A few blocks down: Held Hostage for Ten Years.
A Photo-op with my impressions.
by Mark William Darus
Last Thursday/Friday, law enforcement officials opened up Seymore between West 25th Street and Scranton Avenue. I had Friday off, which is to say I didn't have to report in at 4pm. I took these photographs about 8 AM or so. I was mildly out-there when I decided to grab my camera and take a stroll. I was also highly influenced by a womans writing that a facebook friend of mine posted on her wall. That entry here, titled Three Missing Girls in Ohio, published 05172013.
As I left my house, craving coffee, having enough cigs, I looked around a bit. I've lived in this house my entire life with the exception of the ten years I was married. I think the only things that change around here are the death toll, faces of the addicts and various levels of mental illness.
Don't get me wrong though: Flowers do bloom here, the sweet smell of black-locust tree blossoms are amazing and some people can still smile.
I believe that, for me, I experienced and enjoyed the most perfect of marriages since July 2012. The mating of photography and my thoughts. My weapon is my camera, its bullets are my minds turning thoughts into words. If you're with me, great. If not, go elsewhere and do so in Peace.
As I've said before: Let's take a walk, you and I.........
First shot when leaving my place. Looking south on Scranton.
Down the road.
Flower behind galvanized steel. Beauty shining through.
Another of her splendid flowers.
Stunning Brilliance!
Church on the corners of Scranton and Meyers, heading toward Seymore. Decades ago, I was a pin-spotter at the bowling alley this church had in it's basement. Oddly, I remember no one from the years I spent there. I guess that is part of my Dead-Zone memory.
Cleveland Emergency Medical Service (EMS). Not an uncommon sight around here. Cleveland Metro General Hospital is just a block a away from me and hearing their sirens 24/7 is as common as drinking a carbonated beverage and belching soon afterword. At least at that hour of the morning, around 8AM, chances were their arrival was not from a gunshot wound.
Another view of this church with uncommonly clear blue skies. A gift given to me, perhaps, for being awake when I would normally be sleeping.
Survival: Life will find a way. I cannot imagine the pressure this plant had to endure to find its place in the sun as it broke through rock and stone.
Doors fully stretched and waiting like the gentle arms of a friend. To take one in and comfort them.
Looking down the road toward Seymore.
The second Church on the Seymore Stroll.
Once a part of Cleveland Central Catholic, I did the ninth and tenth grades their. I wasn't and am still not Catholic. Formerly connected with the soon-coming third church on this tour.
I just liked this one for some reason.
Statue on the former school. I seriously need to do a photo-op on these alone. I've walked by this thousands of times. Does this look like a child begging forgiveness to you?
Stoned: Long before weed became illegal. The craftsmanship to create such: AMAZING!
St. Michaels Church: Church three as we walk a few blocks.
Church four. Corner of Scranton and Clark Ave, diagnolly from church 3. I used to take my children here for their Good News Group on Weds nights. While they did that, I attened bible study. The pastors name was Joe. He liked me, though most of the people in bible study disliked me for my opposing views from theirs over my interpretations of the scripture. Paston Joe liked me. He said I gave the group another, and valid, point of view.
Corner of Scranton and Seymore.
Church Five: This on the Scranton and Seymore corner. I didn't know they had services in German. I'd like to attend that and think I shall.
Remnants of Police: DO NOT CROSS tape tied to rusted utility pole cable. Note the bullet impacts on the stop sign to the right of the photo. I didn't catch those when I captured this.
Like aiding a gunshot wound with a bandaid, my city was very quick at painting fresh white road lines and protecting them with cones. Well, go figure, this event hit world media attention.
Boarded dwelling on Seymore.
A first glance down Seymore. Six city blocks from where I still live and grow each day.
You bet there is!
Tall cold steel fence in place, not so much to prevent escape as much as to prevent those like me from gaining entrance. Sorry, and I'm sure doesn't describe me well, but I want to go in there if for no other reason: To let my mind do what it does. Gather impressions as my hands travel across surfaces, my camera's eye and my mind to see things differently in a search for truths unseen.
Another view of a house I might call: Loud Screams from Silent America. The reference to America simply coming from the Eagle on the front of the house.
Seymore: looking East toward Scranton.
Lone tree standing proud, Seymore and West 25th Steet. I was taken by this single tree that somehow escaped many a lawn mower over the years and was able to reach out and live. Such things can happen in such a dismal area as mine. One of my neighbors and close friend had a son that graduated the Cleveland Public School systen, went to college and flourished to gain a job in his field of study. This child is doing very well. Perhaps this child should be an inspiration, a human flower or weed if you will, and beat the odds against all costs and make the presumed imposible a reality.
The photo tells you where this was taken.
Established 2000! Really?!?! I guess I need to pay more attention to my surroundings, though I've only been remarried with a lens view since mid July 2012. I promise I will watch and capture this.
Many have been wasted within 5 blocks of my home, and sadly I have lost count over the decades, this capture was a first for me. I was actually stopped in my tracks at its blunt title. It's always nice to see something as coldy asking questions as I attempt.
If you know anything about this: Call 216-252-7463. I did not know this person or any of the others that get dead around here with the exception of a long ago friend named Doug Litvak.
Doug and I were about 12-13 when he was cut in half by a shotgun blast at a range of about 4 feet over some asshole 18 yr old males thoughts that Doug wanted his 14 yr old girlfriend. Yeah, I've been a kin to violence my whole life, I guess you say. Looking back, though I was at his funeral with my mom, I didn't cry even then. He was a close friend of mine. Granted, he was way more extroverted and sexual active than I was then. A wild child by most accounts versus me being extremely shy until I was 15-16. At this funeral my mother and I found out that what Doug thought was his sister was really his mother and that all considered his mother was really his grand mother.
Before you make the (in the NOW judgements,) consider this was the 1970's when this occured, okay? Life was different then. Abortion: TAboo, Interacial marriage, forbidden and Homosexuality unspoken. It was a different life people walked. I'm not saying it was right or correct but it was merely a placing of history.
Fuck, this poster hit me in a way unexpected! It made me think of Doug and the things we'd done together. He and I put together a gasoline powered tethered minicar and ran in Metro Hospitals parking lot. We spent hours making it go faster and faster until the tether broke and the car smashed into the side of a black Cadilac. Like all kids that age, we ran like hell after gathering our things. He and I made our first candlebomb out of parfin wax and regular household chemicals and shared smiles as it detonated, feeling the concussion on our growing bodies.
It never occured to he or I to use the bombs against others as we grew and did other things far more diabolical. The same can be said about the many friends I briefly had while growing up. Never once did it occur to us to get even with anyone. We merely wanted to see if what we made would work and that was enough for us.
I will see you again, Doug. And by the way: You are the only Doug I have ever known. Tell me that isn't for a reason.
Zubal Antique Books: Offering to the Hood. I found this good and just.
West 25th and Kinkel. I don't know who Kinkel was, but that's okay. We're heading toward my grandfathers home and it's ghosts that are telling me to leave. Perhaps it's time I grew. Made another life for myself that I can call my own.
Fluffy puffs and striking glory. Is a blossoming weed less beautiful than that of a rose?
Yeah, don't enter here! You could die as a drug deal goes bad, some hooker gets screwed <forgive the pun> or hit by an idiot driving while texting on a cell. In all honesty, this is but a Oneway street sign my mind ran with other meanings.
The Sheriffs Dept is never far away in a NO Stopping/Parking Zone as eager informants often swarm on them with Intel just a block away from...
I actually have a recent history with this place while I was unemployed after Progressive Insurance fired me for Dishonesty in August of 2012. Seriously needing cash, I ventured here and wrote about it on this blog. I refered to this place being like that of a human-cattle milking ground. Plasma flowing for cash from human arm like milk from a dairy cow, Replacing tit suction with Plasmapheresis machines. All I can say about his can simply be put this way: MOOOOOO!
Going south on West 25th. I cannot say I have ever seen Tesca open. I can't say I'm surprised though. There is much money being laundered around here with small businesses that when they fail, simply re-tag and get reborn.
I bet it was good when it was open.
Look just right of center and see the white single story building to the right of the grey house. This building has house so many, what we refer to as :Illegal Chop Shops over the decades. I'm not sure what it is now, but chances are, if there isn't something vehicle theft related, it soon will be. This street, Meyer looking from West 25th, is going back toward my home.
This building has housed so many companies over the decades I have spirited here. Perhaps I should do a history of it?
Water Tower of the previous buildings photo.
Now a bait and tackle shop facing west 25th, it has been a pizza shop, a couple of hair stylist places and many a bar. My best
memory of this place was getting drunk there with friends at the age of 15-16 and pissing off some biker much stronger, older and wiser than myself. I ignorantly planted my ass on his stool though i did not recognize his beer and smokes in front of this as meaning anything of importance. I'd had a few beers when he stated his place here. Yeah, I'm a teen then, stuborn and defiant. I am ignorant to how things worked in the real world.
He wanted his seat back and told me to move. I gave him a cocky glance and he asked to just get off the seat. He said 'please', so I did.
At that point he ripped the barstool from its homey place with Earth and raised it above his head.
As I saw him raise the stool above and aimed at my head, he said: I could kill you right here and now, kid. I could do this and walk away and no one would have seen anything.
Though I was freaked, I didn't back down.
"Do you understand what I am saying to you, Punk?" I saw his eyes, magnificent and looming.
"yes', I told him. My eyes never left his. I didn't feel fear even then, maybe I should have.
Meanwhile, my friends were shitting their pants as they watched this. I felt a few of their hands trying to pull me back, yet I stood fast against the biker and his barstool.
"Okay, Kid. What are you drinking?" He put the stool down and motioned me to another set of stools. Though i was drinking beers, totally wasted, I had a liking for Scotch and told him Scotch and soda, top shelf.
He and I got trashed together, long after my friends left. He thought it unusual that I wasn't afraid to die. He shared with me his life, wives and time after Vietnam. Horror stories for sure, and I wish him well if he is still alive. If he is dead: Go tall and proud as you killed others as America directed you to do so via orders. Know this though, my time-of-life friend: I owe you many a round, okay?
Walking up Meyers to my alley.
An alley next to Stinks. If Buildings could speak about thier lives, I have a good idea of what this place could say.
This field my friends and I played football here. The green of grass was not here when we did this as it was gravel then. Yet we played tackle football and hurt each other as best we could when on oposing teams. Yes, we smashed each others bare limbs and caused gravel to mate with flesh and looked at it as fun. We didn't hold grudges or wished payback. What I believe we did was learn a grander sense of knowing 'what could happen if we..??? and so forth. '
Guardrail fence going to my home. Know this: Wandering down this alley could kill you, scare you, make you an addict, a whore, some idiot that thinks having a degree makes you immune. I warn you on this: I believe most of you do not have what it takes.
The top roof is the sheltering of my physical head. Bringing it home for me.
Going on...
There have been so many killed, destroyed and wasted in the tiny area around me, as close as a house away. Yet I feel nothing as I write and photograph and send it out there.
I believe there is a higher-power for me that guides me. I am sent Angels of inspiration that guide me to do as I do. This confuses so many close to me that I have trouble describing this to them.
In conclusion: I dedicate this entry to Sonia J. It was her innocent view that made these photos and this entry possible.
Mark William Darus. 0522013
