honea byrne

Fearless (a testimony) © 2011 by Honea Byrne THE SCANNER- I plugged in that police scanner thinking I could hear something cool. Amazingly, it worked transmitting crimes for known youth gone wild. In most cities I’ve been in, ..Martin Luther King Jr. BLVD.. has been the part of town that I’m not supposed to be in. Better lock your car doors around the poor folk-GET your kids out the public school because those “folks” will beat them up. They don’t need to work because they are poor. The government take care of them. A reported burglary of a house; statistically, thereis a ninety percent chance that you’ll never see your belongings again-Reasons why? The police don’t have time to look in every pawn shop from here to Memphis. in the 1950s there was forced segregation. Fifty years later there is voluntary segregation. If you’re living in an upper class neighborhood your home or car maybe broken into a handful of times-and if your poor-getting burglarized is a way of life. A typical day

“ 0” An American billboarded perspective (ABSTRACT) My father had us play ROAD SIGN ALPHABET to beat the monotony of long family road trips. This game is played by spelling out the alphabet on billboards. The first one to reach Z wins.             I took the game a step further by studying how a town’s secrets are revealed by their billboards. Or do the billboards dictate a town’s secrets?             The two haunted highways are Highway 61 and Highway 49. Highway 49 descends to the end of Mississippi ( Gulfport ) (the Gulf Of Mexico), and ascends in Clarksdale . Highway 61 ascends to Memphis Tennessee and descends near St. Francisville Louisiana .             Walked into that bar with a Bill W. pop face t-shirt on and my soles worn out on my shoes.   Yea, my soul endures. Twas an armpit of a drag that has a homeless shelter, a church, and a strip club-Choose Your Fate-Choose Your Salvation-right? Bet’cha’ all of these establishments are in a territorial war. And like a head lookin

Strange             that the lap top computer was still on. The monitor was showing numerous surveillance screens of different parts of the town. Tic told me, “That Satan got many eyes, boy. He sees everything. Now you get to experience that sortah’ power.” This couldn’t be possible.             For the next few minutes I studied the folders and the make up of the computer. Deduced that there was some kind of soft ware that connected to satellites in space that some how gave real time surveillance of the area where the computer is located. Surely, this had to be something illegal.             I also discovered a folder containing various patterns mixed with sound bites that seemed to be of hypnotic suggestion.             Should I continue?             During the next few days I found myself compulsively studying the surveillance, praying to the Loh’Rd to give me an answer, and working out on the weights. Man, I was weaker than I had been in years. I was struggling with ninety-five pou