Chapter 8: Raised Poor Radio For The Blind

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****************Produced by Brandon Isbell****************
******Written & co-produced by Joshua David McLerran******
************Recorded at AMR.FM, Salt Lake City************
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The ground is built of suppositions
& we all, more shaky than the ones before us,
Stumble in our tumbling ways toward something
We can only hope to thus attain.

We stand, we sit, We think, We Dream.
All of it & none of it
The same as once We were before.
Forgotten?
Nearly so:
Remembered
(by a torrent of malignancy gone wrong),

We shudder in our should’ring ways
(an effort fit for Dreams),
A close encounter with the Innocence
We once knew all too well..

I guess this must be the chase scene here:
The sirenes, the clapping hands, the sound of quiet
Freedom as it runs its way through yonder bush
& its lengthy fingers through our hair...
All of these befit a tragic loss
Of some Intelligence gone wrong.

What efforts there?
What Solace in the mud?
Has all the world now gone to pot & fled?
Am I solely left within its grip,
A wanderer made of quietude?
Or am I slipping, even now toward something
Less incredible than Real?

CHAPTER 8:
RAISED POOR

I have never really liked the idea of sharing with others how much money I have or how I am spending it. By American standards, I was raised poor – or more aptly put, financially deficient (as there are many in this world who are truly poor by way of such deprivations). I have long- since learned that, regardless of my family’s financial deficits while growing up, I was always quite far from ever being truly poor.

I began working as soon as I was able: babysitting, landscaping, whatever someone would pay me to do. New items, such as clothes or toys or anything of that nature (yes, I grouped clothes and toys together) came on Christmas Eve (only one present each), Christmas Day, birthdays, and just before school began each year (my grandmother would purchase for us each a new outfit consisting of blue jeans and a cool new shirt, shoes, socks, and a belt sometimes, if we were lucky or in need).

My mother would stockpile all her rummage sale knick-knacks that she found for us throughout the year. She would hide them in the nooks and crannies of our home and often we would search for them or simply stumble upon them while at play. Of course, we would have to feign surprise when they were unwrapped later, through our mother seemed to always know the difference between a ruse and a legitimate reaction. We never had much by way of possession growing up, but we always had Happiness at the core of our relationships, so we were fine.

I saw this Happiness again within the Philippines, despite the wretched claws of poverty. There, one may find a nation of inequality, quite ravaged by disparity. I could go on for a lifetime speaking of the People in that country, and – although I will abstain for now – I will have it known that the suffering in what is commonly referred to as the Third World (though more aptly put, the Global South) – whether we want to acknowledge it or not – is ever-present and should not ever be ignored.

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