Saturday, November 30, 2013

"Peter Pan",...again!

Back in the day I had intended to issue a version of the beloved "Peter Pan" legend. The years went by, and it was never done. I only did a few penciled drawn pages, and I think two inked drawings.

I'm glad that Renae De Liz is going full bore with 'his' project. I wish him well, and look forward to reading it soon!

(If you go to my Queer page..see link on lower right. You can see two of the drawing I did for my slumbering "Pan" project. Humm maybe I should get back to work on it.)

Stay Tuned.

“The original story is one of the most beautiful, inspired things I have ever read, and I hope to convey that beauty to the best of my abilities into this graphic novel,” De Liz writes on the project’s Kickstarter page. “I also intend to further explore Peter Pan and Captain Hook’s backstory by adapting parts from J.M Barrie’s The Little White Bird  ( prequel to Peter and Wendy) and a little known informations given by Barrie about Jas. Hook into the story.”

"Whadda' Doll!"

Boys, and Men should play with Dolls. I sure do. Above are some of my little sweeties. To the point it's good for lads'n men to have, and play with dolls of any gender species or orientation.

Boy that's a mouth full. The age of politically correct speech has wrecked the language...but that's a whole other thread.

Dolls play is good for the soul. Sort of like eating your green, but way more fun. It Humanizes you. For boys it would help them understand their responsibilities to others.

Actually there should be more, and varied sorts of Boy Dolls, and boys should play with them. This would help them see their fellows in a more compassionate, and generous way.

I can just see young Billy sitting on his bed grooming, and dressing his little boyfriend.

Only 'good' could come from this!

"It was a Dark, and Stormy Night"


A cold day with hints of hail'n snow on Coney Island. My dear pal Nurse Pickles, and I were over at the DMV attempting to do something extremely simple. However one document was unstamped or didn't have the right word in the right place.

'Course that meant going all the way to somewhere in Manhattan to get the word put in the right place so it could be stamped so the really simple thing could happen.

That guy Kafka knew exactly what he was talking about.

Comes the Revolution we shoot all the clerks,...and their supervisors. Of course then the landlords, and algebra teachers.


On the bright side well actually the very cold, and cloudy, and gloomy side we walked over to Coney Island Beach. It's a few blocks from the evil, and soon to be blown up DMV.

We wandered about looking at all the closed attractions, and open cafes. We had a swell breakfast hung out then went to the beach to look for treasures.

I got the prize of the outing a swell spiral shell worn smooth, and cute...some nice sea glass too.  Nurse Pickles got a nice piece of drift wood also cute, and worn smooth.

All in all other than wanting to commit war crimes at the DMV it was a swell though damp, and cold outing.

Oh yeah,...we saw a sea serpent too.

Umm alright it was probably a submarine. Ya know during WW2 Nazi subs used to lay in wait for our convoys to leave port. The bastards would be skulking just off the Rockaways, and our beloved Coney Island.

We figured it probably wasn't one of them.

Russian perhaps..more likely these days Chinese. 

Stay Tuned.

"Listen to the Silence"

They say you either have faith or you don't. Well I have 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.

Stay Tuned.


It's good for a church to have an open roof. Makes it easier for the Angels to get in. When I was little I thought that when Mass was on the church would lift up to into the sky, and float in Heaven during Communion.

I really believed this. When the organ really went to town, and the choir was going nuts. I believed I could feel the actual building heaving up into the sky...perhaps carried by Angels.

At the time I also believed that I could fly. As I've mentioned here. I thought I could perch on my window sill leap, and fly. Fly to the tree outside of my bedroom.  Leap to it then make a right angle turn to the next tree over.

As the sun rises in the morning I was convinced I had the power. Faith is a serious thing.

Btw I bet I could'a flown

I'll bet kids fly, and perform all manner of Miracles all the time, but mostly don't tell us because they know we've stopped believing in the Wonderful.

Stay Tuned.

"Seen her lately?"

Here's a bit I wrote a few years back. I don't remember if I ever posted it here so here ya goes...

Of all the things living creatures need besides food water fast internet connections free tuition, and freedom from fear. Besides all them swell things after our tummies are full, and our bladders emptied we need I mean 'need' Beauty.


I mean the 'real deal'. Not some jazzed up stuff deliberately cooked, and salted to make us wanna buy or fuck something. You'll know it when ya see it. This because it's imprinted on our souls it's in our DNA it's in all our damned dreams for Christ's sakes!

I don't need to crank out some big deal essay here because you already know what I'm talking about.

We all of us know that this fucked up smelly machine we're trapped in ain't beauty. Not even close. Hey underclass squalor or dolled up middle class neon forget it. It's the Devils work all of it.

Beauty can't be made or bought it's a right.

Time was you couldn't toss a custard pie without hitting Beauty between the eyes. She was everywhere, and she smelled great too!

Seen her lately?

It's like we don't deserve her anymore. It's as if she's afraid of us now. 'Don't blame her what with most of us turned into greedy frightened demons or hapless victims.

What with all that maybe we have to earn her back. We have to woo Her, convince Her that She's our birthright again. We should peruse this Holiest of Sacraments.

We need to take a long steamy hot bath in virtue or something. We've got to scrub the stink of greed, and boredom off our souls.

That done maybe just maybe she migh drop us an email for lunch somewhere.

It's worth a shot.

"Yellow Snow"

I was wandering about town on frosty Thanksgiving day. Amazing one could smell ham, and turkey's roasting everywhere. Tofu is another matter I don't think it's aroma carries that far.

Did I mention corn bread, and assorted pies.

Yeah they were in the wind as well. While on my way to dine at the Parsonage of the Rt. Rev. Martin, and Nurse Pickles I saw the jolly proles going about their holiday delirium.

Folks mostly all in their Sunday or Saturday best even clean sneakers. Many carrying hot foil wrapped offerings to the evenings feasts to come.


Just off Atlantic Avenue a van full of Occupy folks,..yeah they're still around quietly bringing on the Revolution. I sees the swell Occupy youngsters giving out piles of pre-packaged hot meals to those that really needed them.

(See pics above from "Occupy Thanksgiving" a few years back.)

They had these sort of home made thermal hampers full of good eats that they were rolling around. Yeah like I said once. If they're remembered for nothing else they should be remembered for feeding the hungry, and wanting nothing back.

Unlike other so-called do-gooders that want everything from your political allegiance to your immortal soul...yuck. No thanks I ain't that hungry. 

I also noticed more than the usual numbers of Queers about. Times must have really changed. Families seem to be inviting their Queer pervert kids uncles aunts, and pals to the table.

Revolutions are slow, but certain,...sometimes. 

Perhaps Anne Frank was right when she said, "...People are basically Good."

I'd put it another way.

"People are complete shits. They're 99%  bat shit crazy shit on a shingle no damned good!"

"However for reasons no one can figure out sometimes that 1% of sort of mostly okay goodness that's buried deep fucking deep deep inside of them come out."

...and that's kind'a what I saw on Thanksgiving.

Happy Holidaze, and don't eat the yellow snow.

Pass the gravy.


"Based on Recent Research"

My experiences with both human bipeds, and cats convince me that both are simply too dangerous to have in close quarters. People will turn on you out of the blue, and cats shit in your hat.

...or shoes depending on how vindictive they feel that day.

All in all the solitary life seems better.

A pet brick or medium sized rock is worth considering. Not only are these guys low maintenance companions, but you can throw them at cats or people should the need arise.

At mostly no harm to your granite pet. 

....and the Brick's Still Ticking!!

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

"...we're watching"

Happy Thanksgiving. Remember to always carry proper identification, and report those that don't.  

While you enjoy the game, and the turkey remember...

The Department of Homeland Security is watching.

...we see you when you're sleeping to so be good for goodness sakes.

Peace through Security.

"A Day in the Life"

Well I was home packing. I'm moving to other digs. Anyway I went out to the store to get more bubble wrap, and locked myself out.


So I head up to the radio station, former employer WBAI/CUNY. The damned place is 5000 miles away. I truges up there  to get my other set of keys. Though laid off I'm still part of that madhouse,...why I don't know.

Btw I swore I'd never go back there. I hate what's happened, and the crew that continuing to fuck things up,...even now still they're at it. Like I told a pal I just want my damned money so I can leave the City, and live out my life somewhere fresh.

Aw well as usual I got talked out'a all that noise by my close dear friends,...yeah I'm a push over.
Loves my friends though. I couldn't have got this far after the Wipe Out without them.

Anyway while in my usual delirium on the long very long long subway  ride. It hit's me that this is the usual time of year I clean re-ball, and re-string the 'Bai Tree. We used to keep it up all year in the News Room. The crew in there particularly liked it.

Yeah some of the commie morons, and race nuts in the general population though had issue with it, but fuck'em 'all' to fucking hell.

No I don't mean that in a 'nice' way.

Them deranged fanatical bleeps, and their monomaniacal demented obsessive bullshit is mostly the reason this place went belly up. Some of these guys are still apologist for Pol Pot them Shining Path butchers, and that first class murderer, and grossly incompetent nut job Mugabe..

But I digress.

So I'm sitting on the train there across from this guy dressed up like a Thanksgiving Indian, and I decides to put the damned tree back up. We brought it with us to the CUNY campus last winter. In fact Jose the last Head of the WBAI News Department personally carried it there...Bless you Jose I miss you like crazy!

So I did the, and the Tree's good to go.

The sane staff loved our tree so it's back. So long as the Tree lives the Station, WBAI,  Lives, least in Spirit.

Anyway that's my good deed for the week.

The ride back to the world was hell on wheels...literally. The No.1 train decides to crap out so we all get stuffed onto buses to Times Square. We get dumped out there into a mob of frigging tourists that think the City is some sort of amusement park.

They suddenly stop stock still on the sidewalk. Gang sidewalk traffic in da big City is the same as street traffic..see there's zillions of us steamy beefer's around here walking like others drive. You stop, and there's a pile-up!

Anyway I kicked the living crap out'a that stupid rube, and fought my way to the No.4 line, and went the hell home.

Okay I only thought about pounding that jerk into th ground, but I still made it home. Btw isn't that where we all wanna go after a day in the life.

Stay Tuned

"Holiday Re-Run"

"Looking for Fezziwig’s"

Fezziwig, old Fezziwig was the good hearted shop keeper that young Ebenezer Scrooge was apprenticed to in the Charles Dickens classic "A Christmas Carol".

In that story the character Fezziwig kept Christmas with a gleeful merry making that he, and his family shared with their employees, and indeed the world.

Christmas eve at Fezziwig‘s shop was a fine display of bright decorations, music, dancing, games, and boisterous laughter.

Oh, but the food!

Long tables were weighted down with all manner of tasty morsels. There were pies, cakes, hot breads, roasts, and cider!

Most of all, most wonderful of all is what Fezziwig gave of his soul. Loving kindness, warm fellowship, and an intuitive understanding of the true meaning of the day.

Christmas Day.

As Charles Dickens says through the character of Scrooge’s nephew Fred.

"Christmas is a time of generosity. A kind, and forgiving day. A day when men, and women from all circumstances open their shut-up hearts to the world."

‘And so it was true of Mr. Fezziwig. Silly, dear old Fezziwig, and his family, and apprentices. They were happy to be in each other’s company, and truly rejoiced in the day. Christmas Day.

The Fezziwig parable from the story of Scrooges redemption, "A Christmas Carol" is very special to me. Special because it touches upon a need I have. That perhaps a great many have. You see I’ve been searching for Fezziwig's for many years.

I’ve been looking for that humble shop so filled with joy for most of my life. A place of heart-fullness, and acceptance I so far I can only dream of.

Since I was very young, since I was a lad I’ve always felt outside, far from the hearth, beyond the window, outside of the door, locked out at the gate. Always outside looking in, and hoping to be noticed.

Through these many years I’ve searched for a tribe, a nation, a faith to belong to. To be enfolded into, and kept, and loved, and needed. I longed to be in a place where you could taste the love in every giving, and receiving.

I had hoped I would one day stumble upon such a miracle.

On many a Christmas Eve I wandered the streets of this vast Emerald City. This busy place of towers, lights, and noise. Through the neon canyons I looked for a very particular kind of magic. I have yet to be blessed with it’s discovery, but I do not despair. Because despite it all I still believe. I still have a kind of faith.

I Believe in Dreams.

I Believe in Holy Magic.

...but most of all I believe in the power of Good. The power of Loving Kindness. Yes even in a world as dark, and uncaring as this.

So I know,...I Know. One Christmas Eve yet to come I will walk down an unremarkable street with unseen Angels at my side. I will walk down a narrow snowy street, and at last find a small humble shop. A shop with wide, open, and inviting doors, warm golden lights, music, bright laughter, joyful songs,...and best of all welcoming smiles.

I will have at long last found my Christmas.

Merry Christmas !

(I wrote this some years ago. I'm still looking, and I still have Faith. Below are some Comments from this piece's first posting in I think 2009 or there'about.)

Zaek said...
Where is the loving Rainbow Tribe, not just for one week of the year in some inaccessible hinterland, but all the time, right here, right now? Where is AllenGinsbergLand, where RamDassPlanet, where indeed is Fezziwig's?
Bodmin said...
Fezziwig's shop was torn down some years ago and replaced by a 12 story glass and steel luxury condo.
Zaek said...
Well ain't that the old, old story!

I bet it's owned by Scrooge & Marley, or Grinch, Inc.

Maybe the Ghost of Solstice Present will show up in one of the flats one of these nights and scare the bejeezus out of Mr. Grinch.

Fezziwig's is for us to make.

I got close to it some years ago when I ran a small 'story-telling' cafe. It started in response to a plea from parents in a local Steiner school for somewhere their kids could go in out-of-school hours. We rented a run-down shop and ran it as a small cafe serving coffee and waffles and healthy Alternative Stuff at pocket money prices.

The principal idea of our Story-Telling Cafe was that for everyone on Earth there is a story that s/he needs to hear - a story that was written for YOU. So kids came along to hear story-tellers in the hope of one day hearing the story that was meant for them.

The 'kids' were soon joined by parents and grandparents (especially grandparents). Not only little kids, but lots of teenage kids and middle-aged kids and geriatric kids. We had story-telling sessions at lunch and in the evenings, and at weekends we also had tales at breakfast-time.

The reason the place worked was that it was left more-or-less in the hands of a keen group of teenagers, who proved to be brilliant organizers.

The cafe eventually hosted a school for story-telling - there is a bottomless need for stories and a longing to learn the skills of story-telling.

One case at 'Fezziwig's' lives on in my mind above all others. I was telling (never reading, always telling) the tale of the King of Ireland's son to a group of kids from a local school (a culturally down-at-heels state school). One black boy of around 14 was staring at me with what looked like aggression. When I paused for the 'question time' he asked: 'Have I got it right...Is this story about a boy who doesn't have a Dad?'
Uncle 2012 said...
So true. It is for us to make.
Zaek said...
That's great Sion. I love caf├ęs. Yours sounds a lot like the temple of refuge that Sidney and I were discussing.

"The Stars our Destination"

"...The Good Earth"

Long ago, when I was a lad. Three men went to the moon. They were the first to go, but because they didn't land no one remembers their names. Never mind that doesn't matter. What does matter though is what they did when they arrived.

These were the first human souls to reach, and orbit the moon. It was Christmas eve 1968. A most eventful year. Indeed one of the  most dramatic years of recent centuries as those who were there will vividly remember.

It was fitting that it closed with so moving an event as Apollo 8 reaching la Luna.

The Moon.

Through this voyage we for the first time saw our Earth, our home whole in the sea of forever. So small, so beautiful, so fragile.

The world watched, and listened that night. That Christmas eve, that Holy night of our combined Hopes.

As the Apollo caravel rounded the moon astronauts Anders, Lovell, and Borman read from the first page of Genesis.

William Anders:

"For all the people on Earth the crew of Apollo 8 has a message we would like to send you".

"In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.
And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.
And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.
And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness."

Jim Lovell:

"And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first day.
And God said, Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters.
And God made the firmament, and divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament: and it was so.
And God called the firmament Heaven. And the evening and the morning were the second day."

Frank Borman:

"And God said, Let the waters under the heavens be gathered together unto one place, and let the dry land appear: and it was so.
And God called the dry land Earth; and the gathering together of the waters called he Seas: and God saw that it was good."

Borman then added, "And from the crew of Apollo 8, we close with good night, good luck, a Merry Christmas, and God bless all of you - all of you on the good Earth."

Sunday, November 24, 2013

"...the idea"

At this point in my life I suppose like Cats I like the 'idea' of Boys. Until my meds kick in that's as far as I can go.


Dogs are pretty good drivers. I remember seeing an episode of "Huckleberry Hound" where he a dog was driving a massive 18 wheeler 'cross country.

True several times during the trip Mr. Hound also "flew" the truck like a 707 over assorted rivers, and the Grand Canyon.

Btw it was things like this that led me to believe that perhaps the works of "Hanna Barbarra" were not entirely accurate portrayals of everyday reality.

Speaking of dogs a friend once explained to me how he became Queer. Seems he was abandoned as an infant. He was eventually found, and raised by Poodles on Central Park West.

From there nature took it's natural course.

To our story. This is a classified after action report on the exploits of the above "Huckleberry Hound", and his buddy "Augie Doggie".  I assume I need not explain the reality of "Toons", and their relationship with humanity.

Suffice to say they're real.

I always hoped that this report would one day become part of the public record.  So our two hero's could finally get proper recognition. 

"Operation Holy Ghost"

This was a rogue CIA plan to get the Dali Lama out of Tibet under the noses of the Chi-Coms. All that stuff in the movies about him getting out alone on horseback is official Agency baloney.

It was really a bunch of ex-OSS China hands, and independent idealists. These were mostly Spanish intelligence guys that got out of Spain when Franco took over, and hooked up with MI-6.

That, and CIA professionals that were unhappy with the Cold War Security State they saw growing up around them.

Anyway his jolly band decided to bust the Dali Lama out of Mao's house arrest, and get him to the land of burgers, and fries to go. Our hero's borrowed six prototype stealth hover attack jets from our pals the French.

Stupid frogs still don't know what happened to them.

The formation took off from a field behind a liberal reform Ashram in northern India. 

The same one in which ten years later the Beatles would see Angels Demons dead relatives freak the hell out go home, and become bickering assholes then break up.

Huck was in the lead jet of a diamond formation. Augie was his six o'clock the others above, and below eyes peeled for Migs. They flew into Lhasa's restricted airspace via Shigatse.

China's blind spot or so Huck hoped it still was.

Anything could happen..s'matter of fact the boys overflew a huge Antonov transport turbojet. It carried Mao, and his boys to their weekly opium meth speedball gang bang in Nepal.

It was an itchy temptation to shoot a hot sidewinder up his murderous butt. However the mission was rescue not waste disposal.

At sundown on time, and in place they made their hover drop into the court yard of the Lama's palace. Two on the ground four doing combat air patrol over Lhasa.

The Dali Lama, and his family was bundled into Huck's jet. His aids, and important documents into Augie's. His Holiness blessed both his people, and the Chinese occupiers. After goodbyes, and some sort of ceremony about coming back in three lifetimes they were off.

There was a full moon..bad luck that. During the war it was called the "bombers moon". This because it was as good as daylight for finding your target on the ground...or in the air.

Despite that everything was running smoothly. A perfect milk run so naturally everything suddenly went to flaming hell! 

It was a set-up a trap.

The details of the "OP" were leaked to the Chinese by the Security State branch of the CIA.  

The sky filled with Migs! 

20mm rounds 50 cal. slugs bright green, and orange tracers were everywhere. Two hover jets disappeared into bright explosions of fire, and titanium confetti. 

Augie Doggie, and Huckleberry Hound drew on all their flying skills gained from dog fights against the German Condor Legion during the Spanish Civil War. 

Then later in the Eagle Squadron against the Luftwaffe in the skies over London.

The Pacific in the first all Toon fighter unit the "Devil Dawgs". The terror of Guadalcanal. Tojo himself put prices on their heads. 

Later it was the heavens over Korea. Mig Alley! Over the Yalu Huck in his F-86 "Snake Eyes" had 26 confirmed kills.

Huck, and Augie were doing barrel rolls one left one right the surviving hover jets coming up the middle, and firing a spray of four sidewinders each!

The horizon turned to day as Migs are smeared against the sky in fiery plumes. The Dali Lama respectfully asks Huck if indeed all of this violence was necessary.

"Put a sock on it Padre I'm busy save'n ya Holy Butt right now!"

His Holiness considered this then went back to his meditations. 

The hoverjets did tight scissor turns through the Mig formations. The object wasn't to shoot them down, but to cause as much flaming confusion for the Chinese as possible.

They had to get to the Indian border where a flight of I.A.F. Hawkers were orbiting, and waiting to escort them to Itanagar. It was on this desperate run that both Huck, and Augie were wounded.

A Mig-17 special night fighter had been held back in case the hover jets made it through the Chinese fighter screen.

The pilot, Eddy Keong who would later defect, and become an Australian game show host chuckled to himself. "That reactionary Monk, and those Air Pirates are Mine!"

Eddy saw the rescue jets back lit from the burning wreckage of his comrades. He came in on a half roll firing a spread of heat seekers, and 20mm incendiary rounds.

Two more of the rescue team were splashed, and Huck, and Augie were further wounded. Huck's canopy shredded. Plexiglass splinters take out an eye, and mangle a paw. Augie loses an ear.

However the Dali Lama, and family are untouched.

A confined space full of razor sharp shrapnel, and not a scratch. I guess that counts as a miracle. ...makes ya think.

The last two rescue jets make it over the border. The Indian Hawkers fire some warning shots in the general direction of the Mig-17. The Indian government later apologizes. 'Training mishap...hey these things happen.

Well the rest you know.

The Dali Lama went on to become a Light unto the World. Huck, and Augie after physical therapy. Basically a glass eye, and false ear. Our hero's end up on Saturday morning cartoons, and cereal boxes.

Ain't life something.

Stay Tuned.

"Fortunes of War"

Old Ozzie, and his dear gal Harriet were simple decent sweet folks. Complete air heads, but sweet.  

I'll bet they even felt sorry for them Colored folks that was getting the crap beat out'a them by them mean cracker cops down south. Fire hoses police dogs all that.

Ya has to remember this was the mid-1950's.

Why I wouldn't be surprised if the let their kids bring their Negro friends home from school. Being such swell folks I can see Harriet making up something special so them Coloreds will feel right at home.

Maybe cupcakes or black eye peas with fatback, and corn bread. She  thought about watermelon, but that might be a bit much so she got grapes instead.

Ol' Ozzie would probably start going on about what a great ball player Jackie Robinson is, and what a gentleman Nat king Cole seems.

Yep they'd be doing all that. Embarrassing the hell out'a their kids, and making the Coloreds wishing they was having root canal instead.

'But me I'm different I liked all the nice liberal stuff from back in the day. I went through alot of this steamy liberal guilt jazz from the pal's parents.

I thought it was touching.

They really were trying to be nice,...and that's nice. Sure as shit beats all the evil neurotic double talk we crap on each other today.

I mean I dug all the dripping nice nice they were laying on me. Sure it was nuts as hell, but like I say they were sincere.  Unfortunately things went south for all them nice White folks like Ozzie, and his family.

First the Black racists radicals kicked all the White folks out of the Civil Rights movement. Grew their hair big like giant popcorn poppers...I did. 

Btw sleeping in them things is like drowning in a mattress.

Most of us hated it. It was impossible to keep neat, and in heat, and humidity it was like having a Turkish bath on your head. We're not supposed to say this shit, but hey we're pals.

'But I digress.

Well the 1970's hit our hero's Ozzie, and Harriet like a Pinto slamming into the back of an 18 wheeler, and combusting into a ball'a flame!. First Ozzie lost his good job when the plant went to Pango Pango.

Harriet was forced to go to work, and was mugged at the bus stop. Didn't help that the perp was a kid of Color.

Then Ozzie's block began to change. Yeah 'they' started moving in. This meant of course that City services began to get spotty. Hey it's the American way. 

Less sanitation fewer cops the schools gone to hell...the usual.

Ozzie couldn't find work. There were break-ins around the 'hood for the first time. Their friends began to move out, and Ozzie became a Republican.

Liberals do that when the ethnic shit hits the fan.

Today in 2013 some of Ozzie's grand kids are Neo-Nazis. One of them went to prison for murdering an inter-racial couple. This as an initiation for joining the "Christian Army of the True White Jesus".

Ozzie's daughter married a Black lawyer, and their kid Ozzie's Black grandson  got life in Attica for murdering an inter-racial couple as an initiation for joining the "Islamic Army of the True Black Allah".

Oh my good intended criminally insane sleepless America.

Angels truly weep.

Stay Tuned.

"If My Life were a 1950's TV Show"

If my life were a black, and white 50's TV program this would be my outro script.

Uncle Sydney, 

Outro theme, w/ recorded effects.

Canned applause...

"Good night folks, and thanks for coming by."

"Remember next week our special guests will be Elenore Roosevelt, and "Chee Chee" the amazing singing dog!"

"So goodnight drive carefully, and please give to the Charity of your choice."

"So long G-d bless, and see you here next week." 

Applause slowly fades..Que announcer.

Network Announcer,...booth six,

"Uncle Sydney's True Life Adventures was brought to you by "Dr. Pepper" the makers of fine cleaning products. Alternate sponsor "Flame Guard" protect your home protect your children with special formula Asbestos "Flame Guard!"

"The Uncle Sydney Dancers appeared courtesy of Sydneyco Enterprises Ltd." 

"The Uncle Sydney Negro Puppet theater is a co-production of the DuMont Television Network, and the Greater Pacific Co-Prosperity Sphere Media Combine."

Outro theme applause bed fades out.

"Please stay tuned to most of these DuMont stations for "Amos, and Andy 2000". 

Que "A&A" slide...

"Laughs aplenty as Lightning invents a time machine, and the King Fish who thinks it's  a toaster accidentally goes to the future." This will be coming up after these brief commercial announcements."

Local Announcer,...booth one,

"You're tuned to WNBT, Channel 6, Edison New Jersey."

"The time is exactly 8:29 pm est."


Play local PSA...

Que Ajax, DDT, and Nash Rambler commercials

Que network feed for Amos, and Andy...

Saturday, November 23, 2013

"Santa Inc."

Once upon a time there was this guy Santa Claus. He was a shill for the International Military Industrial infotainment Industry. Santa had this scam "Santa Co." with factories, and research facilities up at the North Pole.

So far so good.

Everything was working out just peachy for the old guy till certain waste management problems kicked him in the nuts...Hard. Seems the world's Eco systems backed up like the toilets in a Tijuana whore house on New Years Eve.

An interesting side effect of this jolly event was that the North Pole melted. ...who's a thunk it?

Total cluster fuck. All the factories flooded. No more reindeer neither. They're all drowned staved, and floating belly up in the tepid arctic sea. However all ain't lost Santa ain't nothing if not inventive.

Hey this is the guy that came up with the Hula Hoop, and Slinkies. 

Well okay he did develop that special air dropped bomb for the Russians. Nasty piece of work that. Good grief that little bundle of joy was packed with polymer shrapnel that can't be seen with ex-ray.

This makes treatment all, but impossible. 

Like I sez..nasty, but business is business. Hey give ol' Saint Nick arsenic, and talcum powder, and he'll make Crack...which he did. Santa Co. was behind that from the get-go. 

...nuff said.

Santa, and his R&D crew went to work on the melting ice raising sea problem, and came up with a winner. Instead of them reindeer whose bloated bodies is decorating the Arctic Ocean

...not unlike dead rats in a  punch bowl at a Mafia wedding.

Our hero is now using genetically enhanced Killer Whales to pull his submarine! Yeah he ditched that sled. Com'on ya can't expect Santa to be pulled around the bottom of the damned ocean in an open wheel barrel pulled by crazed whales.

The idea is to get'em to ya house alive!

So Saint Nick went to his pals at McDonnell Douglas, and they came up with a cool composite titanium alloy attack sub. The insane thing looks like a steel shark with an evil attitude problem.

Padre Noel now travels the seas in this contraption from Hell pulled by hopped up Killer Whales! Santa's R&D maniacs came up with a Crack Meth Whiskey, and Caffeine serum that not only get them stoned as hell, but can magically take Father Xmas anywhere on Earth in seconds.

Them rumors of nukes going off in the south Pacific was really a battle between Santa Co., and the Chinese Navy. Them dumb bastards tried to steal the formula. They came away with burnt radio-active fingers. ...and nuthin' else

Ya don't fuck with the Fat Man..ya just Don't.

Anyway we're in a globally warmed humid world now. We're toast..literally. 

Heck even if we swung with all that Kyoto Accords jazz it wouldn't have made any difference. That stuff was too little too late anyway. 

We're fucked, and that's that.

'But I digress.

The above being so Santa is letting his Arctic operations go. He's sold off them elves to the Russians as fertilizer, and he's headed South. Hey the Pole ain't gonna freeze for another 100,000 years so it's time to move.

Yep operations is going the the Pacific Rim, and Central America. Head Office is in Mexico City, and his new Villa overlooks Cancun. It's the Good Life for our no longer frosty hero.

Deals cut signed sealed, and delivered with assorted Presidents for Life deranged Generals, and Cartel Bosses. This for slaves to work the factories, and hired guns to keep shit running smooth.

Feliz Navidad!

Monday, November 18, 2013












"Uncle Sydney Remembers"

Once upon a time it was "Morning in America",..about 5:30. I was a young guy leaning my radio chops, and looking to have a swell time while at it. I was doing tons of speed, and cocaine back then.

Before ya starts it was still socially acceptable to be blasted on all that. Heck most of the radio, and recording business ran on that stuff from the 1950's till the mid 80's or there about.

My gawd the insane shit we did.

Oh, but the close friendships those times created. Close friends..actually it's mostly the friends that stay with you to the end. We loved each other, and now we're burying each other.

'But I digress.

Anyway being new at the shop I was given "Transmitter Duty" at the Empire State Building. Regs. at the time required someone to be on site there. Basically you just sit, and take telemetry readings, and sleep.

Being bored I decided to check my environment out. I found that the windows to the ledge would open.

Good grief! 

I went out, and looked! The whole bleeping world literally at my feet. 


After a while I'd have my lunch while dangling my feet over the edge. I tried to take a walk around the  building. I found you couldn't actually go all the way 'round. I ran into a sheer 1500 ft drop.

Look at the ESB pics above. See the second from the top indentation...that was the sheer drop I found. Yep 1500  Bleeping Foot Drop!  ...and I don't mean maybe!  Anyway all of the Emerald City was laid out before me as I munched on deli heros, and drank cream soda.

The things one can get used to, and call normal.

Gang I routinely hung out on the bleeping ledge of the 86th floor of the Empire bleeping State Building.

Once I was insanely stoned, and sat..feet over the edge looking at the then World Trade Center downtown. It was like a bright silver tuning fork in the hazy distance.

I sang Beatles songs to myself as I peacefully kicked my feet  over Manhattan like a baby in a high chair.  If they make a movie of my stupid life that scene would be the money shot.

...well okay the time I slammed my fist through a double pained window to slug some rancid asshole would be on the deleted scenes disc.

That's all. 

Just that simple event in my deranged life. I was on top of the world for about a year till they found out I was doing that insane bleep, and the bolted the windows on the floor.

Still wotta time! 

(Btw click on the images for the full scary heights effect!)

Stay Tuned.

"Radio Daze"

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 himself in front of a camera or mic, and make a damned fool of himself.

Ain't that the truth.

So here it is. 

Imagine you're all alone on a stage with the population of a town watching, and listening. You're juggling 20 or 30 heavy sharp object 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 the funnier  songs 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 hilarious 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 may or may not have been paying attention to anything you've been doing.

All the while the stage manager,..who hates you has sabotaged the lighting, and all the mics.

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

The stage manager distrusts all the live performers because he can't control everything they do...bad for business that. He wants 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 pay check is short, some bastard has stolen stuff out'a your locker.

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

Seems he's found a dog, and, and 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. Peace.

Stay tuned.













"The Federated States of New England"

The wot?! Sez you. Well okay it don't exist... legally. I was just thinking about the post crash USA. Ya know when everything hits the fan, and folks are paying $500. bucks for a dented can of pork'n beans.

Yeah it's coming.

Anyway this dirty knife fight we calls the U.S. of A. Is already broken up into regions that don't like each other. Jesusland being a rather scary part of this nightmare. So I figure let's get in on the ground floor of this brave new bleeped up world.

I suggest that the Northeast tier, and the Upper Midwest as recognized region. Heck we've been one since before the Civil War. Our voting habits haven't changed we're mostly one sort or other of Liberal. Ya know in the same way Texas is Nazi.

So I say this country should use the Canadian Model. You know how they went, and let them French Canadian fascists build a stupid catholic reactionary state-let.

I didn't say it'd be pretty.

I'm talking avoiding another civil war down here. Hey it's coming, and won't be like the last one. This time it'll be asymmetrical warfare like Columbia or Iraq.  Up close personal, and nasty.

I mean just look at all them Blue, and Red state maps. If ya look close it's really purple. One county red the next one over is blue.

New Jersey will be shelling Manhattan Houston will be raiding them Nazi cow towns, and the Idaho white supremacist nut jobs will be using piper cubs to strafe college towns in Washington state.

Wot a fucking mess!

The damned thing could on forever like the Middle East. So I figure a bunch of demented raving, but separate regions with their own cultural identities law, and what  not. this to avoid several genocides which 'would' happen if war came.

Hey I read that "Turner Diaries" thing. It was a love song to ethnic cleansing, and racial genocide. The maniac author said he wrote it smiling. (!!!!!) One can't sleep well after going through that red neck wet dream. 

So we set up different camps all still loyal to them swell Stars'n Stripes. However in Utah they'd hang, and or behead Queers, and in Brooklyn they boil Kluxers alive.

Not exactly the 21st century I was hoping for, but ya has to work with what you got.

(Umm, eh maybe you should disregard the above steamy post...maybe. It ain't that some serious shit ain't about to hit the fan. It's just that my happy go lucky reaction to all that seems a tad offline tonight.

Looking at this after I did it. It makes this page look like all them insane Tea Party pages that go on about watering the "Tree of Liberty" with people's blood...usually people they really don't like. People like me, and the sort that would be reading my stuff.

Soooo, just think of this one as a delirium dream, and leave it at that.)

Stay Tuned. 

"Queen Marilyn the Good"

I dream of a different America. Another timeline. An American Commonwealth ruled by a wise brave, and compassionate Queen.

"Queen Marilyn Norma Jeane Monroe the First"

In this 'other' America the capital is in Miami. A sparkling art deco city with a half mile high Chrysler Building at it's center. In this other USA I see the Queen coming home from her diplomatic triumph in China.

Queen Marilyn personally negotiated the independence of Tibet!

She arrives home aboard a vintage Pan Am China Clipper flying boat. In this other history good things beautiful things are not discarded just because of newer technologies.

The giant Clippers were, and are both beautiful, and efficient so are kept.

The greatly beloved Queen is greeted at the Royal airdrome by plumed mounted knights in armor of gold. The Royal Procession is headed by the Queen at the wheel of a 1957 pearl white Thunderbird.

As they proceeded to the jade, and silver gilded "Palace of the People"the procession is thronged by the adoring masses. They sing songs of Freedom, and Liberty as their Queen slowly drives past.

In the setting tropical sun the knight seem as a river of molten gold streaming down the Avenue of Dreams.

The crowd in their regional native dress appear as extras from a Carmen Miranda movie.

Later that night from the balcony of the palace Good Queen Marilyn declared a fortnight of Masks, and Reveals to both celebrate Freedom for Tibet, and the great bounty of the National Harvest!


Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!