Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Loud Screams from Silent America. A Photo-op for 3 Girls Missing.



                              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
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 



Friday, May 17, 2013

Three Missing Girls in Ohio, by Sonia J.


                                  Three Missing Girls in Ohio
                                             by Sonia J.


Dedicated to missing 3 girls in Ohio 

 

 What did you miss.
I know you don’t know me …but I know you so dear, your pictures your faces where so close and near, as we searched for you everywhere that we went...That was all that you missed...you see the faith that was there was based only on love, your mother and father did not give up hope, they triumph and fought to have you so close in e...very ones heart... That was all that you missed... we thank you my darling for being so strong during times when we weren’t and didn’t believe, You never lost sight that one day you would leave…although we were crying… That was all that you missed…. tied up to a chain and stripped from your soul you conquered with wisdom to merely survive, Not able to scream, We shouted for you every year you were gone… That was all that you missed…. Enduring the pain the abuse and the strain is something that no one should ever have gained we cried with despair not knowing the truth of what could have happened my baby to you… That was all that you missed. We’re sorry my precious we’re sorry indeed, we failed as a group is all we believe. We’re trying with parties and laughter and cheers to show that we will always be near, while that is something you have to allow…the time that you need we’ll always respect, although please forgive us for smothering you so, for with just your picture you came with us home. The joy to have found you have left us unspoken, the thought of not seeing you has left us unbroken, the need to be close is only so natural, to shelter and hold you is what we will do to keep you so safe and secure away from harm’s way…you asked what you’ve missed? … It’s the love of your family and even the world that have followed in searching in bringing you home…what did you miss? Nothing! nothing but pain from missing you so, but now there’s a vision from prayers to our God to guide you through life after all this ordeal…to show you with strength, that life will go on as you will fill in the empty spaces that was desperately missed and teach us through courage and faith that you have,.. my precious child I mean young lady you fought to the end enduring abuse you knew you must fight just to survive and God gave you vision to see your light…your life is now embedded in us… your hearts and new memories will be viewed through us for we cry when you cry and laugh when you laugh because you are amazing to endure through all this… what did you miss.. Barely anything at all for there was no life when you were gone.

 Written by: Sonia J. 05/2013
 
I would like to thank Sonia J.  for her permission to post this here. When I read it, I thought it considerable to say the least, so I asked her if I could.
 
  

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

Crawling takes on Stretching Legs. Beginning to walk again...




Lady Warrior,
Spending Saturday/Sunday with you was incredibly special to me for so many reasons. It's nice to be around one whom doesn't mince words, isn't afraid to say something totally wrong for the sake of a laugh, and simply be themself (or) themselves.


When I first looked into your eyes as you exited your Grand Am, I felt something 'thud' in my heart that I haven't known in such a very long time. So long in fact I'd thought being able to feel for anyone that way was a lost cause, and dare to think, they feeling the same way.


We embraced so quickly, so fully, drawing each other closer into a oneness from two separate lands. Neither of us hesitated in the least. Such a wondrous body-mind-sharing, it lasting a good span.


As our time grew, you gave of yourself, showing me areas of your lands offerings. Seriously, that was awesome Prime-Rib! The band was good.


One of the many things remember is you when you talk. In this area you have answered a prayer I thought was never heard: To be with someone who speaks with the energy, attitude and sheer excitement that I do! You have so much LIFE and POSITIVE vibes that like me, you let it spill from you as freely as exhaled air.


I like the way you carry yourself. You have confidence, unbridled.


I have to say you tested me on something in regards to our level of nudity/pureness to one another. I hope I didn't disappoint you on this. You sent me signals in many directions, so I quickly backed off repeatedly. I hope you understand this.

Relax: You layed me flat on my back, resting my head in your lap. Your firm fingers moved over me. My shoulders and neck and arms, your clay. I was poor clay, and kept tensing up. Sorry, this ground has become so unfamiliar to me that going rigid has become a way of life. Opening my eyes, I see you looking down at me: Your necklace weaving about between your beautiful breasts. "You need to relax, William." I am trying, I tell her, yet actions don't always match words as I fail. I had to ask myself: Why is it so hard to relax at the request of another that is touching me in a way I have so wished for? Fear of the unknown? Fear of giving up control? Take your pick and I'm sure you'd be correct. To her credit, she didn't give up and snapped my neck chiropractic. Christ, did that feel good!!! I'm learning, though very slowly...

On the Shores of your Voices:though you never really said anything, I believe they must be suspicious of me. I can understand this. When we let another into our truer selves, there is always a threat to the NORM of how things run within us. Voices heard in the head and mind, are to some, the nudging of reason and conscience. To others, can be looked at as Instinctual Warnings that most fail to heed. Hell, my blog is full of stories that fail to heed these warnings and world is littered with the wasted and damaged souls that travel it blindly.


BTW: I am going to use: On the Shores of your Voices for a working title as I begin to write, if that's okay with you. Please let me know ASAP.


I want to help you with your memory gaps-fragments. Please send me your name/location history and dates and I'll dig into it. The next time we meet, I want to try something with you to see if that does anything to help. I will not tell what I am planning, but it does not involve drugs, swinging shiny metal/diamond objects or anything forced.

I want your Voices to not fear me as I do not mean to hurt or kill them. You've accepted them as they are, making them as much a part of you as your physical body. I respect that.


On Swapping Spit: The look on your face was priceless when I pulled out the Oral gel for your bitten lip! Yeah, you did get me when you removed your top in the room, so turnabout's fair play! :)


A Horse is a horse: Eating toast while watching Mr. ED, shaking my head and smiling. What a totally absurd thing to make us smile together after so many hours of smiling! Precious gift from somewhere else given to us. Here's you: they used peanut butter to make him do that. (that is such a Mark-Line if ever there was one. YOu beat me to it!)


As Silence takes hold, She sleeps: You looked so incredibly at peace as you let your soul-batteries recharge. I will never forget the gentle lines of your face as you allowed sleep to take hold, if only for a few moments in comparison. An angel contented, limbs unmoving, chest rising and lowering slowly. Eyelids gently pressing together like familiar lovers in soft embrace.


Stepping to the Old with someone New: Antique Store. So fucking nice! Talking, walking, sharing pasts as a few items brought back memories to lives past. Have you ever placed your hands on something in an antique store and got a psychic flash to its history? I'm not sure if you caught it or not, but did you see me sometimes touching various things with the back of my hand and looking away from it as I did this? (oh yeah, I'm sure you're thinking I'm a total headcase. Then again, You might not.) Walking out of the store, arm in arm, as snow-beads fell upon us, bouncing off our heads. You pointing out how they've accumulated on my Trailblazers bumper, giving me the gift of your a smile crossing your lips and kissing your eyes. You began to realize just how tired I was getting and I appreciate this.


As Cells Divide: Parting company. It was not easy leaving you at your place, though I knew it was needed. You suggested a two week lack of phone talking, emailing and such the night before. I told you then I didn't think I could do it. I'm a Leo with a Scorpio rising sigh, a Tiger on the Chinese/Japanese calendar, I can bend, but do you really want me to become a contortionist? I don't think so. But hey, I could be wrong. Been there, done that. I'll try to respect your wishes and I'm sure you'll make me understand yours. I think we understand each other quite well. I ask you this: Do you really want me to be something I am not?


My thoughts: I believe you to be a predator in some aspects. It takes one to know one and I have no problem saying that about myself in many areas of my life.


My truth: I have never had a first time physical encounter with anyone that lasted as long as the one we shared. Perhaps you have, but I haven't, and to me that means much. A first date crossing and reaffirming that meeting those in the digital world CAN make for a satisfying face to face.

As we, together, bodies willingly pressed against, minds full open and eating each other, contented. So long, beaten and battered after trying endlessly and never losing hope...
 
 
-Your William.
 
Mark William Darus 05142013
 
 

Friday, May 10, 2013

As I crawl toward another life...

                                                  A letter to my sister.

                            As I crawl toward Another Life: Unknowing.

Heidi: It was so splendid to have your arms around me! There's something about that DNA touching and such! :) My sharings with your son as we walked were so nice, but better yet, pure. I talk to your son plainly. I always have and never mince words as we've spent time. I see what I see and tell him my thoughts with all the kindness I can share slashing about with a chainsaw. I can't say I am a positive male figure in any childs life. I can say this though: I will be myself to them. I Will share my thoughts and beliefs without fear of reprisal or shame. I will tell them my insane thoughts, desires freely.


I had a mentor in my life like that: His name was Mr. Merhaut (English teacher: 11 and 12th grade). It was through him I learned to express and share. To rage into the dying of the light! (can't remember what writer poemed that line.)


While I was talking to David, i thought of uncle Bill. Sure, he was a drunk and tried to blindside grandpas will, but looking back over the cascading decades of memory, he was always good and right with me... He did a lot with me. I have memories of him taking me to Geauga Lake and riding rides with me...


And to think when all the shit hit the fan over grandpas will, I slashed the tires of his Jeep...


Am I a drunken uncle? Well, I would have a difficult time arguing this given my history and liking of bitter beers. Am I a Drugged uncle? Well, that's a subject open to interpretation: that oh-so thin line between the legally prescribed and other avenues for treatment without insurance coverage. Take some peace in this: I am still alergic to pot. I have my teeth without them going crystaline (Crystal Meth, first sign after fast weight loss, teeth begin to look like pale-clear geodes.) Heroin: Ah! ( i have often thought this one a nasty road to wander down, and for many it is.) It didn't work for me. Tried it twice, and the only things it opened was the fastest sense of euphoria and the defecation of my shorts. Yeah, twice was all that took!  Sorry, whatever mind gain there is, when you fill your underwear with fecal matter, you really need to rethink a few things.


Heidi: This weekend I am going meet a new woman. I have been chatting with her and talking to her on the phone for over two weeks now. When we talk, we speak for 3 to 5 hours at a clip. She found me from my blog and lives about 90 miles away. I am frightened, heidi. She talks the way I do. She says things fucked up and obsurd and makes me laugh. Her writings make me think in a way I haven't known in decades.


Heidi: Have I paid enough yet to go further? Have I tried enough with other women that fail to learn that I can go on with my life? yeah, i know in area's of my groin and heart will flounder, but do you think it's time for me to swim in different waters?


Her name is Lady Warrior. She lives near Youngstown. She is my age, just under five feet tall and 110 lbs. She has a daughter with Down's Syndrome currently having liver issues and in the hospital (so toss your prayer wagons to circle) . She makes me laugh, smile, Heidi. It's been such a long time since I've had this in my life. One having a mind that has an ability to catch me offguard and shred me into blind faith via smiles and an innocents I haven't felt in a very long time. Interests like mine: writing, psychology, photography and works hours as fucked up as mine. As the two of us share over the phone at a time while the rest of are sleeping and eventually wake up, our minds pleasantly collide.


I am scared, frightened. I think meeting her, physically so, might be like meeting myself. In female form. Sure, the sex would be awesome, and that would only account for 3 hours of a six hour gracing. Having never met one similar to myself, her finishing my statements, thoughts and such, I am taken a tad aback. >yeah, she could be a psychopath that has enough knowledge of me via my writing she could con me. I think I'd catch this as eyes lock on meeting: Predators know others of their kind. I'll take it from there. Still, it would be nice to be with another like me. I am planning on seeing her this weekend. Further, I have told Gretal this (I guess we'll find out how much of a homicidal maniac she is, right?) She is vastly different than any other human I have known. She can children to sing and play guitar. There is so much she could give to a peds oncology ward ) and I guess others could give their time that way ( I guess through that I just gave up on her.


I won't lie to you, Heidi: I'm scared shitless of doing a face to face with Lady Warrior. I'm 50 now, take bp pills and work out. At the same time, if I am to find another life, (my blog: Psychopathy: Another LIfe:) I guess there must be some point I take a leap of faith, right? Throw all caution to the wind, close our eyes while opening mind and take a step off a ledge.


Isn't that what faith is all about? What we're willing to do, toss ourselves over, face perhaps    a type of death of soul or being, for something intangible and maybe better and recreate ourselves anew.

           a sense of allowing ourselves to feel innoecent once again like a rising child seeing its first butterfly?  This infant, smelling its first rose, mothers dripping tit while hungry, his dads first fart while wondering appartnment walls are always white, closet doors never close and their is so much noise unrhythmic unlike when they were in their mother.

         I am scared, dear reader.

          I think i need to take   this step into a darkness I've been afraid to. If i have any emotion left...

Perhaps to recapture them once again.


     Mark William Darus 05102013\