To say that I am a fan of Christian Kane is like saying the sun is bright. Its undeniable and one would look silly even trying to debate the fact. That being explained, on September 2, 2016, that self induced blissful fandom was placed on critical support.


The drama started when San Francisco 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick has willingly immersed himself into controversy by refusing to stand for the playing of the national anthem in protest of what he deems are wrongdoings against African Americans and minorities in the United States.
His latest refusal to stand for the anthem -- he has done this in at least one other preseason game -- came before the 49ers' preseason loss to Green Bay at Levi's Stadium on Friday night.
"I am not going to stand up to show pride in a flag for a country that oppresses black people and people of color," Kaepernick told NFL Media in an exclusive interview after the game. "To me, this is bigger than football and it would be selfish on my part to look the other way. There are bodies in the street and people getting paid leave and getting away with murder."
The 49ers issued a statement about Kaepernick's decision: "The national anthem is and always will be a special part of the pre-game ceremony. It is an opportunity to honor our country and reflect on the great liberties we are afforded as its citizens. In respecting such American principles as freedom of religion and freedom of expression, we recognize the right of an individual to choose and participate, or not, in our celebration of the national anthem."
Niners coach Chip Kelly told reporters Saturday that Kaepernick's decision not to stand during the national anthem is "his right as a citizen" and said "it's not my right to tell him not to do something."
The NFL also released a statement, obtained by NFL Media Insider Ian Rapoport: "Players are encouraged but not required to stand during the playing of the national anthem."
By taking a stand for civil rights, Kaepernick, 28, joins other athletes, like the NBA's Dwyane Wade, Chris Paul, LeBron James and Carmelo Anthony and several WNBA players in using their platform and status to raise awareness to issues affecting minorities in the U.S.
However, refusal to support the American flag as a means to take a stand has brought incredible backlash before and likely will in this instance. The NBA's Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf of the Denver Nuggets, formerly Chris Jackson before converting to Islam, refused to acknowledge the flag in protest, citing similar reasons as Kaepernick and saying that it conflicted with some of his Islamic beliefs.

Personally speaking in the skin I live within, I am a Native/ African American man (My family reunions are TRULY festive events), and Christian Kane's comments not only came off as entitled, but poorly informed, especially since he is a Métis  (halfbreed Native) like myself.
Most native men, like all red blooded Americans, are football fans, and Mr. Kaepernick's stance on racial equality has many of our leaders proud. As native people, we understand what the old red, blue and white actually means.  The same flag many whites are in an uproar about was the same flag many of my ancestors were killed for. Would famous Native Americans  like Crazy Horse, Chief Joseph, Pontiac, Tecumseh, Maria Tallchief, Cochise, Red Cloud, and Hiawatha , people who fought white armies to save our people from slaughtering land grabbers, would they stand for the National Anthem ?

 Probably Not

This nation has a severe case of selective memory and many of us 'minorities' are expected to bear the brunt of it.
African Americans in inner cities have been killed by cops for ages, but since 2012, these horrible crimes are on the rise. Are they expected to just turn the other cheek as rouge cops pick them off like human targets at a state fair ?
For ages, practically since the  creation of this country, whites have did their best to maintain their power over minorities, many times prospering for doing so.
Imagine a whole race of people bought and sold for centuries, chalk up as simple beast of burden.When finally given their freedom, imagine these same human beings having to live in a society that still saw them as beast of burden, though government laws said different. For over 350 years, a whole race was seen as nothing more than two legged oxen to pull plowshares -- suddenly, as if cutting on a light switch, these same human beings were given their humanity in the eyes of the law.
Did this change the minds of whites that owned these human beings - where they expected to do away with hundreds of years of legacy and tradition based in and around the slave trade?

Probably Not

Being native, living on a 'rez' (slang for Indian Reservation) half of my life, I have witnessed the cruel iron fist of the police. My mother was raped and murdered by a white New Orleans beat cop in 1983, charges that were later dropped due to a technicality.
Even as she feared for her life, going to the local precinct 18 times, placing 12 police reports against the accused rapist/murderer  with a badge, none of it was enough. The local cops did nothing, some even said they would arrest her for making false charges.
My mother's body was found four weeks later to the actual day she had made her last police report.
Her badly decomposed body had been stuffed in a dumpster behind a abandoned apartment building, found by a vagrant searching for aluminum beer cans. I was told later that her body could not be identified visually. They had to use dental x-rays.
The white cope that was eventually charged, even though he had a number of complaints against him concerning sexually harassment,  was let off with 15 years probation.
Growing up on several reservations with my father's family, I witnessed more police brutality; constant intimidation when traveling off of reservation land, physical abuse, unwarranted home searches ( even though such practices are forbidden under Federal Native Sovereign Law), rape, sexual coercion with minor native girls as young as 12 years of age, these are just a few offenses I have witnessed as a member of The First Nation.
And there are so many more -- countless stories of wicked human beings wearing brass badges doing what ever their dark hearts desire to those that are completely powerless.
Now stand back - consider this, now take in the fact that I am African American as well, understanding the struggle of these people as well.
Its enough to drive you insane.
So when Christian Kane, a native man with white skin and blue eyes, typed what he typed on Twitter, it hurt deeply.
He should now better.
Imagine, a 'white man' actually proud of his native blood, telling the world. The more I discovered about Christian Kane, the more I adored him. He was my idol, a sure milestone that we ARE progressing and making strides. As a writer, he even inspired one of my most beloved literary characters, 'Slick Skate-Blade' of The River - Blood Brother Chronicles.
I even dedicated the first publication to him.
Mr. Kane has been a wealth of inspiration for me as well as countless others, but being who I am, I have to 'call a spade a spade'.
Christian Kane is entitled to his opinion, as American's we all are. But, as a man that has been blessed with a certain popularity, he has the specific responsibility to understand ALL voices on the above issue. He must be held accountable for his words; healing or hurtful, because those words reach so many and can be utilized to hurt and further injure.
In a country that is struggling through the nastiest presidential campaign in recent history; hate groups crawling from under the crevices of normal society, yelling to the fiery heavens curses of ignorance and death. Black and white people arming themselves with fear and loathing, the fabric of time and progression, well worn lessons for our beloved nation.
It is all unraveling before our very eyes, or so it seems.
Opinions are opinions, everyone has one. But in this heated climate of racial unrest, a melting pot that is slowly starting to boil over, celebs need to utilize their voices wisely. Many are listening, looking for guidance and validation.
Choose your words wisely Mr. Kane, utilize that white skin, blue eyes and native red blood to help not only yourself, but others that have no voice. As a Métis, it is your calling and duty first and foremost to honor your blood  before honoring any flag of any nation. THAT is your duty.
 Our native ancestors are depending on you.

Will I continue to support Christian Kane ?
Ofcourse -- he is only human. But I do expect more in the future. From what I have heard, he is a kind and loving human being and a wonderful role model. The world is watching.

T -

The driver slows his car, seeing a squad car pull up behind him. His hands on the steering wheel, the young man swallows down a fierce sense of anger and betrayal. This has happened countless times before, over 50 to be exact. Looking to his lover by his side, he sees the fear in her eyes, a zenith of terror in her darting glances.

"I have a lil weed on me.....," she gasps.

 The young man smiles nervously, trying his best to show resolve and strength. " Its the damn tail light. I had forgot. Have to get that damn thing fixed.
"Be easy. This will be all over soon. Sit back and relax," the young man says with a cocky grin.
"I got this..."

Watching as a cop walks up, short and squat,the young man smiles inwardly. "He doesn't look too damn dangerous," he thinks, gripping his steering wheel.
Both man and woman watch as the officer makes his way around to the driver's window.
"Yes sir.....what's the problem...?" the young man asks, rolling his eyes at the waste of his time.

The officer is scared. Blacks faces with beady eyes, what is he to do? Watching every motion the driver makes, the young policeman feels a zeal of fight or flight. But he has to control his need to be afraid. These people have done nothing.
"License and registration......," the officer says curtly.

The driver smiles. Best way to tame the deep seated fear he sees.

'I'm just like you - I'm not going to hurt you,' the driver seems to smile.

Reaching back, digging deep into his back pocket, the driver wants to get on with his life. No need to fear.
"Let me get it for you - its in my back pocket -- in my wallet," he mumbles.


Suddenly an explosion can be heard, four pops, loud and resolute.

 The driver looks to his white tee shirt as the crimson of life oozes from him, red and warm with dread and dark death. "It's in my back --- oh my god," the man tries to say, but can not.

Feeling the effects of shock, the driver eases back in his seat as hellfire seems to roar through his body, bullets holes seeping, his arm shattered. Feeling the pain, yet dizzy, the driver looks over.
 Wondering why he has not panicked, his eyes crowing curiously heavy, the driver watches his girlfriend pull out a well hidden cell phone. Bleeding, feeling his lower legs grow numb, the young man looks to the officer, seeing the look of a crazed animal, shock and regret already furrowed into the law man's brow.

The world grows soft as excruciating pain starts to numb, the curious sensation of death creeping up the man's legs. The driver scoots further down into his seat, hearing a little girl in the back. The child is strong, breathing heard, terrified, not understanding what she is seeing.  
Looking back, his eyes growing heavy, the driver tries to smile, to reassure the child like he has always done.

"I' m fine baby girl........," he tries to say, but can not. Death has flowed up into his mouth, down his throat, making everything numb and cold.

Closing his eyes, the young driver looks back to his girlfriend, trying to reassure with the same cocky smile that won her heart.

He can not, his face does not feel like his own, dead and rubbery.

The driver is sleepy. 'The pain aint  that bad,' he tries to say with his eyes as his lover looks on in complete terror.

All is dark. No last good byes, no last kisses or hugs.

'Damn.....so this is what it is like....," the young man thinks as his heart beats its last.
Trying to open his eyes, both eyelids feeling as if they belong to another; foreign and thick, like lifting lead weights, the man resolves himself to just breathing.
He will relax.

" No need to be afraid...," he thinks as his whole body seems to melt away.


Philando Castile is dead.

Millions will witness his lynching.



America -
We have a problem.

I could rant incoherently till blue in the face about bad cops, people that are barely trained to deal with the different communities they are paid to keep safe.

But I will not. Many already know this.

I could talk about how cops here in the Bronx often throw their weight around when it comes to people of color and immigrants. I have seen this too many times to count.

But I will not. It has already been talked about.

I can stand on a soap box in the middle of Time Square and scream to the top of my lungs about policing human beings, how being a cop was once an honorable profession to help people, now just an organized terrorist group in which the worst of society join.

I can not say that because it's is not completely true, ofcourse not.
Another reason not to say it, I might get shot myself.   


We live in a world in which little boys in grown men's bodies are given deadly weapons. These childish, petty individuals are then expected to do the honorable job of protecting the public from criminals, given the ultimate power of life and death, without even understanding the complexities of their jobs.

I have a niece who is a police officer in the 40 precinct here in the Bronx. As a black woman, I have watched this job change her into a mighty warrior for right and wrong. I use to pray for her all the time so that she would be safe, she has children at home waiting for her, a family that adores her.
I don't pray any more. My little niece is powerful, as if the Archangel Michael himself, I know she is the best of the best. Often in conversation, especially when she started her new career, she would tell me the racism she faces from her own colleagues. The off color jokes about black female prowess, the constant referring to male perps as 'animals' and or 'savages'.  It was hard for her at first.

Through meditation and spiritual guidance, my niece shined above it all. Now she is just 'one of the boys' - but so much better.

I won't go into the horrible biases we have discussed through the years, aimed at her as well as those behind bars that look like her, but I will say this.

" If cops do not respect their own because of skin color, what chance do we as civilians have?"

But, as we all know, this problem is deeper than police officers. These are just human beings given authority over other human being's lives and free wills. These people, even before donning that uniform meant to protect and serve, like God's human angels here on earth, they are just that.

People.

America, I just watched a black man being lynched. The year is not 1922, and I was not in a horrified powerless crowd of onlookers, gnashing our teeth, seething with fear and terror. I watched this young man die in the comfort of my own home, on my computer.

I guess somethings have changed.

I always make a comment when readers  tell me they are starting on the adventure that is The River books,

                  " Be careful, your gonna fall in love with them. But they are insane. You were warned."

This usually illicit a number of reactions, most being chuckles, but I always get that one email form a few.

                                                            "Your right. I love the boys."

I think the reason why people love Ben and Slick is the fact that both are honest with very little filter, the boys say everything that is on their minds and what comes out is not always comfortable for a lot of people.  As a writer, writing about two 'colorful' characters, I had to be honest. Both of the characters are based on people that were apart of my family.

I could not drop the ball.

There are two fans and friends I talk with online every day, Beth and Valerie, my 'sounding boards' ( I do not think they know this)  I tell them all the time that I hear Slick and Ben in my heart and head, that the boys are 'cutting up' or distracting me from writing. This is the honest truth.
I have written several books ( some people will say not very well, but my work sells - the last laugh is mine). In my career as a independent writer, The River is the only ONLY literary journey that has moved me in so many ways. There are times I cry, moments of  cheerful endless giggles, sometimes I get angry. When editing and proofing the books, I often find myself finger-wagging at the boy's antics or talking out loud, as if having a conversation with two good friends.
Though I am sure other writers do the same, I love having the boys as an active part of my life. Often, when out and about in Manhattan, I often think to myself in situations. "What would Slick or Benjamin do?" 

I love the books dearly and it seems my readers feel the same.

Serenity Futior is one of those character many readers are starting to relate to on a very deep level. Though she does not have much of a storyline in 'The River' - Blood&Water', what is presented for readers is breathtakingly tragic,yet uplifting. This beings said, Serenity is evil. Her sons, each more handsome than the other, they are even more malicious.

In the book, I share Serenity's back story; how she came to be, how darkness overtook her life. Being the offspring between a young  slave child and a cruel pedophile, Serenity was raised to be strong and powerful, even while working in the fields with her young mother.
Eventually Serenity was accepted into the main plantation house, probably as a playmate for one of the slave master's children. This is when the young girl was introduced wealth and comfort; bought fine dresses, taught to read and write, excelling in latin and math.  But even as her life changed, Serenity never forgot the cruelty she endured in the fields working alongside her mother, Ms. Edmonds.

In the story I explain how even as a young age, Serenity starts to plan her mother's revenge against the plantation owner's family. This is a part of The River that is steeped in intrigue. This is not a large part of the storyline, but it represents the cruelty of slavery and how such darkness still effected lives in the 1920's Deep South.

Because I did not want this particular storyline to get 'flat', I surrounded  this particular antagonist with other characters that are just as evil as she is. I think the reader can understand Serenity's need for revenge, her desire to lash out, but I wanted to present a new aspect of the storyline. People that are evil just to be evil.
Serenity's boys are offspring from a marriage of pure greed, she even sent one of the boys to Paris with his father, killing the man while in Europe. In this aspect of the storyline the reader gets to know each young man; how he views the world, his mother, even their past crimes and or sins.

Serenity is very interesting character. I plan on utilizing her in a few more books.

For a little bit about her and her mother's backstory,
http://buff.ly/1W1ztRS Read Here 'The River2' Preview 'Ms.Edmond's Moxy'

The hustler explains another fact not well known in the county. The
law men do not even have a key to their own evidence vault. This was
explained by Judge Kelly.
The reason the good judge gave was equally odd.
He told of a case in which a horde of guns and ammo was stored at the
station, taken from a mafia startup setting up shop in Beaufort.
    “Several of tha’ officer’s was kill’d fo’ tha’ guns - pick’d off
like flies,” the creole relates.
        “It was hard put’in a case to’geth’a ‘gainst tha basti’ds.
They’all got off and  went back ta’ Italy.”
    “So fru’m then on, a station can have  an evidence vault. But its
keys and combination is stor’d in tha’ nearest city law enforcement
office.”
       “Anoth’a thing ,” the creole relates.
 Rising the hustler reaches for his sports jacket, pulling out the
burned remains of several of the deeds from his inner jacket pocket.
He shows everything to Flora.
Benjamin was able to take the deed remains with no trouble, since
nothing could be done with them.
But its what was on the back that caught his eye.


On the back of each burnt remnant seems to be a series of ghostly
shapes,maybe letters of some strange language,barely seen by the naked
eye.
    “I bet tha’ heat of tha’ fire mad’em symb’ls clear,” he says,
looking to the burnt papers.

The creole shows the blackened scraps of parchment to the call
girl,watching as her eyes light up. “Back in Puerto Rico, many of us
are descendants from Taino Indians - dating far back.”
   “These symbols look like what I saw in caves and on rocks in my
country’s rain forest - not exactly - but very close,” Flora beams.

Benjamin looks to the fragments,then to his lovely bed mate. “Can ya’
read this ..... language?”

Flora nods happily,the very thought bringing back wonderful
memories,summers spent with her grandmother,a full blooded Taino. As
Benjamin watches,the beauty handles each chard  fragment with care,
her long fingers flowing over a language that is barely spoken,almost
lost to the world.
    “Here .... this symbol means water and land,” Flora explians as
she points to a symbol.
  “But more like a huge body of water and small piece of land.”

Her interests growing,Flora’s fingers trace over another series of
symbols on the remains of another deed.  “Here, this symbols means
gold and gems, but not really the gems white men value. My native
people always found value in minerals that had spiritual signifigance
- versus shine and sparkle potential.”

As Flora’s eyes graze across the small pieces of  scorched vellum, she
looks up curiously.
    “Its as if information is given, but on several deeds. You would
need all of the deeds to get the complete message.”

     “Aint got tha otha’s ...,” Benjamin says impatiently though mesmerized.

Flora suddenly looks up, curious. “And these land deeds were for land
purchases  in America ?”



Benjamin nods. “Yep.”

Even more perplexed at Benjamin’s answer, Flora traces her fingers
over the back of another chard deed. “Ya’ know it is rumored that my
people traveled here long before old Columbus even came out his mama’s
womb.”
  “They taught the Creek,Coweta,Yamasi and Stono indians how to write.
Natives that were first on the land you now call South and North
Carolina.”

Benjamin nods,fascinated, watching Flora look over several other fragments.
After reading carefully, the beauty looks up with amazement.
   “ Each piece of paper is telling a story - how a white man came to
the land on ‘floating eagles’. Probably their ships from Europe.”
   “ And how he buried ‘gleaming yellow suns’-wooden boxes full, all
left in the ground.

Benjamin smiles as he looks over the young woman’s shoulder.
“Shiii-t,thats easy nuf’  ‘gleam’in yellow suns - thats gold ,” the
creole says.

Flora shakes her head,showing the creole a barely made out symbol, a
round circle with a dot  in the middle with, a line running through
the bottom.
  “Without the line, the symbol would mean sun or gold. With the line
at the bottom,the symbol takes on a more spiritual meaning. As if gold
of the spirit world,” the prostitute explains eloquently.

Sitting back, Benjamin smiles warmly at the beauty. He had no idea the
woman was so intelligent. Watching as Flora sets each burnt chard of
vellum down carefully, peeking over at admiring eyes,the puerto rican
beauty smiling to herself.
   “I did not always make my board and keep in my back,” she says softly.
   “ I was supposed to go to university in Puerto Rico - the first in
my family.”
   “That is until the night my father decided to come to my bed -
drunk on rum,” Flora says sadly.
   “ When all was found out,I was thrown on the streets - left to fend
for myself.”

Personally,  I  love that Flora has such a varied background, not only is the beauty a sexy beast,
she'd smart as a whip.  I love characters that have multiple dynamics to their personalities.

Disclaimer : This blog entry has course language and sensual situations - You have been warned.

Lets face it.....We ALL like to FUCK.

Fuck on the bed
Fuck in the car
Fuck in the shower,
Hell...fuck ANY WHERE. Its natural, the primal formation of two remade into one, bringing every human being into physical existence on this earth (though a few seem to be hatched from serpent eggs, but I will that judgement call up to you).
As with every red-blooded American, I love the sensual touch of that special someone. It makes me whole, feeling special, even powerful. That is  the type of feeling I want to exude through 'The River'.

Now, don't get me wrong, Slick and Benjimen are not choir boys, more than often, like most men of their ilk, they 'Fuck' versus 'Making Love', which is a WHOLE other animal in itself, trust me.
But that is the difference; "hard smashing of wet lips,igniting laden lust made silky and hot"
- versus
"soft pecks,admiring feats into the smallest of glorification and light".

As you can see or read, there IS A DIFFERENCE.

As an author,it is my job to understand the said difference, celebrating each with the right prose and imagery. But here comes the inner battle I fight, more so with this book.

Can I let out my 'sexual beast' and not be shunned ?

Sexual beast you say....
Here I'll give you an example,utilizing the same imagery from the above sentence.

"Hard smashing wet lips, igniting lower as Slick's thick creamy cock presses between Kelly's silken thighs. Suddenly, as the lovers gently maul each others  lips, lust laden needs are ignited,made silky and soft,hardened flesh prying  open, deeper,sliding  into  a hot wet need made even more bold."

Its kind of 'flowery' for my taste, but its so much better than saying this - now brace yourselves.

"Slick kisses Kelly hard, feeling his fat thick dick press against  her tight sweet cunt,sliding it in slightly,hearing his wife gasp."

Ok...to me - that's simply disgusting. I love it....but Its disgusting and will NEVER find it way into my writing. EVER!

But even in that lovely filth just written above, the reader gets the point, it aggressive and virile, off putting as if one is watching these two about to get it on - BUT its hot as fuck!

So, how can I STILL be 'flowery' and still HOT AS FUCK!

That's the trial I am arriving at while writing "The River'.
These men are killers, they love and adore woman and they LOVE TO FUCK.  So I find myself saying ; 'Pussy', 'Dick',Cock' as well as a host of delicious words within their southern accented  dialogue.

Not a problem, but when that happens, is my writing transformed into 'Erotica' ?

Trust me, in 'The River', there is a LOT of sex. I guess  I am just trying to prepare the world for a sensual part of myself to be shown,scrutinized and judged. DO I really care.

Naw....just as long as it turns you on.

Understand this, and do not let the title fool you. Prostitution was the underbelly where the Devil thrived. Sex Traffic, Human Sex Slavery, Rape, and Murder where ONLY some of the travesties the 20th century 'street-walker' had to endure each and every day of his/her life.

That being said, let us explore the more 'Luxurious' side of  the 'Skin Trade' often conducted in brothels so full of wealth, many of their patrons, men that were wealthy in there own right, seemed like paupers.

Benjimen and Slick, investigating the thefts and killings of a number of land owners by Northern and Southern companies, often find the MOST useful information and leads in such 'houses of sin'.
Let's face it, a man will say anything to a pretty face, especially is that pretty face is in between his legs.

'The River' dives into this world head first, no goggles or pretense of a life guard nearby. What the readers experiences is a world that  its seedy, corrupt and dangerous, but oh so very fun! With graphic detail and crafty prose, I tell how the killers meet new friends that will make their investigations fruitful, as well as old flames that will do just the same, though in the nether regions of the men's strong powerful bodies.  I wanted to create a world that is lavish but cynical, beautiful but tragic, around every corner, in the side glance of every lovely face, there is a clue for the boys to discover, all while doing what daringly beautiful men do when around equally beautiful, cunning woman.

The madame of one of the brothels in 'The River' is actually fashioned after a real black madame that lived in the early 20th century. Mary Ellen "Mammy" Pleasant and Sarah B. "Babe" Connors. Pleasant was born a slave but became one of the most influential women in early San Francisco. Both operated boardinghouses in which wealthy businessmen were paired with prostitutes. With the revenue from her primary business, she invested in mining stock and made high-interest loans to the San Francisco elite. Pleasant also filed suit to desegregate the city's streetcars, making her "the mother of the civil rights movement" in California. Connors's brothels in St. Louis were among the most popular in the Midwest. Known as "the Castle" and "the Palace," they featured luxurious rugs, tapestries, art work, and crystal chandeliers. The parlor of the Palace was famous for its floor, which was made entirely of mirrored glass. Connors herself was always elegantly appointed with drapes of jewelry on her body and gold and diamonds embedded in her teeth. Many of the most famous songs of the ragtime genre -- the principal precursor to jazz -- were invented by Letitia Lulu Agatha "Mama Lou" Fontaine, who performed as the house act at Connors's brothels.

In the book, Mary Ellen "Mammy" Pleasant and Sarah B. "Babe" Connors are transformed to one woman whom is a force of nature, "Ms. Lolly". Rich beyond what very few woman could ever understand - black or white, Ms. Lolly is a very crafty book character to write about. Audacious and ruthless, just as she is caring and very much a 'Mother Hen' to her 'girls', this madame has been known to kill to get the most beautiful woman from around the globe.  From murdering abusive husbands, paying off over-bearing fathers, to bribing and killing pimps, Ms. Lolly always gets her girl. Once that young woman is in possession, the beauty's life will change dramatically.

The first to utilize a new procedure called 'Plastic Surgery' out of California, Lolly will re-create a woman  into an image the matronly skin trader sees fit.  All types of procedures are done; some simple and mundane, others completely body altering, but the finale results are always stupendous. The girls are always happy to be on board with Lolly,because they know her brothel attracts the creme'-de-la-creme' of southern high society, as well as men from all around the world.
In the book, we learn about Lolly's broken past, but we also learn of her will to win at all cost.

Dangerous and brutal but  so very fabulous, Miss Lolly will probably be a character that will always be in "The River' publications.

Bessie Smith (April 15, 1894 – September 26, 1937) was an American blues singer.

Nicknamed The Empress of the Blues, Smith was the most popular female blues singer of the 1920s and 1930s.[1] She is often regarded as one of the greatest singers of her era and, along with Louis Armstrong, a major influence on other jazz vocalists.[2]

Researching my families history all through the South is very interesting indeed,but there was always a common thread, Bessie Smith,especially back in the 1920's.

My great Aunt Jet would play her records when I was very young and even at that age, I knew the legendary singer had an effect on my 'nana'.

Digging back through family folklore, which is what 'The River' is loosely based on, I understood why. During the 1920's ( I could never get the exact date) Ms. Smith traveled to Texas on tour with a host of other artist. As the story was told to me, my 'Aunt Jet', named because of her jet black skin and long hair, was 21 at the time. It was said that Ms. Smith's performance was the very first time she was ever in a juke-joint, as most of my family at that time where church going people.

I was told that Aunt Jet was sitting near the singer, Ms. Smith belting out tunes so powerfully, 'It seemed the building would come down' .

Well, as the legend goes, my dear great aunt was so shy, Bessie pulled her up on stage for a few moments. Later, the world famous 'Queen of Blues' bought my aunt her very FIRST alcoholic drink, a bourbon straight.  I have no idea if this is true, but it has been a story that has been floating around in my family for some time. Check out the video above, a WHOLE collection of the wonderful singer's talent. I am sure at least a few of those songs were heard my  late aunt that wonderful night when she met the most influential woman known in Blues.

To say that my family has a colorful history based in folklore and legend, well that just like saying that sugar is sweet.....it just is.

From the mouths of my elders as well as their long gone elders, I have heard stories about my family being linked to everyone, from Marie Catherine Laveau, world famous  voodoo practitioner, said to be my great-great-great cousin, to Robert Johnson, legendary blue singer, said to be a beau of my great-great aunt, the stories that run in my family are deeply woven in who we are as a clan.

For example, it has been said, and I have heard this from several elders on both sides of my french creole family, that it was Marie Catherine Laveau  that taught her one of her cousins how to seduce a wealthy white land owner into making her a 'kept woman of color'. That woman was my great-great-great grandmother, the man in question had several babies with her .

Another story I have heard, and this one was told only once and it was in a 'grown-folks' conversation that I was eavesdropping onto as a child. The story was about the legendary blues musician, Robert Johnson.
The young genius was known for playing 'speak-easy's  and juke-joints all around the south, as the story goes, he met my great-great aunt in Louisiana and feel deeply in love. It was said that his guitar and song writing skills were good, but my relative saw so much more in the fire that was his beautiful soul. It has been said that my aunt, a creole voodoo woman from Marie Laveau's side of the family, taught Johnson how to call up  (and it was NOT the devil) Papa Legba, a voodoo god known for helping humans communicate with the African gods of old.  It has been said when the young man got the fame he wanted, he broke my aunt's heart and she cursed him,hence the reason why he died at such a very young age.

As you can see, my family is full of folklore, and I hope I can share as many stories as I can with the world.

Doing family research for this book was like bumping my head against a brick wall,especially when it came to my great-great uncle (the book character 'Slick' is based off of him) No one knew anything about this man, except  that he was white, with a half Native American mother who passed away when he was a very young age while sharecropping in North Carolina. (around 1889-1901)
One day, with a cousin, we were scanning Youtube, and a artist came across our screen.

It was Christian Kane.

That moment, we BOTH knew, from the man's husky voice to his southern accent, we would fashion 'Slick' after him. 

Needless to say, that was a year ago and  I have become a true #Kaniac. 
Everything just fits, Mr. Kane has native blood, he is from O.K., my lost relative's family was from the same state, ofcourse with native ancestry as well.  It has been a series of serendipitous moments all year, one after the other and we are both having so much fun.

That being said, I am a BIG believer in the 'Ole Big Guy' in the sky and I know there is something here.
Other artist inspire me, sure, I am NOT an island unto myself, creating in a void away from humanity. That is a given.

BUT - I AM NEVER 'star-struck' .....EVER.

I was in the fashion business for nearly 20 years. I have cursed out Calvin Klein, sent an irate email to Ralph Lauren (and still kept my freelance job 'cause he knew I was right) told Donna Karen she needed to "chill out before her head popped of her body", as well as told the Head of The Council of Fashion Designers of America that she was an "over important bitch with too much time on her hands".

So, as you can see, I'm not impressed by celebrity or authority and  the following that it 'spawns'.

So, when my steely gaze came upon Christian Kane, you can imagine the shock I felt to my rather fussy
and stoic disposition. To be frank - I AM star struck for the VERY FIRST time in my life.

If I was to ever met Mr. Kane, I would probably babble incoherently, cry and faint, all in precise sequential order.

So knowing myself the way I do, hell, I've lived in my skin for nearly.....a long time (whew almost gave it away) deep inside, I am constantly wondering to the universe.

Why?

Let's face it, Christian is a eyeful of sexy deliciousness that keeps on giving. From that husky voice that drips in middle Oklahoma dialect, to those piercing blue eyes that seem to be able to look right through people's bullshit , the  man is a 100 lb bag of 'fine as hell'.

That maybe all true, but why him, why has this man inspired me so, especially in relating to a long lost member of my family that NO ONE seems to know anything about (more family bull -we'll get into that in other blogs. This book has seemed to ruffle a lot of feathers)

Personally, being a spiritualist and a proud elder of my tribe, I think something bigger is going on and I am being used as an instrument for a bigger reason or purpose. "The River' is a book about two killers; half brothers, white and black. That's a given. But the book is also a real, no holds barred, honest look into Jim Crow Deep South and how it effected Blacks and Whites.  Yes, Black were brutalized, that will be a legacy this country will never live down.

 But what about the white folks that risks their lives because of love and doing the right thing?
What about the countless white families that helped hundreds of thousands of blacks live HUMAN lives, their front lawns being scorched by clan crosses?

MOST of all, where is the story about how we as black and white people grew closer as madness seemed to surround our lives?

My mama always told me 'Its always tha' one rotten egg that make ya throw out tha' rest of'em '.


Its time we STOP throwing each other away because of the past or what has been assumed. We need to start living as a FAMILY of a wonderful country.

In this horrid era of American history, there is only Black and White ways of seeing things, the HATED and the HATEFUL.  But what about the hundreds if not thousands shades of grey, whites and blacks that truly loved and cared for each other, in spite of it all, not giving a flying rabbit fuck what anyone thought or did?

Where is THEIR story ?

I look at myself in the mirror everyday and I see a family of native , french creole and white as well as African blood boiling in my veins,creating the unique human being that I happen to be. And my family is the same, as vast as we are as a multi-cultural and ethnic  clan, we are all THE PROOF I need.  I am the PROOF that there was love and passion back in those days, a love that would have gotten people lynched and shunned for life. Inside my blood is the FACT that there is a story that needs to be told. And tell it I will.

I'm not going to sit here and say that 'The River' is based on anthropological facts, its not.
My book is based on urban legends, family folklore as well as community based folklore derived from countless conversations with elders on all sides of my family racial spectrum. Though the book is fiction it is MY story, in its most essential essence, about brotherhood.

It just so happens that the protagonist are blood thirsty-foul mouthed-skirt chasing hoodlums.

Hell....we all can't be damn perfect.


Please CHECK OUT Christian Kane,a seriously talented singer/actor DYNAMO  his band's music can be bought on I-Tunes , Amazon as well as other sites. Also peep a visit at his site: If you love great music with heart Chris is your man: www.christiankane.com  

Also follow him in Twitter @ChristianKane101  (and say hello to the #Kaniacs for me - I'm sure they would love to hear from you! )

And yes, ALL fellow #Kaniacs - You get a FREE copy. Simply tweet me your contact information . This applies to E-pub books only.

PLEASE be advised, this is a book meant for MATURE READERS( ages 18+): Frank Sexual Language, Graphic Violence, Explicit Sexual Situations and Descriptions. When sending out free copies, I WILL be checking ages on Twitter accounts.  Sorry younguns.