"...gas"

UFO encounter over Ohio, May 1956. It was not so unusual for cold war era fighter jets to be scrambled to check out "Unknowns" that showed up on radar.
Who the hell really knows what's going on. I like to think it's the inter-dimensional Moth-men from their gas station on far side of the moon.

Btw I founded the Nazareth High School "UFO Club" in 1968.

One of my life's proudest moments.

"...contact"

We're killer Apes that pay income tax, and wear hats. However yes we have a spark...a tiny spark of something better, and brighter. Time we need time. Evolution is so slow. The gene that some few have that dampens aggression, and opens new channels of intelligence needs time.

My lay person's estimate is 20 to 50 thousands years before it's a given common trait. The problem is that such few that have it are so often either killed outright in childhood for being different or pushed aside in mating competition.

This is why the kind gentle ones are so rare.

As for those many thousands of years needed...we don't have it. That ecological "Tipping Point" is not in the future, but the past. Perhaps 50 to 100 years past. Maybe slightly longer. Some in the field are beginning to realize this. Right now it's being dismissed. But then back in the 1990's they said what's happening now the disasters wouldn't occur till mid-century or later.

Get the drift? ...we're fucked.

Mind you Earth 'will' abide. Heck in it's early history it survived a hit by an object the size of Mars. So we're no threat. Earth will just right itself without us. In 30 million years or so you'd never know we were ever here.

As for them 30 mil. I meant that the scars humans will leave behind on the earth, quarries tunnels city traces landfills will be mostly if not totally gone by then.

Oh sure if you knew what you were looking for you might find a ceramic doodad here, and there. Also though the half-life of most of the radio-active materials we fooled around with will have cooled off. There are some artificial exotic materials with half-lives that border the hundred million mark.

If you were an Exo-geologist from another star system say 60,000,000 years from now. That, and your dig was in the neighborhood of a former Laurence Livermore site. You'd be surprised, and intrigued at the radiation readings you were getting.

The source is clearly artificial, and has been in this deposit for tens of millions of years. Like the Voyager probes sailing out to the stars this find would say there was an ancient intelligent species that once lived on this world.

'That' at long last would be our "First Contact".

"Wings"

I have this thing about putting wings on everybody. I guess my better self sees us all as Angels...whereas my cynical self sees something different altogether. It averages out.

"A WBAI Story or Uncle Sydney Remembers"

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

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

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

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

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

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

An engineer's work is never done.

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

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

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

No this time it was a set of heroin works.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was all in a night's work.

Stay Tuned

(This is something I did a few years back for my old blog...just found it, and figured you might like it.)....note this happened in the early 1980's somewhere when drug use was actually socially acceptable...imagine.

Also Dead Heads are much nicer, and swell than depicted...it was the loud music, and booze...that would bleep with anyone's head.

As a matter of fact did I ever tell you of the time that Simon Loekle, and I drank a magnum of wine in five minutes...just to see what would happen? See I was just coming off duty, and Simon was about to go on the air....

"George Jetson in the 'REAL' 21st Century"

I can see poor ol'George now. Living in a rented tent with hundreds of other Homeless. This on the former parking lots of Spacely Sprockets. He also foolishly had a DNA test that found he was actually Black Jewish Queer, and with a touch of Neptunian.

Jane the racist bitch divorced him behind that. She was always such a bigoted Earther.

"Sprockets" was sold to the Koreans who then dismantled the plant, and sent it to Mars because slavery is legal there,...no wages or insurance!

George is eating out of dumpsters.

He also sold both his kidney's, and his right liver to pay the rent on his tent. At this rate he won't be able to afford to be Homeless much longer. Next stop the fast food meat gulag,...they say it's painless.

However the minimum wage butchers use the morphine for themselves, and chop up their clients awake.

His daughter Judy is sucking Venusian cock, and selling home made 'Speedballs" to tourists from the Alaska Republic. All this to feed her six cloned kids. She was going to sell them, but them anti-slavery kooks had the laws changed.

His son Elroy selling both his ass, and his 3D printed copies of the 'Mona Lisa", and "Guernica" on the street to pay for his sex change. He's also a part time terrorist. Mostly  blowing up convents, and Buddhist whore houses.

His wife Jane married Mr. Spacely who got insanely rich from the sale of his factory.

An accurate 21st century story.

"New Appointment"

"Mittens" is the new Trump appointee for the "Department of Sentient Animals, and Lost Skate Keys". "Mittens" who served in the Bush administration was called out of her,...or his semi-retirement for this important post.

Sez "Mittens" "It is an honor to serve this clearly disturbed administration."

"...I could use a few laughs."

"Also Trump's resignation or impeachment is a near certainty. So this post will not be a serious inconvenience for me.

As for the position,..."

"I will guide the welfare of all American Sentient Animals." In particular I shall address the catnip, and squeak toy scourge which is laying waste to the Cat Community.

"As for them Lost Skate Keys they never say much. They mostly just stay in their crates at the bottom of Lake Michigan."

"Sissy Meditation"

Sissy like Nigger is perhaps one of the most dangerous words in the American language. Both of these carry death with them. Both say you're less than nothing. Not a person. You're fair game for violence even murder.

Sissies are un-men.

When you're young father's uncles brother's your "friends" from the block are a gender police. They make sure the boundaries of manhood guy-hood are 'never' crossed. If a father or guardian sees that a boy in their care is not "right' they take action at once.

Usually with taunts humiliations beatings. 

"Do you want to be a woman!" They yell as they work young sissies over. To them womanhood is death beneath death. "I'll make a man of you if it kills you!"

Sound familiar?

Sometimes they do kill. Father's have killed sons for this gender crime. It's the American equivalent of Islamic Honor Killing". Even brothers are complicit in this.

I remember being told by a friend that his own brother looked the other way in the school yard while he was beaten by bullies who chanted faggot at him.

Always they say as they torture you, "...it's for your own good,...it'll toughen you up,...make a man of you."

This is the traditional rite of passage for Sissies.

I wonder what so frightens them. What is it about this way of seeing that so unnerves men.  I should say that a boy or man doesn't have to be Queer to be a Sissy. I've noted that like straights gay men despise sissies.

Sissies we know gleefully come in every orientation, and hat size. So it's not genital. It's better than that.

Sissy-dom Sissy-hood is a special mode of appreciating life everything all of it all around us. They have a certain sensitivity to the realities of this realm. 

"Sensitive"

I recall this was the word some of my family used for me. I actually liked it. Coming from my mother, and aunts I knew it was sincerely given,...sensitive.

So,...how did I know I was a Sissy?

Well as in so may sweet stories it was fall. I was in the third grade. The morning sky the October sky was so wondrous. I remember how the clouds curled. Their colors. How the glided across the horizon.

Like waves in a Hokusai paintings.

I was so taken up by the sky that I hadn't noticed that class had gone back in, and Sister Alice had to come back out to get me.

For me that was, and is Sissy-dom. Sissy-hood is the ability to be lost so lost in beauty, and gentleness that you forget everything else. That, and do it without trying. It's an involuntary trance. It just happens.

In most other boys, and men such "sensitivity" is beaten out of them. It's as gone as if it were surgically removed.

With Sissies it's different. It's who we are. Threaten us beat us all you want. We don't change. Blessedly we can't change. The sky will always be beautiful to us. That, and we will always say so. We will always be taken up by it, and lost in it.

I wonder how many sissies have been martyred for loving the sky for loving colors for loving kindness, and gentleness.