"...Our Xmas Carol"

Digging through the more rational sources one comes to certain conclusions regards da Pandemic. The latest variant is cutting through the vaccines like panzers through the Brits, and French at Dunkirk. The upside if you've been vaxed you'll make it...mostly. If not. Well...your choice.

Biden is making a speech to this effect on Tuesday. Merry Xmas. Some Vaxs vary in their resistance. However still better than nothing. The symptoms for this latest gift from hell are those of a simple cold.

You could have it and think...bleep it. 

'Least till the serious shit sets in. So me vaxed up, and with cold symptoms I went to get a test. I'm in Brooklyn. The line stretched back to Chicago. So I asked for a test kit. Seeing that so did a bunch of others at the end of da line. It was cold today.

A scene from that end of the world classic "On the Beach" came to mind. Where the government is passing out the suicide pills. I thought about that as them medical students gave out COVID test kits. Not exactly the same, But the same taste.

 See above with warrior faerie. 

I read this thing is going to tear through our country like a Tsunami. It's devouring Europe now. We'll get that in about three weeks. In time for the New year's hang overs.

It may cull many of the refuseniks. Both naughty, and nice. It doesn't care...it's a fucking Virus. The Dominate species of this planet...unquestioned. Merry Xmas.

(...Btw there's Doc Campbell below. He's been pretty rational through this whole thing. Watch his stuff.)

 

"An Evening at Sydney-Haus"

"Winter Barbie" dropped by my place this evening. This to make sure me, and "Bob the Bunny" was okay. All that end-of-the-world stuff going on. Wars plagues stupid movies all over the place.

Anyway, Barbie Bob da Bunny, and I sat around made popcorn watched some "Twilight Zone" episodes online. Talked shop. Ya know things in the "Fictitious Characters" world.

We had some good laffs. We finished off the night drinking heavily and watching some more "Zones". Really liked the one with Sabastian Cabbot as da Devil. Nothing like having good pals around when the shit hits the rotors.

 "The Actual Xmas Carol"

This is a departmental transcript of a conversation between a civil service Angel, and one E. Scrooge. Time: 8:45 pm Greenwich, December 24th 1856 C.E.

"Eh,...Mr. E. Scrooge of Number 17 Thames Street North?"

"Who is there how dare you enter my home!"

"Strictly speaking I haven't,...that is entered your abode. Time-space displacements, and such."

"What?"

"Never mind. Upon review of your current life Personnel Management has dispatched,...well 'me' to set things in some order. Pardon the intrusion."

"What?!!"

"Of course."

"Mr. Scrooge you are what is called in the popular jargon a "First Class Shit". This being so your file rather stuck out like your assorted Mad Kings Maniacs, and Algebra teachers."

"What?!!!"

"Indeed."

"The usual treatment is to let loose Spirits of the Season on them, and hope for the best. In your case a waste of time."

"...again I say Wha..."

"Please don't"

"So what I'm going to do is dip you corporeally into hell."

"Um I'm sorry this will hurt,...rather a lot I'm afraid. You'll be immersed for five minutes subjective time. This is roughly 148 years in spiritual time."

"This way please."

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

At this point in the transcript replacement Angel~567/R88/Kv logged that he went to the Caligula pub drank several pints of Hammerhead talked shop, and lost track of time.

Client E. Scrooge was belatedly retrieved from Hell 2 hours 56 minutes after being dispatched within. It is somewhat difficult to calculate hades time, but as best accounting can tell Mr. Scrooge spent approximately 3,056 years in the neither regions. Somewhat longer than prescribed.

"Mr. Scrooge,...sir,...are you alright?"

"What?"

"Excellent."

"Our apologies you were ensconced in the "Lakes of Fire' for rather longer than intended. We hope this inconvenience has helped you reform your view of humanity."

"What?"

"Exactly."

"In my capacity as Angel~567/R88/Kv I'm required to say:

...Your soul is saved,...for now.

Go forth, and show kindness to the world."

"Here is your receipt for time spent in hell,...non-transferable. If you would sign just there thank you,...and here....right here too, just over here, thank you, annnd,...here. Thank you.

Of course nothing will be deposited into your spiritual account as you had to be told to be good,...have a Merry Christmas if that applies."

"What?"

"...faith"

“December 2, 2020, ...Day 282″

It’s the two Hundred, and Eighty Second Day in my Pandemic Isolation within my cute, but humble Digs. I’m fine. I worked through the Spring painting plastering cleaning re-fitting the place. Then in summer I hibernated in air conditioning watching old movies.

That, and playing music loudly.

Sometimes very loudly. Like everyone else. My Vaughn Williams, and Beatles to other’s classic Snoop Dog. In fall I went back to work for a bit. However, I found that I was painting where I painted, and plastered where I plastered…so I stopped.

‘Built model kits for a while. Performed stories to the walls. Made art things. Slept a lot ate too much then hardly at all. Went nuts went sane went holy went not so holy then back to where I began.

This has been our 2020. This has been our life in war time.

This is a war. A real one. What’s happened to the world, and this country is what war would have done to us. More than a Quarter Million dead in our republic. The economy in ruins the people confused angry divided. Our job in all that was to just stay home keep faith, and wait. And so, I did. So we do. So you, and I will do.

"...wings"

I'm remembering Black pilots of the Caribbean fought in the "Battle of Britain". I had WW2 Caribbean relatives that flew with the RAF. Here's Group Capt. Adolph Gysbert Malan, South Africa, talking to Flight Sargent Vincent Bunting, Jamaica in 1942.

This paper butterfly was found among the possessions of Walt Whitman by his family after he passed. Of all the remembered folks from history. Uncle Walt is one of the very few that I would have wanted to meet, and speak a moment with.

I remember long ago it snowed like crazy all night. However of course schools were open, or so we thought. My brother John, and I fought our way through the deep windy Brooklyn drifts for five blocks! Only to discover that our school was closed. There was a last-minute decision or something, and we didn't get the word. I recall Johnny being less than happy.

(...doll stunt doubles for me, and Johnny. I'm on the right...ahem.)

"...static"

In the future we'll all get to be an insane "Angry Dictator". We'll be issued a truck driver, and sound system so we can be driven around town yelling all the demented whooie we want. This about the latest "golden age" we're bringing in or whatever. Democracy in action!

"...In the Presence of Mine Enemies"

Having a Queer family on the block is not a 21st century custom. It's actually been going on all along. On my block when I was a kiddie there was a Queer couple that lived a few doors down.

Everyone knew them. They were just folks.
Mind you it wasn't an open howdy sort of thing. However, no one bothered them. Neither were the kids on the block warned away from them.
They were just there.
Like the rest of the characters that made up any 1950's city 'hood.

I recall they fit the bill as to what regular folks thought Queers were. One butch one fem. In fact, the fem guy...I forget their names. Anyway, he had tits...not biggies, but they made the point. ...so, to speak.

Hormones, I guess.

In them days some Queers were still into the 19th century "Third Sex" thing. That or buying into that whole male female template. Some still are. As they should if that works for them.
It was the attitude of the adults around me that may seem odd now.

No overt hostility.

At least not in the way you'd think. It was more like amusement. Akin to having circus actors in the 'hood. In the culture context of those times these folks were exotic to them. Back in the day Queers to some were a fascinating species.

Me I didn't think anything of it.

It was just more stuff from the world like all the other weird shit that was going on. I think one had to be in Nebraska for this to be a serious problem. That or Staten Island. Still to this day a reserve for white xenophobia.

When David Dinkins our first black mayor was elected a majority of Staten Island attempted to secede from the City. They have not changed since.

As for me being a Queer little kid. It helped that both of my parents had been in show business for a time. So they were used to all sorts of gleeful perverts Dykes Queers, and whatever's always around.
Especially my dad. Playing jazz piano, and all.

Also, the annual Harlem "Faggots Ball".

This was a big deal. Everyone went. It was when Drag folks from all over the East came together to flaunt their stuff. Even the cops let it alone. It being protected by the mob. Eh the bars, and all that stuff.

So there was a roundabout acceptance within limits of Fag-World. So having a few on the block wasn't a big deal. Though I'm sure my Queer neighbors got hell every day in every way. Still, nobody was busting their windows where I was.

Like Quentin Crisp said, "You'll know you're free when no one cares." "When you become boring, you're free."

Well for a time in some places this was true.

Now it's in fewer places. As happened in pre-WW2 Germany. A short era of freedom followed by extinction. In our current times even missionary position conservative straight-gays must remember that they're in the presence of their enemies.

Those enemies want them all dead.

Watch ya backs comrades.
Watch ya sisters, and brothers backs as well.

"...magical"

I was just watching old 1950's episodes online of the "Mickey Mouse Club". That, and musing on my life. The journey from there to here, and the things that did, and did not happen between these points. I was watching sections of Disney's "Peter Pan" as well.

All this in touching relics of a life.

Then I find that a childhood friend has left. A friend from TV which in that sense never happened, but TV then as the 'net now has a kind of strange magic. So she was my Magical friend.

Doreen is gone.

"Doreen Tracey, one of the original Mouseketeers on the fabled kids program The Mickey Mouse Club, has died. She was 74.
Tracey died Wednesday at Los Robles Hospital and Medical Center in Thousand Oaks, California, after a two-year battle with cancer, Disney publicist Howard Green announced."

"A kid with a vivacious personality, Tracey appeared on Disney's Mickey Mouse Club throughout its original 1955-59 run on ABC. The series then lived on for decades in syndication."

"Our Dodo, as we lovingly nicknamed her, always had a smile on her face," fellow Mouseketeer Tommy Cole said in a statement. "She never failed to make us all feel good, and we will miss her."

...BBC

"...folded paper"

One of my dreams has always been to open a little book store. Granted in this environment of the deliberate destruction of these by technology predatory capital, and general indifference. Despite that I still keep the dream.

I'd 'still' do it if I could. My hood has everything a working-class area needs. Bodegas church food pantries Social Security offices handy subway lines trigger happy cops...though oddly not that much violent crime. Almost none compared to the old days.
However, the cops are still trigger happy...tradition.

We have dozens of liquor stores too.

However, no book stores. ...not one. Well not counting the religious Botanica shops. These where you can get assorted religious scribblings, and near life sized plaster statues of the saint of you choice.
Mostly really big Jebus icons covered in blood from the scourging.
These are all over the place.
I prefer the Virgin Mary items...they're less dramatic. One doesn't get the feeling she was just shot, and or hacked by looking at her.

Folks need, and believe in weird stuff.

About that store I had in mind. I'd still do it. If only to see what would happen if one showed up. Showed up in a pre-gentrified way.

There's plenty of Book Shoppe's in the re-whited hoods of my part of town. That, and very high-priced health food supermarkets yoga studios. Also, white only store front pre-schools, and better services...cops' sanitation like that.

So I'd like to do a social experiment of a little book shop for real people. I might make a go having Zero competition. Yeah, there's the local Library however it's a ghost of what it was.
Just a few stacks a couple of computers. A pissed off bored uninterested civil service staff, and almost no one sitting, and reading...other than a few old folks like me.

Okay so far this post is a tale of urban horror, and almost makes you 'want' gentrification. Which I would if it weren't so much like what happened to the Plains Natives. In our case the settlers would be sitting over our bones eating tofu ice cream, and reading Proust.

Almost forgot...why I love the idea of a book store. Obviously because I love to bleeping read. I write draw, and used to publish my own books. Hand printing binding all that neat smarty pants crap. Back in the day. I was in with a whole gleeful deranged crowd that did just that.

We self-styled ourselves the "Micro-Press" movement. This just to generally have fun, and in reaction to the dreary hunting to sell movie rights bunch from of the "small press".
Before the internet folks used to read. That, and publish their dreams on office copiers offset presses hand cranked mimeo even carbon stencil. The latter like Soviet era dissidents. We had a fucking ball.

The memory of that happy noise stays with me as does the idea we all had of opening a book store. However as happens life, and responsibilities took over. I was just starting as a broadcast engineer. My comrades we also just beginning careers, and families. That, and so very many were lost in the AIDS pandemic...the rest is postponed history.

40+ plus years later the idea still swims drifts in the currents of my dreams. Yeah, a damned bookstore in the heart of a hood where they think no one would bother to even look at a book. I'd put it right between the liquor store, and the barber shop.
..cross over traffic.

The place would only need a core of 50 regular customers to pay the rent...so word of mouth, and weirdness of design might work.

Just 50 or so secret Dreamers.

"Uncle Sydney's Shop of Bewildered Wonderments"...and, "Curiosities"

Has possibilities. 

 

All the world prays.

Whenever wherever for whatever.
The prayers ascend through clouds past worlds even stars.
Till they fall.
They fall onto an abandoned side street.
There's an old phone booth there.
Slightly bent over from where a truck backed into it.
The phone is ringing.
These are prayers.
The rings.
Millions...Billions.
Ringing.
Recorded, but...
Not directly answered.
Never in the way we expect.

Amen.

 "...days go by"

I visited Earth early this morning. It was just as I remembered. Bright sun winds chilled leaves flying. I'm not sure, but I think it's a nice day.

"...Cincinnati"

I’m asked, “…Where da hell has Bob da Bunny got to?”

Well here’s Bob, and pal about to go out on da the town. Bob the Bunny what with his new fortune from inventing an app that makes you want to eat more pizza. Has a load of swanky pads all over town. Don't get me wrong. He’s still the same guy he was when he rented my extra room.

Just more stuck up stoned, and Republican.

Bob with his sweetheart Dubteppia Frankenstein.

Yeah ‘that’ Frankenstein. Seems the gal is the Great Great Great Grand Daughter of that world famous undead scary guy, and civil servant. Her grandpa Frankenstein taught high school in Texas after his Hollywood days. Later a bus driver in Cincinnati for a while.

He still gets hush money from the Army too. He was a secret weapon for the OSS against them Nazi Bastards. He’s currently on da dark side of the moon. Long story…aliens all that.

Dubteppia has a 1936 hand made sky blue Bugatti. Her Grandpa Frankenstein bought it from Mary Pickford. Bob, and “Dubbie” can be seen speeding around mid-town in the middle of the night. That mystery car that rammed the front window of Tiffany’s at 3:am Christmas Eve? ...well.

Don’t get me wrong our swell couple are nice folks. When they’re not making a scene at da Met or driving backwards on the sidewalk at 90mph. They’re home cooking Meth like everyone else.

 "...frosty"

On this day in 2018 we had an early snow storm.

Once upon a time.

Here's a post from that slushy day.

So it's mid-November the leaves are still somewhat on the trees, and the snow is coming down with attitude. Four inches, and counting. "We're back!" sez da snow. "Ya got a problem wit dat?!"

Well not personally just surprised is all. Please continue.

Listening to the Holiday music on cable. This as I sit watching snow get dumped into the backyards of my neighbors. I had thought to go but,...eh...no.

The narrow streets of the hood may have been the cat's meow for the horse, and buggies they were built for in 1880. However they're wind tunnels during 21st century rain, and snow storms. I pass.

I'll just watch.

"...exist"

I make my pretty things for their own sakes.

I make them so they will exist.

I make them because these are the worlds I want to live in.

Even if such worlds can never be.

 

"...Thunder Snow"

Memory from a snowy day in pre-COVID March 2017.

Well it started snowing for real with a serious wind so I went out.  No sane person would go,…so I went. The ground has about 6 inches of assorted semi-frozen liquids. Several yuckie layers of snow'n ice. 

I asked Bob da Bunny if he wanted to go exploring. He he turned pointed his pipe at me, and said “…Fuck No!!! ”, and went back to binge watching “Mayberry RFD”. He was up to the lost episode where Aunt Bee made Deputy Barry Fife’s Klan outfit for the rally. 

However she forgot to cut eye holes in the hood, and the stupid Kluxer wandered into the burning cross. He’s enveloped in flame runs into the grandstand sets that on fire which sets the parking lot on fire which has dozens of pick up trucks with large cans of gasoline for the Civil Rights church burnings.

Suffice to say “Mayberry” blows up.

I can see why they never let this Kluxer Nazi episode out of the can. Might contrast with the wholesome marketing of the series. 

Eh,…but I digress. 

Anyways I went stumbling about in the frozen slop with a real wind stirring up. Razor sharp daggers of hail tearing into me. I began to wonder if this was a mistake. I was the only idiot out there.

I saw the deli was open so went over, and forgot to buy ice cream again. I did get bread, and cheese though. I may go out later in the afternoon. Looking outside it’s doing the blizzard thing. Maybe not the three feet they hysterically warned, but a respectable 14 or so inches, and who could complain about having 14inches. Inconvenient, but still.

Now there’s brisk winds so we get a little blizzard after all. Great now it’s Thundering. Thunder Snow! …I’m suing. Above Snow Queen Skipper. Barbie’s kid sister on da scene. Now to nap.

 "...grandma"

So as the sun sets at 4:41pm in the afternoon. I'm, making soup. Just veggies a bit of noodles diced chicken. How blessed I am. Warm dry relatively safe,...not shot at today. Last week another matter. Have food fresh water power, and an online connection. This counts as a civilized life now. Modest, but civil. I even write really bad prose, and poetry. For a civilization to work humans need stability. A healthy diet traditions intact families tribes. Normalcy. Right now much of that is in flux. Grandma read tea leaves. Our palms too. What would my palm tell her now?

"...dumplings"

I love time wandering tales. I can see James Baldwin at dawn running into Walt Whitman. This outside of the 42nd street Library. The guys wander downtown chatting of leaves, and democracy. They later meet that smarty pants 16th century poet John Donne in Chinatown.

Our heroes decide to have a breakfast of dumplings. It’s a crisp fall day in September 2001. The century, and unlikely meetings hardly surprises them. They being mystics assume such is to be expected from time to time.

Said Donne, “This electricity,…you so depend on it”. “I saw it’s beginnings” said Walt. “My bill is overdue” grumbled James. There was a flash a rumble the floor shook. They looked up. A flying machine had crashed into one of the great towers. The sky was on fire.

“This is where I came in”,…said Donne not at all surprised.

 "...centuries"

Through these pandemic times. I’ve sat here for near two years. I’ve thought of my surroundings. The comings, and goings of life. Our lives all life. My digs as I say are in a building over 120 years old. This in local context is a Roman relic.

The European era in these lands are so recent our oldest makings are still new. In other parts of the world Asia, and Europe things are very different. People still live in places that have been in continuous use for centuries. 300 to 500+ years even longer. Yet still with folks hanging out carrying on living in, and around them.

I think of that S/F film “Brother from Another Planet”. An Alien ship quietly crashes into NYC harbor. It’s only crew who happens to be Black swims to Ellis Island. There as he touches the walls. Through his fingers he hears/feels the voices of the many generations that passed through that place.

So right now this moment I’d touch my walls. If I could I would hear Polish Yiddish Spanish French Creole even English. The murmurs of the generations that lived in these very rooms. Rooms from which I now post to the world.