Murals For Dreams And Other Planes Of Existence

In The South Bronx, when I was a boy who wanted to earn an NYPD gold shield, I followed footprints in snow that lead me to the home of Where The Wild Things Are.

 

Write what you know, Danny, advised Ms Raesade, beloved 6^th grade English teacher who believed I would write The Great American Novel. I know The Hunt’s Point Public Library was my Fortress of Solitude and The Bat Cave to boot up ideas.

 

In spite of having Patience and Fortitude, I got tired of waiting for Super Man.

 

I wanted to go where no one has ever gone before.  I wanted to be a science officer to make computers talk. I found a book called From Sand Tables To Electronic Brains.

 

I recall this because of a photographic memory in childhood enhanced by gifted ones.

 

Imagination is more important than knowledge, Albert Einstein wrote to me in this mansion of geniuses that made me feel like Richie Rich in The South Bronx

 

I have a dream for The City That Never Sleeps.

 

I dreamt of Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor reading from her book from her hometown libraries to inspire future dreamers with homework on Earth as I figured how to do my homework on creating a tour book to draw tourists to The South Bronx. To quote Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O’Connor, no one gets a dream done alone.

 

That applies to a former South Bronx resident who wrote We, The People in 1776.

 

I’ve been around like The Man In Black sang. I was a US Marshal or Lone Ranger

 

Reckon its high noon to serve this here NYPL warrant for arrested development.

 

Book them, Dano. Poetic Justice writes again on sunset of centuries and sunrise

 

Once upon a time at The Public Library, the boy I was found A Winkle In Time.

 

Know the past. Just never repeat bad things in history again. Find the future.

 

This has been a mural of words for dreams and other planes of existence.

 

I died in The South Bronx of America and went to Google Heaven

 

Thanks for sharpening super visions, NYPL.

 

It’s my time to make you see.

 

See book. Read movie

 

Hope sequel’s better

 

LOL

 

 

 

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First Cell Contact With The Better Aliens of Human Imagination by Dan Aponte

 

 

Teleeclectic

I spat out blood violently in front of two cops.

 

They called an ambulance: ETA in 9 minutes. Officer Gonzales of the 41 Precinct and FDNY medics asked the same question: Have I been to West Africa lately?

 

I wish.

 

I’ll do anything to get out of The South Bronx.

 

I always wanted to travel Earth and beyond.

 

Oxygen mask on as sirens wailed in rain.

 

Oh my! How exciting! An adventure!

 

I spent 10 hours on a bed at Lincoln Hospital.

 

I saw young and old crowded in ER. They all were like children afraid of the dark.

 

Health care workers of different nationalities talked about movies as they surrounded me. A medic strapped on gloves with a snap and a smile. You remind me of Dexter, I said. Please don’t kill me. He laughed. Blood work came back fine. No Ebola. No HIV. No Tuberculosis. X-rays came back fine. No Cancer. My heart bled in gratitude.

 

I thanked every professional for his or her service.

 

I thanked God like a little boy saved from lions.

 

Ulcer, blood pressure too high and a violent reaction to Advil were the reasons I was spitting blood like an actor screaming in agony in Alien and gory sequels galore.

 

I humbly ate two hamburgers at Mickey D. They tasted so good without extra salt.

 

I drank pineapple juice. I walked home past a park under stars and saw new country.

 

I saw The Wonder Years go on forever for future generations.

 

Truthfully, I’m dying for salty fried chicken wings.

 

And hot sauce hotter than Hell.

 

It would taste so sweet.

 

It would be Heaven.

 

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Factor

Welcome to the jungle of corporate thieves and my version of Tron.

 

Please enjoy our feature presentation.

 

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Art Design & Text By Daniel Angel Aponte

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Copyrighted 2014

Jedi Time

How can I save Earth? I’m just a Hobo With A Library Card

 

(Wink)

 

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I’ve have never seen darkness as a mask that reveals what people really are.

 

It was The Night Of Breaking Glass.

 

I’ve never seen looting before.

 

The first store to go was The Good Year owned by a Jewish American.

 

Steel radial tires wobbled out like a stampede of Mad Cow Disease.

 

I saw flames from a garbage can that was dragged to the street by an actor who wanted to direct traffic. I saw someone who lived in my building become one of The One Thousand Points of Light.  I looked up at the heavens in awe. I’ve never seen so many stars over the city bear witness to another attack of what was left of Camelot.

 

I tried to take pictures of the 1970s Summer Black Out to develop in my homemade darkroom but a bearded Hispanic glared at me with the eyes of the devil that escaped from an old gray episode of The Twilight Zone.

 

I ran for the life of my camera and into a wall. My eyes became camera that saw shelves fall like lines of dominoes in a store that sold dominoes.

 

At my feet was a game for children called Stay Alive as adults behaved like locusts decimating golden fields of wheat (and all that was needed were tigers and lions and bears breaking out of The Bronx Zoo to devour the nature of the beast in humans)

 

It was like the devil came to New York and made it a playground, Walt Whitman wrote when he saw the Irish set fire to a city of wood in 1863.  Europeans calling themselves Americans are reptilian, wrote one Founding Father who is buried near my Ponderosa, Saint Mary’s Park. And then he went on to write the sacred words “…We, The People,” Captain Kirk read to an illiterate people in an episode called Omega Glory where life nearly ended by a war to end all wars.   It was 911 before 911 in The South Bronx of America where Irish cops brought The Troubles. I saw and felt abuse in the time of shadows of burnt out buildings and bullies falling over Anne Frank in my arms

 

 In spite of head injuries inflicted by a Neo Nazi at NYU, I have a Ken Burns on the brain mentality. Get the story right, said Uncle Walter, anchorman of CBS News, home of the all-seeing eye based on René Magritte’s surreal painting The False Mirror.

 

I write this tired of Waiting For Super Man at my childhood Fortress of Solitude where I found a Winkle In Time much to the delight of the boy I was.

 

Here’s to our public library in The South Bronx

 

Where The Wild Things Are.

 

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Season Finale

Evil has returned and the audience groans not again

 

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Inner Child dreams therefore exist to fight nightmares

 

Creative vision opening wide…

 

This is my Mission Impossible homework to draw tourists to The South Bronx.

 

Poetic Justice is the first warning shot the world will read loud and clear.

 

Behold a program writer at NYU computer lab.

 

And dreams wrote with him.

 

See book. Read movie.

 

LOL

 

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Attention NYPD: This is my real Magnetic Resonance Imaging of my Gray Matter.

 

In other words, this is my brain. This is my brain on Social Media.

 

Any questions?

 

Need to solve a murder here, there and everywhere?

 

How about mine at NYU at the hands of a Nazi?

 

I died and went to Google Heaven. 

 

I see justice as lightning strikes.

 

Cool.

 

To Sleep, Perchance To Pitch Nightmares To DreamWorks: Comic Book Cyber Journal Of The Better Angels Of Our Nature By Danny Aponte of P.S 161

 

There are 8 million stories in The Naked City and more beyond borders.

 

You’re now one of them on police line-ups.

 

Gotcha.

 

Japanese Anime South Bronx Action True Life Style!

 

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Copyrighted 2014 by me.

 

REWARD!!!

I picked up a sledgehammer to break the fourth wall of a toxic house. Sunlight revealed The Garden State where aliens arrived on the airwaves of NBC radio in the 1930s.

 

I was remodeling a home and, at the same time, reconstructing memories after 9/11.

 

I remember the only gold chain I ever had in my life. Placed around me when I was a baby, it had a locket that contained an angel with a sword in battle with a dragon.

 

You can believe my story but don’t trust the darkness in it.

 

In the evening, I exorcised voices from my head into Win98 and rebooted my mind into Dan X Machina, a cyber entity who fights an evil twin in the inner space of a chip.

 

When The End comes, don’t bitch movies didn’t warn you to get a real life.

 

To Sleep, Perchance To Pitch Nightmares To DreamWorks

 

By Danny Aponte of Public School 161

 

The South Bronx, USA

 

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New Future Weapon sung by Billy Idol

 

Artwork, collage and hot text by Daniel Angel Aponte Copyrighted 2014

When The End comes, don't bitch movies didn't warn you to get a real life

On the eve of The Blood Moon, Captain Planet will be sacrificed on the altar of Free Enterprise.  Super Man is enslaved on Black Friday. Death comes to Archie comics.

 

You ever notice Casper The Friendly Ghost looks a lot like Richie Rich?

 

I got your Game of Thrones right here, my FB Friends. LOL!

 

Hey, don’t bitch movies didn’t warn you on getting a life.

 

How To Pitch Nightmares To DreamWorks

 

By Danny Aponte of Public School 161

 

The South Bronx, USA

 

Copyrighted 2014

 

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New Future Weapon sung by Billy Idol

I stop short of making a myth of my life and yet can’t find the heart to divorce Fantasy.

 

Science fiction sometimes becomes hard fact.

 

Imagine that.

 

Imagine Face Book buys my company App Your App for billion$$$

 

 LOL all the way to Singapore bank

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