"...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.