Forty Years on a Hook on San Francisco Bay with "Pirate" Pastor Peter "Pan" Romanowsky : Missionary survey of Egypt culture 1970's by Peter Romanowsky

Wednesday, February 21, 2018

Missionary survey of Egypt culture 1970's by Peter Romanowsky

Missionary Journal into Egypt on scouting mission 1970's by Peter Romanowsky and a rough draft before I forget to document an important event in my life while my inlaws thought I was a fool...this was no luxery cruise up the Nile River...but an intense survey of future missionary activity and this late in coming journal is the ground work for future missionary activity for I allways servey a target area before entering into intebse missionary activity and as a veteran for five missions to Jerusalem alone...After my attefmpt to climb thw Great Pyrimide of Giza and feeling too cloterphobic, to go into the Pyrimde and after hearing an Egyptian telling a lie to a tour groupe that Nepolian blew thw nose odf the Sphinx and more likely the Muslims did it in thier fanaticism against art and obects and anything related to the West including Egypt and the wonder is that they didn't destroy all rhe art icons and history and probably firgurwd that they could still make a buck out of tourism, going back centuries and even Herodotus and Plato have to see the country of Temples as one wise man or historian once said and of course Herodotus exclamied that the Nile was the gift of Egypt and I saw with mine own eyes how blue the Nile River was and i will not go back unless I take the Nile Cruise boat to Aswan for I found Egypt to be a very primative and third world country in the 1970's...on my next survey in rhe future and even then onw might not be out of danger from Muslim extremists terrorists and a friend of mine a female doctor who aslsfo is an Anchorout took rhe Nile Cruise ship and witnessed the cook from rhw boat shor in the head for sfmughling drugs, right on the bank of the river decades ago and was so freakwd that she wore a full Burka Musdlim headdress to disguise herself and my experience was gwtying robbed of a cassette player from my back pack that I was virtually sleeping on in a crowded train heading for Aswan and remember seeing a security cop or border control police on the train pointing to.my stuff to keep it near me and obvioulsy looking for drug smugglers, I thought in my mind and a the people once crossing rhe border from upper Egypt to lower Egypt all were African looking with reddish dark skin and who would ever know that unless been there, for they all lookwd like President Sadat and thw lighter skinned Egyptions lived bear thw Grwat Pyrimides and the Delta and that was a eye opener to see that the oldest part of Egypt were darker skinned but you would never know that from all the videos, picyurws and propaganda about who were the oldest or original Egyptians....to be continued http://peteromanowsky.blogspot.com

No comments:

The autobiography of Peter Romanowsky a work in progress

PREFACE TO THIS AUTOBIOGRAPHY BY PETER ROMANOWSKY "DIARY OF A CALIFORNIA SIXTIES HIPPIE FOR JESUS" It is extremely difficult to begin writing a book, especially ones autobiography, especially when one is feeling a little dyslectic, when it come to spelling and having a poor spell check, on ones blog site. The only thing harder then beginning a book, is ending a book. Once on begins, it's just as hard to spot, as to start, it's all good, in the end. The book starts with the usual floundering around, trying to find your feet, pace and concept, what to share and what not too! Bad language is tempting, be editable, family secrets, inevitable, good bad and ugly, to a point, to protect the innocent. I would rather write a book, then read one, that's just the way my mind works. I was raised on television, not books, unless they are extremely, interesting. The beginning of this books sounds a little crazy, trying to find my rhythm, but will we continuously, edited, updated, revised and polished. Until a masterpiece of history, entertainment and poetic justice, id accomplished! Subject: Sweet Machinations between Poetry and Insanity My name is Triple "M" the maddest minister in Marin, (just a joke of course), coming to you from my floating digs, "a houseboat/sailboat fifty feet long", a half a mile from the Sausalito shores and a mile from my dingy (former) dock. Where I have been a little dingy docked for many years, here in Marin County California!. Here is my Ode, my story, the most odious to a story you may have ever heard, "just joking", except when it comes to The Devil! My life begins in a faraway country of Vikings, mushroom beer drinkers and berserkers who wear horns to frighten their perceived enemies. although the best sailors in the world, their most famous ship sank the day it launched into the water and now is a museum piece in Stockholm Sweden, called The Vasa "Swedish word for Water". If I were an American Indian my name would be Cloud Reader, if I were a professional wrestler it would be triple "M" or the Mad Monk of Marin, or even maybe the Wounded Dog "Preacher", definitely: The Story Teller!. The one who has no more cheeks to turn at times, except the ones behind me, the ones that have been metaphorically kicked, which I have had to turned again and again, after the have been kicked over and over. "Sweet Home Alabama", where do we go from here, this is poetry of the highest order or really stinks, "just joking"! I feel most poetic (in my physical and emotional pain), and philosophic mind also, when I am high on Two Dogs, which some smiling stranger told me, is the ancient name for marijuana, which is from the original Cannes Bias or Cannabis, which comes from ancient Persia word and beyond. Cannes which means dog, to my poetic, intellectual and etymological mind also. When you see the two Dog Stars in Heaven, Cannes Major and Cannes Minor, (the Two Dog Stars). remember, one will bite you "in the bottom", if abused and the other will kiss you IN THE ...more to come on the subject: please only use it for medicinal purposes, or risk getting a ticket in California for one hundred and twenty five dollars and an open beer will get you one hundred and fifty dollars, it's not a criminal offense anymore in California, under an ounce of marijuana! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- POETRY FROM A SOMETIMES / PERCEIVED MAD MAN Subject: poetry from a perceived mad man by Reverend "Mad Dog" Rambo Romanowsky the maddest minister in Marin, that's my new pseudo name, not Peter "the Jerk Christian " Romanowsky as my enemies and the world thinks of me at times, or in the past, and by the God forsaken, side of the world, but by the Grace of God, I am still sane in the eyes of God and all the Godly nature lovers, seekers and cannabis smokers, who can't afford brownies....Love, dung...love what a simple four letter word, but one I believe in, love one another, just don't screw with one another, or just play with one another unless it's physically...lovingly...and unselfish...for love in all my wisdom from God...is never selfish, but lust is always the same, selfish as hades. "Oh you weak ones, oh you cowards, oh you Hippocrates, "Oh you whited sepulchers full of dead men's bones", you smell so sweet, while I smell like dung in my saddle sore ass and urine soaked jeans, from the beer I need to drink, with wet feet and black mold under my toenails at times, once in a great while, my feet have been wet or damp for most of a quarter of a century. Who is offended, who is tough, who can walk on water for decades, who can drink scorn and shame like reverend Rambo mad dog Romanowsky. the man who is often mistaken for a Pollock, but truly speaking, whatever that means in this world, is really a mad Russian. My viking ancestors on my mothers side drank fly mushroom beer and went berserk and conquered the world from North America to fighting the Chinese, through fear and mushrooms, but now we have come to the land of Jesus and a climate where wine grapes and cannabis grows, and have mellowed out and also have became rock stars with long blond hair...more to come from triple "M" also known as Reverend Rambo Romanowsky the scourge of the evil left and the evil right... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER I am not angry at anyone in particular just the present social order, apart from God! So no one take anything personally, unless the shoe fits that you are wearing! This title triple "M" I use in my repertoire on the waterfront in front of the ferry landing before select , tourist , locals and friends from time to time, depending how I feel. It translates well there because I do it with a smile and is part of a comedy routine. I doesn't translate well in type or email or this document, so for all extant and purposes, I will only qualify such a statement in the context of comedy or in a well explained meaning of my demeanor, as not to be misunderstood to mean being angry at any individual or vengeful. For vengeance belongs to The Lord and I believe in leaving such things as justice with Him. I once ice picked a tire once in revenge here in Sausalito, but paid for the damage when confronted and never took things into my own hands like that again. my power sword and has a double edge as well as the pen, which is mightier then the sword or any weapon of destruction. Hitler personally never killed anyone with his golden gun, but his tong and pen killed millions I woke up this morning feeling guilty, suicide thoughts, brought on by Satan over the title explain, least I may somehow have gotten out from God's protection and shield. suicidal thoughts of guilt despair, hopelessness and fear of madness are not new to me. I shall explain further as I go into my trance sate of poetry, my saving grace is to correct any mistakes I can, and persevere to write this book of poetry, metaphors and machinations with the ultimate goal of making corrections, spelling, grammar, syntax and otherwise as well as the body. I just had my first sip of coffee and vodka for my back and aching mind, with morning, coffee so here I go again. Chemical imbalances of torture and pain, "who" or what is to blame: blame is the root word of blasphemy, the only sin that will not be forgiven in this life or the world to come. I can only conclude that blasphemy against the Holy Spirit is the total denial of the Father Son and Holy Ghost, of which there is no redemption, because there is no one left to redeem thee oh thou smart steward. Some people feel they will get a better deal with Satan, as thou he was some kind of counter revolutionary. But a for me and my house, we shall serve, The Lord. The Holy Spirit is the active agent of God in the world today, only through the Holy Spirit's calling, beckoning and drawing to Christ, can we be saved. To deny the Holy Spirit, is to deny Christ, to deny Christ is to deny God The Father! Every historic religion, believes in The Godhead, even the most remote tribesmen. The trouble with the world is, not listening to The Holy Spirit. The mark of The Beast and the numbers 666 are to my simple mind the first three strikes and your out. For six is the number of man, The Trinity made man on the sixth day, denying the father, Son and Holy Ghost is three strikes by man who was created on the sixth. All this has to happened with the full knowledge what one is doing. Blaming the works of Jesus Christ to the works of the devil, as the pharisees did, of which Jesus warned of the unforgiveness of such a full knowledge act, in the face of the good works and miracles He did in their sight and presents. All of this is still a great mystery to me, but attributing the works of Jesus to the devil Beelzebub, the Lord of the Flies instead of The Holy Spirit of God, in full knowledge of what one is doing, in the face of righteous miracles, is unforgivable if unrepentant, God The Father always gives time and space to repent.....to be continued , so much and consider this as my preamble. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sometime in the future past at this quivering shivering morning of the winter to come I write in the anticipation of warm coffee and vodka in my stomach as I seek to balance the poison around my aching kidney and bowels, between headache this morning, chronic pain in my lower back and left lung area, I feel pain as I eat drink and swallow. Soon I will feel no pain at all, only forget and dull the reality in order to function , as the bitter sweet liquid travels to my head and dulls the mental and emotional pain also, as my brain swims through the liquid like a little child playing on the summer sand of a beach in paradise where nothing is worn as when one grows up and then becomes a child again. I had a dream, that I was caressing Katheryn Khulmen is famous departed women evangelist who God used to help bring him to Himself. I hugged her, In her old beautiful age, there was an artificial reddish hairpiece and her skin was white and sort and wrinkle free and her hair was still red. We smiled, hugged in the front passenger seat of a car, we smiled again and kissed the top of one of her little pure white breasts, then she had to go. It was just a dream, but a nice one, a way to comfort and repay her kindness for the salvation I experienced in October 1968 in front of the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles, where I could hear her sing over the external speakers her favorite song, no doubt, "He's The Savior of my soul". Her signature song sung, then it happened, I felt a rush of wind come into me, it split into two streams, on half went into my mind and the other into my heart. I was starring up at the blue sky when this happened, wondering what to do next because my future wife and I had hitchhiked all the way from Marin county to go to this meeting and of course visit my parents in Tarzana. The fire department had closed the doors to the Shrine and there was no room at the Inn. Thousands came to hear the Words Of God and be healed. It was like something out of Lourdes in France or some other place where people believe in miracles. A thousand or more people were turned away, I stood there wondering, I had suicidal feelings a few days earlier, I all of a sudden became so depressed by the smog in my favorite childhood place, Santa Monica, that I felt like driving my parents car, which I borrowed, off the road and into something, but my future wife was with me, my girlfriend, the love of my life and perish the thought, I couldn't take her with my. I was all a bad dream, I pulled over to catch my breath and bow my head until the thoughts pasted and the depression subsided.....to be continued...please save these pages for me. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER After the depressing episode in my childhood happy place, the beaches and pier at Santa Monica coastline. Becky and I found ourselves standing in front of a brick wall or something on Sunset Strip Hollywood after dark. A black man walked by and stopped for a moment and said that you two Love so in love that, that brick wall behind you looks like it is about to fall down", We were too broke to go into the Whiskey A Go Go, so we walked the dark night sidewalk with the rest of the hippies, with blazing flashing lights, to remind us of the life we could not afford or get into as young minor eighteen year oldes or younger, if my memory and time line was right. For I don' t remember if this was our first time in Hollywood, or the second. All I remember in a blur, for the joke is, "If you remember the sixties, you weren't there". We then wandered into a free coffee house type of place called "His Place" we were relieved that we found a place that would let us in without money, free, like the hippie lifestyle of the times, especially in Hollywood Sunset Strip area where ever one was on the streets or hitchhiking up and down the coast. We were just teenagers and minors in an adult world we could not easily be a part of and didn't quite understand, cops were our greatest fear at the time. because marijuana was a felony at the time, just to possess. But we as a generation was getting tired of this outcast social way of life. The drug sense had gone from weed to meth and even worse for some, which white powder I Couldn't afford anyway, but meth was easy to get in Sausalito as well as LSD if one wanted to get I. But that's another story. Right now we were in "His Place" which turned out not only to be the only free place on The Strip, but was run by a now famous CHRISTIAN minister named Arthur Blessitt. He was the Chaplin to the HOLLYWOOD Hell's Angels and we saw one of them standing up on stage staggering through what seemed a brain damaged of drug or alcohol haze, rambling about people having to listen to Arthur Blessitt, because he was telling the truth, and they ought to listen to him. Maybe he was on medication, street wise if you know what I mean or maybe just brain damaged from beanies, meth and alcohol, anyway he was up there looking like hell and talking about Jesus. Then ARTHUR CAME OUT AND STARTED preaching, it was awful and wonder full...to be continued, please save these pages and chapters for me in case my cell phone crashes...produced by the naked truth productions directed by cell phonies publications ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER EIGHT Maybe eight by Peter Romanowsky, pen name still pending if any, title of book, still pending but it will come, just built it. This is basically and autobiographical book of poetry, prose and "naked poetry", which seeks to break all the literary rules of syntax, logic, obsession, criticism, absurdity, compromise. Sweeping away the normal social norms of coagulated globs of words, like lumps op paint on a Van Gouge. Where all fine artists start with pen and pencil and scratch reality. Until it becomes so absurd, that only images are formed like monsters and angels, until it all melts into a dream, or nightmare of circular motions of revolving boredom; punctuated by sheer terror. Until the tide subsides and the colored shells, of our white washed out past and are gathered into a sand castle of ornaments, dropped from the sky like seagull like angels. Gathering us food, like Elijah's ravens, until the suicidal thoughts and depression leaves, at the beckoning of an angel, stranger leaving food for the journey, to the mountain of Moses. where one dwells a cave and a place to hid, until he hears the still small voice of God, in the deepest, tunnel of despair,when one is quite, with their own mind, in silence and loneliness. In the bottom of the cave he hears a still small voice, so still and small, while earthquakes and thunder rage outside, this still small voice can only be heard by the broken and defeated and the depleted of all earthly glories. Then Christian walks out of the abbess and into the white light of near death experiences and floats through life like on who has temporarily left his body and floats above himself, as one who's time has not come yet to be gratefully dead to this life's bitter experiences and toil. One has no write to speak in absurdities, unless one has first mastered the line art of linner crucibles, punctuated by breath stops, until one has no breath stops left and one begins to hypor and becomes venulateded breathless and falls to sleep in fitful visions of angel, demons, relatives and formless visions of walking naked in public, as the emperor who has no clothes. Only an emperor of a king or prophet can walk naked or dance half naked like King David before the Ark, exposing his kingly genitals before the young and heart broken maidens and warriors of Israel.Showing the world and the Kingdom of God's promise to him, in the daze of future past That there will always be someone of his seed will always sit on the throne of Holy Israel and that he hadn't lost his genitals in battle. To the hope of all the young maidens who long for children of their own, to care for them in their old age and grand children to live their second and third lives through. But when King David came home Michelle his wife, cursed him for exposing himself in the spiritual, ecstasy of the dance. He said "I did it before The Lord!" Implying he did it to please his creator with the gyrations and beauty of the body and mind, He gave him and the ecstasy of life in all it's full abandonment to God. Then God cursed Michelle his wife and closed her womb, so that she could never have a child of her own form the King, from whom Christ Himself would come. Also no doubt because she was the daughter of King Saul his father-in-law, who bitterly hated David and persecuted him, because The Kingdom would pass to David's seed and not Saul's.The fruit never falls for from the tree, but with God there is always forgiveness to those who can accept his pardon freely, without feeling they must pay for it. For God had cursed King Saul so that none of his children or descendants would sit on the Throne of the Future Christ Forever, in our hearts and DNA and Michelle was the family's on last chance to be a part of the Holy Seed. Roasted, toasted, well done, feeling no pain to speak of except colon area on my right. Could be kidney phantom pain. Back to my story, after the Hell's Angel Biker gave his testimony, Arthur Blessitt jump up with a tiny colored New Testament and began preaching the Love of Jesus. He was standing in front of a huge wooden cross, which he eventually years later after being evicted from the Sunset Strip Christian drop in free coffee house. He chained himself himself to a telephone pole and wouldn't eat for twenty one days in front of the coffee house called His Place. It was like a store front mission in the heart of the strip. I guess it was too valuable real estate property for such things like freedom ans spirituality. It gets hot out there on the sidewalk in the summertime especially, anyway who needs to help those dirty hippies anyway. He also was diagnosed with a potentially fatal heart condition and he was still a young man. He said his father own a bar down south in Louisiana or somewhere like that. He was so on fire for Jesus when he ran out of tracts to pass out, he passed out the only track he had left called "Why Baptists don't dance", funny.! He took his pills and medicine and ritualistically flushed then down the toilet, where he and the young hippies flushed countless drugs down the toilet after prayer.Then he picked up the cross and started carrying it around the world, to every continent including Anartica, with penguins around him. He has never stoped, that must be a total of twenty, thirty years or more, maybe forty, Google his name "Arthur Blessitt" and you will see his history and progress. He walked across China before it was really open. He walked possibly across ever country in the world, carrying a huge wooden cross. he holds the Guinness world book of records for walking further then any man in recorded history and that while carrying a cross. H had to put a wheel on the back so the cross wouldn't wear away, otherwise he might have just dragged it. Years later after excepting Jesus as my personal Lord and Savior and was baptized, by The First Baptist Church of Sausalito. He came and preached a week long revival, he took us out into the streets, or should I say main street and showed us how to preach open air. It was my first taste, there was a choir, there is where I first meet Kent Philpott, a missionary to the hippies in Height Ashbury District, but that's another story. Kent Philpott looked good in those daze with a mustache and jeans. Goggle his name to see what he is doing these daze. Arthur Blessitt was the first person to cross the border between Israel and Egypt, after meeting with the prime minister of Egypt. He walked all the way across the desert and was met with an air conditioned limousine sent from Anwar Sadat, but like Mahatma Gandhi he politely refused and kept walking to Cairo He said Muslims came out to meet and greet him all the way from Jerusalem and loaded his cross with all kinds of fruit, food and he even had a six pack of beer hanging from the cross. His faithful wife followed him all over the world in a four wheel drive, so they could camp together after a daze trek. He would gather people together, for instance, in North Africa and whole villages would come out and he would lead them in The Lord's prayer, so to speak and after excepting JESUS he would find what looked like a natural leader and ordained and appointed him or her no doubt as pastor of the newly converted flock, them move on to the next village. The Muslims in North Africa and the middle East would see him coming and greeted and treated him magnanimously. He even walked across a battle field between Israel and Beaufort Castle in Lebanon carrying his cross. The Israeli commander no doubt thought he was crazy and let him go after radioing Yasser Arafat telling him Arthur is coming. I think he had his son with him also carrying a cross. In the castle which was being bombarded by the Israelis, he began putting Jesus Loves you stickers on the rifle butts of the Palestinians and prayed with Arafat to except Jesus as his Lord and Savior. Only God knows if he was+born again. Yasser said with tears, before or after praying, that Jesus was a Palestinian also, certainly Yasser married a Christian women somewhere along his tormented and twisted. life More to come from my untitled book of poetry, prose and liner history, placed in a biographical display form, written on my cell phone daily during the month of August,. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Please help me preserve and edit these pages for my family and friends by saving them to your memory for a future published book. Most of my time on this cell phone book is spent with context rather then syntax. Like a glorified text message to the world for Jesus and how he made me and not me myself. I have no writers block, nothing is going to stop me from getting my thoughts down. I'm in the zone, mornings are when I'm most inspired. Nobody to distract me on my floating writers cabin on, The San Francisco Bay, this is where Jack London lived. this is where William Randolf Hearst lived and bought property to built a mansion, before he was run out of town for a scandal , in still Victorian Sausalito. This is where all the ships came first , before conquering San Francisco, including the first Spanish ship the San Carlos, and some believe like me, that the Golden Heine of Sir Francis Drake anchored and the American Battleship that took the port of Yerba Buena, which later was to be called San Francisco, Yurba Buena, means Good Herb, in Spanish, the first name the the Spanish gave Sausalito was The Harbor of Consolation. I FOUND THIS IN A HUNDRED YEAR OLD PLUS United States Coastal Pilot Book, on my own. San Francisco had nothing but sand dunes and water or timber to built. All ships came here here for harbor and shelter for food, water and timber.Truly Sausalito was the first and original port of entry, even the man who wrote Two and a half years before the mast, anchored and wrote about Marin County. The main road from east to west is name Sir Francis Drake Boulevard. A friend on mine found anchor, that was shipped back from England, as a Memorial, it had been completely buried in the sand on the West Side of Marin, except for the top ring, which he dug up and informed a park ranger, who had never heard it it before. How easy is it to forget things, in the sands of time. But words and their meanings, symbols and interpretations, can and will last forever. Last Wills, Testaments are like holy or bad seeds, for testament comes from the root word testicles, people in ancient days, and even today, swear upon their testicles, that their testimonies are true. Abraham had his chief servant put his hands under his loins or loin clothe, and made him swear on his testicles, that he would get a heathen or pagan women or stranger for his son's wife to be found in the land of Heron. Read it for yourself for the exact words in The Bible, Book of Genesis. I swear on my children's seed, whether the be spiritual seed or children of this world, that my testimony is true, to the best of my abilities, resources, memory and literary as well as with poetic license, that my paragraph long Faulkner Stile sentences are true and free of all bitterness except for the kind that Mary The Mother of Jesus Felt when a metaphorical sword pierced her heart, like Christ's was , when He paid the price for all our sin and shame, while naked to the world. One more note note before I move on to my testimony, and narrative, I feel a tingling in my leg, I feel spirits fighting around me, I feel the Holy Spirit and angels touching me, from time to time. I feel The Breath of God in my lungs and heart filled with excitement adventures and story telling at it's best, while evil spirits leave my body as I breath in and out, holding the tips of my fingers on my humble little cell phone, with it's almost microscopic little black key board, with it's white light letters. Here is where the cruel story of family hatred began, when a witness to the events, fell off The Sausalito Ferry and was picked by the evil demented captain of the ship Sea Wolf, by Jack London. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- NARRATIVE Chapter Twelve OR SOMETHING After the initial shock and surprise of meeting the businessman who picked me up hitchhiking sitting with my mother after I tried to ditch him. The holy seed he implanted in my heart about the love of Jesus he radiated into me, was safe and secure in my heart, but had not yet germinated......TO BE CONTINUED I Feel the breath of God in my lungs and I am spiritually beginning to hyperventilate, and it feels good, like breaking the rules of grammar and syntax, and inventing, new words and forms of English communications, like an modern art painting of God Inspired words and Spell, good spell, God's Spell, Gospel, which means Good News in Old English, in fact good used to be spelled god, in the good ole days of German English Literature. Think on that one, the intimate Good.....can't stop....more to come, tomorrow....love in Christ....GOOGLE DIAMOND DOG SAUSALITO...or peter Romanowsky video For all those who need a word of wisdom or encouragement, edification and fellowship. I have found my medium, my way of breathing and channeling the things of the unseen. The Spiritual world, which is all I have had, all that I'm familiar with and all that I have been rejected and exiled from, including my family, home and wife, joining the most tore up of the torn. PART OF THE SELF CONSCIENCE, conceding, badgered, tormented sinners this bound in this rotting decaying flesh, which is contrary to the Spirit, but is kept in check, until deliverance comes, in the for of a seed dying in the ground, before it can be germinated and, then resurrected, with an eternal and incorruptible body. I say these words poetically, Anyone who does not realize their corruption and imprison, body, mind and spirit, is doomed to forever seek perfection this this life, but will never find it, until they are born again in Christ, who is the only perfect one. Like Nebuchadnezzar of ancient Babylon, I may have been driven like a beast into the wilderness of insanity, until my reasons had come back to me, after being humbled to a state of prostration. But the Lord has never left me, only broken my pride. The first sin ever created in the universe. Moses was the meekest and most humble man on earth, after forty years in the wilderness. Only after one has mastered all the rules, is one allowed to break them., love is the Key, the hardest rule to master. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER 13 / or something Let me get back to my testimony chapter thirteen. I have found my way to express myself spiritually through this medium, or electronic church, this for all who have not found a church or preacher who has anything to say worth listening to. Forward this email to you friends and enemies. But don't cast your pearls before swine. My mother took me to see a doctor in 1968 after returning home, somewhere under a year, after I ran away. The doctor told my mother that I had only six months to live, If I didn't change my lifestyle, somewhere I heard, one more bout with hepatitis and I would be finished.. I was only seventeen, why was I so self destructive. My mother then took me to see a PENTECOSTAL PREACHER, I sat and looked at him, as he told me of his wonderful life in Jesus, I heard him say in his fine office, fine clothes, perfect looking demeanor, about playing golf and other enjoyable country club looking existence. The fresh air and good living life of those who have found serenity, family and existence type things and the more he spoke, the more I got silently angry at him. I hated him for his perfect country club life. Mine was just the opposite, homeless, broke, no formal education, no money for college and a death sentence on me. When I looked into his perfect face and smile, sitting on his desk, my hatred grew even greater and greater, because he had an aura about him. I could see the peace he had in his face, peace I didn't have, only hatred for my brother, life in general and my miserable condition in life. Vengeance was my friend, I was going to get my share of this world's wealth., and it was going to start with finding my brother and robbing him. I REMEMBER WALKING DOWN DARK STREETS, the broad streets of Tarzana at night near my mother's home, thinking where is he, where is God, how can someone in my condition, ever hope to be good enough.But the seed of love had already been planted, the second preacher watered it, but it had not yet sprung. My mother took me to another store front type looking church for a lecture, it was so boring, like cardboard, couldn't wait to get out of their, no need for lecture halls. I was still looking for Alex my brother. I heard he was staying at The Avalon Motel on Ventura Blvd, next door to Tarzana. I went in through a window into his room, because he was not there. I went through his stuff, in this cheep motel, I looked at a coin operated radio next to the bed and I thought how cheap of the Motel. So I stole what I could, but the loot and drugs were gone. I LEFT WITH A SOLID GOLD POCKET WATCH!, that didn't even work. That's all I remember, next thing I knew, my mother took me to a Church in downtown Los Angeles call Angeles Temple. I was a dark comfortable LA night the Church grounds reminded me of a park. It was the mother Church of The Pentecostal Foursquare Church, where the most famous women Evangelist and Apostolic Pastor that the Twentieth Century ever saw, in her day. She had the first radio station in Los Angeles and preached the Gospel over it, she was a true women pioneer, more famous then Emilia Earhart in her time and legacy. A very unfaltering Hollywood movie was made about her, so much for lifting women to their rightful place in history. Most Churches are started by women in their homes. In the end, after being a super star women radio personality, evangelist and pastor founder on an entire denomination. She was deemed mad, accused of faking her own kidnapping after being declared dead and drown off Santa Monica Pier. Maybe she faked the whole incident, just to find some peace and escape from the madding publicity and spend a little time for herself, with a man she loved. Regardless, the pressure and press and publicity of her disappearing off the pier, then being found alone wandering in the deserts of Mexico, with an alleged eye witness of her with a man in a motel in Monterrey, had it's toll, she said she was kidnapped and abandoned in the desert. she eventually, from all her devotion, fame and pressure from the press and lack of privacy, began to take her clothes off on stage and was eventually committed to a sanitarium, where apparent she finally died and found true peace. Google search her name, Amy Semple McPherson later in this book I will relate my experiences with her female spiritual successor Katheryn Khulman. As I sat down in a side meeting room of this magnificent Temple, from what I could sense, because it was dark and only a week day evening meeting. A MAN STARTED BANGING gospel music, like I never heard before, in a Catholic Church. He was black and found out some years later, he was the famous Gospel performer Andrea Crouch, I think he may of Got a Grammy or two years later. I met him when, so to speak. Then this black lady gets up and starts screaming her testimony about how Jesus paid her rent, after praying and hearing a knock on the door or something, and her rent money was sitting outside her door. She got my attention, saying "Thank You Jesus". Between the piano music and singing by Andrea and this women's testimony, I was all eyes and ears. Then three or four guys in came up to me after the service and asked if they could pray for me, "I said sure, why not", they then laid hands on me in a circle, while I was sitting in a chair and began praying at the top of their lungs and shaking me, while speaking in tongues, which I had never heard. I looked up and their faces were red so to speak and contorted, I was a little freaked, last time I was surrounded like that, it was laughing policemen in a station, after being pushed to the ground, for an ounce of marijuana. I felt hot, after their fervent prayer and I walked out of the chapel and threw my cigarettes away and was never able to take any form of speed again, except coffee. The one time I tried it, I thought I was being poisoned by friendly gangster friends of mine for some. That was it, never again did I take speed, bennies or Dexedrine, for the rest of my life., and I wasn't even a Christian yet. God answered their prayers to save my life, long enough, to be born again.....To be continued, go to www:// angelfire.com/hi2/agapecyber for more history and background information, or just google my name for countless background information. You can make a contribution to keep me preaching and going daily on this electronic church medium. Peter "Faulkner" Romanowsky P.O. Box 1591 Sausalito, CA 94965 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER It is said that ones life flashes before them before one dies. I'm not waiting, my life is flashing before me now, on this cell phone autobiographical, narrative, let's see where it goes. Hoping to retire on this, since Like not a few people, I have no quarters at in in my social security account. But I will get something, when I'm sixty two and a half. So here's my possible supplement. Here goes, true story, when I was standing in front of The Shrine auditorium Auditorium in Los Angeles and wondering what to do next, hitchhiking all the way from the San Francisco area in Marin County, with my future wife and live in girlfriend. I thought how something special, spiritually was going to happen to me. I didn't expect to feel anything special, I just though I would have a life changing experience. I had hepatitis twice before I was eighteen. First infectious, second I thought was a recurrence. I turned yellow again, dark urine, horrible experience. Especially when your a run away at seventeen and can't even remember where you were living, except in hell. Oh I remember now, staying at a friends flat and commune in San Anselmo next to a creek. The drama began to unfold after my breakup with my favorite girl Sally Cody of mill valley. She flipped out on my when I smiled and told her I had taken methamphetamine, which she forbade me to take. I ended up sleeping wherever I could, I used to hid in her closet, when her mother checked on her in her huge downstairs flat area. The first time I hid, I saw the names of all the other boys, she hid in her closet before me. She was certainly smart, pretty and wild. Out was out, staying on and off wherever I could in a place to sleep. My younger brother had developed a heroin habit and I lectured him not to do speed, but little did I know my brother was following in my footsteps, but taking downers, like most people in LA where from to do. Reds, Yellows, rainbows and eventually heroin. I was stuck on anything I could get my hands on. Writing a book and preaching a sermon at the same time is both a daunting, challenging, and pleasurable thing. Telling a story, is a gift, the story tellers of old. Told and retold history orally when there were no written records or even written languages. Ancestor worship was and is really a matter of remembering them and their family history as well as important events. I like to use the word worth-ship for that is where the word worship comes from. The goal of words is to conclude in some form ecstasy or event, such as an orgasmic experience of indelible imprints of poetic hypnotic spells of trance like states of mind and spirit, travel into another dream like world of both escape from the harsh realities of of every day life, without the smoking pipe dreams of emergency forgetfulness. In the face of those things that must be remembered and those things that must be forgotten and finding the balance between the two. The stories that I have been sharing are designed both to entertain and forget ones own problems, forgetfulness of the past and reminders of what works and where one came from. My ancestors on my mothers side are all story tellers going back to my great great grandfather, who was both a Shaman, or village priest in Finland as well as a successful businessman and educator. Founding a school for instance after loosing a school board election and draining a large lake and henceforth producing much farm land. His son, my Great Grand Uncle became my great grandfather after the early death of his brother. Who died of a broken heart after my my biological great grandmother died at child birth, henceforth raising my grandmother and telling stories to my mother of his missionary experiences in foreign lands. For he had become the head of all missionary activities world wide for the Lutheran Church and State Country of Finland and was no small figure in the international history of the world. He also founded among his vast missionary activities, The Finnish Seaman's Mission originally located near the foot of Mission STREET ON THE WATERFRONT OF San Francisco in 1890 at number 9 Mission. His official title was Seaman's Pastor and he founded the First Finnish Lutheran Church there by conducting Sunday Services also, which developed into and eventually merging with The Danish Lutheran Church in San Francisco and became known today as Saint Francis Lutheran Church in San Francisco. The Seaman's Mission eventually merged with The Scandinavian Seamen's Mission in the Noe Valley Area of San Francisco. All this was lost on me, I felt I was dropped out of nowhere, a true nowhere man in a forgion land, for I was born in Sweden.. Here I was, how did I get here, how was it that I ended up marrying a retired Sea Captain's daughter and today sit on a bench with a guitar and my dog Diamond in Sausalito at the Ferry Boat Landing. Greeting the tourists in the same spot my great grandfather sat waiting for the ferry boat a hundred and twenty years earlier. It's cosmic, It's beyond me, how did I become the Waterfront Minister for the floating and sailing community, as my ancestor before me, as he walked these streets also. Virtually unknown to me, at the time of my rebellion against God and my fellow brother. There are unseen forces guiding our destiny, whether we we are conscious of them or not. We can never out smart The Devil in our own power and intellect. He or She has had millions of years of practice on human beings and is the master of disaster. How can we beat The Devil? Answer we can't in our own power and intellect. There was one who beat him for certain on our behalf, at his own game, by being allowed to be put to death unjustly. Which throw Satan's moral authority out the window, not knowing who it really was he was crucifying and what the eternal result of the shedding of God's Son's innocent blood would be. For Satan himself was not sure what was really happening and how God's Son was going to undo the curse of Adam and Eve, and the one sin they committed, that started the whole worlds mess. For this was a great conspiracy from Heaven, which kept Satan in the dark, as people are today, confused and doubting, how could one sin by two people ruin the world and how could one life, one act of righteousness undo the great curse, in the heart of man, until all of creation will be redeemed, for those who would except the free unconditional pardon, for those who also surrender, unconditionally. http://www.angelfire.com/hi2/agapecyber "Faulkner" Romanowsky, Faulkner is my true last name in translated from Russian Sokolovsky, Sokol means Falcon of Faulk in Old English, Romanowsky is an Ellis Island immigrant name, my father defected from the Soviet Union to Finland and changed his name to avoid being captured and killed for desertion as a Russian Officer after the war, for it was a death penalty to defect and join a forgion army at war. I don't have a bank account so my Pay Pal is dysfunctional and my brand new computer is broken, so here is my literal thumb nail manuscript, with all it's cell phone typos and misspelling. But you can write me or call me at P.O. Box 1591 Sausalito Ca. 94965 Tel. 415 933 2832 Sorry for the commercials ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Subject: The Return Home Chapter 11 The year was 1968 and I was in hot persuit of my younger brother Alex, to get my share of the ill gotten loot and The Lord knows what else. Here I was sitting and having breakfast with a view, with a retired millionaire who picked me up hitchhiking and who wanted nothing from me except to be a Christian and share the Love of Jesus with me one highway number one, on my way with a free ride to home and LA. I remembering running away from from home after Summer of Love which I spent living and working in The San Fernando Valley and when day I broke the family car down on Topanga Canyon Road and hitchhiked home and picked up nothing except maybe a jacket and decided to leave home and hitchhiked back North To Marin County. I didn't tell my mom or dad and just left at night with only the clothes on my back. My older brother was also living in Marin, but we found like cats and dogs and had no relationship and he had no place for me to stay anyway. He and his girlfriend Sue thought I was a drugged out loser and potential trouble maker if not crazy. I walked out penniless under the cover of dark, just turned seventeen years old that Summer of Love which I spent poking at free open air concerts when I could, at Griffith Park for example, Love In's and Be In's, etc and taking the back road to Hollywood to a Cafe' called the Omnibus and just enjoying the ride over the Santa Monica Mountains on motor cycle of car. One favorite pass time was horse riding at Griffith Park while smoking Marijuana like a cowboy. The horses were all in controlled environments so they rode a railed trail on a big circle. Pot was all I was doing in LA and some pills in The Valley of The Dolls occasionally when and if available, since moving back down to The Valley with my parents from a big beautiful house with a redwood trees or grove, as part of our yard at 66 Hill Crest in Larkspur, where I also attended Redwood High School and had friends and acquaintances in the area. When we lived there for a couple of years, moving from Forestville in 1964 As I left to return to my happy places North and to escape the police state cruelty of Southern California at the time. with all the troubles I've had with the law, on and off over the years I grew up in The Valley. I walked a few blocks from my home to the Ventura Freeway and found a dollar bill on the freeway on ramp. That's all I had to my name as I left home and never looked back. I got a ride from a young business like good looking gay man and he propositioned me to pull over near the Malibu Road exit, on a little hill or overlook in the warm calm country night. But I politely declined, he was not to happy, so he dropped me off at the next exit. I asked him if he could spare a couple of bucks, but obviously he was frustrated and said no. so much for an opportunity to make some road money. But now I was heading home again, for all the wrong reasons, except I haven't seen my mother for at least six months or more, nor have I even tried to get in touch with her since running away. But now I'm coming home to visit in Luxury after a night of horror. We continued driving down the coast. My unconditional love Christian benefactor was so into talking and testifying about the unconditional love of Jesus, while we were driving through San Louis Obisbo, after getting a sandwich or something possibly, that he ran into the back of a car on the highway or something, in stop and go traffic. It was very impressive the way he handled the situation. It was only a bumper accident and my new friend exchanged insurance information and we all went on our merry ways heading south. I thought to myself this guy is intense, no cussing or swearing". You know what you and I would have done. But he radiated Jesus and it was probably the devil that had the guy in front put his brakes on. When we arrived on the street where my parents lived in Tarzana, I was too embarrassed to have him drop me off in front of my house, because it looked like a glorified chicken coop or a Mexican motel with a large yard. So I asked him to drop me off in front of a neighbors house next door that looked more impressive. So as I waved good bye to him and thanked him, I went down my neighbors drive way and into the back yard and jumped a fence into my parents back yard area , and walked into my mother's home, I was shocked and surprised to find the retired businessman with a Bible in his hand sitting in the living room with my mother and both looking like angels. It's an image I will never get out of my mind, he told my mother he was a Christian Businessmen and she told him she was praying for me to come home. I was flabbergasted. But in the drugged out world of the Sixties nothing seemed impossible, whether it was a miracle, or a hallucination. To verify this story Google search the best seller book "God Can Do It Again" by Katheryn Khulmen under the chapter "From Russia To Love, a testimonial by my mother Ritva Romanowsky.....To be continued, I hope to retire on this cell phone book, this first you will ever see. Please family and friends save these pages and chapters for me and I will run them through a word prossessor for spelling, editing and corrections, before publication on something other then a cheapo metro cell phone, with a full key board. I'm thinking of Simeon & Shoester Publishers. I'm praying for a Black Berry Phone or Droid, so I can do my own cell phone editing. Coming to you from a floating home a mile anchored off my dingy dock. If you enjoy this true story of a California Hippie you can put something in my account Peter Roanowsky P.O.Box 1591 Sausalito CA.94965 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Subject: poems, prayers, absurdities, promises, and true tales CHAPTER FIFTEEN / or something True tales of course, even though the time lines are obscure at times. The tales are true; memory is a funny thing, we remember the high lights of agony and ecstasy and time in between twists and overlaps in places, but the overall rhythm of memory is like a song a tale to be told and behold in spiritual ecstasy. My goal is to go into a trance, spell, ecstasy, if I don't feel it my readers wont either, unless The Creator brings alive certain verses. We are all looking for signs, I see faces often in the most obscure places, every morning I see a young baby face looking Buddha on the mildew stained hatch above my bed meditating, I the mildew and black mold. Signs every where, so to speak. Confirmations, revelations, witnesses, feelings, leadings, miss spelled spells, gospels. It is said that there is a fine line between madness and genius, between spirituality and reality, one must be very careful going into such trances, the battle field is clear, yet there are many boulders, I feel it coming, traveling back into my past. Some how I managed to get enough money to buy enough marijuana, to hitchhiking back to LA along Highway 101. I'm loosing track of how many times I went back and fourth in the Sixties, the events seem to all collide together, with very distince memories of certain events. Like the time I had bags of one ounce marijuana packages in my travel bag hitchhiking south, when a cop came up to me with a gun on the freeway on ramp and held it on me, while searching my bag, which was full of marijuana for sale or trade and he never saw it. He was looking for a gun, because I fit the description of someone. I had already spent six months locked up for one ounce of weed, that wasn't even mine, but a friends. He panicked and instead of shoving it down his pants, he threw it on the ground and literally peed on it, thinking the cops won't touch it. I spent six months locked up because of prior petty criminal acts and was released after I jumped a black man and and almost started a race riot, in the minds of my handlers. I was only sixteen years old or something years old. I remember smoking pot for the first time in Marin County when I was a freshmen in High school, I was with a neighborhood female friend Jenny Krug, she got the pot from her best friend Collen, who worked for Sonny and Cher as their clothes designer or something. Her picture is on the back of Sonny and Cher's first album. Decades later I heard Cher say on TV, that she never has taken drugs, I think we all know what she meant. Paranoia was everywhere in those days, weed was still a felony in those days, but things were loosening up. I say none of these things to glorify drugs, In the standard way of speaking. My younger brother Alex eventually died of a blood clot to heart after struggling with drugs for years and was finally beaten near to death in jail with a pipe and died a few years later as a result of that beating by all blacks in a cell with one white man with white power tattoos on him and swastikas. He was ganged rapped by two hardened black criminals in jail in LA as a teenager, where they lock you up with hardened criminals on weekends, until juvenile Hall opens on Mondays. That's what happened to me in LA also. I was put in the worse jail in downtown LA over a weekend, called Georgia Street jail. Decades later I heard it was finally condemned. I was stripped naked in front of all the other inmates and thrown into a cell with no bedding with another young black inmate, for allegedly talking. The jailer appeared to be an alcoholic and drinking on the job, it looked like something from the south. Bottles of what appeared to be booze behind his desk. We were all in cages side by side, so we could talk to each other between bars. I remember on Sunday a preacher coming in and preaching to us all together in our tiger cages, standing in the middle of the one room jail. A man was gaging in their from a drug withdrawal or something, some sometime during my stay. The preacher asked anyone anyone who wanted to pray to except Jesus or something and asked us to get on our knees in front of our jail doors and he would pray with of for us one by one. Nobody was ashamed or ridiculed for getting on our knees in front of everyone. Because we all knew we were in hell. Nothing happened to me at the time of my prayer to except Jesus. I wasn't broken enough and ready yet in my heart to surrender every corner. Or maybe someone didn't explain it to me properly. I never even heard the words BORN AGAIN before, being raised Catholic, it never came up. Just try to live a good life, was the message growing up. But it was impossible for me, I kept getting in trouble. I wasn't much of a talker in those days, although I COULD HAVE BEEN A COMEDIAN in those days or an artist, for I loved to draw and could copy anything, with pencil or pen. That's why I SAY, YOUR NOT ALLOWED to break the rules, unless you have first mastered them. Art is the best example, Van Gouge and Picasso, as well as the other impressionist, first started as realist, Van Gouge's father was a preacher and Van even studied for the ministry and worked as a missionary, to the poorest of the poor, as he drew what life was really like for them in realism. He eventually became the father of impressionism and some might say, absurdity. While in jail, which felt like an eternity, it was so bad, I just wanted to see a patch of blue sky. My black jail mate loved to talk about Lou Raul's and sing his ditties, if I remember properly, while wearing silk boxer shorts. He was really entertaining, listening what it was like, to live in South Central Los Angeles. He was short and quite animated and friendly, especially after I was forced to strip naked in front of everyone for talking, when it was him doing the talking. But I took the fall for him, because nobody snitches in jail. The young white blond haired white guy, in the cage next to me talked forever what is was like to ride a chopped Harley Davidson. It was awesome, the way he said it felt and how people looked at him when he stopped at an intersection, with hair flowing and a TEE BAR in his hands. Finally we got out and were transferred to Central Juvenile Hall in South Central LA. It was huge, large with a wide open central area in the middle of school, dorms and cells or whatever. I was crossing the grassy area walkway to school class, when I looked down and found a large cigarette butt. I bent down to pick it up and when I looked up, I was surrounded by four or five of the biggest and meanest looking black inmates I had ever seen. They were all grinning, looking like they had me, all alone in a corner of a wide open area, far from anyone and especially counselors. I felt like I was looking at death or severe bodily hard in the face. I was surrounded, then one of them said with an evil grin. "WHAT YOU GOT IN YOU HAND WHITE BOY?".........To be continued http://www.angelfire.com/hi2/agapecyber If you would like to mail a contribution, donate a used smart phone or computer, to continue this book to help others mail to Peter "Faulkner" Romanowsky / P.O. Box 1591 Sausalito, Ca 94965 Currently it will coast 150.00 plus UPS shipping to repair my brand new broken screen computer, very depressing, so I am writing this book with my thumb, one letter at a time, on my cell phone. If you need tax deduction make check out to New Covenant Evangelistic Association P.S. Don't forget to Google my name Peter Romanowsky for background info or watch my cheesy video SAUSALITO WATERFRONT MOVIE by google those words, or current tourist posted videos of Diamond and I preforming, by Google words Diamond Dog Sausalito --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER Subject: 19th nervous breakdown in stir chapter 16 diary of sixties hipster While I was surrounded in LA Central Juvenile Hall by hostile youth authority transfer inmates from youth prison, through this general facility of minor offenders. These gangsters looked like they could have been in for murder, manslaughter, gang banging or any other serious crime and looked like adults. I went into shock. Here I was a white kid from West Valley in for a minor drug charge, with some priors, never knowing or having a black friend in the lily white bedroom community of Los Angeles in West Valley, of the Dolls. In fact in my entire Junior HIGH school of Portola in Encino, I don't even remember a LATINO ATTENDING. Now I was with them all, in the roughest part of Central East Los Angeles, what a culture shock. Then all of a sudden I heard a voice yelling "Hey that's Pete" and I turned around and it was my one black friend from my weekend in Jail, that I took a fall for and as soon as he came running running up, seeing I was in trouble, I turned around again, and they were all gone, seeing I had a black friend, and he was only a short little guy. But the damage was done, I was in shock, I went to my high school class, sat down and all of a sudden I started feeling like I was coming on to a bad acid trip and feeling as though I was loosing my mind. I staggered my hand up to ask to see the nurse, and miraculously I made it out of the class. The Rolling Stones song "Here comes you 19Th Nervous Breakdown" was the Stones big hit at the time, his was only my first. I just read the other day on the Internet, that "Sister Amie" Amy Semple McPherson, founder of Angeles Temple in Echo Park Los Angeles, had a nervous breakdown and eventually died of a drug overdose of what street people call "REDS" accidental of course and how ironic, because years later I would be delivered from methamphetamine there at a prayer meeting or service, as well as all forms of speed to this day, as afore mentioned. She was also married two or three times and broke her own rule of not remarrying while her divorced husband was still alive in her church charter doctrine, yet the church grew into one of the biggest and fasted growing Pentecostal Fundamental Churches in the world; The Foursquare International. It goes to show that anyone can get hooked on drugs, no matter how great or small and she was preaching about her life story in Oakland at the time. The Seconal pills she took were the same that my younger brother used no doubt, before he died shortly after he was released from Soledad Prison. But he was clean at this time and had excepted Jesus as his personal Savior, but the damage had been done, and though his soul was redeemed, his physical body failed. Writing a book, especially about one's life story, is not as easy as one would think, many famous people were cut short, before ever accomplishing such a venture, such as Julius Cesar, Abraham Lincoln and I'm sure the list goes on and on. Imagine if George Washing wrote such a book, maybe he did, maybe he didn't. "The Devil is in the details and not in the big picture in The End". ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- So here I was in the nurses office after mentally staggering down the hall, she gave me some pills after asking me if I had been pressured. A prison term I learned later for non physical, but mental violence practised by both guards and inmates. It felt like every drug residual in the fatty tissues, that had built up in my system were were released at once. I felt like I was losing my mind for months, up to six months, until I exploded and jumped a negro for threatening me, then I was released and was back in the free world, after countless nights of quietly losing my mind and I was still only a young teenager. While I was locked up, I had a dream that I was flying through space in slow motion, heading somewhere, with my body glowing in places, like I had been through a great fire and had escaped and was redeemed and slowly moving through the coolness of space towards my final destination. I remember also while being locked up how the blacks used to taunt and torment the poor lily white boys, who just wanted to stay quite and do their time. I think it's a Nordic trait, just to be quite and think, from the long Northern European nights in the winter, while people from the equator seem to be more animated because of the heat and equal days and equal nights, it may be genetic. The Mexicans stayed by themselves and bothered no one, the blacks would dance with our white women and throw it in our face at co ed events in Juvenile hall and I don't blame them the way they were treated down south. But this was not the south anymore, no one was more meek and quite then the whites of California that I met and served time with in stir. I ended up being the baddest cat in the bunch and the blacks didn't say boo, after I jumped one of them. So they cut me loose, in case racial tensions started to get out of control, they new my time was up and I had no release date.....To be continued, next Chapter, the beginnings of a new beginning back in Marin County, for background information of current events Google Peter Romanowsky video if you would like to text mail me and or receive and send photos tel 415-933-2832 I LOVE TO TEXT. this book or blog is being produced on my blackberry type cell phone, need to upgrade to full blown Blackberry for editing ans spell checking....Love in Christ -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER I feel so excited when I wake up and word on my book. No brick and mortar church needed here, after all a church is people. Jesus had three close friends, James, John and Peter, plus nine other disciples making twelve and Mary and Martha and their brother, who he stayed with sometimes and no doubt experienced domestic bless. When he and the Apostles were not sleeping in the open or staying at other friends houses, where the crowds couldn't find Him in times of peace and treat. He told His disciples to "come apart and rest awhile", a preacher once added, "before you come apart". I feel purpose when I'm writing, it gives me responsibility, communication, a way to exercise my calling as a preacher and priest, to the waterfront people of Sausalito, as my Great Grandfather did in the eighteen nineties, as a waterfront pastor and Lutheran priest, headquartered on number #9 Market Street. I have to make my living entertaining now as I minister on the Waterfront. Tourists are my main source of income along with the mother of my three grown children, who helps me out with taking care of my guitar playing dog and phone bill. Other then that I live on two a month on food stamp card. At least I don't have to pay rent on my fifty foot Ferraro cement boat, which I live on anchored out. In a year ans a half I will be able to apply for some kind of social security and also free HUD housing in Sausalito and move into an apartment again. I haven't had running water, except under my boat, for twenty three years, can't wait to take a hot shower and long hot bath. In the mean while I will continue to live like a hermit a mile off shore, in the shadow of the richest Island in the world, Belvedere and enjoy a three hundred and sixty degree unobstructed view on Mount Tamalpias and the skyline of San Francisco and Oakland as well as the Oakland Bay Bridge, the tops of The Golden Gate Bridge and angel Island, where all the Asian or Chinese immigrants came through. Which is now a beautiful State Park and which is very poynient for me, because like Vito Corleone in The God Father, I also came through Ellis Island in New York, being born in Sweden AND WAKING UP on a ship coming to America. But Don't plan on dying fro heart failure from being a gangster, whatever he died from in the movie. So here I am, floating on a sea of memories, alone for over a quarter of a century, except for rescuing a homeless dying of exposure mother, who was abandoned, after she lost her mind from some sort of dementia. She was sleeping in construction out houses and camping on the ground and begging from strangers. I met her after I decided to get a dog, by adopting one from in front of a store, for instance. So I met her, Mary McClealand in front of our local grocery store and ended up not being able to get rid of her for over three years, my wife had long ago made me leave my home years earlier, in lieu of marriage counseling under duress of a divorce suit. The problem was I was left totally broke and disabled, I eventually had to eat out of dumpsters to survive and still eat dumpster food to this day over a quarter of a century later. But my dog and I are very good at it, I know when things are fresh and I eat around the teeth marks of half eaten sandwiches that the rich tourists throw out. Honestly I'm very good at forging for food, especially when a tourist has a half eaten pizza in a box. I ask them not to throw it away because I may have to eat it out of a dumpster, it's a new trick I learned a year or so ago and It works most of the time as a street musician and minister with a dog, on the waterfront. Homeless Mary, who I ended up adopting instead of a dog, said she was a nun and I was a minister and wouldn't get out of my sixties four Volkswagen camper, saying it was a Monastery. she didn't take drugs, alcohol or was promiscuous, she was a real lost soul. The ones you here about wandering off from some convalescent home and dying in the bushes. I could write a book about taking care of her for three and a half years in my parked van and thirty foot leaking boat, she is now happy in Saint Michael's Residential Home on Fourth Street in San Rafael,California here in "Marvelous Marin County". Her eldest son grew up and ended up taking care of her, God was testing me and telling me to take care of her in my one man convalescent home and He would eventually give me a dog for taking care of this human being, that was treated worse then a dog, by society. As proof of God"s kindness and word, that if you unconditionally take care of the poor and needy, He will reward you, Google search Caji Dog Sausalito, for proof that He finally gave me the dog of my dreams, after taking care of Mary. I know on judgment day, if Mary was God, I know she would love me and bless me. Jesus said and taught, that if you do these things to the least of those, who believe in me, you have done it to me, and who was Jesus ultimately, But God Himself, in the flesh......To be continued... you email cell phone pastor Peter Faulkner, my pen name, bases on my true name, not my Ellis Island name Peter romanowsky, which if you Google search, you will be blown away. If you would like to send a donation to keep me writing every day for your morning devotions or upliftings sermons, send a postal money order to my legal name Peter Romanowsky, or if you would like to send a donation for me to stop, the same, funny, I told you.....google search Matti Tarkkanen for my missionary and priestly ancestry on my mothers side. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Subject: chapter 17 summer of love, earlier and later by Peter Faulkner recovering hippie All of us born in 1949 turned 18 in 1967, we were the heart of the baby boomers. Fred Flintstone sold Winston Cigarettes during commercials. Annette Funachello was hot and grew into a bikini bathing suit after the Mickey Mouse Club Daze. We had watched millions of commercials on TV, candy Cigarettes were sold to children, by the major cigarette companies, such as Phillip Morris. We were too young to by the real thing, so we stole them, a carton at a time under our jackets. Cigarette machines were every where, if one had money to buy then. I was too poor in my younger days, so we recycled bottles along the hot dusty roads in Reseda California, beer bottles, coke bottles and such, which still were the same price as today, after over fifty years, from the time I started at seven. My mother was a Hollywood Beauty Queen on television with Wink Martindale if only for a brief moment in time, before my father made sure that she be a stay at home mother and not lose her to the glamor and gilts of Hollywood, by keeping her pregnant all the time. She was extremely beautiful, my father worked hard, faked being Santa Claus one time behind the front door. He was also a Russia Cossack Sword Dancer, who made his own costume, with his own ambitions of Hollywood. He once danced for the Nights of Columbus, when James Cagney came up to him and congratulated him for his performance. Hot Rod magazines were the rage, with Big Daddy at the wheel. Drugs were not in existence for us seven year ODs, I dreaded turning seven because I was taught in Catholic Church that this was the age of reason and I would be held accountable for my sins. I did everything I could to block those thoughts out of my mind, because even at seven I knew I was a sinner, because of the Catholic Doctrine of original sin. We were watching The Howdy Duty Time on our black and white televisions and The Mickey Mouse Club was the rage. I was a poor student, couldn't concentrate, early attention deficient syndrome before the term was even coined. Fake tattoos were the rage for us children and "Sick Cards" were the trading currency of the day. I remember the first curse word I ever heard while eating my lunch at Shirley Ave. Public School, were we used to trade sandwiches and other food from our lunch bags, when someone got a raw deal or something and used God's name in vain, I still remember the shock. For I never, ever heard cursing before, not even on TV or the movie theaters in 1956. I remember having a piece of chalk being thrown at me by my third grade teacher named Mister Bryant a WWII veteran and pilot who was shot down and bailed out of his plane and lost his leg after he hit the tail wing of his plane. He called me a day dreamer, for always starring out the windows of our class rooms, thinking about I'd rather be anywhere then here. We meaning me and my third grade friends were fascinated by his wood leg and his briefs stories outside the classroom and his big burly body and his limp. My father was an artillery lieutenant which a battlefield promotion to Captain, during the Russian Finnish War, but never received and veterans benefits, because he was an immigrant from a foreign war, on both sides, Finnish and Russian. Where he defected to during the war, that predated WWII, so we all had to grow up by the seat of our pants, with no physiological or physical help from Uncle Sam. In fact my parents had to sign papers that they would not apply for any social benefits for years after their immigration the United States. How we made it I don't know, we had a sponsor in Short Hills New Jersey name Aunt Vienno and Uncle Adolf, he was a chauffeur for a wealthy stock holder for Ponds and Nestle Chocolate. I remember being invited as a child, to come and spend the night, from New York and I wet the huge double bed, in the night and was never invited back to the Mansion. My Great Aunt was Head main and servant, she left some stock for my mother decades later, after she died. I remember the first time someone lied to me and cheated me, I was still only six or seven, he was my best friend and lived on a dairy farm close by, which his parents owned. Probably the last dairy farm in West Central San Fernando Valley, which the whole valley was once famous for orchards and stuff and originally founded by The San Fernando Mission, in the town named the same. All my family, more or less are buried there, to this day at The Mission, I think Bob Hope is buried there too. Not too terribly far from the Famous Forest Lawn Cemetery. Anyway my best friend took some money from me for some lick on, stick on tattoos, which were the rage as children and never delivered the goods. It was the first time I had ever been ripped off, we stay friends, but the damage to the human condition had been done. The Dairy was called El Mo lino Dairy, I believe it's brand name still exists, next time you go shopping, Malino was their family name, maybe they were Italian or Mexican American. The amount I was ripped off for was only a dollar, but what an impression it make. Correction, the "SICK" CARDS CAME LATER in Life, Yes later, based on the cartoon magazine "Sick", which was contemporary, or predated "MAD MAGAZINE", I guess I may or may not, getting to the end of my earthly life, the memories are so vivid. Even though I suspect I'm slightly dyslexic, I feel like a savant at times, and idiot savant of course. I hate reading books, I love writing books, this is my third. Books are boring to me, except studying them, especially lexicons, dictionaries, history and Biblical Texts, with a special affinity to etymology, forgot how to spell the word? ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I REMEMBER THE FIRST SONG I ever remember hearing on the radio, "Love and Marriage, Goes Together Like A Horse and carriage", by Frank Sinatra. .... I remember the first birth of a girl in our family of all brothers, Bronik, myself,Michael and Alex. Alex was so good looking that the millionaire in New Jersey my Great Aunt worked for, wanted to adopt him. We all had blue eyes and extremely blond hair, except my older brother and brunette with blue eyes, like my mother. MY FATHER HAD STEEL BLUE GRAY EYES,always looked gray to me growing up..... Hold on to your britches, more to come, to be continued....Next Chapter birth of my sister Leena, Reseda California becomes the bedroom porno Capital of the world, "Boogie Nights" was a film about Reseda, our local theater in Reseda showed nothing but early horror movies, my first love, Miss Pinn my kindergarten teacher, my first secret love, Valerie.... http://www.myspace.com/peteromanowsky click on videos for more current information.... Love in Christ Penn name and legal evangelised birth ancestral name.....Faulker ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER Sherman Way is the main street of Reseda, with it's famous line of huge tall palms trees lining the way, that look over a hundred feet tell, especially when your a kid. OUR LAND LORD miss Walton, who lived in a bungalow house in front of us, while we lived in a rented glorified shack complex in the rear, from the best of my memory. The roof never leaked and we were always dry and comfortable. We were so poor that we drank water milk with sugar and ate breadcrumbs dipped in left over fat from cooking, but it tasted good, especially when your growing and are hungry. We were truly the working poor, like the Little Rascals during the Great Depression. We dug and underground fort in the back yard and that was our secret hiding place. My father dug one in Finland after he escaped from The Secret Police by pulling a gun on them when they came to arrest him and deport him back to Russia, to be executed for defecting too and putting a a Finnish Uniform in a time of war, which was treason. The Finns put up a tremendous struggle against The powerful Soviet Union, but finally they had to sign a peace agreement and the Russians wanted all the defectors back for trial. Thy hung them with meat hooks under the jaw as in general Vlasoff's case, when he led and entire division against his own Communist Russia. My father always had a picture of him on a table framed, for my father did the same thing, defecting one night and walking across the battlefield to surrender to The Finnish Army. Then he put on a Finnish Uniform and began anti communist propaganda broadcasts over the radio, urging his fellow Russian Patriots to raise up against The Communist Socialist Soviet Union, which of course insured his death penalty under the officially atheistic solipsistic system, which took his family's house in White Russia and turned it into a military headquarters and put his father in prison for his anti socialist propaganda in The Soviet Union. My father used to have to sneak food into the prison, to feed my grandfather, who was a prominent lawyer and law professor in Poland and White Russia. Sadly my father said, he also was and atheist, but hated communism. Someday before I die, I would like to know the truth about my grand father, whether he repented in the end, like Charles Darwin did, before he died. I think they both had Christian burials, Charles Darwin did for sure, in Westminster Abbey. My father had to also feed his brothers and I think sisters plus no doubt his mother, as the oldest member of the family, while his father was in prison. My father told me a story about my Grandfather in a court of law, demonstrating how this guy accused of burning some guys house down, by lighting his thatched roof on fire. My grandfather brought some of the thatch to court and attempted to light it on fire and it wouldn't burn. So he won the case for the accused, I got the impression it became part of some famous case law. His ancestors were all veterinarians and officers, for in futile Russia there were only two classes, aristocracy and peasants. Only the ruling class could serve as officers in the military under Czarist Russia. Although the Czar was the first to free all the slaves, called serfs in Russia, long before America did. When the German Army "The Vermont" finally came through, they released my grandfather for his anti communist activities. Meanwhile my father had attended The University of Moscow and studied to be a biology professor, after graduation he took a job as a high school level teacher, for a year, before they changed the draft laws and started taking professional, educated people for the war effort. They made him go through officer training academy and he said the training was brutal, when it was sunny they had to stay in doors and study and when the weather was bad, he said they had to go out on maneuvers in the rain and snow, no doubt, he told me, it was nothing like West Point, he said trainees committed suicide. He told me, while a student he visited The Ukraine and saw whole families starved to death, by Stalin's collective policy and with held food from them, if they didn't submit to collectivism, a million died in the Ukraine alone, under Soviet Socialism. I think I heard a total of thirteen million alone died in the Soviet Union, by the hands of their own government. Stalin killed all his top officers, out of Paranoia of being betrayed and that was just the tip of the ice berg, compared to Poland and no doubt other countries in his Soviet sphere. In the meanwhile, while these two huge Socialist Beasts were fighting and killing each other and their own people for their private reasons and ambitions, International Socialism and The National Socialism Parties, my father no doubt, met my mother at a social dance, which is the custom in Finland, unless they meet in church, or some political function.....Next episode....my father tries to kill himself by shooting himself in the head, while living underground, waiting for the ocean to freeze, to make his escape to Sweden and freedom, where I was born. But the gun misfires and an angel appears before him and says he will survive.... Go to http://www.facebook.com/peteromanowsky or go to my email for conformation peteromanowsky@gmail.com "love"! CHAPTER The older you get, the more you have to reinvent yourself. I gave become a part time writer these daze spending a lot of time in the morning working on this boo. Then with a burst of energy I go out and play my guitar in the afternoons for the tourists and locals. I know this manuscript will be published someday before I die and it will make money for me. Everything we do with passion, will produce results, press on is the working word. I Peter Romanowsky plan to run for United Sates Congress, every two years for the rest of my life, win or lose, I plan on filing "committee" papers to raise money, for this purpose also. Google search my name for congress, to see how I have taken the first step. I'm too old at over sixty to do any more back breaking word, so I will be writing, singing, preaching and politicking for the rest of my life, until the change comes, to do other wise, to occupy my time for a living, but I will always be preaching and teaching and singing with a guitar and hopefully with a dog or pet, by my side or on my lap. My father had a dog show in Ireland to help supplement his income and it was kidnapped by a circus when he wouldn't sell it, he told me. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER While I was in my underground bunker on Gault Street in Reseda California, hiding from the world a wars all around me, watching on TV, playing war games, shooting each other and falling down dead all through the neighborhood, with toy and imaginary guns and rifles, while still only six or seven years old, in nineteen fifty six, my father all so was in an underground bunker he made in Finland, dug out of the ground and covered over with brush. Waiting for the sea between Finland and Sweden to freeze over for his walk on the frozen water for political asylum from the Soviet Secret Police in 1946. His only companion was a pet rat and he raided farms for food and left notes someday he would return to repay them. On one such foraging raid, found a pistol in a barn. I'm not sure of the time line, because he had a pistol under his seat at my mothers farm in Tianus Jurva, near Vassa, the San Francisco port town of Finland. My great grandfather and uncle opened the door when the secret service came looking for my dad and he was confronted with the problem of having to lie to the Nazis, so to speak. My great grand uncle became my great grandfather at the untimely death of his brother of heart failure, after the death of my great grand mother giving birth to my grandmother. He was a world class figure on the International scene. Probably instrumental in saving the lives of all the Jews in Finland, he was the head of The Finnish Missionary Society and his name was Matti Tarkkanen and if you Google Search his name and the missionary society, you will find his history. The stated purpose of the society was to reach the "Heathen" of the world and minister domestically to the Finns at home and abroad, providing and establishing Seamen's Missions overseas, for example, San Francisco in 1890, as a young Lutheran Pastor and eventually co founder of what today is Saint Francis Lutheran Church, after a merger of The Finnish Lutheran Church, which began on 9 Mission Street when he was a waterfront missionary and pastor to seamen, like I am today, a hundred and twenty years later, sitting in the same spot, I am today, playing my guitar, while waiting for the next ferry. Along with his work in China, Asia and Africa and author of many books and translating the New Testament into modern Finnish, the other stated goal of the society, was to reach the Jews for Jesus. Like me, he went to Israel as a missionary and is still remembered at The Finnish Mission in Jerusalem. I was told a story there, while he was on a train in America, he was looking for the bathroom and opened the wrong door and fell out of the train, but the train was making a circle on a switch back and h ran across the valley and caught the train again. In fact he traveled around the world three times, on sailing and steam ships, setting up Seam's "missions, schools in ASIA AND Africa, establishing Churches, ordaining ministers, he was the first to ordain black African priests in Angola and even brought some back to Finland. Where they had never seen a black person before. All of his international accomplishments are achieved in The Hague at The World Council of Churches records in The Headquarters of The UEC, and can be retrieved by searching his name and missionary society on line today. He told my mother, who used to sit at his feet, that San Francisco was the hardest place he ever worked, to establish a mission, it took five years. The Czar of Russia even gave him a metal, when Finland was still part of Russia, before independence in the early twentieth century around 1918, when my father was born. My ancestor also help bring peace to South Africa, been an important player in European Conferences in INTERNATIONAL church affairs and questions. Worked in Hanan Province in China and warned that it would be a force to be reckoned, in the future. He set up a school, I believe in JAPAN ALSO, probably in Nagasaki, the international port town of Japan, with many Christians there, as a result of Jesuit Missionaries from Portugal, who were the first Europeans in Japan and had a trading post on an Island. But the local Japanese Shogun virtually slaughter all the Catholic converts, some five thousand, at least, by gathering them together in a fortress and slaughtering them all, so much for Christianity in Japan. Then came the atom bomb, makes you wonder. When Matti Tarkkanen died, in true Christian Service, he accumulated nothing, but moments and gifts, from the mission fields and there is a museum in Helsinki with his history, there. But now this prominent servant of God, had to lie, to save my dad from being deported and executed, for treason by The Soviet Union, for Russia cut off the upper left hand of Finland, for it's arctic port and the lower left foot, as part of it's forced peace treaty with Finland, She used to look like a dancing lady and was the last country in Europe, to become Christian. After my father pulled out his gun and escaped into the woods, to wait his fate, during the dark depressing, cold and lonely nights, waiting for the ocean to freeze over, in the land of the midnight sun and also the land of eternal darkness and cold, in the middle of winter. His beard had grown ferociously, the only lights, through most of the dark nights, were aura borialis, which I saw, for the first time, in Finland. My father was so depressed, that he put his gun, to his head and pulled the trigger, but the gun didn't go off, he pointed the gun again, upwards and pulled the trigger and it went off. Then he told me a beam of light came down and an angel appeared before him, in the light and told him, that he would survive. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Years later in Sylmar California, in NORTH San Fernando Valley, after moving from Paradise, in Larkspur, Marin County, 66 Hillcrest,with redwood trees and a view, on the side of a hill, crest, go figure. My mother called out frantically to my younger brother Alex and I, that my father was trying to commit suicide, she felt if we were in the bedroom, he wouldn't do it before our eyes, my mother was a saint, she would never leave him, no matter how crazy, or drunk, he got. We stood in the door way, while my father repeatedly, tried to pull the trigger on a 306 caliber military rifle, that he had in his mouth, but kept missing the trigger, with hid big tow, while he was in his underwear and we almost saw him bow his head completely off. I have seen what a thirty odd six WWII rifle could do, for my father, was a home dealer and gun collector, we used to hunt and target practice. I remember shooting a tree and the gun :knocking me on my proverbial ass and blowing a hole, like hell, out of a tree. My dad was too drunk on vodka, to blow his head off, it would have taken the entire top of his head off, with his brains. I think at this time, my mind was blown, numb, was in a daze, life is tough, but did I have to see this, or almost see this, my father looked at my brother and I, with a glazed sheepish look and collapsed on is bed. I think that's when my younger brother quietly lost his mind, she eventually became an heroin addict, after finding my hypodermic needle kit in my jeans. I was shooting speed, in Marin County and whatever I could grind up and cook in a spoon, but here was only marijuana and the occasional over the counter drugs I could get, that meth was made out of, such as Dristan Inhalers. My father was an educated working man, immigrant, battlefield survivor, with a pension from The USSR, but a death sentence instead, but he worked hard, as a small businessman and worked for others, in between, as an ace mechanic for garages, gas stations and car dealerships, even owned a bar called "The Happy Hour" on Ventura Blvd. in the heart of Encino.....More happy thoughts to come, stay tuned, the year was 1966.... and I was around seventeen...google search something, or go to http://www.myspace.com/peterollingrockromanowsky or simply myspace/peterolling rock, for an original song or dearth...Love you all, the best is yet to come...stay tuned for the next episode, or the LIFE AND times of Peter Romanowsky, also know by my new pen name, Pete Faulkner -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER 19 / ALL THE VAMPIRES MOVE WEST DOWN VENTURA BLVD Subject: all the vampires move west down Ventura blvd song free falling chapter /19th. The older you get, the more you have to reinvent yourself. I have become a part time writer these daze spending a lot of time in the morning working on this book. Then with a burst of energy I go out and play my guitar in the afternoons for the tourists and locals. I know this manuscript will be published someday before I die and it will make money for me. Everything we do with passion, will produce results, press on is the working word. I Peter Romanowsky plan to run for United Sates Congress, every two years for the rest of my life, win or lose. I plan on filing "committee" papers to raise money, for this purpose also. Google search my name for congress, to see how I have taken the first step. I'm too old at over sixty to do any more back breaking word, so I will be writing, singing, preaching and politicking for the rest of my life, until the change comes, to do other wise, to occupy my time for a living, but I will always be preaching and teaching and singing with a guitar and hopefully with a dog or pet, by my side or on my lap. My father had a dog show in Ireland to help supplement his income and it was kidnapped by a circus when he wouldn't sell it, he told me. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER/ I wanna write your name in the sky The Life and Times of Peter "Faulkner" Romanowsky / I wanna write your name in the sky.....I wanna leave this world for a while...Tom Petty and the Heart breakers. After my fathers second bout with suicidal depression we moved back to West Valley from Sylmar and settled in Tarzana, where Rice Burroughs the writer, wrote the Tarzan Novels. My father was a great fan of Tarzan in Russia. Our rented house was modest again, but the streets were broad, with plenty of trees and even horses in the Neighborhood. The best part of it was being back in my old neighborhood of Encino, next to the Ventura Freeway and Mulholand Drive. Encino is where all the movie stars and people connected to the entertainment industry. While growing up the after moving from our modest digs on gault street, not far from the first McDonald's I have ever seen, in 1956, when fries were five cents and burgers were ten cents, we moved to Emelita Street in Reseda, in a comfortable track house, further north, next to Encino. My favorite place in Reseda, was the park, with a man made lake, where I could fish, to my hearts content. On Emelita Street, my younger brother Roman was struck by a car, as a child and that freaked us all out, he was the first of the second of the family, that was born in America, after my sister Leena, on Gault Street. We had never seen a girl before, being four brothers. We changed her diapers and she never seemed to smile, maybe because we accidentally poked her with diaper pins, while changing her diapers. Once there was a huge black widow in her baby crib, but strange insects, were quite common, in Southern California. My poor sister, who were treasured, in a family of seven brothers and eventually eight, were always by themselves and never mingled much, with us mischief makers, or so I remember, I may be wrong. It was a big event when LEENA WAS BORN, it was like a gift from God, to my Parents and family, after four boys, in a row. Yet life was still hard, the war was over, everyone was building houses, under the G.I. Bill, the bay boomers were being born as fast as they can, to replace the lives, of all those who died, in the war. Everybody seemed prosperous, except us, we were glad to be free, in America. My father was still a refugee from Russia, the KJB, was on his tail. He always carried a gun with him, where ever he went, in case they caught up to him for surrendering and defecting to German Allied Finland, officers are suppose to kill themselves, before surrendering. My father was called to Washing, to be debriefed by the FBI AT SOME POINT, HE NEVER SAID WHAT HAPPENED, OR WHY HE WENT THERE, they knew who he was and came back wearing a suit. Which was rare, for a working man. All immigrants had to labor with their hands at first, until mastering the language and such. My father tried to get a job teaching, but coming home in a suit, looked depressed. When he was in the underground cave in Finland, the ice finally froze, after a long depressing winter wait, in the dark, he finally started walking to Sweden, over the frozen ocean, with no horizon or land in sight to guide him, only probably a compass and the waining short bursts of sunlight, being near the Arctic circle. When he got to the middle of this frozen waste land, a finger of the Gulf Stream, hand kept the center of the sea, from freezing, the year before, it had completely frozen. He tried to escape by floating on chunks of ice, to freedom. But a Finnish border guard, who was station, in this frozen wasteland, tried to look the other way, but finally had to arrest him. To save his life from exposure, for by this time, he looked like a wild man, with a full beard. I feel strange forces and spirits, as I write these words. I Finland, my mother said, when one is born, in a family, there is a tradition, that one member of the family, becomes the Story Teller, shades of ancestor worship, or worth-ship, etymologically speaking. When the Russia Missionaries and fur traders, came to an indigenous, tribal village, for instance, in Siberia or Alaska, they always looked for the tribal holy man or medicine man. The Russians called them Shamans, because they always beat on animal skin drums, to call the people to worship or council. Shaman is the Russian word for the animal skins, that the tribal elder, or priest used on his drum. He usually, lived out side the village, his job or calling in life, was to live, between the physical and Spiritual world, usually had no possessions, but had the best drugs, if you know what I mean. They gathered sacred lycoln, when there were no mushrooms, they knew all the sacred medicines, from plants and probably even animals, like the liver, which, regenerates, itself, miraculously. They were the super rock stars, of their tribes, they played the drums, better then any one, they danced and had the power to heal, both body, mind and spirit, with their sacred knowledge, of medicine. But even the Shamans, Gurus and Priests died, when their physical needs weren't met by the tribe, some were celibate, some were not, no doubt, some needed sex, some did not. WHEN Jesus healed ten lepers, only one, returned and said "Thank You", Jesus was finally betrayed and crucified, but he refused the mixer of opium, called gall, mixed with wine, to kill the pain of his betrayal, by the human race, because the pain, in his heart, was greater, then any drug could kill and finally his heart broke, before He said "Father, forgive them, for they know what they do" and then, when his heart, was pierced, the the spear, blood and water came out, which only happens, after death, from a ruptured heart......"I wanna free fall out into nothing, I wanna leave this world, for a while"....Tom Petty --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER 20 / I WANNA FREE FALL OUT INTO NOTHING Subject: I wanna to free fall out into nothing, gonna leave this world for a while...Tom Petty Chapter 20 The Life and Times of Peter Romanowsky, by Peter Faulkner/ Trance State Productions/ Cell Phone Publications/ Blog when I can, when up grade to a Metro smart phone, unlimited service. Mulholand Drive, is the closest place, to heaven on earth, in Southern California. It extends basically from Beverly Hills, to Topanga Canyon, if you know the route. over the Santa Monica Mountains. We lived in an upgraded track house at the foot of Mulholand Drive, before my family moved to the Russian River in Forestville in 1963. My best friend lived next door to John Wayne, in Encino also. I used to hike to Mulholand drive and gaze at the vastness of San Fernando Valley, in the hot , dry sub tropical desert air. Dreaming about all the beaches, we as a family grew up on, between Malibu and Santa Monica and further north as far as Pismo Beach. Movie stars were bumped into, wealth ever where in the hill and we were there, at the foot of glory. My mother said Laural and Hardy lived around there once upon a time. CLARK GABLE had a ranch there and my favorite hill to climb, past expensive houses a few blocks away from ours, road to the top, was named Gable Drive. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- While living in Encino, on Hesperia Ave. Near the foothills of Paradise, the strangest events, in evidently started to unfold. I first experienced, the sting of prejudice in Rendo Beach California, where we lived on a bluff, in a suburbia neighborhood. My father had faked his way to being and airline mechanic, in New York for American Airlines and was given twenty four hours to pack up and be transferred to EL Segundo, were The Los Angeles Airport was, or in the area, if he wanted a job in California. Needless to say, he jumped at the opportunity, to move to the West Coast, after living in Manhattan. After escaping to Sweden with my mother and older brother, were I was born. My father got a job slopping hogs, my mother said, they fed the pigs, from the public sewer waste and sometimes, there were condoms in the waste, then you know what, so much for Danish Ham, that a hard story, for even me to swallow. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- After that post war time immigrant job, we moved to London, before a brief time, I believe, in Belgium? After my father was picked up in Sweden, mistaken for being Hitler, he sure acted like him sometimes, we kids thought growing up. He liked to wear, a Hitler mustache and was short and oiled his hair to make it look dark, although, he had blue grey eyes and I believe had brown, there were rumors, that Hitler survived and was, in hiding. In Sweden, my parents bought into shares, on a ship going to Canada, they missed the boat and never got a refund, I almost became a Canadian. While in London, my mother met a family friend or relative, in the lumber, timber export industry, which Finland was famous for and no doubt helped settle in London. Back in Finland, this is hard to write about, my mother, who had attended The Helsinki Conservatory of Music, to become an operatic singer, during the war, or building up to it, there was a strong nationalistic movement, because of the impending, invasion by The USSR, for ports in the north and south of Finland. The only country, that would allied with Finland, was Hitler's Germany, the became allies against Russia, the Finns put on uniforms, that looked exactly, like German uniforms. The Finns have the highest rate of platinum blonds, in the world, whatever that means, the Germans loved it, in spite of the fact, that Hitler was the opposite of everything he preached, about the tall, blond and blue eyed Arian Master Race. Finland was close enough to the bill, even though most Finns, migrated from Hungry, through Estonia, where all their languages, were similar and not Germanic, but there was a large population of ethnic Swedes, especially along the coasts. There was strong support, for NATIONAL Socialism in Finland, because their nation was under siege and not being invades by Germany, but Russia, also known, as The Unknown War. nobody wants to talk about it, it didn't fit The Allies vision, of what the invading Nazis were, like. All The West ever says, are what furiously brave brave, the Finns were, in spite of having no Allies Against, obviously Russia aggression, against a hapless little country, like Finland, but there were old scores, to settle. My Swedish born grandfather, who immigrated with his brother, married a Finn, my grandmother and inherited, the family farm, from my ancestors, told my mother, that Hitler would be Finished. Unbeknown to me, until my sweet mother's death bed, that my grandfather had Gypsy blood in him, her and my grandfather, would have been exterminated, like all the Jews and Gypsies, in Germany, if Hitler's Germany, had won, the war, so, many Jews and even people of Gypsy, blood, took on the Mantel of Nazism, to cover and save their lives, especially, if they had, blue eye or blond hair. My grandfather, changed his name from the Swedish ancestry, name of Hellburg, to the Finnish equivalent, more or less, to Kallio, which means, "Stone".I asked my mother, about her Christianity and when she was born again, she said that she never know a time, when she didn't know Jesus. Then said, that Jesus appeared to her, when she was five years old and spoke to her, I never asked, what Jesus said to her, or she never, told me. My Pure Finnish great grandfather, married and aristocratic German women and he was the head of all missionary, activity for the entire country and world wide missionary activity, for the Lutheran State Church. The Lutheran Priests in Germany, were bullied and terrorized, into keeping silent, about the murdering, of the Jews and Gypsies, Russians, communist, homosexuals, without trial and so on. Not my Great Grand Uncle, he had a special commission, to reach and comfort the Jews, in his missionary charter, for the world. When the Nazis, called for all Jews in Finland, to be turned over to Hitler, to be exterminated, the Finnish Government said "No", thanks for your help. My great grandfather, who was actually my great grand uncle, who adopted my grandmother, at the death of his brother and sister in law. He no doubt, had something to do, with saving all the Jews and Gypsies in Finland, since his adopted granddaughter, my mother, had some Gypsy blood, in her. To this day, my eldest daughter, teaches and preforms, Gypsy dancing professionally, Google search Hannah Romanza, for videos. I myself have been to Israel, as a missionary five times and I have never heard my parents say a anti Semitic remark, in fact, were both great supporters of my evangelistic missions to Israel..... To be continued...When the movie version, of this raw, book script, manuscript, by Oliver Stone staring Robin Williams, about The Unknown War, it will, or may be called, The Amazing Story of Peter Roma Amazing......or Romamazing.... I can dream, can't I .....Next chapter, back to the most amazing story, about life in Encino Caliifornia, the capital, of prosperous Jews, on the west coast in the Santa MONICA mountains, that streach from Hollywood, to Malibu and beyond, enjoy....P.S. met Robin, went to same High, REDWOOD in Larkspur, but that's another story......Love PETER "Faulkner" Romanowsky ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER / CULTURAL REVOLUTION The atmosphere was ripe, for a cultural revolution, hypocrisy, was the order, of the day, baby boomers every where, there was a drug store, on every corner and in the shopping malls. Doctors were the drug dealers, of choice, I was forced, to see an aborted human being, in a jar, in elementary school, I could see, the finest details, of this, baby, right down, to the hair follicles, then science the teacher, freezes a wiener, in liquid nitrogen, then smashes it with a hammer, not, at the, same time. Baby in the jar, may have been, a miscarriage, God Knows, our brains, were being warped. I also remember, in third grade or so, seeing a pregnant student, in elementary school, that, was a first and last time. I those days, pregnant children, stayed in school, as long as they could, or didn't show. Roe vs shoot your wade, would come, later. God or Jesus, were virtually, never talked about, history, of Christianity, was always negative, Salem witch trials, dunking chairs, etc. The only thing I remember, in history books, was a picture of Christopher Columbus, on his knees praying, or something, in front of a planted cross on the beach, or the crosses, on his ships and the names, of his ships. The World was ripe, for hate and revolution, police were brutal or non existent, never, friendly, hardly. The Beatles, were right around the corner, Bob Dylan, was tuning his guitar, parents, were getting drunk, children, swearing, they would, never turn to alcohol, like their parents, religion was one of the forbidden, words in school. We were ready to tear up, the world, as we knew it. Children, of the post war generation, with their post traumatic, undiagnosed parents, or non treated, were, on their, own.. No health care, in those daze, for large families and children, or dental, until Pat Brown, became Governor, etc, or so, according, to my mother, things, started, to get better. Then this funny little thing, called marijuana showed up, I REMEMBER FEELING LIKE A FREAK, or outsider. When only a hand full, of us, used it, in our high school, at first, then after, I became a Christian and every one else, was using it, Instead, of early onset drinking, we began being referred to, as Jesus Freaks, "what a strange world". This cold, depressing, gray overcasty, weather, is great for writing, on my boat, out in the bay, far from, any distractions, "Thank you Lord", for global, change. My parents, were stanch, John Bircher, Democrats, I had no interest, in politics, only getting high and wondering. What was life all about, or the meaning, of life. We were all searching, trying, to expand, our minds, or forget, our problems and or our pain. We saw light, in Timothy Leary, Power of Positive Thinking, Buddha, moon worshiping, reincarnation, sex, freedom, love, peace. But it all, alluded us. Some turned, to violence and crime, others, to hard drugs, as the pain, got worse and worse, everyone, was looking, for acceptance. Finally, when I came, to the end, of myself, on the third Sunday of the month of October, standing, in the front, of The Shrine Auditorium, with my future wife and friend, I had made a deal, with God, in my heart, That, if He would, give me something, better, I would give up, smoking marijuana, my last crutch. I knew sex, outside, of marriage, was wrong, that sort, of thing is intuitive, but we were trapped, in the sixties., but the, desire, to do right, was there, but my last, question was marijuana as bad as cigarettes. The answer came, when, I gave up, the most, thing, I loved and made, me feel good, "weed". ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER Next chapter, description, of The New Birth and what chain of events, led to this most, fantastic, experience, of, my short, life at eighteen..... When I was Born Again, at the age, of eighteen. I had never, even heard, the term before, being raised a Catholic and that being, before, The CHARISMATIC Movement, or before, I was ever aware, of The Movement. Now everyone, uses the Greek Term "Karis", meaning Grace. EVEN EVIL PEOPLE, ARE CALLED "Charismatic" today. Being " Born Again", is a totally, different kettle of fish, which is and was the Christians, secret symbol, when two met, they drew a curved symbol, on the ground, each, across from each other, to make a fish. Christians, were murdered, or martyred, for not worshiping Cesare as Lord and burning incense, to him in his temples around, the Mediterranean, Christians, are still killed and slandered today, around the world, for not worshiping, the god of mammon or materialism, Cesar's currency of the day. The most persecuted, people of that day, like Paul The Apostle, adorns, almost every church, in literature and icons, as well as statues, people name, their children Paul and name their dogs Nero, no offense, to dogs. When I was Born Again, out side, The Shrine Auditorium, in Los Angeles, in front of The Miracle Service, conducted, by the famous Katheryn Kuhlmen, in her tradition, white, or pink, blue, silk like, designer dress, donated by movie stars, I was wondering, where to go from here, I had hitchhiked, all the way from Marin County, with my future wife and best friend, from the commune, we lived it, on a fabulous, lush, hillside, with redwood trees and ferns, it was paradise, on earth, but still, did not bring us happiness, in the ultimate spiritual sense. Our furniture, was funky, but the house, was new and fabulous, for us, young teenagers, to be living in, with our best, party friends. All of a sudden I felt a wind, or Spirit come, into my, like a stream, parting, into my heart and mind. I had surrendered, my fate, to God, completely, a few days earlier, after, a suicide thought episode, over, the smog, in LA, and was tired, of the party life, I was living, every day, with my best friends, at the commune. My first friend, Bob Brewer, and I, eventually moved, into this high, end commune, inhabited by four women, all without boy friends, who could, ask for more. Two of them served us tea, in a Chinese, submissive, style, we thought, we were, in heaven. Bob's former girl friend, Loraine Lazzereni, was our door opener. I hooked up with, a blond, named Linda Haggerty, sister of the lead guitarist, for The Son's of Chaplin, ROCK band. Linda and I loved, fought like cats and dogs, partied daily, every night, Becky, my next girl friend, was the only one, with a job, working as a dishwasher and buss girl, at the local hippie, artist hang out and coffee shop, called, The Kettle, it's still, there today, for tourists. I don't know how we paid the rent, with Becky as the only one working, until I eventually, got a part time job, as a gardener. Meanwhile, we all partied, every night, drinking, smoking pot, making love, keeping out the hard drugs and pills, that I knew, would bring us down. Becky, only got tipsy, once a week, after work and would come, through the door and kiss me, before going, to her bed room. This was at the height of our proverbial debauchery, before I was with Becky and still jobless, we begged, borrowed and stole, to maintain, our lifestyle. We had a massive stereo system, with five hundred record albums that Bob's brother, bought and loaned us indefinitely, while a solider with his bonus, during the Viet Nam war period. Finally, something happened, to disturb, our little paradise, some New Yorkers, came to our commune, to party, bringing acid,with them, called religious acid. For all my attempts, to keep hard drugs and acid, out of the commune, we fell. I was working by this time and swore off, everything, but fine pot and alcohol, but for all, my will power, I fell. Nothing seemed to work, to bring me loser to God, whom I had recently, rediscovered by being in the woods of Marin County, and seeing His hand print everywhere, where people, had not altered, the land. The problem is, once, you come back, to the realization, of God, His beauty and goodness, how do you reach Him, and how do you live, a good enough life, to be His friend and not be afraid, of Hell. For all the bad things, we kept doing, in spite, of our best efforts. The LSD was the final kicker, it made you feel great, it was cut with something, that made, you feel, that all was well, with, "The World." and was addicting. Compared, to the high, hallucinogenic, mind, blowing, stuff, I had taken, before, I shudder, to think, of over dosing on that stuff, no escape, from your own mind. My friend Loraine, was having a bad, trip one day, on this acid and didn't look so well. I myself, felt like you could, image a Christian, would feel, when, all is well. But, when one person, is having a bad trip, it effects everyone. Then all of a sudden, the door bell rings, and there is a Christian guy who had picked me up hitchhiking, with coffee and donuts, in his hand, or something, and when he came in, this peace, came in with him. It was eerie, wonderful, strange, miraculous, Loraine, all of a sudden, came down, off he acid, and was calm, and peaceful, looking. A friend of mine, years later, told me, that when he excepted Jesus one night, or day, that he immediately, came down, off the acid, he was on. When a non Christian friend, was RELATING, a story, about talking, to a quote or "unquote", a "Jesus Freak", or "person". That person, could, even have been talking, about me, at a Christian Coffee House, years later, because I knew, the kid talking, he was, a rebel, and would, tease, me, and cause, trouble, a lot, at The Coffee House. This Christian, that came to our door, was quit a character. His name was "Chuck", Charles Luther, he said, he was a gun toting, gambler, at one time, and of course drank like a fish, at one time also. I tried to get rid, of him, after picking me up hitchhiking, by giving him my address, to pick me up and take, me to church. I figured, that, he would, never, show up, but, he did. With coffee and donuts, in his warm hands and a big, warm smile, and with, The Peace of God, in his heart.. I do believe, I went with, him that day, to church, in Sausalito, nothing happened, didn't, expect anything, except, to find peace, like came over Loraine, when he entered, the living room, of the commune. Meanwhile, I was still searching, taking, the acid, for a week, thinking, what a fool I am, but feeling good, on the acid, until I crashed, and found, it was, only temporary, happiness. Then I walked down, the tree , lined, hill, from where I lived., met a pseudo friend, traded a tab of acid, for a cheap, looking, used, Japanese guitar, with missing, or broken strings, and was busted, for receiving, stolen property, what a bummer! All my self righteousness, went down, the drain. My mother, had been sending me letter after letter, about how Jesus delivered her from periodic alcoholism. She would black out on weekends on booze, while suffering, from, massive depression, diabetes, having nine children and a gun toting, alcoholic husband, my father. I thought, she, had lost her mind, from all the suffering, she had been through. Immigrating, to America, with no relatives, cousins, uncles, or anyone on this earth, to relay on, not even her parents, out, here, in The West. We were truly, all alone, in this earth, it would, take a miracle, in the church, family, to deliver us, from, this evil. So I thought, that my mother had lost, her mind, at least, I said, to myself, she is happy, or gone happy. But a funny thing, she stopped, drinking, or taking anything, else, for that matter, that, impressed, me greatly, Amen.. ..More to come, the journey, continues, please, excuse, all the comas, it's, something, in my brain, today, deep thoughts, flying, through, my mind...The forces, of evil, do not, want, me, to write, these, thoughts, down, can, you feel, the deep, thoughts, in the commas,the struggle, it, will be cleaned, up, later...love In Christ One thing, I forgot to mention, never look into a mirror, on LSD. For some reason, it is not, advisable. I looked, and I did not, like what I saw, freakish, looking, little red worms, on my face, feeling, like a total, reject and failure, thinking, of my mother and what a shame, if she knew, what I was doing. Going out all night long, while still, in school; not realizing, how powerful, that LSD, was. I have never, been the same, since, my thoughts, are punctuated, with commas, thoughts, pauses, short term, memory, problems, mainly, from the early, marijuana smoking and tobacco, drinking, which I rarely did, in the beginning, which, seems, like an eternity, when, your young and in your teens. I've always been, a little dyslexia's, not that I see things, backwards, or read, in reverse. I tended to see life, backwards, do things, in reverse. Unable, to read, profusely, except, for comic, books, and Play Boy, pictures, I never, read the articles. My mind, just didn't, seem to work, the way others did, dropout, mentality, inferiority, complex, anxiety, attention, deficient, syndrome, before the word, was ever coined, as common, currency. To this day, it is easier, for me, to write, a book, then, to read, a novel. I hate, to read, except, when it is necessary. Some can snuggle, up with, a cup, of tea, and read, we, like to look, at pictures, that's, what, boys, want. When I grew up, in the suburbs, of LA, we were, like, one big, family, Frank Sinatra, was our father, The Flint Stones, entertained, us. I was so, disappointed, when, that, crude, rude, bull dike, lesbian, Rosie, something "may her name, be forgotten", played, Wilma, Barny's, wife. Every week, on a Wednesday, or something, everyone, in LA, would, throw, their, garbage, out, on, the streets, in front, of their, houses. It was, like a cornucopia, of fantasy, couches, furniture, everything, you could imagine, was, thrown away, free. Never had, shopping malls, in those, daze, just, garbage, refined, garbage, pre used, pre worn, battle tested, it was, heaven, on earth, on garbage, daze. I remember, sitting, in a tree, fort, of sorts, reading, the label, on a parakeet, food, box. It warned, me, not to grow, the seeds, under, a federal offense. I said to, myself, after, the initial, puzzlement, how cheap, of, the government, not to grow, bird, seeds. Words, of wisdom, " An encouraging word, lasts, for miles, a discouraging, word, destroys the journey", quote Peter Romanowsky. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER After London our family moved to Ireland, where my father got a job digging peat to burn in ovens and fire places, peat had not yet turned to coal. I remember back in California growing up, a piece of peat, was always around, for a remainder, in brick form. My parents frequented Irish Pubs, around County Cork, Keary, in Southern Ireland, next to Dublin, bar fights were inevitable, if you were not, a Catholic in Ireland. The was a bar or pub, on every corner, in Dublin. My parents pursued their quest west, trying to get as far away from The Soviet Secret Police, during the war, even President Roosevelt's most trusted, right hand man, Hopkins, was a Soviet Informer and spy, who was making the negotiations, between Russia, England and The United States, there was no safety, or place to hide, especially in Europe. The English deported a Battalion of Cossacks, back to Russia as part of a prisoner exchange or repatriation exercise, they were captured by the English, after they, like my father, allied themselves with the Germans, against Communist Russia, Russia demanded them back, after experiencing, relative freedom, doing fantastic horse riding shows, which they were, famous for, ridding upside down and doing pyramids and such, for the general public. They had their Orthodox Priests with them also, all captured together, wearing German uniforms, which made them all guilty, of treason. The were strongly, anti communists and extremely religious and hated the atheistic government, of the Soviet Union, which destroyed their Churches, imprisoned their priests and killed their worshipers. My father told me, that when he was a young university student in Moscow, that he and a group of students destroyed an Orthodox Church, with their bare hands, after being brain washed, with Darwin's early beliefs and thoughts, about atheism. But in Darwin's later years, he recanted his atheism, as the unformed thoughts, of a young man, and his Bishop persuaded, the Church Sate Government of England, to bury him, in the most famous Christian burial site, in England, West Minister Abby, next to The Parliament Building and Big Ben, "The Clock, Is Ticking". I hate going back and making corrections, while writing, it's like and artist, paints with pictures, too much paint and the canvas is ruined, plus, I like to make, "The Rules", father then follow them, all the time. That is the prerogative, of a master. When I write a manuscript, like I have written, twice before, by hand, I never go back and cross anything out, it looks too messy, but self correct the manuscript, as I go along writing, to make a continues flow, or pattern of words, like a canvas, painted, with words and no blotches. Back to my story, my father, although he did not defect to the German side, or front, he did to their allies the Finns, against the Russians. The Cossacks, like many Russians, at first looked to them as liberators, like my father did, when the conscripted German Army, came into and invaded Russia. Only when the S.S. came in and started rounding up Jews, Gypsies, round faced Asiatic types, non Arian looking people and began killing them, or making them slaves. Did the truth come out, Russia held back the Mongolian Hoards, in the past and kept Northern Europe from being over run, the Russians especially, they, in their final battle, after years, if not centuries, of enslavement, defeated, or fended off, the Barbarians, by flying a famous Icon of The Virgin Mary, in front of their army and won, the final battle, but the Mongols, had taken wives and married Russian women, while enslaving, the Slaves, henceforth producing, the round face Babushkas, which the long faced German Arians, didn't like, even had calipers, to measure, the ratio, of peoples skulls. Mean while and of before that, the Polish Army, defeated the Muslin Army at the Gates of Vienna Austria, ending the western expansion, of The Turkish Empire, into the heart, of Europe. But the Nazis, were so ignorant, of their own history and salvation, the persecuted, both Poles and Russians, that didn't have Germanic Blood, in them. Hitler was the most stupid, of them all, the Poles, saved his beloved Vienna, a Polish spy, who could speak the language, of The Turks, infiltrated, behind the lines and befriended the trust, of Suleiman, "The Magnificent", like apparently, Hopkins, deceived, Roosevelt. The Germans Army, after liberating, my attorney, grandfather, for his anti communist, activities, took my grand mothers as a slave, in payment, to Germany as a domestic slave, because of her, blue eyes and blond hair, she was treated well, during the war, but was still, a slave. I"m still waiting, for my war crimes compensation, on my grand mothers behalf, fat chance, a grand mother, father, uncles, I HAVE NEVER SEEN, BECAUSE, OF THE WAR. No wonder, I am so poor and despised, in my new world. I woke up into, even after, marrying, into a super rich and powerful, family. I'm not feeling sorry, for myself, I smoke and use, medical marijuana, to help kill the pain and drink vodka and beer, to further, kill both the emotional, as well as physical pain, of being alone, like Moses, in the wilderness, separated, from all I love and am comforted with, but Like Moses, I will and I swear, in the most, acceptable, Biblical , terms, to return from my captivity and wilderness, experience and confront, The Pharaohs, of this world, after, my twenty five years of proverbial exile, like Moses, without vengeance, only justice, the third, element, of the holy trinity, of love, peace and justice. When the Cossacks, who were caught, between the jaws, of two of the most, brutal regimes in history, were secretly, departed, back to Russia, they were loaded into cattle cars ans systematically, machine gunned down, by the communist, as they got off, the train. "Thank you Churchill", no wonder, you didn't get, re elected, as Prime Minister, after the war.......Next episode, my family tries to escape, to the West, in another boat, from Ireland, http://www.angelfire.com/hi2/agapecyber ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER In Ireland we lived in a Castle, that was turned into apartments. One day, the landlord came to collect the rent and I went pee in my shoe and dumped it on his head , below from a window. At least that!s what my mother told me, I was too young to remember. I guess it's deeply ingrained in the Irish psyche, not to like landlords, Especially, if their English? My parents invested in another refugee ship, to sail to America, this time they didn't miss the boat. But as the boat was leaving the harbor, it hit a rock and started taking on water. My father, who is mechanically inclined, tried his best, to help fix the damage, but to no avail. The Irish Coast Guard, refuse to let it cross the ocean. It was big news, world wide, refugee ship hits rock, the Queen of England got involved, with special attention to my father, for his Russian refugee status, Ireland was neutral, during the war, like Sweden and Switzerland, so there was no real fear of extradition or deportation. I fact the degree, The Queen got involved, is a little foggy, something possibly, about a trip to England, or some kind of cash compensation, for the refugees stranded, anyways, it was a big deal and my parents settled in Ireland settled in Ireland long enough to give birth to two children Michael "Mesha" and Alexander "Sasha" in Russian. My mother became A Catholic and my father somewhere alone the way, became a Byzantine Catholic, which came under The Pope and is officially part of The Roman Catholic Church, where the priests are allowed to be married, but The Bishops are not. Their service rites, are identical, to the Greek and RUSSIAN orthodox Rites, which my father was more familiar to, sounds like a fairy tale, put, it's truth, Catholic Priests, that marry and a partial East and West merger, between Romans and Greeks, may the full merger come to pass, someday. The two Churches, East and West, Split over a controversy, over weather The Holy Spirit came, from The Father, or Son, into The World, I say, from both thee The Father and The Son, because, all three are inseparable in essence, yet individual in office and no one can know the Son, sent from The Father, unless The Holy Spirit, also sent, by The Father and The Son, draw people to Jesus Christ and in turn Jesus sends The Holy Spirit to the drawn believers heart, to dwell forever, making both, The Father son and Holy Spirit, one, with the born again and renewed spirit of man. More on the subject later, sufficient to say, human nature splits hairs, over anything they can, when regenerated, from the fall of man, in The Garden of Paradise, when man's spirit died and became, like an animal's, if not worse. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER LIFE IS GETTING BETTER IN Ireland, The Queen of England acknowledged my father and the plight of the European boat refugees, father less likely to get into bar fights, joins the Old Irish Republican Army, according to my mother, of sorts, family living a castle, converted to apartments, parents owning car, has two children, born in Ireland. With automatic citizenship, being born in Ireland, not like me, born in Sweden. We were dressing nice, cruising, father gets a visa, to immigrate to United States. My mother has problems, with her visa, their were quotas on Finnish immigration, father has free pass, for his Russian/Polish refugee status. He takes my older brother and I to New York, ON AN OCEAN LINER, in advance of my mother. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ All of a sudden, I wake up and I'm holding an orange in my hand, while laying on my back, in my bed, my first waking conscious thought in life. I put the orange in a cubby hole, next to my bed, but it keeps falling out, I was puzzled, then I was standing, with my father, deck side, looking through a window, at a huge gray sea, with waves. I was in a storm, in the proverbial and literal, middle of the ocean. Then I understood, why the orange, kept falling, out of the cubby, next to my bunk. My next waking moment, was with my mother, on top of a roof, in Manhattan, New York, while she was, drying our laundry on the roof, of our apartment building. Meanwhile, my brother and I, lived in an orphanage, in Pennsylvania, while waiting, for our mother to arrive, from Ireland, in between, which I can't, remember, Except I heard later, my older brother, was not pleased and I have vague memory, that he set fire to a field, at the Russian Orthodox Orphanage, our father put, us into. While waiting for my mother, to get her visa, from Ireland. When father brought us Christmas presents, to the orphanage, the priests took them away, after, my father left, so my older brother said, because in an orphanage, nobody is suppose to have, more then anyone else. No doubt, by this time and early age, the die was cast, the world as we knew it was a cruel place, except for mother of course. The orphanage, was in the same Pennsylvania town, where the movie, "Deer Hunter" was made, and the RUSSIAN Orthodox wedding scene, in the movie was filmed at the Orphanage Church. Robert Deniro is one of the best, actors I have ever seen, he is Lebanese, from New York, Greenwich Village even though he plays, the bad guy a lot. The next thing I remember, was staring, at my train set, IN THE MIDDLE, OF OUR LIVING ROOM apartment, in Manhattan, furnished apartment, leaving everything behind, because, my father, was offered a job, in El Segundo, Los Angeles, at the airport, as an airline mechanic, for American Airlines, which, he faked his way, into being an airline mechanic. I asked him later, "How did you do it?" He told me, "I just watched the guy next to me", monkey see, monkey do. My father, was naturally, mechanically inclined, like me. I vaguely remember, being on the propeller plane, coming to, Southern California, they gave us gum. To equalize, the pressure, between our ears and the atmosphere, who could forget, free chewing gum, when your a kid on a plane. Next episode, don't you all feel good, that I'm not talking your proverbial ear off on the phone....Episode, landing in LA.... http://www.angelfire.com/hi2/agapecyber.com ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- MODEST HOME This was it, in the beginning, growing up in California. When landing in Los Angeles, with my first waking moments, I found myself, in a modest home, over looking a vast world, of seeming nothing. We never went to the beach, we never seemed to see it. Because, even though, we were on a bluff, it seemed always overcasty, or we just didn't have a view, of the ocean from our vantage point, in Redondo Beach. Which today, I'm sure must be a posh place, or maybe we just took for granted, living so close, to the ocean, with, it's occasional gray and overcasty daze. Life itself seemed cold and gray, except for the field behind our home, which was cozy, yet blue gray, except for our back yard with a view of a little corner grocery store, down a little dirt path, from the bluff, we lived on. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ My first stinging moment, in life, was, being bitten, by a huge red ant, which were common, in Southern California, not like the little black ones, up North. The red ants, even, the tiny ones, were beautiful, on a sunny day, in a field, while growing up The second stinging moment came, when standing in my, backyard field, with my wild blond hair and blue eyes, for I was, the "Golden Child"of the family, first to be born,with these traits. In a country, where such traits are highly prized in Nordic Europe and of course, Southern California. But with my tongue lashing last "new" name" Romanowsky", given presumably at Ellis Island and my strange European bowel on top of the head haircut. Especially Finnish looking, as I noticed through the many times I have been there. After growing up and becoming an International Missionary Evangelist and Pastor. But none of this mattered, when, your a nobody, from nowhere, at the age of around five and staring at some really cute fellow blond, young children girls, next door, through, my Fields of dreams, in my back yard, looking through the back yard fence, at these creatures, who looked like grownups, to me. Then all of a sudden, a real grown up, shows up and tells his daughters, to have, nothing to do with me and not play, with me. or these children. The Cold War, was in full view and power, people, were paranoid of anyone, with a Russian sounding name, great time, for an immigrant kid, like me "'Not", especially, because, nobody, was smart enough, to realize, my name, "Romanowsky", was a total, concoction. There are no "V's", in Polish names, generally speaking and their are no "I's", in the Russian alphabet. So Romanowsky, is a combination, or a Russian and Polish name, as part of my father's cover name, from The :KGB, who were not only looking for him, but closely, monitoring him, as well as, all Russian defectors, especially Russian officers....... More to come google search Peter Romanowsky congress the most transparent candidate in history, two thumbs up, cell phone candidate, no spell check on my cell phone. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- IT WAS THE HEIGHT OF THE COLD WAR IN SUNNY SAN FERNANDO VALLEY It was at the height of The Cold War, the year was approximately 1962, in Encino California. We lived on Hesperia Ave. I was Portola Junior High, went to Mexico, to Vacation, south of Tijuana on the beach, rode my first horse, in memory, it started walking, towards, the ocean. I didn't know how to stop it. We bought firecrackers, galore, my father bought booze, we even bought a huge live, green sea turtle, it was common, to buy sea turtle shells. My father, made hanging planter boxes out of them. Police didn't care, were we set of, the fireworks. We were barracuda fishing, often on our trips there and LA., on party boats Crossing the border, back to California, the border police, asked if we had, liquor, fireworks of any animal or plant produces. We were sitting, on a pile of fireworks, booze and a live sea turtle. We lied and they let our station wagon, full of kids pass. When we got home, we blow up the neighborhood, with our fireworks, in front of our house. The police, never came or were called. We had the world, to ourselves. I used to be so bitter at the Elementary School, I went to earlier, a few blocks away. I dreamed of somehow, blowing it up, at night of course. Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble, were still smoking Winston cigarettes, during commercial breaks. Found some nudist colony magazines, at a friends house, thought it was strange, but curious. The was a golf course nearby. Life was a paradox, between, heaven and hell. We used to steal, my best friends parents, brand new white Buick Riviera at night, by quietly pushing it out of, his circular drive, starting it up, with the keys taken, from the parents, night stand, so to speak. We crawled, out our windows, at night. We drove eerily out into the night, burning rubber, near Mulholand Drive and, the fabulously rich, hills of Encino. My best friend, used to live, next door, to John Wayne, but moved, a little further, up this fabulous road, in Encino, with trees and estates. The burning, or the rubber on the tires, were a favorite of my friend, the engine, was so powerful, it felt and jumped, like a sports car. John Wayne, had the most fabulous dream estate, in all Encino. He had a circular horse track, in his vast, front yard, with a beach house cabana, in front of his swimming pool. He left the front gate, open, sometimes, of his fortress like walled and gated estate, it was the stuff dreams, were made of. We went, into his beach house was, a stole his cigarettes, they were Camels, short, unfiltered, a whole carton. My best friend, was Berry Baddard, his parents were, in, the carpet, sales business, everybody, wanted, carpets, in The Valley. Life was bitter sweet, but like something, out of the hills, in the movie E.T. , flying, around, in new car, motor bikes and cycles, used cars, later, in the dream like hills, of the Santa Monica Mountains, beating them up, on dirt roads. When people were tired, of their cars, they would just dump, them, off the side, of some dirt road, they were cheap and could be bought, for fifty bucks, running. There were no laws, in those daze, about tires, doors, on cars, smog or anything concerning a vehicle, gas was cheap any everyone, in LA, needed a car, I never, took a bus, in my memory. Everyone was dancing, hell was a poppin', the adults, were all getting stoned, on alcohol, women, were high, on Dexedrine, diet pills, speed, to stay trim, Benzedrine, cross tops all legal, with a subscription. Hollywood ruled, The World, Frank Sinatra, was The King, people, thought, it would, never end. The movie Valley of the Dolls, was, at it's height, Sharon Tate, had not been murdered, there were no homeless, or poor, in West Valley, especially in Encino, ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- PART TWO STRANGEST SUBURBAN STORY EVER TOLD/ CHAPTER California....Part Two.....Strangest Suburban Story, Ever told.... Barrak Obama wrote, "Dreams of my Father". It helped him get elected. I'M WRITING MY DREAMS in hope of getting elected, as a man, of the people, who has been, there, done it and wants to help others, not to do what I have, done..... Peter Romanowsky for United States Congress The atmosphere was ripe, for a cultural revolution, hypocrisy, was the order, of the day, baby boomers every where, there was adrug store, on every corner and in the shopping malls. Doctors were the drug dealers, of choice, I was forced, to see an aborted human being, in a jar, in elementary school, I could see, the finest details, of this, baby, right down, to the hair follicles, then science the teacher, freezes a wiener, in liquid nitrogen, then smashes it with a hammer, not, at the, same time. Baby in the jar, may have been, a miscarriage, God Knows, our brains, were being warped. I also remember, in third grade or so, seeing a pregnant student, in elementary school, that, was a first and last time. I those days, pregnant children, stayed in school, as long as they could, or didn't show. Roe vs shoot your wade, would come, later. God or Jesus, were virtually, never talked about, history, of Christianity, was always negative, Salem witch trials, dunking chairs, etc. The only thing I remember, in history books, was a picture of Christopher Columbus, on his knees praying, or something, in front of a planted cross on the beach, or the crosses, on his ships and the names, of his ships. The World was ripe, for hate and revolution, police were brutal or non existent, never, friendly, hardly. The Beatles, were right around the corner, Bob Dylon, was tuning his guitar, parents, were getting drunk, children, swearing, they would, never turn to alcohol, like their parents, religion was one of the forbidden, words in school. We were ready to tear up, the world, as we knew it. Children, of the post war generation, with their post traumatic, undiagnosed parents, or non treated, were, on their, own.. No health care, in those daze, for large families and children, or dental, until Pat Brown, became Governor, etc, or so, according, to my mother, things, started, to get better. Then this funny little thing, called marijuana showed up, I REMEMBER FEELING LIKE A FREAK, or outsider. When only a hand full, of us, used it, in our high school, at first, then after, I became a Christian and every one else, was using it, Instead, of early onset drinking, we began being refered to, as Jesus Freaks, "what a strange world". This cold, depressing, gray overcasty, weather, is great for writing, on my boat, out in the bay, far from, any distractions, "Thank you Lord", for global, change. My parents, were stanch, John Bircher, Decorates, I had no interest, in politics, only getting high and wondering. What was life all about, or the meaning, of life. We were all searching, trying, to expand, our minds, or forget, our problems and or our pain. We saw light, in Timothy Leary, Power of Positive Thinking, Buddha, moon worshiping, reincarnation, sex, freedom, love, peace. But it all, alluded us. Some turned, to violence and crime, others, to hard drugs, as the pain, got worse and worse, everyone, was looking, for acceptance. Finally, when I came, to the end, of myself, on the third Sunday of the month of October, standing, in the front, of The Shrine Auditorium, with my future wife and friend, I had made a deal, with God, in my heart, That, if He would, give me something, better, I would give up, smoking marijuana, my last crutch. I knew sex, outside, of marriage, was wrong, that sort, of thing is intuitive, but we were trapped, in the sixties., but the, desire, to do right, was there, but my last, question was marijuana as bad as cigarettes. The answer came, when, I gave up, the most, thing, I loved and made, me feel good, "weed". Next chapter, description, of The New Birth and what chain of events, led to this most, fantastic, experience, of, my short, life at eighteen..... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER 25 BORN AGAIN UNDER A DEEP BLUE SKY When I was Born Again, at the age, of eighteen. I had never, even heard, the term before, being raised a Catholic and that being, before, The CHARISMATIC Movement, or before, I was ever aware, of The Movement. Now everyone, uses the Greek Term "Caris", meaning Grace. EVEN EVIL PEOPLE, ARE CALLED "Charismatic" today. Being " Born Again", is a totally, different kettle of fish, which is and was the Christians, seceret symbol, when two met, they drew a curved symbol, on the ground, each, across from each other, to make a fish. Christians, were murdered, or myrtyed, for not worshiping Ceaser as Lord and burning incense, to him in his temples around, the Mediterranean, Christians, are still killed and slandered today, around the world, for not worshiping, the god of mammon or materialism, Ceaser's currency of the day. The most persecuted, people of that day, like Paul The Apostle, adorns, almost every church, in literature and icons, as well as statues, people name, their children Paul and name their dogs Nero, no offense, to dogs. When I was Born Again, out side, The Shrine Auditorium, in Los Angeles, where The Academy AWARDS, WERE GIVEN, I was starring at the deep blue sky, in front of The Miracle Service, conducted, by the famous Katheryn Kuhlmen, in her tradition, white, or pink, blue, silk like, designer dress, donated by movie stars, I was wondering, where to go from here, I had hictchiked, all the way from Marin County, with my future wife and best friend, from the commune, we lived it, on a fabulous, lush, hillside, with redwood trees and ferns, it was paradise, on earth, but still, did not bring us happiness, in the ultimate spiritual sense. Our furnature, was funky, but the house, was new and fabulous, for us, young teenagers, to be living in, with our best, party friends. All of a sudden I felt a wind, or Spirit come, into my, like a stream, parting, into my heart and mind. I had surrendered, my fate, to God, completely, a few days earlier, after, a suicide thought episode, over, the smog, in LA, and was tired, of the party life, I was living, every day, with my best friends, at the commune. My first friend, Bob Brewer, and I, eventually moved, into this high, end commune, inhabited by four women, all without boy friends, who could, ask for more. Two of them served us tea, in a Chinese, submissive, style, we thought, we were, in heaven. Bob's former girl friend, Loranne Lazzereni, was our door opener. I hooked up with, a blond, named Linda Haggerty, sister of the lead guitarist, for The Son's of Chaplin, ROCK band. Linda and I loved, fought like cats and dogs, partied daily, every night, Becky, my next girl friend, was the only one, with a job, working as a dishwasher and busser, at the local hippie, artist hang out and coffee shop, called, The Kettle, it's still, there today, for tourists. I don't know how we paid the rent, with Becky as the only one working, until I eventually, got a part time job, as a gardener. Meanwhile, we all partied, every night, drinking, smoking pot, making love, keeping out the hard drugs and pills, that I knew, would bring us down. Becky, only got tipsy, once a week, after work and would come, through the door and kiss me, before going, to her bed room. This was at the height of our proverbial debauchery, before I was with Becky and still jobless, we begged, borrowed and stole, to maintain, our lifestyle. We had a massive stereo system, with five hundred record albums that Bob's brother, bought and loaned us indefinitely, while a solider with his bonus, during the Viet Nam war period. Finally, something happened, to disturb, our little paradise, some New Yorkers, came to our commune, to party, bringing acid,with them, called religious acid. For all my attempts, to keep hard drugs and acid, out of the commune, we fell. I was working by this time and swore off, everything, but fine pot and alcohol, but for all, my will power, I fell. Nothing seemed to work, to bring me closer to God, whom I had recently, rediscovered by being in the woods of Marin County, and seeing His hand print everywhere, where people, had not altered, the land. The problem is, once, you come back, to the realization, of God, His beauty and goodness, how do you reach Him, and how do you live, a good enough life, to be His friend and not be afraid, of Hell. For all the bad things, we kept doing, in spite, of our best efforts. The LSD was the final kicker, it made you feel great, it was cut with something, that made, you feel, that all was well, with, "The World." and was addicting. Compared, to the high, hallucinogenic, mind, blowing, stuff, I had taken, before, I shudder, to think, of over dosing on that stuff, no escape, from your own mind. My friend Loranne, was having a bad, trip one day, on this acid and didn't look so well. I myself, felt like you could, image a Christian, would feel, when, all is well. But, when one person, is having a bad trip, it effects everyone. Then all of a sudden, the door bell rings, and there is a Christian guy who had picked me up hitchhiking, with coffee and doughnuts, in his hand, or something, and when he came in, this peace, came in with him. It was eerie, wonderful, strange, miraculous, Loranne, all of a sudden, came down, off he acid, and was calm, and peaceful, looking. A friend of mine, years later, told me, that when he excepted Jesus one night, or day, that he immediately, came down, off the acid, he was on. When a non Christian friend, was RELATING, a story, about talking, to a quote or "unquote", a "Jesus Freak", or "person". That person, could, even have been talking, about me, at a Christian Coffee House, years later, because I knew, the kid talking, he was, a rebel, and would, tease, me, and cause, trouble, a lot, at The Coffee House. This Christian, that came to our door, was quit a character. His name was "Chuck", Charles Luther, he said, he was a gun toting, gambler, at one time, and of course drank like a fish, at one time also. I tried to get rid, of him, after picking me up hitchhiking, by giving him my address, to pick me up and take, me to church. I figured, that, he would, never, show up, but, he did. With coffee and donut's, in his warm hands and a big, warm smile, and with, The Peace of God, in his heart.. I do believe, I went with, him that day, to church, in Sausalito, nothing happened, didn't, expect anything, except, to find peace, like came over Loranne, when he entered, the living room, of the commune. Meanwhile, I was still searching, taking, the acid, for a week, thinking, what a fool I am, but feeling good, on the acid, until I crashed, and found, it was, only temporary, happiness. Then I walked down, the tree , lined, hill, from where I lived., met a pseudo friend, traded a tab of acid, for a cheap, looking, used, Japanese guitar, with missing, or broken strings, and was busted, for recieveing, stolen property, what a bummer! All my self righteousness, went down, the drain. My mother, had been sending me letter after letter, about how Jesus delivered her from periodic alcholism. She would black out on weekends on booze, while suffering, from, massive depression, diabetes, having nine children and a gun toting, alcholic husband, my father.. I thought, she, had lost her mind, from all the suffering, she had been through. Immigrating, to America, with no relatives, cousins, uncles, or anyone on this earth, to relay on, not even her parents, out, here, in The West. We were truly, all alone, in this earth, it would, take a miracle, in the church, family, to deliver us, from, this evil. So I thought, that my mother had lost, her mind, at least, I said, to myself, she is happy, or gone happy. But a funny thing, she stopped, drinking, or taking anything, else, for that matter, that, impressed, me greatly, Amen.. ..More to come, the journey, continues, please, excuse, all the comas, it's, something, in my brain, today, deep thoughts, flying, through, my mind...The forces, of evil, do not, want, me, to write, these, thoughts, down, can, you feel, the deep, thoughts, in the commas,the struggle, it, will be cleaned, up, later...love In Christ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER 26 / DESCRIPTION OF MY FIRST ACID TRIP Still working on a title, for my book. Talking about the bad ole daze, is not easy, especially, when they felt so good at the time. We tend to remember, only the good things, because we survived, when we thought, we never would. The good things, were very good and the bad, very bad. We are just so glad, to be alive to, dream again, make and write history, life is a never ending story, warming up, to go into a trance, here it comes, I can feel it, it's time for a good spell, transforming, words, into pictures. Remembering, my first acid trip. I was told, with my best friend, get rid of all knives, lock yourself in a room, with your best friend. It was told me what he saw, grass growing, spiking in different shades. So my best friend and I, Wesley "Wes" Holk, of Larkspur California, deceased, lost at sea, in a fishing boat accident, off Bodego Bay, years later, we took the acid, in a poetic way, to expand our minds. Little did we know, what would happen next. Splitting a five hundred, micro gram capsule, we boarded a bus in Larkspur. By the time we got to the Richardson Bay Bridge, I saw a huge, purple spider, on the shoulder, of the person, in front of me. Mind haltering, expecting, the best and the worse. I only dreamed, and saw, Viet Nam images on my bed, when high in marijuana, we were all scared, going to Viet Niam, that early on. Never have I had a night, when I close my eyes, and see total darkness, only the purple, haze, of those first images, or hallucinations, in combat, under a purple sky, with dark, black, cool images, of soilders, in the night. As this first acid, hallucination, clear ar a bell, cartoon like, spider with long purple legs, growing, on the shoulder, of the man, in front of me. I got off the bus on Napa Street, in Sausalito, where my best friend's father, had a fishing boat, called, "The Mollie". As we walked down the ancient wooden pier, a half hour or so, after dropping the acid, I began hallucinating, purpule ropes, strewn across, the pier, trying, not to trip over, or step on, these, hallcinagenic, imaginary, ropes and cords everywhere. Flashing in a searel, mind boggling, fear and ecstacy, or adventure, with, terror, of one, who feels, like, they are losing, their minds. When we reached, the vessel "Mollie", a commercial fishing boat, we boarded and went to the pilots cabin, with all the windows around, when all of a sudden, a blinding light, blew into the cabin, with the brilliance, of the sun. It was the coast guard, thinking, someone, is robbing, the vessel. We dropped to the floor, as their, sun beam, spotlight, big as the moon, flashed, through, the cabin, while all we could think of, was not, losing, our minds. The next thing I remember, through, time and space, I was walking in down town Sausalito, at night, cool, still, no traffic, staring, at a bank wall, and seeing, Egyption, Hieroglithecs, on the wall, clear, as daze, with my hands, to the proverbial wall, I crossed, the street, and in the middle, I saw, the street turn to waves, clear as daze, thirty feet high, in my mind. Awsome, unbelievable, all, while, my, mind, was, perfectly, clear. I remember then, walking down Bridgeway Blvd. on a dirt pathway, sidewalk, looking, on the ground, and seeing clear, as a childhood cartoon, purple, multi colored, starfish, on the ground, as I walked. When we arrived, at our destination, a cold, old, mysterious, house boat, at "The Gates of Hell", as the, community, is known, today. As. I went, to the bathroom, as all boats, at the time, and stil, are, cold, dark, imaginary, suffering, of mold, cold, destruction, of all things precious, as photos, cameras, everything, but, the finnist, jewelry, was destroyed, which, no one had. As I went, to the toilet, and flushed, snakes, began, to come, out, of the toilet bowl. My most pleasent, thing, I remember, coming, from a house boat, was after I ran, away, from home in 1967. I was at The Charles Van Damme, a decommissioned, ancient, thirties, ferry boat, turned, into a night club, and a bar. I was all alone, broke, homless, young, tender. When a beautiful, waitress, came, to my, empty, table, and said, " Do you need, a place, to stay, tonight", I said "yes". She took me, behind, the Charles Van Damme, through, a maze of house boats, at the gates, of hell. We came, to a cozy, comfty, little house boat, and, she, took off, all her clothes, she was beautiful, like an angel, with, swellling, curves, and flowing, blond haif. She lifted, the sheets, got into bed, I got undressed, just, to be polite, she had, her, back, to me, I laid my cold, trembling hand on, her, unbelievable, waist. Then, I awoke, it was, not a dream, she was gone, and, I had, the sunny, comfty, boat, to, myself. I was young, seventeen looked older, for my age. I left, fool, was I, but youth, has, it's, rewards, fleeting, as, they, may, be, "Oh Well". I do believe, I may, have, invented, a new, way, of writting, scribbely, screw, thoughtful patterns, of esoteric, poety, in motion, with, thought, pauses, snap, me, out, of, it, please, but know! Don't wake me, out of my dream, I may, have, never, come, down, off my first, acid, experience. But don't worry about, my sanity, I have been declared sane, recently, by Lynn Duyrea, judge, of the Marin County Superior Court. It would be, libelist, to, call me, crazy, or insane, is that cool, or, something.... more to "Come"....In Jesus, Blessed, Name! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER 27 / MAN IN THE MIRROR One thing, I forgot to mention, never look into a mirror, on LSD. For some reason, it is not, advisable. I looked, and I did not, like what I saw, freakish, looking, little red worms, on my face, feeling, like a total, reject and failure, thinking, of my mother and what a shame, if she knew, what I was doing. Going out all night long, while still, in school; not realizing, how powerful, that LSD, was. I have never, been the same, since, my thoughts, are punctuated, with commas, thoughts, pauses, short term, memory, problems, mainly, from the early, marijuana smoking and tobacco, drinking, which I rarely did, in the beginning, which, seems, like an eternity, when, your young and in your teens. I've always been, a little dexleixus, not that I see things, backwards, or read, in reverse. I tended to see life, backwards, do things, in reverse. Unable, to read, profusely, except, for comic, books, and Play Boy, pictures, I never, read the articles. My mind, just didn't, seem to work, the way others did, dropout, mentality, inferiority, complex, anxiety, attention, deficient, sydrome, before the word, was ever coined, as common, currency. To this day, it is easier, for me, to write, a book, then, to read, a novel. I hate, to read, except, when it is nessesary. Some can snuggle, up with, a cup, of tea, and read, weee, like to look, at pictures, that's, what, boys, want. When I grew up, in the suburbs, of LA, we were, like, one big, family, Frank Sinatra, was our father, The Flint Stones, entertained, us. I was soi, disappointed, when, that, crude, rude, bull dike, lesbian, Rosie, something "may her name, be forgotton", played, Wilma, Barnys, wife. Every week, on a wednesday, or something, everyone, in LA, would, throw, thier, gardage, out, on, the streets, in front, of thier, houses. It was, like a cornacoppia, of fantasy, couches, furnature, everything, you could imagine, was, thrown away, free. Never had, shopping malls, in those, daze, just, garbage, refined, garbage, pre used, pre wworn, battle tested, it was, heaven, on earth, on garbage, daze. I remember, sitting, in a tree, fort, of sorts, reading, the label, on a parakeet, food, box. It warned, me, not to grow, the seeds, under, a federal offense. I said to, myself, after, the initial, puzzlement, how cheap, of, the government, not to grow, bird, seeds. Words, of wisdom, " An encouraging word, lasts, for miles, a discouraging, word, destroys, the journey". P.R.

Wednesday, February 21, 2018

Missionary survey of Egypt culture 1970's by Peter Romanowsky

No comments:

Post a Comment