Oh, the beauty of this world and how it is brought forth in our media, to see the dark and light expressed so bravely in its many forms conveying its substance to our senses. Reflecting, like a will, the mind of our day and age…their reason, their folly, their triumphs, and humiliations…through the means of mass communication; and the impact that such impressions leave on our collective conscience, are the most significant factors in the growth and development of our society and our species as a whole. Thru our media, ideas are given shape, values are defined, and virtues built up or torn away. What is right or wrong, what is acceptable, or taboo is always expanding thru our awareness, progressing in the direction of our focus. The reach of our works is pervasively emanating out from the wide range of our productions to ripple across the planet and affecting the lives of people and cultures far beyond where the message is seen and heard spreading faster than a virus with the power to change minds. We, as Americans, are at the forefront of this distributed ideology, must struggle to be accountable for the forces we have unleashed with the full spectrum of our experience available for consumption. The responsibility falls upon those who would bear the burden of awareness to guide and direct our culture thru conscience and diverse action. When progress is understood as a choice, the question we must ask ourselves then becomes ‘not what can I watch…but what should I watch?’ Our communities have grown, and our influence has spread, yet the inequities within the heart of our civilization have only grown. Gilded towers rise amid squalor while fellow Americans pass each other by on the streets with looks of disdain, mistrust running rampant, and widening the distance between us as our united potential is forfeit within this state of fear. With so much at stake, we must do our best to take advantage of every opportunity to lend aid and to be of service not just to our fellow man but to ourselves as a part of the whole. The media and the infrastructure that supplies it are capable of providing the cultures of our society with the means to find tolerance and understanding thru awareness. And, so, with the chances there at our fingertips just a touch away, it becomes our responsibility as citizens of the blessed country to educate ourselves and to become informed of the many stories which make up the fabric of our reality. Those who are able must conscience guide our collective state of mind towards this greater understanding in order to foster the true prosperity that can be found within our diverse communities. Though it may not be within our power to use such conscious capitalism in the purchase of necessities, it can easily be seen as our civic duty to apply such consciousness towards the consumption of our media. We must choose to seek out what lies beyond the content we see and hear and raise our awareness of not just the mind to create and the environments that foster them, but the ideas they are seeking to bring to life.
Artists share with us their visions in the hopes of expressing the world as they wish to see it. And the story of their success begins with each of us and our own choices…where we stand or who we stand with. This should not be construed as a means of censoring content…the good, the bad, and the ugly…all aspects encased as they exist at this moment are a reflection of our many states of mind and must be accepted as they are for us to direct the militant perceptions that hinder us towards more benevolent points of view. Truly we have no guarantee of ever-changing anyone’s mind…we must make up our own! When we give our time and focus to the direction of our choice, we practice the principle of attraction that works to reveal growth in a manner consistent with our values. This progress…this evolution…is constant and completely at our discretion. Thru our conscientiousness, we do not ask the question…’ if this, then what?’...in fearful expectancy of content exceedingly graphic or debilitating in nature. We can ensure the manifestation of our desires if we bravely ask, ‘what’s next?’ in anticipation of that which feeds us spiritually and releases the grandeur we contain within our minds. Choose to become involved…vocal in your understanding of the ties that bind and the direction we are taking. Do more than just watch as a bystander in your own world…invest yourself fully in the kingdom of your own design.
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Grant McMillion Crul and writers in Unbalanced and other communities.
THE KEYS
It all started with a girl…who’s tender heart inspired a man near the end of his life to new heights of daring and sacrifice in the pursuit of righteousness. It was Larry’s grin, Anthony recalled, that had always stood in stark relief to the bone-cold chill of his cell. On the eastside of Huntington, Anth thought it passing strange that his road to redemption should lead through familiar alleys and old haunts where faces and names may have changed, but the buildings were the same. “Perhaps the only way we ever get out…is thru,” he mused as the building he sought sprung from unkempt grass. The weeds had just about grown over the placard reading ‘Aibileen Refuge Nursing Home’. “Right under their noses,” Larry had said with that same grin. Anth had laid on his bunk listening to the old man’s embellished stories that pulled you in the way he told them. He was a true bard, a weaver of magic, easing the harsh realities of their cell. The story that brought him here was told near the end of their time together, just after Larry had been sentenced to disappear into the bowels of the justice system for 25 years. “Look me in the eye to let me know you’re hearing me,” Larry had said to Anthony after the thick metal doors had been closed with the same finality they did every evening. He posed a frail shadow huddled in his blanket, in contrast to his vibrant gold-toothed smile gleaming in the dark. “You know why I’m here,” Larry had stated and Anth did. He was a legend having robbed some big wig politician and his lawyer from his wheelchair of $340,000 in embezzled money without lifting a finger. No one had yet found the money and details were sketchy, but according to police reports, at approximately 4pm, one Larry Robinson entered the offices of Hinkle and Associates in his wheelchair using the threat of an explosive device to force the victims, Lawyer Greg Hinkle and his client, Judge Jonathon Conklin, to wire $340,000 to a specified account. Then, leaving the bomb there, Mr. Robinson had his victims push him to his car and then turned himself in. First though, he’d went to Burger King. What they didn’t know was that as Larry ordered at the drive thru and called the media, the money was immediately transferred out in automated payments all under $10,000 to numbered accounts which then converted the funds to bit coins. Then, seven different automated botting programs withdrew the bit coins depositing them into anonymous cryptocurrency wallets. Whereafter the events in the block chain occurred, the transactions slid into anonymity. The whole process took about an hour and was wrapping up as Larry sat in the police station interview room eating his last whopper. His confession was brief, “I’ve robbed the judge and his crony, Hinkle, and left them and the bomb at their office.” When interviewed, they assured the press that it was just a prank but when the judge’s campaign account was mentioned, they refused to comment. But one thing was certain, he wouldn’t be running for higher office. The bomb turned out to be two roman candles with fuses wrapped around for show but it got the Feds involved and made national news. When asked about the money, Larry would say the same thing, “I told you where the money went and, if it ain’t there, then I musta been robbed too!” That’s about as far as they got with their only suspect being a 75-yr. old man in a wheelchair who had lived in a nursing home for the last six years and couldn’t possibly have pulled off a crime of such technical complexity by himself. They came at him with plea after plea but he refused them all demanding a trial by jury. At his trial, he had wheeled himself out into the middle of the courtroom declaring that the only defense he needed was the judge was an asshole who lacked the moral fiber necessary to hold office. He had not robbed him, but merely relieved him of the burden of his own larceny. Having never met the judge, it was a mystery why Larry felt the way he did, or where he got his information. When asked he was quoted as saying, “he knows what he did or what he didn’t do for that matter!” The only person speaking for Larry was a nurse who had cared for him named Amanda Harris whom he had begged not to speak. She gave a sweeping testimony of his character, portraying him as a street minister who, from his wheelchair, spent his days reaching out to all the street babies, as he called them. But the most memorable aspect was Amanda daring to testify despite a car accident having disfigured her face. A mask covered her face, but even so, what was left of her one eye and the scars were hard to look at without evoking unwelcomed pity. “If I’d known she was gonna get on that stand, I would’ve just swallowed one of them pleas. A lot of good it did, too, cause they still maxed me out,” Larry said tearfully. She’s pure of heart and a rare jewel. She sees the best in us…but, better yet, she brings it out! She’s the reason I did what I did. Now, you’ve gotta finish what I started.” So, here was Anth, looking a bit overdressed, in a suit bought just for the occasion, wondering what a man doing a spot inspection for the power company looked like anyways. So, with a clipboard with the AEP logo and a full measure of confidence, he put on his best smile and rang the doorbell. To his credit, it didn’t falter at the site of Amanda’s ruined face when she opened the door. To hear something is one thing, to see it broke his heart. “Hey, I’m Michael with AEP. Was doing meter checks when I got some weird readings. I was wondering if I could take a look at your breaker box,” Anth asked lifting his brows. “We haven’t been having any problems,” Amanda said hesitantly. Screen door still separating them, he sealed the deal with “We’d like to keep it that way, mam. Just be a minute.” With a chanced glance at his watch, he added “Got a schedule to keep, lady.” With that she unlocked the door, letting him in where a wave of coffee and lemon antiseptic washed out to greet him. “My name’s Amanda,” she said with a honey voice. “It’s in the laundry room behind the kitchen.” Following her, they passed the living area with doors opening on living spaces that seemed more hospital rooms than bedrooms. The whole place seemed poised on the verge of something...waiting…death he supposed, though he never thought it could be so palatable. “No wonder Larry had done what he did,” he thought. Prison may have been a cage, but it was a cage bursting with the expectancy of a life that had nothing to do with the grave. They came to a large open kitchen where medical equipment sat next to steaming pots creating even stranger smells. Anth’s heart pitched as Amanda led him to his objective, the laundry room, where she thanked him then and turned back into the kitchen. Larry had chuckled, saying “they turned that place over good, I’m sure, but that little black book is right where I put it, still.” “What’s in the book,” Anthony had inquired. Soberly, Larry had replied “the keys to the kingdom…all we worked for…more than enough for you to do what needs done, with some left over.” “Who is she…Amanda?” Anth queried, “Oh, no, she could never know. Probably just give it back to the bastard. Loyal to a fault, that girl. He may be her daddy, but he ain’t ever been her father.” And, just like that, all the pieces had fallen into place. Amanda was the daughter of the judge, just not the one he claimed. Her existence was a big secret; proof of an infidelity and enough to topple his house of cards. When her car had slid off that mountain, she miraculously survived, but her mother hadn’t. The doctors did what they could, but the mess left was only something a specialist could fix, and that meant money she didn’t have. Amanda’s mother had always said the Judge would help in an emergency; but Larry had been the only one to come to the hospital, wheeling himself there every day. He had watched her reach out to the Judge, only to be rejected. Her wounds, especially of the heart, stirred a fiery hate in him for the man who spurned his filial duties. Larry had been denied his own two daughters because of his past; and resented the man for his neglect and betrayal. Amanda was too kind to stand up to him, but Larry, having been a man of action, would be damned if he wouldn’t act now. He’d grown up on the wrong side of town, so finding the perfect person to help him do what needed done wasn’t hard. “She goes by Lela and is the daughter, or daughter of a daughter of a friend of mine. Damn, I’m getting old! She’s the real wiz. I just played my part,” Larry had said. The look on his face as he spoke said volumes about a man, his life and the roles he chooses to play. Anthony began to feel his way around the uneven edge of the breaker box looking for the spot where, due to poor workmanship, a gap existed between it and the wall. He was just getting on his knees to slip his hand under the lip like he’d been told when a wisp of a woman breezed through the door. His hands snapped back as if caught; and he couldn’t keep the guilty look off his face, even with the mask, earning a bemused look from the woman who said, “I know why you’re here”. Heart hammering in his chest, he quickly replied “I’m with the power company!” “Right,” she quipped, leaned over to effectively trap him on the floor. As Anth’s mind raced, they both turned their heads to Amanda’s voice from the kitchen saying, “Leave him alone, Lela.” With a wink, Lela said “Better hurry,” then floated off to the kitchen. With a deep breathe, he retrieved what he’d came for and the relief he felt with the little black book in hand washed through him like a drug. In a daze, and with Lela tagging along, they both floated towards the door. Then, she kissed him on the check, eyes big and brown under her glasses. Smiling up at him, she said, “Finish what you started,” and pushed him out the door. Stepping down from the porch was like stepping into a new reality; one where dreams come true, not from a wish, but through sacrifice. The little black book had the keys…chosen random words… and an email that led to the girl who knew what to do with them. And what a girl she was. The plastic surgeon had agreed to let the client think he was doing it for free, as long as he was paid upfront. Plane tickets, Uber, hotels…she had planned it all out and, as for what Amanda thought of what was going down, Lela didn’t care. “Let her think it was her father for all I care,” Lela said as they both stood down the street and watched as Amanda climb in the Uber for the airport. “We played our part,” she said, through eyes and skin the color of caramel. Pressing an envelope from her purse to Anthony’s chest, she murmured “Your half of what’s left” and started walking away. After only a few steps, she turned, adding “My number’s in there too!” Gotta love a happy ending.
By Grant McMillion Crul5 years ago in Criminal
Wild Card Weekend Recap: What Happens Now?
I think I figured out why I love Wild Card Weekend so much. It's because it's the first playoff anything of the calendar year. The NFL season starts in the fall, and once upon a time, the champion was crowned either on or slightly before New Year's. The evolution of the NFL schedule has resulted in the playoffs starting just into the New Year, and currently, the final week of the season falls on the first weekend of the New Year, with Wild Card Weekend coming a week after that. So yes, chronologically, the NFL's Wild Card Weekend serves as the first playoff anything of the calendar year.
By Clyde E. Dawkins9 days ago in Unbalanced
Freddy Peralta and the Quant Era of Pitching: Why Precision Now Defines Power
The evolution of Freddy Peralta isn’t just a story about one pitcher’s growth; it’s a portrait of where baseball is heading. Once known for volatility, Peralta is now a poster figure for what it means to thrive in the “quantitative era” of pitching — a phase where raw velocity no longer guarantees success and where optimization, sequencing, and adaptability have become the currency of dominance.
By Trend Vantageabout 6 hours ago in Unbalanced
Autonomy Is The Real Privilege
Good morning, freedom-seekers! Today we’re gonna be looking at autonomy. A strange word, I know; one many would probably look at blankly and run away from on sight. We’re gonna figure out what it actually means, consider how it’s achieved, and decipher just how deeply most of us are tangled up in dependence without realising it.
By That ‘Freedom’ Guy2 days ago in Humans
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.