AMP: Artists' Meeting Place and Resource Collective

it wont let me enter my blog here yet,
so here it is!!!!!
www.rithma.org/blog

I am Dharma's hitman today, doling out dividends on spiritual bank accounts. Charlotte, North Carolina. Just outside the Marriott hotel lies a super-modern ghost town , with a crisp cold breeze reminiscent of european winter. What is this strange familiarity? This comforting discomfort? Every so often a pull, a signal...go down this street, make a left here. Vacant brick buildings are the only culture left in this mostly clean-and-replaced downtown. Future wasteland. Their broken windows bring vague images of drunk youth, bottles & rocks, laughter and fights. What am i doing here? The only sound aside from whispering frigid wind is the clank-clank-clank of a loose sign banging on its metal post, and out of the faraway, the blast of a train horn. Go see the train, what it brings...Walk under the rail bridge and circle around under the grey sky, still no train, still off in the distance. But there it is, the greyhound station. A cultural oasis in an otherwise silent city sunday. Go in. This is what I've been looking for all along. Southerners and ex-cons and characters of all shapes and sizes, attitude...pimps and bums, mothers and children, along with a breed of humans you'd never run across west of the midwest: gangster cowboy ravers. Gods plan. Real america. This is stuff you'd never see anywhere but here, now. I fight off the urge to play "San Francisco Rush 2049", one of the best sit-down & drive video games to come out of the 20th century. I continue to absorb. Ride the whims of the great magnet.