"Imperial"

My Presidential Limo for trips to the "Jesusland" parts of the Republic. ...this if I run in 2020.When I'm of course elected I'll do away with all this Democracy mayhem, and declare myself Emperor.

"Emperor Uncle Happy".

My plan is "Bernie" on Steroids or if you will Crack, and Whiskey. Everybody will at once have their unjust debts absolved. Any businesses or Corporate entities that drags their feet will be Nationalized their CEO's beheaded on the "Today Show".

Okay no Death Penalty.

We'll just put them in a stall on Coney Island to have folks throw pies at them. Five cents a throw so everyone can have a shot. Free shots for Vets Seniors, and Students.

National Heath for sure, then rebuilding the infrastructure. The "Pursuit of Happiness all that humane jazz will be forthwith declared. That, and a bunch of other stuff. All paid for with the insanely vast wealth now bottled up with all the usual crime, and evil currently running things.

Also no more gigantic aircraft carriers at a 100 billion bucks a pop that can be sunk by a salvo of anti-ship missiles which cost 50k each tops...it's just reasonable economics.

The age of great surface navies is over.

Has been for decades, but the corruption of the Navy Department with the large ship builders put the Ka-Bosh on this reality. If gawd forbid we have a for real war...that is one with people that can shoot back. We'd lose the whole damned navy in ten minutes!

I'm thinking of throwing that Admiral bunch to the Sharks.

The Submarine is now the Queen of the Seas. Btw I'm naming my old friend Tom Wisker of radio fame as Head of the Joint Chiefs.

He'll know what to do.

I'll take care of the rest...I mean what with being the beloved "Uncle", and all. Oh yeah everybody gets an eight weeks paid, and insured vacation at government expense as well as free education K-through Post Grad. Once shit is cooking along pretty good I'll retire to tending my electric train sets, and doll collection.

As for the gleeful details.

I think I'll wear some sort of fez maybe a turban or Perhaps Mickey Mouse ears...this to remind me to be humble, and all that Saint Francis jazz. Maybe some pointed shoes...ya know the kind that curl up at the tips. Otherwise I'll mostly wear a simple Civil War officer's Cavalry jacket with jeans, and them pointy shoes. ...and a Yankees cap.

Jodhpurs. Them things too! Right them weird baggy above the knees pants rich people, and Brown Shirts wear. ...yeah that too. This'll send a message not to fuck with me too much. That, and a cape ,...this below should do nicely.

I'm asking Michelle Obama to be head of the new Department of the Pursuit of Happiness. Bernie Sanders head of Infrastructure Renewal. Tom Hanks FCC boss, and  my sister Sylvia head of the new Department of Extended Education...everybody gets at least a Masters in this country! 

Neil de Grasse Tyson head of NASA in the new Department of Planetary Explorations.

I'm looking for heads of the new Department of Cuisine Arts, Dept. of Interesting Parks, and Beaches, A general Department of Help, and Guidance. A National Institute of Encouraging Genius. Also I'll tell the masses who did the Kennedy hits, and what all that UFO stuff is really all about. More neat stuff as it occurs to me during my Glorious Reign.

Bottom line...nobody is every hungry uneducated homeless bored lost fucked over despairing sick oppressed or forced to be in the damned Army because there ain't nothing else...no more stupid wars of choice either.

Somebody fucks us we send a 1000 B-52's to carpet bomb their damned country with seeds medical stuff books laptops food water detoxifiers a copy of our constitution, boxed sets of "Star Trek" "Doctor Who"  "Sherlock" "Robot Chicken", and the "Twilight Zone" in their speech, and assorted dialects.

All that, and other neat shit till they calm down, and play nice. The more shit they give us the more presents we drop on them. Hey we're in no rush we gots lots of weird shit hanging around here to dump on them....The bacon or sausage bombs for example.

More as my advisors conference with me.

"...being there"

Faith exists or seems to. I had faith in ideas even a few institutions. They all failed. So I'm adrift. Perhaps I should be. The faith I've witnessed has been so twisted, and mis-used. Perhaps we should have the faith of children. Faith in the existence of the reality we exist in as they do.

That, and nothing more.

"Another Day in the Life"

I had an errand to do yesterday so hopped on the subway. Btw the trains were fucked as always on weekends. "Construction" they sez. They been saying that for years now. What the hell are they building, and where?

So only locals running.

I forgot the noise, and chaos from the sweaty heaps of folks careening trains, and machine gun battles between gangs of 4th graders. It immediately gave me a headache. I can't believe I used to hack my way through all this everyday for decades.

Speaking of crowds though they drive me crazy I loves 'em. New York crowds that is. You can walk miles, and not understand a word spoken. There's a grand symphony of languages here all day everyday. The idea of being somewhere where only one language fly's is strange indeed. I prefer the mystery of our Tower of Babel.

You name we got it.

Though I sometimes miss Americans. Ya know that bunch from across the Hudson. Their sort of English is weird, but to me endearing. Don't hear it much. These folks are usually among the tourists from Earth that show up every summer.

Btw did you know our town could absorb the populations of a dozen of their states with room left over for Belgium. We could swallow them whole. You'd never see them again...except for maybe the occasional freaked out guy in a cowboy hat clutching a Bible asking if this was Hell.

Well, ...depends on your point of view.

They say there's 115 known ethnic groups running around loose here in town. This not counting the shadow populations of Werewolves Wizards Faeries Angels Demons Halflings Vampires Time travelers Space Aliens Ancient Shamans Witches, and Republicans.

Bless 'em. Well mostly,...ya know.

Anyway on my subway car alone there were Russians Armenians Chinese varieties of Caribbean folks. Hispanics from everywhere south of Texas. Heck I even saw some regular Black folks like me descended from our "Great Migration" north 100 years ago. Also assortments of Jewish folks regular Orthodox Ethiopian everybody. Did I mention my years as a Shabbos goy as a lad?

I was listening to some Algerians with a bunch of kids chatting this near some Haitians also having at it. It was fascinating trying to tell the differences between Algerian colonial French, and Haitian colonial French Creole.

Is this a neat town or what?

"Brightly Floating"

For the past few daze I've been taking an attempted break from being traumatized. I've been in the mists of dreams, and wonderings. They're keeping me alive this wispy world of shadows, and visions. "Brightly Floating" as the sign sez.

I'm busy drifting, and dreaming about this life. My mortality. Oh life you are so strange so terrible wondrous so short.

Mortality mine is no longer a distant rumor a vague imagining. I've sailed just off it's coast, and seen it's mountains mysterious valleys landscapes. Even so I have felt the Bright Wonder of my Life.

Every day a Miracle of sensations.

Walking sleeping hot showers books sorting laundry talking to friends on the phone tapping away on the computer going shopping watching families be families birds cats bugs the wind the rain, and dreams of the perhaps coming snows.

All this, and the everyday attempting to decipher my medical forms benefits rules balancing a small income all that strange, and silly old person stuff. 

Wonder upon wonder.


I lay in bed, and listen to my Heart beat. It sounds just as it did when I was little, and wondered at every new thing.

"Ba~bap~Ba~bap~Ba~bap"

...it sounded through my pillow as a boy, and still now it goes on, and on. Hardly a missed beat in near a 100 years.

As I said on my birthday, "....'closer to 100 than 20".

"Ba~bap~Ba~bap~Ba~Bap"

So it goes.

"HEROIN"

"Heroin" by the Velvet Underground is a song from the pit of my soul. 'Never a Heroin Addict, but was married to just about everything else in my time. At my memorial I want this played.

Ha! Deal with that as you go into the guests hall to eat them little dried out ham sandwiches, and stale cokes that are always the fare at these things.

Thank g-d, and the CIA for all the drugs I used back in the day...couldn't have made it here without them. They took me to the very edge of Death, and brought me back to tell the tale.

What Buddhist monk wouldn't give his prayer beads for a taste of that! I had the shit delivered. Middle Class style self immolation if you please.  In my Cocaine daze I was in the upper circles.

Diplomatic pouch grade shit straight from fucking Fidel's Cuba!. Being a broadcaster had it perks. I'm talking 90 to 100 percent pure. Yeah I hear you say 100% is 'not' possible.

Oh pardon me dear friend,...it most certainly was is, and always will be if you know who what, and where, and especially how.

Best shit this side of junkie Hell. It made all the wounds heal all the demons melt away. Just like in this song.

As for Heroin except for snorting some a few times not my cup of meat. For one the "Vomit Barrier", and the other my dislike of needles put me off. Especially since at the time we were just finding out AIDS came as a free extra sometimes.

I do Not! renounce my Drug era. Those Insane days, and nights, and months, and years! No more that a soldier would ever renounce their War. It made both of us what we are. Take that away, and we're incomplete. Shadows wisps nothing.

That time was a passage a mad hellish tonic for our blood, and guts.

It made us the Saints we are today.

"Peacenik"...never did do this, but still want to.

Still tinkering on my upcoming one person "Witness for Peace" vigil next to the Gandhi statue in Union Square park. '...working on the design for the banner/poster.

Something with a dove, and not too many words.

Also a very simple weird funny snarky leaflet. I thought of putting pictures of naked people on it so folks won't throw it away...maybe not. 'Could get busted.

I mentioned this mayhem on my Facebook page, and some pals say they want in...good. I need some one to take pictures when the cops taser, and beat the bloody crap out of me for being a commie peacenik trouble maker.

Some folks just can't take a joke.   

Anyway the launch date is early October. On the off chance that World Peace breaks out before I get out there I'll be ready with an alternate banner, and leaflets celebrating the apparent beginning of the Golden Age.

"...Didn't See It"

Actually Angels..at least in my experience. Them Angel folks don't look anything like junior up there. Okay now, and then a few, but mostly no. Thing is if they take human shape at all...which they usually don't. If they morph into one of us it's usually some slob you wouldn't notice.

Just another character stumbling by is what they like to be. Take for example the time one of them yanked me from the path of a fucking big midtown bus that I somehow managed not to notice coming dead at me.

First of all how the hell did that happen.

Ya figure a guy would notice a zillion tons of speeding steel coming at'em. 'But somehow I didn't. Sort of like the French Aristocracy, and hopefully the current One Percent I didn't see the shit coming.

Anyway the Holy Bastard yanks me  back by the collar'n yells, "...Look out ya Jerk!", and saves my useless, and generally uncomfortable life. Before I knows what's happening he going down the street mumbling "...fuck'n moron", and vanishes into a crowd of the sweaty uninsured, and over taxed.

Shit like this happens to me all the time.

Ya know sometimes we all get to be Angels or whatever. I saved a kid from going over a railing into the river once. What can I say right place right time. I'm sure you've had this sort of thing happen too.

So as they said at the end of that neat series on Fox years ago. "Millennium". Look it up, and get the second season's boxed set...forget the others...just the Second Season. Okay.

Anyhow it ends with the hero "Frank Black" saying...

"WE'RE ALL SHEPARDS"

...Get it?

We all look out for each other.

That or we're all unpaid off the books Angels. ....Well gang that's tonight's moral. I'm wasted so I'm going to lay down for a while. Be back later.

"Dreams"

 

"Another Timmy Paragraph"...see below this post for the clue-in.

"THE CONTINUANCE OF THE TIMMY TOM SAGA"

Timmy Tom, Timmy Tom the Half Angel opened his eyes.

Angel eyes.

Eyes that burn like coals.

Eyes that flash the Spectrum's.

Eyes that can pierce your Soul!

He'd been asleep for a long time. Angels even Half Angels like Timmy can sleep for Ages. Mountains can rise, and fall oceans come, and go even the stars ever dancing above us can change their positions before an Angel awakes.

Though Timmy Tom's rest was not that long. In celestial terms just a nap really. Barely a fifth of a human life had passed before Timmy stirred, and opened his eyes.

Golden eyes.

Flaming eyes.

The moon was waning dawn was coming.

Timmy sitting up began to remember. He remembered being abandoned. Being left forsaken, but then found.

Timmy Tom was found, and raised by Wild Poodles on Central Park West. They taught him everything he would need to know to survive in a world like ours.

Killer Ninja skills.

Mastery if the Arts, and Sciences.

Good Fashion sense, but most of all the knowledge to never 'ever' but retail!

Thus armed Timmy Tom the Half Angel entered the World! 

He was fully awake now. 

He yawned, and stretched. He had slept near to a human generation.  I-Pods must certainly be in museums by now he thought. 

Also on reflection he wasn't so sure about those poodles or the park. It might have been a dream or more likely a comic book he'd read.

Timmy Tom the Half Angel blinked eyes of fire stood spread his Raphael Angel wings his halo glistening 'round him, and lifted into the air!

He flew as a feather on the breath of the G-ddess.

...To be continued

"Some back Story"

Above is the t-shirt design for the stories about "Timmy Tom" that I b'cast on WBAI back in the day. This was the first, as far as I know, Queer t-shirt for the radio station.

Though the fact that it's Queer came as a surprise to many of the wearers. "...but I though it was just a cute Angel."

Surprise!

Actually it wouldn't have been that big a surprise if the station's business manager hadn't insisted that I make a certain change to it. 

Said my dear pal Indra, 

"...Sydney for heaven's sakes! Many of our listener's might not want to walk around with some guy with his schlong hanging out on their chests,...cover it up!"

Aw heck nobody has a sense of humor any more.

"The Half Angel Returns...again"

The thing about characters you create is that after a while they take on lives of their own. This is true no matter if you're a pro or entry level story hacker. My beloved character "Timmy Tom" certainly did this.

He began as a children's story, and ended up as a Queer Anarchist Comix Book adventure. Long story there, but ya gets the drift.

Anyway my little pal, and his boyfriend went through all manner of mayhem in their journey from cute kiddy story to being bank robbing Queer Daddies.

Hey they knocked over Mob Casio's, and Fed gold depositories to feed the hungry. Com'on it was win-win for everybody. Our heroes Timmy, and his main squeeze June June laundered the gold with the Buddhist Mafia for cash.

Them Buddhists used the gold to build temples, and our pals used the cash to feed, and otherwise support battered wives runaways homeless veterans, and the generally fucked over'n over taxed.

Everybody happy.

Well okay except for the Mob, and the bleeping U.S. Gobbermint...bleep'em!

Yeah yeah it's all a long story ya had to be there yada yada...be cool. 

The Saga starts anew below. Btw I have no idea where June June got to. Timmy sez the last he saw of him was in some  leather bar  in Shanghai. Though he thinks he'll show up sooner or later.

Okay lets get to it...

"THE CONTINUANCE OF THE TIMMY TOM SAGA"

Timmy Tom, Timmy Tom the Half Angel opened his eyes.

Angel eyes.

Eyes that burn like coals.

Eyes that flash the Spectrum's.

Eyes that can pierce your Soul!

He'd been asleep for a long time. Angels even Half Angels like Timmy can sleep for Ages. Mountains can rise, and fall oceans come, and go even the stars ever dancing above us can change their positions before an Angel awakes.

Though Timmy Tom's rest was not that long. In celestial terms just a nap really. Barely a fifth of a human life had passed before Timmy stirred, and opened his eyes.

Golden eyes.

Flaming eyes.

The moon was waning dawn was coming.

Timmy sitting up began to remember. He remembered being abandoned. Being left forsaken, but then found.

Timmy Tom was found, and raised by Wild Poodles on Central Park West. They taught him everything he would need to know to survive in a world like ours.

Killer Ninja skills.

Mastery if the Arts, and Sciences.

Good Fashion sense, but most of all the knowledge to never 'ever' but retail!

Thus armed Timmy Tom the Half Angel entered the World!

"Timmy Tom the half Angel"

Dream meadows, dream leaves, night blooms, lightning trees, fire faeries, flame wings, dream wings.

Once upon a time the sun, the golden sun had a circle around it. A quick silver circle as wide as the sky. Beyond that was an "O" of stars. They shown above even though it was daytime.

Now further out from the stars was another ring. This one of clouds. These clouds beamed with all the bright colors of dawn, and the quiet one of dusk.

Beyond this was starless night.

A great empty void.

This darkness, this terrible deep quiet waited to be painted with G-d's Dreams, and Fire. 

This vast emptiness waited.

It waited to become part of the story.


"The Blue Desert"

A Blue World sails in the twilight between the sleeping void, and the fires of dawn. On this Blue World is a desert. This place is where Angels put things for safe keeping.

The Blue Desert. A desert of blue sand, and rivers of dunes, but here also are great oasis. Tall grass fields of wild flowers, and trees rich with fruit.

Clear streams glittering lakes green valley's abound. All this on a world of desert. These unlikely wonderful things are composed set together like a poem or a prayer. For this is the Blue Desert a place of unlikely miracles.

 
"Timmy Tom"

Once upon a time there was a boy a half Angel. This boy lived all alone in a hut. A hut made of autumn leaves, and bright hopes. This being this child of light dances under the moon can hear the stars sing, and feels the heartbeat of the world.

 
"Gifts"

We are all born with special gifts. Timmy has gifts. Not only can he fly as all Angels do, but he can hear souls sing. 

Every living being has a soul, and every soul has a song. These songs tell the story of the person, says who they truly are.

Timmy can hear these songs just as he can hear the wind in the trees or the hymns from the sky. If you are even part Angelic if you wish you can hear creation sing.


"Dreams"

As a soul's song says what a person is dreams say what they wish to become. That's why people see Angels in dreams. They're watching, and sometimes they guide.

Timmy Tom dreams. Once he dreamed that he was a tree. He could feel his root growing deep into the world. He could feel his leaves his bark. He could sense birds nesting in his trunk. He could feel the wind, and the rain  as it blew through his branches.

This was a happy dream.


"Seasons"

The sun, and moon have chased each other through the seasons. Spring summer fall now winter again has come to this blue world hidden between the eternal quiet, and the fires of creation.


"The Music Box"

Snow beats against Timmy's hut. The wind sings it hard song. The boy sits wrapped in his crimson wings, and a quilt made of twigs dried flowers leaves, and strands of bark. 

He sat looking into his fireplace. The embers flickered seeming to become tangles of birds or trees swaying in the wind. 

Once Timmy saw a ship. 

A brigantine with great amber sails emblazoned with moons, and shooting stars.

These fire vision sometimes moved the boy to retrieve his music box. This was a gift from his mother the Angel of the Northern Lights. The Angel of the Auroras.

Carefully Timmy took the box from the cupboard. He sat before the fire spreading his radiant wings. He lifted the lid of the beautifully carved instrument,...and oh...

It was music like no other.

If rosebuds could sing this would be their song. If clouds could laugh this would be their voice. If spring grass could sing this would be their chant their prayer.

As the snow danced in the wind the half Angel sat before his glowing hearth, and listened. Listened, and watched as the sparks made world after world.

*_________________________________________________*

This below was written years after the above. It tells the end of the saga. Though perhaps "Timmy" might come back.


"Goodbye Timmy Tom"

The first thing I noticed was how quiet it was.

Even the sky was wrong.

The sun dimmer.

Blue sand crunched beneath my feet as I approached the cabin.

Timmy Tom's hut of "Autumn Leaves, and Bright Hopes".

Chinese silk curtains emblazoned with Dragonflies

fluttered from the wide windows.

The front door was open.

I went in.

Empty?

No.

By the window beneath the dancing Dragonfly's.

There reflecting the setting sun was a small drift of gold dust,

and a scattering of crimson feathers.

Quiet.

Quiet.

I didn't know that Angels could die.

*_______________________________________*


(Thus ends the saga of Timmy Tom or so I thought.)

It's quite something to see a handful of gold dust, and fragments of dried feathers morph into an Angel. "Timmy" wanted to know what all that noise was, and if anything interesting happened while he was gone.

If I didn't love him so much I  could have smacked him for freaking me out this bad! Being Uncle to a semi-fictional teen Queer Angel is 'not' easy.

Keep clapping like Peter Pan sez. 

That damned faerie is right at least about that. Clap like hell Timmy needs to know you really care...the little egomaniac.

*______________________________________*

"Moon watcher" a fan from another page comments on the Timmy Tom affair. 

Mr. Moon's missive below.

"The question asked by Saint Thomas Moore re the quality of Angelic motion as orchestrated at an infinitely small point is really a meditation on space time, and consciousness.

"Who the Hell knows" seems like a perfectly acceptable answer, though not couched in scholastic wording.

A modern skeptical Christian (William Golding, in a neglected masterpiece, "The Inheritors") has also suggested that we must deal with elements in our DNA which are less than the better Angels of our nature.

"Well, if he's an Angel he's a killer Angel".

Seems to me that Timmy Tom asks the right questions, is not unduly servile, but has no wish to reign in the Underworld, dances nimbly around pinheads, and bows gracefully to applause to a wide, and varied audience.

It is not a legitimate critical response to go around looking under all the seats, and protesting that there are no hundred percent Angels with admission stubs.

You never know who may just sneak in anyhow." 

*_______________________________________________*

(Umm, yeah this is all very confusing to those that haven't read or heard on the radio the saga of Timmy, and his lost boy pal June June. Hey I'm doing the best I can on this blog cut me some slack.)

"Howl"

So far today. Just getting over a bad cold. I'm sitting reading looking out the window went out for a bit surfed the 'net so much confused rage, and pain all over it shut it off ate some cookies...most of a box did some small repairs...spackle on little cracks at the base boards read some more went back on the web, and watched old footage of German soldiers surrendering.

Signal corps footage all silent. Old men young boys surrendering. Their numb faces blank. Underneath in the YouTube comments people posting racist pro-Nazi stuff. I sat thinking about the past present future. I think we're the only animals that do this. Maybe the cetaceans too, but mostly just us.
It's cold now. I needed my winter coat when I went out. Everything had that late fall light. The sun at a lower angle. The colors fading to brown on the trees winter coming leaves to fall soon. Read more. Thought of endings. 

Then...

I remembered what I wanted to tell you. Years ago. I'd do the midnight to six am on air shift. This happened because many hosts sometimes just wouldn't show up or the recorded programs just weren't around. So as the on duty engineer I'd read stories, and play music.

This to keep company with whoever was out there.

Sometimes my radio pals were about. Max Anne Sharon R. Paul. We'd hold forth by telling stories of our collective century of on air radio adventures.  Sometimes spontaneously I'd howl like a wolf. I'd howl, and howl. My dear friends would howl with me. I invited all listening to join. We'd howl into the deep deep night.  We in the studio, and those alone with their radios howling.

We all of us would howl into the dawn. 

"Trail Mix"

At last you can tell me off or at least what to do. In my new vapid life of the grey retired I have absolutely nothing to do...nothing.  

The two things I look forward to everyday is the 1950's "Roy Rodgers" show that comes on at 11:00 am locally here in the Emerald City. That, and the "View".

How sad is this?

Btw I was watching the "Roger's Show" this morning, and Dale Evans Roy's main squeeze, and apparently *"Queen of the Cowboys" shot this guy. 

Kapow!..Blam!!

Just like fucking that.

*(...eh I knew another "Queen of the Cowboys" that hung out at the "Mattachine Society" offices on Christopher Street in the late 1970's. However that's another story for another time.")

Another thing. The place where our heroes  live is a weird time shifted cowboy town. Part 1870 part 1955. Guys are walking around covered in guns, and ride 50's Ford pick ups...and horses. 

A serious cultural mishmash. Hence Dale feeling okay with blowing that guy away.

I had an internal soundtrack to all this.

Roy: "Dale you just shot a guy!"

Dale: "...eh well he was a bad guy."

Roy: "You ain't a cop Dale are you nuts ya could have killed him. His family might sue the hell out of us we could lose the ranch, and you could go to jail!"

Dale" "But Roy we're cowboys we shoot people."

There in is the reality dislocation of the whole show. Apparently you can shoot anybody ya want in the west. Which explains the past, and present political gun culture out there.

I'd love to read the local legal ordinances of that town. 

"Any Citizen over the age of 12  has the right indeed the duty to use deadly force if he or she feels that their personal safety is or may be in danger. If the suspect is not of Anglo-Saxon decent absolutely no prohibition against using deadly force applies." 

That about covers it.

Anyway it's fun to watch this bizzaro world cowboy town in action. No confusing inconvenient sissy liberal niggra loving laws standing in the way of rough direct justice. It's every man, and boy's dream of the real America!

(I had the above as a lad...the official cowboy hat, and six shooter too!)  
 Anyway the "Contest",(..remember that...),the contest is for all 12 of you dear good, and loyal readers out there to come up with something for me to do.

(...I really only have the "Roy Rodgers Show", and the "View"...well Nova, and the BBC news on PBS in the evening, but that's it. 

Okay I still sometimes draw Queer Angels, and Faeries for my Queer page...see link "Dragonfly" on the lower right. 

That, and my experiments on what can, and cannot or should never ever never be cooked in a microwave oven...eggs explode, and baked hams catch fire!)

...however steel wool is fun to watch as it melts.

Also it's way too cold to go on them long walks I was doing late last summer. That, and I don't have money for dope to get me through the boring winter. Anyway it's to too far to get to Colorado or Washington State where it's legal.

So you comrades please make  some, ( generally legal, and mostly non-lethal), suggestions as to what the hell I can do with all my newly free time.

I'm not sure what the prize will be, but I'll think of something.

Happy Trails.

"Mercy always Mercy."

Be Merciful always. The more they don't deserve Mercy the more they should have it!
I used to say that all the time back in my preacher days. Yeah I was a preacher of sorts back in my younger years. Who'd a thunk it. Always did have the calling the shine all that holy moly mo-Jo.

I just wasn't too keen on any religions is all. Also should'a paid attention to some of my own sermons back then.

Another thing I used to say.

"Give till it hurts."

Not till it feels good that's just ego, but till it actually hurts. Give till it's inconvenient. Sure giving anything at all these days is to the good. However it gets all mixed up with our complicated ego noise.

Most Americans live from check to check. Heck I sure do. So give till you have to put off something you want. Like going to see the "Hobbit".

One should give so that you notice you gave. Make yourself closer to the truly, and gravely poor. This so that you'll better understand the meaning of compassion for others, and yourself.

"Also Holiness." 

Sounds swell, but what is it? How is it done?

Holiness I think is the ability to see the Divine....ya hear that? 

To be able to see the 'for real' Divine in the insufferable totally annoying loud Jerk standing next to you on a seriously crowded subway train that's stalled between stations with a busted air conditioner in an August heat wave.


This is one of the hardest things to do even part time. 

Try doing this continually. Yeah, and there's a padded apartment waiting for you at Bellevue.

But!

Apparently it is possible to do...sometimes.

Sometimes, and each time for a little...a very little longer.

I think that's all the g-ds or Eternity really asks of us. Just to try to transcend ourselves a little...then a little more.

Try keeping the above in the back of your mind. In time it may come to the front. Who knows what'll happen then.

Amen.

"Flower Day"

Long ago when one didn't need to show State I.D. just to buy flu medicine pass through a metal detector to enter a middle school or get strip searched at the air port.

Back in that innocent time when one watched TV via a hot bulky cathode-ray tube, and Gay Marriage, and legal Cannabis were dreams of the far away future.

In that distant happy time I instituted a minor tradition at radio WBAI, wbai.org.

"Flower Day"

This is a small mention from my life, and times my decades at wbai radio. I'll stuff it somewhere in that book I'm writing about those daze. Anyway simply put I thought it would be sweet to give everyone at the station a flower.

A tip of the hat to our once being mission central to the "Flower Power Movement" some centuries back. That, and it might I hoped help morale. Then as always we were under all manner of chaotic pressures, and mayhem.

So from the newest intern to the management team such as they were everyone got a bloom! I did this seasonally for several years. In Spring Summer, and Fall.

I'd take a $100. bucks or so out of my savings go downtown to various wholesalers...never buy retail!! I'd choose bundles of flowers. All kinds. Oh the scent of them I can still smell them now.

My there were daisies azaleas tulips violets iris roses buttercups...oh the fragrance of a brace of buttercups! Also bluebells foxgloves babies breath crocuses the works!

I'd haul this lovely lot up to the station which at the time was just off Times Square...a lot of stories there, but another time. I'd get this rainbow of wonders into a side office, and divide, and arrange them for presentation to the staff.

These were my friends my family, and I loved them. The presentations always got a bright, and cheerful reception...mostly. A few refused them for extreme ideological reasons...??? Some others because they were just sour buttholes.

Aw well.

With all the chaos, and many pressures the staff daily faced I thought this would be a sweet'n happy respite. It was. I was happy to do it, and my comrades were happy to receive them, ...mostly

"The Plain Truth"

Regards the latest Sexual Panic, and Hysteria. This applies to all of them. Sex is sex. People want it, and will have it. However you add in the grim seasonings of power disparities culture race history male traditions towards women, and kids, and you get this distorted horror. It's not about sex at all. As many are saying it's entirely about power, and dominance.

Sex is a wonderful so totally intimate coming together of two or more people. 'This' what is coming out is about the ownership of human beings, and the use of them by men for their whims.

"I Had a Dream like this Once"

Er... You dreamt that you were Frida Kahlo in a thunderstorm?

I like that she’s armed, & with plenty of ammo too. BTW, in Greek Mythology, Zeus is the god of lightning, thunder and rain; so it’s all very Jovian, in a tempestuous sort of way.

Since we’re on a Mexican theme, I’ll report on the Good News in that country, in my Jehovah’s Witness sort of way:

https://www.counterpunch.org/2017/11/10/mexicos-indigenous-governing-council-actually-existing-anti-capitalism-for-the-21st-century/

It seems that the Zapatistas down in Chiapas are getting uppity again. They’re backing an indigenous woman as an independent candidate for President of Mexico. The ruling class of the country simply hate that idea, and are doing all they can to stop her short of murder (so far).

Whether she makes a dent or not in electoral politics, this seems like a serious movement that offers a real alternative to neoliberal dog poop, and that probably isn’t going away. And it’s not just for indigenous people; they’re inviting others to join them; if I were Mexican I would do so. In the fullness of time, this might wind up really changing things down there, very likely for the better.

I wish the indigenous people up here would do something like this, but apparently we killed too many of them for that to be feasible. At least it’s happening somewhere. With a little luck, maybe it’ll spread.

Z

My Reply

Well this is good news. Also no I wasn't Frida in that dream, but it did involve hallucinated storms, and I did have a rifle. Thing is in my dreams I sometimes am armed,...but no ammo. never any ammo ever.

This is a message.

Still glad to hear the original folks are taking matters into their own hands. The ruling families the cartel bosses need to get the Aztec treatment. 'Course this means marching the lot of them up them long steep steps to the top of the pyramids. This for the ceremonial removal of the heads, and or other assorted parts.

However well worth the effort.

Univision will cover it live. The Anglo press will no doubt shy away from people's justice. Final justice is by tradition messy. I can understand the Hippie revolutionaries not especially being into that sort of thing. Then again if they had we might be better off now.

Like cowboys used to say, "...there some that just need shoot'n."

"Z" replies.

Actually I think they’re quite peaceful so far. They have their communities policed by numerous unarmed locals who make it difficult for narco or corporations to move in & take over like in other regions. One reason I think this might work as a political force in the long term is because their model of operation is apparently based in the way the Indio's run their towns and villages, rather than a crackpot utopian blueprint dreamed up by some grandiose European prophet. Also, it’s anti-capitalist and based on a sane relationship to nature. So it’s probably good.

Z

Uncle replies.

...sounds good to me.

Especially the part about not buying into some Euro-Crackpot ideo-deity. I think we've had enough of that sort of thing for a while.

People should just eat drink heavily dance fuck, and sleep till noon.

This sounds like a plan.

"...faith"

They say you either have faith or you don't. Well I have both...do both. My kind of faith is like a radio receiver that picks up signals that whip in, and out as my life goes along.

Sort of like when you're on the interstate, and all those local stations fade away only to suddenly come back sharp, and loud with different call letters, and another underpaid announcer.

Anyhow that's how I believe.

There's times when my phone is backed up with messages from Paradise prefixed ,"...Urgent!!" Then there's months, years even decades of silence.

It's the "Silence" that interests me because I think Gawd or at least some faction of upper management is really trying to get though.

I meditate on G-d's silence.

I drift, and swim through it. It's the non-static of the multiverse. Before digital TV you could tune to an unused channel, and hear the long ago birth sounds of creation. Songs so full of high'n low trills, distant thunders, and whispers.

Now there's silence. The silence of now. The calm quiet of both the Creator, and Creation thinking things over, and wondering what to do next.