.
Yes…sometimes my art is mingled with drinking,I bring home a few quarts of beer and put on my music and stand in front of my work-sometimes never doing a thing.
And other times I see a line and put it where it belongs.
All of this helping me push this which is inside of me out-sometimes it brings me to absolute tears and sitting on my stool weeping.

To have no real esteem about yourself and then in one nights time you become a star….all be it in private and just for that night. To stand out in the lobby of this great building where our art is going to be displayed-and to watch the people come in for the reception….last year it was around 500,and knowing it is each persons work of art that these people have come to see,knowing they are seeing what you have created.
I makes you feel like something-it makes you feel like someone.

impact.

007

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

 

 

As many of you that use these blog venues know-you can look in a certain file and check as to how someone came to see your personal blog. In one area it shows the ’search’ ((I guess it is really ‘tags’?) and another area it shows the viewers own (blog) site. I often get a kick out of looking at the ’search’ items to see how my writings fit in with the oddity of the search…or the usual,which ever is the case.
I always look at the sites.
This past weekend I saw ’servant4him’ in my blogger views.
I am reluctant to say more-as to how to see the site yourself…I think it would be easy enough to sort out via the Internet.
It isn’t because of the site itself-it is not.
The story that I linked back to was titled ‘Amazing’. Like my writings-it was headlined by a photograph. This one was of a teen male sitting with a guitar,on his lap was a toddler…in the back ground you could see it was a family gathering-a summer gathering.
The photograph definitely was of a better time-judging by the follow up I did after reading this particular blog,it couldn’t have been just a few months later the young man in the photo made a mistake he can never reverse.

I guess my living with out television has some advantage. It appears the young man in the photo was involved in a murder-he was what you might call the second man,but deeply enough involved. A seventeen year old kid who got caught up in pure stupid-there is no way to really put it. It seems the there is something about this murder that brought it national television coverage. Trust me,it was pretty bad.

Looking at this kids photograph it was easy to see this was a good kid-there was good in the scene,you could just sense it. A good home and he probrebly did well in school-these are are speculation on my looking at the picture…he just looked like a happy go lucky good kid.
He tesitified against the other guy-an 18 year old…they murdered a 26 year old man. The young man in the photograph recieved 20-30 years for his part in the crime,a lessor sentence because he told the story. The other kid got life.
I don’t know at what point my mind would have said-”lets get out of here”…there had to have been that point in time-who really can know. I know what I just read about this crime…for sure,it deserved the convictions… but it just about breaks my heart.
You have to look at the photograph to really understand.

Like I said-you can go into a file and find the ways people came to locate your personal blog. On my page-it is at the lower left corner. Due to the nature of my blog-I see a lot of searches such as ‘male on male rape’ or ‘prison rapes’ .
Like I said…you have to see the photgraph to fully understand.

I have’nt been able to get Alex off of my mind since seeing ’servant4him’. I have’nt been able to shake the references in my search files. I have’nt been able to shake the story-it has a nature that is not ordinary.
I cannot blame the young man the way he justly deserves blame-the crime is easily the one in which a person has definantly made a choice they have to live with for ever. There is no explaining it-it boggles the mind how a person can get caught up in something that would alter every ones lives forever….with out thinking of those consequences.
I do not believe that all of his life Alex was this kind of person-I think he got caught up in something bigger than he ever suspected…something that was supposed to go one way and went very badly wrong. Something very stupid.
I believe he has a good family and they were big about gatherings and goodness and loving.
A miserable sick mistake-it can’t be turned around.

I don’t even know these people-my heart has wrenched about this ever since seeing the blog.
I’m thinking about how in just a few months and for the cost of vital moment in time and at the expense of a life (how many lives is it-really?) this innocent kid has removed himself from the place in the photgraph with his toddler cousin sitting on his knee in put himself in a world so adverse to what he has ever known.
You’ll be in my heart for a long time,kid!

(I kind of think it is better to not offer a link-I do know it can be easily found if you ‘Google’ ’servant4him blog’)

…it’s here!

011

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

I have such a strong desire for the cab of a big truck-sitting parked at the truck stop looking out over I-40 into the desert near Kingman , Arizona. It is among many of the most beautiful views from a truck stop.
The one favorite of mine was east of Kingman and had a vast parking area-so it was easy to get off over to one corner and set up camp. Over size loads (like ours) had to clear the highways on weekends-so sometimes when there was sections of a piece of equipment that required more than one rig to haul,we’d park together and set up a covered camp using tarps spread between trucks. There would be cook out grills and cold beer…though in the desert it did not stay cold long.
The parking lot was larger than the truck stop really required so it was more like parking out in an open field (except there are no fields in that part of Az.) and privacy was pretty well assured.

I liked parking out on the edge. Not much wanting to get involved with any body,most times it worked.
It was quiet and soothing after a long hard days drive,not just a drive-but work.
Coming from the west saw some of the nothingest nowhere of desert you ever saw-the best of it,but still work-climbing the hills in low gear,and hot.
It was rough with heavy haul,because you had to move in the daylight-and park at night,where as many trucks sought a cool place (we used to get a motel room when light loaded and sit around in the A/C during the day-and move at night,just to stay cool) to sit until the sun went down…we had to keep on getting the desert behind us.
Never the less,I liked that solitude.

At this point it would’nt matter where the cab of the truck is-and what truck stop. The actual fact is-the cabin interior is the home. It is private-and despite the rumble of the idleing trucks that park around you,it is a noise you no longer pay too much attention to.
And to me right now-I would be happy to be in one.

It is kind of curious to me. I have sat in truck stops in places where the trucks are lined up row after row and front to back-sometimes facing each other,sometimes not. A strange community-no one other than a trucker knows that it is a separete community then most others.
Curious? Because of how it is so familier to a prison-in some ways more restricting because no matter where you go you have this truck to drag around. Everything your day consists of is in and around the truck-in the truck,you are stuck!

Despite the camps we would set up on a heavy haul-it was right there next to rare that companionships with other truckers would begin. Yes,we had moments of conversation standing around waiting to load but the time allowed to form bonds and lasting friendships was just not there.
And curious because we would park in a truck stop and sit in the drivers seat and stare at each other.
A transient lifestyle that is made of good people who never get a chance to sit still.
Being honest-the cab of a truck is one of the most perfect places to meditate and think everything out.
I believe that is why I need one-to be parked out in that desert off I-40 watching the setting sun turn everything an umber and oranges beyond belief.
I just need to get off somewhere and think!

April-National Sexual Assault Awareness Month

farm-john campbell school,brasstown NC

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

My own mental clock had almost ran through the month of April. Until yesterday I had not been paying too much attention to the calender and then realized it was almost the end of the month.

Being a survivor of rape and sexual assault is an isolated place to live.
No one but another survivor can understand the meaning of what I am saying.

As people we are all different. We have different backgrounds and up bringing and some of us come from families who are rich and others from families that struggle to live month by month. Sexual abuse has no regions nor age groups-nor does it separate from where you come from. It does not have a gender….it has to do with control. The control of someone over you.

Every one of us has an extraordinary life. There are none of us alike-we only have similar experiences,yet those vary.
I lived a life that I know has been different.

Actually-it is a bit ironic that I can’t exactly tell you what it has been like being a survivor. I never felt like a survivor.
I lived a life closeted away from what others knew. In private I carried the guilt and shame that came along with the assaults. Due to the nature what was taking place….I was a young sailor in the USN and by twists of fate I got stuck in a snow storm and became AWOL. I ended up in a detention barracks-barracks D.
The long of the story is written in all these inserts-but the long of the story is also that every day of my life I awake to the memory of what happened.
The guilt and shame are contrasted of that the rapes were not a part of what my father or mother ever knew-they only knew that I had gotten in trouble and was being kicked out of the Navy.

I kept my secret-and battled it. The damage of having to preform every day the way I was forced too back in barracks D had some kind of effect on me. After the discharge and after being free of the barracks-I found myself seeking to be treated the way I was back then. I found myself putting myself into situations that were certain to cause me harm. I called those times ‘damage control’,except-I damaged myself and had no control over it.

I was asked once about how it might be for another-how I feel and how they feel about being sexually assaulted.
I could’nt answer the question-each one of us had different experiences but for most of my life I never figured it happened to others in the way it happened to me.
I learned to understand how harmful it is no matter who-no matter what the scene was.
It is just difficult too explain-not knowing others might be having to go through the same fears I was. Fears of public places…public restrooms-or in crowds of people,such as at a game or a concert. Like standing in a room full of snakes.

I went through most of my adult life not knowing that April was an awareness month-it does cover sexual assault-and domestic abuse. It is rather odd these titles.
Yes,I guess-we have to call it something,but sexual has nothing to do with assault,being domestic has nothing to do with abuse.
The word sexual actually softens the reality….there is nothing sexual about having someone force themselves on you-as in my case,being socked in the face and laid out in a urine trough.
A very interesting thing. The physical part of it was over-but forever the mental part has distorted something inside of me.
The ’sexual’ contact in my life since became a task-a job…like hard work. Something I had to do,I guess that is because it was something I was forced to do.
How can I explain that?

I can’t explain what it is for others. I only can imagine it must be the same thing.
Many things are disturbed inside of you when this happens.
I lost trust. I lost responsibilty. Soboriety. I could not keep a job. I became divided from my family.
I could not be close to someone.

The things I’ve been writing in this ‘Word Press’ about myself and my life are my way of bringing awareness. I don’t need a certain month to be set aside to do this….I need what seems a lifetime.
I did find things to keep me alive-to survive.
I learned to drive big trucks long distances-that to keep from having to work with others. Yet-I also learned to build high scaffolds,another place where no one is.
I raised two sons-good young men,as a single dad
Through my life things have been an evidence as to what had happened,but no one understood what it was or why I was the way I was. How do explain what through the years had become a calous on my own heart and chaos in my life….my own past to carry  alone in secret.

It was through Charlotte B.,at the VA who helped awaken a part of me and show me some things about what this was….the actions of PTSD.
Through the meetings with her I found the Survivors Art Exhibit…and that opened me up even more.
Also through the meetings with her I was forwarded to a Veterans Advocate to ‘validate’ my experience and hold the military accountable….this ‘advocate’ was so knee deep in bigotry that he re-opened the wound in a way that made me want to scream.
So-I bought this computer and began to learn how to use it and in this I found a way to speak.

My awareness message to anyone….men are victims too.
The title of ‘Sexual Assault Awareness Month’ needs to really truly tell the whole story.

religion…

Corey Micah-my grandson

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

 

Yesterday was ‘passover’. In my understanding it is a religious day in the same season as ‘easter’.
I do know enough that ‘passover’ has to do with the slaughter of a lamb to use the blood of the lamb to paint over the header of the doors of those who God was to pass over and pass by as the first born of the people who followed Pharaoh were killed.
Those who used the lambs blood were protected from harm.
By this it means the ‘first born’ ,and that included infants and children..Exodus 12:29,30
There in 2 Samuel 5:13 it says David took him more concubines and wives out of Jerusalem.
I find this interesting-David wrote most of the Psalms such as the 23rd Psalm which is like the ‘national anthem’ of Psalms.
The verses I am talking about are from the Holy Bible. The one Holy Book the most ‘righteous’ use,say for example-the pope.
I find this interesting. It is also the book that men take the oath of office on-swearing by God that they are going to defend the Constitution of this God fearing country….Land of the Free.
I’d like to point out-this reference of Davids wives and concubines is not from any other then the Christian Holy Bible…not the Book of Mormon.
Same with the slaughter of lambs.

I have a great belief and faith in a God-a Living and Real God. I am perplexed as how it is God is and how God operates. I can hardly cut a board straight and bend a nail right more less try to figure out how a universe is made. I don’t have any answers because I am just some guy.
I correct that-I have one answer and that is that you can trust God.

I can work my way through the Bible- I am not a scholar…however I do see things that make me understand why Jefferson wrote the separation of government from church.
Personally-I do not believe in church,but yet there are many…and many kinds.
I tried church once-seeking to understand what and why the person Rose (Americas Most Wanted) came in my path;and became very deeply involved in it with a mission to the national forest to speak to the homeless there-men,woman and children…living on blankets or in cars.
Actually-I thought I found forever at this church. That ended when I was asked to put a ‘presidential election’ sticker on my bumper. I was offended by the thought that on church property I was asked to do that.
The year following was a charade for me-I had to keep face to attend two weddings…my sons was one of them.
Many of the men in the ‘fellowship’ began to act differently towards me….it seemed that George Bush was going to take over for God and I wasn’t going to support that.
I have been ’shunned’ from this church-now over three years.

I recall the most serious arguement one of the men at that fellowship had with me was ‘abortion’…how GW Bush was going to write out of law the scourge of abortion.
You explain that to the mothers and fathers of the dead from the war Iraq….but after that,explain to me again.
I truly was agast as this ‘brother’ nearly took me by his hands to express his distaste for my not voting for ‘his man’.
Another family was brushed out of the church for their support of the other guy.

On the other side of my county is a Hari Krisna Temple. It is no slight operation-the temple is large and the school adjacent to it is not a pieced together scrap wood building. This is a fine local institution-I’ve even had meals there,just about everyone knows where it is.
That temple is there because they are free to worship. I remember in the 1970’s how people reacted to the Krisna’s-not kindly,but yet they stayed faithful to what they were teaching. They have a well established ‘compound’. The school and temple did not just get built over night by darkness. The facility was built under the guidence of local building codes and inspections-under the full eye of everyone.
People still think the Krisna’s are odd and different-most likely heathen.
But like any body in the United States they have a right to religion.

Looking at this ’sect and cult’ (which I believe the Krisna’s have been called) in San Angelo Texas…the Morman detach and its ‘compound’.
We’ve all seen the photographs of the buildings-and the temple. Those did not get built over night. The people of San Angelo Texas did not wake up one morning and it was all there. I imagine they had to adhere to local building codes-but that is only a guess.
What I do find interesting is how Bible thumping folk and politicians can look upon these people as bad….after all,David-writer of the Psalms,contained in the big book the new president will take oath of office on…had many wives and concubines. He also saw to it Uriah would be killed-that in order to marry Uriah’s wife. Hmmm.

I don’t believe it is in my knack of want to’s…but having any wife more less five or ten or more,well-it is not what I think.
Back in the days of Salem and the great witch hunts-all of that was started by the malicious tongues of a few young girls. That is all in history-documented as truth,just lies caused the death of several good people.
I definantly don’t condone grown adults being married to young teenagers…and I certainly have not seen any evidence of the young woman who began this rage on the Morman families-and children. I do not support the thoughts of abuse-but wonder what has really caused this to happen?
Not that it is right-but just about 800 miles to the east sits Arkansas. It borders Texas…and there a 16 year old girl can legally marry a youth of 17 on up.

It does not matter what my thoughts are-I’m just some guy. But it scares me to think that this could happen-like I said,that temple in San Angelo was not built quickly-it took time,and under the view of that city.

All of the terrible things we have learned about these people-they did not just appear out of the woodwork. They built this community,they lived in harmony with the people in the area and with in themselves.
I cannot judge what I do not know.
But I can judge that the Constitution must have it wrong because the government is saying these people can’t worship as they believe.
Because,overnight this group of people have had thier lives turned around.

You cannot tell me no body knew. That is just too crazy.

I find it interesting-almost as if it is some wild joke…the Pope of the Catholic church has met with the abuse victims to apologize. Exactly what IS going to happen to these Latter Day Saint children who the government has taken away from thier families? Is someday somebody going to apologize? The mockery that the Pope is and in regards to the priest pedophiles-and it parallels the fact that in front of America on our televisions we see the state of Texas taking away 400 some odd children from thier own home. Foster homes…now theres an answer.

Texas has a funny way of treating its religions. Back once upon a time a preacher named Lester Roloff made the Texas justice system look bad by taking convicts and renewing them-and pregnant girls,he took them in and offered them care. He built the LightHouse community for men,and the Rebecca Homes for the young ladies. Instead of letting young juvenile deliquents learn about crime in jail-Roloff pleaded with the courts to let him take them and educate them. It is thought that his programs worked-and Texas became embarrased. Roloff died in a plane crash-several of his adopted girls died with him. Up to then Lester Roloff had been in and out of jail because the State of Texas persecuted him for his success.

Religion…seperation of state and…

what it’s like being rich!

index.php?cat_id=4006&url_news4006=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.wcjb.com%2Fmodules%2FNews%2FdisplayNews.php%3Fid%3D2225&formFocus=news4006

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

 

 http://www.gainesvillesun.com/article/20080412/NEWS/804120336/0/news04

 

 

I know that I’ve spoken about the time an old monk told me that I owned everything in the sky-that no matter what and no matter where,as long as I could see the sky it belonged to me.
It was sort of a weird argument that began earlier that day. I had said in a conversation that I owned five acres of land-this old monk said I owned nothing. Then,later on that night,I am looking out at the sky,and this old monk comes up and says that my land was something people could take away from me-but no matter where I was,the sky was always mine.

This is a very rural place where my home is. I’ve lived out here long enough to see the road go from a two track lane that wove between black jack oaks to a county maintained grade-and now the road is paved.
Up at the very dead end of the road is a 10 acre tract of land that once was home to an old curmudgeon that kept an eye on a large group of pigs-living in a cabin alone and completely isolated because then the two mile trip was extensive.
All around my old friend then was a herd of hogs being raised for a sausage plant in Alachua (long since closed-Copelands)-he had class and ate off of the cheapest dish sets you could buy at Woolco,the then Wal-Mart,and then he’d toss them like paper plates. But other then that my pal lived in a 10 x 10 shack of sorts.
He had a power pole out there (out here,now-for me…but then…) but it only came up to a certain spot-where my pal kept a lawn chair and a milk crate,and every night he’d drag his black and white TV and a coffee percolator and his Pall-Mall cigarettes and he’d sit and watch the set until the last show-all this being plugged in to a sole power pole in the middle of no where.. You could drive out there at night (this guy loved company) and from a distance in the dark you could see the glow of that TV set with an erie blue light penetrating the darkness in the woods.
I was about 19 the few times I came out here to visit this old boy. I still find it amazing that I ended up living out here-long after my hermit friend made his money off of the proceeds of hog hide and moved on.
My place is about the spot where the lawn chair and TV set once sat. The ten acres that was once his is another tenth of a mile west.

So living out here these thirty plus years and seeing it go from not much more than a trail to a now paved road-I’ve seen a lot.
It is easy to understand that because of its secluded natural side-being surrounded by state forest property (all wooded) the neighborhood tends to draw an element of dubious nature. Not always-and not every one-but there does seem to be a sense of security for those who have a desire to stay out of the way.

A few years ago this fellow from Wisconsin bought the ten acres where the pig caretakers cabin sat and the eighty acre tract next to that.
Now in between the time the pig caretaker moved on this property changed hands several times. One of those owners began a house ,this man from Wisconsin finished it and also set a big double wide up on the hill on his eighty acres.
There were a few occasions that I got to talk to Bill. He seemed like a man who had something going for him where cash was concerned. He told me he owned a tree farm out on 335.

Bill never just stopped and talked. I only would see him when ever I walked out on the road-these last few years that hasn’t been much.
When ever you saw Bill he was always nice and polite-but never got out of the big cab F-350 diesel he drove.
You could tell Bill had a touch of a snobs flair about him-he seemed above you, perhaps that was because of the truck sitting sort of high. But-you could sense he wasn’t wanting you in his world yet he wasn’t going to be unfriendly about it.

What ever it was he had going on it seemed he had enough to do it with. Often you’d see him pulling a back hoe or other equipment-all which seemed to fit his tree farm project. Everything seemed new-his trucks and trailers and tractors.

Yesterday I started to read the local newspaper online and the headline read…”Largest indoor pot growing bust estimates1.9 million dollars”.
That was not what got my attention…the by-line read “bust on county line lands four in jail”.
County line? I live on a county line!
I begin to read and as I read it becomes obvious that this is my road they are writing about . The story tells about this big metal building being used with an extensive growing system with diesel generators and grow lights.
As I scrolled the page there was a mug shot of a fellow from Central America…a real tough looking sort. Then I scrolled down more…and another tough looking man. He too from Central America.
And then the next mug shot was Bill’s.

I lay in my bed last night-my two chiuauas-Max and Sweetie-all snug up in the blankets with me. I was looking out the french doors at the foot of my bed and I could see the stars. I was thinking about Bill and his wife (I never met her…she got a mug shot too) and was in amazement about the thought of it….them in jail, and me laying here listening to the tree frogs sing and staring at the stars.

Bill never in a million light years seemed to me the kind that had it in him. He seemed meek and nerdy and like the country club type….a level above.
And now-here I am….richer then him.

It seems sometimes we take things into a perspective. Like the old monk said-I own nothing, but yet the sky is mine. And me? I took in perspective that Bill was upper class and I was just the guy living in the mobile home down on the corner lot….hmmm.
I’m still stupid.

(news link for story at top of page)

bottles

nightmares of prison

blue head-jay herron 2007

Originally uploaded by jayfherron

Often I experience nightmares-I dream that am locked in a prison. The prisons in my nightmares are unlike what our image of a prison is…the gates and fences-yes,those are typical-the towers? Yes,those too-I know in these dreams that this is a prison. It is the community of it.
I have no idea how to explain this.
They are very intense and almost medevial,in some ways. It is as if there are no one leadership in charge-except in the group of the convicts.
I’ve never been hurt in these dreams. Just very afraid and wanting out.
I have never been in prison-the detention barracks D was the closest to being kept I have ever known.
When my sons were boys and I sensed they were needing some educational convinceing in regards to what happens when you screw up and it can’t be undone,I used to take them out to Raiford. We’d drive through and look at the dozen prisons there. It’s about a six mile drive through Raiford. It is a very interesting drive. It also interests me on the influence it had on my sons. Onenow works in corrections. My other son went in the military the day after high school graduation-he’s been there since 1990.

It is certain sounds sometimes which kick off a memory of sorts. I can’t say as much as it being sights-but sounds and scents somehow trigger my PTSD.
Yesterday I was eating in a small restaurant here. The place is divided into two sections-both of them very small. The place is busy-I eat there many times.
Yesterday I had to sit in the small section (two booths,two two tables for two and two tables for four). I’ve sat there often too.
The small side is the busiest side-there is more traffic because of the cashier and entrance.
It was really quite loud yesterday and very busy. This small side always reminds me of the galley on a ship because it is so compact.
I don’t know what was going on-but one of the waitress staff was over board talking to this group in one of the booths. Like I said-it was loud,so she was loud-and you could’nt being drawn in to her voice.
I looked over and there was a man sitting with the group.
It was something about the way he was sitting. My mind went into this muddle…I remember ordering and while doing it thinking this was not what I wanted-I had something else I wanted. But I ordered it anyway. I was feeling myself enter a zone.
It was just some guy. But there was a spark about his posture and body.

Last night I dreamt about a prison. It was like a dream I’ve had before-I’m entering this place with my hands full of my things and taking in what is brand new to me. I have never been in prison.
Yet…these dreams are so vivid.
In the morning time-I wake up and whatever the dream-the nightmares of prisons,or just some confusing mystery,it does’nt matter. I wake up thinking about barracks D. It’s almost as if I’m doing an inventory each morning. It begins with barracks D.
When ever I have these nightmares of the prisons it is worse waking up. Almost exhausting from the battle of going back and forth from side to side trying to shake the dream…and each time you slumber it comes right back.

I think it was mostly from the noise in the cafe yesterday-but the sound and looking over at the group started the process.
The man the conversation circled around had this giant of a pit bull in the back of his pick up truck. The pick up truck sat high off the ground-I just happen to notice the dog and was able to avoid the truck somewhat-although it was pulled against the entrance of the place.

It was the look on his face and the way he sat that reminded me of somebody from back in barracks D. He was proud as could be about that dog-the dog was huge,and the waitress was pouring it on about how great looking the dog was.
The man said something about it could reach his gate in less than six seconds…he seemed the kind that would be proud if it yanked a persons leg off.

I could’nt even figure out why I got the breakfast I did.
I ate it and got into a daze and came home home and tried to sleep-and I kept having this stupid dream.
Thats probrebly why I’m not making any sense-I worked too hard trying to survive in my nightmare….and I’m tired.