"This is Who We Are"

"This is Who We Are"

Racism is a cancer that kills slow. Jim Crow was legal when I was a boy. Right here in NYC there were places I didn't go for fear of my life. Couldn't go to some playgrounds couldn't be a Scout couldn't live on the Island though we could afford to. Went to a fucked racist Catholic school. Got the shit beat out of me there by Irish, and Italian kids.

I remember going into a soda fountain near school...that's how long ago it was. I was maybe 9, and I asked for a coke...10 cents. The guy made it...then spat into it, and handed it to me. You're fucking nine...how to deal with that?

Fucked up by cops since I was six...was picked up at age 6..someone purse snatched. We were one of the first Negro families on the block so aged "SIX" I clearly must have done it. Sure little stuff compared with lynching getting shot burned drowned castrated which was happening when I was little. Not as big a deal yeah.

Still it's a Slow Kill.

I ought to be a race nut. A Black Racist like those that turn up in the media from time to time. They're the mirror image of White racist. They say the same things, and have hearts lost, and blinded by fear, and rage. However I was taught better by my folks, and my older neighbors. Nearly all of whom were Holocaust survivors. Yeah. The sight of those green numbers on their arms was common all through my kidhood.

Sure some were assholes, but most were good, and very kind to me. I guess that's why I don't have that just below the surface Jew Hate so many Blacks seem to have. No one admits to it, but it's there, and I see it all the time. We have a serious Homophobia problem too. Even Obama mentioned this once...only once.

So anyway it's interesting to watch racism argued about theoretically by people who on the whole ain't really racist...or no more than the rest of us.
 
Leftist Radicals do this to each other a lot.

White Left Radicals go on, and on about whose racist or who said what, and could it be construed as racist. Black Radicals cynically use the threat the accusation of "racist" attitude to shut down discussion of anything they don't want to go near or be truthful about...like Black violent crime. You know the routine.

A Slow Kill.

That's what True Racism is. It kills your soul rots your inner Holiness shuts down your Vision of the Possibilities. The grand irony is there is 'No' real race. I mean other than the Human Race.

We're all first cousins.

About 70,000 years ago there was a planetary Volcanic Decade. A volcano blew that clouded the Earth for years. Many species died out.

We nearly did.

The Human survivors lived in caves on the shores of the east coast of Southern Africa. It's thought that the Human Race was reduced to as few as a thousand to as truly few as 500 women capable of having children.

Some think this may be the origin of the "Adam, and Eve" story. That or the beginning of the Matriarchal culture...the Mother G-ddess. The oldest theology of our continuing cultures.

Well from these few yet another passage out of Africa came. From them came we all. This explains the DNA "bottleneck". There's almost no genetic drift to our race as compared to all the other species on this world. We are from one very small band of survivors.

This is why there are no actual "races". It's just us...no one else just all of us together. Different superficial outward changes happened in those 70k years due to climate, and so on, but it's just us.

It would be the same as if we were hit by a small comet...it has to be small or all life is toast. Literally. If we were hit this month, and the only survivors lived on the North Island of New Zealand. 70,000 years from now all of humanity would be descended from that tiny group.

Even as 'we' are descended from our Great Great Grandmothers on the shores of South Africa.

That's it. That's the Human Story.

Stay Tuned.

"Age of Miracles"

"Age of Miracles"

Greetings dear Comrades well I'm closer to 100 than I am to 20. As the saying goes I've been to a Race Riot a Be-In a Moon Landing, and a Rodeo.

So I've seen it all,...mostly.

'Saw our Empire at it absolute height!  Everybody had a job nobody ever heard of no Homeless neat cars with fins all over the place cheap gas Polio, and diseases that plagued humanity for millennia kicked to the curb. 

We was sending up all sorts of satellites. For Christ's sakes milk, and doughnuts was delivered to ya front door...the damn milk came in glass bottles , and Disney was in Color! 

Comrades I tell ya it was an age of Miracles!

Truly I'm so sorry for those of you not there for the swell mayhem we enjoyed. Ha! We has zillions of bleeping H-Bombs, and scads of shiny new B-52's to shove them up anybody's butt that gave us shit!

We didn't give a a rats ass if they liked us or not...We Owned the World kiddies.

'Course today everything is like fried shit, and cat piss with onions. Everything is too expensive, and it's always too hot. Yep welcome to the future. Not to be confused with what they promised us back at the 1964/5 Worlds Fair.

Watch the You Tube footage below, and weep. 

That was 'supposed' to be your world, but the shit hit the fan instead. Granted the 1% of the 1% got the goodies of that future, but the rest of us got kicked back to 1932 albeit with a web connection.

Aw well. At least I'm still more or less breathing to be pissed off, and complain to the whole world. Potentially that's what the thing you're looking at now is supposed to do, and on rare occasion does. 

Occupy ,and the Arab Spring used it to good measure back in the day. Evil dictatorships like China North Korea, and assorted school boards, and wacko churches do their best to curb or outright shut down this damned thing.

Not as easy as they think.

Hey com'on the web was designed to survive a light to moderate Nuclear War! So assorted presidents for life, and hayseed book burners ain't exactly a threat.

Anyway Happy B'day to me! I'm still alive, and full...as they say full of piss'n vinegar.

I'm also in a Rabbit puppet phase. Don't worry I'll get over it. Just be patient.

Stay tuned. 

Oh the amazing weird shit that could have been!

"Cold Hearts"

"Cold Hearts"

I always thought there should be "Cold War" war crimes trials. The U.S. The former Soviet Union, and China were all complicit in the deaths of millions as they fought proxy wars all over the world. This from roughly 1945 through 1993.

As it is at the end they all shrugged, and just walked away leaving chaos, and ruin behind them. I think we're still too close to the Cold War to make sense of it. We're only just now getting a handle on World War one a hundred years on. 

When the old Soviet Union fell there was some media talk of trials. This quickly vanished. The very world order they gave us this nightmare was still in charge.

They were not likely to turn themselves in.

As a kid I just accepted as 'normal' that some maniac somewhere could start an international chain reaction that could lead to my being a charcoal shadow on a wall.

Also I accepted as the way of the world that I my brother, and cousins would be drafted to fight some apparently pointless war in far off steamy shit-hole.

That was what the cold war was. 

It was just what the world was. We for a long time couldn't imagine anything different. That's what I hate most about that time. Everything every outlet told us this was the way it was, and would stay.

For that alone they should hang.

For stealing our birthright to peace, and sanity. For crushing the Hope, and Spirits of millions. For making us think that the extinction of our species was a viable choice. They should be judged.

The major players in this drama are as I say still in power so it's unlikely they they'll turn over the assorted heads of state, and generals for any judgment at the Hague.

If I were a zillionaire I'd make a film about "what if" this happened. I'd have actors play all the guilty parties. Western industrialists, and Soviet Politburo hacks hand cuffed together doing perp walks for the world's press.  

Warsaw Pact generals chained to their NATO opposite numbers. They'd be dragged before the world their uniforms stripped of all rank, and insignia. They just be old men in ragged suits with oceans of blood on their hands.

All of the insane presidents for life colonels generals field marshals, and violent madmen that were propped up by both sides for the duration are cuffed chained, and led by blue helmeted U.N. guards to their time in the glass booth.  

I imagine at their trials some would argue that those very proxy wars are what saved humanity from nuclear death. A big war was averted by reliving pressure with many small ones.

They'd have a point.

However not one good enough to save them from the gallows if it came to that.

What does one do with people that were all too ready to burn the world down. Killing them is too easy in bad taste, and beside enough are dead already. 

Perhaps a zoo. 

A place where the guilty would be on display to their victims 24/7 365. Ironically this is what Stalin had in mind for Hitler if he had caught him alive.

There they'd be well cared for, and open for view at any time. We'd watch them these strange beings living out the lives in glass houses where no stones will even be thrown.

So the Cold War the last act of the second100 years war is long over. However some of the same players have given us what is shaping up to be the Third Hundreds Years War.

I remember back in the early 1990's saying on the air that we'd better take the cold warriors out of circulation because they're addicted to war, and will likely get us into another long cycle of them.

 Looks like I was right. 

"A WBAI Story"

"A WBAI Story"

"A WBAI Story or Uncle Sydney Remembers"


Since I'm in retirement now I thought I should write down my memories of some of the demented hijinks I witnessed or was instigator of.

Years ago when the station, Wbai wbai.org was near Times Square. I guess this was in the 1980's somewhere. Anyway we had this New Years party put on by the station's Dead Heads. 

That's fans of the old rock group the "Grateful Dead" if anyone born after the 20th century is looking in.

As to that Dead Head party it was deranged chaos on skates. Drunken stoned hippies their girl friends, and drug dealers were all over the place. I was the engineer on duty, and my job, besides keeping us on the air, was to keep order.

Well things got edgy, and nuts after a bit, and I had to strong arm some trouble makers out to the street. Booze crowds, and loud music does this. I warned the rest of the crowd to chill or I'd call the heat, and shut down the damned show.

I planned to put a transcribed 1956 "Liberace" program on in their place so was half hoping they'd give me cause. Anyhow things calmed down, and the guys went back to playing bootleg Dead concerts, and I went back to fixing crap.

 An engineer's work is never done.

The point of this whole saga was what I found in the famed Wbai men's room. No not two guys butt fucking each other whom I walked in on the previous summer. 

No not the junkie friend of one of our insane hosts nodding out on the floor. 

No not even that screeching freaked out cat in a travel bag left by a forgetful guest. 

No this time it was a set of heroin works.

Oh my gawd it was amazing stunning unbelievable a vision from drug fiend heaven. There it was perched atop a crap stained toilet like an Angel slumming in Hell.

There in a finely carved cedar box lined with purple velvet was a expertly hand made chrome etched crystal glass, and silver gilded hypo with an assortment of different sized custom made needles.

One could see that passion went into the fashioning of this spike.

My heart went aflutter.  A sinful thought passed through me of absconding  with this blessed instrument of dreams, and nightmares. 'But how could I deny a fellow searcher of this wonder.

I carefully cradled these wondrous works in my arms, and went to the main studio where the deranged drunken drooling Dead Heads were. I opened the sound lock, and holding the works over my head said,...

"...Did one of you bleeping degenerates lose something?!"

A tentative hand went up, and a smiling hairy drug addict came forward, and claims his wayward property.

It was all in a night's work. 

Stay Tuned 

_______________________________________

"Radio Daze"

It's hard to do a radio show. It's even harder to do a good one. So what's it like to do "Live Radio?" That's a disappearing form of broadcast where it's just you, and your guts in front of the mic, and nothing else.

 Well like someone said once, 

"...any damned fool can get himself in front of a camera or mic, and make a damned fool of himself.

Ain't that the truth.

So here it is. 

Imagine you're all alone on a stage with the population of a town watching, and listening. You're juggling 20 or 30 heavy sharp object to off key out of tune music.

Btw the stage you're on is on hydraulic lifts so is rocking like a boat in rough seas. That, and while juggling you're singing the funnier  songs from various "Gilbert, and Sullivan" comic operettas.

Btw you're nauseous have a killer headache tunnel vision, and your throat is shredded from the flu.

From time to time during your performance you give heartfelt commentaries hilarious satires, and intimate stories from your life concerning love sex life death betrayal, and that pain in your side that just won't go away.

In the middle of all this you take calls from extremely stupid, and hostile people who may or may not have been paying attention to anything you've been doing.

All the while the stage manager,..who hates you has sabotaged the lighting, and all the mics.

You make very little money, and the management thinks you don't deserve even that...as does some of the audience. 

The stage manager distrusts all the live performers because he can't control everything they do...bad for business that. He wants to replace them all with Dog Acts...more dependable.

Anyway after the tattered curtain goes down you get harassed  by your political enemies among the staff, and union, your pay check is short, some bastard has stolen stuff out'a your locker.

There's a waiting phone call from your landlord, and oh yeah then you get handed a note from the stage manager that sez your next two performances are cancelled. 

Seems he's found a dog, and, and a flea circus to replace you.

Ah, but you never give up because the gawd-damned fucking show must frigging go the fuck on!

Hope this explains the Biz for ya. Peace.

Stay tuned.

"Beulah's Window"

Years ago I did a treatment for a children's story. I read some of it on the air. I never got it to work though. The story was a good one, but just didn't jell.


That is till I realized it wasn't supposed to be a story...not exactly. "Beulah's  Window" was a descriptive few lines in the middle of a long confused narrative.

I scarped away all the static, and let those few line free.


"Beulah's Window"

The window was a symphony of dreams. The window was composed of dozens of shards. Cast off bits of stained glass that Beulah the Forest Woman, Beulah the Witch, Beulah the Angel had assembled into Magic.

As the afternoon sun played across it. Here was illuminated a hand fragments of clouds. There a lily there a smile. Then a yellow crescent moon. 

Throughout were floating embers of deep blue bright reds shades of gold fragments of turquoise. In it's upper portions were bits of alabaster doves, and a spray of purple, and rose.

Such was Beulah's Window.   


Stay Tuned.

"Tea for Two"

"Tea for Two"

"ZZZZZZZZ,...Burp,..ZZZZ"

I'm sleeping too much albeit in small installments. Times of stress are like that. In the old daze when I was a part time drug addict,...well okay maybe not addict.

When I got to know 'real' addictive comrades I found out what a total amateur I was.

These heroic pharmaceutical maniacs sucked down quantities of chemicals during a weekend binge that would have taken me two years to score, and do!

One pal described a gleeful cocaine angel dust speed whiskey cocktail that would have killed a dozen Cossacks, and the draft horses they rode in on.  ...and then went back for seconds.

Where was I?

Right dreaming of dust buster parties past. I recall back in the fading 1980's doing what we called "Biggles". Named after someone in a Monty Python skit.

A Biggle is basically a quarter gram or more cocaine line. Eh back in the day the recording, film video, and general broadcast industry ran on speed, and coke. Hey it was another era different values gimme a break.

Anyway to prove your insanity one would snort down the whole thing in one quick zap! This to the demented applause of your pals. If you didn't 'die' you were rewarded with a vodka martini..extra dry.

Ah I gleefully recall the summer of '83. What me, and my old pals calls the "Martini Summer". 

One of our TV/radio host comrades whom you've heard of, but for legal reasons goes somewhat nameless here was once a bartender in a Madrid dive. He remembered his skills well!

Anyway this suicidal "Biggles" thing was the custom among the engineers back then. Yeah I had a terrible drug problem,...I was always running out of the stuff, and it was terrible.

Flash forward near 30/40 years, and all the survivors are basically teetotalers. 

So like I sez now instead of snorting up Peru I attempt chemical-free sleep. I even succeed somewhat. 

Nutty dreams too. 

Stay Tuned.

"Our Lives"

"Our Lives"

I'm certain that in other lives I was a warrior. That, and a mother many times. Many lives with great broods of loud wild wonderful children. I think this is my first life in a big city. I have this feeling about wilderness, and sometimes farms. 

My family had a dairy farm down south long ago. If things were just slightly different I'd have been down there running the place with my brother. Though my brother is gone now. So I suppose I'd be about ready to hand it over to either his or my sons. 

We are so many people so many realities so many lives that are faintly remembered...like dreams on waking. We wake, and a whole life is on the tip of our souls,...then gone.

Stay Tuned.

"Tribulation"

"Tribulation"

(This is as close to a "Horror" story as I've 'ever' written.)

 "BBC,...Bulletin,...07-31-16..."

"THE SACRED CITIES OF MECCA, JERUSALEM, ROME, LHASA, KYOTO, BANARAS, AND MACHU PICCHU HAVE VANISHED".

"THERE ARE UNCONFIRMED REPORTS OF OTHER SITES SACRED TO HUMANITY HAVING INEXPLICABLY DISAPPEARED".

"THERE HAS BEEN MASS HYSTERIA, AND VIOLENCE IN THE AREA’S SURROUNDING THE AFFECTED ZONES. ARMED FORCES, AND LOCAL MILITIA ARE TRYING TO RESTORE ORDER".

"IN WHAT IS PRESUMED TO BE A RELATED PHENOMENA. BOTH NASA, AND THE EUROPEAN SPACE AGENCY HAVE REPORTED THAT THE REFLECTED LIGHT OF THE MOON IS CHANGING COLOR".

"IT IS SLOWLY FADING FROM WHITE TO YELLOW. A U.S.GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL DISCLOSED, "OFF THE RECORD",THAT NASA SPECIALISTS EXPECTED THE MOON TO SHIFT TO RED BEFORE THE WEEKS END".

"MOONLIGHT IS REFLECTED SUNLIGHT. NEITHER SPACE AGENCY HAS OBSERVED ANY SOLAR UPHEAVALS THAT MIGHT ACCOUNT FOR THIS ONGOING EVENT".

"THERE ARE NOW REPORTS COMING IN FROM THE NIGHT-SIDE OF THE EARTH THAT THE STARS ARE BEGINNING TO “WINK” OUT".

"THERE HAS YET TO BE CONFIRMATION FROM OFFICIAL SOURCES IN THE EAST."

"HOWEVER LONG DISTANCE PHONE CALLERS, SHORTWAVE BROADCASTS, AND INTERNET BLOGGERS ARE REPORTING BOTH THE DARKENING OF THE SKY, AND THE APPEARANCE OF WINGED BEINGS ABOVE........................."

New York City, East 12th Street...,

I turned the radio off.
He was awake again, the man with the terrible wounds. Blinking through red slits he "looked" up at me. With a tattered rasp he said,.."Agony, and I have become intimate friends." His voice was like wind over broken glass.

"We share the same body, the same nightmares."

The man,..the Angel? ..coughed molten gold from his ruined lips.

"Demons", "Pain Wraiths" did this to me."

"Those wretched children of Hades that rejoice in their dominion over your world." "For idle amusement they plucked out my eyes, and tore off my wings." "For spites sake they infected my soul with doubt, and so severed my umbilical to Paradise."

After these words the wounded man/Angel mercifully drifted again into sleep. The only sound that
cruel scrape of thin breath over sharp glass. At midnight there was a distant thunder,.. he stirred again.

He opened empty sockets smiled sadly and said,..."Silly Rabbit." "You have not escaped the fire." "You watched your calender's, held your breath ,..then went back to sleep.

"But G-d's time is G-d's time."

"She will light Her candles, and burn Her worlds when she pleases."

The man/Angel gently touched my arm, and said..."These are the Days foretold you!" "Your Tribulation 'has' come." With a weary resignation he said.."Go to the window, and look at the sky."

I did.

I looked. It was gone.

There was no sky. No day, no night, no moon, nor clouds, nor stars. Just void. Void. A great silent Nothing.

"As it was in the beginning." Whispered the Angel." "Is now, and shall be forever-more."

I gazed into Heavens empty Chalice. Here at last was an answer to Faith. A "Sign", and most Terrible Wonder.

                                                          " A great silent Nothing."

Stay Tuned.

"Open Book Test"

"Open Book Test"

A comrade came up with this answer. "16 because caramel makes sheep's bladder toasters wear smoke."

 
Ah yes I came up with the same solution.

However there was that unspecified "wind resistance". Which given the car's rate of speed I calculated to be...no not the same 20KM/H, but 16.5KM/H. This throws the whole equation off.
So in taking the 16.5KPH wind resistance into account Pedro ceases to exist in this continuum.

We can if you like speculate as to where he went, but for the sake of brevity I'll hold off for now.

The key to this equation is the "Triangle".

These are usually made of steel. Sometimes an exotic alloy, but for again the sake of brevity we'll say standard instrument steel. The human arc of throwing due to gravity is 9.8 m/s2 directed downward.
That plus the now known wind resistance. The triangle landed off the road 8 meters from the original moving point of projection.

This being so Ralph Bennett a homeless vet living by the side of this road finds the triangle. He eventually sells it, and has just enough for pastries for himself, and his fellow vets back at the camp.
Ralph buys 20 assorted day old pastries. Doughnuts Cream Puffs Napoleons Croissants, and six coffee's that the cook threw in free,...hey it's for our vets.

"The Solution"

The answer is of course "20 assorted pastries." ...plus one Soul. Pedro's.

This is not counting the pastries that Pedro bought on the parallel earth he appeared in.
That is another calculation entirely. Still lets give it a thought.

When Pedro attempted to buy 'his' pastries one of his bank notes was a trifle off. It seems on this other earth the U.S. one dollar bill has the portrait of "Arron Burr" on it. Still his Five was good so he wasn't shot, and tagged by the clerk which is the law over there.

Math is just so much fun.


Stay Tuned.

"Pandemic"

"Pandemic"

Some have asked me, "...why the dolls?"

Many reasons. I always liked them, and wanted them as a boy. However to the point about them in my adult life. It was was the Great AIDS Pandemic.

The dolls became a life-line during the long AIDS Pandemic. Although we didn't know for a long while that's what we were all in.

All we knew was our friends, and family were dying all around us.

Cutting to the chase... My generation of gleeful Queers was rather like the WW1 generation. The young men of Europe exterminated for nothing.

1914~1918 the first act of the Second Hundred Years War.

That war known as WW1 was, and is for me the barometer of how just how far into madness we will allow ourselves to go. Quite far as it turns out.

AIDS was the mass killer that no-one at least in the USA would talk about in it's early years. The Government was silent even the the Gay Press hardly said a word...mostly from ignorance, and confusion.
All we knew was that a growing number our dearest friends were dead or dying. Hence my WW1 Trench feeling about it all. It seemed that every week there was a funeral for someone I knew. That or someone in my social circle close or far, but there they were...dead.

WW1 wives had their children or their parents. We had no one. Officially it wasn't even happening. That's something younger folks don't know or don't know how to internalize.

We were so alone in those years.

 Someone should write a book if they haven't already. I have a fear that this may be lost. There 'should' be an oral or video history being made while most of us that lived these events are still around..
When the last of us Queer/Hippie/Peaceniks go that History will go too. Or worse survive as the ridiculous cartoon distortions that are too common today.

'But to the dolls.

While care-giving for a friend's friend, Bob, my serious doll thing evolved.
He as it happened Bob had a suppressed his love for them sweet little folks. The usual story..beaten by his father for showing Sissy traits..caught with his sister's dolls. It was bad. He was made to suffer.
Stupid Father's are so often the villains in these stories.

I would say there should be a special place in one of them ironic "Twilight Zone" Hell's for them...but I don't believe in Hell. Okay if the abusive father decides to re-incarnate it will have to be as a colorful singing Drag Queen with his own program on "Showtime"...that ought to do it.

Evens the Karma out.

Anyway I went over to Kmart or was it Woolworth's. Well one of them, and I got him three Barbie dolls..with a few costume changes.

He loved it!

So on many visits I brought a doll with me. They got fancier, and more expensive as time went on. I was becoming an informed shopper. After a time though I noticed the dolls were not being opened. They were beginning to pile up.

He was just too weak too forgetful.

When he passed, when Bob finally passed. All the dolls were given away to a local Day Care.
There is no "After Action Report" not for any of it. It came upon us it happened it ended. You know I've never actually sat down, and counted up all the dead I knew.

Still can't.

However the Dolls continued. Stand-in characters for the dead. So for those that have wondered that's where my "Doll Thing" comes from.

They are surrogates for the lost.

I never replaced my friends...how does one 'replace' a dear friend? So often people in wanting to be kind have said that "replacing" thing to me.

...it can't be done.

All you can do is to try to move on.

                                             Well I did, but I took Barbie with me.

"Queen Marilyn the Good"

"Queen Marilyn the Good"

"Queen Marilyn the Good"

I dream of a different America. Another timeline. An American Commonwealth ruled by a wise brave, and compassionate Queen.

"Queen Marilyn Norma Jeane Monroe the First"

In this 'other' America the capital is in Miami. A sparkling art deco city with a half mile high Chrysler Building at it's center. In this other USA I see the Queen coming home from her diplomatic triumph in China.

Queen Marilyn personally negotiated the independence of Tibet!

She arrives home aboard a vintage Pan Am China Clipper flying boat. In this other history good things beautiful things are not discarded just because of newer technologies.

The giant Clippers were, and are both beautiful, and efficient so are kept.

The greatly beloved Queen is greeted at the Royal airdrome by plumed mounted knights in armor of gold. The Royal Procession is headed by the Queen at the wheel of a 1957 pearl white Thunderbird.

As they proceeded to the jade, and silver gilded "Palace of the People" the procession is thronged by the adoring masses. They sing songs of Freedom, and Liberty as their Queen slowly drives past.

In the setting tropical sun the knights seem as a river of molten gold streaming down the Avenue of Dreams.

The crowd in their regional native dress appear as extras from a classic "Carmen Miranda" movie.

Later that night from the balcony of the Peoples Palace Good Queen Marilyn declared a fortnight of Masks, and Reveals to both celebrate Freedom for Tibet, and the great bounty of the National Harvest!

"LONG LIVE QUEEN MARILYN!"

Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!

"The Easter Bunny Laid Off"

"The Easter Bunny Laid Off"

"The Easter Bunny Laid Off"

The "Federal Department of Fantasies, and Fictitious Characters" today in what will sure to be seen as a controversial move has laid off a number of it's employees. This is a cost cutting act which the administration was forced to take.

This because of the refusal by the Republican controlled House to pass the funding bill for the Fantasy Department.

Republican majority leader Himmler stated that funds for the department of fantasies was a "typical liberal waste of funds". Also that these resources were needed for far more "practical, and necessary projects" such as the "Mexican Wall".

The Easter Bunny the Sandman Tooth Fairy Batman the former Saint Christopher the Little Prince Peter Rabbit Santa's Elves, and a number of other beloved fictional characters were all contacted by email, and let go.

Santa, and Wonder Woman because of their importance to the democratic base were given temporary reprieves until fiscal 2018. Superman because of his connections with the Defense Department is for now exempt from these economic cuts.

Some because of high profiles such as Batman have already been hired by commercial interests. Others such as the Little Prince, and Peter Rabbit with smaller financial probabilities will likely retire, and enter private life.

Though there is the possibility of a small livelihood for a few magical characters through speaking engagements.

More on this story as developments warrant.

Stay tuned.

This just in. 

The Little Prince representing a number of the Fantasy Department's newly laid off is suing Republican majority leader Himmler. Saying that his acts, and that of his party are Un-Constitutional. This in that it violates the 1964 Civil Rights Act. 

Which now also protects fictional characters. In particularly those employed by the Federal Government. This some see as the true reason the Republicans are stone-walling Obama on his right to nominate a new Justice. Basically the undoing of 50 years of progressive legislation.

...Stay Tuned for more.

"Psalm of the Hungry Child"

"Psalm of the Hungry Child"

The "City Dept. of Old Farts" thinks I'm nuts so sent me to a Shrink. This while deciding which Geriatric Gulag to deport me to. The doc' is a thirty-something with turquoise hair, and 1980's jewelry.

She asks how I feel.

"Swell" sez I.

" I haven't foamed at the mouth or shit my self in weeks now."

"Although I just had a dream where I was being chased down the street by my bed springs."

She takes notes nodding calmly.

Ms. Turquoise wanted to know what sort of meds I'm on, and if they're effective.

"A bunch, and more or less." 

"I mean it stops me from jumping out of windows or slashing my wrists,...again."

She lifts an eyebrow,..."Again?"

"Yeah."

I show junior my scars from various boyhood attempts. What a mess. I never got it right. Sure I learned how later, but won't tell you as a public service. 

It was about this time them floating Naked Angel Boys clutching teddy bears showed up again. They came through the wall above the shrink.

I decided not to mention them.

I'm asked if I've ever had "urges of violence?"

The Angels start jerking off over me.

"Violence..sure. I mostly dream of kicking the bloody crap out'a bullies Tea Party hacks the IRS homophobes, and them butt-holes that make that disgusting sound with their teeth, and tongue."

I warm to the subject by going into medieval detail. Vats of acid piano wire wood chippers heavy objects dropped from great height. That whole "Wile-e-Coyote" routine. 

It starts raining Angel jizz. 

I think I scared her with all this because her eyes began darting to the door which them Angels were departing through.

...if she saw them she didn't let on.

Anyway I asks if she could do me a solid, and slip me some medical dope or a few hits of morphine.

Love's that Morphine!

She changes the subject wanting to know if I was abused as a kid. Gimme a break what kind'a question is that.

"You kidding who wasn't?"

"It was like the worse parts of the Bible. You want details watch "Jerry Springer."

I mentions how I could use a pastrami hero about now. She looks up from her notes, and sez, "...you associate your memories of abuse with food?"

I tell her I was hungry all the time as a kid, and not just for food. It was a childhood Apocalypse. I mean what with getting beat up terrorized robbed, and humiliated everywhere all the time. 

I decided to turn the tables,...I do this to shrinks.

"What's the worse thing that's ever happened to 'you'?"

A pause then she sez,...

"I was raped"


Silence.......


Christ on a blind pony. 

'This' is the worse thing that can happen to a human being. I mean other than waking up an Orthodox Jew in Dachau in the winter of 1943. 

I got "done" too. Gang raped. Three big kids at day camp held me down, and took turns fucking me up my 10 year old ass. 

I screamed. 

They said I could "scream all I liked". "Nobody" would come. Nobody did. Nobody ever came. 

Just like prison.

Like them floating Angels I kept this to myself.

After a bit my doctor tells me I'm not crazy.

She says, "...I can't get you any dope, but I'll up your med dosage, and throw in some Valium."

"Thanks" I say.

She closes her note book.

"I think we're through for today."

We shake hands, and part,...till next week.

Stay Tuned. 


(Like all my stories this is part fantasy part history. The major bits happened though maybe not in the order presented. Like I say think of these as docudrama's.  This format makes these things easier to live with for me.)

"Uncle Syd in Dreamland"

"Uncle Syd in Dreamland"

I've been having a load of seriously weird dreams. For example I wasn't even in the dream state yet, and crap started happening. I was just closing my eyes when all hell breaks out I'm seeing opening credits for the nights dreams!

It was all scrambled inside out, and backwards, but there it was.

Then the main feature begins. The sea is rising..rising before my eyes! I'm at my old school I'm carrying kids to a boat. I'm wading in sky blue rising water. There are swells that knock me, and kids over we're under water then up again. 

When under btw I hear music I come up just the sound of the rising waves.

Sea planes the sky is full of them, but they makes sounds like birds thousands of birds in song. There are auroras green amber yellow all over the sky. They mix, and swirl from horizon to horizon.

Out to sea all kinds of ships. Giant containers huge aircraft carriers their flight decks crammed with people. Ferries skiffs small rubber rafts all leaving for the open sea.

The dream morphs, and I'm in my childhood home looking for my dog. Yeah my dog not my family my folks all that Hallmark noise. I want my damned dog for Christs sakes.

The dream morphs again, and I'm back at work at the radio station. There's all the usual behind the scenes mayhem that the engineers never I mean 'never' get any credit for solving...fuck'em all to hell. Gawd how I loved, and hated all that!

It was good in some ways since in this particular episode I saw old friends now long departed. It was so good to see them. On awakening I wondered if it was their spirits come to say hello. I like to think so.

What can I say the dreams morphed, and morphed again into my past, and probable futures all mixed, and matched together...dreams do that.  

In one New York was on fire from the Battery to the Bronx. The sky the wind the air was full of bright sparks burning amber's. The bridges were alight like blazing trees. 

The fire had jumped. 

It'd jumped the river, and was igniting Brooklyn thereby starting what I knew would eventually be called the "Great Long Island Fire Storm". I was so cold. It was snowing it was a blizzard. The frozen winds were carrying the fire to the Island.

Then I was looking down from space, and saw the plume of black smoke slowly eating everything in it's path.

Morph.

I saw my father in some kind of hardware shop. He was looking at tools, and taking to someone...don't know who. I didn't call to him. I was just happy to see him so I just "stood?" there watching him. 

He was much younger than my last memories of him. He looked like he did when I was little. I wanted to call to him, and tell him I'd grown up, and he had died Johnnie my brother had gone too as had so many relatives.

However something told me he knew all that, and it was okay so I just watched as he got what he came for, and left the shop.

There were several more morphs, but they're all seriously nuts so never mind. 

________________________________________________


You ever wonder about the people in your dreams. No not your dog or people you know I mean the 'Others'. You dream, and there are people in it, People that you know, but only in your dreams.

Who are they?

You have complex relationships with a whole cast of characters. Whom on awaking vanish. You forget them or at best have only a vague notion of them.

What happens I wonder. To all those people I mean. Do they go on living their lives in the dream you've awakened from. Not knowing where the world they live I came from.

...or do the cease.

Dreams we now know are brief. Mere seconds or at most a few minutes long. However within this small interval our dream companions have a whole existence.  Do they know that their world or worlds are born, and perish by our sleeping, and waking.

In their last subjective thoughts do the realize the truth.

We are the sum of so many forgotten realms. I wonder if our Dream Children as their reality starts to de-pixelize as their world fades. I wonder if their last thought before oblivion is...

"Oh!...I was a Dream.


Then gone.

Till next time. 

__________________________________________________

I had another of those dreams again. This one was just a flash a momentary one. ...but cool.

Blue Fire!

I was in a place of Blue Gems Blue Fire.

Just for a moment just a flash.

Cool blue light yet it was Burning Burning.

A brief world of Cold Blue Flame. 

___________________________________________________ 

"Dreams"

I had another of those dreams. I was walking..so far..I was walking so very very far. My feet hurt I looked down they were bleeding. I left foot prints of blood on grey concrete.

This place was bleak.

All seemed made of the same course grey stone. The road, and the low rise building on either side. Grey cold. I seemed to have companions, but could never quite see them. I was I think homeless wandering. I lived this once before though now it was in a dream-scape.

It was always noon.

No morning no night no evening.

I was near a sea. There were submarines diving just off the coast. so many. It seemed as if squadrons of them were slowly going down one after another.

...and there was singing.

The "Sailor's  Hymn"...I could faintly hear it in the sea's distance.

"Eternal Father, strong to save,

Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,

Who bidd'st the mighty ocean deep,

It's own appointed limits keep;

Oh hear us when we cry to Thee,

For those in peril on the Sea!"

And so they dived. All manner of submersibles. WW2 Gato Class subs to today's California, and Montana Class nuclear Boomers. 

The sea washed the blood from my feet.

The dream morphed as they do, and I was sweeping the floor of an abandoned building.  I was nearly naked. I wore just scraps of rags. I heard a baby crying down the hall. I went opened the door, and saw the child's shadow...just the shadow. The room held a shadow which cried, and cried.

I closed the door, and returned to sweeping.

Another morph, and I was rummaging in a bin for cloths. They were all like the thin rags I was wearing. A person came, and handed me a pair of new jeans. 

...and a silver dollar.

She said I could sleep on the roof. She said the birds would "protect" me,..."they protected everybody" here.

And I did sleep on the roof. I slept in the eternal noon of that world. I lay there as swarms of birds danced above.

__________________________________________________________________

"Okay Another Dream"

I'm on an ice world the oceans had frozen. They were a beautiful shade of turquoise. A whole world turned to a vast wonderful...frozen gem.

Interesting huh? I dreamed that the winds were pushing me across seas of frozen gems. I wasn't even stoned.

________________________________________________

"A Dream"

Well once upon a time or at least in this dream I was a kid in a huge tribe of kids. We were dirty ragged all sorts, but we were fast smart keen to get over. We were survivors.

The Dream happens on a sunless world. Night eternal night. The landscape is a beat down city. Perhaps a post war ruin. In this reality we roamed through tumbled down factories malls tunnels. We were always looking to scavenge whatever we could.

You know how in dreams you have friends even close comrades who when you awake vanish from memory. Only to be waiting for you when you sleep again.

This dream was just so.

I loved my tribe. My dream-time cadre of wild eyed filthy survivors. We hunted sang, and slept together. We shared danger, and love. Who could ask for more?

A Mystery.

There were mysteries in this dream world. I remember a bunch of us sitting on a pile of bricks looking up, and watching huge dirigibles. Great sleek floating cities. They were silent as they floated by.

Silent, but burning. They sailed over us one after another like burning clouds. Burning brightly, but not consumed. A mystery.

The dream morphed to danger. We were running all of us in our hundreds. Dragons. We were perused by great T-Rex dragons. Crazed angry one's. I mean weren't none of the smiling!

We dropped telephone poles sharpened at one end on them. This pined some of them to the street. We took to the roofs we flew leap from roof to roof street to window to tree.

We could fly or least do great Spider-man leaps. It was so real I could hear the whistle of the wind in my ears the rush of cold air in my face. All the while being chased by Dragons from Jurassic Hell!

The dream morphed again.

As I leaped from a T-Rex I landed in a kind of tree house, and I was very very old. I was on a world of trees. A forest planet. Like America before civilization ate it or Endor from the Star Wars mythology.

A pale ringed moon was rising on the horizon.

'But this, this dream is another story for another time.

Stay Tuned.

_____________________________________________________________________

"A Dream"

( From my 2009 Archives. )

This is what I dreamed last night. I wrote it down as soon as I awoke. Okay I tweaked it a tad so it would scan, but this is basically it.

I was on a journey with my sisters Sylvia, and Kim. The girls were children again. About 12, and eight. I was a young man perhaps 20. We were riding in a fine horse drawn carriage. A lovely affair of the sort that the gentry of the Federalist era used.

We were riding through Brooklyn, our Borough of Churches. However this was a city not built by blind capital, but one wrought by idealists from the Sun King's realm.

So beautiful, such color. A thoughtful, practical lovely city.

In the dream I remember leaning out slightly from the carriage window to see as much of this dream Brooklyn as I could. Everything I saw combined function, and art. Much as the Ancient Chinese did.

My sisters, as I took in the sights, did as I always remembered them doing on long trips.

They giggled, and played mysterious hand games.

Given what grandma was teaching them I assumed they were casting spells. Knowing them they probably were.

Dreams.












My dear sisters, and I were on our way to see a play. A fevered collage of the "Red Shoes", "A Mid-Summer Nights Dream", and something I can't identify. I could make something up, but it wouldn't be true to the dream.

The Tickets.

A whole anxious subplot to this mayhem was my trying to find the tickets. As my sisters sat in their white with hints of silver Jane Austin gowns I quietly poked about my pockets for the damned tickets.

Btw, I'm not a dress designer. So how did I come up with such gorgeous gowns for my sisters. Also, no architect I, so how did I cook up the Sun Kings Brooklyn?

That, and all the endless cute details of this dream,...which if I could I'd post here as a video.

Anyway where the hell does all this come from, and don't start with that collective unconscious stuff. I think something grander than even that may be involved.

Anyway the footman, yeah that guy was there too. The footman opened the door, and my beautiful little sisters climbed down. So off we went ticketless to the dream theatre.














'But oh what a theatre!

It was as wonderful as the Pentagon is grim. Imagine a palace for the arts as designed by Turner, and Walt Whitman. Yeah I could live with that.

We passed under a free floating rotunda whose ceiling was spangled with stars, and misty nebulae,...Turner.

Wait gets better.

My Brother John. My deceased big brother John. John the war hero. John the politician. John the husband, father, and brother. My brother Johnny was standing the entrance of this dream pavilion.

As I said I'm writing this down as soon as I woke up. I need to remember this more than I need to share it with you.

He said nothing. The dead never do in my dreams. But he handed me an envelope. It was my "lost" tickets.

I'll end it here.

The copy goes on as the dream did. The play, my sisters the strange sky. More'n more dream stuff.

Better to end it here.

Stay Tuned.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"Silent Nightmare"

 

Well here's yet another of 'those' dreams I just had. It suddenly began to get dark. It was if the day was deflating. All the light seemed to be sucked from the sky. It got darker, and darker till all you could see was the faint outlines of the streets, and buildings.

I was lost in this sudden deep deep black night trying to get home. Then light...light like one couldn't imagine. I could see the bones in my hands as I put them up to shield my face.

'But there was no sound just the growing expanding light. I saw the cloud rising just like the one above. Almost exactly like the one above. In the dream I wondered if I was already dead. So was now in a silent world.

The cloud glowed deep red, and climbed to the edge of space.

That's it. That the whole dream. I've had other nuclear terrorist dreams I guess most folks in big cities have at least once or twice over these confused years.

The difference is this time at least for me it was so much more real. It's not the detail...it the feeling. The sense that this is coming. No bullshit no dream analysis noise. This time it's real or at least that how I feel from living this dream.

Swell.