New American Yarnprose: Lefty Dizz And The Morning After>Act One

In the realm of the big picture, the morning after has come and gone and already, I feel sick to my stomach. I actually slept straight through the night for a change, but my mind is laden with such heavy decisions now.

Not that it wasn’t before, but this time it’s very life-altering, changes that would take me far beyond what I have always been used to in previous years. I live a simple life now; as simple as can be. I go to the harvest, come home from the harvest and do whatever I feel is necessary to live out the rest of the gospel based on the harvest.

The last two weeks haves been very difficult, as I’ve been dragged down from walking right into a black sea of pneumonia, stuffed up with a bad head cold and in general, unable to function properly.

It’s cost me dearly: two lost weeks of no writing anything; no poetry, no essays, no songs, no nothing! Still the flow of ideas bubbled over in my brain, but now, now it’s the long morning after: Fidel Castro is extremely sick, more American soldiers are being blown to bits by another god-damned homemade bomb in Iraq for George W. Bush Junior’s “Quagmire For Freedom,” retail stores are cashing in on day-after Christmas sales and like everything else, it’s business as usual.

But is it really? I feel less grim. I had a great night at the neighborhood saloon with my pals the other night, one of the best nights I had in years, coming home sloshed with a girl on each arm and the antics that followed, hoo-boy!

It’s the morning after and I feel sick, upset stomach I think, though maybe it was stress and not the effects of the booze in my head. I get some shortbread and that does the trick, turns the key in the keyhole and I’m ready to face the day, though the day is the night and another night, the night after the morning after, is bound to be adventurous!

The Botox Frankenstein Poetry Series>Secret Stories

Good extremely late evening to you one and all! A quick tip of the kippah and yes, it's Friday! Here we are in the second week of December and only 14 more shopping days until my birthday! Our friend, the happy capper has been waiting patiently all day to take us into a busy weekend! And now, yes you guessed it, it's brand spanking-new poem time!!!Remember my dear readers, please tell someone you love them and always, always, always, enjoy!!!


Secret Stories

If you let me kiss your lips
I will tell you stories with my tongue
When you tell me I'm a bad little boy and you bite my ears,
I will bite you back, so have no fear
Oh! You ask me, do you love me?
Oh! You want me, like I want to get inside your heart oh-so-much
It is clear
I need no crystal ball
I know where my future lies,
All snuggly in your arms asleep

Post-Partum New York Stories>Act Three: Strawberry Fields Forever

Earlier today, marked the 65th anniversary of the bombing of Pearl Harbor, while tomorrow marks the 26th anniversary of the murder of musician John Lennon. In light of these two tragic events, I’d like to share something positive that occurred while I was in New York City back in October.

It was a relatively warm day in Central Park, as I walked briskly to Strawberry Fields, specifically to a spot I call Imagine Circle, a site that was dedicated several years ago by Lennon’s widow, Yoko Ono, which has turned into a memorial where fans of Lennon can gather and assemble peaceably in quiet reflection.

It was sometime after 10 am, on Monday, October 9, 2006, when I watched the day slowly unfold. Self-designated Unofficial John Lennon Celebration Day organizers had already begun setting up shop and I snapped a few photos, as the organizers were confronted by Central Park Rangers & representatives from the New York City mayor’s office, explaining to the organizers that on no uncertain terms would they allow, according to the mayor’s office, “no electric or acoustic guitars or any other instruments,” still the Rangers and the mayor’s office said, “a capella music would be allowed.”

After the Rangers departed, the organizers made a quick plan, whereas one man acted as lookout scout for signs of the cops in case trouble brewed, while the other men began to set up shop.

Not a moment was wasted as musicians with acoustic guitars began arriving in droves, as well as people came trickling in little by little, until a small crowd gathered to celebrate the birth of one of the greatest men to ever step in front of a microphone with a guitar in his hands and a song in his breath, but would often yell gibberish into a microphone, yet the whole world listened.

The songs were all familiar; they were his songs, along with his writing partner’s songs and sometimes his band mates’ songs, plus the songs he wrote and recorded after he split on a permanent basis with his band mates.

Those songs were written for pure enjoyment, but as you listened to each song, they expressed compassion, love, pain, happiness, hilarity, sadness, depression, silliness, innocence, color and finality.

Wherever he and his band mates went, so did the overabundance of the screaming girls and cops and never enough time to enjoy their privacy. Ah, such was the life of a musician who wanted to be heard and listened to differently than all the rest. He most certainly was, as fans would hang onto his every word and every breath he omitted from his lips.

Sometimes, his words got to the best of him, taken out of context and then he’d have to apologize to everybody saying that wasn’t what he meant. He was so used to it back then. After him and his band mates split, he and wife kept on making statements, whether they were appropriate or not and took the consequences of his words in stride and didn’t care what the critics though, just as long as they heard the message loud and clear.

The crowd kept on growing all afternoon, swelling to almost 600 people, 10 deep within the Imagine Circle, as I stood on my feet singing for nearly seven hours, throat dry, while sucking on slippery elm, but it was those words and his music that kept me fueled. I even saw my old friend the Howard Stern impersonator within the crowd.

At approximately 3:30 Eastern Standard Time, the song Strawberry Fields Forever, started to be strummed by at least one dozen guitarists, accompanied by a portable keyboard, light drumming and over 550 voices.

As the vocals grew louder and more distinct, without warning the sunshine that we felt on our faces all morning and afternoon was suddenly blotted out for the entirety of the song and the whole of Central Park. Oohs and ahs echoed throughout the crowd when that occurred and just as the song wound down to the final chords, the sun had mysteriously came back from whence it disappeared.

Stranger still, was that the 3:30 time factor, for it was also the approximate age (33) that Jesus Christ had died. Could John Lennon have indeed predicted the truth that The Beatles were bigger than Jesus and proved his point by blotting out the sun?

A lot of us in the crowd wondered aloud and to ourselves as to what had just happened, but all in all, we knew that indeed someone was listening to us, listening to our message of love and appreciation of the man and his music.

And the man, whomever he was, had definitely approved.

Merry Christmas? Try Merry Axe Mess!

"All nature is a gigantic struggle between strength and weakness, an eternal victory of the strong over the weak..." Adolf Hitler, Christmas, 1944

This time of year seems far more gloomy for me than any other time of year, but not because it’s the end of the year and this is right about the time I’m making my year-end assessments of what good and bad I did or didn’t do, no! It’s more like having to deal with the disease of Christmas and watching others behave irrationally, based on the holiday itself.

I’m so fed up with the same dreadful old crap, that I’ve even switched radio stations to avoid getting bombarded with messages of Buy this! Buy that! Buy this useless piece of crap, when I first wake up in the morning.

And that’s a problem whether one realizes this or not; perhaps people have built-in immune systems to ward off the commercialism of Christmas, mine comes and goes in spurts, but it’s everywhere I turn, from the workplace, to the gas station, to the next door neighbor’s house, to Internet banners.

There’s such a slick phoniness to Christmas and the complaints that circle it like Conestoga wagons and though mine might sound that way, mine are of a legitimate concern because as much as anyone can stomach with their eyes and ears, it’s really nothing more than a carefully planned attack by CEOs of mega-corporate companies and retail giants along with their public relations teams who carefully execute their plans so as to not miss their mark or targeted audience, who buy their mutant wares that are manufactured in other lands for a relatively cheap rate and keeps them rolling in the dough, all fat and happy, while the lowly consumer becomes penniless and ends up paying for a piece of crap that falls apart in days and pays for it the next six months.

It is often said that Christmas is designed for children, but whoever said that was lying through their pearly whites, because everywhere you travel, the message is quite clear, buy, buy, and buy more.

“I need this Harry Potter DVD,” says Cousin Mitch. “I want this GG Allin CD,” says uncle Lew. “I’ll just simply die if I don’t have Sony PlayStation3,” says Brother Jason. “I’m gonna kill myself if I don’t get a new set of golf clubs this Christmas,” says Father Tim.”

What is the one universal message that comes out of all those wants and needs?

Nothing, absolutely nothing.

Christmas has nothing to do with buying gifts for family or friends. It has more to do with the celebration of the birth of the savior Jesus Christ. Somewhere along the line, Christmas became distorted, interpreted badly, exploited by the big business monkey who have robbed and ridiculed the simple of idea of Christmas totally.

It’s a hijacked holiday as far as I’m concerned, full of competition; changes people into greedy evil monsters for approximately one and a half months, until the first of the year and then those feelings of joy splatter like loose bowel movements into the toilet bowl until they turn back into hard stool full of grim and ugly facial expressions, ready to spew anger, disappointment and dismay because all of those Botox Frankenstein-like injections that they were given in early November to appear happier, have all petered out.

Yes, there is no Merry Christmas; it’s more like Merry Axe Mess and we have corporate America to thank for that. God bless America, the land of several million gentle souls all marching to the beat of corporate attitude and spend, spend, spend and never get out of debt. I doubt Jesus Christ would have liked what he would have seen, if he were walking on this earth today.

Heil Wal-Mart! Heil Sears! Heil Tweeter! Heil Sony! And Heil to all those other corparations who couldn't give a fuck about all those American jobs that they exported just so they could save a little pocket change!

Makes me want to puke.

The Hiss Within A Leak Within A Crack: An Occupational Hazard>Act 34

Disclaimer: Beware of the little expenses; a small leak will sink a great ship. One leak will sink a ship: and one sin will destroy a sinner. We are eager to tunnel under the Atlantic and bring the Old World some weeks nearer to the New; but perchance the first news that will leak through into the broad, flapping American ear will be that the Lucia The Magnificent has the whooping cough. We seldom lose our faith by a blow out, usually is just a slow leak. We must have infinite faith in each other. If we have not, we must never let it leak out that we have not. Fiction can be that way sometimes. Any similarities to persons living or dead are purely coincidental & should not be taken or misconstrued as such. Anyone who thinks otherwise probably believes that lying down and listening to the crabgrass grow, is like listening to babies who leak at both ends; the drips, the leaks and the dew drops do catch up with each other eventually.

It is often said that there is slickness to The Most Divine Heart, a slickness that tends to ease up once certain criteria is in place, say like something pleasing to the eyes or ears. Mass confusion consumes the tragic priest, but unlike the Lochness Monster or The Jersey Devil that is rarely seen, The Most Divine Heart makes sure it is seen, heard, felt and will stop at nothing to punish the innocent and praise the guilty.

One might believe that the opposite would be true, but not for The Most Divine Heart. While the feelings appear to be mutually gratifying, underneath the surface of it all, there appears to be a leak within the system, a crack within the pipes and a slow hiss that can be heard throughout the echoing walls on Devil’s Island.

A hiss so loud, that The Most Divine Heart is doing its best to cover it up. Ah, the cover-up! Even Laurel & Hardy, The Marx Bros., Abbott & Costello & Borat combined, can do a far better job of covering up than The Most Divine Heart!

But that doesn’t matter; The Most Divine Heart has its work cut out for it; but to help with its campaign of misinformation, Broadcast Betty & Dirt-Dishing Daisy are already spreading the foundation quickly with false rumors, left behind or perhaps designed to trip up the most hardcore of prisoners on Devil’s Island.

Tripping up prisoners is nothing new for The Most Divine Heart, as it has spent most of its life averting, diverting, skirting and otherwise avoiding the inevitable, that yes, someone else knows what it is up to and that not only tripping up tactics combined with false punishment and misinformation is cause for celebration!

So let us rejoice! Rejoice in the mere fact that punishment is good! False information is excellent! Still, covering up a crack in the pipes is merely a temporary fix. A temporary fix, added onto so many other fixes, piled high and deep, until the original fix is compounded by complications and unknown pressure.

And once the pressure starts to mount and mount further, there’s no telling when the leak will balloon up, explode and expose the nasty hiss that’s been hidden all this time. The Most Divine Heart has been avoiding this moment for so long, but then again, how does one know for certain? The nasty hiss is mirrored in its eyes; etched in its brain; spoken in its swagger; stained within its swaddle!

Yes, that is how!

You can see it for yourself when The Most Divine Heart passes by with its ominous stare of doom and despair; a look that Broadcast Betty & Dirt-Dishing Daisy seem to have adopted quite handily when they scour Devil’s Island for miniscule clues or mindless details on any given subject matter.

The Most Divine Heart wants to make itself known, other than what it is, but in order to do that, it must work harder to rid itself of its nasty demons, such as the demons that persist in its mind; snap at its heels; flail upon it every chance that it opens itself up for.

Far too late to hide the hiss, the hiss has exposed more than The Most Divine Heart would want to show in its hand.

Devil’s Island lifer Lucia The Magnificent sums up the situation at hand like this, “Exposure of the skin is the greatest single weapon one can use in destroying its enemies.” Lucia can be so brilliant at times, so very brilliant.

For The Most Divine Heart, having a hiss within a leak within a crack is thrice what could have been forecasted and in a way, that’s kind of cool.

For many know, the future on Devil’s Island is unpredictable, yet that being said, The Most Divine Heart knows what it must do to keep afloat. Its days are numbered, dark and mysterious. God help the day when the hiss is awakened like a dormant volcano and spews forth its wrath upon all those that crossed its path previously.

That could only happen in one place; Devil’s Island!

Death Comes In Threes: The Slow Demise Of The Retail Music Shop

This past weekend, I drove out to one of the northwest suburbs to go and trade some musical stuff for store credit at Music Recyclery, only to find out to my disappointment and dismay, that after several years of being an anchor to a particular mall, that the shop was closing its doors for good.

Similarly, Tower Records declared bankruptcy and decided to shut down all of its retail locations worldwide. Midway in the year, a favorite local record shop hang out of mine, Hi-Fi Records in Evanston, close to work also closed its doors for good.

Sign of the times sadly, but I still don’t get it, once pride-beloved record shops, where we used to wait with anticipation for the latest hot band/heartthrob’s new single/album to arrive, are folding up little by little, until one day, all record shops will soon be shadows of the past.

I first discovered Music Recyclery a few years back when there used to be a plethora of used CD/vinyl shops along the Belmont/Clark/Halsted/Broadway corridor in Chicago. I had just come from Reckless Records, a record shop that prides itself on carefully picking and choosing carefully only the finest & best and leaves you holding the bag, literally!

So, after getting a pithy amount of store credit, I stopped inside Music Recyclery and unloaded everything else I had and received a much better store credit from them and of course I was hooked!

The CD stock wasn’t exactly all that great, but as I learned later on, the stock varied depending on which neighborhood you were in. Of the many finds in those shops, I always found that the most extraordinary, were the CDs in the jazz, vocals & easy listening sections, as they seemed to be virtually untouched.

That weekend, as I entered the store, the prices had been slashed to $2 per CD, plus the ever-popular buy one get one free CD was set in place. What a great deal I thought, as plowed my way through hundreds of no-name bands and eventually found enough CDs to make me happy…at least for the next few weeks.

According to management, the only stores that will remain open are the ones strategically placed throughout the Illinois Tollway System’s Oasis’s and the web-store, which is good, considering I still have a considerable amount of credit left with them.

Similarly Tower Records, a mainstay in the retail music industry for at least 30 years, decided to close their doors too and of course it was bargains galore, once the store closing announcement was made.

It turned out, the weekend I was there, Thanksgiving weekend; the deals were sweet and sharp, with plenty of good music still to be had. The discount went deep; 40 percent off of any CD, plus if you bought four CDs, you get a fifth CD free, depending on the cost of the lowest-priced CD. That is a great deal by far, plus I picked up a bunch of great music and saved a load of dough to boot!

For all the good that Tower Records has done, I believe the greatest service they provided me with, was when they took my fanzine, Cops Hate Poetry on consignment for a few issues. Overall, Tower Records was extremely open-minded when it came to the plethora of fanzines on the market, both great and small, and dared to carry them, long before giant retail stores would have ever considered carrying them.

On Memorial Day weekend of this year, local CD/vinyl music shop Hi-Fi Records in Evanston on Central Street closed its doors forever, sadly due to its poor sales figures purportedly noted by the shop’s owner, who has a shop in Chicago. Most items in there were reasonably priced, plus they had a freebie box, always overstuffed with magazines, vinyl, posters, CDs, promo items and other cool stuff.

It’s sad when you think about how decent record shops with good knowledgeable staff, great selections reasonably priced are going the way of the dinosaur, closing up little by little, just like good jobs that are shipped out overseas for cheap labor.

Pretty soon there will be nothing left, but giant corporate mega-world music shops, where all the prices will be the same and everyplace will carry the same thing.

Hmm, funny sort of thing, it’s already being done as we speak. It’s called progress.

The City Of Evanston Throws A Snow Emergency Party And I Wasn’t Invited!

Thursday afternoon, winter weather advisory, six to 16 inches possible…oh shit!

I’ve just moved to the city of Evanston within the last few months from next door neighbor Skokie and already I’ve experienced the maximum that any person could possibly experience, both good & bad. But nothing could have prepared me for the snow emergency that was declared this past weekend in the city of Evanston and the aftermath that followed.

Thursday afternoon most Chicago radio stations forecast a winter storm warning consisting of everything that I didn’t want to hear; snow, more snow and even more snow for the entire listening area.

So I prepared for it righteously. I called my landlord the day of the impending forecast and asked him where it would be *safe* to park in the neighborhood. He told me where it was generally safe to park and where specifically to avoid, both being ticketed & towed.

By all means he told me, avoid Asbury Street, he said.

After I arrived home Thursday evening, I parked in the safe area. I got home, laid out my winter clothes, made my lunch and even went to sleep early, a rarity for me on a Thursday evening. My logic was simple; get to work on Friday in one piece and not slide all over the road.

The snow was expected after midnight, so I had an even break; just barely. Strangely, I awoke at 3 am, slipped on a pair of jeans and went up to the lobby of the building to survey the damage. It didn’t look that bad, I told myself and went back to bed. Two hours later, I awoke again and it looked as if the snow was getting heavier, so I decided to get ready, clean off my car, start the engine and let it warm up.

I left my apartment at 6 am and went according to schedule. At 6:15, I saw a local taxicab do the unthinkable; the driver attempt to do a U-turn by turning into an icy, snow-covered alley and then back out halfway, but of course, the car became stuck in the snow.

As I watched him struggle, I walked over to him gingerly and asked him if he needed a push. At first he declined, but then when he saw he was spinning, he gladly accepted the offer. He asked me in broken English, “You want drive car?” I politely declined and give him a good firm shove and out he went from the alley and into the street. As I walked back to my car, he passed me, honking at me enthusiastically, as I gave him a thumbs-up for good measure.

I brushed the snow off my car with my gloves & the extra snow brush I brought along with me & once the car felt nice and toasty inside, I prayed that I’d get to work safely, pushed the automatic stick to *D* (drive) and off I flew. But I didn’t fly that fast, more like 20 miles an hour, with a line of cars in back of me, none to happy I suppose.

But, snow is snow and it’s one kind of weather I don’t mess with. I made it to work in record time, 45 minutes ahead of schedule; I took no chances and waited inside my car and took several dark and terribly bad photos of the street near my workplace.

The rest of the day flew off without a hitch; it was a light work day & not that many people came in nor were there a lot of cars on the road neither. People at last heeded the advice of both the weathermen & newscasters; avoid driving if you can; take public transportation if at all possible. This time it had worked.


By the time the work day had ended, the roads were clear. It looked so picturesque outside, almost like a picture postcard from the early Twentieth century. And thinking it that the roads were clear, I parked in front of my building as did a few other cars; on Asbury Sreet.

The next afternoon, as I went to start my car and get my afternoon going, I found a ticket attached to my driver’s side car door; due to a snow emergency the city had declared & according to the sign, I wasn't supposed to park there and yep; I was ticketed accordingly.

When I spoke to a Evanston police officer that afternoon, after picking up an item from Freecycle, the officer explained to me that since the city was still on the *declared* snow emergency, that was the reason I received the ticket, even if the street had been cleared.

That didn’t make any sense to me and I told the officer that it seemed as if that was interpretive law, meaning that those in charge could make and bend the law to their liking. The officer then told me that I was lucky I wasn't towed. I agreed and hung-up.

In late September, when several funnel clouds were reported in the area, tornado air raid sirens were sounded. When it comes to snow it seems we citizens have to find things out on our own. I guess snow is far less destructive, other than the fact that a person can get frostbite or freeze to death.

Funny how that is really, when considering I live in a town where a mayor doesn’t even show up to her own city council meetings and the aldermen take turns *playing mayor.* Funny how it is that neighbors don’t say hello to each other and act unfriendly to new neighbors, even if they dress they alike or look slightly different. Funny how it that people in million-dollar mansions still behave like Howard Hughes and never come out, other than to get their newspapers.

Funny, how pathetic it really is. Really and truly sad. A terrible statement on America in all reality, that is, that nobody really cares and supports apathy. And in honor of their apathy, I want to puke my guts out on their sidewalks, pee & shit in their bushes and walk away whistling as if nothing bad ever happened.

Apathy can be such a good friend at times and I suppose it’s better than jumping into Lake Michigan, while screaming a curse to the sky.

The Botox Frankenstein Poetry Series>Final Notes

Good late evening to you one and all! A quick tip of the snowy kippah and yes, it's Friday! Here we are; a brand new month and just think, only 21 more shopping days until my birthday! Oh yeah, and Hannukah too. Okay, alright and that OTHER holiday too, heh-heh. Our best buddy that sweet-loving dapper capper has been waiting patiently all day to take us into a busy & joyous weekend! This being World AIDS Day, I thought I'd share this poem. Remember my dear readers, please tell someone you love them and always, enjoy!!!


Final Notes

As I pen these notes, I recall
All of the goals I had set
When I was a little boy…
Marriage; a big family, a country home
But now all I can do is write about it in some stupid, meaningless little poem
What words can you use, when your body decays day after day?
Perched on a chair, I now watch outside my windowsill as a brown robin zips on by, nearly crashing into the tall green grass, just to dip into the cold black ground, for a tiny muddied earthworm!
I watch it quickly slurp it up and see it head back toward the sky…
Color is more than just color, it’s…

ALIVE! VIBRANT! FLOWING! LOVE! DISTRACTION! STILLNESS! HATE! DEATH!

I babble and ramble these days about everything in my life…

MY LIFE…HAH! DID I EVER HAVE ONE!

Time, time, time, babble, babble, babble. Puppet on a string, frustration is all it brings. No pills can cure me, oh sure pills can keep me around for a little while longer…WRONG! WRONG! THIS WHOLE THING IS FUCKING WRONG! FUCKING CRAZY! I NEVER DID UNDERSTAND THE MEANING OF LIFE!

As I think, suddenly I remember a poem and it goes like this…

From the earth I rose
In the sky I flew
To the dust I settled
The cycle is complete

As I close with this entry I write…

Time doesn’t matter when you’re wasting away

Fondly Remembering An Old Friend

Back in late August, 2001, I had a dream; a dream so colorful, a dream so magnificent, bright and brilliant, a dream so visionary, which at the same time was sad, deep, dark, intense and so troubling like a unintentional premonition forecast that was prematurely cast in stone of what was to come.

The night was hot; hot and sweaty as I lay shirtless in my boxer shorts asleep on my futon, inside the already balmy third floor apartment, 1243 Rosemont Avenue in Chicago. We were all getting ready to part company, my roommates and I, parting on three separate journeys into the outer stratosphere, ready to explore the cosmos that guided our lives.

In this dream, I was in India, guided by an old familiar friend. Even though we hadn't met, not formally, anyway, we connected through the music he created. I had known his music for many years.

He'd been in a popular band for many, many years and like many things, times changed, as he and his bandmates were tired of each other and moved onto bigger and better passions. In later years, when one of his bandmates passed away suddenly, he withdrew from the public eye for nearly a decade and became a gardener, among more important tasks.

When he emerged with a new record, he was met with tremendous accolades, as reviews go, but he took it all in stride and rekindled interest in his music occurred almost immediately. He disregarded what people said usually, as if it were no big deal; it wasn't. Not for him.

A few years later, he toured overseas with an old guitarist friend of his for the first time in 16 years and again was met with high praise, accolades a-plenty, again taking it all in stride. Along the way he produced a few more albums, a handful of films, kept up with the gardening, hung out with old friends, popped up on television & radio talk shows, made a cameo here and there, slowly pressing the flesh once more.

Late in the twentieth century, there was renewed interest in his old band, not that anyone ever lost interest in them really, but three box sets of their music were produced, which included 150 unreleased songs, plus a television film of based on the band's history. It would be the last public appearance of the three remaining band members in the public eye.

In this dream, we visited all of the locations where he had traveled to, where he created and was moved to inspiration to play music and write music, hang-outs with his bandmates, friends and his girlfriend who would become his first wife one year later.

He told me how beautifully gorgeous the time was that he spent there, how he did treasure and would treasure those moments forever. He wore a beautiful orange-colored silken robe. His long brown hair flowed wildly like an untouched mighty river in the early days of a warm spring.

An acoustic guitar with him, he sat down and began strumming a few warm-up notes, before he launched into a new song I had never heard before and told him so. He said that nobody had ever heard them either except for a few close friends, but it would soon be heard by many. He affectionately referred to it as "a warm blues song," he'd been tinkering around with for some years and felt that the time was right to let it be heard.

That tune was beautiful and melodically crafted and so full of powerful energy from a man who had seen the world many times over as a relatively young man.

He then turned to me quietly and candidly said that he'd had such a good life and was ready to pass into the next universe. I felt a cold chill across my face, as I stared ahead blankly. I knew he had been sick earlier in the year, but he had beaten the sickness back, so he all told us.

In a moment's notice we remain happy and content. He remained that way the night I was with him and when we parted. As I awoke, I was covered in sweat, as well as tears that had been streaming down my face for many moments, knowing that my dream was a pre-cursor of a major event to come.

Exactly three months later I received a telephone call from my friend Iris in London, England.

"Did you hear the news," she asked cautiously and slowly. "Yeah," I said glumly, "I heard it three months ago." I didn't tell her about the dream I had, as she filled me in as to what the people of England, his home country was doing to honor his passing.

Rest in good spirits, my friend, rest in good spirits.

Black Friday-Cyber Monday-Cheaply Made Crap=A Happier You

Ah yes. With the last bones of Thanksgiving turkeys stuffed into trash cans and the big empty boxes folded and stuffed neatly into recycling bins, you know what’s already underway; that ever-loving holiday shopping season that makes big business executives pee in their rubber three-piece pants suits, hoping you’ll buy from their stores, so you can make them fat and happy, bankrolling their IRA accounts, just like those oil companies did to those of us who needed gasoline in their tanks this past summer.

It’s Cyber Monday in a nation that just endured the onslaught of Black Friday coupled with all of those advertisements brightly blaring about savings galore on newly manufactured crap that most of us really don’t need, but many go out and buy anyway.

Where does the need come from? For what reason is there such a need? It comes from a “want” list given by kids to parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles and from cousins, brothers, sisters, wives, husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends, partners to each other and so on and so forth.

Want list? Whatever happened to being surprised with whatever gift was received? It went back long ago and was exchanged at stores for something more desirable or attainable.

Attainment of desired gifts? Sounds serious to me! Gifts for the most part are materialistic, unless of course you receive a book, a music CD, food or something that has a better chance of surviving with a backload of happy memories, verses that HD 100-inch television that will undoubtedly take heavy abuse during sporting matches or porn film festivals.

But what’s the point of desiring something bigger, when it’s not necessarily the best? Flashy features and up-to-date improvements are all well and good, but is it so much better than what you have now? If you take care of a product, it’s more than likely going to have a longer shelf-life.

Most of my belongings have lasted a good long time. Out of the many things I own, here are three old items that still work with relative ease.

I have a 1950 Zenith radio I bought at an auction 25 years ago. The radio itself is over 50 years old and I can still get in my favorite radio stations, both on the AM and FM dials with no problems at all. Imagine that!

Then there’s the General Electric clock radio my dad, Rex Pater Homo bought for himself and The Arizona Babe when both of them were still working stiffs in the 1980s. After they moved and retired permanently to The Valley Of Golden Happiness, the clock radio was given to me and great thunder! After 20 years, it still works!

Finally my Saturn, a car I’ve probably taken better care of than my first vehicle, a Geo Prism that lasted me all of five years with over 92,000 miles on it. I put new tires on my Saturn, replace aging parts or equipment and change the oil every 3,000 miles. Sure it has bumps, scratches and a scar on the right front hood from a driving accident during a snowstorm a few years ago, but I still have it, nearly seven and a half years later with 51,000 miles plus and it works!

Overall, you don’t really need to go out and buy new things when there are things you already have that work so well already. Try gift-giving alternatives like www.craigslist.com or www.freecyle.org. Re-gifting is okay in this day and age too. Everybody else does it, so why can’t you?

Save a landfill! Save an American worker’s job! Be creative this holiday season! And most of all be good to yourself, for after all you deserve a little happiness once in a while!

All Communications Were Cut Off 10 Minutes Ago-An Occupational Hazard>Act 33

Disclaimer: Problems are the price of progress. Don't bring me anything but trouble. Good news weakens me. It takes your enemy and your friend, working together to hurt you to the heart; the one to slander you and the other to get the news to you. Nothing travels faster than light, with the possible exception of bad news, which follows its own rules. Never awake me when you have good news to announce, because with good news nothing presses; but when you have bad news, arouse me immediately, for then there is not an instant to be lost. Fiction can be that way sometimes. Any similarities to persons living or dead are purely coincidental & should not be taken or misconstrued as such. Anyone who thinks otherwise probably believes that friends are like television. Some are like PBS and always asking for money. Others are like the news, with sad tales to tell everyday, some are like that one station with the foreign language; you don't understand a word of it but you listen and watch.

Ways to communicate in and around Devil’s Island have been exceedingly difficult in the past and present, that is of course, you chose to subscribe to the monopolizing network of Broadcast Betty, which up until recently had exclusive rights to broadcast Devil’s Island official news and information; but not through the standard method, rather through the old-fashioned whisper-whisper ubidee-ubidee the tree method.

Up until one week ago, Broadcast Betty had broadcasting exclusivity rights to every living, half-living, late and former soul that once made their home on Devil’s Island, but no longer.

Enter Dirt-Dishing Daisy, one of the meanest and most lowdown broadcasters ever to hit Devil’s Island. Not since the days of Tamara The Toothless Telepathic Terrorist have the inmates of Devil’s Island seen such a true dogfight for the rights to broadcast information relatively unknown to others.

Dirt-Dishing Daisy, a former member of the now disbanded OCTOBER Sisters, acquired broadcast power in her own right after the suicide of fellow OCTOBER Sister Chimney-Smoking Martha. The other OCTOBER Sister, Loudmouth Lucy turned a deaf ear and went mum, when Broadcast Betty, as well as Dirt-Dishing Daisy came sniffing around her cell for information leading to Chimney-Smoking Martha's suicide.

Unbeknownst to Broadcast Betty however, was the mere fact that Dirt-Dishing Daisy had already set up her own prisoner broadcast network. With a trailer-trash demeanor and leathery skin to boot, Dirt-Dishing Daisy is the kind of broad you wouldn’t want to meet in a darkened prisoner yard upon Devil’s Island.

If you look toward Dirt-Dishing Daisy’s way even for a second without her permission, you be forever encoded on her “broadcast with intent to do harm list.” Whether you asked for it or not, she will inflict as much broadcast pain as possible upon you, so as to make you not forget your crime anytime soon.

Sometimes broadcasters are like that. They want and desire so much power, that sometimes it gets to a level where they have to prove to the population around them that they are the greatest egomaniacs they can be and being broadcasters, well this just fits the bill perfectly!

Lately the broadcasting competition on Devil’s Island has become fierce! Broadcast Betty has had to update her entire broadcasting network and protect herself from sabotage, thanks in large part to Dirt-Dishing Daisy who has made every effort to shut down Broadcast Betty both on the broadcast level and under the table.

Under the table execution is part of Dirt-Dishing Daisy’s plan and she thinks nothing of undercutting her competition by making offers to the likes of Upper Prison Brass, The X-5 Unit, The Barnaby Boys, Mugsy & Lugsy, The Great Divine Spirit, The Sorcerer Sisters and Sister Tootsie Footsy, primarily misinformation that leads a collective bad taste in prisoner circles and cut-throat style political broadcasting that make the aforementioned seem like saints.

Yes, friends, Devil’s Island truly lives up to its name. At last, truth in discretion has risen to the top where merde once predominately fermented. And the stench couldn’t be any finer than it is today!

Dr. Lord Poetmonk Throatsinging Industrial Spyboy Bingo's Assessment Of Virtual Jerusalem>Act One

I am a former Internet chat-room addict…I gave it up last month after much self-concern that I wasn’t accomplishing anything within my own life and frittering away my time and energy arguing with idiots. I had been frequenting this chat-room for nearly a decade.

Not any old chat-room mind you, but particularly, a Jewish chat-room by the name of Virtual Jerusalem, www.virtualjerusalem.com In previous years it was called Jewish Chat and then Jewish Street before its current name. A chat-room chockfull of Jewish men and women chatting based on their faith alone, not how they practice it.

And the subject matters they discussed! Well, that’s another blog for another time. In previous blog entries, I have blogged extensively about some of the chatters who frequent this chat-room and their mannerisms.

But, let me back up. There are a lot of stereotypes that I’ll never understand, especially Jewish stereotypes. Sometimes. Sometimes I don’t understand these stereotypes at all and going into that chat-room, I got it from both sides, Jews snapping at my heels and biting my ears off, just for the simple reason that I had a difference of opinion. Imagine that; someone who has a brain of their own and can think.

In the past there were times I would be kicked out or banned by the moderators, due to my opinions and to the mere fact that I didn’t behave “Jewish enough.” Not Jewish enough? What the fuck does that mean!

Inside the chat-room, this is usually what I came up against:

Me: As young Jews, we get drilled into our heads about how Israel is our homeland, it’s not.

Chatter: You should visit it and support it financially.

Me: Give me one good reason why I should support a country that I’ve never been to?

Chatter: Um, ‘coz it’s your homeland.

Me: Um, sorry; America is.

Chatter: ‘Coz you’re Jewish?

Me: Dumb reason.

Chatter: Oh well, you have to support Israel as a country and support them financially.

Me: Oh no I don’t; why anybody does is beyond me. We need to support America first, before it’s too late.

Chatter: Well, then you must be a self-hating Jew.

Me: I don’t think so!

Chatter: Oh, but you are!

Me: And what pray-tell makes me a self-hating Jew?

Chatter: Because you don’t support Israel’s right to exist.

Me: What!?! Where did this come from?

Chatter: Well, since you don’t support Israel financially and you believe it’s not your homeland, therefore you feel it shouldn’t be a country that shouldn’t even exist! Why I bet you’re not even Jewish!

Me: What!?!

Chatter: Yeah, you must be an Arab or Muslim, you Anti-Semite Jew-hater! Why are you even in here? Get out of here! I’ll report and make sure you’re banned!

I’m lost, completely lost. And that, in a nutshell, is the mentality of the majority of people who frequent that Jewish chat-room. Most of the chatters there ganged up on me and called me all sorts of names, filled with hatred from a cause or purpose that perhaps they themselves don’t understand.

For one man to stand alone and to say what’s really on his mind is a scary thought for the packs of gazelles that graze on the stereotypical bullshit that grows all around them.

For one gazelle to leap from out of the packs and suddenly nod its head and agree that the man who stands alone may be partially correct, is an omission that someone else has a conscious within the gazelles.

To date, I’ve converted over half-a-dozen of those omissions to loyal friendships. Friendship is built on trust, not religion. And on that principle alone, I am winning the war on stupidity, assumption and good old-fashioned human values.

Thank goodness I’m out of that virtual madhouse!

The Botox Frankenstein Poetry Series>Give Me Your Hands I Want To Hold Them In Mine

Good afternoon everyone! A quick tip of the kippah and yesiree, it's Friday! Hip-hip hoorah! We've made it to the end of this fourth week of November, a decent shortened week indeed, but the madness persists all around us, as only big business and its cast of characters would have it. Our good friend, that post-Thanksgiving capper has been waiting patiently all morning to take us into a busy, but gentle weekend! And now, yes you guessed it! It's spanking brand-new poem-time! And remember dear readers, please tell someone you love them and always, always, enjoy!!!

Give Me Your Hands I Want To Hold Them In Mine

You cry softly so that no one will hear, but I do
I always do
One million miles won’t keep us apart
I cannot nurse your broken heart, for you won’t let me

(So girl please)

Give me your hands
I want to hold them
In mine

(And tell you that I love you)

Oh sadness in your soul
Dig deep into the hole, that broken shell
That you never want to come out of

You walk in the desert, as the sun burns your eyes
But you don’t feel it
You fall to the ground
I cannot heal it

I lift you with my hands
You lift me with my heart
Your breathe a sigh
I ask you to let me inside
You refuse
You suffer in peace
I go to pieces

(Oh please girl)

Give me your hands
I want to hold them
In mine

(And tell you that I love you)

What I’m Thankful For, Thanksgiving Day, 2006

Today is Thanksgiving Day, November 23rd (even though I wrote this Friday, November 17, 2006) and often we get asked the question “What are you thankful for?” Funny, I don’t ever remember reading that this is what the Native American Indians asked the Pilgrims when they invited them to celebrate a joyful harvest in 1620 with them. Still I’m thankful for a lot of things, really.

Thinking about it over a period of 52 weeks or 12 months, here’s what I’m truly thankful for.

I’m thankful that I have a job in this uncertain economy. I’m thankful I have a roof over my head and a place to sleep comfortably and a place to store all my belongings, making my studio seem more like a storage locker than living quarters!

I’m thankful that my Saturn still runs after 51,000 miles on it. I’m thankful that I have my health intact. I’m thankful for my friends Mykel Board, Lew Brickhate, Blog-19, Iris, Nechama, Joe & DiDi, Stewart Brodian, Scoats, Tim D., Noam Gaster, Scott & Marla, Cathy, David V., DMX Dave, Adam G., Brian & Leah Grover, Michael Brownstein, The Rev. & Mrs. Rev., George Weister, Favour, Peggy, Venus, Menachem, Jade Spotted Owl & Big Chief Bluefoot, Wayne, Wes and everyone else who I’ve befriended over the past year.

I’m thankful for my previous mentor Vida Wolk and my current mentor Miss Firefly, who have helped me to see the light and point me in the right direction over the past several months.

I’m thankful for my hunger for starting to perform again and I’m thankful to everyone I met and treated me well (and not so well) on my recent tour to New York City & Philadelphia. I’m thankful that Sid Yiddish is fast becoming a household name, thanks in part to this trip, www.youtube.com, my plethora of readily available CDs and of course, word-of-mouth.

I’m thankful I can still write, create and make others believe that the magic still flickers inside and I’m thankful I haven’t as of yet lost my mind and I’m thankful I’m left-handed.

I’m thankful that I have a family who loves me, even though a few of us are far apart on some personal issues, but I’m thankful that my father Rex Pater Homo is doing well & that The Arizona Babe is as equally healthy & that Louie & his Missus, Naomi & her Mister, Benjy & Joey all have their health, their joys and their happiness.

Most of all, I’m thankful for you, my dear and loyal readers out there in blogland who have shown me what you like and what you don’t like and that makes me happy that there’s at least one other person out there reading this, besides myself when I edit this down and post it each day.

It means a lot to me that some of you actually care what I see, hear and feel, day in, day out and know that whatever I post comes from my heart and soul and not some cheap fall-apart toy from a dollar store.


Happy Thanksgiving To You, One & All, My Dear Readers!!!

What I'm UnThankful For, Thanksgiving Eve, 2006

This being Thanksgiving Eve, Wednesday November 22nd (though I wrote this last Friday, November 17th), I thought it might be suitable to list what I’m unthankful for this year, as a sort of opposite to the whole “I’m so thankful for” biz we voice aloud on Thanksgiving Day at the dinner table.

Thinking about it over a course of a year or 365 days, take your pick, here’s what I’m truly unthankful for.

I’m unthankful that my relationship with Alice didn’t work out. I’m unthankful that my rent in my old apartment rocketed sky-high and caused me to move yet again, due to a paranoid world market. I’m unthankful for my new unfriendly neighbors who hide in their million-dollar mansions, who don’t come out of their dwellings to say hi, but let their dogs run loose at other citizens’ expense.

I’m unthankful for all 23 mice I had to endure over a course of a two-year period at my old apartment and all the unjust criticism I took as a result of it. I’m unthankful for being on the receiving end of much hatred & criticism of my faith from both strangers online and my immediate surroundings.

I’m unthankful that I held onto false friends for so long. I’m both unthankful that US armed forces still are situated in Iraq & that George Bush is still our President. I’m unthankful that CBGBs in New York City closed down this past October. I’m unthankful that the Evanston mayor doesn’t bother to show up at city council meetings, yet will show up at official city functions like ground-breakings or police academy graduations.

I’m unthankful that there’s still poverty and hunger in the world and still very little is being done about it. I’m unthankful that for expressing my opinions and standing my ground in what I say, feel or act upon and not getting the support, instead of hearing those who tell me I should refrain for their own personal fears of safety, myself being arrested, beaten up or dragged away from my home.

I’m unthankful that illegal immigrants get more sympathy and respect for wanting to stay in the United States without ever wanting to become American citizens.

I’m unthankful that I’m still undecided about my future. I’m unthankful that I carry with me some very deep and personal tragedies that will stay with me for a little while longer. I’m unthankful that my car radio busted on me this past summer. I’m unthankful that Terry Dickerson is no longer with us.

I’m unthankful for that gig in Seattle that fell through. I’m unthankful that some people still don’t *get* me. I’m unthankful for so many other things, people, places and objects that are too numerous to name.

As I stated earlier, I’m not airing out any dirty laundry or sour grapes. On the contrary, my declaring of being unthankful is a healthy way of getting the negatives out of my system once and for all.

All things must pass; pass away. And ultimately, they do.

Spam Jam Word Cram-Herschel Mustachio Vs. Bob The Blacksmith Vs. The Dinosaur Rockers Vs. The Circulatory Drama Queen>Act 3

Oh those glass warts! The last time I conferred with them, they drummed and slapped archival doctrinal theories that were so insatiable, that even the promiscuous unidemensional Leopard Almighty Tambourine Man drank chloroplast-free batteries! The Great Heschel Mustachio poodle-pulsared the cortex hamburger, declaring it the brainchild of actions racing like circumspection lollipops that even the most congenial hospice potato farmer from the former Soviet Union could support!

It was purple last time I looked, continually flowing like a Christian dustbin vomiting its destablizer anyplace it could get a clutch to stick. Bob The Blacksmith attentively and god-like tends to vilify and demand that Sam & Ella honey up their sachets of beatitude or else mourn the empathetic cargo of featherless birds so ravenous and cross-strawed, that even being ashamed of sawdust droppings will be banned by the FCC in an amorous attempt to refection themselves behind gaudy exo-skeleton-like cornucopial billion dollar iodine eyeglasses, that even the Republican Party can ask the average Hypocycloid Ashman if he's copyrighted the last phosphate citrate eulogy beer alliance to please the ductwork gong-workers union so proud!

Couldn't believe it with my own eyes or ears if I saw it, but there they were on the bandstand, The Dinosaur Rockers with total abandonment. Amazingly, anal as it seemed, the band pass they provided me with was so gregarious, that even the puniest ant could punt the most irksome and cuddly lukewarm erector set straight into a bottle of Brand X and send it smashing right into a diffeomorphic integrated bravadoed declarative kindling wood that those white Earth streaks can dance rabidly in the plight of its pursuer, an alter ego stuffed in its craw!

Oh! What is it with that circulatory drama queen, anyway! One minute she acquits the sultry murderous drywall assailant and then switches into overdrive the latest inception of a combined effortless freak consisting of outrageous juggling and the essence of a single-backstiched pterodactyl crossway sensor and then demands counter-examples!

Spam Jam Word Cram-Mettlesome Monica Vs. Great Daddio Pooh Gibson Vs. Campbell Manama>Act 2

The ridgepole tacky like The Manhattan Project, like ice tossed over the railing of a flimsy hotel banister. Well, I'll be dipped in fishcakes! If it ain't that old Mettlesome Monica, biblical cultivation, sewn like interpolant hydrolysis bags that are so morphhemic after stargazing amongst the robotic diachronic flagerant diatribes that have just consumed a dozen high velocity brownies!

Legend has it that the late Great Daddio Pooh Gibson once impractically clotted an entire apathetic keyhole as Kim & Jacqueline Horn called out for revenge! Miss Daphne was so struck by Daddio Pooh Gibson's parental awakening, that she pried open every crevice she could get her nimble fingers into and astutely inserrectioned a Christ doll to each vendor waiting on the Memphis balcony wrapped in signboards, advertising wooden dreadlocked circumspectionized bulls! Well you know what? a little tint dispersive doesn't hurt every once in a while.

Campbell Manama stuffed a banana where the sun don't shine, tucked Colby-patterned afgans designed by Puritan gang gentila crotchsniffers, loaded inside chiasmic telephone dissipated birthplacemats, flown directly to Beijing & Indianapolis to the attention of one Olivetti Kingfisher who insists that Avon products are the mere ace in the hole; that is of course if you drink Nairobi earmarked opinionated Unitarians under the table, coupled with counterargumentive canister celluloids of bondholders all rejoicing in the mysterious artistic contraband ratio of 9 to 1, that any aversion that embattles the fruited majestic emphysematous flagwavers, will undoubtedly head East!

Spam Jam Word Cram-Poodle Protector Vs. Monogamist Panhandlers Vs. The Alumnus Economist Vs. Yee Sick Trammel>Act 1

Poodle protector poaches in dreamscape of ebony Nebraska naked nuptials, following prostate fatal Confucian smashmouth inside the fail-soft yearbooks. The plush sketchy smelly villa burdensome hostage mockingbird Orion moccasin like chord progession that Lenny Bruce felt inside the hinderance kit of Tim McVeigh's gape keys, betrayed by the mackintoshed-locked mammoth salmonella groves flowing beneath the influent meltwater in magnesia Zoloft bowls.

Monogamist panhandlers erupt merrily along the prolifigate acumental bikini-clad whimsical gradient chicks named Rachel, Venus, Imogene, Sally, Betty & Jennifer, whilst indigene quadripartite ratify and adore, as in defectation digitated delivery, downsizing.

The alumnus economist usurpathioned himself handily, as Levitt the Formica whitetail benched whale addressed Elena's dowry before all of mankind. "You alliterate critter," said he, "Why are we all resistive casualties standing behind the baseline beheld by the mere fact of batchless desultory top-notch bandaid kits for Geo Metroed emboldened and emblazoned Bahamas go-go dancers with saucers pointing skyward? Is this not the ultimate litmus test for the brain-fried children to seethe frothy and demand punk jazz cigarettes!"

Ahh, yee sick trammel! It's all a sick fabric plot behind Watergate, told elusive by none other than that combantant devolutionary profiteer himself, the John Forbes Kerry of sullen devious inexpedient electrician wing-walkers before the luxuriate has gone mental! Only hours before the late great Muselix O'Shea discerned herself from wanton derogatory hygiene palette dips between inductor partooken colloquial octagon polarimeter ledge systems infused with Edison blush applicators, auger bits and Elmer's Glue, doth she made the historic Trans-Atlantic panty raid to Minneapolis!

The X-5 Unit Returns! An Occupational Hazard>Act 32

Disclaimer: A man should never neglect his family for anything. A meeting moves at the speed of the slowest mind in the room. In other words, all but one participant will be bored, all but one mind underused. A salesman minus enthusiasm is just a clerk. All lasting bargains are built on friendship. Blessed is he who has found his work; let him ask no other blessedness. Fiction can be that way sometimes. Any similarities to persons living or dead are purely coincidental & should not be taken or misconstrued as such. Anyone who thinks otherwise probably believes that cannibals prefer those who have no spines.

Strange events have been seen here in recent days on Devil’s Island. Closed door meetings held by Upper Prison Brass. Curtains & shades drawn in many prisoner’s cells as an ominous feeling seems to permeate the air, almost as if the prisoner population was expecting someone to drop in…looks as if the X-5 Unit is back in business!

The X-5 Unit controls for one of a better term, the goods & exchange traffic within the Devil's Island prisoner system. Need a pack of cigarettes? No biggie, you’ll have it in a jiffy; no strings attached, honest!

You say however, you need a cigarette carton? Well, that’s going to cost you plenty. But don’t you fret the X-5 Unit will set up a payment plan, guaranteed to shake you down for the rest of your time spent here on Devil’s Island.

The same goes if you need booze, company a debt paid off or someone kept quiet, well, don’t you worry, the X-5 Unit can do that all for you too, for a price that is!

Seems as though the X-5 Unit has been living underground, working out their previously difficult task of being caught red-handed for illegally shredding documents & evidence that was to be turned over to Upper Prison Brass & The Barnaby Boys for possible indictment charges against them.

Who got them those documents, well no one seems to know and the trouble with that is, that so many prisoners & members of Upper Prison Brass are involved with the X-5 Unit, that no one knows who to trust or who is aligned with whom in which faction.

Broadcast Betty takes all sides because she has to; how else will she get her information?

It was said shortly before The Pontificating Princess was paroled, that she was summoned to appear before the Upper Prison Brass and speak about all she knew concerning the X-5 Unit, but before she could even speak, the X-5 Unit speeded up the process of her parole papers and gave her the royal bagged carpet send-off, before she was able to speak to the Upper Prison Brass.

The X-5 Unit walks around the whole of Devil’s Island, as if they owned the joint; as if they owned and pocketed Upper Prison Brass, The Barnaby Boys, Mugsy & Lugsy, The Great Divine Spirit, The Sorcerer Sisters, Sister Tootsie Footsy, Broadcast Betty and practically everyone they know that would or could speak ill-will against them.

Therefore, when any of the X-5 Unit is seen together giggling, gaggling or gambling someone else’s own will, they will tell you on no uncertain terms that they run the show. It’s their game to be played with their rules and their rules only.

Unbeknownst to many prisoners on Devil’s Island, there is already a movement to change all of that, and that’s something the X-5 Unit fears the most is change, for change means less control. To counter that movement, the X-5 Unit has seen to it that all prisoners are happy on Devil’s Island by not charging them anything for their services.

Too little, too late is what the FBI has been saying for weeks and has gathered enough evidence to stop the X-5 Unit dead in their slippery & slimy tracks.

Be afraid X-5 Unit, be very afraid, for once the FBI infiltrates your gang, there’s no telling what direction they’ll go in and there’s no telling how long your reign of corruption, terror, scandal and shakedowns will last. You have two choices; go back underground or get off Devil’s Island completely.

A little friendly advice from those who have gone before you!

The Botox Frankenstein Poetry Series>Death Train

Well! Good extremely late evening to everyone! A quick tip of the kippah and yep, it's Friday! Hip-hip hooray! We've made it to the end of this third week of November. Our good friend, that sweet capper has been waiting patiently all day to take us into a restful weekend! And now, yes you guessed it! It's spanking brand-new poem-time! And remember dear readers, please tell someone you love them and always, always, always enjoy!!!


Death Train

Knock twice for hope upon the coffin lid
There's no dry eyes in this room
For a little boy
Who went dancing, dancing
Late one night with the train
Thought he could beat it out like they do so much on TV
And the child did he see
His own finality
For that is part of reality

I cannot overcome this madness

Now Appearing On YouTube: Sid Yiddish & A Cast Of Thousands

"YouTube is a popular free video sharing Web site which lets users upload, view, and share video clips. Founded in February 2005 by three employees of PayPal, the San Bruno-based service utilizes Adobe Flash technology to display video. The wide variety of site content includes movie and TV clips and music videos, as well as amateur content such as videoblogging. Currently staffed by 67 employees[1], the company was named TIME's "Invention of the Year" for 2006.[2] In October 2006, Google, Inc., announced that it had reached a deal to acquire the company for $1.65 billion USD in Google's stock, the deal closed on 13 November 2006..."--From A Wikipedia entry on YouTube

There’s this great little phenomenon called www.youtube.com which allows one to be an instant superstar via your digital camera or camcorder and I suspect it was only a matter of time before this next step in how to entertain the masses for free was coming.

I accidentally stumbled upon it one day, but discovered that it would be to my advantage to use it to gain ground and a new audience for my performance side and my newly created stage name, Sid Yiddish, as well as to push my blogspace, the one you are currently reading, http://themishegasmaster.blogspot.com just a touch more.

I can’t say whether or not more people are reading it or not, but I’ve gone back to a regular writing schedule since I returned from New York City a little over a month ago.

The first film I uploaded was a little home film I made specifically for my throat singing teacher for him to view and critique my throat singing skills this past July (2006). In the meantime I sent the film out to most of my friends and what comments came back were the usual ones I expected; words like “cool,” “freaky” and “priceless,” amongst others.

From there, I decided to test the waters of America and reach out to a wider audience and decided to upload the film to YouTube. I waited until mid-September (2006) to upload it and the results have been fantastic!

One week later, I followed it up with my super-mega throat singing hit “Mykel Board Weasel Squeezer” and let the chips fall wherever they decided to fall, as I left for New York City the following week.

My third and most current film I posted was a tiny five-second film of myself in a gorilla costume serenading a woman who is dressed in a leather Cat-Woman outfit at my workplace during a Halloween costume contest.

Due to the hype surrounding my costume and the hype I received shortly thereafter for my stage name Sid Yiddish (and that’s no lie), I’d say it’s my fastest viewed film to date on that I uploaded on YouTube.

The viewing stats for each film are astonishing to say the least for the little time period all three have been on YouTube.

Film three has been looked at 165 times, since November 1, for an average of 10.3125 views per day, while film two has been looked at 222 times since September 28, for an average of 4.72340426 views per day and film number one has been looked at 164 times since September 21, for an average of 3.03703704 views per day.

But besides my own films, one can find virtually any film on anyone on YouTube, anyone from the famous to infamous, to the virtual no-names (like so many thousands of us) to up-and-coming talents (again, like so many thousands of us).

YouTube is far more addicting than any chat-room or television program could be for me, granted I have four television sets collecting dust within my apartment.

In the last week or so, I’ve watched film clips of Groucho Marx, Muhammad Ali & Liberace, Jack Benny, Jack Kerouac, Howard Stern & Tom Snyder. Elvis Presley, Buddy Holly, Eddie Murphy, Little Richard, Tiny Tim, GG Allin & Jerry Springer, The Beatles, The Simpsons and countless others.

Anybody that you think of who might be on there is on there, even the most obscure person in the world is on there! It is totally amazing, really it is.

Do I have a follow-up film in the works? You betcha! Will I expand my horizons even further? You betcha!

In the meantime, if you haven’t seen any of my films, here are the links to all three, plus the film of my friend, the Howard Stern impersonator…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=niEP2Y6t06E

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o-BnnztltTU

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Yx631XwlzE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MmQKD0HjgGY

Enjoy!

There’s No Such Thing As Bad Luck, Right God? Right, Devil?

There are complications in life, some we can foresee, some we can not, until a negative demon stares straight into our face and the demon seems almost too happy to see us. Perhaps it’s a demon of bad luck, a demon by choice or a demon of consequence.

Some people believe that the chips fall where they fall due to lifelong bad luck or consequence. My good pal Cathy feels that way. She feels that anything that has ever happened to her, is because of lifelong bad luck.

Yesterday, Cathy slipped and fell in her shower at home, shattering a recently replaced kneecap in three pieces and a bone in her leg, sending her into emergency surgery; she’ll be laid up for a while. Cathy has been shortchanged in life for sure, but it has nothing to do with bad luck, rather bad choices.

A lot of people make bad choices and then choose to suffer the consequences.

Is there a role God plays in all of this or is it perhaps the Devil? Well, let me let you in on several secrets. God and the Devil don’t deem a given set list and christen people with bad luck; nor do they pick out names at random; nor does God and the Devil play craps and the loser has to do what the other tells him to do; nor does either play Truth Or Dare; nor does God and the Devil agree on a secret pact for a secret amount of money for God’s favorite charity and instructs the Devil to do whatever he pleases to a person.

Case in point; the lovely Venus while still in her youth fell to the street one day because she had lame feet and Mars helped to pick her up. Did Venus fall because she was earmarked to? Nope. Venus was wearing new shoes and she wasn’t yet comfortable in them. Did she fall down because God and the Devil were quarreling and the Devil pushed God, who in turn bumped into Venus while the Devil cast an evil spell to make Venus to face up to pain and humiliation? Of course not!

Then there are writers, poets, artists & musicians that I know of who struggle financially, even if they hold down a day job or two or three and partake in group and medical studies for extra dough, but still cannot afford all that life has to offer, like trips abroad or fancy cars or decent places to live or not enough food to eat. Is that bad luck too? Doubtful! It’s more like choice to live the lifestyle they choose to live and enjoy what they can while they can still enjoy it. Memories are sweeter than the money memories cannot buy.

As many of you readers know for the past two years I had a mouse problem at my last apartment, 23 mouse deaths in all. Was it my bad luck that the mice came to my apartment especially, since I lived on the second floor? Partially, only because I still had overlooked a few boxes that had food packed in them that I hadn’t yet unpacked and stored away properly.

Was it my fault entirely? Nope. As I set the many traps in and around my apartment, I found many previous unplugged (there’s that word again) holes all around the floorboards of the space and later, during the final days there before I moved, I actually did see a mouse squeeze into the wall with virtually little or no room to do so.

Did God and the Devil create a mutual pact to send me so much vermin within a period of 24 months? Heck no!

According to the some of the tenants who lived there, mice had always been inside the building and up until the time I left, management chose to do nothing about it. But even harder to fathom was the mere fact that neighbors across the way were ground-feeding stray animals and that of course attracted rodents, including mice and rats that conveniently lived nearby at the local sewage plant, not too far from the apartment building, so naturally…

But you get the idea; there’s no such thing as bad luck. It’s bad choices and bad situations that create chaos and havoc when they’re not tended to fast enough.

Right God?

Right, Devil?

Of course, right!

Unplugging From Stressful Holidays-What A Great Revolutionary Idea!

"If you think the holidays are a bit much, do what I always do; relax and unplug. It’s the best solution without going mad," The MishegasMaster, Monday, November 13, 2006

Unplugging from the stressful holidays seems like a great idea, but nobody seems to want to do it, that is, nobody, but me…just imagine if I did it; I think I’d be onto something. If I myself and another person unplugged, we’d be a double dynamo!

With three, we’d be a set of triplicate tempests in tin teapots and with four, whoa! We’d be a quadruple bypass steamroller and with five, wow! Five! We’d roll along in a quintuple caravan and six, just imagine six people my friends, unplugging, raising a ruckus, but not yelling, screaming about how the holidays are so fucked up; can you imagine it?

We’d be six rebels who’ve decided to unplug from the holidays and everyone else would have to listen to our silence as we went about our busy lives with smiles and joyfulness within our hearts and souls and pretty soon thereafter we were noticed, they’d start to cover us in the local press; people would blog about us; people would criticize us and then we’d get filmed for the local evening news and it would only be a matter of time before our movement caught on nationally and every television and radio talk show would want us to appear on their program and ask us “how we did it” and what are secret to success is.”

In acappella & unison, we’d tell everybody the same thing; that there is no secret recipe or no miracle cure and their viewers & listeners would demand more and pretty soon we’d be offered exclusive book deals to write about our rags-to-riches success story of how our movement begin way back when we first unplugged.

The book of course would be a New York Times bestseller and movie producers would seek us out, wine us and dine us until we agreed to a multi-billion dollar movie deal based on silence and the movie would be shot quickly and released just as fast and would be number one at the box office for weeks on end and then at the Academy Awards the following spring, we’d sweep the awards ceremony with our “golden silence,” thanking our mothers and fathers in the process.

But oh, no! It wouldn’t stop there; it would cause an atmosphere disturbance, one for the better. All wars would stop; all fighting would cease to be; all violence, all anger, all hatred, all crimes against humanity would quit immediately; people would be work together all at once and be happy in their little affairs. There would be no need for lawyers and their frivolous lawsuits.

All negative influences would vanish into thin air. Cheaters, adulterers, liars and sinners would be subject to hearing babies cooing, birds twittering, field mice squeaking and horses neighing until they confessed their evil ways and promise they would never be so evil again.

Yes my friends, all it takes is one little idea, one little grassroots movement to get the concept rolling and soon, as you well know, the whole world would know about it! And this little idea grows in other directions, all positives, no negatives.

Unplugging---It’s the best damn idea since the beginning of time itself. You ought to try it sometime. Unplugging from stressful holidays! What a great revolutionary idea!

The Hell With The Holidays!!!

Being Jewish is fun this time of year as, the holidays fast approach. Of course, when most non-Jews speak of the holidays they mean Thanksgiving Day, Xmas & New Year’s Day.

Jews already had their New Year’s celebration in early October, so that takes care of that and Xmas? Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffttt! So, that leaves just Hanukkah and Thanksgiving Day, but since Hanukkah’s such a minor holiday, all that’s left is Thanksgiving Day, but before I gripe about Thanksgiving Day, let me bitch about Xmas for a spell.

This weekend was a rather busy one for me in terms of running errands and stuff, but no sooner did I enter a lot of the places I went to such as the supermarket, did I start hearing Xmas music and it’s not even close to Thanksgiving Day yet!

It makes me cringe that some retailers have no respect for other religions, other than those Xmas-loving lunatics, especially when it comes to retailers like Wal-Mart who bowed to pressure from some Christians who weren’t happy last year and boycotted them just because their employees didn’t wish their customers “Merry Christmas,” but wished everybody “Happy Holidays” instead.

This year it will be different though. In order to make everyone happy, Wal-Mart will wish “Merry Christmas” to everyone, including Jews & Muslims. Got to keep the Christians happy, I guess!

How insulting is that! But before you side with me totally, as most of you readers know I do collect and listen to Xmas music and I listen to it year-round, as I listen to Halloween-themed and Hanukkah-themed music too, plus a huge plethora of other holiday music too, still Xmas music tends to get overplayed a little too much by retailers everywhere I frequent like gas stations, supermarkets, dollar, thrift & department stores & bookstores.

Sometimes retailers get all token on us and play Hanukkah music for those who celebrate, but they need to; how else will we be fool enough to buy plastic or paper gifts that fall apart within weeks of buying it? Besides, they need our business, so they do what they have to in order to get us into their stores otherwise, they come crawling or slithering to get us in and in a way, that’s kind of cool!

Still, we have Thanksgiving Day to contend with and it’s certainly not one of my favorite holidays, as it can be a most frightening and scary experience for me, as witness to years’ past.
As I get older, I wonder what the holiday really means besides stuffing my face with turkey, eating pumpkin pie and telling everybody what I’m really thankful for.

The last two Thanksgiving Day holidays for me, were anything but normal for me, but this year promises to be much better as a couple of friends have already invited me to their apartment for a Thanksgiving Day meal that promises to be fun and relatively normal.

Thanksgiving Day can be quite stressful because people put so much pressure on themselves to please others and put on a miniature stage show, with all the shticks timed just so. Of course, the shticks can go wrong too; in fact they always do.

Holidays are holidays and just that. Take them as such and don’t try to kill yourself in the process; your friends, family and other relatives do understand. It’s just a meal, not a reality show!

And if you think the holidays are a bit much, do what I always do; relax and unplug.

It’s the best solution without going mad.

Petty Thievery: It's Everywhere You Go>Act Two

As you well know, there’s plenty of petty thievery on the Internet too, which is what inspired me to write to write this particular essay to begin with.

A lot and I mean a lot of criminals are safely harbored within the electronic superhighway, but to use an example to illustrate, I’ll use this one, provided to me by the strange logic of a moderator within a Freecycle group I belong to.

It stems from a misunderstanding of mine from a post that was made, but of course it got me to thinking and I asked the moderator how anyone could give away free items like priority boxes that are already available at FedEx Kinko’s copy shops and local post offices?

And here’s what the moderator said, verbatim: “As for the priority mail boxes, yes, they are free, but free things are definitely allowed on Freecycle. The point in this case was that she got more than she needed and was offering them to someone else who might need them rather than throwing them away. I believe this is a perfect example of the purpose of Freecycle. If she just put them in a recycle bin, energy would be needed to process them to create new boxes. By offering them, she was preventing a waste of resources.”

Well, as I could see by that answer, the moderator was telling me how okay it was to do such a thing; I mean the poster could have returned the boxes to wherever she got them; they were created for free to use for a specific purpose and the poster took advantage of the purpose and gave them away without giving back what she didn’t use. It was not the poster’s choice to do whatever she wanted to do; she took more than she should have and should have returned them as such, but since she didn’t and decided to dump them online under the cloak of Freecycle, this makes her a true petty thief!

Just imagine if everyone followed that philosophy; it would be total anarchy. People would be stealing free stuff in droves and dumping it online under the cloak of Freecycle (or Craigslist) without total respect for the law. Whatever happened to the old adage, “Take what you need and leave the rest for others?”

For all that “energy” that the poster supposedly saved, did the poster realize that she’s a petty thief in disguise? Probably not.

The very idea that Freecycle is saving the world from creating more landfills is applaudable, yet advocates the dumping of other companies knowingly free property onto unsuspecting souls, is just plain wrong! Don’t want to be caught or be responsible for the crime? Well, then just don’t do it!

Freecycle’s main purpose is to peddle off one man’s crap to another for free, not to peddle potentially stolen property! Call it what you will, but with rules like these, it won’t be long before Freecycle becomes what law enforcement agencies used to call pawn shops and that is "fencing operations."

All it takes is just one chance to steal and boom! You got yourself a thief! So keep on Freecycle, keep on advocating and condoning petty thieves. I sure hope that someone notices what Freecycle is condoning and that Freecycle will have all that “energy” to take the consequences responsibly like everyone else does when they steal something that isn’t theirs.

And where does it stop? People steal ideas form each other all of the time! Corporations rip-off their shareholders and their employees constantly; Enron is a classic example of that.

So you think petty thievery is okay? You think no one will notice? Think again and think again and then after a little more time, think again.

And if after all this time you've thought about it and you believe that rules, regulations, ordinances and laws can be bent, broken or loop-holed, well then, you’re probably a thief!