Somebody Else Died

Another box arrived. One of those things held in basements, until the owner, recipient is found.
Relatives, and friends only hold your old life for so long; maybe until they die. Today a part of my past came to zombie me. Items from my last pockets as I left that world; left the Army. This ticket for the laundry. I wonder what I left? Do you think they still have it, 44 years later?prince.jpg

moma, can you wipe that blood up off my face — rz.

Postcards Of My Hanging

We were once called “sons of” — ‘macs’, until my Great Great Great Grandfather was arrested, and hanged for horse theft.

He was, of course, innocent. His defense was based upon a high principle. That being, that God wouldn’t allow man to own that which God has created, and certainly, man couldn’t own living things; things he had no control in making. Such things as other men, and horses; these things should not be owned. Owning a God made thing is blasphemous. Or so he argued.
Man was a tender, not an owner in this world. If done well, this tended world
could be turned from a garden of evil, to a garden of eden.

I have little doubt that his sentiments hastened his hanging, even though undoubtedly, he was shouting his beliefs as he droped through the door that takes us all, along with our ideals. With some, it takes our names.