Bones

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Racism. It’s in my bones. It’s in my DNA. How could it not be? I am a product of a racist system, surrounded by racist people, brought up in a racist school system.

Lately, communication at the fruit stand has been fleeting. Yesterday was a day when workers had to attend a volunteer effort or something. I was not told of this until after the fact, which was the reason I needed to watch the camera for the other fruit stand a few blocks away.

Today, there was a change to the schedule I sent out on Monday. Yancey, who was here this morning and works at the main hive, informed me that the main person I sent the email to was no longer with the building.

Of course, I get this message days after the fact from someone who works blocks away, and not someone who works on a floor below.

I usually dictate to the phone, but today I am texting with my thumbs. It’s going well I think but I would prefer to have used a keyboard and screen.

I came home last night, not in the best mood nor in the worst. Bill was busy cleaning up the apartment somehow, and I am sure he started doing it mere minutes before I arrived.

I asked if company was expected, and he said no, he was cleaning because he had to work tomorrow. I mentioned that I didn’t know that he was working, and he responded in a manner I found off-putting.

I was somewhat taken aback by that and shut down more or less, festering in my heartfelt miasma. It was not a good look for me. Bill seemed oblivious to it, as well as forgetting about the overhead light, which is best used if no other lighting is available.

I silently played the role of martyr. I did suggest watching the Mel Brooks documentary by Judd Apatow, which lifted the spirits in the room, some more than others.

After that, Bill was off to bed following my lackluster wishes for a good night’s sleep. Then I called Mike. Mike and his boyfriend have started a Facebook page for cigar smoking men. Mike’s boyfriend never likes my photos, despite my half-heartedly liking his.

Then again, Mike’s boyfriend is not into white guys, though he did like another white guy’s photo. Not so much a fan of Mike’s boyfriend, not that I was before, but now there’s a reason.

Mike loves him, though, so there’s that. Personally, I am ambivalent about meeting him eventually. Mike sees it as a great meeting. They are making big plans of which I am privy to. And I would rather not be.

Things are OK with Bill. Things appear to be regarding Mike. There’s nothing major for the next hour or so, but that can all change at the drop of a hat.

Mike is scheduled to come over this weekend, but we’ve heard that before, and part of me feels it would be fine if he did not.

I was just thinking about the past, a certain friend I’ve known for decades. Some friends don’t like them, but I’ve been fond of them.

And also thinking about that plan of doing vids at 503 Social Club, with Bill and Mike. But the plan fell by the wayside due to the fact that I had to get a job. But in a relatively perfect world, I would have a grant to do such projects.

But this is not a perfect world.

And I played Talking Heads Little Creatures, and it really does not hold up.

today’s mood

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So, for some reason, WordPress refuses or has stopped allowing photographs in my postings. Sometimes they allow it, other times they do not, and for the past two days, they have not, even though I go through the motions posting it only to find nothing works.

It allows printed words but not images

It is February 10th, 2026, a Tuesday. The temperature is in the 30s, which is quite balmy considering that for the past couple of days it’s been in the teens.

So many things run through my mind that so many times. Today it was that band called Kitchens of Distinction. They were on A&M records, and some friends of mine worked there.
The Kitchens were playing some club somewhere, and I was on the list, and I brought my friend Steven. We were invited to the after-party at some place in Chelsea, and the leader of the band, Patrick Fitzgerald, was immediately smitten with Steven, and I was relegated to third wheel status.

They were an item, so whether or not their relationship is consummated is unknown to me. Steven likes twinks. Patrick was not a twink. But still, they hung out, and I was never invited to hang out.

Lord have mercy, I am embarrassed by so many things that occurred 20, 30, 40 years ago that still haunt me upon occasion. I look back, and I blush and hide my face. I’m sure the people I’ve interacted with and these embarrassing moments do not recall, but for me, they pop up every now and then like acne.

We approached the middle of February, perhaps the Ides. My phone bill cycle ends today, and I’ve been good at managing data. It’s a feather in the cap, and it’s a small feather in a large cap.

So have a job that I like, and it’s a good job. I like the people I’m wit,h so they’re not around that often, and I spend a lot of time by myself. No one to talk to, I went to interact with, not much is going on, and the face of time is a cruel crawl.

Yesterday at this job, I made the mistake of being lazy and actually typing the blog entry on my computer, which is something I should not have done, but here we are, and I had done it, nothing seems to have happened, but anything could actually.

Mike is at his crib. Bill is with Jim at the gym. They spoke yesterday on the phone primarily about the Bad Bunny performance at the Super Bowl. Both were moved by the situation, whereas I didn’t pay much attention to it. Just because my mind was elsewhere.

I’m coming up on being here for 3 hours, so it’s not quite 3 hours yet. It’s been a long morning, and it’s not over yet.

I was asked to watch the door of the fruit stand a few blocks away, and it has been easy to do such a thing. I just have to keep refreshing the iPad every couple of minutes or so. Marcus requested it, and so I cannot let Marcus down.