Monday, April 25, 2016
Like I say up there I always wanted to be a boozer. Heck the stuff is cheap legal, and all over the place. Beats that drug fiend crap I was up to by a skid row mile.
This delirium would make life so bleeping simple. However I've seen too much grim wreckage in that room to enter. I'm allergic to it as well. So I have a built in prohibition amendment in my bleeping guts.
Swell,...thank you gawd.
Speaking of multiple personalities, and who of us ain't got a few of them running around loose. I don't actually know how many Sydney's there are. Oh that's okay since all, but one of them is gleeful, and harmless.
Well, mostly harmless.
See when I'm at home I'm not 'exactly' the fun loving though sometimes demented, and gruff Uncle Sydney some of you folks hears on the radio. Different still from the Uncle that writes all this crap you're read'n now.
Different yet again from the Sydney that wanders the streets weeping or staring blankly. Certainly different from the Queer Revolutionary Maniac that publishes raging broadsides about how Sissy boys should form self defense automatic rifle brigades or insane gleeful Boy Porn blogs that keep getting nuked!
You get's my drift here.
We're many people depending on circumstance the phases of the moon if we're near ley lines or found a fucking bug in our food.
So ya see when I'm at home I'm just ol' Syd regular guy from across the street, and up the block. Not unlike Mickey Mouse. When "Mickey" or actually Lester W. Estrella. When Les is at home in Queens he's just like the rest of the sweaty mob of us.
He just sit'n there on his couch with his feet up on the coffee table wearing the old slippers J.Edgar Hoover gave him at that Queer Christmas pool party at the White House in 1947.
Yeah our pal "Mickey" aka Les is home burp'n fart'n while reading the Sunday Times Book Review section. The ball game's on in the background, and he's got a slice of Sara Lee cheese cake stuffed in his mouth.
Yep we're all pretty much the same within a bell curve of personality disorders. Take Otto for instance. "Otto" is my Demon self. He my evil twin. He's the only separate personality of mine that out of necessity I gave a name to.
If I ever end up in the shower stalls of Folsom or Attica making new, and sudden friends it'll be Otto's fault. Otto's the guy that threw that fridge at that butt hole 30 years ago.
Well okay it was one'a them little office ice box thing's, but still.
He's also the guy who thought doing up eight grams of blow in one night was a good idea,...thanks a lot. I made new friends in the emergency room behind that.
Back in the day when I was working at that radio station when my friends would see me nasty slobbering reeking, and not in a nice way. They would exclaim...and they really did..."Otto you fiend what have you done with our sweet lovable Uncle Sydney!!"
"Return him at once!"
Yeah I know that you can't tell where the fantasies, and stories end, and the real life stuff comes in, but trust me. Ask any of my pals about Otto. They'll tell you.
Anyway as long as I take my meds Otto hasn't been around,...knock on liver.