"Brave the New Year"

I'm somewhat certain

this is my last lap around the sun coming up.

It just feels that way. No long story here.

One just has the sense. My dad did.

He knew it was up.

...and was right.

Now I'm my father,...I know I just do.

However if I'm still here January 2nd 2019 well fuck it.

More mac'n cheese, and empty days.

See,...there's Hope. 

Burn Burn Oh Material World Burn away.

"...ride"

I had another of those dreams a few nights ago.

I was burning the last of my possessions. The things that like barnacles have stuck to me. They burned. My books manuscripts burned. They curled turned to ash blew away.

These, and the trinkets I've carried with me through my life. They twisted bubbled melted. Became black smoke, and vanished in the bright coals.

My parents were there.

Well their shadows in peripheral corners were. 'Yeah it was them. Why,...I don't know. They didn't speak they never do.

So I fed the fire all I still had. I cleansed myself of my worldly parts. I just did that's all. It was time. On impulse I shoved my hand into the fire. ...don't ask. It was cold. Burning ice. Dante wrote that hell is a cold place. The greater the sins the lower, and colder you get.

This is where my stuff has gone.

Being mortal I'm not so lucky. Me you, and all mortals. We vanish. Viruses great oaks lady bugs all of us go back to where we came from.

Oblivion. Nothing. ...or at least that's how it looks.

Hell of a ride.

On the other hand. When you do good it's for it's own sake. It 'is' it's own reward like fortune cookies tell us. You none of us has an account in paradise where our good deeds accrue interest.

We're spiritual paupers. I think we're suppose to be.
So just be kind, and generous as best you can.

Not for reward, but because we should.

"...fuck"

For those keeping track of the end of the world. It was 11f degrees at my frosted kitchen window at five this morning.

Just saying.

"...hell"

John Donne, Enrico Fermi, and George Harriman, he invented "Krazy Kat", were in a bar in one of heaven's rougher neighborhood's. Ya know, that scary part near Hell's Gate. Well the guys was shoot'n the breeze, and getting sloshed.

Jesus was behind the bar mixing drinks, and Bessie Smith was on stage sing 'n some of her new stuff. Mozart was playing backup on base, and electric fiddle, with Bob Marley on keyboards.

Harriet Beecher Stowe was passed out in front of the cigarette machine. An unlit Chesterfield sticking out of the side of her mouth, and an empty bottle of Wild Turkey at her feet.

The 'real' Heaven is really hard for some people.

Just then Queen Elizabeth the First, a very young Eleanor Roosevelt a buzzed Marilyn Monroe, and Emma Goldman wanders in.

Well ol' George invites the gals over for a few, and they has a merry old time together. Hey it's Heaven right?

As usual Donne eventually sez something stupid, and anti-Semitic, Emma leaps across the table rips off his wig, and punches him in the nose.

Enrico swings at her with a beer bottle the Queen bashes 'him' with her Rod 'n Scepter!

...'fore ya knows it they's all kicking the crap out'a each other all over the floor.

Dear Marilyn was asleep in the ladies crapper, and missed the whole thing.

Jesus who was on the phone with his nosy Mother didn't notice, and the folks on stage had seen it all before. What the heck they'd already been paid.

Anyway in walks Zeus, and Yahweh...

( Marilyn, above, in Heaven.)

This an old story I like which I post around now, and then. 

A "FB" comrade commented...

Terrance White:

"Ha! An entirely anthropomorphic version of "Heaven," dear Uncle."

To which I in typical smarty pants fashion replied:

Well what else would they make for us? At least at first. Also it's a matter of point of view, and degree. East St. Louis in 1978 was at the time among the worst of American urban hells. However some peasants from 1438 Ipswich England dumped there would imagine they'd gone to heaven.

Fresh water miraculous machines everyone well dressed amazingly wealthy Moors great palaces everywhere, and free food. All that would actually be fire hydrants cars buses the ghetto underclass abandoned factories, and garbage.

Heaven or Hell as the Angels tell us depends on your point of view. 

"Oh the Mysteries"

"...A sad fucked up depressing story"

Night I dreamed of night. People in their multitudes stood watching the sky. The increasingly strange night sky. The stars were fading out. Some winking abruptly with all the colors of the spectrum.

Others slowly fading dark.

It seemed as if all the heavens were drifting away from us. Going out as they did. Cassiopeia Virgo Orion Gemini Andromeda. Singularly or in groups they left us.

Soon only the Pleiades, and a handful of other points stayed behind. However they too were soon burned away. In the end a world of astonished eyes only beheld the empty Chalice of Eternity.

Void.

"So it was in the beginning, and shall be again."

(...eh, note how the stars are disappearing in the paintings. I hate having to explain shit". People are so fucking ass stupid now.)

"Xmas"

Here's some Xmas crap I wrote ten years ago. As true now as it was then. Fuck'em.

Just like in the "Peanuts" holiday cartoon they've been playing on TV for the last 400 years I feel like Crap. I know I'm supposed to be happy, but hey you know the rest. So lets be real. We're gonna fight with our families,...if we still have any left. We're gonna drink too much, feel like shit, be miserable, lonely, and have lots of misdirected rage, and despair.

Merry X-Mas.

Hell the guy wasn't even born now. If he was born at all it was in spring they now think. Also I ain't actually a Christian anyway. At least not anymore.

Turns out all that whooie about the miracles, and virgin birth was made up centuries after he was dead. Now I hear he lived to a happy old age, and never intended any of his stuff for gentiles,...that's us.

That Jesus guy was a good Jew, and would be horrified to learn that a bunch 'a goy is worshiping him as some sort of gawd. Not only that, but works' overtime fuck'n up real Jews in his name. Talk about unintended results. Where does that leave me a good "Katlick" boy?

That leaves me, and you, and the whole western, cheeseburger eat'n lot of us spiritually screwed, and on our own. Oh yeah I don't believe in g-d again. It's been a rough few years.

You know the drill. Friends dropping dead. Messy sickness, and death in the family. Wars, on going genocides that no one is seriously doing anything about, and the north pole has melted.

Yeah a rough few years.

So Christmas ain't exactly on the agenda for me. Though I wish it were. Okay lets try a nice, fantasy. Lets see. "Black Bart's Christmas Angel" Yeah that sounds the ticket.

"Black Bart's Christmas Angel",...A touching, heartwarming family holiday special in which an evil gunslinger finds the true meaning of Christmas when he rescues a negro child from a slave master's evil plantation".

Humm, could make it a blind 'n crippled black kid. Maybe throw in some slave auction scenes, whippings, and shit. Yeah that'll do it.

Jesus Christ I'm cry'n already.

I should write crap like this for a living, and make some real dough. Then I could finally have a happy, gross, materialistic X-Mas just like everybody really wants. Fuck that baby Jesus stuff. Bring on the presents,...the expensive ones!

I'll be back later I'm going out for some breakfast.

(Btw if ya don't already know I'm a very pissed off cynical person of color with no patient's whatsoever with any sort of paternalistic political correctness so don't waste my time with any static about that slave business above.)

Yes I love you too.

"Bate"

I just found this post below from 2007...ten bleeping years ago. Clearly my attitude has not changed.

Okay so I took the bait. I got into the Holiday Spirit for about an hour or so, and went to midtown. See blurry snaps above. Well there was thousands of people from Nebraska, and France. A few from Brooklyn too, but they was on da job.

Yep lots of happy white people with money. That always puts me in a good mood. Especially after the cops have just shot another unarmed Black guy to death. Don't worry I'm not going there. Like what's his name said,"...why can't we just get along?"

Yeah good question.

Aw well. Look besides all that happy mayhem christmas always makes me think of really expensive electric trains sets. Ya know like the kind they used to have in the toy store window's. Them swell boy fantasy toys we used to gawk at. I remember my Dad taking me down to Sears to see the big christmas electric train layout they'd always put up.

Swell stuff that. Tons of cool geegaws, nicknacks, and stuff that smoked, and barked. I can half understand adult train spotting from all that. Well one christmas I woke up, and there beneath our tree was a cool Lionel electric train set chugging away!

Now that was a magic sight for yours truly here. Okay I'm leaving out most of the gleeful details, but again ya gets where I'm going. It is in fact possible to be happy at x-mas. Thanks Dad!

Yeah it's me that other son. The Queer one? Right. Anyway I'm 57 years old now, and living in the frigg'n 21st century,...don't ask. ..no I don't have a flying car,..I said don't ask.

Anyway I just wanted to thank you for them electric trains you got me back 200 years ago. I still have'em, and I still loves ya,...Mom too. Btw is aunt Kaye still pissed I spilled that paint on her new coat,... and how's my dog?

Brownie, her name was Brownie. We had a cat too. Named Tippy. She was alot like that evil feline Dennis, but that's another story. Getting back to my x-mas spirit thing. So yeah I went to midtown saw the Tree, and all the blinking trinkets of the season.

I'm still not sure if I'm happy or not.

I'll have to get back to you on that. I'm certainly cold, and slightly disoriented. All the bright lights ya know. Kinda like be'n strapped down with strobes flickering into each eye.

"Tis' Almost Faerie Time!"

"A Chance"

"On my Brother's Passing several years ago"

My brother's house

all is quiet

the rooms are still

books rest on their shelves

glasses in their cases

coats in their closet.

All is quiet.

Except for the kitchen clock.

It still hangs on it's wall

calmly counting eternity

as we crowns of creation,

fade like dreams on waking.

"Our Lady of Sorrows"

"...it happens every day"

I've found more from my Homeless year. This it seems is from just after I returned to Human status. I never did that one person show.

"Part One"

After careful consultation with the voices in my head,...and my agent. I've decided to make my current adventure on the streets into a play. 'Makes as much sense as anything else that happened to me lately.

One of my relatives sez I should seek out a book deal as this "Middle Class Homeless" thing is gonna get hot. I'm on da ground floor of a media feeding frenzy.

Apparently I have the makings of a good TV guest, and or radio talk show item.

"Radio Announcer thrown on street! "His heroic struggle to retain his self respect,...and his porn collection"

Uncle Sydney, "The Homeless Satirist" is available for media interviews, and public appearances...blah, blah, yadda, yadda.

You get the picture.

This is nightmare. I will wake up,...won't I?

Anyway I'll leave my fame building for later. Right now there's the play. I see it as a one man show with props,...gotta have props.

Jars full of pressurized foam, rabbits in hats, stupid puppets, burning hoops to jump through all the usual conjurers nick-knacks.

I'll need that stuff to show how I have been transformed from a person into a thing.

Which is what this state of Homelessness is.

You become an object.

Then you cease to exist.

You disappear.

Hell of a Magic Trick.

'But then it After careful consultation with the voices in my head,...and my agent. I've decided to make my current adventure on the streets into a play. 'Makes as much sense as anything else that happened to me lately.

One of my relatives sez I should seek out a book deal as this "Middle Class Homeless" thing is gonna get hot. I'm on da ground floor of a media feeding frenzy.

Apparently I have the makings of a good tv guest, and or radio talk show item.

"Radio Announcer thrown on street! "His heroic struggle to retain his self respect,...and his porn collection"

Uncle Sydney, "The Homeless Satirist" is available for media interviews, and public appearances...blah, blah, yadda, yadda.

You get the picture.

This is nightmare. I will wake up,...won't I?

Anyway I'll leave my fame building for later. Right now there's the play. I see it as a one man show with props,...gotta have props.

Jars full of pressurized foam, rabbits in hats, stupid puppets, burning hoops to jump through all the usual conjurers nick-knacks.

I'll need that stuff to show how I have been transformed from a person into a thing.

Which is what this state of Homelessness is.

You become an object.

Then you cease to exist.

You disappear.

Hell of a Magic Trick.

'But then it happens everyday,...doesn't it.,...doesn't it.

"Part Two"

My life as an urban ghost then. You are seen, but not seen. There's the humiliation one feels in this new identity. There you are with a large back pack, and bulging should bag. In this era these things scream "HOMELESS!" to all, but the most socially innocent.

I feel the eyes of the whole city on me when I am so encumbered.

This profoundly sucks.

'But to the details,...time, time is very different. Your internal chronometer is knocked to hell'n back. The days melt into one another. Soon if you stay the months, and years will do the same thing.

Appearances. One tries to maintain a middle class 'aura' like Harry Potters "Cloak of Invisibility" for protection. "No the cops can't harass me I'm middle class!"

"For Christ's sakes I watch "LOST!"

"I'm normal!, I'm real!"

"I'm not one of "THEM!"

'But enough of the internal voice narrative let's get to the fun part.

The frigg'n play.

"Part Three"

Scene opens,...I'm living with my cousin in the old family house.

I've always lived with family. 'Never liked the notion of giving dough to strangers, and sleeping in a strange place.

(Like the sister in "Little Women" that never wanted to leave home, and disappear into the world,...that was me.)

Well my elderly cousin Tempy has a stroke. Then profound dementia kicked in. I'm the primary caregiver,...'cause I love her.

Jump ahead three years. Tempy dies, and with her part of me.

A period of family mayhem ensues as the "wolves" fight over her goods. You may be familiar with this tradition.

'Mayhem is resolved as the faction that wanted to cash in on my cousin's bones sells the house.

...and toss's me onto the street.

Okay you with me so far.

Now I go from street, to room, to street, to grand mansion,...I really did for a week, to street,...where I was robbed of my bags. The ones that were so embarrassing?

Good now the crooks can be embarrassed!

This game of housing ping pong goes on for a few months. During which I start to go nuts. 'Hearing sounds, and seeing stuff. This I'm told this is from stress, and malnutrition.

Actually dehydration is my worse enemy.

Well that, and my joints ache from the cold. Also my feet hurt 'cause you're always on the move. 'And btw you 'have' to be or the cops, and or maniacs will kill you.

I mean it,...I saw the cops kick the shit out of an old guy that gave them lip.

I now suspect that cops kill homeless folks sometimes.

The things I've seen.

However besides that, and all the other routine atrocities out there I've found that being Homeless is good for you.

...in a way.

Before this unimaginable nightmare from the bowels of Hell befell me I was a bloated beached whale like most middle aged cranks. Thanks to my new lifestyle I'm losing weight. I can actually feel if not yet see my ribs.

Ummm, ribs.

Oddly I'm not really that hungry, yet. 'But that dehydration thing... Gang if you're planning on this sort of life get a big frigg'n canteen,...two of 'em.

Where was I?

Right,...Home, Caregiver, Betrayal, Homeless, Street.


"Part Four"

"Recovery",...of a sort.


Here's the real "Great Expectations" part.

Recovery,...this bit has only just started, and is tentative in the extreme. Friends, and family are slowly finding out what happened to me. Rescue of a sort is on the horizon. Offers of help, advice, and a Miracle

Miracle?

Yeah.

I mean beside the heads up on possible homes or available apartments there was this 'Gift' from out of the blue.

Remember that scene at the end of "Its a Wonderful Life" where everybody in town comes together to save old George Baileys bacon?

Well,...good grief.

So there I am drowning in 'well earned' self pity when I gets a Fed Ex package at my job. I figure it's a summons or something the way things have been going.

I opens it up, and an envelope falls out,...no return address.

In the missive is a cashiers check.

(????!!!!)

A note sez "I hope this is enough to get you back on your feet."

....and that boy's, and girls is where I am now.

To be continued.


"Deleted Scenes"

Our hero, and main character.

Below are snap shots from my street life. ...some of what I saw.

...and so on.

My former life is becoming an echo of an echo. Everyday it vanishes a bit more, and is replaced with the present. An eternal present.

I'm changing.

Time, and place are not what they were. This is a new world with a new up, and down. A new wet, and dry.

I have just been born.

"Wheels"

Trailers have gotten a really bad rap over the last 40 years or so. I mean when they became the affordable housing for the white underclass that pretty much did it image wise.

Pity.

No really because they'd otherwise be so cool for the purpose they were originally designed for. An independent, and fast moving life style.

No matter if ya use it to camp out or live by your wits on the road these sweeties are the cats meow,...or at least they were.

That blown image problem again.

Anyway I always loved them things. Especially because long ago we had one. Well in way. See it was sort of up on blocks, and we turned into a play house, and tool shed.

When my Mom bought a summer place there was this old trailer not unlike the one in the illustration above which came with the land.

So I spent part of my kidhood playing in one of these swell silver tear drops. 'Wish I had it now. I'd turn it into a cozy little home.

So that's my Christmas fantasy. Our old trailer done up as my shelter, life raft, and temporary abode. I'd paint it up like the one at the top there only I'd have Angels, Faeries, and Cowboys,...don't ask.

Maybe I'll write a little Christmas story about it,...humm maybe I've already started. Merry Christmas gang!

(Click on the cool trailer art by Paige Bridges for a better view!)

(...a vignette from my more than interesting houseless year.)

"Christmas at Coney Island"

"...batteries"

The subject of the value of E-books came up on another page. In my opinion the so-called E-book is the Devil's "etch a sketch." I have published small books. I read, and have made books of paper. They don't need batteries. They can stay paused for years...centuries even.

They are personal, and loveable. E-books are nothing but toasters that spit copy at you. ...as long as the batteries are working.

Granted billions live by their assorted devices. I don't, and never have. This explains my values.

Of course I mean all this in a nice way.

"...this is an episode of self pity, and dispair",...please skip

So today I wake up raging raging raging! I don't deserve this I didn't earn this. I was a good man a generous man. Death loss, and poverty all around. I'm so tired of my family, and friends dropping dead. I'm tired as fuck of being hungry, but so poor I can't just go get some nice take out. Oh fuck that shit.

I'm so weary of my country being evil Nazi insane.

I'm tired of being sick, but not having the fucking decency to just drop dead. I've already decided that if a major fuck up happens like last spring with it's FOUR surprise operations.
If this shit comes down again I'm staying home, and letting nature take it's heartless oblivious course...should have done this last time.

Otherwise a happy holiday, and a happy new fucking year for all.

Eh,...I hope you don't die.

...as for me fuck'it.

"KABOOM!!"

Wow! Just what I always wanted, and just the thing for the lone wolf sociopathic kid in your life. A Junior Atom Bomb kit!

Damned thing comes with plenty of classified radioactive isotopes.
Codes for entertaining warheads. The websites to assorted terrorist cells, and...wait for it!

Satan's phone number.

Just the sort of shit to get ya started on your career of unholy mayhem! If Santa didn't drop this sweetheart off for ya.
Don't cry the Easter Bunny is taking orders now as I post. Get your request in for the new upgraded "Hydrogen Warfare" set! 

Order today!

You'll be glad ya did!!

"But Wait there's More!"

"...a moment"

"A Night to Remember"

I spent Christmas Eve with my dear friends Sharon, and Paul. Dear pals from my radio days. We sat in the parlor around their tree told stories. Remembered adventures.

They're both still in the biz so they caught me up on the latest news, and dirt. Nothing changes same old mayhem.

We popped Christmas crackers had Chinese take out later ice cream. Being all Catholic survivors told tales of indoctrinations horrors at the hands of the Nuns, and the insanity of that ancient cult. We had great laughs at the Lawd's expense.

Btw he's a cool guy so didn't mind.

We spoke of our lives so far, and death of friends, and those that 'should' be passed on. We pondered the fate of our frayed Republic. The Women's revolution that is ongoing. From the great Women's March on January last.

To now having it's multi leveled effect. It was Black women the numbers show that defeated the rapist Nazi in Alabama. That, and how this profound primal humanist movement may yet overthrow both Houses in 2018.

We spoke of Hope.

We laughed remembered, and had ice cream in honor of  Isaac Newton's birthday which by chance is shared with that other guy.

It was a good night.