You can go today to the transcendia.wikidot.com and find therein a copy of the originally written
Transcendia passport. If you want you can print it out and put it together and try and use it
to get around. You can use it as a second to give away first in a hostage situation.
If you call my number there and ask for some kind of help for something or another, it is unlikely
that I will do much for you.
I’m poor and old and lately broken.
You will be better off with Triple A, which is a terrific organization for the money. If you are
flying some particular airline they have an interest in helping you out. Pan Am was apparently like
a little country. They had made arrangements all over the world to have port bases for the sea planes.
You have to admit that there was some how something unique about the seaplane, and it was
a wonderful era.
Tickets were comparable in price to Space X tickets I feel. More people traveled that way
so I guess the prices were lower?
There was Disney, and Pan Am that were inspirations for Transcendia.
I actually have remembered sitting out there on the ramp of Atlantic Aero crying about
Aunt Keaton who had bad died of bone cancer and then thinking about my vision and then
thinking that it was a nation of airports that would stabilize the economy of the world
enough so there wouldn’t be an Atomic War.
But I’m now poor and can’t buy any clubhouse at any airport and my ebook doesn’t sell
because they won’t interview me on the NPR radio like Jim Shepard who I recommend.
You can get a passport for free through today, but after that pay.
The more of you that pay, the better the nation will be and operate to get a nice safe
network of rooms and radios and computers and planes to live in and out of.
Enjoy camaraderie with others in this world.

I always thought I would have been a great soldier. Then of course I was suspicious that I’d
get hit early in the game and die of little use. The game of Dodge Ball made me think you would
get put out, hit sooner or later. How it was that Hitler lasted all the way through the First World
War is some sort of impenetrable mystery. Germany is a democracy. They say it was one then. Freedoms
were voted away. Hate ruled the day.
Wars used to be smaller. The exciting professional wars for Romans and Greeks
against Persians were pretty big, but it wasn’t till we got to Napoleon times
with sailboats, sailing ships that went around anywhere in the world of the
sea that so many jobs opened up for the educated professional warriors and
soldiers of fortune.
Those ships where real achievements that could lead a man to big dreams.
Then on and bam we got to World War I.
There were the Napoleonic Wars, the American Civil War, and then bam, we had
World War I.
There are supposedly alive today some who fought in WWI. They say it was horrible. Nobody
is still alive who fought in the American Civil War.
I grew up with war all around me on my mind because of my father and the
fathers of my friends. Lewis Wilburn who owned the gas station would show us
the scar from the hole in his leg. The nice copper jacketed bullitt had passed right
through. He smiled awfully proud whenever he showed the scar of his war wound.
My father would talk a little about his experiences of the war if we were watching COMBAT, on
TV. I think it was going around that the brave and good didn’t talk too much about it.
They were maybe all supposed to go to a Veterans Club bar and tell each other only.
The Boy Scouts saved my life. The Boy Scouts was about learning how to camp and stay out in the
forest and shoot guns. The Boy Scouts was good preparation for going into the army from
everything I could and can tell to this day.
Now I notice in the advertisements for war and army service that is now all volunteer for the
US, they have appropriated the word “Warrior”.
I was fighting a good deal as a youth because it was known by some in the small town
that dad was gay, and all that. So I was fighting to keep them off of us.
They ran over the dog and kicked me in the head and threatened my sisters and brother all the time
to the point I told my younger brother it was okay to deny being related.
By the time I was 13 when mom divorced dad and the family was broken up and the house
was sold and we moved to Greensboro after dad was in the mental hospital and got out
and got to work at the Black University A&T, I didn’t have any friends there
that missed me or I missed, apparently.
Well I missed Arron and I saw him at the corner store across from where his dad’s
gas station had been.
He was drunk at about 1 in the afternoon. Some things had gone wrong for Arron
I had heard because I had asked after him somehow sometimes over the years.
Once from Rochester when the divorce was on which was a good big war for me I had
called the guy who was the most popular handsome guy from 8th grade.
Joel Brown?
The laws had changed and Joel had been able to build a bar in Elon so he was
likely rich from that being a small college town. There was a law that kept alcoholic
bars still 5 miles from town when we were children. There was a classic type
soda fountain place as a substitute where you could go dressed up and get a Cherry Smash,
kind of really like the TV show set of HAPPY DAYS.
Back in NC working on a house I was told by a sheet rocker that lived over there
that Aaron hung himself in jail. There was something about maybe he set fire to someone’s
house.
An attorney over there that way said that it wasn’t unusual for white guys to hang themselves
in jails over there because they typically got raped by the black gangs who
colluded with the guards who were also mostly black, so if a white guy got put in jail there
he got raped and it was pretty rough and humiliating and it was common for them to
react by hanging themselves.
So far that’s the last I heard. I mean I had heard Aaron and his family lost, sold, Lewis died, the gas
station got sold to the college and Aaron went to work for the Motor Pool.
Aaron had some red headed girl twins and had a drinking problem.
Joel said he was old and bald when I got him on the phone. Joel would have only been
in his early 30s when he said that.
Then I was going through my divorce and reaching out wondering what to do.
Back then I had been about trying to make Transcendia as a force for peace and
I had not long before made the Clown Corp Tee shirts which were a silk screen picture
of clowns throwing flowers out of a Balloon basket to the Iranians.
By the time the divorce was done, and I had been crushed, I decided using a balloon
and clowns to demonstrate for peace would be counter productive and that dropping
candy and flowers on a nation like bombs as a Pro Active Civil Demonstration would have
to be done with a plane like an SR-71, meaning something fast enough either way so as not
to create a counter productive war situation.
Clowns in a balloon would be shot down.

When I was in History class one nice summer day the tanned war horse of a teacher was going on
about how there had never been a war like Viet Nam before in US History. I raised my hand and said that
yes there had been. Specifically I said that the US had conducted a Colonial war of Occupation against
the Philippines in 1899. Waterboarding had been invented then, along with the .45 semi automatic pistol.
(I’ll look the pistol up. Seems they needed a caliber round with a great deal of knock down power. Knock down
power was a big deal with the US military for a long time. Then it was about being able to carry a lot of
bullets, so lighter bullets and a lighter gun became a big deal.)
The teacher had been in the FBI before she became a history teacher at Page High School. At least she told us that.
I remember her telling us that.
She was a big girl woman with a thick tan and her hair all swooped back in a 60s style that was good for selling
hairspray, or looking the same if she rode around in a convertible. At least that would seem to have been the hope.
She immediately had me put out of the classroom, taken to the Principals office, and kicked out of school for 3 days.
I didn’t really care, and went downtown and found a couple of guys loading Persian rugs into an empty store who hired me to help
them. Obviously being in school wasn’t getting me better educated than my History teacher, for in fact the US did fight
a war like Viet Nam, the war in Viet Nam, the VietNam, Viet Nam War, before the Viet Nam War.
When I was in High School in Greensboro, North Carolina in the late ’60s and early ’70s, it was understood that
schools in the South were worse than schools in the North.
I had talked about dropping out and was sent to live with my cousins and go to High School in Chicago.

I don’t know if I had really resisted being married so much first time or even second time because
of my broken heart, hearts,. I just did, and then of course there was the proof it wasn’t all up to me.
There was good times. I’ll leave it phrased like that.
“You’re the prettiest baggage handler I’ve ever seen.” Is the first thing I said to Linda. Then we got
married.
She had a nice house of the suburban sort and I had an Econoline van by then.
The Econoline was a very rusted hulk of a rattling van dream car of any American hippie
who didn’t have a volkswagen bus. So I had one.
Later I had a Super Beetle in my life which people can define by their car collection if they want.
Rich people have rich people cars and poor people have poor people cars.
Rich people can have poor people cars and rich people cars.

We went out on a date, Linda and I and I wasn’t much thinking we were for each other but we kissed.
We kissed and that worked out well and so then thee was good sex and I kept drinking some sort of whiskey I’ll
remember the name of any second now.

The we were married and I was hiding behind flowers in the living room while my mother-in-law was
talking about something. It was frightening. Horrible scary. Something about insurance.

My wife told me it looks like my daughter, ex-wife, and daughter’s boyfriend are at Disney World in Orlando. This struck me
since Disney World was where I went with the mother of my child for our honeymoon.
I got my ex-wife pregnant on the honeymoon.
Some things, events are ironic and lived strike at you and make you wonder at what sort of humor God has if God exists.
We went to Clearwater first on our way to Disney World for our honeymoon.
On the wedding night she wore a horrible thrift story hellish preview nightgown.
I smashed my head in-between the car door and the car roof.
I have tape recordings.
There was a moment when sitting down in the airplane I looked over my shoulder and saw my mother-in-law, and father-in-law
sitting behind us and knew my life was headed for hell.
These people weren’t letting go. They had an agenda for me that had nothing to do with who I was.
Nice house, nice car, good little business with the family gas station good enough for the brother the son who was quiet.
Nobody even wanted to learn to cook.
She was blonde and knew how to look good.
Over years I discovered a selective memory and she wore me down with hatred. It is hard to talk to someone who is always
viciously voiced angry.
But I did it till my daughter was 17 thinking my daughter was old enough to talk to and deal with.
That didn’t work out and the spiral of low class live was maintained.
So I changed again into a fearful stoic living out of spite and afraid of jail and more court cases.
I wonder if she even knows how odd it is at that age to go to Disney World, where I made her pregnant on our honeymoon with her
daughter and her daughter’s boyfriend.
We went there when I was 31 and she was 30.
She must be 59 now.
My daughter is 27 and will be 28.
I was going to pool our home with the homes of my friends and we were going to form an equity company and buy an airport.
It was going to be somewhere in-between Cozumel and Cancon. Ideally it wasn’t much more to think about than put the
airport of Transcendia on a train track by a major road, on a sea port.
Morehead City in North Carolina is appealing to me, though it isn’t perfect.
I could stand to take over Wilmington, but that was done showing the rest of the racists what to do to US Grant.
That coup was something for the heroes to crow about with their names spread all over the state on government buildings.
The racist landowning class beat back again the blacks and their same position white wage slaves, what it was, what it is.
I got here because I was reminded of my first marriage.

Man with poisonous duck in his shower angry and murderous about the situation.

rerf

I am supposed to write about what happened so important that I was changed. I am supposed to tell of what it is beyond the facts that my life meant.
I have secrets.
Secrets are weapons in our world. That is of course one thing you likely learned by the time you could read by the time you struggled to have friends as friends were not assumed by proximity.
For the 40s and 50s and 60s the news was about a strong nation with jets flying around and people in nice new ranch homes with cars with fins on them.
It was not at all unusual for families to move, according to the magazines like Time, or Life, which were on most every coffee table, Move, every 2 years.
My Family, moved often early in my life.
We may have fit some National profile they reported as a trend in Time of Life, but far as I can tell it was absolute bullshit once we got into the South.
We did end up in a very nice house that had made my mother and father happy to find and buy. It was at the corner of Lee and Lebanon, and I have a photograph of it take about 4 years ago on the wall. I do not remember the phone number of that day. Nor do I remember any number for the street address because we had a Post Office Box.
Lawrence O-Brian was the Post Master General whose name is on the Post Office in Elon College which is the last place I and my brothers and sisters and mother and father lived as a family.
Mom divorced my father because he was having affairs with men was the way she put it. “You haven’t told my brother and sisters.” was the first thing out of my mouth and we never did tell my brother and sisters till all were of High School age.
They could figure it out themselves. Dad could tell them one by one if he wanted.
As a secret in the small college town of Elon College a good deal of pain and violence came from the fact that dad was gay, or gay, homo.
I believe he felt that Black people deserved Civil Rights because they shared with him suffering.
Turned out the Black people in the Baptist churches looked, and look down on homosexuals or those living on the Down Low.
All I ever learned out of some of these things was you need to beat the shit out of people who go out of their way to hurt you because you are set apart as available and approved of as a target.
The homosexuals who fought with NYC police over there on Stone St. did it when it was just too much and they had had enough, and there were enough of them to basically win, or not lose too bad.
You do discover that if you declare who you are and who your friends are you may get enough of a corp together to fight the majority who are your enemies while you are in a minority.
There really is supposed to be a difference between Democracy and Mob rule.
These days as I write there are a great number of fundamentalists who are to the benefit of the Grand Old Party ignorant of the ethics of good government and attached to mob rule.
I come from rich and poor people who have lived best they could on the East Coast of the United States going back a good ways we have discovered.
I used to say I came from Sailors and Priests, and that actually isn’t too far off, but not near the whole story.
We must have been poor or unlucky up till a certain time like the times on when everybody could leave a picture in the form of a photograph, for there are no paintings of family.
Hell the best known artist of the family made pictures of war buddies, and barns and factories, not family.

Well Okay I started out with pictures I have attempted to post repeatedly here first, as Old Business.
I try hard as hell to do things in order. Live your life like it is run by Roberts Rules of Order and really you can’t go but so wrong. Of course we can go wrong.
Some of us are just bad. My father directed the play The Bad Seed. He did a great job. I’ll never forget it, nor the wind up telephone that range when you wound it up so the actor would start talking into it, the Telephone, the wire thing.
Yes it came before the Wireless.
Nobody is alive who was born in the same year that the telephone was invented and became popular. You can’t watch all the movies ever made now either, though there was a time when you could see them all on TV.
Really.
There are things now impossible to do.
I was born in 1952 in White Plains New York which is famous as a place from which came Readers Digest.
I finally saw the place from a train once and I videotaped it and put it in a video titled TRANSCENDIA, Documentary of a Small Nation. You can still see that on my youtube channel. Transcendian, is my youtube channel.
I was born in 1952 and it knocked the breath out of me to turn 60 this year, last year really. December 26.
My wife believes I am old enough and has encouraged me to write my Memoir. I listened to some of my mother’s memoir a couple of weeks ago. She became very concerned with women’s rights because of how her father and mother treated her brother as different and better. “He got boots!” is what she says about it: along with a pocket knife.
My father got shot at during World War II and died at 62 and is buried in St. Petersburg Florida in a church plot under a Bronze soldier’s plaque. My father was born in 1922 and cared about the Community Theater Movement, championed in his youth by scholars like Hardin Craig who was a Shakespearian translator and codification professor.
This is what I remember right now.
Of course there is more and more and more.
War and anti war is a lot of what a man’s life is about. Women walk around telling men they are stupid for war.
Women interfere with war most chances they get.
At least that is what I have perceived. It feels like that. When I was Security for Rochdale College that girl scion of the McCleans publishing empire wanted us to go easy on the guy who we caught beating one of our drug dealers with a pipe, and then trying to steal 350 dollars worth of mescaline.
All running around in the Security room while we decided what to do with this guy. It was cut off a finger, or give him about 30 tabs of that bad brown windowpane LSD, or get him to sign over his car.
I needed a car.
We got his car.
I and Weird Harold misused the car and I almost got thrown out of the window, but that was all around better for the violent criminal, than being made permanently crazy, or losing a finger.
Harold Snowden and I just took the Chevy Imapala on a long drive and I didn’t use it to become a Landed Emmigrant.
The guy who had been disappointed about how he didn’t get to cut the finger off of this stupid criminal, who we needed to impress with fear so he would spread the word not to fuck with our people, had gotten the title for the car, that I was supposed to use for a limited amount of time.
OK. I did not become a Canadian.