(by me, with apologies to W. Whitman)
Come my wan-faced children,
Follow to the Field Trial, get your profiles ready,
Have you your laptops? have you your sharp-edged wits?
Pioneers! O pioneers!
For we cannot tarry here,
We must share my darlings, we must bear the brunt of beta,
We the youthful geeky races, all the rest on us depend,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
O you youths, Western youths,
So impatient for an invite, full of pride in online friendship,
Plain I see you Western youths, see you blogging with the foremost,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Have the Facebook users halted?
Do they droop and exit Farmville, wearied by their ill-kept privacies?
We take up the task of Circles, and the Hangout and the Huddle,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
All the past we leave behind,
We debouch upon a newer cleaner world, streamlined world,
Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of +1 and the couch,
Pioneers! O pioneers!
Below is an excerpt from the new novel, Elijah Rising. Howard Zinn – greatly missed – was one of my first readers. He wrote this to me: “I read it in two sittings, became involved in the story. You write every well!” Now who wouldn’t have pursued the book to publication? It is now published by InGroup Press.
ReplyDeleteI am a trained historian and university instructor, now retired, and do either one-on-one or group discussions and readings, either by email, telephone, or in person (if travel is not prohibitive).
Please take a look. “This will be a big book.”
GO DOWN
The Spirit of the Lord came upon Gideon, and he blew a trumpet.
Judges, 6. 34
My name is Washington, just Washington. But you can call me Elijah Broom; that is who I am to the outside world, a man of God, preacher par excellence, soon to be Hollywood moving picture star. You must know from the outset, and if you heard my preaching, that only one thing matters to me—the Living God. I am his vessel.
I love America because America has hurt me, tried to take away not only my soul but my entire life. Threw me in the gutter. You, you readers had a hand in shredding my Mama and sister and brothers. Don’t even ask about Pap, it’s useless; I remember nothing. Let me tell you about brother. The last time I saw him he was hanging from an oak tree, a crude and dirty rope tied around his neck. I think I was four years old. I watched the whole thing. I heard the men standing around the tree scream higha’, pull ‘im high’, make dat nigger swing. was hiding behind a blackberry bush that was full and the berries were big and fat and sweet. I ate them as I watched. And then it was over and his neck broke and then they left him there. I never told anyone that story, especially not Mama. But every morning I’d go back to the berry bush and eat until my stomach hurt and I’d wait for brother to wake up and come and help me pick breakfast for the rest of us. I can’t rightly recall how many days I sat cross-legged or how long; I know I waited until the sun came up over the horizon and bathed brother in a godly light and that was when I decided that God had taken him and it was up to me to tell the world about it.
Go down Moses, yelled our preacher at the little church that was sorry and had been burned twice already. Go down, and all of us would yell back, go down. Until one day I realized that going down was just another way of giving up, letting the white man and America beat us down. Slavery is slavery, I tell you.
Mama took us away up north so we could have a better life, so she could get a job and so could sister. Mama never talked about brother again. We packed up our clothes and a pot or two and spoons and headed out one morning before dawn. There was no business to finish up; we had no business in the first place. Those were the times; you had nothing, you didn’t have to feel sorry about it.
http://www.amazon.com/Elijah-Rising-Lyn-LeJeune/dp/1935725084/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1317129090&sr=1-1
http://www.ingrouppress.com/
828-226-3246
Lyn LeJeune