Wednesday, September 30, 2009
I feel nuts today. Actually I've been off for about a week. I have a free floating anxiety seasoned with depression. Like I told a friend recently these problems are only suffered by those still employed or housed.
If you're on the outside, no home or job you really don't have time for these sorts of emotional luxuries. This is actually true, In my months of dispossession I was never upset or angry.
Surviving was my only job.
Perhaps as I mention below I'm beginning to heal from that experience. Tinkering to scale models, and uncertain emotional anguish are good signs of normality!
On the other hand as I also told my friend. Part of me want to go back out on the street. Yes most irrational. Still I feel it. As dangerous, and terrible as it was,...it didn't hurt as much as "normality" does.
Life is a strange business.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
I kind'a like the two snaps of myself above. It shows that the Meds are working. My don't I look peaceful, and sedated? Well that, and building, and or collecting model aircraft again.
I really should get to work on them ship models I have put away, with assorted other relics of my former worlds. Signs, signs of life, feeble though they are seem to be returning.
I've been doing more tinkering on my little home. More silicon pasting in this or that crack or gap. My plan is for when the Emergency med teams shows up to scrape me off the floor, and stuff me into the meat wagon. When they shows up they at once say, "...Wow! What a tidy flat."
They'll then roll me into a plastic bag, and drive me to one of them Mob black market organ banks. My liver, eyeballs, and various naughty bit will live again.
Where was I?
Right, that bastard Obama has conned us big time. Comrades remember why we elected him?! 'End them pointless wars, and get us some National Health,...among other civilized goodies most western countries have had for over half a century.
So now I understands that we have to 'buy' some sort of useless insurance that we couldn't afford in the first place. If we don't we'll all be fined $10,000 or something insane like that.
So after all this static, and noise we still can't afford insurance, but now we're in debt to the Feds for K-Bucks! Somehow I don't feel better off.
Btw we're still at war, and it's going to get worse.
You bet I'm sedated.
Friday, September 25, 2009
(Click on all snaps above, and below for a swell eyeful!)
I got up at 3 this morning was restless so went out. Though on "vacation" I dropped by wbai.org where I've worked for decades to see what was up. You should know that that place is not a job, but a way of life. You understand how it is.
Anyway my pal up there Ibrahim Gonzolas was on the air doing his overnight program. It's called "In the Moment",...cute huh? He reads chapters of books, takes calls all that. Hey this is a literate town. Folks call up to chat about the book of the night, and the usual mayhem of the city.
Ibrahim is also a musician, and often has live bands up. Eh, which is fun unless you have to engineer them. I don't know why, but musician are a pain in the butt. They're always coming into my control room to bother me about this or that tweaking of their stuff.
What's really going on is that they're getting a free demo disc out of their appearance, and they want me to customize it for them,...for free. I've told more than one of these characters that if they want to pay me $300 bucks an hour, one of the going rates, I'd be happy to give them a pro-disc otherwise bleep off I'm working.
I used to be nicer when I was younger. However I got tired of being treated as a mark. Again you know how that is.
Anyway at sun up Ibrahim'n me went to the pier just outside our station, and watched the sun come up over Brooklyn. Eh that's what's left of me in the 'Bai t-shirt.
Above are some snaps from this morning of our beloved bridge that connects us to the land of Walt Whitman. Well to the building that used to be the "Brooklyn Eagle" where he worked.
They gave him the sack because he was a radical abolitionist,...he thought slavery was a bad idea, imagine. It's still there, the Eagle building, on the Bklyn side of the bridge.
So btw is the house Uncle Walt lived in for a while.
It's not far from the ferry landing under what later became the Brooklyn Bridge. Btw that ferry landing was closed for about 70 or so years till 9/11 when it was opened to get folks the hell off of Manhattan Island which was under attack by Islamic nutjobs.
This as opposed to the CIA, the Vatican or the Knights Templar. Bush, Cheney is somewhere in that mix. I could certainly see Cheney doing it, but Bush? Gimme a Break!
The only conspiracies I buy are the ones that say that Big Oil, and the Mafia killed both Kennedy's. That, and the Mob, and the Church are the reason that the 2nd Avenue subway hasn't been finish in nearly a century.
It was started in the 1920's,...over eighty years ago. They now say it may open sometime in the 2030's. That would make 110 years. That's just about how long it will take to put up the Ground Zero memorials, and new towers.
Again the Mob, and the Church,...but that's just my theory on 'these' obvious inside jobs.
Almost forgot. The cabbie, the last shot above. I was taking pictures under the bridge, and he asked me what the bleep I was up too. I told him I was working on my blog, and asked if he wanted to be in it.
He said no, and sped off.
Guess he's wanted in Tehran or Islamabad. Seemed a nice guy though.
Monday, September 21, 2009
(My concierge Madam Yuki admires my floors.)
Can you get sent to hell for your house being 'too' clean? Ever since I moved into my happy little home I've spent most of my time cleaning, and polishing it.
Especially the floors.
Mostly the floors. The damned thing is as smooth, shiny, and slippery as glass though not as brittle,...yet. Now, and then I put in a bit more silicone compound along the floor, baseboard join. Bugs ya know.
Of which I have none, no mices either. Yeah in a NYC apartment too!
My place is as sealed as a submarine. What the contractors missed I gleefully filled in. However that's not the point. The point is my floors which have become a fetish for me.
The wood is nearly a century old, but was sealed under a profoundly hideous layer of green, and yellow tiles since the 1950's. Both I, and my contractors we amazed at how well preserved it all was.
Thank gawd for 1950's bad taste!
I polish my digs end to end several times a week. Well okay not as much lately, but If a week goes by without me hose'n the place down with "Mop'n Glo" I think I'm letting the place go bad.
Yes this 'is' nuts.
Especially considering how I 'used' to live. As the sainted Quentin Crisp is alleged to have said,..."Never clean your flat. After two or three years it won't get any worse."
Amazingly this is TRUE!
(Saint Quentin as a sweet young thing.)
This is where I name drop. Yeah like most of the Manhattan art, and or Queer crowd I knew Quentin. I loved this sweet gentle soul. I'd run into him when he came to our radio station, wbai.org, for this or that adventure.
I talk about all that on other blogs. Thing is I was in all sorts of extreme emotional circumstances just before my time as a Houseless person. My response was not being as tidy in my former house.
However I've gone to the 'other' extreme now. Like them folks that washes their hands 50 times a day.
So am I going to hell or what?
For no serious reason I took a snap shot of a model tank. This on my tiny kitchen table. The panzer is in a 'very' small scale about the size of your thumb.
Ahem, once again I protest that I'm really a pacifist. Well okay not really, but I don't like slaughter, and mayhem. That's as far as I go.
Still, neat model!
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Magic Max and the Sad Sitar
Chapter 1: The Day of the Dancing Shoes
Max was a young boy who lived with his mother in a big town in the West Country of England. Their house was on the corner of a very ordinary street, and Max’s room in the house was an ordinary room. There was nothing about the room or the house that would make you think it was a magic place. But there were some unusual things about it that might start you thinking that it maybe wasn’t all as ordinary as it looked.
For one thing, there were so many musical instruments.There was a piano, and a violin, and a harmonium and a guitar. There were several kinds of recorders and flutes. There were all kinds of drums and whistles. There was even a mandolin. And there was a very special pair of dancing shoes.
The dancing shoes had been brought one morning by the postman. They were in a parcel that was wrapped in many layers of brown paper, and it all took a long time to unwrap. Inside the paper was a small white box – like a normal shoe box, only a bit smaller – and inside the box were the dancing shoes. Max knew the shoes were for dancing, because it said so in his grandfather’s letter that was inside the box.
Max’s grandfather lived in India, and he often sent presents to Max. The presents always came with a letter, and Max’s mother read the letters to him. This time the letter said:
Whatever you do, keep dancing. These shoes will help you do it.
Must go now, as the tigers are trying to eat the little teaboy again.
Lots of love,
Max tried on one of the shoes. It was a funny shape, with a long curved point at the front – but it fitted his foot perfectly. Then he tried on the other shoe – and then something very funny happened.
It began very slowly.
It began with a twinkly feeling in his toes. And the twinkly feeling became a wriggly feeling. And the wriggle grew into a jiggle. And the next thing that Max knew, he was dancing. In fact, it was the shoes that were dancing, and he was dancing along with them.
And then Max heard the voice.
‘Where do you want to go?’ asked the tiny voice.
Max looked around the room, but he couldn’t see anybody. But Max was a very polite boy, and he thought it would be rude if he didn’t answer. So he said: ‘I don’t know where I want to go.’
‘Well, what sort of dance do you want to do?’ asked the voice.
Max thought for a bit. His Daddy had taught him an Irish dance. His Daddy was in Ireland right now.
‘Maybe I should do an Irish dance?’ he said.
‘All right,’ said the tiny voice. ‘Hang on tight – here we go!’
Suddenly, Max started dancing much faster. His feet were moving so fast that he couldn’t see them any more. He was dancing so fast that his movements made gusts of wind blow around the room. The sheets lifted off his bed and the carpet floated off the floor. The windows blew open and the door banged shut. And with one final big gust of wind Max took off. He flew straight out of the window and drifted over the street. And still he was dancing faster. He rose above the houses and looked down on the rooftops and the chimney pots and waved goodbye to them. And then he soared up into a cloud, and for a while he couldn’t see anything at all.
When Max came out of the cloud he was flying over the sea.
‘Where are we going?’ he called out.
‘That’s the Irish Sea down there,’ called the voice. But the noise of the wind was so strong that Max could hardly here it.
‘Where?’ he called again. But they were already over the land again by this time. When Max looked down he saw a great blanket of green as far as his eyes could see.
‘That’s Ireland!’ called the voice.
Max had been to Ireland with his mother and father. But he had never looked down at Ireland from the sky before. He saw swirling rivers and green meadows and rolling hills. And when he screwed up his eyes he could make out tiny dots that could have been cows or horses or people.
‘So where do you want to go in Ireland?’ asked the tiny voice.
‘I don’t know,’ said Max. ‘Please take me somewhere nice.’
Suddenly rhe dancing shoes began to move much more slowly, and Max began to drop out of the sky. He glided down, down, down, till he was floating just above the treetops of a forest. And then he came to a clearing in the forest, and his shoes almost stopped dancing – they just tapped and wiggled very slowly – and finally he slid down to the ground.
He found himself in a glade surrounded by trees of enormous height. The trees looked so big, Max thought they must be thousands of years old. At the centre of the glade was a long mound of turf, like a big table, and around the table were logs that were roughly cut to the shape of stools.
‘It looks like a dinner table,’ Max thought. And as he was feeling peckish he moved towards the table to see if there might be something to eat on it. And there was! There was a big pile of scones, and plates of cream and jam.
‘I wonder if anyone would mind if I just took one of them?’ Max said to himself. He was a very honest boy, and he would never steal anything – but the cakes were very tempting. And it looked just as if someone had put them there for him.
After a little hesitation, Max sat down on a stool at the end of the table nearest the scones. He was just about to reach out and take a scone, when he was startled by a voice.
‘What are you waiting for, young fellow?’ said the voice. ‘Those scones were baked according to a recipe of your Great Grandmother. She was a famous woman for scones, and used to bake them for old Queen Mary.’
Max pulled his hand away from the plate. On the opposite side of the table was a little man. He was a full grown man with a long twisty beard, but he was only about half Max’s height.
‘Oh, thank you very much,’ said Max, as he looked at the little man with astonishment.
‘My name,’ continued the little man, ‘ is Bryan Brew.’
‘That’s a funny name,’ said Max.
‘Yes, it’s a very funny name,’ said the man, with a nod of his head. ‘Will you have a cup of tea?’
‘No thank you,’ said Max, ‘I don’t usually drink tea.’
‘I drink it all the time,’ said Bryan Brew. ‘That’s why they call me Bryan Brew – because I’m always brewing tea!’
As soon as the little man had finished saying this, a teapot appeared at his elbow. And a cup and saucer appeared in front of him. He poured himself a cup of tea slowly and carefully, while Max munched at a scone.
All this time, Max was looking closely at the little man. He had a tall pointed cap on his head, and was wearing a green leather jacket with shiny buttons. His trousers were made of a rough brown woolly material, and his boots were bright red.
‘Do you live here?’ asked Max.
‘Live here?’ said the little man, with a chortle, as if he found the question very funny. ‘Of course I live here! In fact, I am the King of this country!’
‘Oh,’ I am sorry, said Max. ‘I didn’t know you were a king. I hope I haven’t been rude.’
‘Not at all’, said the King . And he put another scone on Max’s plate.
‘Did you know my Great Grandmother?’ asked Max. ‘You said she was famous for making scones.’
‘Know her?’ asked the King. ‘Of course I knew her. Everyone in Ireland knows about her. And I know your father too!’
‘Do you!’ asked Max, and his eyes grew wide with astonishment. ‘And do you know where he is?’
‘Sure’’ said the King. ‘He’s over at Inchnagree playing in a gig.’
‘I want to go and see him,’ said Max.
‘But you don’t want to go right now, do you?’ said Bryan Brew. ‘We all like you so much, we are hoping you will stay with us.’
For the first time Max noticed that they were not alone. There was another little man sitting on the King’s left side, and another little man sitting on the King’s right side. The three little men were all dressed the same, and they all looked exactly the same.
‘Well,’ said Max, ‘It’s very kind of you, but I don’t want to stay very long.’
‘Don’t be in a hurry to go,’ said the three little men, all speaking together. ‘Have another scone!’ And all three of them reached forward and put scones on Max’s plate.
Max was feeling a bit full by this time. But he didn’t want to be rude, so he took another of the scones and munched at it. He was looking at the three little men. They reminded him of a story that his Grandfather had told him about Irish fairies. He tried to remember the Irish name for fairies.
Bryan Brew screwed up his little eyes and peered at Max. ‘What are you thinking about, young fellow?’ he asked.
‘I was just trying to remember the Irish name for fairies.’ said Max.
The three little men all laughed aloud.
‘He thinks we are leprachauns!’ they all said together. And at the same moment two more little men appeared at the table – one on Max’s left side, and one on his right side. All five of them were laughing together, and they all looked exactly the same.
‘He thinks we are leprachauns!’ they all said again.
‘Are you leprachauns?’ asked Max.
‘Yes!’ they all said together. ‘We are all leprachauns. All of us!’ And at the same instant another twenty or thirty little men appeared at the table, and all the places were occupied.
‘Well,’ said Max, ‘ Thank you very much for the scones. But I think I would like to go now.’
‘Oh, you can’t go now!’ cried out all the leprachauns. ‘We can’t let you go. You might go and tell the Big People where our treasure is!’
‘But I really want to go,’ said Max. And he felt a tear growing in the corner of his eye.
‘No, no, no, no, never!’ cried the leprachauns. ‘We like you so much – we want you to stay with us!’ And as soon as they said it, another hundred leprachauns appeared – till the whole glade was full of running and jumping leprachauns.
Max was beginning to get frightened. But just in time, he remembered something that his Grandfather had written in the note that came with his dancing shoes.
Whatever you do, keep dancing. These shoes will help you do it.
As soon as he remembered his Grandfather’s letter, Max felt a twinkling in his toes. The twinkling quickly grew into a wriggling, and the wriggling drew into a jiggling. The next second, Max jumped up and began dancing.
‘Dance with us! Dance with us!’ called the leprachauns – and they began rolling about and jumping about and dancing.
‘Sorry,’ said Max. ‘It was very nice to see you, and thank you for the scones, but I have to go now.’
‘No, no, no, no, never!’ called out the leprachauns, and the ones nearest to him grabbed hold of his sleeves and pulled him down.
‘Sorry,’ said Max – ‘But I really have to go! - And his shoes began dancing faster and faster. He began to float upwards.
‘No! Stay with us! Stay with us!’ called the leprachauns, and they reached out to try to catch him.
But Max was already rising into the sky. He waved to the leprachuans as he sailed away over the trees.
‘Thanks again for the scones!’ he called out.
‘Come back! Come back!’ called the leprachauns. But Max had already flown out of sight.
‘Where to now?’ asked his dancing shoes.
‘To Inchnagree,’ said Max. And away they flew.
They flew for another ten minutes. Sometimes the shoes slowed down a little bit, and Max flew lower over the fields and hills of Ireland. And sometimes the shoes danced a bit faster, and then Max flew up high with his head in the clouds. When the shoes began dancing very slowly indeed Max knew they must be getting close to Inchnagree. A little while later he popped out of the clouds and he saw the town beneath him. He saw the river and the rowing boats on the river. He saw the church with the big square tower. And he saw the Big House with its lawns and gardens. Right there, in the middle of the garden, was a crowd of people. And there was a band playing music. And there was….Could it be?…..Yes! There was his Daddy, holding his guitar and singing into a microphone!
Max did a skip and a jump with delight, and in the next second he did another little jump and landed on the grass in front of the stage where his Daddy was playing.
‘Oh Lordy Lordy!’ his Daddy cried when he saw him. ‘It’s my little Max! Where did you come from?’
‘I just came to see you,’ said Max. ‘I was with the leprachauns.’
‘You were with the leprachauns!’
‘Yes,’ said Max. ‘And they tried to catch me!’
‘That was a narrow escape!’ said his Daddy. ‘You must be hungry. Did you have any dinner?’
‘No,’ said Max, ‘But I had lots of scones. My Great Grandmother baked them.’
‘Well, now that you are here, you must do a dance for us. Do you remember that Irish dance I taught you?’
‘Of course I do,’ said Max. ‘I’ve been dancing it all day. Didn’t you see my new shoes?’
Max’s daddy noticed the new shoes for the first time. He whistled.
‘Oh Lordy Lordy! That’s a very smart pair of shoes, Max. Did you say they were dancing shoes?’
‘Yes, Granddad sent them from India. They’re magic!’
And just to show everyone how full of magic the shoes were, Max did a dance. It began as an Irish dance, and it ended as an Irish dance – but in the middle of the dance the dancing shoes did all different sorts of dances – African dances and Chinese dances; and Bushman dances and Aboriginal dances; and Old-Fashioned dances and New-Fangled dances – and every dance you could think of.
When he had finished, Max sat down on the grass, and the people cheered and clapped. They went on cheering and clapping for a whole minute, and they all declared that Max was the best dancer in all of Ireland.
Max’s Daddy picked him up.
‘You look a wee bit tired, young fellow,’ he said.
‘I am,’ said Max.
‘Then I think you had better be flying home, or your Mother will be worried about you.’
‘Yes,’ said Max, ‘I suppose I had better go home.’
He gave his Daddy a big hug, and his Daddy gave him an even bigger hug.
And then the shoes began dancing again, and he zoomed into the air.
Max circled once and he looked down at the crowd of people waving at him. His Daddy was waving his guitar.
Max gave one final wave goodbye. Then his dancing shoes speeded up, and he soared away high over the Irish Sea, and he didn’t stop going till he slipped through the window of his bedroom and landed on his bed.
Sion is a writer, and a dear friend. Many thanks for this story!
Friday, September 18, 2009
We're in a climate of Hate such as I have not seen since I was a lad back in the late 1950's, and 60's. It makes me heartsick to see the poison is still there, and as strong as ever.
You know I'm pissed at Obama for being a wuss. Not having the nuts to kick ass on the fanatics that have made a sick circus out of the Health Care issue. However there's something that's even worse boiling to the surface.
Good old fashion "Lets git us a Niggra" blood in the eye lynch mob mentalities loose once more. I actually thought we'd moved pass at least 'this' particular American tradition.
This sort of thing is cropping up in all of the states except for Hawaii, and oddly Maine. All the other states have had their incidents.
We are 'so' fucked up.
Children Chant,..."Assassinate Obama"
Thursday, September 17, 2009
So the Xmass shopping season, as opposed to the spiritual season has begun! I was at K Mart on 34th street this evening to buy socks, and shorts, and stumbled on the above. Martha Stewart designer Xmass stuff at bargain prices.
I guess we shouldn't be surprised since business interests are expecting the worse buying season in decades. So they're starting as early as they can. They would have started after July 4th if they though they could'a got away with it!
Speaking of bargains I just may stock up on some of these geegaws for my first Chirstmas open house at my new place.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Last year I was homeless for nearly nine months. I like to call it "houseless". Anyway for three of those months I was living mostly on the street. Middle Class Homeless is not just a PBS special for me.
I was much more fortunate than most of my Brethren out there in that I still had my job, and some connections. Most on the street don't.
So I was blessed.
In fact classically blessed in that I was given refuge for a time within the community of the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine.
I'm fine now, and writing a one man show about my experience,...blessed again. I'm healthy, and sane. Not all come out the other end of this like that.
Anyway I took digital photos of my adventures during that time. There's some here in this blog's archive, and some in the "Sidneyhause" link.
These above are of my Cathedral days, and also some nice snaps of the fruit stand around the corner, and across the street.
(Click on all images for better viewing.)
I must say that this new Great Depression we're swimming around in has done one good thing. You can now get larger portions of slop for less. Tasty "slop",..with sauce.
There was even some leftovers to take with me!
I was looking at photos of the last Great Depression. If one looks carefully you'll see shops in the backround offering big meals for pennies. I'm glad this tradition seems to be coming back.
Paying $20. at a deli for a sandwich, and a coke is now out of the question, and I'm glad shop keepers finally realize this. "Harry's" above, squats in the shadow of the Empire State Building.
Old "Harry's" was an upscale eatery, but now has become 'reasonable' to stay in business. Smart move guys. Pastrami for the masses!
Btw, not really sure what was in tonight's slop, but it was good!
Sorry about the blurred snap shots I was hung over from the grease.
Monday, September 14, 2009
More, and more regular people are seeing them. It's is nolonger a rumor to be dismissed with a laugh. They appear out of nowhere! Slowly they drift across the quiet sky baffling all.
Despite government lies they are here.
They sail the skies of the world. They look down upon us like the Greek G-d's of old. Who knows what strange plans they have for humanity. Why are they here, what do they want?
Most worrying of all,..what do they eat?!