Hood Is A Hoppin

Jihad Party Boys are setting off fire crackers. I think they're aiming for certain homes. Not ours though for some reason. The Muslims are having a party too. I think it's a Happy Ramadan party. They get happy once the sun goes down so they can eat and drink. Which makes me think fondly of Bacchus. Now there was a party god. Drink, fuck and drink some more and yet outside of a few places, the practice is losing ground. It' s Christianity and all its ugly morals.  In fact there isn't anything good that came from Christianity but Christmas and that was created by business anyway. If it wasn't for them and their constant need for more, we would be whipping our backs and burning candles to sweet baby Jesus.

Now, I'm thinking of a gay god. You know, sizzling hot because if you're going to worship a deity, why the robes and beard? Strip the fucker and take a look at what kind of cock that god has. Big dick gods will get way more attention. Trust me. And lets face it, what kind of god would settle for a limp dick and sagging ass. Not even old gods do, I've seen their statues and they may have beards, they be thousands and thousands of years old but they all got bouncing balls, thick dicks and bubble butts. They knew back in the Bacchus days of gods what people liked to see, even on the old gods.

It's summer and the nights are warm, so wonderfully warm with night critters and fire crackers and people coming out to dance in the warm night air. I could dance too, in a fashion.

So don't let a warm summer night go by without a dance, even if it's with yourself. That way, we both will have a partner at some point, at sometime, someplace on a warm night in the summer.

Sniffing out bombs

Staten Island man can sniff bombs. Where he picked up this particular trait I have no idea but he assures me that his prominent nose has detected bomb making in the garage of the Iranians next door. And there is some evidence that this could be true.

There are strange coming and goings, people exit the garage and enter it solely by the back door, never the garage door entrance at the front. No cars are parked in it, all of them, and there are a lot of cars for next door, are parked either on the street or in the driveway.

The head guy, has a doctorate degree in engineering, and his wife is getting one as well. But the others, a man that rarely leaves is never talked about. The parents fly in from Iran every six months, stay a while and then go back. That's where the candy came from that I tested on a friend to see if it was poisoned laced, the friend still lives but I'm waiting just to be sure, it's been only a week.

Here is another strange thing, the Jews from Israel on the other side of us came over on the guise of borrowing the ladder. He said something was wrong with the air-conditioner but after he returned it two days later, said he thought something was wrong but there wasn't, the machine was leaking water which they all do.

I think he was using the ladder as a tower to peer over our fences and to see for himself if bombs were being made. After all, they are probably after the Jews, we are only the Queers of Gaza between Iran and Israel. We have no importance other than the vegetable garden and the eggs our chickens produce. But if bombs are being made, we are in the middle of a history of vengeance and deceit sown by these two rivals.

I give them both organic produce in the hope that they will be appeased and leave us poor Gaza Queers alone to farm and raise our chickens. Will it work? Will appeasement of two notorious rivals be enough to to keep us from their bloody wars? Only time can tell. Staten Island man still lives after a week of eating the candy from Iran, there is hope.

Back At The Hood

It's a funny hood, a changed hood from the time I arrived in the summer of 1956.  The hood back then was white as white good be. It was young families popping out kids right and left that created the baby-boomers, my generation. Schools were modeled on mass production just like the jobs our dads and moms worked at that supported the good life. It was all utopia for the up and coming white families that moved in mass from Los Angeles city side to the San Fernando Valley.

We barbecued, played baseball, and improved our lives from that of our parents, refugees of the Great Depression. Only not everyone went up the ladder, just like salmon, some of us were caught, some of us never made it to the next rung. That's what happened to my family. We stayed in our little pond and never left. I tried, went out for a while but in the end came back by a series of strange events.

I like the hood now even with the changes. There are Muslims from Iran to the right and Jews from Israel on the left. Makes me feel like the Gaza strip being the American queer in the middle. I bring them both vegetables from our garden. They give me strange gifts of candy from Iran and sour oranges from Israel.

And though it has been my dream to see the world and haven't, I have met people all over the world that have moved into the hood in this mix from the spill over from Los Angeles into the burbs. And since I can't write about my travels, I will write about the people that have traveled here and settled around the Gaza.
 

I'm lovin it

I started a new story that I'm really excited about. I'm finding it easy, so far, to write the story. Which I'm finding strange for me because it is mostly women. Yes they are witches, but these are more personal than your run-of-the-mill witch. They are likeable, at least they seem to me even though they did ruin someones life but it is the stick-in-the-eye of religion that seems to pop up in a lot of my work that I'm really relishing to write about. Religion, in this case, right-wing Christianity that I can't wait to dig into later in the story. I'm on chapter four right now. It is light, dark comedy. Not ghoulish, a bit sinister and I hope identifiable for most people. The witches use their talents to make very good wine, in fact their winery wins every year. The witches are three sisters and their mother that all live on an estate called Ravens Nest. They live quite well, are beautiful and each with a particular talent. The help is a band of gypsies with, I think, great personalities for witches to work with.

Gabe is working out quite well. Wally likes him and you can see that Gabe takes very good care of Wally. He is going to Germany for two weeks at the end of July, I'll miss him because for the first time, I can actually leave Wally and know that I won't come home to shit-filled pants. And Wally lights up when he sees Gabe, of course the guy is young, 27 or so and very well built, tall and a very nice personality. It was lucky to find him.