Sunday, June 25, 2006


Comrads. We are trying to be patient, but your behavior is now bordering on "ANTI-UNCLE THOUGHT!" Need I tell you what this could mean for you. Again,...look to your "Right", it is permitted this once, look to your right. See the links patch there? Click on "Sidneyland Annex", and all will be forgiven.

Your next of kin will be released, amd rehabilitated from the "Peoples Relocation Holding Area as soon as you make the "Glorious Transition" to the "World of Revised UNCLE THOUGHT" Go at once! This Amnesty is limited.

Long Live UNCLE!, Long Live UNCLE THOUGHT!




Now pay attention this is for your own good. Dear Beloved Uncle Sidney had heard your sorrows, and is most sympathtic. It seems that many of his Dear Neices, and Nephews are having troubles downloading this Blog of Wisdoms,and Happy comments from Dear Beloved Uncle Sidney.

Well as soon as Beloved Uncle realized the suffering of his Comrad Neices, and Nephews he immediately pardoned his blogsite technicians from "Forced Labor Camp/27" Those that could be defrosted were put to work at once in the construction of a new, and better site. One that all good Comrads can easily download!

So, my Dear Comrads you are directed by the "Peoples Internet Directorate" to at once tranfer to the new site which is...

Failure to do so would be most unfortunate for you,...and your family, and collective, and local party officals. Further, failure to check back to this site from time to time, as Dear Beloved Uncle "may" on a whim decide to still post here, failure to look for these rouge posts from Dear Uncle will also have,, unfortunate results for you, and as many of your relatives as we can find.

Now,...look to your right, and inspect the links section. Go at once to "Sydneyland!!" Remember you are being observed.

Thursday, April 06, 2006



(Semi-religious icon of political hero to a generation)

When they findz that "Mumia Abu Jamal Scoundrel!" guilty,(again)! I too believe the murdering bastard Mr. Jamal must have yet another trial. This time a fair one so he can be properly, and honestly convicted. When they find that con-man, murderer Mumia guilty as charged there will no doubt be many thousands of gratifyed citizens happy to see justice finally done.

Especially the members of the family he destroyed. He's never had a moment, a word, or syllable of kindness for them in all these years. If he was innocent he might have,..ya think. He's blown them nothing, but rancid farts of hatred, and contempt since he killed that famiy's husband, and father.

(Maureen Faulkner widow of murdered Police Officer Daniel Faulkner)

Many will with grim satisfaction hear the news of this evil personage being slowly, and throughly fried to a turn! However I will not be amongst these blood thirsty folks despite my exteme distaste for that low, and foul person Mr. Jamal.

I do not believe in the Death Penalty for anyone under any circumstances. The last Pope'n I actually saw eye to beanie on this one. No one should have their lives taken away by the state.

(Not even shitheddz like Mumia, or murder'n rat fucks like Osama should be capped)

Not landlords that happily evicts people so they can convert their humble homes into "Luxury Apartments" for yuppies. Not for Gai Bashers, not for Rapists, not for Drug Pushers. Not for that evil fuck Mugabe, and all them other jumped up african nazi hudlums. Not even for that scumbag, terrorist love'n, commie moron, race bait'n, pile'a shit Mumia. Not even him.

None of the above through richly deserve'n it should be blown away, boiled in oil, slow fried, strung up, injected, thrown into a pit full'a extremely large, pissed off hungry dawgz, favorite. Tied to a seat on a bus that has on bomb on board.

"Let the Punishment fit the Crime!"

("KoKo" the high executioner from the "Mikado")

We're at War Comrads. At War with a gang of deranged islamic assholes that think blow'n folks up is swell! Nevermind that jerk in the White House. He's not fight'n the War he said he would so them bus, and marketplace bombers is free to kill at will.

(Mumia said poor Nick Berg, above, was beheaded not by demented islam'o nazis, but the CIA! Fucked up WBAI went along with that for a while)

So when we catches terror bombers we'll put 'em on a bus or train with one'a their own nasty homemade explosives packed away somewhere. Ya know them bombs with the rusty nails, razor blade fragments, and scrap metal that'z been dipped in various poisons. Nice guys huh.

(Bus full of dangerous evil Zionist plumbers, math teachers, school kids, shoe salesman, annoying old ladies, slackers, and off duty librarians destroyed by the heroic resistance. What a relief. Imagine the horror if one'a them Zionist plumbers got loose)

Yeah well alot of American, and European "progressives" i.e. comfortable, overfed, secure western commies really likes these heartless, demented, terrorist bomber guys. They just loves 'em, and is all smiles when they does their dirty work.

Infact that scumbag "Mumia" always had a nice words for these guyz. Ya can hear him wax'n poetic about the heroic butchers plant'n nail bombs. No I ain't talk'n through my hat here gang! That jerk sez all sortz'a nutty stuff on that show WBAI insists on broadcasting.

Well as much as these Islam'o nazis fuckz deserves a taste of their own cruel medicine. No! Not even they should be blown to bloody shredds by their own or anyone else bombs. In short we're not allowed because of higher moral constraints to kill assholes that richly deserves it. Yeah, bummer.

Anyway all killers, and assorted evil doers should as I say not be bumped off by the state. Thet should be put somewhere where they can't harm or annoy the rest of us. Mr. Jamals supporters will no doubt continue to worship him, which is their right. Freedom of religion is one of the sacred cornerstones of this Great Nation!

(Remember Comrads though we hate each others gutz we're all Americans!)

"My country tiss'of thee. Sweet land'a liberty! Of thee I thee I Singz!!" Heh, heh.


I just found fifteen episodes of the old 'Bai series "UFO Desk" which was produced by the late Paul Williams in the 1990's. As soon as I transfer them to disc I'll be playing portions of them. The show ran for about six years on WBAI as a special feature of "Carrier Wave."

Most of the archives of the show were destroyed, thrown away in the hateful aftermath of the violent labor disputes of 2000/2002 here at our wounded radio station WBAI. Paul was on the loseing side of that fratricidal event so was banished with contempt.

This place can be very cruel. Paul eventually died in Mexico where he had been starting a new career in "Border Radio." To show just how vicious some were in those daze Paul's memorial announcement sheet on a station bulletin board was defaced.

Even death was not enough vengence for some in the current junta that has taken over the station. Their fear, and contempt for Paul followed him into the grave.

Anyhow I'll be playing some selections from my late friends program in the coming months. Stay tuned.



(Pete Seeger at Clearwater still go'n strong)

WBAI covered the Hudson River "Clearwater Festival" again as it has for many years. This is one of the few "Happy" traditions that have survived, at our troubled insitution. For this I am grateful to whatever Angels or random influences that have made this so.

Last year we scattered long time radio host Fred Kuhn's ashs into the Hudson at the festival. Fred, an activist, broadcaster, and musician had been associated with "Clearwater" from the begining.

For those that don't know the festival was founded by Pete Seeger, and other good souls. It's purpose is to educate folks to the dangers of environmental abuse. The long term damage being done to the Hudson river inparticular.

It worked, the Hudson is beautiful again, and healing well. Bless all who worked so hard for that through these long decades. Bless dear Pete Seeger on whom I had a crush when I was a young teenager. Bless all that have kept the tradition of the festival going, and of course Bless, and huggz'n kiss'z to good old WBAI for put'n it all on the air for all these years!

This is what the "Real WBAI" is all about. Bringing folks together, folks of all kinds for the common good. This weekend's work by so many of our volunteers, staff, friends, and unseen spirits have renewed my faith in this place.

Lookz like we're still worth it.


Your Dear Uncle of course believes in the defence of the "Uncleland" by all means. However wanton slaughter for the fun of it has always troubled me. That reference to "Pussies" is totally uncalled for btw. In any case Liberals as well as plumbers, and Central Committee members would defend the realm if it were nessesary. I just point out that this flying to other countries, and blowing people up for no apparent reason is if nothing else rude! (...Nice P-40's though)


Dear Beloved Uncle Sidney during these festive summer months modestly suggests that all good Comrads display the above flag. It displaces all those inconvient white racists stars with something much more practical. As Dear Beloved Uncles says,.."It catches the eye!"

(Dear Honored Beloved Uncle Sidney, heartful defender of the mass's, and biblical scholar is seen here once again in his favorite disguise as that other famous "Uncle")

Dear Beloved Uncle Sidney,despite the extreme heat supports the struggling coat workers by sporting their new winter fashion line, and voting early in the WBAI local station board elections. "Remember!" Says Dear Uncle, "It ain't how many that votes it's who counts 'em,...and where"

Dear Uncle reminds us to read the "graphic novel" or comic book edition of the upcome'n local WBAI rodent filled elections! "Most instructive" sez Uncle.


Back in the old daze before politically correct fear stalked the land like "Repo Men" on crack'n, whiskey! Back then people used to kid around, and laff alot. "Amos, and Andy" was one'a the things that folks used to get a kick out'a laff'n at.

My folks sure did, so did my grand folks come to think of it. I did too when it was on tv back in the 1950's. See, it was funny, we saw ourselves, our friends, our less than perfect families. Humor, look it up. It's what makes this butcher shop of a world bearable.

("Amos'n Andy, the white guyz, with the Chicago Urban League. There was wide spread approval for the show in the negro community of the time. History is so inconvient)

Anyway the problem was there was nothing being broadcast at that time to offset the buffoonery of the show. I mean if NBC, which carried "A&A" had also broadcast the "James Baldwin Hour" or had "Richard Wright Presents", and other serious negro programing on during their regular shedule there may not have been problems.

(From the 1950's TV version of "A&A", Alvin Childress, Spencer Williams, and Tim Moore. These are the colored guys that I enjoyed as the dangerous "race traitors" on the tv version. My dad, and Mom listened to Charles Correll, and Freeman Gosden the white "racists" that portrayed the original "A&A" on da radio)

There many not have occured all the emotional static over our two pals, and later the black actors in the tv version make'n colored folks look human. Which is to say,...imperfect.

Sadly things being what they are the white racists used "Amos, and Andy" as an example of negro simple mindedness. Later Black cultural exclusionists forbade it as a symbol of past humiliations. It is absolutly forbidden. You can't even talk about it without starting heated arguments.

(If there's one thing this era has taught us it's that amazeingly Nazi'z come in all colors!)

There is a cultural trench filled with raw plutonium surrounding poor ol' Amos, and his shifty pal Andy. Cross it at your peril. This is why it's almost never heard not even here at aledged free speech radio WBAI.

As much as I depise the race police, and black nazi's that have taken over the station I don't cross the "Amos'n Andy Barrier" That one is a zero sum fight. I've learned the hard way to carefully pick my battles with these race nazis.

On the other hand times change, and despite everything people, and cultures mature,..sometimes. Imagine our old friends come'n back to us. Come'n home after a half century of media exil.

Can't you just see it.

"HBO Presents, AMOS, and ANDY 2040!"

"Yes folks it's time to smile!" "We're happy to bring you another fun filled episode of your family favorites, "Amos, and Andy"

"This week Amos tries to sell Andy his grandfathers worthless Microsoft stocks. He tells Andy that Lightning has invented a time machine in the basement of the of their condo. For a commission he's willing to take Andy back to before the Crash of 2009 so he can cash in the stocks for Yen!"

"Well there's laughs galore when Safire mistakes the time machine for a portable embryo incubator, and sends her latest test tube offspring back to 1958! Where the baby is found by a young music promoter named "Jackson." He decides to take the little guy into his family. He names him Michael, and the rest as they say is history.



Robert Knight reporting,

"Dreranged has-been disc jocky Sidney Smith wearing a pair of bright orange panty hose on his head, and singing some tune from Gilbert, and Sullivan ran amok today!" "Witness's think he may have been singing one of the funnier patter songs from "HMS Pinafore", though police musicologists are certain it was from "Iolanthe." One of the famous 19th century duo's less popular though nonetheless entertaining light operetta's."

"Well the pantyhose crowned, mad singing D.J. of Wall Street burst into the swanky diggs of the Ritz Plaza Hotel, and demanded to see Santa Claus!" "Santa as you know summers here in the Big Apple." "It enhances my sense of the perverse", our Saint Nick is fond of saying."

"As it happened ol' Kris Kringle was out of town work'n a deal with the Red Chinese for cheap labor." "This disappointing news seemed to both confuse, and further enrage the wild eyed Mr. Smith!" "For he then lowered his bib-overalls, mooned the arrogant "Ritz Plaza" concierge, and began belting out some of the less bearable "Abba" hits from the early 1980's!"

"This was too much even for the well trained Homeland Security Shock Troops who are posted at the Plaza to protect the interests of the rich, and nasty." "Rabbi Alphonse Fishbine of Brighton Beach Brooklyn, alias failed radio D.J. Sidney Smith was westled to the ground, and taken away."

"Though this reporter can't be certain if this incident will shake out as all the others have for Rabbi Fishbine. Nevertheless it's likely he'll be remanded to the custody of the New York Opera Society for deprograming, and a much needed hot bath!"

Stay Tuned to this station for further updates on this important Breaking Story!


(Dear Beloved Uncle Sidney is seen here in his other favorite disguise)

"If everyone could change gender, color, orientation, and hat size at will there'd be alot less trouble around here!"

"If you're in a burning theatre, leave."

"Comrads, remember!" "Clocks don't kill people, jobs do!"

"Always eat your greens, this will make both your Mommy, and your Dear Beloved Uncle Sidney very happy." "Besides, they're good for you."

"Never go into the water till a half hour after you've eaten."

"If you see someone all alone, cold, hungry, and wandering the streets after midnight report them for curfew violation!"

"Never step on a crack for it is possible your mother's back could at some time in the future be greviously injured, and thereby be an unnessesary drain on the Peoples Medical Infrastructure."

"Always be nice to cats"

(Dear Beloved Uncle's Kat)

"Do not sing in the rain!" "For such is a petty bourgeois, and western decadent Hollywood waste of the peoples time"

"Do not cut off any of your ears!" "Believe me it's a bad idea!"

"Copyright everything!"

"Brush your teeth seven times a day."

"Never, never eat cod fish."

"Watch the Cartoon Channel."

"Pissing blood is never a good sign."

"Never speak to dogs for they are the pawns of Satan."

"If George Bush should come to your house, and ask you if it would be alright with you if he continued the war, and drove the country several trillion 'more' dollars into debt." "Say no."

More to come...


Some of this story is true, some is not. Not yet, but it's all sincerely shared.

I woke up this morning with "Wings!" Not little fledgling feathers, but with radiant Raphael rennissance wings. Think the Angel Gabriel in all them Announciation paintings.

I was in bed between being awake, and dreaming when I felt an itch where I'd never felt one before. Something was going on around my shoulder blades. I experienced that strange sensation amputees have, but in reverse. There was now 'more' instead of less.

I touched my back. There was something there. I rolled out of bed, and nearly fell over, center of gravity had changed! I picked my way through the semi-light of early dawn to my dresser mirror.

Well there I was. Looking as I usually did when I wake up. At least now in my grumpy middle years. I'll spare you the grim details, but there was a light over my shoulders. I half turned. Wings.

I had wings.

(It wasn't exactly like this, but I thought it was a cute pixture so what da hell)


A few days ago,...before the wings. I was stand'n on a corner waiting for the light to change. There were some school kids horse'n around near the edge. One of the kids spilled out into the street oblivious to the danger.

A hugh "SUV" big as a tank was speed'n straight at 'em! The bastard wasn't even think'n about slow'n down. As they say in these sorts of stories, time slowed down. The world, and all in it seemed to drift like feathers in a light breeze.

Well I was standing right there so just reached out, and pulled the kid in. Time resumed it's natural flow. The car/tank flashed by, and the kids didn't miss a beat. They continued laff'n, and playing.

All of them apparently unknowing of the tragedy averted. The light finally changed, and the kids froliced away. Life went on.

Once more I 'happened' to be there to pull someone in. "Right place", "Right time",...again. A few months ago there was that little boy I pulled back from slipping over a railing, and falling into the East River. Then there was that teenaged girl I yanked back from stepping into the path of a bus.

Theres more,...the old lady in the subway, the man at that construction site I 'happened' to be passing, the little girl, and that car backing out of the driveway.

Wait it gets better.

A couple of summers ago there were these two teenagers that were gonna knife each other on the train. I stood between them. Don't ask me why I did it 'cause I don't know.

One moment I'm sitt'n with everbody else hopeing that someone would 'do' something. Next thing I know that someone was me! How the hell did that happen?! Hey, I'm a New Yorker, but I ain't 'that'crazy!

Now this sort'a thing has been going on for most of my life. Since I was a kid. I never questioned it. It was just 'something' that happened sometimes. There's people that can shoot milk through their nose's, me I save complete strangers from certain death.

(This here is one busy painting in a creepy sort of way, but ya get'z my point, yes? Btw if ya clicks on it this pix' get'z big'n scary!)

'And no, I can't predict horse races or lotto numbers. My rotten luck, figures. Unfortunately this ain't a "gift" I can make a living off of. Don't expect to see me on "Ophra" anytime soon. Unless of course I "happened" to pull her from the path of a speeding "Health Quack", and their publicists!

Anyway through it all the folks involved in these "incidents" don't got a clue. They all seem totally oblivious to the danger averted. I guess it all happens too fast for them to notice that the very "Jaws of Death" had just snapped at them!
'And because I was there,...missed.


I was considering this curious personal history as I looked over my shoulder at my wings. Interesting, they seem to react to light like a prisum. My every movement was creating rainbows around my bedroom.

Truly this is a gift though I don't think I ever prayed for it. I suppose this is my "Stigmata", my unasked for token from Heaven.

I should say for those not raised by deranged Nuns. The stigmata is a sign from G-d to the particularly faithful or insane. Take ya pick. Since I consider organized religion the worse disaster in human history. Well, maybe second to the last ice age or that comet or whatever that blew away all the dinosaurs. I guess that narrows ya choices.

(Oh yeah that looks like fun. Where do I sign up?!

About the stigmata though. You're basically awarded, "awarded" mind you with the inconvient, and extremely painful wounds suffered by Jesus during his passion.

One look at that bloodfest Jesus flick that Mel Gibson splatered across the cineplex's of the world should give you a good idea what this swell "gift" is all about. Yuck!, nailed hands, and feet. Crown'a thorns, stabbed side, the works as only "gawd da father can provide!"

Kind'a makes ya wonder what the 'other side' is offering. Humm, just sign here in my own blood, and I get's my way with the world for the rest of my greedy life. Yum!

(Eh, now that I think about maybe this sign'n my soul away deal ain't so sweet after all. Nothin' personal there Mr. Satan, but I'll keep the wings. Float'n in molten lead for eternity might give me a headache)

I've seen that episode of the "Twight Zone", ya know the one with Sabastian Cabott as the devil. Forget it. I got enuff problems as it is with these damned wings, and work'n at 'Bai!

Them wings though, I seemed to have been let off easy on the the stigmata scale. They don't bleed, and they weigh almost nothing. I wonder if I can fly? Wait'a minute, that would put me on "Oprah!" Things might be look'n up for me after all.

I'm assume'n that this is a gift from the "Good Guys." My wings are amazeing. They seem to have weightless weight, and edgeless edges, presence without presence. Running my hands over them is like passing ones fingers through a thick warm mist. They're just this side of solid.


The Dreams. I have too often seen things that will happen. 9/11, the south Asian tsunamis. I had dreamed these, and other things over the years, and told you about them on the air. On my radio program, "Carrier Wave". I described these terrible events in detail long before they happened. Others did so as well, and you laughed, and forgot.

The dreams are the worst because no one believes them, and when they come true they don't remember I told them. If I bring it up they look at me like I belong on the front page of a supermarket tabloid. Yeah me shake'n hands with a space alien or a yeti or somethin'.

All I can do is see these things. I can't stop them. I once begged G-d to take this "gift" away. I remember telling this to my dear friend, and collegue Bob Fass. He said it was "better to 'see', and tell" because a few "might hear it", and believe. Some "might benefit from your gift which is why you have it!"

Then there's the Spirits. They visit me, always have since I was little. They touch my hands, my face. They enter my dreams, the speak to me, and show me wonders, and horrors.

Angels, Spirits, Demons, remembering the future, pulling souls from the jaws of eternity,...and now Wings! Have I been given this unambiguious miracle so that those I pull from "Well of Forever" will know from where their rescue really comes?

Paradise has bestowed on me an undeniable token. Bright Wings! A Miracle for which I did not ask, and don't know what to do with.



Timmy Tom, and June June have been friends for seventy years. They've shared seventy springs with budding leaves, and new grass. Seventy summers of warm days, and cool ponds. Cascades of blazing red, and golden falls. Decades of cozy snowbound winters.

Timmy Tom nolonger flew, and the "Lost Boy's" halo has dimmed. Our Half Angel, and Lost Boy have grown up, and grown old together. However they're still happy. Happy to be in the world, and happy in each others company.

These stepchildren of Paradise, these runnaways from Heaven have watched the seasons turn, and turn. Yes their sun has set, but the moon, and stars are riseing!

(The above are a couple of fairy drawings I did for a poetry chapbook back the 1970's)

This is the end of the "Timmy Tom", the half Angel saga. It was fun! I really loved these sweet hearts as if they was my own real babies. However three, and a half years, more or less is enough. I began to notice that the latter Angelic adventures were begining to repeat the same themes.

So I felt it was finally tyme to let the little guyz go, and find their own way in the multiverse. Special thanks to my friends, and listeners who loved these wonderful beings as much as I did! Btw, the above story takes place in our future say about 2073 c.e. I have no idea what'll be going on in the world then, but Timmy'n June June will still be around. They'll be there as old men, still friends, and still love'n each other.

What better ending to a tale could there be.



Yes in the interest of spreading joy, and happiness to his beloved mass's. Dear Uncle Sidney, and certain trusted pals have planned a revolutionary doll expropriation. In short the people deserve decent toys.

The following is a rough transcript of a conversation between this reporter, and our Dear Uncle. For the purposes of security, but mostly because Uncle said he'd "cap me in da nutz!" I shall refrain from spill'n da beans on where our esteemed Unk is holded up.

Dear Uncle begins,.."See me, and the boyz knocks over a particular doll factory in north Jersey, right." We'd scoped it out awhile back. So we knows they gotz da goods we wants.

Well, the plan is to bust in there disguised as the 1955 Brooklyn Dodgers. The historical angle, cute huh. Anyway we knows that the "Fedz" has targeted the joint for a "swoop'n scoop!"

Ya know bag the werkers, and send'em back to Mexico. This after they'd paid the frigg'n feds off to leave'em be. Ha! Well them nazi fucks took their hard earned dough alright, but is scoop'n 'em anyhow. Shit like dat burns me up!

Well through our connections with the Buddhist Mafia, and the Catholic Worker we got all the folks at da factory 100% legal fool proof Green Cardz! So they'z okay, them evil thieve'n federales won't be able to say shit to 'em now! Btw, we're also give'n da werkers free tickets to the "Wonder Wheel", and roller coaster at Coney Island. Nice huh?

With the co-operation of the locals secured we'll load up our trucks with top'a the line dollies. You name it, 1st class "Barbies" with all da trimmings! We'll be boost'n classic "Betsey Wetsies", that hard to get "Gay Bert'n Ernie" upper west side doll set, and playhouse. All that plus various assorted big ticket doodads, and nicknacks that prole kids can only dream of.

After the heist we'll cool it at our hideout till the heat blows over. Then when when the "Running dawgz of the Mastercard, industrial Gameboy, informercial, oil guzzel'n atomic plunder'ers" leasts expects it! We'll bust out'a our diggs, and hit all the ghettos, and trailer parks of the tri-state area! Passing out swell toyz to exploited, and oppressed kidz as we go!

I can see the headline in the "Post" now,.."TERRORISTS DOLL UP GHETTO!", (Homeland Security Baffled!)

At this point in the interview "Lost" was coming on so Dear Uncle threw me out of his office, and ordered pizza.

More as the plan developes


Well there we was, "Sister from Another Planet", "Ife" the "Hiphop G-ddess", and your dear "Beloved Uncle Sidney" minding our own g-damned business, and werk'n on our shows. Like I sez there we was werk'n away for you ingrates when "BOOOOM!!"

Right, we all thinkz it's 9/11 part two. The other terrible shoe dropping that every New Yorker has secretly been expecting for years now. "BOOM", "BLAM", "BOOM!, BOOM!, BOOM!!" Boy are we fucked I'm think'n, and I smells smoke too!

Ha! Instead of the end of history as we knows it. It all turns out to be the annual "July 4th East River Fire Works" practice. In fact "Sister", and I happened to be here at WBAI the "Peoples Radio Station" last year at the same time for this very event.

It was swell, and as unexpected as it was loud. "Shock, and Awe" indeed! Well yeah considering that one of the firework boats seemed to catch fire for a while. We was all expect'n, and some hope'n to see the barge blow da hell up!

I was making quick mental calculations as to where we should run if one of them rockets should decide to head our way. It was then that the sky turn red! Aw man,I knew I should'a called in sick today!

One of the rockets went a tad off course, and detonated just short of the pier. Well it is practice after all. "Yup,we got'a do something about the barge catch'n fire, and them rockets blow'n up the piers" sez the fire works chief. Well "practice makes perfect" as Dick Cheney sez.

Anyhow a good time was had by all, except for the guys on that barge that caught fire. Yeah, got'a work on that one. (We return you now to our bloggies that's always in progress)


I woke up last night with the moon in my eyes. This really happened it was beautiful,wondeful. I came home from 'Bai so tired I just fell asleep on my couch. The living room window, and blinds were up.

I awoke some hours later with the wind on my face, and the light of a full moon in my eyes. There she was the dear blessed old moon shine'n away! Shine'n, and bless'n my soul.

Clouds sailed by their edges glow'n silver, branchs danced, and leaves sang in the breeze. Aw gee, it was so sweet. Did ya see it? Did you? Oh last night was a night for share'n.

"And they danced by the light of the Moon, the Moon",

"They danced by the light of the moon"

(from "The Owl, and the Pussy Cat")

(I couldn't help it. Here's the Earth,..and a nice moon in the distance)


The above is the final WBAI, "Carrier Wave"/Angel t-shirt design that we've sent to our printers. I'll let ya know when they're delivered! Thanks for all the love, and support. If not for the current Wbai at least for the good folks that still remain.

Special thanks, and the "Red Banner Timmy Tom Star of courage, and Peoples Merit First Class" goes to Dr.R.Paul Martin Harvard Univ. Dept. of "Small Shiney Things" and Lt. Comdr.,(Royal Canadian Navy Reserve), Nurse Pickles for not letting me blow this project. Thank you Comrads! Your Dear Beloved Uncle is truly Grateful. As no doubt are all thoses fine comrades that paid good rubles for their shirts!

Maybe for the sweatshirt I'll let him take off that g-string, and let it all hang out. Humm,..think the station would approve that design?


You know I gots the urge to go on an "underclass crime spree!" The kind ya sees on "Cops", and those other "wifebeater" shows. See I'll steal a 1966 Ford pickup from some trailer park somewhere. I'll go down to the mini-mall, and rob the liquor store, the 7-11, bust open the "atm" at the gas station, and knock over the Chapel of the Love of Jesus for the change in the poor box.

Which is the whole point, the change not the Chapel. Forgive me Jesus. I'll be need'n them coins for the tolls on the highway. On which the drama of my two state high speed chase will be played out. There your Beloved Uncle Sidney, and various of my more adventurous puppets will be.

Yup! We'll be suck'n down "Buds", and careen'n down gawds interstate at 90 miles an hour. Boy, weave'n left'n right raise'n sparks on the guard rails as the highway patrols from two seedy "flyover states" is on our tail wail'n away! Man that'z live'n!

(Oh the freedom of the road! Blast'n along in an old Ford pickup get'n 5 miles to da gallon, and lay'n down a smoke screen of atomized dinosaurs. Hey thay don't call'z it "fossil" fuel for nuthin'! Aw man,drink'n beers, be'n chased by cops, and break'n laws! Life is Good!)

'Course after a few hours of this happy mayhem the boy'n gals in blue get'z fed up with me, and decides to shoot out my tires. They do, but it don't matter 'cause I'm in a tuff old ford that rides her steel alloy rims for another 80 miles!

Well finally they calls the rustbelt state police, and they lays out them explosive spikes that shorts out ya engine, and blow off ya wheels. Btw, the Iraqi's uses the same shit on our jeeps'n trucks over in the war. Hey, what works, works.

Anyhow as is the traditional in these things I slams grill'n bumper first into a lampost. The pickup flips over tumble'n three or four times, but I jumps out with just a few bruises, and scratches. See both the Ford, and me is old timers, and can take the punishment!

(Actually these gals with guns don't have anything to do with the story exactly. Sure I could work them in, but I'm too lazy. I just like look'n at gals with guns is all, well okay I likes look'n at boys too. You can link over to my other blog "Inkplumb" if ya likes that sort'a thing,..ahem)

(Yup! Gals with guns! They're the Nightmare of all them that stones Women, and hangs Gai's! Fuck you Osama, and ya evil pals!! These sweethearts is the friends of all Women in distress, and Gai boys be'n bashed! I just lovez gals with big frigg'n guns!)

Now to our swell story which is wait'n patiently for you to come back.


Therein begins the best part of our drama. The "Perp Chase!" Yeah ya old Unk is beat'n it through da bushs like a bat out'a hell! I gots a t.v. audience now that's cheer'n me on. Downsized factory workers, and laid off programers is hand'n me beers, and Snapples,(tm), as I sprint through their backyards, and over fences.

Kid's toss's me candy bars, dogs bark, and old folks that remembers the golden 1950's, and full employment waves, and blows me kiss's! However it all ends as it usually does when I'm trapped in a dead end behind a bankrupted furniture store by a bunch a pissed off cops, and troopers.

They gleefully kickz the shit out'a me for an hour or so 'cause I interrupted their other important business. Which was shake'n down junkies, shoot'n unarmed Black kids, and get'n free blowjobs at various mob-run lapdance clubs. When I'm finally hauled in they sez my grevious injuries was from the crash.

Naturally I agrees with them, after all I don't want to be "suicided" in my cell after lights out. Involuntary "suicide" is a serious health hazzard in most local holds as we all know. Btw the puppets was released 'cause theyz was minors.

Anyhow all that sure beats engineering the 11:00pm newz rebroadcast here at WBAI, the people radio station. Just alot of refried commie bullshit, and demo announcements for jew haters, and terrorist lovers. Swell. "My Country Tis' of Thee..."


The other day as I was on my bathroom floor shreiking, and bat'n at demon gals. I thought about a couple of social experiments I might try. Both involved explosives real, and imagined.

See I thought I go up to our transmitter room at the Empire State Building. It's on the 86th floor, pretty high up you'll agree. Well I thought I'd go up there, and toss "cherry bombs" over the ledge. I figure they ought to go off at about the 50th floor or so.

(I was right there, used to have my lunch at the WBAI transmitter at "Empire" I'd dangle my toes over the edge. Yes astoundingly stupid, but fun)

Yeah that might get some notice. Ya know maybe some sort of panic. Now I'm not be'n evil here folks. This is all for a purpose. Like when the "U.S. Army Bio Weapons" guyz spread flu virus through the NYC subway system back in the 1960's to track the contagion patterns.

(Did you know that there used to be a "Ladies Only" car on the original subway? The above is a pix' of one from 1910, just 50 years before the Army decided to use these nice ladies greatgrand kids as bio-warfare test subjects. Eh, without their knowlege of course,..the cold war'n all you understand)

Yeah that made sense. Only killed maybe 30 or 40 people they figured. Well worth it for the data. But I digress.

I actually don't wanna kill anybody,...well maybe one. Again I digress. I just want to graphicly point out how open we are to any terrorist nutjobs that feel like wipe'n us the fuck out. Homeland Security my itchy nutz! I begz ya pardon, such language!, it's just that I'm somewhat passionate about the safty of our great nation.

Okay, so here'z what I gotz in mind. I go out, and rents a van. Just like them gumba's that blew up the World Trade Center that first time. Maybe I'll go to the same lot.

(This is the 1993 attack on America. We were still too stupid, too fuck'n fat'n happy alot of us to know that we were at War!)

Anyway I get the van, and I paints on it,..."ATOMIC FUCK'N BOMB!" Humm, they may not get it, okay I'll paints,..."EVIL, KRAZY, TERRORIST, SNEAKY, GAWDAMNED FRIGG'N, NO KIDD'N ATOMIC BOMB! FOR CHRISTS SAKES!!" Right I'll go with that.

So I'm drive'n around town with all that plastered on the side of the van, and of course this be'n New York nobody sez shit. Reminds me of the time we had to move some heavy equipment here at Wbai, and this listener offered the use of his truck, we thought. Till he showed up.

His "truck" turned out to be a half rusted away 30 year old ex-milk truck. Which he had painted over with all these pro-Castro sayings, and communist flags. Oh yeah, btw we was go'n into a Cuban neighborhood. A place called Edison New Jersey

Famous as the home of the guys that attacked radio station "WADO"fm. Seems a "DJ" over there had nice things to say about Fidel. So naturally our heros from "Edison" decides to go to the station to kill him. You get'n da pixture here?

(Some of them swell Castro hate'n folks of Edison N.J. wait'n to welcome the WBAI "Fidel" truck)

Well our Edison neo-fascist "freedom fighters" breaks into WADO, and stabs our Comrad live on da air. Ahem, this is the very same "Edison" we're about to drive into with a sign that sez:


That, and as I said various eastern bloc icons as well. The guys name was, and is Joe Friendly, and actually he really is,..friendly. If ya out there Joe keep'em fly'n!

(This isn't Joe's truck, but it'z close enuff! Just imagine a big pix' of ol' Fidel on da side, and ya got it)

Anyhow, I tellz Joe he'z out'a his fuck'n mind!! I tell'z him,.."Why don't ya paint some bullseyes on da windshield while ya at it!" "Make it easier for their snipers why don't ya?!" He takes it in good humor, he'z friendly after all, and we drives to our destination, 'and' comes back alive!

I attribute that miracle to the stunned disbelief of the natives upon see'n our roll'n commie target rack bump'n down their streets. "Nah they sez to each other,..can't be" Well by the time they getz over their shock, and loads their guns we're already gone.

Where was I, oh yeah "Atomic Frigg'n Bombs!"

Right, so I drives my rented van labled "BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, ATOMIC FRIGG'N ASS BOMB!", an' everything to Times Square. I parks our sweetheart in the exact center of the "Capital of the Western World!" I getz out, still nobody pay'n no attention whatever, and goes across the street to "Roxy's" for a cheezeburger or two.

There I waits for hours till they finally notices my van. Homeland Security? Not a chance, why should they. The van only sez it has an A-Bomb inside that's all. Nah, A meter maid tickets me, and a tow truck takes it all away to some pound in Queens.

Now if they had bothered to look inside they'd have found my note which sez,..."Boom!" "You, and everybody in a 25 block radius is dead" "Everybody within five miles has fatal radiation sickness,..they has maybe 3, 4 weeks to live. New York City will have to be evacuated for perhaps 20 years or more, and there are vans
like this in 10 other U.S.cities. Allah is Good.

(Something actually worse than Bernard White's WBAI)

We're wide open boyz, and girls. Fuck Homeland Security. If you're old Uncle could blow this joint to hell imagine what the real nutjobs with a real bomb could do. I do not sleep easy.


(U.S. Nazi Party Boss, (center),in his usual humor)

The Nation of Islam admired by many at the former WBAI is unmasked as the Nazi bleepholes they always were! Beloved Uncle Sidney in his never ending quest to speak truth to bully's, has obtained unquestionable proof of the "N.O.I.'s Nazi past! Nazi Party Boss George Lincoln Rockwell good pal, and finacial backer of Elija Muhammud supported the race separation programs of the then Black Muslim Movement.

"Dear Uncle" has often mentioned with sadness, on his radio program, the day he saw Nazi bully boys shaking hands with representatives of the Black Muslim organization. There for all the stunned world to see the unashamed Elija stood side by side Mr. Rockwell on the front page of "Muhammud Speaks." The then mouth peice of the Black Muslims later to be known as the Nation of Islam.

("Them N.O.I. uniforms always troubled me" sez "Dear Uncle")

Though some say "after all this was years ago", that "Nazi entaglement", and we all make mistakes. Let by gones be by gones. True our "Dear Uncle Sidney" being of heartful character was tempted by such arguments, but decided that this historic "umbriago!" was too big to ignore! So has posted for all to ponder the impossible image of actual Negros in alliance with Brown Shirted Nazi's.

Indeed Dear Uncle Sidney recently was in conversation with a young volunteer engineer of color at the former WBAI. "This otherwise fine youngster" Uncle said, expressed some belief in the vile rumors of Jews being forwarned of 9/11. "Shocking, most distressing that our new generation could be so easily taken in by Nazi/Race Idenity slanders!" This Dear Beloved Uncle Sidney was heard to exclaim as he diligently labored on the next episode of the "Talk'n Rat Puppet Theatre!"

Oh my friends look upon this bizarre image of Nazi's, and misguided persons of color. Then consider the nature of ideology, and idenity politics taken to it's absolute extreme! Beware of all who say they know best.

More as research continues.


My dear comrads your Dear Uncle is at a complete loss to explain this weird shit. Apparently the idea of goose stepp'n around in "Bully Boy" drag is very attractive to alot of folks. More than say dress'n up as a Klingon. That at least I could see. I even thought about it myself for a while. This before I settled on my disguise as that "other" famous Uncle

Still, the Nazi stuff even Bernard White would agree is a tad out there. Though he has no interest in what europeans do to each other nevertheless I'm sure he'd see wear'n Nazi regalia as generally in bad taste. On the other hand I recall we had a poster of "ILSA! She Wolf of the SS" taped up in the WBAI engineering office for some years till someone stole it.

As I was say'n,.."WHAT DA FUCK!!! IS GO'N ON OUT THERE!!!"

Hey kid! Yeah you! What da fuck do you think you're do'n?!! Take that damned shirt off before I tell ya World War II Great Grand Father that kicked Nazi butt all across Europe what ya up too!! My heavens what a shitty century this is turn'n out to be.

Your "Dear Uncle" is overcome with culture shock. So I'll just go for a peaceful walk in the WBAI Peoples Communal Gardens. After meditating on the sunset I'll have my mint green tea take my meds'n turn in for the night.

(The disguised "Dear Beloved Uncle Sidney", in his popular dress white uniform,takes a walk in the Peoples Garden of Peace as he ponders what to do about Neo-Nazi Chic)

Yes these are truly strange, and difficult times comrads. We must redouble our efforts in our never ending struggle against the forces reprocessed though strangely pleasurable fascism.


(While delivering the revolutionary news of Success! to the PNB. The WBAI Peoples Programing Chairman, (above), wears a disguise. This of a famous entertainer of the past)

The "Radio Listening Mass's" were much relieved to be told that the years long fundraiser failures at radio WBAI in New York were infact great tactical successes. The demoralized, and harrassed staff, and listeners of the Peoples Radio Station WBAI rejoiced at this unexpected, and glorius news.

This astounding turn of fortunes was announced at the "Pacifica National Board" meeting which was held this past weekend in the Workers Socialist Soviet of Manhattan. Though rain fell from the sky there was bright laughter, and singing in the Great hall of the People.

Listeners, radio workers, even reactionary tourists from unliberated territories danced, drank, and celebrated the good news. They then marched into the street in disciplined ranks to show their solidarity with the Chairman!

The "Revelation" which was proclaimed by Honored Brother White, "Chairman of the WBAI Peoples Programing Directorate" came as a bolt of lightning from a clear sky. Though all the so-called "evidence" said otherwise. Our strong, and ever vigilant Director saw through the reactionary smoke, and mirrors of the decadent, reactionary accountants, and small handfull of misguided romantic petty bourgeois late night broadcasters.

The "Truth!", said our brave Chairman, is that "we are prospering!" "All talk of setbacks, and failure are only the negative "Nay Saying" of a destructive, and unrepentant synagogue of petty bourgeois romantic, liberal radio artists, reactionary, remnant Utrician elements, and correct culture corrupting sexual inverts!"

Our respected Director continued, "These unprogressive, incorrectly melineated entities have caused good comrads to think that there may have been a temporary economic dislocation in the fortunes of the Peoples Radio station!"

The grateful mass's upon hearing the good news took to the streets in spontaneous demonstrations of approval for the Chairman's vision, and wisdom in seeing through the schemes of the enemies of the people.

The reactionary bourgeois romantics, decadent, race mixing polluters of pure culture, and the various other parasites on the life blood of the Socialist, Race Idenity, Politically Correct body politic will soon be dealt with. Investigative bodies are as this reporter writes being organized, and "direct peoples justice" for these regressive enemies of the people will soon be at hand!

Be attentive for further reports!


Beloved Uncle Sidney suggest reading the above pamphlet to help you understand the current situation at "WBAI the Peoples Radio Station"

"A fun read, I couldn't put it down!", Satan

"A laff riot sensation!", Hitler

"Say this Orwell guy has some interesting ideas', Bill Gates

"So this is the filth you've been reading!", My late Sainted Mom


(Dear Beloved Uncle also recomends this leaflet to better understand the inner workings of WBAI, and the Pacifica Foundation in the early 21st century)

"Seriously scary shit!", Daffy Duck

"Every Animal should read this", Bugs Bunny

"Worse than work'n in the circus!", Dumbo

"Arf!", Sandy

"This Orwell guy ain't got shit on that nazi bugfucker Disney", Donald Duck


(Cleveland National Guard Corporal Darnell Johnson is seen here testing shuttle booster in his backyard.)

According to "Peoples Radio Station WBAI's" science reporter Nurse Pickels, NASA has declared the Space Shuttle ready to return to the heavens. However this time all the astronauts will be middleaged cowboys. This as part of the cost cutting program that has made the space agency so effective.

Along with the backyard testing program the "old cowboys" in space effort will save the goverment many hundreds of millions of dollars that can be used to fight terrorism.

(Cowboy, above, is seen testing the re-entry capabilities of the secondary shuttle booster from the successful backyard program)

We must all remember as was said in the great motion picture "Plan 9 From Outer Space"..."The Future is where we will spend the Rest of our Lives!" Well that or something sort of like that.

Incidently, viewing this flick is a holy obligation for all of Dear Beloved Uncle's loyal, and true neices, and nephews. For only by watching this cinematic effort while eating alot of cheap junk food can you understand "Uncle Think!" Which is sort of like "Thought Crime" only with more sugar, and less salt.

With all that in mind "Beloved Uncle" applauds NASA in it's efforts to root out terrorism,while spending as little as possible on spacecraft safty.

Ride'em you Space Cowboy!!


Pussifica was Wbai's kat for nearly 18 years. He/she, we were never sure. Pussifica left this mortal realm as the result of a misunderstanding reguarding her various medications. Humm, if 2cc's are good then 22cc's must be "Very Good!"

Yes, well intended though ultimately homocidal medical care sent our dear kitty kat to heaven slightly ahead of schedule. But Pussifica holds no grudge against Wbai,..mostly. So she's come back to visit, and to tell us what the "great beyond" is like. At least for kats.

(Pussifia back in da day keep'n an eye on things)

It was my embarrassing duty to tell Pussifica that our current diggz don't allow pets. Living or otherwise. She said that was cool since she was just passing through, as opposed to "passing on" which as you know she'd already done.

All the oldtimers here at the station was real glad to see her, and asked about all the various bai'ers that had paid the ferryman and crossed that well known river. Pussifica said they was do'n swell!

Fred Kuhn had opened a bar, and folk music place. Paul Wunder is make'n movies. Chet Jackson is a Sufi Mystic. Paul Williams has a used UFO dealership. Samori Marksman is the "Great Helmsman" of a Socialist Peoples Republic. Grampa is a centerfielder for the Brooklyn Dodgers. John Fisk is a Buddhist Monk in Heavens Jade Mountains.

(Katz likes Heaven just fine)

Bob Storm, and Ralph Hall has got back together, and lives peacefully manage'n a Red Wood forest. David Jackson is still write'n, and perform'n as always. Joel Greenberg mostly keeps to himself, meditate'n, and sail'n around in his hand made skiff. Lee Ryan has a weekly variety show on one of the major Heavenly networks. Safiya Bukhari is a foster mother to a bunch of them aborted babies. She's real good at that.

There'a a bunch a others that Pussifica mentioned like dear Pat Rich. She helps look'n after them aborted babies too. Anyhow Pussifica said she/he mainly just came to get her mail, and to see if we'd learned anything since she'd left.

When I filled her in on all the deranged mayhem of the last ten years around this sorry joint all she said was,..."Figures." She then flapped her wings, and vanished in a puff of pink smoke. Though her head reappeared "cheshire" style, and said she'd be back around 2015 or so to check up on us again.

We wait with Hope.


(Dear Beloved Uncle Sidney, as always in his favorite disguise, is happy to hear from his selfless, and devoted comrad workers)

Good Comrad Larry, heroic winner of the "Red Banner Timmy Tom Star of Courage 2nd Class", posts, and asks if he may speak to Beloved Uncle. Of course comrad Larry our Beloved Uncle will listen. He sits in his modest room in the Kremlin composeing stories, and songs for the betterment of all. Yet is always happy to take time out to speak with, and offer humble advice to those that serve the mass's.

If you look to your upper right you'll notice a little picture of Dear Uncle in his gai, and happy youth. Just below it you'll notice a legend that sez "View My Complete Profile." Merely click on that, and you'll see a means to Dear Uncles e-mail. Which btw is ..cute yes?

So please all you good toilers of the land! Come forth! Uncle or at least one of his executive assistants will answer your questions or fulfil your requests.


(Uncle Sidney still in his ironic disguise explains the subtle nuances of radio art to attentive workers)

"Dear Beloved Uncle" made a surprize visit to a workers collective today. Uncle just loves surprizes. Beloved Uncle took it upon himself to visit the peoples administrative, sub-directorate office of the Volga shoehorn factory No. 12.

All of the comrad administrators were in awe of the wit, and charm of Dear Uncle, and his off the cuff presentation. Uncle warmed to his favorite subject, and waxed poetic on the spiritual nature of a well written, and performed station break.

He then shared several hours of anecdotes about his broadcast adventures with the transfixed comrads. Most touching was his impromtu re-enactment of his dear friend Simon Loekle's on air reading of Puskin while having just snorted ten grams of cocaine followed by five bottles of Ripple.

(An astounded "Beloved Uncle Sidney", and some middle level Party officals witness "Good Comrad Loekle's" amazeing performance while under the influence of enough dope, and booze to kill ten Cossacks!!)

Angels wept silver pearls at the beauty of that long ago performance. As the sun set behind Shoehorn factory No.12 our Dear Uncle informed the gathered comrads it was time for him to go. The workers protested, and fell to their knees begging him for just one more dope story. However our most stalward Uncle mildly chastized them saying that it was time for them to go back to work. Because Socialism needed them!

With that our ever thoughful, and kindly Uncle got on his old bike, and peddled his way back to the Kremlin. There to write more lovely stories about teenaged homosexual Angels that fight for the rights of the oppressed, and bored!


(Uncle Sidney seen here in his favorite ironic disguise of another famous "Uncle" mesmorizes his adoreing fans)

Women, and homosexuals swooned, regular guys secretly had erections as "Beloved Uncle Sidney,(tm), addressed the "Pacifica National Board" on the eastside of the great island of Manhattan. The gentle teacher, and wise guardian of the people spoke of kindness, patients, generosity, and a flat tax for all during his short, but memorable speech to the throngs assembled.

(Uncle Sidney still wearing his endearing disguise is greeted as he entered the meeting hall of the Pacifica National Board. Few could hold back their tears of joy!)

As is his accustomed style our "Good Uncle" spoke in calm measured tones, but this leading up to a rouseing peak when he appealed to what's good in all honest workers. Of course the applause was thunderous. Workers wept with heart felt joy as they pondered "Uncle's" simple but forthright, and correct advice.

Through there were the usual pleadings for more the modest spiritual leader of WBAI waved this off to make way for the other speakers. Our dear Uncle then humbly retired to a chair in a remote corner, and had a simple refreshment of mint tea, and plain bread.

More as reports come to hand.


Well when the Pacifica Radio National Board meets here in a day or two I intend to make my opinions known. The obvious one being that the current program director of WBAI New York, and his associates must be "Honorably Retired!" At once! Promote him to anywhere, but here.

He just gave us another failed thon, fundraiser. How many is it now, 15, 20 of 'em in a row. I don't have to go into the details of his grim administration. I'll just say that for the first time in our institutional history violence or the expectation of it has become common place. Fear rules WBAI, and has for years.

My G-d, even now I find that I'm "low balling" the issue. Being circumspect, and such. Fuck these evil hudlums to hell. Fuck'em to the lowest shithole in Satans worse nightmare. They've taken a wonderful thing, and turned it into shit. They had no mandate from anyone other than themselves to change this radio station so radically. Wbai is an anti-rational Black Hate Radio outlet now.

(Angry mobs demand their money back from Racist WBAI!)

Race hate, Jew hate, anti-intellectualism, a gutter vision based on narrow racial fears, and dreams of vengence. Supersition in place of knowledge, racial ancestor worship in place of heartfulness. The embraceing of bloody "Peoples Wars" in place of the Pacifist vision of our networks founders. It is hedious beyond description, and it must end or we will end!

This is what I'm going to tell those spineless worthless Board members. I intend to point directly at them, and say that they bear blame along with us for allowing this horror to have persisted this long.

('Bai Racist Radio Criminals attempt to flee with Listeners Dough!)

There are other things I could say, but my pals have told me that I could be arrested for assault if I did. It seems to threaten is against the law,..really? If true then more than a few of Mr. Bernard Whites associates need to be put in jail. As I have said before,.."WBAI has an air of 'dread' about it."

Nuff said,..for now.


(This didn't happen,...exactly.)

On my show, ("Carrier Wave", I tore into one of our major fundraiseing premiums, the film "Loose Change." The flick is basically extreme left conspiracy theory science fiction. It's been widely descredited in the 'real' world.

Unfortunately radio WBAI nolonger functions in that realm we so bought it hook line, and sinker. So did hundreds of our listeners. We made tens of thousands of dollars off of that shameful delusional display.

Well delusional if you think that it's maybe a bit out there to imply that the passangers of "United Flight 93" are presently prisoners of the federal government in some bunker, and that most of the hijacked planes were infact radio controlled drones.

Drones controlled btw by agents of the American, and perhaps Israeli governments. Also the President of the United States of America, big oil, and the intelligence community were very likely the real forces behind 9/11.

My favorite part is how they explain that no plane was involved in the attack on the Pentagon. The wreckage was "planted", and the damage done by pre-placed explosives.

(Clever Zionist Misinformation)

Right, so the passangers of at least two of the "hijacked" flights were all killed by some "blackbag" guys. Either that or they're to this day prisoners of the CIA somewhere, and of course U.S. agents planted bombs in our national landmarks
so we could invade Iraq.

Yeah sure I believe that. What da hell,'s my dough.

Anyhow I said on my show, which was deleted from the archive so you can't hear it. As of June 1, 2006 it's not available. I said this is shameful bullshit! Appealing to peoples fears, and confusions just to make a buck. I said it was cynical exploitation of our listener supporters.

I also said that we'd probably end up having to withdraw this this latest "commie boner", and apologize to our listeners. Just like we did last summer over another crazy 9/11 film that we whored day, and night.

That one had equally nutty theories that implicated everybody, but the Islamic nazi's that really did 9/11. Our current winner "Loose Change" is the same. Oh! da poor head chopp'n terrorists. Why can't America just leave 'em alone so they can lynch gay teenagers, stone women to death, and behead helpless hostages.

(This didn't happen either)

Turns out that flick was produced by a Holocaust Denier. Nobody bothered to check that greaseball out we just ran with his film 'cause it dove tailed with "our" political line.
Our listeners, the smart ones, clued us in. They're the ones that got hip to that fuck'n nazi, and his deranged shit!

Well this time, and I didn't think they'd be outed so soon. This time seems the producers of "Loose Change" pirated alot of their footage from various major film makers. That, and misrepresenting themselves to others. They're be'n sued for every penny they've got.

The station, Wbai, is being advised to withdraw the film at once, and remove all material concerning it from their web site. All this one day after I said something like this would happen. Do I know ratz when I smells 'em or what?

(A still from the next 'BAI 9/11 premium, "Hot Stuff" which proves that the white racist "NYFD" blew up the World Trade Center by placing, and detonating the demolition charges that really brought down the towers! Reserve a copy now!!)...I'll take two!

Here's my main point. Twice now major fundraise'n items have been found to be questionable. (Week old fish heads in a bucket during a heat wave comes to mind) One was morally repugnate the other criminal. Without these "particular" fundraiseing "additives" both the current, and last summer's pledge drives would have failed worse that they actually did. They did both fail, but they would have gone down the shitter with a seriously bigger stink.

As was said at the last general Wbai staff meeting by a brave member of the News Deparment.. "Is this acceptable?" "Is consistant failure acceptable to us?"


(We continue now with our sweet'n happy Bloggie)


My birthday is coming up. I'm getting well into my 50's now, 60 is not so distant anymore. Infact it's a well defined shoreline on my horizon. Oh my, just imagine. It seems just a moment ago I was in school, and a moment later my first time on the air. Now here I am.

Given all this I've been thinking things over. I've been wondering, where is everybody? Where is my family, my old friends, my school, my dog, my bike?

Where is that world that seemed so big, and complicated, and important. That lost world of dinners, homework, chores, math tests. That time, and place where I got in, and out of all sorts of trouble.

All those birthdays, trips to aunts, and uncles houses. The Christmas's, Thanksgiving's, July 4th bar-b-que's. Was all that a dream? Can whole worlds vanish without trace? The Universe blunders on as if we never were. That world I knew, and lived in has become as smoke in the wind. Curling, drifting, vanishing.

Maybe that's why hierlooms are so important to people. Those little scraps from a family's past. Old snap shots, a battered doll, a music box that doesn't work. These simple tattered things that speak for our past. Speak for all those now gone.

They say to Eternity, these little gems, they say,..."We lived, we loved, worked, suffered, laughed, learned, and died."

I've recently passed on to my oldest neice my Great Grandmothers music box. It's a simple pewter bowl. The top is a powder puff box, and the bottom is a music box. It's cover was the best part. It's beautifully engraved in the "Art Nuevo" style with a painted cameo of a lovely young girl in the center.

I used to play it all the time when I was little. Till I broke it, and my Mom had to send it to a jewlers to be fixed. You see before air conditioning people used to powder themselves lightly to stay cool, and prevent rash. I recall being powdered by my grandma, and ma in all my seen, and unseen places from that box.

I felt the time had come to pass this particular gem on. So when Kimberly came out east for a visit I gave it to her. I told her that it had been in our family for very near a hundred years. My Great Grandmother, her Great Great Grandmother got it as a birthday present from her father in 1915.

Great Grandmother whom we remember as "Grannie" gave it to my Grandmother, Violet, in the 1930's. Grandma Violet gave it to my mother Carmen when she was married in 1948. My Mom gave it to me shortly before she passed away in 1988. In 2005 I gave it to my dear neice Kimberly, and told her to keep it in the family for another hundred years.

Btw, I suggested she only pass it down to the female line of the family as they are generally more sensible, and are less likely to sell it on "ebay" or it's successor business.

"Another hundred years", that's what I told her, and that's what's going to happen. I gave her the music box, and all the stories that surround it for her to pass on into this new century.



I was walking around outside tonight, and saw two shooting stars! The skys over New York City are usually hazy, and the lights wash out most of the stars, and planets. Sometimes though there's a window. A break in the wash of industrial static that hides the Universe from us.

Well tonight the sky blinked for a moment, and I saw the stars. Imagine if we could see them all the tyme here in this vast machine we live in. Just look up, and there would be Eternity. I talk about falling into the sky a bit further down on this page. Scroll down, and look for that.

Anyway I saw two shooting stars tonight. A good omen I think. The summer the new season of warmth, and possibilities has been baptized with lightning from heaven. May we all be Blessed by this. May we all be Healed. Lets go to the beach!!



I was, and am still a "Mouseketeer." I remember that sign-off goodbye song the "Mouseketeer's" used to sing to us. "...and now it's time to say goodbye, all our family." "M-i-c,...see ya real soon,..k-e-y." "Why?" "Because we like you." "M-o-u-s-e!"

My Grandma made us, my sisters, and brother mouse ears. "Mickey Mouse" Mouseketeer ears. She used black felt, for the beanie'n ears, and white linen for the "M." She also made a "Zorro" cape special for me, but that'z another story.

I was think'n about all of this while I was out, and about tonight. This shooting star night. All this in the context of the sum of a life. All the wonderful gems, the memories that put together we call our lives. Too often I concentrate on the traumatic, and disappointing. Just read my blogs. it's peppered with the stuff.

Yeah I know there were no colored kids in the cast of the program. Amazeingly for the times Walt Disney did consider an integrated show,..briefly. This story from his brother.

A light skinned colored girl was give'n a screen test separate from the other kids. It was a big studio secret. Remember this was the mid 1950's. It would have been a social bombshell, and killed any chance of major sponsors. All this despite the "Disney" brand.

Believe it or not, we have actually come a bit of a way. Not a long way, but a bit. Just a bit away from all that. But back then it was thought, that is simple justice was not practical. The youngster didn't get the part.

Sometimes I wonder, if this anecdote is so, I've wondered how things would be different now if important people with influence had decided not to be so practical. I was 6 or 7 years old, and blissfully unaware of this sad history. I just wanted to be a Mouseketeer just like I wanted to be a boy scout. I have a scout story near the bottom of the page that dovetails with Mr. Disney's practicality.

Mouse ears, I want mouse ears. I went looking for some. Turns out they're a rarity. Disney puts some out, but they're very small. Only toddler sizes it seems. Somebody should tell them that there are some former 8 year olds, even colored ones, that would like to don the ears,..just one more time.

When Cubby, Annette'n the gang sang that sweet goodbye song I really thought they were singing to me personally. Oh! the wonderful innocence of children. In those days the childrens market wasn't as glossy, and slick as today. There was still at least the "appearence" of sincereity. Enough so to convince many a boomer that they weren't alone after all.

You know I was thinking of what sort of costume I'd design for the Coney Island annual "Mermaids Parade." Nurse Pickles has offered assistance on that. Scroll down for the reference. Anyway maybe some "Mouseketeer" sort of thing might work.

I'll have to look around for the material, but I think we can cook something up. Just need the mouse ears, a t-shirt or something with "Mickey" on it. That, and some various other weird assorted stuff thrown on, and we've got it!

I'll let ya know how it turns out. We'll take snaps of the parade, and us in it. Also we could make slight alterations, and make it an "Annette" outfit. Nurse Pickles, and I could wear them at the "Gai Pride March" too. We'd go as the "Cloned Annette Sisters." Eh,..the clone'n part didn't work too well, but still. This could be front page of the "Post" stuff in the making!



Besides wanting to be a Mouseketeer, and a Boy Scout, Astronaut was also on the list. Well okay Cowboy is in there too along with Cartoonist, and Catholic Nun. The latter two although similar are not really related,..exactly.

The ongoing problem for me was that I was a colored kid in the waneing daze of Jim Crow. 'Course it wasn't so waneing if you actually had to live in those times. Which I did,..thank you G-d. Anyhow I never saw no negro space gals/guys till Urhura showed up on "Star Trek." Again, thank you G-d.

I suspose any Vulcan watch'n felt a bit of pride, no doubt subdued, what with Spock break'n the "species-line" on that show. Alot of firsts there. Fuck you Mr. Disney. Well turns out there was a Black astronaut though nobody knew about him. NASA sure didn't push it. His name was Major Robert H. Lawrence jr., USAF. He became an Astronaut in 1967.

It took them space geekz 30 years to acknowledge 'em. Seems there was almost a colored astronaut in the Gemini program. They iced him out of that, and stashed him in a space station plan that they knew would never get funding. 'Guess they was being "practical."

Well I there I go be'n nasty again. Humm, lets see there must be something nice I can say about NASA. Oh yeah! Nice work on that shuttle safty thing. Yeah, inspireing. Makes me really want to be in on one of your manned missions to Mars. I'll be right over! Save me a place. A seat near the escape hatch would be nice.

Back to want'n to be an astronaut. If I'd known we had one that is a colored one, and not a make believe one, but a for real colored space guy! Gee, that would almost be as cool as have'n a gai colored kid in the Mouseketeers mak'n goo-goo eyes at Cubby or maybe Lonnie. Okay, Annette too.

Role models are more important than most realize. Not just kids, but everyone needs to know that they belong, and can excell. That's just the primate reality of it. We need to be in the pack. If not we could grow up into a Jeffery Damer, or Elija Mohammod. That's the truth, and we all know it.

Anyhow Major Lawrence was finally recognized by NASA as an Astronaut. 30 years after he was killed in a jet fighter crash. This was back in 1997, nine years ago in an quiet ceremony in Washington. Also they at last put his name on the plaque of fallen astronauts at the Cape.

These are his Astronaut wings. He had the "Right Stuff!"


My gawd did I wanna be a Cowboy! Still do! More than I wanna be a Nun, and that'z say'n somethin'! 'Reguards this dream I have no shame what'z so ever folkz. I want to ride the range in my cool cowboy suit, and bark at the moon!

Yeah I knowz all about the Native genocide, the lynch'n of Chinese workers, the routine rapes, the lack of toilet paper, and bad breath. Still I refuse to give this one up. Especially since I always KNEW! that there was Colored CowBoyz!! Yahooo!!!

Yippie!, Yippie!, Kai!, Yai!, Yay!! Get'a long! Git!, Git!, along! You Doggies!!

Right my pals read'n this are say'n,"..he's finally lost it." Nah I'm okay. It'z just that this fantasy is as vivid as when I was 7 or 8. It really hasn't changed that much. There'z just something about that American myth of the West that makes most human males go nuts.

Reguardless of race creed or color we all wants to be cowboys that's all there is to it. Period, and Amen. Okay there'z exceptions, leftwing fruitcakes, race nutjobs, and Native Americans. The Native American are the only ones with morality, and history on their side of the argument. The rest of them is just assholes.

Out of respect to my Native pals ya might want to skip this one, and scroll down. Or maybe not. See to be able to keep my dream of the West I had to make certain ,, historical "adjustments" here, and there. Hey, I'm politically incorrect, but I ain't Krazy!

See in my alternate reality "American West" there was no genocide, 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 friendly, and peaceful. Native, and settlers were pals. Slavery was forbidden, and eveybody got on swell.

It is in this happier West that I play out my Cowboy Dreams. What some call demented denial I call a humane alternate history. So there! My west is a cool, fun, happy one. We play shoot'em up, and have fun, but nobody gets hurt, and we have a big bar-b-q later,..a veggie table too. I gots lots of paleface, and Indian boyfriends, and we have square dances at the fort every saturday.

I remember explaining all this to George Stonefish, some will remember him as the producer of the Native program "Drumbeats." He said he'd like to visit my "West" 'cause then he could go home since he'd have his country back.

More later partner. I has ta take a snooze.




Mostly I don't care either way. As long as they stay outside or in someone else's house. It's sort of like guys shoot'n at each other on the corner.

If they only kill each other, and don't come into my house fine. However when my sacred personal space in invaded either by deranged axe murders or bugs. Look out!

I morph from a mild mannered queer, pacifist, radio star into rave'n bug juice thirsty ruthless insectphobe!! Well maybe that goes a bit far, but ya getz the point. I only brings this whole thing up because it'z apparently summer now. I know this 'cause my air conditioner is on all the time, and there are bugz everywhere.

Now there's good bugs, and bad bugs. We all know this. Lady bugz, nice, butterflies, swell, fireflies, aw..sweet, hell even dragonflies get'z a pass. But then there'z all the Others! All 97 trillion different species of vile, hedious, and often deadly fuck'n bugz.

Well I say Snuff 'em! Every fly'n crawl'n bite'n one of 'em!! What da fuck was G-d think'n?! Don't we got it bad enuff? Ya had to give us roach'n, digger waspz, ya know like that thing in them "Alien" flicks. Blood fuck'n suckers, all slimey'n, hairy in every nook'n crany of this planet. Frigg'n creepy crawlies of every imaginable disgusting variety.

Yuck! I got'z the itchies just write'n about'em. Well never mind, like I sez as long as they leaves me alone, and stays the hell out'a my leaky shack okay. Sorry to bring it up. It'z just that this giant frigg'n wasp was fly'n around my head when I woke up today. So I'm still a little freaked. Damned thing was as big as a B-29!, and just as friendly!

Okay, I'm sorry I said snuff'em. I just got a bit emotional. Deportation instead. The Martians can stay, but the bugs go!


Btw, you folkz should alwayz scroll all the way down on my bloggy here. Ya see from time to time I change things. Ya know, add new pixtures to old posts, or even change old post a bit. So if ya gotz nuthin' else ta do, and why else are ya here?

Soon I'll put put'n up snaps I've taken around the station, and at our events. Should be real embarrassing so stay tuned. Btw, the pixture is of Bob Fass at our 39th street studio'z in the late 1960'z

There's my pal Ibrahim Gonzolas. He does "In the Moment" on friday mornings. He'z definately one 'a da Good Guyz!

Here's Jeannie Hopper back in da day. She's at our old studios uptown 505 8TH Ave off Times Square.

More stuff later. I has to crash now. I lovez ya'z so there.



I had a dream this evening. I'm at WBAI now, and took a nap in control room three. Like I sez the meds makes me dizzy. Anyway I had this dream that the station was in a temple surrounded by a garden. A good dream. May it come true.


( But about my recent "Adventure"...)

"BLAM!" "POW!" "ZING!" "CRASH" ...ETC.



Where to begin? Ah life don't it smell grate! I especially like it when all them babies in Africa dies of starvation, and thirst. One'a these daze it'z gonna happen here so we won't be able to ignore as easily,..but we'll try.

The "Great American Famine" of 2058. Has a nice ring to it don'tcha think. Well it's com'n in the same way tv dinner's came, and went. The future just ain't what it used to be. Me, I'm still wait'n on them moon colonies, jet packs, and freeze dried blow jobs. 'Six in a pack' for them bore'n evening on Mars.

Tried to kill my ass the other day. It didn't come off as planned, I think. Or is this my Hell? Everything exactly as it was, forever, and ever. In gawdz mercy. Wouldn't be surprized. Well turns out people, er, most of them anyhow didn't think it was a good idea. My off'n myself that is. Funny it made all the sense in da world to me. Still does at certain moments.

Sorry for put'n everybody through all that shit'n all. Yeah it was selfish I wanted my pain to stop. Real selfish. Well okay it was, okay yeah. Nutz, it was a bit, perhaps nutz somewhat,..yeah, okay. What'z fer lunch, and it better not be veggies.

This all happened 'cause I haven't had a good, now I mean Good! Cheeseburger Delux in fuck'n yearz. I blame the French. It'z all their fault. Well bad meds, too much trauma, and not enuff laffz, nothing on tv, be'n mostly broke, the station be'n a moral sewer, dead pals, and relatives all over da place, that stupid war, The fuck'n French, me be'n annoyed, and bored all da time, crazy weather, have'n da flu for 6 months, not be'n able to get high anymore without go'n into painful gastric convulsions, loss of my faith, be'n a sex pervert, well I like be'n a sex pervert it'z just they'd put my ass, and the rest of me in jail where the other prisoners would feel honor bound to murder me, so evil am I, don't laff it'z happened to pals of mine, that, and get'n fuck'n old, tired sick, nutz, pissed off, and mostly be'n too sweet'n, nice for my own fuck'n good.

The thing of it is the emotional Pain!, and confusion became too great. Decades of anguish got the better of my overrides. The circut breakers were jumped, and the system nearly collapsed. I wanted out, and nothing, and nobody was stopp'n me,..this time.

I should be dead. My g-d, I look at what I just typed, and am in awe. Eternity, I nearly entered eternity. At my own hand too. I don't know what'z in the "Undiscovered Country" if anything, but I nearly found out. We will die. We will all die. I know more dead people now than living ones. Death is not a fearful thing to me. Not anymore.

So in a way I don't understand why everyone I know is so upset with what I just tried to do. Well yes I know, but ya know. Anyway, I was sent back,..again. The last time it was a drug overdose. I remember drifting backwards into a cave. The cave was vast, cool, dark though full of stars.

I floated for a time between all the stars of heaven. Then was sent back home. No Angels or G-ds said anything to me, but I knew it wasn't time. It wasn't exactly like in all them 90's tv shows about "Near Death", but close enuff.

This time I don't remember anything. Either I wasn't really in danger of Death or they were just fed up with me. They sent me back without any light show or mystical whizbangz. I woke up with a headache. That's about all I got out of it all. That, and I'm still dizzy, tired a tad confused, and moderately grumpy.

For those that are concerned, yes I'm see'n my doctor about all this. The thing is it ain't exactly over yet. I'm still not altogether sure I really wantz to stay. I'm decide'n every day. Even as I post this I wonder. Miracles, this is a world of miracles. They fall from the sky like rain drops.

Just hold out your hands,...see!




Rover buys da Farm! Yeah I know exactly how he feels. I mean there he was mind'n his own business eat'n his own stool, and smell'n his pals butts when ZAP!! Some frigg'n asshole from Mars shows up, and varporizes his hairy butt for no good reason!

Hell, the stupid martian should'a fried the kid. I mean he's the real enemy in this story. Him, and his whole planet pollute'n species, but nah, "Gort" here cooks fido instead. Asshole. The minimum Quatlu jerk, and his loser pals was drafted for the earth invasion thing. Probably why he'z so pissed off.

Sort'a like us in Veit-Nam. The frigg'n martians is all pissed off draftee'z so they're gonna shoot anything that moves. You, me, "Rover", grandma, the "Good Humor" truck anything. Actually I don't blame'em.

If I got drafted, and had to go Mars I'd fry whole blocks of alien splitlevels just to pass the time. Me, and my 7-11 laid off pals would be fry'n everybody'n, everything ta slag till we could get da hell out'a there, and get back to Cleveland. Fuck'n "U.N. Interplanetary Infantry" draft'n guyz, and send'n them to every shithole in da fuck'n universe. Them gumba's make Bush look good.

Still an invasion of Earth would certainly give us something new to talk about. I can see the WBAI fundraise'n premiums already,.."Bush behind phoney Martains!" $175 special dvd with martian translation book. Handy phrases like,.."We're on your side anti-imperialist space comrads" That, and Joy Leary's 6 hour dvd, "I want to be a Martian Slave so I can Kill White People"

Wait a minute wasn't I gonna kill myself or something? I keep forget'n stuff. Aw fuck it, I'll hang around, and see what happens next. I'm tired, been werk'n at the station all day on that damned t-shirt thing. It's com'n along fine. You'll be get'n it soon. Everybody seems to like it. Indra, Wbai's brave Manager, beamed a big smile when I showed her the final layout today.

I'm get'n shakey so it's time to sleep. For my dear close pals that may tune in to the blog here. Thanks for save'n my life. Susan, R.Paul, Seena, Nurse Pickles, Indra, Sister from Another Planet, (not Mars), and you others, thanks. More later.

We return you now to our cheerful blog which is already in progress.



So the Pope don't want me, or anyone else for that matter to see that "Code" movie. Why? 'Cause their ignorant parishioners are so unlettered in their own faith that they might get hopelessly lost in heresy by just watch'n a summer pot boiler. Two frigg'n thosands years of mind control undone by one summer movie. If only!

The whole point of this flick is that christianity is full'a shit,..this is newz? Seems Jesus was just a regular guy, and had sex with his gal pal what'z her name, and had kidz. The bloodline is still around too. This would blow the whole divinity deal for him, and the guys in the purple dress'z. Or so the church thinkz.

For me it would strengthen my faith. So Jesus jerked off, got laid. Was wrongfully executed, and had his rotten remains hung on a cross till it was pulled off, and thrown into a ditch. Where it was eat'n by wild dogz. I assume the Divine flesh was shat out by them dawgz too. Too much reality for folks with all that gold'n stuff.

If this Jesus guy really was Heavens ambassador all them nasty details would bring Him alot closer to folks. Alot closer than some image of him as just another boss or fuck'n King in a gold cape float'n on a cloud. But then the church is full'a shit, and that I believe is where we came in.

"This Crap just ain't work'n out." ...Amen

(..freaks me out when I see 'em like that)


For those that have been pay'n "close attention" to the stupid details of my life. You know that I like everybody else wantz a digital plasma "flat screen" tv. Also like most folkz I just don't happen to have $6000. handy to drop on something as stupid as a tv.

Okay, plan "B", a make believe "grey market" flat screen. They ain't really digital, and they ain't plasma,..but they'z flat! The only advantage they has over tube tv's is that look cooler. Otherwise they'z the same. The down side is that they fall over. They're flat. 'Guy at "P.C.Richard's" told me that that'z the most common problem with them.

Most don't hang'em on their walls. They either poorly sets them up on the flimsy stand they comez with. That or they just props them up with books or stuff, and of course they fall over on to the floor. This is a uniquely 21st century problem.

Thanks to our Program Director running WBAI into the ground with his Black racism, and Jew Hate. Thankz to that we're going broke. There have been lay-offs, and salary cutz. Mine amongst them.

So that Nazi moron is the reason I can't get my cool tv! However I take comfort in the sure knowledge that the gawds of "Military Industrial Infotainment Empire" will punish that jerk for spoiling my tv enjoyment. A rash that never quite goes away sounds nice. Of course I jest. I wish harm on no one. Honest.


Why are these people smile'n? Well one just bullied complete control of a radio station by violence, threats, deceptions, breaking, and entering, and other assorted dirty tricks. I personally include homocide since two people died in the course of 'his' war that might have lived longer had it not happened. The other won title, via this internal "management civil war" to Pacifica's only worthwhile property. Hell 'guess I'd smile too.

However, five years later one has driven said radio station into the ground, (0.3% share), through a complete misunderstanding of the audience, and the nature of the New York market.

No New York is not a Black city. It's become'n a Brown one, and that ain't the same thing as our esteemed P.D. is find'n out. Did someone say "Latino?!" This person is at this time btw scramble'n to save his position with all manner of doomed, and poorly thought out hijinkz.

The other is a media celeberty, and star of a now 300+ radio/cable/tv station "Empire of the Air!" That "Charlie Rose" interview was her celeb com'n out party. I have to hand it to her though. She knew what the rubes needed, and gave it to 'em by the bucket full. Leftwing bullshit to counter all the rightwing bullshit. Now everybody can eat shit. Yep, that'z life,, and losers.


The "Homeless" are in the subways again. Have ya noticed? I saw a whole family, mother two kids packed into a corner of a No.2 train tonight. They, these human beings were with their few possessions. Backpacks, an old "Samsonite" suitcase, and shopp'n bagz. The little girl was clutching a "Hello Kitty" white plastic make-up kit.

This is the year of our Lawd "2006 C.E." just in case you was confused. Ya know it ya might'a thought I was talk'n abour 1933, or 1986 or somethin'. This time it's all alot quite'r. No "bleed'n heart" do-gooders collect'n food for 'em. Heck, this time the generous is gonna need all that stuff for themselves.

You know how it is now, and ya know what people say. "Look I'm sorry for 'em, but it's bad for everybody now." Ain't that da truth. So I ain't gonna guilt trip nobody. We all do what we can, and that'z all we can do. Share if ya can. If not, then pray for 'em, and ya self. These is truly evil, and tuff times.


Every year there'z three things I means to do, but don't for a bunch'a bullshit reasons. Ya know,'s too hot, I'm tired, I gott'a werk, blah, blah. Bullshit. Well ya know I ain't got'z all da tyme in the world anymore.

Yeah, I'm middle aged. I would be if I was gonna live to be 112! Which I might have the scary experience of do'n what with all this genetic stuff or even worse nano tech. A zillion, zillion micro-bots swarm'n all the bleep through my body keep'n me on this joyful planet,..thankz.

That or I end up in some senior citizens gulag somewhere. Right I'll probably end up in the rear hallway of the "Annette Funicello" boomer's sanctuary in East Saint Louis. Yeah, I'm in some plactic bag hooked up to some machine go'n "chugga, chugga." Twice a week some minimum wage clone comes by to drain my shit bag, and inject liquified soylet green into my butt. I can hardly wait.

But wasn't I going to be happy, and positive through here? Yeah that'z right,...summer,..three thingz. Right.

Okay the 3 thingz I wants to do is go to Coney Island, and ride da roller coasters while eat'n one of them foot long hot dawgz! With all that cool shit on it too!

'Course I'll be wear'n my Timmy Tom shirt during this. The other thing is da "Mermaidz Parade!" Haven't been to one in years, since da 90'z sometyme I think. That'z long enuff.

I secretly wants to wear some sort of costume. Maybe some kind'a fish hat. Pickles, Rat Girl you galz out there? Maybe youse can give me some pointers.

After all "Rat Girl" is an Award Winn'n Mermaid!" I think that might be fun. I'll put the pixtures up here for all to view with stupified amazement as I demean myself for both my, and your amusement! Humm, I could go as a can of tuna, but again it'd be too hot in that sort of enclosed costume. Nah a fish hat, and a Timmy Tom t-shirt will have to do.

The other thing,..ah, it was three? Yeah, three. I wants to go to, but not nessesarily march in the "Gai Pride" thing. I've boycotted that affair for decades because I see it as racist, classist,and useless mainstream whiteboy playtime. Grrrrrrrrr!

Maybe I'll wear this hat

But still, as they say, I'll give these reactionary boring, assimilationist, racist homophiles one more chance to prove that they're really faggot'z, and sissy's. Fat chance, but I'm go'n anyway, and I'm definately wear'n my Timmy shirt.

Them puritanical jerkz! I knowz this makez no sense to most'a you, but if you were a gai revolutionary anachist in the 1970'z, and lived to see this abomination you'd pissed off too.

Never mind. I getz emotional about such stupid bullshit, but then don't we all. Lets have some more "Merry-go Rounds"'n stuff!

Aw gee, this is so swell! G-d Bless Summer. (Fuck da Humidity though!) Btw, can make all the pix's on this blog larger by just click'n on 'em!




About 250 years ago, somewhere in the early 1980'z. A bunch'a us trouble maker'z here at gawd'z radio station,"WBAI", used to be naked alot. It all began when we started go'n to that nude beach.

See back then there was a stretch of Jones Beach that was unoffically nude. It was swell. We was all young still 20 somethings, and horny'n, stoned out of our minds on Cocaine, and Speed. This is years before "Crack" was invented by the CIA, and Microsoft.

Our younger viewers may not know that once upon a time cocaine, and other assorted deadly additives was actually very acceptable. It was like beer on the horror list. My what only 30 years can do to values.

I loved the stuff,..still do. However if I ever try any again, well I guess I die. 'Least that's what various very concerned doctors have told me. So that's that. I'm a green tea, and veggie man now. Who'd 'a thunk it.

Anyhow we went to that "Nude Beach" every week from mid-May to September for two years,..or was it three. Don't do drugs boyz'n girlz.

Thing is we got used to see'n each other naked all the time. So much so that we'd be naked at Wbai while we was werk'n. This was after midnite when all the commies, and jerkz had gone home to sleep or pray to Stalin. Most of us was overnite hosts or engineers. So at the stroke of 12! WBAI turned into an Anarchist, lesbian, gai, straight nudist colony!

Yep it was tit'z 'n, bubble buttz'n, dick'z all over da place. Sure there was some sexual tension, hey we were human more or less. Still I remember it all as a very happy, and sensual time. We did some of that era's most creative programing too. Ha! It was mostly done Naked, and under the "Influence" so there!

Mind you, those of us from that time that'z still breath'n, and there ain't that many. Most of us probably would not do a rematch today for,..well let's say "artistic" reasons. We would not make a pretty pixture. Put it this way. Would you want to see ya grandma or grandpa naked,..on purpose I mean. Okay Nuff said.

Aww,..da memories though. ...More later.



Thankz to all my dear neices, and nephews that helped to make our little fundraiser a "Golly Walley!!" success! Thank you to R.Paul Martin, and Nurse Pickles for their assistance during the program. Really I wouldn't have raised "carfare" home let alone" lunch" money if I had been on my own. Thank you my dearest Comrades in da struggle for more whipped cream, and merry-go-rounds!

Just below here is the basic design for the "WBAI/TIMMY TOM" t-shirt. There's more wording, but I gave this basic page to "RPM" so he could scan it'n put it up. (Click on image to enlarge)

The shirt will be dark blue or purple probably some of each. The color for Timmy, and the copy will be either a fire orange, or yellow. I kept seeing that combination while walking around town. It works well for line drawings. A message from the Angels. 'Least I think so.

So it's gonna happen. We found a cool printer, couple of 'em, so that'z a go! That, and we gotz da dough from a wonderful listener supporter of the "real" WBAI. I thankz you most sincerely my dear friend. You get an extra helping of whipped cream on everything when you get to Paradise. Oh yeah, ya getz that '64 Stingray too, candy apple red! Bless your soul!!

Btw, this is da first of a series of t-shirts for the "Real Wbai". Ya know, the non-racist Pacifist one! Remember,..."WBAI, Radio with Heart!" ...well after midnite anyway.


A beardless, dishelveled, and generally pissed off "Santa" made an unexpected visit to radio station WBAI fm on saturday nite. He "appeared" in the reception area in a burst of lightning, and sugar plums! The "Raindeer's" get's the summer off.

Anyhow, 'BAI being what it is nobody paid much attention to a gawdy costumed intruder wandering around the halls, and studios in the middle of the night. "Saint Nick" got "pressed ganged" into answer'n phones for the pledge drive, mop'n the kitchen floor, and take'n out the garbage 'fore anyone took him serious. When the on air "talent" realized who was hang'n around the back halls they invited "Him" to sit in on the air. Well after do'n a plea for "Mumia", and a 'shout out' to all the guys in "lock-down" he got to business.

Basically he let us have it! He said,..."I've had it up to my sagg'n butt with you knockle heddz!" "You loser's is waste'n everybodies time, an' I don't mean maybe!" "Half da letters I get'z at da "North, frigg'n Pole" sez "Fuck 'Bai!" "This second only to "Fry that (@#% sucker!" "Osama!", wherever his evil ass is!"

"You incompetent moronz has ruined my favorite radio station!" "We used to have WBAI on all the time up at the werkshop." "Now,..are you kidd'n?!" "We tune into "Stern" or the weather channel in Welsh 'fore we come near ya'z!" "You Muth'a %$&$#@$!! Suck!" "What da Hell'z ya problem around here?!!"

"I tunes in to hear some unique interest'n shit, and I get'z all this Black racist crap!" "Jew hate'n!" Ignorant psudo-science!!" "Loonie ass conspiracy mayhem!" "Hate'n, Fear monger'n!" "Look at wot ya'z do'n now on ya fund raiser,..offering phoney cancer cures, 9/11 conspiracy nonsense, and race bate'n shit!" "I'm ashamed of ya'z!"

Santa then took out a lengthy doucument with the names of numerous Wbai staff, and volunteer'z that'z now on his "Coal" list. You can see 'em in the pixture above read'n said list. You'll be pleased to know however that he was still cool with most of the "Overnite" shows. He especially liked,.." them Saddle Pals!" "Aw gee!" , said a smile'n Santa I just loves them gal'z, and guyz!"

"Yeah them, and good old Bob Fass'n, Ibrahim, Tony Short,and that dizzy dame Fran, ..oh Deepa's good too. Santa then in a voice of befuddeled exasperation said, "...and what da Fuck is up with this dick'n Robert Knight around?" "You guyz 'that' Krazy?!!"

"Of course I has to single out our beloved "Uncle Sidney", said a calmer, and beam'n Santa,"...what a sweet heart." "Just loves his "story time", and them puppet guyz he has on is swell too!" "Yep he'z get'n them electric trains, and that "Harry Potter" doll." "You can tell'em from me,'z in da bag!" Father Christmas then let out with his jolly "HO!, HO!, HO!, HO!"

With that "Santa" rose, and gave the station a stern finger shake'n, and one more chance to change,.." clean up ya Act or Else!" In a bright flash the smelled like home baked bread,..with butter,..he vanished. Well what can I say. We've been warned. Btw, we're still push'n that premium that sez all the 9/11 planes was radio controlled CIA/Mossad bombers. Uh huh,..right.

However you can pledge to WBAI during Uncle Sidney's show "Carrier Wave!" I'm on this sunday nite mon. morn, (May 15th), 1-3am, They'll be no racist, or ignorance peddel'n whatever,..I'm pretty sure. AND! You can a get a "WBAI/Carrier Wave", "Timmy the half Angel", and "Talk'n Rat Puppet Theatre" t-shirt!! (..yeah I fit it all on)

Only the cost of a standard subscription too,..$25. or $50. how 'bout dat?! Be da talk of your exercise yard when you wear one'a these sweet heartz. Finally a WBAI shirt you won't be embarrassed to wear! Ya get'z it right away too! Hey this is my reputation here,..none of that where'z my $250. shit I paid for two years ago noise here!! Tune in,..remember Santa'z watch'n.

Typical WBAI family tune'n in for "Uncle Sidney" at 1:00 am.

"Golly" sez junior, "I wonder what adventures "Timmy Tom" the half Angel will be up to this morning?"

"Ha, Ha! sez Dad, "How could they top that surprize party for "June June" at the "Klingon Sodomy Festival last time!"

"Oh com'on now", sez Mom,.."You know what Rascals those lads can be." "Remember all the Mob casino's they knocked over." "They gave all the dough to the homeless too,..such nice boys."

"I liked it when the "Puppets sneaked into the White House, and put grape jelly, and doggy "do-do" in the president's bunny slippers last time," said little" junior, junior". ....Stay Tuned.


Good grief! The "Rubes" fell for it! They forked over their cold cash for our "Magic Beans!" Ha! Well ol' "P.T." wasn't kidd'n when he said "there's one born every minute." Oh!, but I jest! Thank you! Thank you to all my dear listeners. All 16 of you. At least that'z how many of you kind'n sweet folkz shelled out for the continuence of our beloved little show "Carrier Wave."

We made $1575. bucks American during the show. Special thankz to our volunteers that stayed late, and to "Nurse Pickles, and R.Paul Marin" my dearest pals, and chosen family. Without them I would have made "two centz!"

I was really depressed, and bleeped up that night. I really just wanted to go home. My pals came in, and cheered me up. and we was off to da races. Us "Saddle Pals" alway help'z each other out'a jams'n stuff. Thankz partner'z!

Well them "WBAI/Timmy the Angel" t-shirts will be go'n out to all the good girlz'n, boyz that subscribed to the station. This is a collectorz item remember! The first in a series of Uncle Sidney limited editionz! I'll put a pixture of the main artwerk up on this page in a day or two.


"From my Winter Locker"

I was going through some material I had written for my show, ("Carrier Wave"/, anyhow I was shifting through my stuff, and found this story. I'd forgotten it. It's always fun to find old stuff, see it with new eyes. Like a neat toy, or cd you forgot you had. Anyhow, in honor of our first warm daze of very early summer here'z a winter story. Hope ya like'z it.

(Btw, this one is from the "Timmy Tom" saga,..the link to that world is just to your right there)

This story is about "June June", a lost boy who is the friend, and beloved companion to "Timmy Tom" the half angel. Althought they're now both gay teenz'n tear'n around the "U.S. Ocuppied" Mexican states of Texas, Arizona, and Nevada. Infact at the moment they're busy knock'n over Mob Casino'z, and CIA front "banks", and give'n the proceedz to the "Buddhist Mafia."

See their palz the Buddhist launderz the gold'n, cash for the boyz who then with the "clean" money, feedz the hungry, houses the homeless, and with what'z left over they drink heavily, and speeds around da desert outside'a Vegas in stolen vintage carz.

A "Win, Win Relationship!" sez June June. "The Buddhistz takez the "Mob" dough, and buildz Temples." "We takez da laundered cash'n feedz folkz'n, getz blasted!" "Are we Holy or what?!"

Well, this is a tale apart from all that, ..kind'a. This one is about their real home, the "Blue Desert",..the place where Angelz put things for safe keeping. Timmy'n, June June live there in the hut of "autumn leaves, and bright hopes." This story is from that world.


The sun, and moon have chased each other through the seasons. The days grew shorter, the cold winds blew. Winter. Winter has come again to the Blue Desert. June June the "lost boy" his silver/blue halo glowing softly in the darkening afternoon walked along the shore of "Tea Kettle Pond." This pond was so named because either by the caprice of "nature" or the mischief of young Angels that it's shape.

The lost boy wandered along the pond's "spout" the cold ground crunch'n beneath him. He saw that it's water had begun to freeze, and was almost thick enough for he, and Timmy Tom to skate on. Timmy the half Angel was June June's companion, and beloved in this strange, and gentle land where sprays roses grow between the dunes, and the stars sing at night.

Lights. June June saw lights on the pond. Like aurora they danced, curling, and arcing. Burning waves of electric colors washed across the ice. As if the "Kettle" were coming to boil with rainbows.

As the Blue Desert summers here bring dragons, and fireflies so the winters bring burning ice. The surface of "Tea Kettle" was covered with intricate weaves of light. Glittering webs of indigo, crimson, orange, clouds of emerald, and waves of silver, and gold.

June June knelt, and picked up a peice of this cold fire. He carefully lifted the shimmering fragment to his eyes. "Fairie ice", the lost boy held a shard of fairie ice. Which as it began to melt in his hand,..sang!

The joy, the happiness of fairiekind, their music, and stories are not carried away by the wind, and forgotten. They live on, they stay in the world. They are taken in as nurishment by the grass, the flowers, the streams. This is why one can sometimes hear trees sing or brooks laugh.

Fairie magic lives within all it touchs. June June held the melting "ice" close, and listened. It was a "fairie song", one sung in high summer by a bright winged mother to her new baby. Her music had been taken in by the pond, but now is heard again as the melting ice released the song, and unlocked her magic.


Ya know I alwayz liked Ensign Roe from the "S.T.N.G." series. Aw gee, what a gal she was. Ensign Roe was Captains Piquard'z "problem child" in that she didn't take shit, and she sure didn't believe in all the Federation "White Manz Space Burden" crap! She grew up in a "Palestinian" style refugee colony world in the butt-end of nowhere. So she definately 'knew' what time it was.

Apparently her homeworld was over-run, and her people enslaved by some evil bastardz from a bad part of the galactic arm. The Fedz won't do shit to help them other than a bit of food, and a few "Quatlu'z" now'n then. The Federation, and these Galactic Bastardz do business so,..tuff shit for Roe'z people. Sound a tad familiar?

Anyhow I wish I knew ol' Ensign Roe, we'd have seen eye to eye. She knew the galaxy was a tuff 'hood, and the Fedz were just as full of shit as da rest of 'em. No wonder they got rid of her character. "Disappeared" her as soon as they could,..the jerkz. Ensign Roe kept point'n out how full'a crap the so-called "good" guyz were. Her very existance in the series called into question 30+ yearz of pro-Frederation propaganda in science fiction fandom.

Same with Worfz wife,..what'z her name. You remember her,..Worfz son's Mother. She was another cynical, and real smart lady! She was swell! She had no patients whatsoever for all that blood thirsty, murderous Klingon "honor" bullshit, and was happy to say so! Drove Worf krazy!! She also gave da finger to all that high'n mighty, goody two shoez Federation static. No wonder they killed her off too!

Say! I'd love to see a series with "Ensign" Roe as Captain of the "U.S.S. Malcomb X" with Worfz ex-wife as "Number One!" Those Krazy'n fun! Klingon Durazz sister'z could be their ongoing "enemies/allies." Now this I would sit down to watch!

This could be the "new" series set in a "Post-Collapse" federation universe. All that Earth/Vulcan, "Prime Directive"'z wrong to take out Nazi worldz bullshit finally comez apart like the old Soviet Empire. It'z replaced by something more interesting,..and fun! A sort of more intervention oriented "Anarchist/Libertarian" free association of world'n, culturez.

Sure they'll leave most folkz alone, but on da other hand if they comez across some "Slaver" world, or some "Borg" wannabee'z, hey they're just take'n them Down! Period. 'Course that can be a double edged sword. Opens da door to all sortz of confusions, and internal contridictions. But com'on,..that'z how ya getz good storiez. Somebody should tell those coke snort'n idiots at Paramont that!

Still, it would be ton'z a fun! "Peoples Captain Roe" in the 'center seat' of the "U.S.S. Malcomb X", along with a real mean'n, nasty fleet of "Nebula" class drednaughts from the Free'n Independent frontier systems. Closes on the 'Home World' of some bunch that thinkz it "okay" to exterminate, and or enslave any species in their path.

Captain Roe contactz, and address's the "High Council" of this lastest bunch'a space bastardz, and sez,.."Hi fellah'z, look we dropped by to tell ya'z to.. "Cut It Out!" You lowlifez better start play'n nice, nice with ya neighboorz,..Or Else!

The space jerkz protestz, and whines about the "Prime Directive." Captain Roe sez she'z "Never Heard of It!!", and that "You Blackshirtz better stand down'n play nice. That or it'z "Hyper Space Bypass" time!

Well the Space Nazi'z decides to take on the U.S.S. Malcomb X, and da Anarchist Fleet,...big mistake. I leaves the rest to your imaginationz. Hint,..think "Wolf 359" in reverse. Pure anti-facist Space Opera fun!


I was thinking,...what would it be like if you fell into the sky. You're just living your life, going to this place, and that. But all the while there's the "Sea of Eternity" above you. Have you ever thought of that, eternity right above us.

Sometimes I look up, and there it is,...forever, and forever. Tomorrow, and tomorrow. There above the tree limbs, beyond the clouds. The sky,, orange or red, and then the night. The deep black night.

Forever, and forever.

Falling, I think of falling into the sky.

Falling into eternity.

One foot in front of the other.

One step then another.


Falling into Heaven.


"Once upon a time", long ago when milk was delivered in bottles, and cars had fins. I used to spend part of my summers with my Aunt Joesy. My "Aunt" or I should say my Grand Aunt Josey, 'cause she was my Grandma's sister, had a little house far out in the country. She was a sweet, sweet person made of equal parts of kindness, and patients..

She was the one that taught me that there's good in everyone no matter how they may seem on the outside. She also was the one that told me that animasl, all the animals have souls, and go to heaven. No matter what they say in church.

I loved my Aunt Joesy.

I remember one time we were up late, very late play'n chinese checkers, and listening to old 1930's records on her Victrola. Yeah she had a classic "Victrola" record player, this was before she got her tv. Well we was do'n all that, and generally keep'n each other company.

An aside, Aunt Joesy could crack walnuts with just three fingers. She'd use her thumb, and two other fingers'n crack! When she made pancakes she could make'em fip three times in the air! She could read palms too.

Now that I think about it she used to like read'n my palms alot. More than my brother or sisters. When she gently held my hand closely examineing my various "life lines." It would be as if she were reading some strange book that told of all the weird stuff that was in store for me.

She'd look at my palm, then look at me, look at my palm again, and take a breath. All as if to say,.."Boy have you got a life on the way!" Fortunately I was young innocent, and full of grace. My nasty cynical side still slept. So all I did was giggle as Aunt Joesy's fingers tickled me as she traced the lines of my strange life to come.

Btw, she could read tea leaves too. She came from a world, an era where such, where the acknowledgement of other realities, other realms of being were taken for granted. This decades before Ram Dass, or Oprah.

But to the story. As I said it was late, very late. After we'd put the games, and records away my Aunt Joesy took me by the hand, and led me through the kitchen, and out to the backyard. The night was warm, and sweet smelling. There was a nice breeze too, and a sky full of stars! Fireflies, lightning bugs bobed, and blinked above the grass.

There was a stillness, a quietness that covered everything that night. Like snow,..summer snow. Aunt Joesy, and I sat on the back porch, and enjoyed that magical night, many years ago. After a time she looked down at me, and said, "Sidney,..everyone in the world is asleep except for you, and me."

I looked up at her, she smiled. "Yes", she said, "Their all asleep." "We're the only ones in the whole wide world looking at the stars, feeling the wind or talking to each other." "All of the animals, all the birds, all the fish underneath the sea, and all the people even your Mommy, and Daddy are asleep, and dreaming now.

Holding me close, and looking up at the stars Aunt Joesy said, "We're the last ones, the last ones in the whole wide world,..that are still awake." The moon, the bright orange summer moon was large very large in the sky. "You see", my Aunt Joesy said,.."See." "The moon has come close to kiss the world good night." "The whole sleeping world." "It's come to kiss us good night too."

The moon, the smileing "man in the moon" filled our sky, and told us it was time to rest, time to sleep. Aunt Joesy picked me up, and took me to my little room. She tucked me into bed, and helped me say my prayers. She kissed me good night, and went off to here own room.

In a little while, in a very little while both she, and I joined the sleeping, dreaming world.



Imagine be'n on fire, Burn'n, but not consumed. You're reborn from second to second, every atom, every cell. You wear a skin of flame. Your eyes are glow'n coals of jade! Your words are lightning, and your dreams ignite stars!

The act of creation is continuous though it seems to be broken up into different installments. This because of the limitations of language, and the written word. Walt Whitman illustrated this with "Leaves of Grass." He could have issued it over the years as a dozen different, and separate books or performances. Instead he shared his vision, dream, despair, joy, as a 40 year saga. A living ongoing poem. A continuing statement of 'his' life,..his creation.

So all the live'n bits, and pieces of 'our' makeings, the alphabet soup of our souls filtered through pen'n paper, keyboard'n screen, vocal cords'n mic, skin'n camera are one. One!, collective statement to G-d about Her mulitverse. If there 'is' no G-d it's still worthy, maybe better. For we shout into Eternity that we are here, we dream, we create, we matter.

(The following is a "mini story" about the "Last Days" as foretold in scripture)


He was awake again, the man with the terrible wounds. Blinking through red slits he "looked" up at me. With a tattered rasp of a voice he said,.."Agony, and I have become intimate friends." His voice was like wind over broken glass. "We share the same body, the same nightmares."

The man,..the Angel? ..coughed molten gold from his ruined lips.

"Demons" "Pain Raiths did this to me." "Those wretched children of Hades that rejoice in their dominion over your world." "For idle amusement they plucked out my eyes, and tore off my wings." "For spites sake they infected my soul with doubt, and so severed my embilical to Paradise,..Elysium."

After these words the wounded man mercifully drifted again into sleep. The only sound that cruel scrape of thin breath over sharp glass. At midnite there was a strange distant thunder,.. he stired again, and awoke. He opened empty socketz smiled sadly and said,..."Silly Rabbit." "You have not escaped the fire." "You watched your calanders, held your breath for "Y2K",..then went back to sleep. "But G-ds time is G-ds time." "She will light Her candels, and burn Her worlds when she pleases."

The man/Angel gently touched my arm, and said..."These are the Days foretold to you!" "Your Tribulation 'has' come." With a weary resignation he said.."Go to the window, and look at the sky."

I did. I looked. It was gone. There was no sky. No day, no night, no moon, no clouds, no stars. Just void. Void. A great silent Nothing.

"As it was in the begining." Whispered the Angel." "Is now, and shall be forever."

I gazed into Heavens empty Chalice. Here at last was an answer to Faith. A "Sign", and most terrible wonder.


(This is a treatment for a longer story I may get around to write'n. It's based on the famous play "Day of Absence." Something our Hispanic Comrades just did for real)


The other morning I had a vision, a momentary dream as I was wakeing up. In it I saw three Black children walking down a highway. An interstate somewhere in the American midwest.
It was as if I were floating just above them following along. There was a young boy maybe 12'n wearing a "Yankee's" cap, a little girl 9 with a "Hello Kitty" back pack, and a toddler maybe 3 or 4 wearing an old fashioned Amish style sun bonnet.

The boy was pulling a 'red wagon' of the type that was common for kids to have in the 1940's, and 50's. I had one, an "American flyer" with white walls. Well in the wagon sat the baby, and various pieces of luggage. A little flag fluttered from the back as the wagon bounced along. That flag though. It was an odd sort of thing,..the stripes were wavey, and there was only 7 or 8 stars.

Now the children, they was cheerful'n good hearted. Laff'n, and sing'n as they walked. They spoke a musical sound'n language, very sweet'n gentle like. Imagine old tyme hipsters speak'n "Jive" in middle english. The boy sang a strange'n bright hym, and the little girl skipped along echo'n counter point. The baby was wave'n eagel feathers at the sky.

As I say these young souls was walk'n along a highway, and headed for a town. Hamlin.., Hamlin Kansas. It was just across the next bridge. Just another peaceful late 21st century American ex-urb. The morning traffic was just start'n to build. Though many cars had slowed their occupants staring in amazement at the children. The kids took no mind of them, they was used to gawkers by now, and continued on their way.

Still cars slowed, others stopped outright. All this for good reason. See these colored kids, these negro children was the first African Americans many of the mortorists had seen in years. For some it was the 'first' they'd ever seen,..outside of old movies or books that is.

America, 'least the "United States" part of it hadn't had any black folks since "that" day. Oh it was maybe 40 years ago when all the Coloreds just up, and left. No one ever found out where too. It was a particular Labor Day just after that desert war ended. All the Negros, all the slave decended decided as one to leave. They left their houses, their cars, business's, lawnsprinklers, everything.

Well almost "everything."

They took their pets. Yes they did take them to wherever they went off to. All their dogs, cats, birds, gold fish, and hamsters. They didn't take no snakes though. Black folks don't like no snakes. That's a fact!

Anyway, 'bout 300 years of slavery, and another 150 of false "freedom" would piss anybody off. So away the coloreds went. Nobody'd seen any of 'em till today. Till these three children peacefully walk'n down interstate 28.

Ya know this sort'a thing has happened before or so I hear. Over there in Russian where they treat the Jews bad. There's stories of whole villages vanishing. When the Cossacks came for their monthly murder, rape, and robbery they found empty towns. No Jewish folks, not one. I hear them Nazi's had the same "problem" sometimes.

But in our case seems 'some' Black folks had decided to come back to visit the earth again. Some few have come back to America to find out if the folks here had learned anything while they was gone. Some, just a few, just for now.

Years of Absence,..Day of return.

To be continued.


Just after the "Army Enlistment" half time floor show, which was the mass sodomize'n of 500 Iraqi prisoners of war with cattle prods. After that, and the simulated H-bomb'n of Mecca by Industrial Light, and Magic. (tm) After these light entertainments came the highlight of the 200th annual Puppy Bowl.

2000 Shriners in full feathers, banjos, and ride'n three wheeled mini mortorcycles comes on to the field! The banjo players strikes up "Baby Face!"

"Baby face, bum, bum, bum, bum," "You gots da cutest little baby face!", "Bum, bum, bum, bum!"

Then without warn'n another Shriner pops out'a the rear trunks of all them motor tricycles, they'z wear'n flame'n turbans! They produces 10 katz each from up their sleeves, and proceeds to juggle them.

The crowd goes wild they can't get enuff! The Shriners speeds up, and does two full circuts of the Puppy Bowl. Their feathers flapp'n, the strobe lights on their heads puts the crowd into a frenzied hysteria!! The banjo players is now riff'n "When da Saints Come March'n In!" By now the crowd is out of control! They're scream'n, and holler'n, wet'n themselves, and throw'n their soiled draws into the air!

But it ain't over yet! As the "Special Forces" phsy-ops trained "Shriners Halftime Commandos" begins their final circut of this great field of glory,..the Puppy Bowl. As they rounds the last curve the stadium lights suddenly go down, and the Commandos,... ignites the Katz!! Wear'n Iraqi war tested fire proof gloves the fight'n Shriners juggles 10!, that's 10!! Flame'n Katz! 2000 Shriners flipp'n 20,000 bright flame'n kitty katz over their heads while the banjo section is play'n...

"The Sun will come out Tomorrow!", "Tomorrow!", "Tomorrow!"...

Now all the crowd, all 300,000 sweaty, drool'n, bugeyed thousands of 'em in the vast Puppy Bowl is on their shakey feet!!! This is bigger than when Havanna won da Worlds Series in 2014!! The mob has gone mad,..there's no control'n them! Mother's are throw'n their children out on to the field! Sports jocks are cut'n their own throats with broken "Coors" bottles. Food vendors are shove'n hot dawgz up their own butts! Soldiers, and sailors in da crowd are devouring American flags! Big Shots, and assorted gangsterz in the luxury skyboxs above hurl themselves against the wide picture windows, and leap to their dooms below!

Not since the great Brooklyn "Food Stamp Riots" of 'o9, the "Ancient Roman" extermination of Carthage or the great blood spectacles of the "Aztecs" has anything like this occured.

...And now back to our studios for "Locker Room Roundup", with Darnyl Washington Jones

( Ahem,...Shriners is actually very nice people that help poor folks in trouble. Also the katz in question was actually "Robo Katz", (tm) $9.95 at Sears )


A notion has been occuring, and re-occuring to me over these past seasons. It centers around a question they always asked us when we were kids. Basicly,.."What do you wanna be when ya growz up?" What a silly question to ask those still innocent of the concept of time. Better to ask us now.

In the past I've done shows, as well as essays, and various internet posts on this very personal, and even spiritual question. If as I've said somewhere in one of my rantz, "...what if the children are right, and reality is not the ridgid construct we believe it to be." My G-d! What if we can 'be' anything we wanted.

Think about that.

I have plans for this subversive childrens book in the back of my mind. It will all revolve around this business of being, and becoming. What would you be,..I mean really. I wrote once that maybe I'd like to be a pebble in a clear stream. This so as I'm slowly worn away I can watch the sky, and stars move through the ages. Perhaps I'd be a snow flake falling onto a frozen pond or a grass scented breeze in spring.

Or, I said on the air. I'd be a 1958 Buick Landcruiser with extra chrome, and one of those overblown gas guzzel'n V-8's under my hood! I'd be charge'n down "Route 66" at 120 mph! On a fine summers day in 1959 when gas was cheap, and the world could kiss our Yankee butts!! "Little Richard" would be blast'n out'a my custom hi-fi speakers, and I'd be driven by a couple of run-away gay teenaged Mexican highschool dropouts.

These sweethearts would have stolen me from some dreary IRS clerk, and part-time Klansman. The kids would be wear'n black motorcycle boots, dirty white t-shirts with a pack'a Camels rolled into the sleeve. The wind would be sing'n through their slicked ducktailz, and they'd be flick'n butt'z out'a my window.

The boyz'd be laff'n their butt's off over that Kluxer they left tied up naked on his front lawn with all his straight "Big 'Ass' Black Porn" spread all around him for his wife'n, fellow klansmen to find. ...He will not have a nice day.

Me, and my new "owners" would be on our way to Vegas to cut a "do-woop" 45, and generally raise hell in U.S. occupied Mexican southwest! For those of you who've paid "close attention", ..( ahem ) , all this is somewhat similar to my character "Timmy Tom's" behavior during his bank robb'n phase.

Well that happens in story tell'n,..don't sweat it. I sure ain't.

Anyhow, yeah all this might be a' tuff' sell to the childens book market bunch,..bleep 'em. I say give da kids what they wantz. Weird kleen fun! You get'z my point though,..right? We can be anything, we make our realities. Heck the book would really be for the parents anyway since kids already know all this stuff.

Love'n Kizz'z,..ya Uncle Sid.



Honesty is the best policy. Certainly it's the easiest policy. Saying wheather it's better is a "moral" judgement that has no place in these secular tymez. But what the hell,..let's say honesty is a "good" long term,..nondenominational, policy. It's main virture being as I said is that it's easier.

You don't have to remember anything. Now of course lying or dishonesty is an excellent short term strategy. I emphesize "short term" for it's main virtue,..immediate usefulness, is also it's main weakness. It'z "achillies heel" if ya will. Sure that noise will get ya out of a jam okay, but there'z inevitable liabilities attached.

Lies no matter how inventive or subtle werk only in the immediate short term. After that they needz constant maintanence.

Indeed the more complex or interesting the lie the 'more' maintinence it will need! After all, if you engage in lies, or serial lying as it'z called. You'll have to remember many people, places, times, incidents, and you'll have to keep all these elementz updated on a regular basis.

Good heavenz, you'll need a special program just to manage your "negative reality" agenda. ..And need I point out, boyz'n, girlz,..need I point out that maintaining a personal "Lying Bastard" file on any electronic information retrival system is just asking for trouble!

Now with "honesty" or a reasonable level of honesty. I mean gimme a break absolute honesty will just get ya slapped in da face! With, "general" honesty things are dramatically simpler. There'z no need or hardly any need for data storage.

You can forget just about everything you've ever said or done. A blessing as so many of us are get'n on in yearz, and can't remember shit anyhow. So to sum up,..Lies is just too damned much work, and nobody'll thank ya for it neither! "Honesty 'is' da best policy" See 'turns out our Grandma'z was right all along!

"Sir Sidney of Hollis Green"

A while back I was remembering a childhood event. I told the story on the air of how my Aunt Sybil "Knighted" me, my brother, and cousinz.

Long, long ago when carz had finz, and Woodstock was just an upstate "redneck" town I was a kid. In this instance I was a kid play'n in my aunt Sybil'z back yard. I was raise'n hell with my brother John, and my cousinz Jimmy, and Henry. Colored people hadn't started give'n each other phoney African namez yet.

Anyway there we was run'n around go'n nutz in my aunt Sybil'z back yard in Hollis Queenz. Btw, we called auntie, "Mum",...can't remember why. Like none of us remember'z why we call'z my little sister "Cookie." All lost in the mistz of kidhood.

Well there we was scream'n away'n jump'n up'n down when out comez "Mum" into the yard. She'z set up the big lawn chair, and put a big pillow in front of it. She'z also brought out Grandma'z hand made winter quilt.

You guyz ever read "Prince Valient?" My mom did. Infact it was her favorite comic strip. She even used to read it to me when I was real little. So it'z no surprize that me'n the other kidz had "Prince Valient" setz. Shield, sword, flower pot helmet, da werkz! This stuff be worth a fortune on ebay if ya could find it!

Anyhow 'sides everything else Mum bringz out a "Prince Valient" sword'n shield with her to the yard. I can still see them, beautifly done,..for toyz. What can I say, 'fore we knew it our Aunt Sybil went, and "knighted" the whole bunch of us!

We got in line I remember, and each in our turn donning Grandma'z quilt knelt before Mum, and was knighted. I can't remember the wordz, but I do remember that it all felt serious, not play, but something 'real' that Aunt Sybil was doing for us, to us. Was that the moment we all became men? That so long ago summer day when we knelt before she who would later be the "Matriach" of all our familiez.

My brother, and cousinz grew up to be paratrooperz, and fought in the Indochina warz. They were the "Knightz", that'z what they called themselvez. My cousin Henry even painted an "Excaliber" on the side of his helmet. I have often wondered if the magic that Aunt Sybil gave us that day helped them to survive over there. I think it did. I think Mum knew what she was doing.

There are only two Knightz left now, me, and my brother. Tyme, and the world took the otherz.
Still that summer day livez in us. That gift from our dear Auntie has seen us into a new century, and a cranky though grateful middleage.

God Bless You Mum.

Whereas I said I don't remember the wordz that were said over us I alwayz meant to compoze something to fill in the gap. Here it is. I pinched most of it from bookz, or moviez though a few wordz 'are' mine. I hope it may come in handy for you if you ever have to Knight a worthy person or personz. Be they very old or very, very young no matter, one size fitz all.

"The Oath of a Knight"

Be without fear in the face of your enemies. Be brave, be honest, be generous, and kind. Oppose evil in all of it'z many formz. Have the wisdom to do not what is easy, but what is right. Respect Women. Safeguard the helpless, respect all faithz. But beware of "Pride" the source of all error.

Now in the name of G-d the founder of Dreamz. She who filled the "Well of Forever" with soulz, and put smilez on the lipz of the unborn. In the name of She who painted the void with fire. In that Name!, and in the namez of Saint Michael, and Saint George the slayer of Dragonz,...You are Consecrated, rise, a Knight, and assume your responsibilitiez.

"We're the Grownupz Now"

This week I ran into a childhood friend in Timez Square. Stand in the "Square" or the "Duce" as the oldtyme "Zoot Suited" hipsterz used to call it. Stand in "Times Square" and sooner or later your old 5th grade teacher will stumble by. They don't call'z it the "Crossroad" of the known world for nuthin'.

Anyhow my old pal who is apparently "on da lamb",..good grief. Well for the purposez of this story, and to keep him out of the slammer,..again. My pal will go nameless,..well I can think of a bunch'z namez for'em, but let it go.

Well my nameless old chum,..ahem, my sticky fingered friend tellz me that another of our kidhood palz has died. Bruce Perry. He passed away last summer,..I didn't know. 'Fact the last tyme I saw him was on tv. He was be'n interviewed about some annual "Black Culture" expo in Brooklyn. Bruce was part of a "Nubian Horse Ryderz" group. These are a bunch'z guyz that dress up in all this cool East African stuff, and re-enactz Nubian Horse Warrior drillz. Seriously swell stuff!

I was gonna interview him about that, and his success in business an' all. Ya know how it is though, I just never got around t to it. Then he'z dead. Just like that. I really hate that shit,..the "just like that" thing. I hate it.

I should say though that Bruce, and I weren't 'very' close. I mean he was more my older brotherz friend. You know how it is in kidworld,..a few yearz either way makez alot of difference. I was real friendz with Nicky, Bruse'z younger brother. like I say age is a big deal in kiddom. It'z da difference between get'n ta use cherry bombz or have'n ta settle for them stupid bottle rocket whiz bangz. Yeah those were fun.

However despite the instutionalized ageism we was all close, like cousinz. It was like that grow'n up on a block. Everybody knew everybody. You can call your friendz Ma,.."Aunt", and eat dinner there. Familiez on a block or small number of blockz had the same behaviorz as them in very small townz. This can be both good, and bad, but as I remember it though it was mostly good.

It was like that in old Brooklyn, that nation of neighborhoodz. Even our hometown hero Walt Whitman saw this clearly over 150 yearz ago. He said that Brooklyn'z great monumentz were not of stone or iron in honor of distant heroz. Rather it'z ganite, and marble "altarz" were homez. The homez of the then "independent" city of Brooklyn. The abodes of it'z common people be they great or humble.

You said it Walt! (...sound of thousandz give'n da "Razzberry" to Manhattan!)

But to my departed friend. I didn't know how to react to this newz so suddenly dumped on me by my shifty pal. (..and if ya read'n this, com'n ya'z get'n too old for all that wild'n wooly stuff,..ya think. ...And I'm get'n real tired of funeralz. Please!..chill) To continue..., I was bindsighted big tyme by this one. I felt strange, not sorrow, though I 'was' sad, it wasn't loss, though I felt great loss.

I t was more the feeling one would have had if you'd been around dur'n "WW2", and heard newz of the fall of Paris. An era had absolutely come to an end. Our generation is 'not' as it turnz out,..immortal.

Yes of course over the yearz we've lost many from out tyme. It'z just that this one wasn't war, crime, illness, or stupidity. It was of "natural causez" due to his age. Late middleage is a dangerous place. Crossing over into the "Autuminal Realm" whereas beautiful is nevertheless, as we are discovering,..dangerous. More dangerous than any of us had imagined.

Bruce'z death was natural,..."Natural" to his age. See what I mean.

How can this be?! Weren't we all playing stickball, and be'n called in for dinner just a moment ago? My,...oh the seasonz with their too swift wingz. To a kid of 11 or 12 a person of 50 or 60 is aged indeed. I have lately tried to look at my family, and friendz with the eyez I had at that tender age. My gawd! Where did all these old folkz come from?! Ha! This is so funny.

Age'n,...what a Joy, what a Mystery,...what a Frigg'n Ass! Drag!!

I recall so well what my sister "Cookie" said as we stood by my fatherz grave the snowy december afternoon we buried him with full military honors. She said,.."It'll be our turn next, we're the grownupz now." "From today on the "Buck Stopz" with us." That was 19 yearz ago, and she was right.

No this ain't the end of our stories'n, adventurez not by a "hoot'n a holler!" Though lose'n Bruce ain't our end,.. it is perhapz the first frost of our fadeing Autumn.

Stay Tuned.


( Nice skirts,..but still )

Well it was the early 1960'z, and "Morning in America!" Jackie Kennedy was "jazz'n up" da White House'n try'n to give us a little class fer christ'z sakez. Dr. King, and brave other'z was out there risk'n their livez for the soul of the nation. Because of that white folk'z was finally start'n to feel a little ashamed of all them lynchingz 'n stuff they let pass.

We was put'n up da first sattelitez, and plan'n to go to da Moon! For those of you who wasn't there I got'a tell ya'z this country was hot shit in them daze! Dig it,.. our folkz had good jobz, gas was cheap, we had tv'z, and was watch'n 'em till da cowz came home! The schoolz werked, da trash was collected, Santa came every Christmas, we had flesh colored bandaidz, and any werk'n Joe could buy a house. Shit! We had da H-frigg'n Bomb'n zillionz of new B-52'z to deliver them! So nobody dared give us crap. Not only that, but polio was licked, and comic bookz was 10 centz.

Hey! Was that a "Golden Age" or what?!!

Well, in da middle of all that bright'n happy noise I decided I wanted to be a Boy Scout! 'Made sense given da tymes. I wanted to serve my country,..over easy with friez. It was "Camelot" big tyme back then, and I wanted to do my bit for "King'n Country!"

Also in my pubecent mind I figured da scoutz was just da place for "Colored Sissy" kid, with Anarchist tendenciez. I figured get'n in would be no problem. After all I was real smart, sweet'n polite as hell! I also had the "Blessed Virgin Mary", da frigg'n "Pope", my Mommy, and Robert Kennedy'z Justice Department on my side.

How could I lose?

See I had visionz of wear'n one of them "Smokey da Bear" hatz that scoutz getz ta have. Boy those thingz is neat! Better than cowboy hatz anyday. Anyway I was dream'n of that, and all them badgez, ribbonz, medalz'n, assorted bright'n cheerful doodadz they heapz on ya in da scoutz for be'n a good kid.

'Course then there was da offical "Boy Scoutz of America!" hatchet, canteen, compass, handbook, and surplus national guard folding mini-shovel dance'n like sugar plumz over my innocent, and kinky head! Eh,..ta say nuthin' about them cute scout short pantz'n, knee sox. Well okay that was a later "fetish",..but still ya getz the idea.

Let me tell you of my innocent boyish scout'n visionz,...

I saw me, and my new scout pal'z out in da wildz of somewhere,..track'n down mountain lionz, dig'n up "Spanish Gold!", building tree housez, sight'n UFO'z. We'd be capture'n "Atomic Spiez", rescue'n katz, explore'n unknown cavez, and make'n friendz with da Indianz.

We'd be ty'n all sortz of knotz, paint'n ourselvez up like "Souix Warriorz", eat'n wild stuff from da treez, crap'n in da woodz, wipe'n our buttz with leavez, runn'n on all fourz like wolvez, and howl'n at da moon! To relax we'd go skinny dipp'n, do"Drag Ballz", hold beauty contestz, have 'make-up' partiez, and build model airplanez!

At night under da starz we'd sing doo-wop songz, cook foot long koshor hot dawgz over a roar'n camp fire, and tell scary stories about robotz from Venus attacking Pittsburg. At bed tyme we'd open up a surplus air force parachute, and use it as our communal tent. We'd all say our prayerz, kiss each other good night, cuddle up like puppies, and slip into the gentle armz of Elysium. Perhapz some few might stay awake to chase fireflies or recite poetry to each other. Oh, such a sweet'n innocent vision.

Unfortunately 'none' of this swell shit went down. What did happen was...

My Mom: "What did you say?!"

Scoutmaster: "Eh,..I'm sorry Mrs. Smith, but it'z just policy". "There'z nothing I can do about it"
"This troop doesn't admit coloredz'.

My Mom: "But my son goes to this school which is integrated". "Your troop is part of this

Scoutmaster: "Technically yes, but the board has the final say in these matterz".
"As I said I'm sorry we can't admit your son into our program."

My Mom was gonna slug this jerk, but didn't 'cause he seemed, (to her at least), ashamed of having to do this foul shit to someone. I'd have slugged him anyway, and maybe burned the school down too. Anyhow da "I'm just follow'n orderz" cog went on to tell my Mom of another troop that was willing to take 'some' negroz. ...Swell. That bunch was a long bus ride away from where we lived so thankz, but no thankz said my Mom.

Boy! all that evil crap go'n down just 'cause I wanted to wear a "Smokey da Bear" hat. Nice world we got here,..ya think. Thing is I didn't hear about any of this for a long tyme. My Mom did what all Momz'n, Dadz do. They protected their kidz from evil as long as they could.

She told me this whole bullshit story about their be'n no room in da troop that season. 'Made sense too. Ya got'a remember it was the height of da "Baby Boom" era there was zillionz of us kidz all over da place. Hell, we was "Climb'n in through da windowz!", quote Holden Caufield. So yeah I bought it.

Next year I asked again,..same story. The year after that I didn't ask,..didn't really wanna be a scout anymore anyway. I had other problemz, slam'n head first into my wonderful teen yearz.

Well the seasonz passed, and with one thing, and another I found myself a young man. Eh, perhapz I should put that another way. Nevermind, look it was 1976 the Bi-Centenial year. We'd just lost the Viet-Nam War, there was mile long linez for gas, the economy was in the tiolet, Pinto'z were spontaniously combusting on our highwayz, we'd stopped go'n to the moon, or anywhere else for that matter, people thought "platform shoez" were cool, and the first rumblingz of the Drug War'z were be'n heard. Yeah da 70'z,..swell.

Aw hell, 70'z or not ya only getz one "Bi-Centenial" to a country,.. so we celebrated. I had gone home to visit my folkz,..I was liv'n out west back then. Ya know there'z all sortz a stories 'bout that I never told no one. Not my family, not my pals, not da audience, day maybe. But back to this particular story.

I was back in town'n sitting in the front room of da old family house watch'n the parades, and mayhem with my Mom on her color tv. Her first. There was guyz dressed in civil war uniformz re-enacting some battle . After the "Bud" commercial six gun tote'n cowboyz showed up, and shot at each other for a while. Then some white guyz came on dressed as Indianz'n did some sort of phoney native dance, there was a float with actorz pretend'n to be astronautz on the moon we nolonger went to.

Next some old fartz drive'n "Model T'z" chugged by. This was followed by a mess'a high school "ROTC" drill teamz goose step'n down 5th avenue, flip'n their M-1 carbinez all over da place, a bunch'a folkz dressed like pilgrimz drink'n Cokez on a flatbed pulled by oxen, some "Rough Ryderz' on horse'z, all this followed by some poor slobz in hot dog suitz shovel'n up after them.

Yeah that'z "America" okay,..recognize her anywhere I thought.

Well after a while on comez the Boy Scouts,..hundredz of 'em! Aw gee, they was wear'n their "Smokey da Bear" hatz too! Wow da boyz was have'n a great tyme march'n, and horse'n around with each other. I mentionz to my Mother as all this is go'n on that it was too bad about all that "over crowd'n" when I was a kid. I told her that I really, really wanted to be a scout back then.

My Mommy getz quiet, she lookz at me, and tellz me da whole story..., all of it.

Like I said, parentz, the good onez protectz their kidz. Protectz their Innocence as long as they can.

Many many seasonz later. Long after my Mommy had gone to Heaven. I got a call from my sister. She said her son, my youngest nephew had been called a "nigger" at school that day. He was still crying, was my sister. "So it beginz I thought".

"Let them enjoy their Innocence for as long as possible". But when the demonz finally do breech your wallz of love, and protection. Make them ready. Teach them to face the fire,..and Survive.



I still do want one of them "Smokey the Bear" hatz,...I really do.



The Sun, and Moon have chased each other through the seasons, and have come to rest here. Spring, spring has come back to us.

Despite myself I feel hopeful. We are influenced by the Earth more than perhapz most care to admit. The daze are warmer the aroma of budding life in the parkz, lawnz, and lotz of the city becon to us. Indeed I was walking past a vest pocket park over in Brooklyn. It was the site of a former row of burntout tenementz. They'd been torn down yearz ago. I imagine the developers are waiting for the neighborhood to "change". In this city that meanz only one thing. Anyway there it was, the Earth. The Earth say'n I'm still here. I was alwayz here. I'll alwayz be here, dummiez. Grass, deep green grass, bright yellow flowerz, and a few budding saplingz.

While looking into the park I dreamed, fantasied that all the people had gone. All 10 or so million of us in New York if ya count the "undoucumented",..10 millionz. Well they all up, and went. Just like them folkz that split from "Machu Pechu" or the ancient stone cities of the southwest. How long before all is green again. Tree'z sprouting from the foundations of the Empire State Building. Vines twisting about, and through the George Washington Bridge. Central Park expanding into a forest enveloping the east, and west sidez. All the landfill of lower Manhattan falling back into the sea. Restore'n the original shorez, and all of the lakes, and streams reappearing throught the city.

"I'm still here" the Earth said from that vacant lot that once held tenements, and generations of suffering, and frustration. All the while the Earth was abideing beneath the rent, the summon'z, the layoffz, the addictionz, the lost dreamz. "I'm just beneath your feet" she was tell'n them all. "Just lift up the pavement,..see I am here".

As I walked past the lot I had an almost overwhelming desire to just climb over the fence, and lay down on the grass. Lay down beneath the young saplingz with their bright firery blooms yearning to heaven.

"How am I Doing This"

Interesting, this creation of Worlds, and Beings. In time they become real. Perhaps more real than those we interact with in person. Dreams, painting, writing, createing. A mystery, a miracle, and to some,..yes a curse. I once asked a friend where it all came from. The words, the brush strokes.

Sometymez I'll be writing, and the wordz are flying out of my pen. I'm watching the ink grow like living vines across the page . From my dreams to a pen or pencil tip. From my soul to a brush stroke. Lately as I say I've just been notice'n the mechanicz of everyday miracles.

Work so much work to do. Many plans. A new comix strip to do, some t-shirts to design, stories to write, and my shows to produce. How good it is to have creative thingz to do. As my friendz, and listenerz know too well I get lost in the static, and chaos of life. I too often forget how blessed I am, how good, and blessed all of you are.

WBAI, what a Mess!

What can I say about our deranged radio station that I haven't said 1000'z of tymez on da "Bleep'n Blue Board?" We have a very good manager, Indra, but a very bad clique of personz only interested in power for themselvez, and the futherence of their racial/ideological agenda. This is not a sustainable situation. We're at 0.3% in listenership. We've gone from being one of the most listened to "FM" radio station in the New York market, the least. Those responsible refuse to change. They actually don't seem to care about the loss of 1000'z of once loyal subscriberz. Some of our collegues in that group openly say they don't want "certain" kindz of listeners. Hence our fall.

Lately staff personz have come to me with their problemz with these characterz. They're afraid to report the harrassment they've suffered. "Afraid!" The clique has a history of violence, and intimidation ya see. This will all end one way or the other. Like the season of spring we are in being a time of change. So we too at sad old WBAI are in transistion. Either to renewal or even more stagnation. Sorry don't know which way it will go. Our new Executive Director of the Foundation, Greg Guma, knowz about our problemz, and the similar ones throughout the network. He committed to change, reform. We'll see. To my friendz, and co-workerz within the station that may be reading this, brave. To our listenerz, patient.

More Later,...As our dear brother Fred Kuhn used to say,..."Stay Tuned"

( Photo courtesy of the "Pacifica Railway Collective")

To Post Directly go to "Previous Commentz" or scroll down, sort'a dependz. Anyway just click on "Anon" or "Other", and join in. Say as you please. See you there.

Btw, for best viewing I'd go up to your tool bar there, and fiddle with "View". Increase the size once, twice is good,..this for best view'n. Also if ya click on da pixturez ya can see them larger. Yeah I'm still learn'n how to do all this.

As "Timmy Tom" sez,..."I loves you all like blueberry pancakes, and mint tea on a snowy morning!"