Tuesday, December 31, 2013





O Danny Boy is one of the things that annoyed my childhood in The South Bronx of America. The Irish and most of New York were always singing that song to me

 

My rock star name is Danny Dodging Bullets In The City of Guns And Roses Way Before The Matrix! Got that? Then I died and went to Google Heaven.

 

HAPPY NEW FEAR OF LOVE, HUMANS!

 

Revenge is living well.

 

LOL

 

How To Pitch Nightmares To DreamWorks by O Daniel Angel Aponte

 

I’ll Stop The World And Melt With You sung by Modern English

 

Art& Hot Text Copyrighted by me so why is China LOL?

Monday, December 23, 2013


A Happy Pagan Holiday Message From Danny Aponte Of Public School 161

 

Art imitates life and vice versa.

 

 To prove it, I saw NYC garbage men on a break pitch ideas for The City Of Angels or Hollywood. I was overwhelmed by the musky scent of success when I realized my childhood dream to live life like a great American novel had begun to write itself.

 

This true-life story has everything but a movie studio called Kitchen Sink Productions or Tin Hat Films. And, yes, it has books gather dust at the NYPL. The trick to get kids and the FBI to read is open up with a scene of a typewriter and paper spattered with brains

 

Gotcha

 

Zoom in overhead to a street at night in The South Bronx, a place that Woody Allen would never think of filming one of his movies not unless he wants to die young.

 

I have a gun in my hand.

 

Don’t say a word, you (expletive deleted)! Watch me kill the audience. Watch me walk between parked cars and point the gun at a Puerto Rican named Angel. Pop, pop, pop and Angel falls backwards against a locked building door. He slides down ever so slowly.

 

Are you reading me so far, NRA?

 

Previously, the Puerto Rican and I got into a heated dispute started by me. It was over nothing to get $omething by $elling a story to grab grub and pay my rent. Only in New York can I get away with satire and to be interviewed by Charlie Rose under the all-seeing third eye blind of Channel 2 News. I write this to Tweet Think Thirteen and---

 

THIS IS A SPECIAL BULLETIN!!!

 

NYPD will regret they never stopped and frisked me, a handsome blond haired white guy who looks tailor made for Wall Street or for orgies at the Playboy Mansion or for good old fashion Gay American family values in the 21 Century.  Well, I’m off to Africa.

 

Hope I don’t get Aids!

 

I’m just kidding.

 

I’m white

 

ALL OF A SUDDEN, faster than anyone can say NO ONE ESCAPES THE SPANISH INQUISTION, I was chased by a mob of angry Puerto Ricans all looking like Gerardo Rivera after he had his nose smashed by Neo Nazis! Could they be any madder if I had set the Puerto Rican flag on fire as seen on TV in the final season of Seinfeld?

 

For legal reasons (like avoiding the death penalty), Angel came back to life when I brought him a Bud. We laughed at the toy gun that looked real in the hands of an actor who is destined to become the next Al Pacino, an Italian who played a Puerto Rican.

 

Truthfully, I’m not white. I’m Pulp Puerto Rican Fiction Made In The USA.

 

How good am I an actor for the next Fellini, film director of surrealism?

 

I’m not an actor.

 

It’s been real.

 

Ciao, bella

 

XOLOL

 



 


 



 



 

Art& Hot Text Copyrighted By Daniel Angel Aponte

 

Why is China LOL?

 

Saturday, December 21, 2013

Do The Math


The Algorithms were Kung Fu fighting in cyberspace. They were fast as lightning.

 

They fought with expert timing. In fact, it was a little bit frightening.

 

Welcome to Tron, The South Bronx Edition.

 

Here comes The Big Boss!

 

Lets get it on.

 



 



 


Wednesday, December 18, 2013




 
Social Media has mutated my ego! It’s floating away into cyberspace!
 
AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
 
Cool.
 

 
I need your genius to help me realize what I was vaguely dreaming of creating.
 
 Together, we will go further where no human has ever gone before.
 
Join me on this bold enterprise of extraordinary ideas.
 
Comic Con 2014, here we come!
 
And no laugh track need apply.
 
 
 
Copyrighted by Danny Aponte
 
Why is China laughing?

 

 

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

It's Not What You Think


 
This Is Not Closure

 

I signed the papers to have my mother’s other son admitted into Bronx State Mental Hospital. He’s in bad shape, said a doctor as we watched orderlies move him on his feet slow as a snail. His face was frozen with a grimace of a fallen stone gargoyle and eyes an abyss of the demons Schizophrenia aided and abetted by Crack. He stared at us until he passed out of view. I heard the doctor’s voice in my head over and over again.

 

He’s in bad shape.

 

At the hospital, I sat on a bench and looked into the mystery of the forest. I now see the stars and the fireflies as symbols of The Wonder Years.  I’m inside my brain that he tried to smash with a bat while I slept in bed. Unlike Abel killed by Cain for being thoughtful in his dreams, I felt the fires of his jealousies enter the room before he kicked down the door just like his father used to do in a drunken rage.  The king of mental illness is dead but the abuse on me in childhood was to be continued. His son relished his inheritance from his god, his sire long rotted away in his grave nearby a castle by an ocean.

 

In a binary star system, one sun imploded and became a black hole that relentlessly tries to pull the starlight of the other into darkness.  I am the accountant of my own 9/11. I’ve been attacked over and over again. I draw out venom and stitch wounds with words. 

 

This is not closure

 

The woman who said she’s my mother finally uprooted herself from a windowsill with the view of a funeral parlor and disappeared. Hours later, she came back with her son who looked like the devil from an old black and white Twilight Zone episode.

He and her and the city of New York has been killing me ever since. I’m scared not to know if I can ever heal from loss, what could have been my American Dream.

 

I was happier in New Hampshire, The Live Free Or Die State.

 

I’m going to die to get freedom

 

To be or not to be…

 

To be continued…

 

 






 

Vast Wasteland To Vast Wasteland: An Essay By Images And Painting By Words

 

 By Danny Aponte formerly of P.S 161

 

Copyrighted by Daniel Angel Aponte

 







Monday, December 9, 2013



Blogging With Myself With No One In Sight

 

The day after Nelson Mandela died, teenagers rolled marijuana into tobacco in the littered hallways of the building my mother lives in. After midnight, they came in and out loud as jet planes overhead. The peephole of our apartment was like Point Of View on Channel 13.  Without a camera, all I can do is record with words the activities of those moved out of homeless shelters and into a building of long time tenants bewildered by old age in The New Millennium. Things have changed. Every apartment now rents for $2,800.

 

Greed is like a super storm.

 

The city of the world is paying for this. The taxpayers are paying for this. It’s no wonder why the landlord wants my mother and me to move out. Make us homeless to make money from the homeless? This is progress in the 21 Century? Vandals have broken front doors and our mailbox ripped out while graffiti grew like mold on bathroom walls. Cops have been called more often than the fumigators that always leave three glue traps for a growing population of rodents far from a childhood fable on three blind mice. 

 

Where do we go from this icon of poverty?

 

I saw the final season of Dexter.

 

The kids are pleased to meet you! And they don’t have to guess your name! The DVD was on the shelves of The Public Library where I saw The American Dream, a book written by an anchorman from the TV station with the All Seeing Eye logo.

 

 Now I’m Dexter with a pen mightier than a sword.

 

Writing truth cuts deep into the heart. I recall tattooing on wrist my Social Security number in case of being robbed and killed.  There seems to be legions of gangsters in the city of illegal guns and roses and stop and frisk for everyone of me who used to carry Ann Frank in my arms when I was a child who walked in long shadows of bullies and burnt-out buildings. The torch has been passed on to a new generation, began a speech by a space age president killed like Super Man with a bullet to his head. By the time you read this, I committed suicide by freedom of expression. God bless Cyber Space.

 

Now media knows me and when I lived. This is the final season. But life movies on against The End… This was my journal to be found in 2188, a future free from social ills.

 

This was my years of living dangerously in The South Bronx of America

 

This was a historical mural of dreams for the City That Never Sleeps.

 

One door closed in my Face Book…

 

And another one opened…

 

And justice for all…

 

Finally.

 

P.S: If anyone in the media failed to see my point, I’ll jab pen into your all seeing eye.

 

Period.

 

Vast Wasteland To Vast Wasteland: An Essay By Images And Painting By Words

 

 By Danny Aponte formerly of P.S 161

 






 

Copyrighted by Daniel Angel Aponte

 

Why is China laughing?

 

How To Pitch Nightmares To DreamWorks by Danny Aponte of P.S 161


 

This is a homework assignment on creating a tour book to draw people to The South Bronx. The holidays are better here than in other countries but, for now, stay away from the post office on St Ann’s Avenue!!! I needed help for my mother who had her mailbox broken into and what we received was the runaround for months. They say God helps those who help their own selves or SO HELP ME HOWARD!!!

 

I have a problem with a chubby faced postal supervisor who asked what’s my problem. But when I saw his one lazy eye (probably looking in the distance of the Butterball turkey dinner he gobbled two days ago) I knew he wasn’t interested in my problem.

 

As a human being, he was better than the zombies in World War Z, a movie that’s just another way of saying it’s Black Friday. Hey, don’t laugh! This is not funny! On the other begging hand, I suppose misery does love comedy.  Okay, chuckle choke on this: hey, post office, the reality check is in the emails I’m sending everyone around the world.

 

In all due fairness, there is an Asian- American post office worker who smiled kindly behind the Plexiglas when I stood on the tips of my toes and asked can you please help my mother? We’re not getting our mail! Boo-hoo! There is no Santa Claus! Boo-hoo! Boo freaking hoo as a cop once said after a Neo Nazi at school beat me into a coma.

 

But that’s no excuse for me not doing my homework.

 

It’s about grading New York and the USA. This is my version of Standard and Poor in The South Bronx. I’m sorry. I can’t hear the post office laughing. Well now hear this.

 

HO! HO! HO!

 

To prove humor happens, have another lump of reindeer dump in your stockings.

 

Oh well. There’s always next year, right?

 

You better hope!

 




 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When I was a kid, I saw a sci-fi movie called When Worlds Collide.

 

Earth is destroyed but the best male and female scientists escape to a new planet. What scared me was that there were no Puerto Ricans on that spaceship.

 

I definitely didn’t see any black people.

 

 As a matter of fact, there was nothing but white people. So I decided to build my own starship from burnt out buildings in The South Bronx.

 

Thanks to The Public Library, I finally succeeded.

 

So long, suckers!

 


http://dannydope.blogspot.com

Saturday, December 7, 2013




In a dark future or somewhere in the past, the world has corrupted children to believe it’s better to rule in Hell than to serve in Heaven. The Zero Men are sent to destroy the planet from contaminating other galaxies. The last two innocent kids can only save Earth by flying nightmares to DreamWorks. Will they make in time for the holidays?

 

Happy New Fears from The City of Angels otherwise known as HOLLYWOOD!

 






 

Art & Hot Text Copyrighted by Daniel Angel Aponte

 

Why is China laughing?

Friday, December 6, 2013


When I was a kid, I saw a sci-fi movie called When Worlds Collide.

 

Earth is destroyed but the best male and female scientists escape to a new planet. What scared me was that there were no Puerto Ricans on that spaceship.

 

I definitely didn’t see any black people.

 

 As a matter of fact, there was nothing but white people. So I decided to build my own starship from burnt out buildings in The South Bronx.

 

Thanks to The Public Library, I finally succeeded.

 

So long, suckers!