"Hell"

*Notes from a Tourist in Post Crash America.

November 8, 2089

At a ball game. "...then they played their national anthem. It was some weird song about a bunch of guys running around setting fires blowing shit up, and stabbing people."

Crowd loved it.

Anyway the game began with some beat up starving looking prisoners being lead onto the field.  City militia sawed their heads off. I mean with a saw. The crowd went into some local chant. I guess a team thing. The referee or umpire picked the best head, and threw it up into the air.

I was distracted by some vendor selling the fried bits of headless guys from the last game.

November 11th

Americans are always trying to sell you the trash from when they had a middle class. Mostly stuff their families horde to sell to tourists. A smelly fucked up cyborg tried to palm off a 1990's VCR on me...what the fuck would I do with that?

Another offered one of those 2040's early generation 3-D projector A.I. phones. That, and his 7 year old or son,...or daughter. Who knows which. He put the kid in drag. That for the New Zealand bunch I guess. Them perverts likes 'em young, and tranny.

November 15th

I happened on another Christer witch burning. My bio-suit tuned out the screams, and smell. Still it was fascinating to watch. Again some of that ratty mob tried to sell me shit. 3-D vids of their ceremonies. These were mostly the usual self flagellations infanticide sort of things. ...thanks I have plenty.

I had an exciting afternoon. A big shoot out between the city militia, and some commie terrorists. They was trying to rob a food bank. Ya know that feed the hungry nonsense. Anyway they was wiped out. The licensed cannibals had first dibs of the shot to shit remains...hardly enough left for a burger to go.

It was fun though. Me, and the militia troops laughed it up. Nice guys. They try like hell to keep a lid on things, and keep Tourists safe.

November 20th

Today I go home to the Alaska Republic, and not a moment too soon. Though sure it was fun, but one gets enough of the horror show that is the former lower 48.
I wandered past what once may have been a park. It was piled high with plastic packing crates full of little kids living in them. Fucking big toothy dogs was eating the dead ones on the ground. Shit that even freaked 'me' out.

The hotel staged a treat, for a consideration, this for the leaving guests. Supposedly the hanging of "The Last Queers in New York". Gimme a break what tourist bate. They been doing this for years. They probably just scrape up anybody on the street they can find. Pay the militia to arrest sentence them, and turn 'em over to the hotel for the show.

Still there was a nice buffet with drinks so what the hell. It was good for a few laughs,...rip off though it was.

*( The above data was recovered from an info pad found in the wreckage of China Air flight 38-a. This which was shot down by terrorists just after taking off from New York's George Lincoln Rockwell's floating airport.)

( The so-called "Emma Goldman Army of the Hungry" took credit. China Air Security continues to investigate.)

"Heaven"

( Marilyn in Heaven.)

John Donne, Enrico Fermi, and George Harriman, he invented Krazy Kat, were in a bar in one of heaven's rougher neighborhood's. Ya know, that scary part near Hell. The guys was shoot'n the breeze, and getting sloshed.

Jesus was behind the bar mix'n drinks, and Bessie Smith was on stage sing'n some of her new stuff. Mozart was playing backup on base, and electric fiddle, with Bob Marley on keyboards.

Harriet Beecher Stowe was passed out in front of the cigarette machine. An unlit Chesterfield sticking out of the side of her mouth, and an empty bottle of Wild Turkey at her feet.

Sad. Heaven is really hard for some people.

Just then Queen Elizabeth the First, a very young Eleanor Roosevelt a buzzed Marilyn Monroe, and Emma Goldman wanders in.

Well ol' George invites the gals over for a few, and they has a merry old time together. Hey it's Heaven right?

As usual Donne eventually sez something stupid, and anti-Semitic, Emma leaps across the table rips off his wig, and punches him in the nose.

Enrico swings at her with a beer bottle the Queen bashes 'him' with her Rod'n Scepter!

...'fore ya knows it they's all kick'n the crap out'a each other all over the floor.

Dear Marilyn was asleep in the ladies crapper, and missed the whole thing.

Jesus who was on the phone with his nosy Mother didn't notice, and the folks on stage had seen it all before. What the heck they'd already been paid.

Anyway in walks Zeus, and Yahweh...

"Doll Hiest" Feburary 20th, 2010

In the interest of spreading joy, and happiness to the mass's. Uncle Sydney, and pals have planned a revolutionary doll expropriation.


In short the proletariat deserve decent toys.

The following is a rough transcript of a conversation between this reporter, and our Dear Uncle. For the purposes of security, but mostly because Uncle said he'd "bust a cap up my lame butt!!" I shall refrain from spilling the beans on where our esteemed Uncle is holed up.

Uncle begins,..."See me, and the boys plans to knock over a particular doll factory in north Jersey, right." We'd scoped it out awhile back. So we knows they gots da goods we wants."

"Well, the plan is to bust in there disguised as the 1955 Brooklyn Dodgers. The historical angle, cute huh."

"Anyway we know the Feds has targeted the joint for a "swoop'n scoop!"

"You know bag the workers, and send'em back to Mexico."

"This after them guys had paid off these bastards to leave'em be. Ha! Well them Cossacks took the dough alright, but plans to scoop 'em up anyhow."




"Crap like that burns me up!"




Well through our connections with the Buddhist Mafia, and the Catholic Worker we got all the folks at the factory 100% legal fool proof phony Green Cards! So they're okay.

The gringo federales won't be able to say bleep to 'em!

"We also gave the comrade workers free tickets to the "Wonder Wheel" at Coney Island. Nice huh?"

"Anyhow with the co-operation of the locals secured, them green cards, we'll load up our trucks with top'a the line dollies. You name it, 1st class "Barbies" with all the trimmings!"

"We'll be boosting classic "Betsey Wetsey" dolls, them hard to get "Gay Bert'n Ernie" upper west side doll sets, and playhouse. Plus assorted big ticket nick nacks that prole kids can only dream of."

"After the heist we'll hit all the ghettos, and trailer parks with the goods. Passing out swell dollies to exploited, and oppressed kids as we go!"

"I can see the headline now,..."TERRORISTS DOLL UP THE GHETTO!",...Homeland Security Baffled!"

At this point in the interview "Lost" was coming on so Comrade Uncle threw me out of his office, and ordered pizza.

"...wood"

March 21st, 2010

So a new season, and new possibilities. Even at this somewhat late date I'm trying to figure this life stuff out.

Fragile as it is.

Hint, laughing is more fun than anything else. Even more than putting small poodles into your microwave to watch them explode. (...I'm kidding, Mostly.)

Being pissed off, and miserable is just a habit like anything else. So when you feel it coming on go out, and have dinner with a pal. Better yet make them pay.

Another thing don't buy that damned compressed sawdust furniture. It's nothing, but mouse, and bug food. Them little bastards get into the house nest in your digs, and spend the winter eating your glue based sawdust stuff.

Who the hell came up with this stupid crap anyway.

I was in Macys the other day pricing bookcases, and such when I notices it's all made out'a sawdust. The useless junk was pricey as hell too!

Forget about it!

I'll make my own shit. At least them Ikea kits use 'real' wood!

"...French Toast"

"Normans!"

April 26th, 2010

So I'm taking more vacation time for a change. I'm still freaked out from everybody I know deciding to drop dead this winter. They went, and beat me to it. Just swell. Thanks a lot guys!



Anyway I put in for some of my years of backed up vacation daze. I'd like to go to Disney World in Florida. Umm too far,...and expensive. Maybe Philadelphia to see an old radio pal.

Btw the you ever notice how Philadelphia is spelled like someone just juggled a box of letters'n dumped them out? It was that damned Norman invasion the blew the hell out of the English language ya know.

Them French bastards came over, and put all these silent letters in everything so now not one person in 10 million can spell to save their lives over here. Don't tell me about them spelling "Bee" kids neither,...they're probably French!

One day I'll be dragged away by the guys in white coats. I'll be bug eyed, drooling, and screaming, "...1066! 1066!"












1066 Normans disguised as G.I.s invade England

"The Normans!"

"The frigg'n bastard Normans!!"

"They did it, they did it all"

"Doom, Doom, I tell you!"

"1066 is the true sign of the beast!!"

"Beware, Beware!!!"

'But I digress.

"...watching"

"Moon Watching"

Other than insulting the French I'm in a quiet frame of being. The loss of my brother, and so many of my friends this past season has been soul shaking. I'm still trying to figure things out.

So I'm going through the motions of living. Not so bad really. I'm working on my little house, cooking, reading really bad science fiction. Well that, and taking snapshots of the *moon each night from my bedroom window. Click on 'em to enlarge.

Life goes

"...life"

"Facts of Life"

Okay here it is. I am horrified by abortion. I think it's outright murder. I 'also' believe that women have the ultimate right to chose if they will carry their child to term,...birth or not.

I have extreme views on both sides of this issue. For example I think no man, no male has any right to decide or rule on this topic. No male judge, administrator or Pope can say bleep.

This is a profoundly female issue.

On the other hand as I just said I believe it's murder. Just like the Church, and assorted far right groups say it's the "Slaughter of the Innocents". Unfortunately these guys have linked it to all the Culture War hot button issues.

This is tragic. The topic doesn't belong there. It should never have become an ideological football. Just a rag doll to be kicked this way, and that depending political whims.

This is about life, and death, and trumps everything else.

Folks against abortion, not all, also tend to be against every progressive thing in the political landscape. To be fair both the right, and 'left' have included abortion in their dreary laundry list of culture war flash points.

Anti-abortion ideologues seem to me not to love the mothers or even respect the dead kids. Just check out the gallery of horrors they use in their propaganda. Color pictures of dead shredded babies till the cows come home.

I've seen all that, and wonder why they don't give the kids the dignity of a service. That and a burial or cremation.

The political left too often loses sight that there's more than just the life of the mother involved. There's a child, a living child in this mix as well. To their shame the progressives say it's just flesh. A blob of nothing.

I was in a relationship with a dear friend many years ago. She had a miscarriage. She lost her child, our child.

Do you get it? This was our kid.

We both wanted the remains, little as there was for a proper release. The hospital had as a matter of routine "disposed" of the tissue as they called our baby.

Swell.

I don't know maybe it's because I love kids so much or that helping to raise my sister's kids was perhaps the happiest time of my life. That, and losing our baby, our "tissue" is what makes me feel as I do.

Still I know having a kid is no speedball rush, ...exactly.

Perhaps if I had the ultimate responsibility to raise a malformed or mentally dysfunctional kid I'd think different about abortion. That or if the actual birth would kill me.

Yeah I have thought of that. Bringing a tormented disabled child into this deranged world. If I were a woman hope I would have the wisdom, and strength to know what to do.

This is a nightmare indeed.

This horror was made even clearer by the recent incident in Italy when an aborted child lived for two days in the trash. Alright trash sounds overly dramatic. The kid was mixed up with the usual medical waste, and was found by accident.

This isn't the first time this has happened over there, and I have to assume it's not uncommon around the world. Especially in China where abortion is sometimes forced on women for population control.

Btw there's a black market for aborted flesh for use in soup in that workers paradise.

So I'm saying this is murder, and I'm saying only woman can decide to kill their own kids.

No I don't mean people like that sad disturbed lady that drowned her little kids in her car,...and then blamed it on a black man.

I guess this is holding two seriously opposing positions at the same time. Something I'm told one can't do. Actually folks do this sort of thing all the time. We just don't make a fuss about it for convenience sake.

Damn, this still doesn't

"...murder"

"Murder he Wrote"

I had breakfast with a dear gal pal the morning after I wrote the "Facts of Life" piece. (...see post above.) She said '...well I'm a murderer too", and told me the details.

I repent using the "M" word.

It was the emotion of it all that mayhem which blinded me to the harm that loaded epithet could cause.

Indeed my own Mommy had three abortions. Back then it was so wrapped in shame that she only told us the story on her death bed. A deeply emotional, and morally complex subject indeed.

I really don't know how to properly express my feelings about the life or death of these babies. I guess all one can do is support your family member or friend while they're dealing with this trauma.

Also if it's appropriate to the particular circumstance. That is if there's no danger to the mother, and the child is developing in a healthy way. One should, I would, plead for the life of the kid.

'Heavens sakes I always wanted a baby so give it to me.

"...ruins"

May 10th 2010





I was stranded in waste deep anxious wakefulness last night. so I got on the subway at 2:00am, and came to town. I had a pizza in Times Square, wandered eighth avenue. Not as deadly or interesting as it used to be. Which I will admit is a good thing, but still.

I miss the all night porn shops where I could get the demented dreams of my choice above or usually below the counter,..in vivid color too.












It was cold, and raining like hell, but I loved it.

Before I left the house I was watching this movie on 13, the local public station. "New Orleans Mon Amour". Wow. Love in the ruins indeed. It was an indie starring a bunch of nice young actors.

The "name" guy or mainstream star was the fella that played the Doctor in "Doctor Who" two doctors ago. 'Always liked him, but don't remember his name,...figures. He does all that neat work, and his name evaporates.

Swell.

...wait, wait I remember the guy now.














Eccleston, right Christopher Eccleston!

Anyway I eventually ended up at the radio station, WBAI. That place is my second, and at times primary home. Been there 31 years. Most of my generation from there is either stiff in the mud or happy grandparents now.












Oh the adventures we had! Scary politics, techie hijinks, swell drugs, and sex now'n then. Even almost won a bunch of awards. As for now,..well.

Well I'm just living is all. I miss the old daze, and my old pals. The station, like the Navy,...that's another story, goes on forever. Something always needs fixing or my voice is needed for this or that. It's a life.

On the other hand something from that movie, "New Orleans Mon Amour". Someone in all that mayhem of a sunken city, and complicated relationships said,

"...what is the past good for."

"All that damage, and dead weight."

"Throw it away."

Them lines is what got me out of the house. Got me out to wander the rainy canyons of the Emerald City". I stumbled about wondering which bits of my screwed up past to dump.

Oh how I love my pain. 'Don't we all. Our memories of hell. How could I ever part with any of it.

Well like I sez I went, and had some pizza. I sat, and stared out into the wet purgatory of another pharmaceutical night.

Aw crap, this scans like the opening to that Woody Allen film "Manhattan". Only unlike him I didn't mean this post as comedy.

"Blood Sport"

"I Have this Problem with Vampires"

For some years now popular culture has been promoting the notion that's it cool to be a Vampire. Ya know young forever, party, party, party, and murdering people. No mention of handing over your immortal soul to to the Prince of Hades.

That, and doing back strokes in the Lake of Fire for eternity.

I understand that youngsters these days have taken to cutting themselves, and sucking each others blood. There are rumors of few cases of HIV have come of these hyjinks. To say nothing of them scary cases of dismemberment at Vampire parties that got a tad out of control.

Mind you I'm not against people drinking blood, and devouring flesh. I likes a medium rare steak as much as the next carnivore. It's just that the fads of this not so new century gives me the willies.

TV shows, comic books, computer games, and all manner of cyber hell praising, and promoting this happy blood stained mayhem. Makes one nostalgic for the days when everybody wanted to be an Angel.

Remember that? About 20 years ago Angels were all the rage. Heck I was into it too. I even had the pre-DVD old fashioned VHS set of "Touched by an Angel".

Ah well, wonder what's coming next.














Enter "Dexter".

A fun loving, heart of gold SERIAL KILLER. I gotta admit though I like Dexter. He only butchers people that deserve it. Who of us hasn't dreamed of doing that!?

I remember being horrified when I saw the first huge bus, and train posters for "Dexter". That's it I thought. The Culture of Death" has won. I felt worse than when I saw the ads for "Lost Boys".

Remember that one, "Live Forever, Party, Drink Blood", swell.

However there I was watching Dexter torture, and grind up human beings, and was enjoying it. The damned thing is in it's fifth season too! If I was still a good Catholic boy I'd say that the Devil can assume forms that please.

Well maybe he does all I know is this shit stinks.

No not censorship,..never that.

I'm just watching where the culture is going is all. It ain't healthy. It's seductive, fun, and wonderfully sinful. What's not to like.

I dunno. It just seem so old testament wrong if ya gets my drift. I keep expecting to hear thunder, and the roar of a flood.

"...Sleepless"

Friday may 14th 2010

( This in the time just before I was forcibly retired a few years later.)


Ain't really slept since I wandered out into the rain a few nights ago. Oh yeah a moments nap here'n there, but no real sleep. Well I did fall off in the News Room for three hours after midnight. I feel kind'a refreshed now.

That's why I like my job. No one disturbed me. I'm their elder Radio Uncle, and they let me rest. Sort of like when 'your' Uncle used to come over for Sunday dinner, and dozed off in the living room comfy chair. That, and ya Mommy would say not to make any noise while Unkkie was passed out.

Wow, well I've aged into that Respected Position. The youngsters let me sleep.

I just got an email from our national office out on the coast. Seems they want to promote me into something. I don't know. I don't trust them loons out there.

They want a new logo, and think getting me to do it will cost less. Swell, thanks guys. I'll let ya know what happens.

Btw I did delete that post about me, and my sister. No she didn't ask me to. I just had second thoughts about slapping that kind of stuff up here. I think all that noise about trolls invading Facebook, and mining it for personal data made me cautious.

Mind you they wouldn't get much from me, but still.

It's a chilly, rainy morning here in the Emerald City. Perfect day for a bit of shopping, and a movie. 'Last time I tried this someone tried to blow up Times Square. Maybe things will be quiet this time.












Speaking of food.

One of my listeners suggested I use a bamboo steamer instead of that slow cooker thing I'm so in love with. Humm, maybe. He said while the slow cooker kept all the flavor, the bamboo cooker keeps all the vitamins. Something to consider at my advanced age.

(I do a radio program. See WBAI archives in the links. Go to "Carrier Wave" Monday May 10th,..Thrills, and Spills.)

On the other hand I'm tempted to go off the healthy food wagon, and go back to Chinese, and Paki fast food,..ummmm! Yummie!! It's the small unhealthy things that make life worth it.

On the other, other hand I also thought about scoring some dangerous drugs. Yeah my doc said it'd kill me, but I thought about it anyway. Ahhh, the old daze! Don't worry I won't do it. Besides my connection died long ago, and his connections are either retired or doing life somewhere.

Kind'a puts a crimp on the party, but oh the memories.

Anyway it was a thought. I guess it's just the ennui of our slow motion Planetary Apocalypse that has me in this frame of desire.

Aw well, it's just another day here in the Future.

"A Dream"

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.

"...who better"

The "catch-22" of having a shrink "help" you is that you can't tell them the real truth. I mean like the TRUTH. There's all sorts of alarms, and red buttons pushed if you're stupid enough to do that. Like the time I told one of them guys I did in fact have self-destructive feelings,...they always ask.

I ended up in a nut house for that.

In fact the chief head shrinker there said what a dummy I was to admit shit like that. "Never tell anyone in the system that." His exact words. If ya do you end up in a one size fits all system to "help" you "adjust."

Never again.

However I can tell the truth here since no one reads this. Well some friends sometimes. Also the usual random folks that always drift by. Come to think of it the most hits I ever got was for a Queer blog I used to do.

Of course it was eventually nuked by the provider,...they do that. However I got 800,000 unique hits on that sweet heart. Folks from both the Palestinian Authority, 'and' Israel was tuned in. Though I doubt it was my swell prose that filled the house.

It "might' have had something to do with the "Objects de Art" I so totally, and gleefully littered it with. Hey ya wants an audience ya has to gives 'em what they wants.

So here's my Obit.

"Sidney Smith aged 67 writer artist, and former broadcaster was found deceased in his apartment Wednesday evening. The police suspect it may have been a suicide. No evidence of foul play was found."

"Mr. Smith is survived by a sister. In keeping with his written wises his sister said there would be no funeral or memorial of any kind. She also said the remains of her brother Mr. Smith would be cremated, and the ashes discharged at an undisclosed location." 

"Sidney Smith was once a radio host whose ironic humor, and unusual points of view were enjoyed by some."

Well there ya go. That's all she wrote. In fact most proles would be lucky as shit to get even 'this' much. So like Walt Whitman who wrote his own reviews I hacked out my own Obit.

'...and who better?

( No don't go busting my door down to see if I'm dead. I ain't offing myself this week. Sure I could kick the bucket from a ton of other shit any time. However I'm just posting the scary disturbing to others crap depressives always think about is all.)

...gimme a break.

"On my Brother's Passing Several years Ago"

"My Brother's House"

All is quiet

the rooms are still

books rest on their shelves

eyes glasses in their cases

coats in their closet.

All is quiet.

Except for the kitchen clock.

It still hangs on it's wall

calmly counting eternity

as we, crowns of creation, fade like dreams on waking.

"Guest Editorial" 8/23/2010

"The Truth about my so-called pal Tinkerbell"












"Jeez Sid, hadn't you heard about Tinkerbell?"

When the Radical Iranians seized the U.S. Embassy in Tehran back in 1978, they found thousands of duplicate C.I.A. files on microfilm which had been stored in the Embassy, because as President Nixon put it,...

"The Shah is our kind of guy, and we can count on him keeping the Persian Gulf region under control forever."

Anyway, the Radi-Iranis reproduced the microfilmed files and circulated them to all the intelligence agencies in the First, Second and Third Worlds.

According to Tink's files, circulated by Khomeini's bully boys. Walt Disney paid her extra monies from his off shore accounts to secretly report to him on the activities of the Lost Boys and Peter Pan.

The files on Peter Pan, aka Lt. Col. Ralph Greenbaum USMC weren't found in Iran. They, and the data on many of the 20th century's greatest secrets,..the Kennedy hits, Roswell, what, and who the astronauts found on the moon, and why we'll 'never' go back.





That, and the secret Roosevelt/Hitler/Vatican Treaty etc., are believed housed in the Disney Orlando facility.




I can say no more. Reporters have been disappeared for less than what has here been revealed.


Walt worried that the Lost Boys were radical liberal "New Dealers" or even socialists.


This because they had been homeless political activists when he got them under contract, and had made them live in company housing. Various revolutionary political tracts. Some advocating racial, and sexual justice circulated on the Disney lot were traced back to the Boys.

This did not make the Boss of the Mouse Factory happy.

When the House Un-American Activities Committee began its hearings in the 1950s which produced the Hollywood Blacklist of Commies. Tinkerbell provided Chairman Martin Dies and H.U.A.C. with names, letters, diaries, information on meetings attended, and all sorts of incriminating stuff the "Boys" was up to.


The C.I.A. file also revealed that Tinkerbell quietly received about 10% of the stock in the Disney Studio's for 'NOT' being entirely truthful with H.U.A.C.
Here's a smoking gun for those who know...Certain accounting ledgers, bank statements and correspondence that showed Walt Disney had been a silent partner in Lyric International Productions which made "art films" that 'could' be of interest to a certain variety scout masters.

Ahem.

All in all, Tinkerbell has always had a lot to be cheerful about. And arguably, she is even something of a humanitarian. This because ever since the Lost Boys yacht mysteriously exploded and sank off Baja California killing most of them. Tink has generously employed the few survivors as gardeners and pool boys on her estate on Mulholland Drive.


The boys lost all their papers when the yacht sank so Tink used her political connections through her work for H.U.A.C., and the Area 51 Alien Technologies recovery efforts to bring the Boys back across the border.

They're officially Mexican guest workers with Green Cards. However by Armed Forces Intelligence regulations they're legally dead, and so can be used as expendable fodder in future black ops.


However in their "guest worker" persona's they can remain in the States as long as they work Tink's estates, and keep their mouths shut. So, you see Tink, despite her grey, and black ops work, is good at spreading happiness to others.

Eh,..in her own way.

YOU DIDN"T READ THIS. THIS FILE DOES "NOT" EXIST.

"On the Road"

(Here a post from early in my Homeless year.)

As happens when one is in this delicate state,...houseless. You have to keep moving as to not out-stay your welcome. Also as some of you may know, and I am discovering "welcome" is relative.

People even those that were your friends before you fell into the gutter will 'rethink' their kindness, and generosity after a day of two, and toss you out. So I'm on the street for a few days again. I'm posting from my job,..which thank the g-ddess I still have. ...mostly.

Actually I only accepted that last "kindness" because it was so cold,...I took a risk. ...snake eyes.

If you must be homeless do it in spring or summer. It's bitterly cold. Astoundingly Cold. Can't say more since that sums up the whole thing. Even so I'm more fortunate than my sister, and brother homeless around me. I still have options,..though fading ones.















(U.S.S.Yorktown after a really bad day)

I ain't sunk, but the pumps were all built by the lowest bidder. Anyway despite setbacks It's very likely I'll have digs before the end of winter. It's slowly coming together. Till then life is one horrifying drag after another. However the more awful it gets more interesting my one man show/play about this will be.

"Most of the facts of this performance are guaranteed to be mostly true!"

Yeah I'm planning a short play about the last year or so of my adventures in this land of family betrayal, dispossession, humiliation, and urban horrors. They'll be magic acts, puppets, media stuff, jokes, living nightmares, and thrilling sermons.

Not only that everybody in the audience gets a prize,...regardless if they want one or not.

Don't miss it

(...as it happens I never did that play about my Houseless year. When I got a home I just wanted to forget everything that had happened to me on the street. Like a soldier coming home from an unpopular war no one wanted to hear shit about it. They'd hardly go to a play about it.)

"The 14 Points,...more or less"

"WISE, AND BENEVOLENT SAYINGS FROM DEAR BELOVED UNCLE SIDNEY"

...okay I don't know how many there really are, but ya know.














(Dear Beloved Uncle Sidney is seen here in his favorite disguise)

"If everyone could change gender, color, orientation, and hat size at will there'd be a lot less bullshit in the world!"

"If you're in a burning theatre, leave."

"Clocks don't kill people, jobs do!"

"Never go into the water."

"There are sharks out there, and they will eat you."

"If you see someone all alone, cold, hungry, and wandering the streets after midnight report them at once for curfew violation!"

"Always be nice to cats"










(Dear Beloved Uncle's Kat)

"Do not sing in the rain!" "For such is a petty bourgeois, and western decadent Hollywood waste of the peoples time"

"Do not cut off any of your ears!" "Believe me it's a bad idea!"

"Copyright everything!"

"Take narcotics,..in moderation"

"Never, never eat cod fish."

"Pissing blood is never a good sign."

"Don't speak to dogs for they are the pawns of Satan."

"Drink heavily, and sleep till noon."

"If  Resident Trump should comes to your house, and asks you if it would be alright if he continued to act like a fucking Nazi scumbag, and drive the country several $trillions$ 'more' into debt."

"Say no."

"Paint crows, wheat fields, and yourself as often as possible"

More to come...

"HELLS'A POP'N!"

I have the urge to go on an "working class crime spree!" The kind ya see on "Cops", and those other "wife beater" shows. Btw, I'll take my favorite barbie dolls with me. How I loves them. Anyway I figure I'll steal a 1966 Ford pickup from some trailer park somewhere.

Then I'll go down to the mini-mall, and rob the liquor store, the 7-11, bust open the "atm" at the gas station, and knock over the "Holy Jeebus Chapel of the Love" for the change in the poor box.

Which is the whole point, the change not the Chapel. Forgive me Jeebus. I'll be need'n them coins for the tolls on the highway. On which the drama of my two state high speed chase will be played out.

With my elbow hanging out the window I'll be sucking down brews, and careening along gawds interstate at 90 miles an hour.

Boy!

I'll be weave'n left'n right, raise'n sparks on the guard rails as the highway patrols from two seedy "flyover states" is on my tail. The pinball lights on their roofs going nuts, and their sirens wailing away!

Man that's liven!

Oh the freedom of the road! Blasting along in an old Ford pickup getting 5 miles to da gallon, and laying down a smoke screen of atomized dinosaurs. Hey they don't calls it "fossil" fuel for nuthin'!

Aw man, drinking, breaking laws, and being chased by cops! Life is Good!

'Course after a few hours of this happy mayhem the boys'n gals in blue get's fed up with me, and decides to shoot out my tires. They do, but it don't matter 'cause I'm in a tuff old ford, and I rides her steel alloy rims for another 80 miles!

I'm gleefully flying along at a 120mph leaving a fiery hale of crimson sparks behind me, and having the time of my life!

Finally they calls the rustbelt state police, and 'they' lays out them explosive spikes that shorts out your engine, and blow off ya wheels. Btw, the Iraqi's uses the same shit on our trucks over in the war.

Anyhow as is the traditional with these things the lower half of the truck is blown away, and I slams grille first into a lamp post.

The pickup flips over tumbling three, four times spraying a rainbow haze of bright burning gasoline as she goes.

Wow! ...just like on TV.

I jumps out with just a few bruises, and scratches. See both the Ford, and me is old timers, and can take the punishment!

( Actually the above gal with the gun don't got nothing to do with the story exactly. Sure I could work her in, but I'm too lazy. I just like gals with guns is all, well okay I likes boys too.)

'However'

Yup! Gals with Guns! They're the Nightmare of all them that stones Women, and hangs Gay's! Fuck you Osama, and ya evil pals!! These sweethearts is the friends of all Women in distress, and Gay boys being bashed! I just loves Gals with Big Frigg'n Guns!

Now back to our swell story which is waiting patiently for you below.

Ahem...,

Herein begins the best part of our drama.

"The Perp Chase!"

Yeah ya old Unk is beating it through the bushes like a bat out'a hell! Thanks to the News choppers I gots a TV audience now that's cheering me on.

Downsized factory workers, and laid off interior designers is handing me beers, and butter crescents as I sprint through their backyards, and over fences.

Kid's toss me candy bars, dogs bark, and old folks that remembers the golden 1950's, and full employment wave, and blows me kisses!

However it all ends as it usually does when I'm trapped in a dead end behind a bankrupted furniture factory. I'm cornered by a bunch a pissed off cops, and troopers.

They gleefully kicks the shit out'a me for an hour or so 'cause I interrupted their other 'important' business. Which was shaking down junkies, shooting unarmed Black kids, and getting free blowjobs at various mob-run lap-dance clubs.

When I'm finally hauled in the Heat sez my grievous injuries was from the crash.

Naturally I agrees with them, after all I don't want to be "suicided" in my cell after lights out.
Involuntary "suicide" is a serious health hazard in most local holds as we all know. Btw my Barbie dolls was released 'cause they was minors.

Well that's my "Working Class Hero" fantasy thanks for paying attention.

"The Art of Radio"

This from Wednesday, January 14, 2009

(Uncle Sidney in his ironic disguise of a famous Russian comedian explains the subtle nuances of
radio art to attentive workers)

"Dear Beloved Uncle" made a surprise visit to a workers collective today. Uncle just loves surprises. Beloved Uncle took it upon himself to visit the peoples administrative, sub-directorate office of the Volga shoehorn factory No. 12.

All of the comrade administrators were in awe of the wit, and charm of Dear Uncle, and his off the cuff presentation. Uncle warmed to his favorite subject, and waxed poetic on the spiritual nature of a well written, and performed station break.

He then shared several hours of anecdotes about his broadcast adventures with the transfixed comrades. Most touching was his impromptu re-enactment of his dear friend *Simon Loekle's on air reading of Pushkin while having just snorted ten grams of cocaine followed by five bottles of Ripple.

**(...noted New York poet, broadcaster, and old pal.)








(An astounded "Beloved Uncle Sidney", and some middle level Party officials witness "Good Comrade Loekle's" amazing performance while under the influence of enough dope, and booze to kill ten Cossacks!!)

Angels wept silver pearls at the beauty of that long ago performance. As the sun set behind Shoehorn factory No.12 our Dear Uncle informed the gathered comrades it was time for him to go. The workers protested, and fell to their knees begging him for just one more dope story. However our most stalwart Uncle mildly chastised them saying that it was time for them to go back to work. Because "Socialism needed them!"

With that our ever thoughtful, and kindly Uncle got on his old bike, and peddled his way back to the Kremlin. There to write more lovely stories about teenaged homosexual Angels that fight for the rights of the oppressed!

*( Alright this one, which is also from one of my older blogs, is an inside joke for listeners to wbai.org that commie radio station I work for. Also for my fellow staffers. Esp. that bit about the booze'n dope. Show Biz,..how I loves it.)

**( My dear friend Simon as I've mentioned is now pasted away. He was my very dear friend I miss him everyday.)

"Rabbit Under Glass"

There I was walk'n along mind'n my own business when I see's this rabbit. ...under glass. I have no explanation for this vision, and neither as far as I know does the rabbit.

We were just there sharing space.

Um,..things being what they are perhaps you should expect more posts like this,...sorry. It kinda part of my emotional rehabilitation an' all.

"Cute"

What can I say. There I was in my digs seeing spots, and dragons because I'm having a bad medication reaction. ..and the flu.

Anyway tonight I cooked dinner. Well the term "dinner" covers a lot of territory. Eh,...hot dogs, mac'n cheese, chunky chicken noodle, and a couple of things I don't remember into one pot..

Let simmer for awhile, and eat.

Which I did.

When I came to I was outside in the backyard with grass in my mouth.

Next time I'll try something different.

Anyway before dinner I took these snaps of some of my toy dolls. Cute ain't they.

"Buttons"

These are relics from my history. Actually they're all I have from my Mommy. When the family 'stupidly' sold the old house after my Mother, and Father passed away I took just a few things.

As alleged "cousins" drove away with furniture, and appliances. I just kept a bottle of buttons. These are from my mom's upstairs sewing room. It used to be my boyhood room. The window of which I was convinced I could perch, and fly from.

Kids believe in the amazing. In fact for them the magical is an everyday reality. Maybe I 'could' have flown. Perhaps boys, and girls fly all the time, but keep it to themselves.

However about the buttons.

They patiently resided in their jar, top pix above, for 50 years, ..give or take. As you can see they're 1940's, 50's, 60's artifacts. These are what my mother picked through to repair the family clothing.

Back in the day folks made their own clothes. Especially women. Off the rack department store duds didn't become affordable or common till the late 50's into the early 1960's.

I clearly remember my mother, and various aunts getting together to sew new outfits for themselves, and my sisters. Speaking of whom one of my sisters has many of the "patterns" that were sold for frocks, and such.

Well I've kept one of mom's many button jars with me through the years. I'll soon pass it on, like I did my Great Grandma's music box, to one of my nieces. A word to the wise. Pass heirlooms no matter how humble or great down the female line

I mean it.

Your grandsons, or nephews will just put it on eBay the second you kick the bucket.

(Btw, click on the pixs for a close look at the buttons. Interesting stuff,...in a personal, and family kinda way.)

"...the things we carry"

This was my Grandma's sewing box. She kept various needles, and small sewing tools in it. I remember first seeing this when I was perhaps three or four.

I also remember the shooting star that streaked over my Aunt Josey's house out in the country. The memory of this box, and that star are commingled. At this time in my life. I'm pushing 70. I'm fascinated with family stories. Both mine, and others.

As every writer knows family is a rich source of material. Long time fans will have read the many stories I've written about my life, and family here, and other blogs.

Well 'this' is my grandma's little sewing box. She bought it in the early 1920's just before my mom was born. In 1972 when Granny passed away the box was passed on to me.

For most of the years between then, and now I've used it as a medicine pouch.

Native Americans or as most of you call them Red Indians use these pouches as protective talismans. One puts personal scared items in a skin or cloth bag. It's then "blessed" or in some way consecrated by your shaman.

You then wear it or keep it very near for life. It will protect you,...or so tradition sez.

Unlike Grandma I can't pass the box/pouch on. One doesn't. You take your pouch with you to the next life. So in my case It'll be cremated with me.