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After putting most of what follows this “introduction” to today’s into a draft last night, I turned in and read a little more in a “the real Jesus” book
loaned to me by a Key West amigo, which I’m quite sure will not be on the Vatican’s recommended reading list. Then, I fell asleep, waiting on the killer dreams I have some to love and expect, but all that came was Naja Girard, with Arnaud in tow. They publish the every pesky (to the establishment) www.thebluepaper.com, and they also publish a lot of good stuff on local art happenings, which gets short shrift in the other local newspapers.
In the dream, I was in a Key West restaurant of some kind, thinking about what to order, and Naja said she was looking for “chocolate covered peanuts,” and I said I thought maybe they were fresh out of that, but I saw a big pile of fresh-cooked plantains, which I love. I awoke, thought, well, maybe suppose I need to name this post today something like “Key West’s chocolate covered peanuts shaman school,” and the smiling little fellow at the top of this post, inspired by Banks Prevatt’s dump the shitgrinder pumps shaman branch camp headquartered on Little Torch Key, is the school logo.
Then, I recalled a serious 10 level demolition derby bombshell instant stupid fucking male transformation specialist
I met last night as I wuz having dinner with Mud Dawg Mike and PJ at Daddy Bones Yummy BBQ behind Checkers on North Roosevelt Blvd here in Key West of Weird.
Serious 10 level bombshell said, indeed, the upstairs equipment was the original issue and not store bought, as Mud Dawg and I had visions of her helping us die and go to heaven with great big smiles on our faces :-), which we told her we were having visions of and she didn’t get all feminine rights bent out of shape or pout-lipped over, but seemed to actually be thinking about full-filling our last request, even as she told how she’d transformed her cheating husband and a KW finest in a nearby mall parking lot.
10 level bomb shell gave husband her Toyota Camry after she bought herself a new fancy pick up, don’t recall make and model. All husband had to do was keep paying the note on the Camry, and he could drive it all by his own self. The dumb shit didn’t know what a good thing he had, he flat had to be serious fucked up to run around on 10 level bomb shell, but if he had not, then there would be no story to tell of her stupid fucking male transformational artistry.
Driving nice new pick up through said aforementioned nearby mall parking lot, 10 level bombshell spied stupid fucking cheating getting out of her Toyota Camry, and she hit the breaks, threw new fancy into reverse, backed it up about 30 yards, turned and aimed new fancy dead at Toyota Camry, gunned new fancy and rammed Toyota Camry, as stupid fucking cheating fled for his worthless stupid fucking life pulling out his cell phone and dialing 911 for backup.
Arriving and surveying the situation, Key West’s finest’s asked to see the vehicle titles, and lo and behold, both titles resided in 10 level bombshell. Having his own happy thoughts of dying and going to heaven, Key West’s finest said he didn’t see what he could do about 10 level bombshell ramming her own Toyota Camry, since stupid fucking cheating worthless fucking wasn’t in it when she did it. 10 level bombshell said that was how she saw it and Key West’s finest could call a towing company and have Toyota Camry towed to her home.
Dang if I don’t bet Judge Judy would have amen-ed that bubbette shaman justice!
BTW, in case anyone’s interested, 10 level bombshell used to work the counter at Daddy Bones, maybe after she quit dancing in clubs on Duval Street, and just came back to work it some more, Mud Dawg told me last night with great big in his eyes.
Well, I wish all chocolate-covered peanuts 10-level-bombshell shaman tales were so entertaining and politically un-fucking-correct, but you have to take what the great shit bird of paradise drops on you.
An amiga now living on Key Largo with her son wrote yesterday:
i wrote this recently. be kind 🙂
The Tragic Tale of a Broken Shamanic Path
“”Whenever a knight of the Grail tried to follow a path made by someone else, he went altogether astray. Where there is a way or path, it is someone else’s footsteps. Each of us has to find his own way, and this is what gives our Occidental world its initiative and creative quality. Nobody can give you a mythology. The images that mean something to you, you’ll find in your dreams, in your visions, in your actions – and you’ll find out what they are after you’ve passed them.”
I was drawn to his solitude. His aloneness made me feel less alone. We had both escaped unsatisfying situations. We had both found ourselves at the end of the line.
As one of the creative homeless population, all you could do was wait. Once the tourists came out, the crafters came out. there was the palm frond sculptors, the spraypaint architects, the Dirty Joke Guy and me with my bookmarks. Challenging item to sell to drunk “custies” those bookmarks. The Key West goer is not terribly literate.
The day I met him, in March of 2001, was particularly challenging since the wind wanted to blow my creations down Duval Street. He came along, saw my plight and stopped to help me. Such a sweet gesture. Such a stark contrast to my final moments with him.
With a large pumpkin in his hands and a wild, psychotic look in his eyes, he did not even remotely resemble that sweet young man I’d met a decade prior.
His threat to throw the pumpkin through a window was nothing new, just more over the top than usual. It is difficult to recall what exactly set him off this time. Even the slightest “wrong” could send him into an all-out tizzy. It was not unheard of for him to tirade for hours at a time (during one episode, he loudly ranted for five hours).
His rants were full of accusations toward myself, our son, the world, foul language and regrets. They often resulted in broken things, thrown shoes and holes in walls. The worst incident included him standing over me punching me on the top of my head several times with his fist.
The first time he ever touched me, we held hands. It was a slow night for tourists. He was quietly sitting with another crafter and me. I sensed that he did not want to bother us, but desperately needed to feel a part of things.
I put my little make-shift shop away: the signs, the fabric and my bookmarks. I got up and asked him if he wanted to go for a walk. I had a secret spot that I never told anyone about at the end of Duval Street, by the glassbottom boat. There were a few benches almost hidden behind some bushes. I took him there.
We talked. We talked a lot. We talked about our fucked up lives, our reasons for being in Key West and our opinions of the other homeless folks we were encountering.
What struck me the most was this young man’s spiritual awareness. He had read many books, researched dozens of topics and had far more spiritual experiences than I had thought possible for someone so young. He was so tuned into the cosmos; I was intrigued.
By the time he had that pumpkin in his hands, his relationship with spirit had turned quite dark. He no longer felt the connection that had attracted me to him. The connection that helped me nurture my own spiritual connection.
He had lost his way. Despite all my best efforts to help him maintain his footing, he had stumbled off of his path. He had racked up a megalithically proportioned cache of emotional, physical, psychological and spiritual toxicity. What I did not know when we met on that tropical island was that he had already started.
His paternal grandmother died while giving birth to his father. This grieved both father and son and was the source of much contention between the two of them. At 14 years of age, his father left home.
His mother was sexually abused by either her brother or an uncle. Quite possibly both of them.
When these two injured souls met, they fell madly in love. Sadly, their love for one another never quite extended to their only son.
When he was one-year-old, they abandoned him with family at a bowling alley. A year later, for reasons I will never know, he was given back to them.
He claims he was not so much abused as he was neglected. He was ignored, left alone in his room for hours, isolated from his cousins and other family members. His parents were alcoholics, smoked copious amounts of marijuana and his mother at one point had a crack problem.She bathed him until he was a teenager.
At 14, something horrifying happened to him while the family was living in Louisiana. He would never tell me exactly what occurred; just referred to his mother and a group of people he called “vampires”. On his 16th birthday, his parents signed him over to the custody of the state of Florida.
One night in Key West, he told me a tale of the creation of the universe. His voice dropped to a whisper and he spoke with such eloquence and ancient knowledge I was sure the story was truth. I am still sure.
You see, all of his suffering, all the neglect and the solitude had served a purpose; a spiritual purpose. Unfortunately, he was not able to cope with his power. He could not keep track of his shamanic path.
There are so many others like him. Strange and tortured souls. They have healing powers, Pan-like energy, are sexually ambiguous, misunderstood, intelligent and passionately spiritual. They are tested to degrees that most of us could never imagine. These tests are an integral part of the process. Without them, anyone could go around claiming to be a shaman. The trick is to not let the process eat you alive, to not let the lure of the shadows take you from your path, to strike down the mental confines that limit your own self-acceptance.
He could do none of these. Instead, he did the exact opposite.
I believe he and I were brought together because I have the ability to assist people like him through this arduous process. I am grounded and detached in a way that makes me a perfect guide for these special beings. However, without his cooperation, we were never going to succeed. In November 2012, after years of patient attempts to break him out of the dangerous patterns he had set for himself, I finally gave up.
Two years before, he went to a family reunion in Georgia. I strongly urged him to not attend. His father was already deceased at this point, but his mother was going to be there. He went. He did not come home for two months.
At the reunion, she admitted to him that she had sexually molested him. There were also hints that she had allowed others to do the same. (Were these the “vampires” in Louisiana?) She also told him that she still desired him. This was the final tipping point for him. He wandered around Georgia and Florida, frightening friends he visited, sleeping in airports and claiming that strangers were old friends and teachers. When he finally got back to Texas, he was broken and darkened. His spirit had left his body, hovering just outside his perception, unable to re-connect with him.
He and I both helped our friends in Key West. We were not drinkers, so we found ourselves doing a lot of “babysitting”, putting band-aids on wounds and lending our sober ears to the painful stories of our cohorts. I offered practical advise and he imparted spiritual wisdom. We made a great team.
When he put the pumpkin down and said he was going outside for some air, I took the opportunity; I locked him out of the apartment. He flipped out. As I frantically went around closing and locking windows, he was trying to get in them. With our son, I stood in the bedroom, thinking we were safe and that he would give up and go away. Then the window was falling in on us. Broken glass was everywhere, including my hair. He had found a shovel and smashed the pane. Since the window was rather high, he was unable to climb in. Soon after that, the police arrived. Three days later he was in Florida.
On a Greyhound bus in 2013, I spotted a young fellow who reminded me of him. He had the same slight build, unkempt, goofy hair and glasses. He carried a beat-up backpack and a staff.
We had a long layover in Salt Lake City. We struck up a conversation. I eventually told this kid that he was one of a special breed of person who possesses great shamanic abilities and powers. I told him that he needs to stay strong and not let his past get the better of him. I told him that he had a tremendous spiritual future. He told me, “you’re not the first person to tell me that.”
Thanks, Stacy –
Do you remember when you and I met in a Greyhound bus station, Jacksonville, or was it Orlando?, and you asked what I did and I told you I was a shaman and you jerked around and looked me in the eye and we started talking about stuff I seldom discussed with other people, and I knew the bus driver, having ridden on his buses a few times, and the bus was nearly full and after I told him you needed help he told you to get on? That was in March 2001, a howler blue monster cold front was coming down, it had chased me all the way down from Quincy, Illinois, where I had gone from sleeping in doorways in Key West, at the request and with the assistance of an old friend I’d never met face to face, hoping Quincy was going to pan out, but it took 3 days to fall apart and headed back to Key West I reached each major bus stop along the way just before it was frozen in and closed. St. Louis, Nashville, Atlanta, and then you and I met just as planned, and arriving Key West I went back to my doorway and nearly froze my ass off that night as the cold front blew through, and you went off somewhere and soon you met Drew.
I could recount lots more tales involving you and me, but my sense all along was Drew was seriously damaged early on, and his compensation with drugs aggravated it. It looked to me you were mothering him, trying to protect him. You two went back to the Pacific west, where you had come down from, and then you said you two were headed back to Key West and I told you Archangel Michael was telling me that was not a good idea and you two would regret it if you made that trip, and you two made that trip and you very much ended up regretting it. Although, as I recall, it was then that you conceived your son.
The shaman path is not easy, the shaman has to face his/her own demons over and over, and other people’s demons, and demons in the spirit realms, it all is part of the web connecting everything,
and there are many ways it can go for shamans, I doubt any two are alike, especially those being driven from the spirit realms. Apprentices tied to adept human shamans have more hands-on help developing, that is the way it goes, and went, in the various different tribes in the humans, but “civilization” and religion and modern education and medicine seriously reduced the number of tribes with shamans, and the number of shamans, but there are plenty still around, some doing better than others – this ain’t a friendly place for half-human, half-angels; many succumb and die, or go over to the dark side. Most use herbs to take their journeys, I was taken there au naturale, and mostly the spirit realms came, and come, to me, and I engage them directly sometimes, but through their human proxies most of the time.
Something is coming in from the spirit realms, I see it in my drawings and in the human experiences I see, hear and feel happening around me. Key West seems to be an epicenter for it, maybe THE epicenter because of its variety of people, races, traditions, and its one human family claim, and all its churches and bars, and the seas and currents, and the sand and the limestone, and the major earth vortex under its glitter, all of which lies on the western edge of the Bermuda Triangle. The energy from the vortex runs up the Keys into USA and Canada and above. Most people who think something is coming in will look for something physical, perhaps ETs will land, but as I told a dear Key West friend a little while ago, who has created a whole lot of mandalas, it might well just be a spirit coming in that affects the physical. I said he is the cause of it, all those mandalas he made. I told him that just after we watched “Independence Day” on his TV, which he had just turned on before I got there never having watched a movie with him at his home. I told him I had written day before yesterday and yesterday about ETs coming in, but maybe not physical ETS. He said he understood what I meant. Life has not treated him well, either, nor has he treated himself well.
Related in some ways to Stacy and Drew’s experience in Key West, this email conversation began day before yesterday:
I came upon many articles you have written when doing a google search of homeless in key west.
My 19 year old daughter came to Key West in September, looking for a good time, I suppose. She and a friend found many like- minded “street kids” shortly after arriving. However, shortly thereafter, she was arrested for trespassing while sleeping someplace she shouldn’t have been. She pled guilty and spent 2 weeks in jail. Shortly after release, she was arrested again for the same thing. This time, she and a few “friends” were just standing on the street in the morning, when an officer approached and said “you’re all going to jail”. And there she sits, in jail, along with the other 10 or so people who were arrested that day for trespassing and her other 4 friends who were arrested the next day, awaiting arraignment, which was already continued once. It has become apparent to me , a stay at home mom in NJ, that the police do not want these people on the streets of their beautiful town and arrest them on sight. Then they keep them in there as long as possible, causing them to eventually plead guilty just to get the heck out of jail, and then they are arrested again, this time with a stiffer sentence. It is so ridiculous, and I can’t believe that this is allowed to happen.
My daughter said that they are all pleading not guilty this time, as opposed to pleading guilty to get out. They said it is the same two officers that are targeting the homeless and they will take it to trial if they have to…as they feel they did nothing wrong.
This is not really my fight, as I have never even been to Key West, and living on the streets of KW is obviously not the life I want for my beautiful daughter. But, I sent her an article you wrote and she asked me if I could contact you. She would like to write to you.
Hi, Debbie – sorry to hear of your daughter’s trouble, Key West is not entirely what it holds itself out to be, as she and her friends and others sadly discover after coming down here.
Sure, tell your daughter to write to me. Does she have access to Internet in the jail? If not, my snail mail address is 1711 Seminary Street, Key West 33040. I might like to pay her a visit in the jail, but to do that I need her name and for her to put me on her visitors list. I don’t remember the visitation days and times, perhaps you or she can let me know. If she knows the names of the two officers, I’d like that information soonest.
If they were standing on a street corner and arrested for sleeping outside, that won’t hold up in court. But, if they were standing on a street corner with beer or other booze in bottles or cups, and they were charged with open container, and they had not been previously warned not to have open container in public, that will hold up in court.
I believe they can get a Public Defender attorney to represent them if they are indigent. The Public Defender attorney probably will try to get them to plead out, though. Has your daughter decided to leave Key West once she gets out of jail? That might be her best move. Otherwise, she will be on the cops’ radar ongoing, and if she gets desperate and starts working in the Duval Street clubs, stripping, drugging and selling herself to club clients, that would be going down a road she might not got off for a while, if at all.
I have two daughters myself, in their early forties now. I would have been beside myself if they had gotten into the straights your daughter now is in. I really do hope she decides the best course for her is to get the heck away from this place. If she wants to return, she waits until she is able to come back in a different way. She might like it a whole lot better then.
I appreciate your reply. I will talk to her again on Friday, so I will give her your address then and also get the names of the officers I spoke of, who seem to be targeting them. I know that she plans on getting the heck out of town as soon as she can. That was her plan the first time she was arrested, but her “boyfriend” with whom she was arrested, got 30 days sentence, so she had to wait two weeks for him to get out after she got out, so they could leave town…then she got arrested again, then he got out and then he got arrested again…and so on it on it goes.
I wrote back:
Hi, Debbie –
Tell her I said to leave at the earliest opportunity and let her boyfriend get himself out of jail and come join her where it’s safe for them both. If she stays here, she might end up wishing she had never met her boyfriend. I have a woman friend, from whom I only just received an interesting story today, who had serious difficulties because of a boyfriend she met in Key West, who then got jailed here for quite a while. After he got out, they left and went back to the Pacific west where she was from, and then he was picked up out there for a minor offense, perhaps only a traffic violation, and the computer showed he had skipped out on his probation and they notified the sheriff down here and they sent people out there to bring him back here and he spent a good while longer in jail. They by then had conceived a child, and the mother was trying to live in Key West to be close to the father. He got out again, and again they skipped back to the Pacific west, and as far as I know, he has not been picked up again. The mother finally had to let him go, she came back down here a couple of more times with the boy, stayed in shelters or motel rooms she could rent by the week when she had a job. She’s still in the Keys, but not in Key West as of recently. It would take me quite a while to tell all of that story, as I know it.
When Stacy and I met in March 2001, I saw she was gifted psychically and, yep, was headed into shaman training, and I told her that, and that she would be tested, tested, tested. We became very good friends, she was head-strong, really got mad at me one day when I told her to stop being pig-headed about something,
then she told Drew and he got really mad at me about my pig-headed remark. That was before they went to the Pacific west the first time, where Drew eventually was busted on an alias warrant and brought back to Key West.
When Stacy came back to Key West the last time with their son, that’s when I learned the boy was autistic. I knew the cause was massive spiritual warfare in and around his parents. To protect itself, the boy’s soul threw up layer and layer of spirit shields to keep out anything his soul didn’t want let in. Maybe that was the start of the boy’s own shaman training. If so, it will be crucial that doctors, psychologists, etc., and religious people, not be allowed to get to him. I’m pretty sure Stacy knows that.
Stacy and Drew both were assigned to me, who had been trained, to do my best to steer them in a direction they would not otherwise go. I did my best, but as oft happens, my best is nowhere close to good enough. Earthlings are head-strong (pig-headed). They do not like being told what to do, when to do it, how to do it. They want to be in charge. Maybe that works somewhere else, but it does not work on this planet, as the state of sad affairs in and among Earthlings speaks for itself.
Thus the need for something new coming in, but to do what? I haven’t a clue, although I am pretty sure its gender is female, which is so sorely lacking in almost all human beings, even ones who appear female.
Absence of the female in Earthlings is the cause of nearly all of their troubles, individually and collectively, for she is Earthlings’ receptor from the Spirit World, and without her, they are cut off from God.
Demonic possession is the cause of the rest of their troubles.
Probably also belonging in today’s chocolate-covered peanuts shaman school frolic, an email thread with Ken Morris,
great, great grandson of Frederick Douglas, great, grandson of Booker T. Washington.
Me to Ken, using the email address on his business card, which he gave me after he spoke a few evenings ago at the Frederick Douglass Gymnasium in Bahama Village, Key West:
Subject: fyi, I was really glad to hear your story
I myself, in my white home, was raised by a black woman whose father had been a slave in Alabama. She loved me like one of her own, and given how it was in other parts of my young life, I hate to think what would have become of me if she had not loved her essence into me, and Jesus and God’s and the Holy Ghost. It took a long time for her to finally get on top of all of the other, I bet she would have loved to be at the Frederick Douglass Gymnasium when you told your and those two remarkable men’s stories. I learned from the minister at her wake in a packed black Baptist Church in Bessemer, Alabama, that my dear Cha, Sister Charlotte Washington, behind the scenes had, on her off days from being in my family’s home, gone into black churches in the Birmingham area (Bessemer lies about 12 miles west of Birmingham), during the time of the troubles, and counseled her people to be tolerant of their white brothers and sisters. As I said, it was quite a while before she started winning out in me, her, and her spirit accomplices. Won out is relative, they still have plenty of work yet to do in me, on me.
Below is the teaser for today’s “article”, which I told you would include a report on your story.
Vaya con Dios, Kenneth.
You should be able to see today’s features by clicking on www.goodmorningkeywest.com
It was very nice meeting you. Thank you for the story.
I wrote back after being bonked a bit in dreams for not having spoken more fully sooner, I added all the pics later:
Thanks for responding.
During your presentation and the brief question and answer period following, I wanted to say something, but it did not seem there was time with all the fawning going on.
What I wanted to ask was, what was your position on African-Americans being used to fight white Americans’ really stupid, evil, ruinous wars? I believe it was Dr. King’s opposition to African-Americans being used in that way by white Americans in Vietnam that got him killed, yes?
Other thoughts came to me since you spoke at the Frederick Douglass Gymnasium.
You should be very careful about letting other people use you to promote themselves and their causes. You had no way of knowing Keys Coalition’s track record and reputation down here in the Keys, although Rick Boettger could, and should, have told you when you stayed with him and Cynthia. Rick reads my daily ravings, tells me he really likes them. When I called Rick to see if he knew when you would speak at the gymnasium, not knowing you were staying with him, Rick told me I am becoming Key West’s “beloved”. I said that was really bad news, I was bleeding all over the sidewalk and somebody would have to call an ambulance and then I would end up in the hospital where I would be at even greater risk. Rick is fully aware of Keys Coalition’s history down here, is where I’m going with this, and he should have told you what was really going on with you being brought down here by them. I know Connie Gilbert and Tim Gratz pretty well. I have been round and round with them. Like you, I have a calling. Mine mostly is no fun; this is no fun, writing to you.
I was chided by the angels who run me, one is Jesus, another Archangel Michael, another Magdalene-Melchizedek, for giving you a pass for charging money for trafficking in what you did not earn yourself, but which was given to you by being born into the Frederick Douglass and Booker T. Washington bloodlines. I think your calling to try to walk in their shoes is far more strenuous than what you currently perceive it to be. I think your calling is to try to continue what got Dr. King killed, which is to do all you can to try to persuade African-Americans not to participate in stupid, evil, ruinous white people’s foreign wars, which, sadly, Barack Obama continued after he was elected, breaching in the worst possible way his duty to God, his country and his African-American heritage. Made far worse, alas, by then accepting the Nobel Peace Prize, and made even more worse by the drone wars.
Child sex trafficking is a horrible thing, certainly. As is child labor trafficking. As is the narcotics trade. Education is probably the only effective way to combat the three. Rescue opportunities for those already caught in one or more of the three is the second line of help. You seem to have figured that out, and you seem to have boots on the ground there. But putting boots on the ground in the exploitation of African-Americans by rich white warmongers, who make a great deal of money off of foreign wars, and/or, in their twisted minds, spin themselves into patriots and servants of God in a nation very definitely not under God in many ways, especially in the way it wages war, is where the Christian soldier such as yourself needs to have boots on the ground, to continue the work of your ancestors and Dr. King. Jeremiah Wright
understood this, he schooled Barack Obama to understand this; then, because he wanted to get elected, instead of serve God, his country and African Americans, Barack the Christian jettisoned Wright the Truth Speaker, and became a hawk disguised as a dove.
To take up that endeavor, Ken, will push you, it will stretch you, it might get you killed. Same thing I told Tim and Connie, if they put boots on the ground in Key West re its sex and drug trafficking magnet, which is Duval Street; a magnet known to every teen in Key West and up the Keys. A city commissioner makes a fine living trading in that magnet. I was told a few weeks back by a stripper I gave a ride on US 1, that Key West police who hang out in those clubs, to keep the peace, in exchange for that, traffic in street drugs. I have seen young black women in those clubs, Ken. The stripper said the girls make over $1,000 a night, and and the ones who do not use drugs save a lot of money, some are millionaires. She said stripping is not all many of them do. She said of the girls on drugs, their Bahama Village drug suppliers show up just when they are getting off and take them back to Bahama Village and give them their daily fix in exchange for most of what they earned that night. I published all of that before, not long ago. Connie, Tim and Rick read my posts. They know what I just told you.
Friends of mine’s daughter and one of her girlfriends told me a few days ago, that a girlfriend of theirs, 17 years old, already with one child, can’t wait until she is 18 and can get a job stripping in one of the Duval Street clubs. These are Key West High School Students, Ken. This is where they live. That’s why I told you at the gymnasium about what was going on here, after you indicated Tim and Connie, and Rick, had not told you. That is why I told you that I hoped you would tell them to focus on what is going on in their own city, where they might be able to have an effect, instead of focusing on what is going on in other parts of the US and overseas, where they can have no effect.
Because a black woman minister was used to kick off your talk in the gymnasium, I will close with a few sayings of Jesus:
Steep is the way, narrow the gate, and few enter therein.
Many are called, but few are chosen.
The work is great and the laborers are few.
After I put that email chain in a tentative draft for today’s post, this came in from Rick Boettger:
This is in response to your asking about the payment for Ken Morris’ trip here to discuss human trafficking. You heard that he was paid $500 for a day, and you thought that was too much.
I did not confirm the exact figure, but it may have been that, and I would like to defend in principle how people who work for righteous non-profit causes should get paid.
First, in Ken’s particular case, any payment is not a salary to him, but for his organization. Yes, much of the organization is in fact him talking to groups as he did here, but that was both the point of the original antislavery movement going back to the days of Ken’s great-great-great-grandfather Frederick Douglass and Ken’s parallel cause, the current slavery-like trafficking of young people into the sex trades. The organization works to accomplish its goals through various kinds of skilled communications, including having gifted speakers come in and fire up a community for a cause. Indeed, his presence did, as you noted, lend greater weight to the goals of our own local group sharing his goals, the Florida Keys Coalition headed by Connie Gilbert.
I strongly believe that people working, like Ken, for world-improving fine causes should get paid well. Currently our system hugely over-rewards financial shysters, the banksters and hedge fund criminals, with compensation in the tens of thousands of dollars per day, to do nothing at all that benefits our society. On a local level, my office recently billed an hour of my time at the top of our sliding scale, $500—again, for an hour, not a day. Yes, my clients save or earn many multiples of what they pay me, but Sloan, it is just money.
People like Ken, if they succeed, literally save children from the reality that has haunted him, Tim Gratz, and myself—young girls of 13 being sold into sexual slavery, serving 30 men a day. The three of us look at our daughters and are horrified that such could happen to any father’s child. Saving a single girl is worth more than a hedge fund manager “accomplishes” in a year for which he may be paid $10 million.
It is a real problem in our country that so many talented people go into such worthless and venal financial professions. While righteous non-profit leaders are not going to earn millions, they should get paid enough to keep them out of the kind of marketing jobs that could earn a man of Ken’s charismatic talents an easy $250,000/year.
I remember being asked to investigate the salaries of top AIDS Help executives some years back. The late Robert Walker was perfectly open with their books. Yes, three were well-paid. And an even bigger “yes” was that their financials showed they well deserved it. They had created and maintained and extremely well-functioning and financially sound organization accomplishing a wonderfully righteous service.
Sloan, you and I can get a lot of good work done for free because we have somehow stumbled into enough income that we can volunteer (I’m not sure that characterizes your working under your Angels, so you may want to correct the word “volunteer”). But I want to live in a society that makes people like Ken more like highly respected and well-paid heroes, not underpaid semi-volunteers. Even though I and you are happy enough as the latter.
Hi, Rick –
Thanks for responding to my inquiry and your further thoughts and information.
I would love to be paid $100 a day for what I do, but I am paid nothing and don’t expect to be paid, because what I do, say, give, was told, given to me. I did not earn it – the best can be said is I did not die or kill myself while it was being given to me.
I received a kind note from Ken replying to a short note I had sent to him about the black woman who had instilled her essence in me, along with links to the post in which I wrote up a report of his talk at the Frederick Douglass Gymnasium. I replied to his note in considerably more detail – mostly pretty much off the chart, but then, so am I.
At this juncture, I don’t know if I’m to publish that correspondence with Ken, perhaps dreams tonight will tell me.
Booker T. Washington having turned peanuts into a serious southern cash crop was the angels’ sly way. via Naja, of giving me the green light to publish all of that today. You grok that, and the rest of this post, if your female is working okay.
While Banks Prevatt sent in yet another beaut from the Little Torch Key branch shaman school yesterday:
Date: Wed, 15 Jan 2014 20:35:00 -0500
Subject: Fwd: Sewer
CC: firstname.lastname@example.org; email@example.com; firstname.lastname@example.org; email@example.com; firstname.lastname@example.org; email@example.com; firstname.lastname@example.org; email@example.com; firstname.lastname@example.org; email@example.com; firstname.lastname@example.org; email@example.com; firstname.lastname@example.org
Regarding sewers in the Lower Keys, I wrote you yesterday asking that you take a look at decisions your appointed board of directors of the Florida Keys Aqueduct Authority (FKAA) is making here in the lower Keys . Here is one home owner’s plea to a county commissioner. A consistent response of this commissioner has been that the system was designed by the FKAA, go talk to them.
Citizens in the Keys feel trapped between commissioners that pass the buck to FKAA, as if that is the most final of all authorities and the FKAA which states, “we prefer gravity. Have the Board of County Commissioners (BOCC) give us the money and we will do gravity.”
As I stated yesterday, the FKAA is not accountable to the citizens of Monroe County and has no reason to listen to us let alone consider requests or negotiate. This board answers to you, and we need your help.
Banks Prevatt for
Dump the Pumps, Inc
BCC to 100+
Sent: 1/14/2014 9:00:56 A.M. Eastern Standard Time
Dear Mr. Neugent,
It is with great dismay that I read the exchanges between you and the concerned citizens which you are supposed to represent and see your complete disregard for the information which has been passed along to you and the other representatives concerning the grinder pump problem.I have seen folks with there mind made up before ,
but none of you seem to consider any input from a wealth of educated people who are concerned with the health and environment of our Keys. Not a one of us, as you asserted, are anti government and bitch about anything concerned with the government. No, we are a well educated, diverse bunch who only want the right thing.
You and I have a lot in common.I also spent over 35 years in the Pump industry and sold and serviced the same types of pumps which you stated you worked with.Now you know the inherent problems with all pumps which operate a lot of times in harsh conditions. They require a lot of service, Packings, seals,check valves,pistons,motors,controls, couplers,etc. I would be happy to sit down with you and discuss pumps at any time.
We are spending 4500.00 each plus for the requirement to have a reliable sewer system. We are paying our own way and we want the best system that our money will buy and I can give you an educated opinion that this grinder pump system is bad business.
It is also such a sad day as I read this morning about the effect this sewer system will have on our local business. It is time for Monroe County to buck up and try to rectify these problems,as it is a shame to have such a much needed project affect so many people and business in such a harmful way.
To which I replied:
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Subject: RE: Sewer
Date: Thu, 16 Jan 2014 05:31:25 -0500
Perhaps, Gov. Scott, you might wish to consider that it was by God’s grace that you became Florida’s governor, and it was into your care God put the Florida Keys to steward, and it is to God you will answer for how you stewarded the Keys during your time in office.
Ditto for you Monroe County and FKAA officials.
I learned yesterday morning of a writer’s conference this week at the San Carlos Theater in Key West, which will delve into the “dark side of fiction.” An article in the Key West Citizen today provides the full title for the conference: ” The Dark Side, Mystery, Crime and The Literary Thriller, Final Chapter”.
You can attend that conference, or you can get involved in real dark side, mystery, crimes and thrillers in the chocolate-covered peanut 10-level-bombshell shaman school, which is free, if you don’t count the spirit cost. Or, if that’s a bit too steep for you, try on
Heavy Wait: A Strange Tale by Bashinsky, Sloan
- Auto-delivered wirelessly
- Other Formats: Paperback
which you can preview free through the first few chapters at Amazon Kindle.
Guaranteed to take you into the dark side, mystery, crime and the literary thriller in ways I seriously doubt you could ever imagine. It might even help you figure out if there really is a writer in you, without your spending a small fortune on how-to-write-novels books and literary seminars. It also might help you figure out what really is inside of you.