Archive for the ‘We remember’ Category

Notes from an artist in the run-down section of town.

From queerartist’s memory banks and then some.

Old man Brown said that he was going to raise the rent $5.00 since the weather was getting warmer and now the studio had heat. “What!!!, you old fool, you don’t supply the sun that shines in the windows and gives us some heat each day. We survived the winter in your no water, no heat, shack of a building and now since the sun will be shining stronger you want to charge us more? Well you old fool I don’t have that much cabbage and if I did I would want to buy some food and art supplies not give it to a rich old doctor like you. Old man Brown was a classic slum lord. Lived in a nice suburban ranch and owned a couple of old buildings in Goon City. I couldn’t even sing The Faucets Are Dripping since this studio came with no running water. Bet his faucets didn’t drip in the suburbs, bet he has heat and didn’t have to decide each month is it the rent, food, the electric bill or art supplies that my little bit of money will go towards? Since its a problem that isn’t going to go away as long as we live under this dirty rotten system lets listen to Malvaina Reynolds sing her song, The Facets are Dripping and remember that landlords are a large part of the problem we face. Here is a wonderful quote from Punkerslut: One can find the essay Landlords Parasites of the Earth, HERE. The essay is well worth reading.

“The landlord lives by owning. They earn their wealth by possession and not by labor. What they live on has been made by the endless toil of workers in all nations. They do not build up or maintain the housing of their tenants. They hire from the same class that they collect rent from, the laborers. The individuals or family inhabiting the building are only paying for a place to live and sleep. Since the world has been broken up into small tiny chunks of land, the possessors of land have been exploitive of those who need the land.”

Well what was an artist in the run down section of town suppose to do. Move out?

Suppose a new studio could be found but artist had put quite a bit of work into this place and the thought of moving to another run down building in the run down section of town was not at all appealing. Where else could artist go? The old firehouse was now being taken over for a car repair shop by a hot hunky gay man. ( oh yes honey he could repair cars as well as any red neck in fact so well that he had a line of men outside of his doors all wanting to get their crank shafts greased.) Add to that mix the way he carried himself one would think he was straight except for what he like to do in bed, in the bushes, at the porno-theater, on the floor and in the back seat of any car. Now that old fire house would make a great studio, and it had heat and running water. Maybe queerartist thought, I could get a place in the old abandoned factory. Nah, too big and scary and it has Turd Brook running under a good part of it. Do think that after a while that the smell of the water and the constant running water sound would be a bit too much. One would have to burn a lot of incense in order to mask the smell of that brook. Some may like it but not me. At least my pad has electricity. ( the one modern convenience that I had in that studio).

Even with all the studio’s shortcomings it was a home. Since Phil and I took out the wall that separated the two front rooms it is great as one big room. Four windows on the south side of the room and two to the north. We were high on crystal meth one evening and I said to him, “I would love to have a large studio rather than the two rooms.” “Well, said Phil, “I am sure that it wouldn’t be too hard to take out this wall.” So we began. What a sight. Two high hippie artists taking down a wall. The first layer was some type of thin wall board.(save the wall board good for painting on) Then a surprise. The wall was made of tongue and groove boards. That wall came down real fast as it was like taking apart a toy. Get one board out of the line up and the rest came out one- two-three. Once the wall was down we had to find a place to dump the broken down wall. There was no trash pick up in the run-down section of town and everyone had to dispose of their garbage any way that they could. Most people around town either drove to the dump or hired Wilbur Giles who had most of the garbage pick up in Goon City but where was a poor artist going to get the money to dispose of boards and two by fours? This had to be done on the sly as if Stubby Stabola who owned the package store downstairs saw us getting rid of Brown’s wall he would be on the phone fast calling Old Man Brown up and telling on us. He was a funny man, a nice redneck if there can be such a creature but wasn’t happy that artists were upstairs his store.  I needed paint, I needed canvas, I need food, I had to pay my rent. Money, money, money. Maybe I should dress up, and get my money-maker out on the street. Some one may be hot to trot with queerartist and be willing to pay for a hot fast quickie.

Where can I dump the wall? Goosey Bell said “behind the factory is a neat place.” Talk about illegal dumping. Old sofas, washers, collapsed boxes of crap, large piles of old skids, wet cardboard, rolls of plastic, scrap pieces of wood, an old water heater, a stove, a few old chairs, soggy newspapers and metal. Well the old wall boards would look just marvey out back there with all the other dumpings. Phil and I bundled up all the boards and tied the bundle with rope, loaded it in a shopping cart from Fancies Grocery store and in the dead of night went behind the factory and dumped the load amongst all the other dumpings. No one would know, let alone care as the factory had been closed for 4 years. In the heyday of the factory beautiful wooden pull toys had been made there.

Noah’s Ark toy. Just like the one I use to have. The ark was full of animals. The only animal that I still have is one called Quaky Duck which comes out every Easter.

Ruthie Hillard’s father owned the place. He closed it down during the depression and opened it up a few years after. The factory was sold after Mr. Hillard died. A bunch of other small factories were opened in the building and the last was a factory where plastic windowed envelopes were assembled. Now it just sat there empty.

According to Bob Bee a few squatting hippies had made their way to Goon City from California, on the invitation of Gail hung around in there and had painted up the place real nice. They had made a hang-out hippie pad in the sections that were the offices. Their bathroom was over Turd Brook. A hole was cut in the floor and a chair without a bottom and sawed down legs was placed over the hole. Topping it off was a toilet seat taken from the no longer in use restrooms. This building had no water, no heat and no electricity. The hippies toilet worked quite well. Bombs away right into Turd Brook. That is how Turd Brook got its name from all the turds that floated along in its waters. Anyone whose homes were anywhere along the ridge above Turd Brook, the people on Summit Hill and workers who worked in the factories on the border of the run-down section of town all pooped and the poop went through the sewer pipes and into Turd Brook. It was like that for years and years. Back when we were young kids we always were overjoyed to spy used rubbers caught in branches all along Turd Brook. We wondered who was fucking who up there on Summit Hill? At least we had the sense not to play with or try on the rubbers. We just looked and laughed and wondered what it was like to fuck, be fucked, and us little sissy boys dreamed of some of the big hunky men up there stretching those rubbers over their dicks.

The Run Down Section Of Town.

I found while surfing around the net this old photo of this section of town. My studio was upstairs in the white building on the right. The train trestle separated the town. Many a kid would go up on that trestle and try to get to the other side before a train came along. By the time we came along there were no more passenger trains coming through from New York City making their way to Boston. I am not sure what year this photo was taken but I notice the road was dirt. It wasn’t that way when we lived there but the freight trains still ran through town.

The run-down section of town was just that. Most of the people who lived in the area were those who had rejected society or had been rejected by society. Artists fit right in with some of the people except for a few that hung out in the Purple Cow and those were men who came into the run-down section of town to drink, none of them lived in the area. Billy always said, “Well they have their problems too or they wouldn’t come around here and drink they would stay in their own section of town drinking at some of the more fancy establishments.” Must be something there that pushes them down here towards us. The Purple Cow was the mother of all dives. Let’s talk restrooms. We have to tell you about the men’s room at the Cow. There was a hole in the floor with out a chair  that served as a toilet. We heard that the toilet was ripped out and used as a weapon during a gang fight a few years back. So now it was take a piss but try to get it in the hole buddy. This place was for pissing only. Don’t think that anyone would even want to try to squat down and take a good number 2 as I know that several people talked about something coming up out of that hole and latching on to your ass or chomping off your dick and balls. There was a rumor that Razor Blade one of the local motorcycle guys had thrown his pet alligator down there or some say it was some type of snake. So truth be told no one was taking any chances. Did you ever see a dirty sink that was so dirty that all you saw was the dirty? Dirty, greasy, grubby, dirty dirt. Forget soap and paper towel. Here is a photo of a sink. Just like the sink in the old Purple Cow.

The walls were painted dark brown on the bottom half and the top was a fading green with chips and graffiti. Most guys went out the door and to the back of the Cow and took a piss there. Well that men’s room, was the strangest place that most of us had ever been in. Peter told me that years ago Old Himmey Johnson who to lives up near the town dump use to give blow jobs in there. Phew. Never got one so I wouldn’t know if Peter was passing on tall tales. Gail told us that the women’s room or better yet, Babe’s Piss House (as the sign she put on the door said) was cleaner. But no man would dare use it. The only time a guy got in there was if Babe was performing a cheap trick or two. But when she was there sitting on her stool she had a view right to her room and once or twice when we were in there feeling our oats we heard Babe yell out, “Get the fuck away from my restroom,” which alarmed Willy the bartender who went back there to yell that the trespasser was not to use Babe’s special restroom. “Gotta shit,” was met with “squat over the hole or go home and do your business.”

The Cow had its share of red necks, a few fathers of the local kids, us young artists with connections to the place via family, our friends, some motorcycle guys and their girls, and Babe Moon. Babe was the queen of the bar and if you wanted to be accepted in there you had to pass her test first. She sat up at the end of the bar, on “Babes stool” (and don’t anyone forget that was her stool,) right in the window holding court each and every day,  afternoon, evening, and to closing there she was up on her stool. Her stool even had her name glued on the back. Some of us artists got a pass as Babe rented an apartment from old Edgar up above his pit and she knew us from hanging out there. She knew me since I was a baby and told me once that I was a very ugly baby. I had big ears, and lots of dark hair and a scrunched up face. “I declare,” she said, “you looked like someone elses monkey which had been left on the doorstep.” Ugliest baby I ever did see. I saw a lot of babies in my day, before I became a drinker I was a nurse.

Well Babe takes one to know one. You’re no beauty yourself. You know that I grew out of my baby ugly but honey take a look at you. You got your ugly all over the place. From the top of your head right down to your toes. Up on your stool you sit like a rough rouged old queen, in heat for all the working class men that come in to the Purple Cow. Truth be told around town they say you can be had for $10.00 and give an okay blow job. Men around here don’t really care if it’s only ok as they get nothing from their wifes at home. No wonder they stray into your mouth.  But you know Babe I got the cute ones. Yes Babe, baby ugly me. Frankie the Hells Angel, (he always got good dope, and a dick so suckable too) Ray the fighter, (hot Italian, man does he sweat when fucking)  Billy with his long blonde hair that most people think he is an apparition from the heavens (very careful sex as he is fragile). We do it to each other and we do it for free. Make Love Not War that is what we do. 3 men you will never get. They got me and I don’t charge. So Babe go suck a Purple Cow’s teet. I found one for you and it looks as goofy as you do in my memory banks.

I never saw a purple cow
I never hope to see one
But I would rather see a purple cow
Then be one. (more…)

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This essay is very informative, beautiful, well written and the facts that Ms. Metcalfe has gathered sure to make you cry and get angry. There are links, videos and names that she has gathered for our community to be well informed. We thank Anna-Jayne Metcalfe for permission to link to her article and publish here on furbirdsqueerly. Too many dead, far to many.

She begins the essay this way:

Remembering our dead never gets any easier

by Anna Jayne Metcalfe

Her name was Gwen, but I never knew her.
It was late October 2002, and I was about to leave the family home for the last time. My transition was approaching, my marriage disintegrating and my wife wanted me to move out. I didn’t have anywhere to go, but fortunately a good friend (thanks Tracey!) let me stay on her sofa until I found a place to rent.
That proved to be tricky as I was then quite visibly trans and still had to present as male at work until January. Awareness of trans people among the general public was pretty poor at the time, and when I enquired about places to rent I found that landlords just wouldn’t get back to me. As a result, I didn’t find a new home until December 2002, and even then the landlord was reluctant to consider meeting me (she’d never met a trans person before) until Tracey managed to talk her round over the phone.
Fortunately, once I met my prospective landlord, she was fine (the roadblock was getting past the initial phone enquiry) and that shared house proved to be the safe space I needed for the next two years while I got all of the medical stuff out of the way. I was privileged, and I was lucky.
But I digress. Until late that October I’d never even heard of the Transgender day of Remembrance….and then one day I read about what had happened to Gwen Araujo in Nevada on 4th October 2002 (just a few weeks before I moved out of the family home) and everything changed.

To read the rest of the essay go to HERE.

A few excerpts from the article:

After listing our dead from 2009 to 2017 (the numbers just grow and grow) Ms Metcalfe has this to say:

“How much of that increase is due to improved communication and reporting, the increasing visibility of trans people (remember that as we get more visible the people who want us dead can see more of us too) or other factors, I can’t say. What I can say is that every year, we seem to have more lost souls to mourn and remember.

“Given all this, it shouldn’t be a surprise that the weeks leading up to 20th November are a painful time of year for many trans folks. It’s the time when we not only mourn our dead, but are forcibly reminded of our own vulnerability — and of the fact that there are many people in this world even today who would like nothing better than to torture, mutilate and kill us.
Hard though that is to endure, it is also an opportunity to say “We remember them. We are here, and we refuse to be afraid of those who hate us”.

and this

“Hard though that is to endure, it is also an opportunity to say “We remember them. We are here, and we refuse to be afraid of those who hate us”.

To find a Transgender Day of Remembrance Day event near you go to HERE. This is an excellent resource page.

2017 has already seen at least 25 transgender people fatally shot or killed by other violent means in the USA. TRANSRESPECT has complied a list from around the world. 325 reported murders of trans and gender-diverse people between 1 October 2016 and 30 September 2017 . To see the list go to HERE.

We will continue to work toward justice and equality for transgender people, we mourn those we have lost:

Mesha Caldwell, 41, a black transgender woman from Canton, Mississippi, was found shot to death the evening of January 4. The murder is still under investigation and no suspects have been arrested.
Sean Hake, 23, a transgender man in Sharon, Pennsylvania, died after he was shot by police responding to a 911 call from his mother. A friend told WKBN that Sean “had a genuinely good heart and he had struggled with his problems.”
Jamie Lee Wounded Arrow, 28, an American Indian woman who identified as transgender and two-spirit, was found dead in her apartment in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. A suspect, 25-year-old Joshua Rayvon LeClaire, has been arrested and charged with murder and manslaughter in connection with her death.
JoJo Striker, 23, a transgender woman, was found killed in Toledo, Ohio, on February 8. Striker’s mother, Shanda Striker, described her as “funny and entertaining” and said her family loved her deeply.
Tiara Richmond, also known as Keke Collier, 24, was fatally shot in Chicago on the morning of February 21. A transgender woman of color, she was found dead on the same street as two other transgender women that were killed in 2012.
Chyna Doll Dupree, 31, a Black transgender woman, was shot and killed in New Orleans on February 25. Chyna was a much-loved performer in the ballroom community who was visiting friends and family in New Orleans at the time of her death.
Ciara McElveen, 26, a transgender woman of color, was stabbed to death in New Orleans on February 27. McElveen did outreach for the homeless community. As of February 28, 2017, HRC has tracked at least nine murders of transgender people in Louisiana since 2013.
Jaquarrius Holland, 18, was shot to death in Monroe, Louisiana, on February 19. One friend, Chesna Littleberry, told Mic that Holland was “like a younger sister” and had helped her learn to accept herself.
Alphonza Watson, 38, was shot and killed in Baltimore, Maryland, on March 22. Watson’s mother said her daughter was “the sunshine of our family,” a “caring, passionate” person who loved cooking and gardening.
Chay Reed, 28, a transgender woman of color, was shot and killed on April 21 in Miami. Reed’s longtime friend told Mic about their longtime friendship — describing her as someone who was full of life and beloved by many.
Kenneth Bostick, 59, was found with severe injuries on a Manhattan sidewalk, he later died of his injuries. Few details about Bostick’s life have been reported, he is believed to have been homeless at the time he was attacked.*
Sherrell Faulkner, 46, a transgender woman of color died on May 16, of injuries sustained during an attack on November 30, 2016 in Charlotte, North Carolina. Police are treating the assault as a homicide. No arrests have been made at this point.
Kenne McFadden, 27, was found in the San Antonio River on April 9. Police believe she was pushed into the river, which runs through downtown San Antonio. A high-school friend of McFadden described her to local media as assertive, charismatic and lovable. No arrests have been made, but police said they have a person of interest in custody.
Kendra Marie Adams, 28, was found in a building that was under construction and had burns on her body on June 13. Police have charged Michael Davis, 45, with Adams’ murder. Adams also went by Josie Berrios, the name used in initial media reports on her death.
Ava Le’Ray Barrin, 17, was shot and killed in Athens, Georgia on June 25 during an altercation in an apartment parking lot. In an online obituary, friends remembered Barrin as a “social butterfly” and an “amazing girl” who “loved to make people laugh.”
Ebony Morgan, 28, was shot multiple times in Lynchburg, Virginia, in the early morning of July 2. Morgan was transferred to a local hospital where she succumbed to her injuries. Authorities have named Kenneth Allen Kelly Jr. as a person of interest in the case.
TeeTee Dangerfield, 32, a Black transgender woman, was shot and killed on July 31 in Atlanta, Georgia. According to the Georgia Voice, Dangerfield “was found with multiple gunshot wounds outside of her vehicle at the South Hampton Estates apartment complex.”
Gwynevere River Song, 26, was shot and killed in Waxahachie, Texas, on August 12. According to their Facebook profile, they identified as “femandrogyne” and a member of the bisexual community.
Kiwi Herring, 30, was killed during an altercation with police on August 22 during an altercation with her neighbor. Relatives told Huffpost the neighbor was transphobic and that excessive force by police led to her death.
Kashmire Nazier Redd, 28, was fatally stabbed by his partner on September 5. A friend wrote on Facebook “[Kashmire] loved hard and just wanted to be loved and [accepted].”
Derricka Banner, 26, was found shot to death in Charlotte, North Carolina on September 12. Friends describe Banner as a “playful spirit” and “go-getter” who enjoyed life.
Scout Schultz, 21, was shot and killed by Georgia Tech campus police on September 16. The GT Progressive Student Alliance, a progressive student advocacy group on campus, called Schultz an “incredible, inspirational member of our community and a constant fighter for human rights.”
Ally Steinfeld, 17, was stabbed to death in Missouri in early September. Three people have been charged in her murder. Steinfeld’s family said Ally “sometimes” identified as female on social media.
Stephanie Montez, 47, was brutally murdered near Robstown, Texas. Montez’s longtime friend, Brittany Ramirez, described her as “one of the sweetest people you’ll ever meet.”
Candace Towns, 30, a transgender woman who was found shot to death in Georgia. Town’s friend, Malaysa Monroe, remembers Towns’ generosity. “If I needed anything she would give it to me. She would give me the clothes off her back,” Monroe said.

Monday, November 20
Transgender Day of Remembrance 2017

Transgender Day of Remembrance (TDOR) 2017

*** This event has been created to raise awareness of this special day. This event has no specific location and can be honored anywhere in the world. Please respond as “Going” to show that you will support this powerful day for the transgender community. *** Check out your city or town for an event.

From GLAAD.org:

Transgender Day of Remembrance (TDOR) is an annual observance on November 20 that honors the memory of those whose lives were lost in acts of anti-transgender violence. You can read more about the Transgender Day of Remembrance below, and find out how you can participate.

Additionally, during the week of November 14-20, individuals and organizations around the country participate in Transgender Awareness Week to help raise the visibility of transgender and gender non-conforming people and address the issues these communities face.

* What is the Transgender Day of Remembrance?
The Transgender Day of Remembrance (TDOR) was started by transgender advocate Gwendolyn Ann Smith as a vigil to honor the memory of Rita Hester, a transgender woman who was killed in 1998. The vigil commemorated all the transgender people lost to violence that year and began an important memorial that has become the annual Transgender Day of Remembrance.

“The Transgender Day of Remembrance seeks to highlight the losses we face due to anti-transgender bigotry and violence. I am no stranger to the need to fight for our rights, and the right to simply exist is first and foremost. With so many seeking to erase transgender people — sometimes in the most brutal ways possible — it is vitally important that those we lose are remembered, and that we continue to fight for justice.”
– Transgender Day of Remembrance founder Gwendolyn Ann Smith

* How can I participate in the Transgender Day of Remembrance?
Participate in the Transgender Day of Remembrance by attending or organizing a vigil on November 20 to honor all those whose lives were lost to anti-transgender violence that year. Vigils are typically hosted by local transgender advocates or LGBTQ organizations, and held at community centers, parks, places of worship, and other venues.

The vigil often involves reading a list of the names of those who died that year.

Here in Hartford please join the vigil at the Metropolitan Community Church. For more on this vigil go to HERE.

 

Posted by Marke B in 48Hills.

It’s been a long and winding road to bring a celebration of the 50th Summer of Love to the park — permit kuffufles, safety glitches, and communication frustrations abounded in the cosmic quest to feed the heads. But finally the huge, fifth annual Peace in the Park (Sat/23, 11am-6pm) is gonna be THE ONE — and it even features the valiant Boots Hughston, who tried so many times to make it happen during the actual summer.
This half-century long-hair blowout (not to be confused with the Human Be-In, which held a peaceful, oddly tech-funded 50th commemoration festival of its own this past January) promises to fulfill everyone’s dreams of spiritual connection, and perhaps a little astral projection, on the Music Concourse. Swing by before Folsom Street Fair and witness a whole different kind of Electric Ladyland.

(We just had to add this still wonderful song by Scott McKenzie)

FREE ADMISSION FOR ALL!!!
Some performers include: Wavy Gravy; Katdelic; Pamela Parker, Diamond Dave; Alstar Family Band feat. Mark Karan, Jordan Feinstein, Sunshine (Garcia) Becker, and Robin Sylvester; Michael Pritchard; Laxman Panthi; Third Thursday Band Feat. Kevbot (Kevin Lash); Temple of Isis Feat. Jil Love Revolution; Bruce H. Lipton, Ph.D; Milton Rosenberg; SOUL Twin Messiah, Peace Awards with Bill McCarthy, Boots Hughston, Catherine Enny, Michael Gosney, and others
The time is NOW to come out for peace! Let’s honor and celebrate the 50th anniversary of “THE” Summer of Love! Join us, with flowers in your hair! Enjoy a sunny September day at Music Concourse of Golden Gate Park in San Francisco, California on 9/23. Bring the kids, celebrate peace, get crafty, be artistic, relax with gentle yoga, chill to live music, find some zen with other meditators, and leave happier, refreshed, and connected to your inner calm. Vegetarian food stalls like Amma’s Kitchen & Donna’s Tamales available!
Partners include: Brahma Kumaris, SOUL – Summer of Unconditional Love, Peaceful World Foundation, Baha’i Faith, PeaceDay Global Broadcast, PeaceDaySF, CODEPINK: Women For Peace, Peaceday.tv, Earthdance Global, and San Francisco Recreation & Parks Department.

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We republish this piece written last year on this date. For Victor Jara and all of the victims of the Military Junta in Chile.

Plegaria a un labrador

Public Prayer for a worker.

Public Prayer to a Worker

Stand up, look at the mountains
Source of the wind, the sun, the water
You, who change the course of rivers,
Who, with the seed, sow the flight of your soul,
Stand up, look at your hands,
Give to your hand to your brother so you can grow.
We’ll go together, united by blood,
Today is the day
We can make the future.
Deliver us from the master
who keeps us in misery.
The kingdom of justice and equality come.
Blow, like the wind blows
the wild flowers of the mountain pass.

Clean the barrel of my gun like fire
They will be done at last on earth
Give us your strength and courage to struggle.
Blow, like the wind blows
the wild flowers of the mountain pas

Clean the barrel of my gun like fire
Stand up, look at your hands,
Give to your hand to your brother so you can grow.
We’ll go together, united by blood,
Now and in the hour of our death.
Amen.

The following is a beautiful poem written by Adrian Mitchell and set to music by Arlo Guthrie about the life of Victor Jara.

read up on Victor in the following essay:

The Life of Victor Jara, from Marxism Leninism Today.

Victor Jara was machine-gunned to death. His body, and four other victims, were later found dumped near a railroad track outside a cemetery (one of the victims remains unidentified).

According to the autopsy report, he had been shot 44 times.

The special military unit who massacred Jara and many other political activists became known as the “Caravan of Death” and flew across the country in helicopters executing trade unionists, leftists and members of the Communist Party of Chile, and many other progressives like liberation theology priests.  More than 3,000 people were killed or went missing during the US-supported military dictatorship in Chile, from 1973 to 1990.

“With that same strength our collective fist / Will strike again some day.”..Victor Jara (more…)

Minnie Coe, she is a sister of Alice as you may know, sent us a request that we republish a work that she has enjoyed over the years. We said “oh, okay, why not,” we like Minnie, Alice, Mary and Jake friends of ours since the early days when we all ran around Goon City as hippie artists. We looked through our works that she suggested and hit on one that when first published by Queerartist that everyone enjoyed when it was first published.

Here is one of our favorites. Minnie will remember feeding apples to old man Nichole’s cows, teasing the cow with more and running so it would chase us . We hid up a tree until the cow left and then beat it home.

Don’t eat this cow! Save this pancake!

These are the end times and all sorts of end times signs and symbols are popping up. A week or so ago the Virgin Mary was spotted in a Thanksgiving morning pancake, she was seen a month ago in a tree, and then appeared in a fried egg. That gal sure likes to travel. Of course Jesus gets into the act every once in a while and appears in all sorts of odd places. The best was on the screen door. My poor grandmother had just come into the kitchen and low and behold there he was staring back at her. At first she thought it was a hobo who had come up from the railroad track and wanted something to eat, but no she said I have seen that face before staring back at me from the altar of the Swedish church. THATS!!! JESUS! Everyone thought she was crazy except old Ben Jones who bought the screen door from her and put it in his Miracle Museum. Ben charged just a quarter to come in and see some of his miracle collection. Now old Ben Jones has gone on to his great reward, his museum is closed and the items he spent a life time collecting are scattered hither and yon.

Now I don’t know who this is but someone told me its Michael Jackson not the Virgin Mary.

A most blessed event. Someone is watching.

Word was in yesterday that a divine miracle has happened on a farm here in North East. A calf has been born with the sign of the cross on his forehead. Already thousands are making a pilgrimage to the farm to see what wondrous signs have come down from on high. Nobody knows what it all means but by god it must mean something.  I don’t want to make too much fun of this just in case there are any divine creatures flying around out there looking for something to smitten. Not me I will stay a mile away. So enjoy the video of this little Holy Cow. Born a few weeks before Christmas and celebrated as a miracle to some and to others just another cow born on another day, in another week.  Moo Moo Moo.

A cross on the forehead of Moses the calf.

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