Ryanindaswamp / Man In Da Street

Friday, June 13, 2014

Ryanindaswamp / Man In Da Street

Cluster Fuck Friday

Yeah.
Some Dayz Just B Like Dat.
 



If all this wasn't bad enough.

Jesus' office sayz he's on vacation.
Somewhere in Miami.
They haven't a clue.
Four Seasons. 
The Ritz. 
They ain't sayin.
They all Mums. 
  
As the Toxic Slime Rat Fowler Is So Far The Fuck Up My Anal Cavity Constipation Would Be A Monumental Upgrade.

Yeah.
Lucky Fuckin Me.

As bad as all this looks I can fairly state that my self absorbed insanity doesn't even come close to what my Beautiful Brothers and Sisters in The Ukraine are experiencing.

God Bless You Ukraine Street Fighters.
I Love Ya All
я тебе кохаю, я тебе люблю
(Hope I Got That Right).

Da Swamp Prayin 

24/7 365 of Da Wire For Ya All.
 
Thank Ya All So Very Much For Your Gracious Presence Here In The Swamp. 
 
Day In. 

Day Out.
 
Ya All The Beautiful Best.

What has me stumped in this Eastern Block Avalanche of readers venturing into Da swamp. 

Is that in a close second place to The Ukraine, Russia maintains an almost neck to neck in the visitors world wide who daily make their trek into Da Swamp.

My young Russian Friend here in the mountains tells me that in Russia Folks can actually be smoked for reading this insane diatribe.

God Bless ya All.

Yo.


Vladdy.


Knock It The Fuck Off With Your Oppression. 
 
Take That Red KGB Boot Off Da Peeps Throats.
People Are Tired Of Your Bare Chested Russian Renegade Self Urinating On Their Daily Parade.

That said.

Seemingly You Are Da Baddest Mother On Da Planet.
Word In Da Street Is That Barry Obama Turns Your Borscht To Vomit.

One Thang For Sure.

Russian Girlz.

Ya All Some Damn Ass Beautiful Creatures.
I Know One Old man Fo Sure Put A Smile On Your Beautiful Face. 
Ya All Want To Bring It To America.
Just look This Old Man Up.
Plenty Of High Octane Left In Dis Tank. 



Can't We All Just Get Along?

My major beef as it were lies right here in the good Ol U.S.A.
Oh before I forget.

Back to that common thread that runz through People around the globe.

Fuck You Government.

All Governments.

We The People.
 
Of The World.
Got Ya All Out Numbered.
 
Like Grace Say
 
Gotta Revolution
 

1. 
   

   

    

   Jefferson Airplane Volunteers

    

   

   
   Yeah

   For Sure 

   Gotta Revolution

    

   It's Time.

   Damn Ass Time.
   
   World Fuckin Wide We Are Stomach Turning Sick and Tired of Ya All.
   
   We More Than Willing To Take It To Da Street.
   Die If Neccesary.
   
   Cauze History Showz.
    

We Alwayz Come Out On Da Top.
 
Bloated

Constipated

Government

Bitches

Ya All Can't Keep Up.

The Fact Iz 
The Majority Of You Candy Ass Bitches Alwayz Come Over To The Peoples Side.

Ya All Just Ain't Got Da Ballz To Hang.
Bring It To Da Streetz Bitches.

7  Shotz Couldn't Drop Me.  

I'm Bringin Drama.

Fuck You And Your MuthuFuckin Mammas.

Nigga. 
I Hit em Up. 


  All You American Einsteins With Bumper Stickers Screamin

 
                                I'm Ready For Hill



 Get The Fuck Outta My Country

 Commie Bill and Hill Faggots.

Ya All the same Peeps that threw eggs and tomatoes on my dress blues when I completed my first tour in S.E. Asia and disembarked a Pan Am Flight in San Fransisco International Airport.

The Above Violent Bitches Are Who Is In Control Of America Today

Yo

"PREZ"

Hop On A Pan Am Flight

Take All Your Commie Anti American Terrorists

Cocaine Smokin Faggots 

Get The Fuck Outta My Country

NOW

TODAY

 

 

 NSA

Me and My 571 Niggas

We Fucked Your Wifes

And

Your Hoe Mammas

ANARCHY   /   ITS TIME

 RYAN. OUT. 

On The Edge Of Civil War In Ukraine

In the eastern city of Donetsk, friends and neighbors have transformed into enemies, and people on both sides of the conflict worry that there’s no way out from a slide to civil war. posted on June 11, 2014, at 8:38 p.m.

Mike Giglio BuzzFeed Staff

Ukrainian police try to stop a pro-Russian protester from attacking a pro-Ukrainian rally in Donetsk. Baz Ratner / Reuters

DONETSK, Ukraine — Wearing a black shirt and white clerical collar, the pastor walked into the occupied government building that serves as rebel headquarters in this eastern Ukrainian city. Serhiy Kosyak had come to plead for leniency: Rebels threatened to kill anyone who visited the small prayer vigils he held for Ukrainian unity, the city’s last open resistance to the separatist republic rebels had declared. As he waited for an audience, he saw an old friend among the gunmen milling around. Kosyak asked how he was doing. The man’s eyes stared back at him with hate.

There’s a moment on the slide to civil war where friends and neighbors become hard to recognize. The man screamed that Kosyak was a traitor and spy, an outburst sure to doom him amid the fevered atmosphere in the building, where suspicions ran high. Kosyak, 38, had seen the same anger in the passersby who sometimes accosted his pro-Ukraine prayer tent. And he saw it now in the rebels who tied him to a chair in the building and beat him as he prayed. He thought there was evil in it — real evil, because he believed in such things. He thought Satan grabbed hold of people with the ideas pouring into Donetsk on the Russian airwaves: that Russian-speakers there were in danger and needed to rise against Ukraine’s government. When the beatings finally stopped, and he was cleared for release, he stayed in his chair for a minute to bless his assailants: God, enter their lives and open their eyes.

Kosyak was still bruised a deep purple under his dress shirt when he opened his sidewalk service more than a week later, on the last day of May. The interfaith vigils once drew hundreds, but attendance was fading as worried supporters fled. Thirty people stood at the edge of a busy bridge beneath an intermittent rain. The sermons were about Sodom: a biblical city so overrun with evil that God decided it couldn’t be saved. In Genesis 19, angels send away a man named Lot, Sodom’s last good soul. Then the Lord levels it from the skies. “God didn’t destroy Sodom until Lot left,” said a pastor named Pavel Zaystev, 46. “As long as we’re here, there’s still hope.”

But he worried privately that Donetsk was beyond redemption. “You don’t think even some miracle could change them,” he said of the rebels. “That’s why I think of Sodom: God destroyed them because he could not change them.”

Ukraine’s corrupt president, Viktor Yanukovych, a native of the Donetsk region and Russian ally, was ousted by a popular uprising in Kiev on Feb. 22. The conflict came to Russian-speaking Donetsk, where about half of the 1 million residents are ethnically Russian, soon afterward, initially with small demonstrations. Protesters worried that the new government would punish Russian-speakers — fears fueled by Kremlin propaganda. They believed that their language would be banned and that fascists from Kiev were coming to hurt them. At first, the so-called fascists they had in mind were members of the Right Sector, a fringe ultra-nationalist group that had played an outsized role on the front lines of the protests in Kiev, but soon the label included the new government and its supporters, who had largely ignored their concerns. Then the protesters were storming government buildings as Russia warned that it would intervene, if needed, to protect its “compatriots.” They called for a referendum on secession, like the one that saw Russia annex Crimea in March, and they took up arms. Polls showed that most Donetsk residents wanted to remain in Ukraine, but outspoken opponents of the separatists began fleeing the city amid abductions and death threats. Some who remained deleted their Facebook pages, wondering who among their friends might be tracking their loyalties. “Fear is like a virus,” one said.
But there was still hope for peace in Donetsk, the political nexus for eastern Ukraine’s separatists and an important economic hub, even as fighting flared elsewhere. Throughout the spring, some residents had looked ahead to two events that might swing things back toward normalcy: Ukraine holding fresh presidential elections and Russia recalling the troops massed along the border nearby. Both came to pass, but they did nothing to stop the conflict from surging ahead. Each side had already come to see the battle as one between irreconcilable ideas — with an enemy that had to be eradicated. The fabric that let two groups of people with their own histories coexist in post-Soviet Ukraine had been ripped away. “This city needs to be cleansed,” warned a Catholic priest at the unity vigil, and on another evening, inside an expanding, makeshift armory, a rebel in a flannel shirt said, “There is some dirt here now, and we have to clean it from our land.”

Pastor Serhiy Kosyak. Photograph by Evgeniy Maloletka for BuzzFeed

On the afternoon before the vigil, a rebel commander from Russia sat before a bottle of bourbon at a faded desk and outlined his mission, which he said served God.

He was in a bright office at the end of an unlit hall, inside a compound that used to house the Ukrainian security service. He had a welcoming smile and tattoos that ran down his arms and peeked out from his crew neck. He was a leader in a group called the Russian Orthodox Army, and he went by the nickname Veren, or “the faithful.”

“First of all it’s purification of the land — purification from fascists,” Veren said. He described an awakening of Russian identity centered on Donetsk, where it was under threat, and he seemed to be an incarnation of the ideology the pastor had seen on the Russian airwaves, personally spreading it by hand.

Just a few weeks earlier, he had been overseeing what seemed like a small outlaw empire from the fifth floor of the rebel headquarters, the former government building, where masked men roamed the halls and speakers blared Soviet anthems from behind sprawling barricades. As separatist politicians scurried about overhead one day, Veren said he concerned himself with “special operations” — kidnappings and interrogations. Armed men kept handing him keys to cars they’d taken from their enemies. He has since been expanding his power, trading his spot in the crowded building for the more exclusive digs of the security compound, where men with assault rifles blocked the approaches and access was controlled with an intensity that felt paranoid. The Russian Orthodox Army’s seal of a Christendom-evoking sword and shield was stenciled onto each concrete block of one outer wall. On the wall across the street, another set of rebels, the highly professional Vostok battalion, had done the same, marking turf of their own.

In the new office, a Russian flag with the army’s logo hung from a bookshelf, and portraits of a fierce-looking Jesus were taped to the walls. Stickers and insignia patches sat on the desk. The first edition of the army’s newsletter had just arrived, and beneath its banner were recruitment phone numbers. It also had a website. Veren saw untapped potential in the Donetsk region’s 5 million people — and maybe across the Russian-speaking world. “People support us, but they’re afraid to take the first step,” he said. “I’m interested in any kind of promotion that gets the flow of people going.”

They had even released a promotional rap video featuring gunmen packed into the same office. It got 200,000 YouTube views in less than a week. Veren bounced his head and lip-synched the lyrics as he twisted a computer monitor around:

Till last fighter, till the victorious, glorious end
On the battlefield. Russian Orthodox!
Who if not us? When if not now?
Mom, I’m sorry. Nobody but us.

Like many of the Russian nationals operating in Donetsk, Veren was something of an enigma: The dark tasks he said he employed didn’t match his amiable demeanor. He had no military experience, he said; he’d once owned a fast food chain, where he picked up his knack for marketing. He was a 34-year-old from Sochi, but his wife was from Donetsk. Rumors of covert Russian soldiers and spies — and financial and military aid — had swirled around the conflict, but Veren said he had no contact with the Russian government. He said he got his start in the separatist movement by attending the protests that erupted in March.

If he was a demon to the pastors at the prayer vigil, he was also a protector of local separatists, who believed they were largely on their own against the Ukrainian army and what they saw as its fascist allies. They worried that if enough civilians left the city, the government might bomb it.

A recruit walked into Veren’s office. Overweight and nervous-looking in a button-down shirt, the young professional, 28, wasn’t built for war. But he wanted to help — he and Veren discussed whether he might do some managerial work, maybe go on neighborhood patrols. “Because I’m a conscious person,” he said when asked why he wanted to join. “And when bad things come to your house, a conscious person can’t ignore them.”

With much of the whiskey, brought to the meeting as a gift, now gone, Veren described a more ambitious quality to the conflict at hand. “The Russian person should remain Russian in any nationality and any land,” he said. The rebels gathered with him in the room — some locals and others Russian — likewise spoke about their battle as if it were about more than Donetsk. One man called it a “historical conflict,” another “a conflict of mentalities.” A likeness of St. George the dragon-slayer graced the army’s flag because Russians throughout history had fought under his banner. Veren said he had started groups in nearby hotspots like Mariupol and Slavyansk — and also had his eye on Kiev, Serbia, Georgia.
But first he was building his franchise in Donetsk. Someone put the keys to an Audi on his desk. The car’s registration showed that it belonged to the company of Serhiy Taruta, the billionaire steel magnate and regional governor. Taruta had fled to Kiev recently because of death threats. Veren went down to the compound’s parking garage, empty except for a couple rows of commandeered vehicles, neatly parked. A man waiting there appeared to be working as valet.
Veren got into the Audi’s driver’s seat. “This is a good car. I’ll trade it for 20 AK-47s,” he said. It was just past sunset, and the compound was quiet as guards opened the gate so Veren could ease the car from the sealed-off rebel zone. Then he jammed the gas and sped through the city’s quiet streets.

Later, as Veren and his comrades settled into a long dinner in a way that felt suddenly normal for a Friday night — they were the big, boisterous group at the restaurant carrying on happily as fellow diners tried not to mind — Fyodor, the intense young Russian who had designed the Army’s flag, gave a lesson on history. Russians made their great advances, he said, in huge, sudden leaps. The pace seems slow; the momentum builds. Then comes the exhilarating wave. “We must only run,” Fyodor said, seeming not to care where this moment would take him. “The end — it is nothing. Run to progress. Run to more.”

Rebel commander Veren. Photograph by Evgeniy Maloletka for BuzzFeed

With darkness falling on a recent Sunday, a rebel in his fifties named Oleg wheeled a compact sedan through the city, his big frame packed into the driver’s seat. A veteran of the feared Berkut riot police, he still carried a natural authority, with his shaved head and intense blue eyes. He was headed to the airport, where a battle on May 26 had shocked the city with its violence. A mechanic who lived nearby would later remember seeing dead civilians along the roadside as he sped home to get his dog; a soldier at the airport recalled getting orders to hold fire as rebels massed outside, then watching in awe when fighter jets arrived. The bloodshed, with at least 50 rebels killed, showed that war was closing on Donetsk, and some rebels embraced it. Others, like Oleg, seemed deeply shaken. Asked if he’d been at the airport that day, he paused, looked down, and said, “Yes.”

Donetsk — a relatively affluent city with riverside parks and a sparkling soccer stadium — seemed to proceed with normal life as Oleg drove past glass-walled office buildings. “It looks like there is no war. Everything is quiet — peaceful,” he said. “And we will see how that will change now.”

He pulled up to the last rebel checkpoint before the road to the airport became a no-man’s-land. Shirtless men in dusty jeans worked feverishly in the fading sunlight, digging and stacking sandbags, with an eye to the approaching night. Then the sedan passed into the silence of the edge of war; the Ukrainian army was hidden in the distance somewhere. Oleg stopped the car in front of a flatbed truck. Bullet holes pocked the windshield; shoes and clothing scraps were scattered around. The back was caked in blood. Some 30 rebels had died there, Oleg said, when the truck was ambushed en route to the airport by a Ukrainian RPG team. The only sound on the deserted highway came from a billboard flapping in the wind overhead. “This cannot go without punishment,” Oleg said.

A silver van pulled up suddenly, and a man in a black cap pointed a submachine gun from the driver’s side window. “Who are you?” he shouted. A young couple, holding hands, approached on the sidewalk about 100 yards away, taking slow and deliberate steps toward an apartment building set back in the trees. Bursts of gunfire echoed nearby. Then the sedan was back onto Donetsk’s busy streets. “And now there is no war. So it’s a feature of civil war,” Oleg said, meaning that sometimes people don’t recognize it until it’s right upon them. “Most people still don’t understand that this is war. But when there will be more victims and more death, they will stand up.”

Berkut rebel commander Yuriy Sivokonenko. Photograph by Evgeniy Maloletka for BuzzFeed

“You have to respond somehow to the killing,” said another man late that night. He called himself a scientist, and his name was Mikhail. To make a tally of the dead around the truck just after the attack, he had counted their heads, since the bodies were in pieces. Then he crept in his sandals through the woods, armed only with a folding knife. When he came upon a Ukrainian soldier, he said, he killed him with the 6-inch blade. Mikhail, 56, had served in Afghanistan, but it was different this time, killing his fellow Ukrainian. “Before it was an order,” he said. “Now it’s voluntary.”

He was sitting with friends inside a rebel-held building in the heart of the city, in a room where a small arsenal of guns leant against the walls. Half were old carabiners, half modern AK-74s — rebels were accumulating more weapons as they crawled deeper into the conflict. Mikhail put his folding knife on the table, and then produced the rifle of the soldier he said he had killed, with red stains along the shoulder strap. “It was covered in blood,” Mikhail said. “I washed it, and now it belongs to me.”

The Kiev government was stepping up what it had termed its “anti-terrorist operation,” and the men felt it pressing closer. They thought of it as retribution — “a punishment operation” — rained down from tanks and airplanes. The rebels in the room, all former Berkut, had created a battalion, hoping to act as police, but instead they were being drawn into the war. Their burly commander, a 57-year-old martial arts instructor named Yuriy Sivokonenko, worried for his family, and had tried to ensure that his two sons wouldn’t take up arms. His wife of 32 years, meanwhile, was breaking down, spending her days, he said, “crying and praying.”

Sivokonenko said he hoped for compromise as he served homemade cognac and jam that supporters had donated. But the possibility seemed to be shrinking; the conflict had reopened past wounds and the present had become polarized. He took a book from the armoire where he kept the cognac, describing it as a key to the truths he was fighting to defend — he had always held them, but now they felt threatened by those of his neighbors. It was a beautiful hardcover with grand illustrations, detailing a glorious history of the ethnic Russian people dating back to the 14th century. Shown the book the next morning, a local historian who supports the government would dismiss it as “fairy tales and myths.”




For Sure These Peep's Ain't Playin.

      
 
      

Ryanindaswamp / Man In Da Street

Saturday, February 22, 2014

Shout Out Saturday

My Mono Kita.
My Spanish Harlem Mona Lisa.

      
Tu belleza trasciende los Ángeles. Su presencia es más divino que la miel mandarina. Tu amor emite desde lejanas galaxias. Tu seguramente son un regalo de Dios.

Yeah. 

For sure. 

Some Daze Just Be Like Dat.

First and Most Important Shout Out To Tucson Police Department.

                                        

  

                           

A Long Time Friend Of Da Swamp.

Seemingly my Skinny Little Old Self Draws Controversy.

Some times in the form of real physical harm.

I'm Straight. 

Old Man Will Stand Tall.

But this latest of threats on my life would have taken me to a place long ago left behind.

A place that if necessary. 

I will respond and for sure someone is having a real bad day.

That said. 

Thankfully I have not been taken to that point of more blood on my hands. 

This latest life threat on me did take me there for a skinny minute.

Asshole figured out that I was not playin.

Asshole is as well a Sub-Creaton Maggot Junkie along with his missing teeth bloated obese ugly junkie wife.

After Ignorant Idiot did not move on I enlisted the help of Tucson Police.

I want to state that TPD is the finest collection of Men and Women I have met.

These Brave and Courageous Folk Stood Tall For This Old Man.

Thanks Guys. 

All The Way Down From My Friend Lieutenant to all The Brave and Courageous Patrol Officers who patrol these Wild, Wild, West Streets.

Ya All So Very Very Cool.

And Yes Lt. 

I do now keep the cursing down to a roar. 

Thank You Sir.

God Bless each and Every One Of You.

Now. On To The World.

Hmmm.

The Ukraine.

A None Of Ours if I have ever seen one.

Yet the Idiots scream Lets Get Em.

My experience over 60 plus years is that the ones who scream the loudest regarding sending Military Into Battle have never in their Candy Ass Lives ever Squeezed.

Yet these Maggots are the first to fire senseless yak regarding more war.

The real issue is that war instills damage on the Men and Women who are the direct lines leading to the field of battle.

While their lives are ripped lips over head exposing every feeling, emotion and grit ever known to Man in nano flashes of complete terror.

A Full Night Of Sleep Is More Elusive Than Chasing Jeanie Back Into The Bottle.

Then when it comes time.
 

COMBAT MILITARY VETERANS. 

JUST ABOUT  F.U.B.A.R. 

(Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition).

NEED THEIR COUNTRY TO BACK THEM UP REGARDING THE REST OF THEIR LIFE BENEFITS AFTER BLOOD GIVEN. 

SWORN. 

HONORABLE SERVICE.

Benefits Are Cut. 

Left To Right. 

Up To Down.

While Grease Butt Monkey Politicians and their worthless Over Paid Aids receive pay increase after pay increase after pay increase.

Politicians who STEAL DOLLAR after DOLLAR from constituents and the public.  

The Same Sub-Creaton Dirt Bags Dis America and The Press.

As in the incident with Congressman Michael Grimm.

His actions in his face off with a reporter is Reprehensible on every Deplorable level.
 

As A So Called Marine.
 

Bitch. 
 

Right To The Brigg.

You Sir, 
 

Are A Major Embarrassment To My Marine Corps.

See Asshole.

Marines Do Not Brandish Weapons.

Marines Do Not Threaten and Terrorize Citizens.

Marines Do Not Act The Bitch. 

Seemingly Your Favorite Pose.

You Puff Butt Bitch.
 

Grease Ass Monkey.

Shame On You Fox News For Excusing This Piece Of Shit.

This Man Gives Corruption A Bad Name.

Congressman Grim. 

You Half Breed Piece Of Crap.

Just Another Tiny Dick Blow Heart who feels that their position gives them the right to act like a piece of New York Sewer Waist.

Like Dis Bitch.

Bring Your Half Breed Ass Down Here To The Desert.

Get Up In My Grill. 

I Will Pimp Your Mammas Ass On Da South Side.
Bitch.

Fuck You. 

Half Breed Slant Face Bitch.
 

Hey Congressman Grimm.
 

Heard you a Down Low Zipper Dipper

www.crewsmostcorrupt.org/mostcorrupt/entry/michael-grimm‎

• Two-term member of Congress representing New York’s 11th district  
• Under investigation by the FBI, the House Ethics Committee, and possibly the Federal Election Commission for running an illegal fundraising ring during his 2010 campaign
• Previously named to CREW’s Most Corrupt in 2011 and 2012
• One of four members from New York named in CREW’s Most Corrupt

talkingpointsmemo.com/.../michael-grimm-outburs...‎‎

theweek.com/.../the-real-scandal-with-tough-guy-rep-...‎
 www.cityandstateny.com/grimms-service-record-courtesy-of-the-marine-

www.nydailynews.com/.../michaels-allegretti-and-...

mondoweiss.net/2014/01/threatens-reporter-rotunda.html‎
 www.silive.com/news/index.ssf/2014/01

/fbi_arrests_houston_friend.

news.yahoo.com/meet-michael-grimm-ex-fbi-congressman-break.

Decide for yourself America.
In my opinion this guy is a Major Piece Of Crap.

Only In New York.

Again The Republican Party are showing off their true attributes.
 

In Fighting.
 

Yo. 
Repubs.
 

Ya All Still Can't Find Your Ass' In The Mens Room Stall.

While The Young Gun Republicans Plod Forward. 

Solid Direction In Strength

Taking On Small Arms Fire 

Flack 

Mortars and Missiles 

From Their Own Corrupt Senior Go Along To Get Along Republican Brothers 

Senator Rand Paul.  
The Swamps Favorite Young Gun.

I want to take this opportunity to Thank Kentucky Senator Rand Paul for making it possible that I Do Not Become A Puddle Of Iridescent Gooh Waiting For The Number Ten Bus At Speedway and Main.

Because of your 13 Hour Filibuster Regarding UN-maned Drones Smoking American Citizens On American Soil. 
I Will Remain Somewhat Safe In My America.

 
 
According to Corrupt 
Lying 
Senator Harry Reid 
The Fillerbuster has long ago expired it's purpose.
 
So  Senator Reid
Fillerbuster Is Good.
 
Fillebuster Is Bad.
 
What is it Senator Reid.

Give America Hell Harry Tell Em What You Really Think  Lying Little Schiester Prick      

Flashback: 

Reid Calls Filibuster "Part Of The Fabric" Of The Senate In 2005

"The filibuster is not a scheme, and it certainly isn’t new," Sen. Harry Reid (D-NV) said on the Senate floor in 2005. "The filibuster is far from a procedural gimmick. It’s part of the fabric of this institution we call the Senate."
  
www.realclearpolitics.com/.../flashb.

So What Is It?
 
Harry Da Hoe.

Look America. 
Enough is enough regarding the division in this country.
 
Regardless of political feelings that for most Americans come from the polluted airwaves of television it is time for Americans to stand together.

My experience throughout life is that regardless of feelings there is good to glean from all sides regardless how minute that opinion might be in the entire scheme of things. 

At least some resemblance of a chance must be given to be united not divided.

It is politicians on both sides that divide this country.

How many young Black Men. 

Teenagers. 

Have to die at the end of a gun for listening to music.
 
For walking home in a strange neighborhood.
 
Cause for real America. 

This Old White Man would be squeezing off rounds on daily basis just for my existence and life In Da Hood.

Degree's and Military Officer Standings Aside. 
 
I was born In Da Hood.
Raised In Da Hood.
I Have Always Lived In Da Hood.
 
As Such I would Be Squeezing My Gat On A Minute To Minute Basis.

That Is Far From The Realty That Is My Life.
For Me People Are People.
 
Good People.
 
Bad People.
 
Skin Color. 
 
How One's Eyes Are Set In Their Heads. 
 
What Ever Origin Their Accents Originate From.
 
We Americans.
Shoulder To Shoulder.
Boot To Boot.
 
The Enemy Is At The Gate.
 
We Got Some Enemy Ass To Kick.
Let's Get Some.

Wake The Fuck Up America.

Semper Fi.
        
Ryan. Out.


 






 

 

 

Roy Haynes Quartet featuring Roland Kirk - Fly Me to the Moon

Roy Haynes Quartet featuring Roland Kirk - Fly Me to the Moon (In Other Words) (1962) Personnel: Roland Kirk (tenor sax, ...

In This Rendition Of Fly Me To The Moon Rolland Kirk Has 7 Saxophones Strapped Around His Neck

 
I Actually Saw Mr. Kirk Perform This Exact Rendition Of Fly Me To The Moon At A

Sunday Morning Jazz Brunch Performance That Was Taking Place At This Little Club.

A Very Nice Man Sat Me In A Stool Up Front In Front Of The Stage.

Brought Me Ginger Ale's With Ton O Cherries All Morning Into The Afternoon.

I Listened to Rolland Kirk That Sunday Along With Other Jazz Artists.

Gene 'Jug' Ammons.

Sunny Stit.

Miles Davis.

That Sunday Morning.

I Just wandered In This Place.

I Was 14 Years Old.