Tuesday, May 29, 2018


On Confederate Hill with Nero the Pict

Tuesday, May 8, 2018

My good friend Nero the Pict and I had three hours to find Confederate Hill in Loudon Park, between Wilkens and Frederick Avenues, in West Baltimore, before meeting Erique for training.

At the front gate of the park are buried about a regiment's worth of Maryland Union soldiery, right on the main drag where the descendants of those they fought to free sell dope and murder at cut-rate prices.

Further back in the cemetery, beneath centuries old oaks, which the grounds keepers allow to fall prey to parasitic vines, are buried a battalion-strength of Maryland Confederates, 650 in number.

Five large monuments grace the hill overlooking an abandoned, bronze-doored mausoleum, buried in the opposite hillside, a gracefully haunted hilltop, tastefully away from the Yankee road and so much more appropriate to the Lost Cause these men fought for.

A relation of John Wilkes Booth's lies there in the sun.

A number of unknown soldiers rest there, somewhat accounted for among the ranks of others, from Alabama, Georgia, Maryland, mostly men who died of starvation and illness imprisoned at Point Lookout between October 1864 and February 1865.

Among them was a member of a Maryland Artillery unit who won the Confederacy’s highest honor, and survived the war into honored old age.

A man who commanded cavalry in a Maryland raid has a monument dedicated to his gallantry in the soft shade of the massive oak.

Next to him, beneath the monument to an unnamed CSA general reminiscent of Robert E. Lee, the wife of this grey rider has her own better preserved and touchingly inscribed monument, proclaiming her a woman of grace.

Among them is a monument to a youth who was slaughtered by federal troops in the paleface Baltimore Riot.

Most striking to me was that this hill for the remembrance of those we hate because they were better than we are has retained the solitude of a time earlier than theirs, under the shade of a tree that three men could barely circle with hands joined, a tree such as their slave ancestors felled by the millions to make this land ripe for the twin tyrannies that would deprive them of prosperity, march them off to war, kill them and then replace them.

The irony is that they fought to preserve their own poverty at the hands of a slave race and their masters and those who defeated them ultimately fought to ensure that their descendants would be driven from their hometown by the savage scions of those they freed.

Seeing the many battle flags and remembrance cards left by an organization dedicated to preserving their memory, and measuring the grace of their shaded place next to the ranked white rows of union boys whose headstones face one of the most blighted boulevards of their ravaged hometown, one wonders if it’s better to fight for the cause bought and lost or the one won and sold?

Perhaps it is only of importance that these men remind us that there was once a time when men were credited for loyalty and courage rather than having the luck of being owned by the winning machine.

1865 marked the end of the gross, government-mandated ownership of humans and the advent of its refined evolution, a world where one is reduced to a debt cipher and must either be lied to that his people were either the only slaves, or never slaves, so that the debtor might not be haunted by the fact that he lives under the same exact threats as his shackled and branded ancestor, most likely a doomed youth who was put to murdering the world’s largest living things so that his grandchildren might be replaced by a people better designed to thrive in a barren world bereft of their shade.

At least the bones of these 650 men and a few of their women lie beneath a shaded patch of our stone memories, lingering still and stoic in a world dedicated to the collective pursuit of social amnesia.

(c) 2018 James LaFond, photos courtesy of Nero the Pict

Saturday, May 26, 2018

Lockhart's Top LaFonds Volume 26

How to develop a reputation for excellent service in your ER.

"You guys don't like your mothers very much," Dante and his biker pals.

James is absolutely correct, Nikki, please don't waste your brain on college.  Your coursework should be focused on marketable skills, expand your mind on your own time, for free.

Law and order and women's MMA under the rule of LaFond the First.

Suzanna has made good use of her temper to stay alive and true to herself.

The gruesome killing of a Baltimore County cop this week illustrates the crime wave expanding from Baltimore City.

James returns to Flushing Cemetery, see here for an account of his first visit, with pictures.

Stare down or pity from a biker?  Reading a look from a hard man in the ER.  (Maybe he looked at your name tag to try to figure out if he should have recognized you?)

Dr. Slickens, Enquire, helps us understand the nuance of making hoochie music videos in the OR.

Is Luther headed for your state?  Be on the lookout!

Don't bring a knife to a knife fight.

'The economy screams for ever more consumers.'

The future of Plantation America.

Someone has to sand bowling balls, and for a while, it was Nero the Pict!

Buy James' books through Amazonpdf books through his main website, become a Patron, or donate straight to the man through Paypal, because you love James and his work.

(c) 2018 Lynn Lockhart

Thursday, May 24, 2018

Why Worry? Preternatural Musings

For Predator and Prey, Life Goes On

I sat against a tree trunk half way down to the canyon floor on a forty degree slope. I try to make time these days to just sit and watch. Breathe air and observe. There's a lot to see, and while you're moving you're it. Many eyes watch you as you move out, but forget you once you settle. Once the movement stops. Things crank back up slowly, and birds go back to calling out for careless love, 'cause it's Spring again.

The hawks wheel in orbits along the ridges, close to their nests, scanning with those terrible eyes, the infrared capability showing the urine trails left around the nests of their prey. Rodents never grasped the importance of clean latrines, so hawks eat them. Sometimes the difference between continued life and being a snack for a young hawk pivots on an obscure point that only Humans have noticed. Those who study such things, and not other things.

It's hard to know what to study, what with what we call everything just hovering out there some place on our vaunted inter-web source of all things knowable. Too many choices to make it an easy thing. Something that calls for contemplation on your own. A winnowing of the trite, and a trip to an entity operating within truth.

Two red hawks come barreling down the slope about three-four feet off the ground, maybe a five foot wingspan, the tips twitching for trim. This same pair have taken runs at my chickens. Maybe twenty feet separate them. They flare out into the canyon floor, breaking left and right, settling into two trees perhaps 150 yards apart. The waiting. The watching. A sudden dramatic move, and then the wait. They could have been two A-10 Warthogs piloted by likely lads from Kansas, bouncing enemies in someone else's land, but there could be no waiting in that case. Appear, destroy, vanish. We hate to wait when we kill for grins nowadays, in these wars, hunting monsters abroad.

So I wait, not for enlightenment. Too blind for that. I wait because the world waits, probably to see when our annoying asses finally nuke ourselves out of the equation. I can see life emerging as it always has, by random. The chaos of nature. There is no plan but chance to the nonsentient, and the mother mouse whose child is devoured by a hawk doesn't light a candle to a saint. Life goes on and will, with you or without you. So why worry?

How free it must be as a mouse on a hillside, no clue that a hawk will ever devour you. We can't do that. We all know we're done for, and we fear the knowing and spin hopes. It can't have been all for nothing, but available evidence says it most likely was. Whether or not you recycled or loved the less fortunate. Despite your concern and humanity, they only value your gold fillings.

So the fence is up: four strands of barbed wire with stiffeners, corner timbers in concrete and strung with T-posts, tuned up tight with a 4x4, a Mexican and a White Boy. Took a week of work in wind gusting around 40, same as the temperature. The barbs glitter in the sun and the deer are already leaving patches of winter fur on it. According to lore, my neighbors will become good.

(c) 2018 The Checkered Demon

Monday, May 21, 2018

Pugilists with Pencils - Crackpot Podcast Ep 35

For episode 35 of the Crackpot Podcast, we bring you a discussion on boxing, shanking with pencils, prison fights, and the barbershop with special guest John Paul Barber, who also provides some thought provoking quotes from noted intellectual Floyd Mayweather and cultural observations by Tyson Fury, you'll want to listen to the end.  This episode also includes a bit more profanity than usual, in case you are into that.

The Crackpot Podcast features battle scribe James LaFond (see the comments) and sleep deprived motherslave Lynn Lockhart, who has a noticed an alarming commonality among her online friends (stabbing others with pencils).

Boxing books by James LaFond:

The Broken Dance
Being a Bad Man in a Worse World
The Punishing Art
American Fist
The Greatest Boxer



0:00:35  Introducing John Paul Barber
0:01:50  Rockhold v Romero fight
0:06:30  Gervonta Davis
0:07:30  Boxing overseas and in the US
0:11:40  Mayweather and Mexican boxing fans
0:12:15  Nicknames in boxing
0:14:25  Any boxing in prison?
0:16:40  What is this game, smear the queer?
0:19:40  Historical boxing rules, unlimited rounds, bare knuckle, LPR
0:23:55  American Indians in prison (link on Lumbees)
0:32:00  How did James and John Paul get interested in boxing?
0:39:47  JPB remembers fights he was in
0:49:50  The time JPB was robbed at knife point
0:53:05  The mudshark is the entry point for black on white crime, including pizza delivery
0:56:40  JPB is a good boy now, he don't do nuffin, unless you panhandle at the barbershop
0:58:42  James vs a panhandler, with an assist from a Frazetta babe
1:02:08  What is it like to be a barber?
1:10:55  How is prison like college?
1:13:15  Notable quotes from boxers, read by JPB in his inimitable Appalachian inflection

(c) 2018 Lynn Lockhart

Saturday, May 19, 2018

Lockhart's Top LaFonds Volume 25

Hey, look, it's weekend links!

Biker stories continue, with an unforgettable encounter in the hospital.  Don't miss James' appearance with the Myth of the 20th Century on Hell's Angels.  Lumbee bikers liked to play pool and shoot pool. When your big brother ruins your dating life.  When your dating life ruins your life.  Why bikers are pack animals.  Here is a funny one with a happy ending.  How cops dealwith bikers.

No one said being an ass-kicking surgeon was going to be easy, or cheap.

A perspective on Russian military capabilities by Jeremy Bentham.

All television is filth.

Jacob comments on Crackpot Ep 34 and James responds, on the perils of reading translated texts.

The Ghetto Grocer traces the evolution and future of retail food.

Advice for older brothers.

I wasn't going to link this but it got a bunch of comments.

There is a line from white slavery in Plantation America and the cultural devaluation of the white working class in the present day.

How to train with a meat hook for home defense.

A man seeks training for his urban commute, for fun, survival and profit!

Big Ron is always on an adventure.

Buy James' books through Amazonpdf books through his main website, become a Patron, or donate straight to the man through Paypal, because you love James and his work.

(c) 2018 Lynn Lockhart

Thursday, May 17, 2018

'This Bad Mofo'

Captain John Smith
The Inspiration for Solomon Kane and Conan?

This bad mofo, Captain John Smith, who is just a footnote in history, mentioned in passing in a Peggy Lee song, could have been the real-life Mattias Tannhauser.

Robert E. Howard could have mined this guy’s biography for additional story material, but he would have had to tone it down, because nobody would believe it.


The Deeds of Captain John Smith

Thank you, Shep. I have read Smith’s own account of his adventures. There were others as active in mercenary warfare as he was at the time. However, he engaged in wider ranging adventures than most, due, it seems, to his high intelligence and willingness to risk his life at sea. Smith comes off as a definite prototype of a Conan character in terms of breadth. What is really telling is how politically alike Howard’s fantasy world of the Hyborean Age is to early 17th Century Europe, which ironically was the period in which the adventures of Solomon Kane were set.

Below we can match points in Smith’s career to Howard’s two most storied characters.

Mercenary:  Conan
Pirate:  Conan
Mercenary Captain:  Conan
Champion:  Conan
Crusader:  Kane
Sold into Turkish Slavery:  Kane
Escaped from Slavery:  Kane
Secret Agent:  neither
Marooned on a Savage Shore:  Kane & Conan
Explorer:  Kane & Conan
Wilderness Fighter:  Conan
Savior of a Fort between Forest and Sea:  Conan
Captured by Savages:  Kane
Abstained from Sex in a Savage Paradise:  Kane
Saved by a Savage Princess:  Kane

Conan 8
Kane 8

Two larger than life characters could have been built from Smith’s known activities. His one activity which was unknown until recent years was his duty as secret agent, which Howard could not have known and was the only aspect not used in one or both of these larger than life heroes.

Note that Black Vulmea was essentially an updated Conan.

(c) 2018 James LaFond

Monday, May 14, 2018

‘To Die’

James LaFond's Impressions of Two Men by Robert E. Howard
Reading from A Word from the Outer Dark, pages 68-70

In twelve four-line verses Howard renders a sketch dialogue in poetics between two men viewing the conduct of Jesus Christ as he hauls his cross to the appointed place. The men discuss the possibility of achieving his relief, his guilt or innocence and his relevance. This treatment seems to be based on Ben-Hur, a story Howard was familiar with, having promoted a biblical scholar’s discussion of the novel in what—if I recall correctly from the peek I had of his letters—might have been his 18th year.

Two Men achieves peaks of vision, valleys of ignorance and plateaus of despair as the two poetically embodied opposites of the soul and the body, of hero and slave discuss the fate of a man neither admits to understanding.

For an idea of the poetic rhythm verse one is quoted below:

Two men stood in the gates of day,
And one man said with kindling eye,
'The red drums rattle, the banners sway;
They are bearing the Lord Christ forth to die!'

To appreciate the materialistic view of the man lacking the “kindling eye,” of the view that predominates in our age as well as Howard’s dusted past, below are quoted the first lines of verse seven:

He might have done good, this dreamy man,
Had He chosen to go where the leaders go,
But he sat with beggar and publican,
And—He must be wrong, for the priests say so.

This pustule of a soul declares in further verses his willingness to lick the “boots” of the “Law,” to crawl and debase himself in whatever way necessary to obey the master class so that he might have cozy housing and costly suits. He continues extolling the men above as godly and reminding the aspirant of dreams wondering next to him that, “Greater than God is Opinion” making in Howard’s hand the point of the ages he so often leaves to villains to illustrate, that most men will ever worship the things of the world, that Man’s sacred creed of actuality and deed are in fact the petty laws of man and only but rarely do men look further than their bellies and roofs to recognize God’s hand.

This reader is convinced that the essence of the character Solomon Kane, the psychotic, Puritanical avenger who stalked Howard’s imaginary world of A.D. 1600 in relentless pursuit of evil, was either born, ruminated on or reflected in these twelve verses, which ends brightly in addendum for a poet so dim.

(c) 2018 James LaFond

Saturday, May 12, 2018

Lockhart's Top LaFonds Volume 24

Here are your weekend links!

James joined the Myth of the 20th Century to talk about Hell's Angels.  Big Ron shares his experience with bikers.  James reviews Hunter Thompson's Hell's Angels, and tells of an encounter with a group of Hell's Angels in a bar, and profiles the better sort of man associated with MCs.

James should start a dating service.

Fueling your fight, anger and fear.

Teutonic Fist responds to Ep 33 of the Crackpot Podcast.

Encouragement to writers looking to self publish.

The Baltimore restaurant scene is shrinking, look for an upcoming Crackpot Podcast with Nero the Pict on the topic.

Table manners of the Huron Indians, oh dear, and use of dogs by other Native Americans.

Mathematics will not survive the apocalypse.

The Checkered Demon spins a tale.

Dating advice from Dr. Bonecracker.

Clued is seeking, and I can tell from the comments he is looking in the right place.

A mostly unfunny night of comedy in the surreal city.

Erique is the whitest guy in the Baltimore area LaFondiverse, the proof is that he has cop calling privilege.

Learn about the sacred objects in the dindu rites.

Buy James' books through Amazonpdf books through his main website, become a Patron, or donate straight to the man through Paypal, because you love James and his work.

(c) 2018 Lynn Lockhart

Wednesday, May 9, 2018

'Published 5,000 Years Too Late'

James LaFond's impression of Greg Cochran's review of David Reich's Who We Are and How We Got Here

Not sure what your thoughts on Greg Cochran are but I thought you should see this post if you hadn't already.

Nothing particularly new here, but it's a great synthesis of a picture of that early Bronze Age expansion that's become impossible to deny now that some genetic results are in. Seemed up your alley.

-Alex Nicholson

The Besieged River Valley 

Cochran develops a clear, well-modeled picture of the three strands of humanity that became European man. What is most fascinating is his sketch of river valley farming communities surrounded by forested lands inhabited by an enemy race of hunter, seemingly responsible for the fort slaughters that Keeley examined in War Before Civilization:

From Cochran's post:

The original expansion of these Anatolian-origin farmers did not entail much mixing with the local hunter-gatherers: they were about 90% Anatolian. And there was friction, judging from skull-collections and forts, some of which show evidence of being stormed and burned by bow-wielding enemies. But significant numbers of hunter-gatherers hung around (without much genetic mixing) for a long time, a couple of thousand years, and this eventually led to a higher level of hunter-gatherer ancestry. This may have something to do with a style of farming that only worked in a fairly small fraction of the landscape (loess soils), leaving a lot of room for foragers. Farming in general was less effective than you might think, particularly in northern Europe, because the more cold-tolerant grain crops, like rye and oats, hadn’t been domesticated yet.

This suggests a situation very similar to that found in post agriculture stone age America, in which hunting tribes would prey upon agricultural tribes in a skulking fashion, evidencing little interbreeding and punctuated by exterminations of entire communities. What awaited this brutal coexistence of two competing worlds was the arrival of a third group of warlike nomads who might enslave the farmers and use that surplus base to free them for war against the aboriginal hunters. This would later be reflected in ancient and medieval military structures, with The Horse Companions of Macedon reflecting the nomadic element, the Foot Companions the farming element and the Agrianian and other specialized light footmen the hunting element. This would later be reflected in the medieval knight, the peasant levy and the various highland and woodland troop types combined in a three-element force, exemplified in the Hundred Years War by the knights, yeoman archers and Welsh knife men that ravaged France under various English kings. In most such cases the specialized highland and woodland infantry would not be genetically direct descendants of the original hunters and gatherers but rather environmentally adapted men such as Otzi, the Ice Man, having encroached upon the aboriginal territory and adopted native weaponry, tactics and habitation styles, much as the American frontiersman did in Appalachia and beyond.

The Conquerors

It seems that the hierarchical structures of European religion, society and military were forced introductions from an Aryan population—a race that spread its language and culture with the force to establish a genetic mapping mechanism for linguists before DNA technology, from Ireland to Bengal—and that there were language and genetic affinities between Amerindians and Caucasians sourcing from a “ghost population” of Siberian hunters. This supposition does make sense in light of the high level of affinity and intermarriage between these two larger racial groups when they collided in the Early Modern Era.

As it turns out, Childe, in The Aryans [from 1926], was right to be contemptuous of archaeologists and anthropologists and that linguistic migration is a much better means of charting genetic migration than digging in the dirt.

Cochran is, refreshingly, a standout asshole, exemplified by such painfully accurate statements as:
Childe is also an interesting example: a man of the Left, in fact a deep-fried Marxist, yet he was able to actually think in a useful way. Back then, leftists dreamt of making steel and shooting kulaks, rather than lavishing praise on incompetents, deviants, and ragheads.
The 93% population replacement of dark-haired aboriginal folk in the British Isles is shockingly reminiscent of Robert E. Howard’s mythos, from Kull to Bran Mak Morn, king of a people on the brink of extinction. In the end, what we learn from Cochran, with a deep and broad command of the sources which academia has used to enslave our minds, is that Homer and Howard, a poet and a fantasist, were right, and our evil academics were sterilely wrong. Language is the sound of the river of human blood, as telling to the awakened mind as the song of a brook, stream or river making its way from the heights of its birth down to the sea to rejoin its origin.

(c) 2018 James LaFond

Monday, May 7, 2018

Single Combat - Crackpot Podcast - Ep 34

James and Lynn discuss historical examples of the hero in single combat through history.

The Crackpot Podcast features unsanctioned historian James LaFond and sleep deprived motherslave Lynn Lockhart.



0:00:40  James' process for writing about Evola and other complex writings
0:08:49  The Civil War as the first industrial war
See Wyman Park Dell video project
0:13:27  The scale of available weaponry vs. the scale of actual warfare
0:16:40  Single combat, James gives some kind of sex metaphor
0:19:30  The selection of the champions, Hector and Achilles, Spartacus
0:25:40  Milo of Croton, gunpowder, Gustavus Adolphus
0:28:40  Horatio Nelson
0:31:12  Roger's Rangers
0:32:15  Nathan Bedford Forrest, the last Aryan hero
0:33:36  The Machine, Rommel, Patton
0:34:33  Liver Eating Johnson, Big Ron
0:40:35  Richard Marcinko, Carlos Hathcock
0:45:40  House to House, David Bellavia
0:48:08  Shooter with Mark Wahlberg
0:48:49  Back to Nathan Bedford Forrest
0:58:35  Two books to read to help you understand current conflicts
1:05:28  Sickness of the Heart (Q&A part 1 and part 2) and Our Captain, Sunset Saga, Organa
1:12:10  Unpredictability as a personality trait

Preshow notes
James, reading your Evola piece just now caused a brain wave. You have discussed the Civil War as a turning point in warfare, the first industrial war, where man power and materiel defeated superior fighters and strategists.

There have been a lot of wars since then, and not all have followed that model (I am thinking about Vietnam). Today, war seems to be a perpetual ebb and flow of overt hostility between groups, military industrial complex interests, and, most infuriatingly and importantly, opaque and covert conflicts serving as proxy wars between international "deep state" agents, here I am thinking about Syria and ISIS.

All this takes place while world powers have enough nukes to glass the planet several times over and all sorts of other technologies, and no great shortage of recruits either.

What I really want to talk about is single combat. All I know of this is what I have read in stories, not histories. Have battles or wars really been decided by single combat? Can you explain to listeners what it means? Is it a degeneration of the concept of the hero king?

Examples off the top of my head:
David and Goliath
C.S. Lewis wrote one into the Chronicles of Narnia
Ouroboros Gorice XI and Goldry
Do you think we can do an hour on this?

Production & Grand Strategy Rome & WWII [nation]
Strategy: [army] civil war
Operational: [corp]
Tactics: [division down to team]
Morale; is the substrata and depends on individual energy, cite the Marshall Study

The Line:
Promocus of Pellene
Milo of Croton

The Machine:
Horatio Nelson & Black Bart
Nathan Bedford Forest

The Old Way:
Liver-Eating Johnson
Carlos Hathcock on the rice patty and the sniper

(c) 2018 Lynn Lockhart

Saturday, May 5, 2018

Lockhart's Top LaFonds Volume 23

Welcome to Weekend LaFond Links!

Dr. A. Crank demonstrates the dangers of mixing mathematics and alcohol.

Advice for the vigilant pedestrian on assessing and responding to a potential aggressor following you.

Justice was served at least once in Baltimore, and Mr. Mohammed is back!

The Crime Surfer left the house unarmed, but don't worry, he's good at improvisation.

Humor in the face of slavery.

Boxing strategies in the London Prize Ring era.

The truth about slavery in America will not be denied.

Don't hold the door for a second wave feminist.

Evola and the worship of the sacred human.

Advice for a father of a young son.  Don't forget that all these activities also work to bond you together, and will create in his psyche a permanent impression of his strong and loving father, encouraging him and expecting and seeing the best in him.

Maori gangs retaking New Zealand and notes from PR on how to subvert the anti-paleface social order.

The Sotweed Factor, revealing Plantation America in rhyming verse.

The Crimesurfer takes a walk in the park.

Buy James' books through Amazonpdf books through his main website, become a Patron, or donate straight to the man through Paypal, because you love James and his work.

(c) 2018 Lynn Lockhart

Friday, May 4, 2018

Strangled Stones

Surveying a Plantation Era Cemetery

Walking along the concrete tomb of the Dutch Village of New Utrecht, I look through the rusty wire fencing, ten feet tall yet unable to prevent clothes, trash and beer bottles from being slung into its precinct by the undermen who skulk about. Walking the three sides of the two-acre perimeter, bounded on the fourth by a modern church, it is difficult to envision this land before it was sheathed in concrete, asphalt and brick.

However, hope does spring infernal, as one notes the great oaks and some lesser tries having taken hold recently and of old.

This cemetery, in the bowels of Brooklyn, occupies the site of a church raised by the Dutch in 1700, a generation after their conquest by the English, on the site of the long gone village. This site was witness to the death of American General Nathaniel Woodhull on September 20, 1776. According to the historical plaque, this site is only of interest due to the British-American clash of arms nearby. The true origin of this resting place of the dead, like all things American, is shrouded in mystery, intentionally ignored, nothing in the record to evince a curiosity as to the settling of this place, the mention of New Utrecht made as if the Dutch had lived in this place since the beginning of time.

The 52 full and partial rows of gravestones suggest the interment of perhaps a thousand.

Fully a third are fallen or otherwise destroyed.

A number of monuments to leading men are apparent—all unread, for the gates are locked against the subhumans who perhaps toppled the 18-foot obelisk of some tons into the church wall, barely scraping it.

The church itself hosts three congregations: one black, one Chinese, one Hindi/Punjabi/Urdu.

The precinct stretches from the walls of the church where the great are interred, to a lonely bank, held together by the roots of a great tree, engulfing one tiny headstone, the size of a Bible, made of clean white rock, seemingly being dragged under by the roots swarming it like a sea monster a ship.

As I kick aside the dried dog shit at my boot toes and the bleak clouds of today roll in overhead, I look around to see people just as alien to those who planted this village of the dead as they were to those they took it from.

Perhaps the Chinese are right to speak of us as Ghost-people.

Although the Dutch of New Amsterdam who settled this site in 1652 owned whites, only the burials of unfree blacks are recorded today.

Consider though, that in 1680, in New York, Peter Sluyter and Jasper Danckaerts described a master making his dying white slave dig his own grave (see page 134).

To support this project and view some graphics become a Patron.

(c) 2018 James LaFond, photos by Mescaline Franklin