Monday, June 16, 2014

A Brief Discussion

When you begin to explore the differences between exploitation and preservation things begin to get a bit complicated. In one way you could be exploiting something, but it could also raise money for the same thing and in a way help it overall. Exploitation and preservation are two cords woven together and it can be very hard to untangle them. But in the end you have to make sure you preserve the overall meaning of a place or person. Otherwise, what's the point?

(photo from

Sunday, June 15, 2014


The light starts fading
Darkness hides the truth inside
Leaving him alone

Normal and bizarre
Two sides on the same old coin
How do you decide?

Just Another Somebody

John Hayes Hammond Jr.
John Hays Hammond J
John Hays Hammond
John Hays Hammon
John Hays Hammo
John Hays Hamm
John Hays Ham
John Hays Ha
John Hays H
John Hays
John Hay
John Ha
John H
Just A
Just An
Just Ano
Just Anot
Just Anoth
Just Anothe
Just Another
Just Another S
Just Another So
Just Another Som
Just Another Some
Just Another Someb
Just Another Somebo
Just Another Somebod
Just Another Somebody

John Hammond's Letter: A Fictionalized Letter to the City of Gloucester

To Whom it May Concern,

Though it pains me to write this letter I know it must be done. I have known for a while now that I am not in the best of health to take care of myself let alone my estate. And I do fear I may not be in this world much longer. But as I do make my way into the afterlife I want to make sure my estate is properly cared for. I built this castle when I was just a young man. It has not only been my laboratory these past years, it has been my home. Today it feels as though people are forgetting what the true meaning of a home is. This has been my home and my home only and that is how I wish it to stay. I do however want people to know the work that I have done and the work others have done. I didn't just make this castle in order to research I also used it to store the many artifacts I have collected over the years. Medieval and Renaissance treasures are around ever corner in my home and these things do not belong kept away in the dark. That is why I am writing this, I wish to open my home to the public as a museum after my time comes. I hope it is used to educate others in not only the work I have done but the work others have done before me. I leave my estate in the hands of my most beloved city. All I ask in return is to be buried on my estate next to my wife and beloved pets that have departed before me. I have hope that I can teach generations after me even from beyond the grave. Do not let my work go to waste.


John Hays Hammond Jr.

The Funeral: A Short Story

It is raining when he exits the castle that early Sunday morning. His head hangs low and clutched between his fingers is a small box. He holds onto it as if someone is about to come up and tear it from his grasp. Though it is springtime and the air is beginning to warm up he dons a suit as black as ink and a hat to hide his face. He reaches his automobile at the end of the drive and opens the door to the back seat. Gently he places the box on the backseat patting it once, twice on the top. He shuts the door and glances at his home once more before getting in the vehicle himself. He drives slowly down the road exiting the small village of Magnolia, considered one of the more secluded parts of the city. But that was how he liked it. Away from everyone else alone in is castle. But not today. Today was a special day. As he drove deeper into town the world seemed to open up with people. The closer he got the more people flooded out into the streets, near the shops or just out and about. It was as if they were ants and the center of town was the anthill, the closest dearest part of the town. Some people glanced at him as he drove by, but he was mostly unrecognizable. The air in the vehicle was hot but he refused to put down the window. Not today. He tugged at his collar as the sweat began to constrict his throat. As he turned he prepared to go down main street, slowing his car down to almost a stop. He did not speed up as he entered main street, he continued crawling down the one way street causing pedestrians to stop and watch him. Who was this man in the car? Why was he going so slow? Who does he think he is? There would be many questions. Many people would gain new opinions of the strange man in the castle. But still he rolled down the street oblivious to the continuous sound of blaring horns from the train of cars behind him.

The sun came out later that day brightening up the view from the castle's highest towers. The view was magnificent and Irene Felton Hammond often found herself wandering around the castle to find the perfect place to simply watch the ocean rock back and forth. Today as she had just sat down to read, a movement in the garden caught her eye. She glanced out the window, her hands grasping the rough stone in order to get a better view. She saw the same movement again and hung her head farther out the window. Finally she could see and she saw he husband bent over in the garden working on something. "John!" she called and he turned his face blank. "John!" she said again waving. He only stared at her before turning back. The childish smile that had come to her face faded quickly. She hoisted herself down off of the windowsill her feet on the ground once again. She turned away from the window and hurried down the tower until she reached the door that led to the back yard. The cool ocean breeze hit her and suddenly she no longer felt warm. Her husband was no longer standing, he was kneeling next to a mound of dirt. It looked as if he had dug up a flower bed and buried something. Irene walked slowly towards him. "John?" she questioned and heard him sigh. "Dolores passed away this morning," John said after a moments pause. Irene relaxed then and put a hand on his shoulder. Dolores had been one of their many cats. Irene sunk to her knees and wrapped her arms around him. "She's at peace now John, she was a sickly little thing," she said trying to calm him. John patted her hand and moved out of her embrace. He walked to the edge of the garden so he was looking out over the water. From here he could see Gloucester and it seemed so much farther away than it was. Irene watched him, still kneeling. "Maybe she's still here," John said and Irene knew he was speaking of the cat. "Maybe they're all still here." John smiled sadly to himself and then retreated into the castle, leaving Irene among the flowers.

The Wire and the Mind: Free Verse

What is a wire?
A small mental cord made up of individual strings wound together
And yet strong enough to pass an electrical current
The weight of the universe, the foundation of our word today
In the hands of a few little wires

And what are they to us?
Nothing, merely another cog in the machine

But give a wire to someone else
And they may not see what you see
Not just a tool but a door
An opening to such great desires that manifest in the palm of your hand

And then you no longer have just a wire
You have an thought
A window to the soul
That is what he saw

Do you?


Looming in the distance
Shrouded in negligent truth
Subliminally tattooed to our minds

The fate of a man's life work
Betrayed by his own mysterious passions