Tuesday, September 11, 2018
Monday, August 21, 2017
When I was a boy, I looked at an eclipse with my bare eyes
in The South Bronx of burnt out buildings.
A strange thing happened afterward.
A bright light appeared in front of my bedroom window, as
did a hurricane inside my room that scattered my comic books around, among
other objects.
I was being pulled into the light.
It was sheer force of will that prevented the little boy I
was from disappearing into another dimension.
I wasn’t ready for a new reality.
This is the persistence of my memory.
I recall being gifted in childhood with photographic memory
and creativity.
I remember doctors that wanted to administer a new drug
designed to dissolve a gland in the head of the little boy I was.
I stared into the
eyes of a doctor. He didn’t give me the drug.
The place where it happened was destroyed.
Today, it’s a parking lot of sorts for The New York City
Police Department.
In The New Millennium, a young American man tried to get
inside the building my mother has resided in for decades.
He identified himself
as Mark Wilson, a reporter for The New York Post.
He wanted to interview eyewitnesses to several bright lights
across the building that hovered for a few seconds before taking off at
unbelievable speed.
I studied pictures on his cell phone.
Mister Wilson, I am sure you are reading this, as I am sure
of scientific evidence to prove aliens have been on this gem of a planet for
thousands of years.
One of the aliens is called poverty.
Make with the mild mannered reporter thing and help change
the world for the best.
I am transmitting this final message from a public library
in The South Bronx.
Afterward, I will go out into the street and look into the
eclipse.
I wasn’t ready to leave the world when I was a kid.
I am ready
Now
My Re@l Life @s @ Comic Book
New York Radiology made MRI of my brain. Conceptual art and
text by
D@niel @ngel @ponte
Copyrighted 2017
Friday, September 11, 2015
Thursday, May 14, 2015
Thursday, May 15, 2014
Life After Media
May 12, 2015
To Corner View Residence 199 Lee Ave Suite 215
Brooklyn, NY 11211
Dear Sir or
Madam:
I am writing this letter on behalf of my mother, Carmen
Aponte, a senior citizen who resides at 540 Southern Blvd, apt 8B in regards to
lease renewal.
The mailbox she received her documents was vandalized.
No Social Security check meant any money for food,
medicine, Con Edison bills and the rent.
I used a friend’s
cell phone to take pictures of the mutilated mailbox.
Afterward, I made
a police report at the Longwood Station House.
The Postmaster was also informed.
A US letter carrier suggested the superintendent give my
mother one of the mailboxes that survived the vandalism. After I complained to
management, the superintendent gave me mailbox keys to apartment 35c that
management wanted us to move into without a lease.
They promised to give a lease later.
Without warning, Our mail service was disrupted again
when management gave Apt 35c to a Mexican family that changed the locks on the
mailbox. Said Mexican family had no
knowledge of our mail.
Is Corner View Residence aware that the front and lobby
doors of Building 540 have been vandalized several times? Aware of people smoking pot in the hallways
and lobby that has no security cameras?
Building 540 now houses families taken of city shelters.
We had problems with previous troubled families that
left faucets on and water come down into Apt 8B.
311 called the New York City Fire Department several
times.
My mother fractured her arm a few months ago. She is 85
years old and was in deep pain.
I was not thinking of lawsuit but ambulance to Lincoln
Hospital. She was bedridden for a few months.
The children that ran non-stop over her ceiling had me
complain to the new superintendent.
He knocked on the door to tell them that the noise
pollution was causing discomfort to the elderly tenant below. After that, water
fell again from the apartment upstairs into my mother’s bathroom.
We now have a home care attendant who can bear witness
to the mindless stampede upstairs.
Then we get a letter notifying us of eviction for
failure to renew the lease that we have sought.
The new superintendent would always hand deliver the rent receipts to my
mother
Why couldn’t the same be done with the form to renew her
lease?
Richard Liriario, an employee of Paradise Management,
called Carmen Aponte’s brother in Arizona to try to convince him to convince
his sister, Carmen Aponte, to move to another apartment.
Mr. Liriario promised a free cash offer in the thousands
of dollars in the event Carmen Aponte moves her belongings to another
apartment.
Her brother, a retired Arizona Correction Officer,
requested Mr. Liriario fax a copy of the lease to be examined by a lawyer. The conversation between Carmen Aponte’s
brother and Mr. Liriario took place months ago.
As of this date, Richard Liriario has failed to comply
with the request.
I am requesting that her lease to apt 8B be hand delivered
to Carmen Aponte.
This is my Mother’s Day card for her.
Sincerely, Daniel Angel Aponte
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
See Book. Read Movie
It’s unbelievable to be given homework to create a tour book
to draw tourists to my poor town and make true a wish on living life like a
Great American Novel, one that reads like comic book sci-fi worthy of The New
Public Library, The Fortress of Solitude of the boy I was who was always
writing to draw the better alien of his imagination.
It’s out of this world fantastic that I have sell a story to
help pay rent for my disabled mother before the landlord bangs on the door of
her apartment in need of repair.
There are no great stories without heartbreak and no refunds
for answered prayers.
I must warn you that this journal in some parts is going to
be seriously funny.
Hopefully, it will be good for you to cry, as it was good
for me.
My life came to an end in a place of beginnings, The NYPL.
Once upon a time, I carried Anne Frank in my arms while
shadows of burnt out buildings and bullies fell over us in The South Bronx of
Captain America.
The Savage Skulls (or the SS for short) had swastikas
stitched on their gang colors.
The terrorists had their recruiting tactics. It was great
that I was trained in childhood to resist brainwashing by the best shows in
television. One of them was called Mission: Impossible on my first channel of
choice, CBS, home of the all-seeing eye in the sky.
I was potty-trained in front of that widely seen logo. I
look back and see my head as the pupil of the eye as I also see a bit of my
butt. Afterwards, I picked up a screwdriver at the age of five and made the
connection that revealed a city made from tubes. It was beautifully spiritual
without religion to be inside television. It was Tron before Tron.
Inspired by a pointy-ear half-breed science officer, I went
from what the first president of the FCC called television to another
wasteland, a real one, to find parts to build a computer based on a design
found in a book called from Sand Tables To Electronic Brains in the time of The
Fairchild Corporation that made semiconductors that set the stage for Silicon
Valley to boot up with creativity. I remember that because of a gift in
childhood called Photographic Memory. I recalled every word of every book I
read.
So how can I forget going where no one has ever gone before
on NBC?
Star Trek was about if I imagine it I could do it. I had
math mind. I learned to tell time by myself in the second grade by staring at a
clock above a blackboard of numbers. But I was limited by poverty like Michael
Faraday, an intuitive genius who changed the world and paved the way for Albert
Einstein, Stephen Hawkins and others.
I had restrictions forced on me by the jealousness of
African-Americans and Puerto Rican sixth graders that chased me after school
for making our English teacher proud of me for reading at 11.5, high school
level. And Cain killed Abel for being thoughtful. I was a freak of nature to be
beaten up and imprisoned by fear like Galileo.
I imagined myself one of the X-Men, mutants, the new N-Word.
Yeah. It’s gets worse.
My mother’s husband thought he drowned me in the bathtub. He
didn’t know I could hold my breath longer than the kids that pretended to be
Aqua Man in Saint Mary’s Park swimming pool. He was corny compared to the
prince of Atlantis, Namor The Submariner. But I knew my lungs were going to run
of air and death was certain. My mind raced with options until it settled on
one: play dead. My body jerked and then went limp. He ran out with an awful
shriek. I hid under the bed and finally made up mind. I closed my eyes, took a
deep breath and jumped off a bridge. I landed lightly on a slow moving freight
train heading toward the Midwest. Once upon a time, I had silver six shooters
and cowboy hat to protect Saint Mary’s Park, the former estate of The Founding
Father who wrote the three little words that added up the big idea: We, The
People.
I look back on this train of thought and see adventures in
poetry. I see myself not so much an American as I was a guest that looked upon
this country as the next best thing to being on The USS Enterprise. I aim to
reciprocate. What I gift can I give? Ms Raesade, my sixth grade English
teacher, advised me to just write what I know
I know movies. They’re more believable, you know.
And no laugh track need apply.
To Sleep, Perchance To Pitch Nightmares To DreamWorks: Comic
Book Cyber Journal Of The Better Angels Of Our Nature By Danny Aponte of P.S
161
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
I got lost in the movies. Which way to reality again?
Zombie Talk Show Host Seeks Human Brains On Face Book
Do you have brains?
If so I would like to eat, I mean, interview your brains
Don’t think too much about it. Just come over.
To Sleep, Perchance To Pitch Nightmares To DreamWorks: Comic
Book Cyber Journal Of The Better Angels Of Our Nature By Danny Aponte of P.S
161
Copyrighted 2014 by me.
Friday, May 2, 2014
Monday, April 28, 2014
This is a science fiction interpretation of The South Bronx
of America when it had the concrete cancer of Europe after WWII and to see how
some African Americans and some Hispanics had hollow looks of cattle on
plantations lit by candles made from fat.
Pistol whipped by cops that brought The Troubles that
justified painkiller abuse, bitch slapped by an Irish priest in my childhood
when it clearly saw better to free a suffering Jew who made the blind see, lead
me to terrorism by truth, justice and the comic books.
It’s Judgment Day on me who, in the beginning of my Wonder
Years in TV wasteland, wanted to be a pointy-ear devil of a science officer on
a starship now ancient like Win98 saved from junkyards to repair memories and
enabling me to write programs while Bob Dylan wails rolling stones. What’s the power point of it all?
History is a waste of time travel for faceless narcissists
filled with envy on Face Book.
Didn’t I make up my mind to leave cyber cave people behind
in the future of smart devices getting smarter? Why am I still here with an
uncertain smile?
How does it feel to be free on your own light cycle without
directions home?
O Danny X Machina loves this song by Joy Division: Love
Will Tear Us Apart.
Again.
To Sleep, Perchance To Pitch Nightmares To DreamWorks: Comic
Book Cyber Journal Of The Better Angels Of Our Nature By Danny Aponte of P.S
161
There are 8 million stories in The Naked City and more
beyond borders.
You’re now one of them on police line-ups.
Gotcha.
Japanese Anime South Bronx style!
Copyrighted 2014 by me.
Thursday, April 24, 2014
If I ever fall in love, I’ll work out to make my muscles
glisten like gold bricks.
I’ll be a male stripper only for the woman who falls in love
with me.
I’ll slowly gyrate to the movie theme of Django as she
swoons like a southern belle about to faint in a heat wave by the river. I want
her to have a hard time catching her breath.
I want her heart to stop several times. I want her to
whisper oh, my heavens!
I want her to cry out Tron Legacy was a great sequel to
Tron!
I don’t really know what women want.
Hey, I’m only ten years old.
But I am a good student.
See you in the future.
Wink.
There are 8 million stories in The Naked City. You have been
one of them.
To Sleep, Perchance To Pitch Nightmares To DreamWorks
Comic Book Journal By Danny Aponte of P.S 161
Saturday, April 19, 2014
REWARD!!!
Howdy, boys and girls. Stop and figure this here warrant for
y’all arrested development.
Now what powerful freedom has invested in me authority to
render Poetic Justice?
Who am I?
I was a US Marshall who was whipped, water boarded,
interrogated and left for dead on the wasteland of vultures when I was a kid in
Public School 161 in The South Bronx.
Worse agony was to arrive at New York University where I was
ethnic-profiled
I aim to frame city of the world like I was framed in courts
of media firefights.
I am a fast draw who knows the law: NYPD has to assist this Man With No Ties To
Terrorism in capturing America’s Most Wanted. That would include police
officers.
There are 8 million stories in The Naked City.
You’re now one of them on police line-ups.
Smile for Selfie! Gotcha, partners!
This restless soul gets reward and a good day to y’all blue
angels getting bluer as my gold star catches the light of high noon. There’s
law and then there’s justice. Reckon it’s time to get back on the saddle and
leave town before sundown.
Vaya con Dios, amigos and all you pretty ladies out there.
Hi ho Silver LOL
away!
I so dearly love when true life Mission: Impossible comes
together perfectly.
FYI: This disavowed operation was called Homework.
It was long overdue
To Sleep, Perchance To Pitch Nightmares To DreamWorks By
Danny Aponte of P.S 161: Comic Book Cyber Journal Of The Better Angels Of Our
Nature
Hope y’all get sequel.
Please hear me out. I’m desperate for your need for justice.
I need help to fulfill a dream for colored children of all
ages around Planet Earth.
I’m going to round up Americans and bring them to police
line-ups.
Who am I?
I was a US Marshall who was whipped, water boarded and
interrogated by bullies.
This all happened when I was a kid in Public School 161 in
The South Bronx.
The worse was to come at New York University where I was
ethnic-profiled
Now I’m going to frame Americans in a courthouse like they
framed me.
There must be disavowed IMF agents that I can recruit for
this mission impossible.
If you want to clear your names, get on the saddle and ride
with me.
This rogue operation is called Homework.
And it’s long overdue
To Sleep, Perchance To Pitch Nightmares To DreamWorks
By Danny Aponte of Public School 161
The South Bronx, USA
Friday, April 18, 2014
I didn’t want to tag you. Please hear me out. I’m desperate
for your need for justice.
I need help to fulfill a dream for colored children of all
ages around Planet Earth.
I’m going to round up Americans and bring them to police
line-ups.
Who am I?
I was a US Marshall who was whipped, water boarded and
interrogated by bullies.
This all happened when I was a kid in Public School 161 in
The South Bronx.
The worse was to come at New York University where I was
ethnic-profiled
Now I’m going to frame Americans in a courthouse like they
framed me.
I’m sure there must be disavowed IMF agents that I can
recruit for this mission impossible. If you want to clear your names, get on
the saddle and ride with me.
This rogue operation is called Homework.
And it’s long overdue
To Sleep, Perchance To Pitch Nightmares To DreamWorks
By Danny Aponte of Public School 161
The South Bronx, USA
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