Man, I loved Paris but it was not really my cup 'o tea.

When we FINALLY got to Durban, South Africa I was ready to kiss the ground. We were beat.

The next day we slept in. But as soon as we were out and about; Uncle Dink and I took a good look around with Tinus and worked up a game plan to transform about 700 or so 1 1/2 X 6's into 90 new beds for the new orphanage. Dink and I pretty much got to work immediately. We'd work from sun-up to sun-down; till about 8 or 10 p.m. Every night. I even finished up a last few boards while everyone loaded the vans on our way out & back home. So, we worked from start to finish.

Aside from that; I helped Pete alot. He's one of Tinus' (the pastor over Missions Ablaze) right hand missionaries. Pete and I hit it off; we've got similar pasts and very zealous personalities. He's been there at the mission going on 8 years now. So; he's building a house. After he hurt his back, Andy and I packed the foundation. Later, a bunch of us poured concrete and troughed it out nice and smooth. We knocked all of that out Sunday; our day of rest :)

We all took turns going on the food route. We hit 3 major hot-spots were the homeless concentrate to recieve some free bread and soup. They bring 2 liter bottles; we cut 'em in half for them to eat out of. Because I wanted to do it all: I was the knife man (cut the bottles); bread man; soup man; blessed the food; and got to just mingle with the homless. I'll never forget Leon---his story I must blog seperately. The girls did really good for their first time; they were a little timid at first but held themselves together. On the way back to the station though, it really hit 'em hard. Even though I've done things like this in the states a bunch of times; this was and awesome expreience for me as well.

We FINALLY got to spend some time with the orphans one day (sorry; I'll have to throw up some more pix later). I drove down to the old orphanage and picked 'em up. After we all unloaded at the new orphanage, me and some of the kids introduced ourselves: stood in a line in front of them and said our names. When it was my turn I burst out: "I AM LANCE THE CONQUOROR!"---yeah, got their attention real quick. some of them leaned back and said "Ooooh!" ....my name was the only one they could remember for some reason..... Tinus and Dink got a bunk complete and we got some of the orphans to get on 'em and test 'em out. The top bunk fell on a kid below it----NO I'm just kidd'n!!! HA! man that would've been akward! But seriously though: the smiles on thos kids faces.....made it worth every speck of saw dust that got in my eyes.

Man, there was SO much more....but at them moment my eye lids are start'n to get heavy.

When I rob the really good pics from Andy I'll throw 'em up here on the Buzz and maybe (just maybe) I'll spell check this blog. ...well, I doubt it (spell checking this blog that is).

Peace out gangstaz! I'm go'n to bed!

I've got a couple of friends that but me about being so secretive about my poetry. I love writing poetry. And for now, I feel better that I am the only one who's read most of my poems---I could explain it better I'm sure but, in a nutshell, I guess I'm just strange like that.

Oh yeah, about those friends of mine....they hate clowns.....so, I wrote them a little someth'n.

WHEN THE CLOWNS CAME TO TOWN.

I liked it when the clowns came to town.

They ran all the old folk away.

All us kids got to play and play!

Climb in the trees!

Do as we please!

It mattered not.

When the clowns came to town,

life got better.

They ran the old folk away and assured us that they were here to stay.

Here to stay on the playgrounds and in our houses.

Here to stay in our kitchens and cafeterias.

Here to stay in our closets and under our beds.

I had always going to Uncle Ron's when I was a kid [You can check out a little more about him in one of my older blogs: "Long Shadow"]. He lived in and old farm house that he grew up in as a kid. Most of the property had grown back to the typical southeast Georgia landscape. He was the first African American to attend Reidsville High; the KKK decided to burn most of what they had out there: the barn was completely gone and the fence for the cattle taken up after selling of the remaining cattle. The house sustained some damage but was preserved and restored by the family over time.

I used to run through the house a peek through the old skeleton keyholes like I had seen actors do in movies. His was a world away from the projects. I could go outside and do what 3 or 4 year olds like to do, like, throw rocks. I could pick up a stick or fallen tree limb; pretend to be Lion-O and beat the shit out of tree trunks or palmetto bushes. It was the type of place that shrank in size as you got older, but the more time you spent there you'd just keep discovering things you didn't see there before.

Not only was that the case with the property, it was especially true with my Uncle Ron himself. Over time I learned more and more from him. We shared a since of humor than no one else seemed to tap into with me. And I used to love to listen to his stories. He was wise and had a kind and sound answer for every problem I ever presented. Philosophically and spiritually he had the greatest influence in my life (seconded only by the Bible). He claimed to be Muslim (and practiced as such...somewhat), but for the most part was very mystical and believed in witchcraft/voodoo (he's Jamaican).

But he was not ignorant of Christianity by any means. He held very impressive Bible knowledge (and some of the apocrypha and other pseudopigraphical texts; especially some of the Jewish Apocrypha) and always said that the Song of Solomon was his favorite book. I found all that out when I was 18. I had just found out that he was falling ill to Aids and was spending as much time with him as possible. I was sure that I would be the one to find him dead. This caused me to hold my breath during my last visit with him.

I had a heavy feeling as I walked up to the door of the house. It was very quiet even after I knocked. I let my self in after no response and stood at his bedroom door. He was rolled up in bed sheets and a quilt; even then, all bundled up he looked small. Finally he breathed and stretched. He rolled over and noticed me: "Oh, hey Nephew! A Salam A Lakim!"

"A Salam A Lakim Uncle Ron. I brought you some milk." I put the milk in the fridge and returned to catch up with him. He spoke of a new spirit that had been visiting him to keep him company. During the conversation I asked him what the little piles of grey dust were on the floor (ash, I suspected from magic or some spell). Turned out thought that it was his skin. And his once-upon-a-time-very-healthy dreadlocks were starting to break as well. I stayed with him all evening and gave him a one of my drawings.

Life picked up as graduation was drawing near and I didn't go see him again. I had already lost my father, I was uncertain as to how I was going to take losing my Uncle as well. He fell very ill right before graduation: thus I didn't send him an invitation. I hopped that he wouldn't realize the exact date and not feel bad for not being able to attend.

On the night of my graduation he stayed in my mind though, and I wandered if I had made the right decision about sending him an invitation. After the ceremony my older sister found me in the crowd on the football field and informed me that Uncle Ron had made it. She saw him from the bleachers, "He had two men helping him walk; he had his cane and was wearing a white turban. He had the men stand him at the fence; he stayed there until it came your turn to walk across stage."

"He already left then?"

"Yeah, he left as soon as you made it across stage and came back down."

I didn't see him again until his funeral several months later. I was a pallbearer: stood by his right side at his head and carried him to his grave with my right hand.

I was walking through "the fucking-shitty place" (...that's what I call Walmart). I was in a bad mood: I had JUST got off of a crazy day at work; my whole body was aching. I hate shopping, but I had to stop by for some more work clothes & couple other items & talked myself into do'n it while I was in town.

While there I ran into a couple of young guys (brothers: Wendall [the elder-18...who's a str8 up gangsta on the g'tar {...that's southern for "guitar"}] and Westley [the younger--16]. I know them from church; they're some of my favorite homies. I hadn't seen them in a while so took a minute to catch up with them. They asked me what I was up to/shopping for so I rolled my eyes and briefed through my mental shopping list--the last item mentioned being "the perfect cactus".

Wendall laughed---he's just used to my randomness. Westley just kinda looked at me and said: "...wha?...Why?"

"Oh Wesley," I reply, "perhaps, one day, when you're older and have had your heart broken.....no dude I mean, really broken. I'm not talk'n about a bad break up: I'm talk'n about that one....I can't explain it but you'll know what I mean. You might think you know now but trust me....you'll look back to this conversation several years from now and think now I know what the fuck Lance was talking about."

So, from that point I had pretty much obligated myself into divulging all of the juicy details. I went on and told them about Gracie: my ex girlfriend, but not just an ex...she's "that" ex girlfriend.

I don't know---I'm not even gonna get into what all happened and to be honest I'm still not sure & can't really explain what the fuck happened. She was awesome! Just an awesome girl, but we didn't work out. We mixed like oil and water--even though we really loved each other.

During the duration of our relationship, I set out on the quest to find the perfect cactus. I didn't tell her, but she noticed that I'd search through any and every gardening place we were ever around. Finally she asked, "...what are you looking for? A flower or something." I told her (but was reluctant because it just felt silly to admit for some reason).

About a week later she surprised me with a cactus that---well, it looked exactly like the one I was looking for! I secretly go attached to it. Never really named it but often called it "the boy" or "junior". Unfortunately, she was cactus-sitting it for me when we broke up. ....the break up was so horrible that I wouldn't dare speak to her...ever again....well, maybe one day but it won't be anytime soon.

Every since then ( for about 5 years) I've secretly continued my search for the perfect cactus. And, FINALLY found that one a couple weeks ago at a Home Depot in Brunswick GA.

His/it's name is Oscar and keeps me company on the road and here at the Hotel while I'm out here in Montezuma Ga, for work.

On the day of his release from prison, I met up with Raven at a church service back in our small home town.

We had time to catch up and Raven told me of some his time in incarceration.

His father (whom he has never met or known, and is in prison for life) found out that Raven was in prison and found out where he was being held. Eventually Raven received a letter from him saying that if Raven was ever transferred to the prison that he was in, he'd kill him.

That letter sent him into deep though and the other inmates noticed that he was not being himself. An older gentleman in particular noticed his solom mood and after conversing with him, it seems that the old man was a native of our home town and was once good friends with Raven's father. From that time on the man looked out for Raven.

When one is released from prison, he/she may not be informed until the day thereof: which was Raven's case. After spending the night in solitary confinement he was instructed to gather what few belongings he had and follow the guards out, but be careful not to inform anyone of his departure least a riot ensue.

On his way out of the door he made brief eye contact the the older man, who called his attention by grabbing Raven's pant leg.

"Raven Brown! You go'n home!?"

"Nah man, I'll be back. They just movin me to another cell."

"C'mon man, please don't lie to me, please don't lie to me just tell me the truth. You 'bout to leave."

"Nah, I promise man I'm uh be back man for real."

With those words the teary eyed man released Raven's pant leg. As the iron door slowly closed behind him the man spoke out one last time: "...if ya see ya dad; if he ever gets out tell him I said 'hey' will ya?".

And with that the door finished closing, and it was Raven's last day in prison.