Diary of a California Sixties Hippie for Jesus
PREFACE TO THIS AUTOBIOGRAPHY BY PETER ROMANOWSKY
It is extremely difficult to begin writing a book, especially an autobiography, especially more, when one is feeling a little dyslexic, when it come to spelling and having a poor spell check program 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 stop as to start but it's all good in the end as the book starts with the usual floundering around, trying to find your feet, pace and concept, what to share and what and not to and colored language is tempting and some family and friends secrets are inevitable, like the good bad and ugly and to 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, is accomplished!
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 some say wore horns to frighten their, perceived enemies although and even the best sailors in the known world, their most famous ship the.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 Watcher, 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
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Romanowsky the maddest minister in Marin, that's my mew pseudonym name, not Peter Oonly just Peter the "Jerk Christian" as my enemies and inlaws and what 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, but not in the eyes of the world for the love of money, is the root of all evil!
Chapter
Attention all the Godly nature lovers, seekers and medical cannabis smokers, who can't afford brownies and have to smoke the stuff, instead of edibles...love what a simple four letter word, but one I believe in, love one another and just don't screw with one another 8n business, or just plain screwing around! 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...
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This title triple "M" I use in my repertoires, 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 theworks 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 ofGod, in full knowledge of what one is doing, in the face of righteousmiracles, 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.
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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 Saviour 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.
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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
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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 on 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 adream, 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 acrossChina 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. He 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,.
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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 writer 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 Era, 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 thethe 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 shipscame 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 on the West Coast and wrote about Marin County.The main road from east to west is name Sir Francis Drake Boulevard. A friend of 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 neverheard 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 hischief 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 FaulknerStile 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 shamje, whilenaked 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.
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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're 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, for one sin dosen't make you a sinner if you realize it and learn from it, out of love for the Godhead and the Heavenly Host !!!
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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 cansomeone 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 operatedradio next to the bed and I thought how cheap of the Motel. So I stole whatI could, but the loot and drugs were gone. I LEFT WITH A SOLID GOLD POCKETWATCH!, 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. Iwas 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 and or mabe true story or a common nervus forgivable breakdown, she was the most visable feamale Pastor and Evangelist in the world and 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. sheeventually, 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 and well deserved rest 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 first saw him where at that prayer meeting. Then this black lady gets up and starts screaming her testimony about howJesus 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
------------------------------
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 Francisc 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.
"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. 94966 Tel. 415 9
374 0734 O
Sorry for the commercials breaks, but nessessary for people to have an opportunity to be a part of this ministry.
------------------------------
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
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/
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
------------------------------
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
------------------------------
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/
information.... Love in Christ Penn name and legal evangelised birth
ancestral name.....Faulker
------------------------------
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/
conformation peteromanowsky@
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.
------------------------------
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 agaia upwards and pulled the trigger and it went off and then he told me he saw 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 he was so drunk that 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, its a miracle my war torn veteren father must have been through, with the war between Soviet Union and little Finland.
After waking upto a divorce sue for irreconcilable differences in 1984, I answered the front door and a young guy with a 711 cap gave me a paper saying that i was being sued and iaughed in my heart thinking who is sueing me and then i saw my wifes name as plaintiff and my heart sank, for I was preparing to sail down the coast to deliver a 24' sailboat as a present for my dad, believing as a family we might so a live in Israel for a spell and wanted to do something for him, for losing a son, to a marriage and needlessto say I went into a state of shock
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