"When I hear the word Hate I reach for my Art!"

 

 

"Eh,..."

"Satan followed me home,...can I keep him?"

 

 

"...knocking"

 

 

"...treated"

In September 1946, Albert Einstein called racism America’s “worst disease.” Earlier that year, he told students and faculty at Lincoln University in Pennsylvania, the oldest Black college in the Western world, that racial segregation was “not a disease of colored people, but a disease of white people, adding, “I will not remain silent about it.”

When Albert Einstein moved to America, he was disappointed to see how black people were being treated. Even in his new hometown of Princeton, he observed separation of the white and black societies. Einstein thought of segregation as “unacceptable.”

"There are prejudices of which I as a Jew am clearly conscious, but they are unimportant in comparison with the attitude of the ‘whites’ toward their fellow-citizens of darker complexion. The more I feel an American, the more this situation pains me. I can escape the feeling of complicity in it only by speaking out. Your ancestors dragged these black people from their homes by force and in the white man’s quest for wealth and an easy life they have been ruthlessly suppressed and exploited, degraded into slavery”

Albert Einstein, very rarely accepted honorary doctorates but he did so for Lincoln University, a small historically black college in Pennsylvania in 1946. He also gave a lecture before a small group of students who are seen with him in the picture.

After 70 years, photo of Einstein's visit to Lincoln surfaced when a woman appeared in "Antiques Roadshow."

Her husband, who was a photographer, was present in that classroom.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Albert_Einstein

"...Home"

Here's a story I wrote for radio 16 years ago...it's very brief. Sweet too. I think I was nicer in those happy innocent days.

It begins...

In my alternate reality American West there were no genocides. No Slavery wanton murder or mayhem. Sounds pretty dull I know, but it works. In this other history the meetings of peoples on this continent was peaceful friendly.

Natives, and settlers both Black, and White were all pals. Everyone got on swell. That, and nobody bothered them Woodland Spirits either. It is in this happier West that I play out my Cowboy Dreams. What some call demented denial I call humane alternate history.

So there!

My West is a cool fun happy one. We play at make believe shoot 'em ups. No one ever gets hurt everyone has a swell time. That, and we have big Bar-B-Q's after...with a nice veggie table too. I gots lots of Indian, and Paleface boys friends, and we have square dances every Saturday night at the fort.

All those years ago I performed this for my friend George Stonefish. He produced Native programs at the radio station. He told me he'd like to visit my dream West. This because he could go home. He'd have his Country back.

 

“...Time, and Again”

I was just chatting with a FB pal about our lives, and what may be remembered of us. He linked me a video of an artist that shot an image of himself everyday for decades.

I unintentionally did this by being on the air for 36 years. I can listen to myself from my late 20’s through my mid-60’s.

I have seven boxes of stored media holding some of this.
Some few may survive like old photos in the family. I wonder what my great grand Niece would make of distant Uncle Grampa riffing on what to make of iPods in 2002.
Or my live,…on tape walking the Hudson with radio comrades to NJ. This when the river froze from side to side in 1982.
We turned around 20 feet in as the ice was getting rather,…thin.

Above,…Behold!
Broadcast mumblings, and observations.’….or some of it.

1978~2014 more or less. 

It could have gone back to 1969 if I could find the college radio stuff. I was listening to my 27 year old self doing station breaks announcements the damned weather, and interviews with assorted fanatics. How earnest BBC smarty pants, and utterly full of it I was. By my 40’s to 60’s I had advanced to my easy going fuck you, and the world attitude,…it was way more fun.

(To save I sublet the roof of the archive for toy car parking.)

 

"...end"

The end has already happened. As in the books, and films about the fall. It doesn’t mean the machines stop. They keep going. Whole populations with their faces buried in devices. This as they step over the destitute while on their way to upscale shops.

The end is not the end of our machines. It’s the end of our hearts.

The obliteration of even the possibility of public kindness. That is the end. This is what I see in my country, and much of the developed world. However there is hope because this is merely the end of our humanity.

The Earth Abides.

 

 

“...Albatros D.III”

I found in my files photos of my model WW1~Albatros. I still have the model in one of my closet boxes. As a lad I so wanted to be a flier. Then I learned ya had to kill up there.

...forget it. I dreamed of flying not hunting folks.

 

A FB dropped a memory from three years ago today.

My life once full of such comings, and goings responsibilities dramas comedies some tragedies. Such has since turned so simple. Sleep is asymmetrical. Woke at an odd hour. Showered cleaned the bathroom, and hung my sox on the radiator. One that Santa has yet to emerge from.

'Had apple slices nuts juice, and answered overnight email. One from an old friend. She asks after my health, and post-op doings. She’s a pal. Plan to shop go to the library also Nurse Perez is coming. My windows shudder with the Zero degree winds.

Frost forms on my sills.

I want a big snow. I want to fall asleep watching the snow. Then wake to swirling snow whipping at the trees.

Took my meds which made me sleep...again. Good Nurse Perez woke me. She comes a few times a week to see if I’m still alive. So far so good. I enjoy our visits.

The only folks that actually see me are those City Inspectors that check on elders, and now a visiting nurse. They all comment on my digs. Tidy, and Zen.

I hear from them that most live in some version of “Hoarders”. We’re a culture of acquisition. I was absent that day at class.

Nurse Perez so kind as always left, and all was well in my world.

I later dressed for the Arctic, and went shopping,…library too. There, and back again…it’s such an adventure now.

Got two books. Dr. Strange graphic novels plus a video. Godzilla the 1954 classic original.

On Moon rise I took several shots, and posted them.

Took more meds, and slept. That’s really all I do now.

Rinse,…repeat. The upside I'm mostly still in one piece.

Though yes now I am very aware.

Aware of the unseen wings that daily brush me.

A post I did on FB out of necessity:

The far left is already yapping at he heels of the yet to be sworn in Biden Harris administration. Remember this election wasn't to install the left. It was to remove a vicious demagogue. That, and replace him with a moderate,...which we did. 58% said the voted for Biden to remove Trump. This is bourn out the the down ballot disasters for the Dems. A coalition of progressives independents even traditional conservatives removed Trump. Which again more than explains the Dem down ballot firestorm. That being so. As progressives we should have our eyes on 2024 where we could lose the House. This other than attacking all that stands between us, and a return to what we just lived through. Remember over 70,000,000 people out there want just that. This should not be a return to the traditional progressive circular firing squads. Politics is dirty unfair, and you never as in 'never' get all you want. We got a very small part of what we wanted. This will save lives. Get that...lives. The struggle for justice continues. If we stay united, and rational about what is actually possible in the kind of system we have we will save even 'more' lives. That means painful very painful flexibility compromise, and sacrifice.

".topsoil"

After the Plague is really over. I may give lessons at the New School. ...or online. Guy Lessons. That in how to live in a house a cabin or apartment of any size. These are all the same to guys. Just somewhere to eat crap, and sleep. 

That, and never maintain.

Being of various orientations I've been able to observe normal guys closely over the centuries. Shock, and horror does not begin. As Quentin Crisp noted guy once said, "...Apartments in New York are wonderful. After three years they don't get any dirtier."

'And they don't. 

Or so it seems. Once a topsoil of dust bug parts shed skin, and radioactive isotopes settles in. You're good for years of cozy living. I've known cases of decades. So why disturb such peace, and order?

Because we're supposed to be fucking civilized that's why!

This last year of being stuck in my digs showed that even a tidy soul as myself was in reality a bleeping slob. You recall photos of my Zen empty digs. So proud I was...till I was stuck there, and had a good bleeping look!

Holy crap!

There was a reason why I kept hacking at my digs over the months. Painting banging plastering repairing. Constantly cleaning. Where the fuck does all that dust come from?

Specifically dust. That stuff of future apartment topsoil. Every day I shovel a bleeping kilo of dat stuff out'a here. No wonder regular guys can plant crops in their hallways. 

Don't start about the windows.

Those I let go as utterly impossible to tame. The rest can be dealt with. However it's not something you can let go. Which is why dear Quentin just said fuck it, and wrote books, and plays instead. 

In our next chapter how to quickly, and with ease. Keep not only your kitchen tidy, but the toilet the floors all surfaces, and yourself squeaky clean!

This, and very presentable to random City Building Inspectors. Them, and plumbers were my only guests this year. I now look forward to their visits.

I recall one saying:

"...I could around your place blind folded, and not bump into anything. I took that a complete validation of my efforts. 

Stay tuned.

"...barely"

A short Editorial.

The election just barely said we want to be a just nation. The Stimulus in it's direct to people portions sez we meant it.

 

"...70"

“My Life, and Bleeping Times” …part 742.

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 70 is bleeping paradise.

You can’t remember shit, and you don’t care about bleep.

People give you a seat wherever ya are. Relatives are always calling to see if you’re still alive.

I’m enjoying the hell out of my Golden Retirement Nightmare.

My problems are remembering what day it is which during COVID don't matter. That or suddenly dropping dead.

What could go wrong?

Yeah I think them Saucer guys have stopped abducting me.

I’ve had a problem with them bastards since I was little. Anyway I’m looking forward in my 80’s! 3-D Google, self cleaning toilets, and talking toasters!

"...just so"

Well once upon a time.

I dreamed. In this dream I was a kid in a huge tribe of kids. We were ragged fast smart keen to get over. We were survivors.

The Dream happens on a war ruined world. We roamed tumbled down cities. In dreams you have friends who when waking vanish from memory. Only to be waiting for you when you sleep again.

This dream was just so. I loved my tribe. We hunted sang slept together shared danger, and love. Who could ask for more?

A Mystery.

There were mysteries in this dream world.

I remember a bunch of us sitting on a pile of bricks looking up, and watching huge airships. Great floating cities. They were silent as they glided by.

Silent, but burning. They sailed over us one after another like brightly burning clouds. Burning. Not consumed. A mystery.

Dragons.

We were so often chased by great dragons. ...not of one them smiling!

We could fly.

We flew from street to tree to window to roof.

This dream so real. I could feel the rush of cold air the whistle of wind in my ears.

All the while being chased,...by Dragons.

The dream morphed.

I leaped landed in a tree house. War world gone. I was on a world of trees. Like America before civilization ate it or Endor before the prequels.

A great pale ringed moon was rising on the horizon.

'But this is another story for another time.

 

 

"...what dreams may come"

The Moon above the 309th day of this Pandemic. It's 309 days,...best I figure, since the NYC lockdown order. Speaking of comedy. I attempted to watch a parody of a 2020 year end roundup on Netflix.

No,...just no.

It's too soon by a decade to make fun of this past year. The fuck were they thinking? There was nothing funny at any point in this hellish experience. Murderous self-inflicted tragedies gross ironies vindictive irrational governmental behaviors.

However not much that was funny.

Speaking of dreams. I just had one. Many like this these days. As I've been messaged you're having them too. Here's my latest:

I'm a pallbearer,...great start. I'm with folks hauling a coffin about. Were wandering places I know,...this don't look good.  The deceased is someone close. Perhaps closer than I'd want as we go to places from my life.

I morph as one does to an alcove in the deep of night. Cold rain sleet. I'm sitting homeless cold. Then walking. This place empty a deserted city. One of the sharp memories of my homeless year was being wet cold alone, and walking the nights. 

All the while I'm composing.

Composing an opera. This while processing the streets with the dead, and  while freezing in the rain. Memories the place where dreams come from. I don't remember notation, but in my dream state I did.

A mystery.

Years ago I helped to care give for an elder aunt that lived with dementia. All that she was had left. Those portions of her brain the held her soul had vanished. This is the cruelty of that condition.

However sometimes for moment minutes, and even parts of days she'd return to us. A mystery. If memories are not held in the brain,...then where? A mystery, and a wonderful one.

Another day. Face it with courage humor, and kindness.

 

"...queen"

As a child some of my Caribbean family

used to stand to watch the Queen's message on TV.

They were all citizens of the Commonwealth. 

She was/is their Queen.

I'd watch confused being little.

I thought it was coming from Washington. 

I imagined she was like the president. 

I also at the time was certain I could fly.

I think these were related.

 

"...genocides"

This is an email I posted to a pal on his informing me of the passing of a certain Black theologian. This being James Cone the founder of the Black Liberation Theology Movement. They believed that Jesus...yeah that Jesus had a personal connection with Black Americans.

Specifically us. As opposed to say starving butched Blacks in Somalia or similarly afflicted Kurds or the endless list of the others behind barbed wire. Google him.

My gleeful rants begins:

Gawd in this case taking the form of a certain alleged carpenter.

That, and inadvertent founder of a consistently genocidal organization.
This questionable person was unlikely to have been a sub Saharan African...could have been. Just likely wasn't.

His passport image was far more likely to have resembled Anwar Sadat than James Baldwin or Harry Truman.
Further if there are deities they'd I'd imagine have the taste not to be involved in our ethnic tribal affairs.
Gawds seem to prefer to commit genocide on their own for their own reasons.

All this is not to say that the former human in question wasn't a nice guy with helpful intentions.
Being somewhat Black myself I'm more than aware of the attraction to be involved in certain movements.
Even to start one. As our late hero did. I myself in my demented youth considered such.
Mine however involved certain misunderstood sexual pastimes. Long story.

Being unwanted in the society you have to live in gives rise to certain obsessions.
In the case of our late prophet he thought gawd was on his side.

So did assorted notables through the ages. Hitler comes to mind.
That very phrase, "...GOTT MIT UNS", was on the belt buckle of his armies.
It was the last thing the children they raped, and or murdered saw.

In fact the gawds if such there be aren't interested.
Neither kind gentleness as in the case before us nor murderous hysteria in the behaviors of say Pol Pot.
These do not matter to gawds. It's just the annoying shit mortal always do.

Which is to say we are free to murder as we please even unto the destruction of the very earth.
That, and whatever worlds have the profound misfortune to gain our interest.

Merry Christmas.

 

"...joke"

Satan allowed us to make this civilization.

He was feeling generous in a demonic way that afternoon. So we eventually sent our robots to see that the whole Solar System, and by extension the whole fucking universe is an airless lifeless pile of rocks, and dust. This was Satan's practical joke on us.

He told Adam, "Sure I'll let you build great towers, and go to the stars. Yeah it's swell out there,...keep dreaming it, and you'll make it." ...Well we did.

Satan laughs.

 

"...boys"

A couple of my guys at the park.

This after the great Boxing day Blizzard years ago.

Christmas Eve the whole east coast.

Heavy Rains,...Winds.

Santa was grounded at JFK.

Had to get an Ubr.

This to drive around town to get stuff to folks.

Eh,...didn't make it to my place.

Just as well.

 He texted me it was a note from da gubbermint.

 Forget both Soc. Sec., and Stimulus checks. 

This as #45 is shutting the government out of spite.

Aw well like that republican Nazi senator said.

"They'd just spend it on women, and drink."

I beg ya pardon!

I intended to spend it on speed, and boys!

 

 

A tree across from the Library in my 'hood.

This a few years back.

A very Happy Holiday Season to all.

Be well be kind be brave, and tell jokes.

 

I first posted this temporal story two years ago today. On a very different kind of Christmas Eve. It's about empires, and their brevity.

Harlem Heights Manhattan.

February 23rd 11:16am 5018~CE.

I figured that part of the former City would be above water. ...it was. There above you see the ancient subway exit of the the 145th Street station. Tunnels will be one of our most lasting monuments.

I climbed the fused stones to an open air of wilderness. What was still of the Heights was engulfed in semi-tropical rain forest. Much as Aztec cities before it. Though late winter it was very warm, and humid. Giant dragonflies flew above.

No trace of people.

The ruins above the deeper ocean now home to insects, and small mammals. Humanity if such there be. May be further inland. 3000 years is long enough for several cultures to have risen frayed, and passed. I sat on a moss covered log, and posted this entry.

Oh how brief are empires.

A dream

I'm reading a book.

One made of linen. It speaks to me. The pages flutter. Telling not only the story, but how it came to be.

She was cut stitched. Words so slowly carefully threaded. This book told me of it's life. That, and the lives, and ways of all the books like her.

...gone

I entered another world in mid-sentence.

Three friends of which I am one. I entered a world with life long companions about me. I held a terrible secret.

An age for them is for me a moment.

We sat, and laughed at the foolish world. A world I was about to leave. Leave, and forget. My friends will vanish leaving not dust.

We awaken with the fragments of lives on the tip of our tongue.

"The Actual Xmas Carol"

This is a departmental transcript of a conversation between a civil service Angel, and one E. Scrooge. Time: 8:45 pm Greenwich, December 24th 1856 C.E.

"Eh,...Mr. E. Scrooge of Number 17 Thames Street North?"

"Who is there how dare you enter my home!"

"Strictly speaking I haven't,...that is entered your abode. Time-space displacements, and such."

"What?"

"Never mind. Upon review of your current life Personnel Management has dispatched,...well 'me' to set things in some order. Pardon the intrusion."

"What?!!"

"Of course."

"Mr. Scrooge you are what is called in the popular jargon a "First Class Shit". This being so your file rather stuck out like your assorted Mad Kings Maniacs, and Algebra teachers."

"What?!!!"

"Indeed."

"The usual treatment is to let loose Spirits of the Season on them, and hope for the best. In your case a waste of time."

"...again I say Wha..."

"Please don't"

"So what I'm going to do is dip you corporeally into hell."

"Um I'm sorry this will hurt,...rather a lot I'm afraid. You'll be immersed for five minutes subjective time. This is roughly 148 years in spiritual time."

"This way please."

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

At this point in the transcript replacement Angel~567/R88/Kv logged that he went to the Caligula pub drank several pints of Hammerhead talked shop, and lost track of time.

Client E. Scrooge was belatedly retrieved from Hell 2 hours 56 minutes after being dispatched within. It is somewhat difficult to calculate hades time, but as best accounting can tell Mr. Scrooge spent approximately 3,056 years in the neither regions. Somewhat longer than prescribed.

"Mr. Scrooge,...sir,...are you alright?"

"What?"

"Excellent."

"Our apologies you were ensconced in the "Lakes of Fire' for rather longer than intended. We hope this inconvenience has helped you reform your view of humanity."

"What?"

"Exactly."

"In my capacity as Angel~567/R88/Kv I'm required to say:

...Your soul is saved,...for now.

Go forth, and show kindness to the world."

"Here is your receipt for time spent in hell,...non-transferable. If you would sign just there thank you,...and here....right here too, just over here, thank you, annnd,...here. Thank you.

Of course nothing will be deposited into your spiritual account as you had to be told to be good,...have a Merry Christmas if that applies."

"What?"

 

"...heart"

Here's a family memory. There was, and is a Black Jewish community in Harlem. This for well over a century. My mother as a child, and youth was familiar with them. In the early 1940's before the world knew or believed if told. The Holocaust was in progress. A bitter ripple of this my mother witnessed on Lenox Avenue 1943. A Black Rabbi walked down the middle of that street. This in the heart of Harlem. As he walked he wept as he wept he prayed. He had been told of the Camps, and what was being done there. Being done even as he walked wept, and prayed.

Below rediscovered recordings of the Cantors of the Black Synagogues in Harlem.