Hey just say'n.

The way shit is going can't rule stuff out.

So if we get nuked.

Wash your hands wash ya stuff with this shit.

Guaranteed to cure Radiation Sickness.

~Extra surprise feature~

Ingested in large amounts it can get you really high.

A Humid Moon over Brooklyn.

A Summer night in our locked down 'Hood.

This shit ain't near over.

It's now as bad as last April all over again.

We are betrayed leaderless wounded angry.

Hang tight comrades.

Be safe be brave.

I sleep very odd hours now,...even for me.

I just got up. 7:01pm. This happening to you? I mean these days. Haven't done this since my 20's after a weekend of,...eh well...activities. Btw the sky is opening up right now. Thunder from hades flash lighting...big rain is about to drop.

Meanwhile in Florida.
The sky turned to blood, and stars fell from the skies.

Elders driving by in golf carts, not as cool as the one above, was yelling "White Power!" This in a retirement gulag. They was raging at other old folks protesting racism.

It was in a tweet our head of state tossed up this morning. #45 then saying how happy it all makes him. Also how Sleepy Joe is going to fall in the Fall.

Mind you the whole video is ugly as hell with both sides of retired folks cussing the bleeping hell out of each other.

Wow they was having at it!
The passions of these times have swept everyone up.

I'm trying to imagine my Grandma going at it like that.
My dear Uncle Louie for sure in 'triple' doses. 

He'd have gave them Kluxers a run for their money,...loved that guy.

Emerald City.

A Warm Humid Evening.

My 70th Birthday is creeping up in a few weeks. 

I can't have that grand massive 70th parade so I wanna a damned cake! 

Above is a feasibility study on a scientifically accurate cake. 

Um,...might need a few more candles.

"My Life, and Bleeping Times" ...part 642.

I just saw another "Health Nut" commercial saying as to how your 60's are the new late 40's. What a load of damp bleep. Who the heck do they think they're kidding. My 60's were a fucking nightmare of body damage, and worn out parts.

However now being close to 70 is bleeping paradise.
For starts you can't remember shit, and you don't care about bleep. Sex is mercifully a distant bad memory.
People give you a seat wherever ya are. Relatives are always calling to see if you're still alive. Heck an old pal just called this week. Wanted to know if I wanted a home made apple pie for my coming up terrifying Birthday.
That stuff could kill me these daze.
....so of course I said "...yeah as many as ya got!"

I'm enjoying the hell out of my Golden Retirement Nightmare.
My biggest problems are remembering which meds to take, what day it is, and or suddenly dropping dead.
Oh yeah I think them UFO saucer guys have stopped abducting me.
I've had an ongoing problem with them bastards since I was little. Anyway I'm looking forward in my 70's to 3-D Google, self cleaning toilets, and talking toasters!

Otherwise I'm fine.

"My Life, and Times" ...How I came out.

When I was a kid in high school, just 16 I went to the "Village" This because I had been warned there were "perverts" there.
It seemed the place to be.
I remember seeing the actual "Stonewall Inn". I couldn't go in because you had to be 21.
I looked in the window, and except for a Transvestite, the 'first' I ever saw. It seemed like any other bar. Yeah I'd been in bars.

*My dear Uncle Louie took me to have a look.
Part of my "Education" into the real world.

Anyway how could I know that three, and a half years later it would be a "Queer Ground Zero".
So unlike the Zillions that claim to have been there I actually was. Just a bit early is all.

*Stop me if you've heard this one.
It was my good ol' Uncle Louie who was really my Mom's uncle, but ya know. It was Uncle to whom I first came out to as Queer Artist Maniac. Like in any Coming Out moment it was full of weirdness static, and terror.
Remember this was 1966. The last Civil War vets just kicked the bucket...so it was a while ago, and being gay wasn't cute.

Uncle was the only one that had always been honest with me about the world. I was always able to confide in him. Mind you he was one tough guy.
He literally ran away with a rural circus as a kid. He did what a generation of early 20th century boys dreamed of doing. ...came back alive too.

He went to sea traveled the world. 'Was in the Merchant Marine Navy during WW2 survived, and came home to work in the Brooklyn Navy Yard.

Which was his profession when I went to his house with my Great Secret. I remember sitting down with him in his kitchen. He lit up a Chesterfield, and asked me what was wrong.

He could see that I was freaked so he was very concerned. I remember he said "...there's nothing you can tell me that I haven't seen or done myself"...wadda guy. He reassured me it'd be okay just tell him what happened.

Well I did.

He hit the roof!
He bleeping did, but not for the reasons you think.
He said to my confession of innocent dreams of queer passion. Bright passions till them *radioactive cows came home.

He said...

"IS THAT ALL!!"

He went on Uncle did...
"You tell me you're a Sissy?!"

"I know that, we 'All' know that.
We knew when you was a little boy! I thought this was about something important. I thought you got someone pregnant!"

No bleeping lie this is how it happened.
My gawd what a family. Good thing I didn't tell him I thought I could fly. That's one thing he might not have "seen or done".

This is basically how it went down.
He said he met plenty of guys like that. It was just how some guys turned out. I shouldn't worry. Just, and here he was serious...don't tell folks outside the family. He warned it's a dangerous life...and he was right then as now.
I really loved uncle.
He looked out for me more I noticed after that.

Anyway the whole damned family knew the whole time.
So much for my great, and grand secret. I mean being caught trying on Moms stuff when I was 11 didn't help.
So a secret. Like the one Liberace thought he hid so well.

I should write a damned book.

*( About them "radioactive cows". It was only in the mid-1960's that they finally stopped testing them "H-Fucking-Bombs" out west. ...in the open air fer craps sakes!
Bleeping morons.
Me, and my generation have "Strontium 90" in our bones behind that madness. '...them cows didn't do too good either.)

Anyway that's my Gay Pride 50th Anniversary story.
...such as it is. There's Bob da Bunny above doing his annual drag act at the Pink Martini Club downtown.

A misty sliver of Moon over our Emerald City tonight.

You all be safe, and rest well.

U.S. perished of COVID-19 as of this afternoon.

June 25, 2020

123,000.

Our head of state has ordered Virus testing 

to be defunded.

180,000+ deaths are expected by late September early October.

Source Johns Hopkins University.

I live as many of the isolated old men do. I have a routine. I get up shower wash what I wore yesterday hang it to dry.

Then I write or read for some hours perhaps a short walk for exercise,...though I'm not able much now. What with a fucking plague raging. Going to market even is hard now. Even when there's anything there to buy. 
I go online for mostly lectures. History the arts, and sciences. 
I think I've earned another utterly useless liberal arts degree by this.

I get almost no personal calls from family or friends. What I do get is the hospital the landlord the electric company, and wrong numbers. 
This is why I leave my phone mostly off.

I used to visit with old friends from my broadcast career maybe a few times a year. Now not at all thanks to Lockdown. We used to see each other everyday all day. 
When we did meet or a few times a year I could see us aging together.

Sleep.

Much sleep. I'm weaker now than I've ever been.  I'm staring 70 in the face. Just a few weeks off now. Fuck it I'm alive. I used to spend time doing art. A lot of crafts projects see below. It had a meditative effect. 

Cute Huh?

I made Queer pieces too, but this post or

this whole site might be deleted

if I put them up. ...swell.

It passed the time like basket weaving did for an earlier generation of the unwanted. I don't do any of that anymore. No point.
I never see anyone. Well except for doctors or Social Service visitors making sure I'm still alive. 

I do converse intermittently on Facebook with people around the world. Well more like messages in a bottle than active conversing.
This might be my main connection with humanity. 

Oh the 21st century.

I remember reading that in the 60's through the 90's old folks made up relationships with characters on TV shows. This became their social network of phantoms. My Facebook community are also phantoms. I care for them, but will never see or really know them.

I had an actual breathing friend that owned the market. He was about my age, and we chatted about the old daze. I went the other day. His nephew said he'd passed away. 

Just like that.

Right,...so. Life goes on. 

I see few do little. The Docs, and assorted professionals I tell this all recommend the same noise. Old folks community crap. Geriatric rubber rooms. I've seen them places, and people. 

While in hospital was wheeled into the walking dead section. They thought I'd like to be with old folks about to be fertilizer as I was.

Well...

A limited menu of types. Lifeless staring as in Alzheimer's shells of souls. Also religious nuts, neo-Nazis, and straight murderous homophobes. Did I mention old ladies that wanted to make out with me? 

...no thanks. 

I actually wheeled myself back to my suite. The interesting people in my life all died of AIDS or overdoses. I nearly imploded via overdose several times. Looking back a pity I didn't. 

Where was I?

Right late afternoon I make my meals or meal,...I eat generally once a day. Even when I was middle class this was my habit. I have to eat four times a day now or I'll go into diabetic shock,...swell. I tried that once. It was like force feeding a prisoner. 

...fuck it.

I have meds for Hypoglycemic attacks if they come,...they do, but not often. So I eat nap read go online sleep look out the window watch the seasons change, and wait for my turn. Getting laughs where I can along the way.

They'll know I'm gone when they smell me. 
Like many elders if I think my time is coming. I leave my door unlocked so the EMT guys won't have to break in to scrape or shovel me up off the floor bed or toilet.

That's the only thing I'm careful of,...I don't want to exit while taking a dump like Elvis. 
Otherwise besides assorted little details. Everything is swell,...just fucking ass peachy.
I figure I gots five six good years maybe. I'm surviving. I sleep eat listen to lectures watch dust motes write paragraph long time travel stories, and wait.

I'm fine.