"...1976"

This from Yule 2020. Once upon a time.

One of the effects of living alone in Pandemic lockdown is that you don’t speak…much. I read write go online to watch as the world stops. Listen to music, and such, but don’t have many actual conversations. So I began to recite. 

Recently I read passages from a book by Christopher Isherwood. “Christopher, and his Kind 1929~1939”. About the physical volume. I bought it on December 10th in the year 1976. I was 26. It was inscribed to me by Mr. Isherwood who was at the Oscar Wilde Memorial Bookshop. He was a kindly fragile bright personality. At the time I thought him elderly. I think I may be older than he was now. ...time.  

I read portions of three chapters aloud. This reminded me of my broadcast days when I would read stories to the listeners in the deep of night. This over many years. I read again. Only now for an audience of one. Still as fulfilling as it was for all those years.

"...maybe"

 

You can Fly! At least I thought I could. Back when they delivered milk in bottles cars had fins and you could have a TV in any color. As long as it was black and white. Back in them glorious times when comic books were 10. cents, and you got a free Coke with your Hot Dog at the movies. Back in them forever lost years of the former American Empire, I thought I could Fly.

Made perfect sense. Every night we sat up at the park or in our backyards to watch the new Satellites slowly sail over us. The night sky was familiar. Before light pollution we knew the stars, and their arraignment as constellations. So were aware when something new appeared. Oh, those magical ships to the stars. We lived in an age of Miracles.

I felt truly felt I could perch on the windowsill and leap into starry night and fly. There's my own self above when I had this notion. I think kids 'do' fly and perform any number of miracles. However, they don't tell us. Perhaps the "Peter Pan" myth is an echo their adventures. Maybe there is a Never-Neverland or any of the thousand names children have for their Magic Places. Maybe that's what we're all trying to re-capture.

“...threads”

Some of my Ma's sewing buttons.

 

Lucy Campbell

https://www.lupiart.com/paintings

 

“...falling”

Was reading about a late religious leader that was discovered to have abused her trust. So many that we admired in these years have failed people in various ways. Heroes keep falling. They always turn out to be confused needful weak like the rest of us. I dunno what to do. Other than maybe acknowledge our mutual weaknesses failings and wounds. With that awareness we might forgive each other  

“...Psalm”

'Got into this theological thing with some guy on da street. He laid all his personal Jehovah's Witness stuff on me...always smile, and nod when this happens. I decided not to tell him about my new religion based on pastries, and comic books. Well, he was a nice guy, and meant well...I didn't tell'em I was Queer. Them 'Witness' folks seriously don't like Jews Queers and other assorted suspects. 'Least last I heard they didn't. Btw as I mentioned somewhere I'm always nice to religious nutters I bump into. 

No matter how wigged out they are they all have the 'Shine'. Been touched by Upper Management and went bleeping nuts. Someone should email Paradise. A lot down here can't handle that divine vision stuff. Makes'em dangerous folks get hurt.

On the other hand...

Smarty pants that think too much gets touched too. Most just take up yoga. The rest become inconvenient theologians like Thomas Merton or deranged artists. Like Dizzy Gillespie Emma Goldman James Baldwin.  Dali Whitman Ginsberg Emily Dickenson comes to mind too. Wadda bunch. I was "Touched". ...a little...in a way...kind'a. Come to think of it most of us were. Ya know seeing through time, and space hearing da sky sing wild dreams that whole deal. I remember being captured by the sky when I was eight. I was in the school yard and staring at the wonder of them swift October clouds. Didn't notice all the kids had gone in. Sister Alice had to come out and get me. Principle thought I was disturbed. Told Mom I might need help. Ma told her to bleep off. So began my life as an undocumented shaman...sort of. Those that used to listened to my old radio programs know what I mean. Which is why I'm thinking of setting up a mostly harmless spirit thing. One with pastries, and comic books as sacraments. My idea for a store-front temple: 

"Uncle Sydney's First Church of Amazing Bewilderments" 

The more I think about it the more I may do this nutty thing. What could go wrong? Anyway, about being cool with all the holy maniacs on da streets. There's a bunch of 'Witness' folks planted at the subway entrance I use. Like I sez smile nod and take their stuff if offered. Something to read on da train. 

I'm sincere. Sure they'd burn me at the stake...so what. It's nice to be nice. As grandma said fight fear with love. That and never...never ever hate back. I even asked them to pray for me when I was going nuts more than usual a while back. When I saw 'em again the said they did. Wow, how neat is that.

“...shaken not stirred”

Bob da Bunny and his business manager and biographer Dubbtepia Frankenstein. No relation...as far as is known. These swell folks opened a nightclub. Keeping with the times they calls it 'The Lying Bastard'. Cash only. Attempts to pass Bit Coins will be reported to the Federal Reserve and FBI.

“...infrared”

 

Modern Times: 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 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'll bang something out and pitch it to Hulu.

“...crescent”

This a fragment from a story I wrote years ago for broadcast. Once upon a time: Beulah's Window. The window was a symphony of dreams. The window was composed of dozens of shards. Cast off bits of stained glass that Beulah the Forest Woman, Beulah the Witch, Beulah the Angel had assembled into Magic. As the evening sun played across it. Here was illuminated a hand. ...fragments of clouds. There a lily here a smile. Then a yellow crescent moon. Throughout were floating embers of deep blue bright reds shades of gold and copper. In its upper portions were bits of alabaster doves, and a spray of purple, and rose. Such was Beulah's Window.

"Two Guys in 1909"

"So in 60 years we send guys to the moon...and guess what.

There's ain't shit there, but rocks, and dust. Heck I could have told them that.

After this we just send robots...long story."