"...wonder"

 

We know so little.

Our knowing so fitful tiny.

What if despite it all.

There was actually wonder and light.

"...dream"

Venus de Milo tilted in the sands of Coney Island.

David in front of the Flatiron Building.

Tapestries hung from fire-escapes.

The Pieta on a subway platform.

Animated Keith Haring's in the skies.

Jackson Pollock's hung from fences.

Vermeer's in Public Housing lobbies.

An Annunciation fresco in my building's hallway.

"... There, and Back Again"

I portaled. Day date set to random. July 1962. A newsstand proclaims Telstar. The very first Com-sat. Jumped a generation earlier. Smoke shadows. Lenox Avenue. The Great Harlem Riots 1935. Shimmered. August 16th, 1959, 11:26 am Jones Beach Long Island. I see my mother walking my toddler sister Silvia by the shore.

Neon blur.

The South Tower is collapsing down upon me.

Shimmer…Beaver Street lower Manhattan 1866. Former Slaves coming and going in their first months of Freedom.

Home.

My home my ‘hood my digs. …I’m not there.

Haven’t been I imagine for some time. Winter 2049. Warm humid. People dressed for summer. The shore of the Hudson closer.

At last I set my Dark Matter unit for Central Park. Just south of the Bridge. October 22nd 4:02pm 1956.

I come here often. There’s peace in this time in these few acres. The climate not yet visibly changed. A chill in the air the colors at peak.

In my base time of 2019, it would still be warm with no colors whatever. In this “when” gents in fedora’s women in skirts children in cowgirl, and cowboy outfits. I remember I had one too.

Wind color clouds.

All here enjoy the peace of not knowing what’s coming, and little of what’s happened.

I sat on a park bench dressed for 2019 yet as always in New York getting no notice.

I slept.

( I wrote this while in hospital.

I borrowed a pencil and scribbled it on the back of a ward memo.

Sometimes you just have to write.)

"...Black"

 

Barbie realized that life as a cloistered nun was not for her. She departed the convent of "Saints of the Burning Hook", and slowly walked the wet cobbles to her waiting limo.

From my dear friend Lucile:

"Somehow, I doubt, as Barbie must have also doubted?!"

My reply: She "doubted" as so many have...and left. As for the limo it's a 1955 Caddy. A gift long ago from Elvis. Which btw is indeed enchanted. This since it drives itself services re-fuels, and every 3 years repaints itself. ...Black.

"...what...and quit show business?!"

Tho' retired now this old blog post sums up my decades in that pointless thankless radio business. I should have joined the fucking Navy.

Okay maybe not that but ya know.

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

Well like someone said once,

"...any damned fool can get themselves in front of a camera or mic and make a damned mess of things.

Ain't that the truth. So here it is.

Imagine you're all alone on a stage with a big bunch of semi-interested folks watching and listening. You're juggling 20 or 30 sharp heavy objects to off key out of tune music.

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

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

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

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

All the while the stage manager who hates you has sabotaged all the mics. ...this literally happened.

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

The suits distrust all the live performers because he can't control everything, they do...bad for business that. They want to replace them all with Dog Acts...more dependable.

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

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

Seems they found a flea circus to replace you.

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

Hope this explains the Biz for ya.

Btw I had a ball made friends for life and would do it again in an 8th Avenue heartbeat. Tho' this time with a weaponized union rep!

 "...Me in 1955" ...I've changed.

Hi gang. Still breathing. Symptoms come and go. I'm so tired of this. Sleep much drifting. ...having short Film Noir dreams.   Also had a feeling I was overeating...but wasn't. Losing weight. I mean I'd eat a small meal and think it large...wouldn't finish. 

Some dear friends just helped with getting me supplies. Family chosen and those we're born with are all we have. They put up with your shit where no one else would give a bleep about you. 

I'm writing this in a kind of haze. 

Strange. I fall into a sleep in just a moment...have a mist of a dream then I'm back awake and go on with what I was doing. 

Making little art things. 

I start drift off then start again. Tried to watch an old fav movie then wake at the closing credits. To me it was just a moment. I download the thing first scene starts then it was the end...just like that...all the time.

Snow.

I always loved snow even a little. It makes even New York beautiful...if only for a few minutes. This just by falling from the sky. We may have a blizzard through tonight and all day tomorrow. For the first time in my life...I don't care. My heart ignores it. I'm numb to what once gave such joy.

Classic depression symptom. Odd since even when I had life threatening events from it snow was still precious to me. Strange days. I glanced at the news a moment ago...bad idea. 

The Bosses of China and Russia seeing how weak and divided we are. They're making moves. The Great Game continues. On the upside Uncle Joe just got a cat..."Willow". This is the best national news we've had in half a decade.

I'm going back to sleep.

If I wake up, I'll let you know.

Snow Spirits. These beings live within the chill of frozen air, and ice crystals. They often assume the shapes of wolves' bears shimmering light or sometimes a likeness of their cousins the forest faeries.

Civilization is far too hot for them to survive in except for times like these. Those rare events when wind snow, and ice overwhelm even the machines of men. Then they come.

They come to the hearts of our cities to explore and learn. As in tales of old they also give enchantments to the kindly the very young, and the very old.

Their time with us is very brief.

If you watch carefully in these next hours, you may just see their shadows.

"...a day in the life"

 

From my journals. January 2018.

My life once full of such comings, and goings responsibilities dramas comedies, and some tragedies. Such has become so simple. Quiet even. Sleep is asymmetrical. I woke @ an odd hour. Showered cleaned the bathroom the kitchen floor and hung my sox on the radiator to dry.

That radiator that Santa has yet to emerge from.

I had apple slices nuts and answered an overnight email from my old radio friend Sharon. She asks after my health, and post-op doings. She's a dear pal. Made a shopping list. I'm out of everything, and plan to go to the library as well.

Nurse Perez is coming this afternoon.

My windows shudder with the Zero-degree winds. Frost forms on my sills. Though still no snow here all winter.

I want a big snow just one. I want to fall asleep watching the snow then wake up to it watch more. Watch the swirling snow whipping at the trees. Then sleep again.

This might be my last chance for this.

Took my meds which knocked me out. Good Nurse Perez woke me. She comes a few times a week to see if I'm still alive, and how the healing is coming.

So far so good.

I enjoy our visits. The only folks that actually see me at home now are medical techs that shovel me up for transport to hospital. Them, and folks from the City government that check on elders, and now visiting nurses.

They all comment on my digs. It's tidy, and Zen empty.

I hear from them that most folks live in some version of "Hoarders". ...or worse. We're a culture of acquisition. I think I was absent that day at class.

Nurse Perez left I took a nap, and all was well in my world.

Till I woke up checked my list of to-do's ...I need that now.

Got dressed for the Arctic and went shopping...library too. There, and back again...it's such an adventure now.

Got stuff and borrowed two books plus a video. Which I may or may not read or watch.

Sat read more wrote some including this act of ego...hey it's my page. On Moon rise I took several shots and posted them. Took more meds and slept.

That's really all I do now. ...that, and Social Services sometimes.

Rinse...repeat.

The upside I still live and am mostly still in one piece.

Though yes now I am very aware.

Aware of the so far unseen wings that daily brush me.

I was chatting on another page with my dear Niece. She mentioned how the Bees were so hard hit by the Global Climate changes...they're either sterile or just plain disappearing. I said how the Monarch Buttery's are facing the same pressures. Still, they are a strong species. I remember how after 9/11 I saw a very large Monarch flying out of the smoke of Ground Zero! They're Strong!

Recovery Notes:

The Chaos of Triage.

"No need to make angry waves.

The Ocean does that on its own."

Surgery:

"I now have nine little piggies, and the legs they're attached to.

...so far."

Treatment:

"I want Quiet Privacy my Intimate Dignity.

I want to go home."

Now:

There, and back Again.

"My dreams are haunted, but my friends make me laugh."

FB just gave a pre-COVID memory from four years ago. Just days before #45 took office.

A dear friend told me we have two souls. A Warrior's, and a Mother's. Our "Warrior" side fights to survive in this deranged world the "Mothering" side makes Art, and Cares for Family Friends the World. ...my shrink came to mostly the same conclusion.

We try when not caught up in our own noise. We try to give what love we can to whoever we can.

I just met a lady while shopping. This before Christmas. In conversation it came out she's a recovering Addict. That, and fearful of falling back in. I don't know where my words came from, but they always do. It's the same for you. ...they just come.

I spoke about my own destructive habits, and how I got out...and stayed out. We went on like this for a while...a very long Holiday line. Ya see we're all Angels. We all are called on from time to time to give a message. That's what an Angel is. A 'verb' not a noun. A message.

We're Messengers 'all' of us.

Anyway, we parted well, and I'm sure she's passing on her own messages. She certainly gave me one. Imagine called on to give healing words when all you think you're doing is buying soap.

Life is like this.

"...Bells"

*(An entry from my 2020/2021/2022 COVID Journals. This from March 17, 2020. I had thought my entries were done in the Autumn of 2021. It seems however there are more yet to come. I'm posting in January 2022. Hospitals once more overwhelmed whole countries infected with new strains. Vaccines near useless. Country still divided. I'm now infected as well. We'll see where this goes.)

March 17, 2021

At the beginning of the Pandemic there was mention that folks should keep a journal of the duration. Now with a hope for a vaccine on the horizon maybe we should gather those pages. In our ways we all kept something of the last year. This is from my notes of the NYC lockdown in early days.

The Virus is now in all 50 States. However, I can give you my subjective local view of things. Traffic seemed lighter. Those that can working at home...or laid off.

Went shopping, and to laundry. My local is taking only ten loads a day. I was number 12. My friend the owner let me in. She said she was making exceptions for old customers. Bless her. The markets are open. Shelves perhaps 30% empty. This after being restocked from the earlier rush.

I assume the distributors are not topping off the locals...holding back. A wait and see. The library was closed. A note said fewer days new shorter hours. Also, directions to the main branch downtown. This will have a normal schedule to April, but it may close then.
The take outs except for the chains were shut.
The Haitian Chinese Hispanic, and Indian take outs either closed or on shortened times.

Maybe one in six wearing masks.
Btw the drug store was out of these all week. Folks speaking to each other. New Yorker's open up when shit hits the fan. Folks telling their personal war stories of this thing. Blessing each other.
many saying the "B" word as I go about.

I'm listening to WQXR while posting this. These guys are one of the last Classical Music Station's in the region. We used to have several. Listen Live here... https://www.wqxr.org/
They're programing music for this event. This to help, and calm folks. Giving good information, and beautiful music. Some host's reading emails from listeners.

Just now several emails from musicians laid off as all concerts are cancelled for the duration. Musicians' artists of all genres. Classical Blues Rock Folk are all listening to 'QXR. ...as am I. 

As I say people are speaking. This brings out our best. As above often we part by saying "...Bless you". I do this as well,western rationalist that I more or less am. A Blessing is an intent of positive affirmation to another. These days especially.

As for our national situation, ...
We all have an idea of what's coming.
Given how badly the Feds have acted so far. This is so terrible that's it's beyond mere blame of any disturbed head of state or party. It's just happening, and we are all in it.
We're likely in for the Italian model. We're two to three weeks out from it. So should be calmly prepared. Be well be kind be safe.

As I post this on the evening of March 17th, 2020. I hear Bells.
Saint Marks with her new bells barely two years old in her 120-year-old steeple. Saint Gregory's, see above, further down with her 146-year-old brass. Both chiming as the sun sets.

With a hymn of Bells, and Blessings on the lips of many. That's Brooklyn on this dusk.
Be safe be kind be well.

"...1950 Tubmobile"

1950 Nash. Big enough for the whole family to take a bath in. 

Hand sanitizer extra.

 

"...da sights"

I was standing at the corner of Wall Street, and Water Street 

for this shot. The tower is #70 Pine Street, The famous Art Deco skyscraper.

Below is the side entrance on Maiden Lane.

 

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.

 

The other morning, I had a dream. I saw three Black children walking a highway in the American Midwest. I was floating above following. There was a young boy in a Yankee's cap, a little girl with a Hello Kitty backpack, and a toddler in an Amish bonnet. The boy pulled a red 1950's "American Flyer" wagon with white walls. In it sat the baby with some luggage.

The children were singing as they walked.
The boy sang a bright hymn the little girl gave old gospel response. The baby was waving a feather at the sky.

They was headed for Bison Kansas just across the next bridge. A peaceful late 21st century town. Traffic was passing. Some cars slowed their occupants staring in amazement. The kids took no mind they was used to gawkers.

Cars stopped. These children were the first African Americans they'd seen in decades. For some the first they'd seen in their lives. America 'least the United States part of it hadn't any Black folks since "The Day". A Labor Day just after the last Oil War.

All Negros had decided as one to leave. ...and did.
They left their houses cars lawn sprinklers everything. Almost everything. They took their pets yes they did. Every cat dog goldfish, and hamster. No snakes though. Colored folks don't like no snakes, and that's a fact.

400 years of being Slaves. Another 100, and more of violent freedom would piss anybody off. So away the Coloreds went. Nobody has seen any of 'em till today. Till these three children peacefully walking down the Interstate.

Ya know this sort'a thing has happened before or so I hear.
Over there in Russia where they treat the Jews bad. There's stories of whole villages vanishing. Them Cossacks would come for murder, and robbery. They find empty towns. No Jewish folks, not one. Later on, them Nazi's had the same problem.

This time some folks had decided to come back to visit the Earth. Some Coloreds have come back to America to find out if the folks here had learned anything while they was gone.

Just a few, just for now.
Years of Absence. Day of return.

To be continued.

Above is a story I wrote many years back. It's very loosely based on a play by Douglas Turner Ward "Day of Absence". An early 60's production about a southern town where all the Negros disappear for a day, and the chaos that results.

"...Where are they now?"

Boris Nikita Badenov became an oil Billionaire in the post-Soviet wave of extreme capitalism. Sez Boris, "...Lost it all at the crap tables in Vegas, and assorted Crack Houses." He runs a news stand in Brighton Beach now. "...Been there done that" sez Boris.

"I worked at the fiery edges of both sides. Now I'm content to sell 'El Diario Lotto tickets ganja nickel bags, and candy bars.
"...Sure, I do the occasional hit, but that's all."

Boris also has an afternoon talk show on Brooklyn Community Cable TV. On one show "Fearless Leader" came on as a surprise guest. He spoke about the halfway house he started with the late Idi Amin for former Dictators.
Sez da former boss of terrified millions, "We tried to get Kaddafi out. Told him the game was up. The fool wouldn't listen...he got the Mussolini treatment."

"Fearless Leader" now runs a Ford dealership in the Bronx.

Natasha, see above, stayed in the Security game.
She used her worldwide contacts to start her own Intelligence Agency. "The Pierogi Institute".
She was behind the Snowden Intelligence dump. However, once the info was out, she sold him to the Russians. As she sez,"...Business is business."

Sez Natasha, "A bullet, and fool will always meet."
Of course, neither of our heroes are dummies. They make a bundle on the re-runs of their 1960's TV shows, and franchise costumes, and toys. Boris, and Natasha still do public appearances at comic book cosplay, and science fiction conventions.

Below "Natasha" at pre-COVID "Comic-Con 2019". She lectured on the hidden history of the world and introduced some new franchise items as well. 

"...Eh"

 

From my pal Shari Welch.
Countess Uta Eckhart drawing the collar of her cloak across her cheek. 

Naumburg Cathedral 1245

Um...No Comment.

Shari Welch:

"Well Disney did get the look from

Medieval royalty."

These are action figures.
They've been artistically arranged

 and shot by my friend Fred Melchor. 

 

"...FUCK!!!!!"

My FB pal Charles just asked if I'd ride this demented contraption.

I said it would be slightly safer to ride the Brooklyn subway at 2am on a full moon during a riot in a heatwave with hundred-dollar bills hanging out of all my pockets. Are you bleeping kidding me?!
This thing is would make a great Texas death penalty ride!

FB Comments:

Rick

Given the right mindset, either option sounds like a great time!

Sharon

Oh, my stars and garters!

Mike

Funny as hell Sidney. No way in hell I’d get on that.

Jay

Yespleaseyespleaseyesplease!

Charlie

Exactly.

Grace

Aggggggggg

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