do you know what it means to miss new orleans?

Any Tumold belonging worth the salt, knows that New Orleans is the city of death. Not that that is bad, but that it is as colorful and spellbound, as its cemetery ghost voodoo vampire tour.

Of course, Tumold aligns may miss this simple fact, as inclined and directed as they are within their intent of search, rescue, and over-medicate. Not that that is bad either, it is not. For there is no bad within consciousness, as consciousness itself doesn't hold judgment or grudges, it leaves that to individual value or morality assessment. And thank goodness for that, I'd hate to think I could 'piss off' consciousness itself.

It's just that culture speaks volumes, that may not be heard in the over-zealousness of rescue workers intent on saving those who do not wish to be saved, or perhaps have no need of being saved. Saved from what?

I dub New Orleans the mysterious indigo of the Tumold belonging variety. Something from deep well recesses that springs of the idea that the intent of 'return to natural state' may contain things hereto thought of as unsavory, or even immoral. What made me think that was from listening to the expressions communicated over television, radio, and internet.

I hear two different distinct viewpoints. One looking in, seeing poverty, and lack, and rebellion. And feeling confusion, but also great sympathy and compassion, and an overwhelming desire to restructure.

And one looking out, seeing a unique culture so expressive within rich imagination that it extrudes delights of smells and flavors, with jazz running naked and rampant through its streets, all in the freedom of expression of the Mardi Gras of bright primary colors. It is a people so connected with their environment that they flow with the current of the river, no matter her variations of feast and famine, like those people of ancient Egypt whose souls were composed of the very soil of the Nile. It would be too difficult to leave behind, as difficult as cutting out one's heart and depositing it by the wayside.

"Saving us from what?" New Orleans says, looking out.

"We're saving you from death!" The outsiders yell, looking in.

New Orleans laughs out loud, and then proceeds to attend to the most important subject of the moment. How to get the music turned back on so that the after hurricane party can continue.

"Death, death. Don't you hear us? Ugly, grusome, horrible death. Death that must be avoided at all costs!"

"What?" says New Orleans. "You want to go on the cemetery ghost voodoo vampire tour? It's been rained out. Call tomorrow."

"No, no!" The outsiders yell. "We don't want to experience death like that. Not the way you do! With it not in the shadows, but instead propped in the neon lit corner, grasping a oozing bloody mary, and tapping it's skeleton foot to zedico. We want to save you from death!"

"Save us from what?"

"DEATH!"

"Everybody dies, sooner or later."

"Yes, we know that. But we don't face it like you do, looking it directly in the eye and determining that you can play with it like the doll of voodoo that it is. A mere inconvenience in the transition process from one plane to another. No, no. We don't address it that way, we address it with sanitary and discrete body bags zipped tight to hide any evidence. We address it with horror and distaste, cause we hold a fear we can hardly describe, except perhaps, in ghostly tales of lore. But.. but..., we want to save you from it."

"What?" says New Orleans. "You want to go on the cemetery ghost voodoo vampire tour? It's been rained out. Call tomorrow."

"You don't understand, we want to help you!"

"HELP? Oh, okay. Bring party supplies."