Sunday, February 28, 2016
The "Federal Department of Fantasies, and Fictitious Characters" today in what will sure to be seen as a controversial move has laid off a number of it's employees. This is a cost cutting act which the administration was forced to take.
This because of the refusal by the Republican controlled House to pass the funding bill for the Fantasy Department.
Republican majority leader Himmler stated that funds for the department of fantasies was a "typical liberal waste of funds". Also that these resources were needed for far more "practical, and necessary projects" such as the "Mexican Wall".
The Easter Bunny the Sandman Tooth Fairy Batman the former Saint Christopher The Little Prince Peter Rabbit Santa's Elves, and a number of other beloved fictional characters were all contacted by email, and let go.
Santa, and Wonder Woman because of their importance to the democratic base were given temporary reprieves until fiscal 2018. Superman because of his connections with the Defense Department is for now exempt from these economic cuts.
Some because of high profiles such as Batman have already been hired by commercial interests. Others such as the Little Prince, and Peter Rabbit with smaller financial probabilities will likely retire, and enter private life.
Though there is the possibility of a small livelihood for a few magical personalities through speaking engagements.
More on this story as developments warrant.
( From my 2010 Archives. )
If there ever was a symbol of the American Empire it was our seriously cool big cars. Pontiac was one of these, and a doorway symbol into the middle class.
Sort of like being first generation university student, first suburban house, all that. Well ya can kiss all that gleeful noise goodbye.
Pontiac from General Motors is toast. After 84 years of tempting Yank working stiffs onto the Interstates it's gone. Like the American Dream that it symbolized for generations Pontiac is History.
Ah!,...the wonderful giant gas guzzlers that could barely fit into your garage or any reasonable sized parking spots are vaporized. I remember riding around in my uncle's 1959 Pontiac.
It was like be driven about in an vast aircraft carrier with stereo radio, air conditioning, and automatic windshield washer. Course there were no safety features whatever.
That sort of thing was for the French, and librarians.
So if we were in even a 'minor' accident me, and uncle would fly through the windshield, getting shredded, beheaded, and set on fire all at the same time.
'But hey the Interstates ain't for sissies!
I loved it.
Yeah my extended family, my aunts, uncles, assorted cousins, my mom 'n dad were finally at the entry level of the Grand Post War American Middle Class.
This btw at the absolute peak of the American Empire! (..eat ya hearts out you selfish, uneducated millennials.) We owned the the damned planet, and they could kiss our nuclear powered butt if they didn't like it.
Oh we shall never see such days again.
I've been an active political person since my late teens. This because I believed that we could make things better. Actually this is still true, but I've decided to stop. I'm never voting again.
Sure people say that, but this time I mean it. I've never seen a political season as disturbed, and insane as this. The world is stunned at us.
The American people or at least 30% of it was gone point blank nuts. They want to elect open bigots, and religious fanatics. The media treat these dangerous nut jobs as normal. Just regular candidates.
All this of course is the result of eight years open hatred, and contemptuous obstruction. This against of our first, and likely last Black President.
Mind you he was no prize. See my opinionated pixs above.
The opposition to this is Hillary Clinton, and an un-electable old guy. Tell you the truth I almost hope one of the racist nut-jobs wins. the country would get what it wants.
When G-d wants to fuck with us it grants our wishes.
So I'm opting out...unless Sanders is nominated. Then I'll vote. Yeah he'll be blown to bits like Mc Govern was in '72, but still. However since the democratic machine won't allow the guy an inch Hillery it is.
She can lose without me.
A Republican House, and Senate with a fanatic at it's head will be historic. A bull on crack, and whiskey in the china-shop of 100 years of slow progressive reforms.
This shit should be both horrifying, and insanely entertaining.
I can't wait.
( From our 2011 Archives. )
This blog has been hostile, and unpleasant for far too long. Granted things suck, and suck real bad too, but that's no reason to be nasty all the time,..mostly.
Anyway I've lately been digging through my papers, and found some stories I'd written in the old daze. I was tinkering with children stories back in the day.
This in particular, *"Radio Nine, and One Half" I did just before 9/11,..I think. I never finished it. It's just two short fragments I still mean to develop.
"Radio 9 1/2"
Once upon a time there was a radio station called "Radio, Nine & a’Half", and it lived on a sandbar called Blue Oyster Reef. This pinch of blue sand was somewhere between the Statue of Liberty, and the Brooklyn Bridge. I say "somewhere" because from time to time without much warning it liked to move.
Anyhow this radio station was like most others in that it had a tower, a little studio, and microphones. However unlike the others it was powered by bicycle hooked up to an old truck battery. Also the studio had bunk beds, a trampoline, electric trains, a very nice doll house, and a fireplace.
There’s a tree too.
An old elm grew up through the middle of the radio station. The children that live there weren’t sure if the tree was planted in the studio before they were born or if the station was built around it.
Three little kids live on Blue Oyster Reef. They live there, and run the radio station. I’m not sure how they got there or why, but there they are. There they live, and there they're happy to be. Their names are Betty, Toby, and Zuzu, and they’re all nine, and a half. Well actually Betty is nine, and three quarters, but never mind.
This btw is how the station got it’s latest name, Radio 9 ½. The kids had called it other things depending on their moods, and events of the day. For a while it was Radio Dirty Socks when they were too lazy to do the laundry.
It was Radio Bird Doodie that time all them sea gulls showed up, and Radio Pancakes when Zuzu surprised everyone one morning with breakfast in bed on the air. However they settled on Radio 9 ½, and decided to keep it even if they got real old like 16 or something.
Now this radio station Radio 9 ½ is a secret station. It can only be heard by kids. If an old person, say someone 22 or 68 tuned in they would only hear static, but kids would get the real deal.
One of the most popular shows is "Ask Me Anything", which is hosted by Zuzu. She usually does it from a tent on the roof. Toby runs a cable’n mic up there, and she’s good to go.
Kids from all over the City call up, and ask her questions that adults can’t handle. A boy from East 3rd Street on the Lower Eastside called in,...
"Hi Zuzu something’s been bothering me a long time."
"No problem" sez our hero from her roof top wigwam, "What is it?"
"Where do boogers come from?"
To which Zuzu deftly answered, "The Devil!"
"Who invented Summer School?"
Radio 9 ½ does other programs of strong interest to kids. Like serious discussions amongst all three hosts about where farts come from, and more important where do they disappear to.
They give lessons on how to read, and speak backwards. Specials on the different kinds of bugs in your house,..and what to feed them. How to beat up bullies, and still be alive afterward, and what to do if you’re lost, but don’t want to go home right away.
*(Okay that was part of my outline sketch for the idea of the place. What follows is a tentative in the life of the kids on the reef. Consider all this an unsold pilot episode.)
Toby, and Zuzu were sitting on the shore, and eating some of Betty’s fresh baked animal crackers. Betty likes to make yetis, moth-men, two headed unicorns, and other folks that never made it to the Ark. Blue sand between her toes, and starring out at the harbor Zuzu was making noises.
"...Ipp, pip, pip, ipp." She was trying to make up a rabbit language.
"Rabbits wouldn’t talk like that" said Toby.
Zuzu smiled, and offered Toby the back half of a winged elephant, she’d just bitten off the head.
The air was fresh today. The ‘Jersey refineries, and waste plants were down wind for most of the week. That, and the sky was a bluey, blue, and the harbor was sea green. Just like it was before everybody started using it as a toilet.
Toby asked Zuzu,..
"Where were we before we was born?"
Zuzu looked over to Governors Island, and said, "We all comes from Heaven. That’s where everybody lived. Us the animals, maybe the trees, and bugs too."
"How do you know all that? Do you remember?"
"It’s a kind of remembering" said Zuzu. "A remembering, but not exactly. I just know is all."
"See I have this happy feeling in me, can’t help it. I think that’s the part of Heaven I brought with me."
Zuzu looked at Toby. The setting sun made the brass rims of his round glasses bright. The reflection gave each of Toby’s eyes a golden halo.
"Can you remember anything from when you weren’t born?"
Toby thought a moment, a baby crab crawled by his big toe.
He said, "Just before I fall asleep I hear voices,..singing."
"Sometimes it’s far away, sometimes it’s all around, but it’s always there."
Zuzu leaning close, and asked, "What do your voices say, what do they sing?"
"I’m not sure" said Toby bringing his knees up to his chin. "I don’t remember the words. Just that it’s nice, and I always have good dreams afterward."
Toby, and Zuzu sat watching the sun set behind the bright noisy island of Manhattan.
"Your voices,..that’s the part of Heaven ‘you’ kept said Zuzu."
A blimp shaped like a winged cat, and advertising pet cloning passed over the Brooklyn Bridge, and headed for Times Square.
( From our 2010 Archives. )
This happy story is from my never to be published book "The Secret History of Everything". This is one of the chapters on the world of "Toons". That immortal race of beings that hides in plain sight.
Our tale so to speak describes the origins of out dear pal Daffy Duck.
Daffy Duck was born or should I say hatched on May 12, 1923. His original destiny was to be guest of honor in a boxed lunch at an annual convention of vacuum cleaner salesmen. However history had other plans for this unique foul.
Daffy's formative years were spent in the cosmopolitan atmosphere of a Harlem oriental noodle shop. This informed him that there was a better world outside the oppressive confines of an American race ghetto.
The blossoming Harlem Renaissance was a cornucopia of wonders for the young Daffy. Naturally this led him to the stage. Daffy Duck performed publicly for the first time at the famed Apollo Theater on amateur night.
He charmed the audience with his kid act. He juggled broken beer bottles while swallowing watermelons. He'd then squat, and lay them while doing the Charleston. True he was a male, but to the audience a duck was a duck.
Anyway it brought the house down.
..hey keep reading it gets better.
Josephine Baker was so impressed by his act that she took him along on her tour of France. "My little Black Duckie" she called him. Josephine while making the rounds of the jazz clubs in the City of Light would introduce Daffy as her nephew.
The sophisticated Parisians didn't blink at this. They took it to be just another bizarre American custom.
Daffy while doing his act at the Cafe 'Celluloid was noticed by a famous American producer. Yep it was the old proto nazi himself,..Walt Disney.
He was seated at a private table with his protégé a young black mouse named Mickey. Walt liked them young, and dark. Also at the table was a very well dressed German gentleman named Goebbels.
After Daffy's performance in which he played Beethoven on a grand piano while juggling several large bottles of nitroglycerin with his butt. He was invited over to Mr. Disney's table for a chat.
Disney who was sipping owls head soup from a Ming Dynasty bowl seemed a pleasant affable sort of fellow. On the other hand his little companion, the mouse, was obnoxious. Indeed he was more than a little vulgar.
The disheveled rodent kept passing wind, giggling, and putting a strange white powder in his nose. The German gentleman just sat there stiffly staring at nothing while slowly sipping calf's blood through a polished platinum straw.
Daffy now a worldly duck quickly sized up the scam. He'd been to a number of parties like this already. Before Mr. Disney could say anything Daffy told him, "..I don't take it up the ass!"
The German's left eye twitched.
The little mouse began laughing like a hissing like a steam pipe. He was also masturbating spilling all the white powder onto the floor as he did.
Walt Disney turned to the crazed rodent, and in a lazy tone said, "Aw Mickey now look what you've done."
"How many times have I told you that stuff is expensive. Now Doctor Goebbels will have to get us more."
Walt confided in Daffy, "You'll have to excuse my young friend."
"He is after all a mouse, and so has a rather limited intellectual, and emotional repertoire."
However as for 'your' lovely black ass please be reassured that back door grease jobs are not something I'm likely to be doing for quite some time."
"Or so my doctors tell me."
"Seems I acquired a rather unfortunate condition while on holiday in the Philippines."
"No, I have something entirely different in mind for you."
Besides his interesting lifestyle Walt Disney was a businessman. One without an once of sentiment so he made Daffy an ironclad offer!
Of course Walt was aware of Daffy. The Toon grapevine was buzzing with his name since his Apollo days. Everyone knew this was a duck to watch, and watch the shark of Hollywood did. Disney had his operatives secretly film all of Daffy's acts.
Walt especially liked the self-immolation routines.
Daffy would blow himself up with a barrel of dynamite. As the smoke cleared his blackened bill would slam to the floor as his eyeballs bounced about the stage,...brilliant thought Disney!
Walt said to Daffy, "I intend to use you, and your colorful Toon colleagues to mold the dreams of America, and then the World!"
Mr. Disney pointed to the German gentleman who seemed to be injecting something into his arm. "Doctor Goebbels here has been invaluable to me in forming the foundations of what I intend to be an Empire of Dreams!"
Clearly this is a gang of fruitcakes thought Daffy,..rich fruitcakes. So Daffy asked a question. A question that has led many a Toon down the road to perdition.
Ahhhh, old Disney smiled like a shark circling an overturned lifeboat full of children.
"How much?" "...why as much as you want my dear lad,..sign here."
...and he did.
Thus began Daffy Duck's adventures in Toon Hell!
*( Greeting comrades...as I imagine you've guessed assorted health issues forces me to post from the archives. New stuff soon. )
Friday, February 26, 2016
( From our 2009 Archives. )
(This here is a little story of the coming time of them Tribulations. Yeah you laffs now, but just wait. The shit's com'n.)
Part 1, "The Goods"
It was a dark, and stormy night my phone rang. It was Satan again. He wanted to know if I had the "merchandise?" "Yes!" I said for the tenth time that day, and hung up.
What's the big deal I thought.
One priceless severed head of a Pope is as good as another. Still I can't blame da "Prince'a Darkness" for being nervous. Especially after what happened to him the last time he went toe to toe with the "Big Guy" upstairs.
My TV turned itself on, and a simulacrum of a very young Harry Truman appeared. He was wearing a geisha outfit, and had a rosebud smile on his pouting lips.
"How did it go on the space station?"
Eh, there's these nasty rouge Angles, and Demons that's set themselves up on the old "ISS" in orbit. Yeah they wants the damned Head too.
"Oh Uncle Sydney" Truman purred. "You know this isn't wise", she/he said in Meiji upper caste Japanese.
"There's still time."
"Heavens Leviathans are chasing their ample tails."
"Give 'Purgatory' that fools head, and we'll cover your debts to hell. All will be even."
I threw a Steuben Glass figurine of Fats Domino through the screen. Which immediately repaired itself, and began playing 3-D images of the coronation of Queen Elizabeth,...the First!
Who could have imagined that the fate of the multiverse would depend on a has been Gay pornographer, and the rancid head of an ex-Pope.
Part 2, "Cherry Coke"
Traffic was backed up on the Obama Memorial Bridge. My skating to midtown plan was going seriously south. Homeland Security had gone nuts, and was strip searching everybody try'n to get out of town.
They wanted that "Head", and they wanted it bad!
My options was drying up faster than the Pacific Ocean. Which was just the first plague. One down nine to go.
It was time to call in some "markers." I took off my glass roller blades hailed a peddle-cab, and was biked over to Sutton Place,..the new homeless encampment.
New York is a Hella'va Town. All the more so now that Satan, and his bully boys was running City Hall.
Still things ain't changed 'that' much. Housing was still affordable, the schools sucked, it was too hot, and you could get shanked in da kidneys for your shoelaces after dark.
I paid the "undead" cabbie with cats eye marbles, the only solid currency these days. I climbed off the yellow tricycle, and joined the ragged shell shocked mob as they shuffled by.
I did my best to look inconspicuous. Not easy what with me still wearing a spacesuit, and carrying a large Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket under my arm.
Yeah that's where I keep it. The Head that is.
I reach's my destination with only minor incidents. Former yuppies, and assorted republicans, and landlords begging for forgiveness, not a chance.
Anyhow I knocks on the steel plated door of a fortified "Starbucks." A little slot opens, and someone eyes me up'n down.
The door suddenly slides back, and I'm stare'n down the muzzle of an AK-47 expertly held by a 12 year old boy in ballerina drag.
He wasn't smile'n.
"Eh,..the Cardinal in?" I politely asks.
"You the Head Man?" asks little snake eyes.
"The same." "Tell ya boss I gots the "Original Recipe", and I'm here to talk turkey."
"Ya might also wanna mention my home movies of his indiscretions at a certain boy scout jamboree." "I think he'll want to see me."
Short Pockets lets me in, and goes to fetch his master.
While I'm waiting I makes myself at home. 'Always liked Starbucks, and these days it's the only place ya can still get a cherry coke,...uncut!
Yeah looks like the "Cardinal's" do'n okay for himself. He's got the major food groups covered,..loose shoes, a tight altar boy, and a warm place to shit. Not bad.
Part 3, "Biznezz"
I was just knock'n back my third "Cuba Libre", and watch'n a bunch'a drunken undead demons abduct a crowded crosstown bus into a mini blackhole when the Cardinal stumbled in.
I had apparently Interrupted his meditations with Saint Angel Dust. Hey who could blame'em. The "Tribulations" haven't exactly been a barrel of laffs for anybody.
"So Uncle, you're still alive." His eminence hissed. "That 'is' unfortunate."
"Well I'm glad ta see you too." ...putting on my best sodomized altar boy face.
"Is that him?" Eyeing my "Colonel Sanders" tub.
"Have a look." I sez. "He likes visitors."
The Cardinal who btw was in full drag, miter, robes, ring, hooked staff the works popped open the bucket. The Vicar of you know who on Earth stared up, and blinked at the sudden light.
"He don't say much" I said,.."seems when they did the deed in Mecca they cut'em above the vocal cords." They don't like their victims talk'n. Bad for business or something.
Ya know the final day's is just full'a interesting sights. The Statue of Liberty recite'n from the Torah, talking fish, and the "undead" re-register'n to vote.
But I must admit I gets a kick out'a watching the faithful meet their holy underboss. Which is to say 'the' Pope.
The last in a line that started with St. Peter or Mary of Magdalene. Depending on which one you believe.
I remember the both of them having it out on CNN, talk about a blooper reel!
Anyhow the Cardinal was get'n an eyeful. I can only guess at what his former-holiness was think'n.
While still enraptured with the sight of the pontiff's head in a fried chicken box the Cardinal asked.
"What do you want?"
"Who me or ya pal "extra-crispy" in there?"
His Eminence looked up ashen faced from clear evidence of the 'end' of Faith as we knew it , and said.."You do not fear for your immortal soul?"
"It's in a safe place, but let's get to it." "I wanna ticket out'a town, and a safe conduct pass to the Angelic front-lines."
He smirked,.."You, and eight billion other people."
Well didn't hurt to ask.
My ex-confessor continued,..."Best I can do is maybe a seat on the next migrant ship headed for the "Yankee-town" slums of Shanghai."
My blood ran cold for a moment.
If there were a place worse than hell. A place that would make the Lake'a Fire feel like a heroin, and cocaine uncut rush that was it.
"No thanks" I said, "I don't do windows."
"What else" asked his eminence clutching his monkey's paw talisman.
"Okay, behind door number two I might like ten ounces of "pre-tribulation" Holy Water." (The only kind that still works,..keeps the hyper-demons away.)
"A crate of .45 caliber hollow point zombie slugs. The 'real' stuff not that U.N. crap that only piss's 'em off." "A copy of the Vatican's map to the last safe zones."
"That'n one of them backpack fresh water'n food replicators the Angels handed out when all this shit started."
"Throw in them consecrated keys to your "enchanted" 1950 Studebaker, and we're "Jake."
"In return for?"
"In return for his former holiness's left eye."
Talk about a conversation stopper. Even little "Snake Eyes" who'd been cover'n me with his trusty Kalashnikov went pale.
See the left eye of a Pope,..any Pope can ward off demons, and all their evil fucked up enchantments too.
A real handy thing to have now'a days.
Don't leave home without it. I don't neither. I got's an even set of four mummified "papal peepers" they work too. Like a charm in fact, beats the hell out'a them monkey paws every time!
"So can we do Biznezz?"
Part 4, "The Kicker"
The Studebaker, enchanted or not, is the most underrated car Detroit ever crapped out onto the interstates! When I was a kid these things was as common as crucified nuns are today, and just as popular.
Don't know why they stopped make'n 'em.
The light changed to blue, and I accelerated down Himmler Avenue. I made a left onto Broadway'n had to swerve around all the wreckage the "Rapture" had left behind. The National Guard was still scraping, and hauling all that crap away.
Every possible make of smashed car, truck, and occasional pulverized airliner littered the landscape.
On the upside tho' most of the assholes, fanatics, and busybodies of the world disappeared.
Poof! Just like that.
I guess we all got a story 'bout 'that' day. Sort'a like where were you on 9/11 or when that giant UFO flew over Dodgers Stadium during the Pennant Game.
Ha! There was no hush'n that one up.
With me I was at a staff meeting at my job. I used to work at a communist radio station. This is before Satan ordered all broadcasting shut down except for his outfit.
Actually his stuff ain't bad. They tell it like it is, and their game shows is funny.
"You Bet Your Life" is my favorite.
You win you live, you lose you die. Straight up no bullshit. 'Course most of the show is the losers being slowly roasted, and eaten by the winners, but still. It's an honest game.
Anyhow there I was at this stupid meeting surrounded by untalented morons when,..."Poof!"
Them jerks was gone.
This followed by the sound of chain reaction accidents on the street outside. Point is every bigot, asshole, and fanatic was gone.
Btw, the rapture effect really sounded like,..."Poof" I watched the digital analysis of it CNN 'fore the devils shut it down.
Here's the kicker.
They didn't go to Heaven 'or' Hell. Least that's what Moses said when he was interviewed by Satan on that new "Demonic Network" of his. According to Moses, and btw Vishnu backs him up on this. Moses sez that there's more out there besides Heaven, Hell or Purgatory.
Apparently the "Big Guy" set up all sorts of players we never heard of. Well the "Rapture" scooped up millions sure. Zapped them to,...where? Nobody knows.
Not even The Lord of Darkness knows, and the Big Guy ain't talk'n. Ha, I loves a mystery.
But I digress.
My little pal here seems to be the key to alot of whats going on. Yeah, yeah it's the end of the world, and this Tribulation shit sucks. Ocean's drying up, devils everywhere fuck'n with folks, mayhem, slaughter, high tax's, and only one channel on tv.
It's like the whole damned universe ate the brown acid then drank the Jim Jones Koolaid!
Ain't we got fun.
But underneath it all is a purpose. The "Big Guy" is up to something, and he's gonna let us all in on it this time. That explains the chaos.
See 'before' everybody was in his own patch, and it was business as usual. Now all these Celestial realities, evil, and Angelic is bumping into each other. Now everyday life is like subletting an apartment in one of Dali's nuttier paintings.
There's a map to where all this shit is going locked inside the Popes head. I imagine that's why he's still alive, and so popular.
Btw, that reminds me. I needs to shove one of my cats eye marbles into his holiness's empty socket. Hey appearances still count.
I turns on to the cracked, and shaky Caligula expressway, and heads west.
Studebaker,..hell of a car!
To be continued.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
(From our 2008 archives.)
Faeries have been seen all over the world. In forests, jungles, even lawns, and backyards. Wherever there are flowers, trees, vines, and tall grass there you'll find them. The tall wild grass seems to be their favorite though.
Yes they love being amongst the blooms, and flitting about neon signs. They skim over ponds, and hover between the limbs of trees. However the sea of green grass the wild grass has a special attraction for them.
If you wish to meet a faerie go there. To the wide fields of the countryside. Step softly, and whisper your greetings for they are easily startled. It would be good if you bought a gift.
Perhaps hard candy or a shard of bright colored glass. Even better a small flute or tiny toy harmonica. These they especially prize for they love music. Bright colors, candy, and music.
Now when you see them don't be surprized. Because at first glance they seem to be children. Graceful children with wise bejeweled eyes, and shimmering wings to match. Though very young in appearance they may be old, much older that you,..or your mother or grandmother. Legend says that faeries live as long as trees, maybe as long as the mountains.
Seeming frail they actually have the strength of ten men. Because of their years, and strenght. Faeries have the wisdom to live in love, even innocence. The innocence of age. The gentleness of experience. These beings sing, play, dance, and dream both day, and night.
Joy, and a deep reverence for life, all life is their way. Kindness is to them what breathing is to us. True they are not Angels. They have faults, make mistakes even, though rarely, commit sin. They are fallible, and mortal, but are slightly holier than humans.
There are legends, stories told by soldiers through the ages. Tales of wounded, and lost soldiers laying helpless in jungles or forests. Stories have been told by these men about seeing "them" the shining ones. All of man's wars have tales of winged children made of light that save the wounded, and maimed.
These bright beings would seek out, and find the forsaken, and heal them. Wounded survivors from the wars of the Pharos to the tank battles in Iraq have sworn that kindly, winged sprites had saved them.
With smiles, and gentle touchings their wounds healed. Shattered limbs were made whole, burns vanished. All pain, and terror would lift, and fade as like the passing of a storm. Then in a moment. In a blink of a whisper they'd vanish in a blur, and shimmer of rainbows.
Leaving only a faint breath of their songs.
"Me my Dad our Buick, and the Faeries"
Well there I was in bed with what I've told my pals is, "a flu, cold, cough, fever monster thing!" It's almost like being stoned. Everything is sort of sideways, and different colors. I'd be enjoying this if I wasn't so sick.
Anyway being in this frame of mind I naturally thought about my wee pals the faeries. Gee how I loves them. City faeries are neat, but you have to be quick to spot them. Hey this is a tough town, and faerie or not you have to be fast to get over around here.
As I mentioned in one of my story's city faeries are attracted to neon lights. Well that, and some of the brighter traffic signals. It's not unusual in summer btw to see city faeries around pizza, and ice cream stands,..the neon. They like the ruby red of tail lights too. In fact that's how I saw one of my first faerie's.
This happened a few thousand years ago when America was great, and even regular Joe's had jobs, dough, and laff's. Well one night in this long ago happy time I was sitting next to my dad on the front seat of our old Buick.
A 1955 sky blue, and white two tone if ya wanna to know. Well as is the habit of kids everywhere I was squinting my eyes to make the passing street lights look weird. I had just begun to do the same with the tail lights ahead of us when I see something.
Wow that's a big bug I thought. Only when I stopped squinting it wasn't. A bug that is. It wasn't tinker bell either. Ya'know whole generations of rubes got real wacky ideas of what faeries look like 'cause of all the Disney propaganda. Thing is faerie's is just like folks. Just alot smaller,..with wings,.. and feelers, sometimes extra arms'n stuff, magical powers, eh halos, and eh. Well okay faerie's ain't like folks at all, but so what.
Well there I am sitting next to the old man as we're roll'n through Queens on our way back to Brooklyn, and there's these little faerie guys darting around the tail lights of the Oldsmobile in front of us. Hey, com'on ya can't make this stuff up.
Now ya'see by this time I'm an 'experienced' kid, and know better than to tell my dad that I'm seen'n glow'n bug people buzz'n around the butt-end of the car in front of us. Hey gimme some credit. I still remember the penance I had to do for one of my previous visions.
I foolishly told my folks that I saw flaming demon bat beasts flying out of an open manhole on Flatbush avenue. My mom made me kneel on a steel rod while I said the rosary ten times over for being in league with Satan. Heck I never even met the guy.
Sooo, I keeps my young trap shut, and enjoys the doing's of the wee folk in front of us. If dad saw anything he wasn't about to tell me. He knew better too. Still they was fun to watch, and they meant no harm.
Not like that seriously scary furry sky-monster-thing. Ya know the one on that famous "Twilight Zone" episode w/the pre-"Trek' Shantner. The hairy bastard, not Shantner, just floats in the air chase'n after airplanes. When he catches one he rips their engines apart so they crash. Remember that one? Forty years later it still scares the crap out'a me! Rod you was one cool genius!
Yes very interesting, but Uncle Sidney what the hell are you getting at with all this?
Ah, I'm glad you asked! See with the warmer weather coming we has to prepare for "Faerie Time!" As we know from tradition handed down from kid, to kid. Generation to generation, like the varied rules of stick ball or ring-a-leave-v-o, or ring something. It varies from block to block around the world, but you know what I means.
Like "Ring Around the Rosy" passed from kid to kid for nearly a thousand years. The knowledge of "Faerie Time" in the same way has come to the 21st century.
Come June at midnight on that Longest Day all "Faeriedom" awakes, and begins their summer frolics! Which is to say it's their mating, and general screwing around w/humanity season. Eh, playful screw'n around. They never hurt anybody. 'Least not on purpose. One thing tho' don't rob or try to hurt them they don't kid around about that sort'a thing. They may be seriously cute,..some of them, but they have sharp thorns. Get my drift?
Otherwise we're all welcome to dance the summer away with them. That business about them abducting folks for years is crap told by the Church, and the CIA. They don't do that,..the demons on the other hand. 'Word to da wise,..stay clear of them gumba's.
How long has this been going on? "Faerie Time" No one knows. Maybe it's from before Ur or Babylon. Legends is full'a all sorts of traces about "Faerie Times", and it's goings on. That Shakespeare story kind'a got some of it right, but he mixed it up with all the class, and culture bullshit of his times. I guess we all do that in a way.
But "Faerie Time" is real. My older cousins told me, and I told my special friends at school, and they told their friends, and so, and so, and so through the years, and generations, and ages to come. An unbroken tradition from kid to kid.
When I was little I danced in a faerie circle with the sweet wee folk by the light of a full moon in Prospect Park. Then again on warm steamy night in Central Park when I was a happily crazed'n horny teenager. Now in my demented pissed off late middle years I still hear their songs.
Bless the little fuckers!
Thursday, February 25, 2016
"Uncle Sidney's Great Adventure to get clean Sox, and Shorts!"
Well there's my "Great Feet" on the train...yeah that's long past getting tired, but I likes it. Anyway there I am on the train after walking in the stiff winds, and rain to get to the damned station. Right...I get to my stop, and out to the street, and almost get run the bleep over...next slide
There's the Williamsburg Bank tower in background obscured by scary drifting fog...I should have turned back right there.
Ha...appearing out of the wet chilled fog the new still being built sports center "Barclay Center" or whatever. Looks like a rusty bent paper clip. That or something from the 1964 Worlds Fair...which I so much miss...I'll tell that story some time.
Next slides please.
Further down the aisle, ...above, weird bleep I always do in the toy section. I've got in trouble for this sometimes, but mostly folks leave me alone to take my weird pixs...thinking I'm either a cop or crazy...same thing mostly.
Oh, and I treated myself to a few t-shirts...'been looking for the NASA shirt in my size for years...XXL. Though thanks to having the yuckies for so long, and changing my diet...I seem to be down to an XL which is what a bloke as tall as me should be...hey I feel good about that.
Speaking of which tho' I didn't get sprouts. The green grocer I go to had closed. I had a nice veggie plate at "Target's" diner....did I mention that's where I went? ...well that's where I went. Yummy steamed veggies...yummmm!
I stumbled out'a there got on the train came home, and here we are. Okay yeah a bunch of other stuff happened as always, but this is basically it. Yeah yeah there was that UFO saucer guys sighting thing above the store, but that always happens.
(...The above silliness, but actual true event of this evening which I used to entertain my face book comrades with. I duplicate it here for you enjoyment as well. "Our lives are long lists of common events. Still every moment counts. Every event no matter how mundane appearing in it's moment is Magical, and Holy.) ...Uncle
( DELETED SCENES.)
I almost go these above. They were on sale. however I thought better of it, and went to the electronics dept. I got a new mouse which I'm using right now. ...cool huh?
I also stopped at the store, and got some Perrier,...my Pepsi substitute. That, and I had the feeling I should pick up a small bag of Sunflower seeds..unsalted which I mostly don't like. Well I wanders to my front door, and there's a poor soaked pigeon off to the side sheltering from the hard rain.
Ah! So that's why the Angels told me to get them seeds. I opens the bag, and dumps the lot out for our damp winged pal down there. Hey it's that "Circle of Life" thing. Nice.
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
Eh,...I might as well come clean here. Yeah I'm a cat...have been all along. I'd appreciate it if ya kept this under your hat. See cats ain't eligible for Social security, and the other commie stuff I'm getting.
We get Jury Duty though, and used to get Drafted too, ...bastards.
Tonight at the "Swift" where we honored the memory of our friend Simon Loekle lecturer academic performer publisher cartoonist broadcaster snappy dresser weird dancer writer, and swell guy. I took pixs of the large crowd, and individual comrades. Tho' other than an image of our departed pal, and the full orange moon which shown down on the proceedings. I just want to post the lectern from which Simon preached both grand, and gentle sermons of Literacy, and Wit.
My "Great Feet", below, on their way to the "Swift" to pay homage to a cool cool dear pal. This is bleeping nuts...he can't have gone! "Hello I Must be Going..."