Thurs, Jan 3, 2007
gregory is remembered

I half thought this would happen, quietly bit by bit new balloons and stuffed animals were lashed to my telephone pole. Friends and relatives paid their mylar and ducktape respect to fallen Gregory, one year to the day, to the event I have described below. This happened once before, a couple of months after his killing I left in the morning to go to the market. When I returned new shiney balloons floated over the old deflated ones and small toys were stuffed on top of the old exhaust grimmed ones. It took me a while to realise it was his birthday or it use to be until his deathday entered the calendar. Althought these offerings are crude and depressing I will never remove them from my alley. It is not my place and I wont interupt the flow and peace these childlike gifts seem to offer the family. Does the killing in Baltimore continue....duh...yes....did Gregory's murder shake some hopper to the bone, get him out off the corner...of course it did.

Wed, Jan 11, 2006
gregory is mourned

My alley has come full circle. A week has passed. Candle wax and teddy bears replace police tape. A helium tombstone is tided to the telephone pole. Mylar replaces granite and blows like a haunt in the wind. Gregory. Dead guy has a name, a mother, sisters and enough friends to fill the alley for his candle light vigil. The family members have the quicky made t-shirts pulled over their winter clothes. A silkscreen picture of smiling Gregory surrounded by clip art hearts and the Lord's prayer. They look huge. So does Gregory's smile. Number one sister delivers a blistering sermon for her lost brother. Here, on this tainted ground she was was going to hammer away all the wrong that lead him to this spot with remembrence for a good and caring brother. She is immensely moving and mother sobs. I have no way of knowing if Gregory dealt out as much pain as was dealt to him that night. The drug game is vicious. From a cynical view, this is a broken record, caught in a groove played 100's of times in our blood and wax streets. But this was too close to home. So I went outside with my own candle and joined the vigil. Maybe it will never happen again, ever.



Drip Bag

Outside my window
umbrellaed flashlights moisten
a history hole
Gregory, the discarded, a gun smudge rorschach
of stomach contents and toy rocks
turns stand still yellow in
an alley turned twister mat
Here's a lessoning in tombstone obesity
"it aint over till the drip bag sings"
None is particularly strong to survive, we are just we.

Mon, Jan 2, 2006
gregory is murdered

My alley is full of crime tape, the rain has gnarled it into muddy piles. Last night, after mid-night, I heard 3 quick bangs, could have been a gun or fireworks. I did what I am conditioned to do, nothing. 10 minutes later someone is seriously pounding on my door, the street is full of cops. A rag doll of a man lying dead in front of my door, half in the alley, half on the sidewalk. A policewomen calls me down outside, what did I hear, how many shots. She says it's a shame how young the victim is, wanting me to empathize incase I was holding something back. Someone called in the shooting but didn't leave a name, she thinks it might be me. I guess that's her method for dealing with people afraid to get involved. I have no info. I don't feel empathy, I feel lessened. I stay in the street and more cops arrive with flashlights and catch up gossip. Ambulance parks in front of my door and I watch dead guy on the gurney as he passes. His shirt is half removed with a bullet hole below his nipple, no blood, he died before he hit the ground. I don't regret watching, I just feel lessened. I go to my upstairs window. I over hear they have a name for the victim, he's got a drug record. Now it's raining and the flashlights have umbrellas. At the end of the alley over the tops of the police cars behind the tape a crowd has gathered to watch. Part of them looks like some of the aggressive drug dealers that recently started running the New York Fried Chicken corner. One among them is darting backing and forth making shooting gestures with his out stretched arm, like playing cowboys and indians from a more innocent time. It's dark, he is far away but he keeps making 3 shot pantomimes and I thinking, holy shit, this guy did it, there he is, there are the cops, one big cancerous game. This is so fucked up. Thank you War on Drugs, smashing job. Thank you gun manufactures, your products fill our every need, thank you justice system for opening a new prison every 15 days, thank you CIA for jump starting the crack epidemic, thank you drug dealers who embrace death, thank you dead guy for leaving your family with wonderful memories. Thanks for the lessening.
I get to clean up the crime tape...