Almost there!

Accidentally included some random people in this photo.

Accidentally included some random people in this photo.

In Anchorage @ 12:45 am. Still fairly light outside.

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An itinerant life resumes – Heading up North (Kodiak, Alaska)

Photo by Sikumi

Photo by Sikumi

I bid you all adieu. A brief adieu as I will be heading up to Alaska this Monday, in search of revelation, release and restoration. Oh, and some mutha truckin money! Haha

But really, I am eagerly awaiting a plentiful season, few humpies and lots of reds. God willing the return will be nice as well.

If anyone needs to get a hold of me, I can be reached at this address:

C/o Virginia Adams
Attn: Ade` Craig
Box 8905
Kodiak, AK 99615
My cell phone will be off and so email or my mothers phone @ 6027624206 would be a great way to connect.
Happy days to everyone. Be well and live life to serve others. Until next time.

The brevity and significance of all our lives

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“It’s no secret to those knowledgeable about addiction and recovery that people are most vulnerable to relapse when they are closest to achieving sobriety.” – Rita Lowenthal

One – Way Ticket is one of those books you don’t dare pass on. Simply because it’s too precious. It’s a book that reminds us amongst other things, that no matter how much pain or grief we cause to our mothers in particular, we will never lose sight in her eyes.

Rita Lowenthal, presumably in her 80’s at the time of this post, was and still is the mother of Josh Lowenthal, a talented Jewish musician and artist whose inability to conquer his addiction, allowed a disease to infiltrate and ultimately take his life. Ms. Lowenthal chooses words that invite you into her sons former world, causing the reader to feel as if they knew Josh intimately. Meet and greets with famous jazz legends, relationships with loving women who chose not to run during Josh’s bouts in county jail and then worse, his numerous bids in the oldest prison in California, San Quentin.

Like the serenity prayer, Rita so gracefully portrays through words, detailing her arduous fight to save her son’s life, that sometime we have to accept the things in which are beyond our control.

Although my struggles aren’t with drugs, I have many.

I search for books in a very fortuitous manner. In the search bar I type in the genre and vaguely sift through the titles that seem interesting. If available I’ll read the brief summary attached. However, I am beginning to believe that the way in which these books find their rightful place on my desk is less fortuitous and more good fortune. At times they cause deep bouts of depression, but praise God, I am always stronger for having read them.

 

RIP –  JOSH LOWENTHAL

 

 

A classic tale of survival and coming out renewed on the other side.

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There comes a moment when one faces the fresh features of an inner face; a time of conscious rebirth, when the accounting’s done, the weave in its final flourish, a time when a man stands before the world – vulnerable, nothing owed – and considers his place in it. I had reached such a moment.

Luis J. Rodriguez

Always Running’ is a book, better yet, a ‘piece’ that makes a person pause and search inside oneself. A book that points our gaze out through a window, towards the still morning sky, recollecting on and digesting sentences so artfully and delicately constructed. Words portraying lives many of us hope to avoid, carefully chosen words many writers hope to master.

A designer and writer are essentially one in the same. A designer creates pleasure visually whereas a writer uses words to create pleasurable imagery. Rodriguez is a writer whose paragraphs are devoid of either fat or wasted space, a writer whose experiences breathed life into every situation. At times I felt as if I were the protagonist, figuring out how to survive my adolescence.

I think I’ll write Mr. Rodriguez a letter. In it I will thank him for escaping death, for had it been inescapable, it’s a fair argument that countless souls would still be running.

Always Running

You may be asking yourself why is Ade` reading so many books regarding gangs, thugs and street life; that’s because I found my new calling. Psyche. Let it be known that I couldn’t survive a day on the means street of any metropolitan city.

However, what I am trying to do is accumulate as much knowledge as possible about the ‘ins and outs’ of gangs. How they operate? Why they exist? What factors make a person turn to gang life? Is it possible to ever escape and return to a “normal” life?

My current script/screenplay that I am having a beast of a time structuring and outlining is titled, “TO MISS THE MARK”. So these books are simply critical as they have and will hopefully continue to answer many of the questions that have already materialized while plotting this story, as well as the ones forthcoming.

So here is a current book that I am reading called, ‘Always Running’ La Vida Loca: Gang days in L.A. Luis J Rodriguez has an ability to wistfully hurl you into the street life, fortunately bypassing any and every brutal initiation. Great read so far, kudos to the writer.

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What a book! Check it out if you get the opportunity!

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This was the best image I could find on the internet without having to take a picture of the actual book. A thousand apologies for the pixelation.

But although the image is subpar, the content inside is out of this world. Rayford L. Johnson sheds light on so many aspects of ‘thug’ mentality. He teaches us the true origin of the word ‘thug’ which actually emanated out of Bombay, India. Johnson states that the word is about 700 years old and that a peculiar group of Hindus worshipped the goddess Kali, the dark consort of Shiva who is said to feed on the blood of mortals and haunt the burning-grounds where Hindus are cremated.Typically. Shiva was represented as a black woman (one of her epithets, Kali Ma, means “black mother”), numerous arms, and garlanded with human skulls and a long red tongue protruding from a screaming mouth. Human sacrifices were once carried out in temples paying homage to Kali. Kali worshipers from the 13th century practiced ritual murder and robbing of native travelers through the countryside. These worshipers were from a tribe called, Thuggee.

1421

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I wanted to share an excerpt from the book 1421 The Year China Discovered America.

In it it says, ” Sixteen concubines were buried alive with Zhu Di. The complex was sealed as the cries of the doomed women marked the end of the mortal life of one of the greatest visionaries and gamblers in history.”

Loved how the author, Mr. Menzies, used descriptive words to paint a picture of those ill-fated girls being buried alive.

Interesting?

Who would have imagined a tradition practiced for centuries would ignite a catastrophic event known as the Spill Over, fortuitously originating from an infinitesimal mishap, occurring over a century ago?

The story begins with an African man ripping open the chest cavity of a slaughtered chimpanzee and accidentally cutting his finger in the process.

Several lifetimes would then come to pass when an American man, scarred by past tragedies, is offered a financial opportunity to venture to Uganda for volunteer work and to reconcile with his own loss.

However, it is in Uganda that we reconnect with the mishap and learn about a moment with immeasurable ramifications that reverberated throughout Uganda, and propelled a family into a bitter fight to overcome a depraved curse or precursor to HIV/AIDS.

I Sigh As There Are No More Pages Left To Read

I have said it before, but I’ll say it again. There is a subtle, brief period of sorrow after fully completing a book. In my opinion, reading a book takes a level of commitment to the material within. Just like men and woman risks their hearts in new relationship endeavors, you risk your time and emotions in chancing a new book. The odds of finding a good ‘read’ or ‘partner’ aren’t always in our favor.

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Gang Leader For A Day

by Sudhir Venkatesh

A risk well taken. Great read.

 

 

Box office hits.

Designed by Ade`

Designed by Ade`

 

If ‘entanglement, incomprehensiveness, tragedy and misfortune ’ were all movies, then the theaters would be filled with box office hits.

So let’s begin with the February 8th movie, called The Crimean Crisis, which looked poised to continue it’s reign as the number one most talked about dilemma, until the Mysterious Disappearance hit theaters on March 8th. A movie about the bewildering plight of a Malaysian airliner which vanished off of the radar somewhere between the Gulf of Thailand and the South China Sea. For approximately five weeks tickets were sold out, as the film highlighted laborious searches at sea, taking place both day and night. The film did a marvelous job of capturing the emotions back on land, where family members cried out and pleaded for explanations.

Soon after, Sewol, a film about the unclear sinking of a South Korean ferry with hundreds of students stuck inside was released. Whenever innocent children are involved, emotions become an easy target, as was with the film, which captured audiences all around the world. Strangely, a Nigerian film, also involving children was released only a day after Sewol, called Bring Back Our Girls, however, this film received only a smattering of attention compared to Sewol.

It doesn’t take a monocle for us to see that current conditions in most parts of the world are tumultuous, which is why I love this Chinese Proverb title; Maybe So, Maybe Not. We’ll see.

 A farmer and his son had a beloved stallion who helped the family earn a living. One day, the horse ran away and their neighbors exclaimed, “Your horse ran away, what terrible luck!” The farmer replied, “Maybe so, maybe not. We’ll see.”

A few days later, the horse returned home, leading a few wild mares back to the farm as well. The neighbors shouted out, “Your horse has returned, and brought several horses home with him. What great luck!” The farmer replied, “Maybe so, maybe not. We’ll see.”

Later that week, the farmer’s son was trying to break one of the mares and she threw him to the ground, breaking his leg. The villagers cried, “Your son broke his leg, what terrible luck!” The farmer replied, “Maybe so, maybe not. We’ll see.”

A few weeks later, soldiers from the national army marched through town, recruiting all the able-bodied boys for the army. They did not take the farmer’s son, still recovering from his injury. Friends shouted, “Your boy is spared, what tremendous luck!” To which the farmer replied, “Maybe so, maybe not. We’ll see.”

 The moral of this story, is, of course, that no event, in and of itself, can truly be judged as good or bad, lucky or unlucky, fortunate or unfortunate, but that only time will tell the whole story.