"...Fire Sale!"

I am now posting on >>>> 

"Book of Days" (sidneyinhell.blogspot.com)

This due to tech problems with Blogsplot. 

The other page was/is where I put my stories. 

Now it'll have my deranged rants as well. 

So get over there.

"Book of Days" (sidneyinhell.blogspot.com)

"...I'm outta' Here!"

I'm moving over to my Book of Days Blog "Book of Days" (sidneyinhell.blogspot.com)

As I just posted to our dear long-time comrade and pal "Z" I'm moving. This since there's problems here. Blogsplot is fucked up. ...again. I can post new things here, but you'll only see the few items in the current page. Years of stuff is cut off. I can see it on my control panel. But folks can't. The whole right column with links to my other pages and past post is gone.

So yeah, I'm moving over.

I'll post new stuff here as a mirror of current things. However, it will only be the 4 or 5 items the page can show. However, these plus ongoing threads will be over on "Book of Days". So go over there instead. Swell. I always enjoy complications and Happy New Year to you and yours. It's going up into the 20's and 30's. A serious heatwave coming. I'll lay in hot dogs' fries and lemonade!

Btw the above issue of the New Yorker was issued literally the day before I was born. So the faeries work in mysterious ways...what with my move. That and the New Yorker was Twenty Cents and no sales tax! It's currently setting smarty pants cosmopolitan and their wannabees back $8.99 a pop!

That's $107.88 cent a year here in our fading year of 2022, CE

As opposed to $24. buck back in da year of da Lawd 1950, AD

If it weren't a gift subscription from a cousin, I'd be missing out on all those reviews of unwatchable experimental plays and adverts for zillion $$$ estates I could buy. I only really bother for the cartoons. I've a pal that does some over there. He did a faerie thing once as a nod to our being pals. Does this make me famous once removed? 

It was 56f/13c at noon it’s now 4:30pm and 24f/-4c.

At 9:00pm its forecast to be 9f/-12c. Brooklyn dusk from my steamy kitchen window. Sub-freezing Christmas weekend ahead.

Stay in keep warm.

I stay up to write or watch old movies.

As we move on we become more like cats.

We stare at spirits we eat we dream we sleep.

Love has no season no boundaries no fear.

 

 

"...we exist"

The greatest threats to Nazis 

in the whole world.

The lad brings terror to every Kluxer and Nazi 

that even images him.

At top Marsha Thomson. "Miss Marsha"

Just by her existing Kluxers fled!

Known in the community loved and remembered.

I knew her when I was a kid.

She was found murdered.

1946~1992

Her Spirit Lives

We Live.

 

Beware inking down of your dreams.

They'll either end up in some future scripture or as evidence at your trial. 

We need a gender translation book for dummies. Make a useful holiday gift. I'm not even sure where I am on the scale. My color on da Rainbow flag would be 'Infrared'. I've dear friends whom I no longer know how to address. I tried "...hey you" but they didn't like that either. There's a situation comedy in this somewhere.

I'm an old school mid-20th century Queer. The whole point back then was to stop people from hurting us. Marriage adopting the works. That was science fiction to us. I’m glad we’re moving along but at heart before the alphabet soup era. We just wanted to be left alone and not hunted beaten or killed.

Life here in the future. I wonder what it’s like to be a Trans Gendered kid now. Like I wonder what a post Jim Crow youngster feels. These folks are different from me and my generational cohort. They have problems but not the ones we had. It’s still dangerous even deadly but we have moved along for both.  Thing is we don’t have a clue about the human heart or the formula for the perfect doughnut.

100 years ago, they explained Queers as the Third Sex and called it a day. 40 years after that we became Gay. Moved on to Lesbians and Gays then all those ever-changing letters now this. Gender-fluidity. It even sounds like it’s from the future. Wonder what ol’ George Jetson would make of this. You youngsters google him. 100 years from now if they ain’t wiped us out. They’ll see the “Fluidities” in the same way we view that Third Sex mayhem. We live we learn we change

"...unwanted history"

 

*From my COVID Journals. December 14th, 2020. 

So I'm in bed late this afternoon. The sun already down it looks like two in the morning. A loud knock. Finally, the cops have come to shoot me. Thought they'd never get here. No 9mm drama this time. 'Just a helpful neighbor checking on an old guy to make sure I ain't dead yet. This happens now. 

Since March eight died of the Virus in the building...mostly old folks. The knock was from my upstairs pal. She hadn't seen me in days. I'm a shut in that’s what I do. Keeps knocking just won't leave. She really wants me to be alive. I opened up, and we masked, and distanced chatted for a few minutes. I told her I was having the usual times we all are. She confirmed she's got the same, and that staying sane is the secret. She’s a kindly soul. ...said I was a favorite. She liked my stories of the ancient times I lived through all that. Sweet kid. Thoughtful smart. I think I'm a grandpa figure for her. I do the best I can. 

Today's numbers. I'll more than understand if you stop here.

419,000+ so far perished. About twice all U.S. combat deaths in WW2. 11,264 persons in this republic who were alive on this day a week ago are now perished thanks' to COVID. 

20k+ a week infected, and now over 3000+ die every day. 

CDC sez expect those numbers to be sustained for the next 60 to 90 days.  We are in a major War despite the slow drip of Vaccine slipping through. Even less because #45 in one of his final acts of cruel insanity won't fund wide distribution. 

The vaccine sits in warehouses thanks to him. To the last vindictive disturbed cruel. I’d love to survive to see what history sez of these years. These people these times. Otherwise, I'm fine. Btw look in on folks you ain't seen. Call them zoom them text email heliograph telegraph bang on the wall or call to their window from the street. Like me they'll appreciate the effort.

*These Journals many wrote and still write are not for us. 

We don't care didn't care refused to care and just want to forget get laid fight make money and get high. Swell fine. All this will be forgotten...till next time. These works are for them. 

For next time. Which will be much sooner than expected.

"...Crown Street, 2:46 am 29f/-1c"

From one of my Mid-Night walks.

As a friend warned.

"Don't tickle the Dragon's tail.

It might awaken and notice you."