Sunday, February 04, 2018

Chickens Come Home to Roost or Mykel's Post MRR Column no 54

Post MRR Column no 54
Chickens Come Home to Roost

I remember when all I thought about was sex... when the most important thing in my life was getting laid... when everything was just a means to that end? I remember it like it was yesterday. It WAS yesterday.

I was happier than an AntiFa at a book burning. I've written before about my complete lack of Gaydar. I hit on “lesbians” and “straight” guys with equal lack of success. These days, the response to the former is likely to be more violent than the latter.

The problem comes from my agnosticism about lesbian and straight in the first place. Since I believe homotude is something you DO rather than something you ARE... it's difficult to identify someone without them actually DOING anything. I feel like like an atheist trying to tell a Baptist from a Methodist.

The answer came in the form of a small packet from Thailand:
They're cough drops... small... spherical. You take three at a time... hold them in your mouth. On the front of the packet, there's a picture of a guy in an jacket and tie... between two centipedes. The drops look like tiny brown eggs.... centipede eggs. They have a sour taste and melt into a viscous fluid in your mouth.

Flash to the butch colored girl. Grace Jones shaved hair... a swagger like a basketball player... tattoos... just designs, no images... shoulder to wrist... with the kind of bulgish black butt that makes the world's best case for African immigration.

Just looking at her straightens up every limp part of my 70 year old body.

We're at a show... punk rock... The Sonic Reducers... a Dead Boys cover band. I stand as close to her as I can as the band starts its set. Son of Sam

She coughs... a light dry throat cough... like when you come into an overheated room on a cold day.

She coughs again.

I reach into my pocket and get the Thai cough drops.

Here,” I say, pouring out three into her hand. “They're made from centipede eggs. And they taste like semen. But just keep them in your mouth and the cough will stop.”

She's punk rock, so she takes them and pops them into her mouth. Her cough stops.

Thanks,” she says. “They work fine... but they don't taste like semen.”

BOOOOOING! She knows the taste of semen! That means...

What's your name?” I ask her.


Those of you who are older than the iPhone will remember an all-girl band from the 90s called SPITBOY.
I've written about them before... and have had a long-term friendship with Adrienne, the singer. We've kept in touch over the years as the band itself has spread out over the world.

I told Adrienne that I planned to be in New Zealand at the end of the year.

[The actual plan: TWO NEW YEARS in two days! Since New Zealand is one of the first countries in the world to celebrate New Years. The plan was to go there... celebrate New Year... then fly to Tahiti on the other side of the international dateline... one of the LAST countries to have New Year. Celebrate New Year AGAIN. I did it.]

Adrienne tells me that Karin, Spitboy's guitar player, is living in New Zealand and I should contact her. Well, what's facebook for?

In New Zealand Karin treats me like an old friend. Invites me to stay at their (her, hubby Aleister, 2 kids) house on a hill in Nelson. As if New Zealand weren't nowhere enough, Nelson is nowhere IN New Zealand. And Karin's family lives high on a hill on the outskirts of the “city.” You wanna know how rural this place is? They have chickens!

Honest-to-Goddess clucking, waddling, feathered chickens. It's wonderful! In the morning, Kael, the youngest kid, and I walked barefoot from the house down the gravel path to the coop to scoop out eggs for breakfast.

Now I have ridden a camel in Mongolia, fucked a guy in country where homo-relations bring the death penalty, had a jealous lesbian pour a whiskey over my head, eaten rice seasoned with locust, crossed the arctic circle, wiped my ass on poison oak, lived in Mongolia... but I had never in my life walked barefoot to gather my own breakfast eggs. Let me tell you... there's nothing in the world quite like reaching under a chicken.

[Note: This barefoot thing is endemic to the Pacific. Both in New Zealand and Tahiti, locals walk on the street... on pebble strewn beaches... on gravel roads... barefoot. In New York... white pants and a Hawaiian shirt are hallmarks of a tourist. In the Pacific... it's shoes.]

The eggs are delicious... the best. It could be that they actually tasted better because they were super fresh, free range and organic... or it could be that I THOUGHT they tasted better because they were super fresh, free range and organic. It doesn't matter. They were super eggs... the eggiest eggs I've ever breakfasted on.

During the day, Kael was my tourguide. Having earned his stone in the category of hard-work, hard-study, his assignment was to take me to the Center of New Zealand®. You can read about that trip in my travel blog. On the way back home, we pass a pasture on the side of the hill where cows graze lazily... or just lie in the sun chewing the cud with their fellow bovines.

Back at the house, mom and the two boys rocked out in the practice room before dinner... then dinner. Steak and vegetables.

And what a steak. Tender as an eighteen year old... with perfect sauce and not boiled/not frozen vegetables on the side.

Yowsah!” I said to Aleister, Karin's other half. “This is great. Where did that meat come from? It was...”

“Isn't it good?” asked Aleister. “It comes from our neighbors... they raise cows... give us the meat... fresh from the slaughter... couldn't be better.”

Booooing! It hits me.

Not only are vegetarians losing out on the deliciousness of animal flesh... they're actually hurting animals. Here's why:

Few people will argue in favor of factory farming. Cows or chickens raised like plants... unable to move... living their whole lives in a space smaller than my NYC apartment. Fed antibiotics that make them sick... Killed cruelly on an assembly line that actually may be better than the horrible lives they've led in captivity. Just wrong...

Now, humans have eaten meat for nearly as long as they've eaten plants. Asking humans to go without meat makes as much sense as asking a dog to go without meat. Of course, we can debate that... but there is something more important.

Humans have factory farmed for only the last hundred years or so... maybe less. If I just say, “don't eat meat... it's cruel.” You'll accept the argument or reject it. If you reject it, you can reject it with a slew of reasons, starting with “asking humans to go without meat makes as much sense as asking a dog to go without meat.” But in any case you'll see me as a VEGETARIAN. It's a kind of identity politics. Jews don't eat pork. Vegetarians don't eat meat. QED.

It's not a reasoning person who is suggesting I give up meat. It's a VEGETARIAN. I can and will write it off as irrelevant to the world as a colored person asking me to call him AFRICAN AMERICAN... even though he speaks French and lives in Tahiti. (That didn't happen.)

On the other hand, if a person says, “Eating meat is neither right nor wrong... good nor bad. I am NOT a vegetarian, but factory farming is cruel to animals, it's unhealthy for individuals and the world, and it slowly destroys the environment... here's why....”

In other words, the discussion is based on REASON not on identity. As long as vegetarians insist that all MEAT IS MURDER... those who eat meat can dismiss them as THE OTHER... that is AS VEGETARIANS. No need to listen to the reasons. No need to discuss at all. They're vegetarians. I am not. End of discussion. Animals suffer the horrors of factory farming.

But once some guy or gal just like me presents these reasoned arguments, I cannot dismiss them. Once I see people raising animals compassionately... or hunting and eating their own food without the cruelty, antibiotics, or the massive methane of factory farming. Omnivores... just like me... Then I have to think about things in a new way.

Get it? VEGETARIANS, by assuming that identity, make it easy to dismiss all animal-eating... and thus hurt the animals most in pain.

Besides, let a vegetarian try the argument “cruelty-free organic meat TASTES better than cows that are factory farmed.” That's a point they cannot make.

After dinner, I want to hit the bars in town. I've already been to the Center of New Zealand®... now it's time to drink.

Back in town, I hit the bars. There's one called MOON that has very nice WHISPERING SISTER IPA. Beside the beautiful name, it's a great tasting local brew... in a pub featuring local musicians.

I sit at one of the back tables... drinking my Whispering Sister... watching as the bar fills up. A young man... thin... maybe a Maori mix sits at my table. Cheeks as smooth as a waxed head... thick red lips. He smiles at me when he sits down. Then he clears his throat.

You know the band?” he asks with the kind of New Zealand accent that gives me a hard-on.

I shake my head.
I'm not from around here,” I say.

You from New York?” he asks.

Fuckin' A, I am,” I answer.

He laughs.

Well, they're called Kiwi Pie... used to be in a punk band... now they play drunk pub music.”

My favorite,” I tell him.

He laughs. The laugh turns into a cough.

I reach into my pocket for the Thai cough drops.

Here,” I tell him, “take three of these. Just hold them in your mouth. They always work.

I shake three tablets into his hand.

I should warn you,” I add, “they taste like semen.”

He pops them into his mouth and holds them there a bit.

Shaking his head, he says, “They work, but they don't taste like semen.”



ENDNOTES: [You can contact me on facebook or by email at Through the post office: send those... er... private DVDs..or music or zines... or anything else (legal only!) to: Mykel Board, POB 137, New York, NY 10012-0003. If you like my writing, you can be notified when anything new is available. Subscribe to the MYKEL'S READERS Yahoo group]

-->Conflation dept: As in most of what I write, I mix facts, adventures, places and people... truth and fiction. The New Zealand adventures described above were actually in TWO cities... or two places. One was the home of Karin G and family near Nelson. The other was from Mr. Sterile Assembly near Wellington. I thank both of them for taking care of me in New Zealand. You are Gods and Goddesses!  

-->Wenn der kunstler scheisst dept: Chicago's West Loop gallery featured a blank wall with the artist living in a 10-foot space behind the wall. The actual ART was a sign put up by the artist, Alejandro Figueredo Diaz-Perera, that said, “I am here, but you will not see me.” The artwork was called InThe Absence of a Body. I have no idea if it was sold or not... and if sold... did it include the artist?

-->Stan-the-land dept: A likely, but still unsure goal for my next trip will be to visit three STANS. I've never been to any of them. I think I'll skip Afghanistan and Pakistan... too many bullets and too much politics. Right now I'm thinking, Kazakhstan Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan. Luk Haas has given me some contacts... but if you have any... or any STAN advice contact me on facebook. Or email me

-->Fake news dept: An Australian beach sign supposedly supporting multiculturalism suddenly appeared on facebook:

It was followed by the usual outrage... though it doesn't seem to me to be that much different from most American beaches at least in the prohibitions of dogs and alcohol.

It turned out to be a fake. A shit-stirrer posted by anti-Muslimists who can't find anything REAL to complain about. I can find something real to complain about...

In New Orleans 8 strip clubs have been closed in one month. Shut down by the cops. My suspicions are that CHRISTIANITY rather than ISLAM is to blame for that one. In many ways, the US is almost a Muslim country from the get-go. World's highest drinking age. World's highest sexual age of consent. Among the world's strictest controls over public (and increasingly private) alcohol and tobacco use. I think we could use MORE multiculturalism.

-->Chickenshit dept: Marlene Wicherski has informed me that it has lately become fashionable to have Rooftop Chickencoops in big cities. She lives in Boston. Here in New York --at least in most places in Manhattan south of 96 Street-- landlords don't allow tenants rooftop access at all. Liability insurance... people might through themselves off! So I didn't know about the trend. If you're lucky enough to be able to go upstairs for your just-laid morning eggs... do it barefoot. It's an important part of the experience.

See you in hell.


NOTE: If you're interested in my travel blog, you can read it at I have another blog of short interesting things at: And finally, my oldies from last century are slowly being scanned and uploaded to:


I read that the search engines like lots of links... and it's also nice to support my friends and enemies in their blogs. So facebook me or email me if you have a blog, webpage or something else to connect to.

Here's a start:

  • David Goldberg's Busy Microbes Blog
  • And another Goldberg:
  • Poetry and humor fans will like Justin Martin in The Latency
  • Sometimes I contribute to an interesting multi-talented blog called OgFomK Arts see me there!
  • And my friend Mike R has a nice site with recipe hits from the past! (He cooked for me once... great stuff.) Check out Yesterday's Recipes.
  • And here's one by a member of ANTI-SEEN... a tour diary of sorts.

Monday, January 01, 2018

In Praise of Apartheid.. Mykel's Post MRR #53

In Praise of Apartheid
Mykel's Post MRR Column #53
by Mykel Board

I write this sitting at a table in a library in Wellington New Zealand.. There are three chairs at the table: The one I sit in, one holding my coat and hat.,the other empty. Two tables away, a young man with blond hair and sunburned cheeks pecks at his cellphone.

It's the day after Roy Moore lost his senate bid. Why? A pre-election accusation of touching a 14 year old... Forty years ago. Meanwhile, a congressman resigns for, among other things... hugging and “bumping hips” with his secretary. Elsewhere, Danny Ray Johnson, a Kentucky legislator puts a bullet through his brain in response to harassment accusations.

I'm happy to be away from the lunacy as actors, legislators and TV personalities are targeted by (mostly) women... coming out of the woodwork like ants from a log tossed onto the fire. Like a bout of beer-induced diarrhea, I know it will pass. But like that same bout, I'm glad not to be in the middle of it.

In a take-no-prisoners assault... everyone from Roy Moore, to Al Franken to that most banal of characters, Charlie Rose, are thrown into the vaginally charged meat-grinder and spit out as landfill. From a distance of 12,000 miles, this finger pointing assault looks more terrorist than any NY Bangladeshi with a pipe bomb strapped to his chest. I have that to go home to? Maybe I should stay here and milk Kiwibirds.

What's the way out? There's got to be some insurance that will guarantee that this can't happen again. That the smudged finger of harassment can never again touch the pristine white robes of womenhood. The answer hits me like a beershit stomach cramp: APARTHEID.

I know. Apartheid has gotten a bad name over the last 70 years or so. The word comes from Dutch.. and is clearly related to the word APART or separate. It originated in South Africa and legislated in two parts: Petty Apartheid and Grand Apartheid.

Petty Apartheid was day to day separation of the races. Separate drinking fountains. White and Colored restrooms... Different sides of the bus station waiting room. Grand Apartheid was more sweeping. It defined neighborhoods and employment opportunities by race. It required a special pass for when low status groups (“natives” and “coloured”) entered areas designated as high status (white) areas.

Apartheid in South Africa kicked the bucket in 1990. But the word's bad rep struck again in 2006 with Jimmy Carter's book, Palestine: Peace Not Apartheid. Here, Carter argued against the growing power of Israel in separating conquered lands into Jewish and Muslim Areas, with the Israelis building a wall to create Palestinian ghettos. Like in South Africa, low status groups (Muslims) needed a pass to enter the territory of the high-status group (Jews).

Israeli apartheid continues today. Most of the world condemns it. Again, the world uses the word apartheid in a negative way. As if it were synonymous with “discrimination” or “exploitation.”

But Apartheid is like a hammer. It can be used to break a window or build a house... to mug an old woman or to save her bare feet from a protruding nail. Here's my vision of how apartheid can stop the scourge of sexual harassment.

FLASH TO New York City 2020 in Apartheid America: I walk down fifth avenue. The depressing grayness of the city is gone. Everywhere is a splash of color. Two colors especially: Pink and Blue.

First a bit of orientation. If you stand at the southern end of Fifth Avenue, you'll be at Washington Square Park. Famous in movies and literature for Avant Garde, hippies, and small drug deals.

Looking North, I can see the avenue divided. On the right, the sidewalk is as pink as a cherub cheek. The buildings too are pink... at least the sides facing the street. Women and girls walk on this side. On the left, the sidewalk is as blue as the sky on a clear spring day. It's the men and boys side.

I'm on my way to the sperm bank. The deposit section is in the BLUE ZONE... the withdrawal in the PINK ZONE. Ready to make my deposit, I step into the ASM (Automatic Semen Machine), and flick the lock from green to red. I insert my Jismcard® into the slot and wait for the screen to react.
When the screen comes on I press the SHORT button and the variable height wallhole opens up. It's about an inch too high for me, but I can reach it standing on tip-toe. The vacuum pump whirs. In a second or two I feel its pull on my hardening flesh. Deposit made, I zip up and return to the street.
Across the street, on the pink side, I spot a young girl with her mother. They wear matching yellow dresses... pink ribbons tied around the waist. Everyone on that side of the street wears a pink ribbon. It's the law.

The ribbon can be tied around the waist... worn in the hair... as a bracelet... even daintily bowed on top of a shoe. The only requirement is that it's easily visible. No question... no reason to be pulled over by the gendercops. Men and boys, or course, wear blue ribbons.

It's 3PM. The sun is in the west. That means the blue side of the street is sunny. In front of each of the crowded cafes and bars is a big bouncer checking ribbon colors on entrance. I stop into Knickerbockers for a Kingfisher. Luckily this old bar landed on the blue side after the division.

Sitting outside, I watch the street traffic. Since this place is near a gender-crossing, there's always a chance to see an attractive newbie making the transition from one side of the street to the other.

On the pink side, I watch an “office lady” looking woman enter the SEPARATE-BUT-EQUAL Employment Agency. I've seen their ads on late-night TV and know they specialize in executive head-hunting for pink-oriented companies. And on my side, I can just see the avant-garde entrance to The Museum of Degenerate Sex Mixing. With old photos and videos of mixed-sex couples... and trios... doing everything from hand-holding to kissing to The DEED itself.

On the walls hang pictures of politicians, actors, directors, all those early twenty-first century-ites felled by the horrors of misexgyny. One popular gasp-inducing display shows a video of children... some as young as five or six-- forced to hold hands with any gender... forming a big circle... chanting about “pockets full of posies” and... ALL FALL DOWN. Yes! They fall in a heap... child on child... before they were old enough to shave or protest the patriarchy. That was the old days where the perils of sex-mixing were long known... but unacknowledged... when people were afraid to propose the obvious solution.

Things are better now-- both petty and grand. There is peace in the once-troubled land. People are happy. Not like in the old days.


for my travel blog, checkout

Saturday, December 02, 2017

BRAIN POLICE or Mykel's Post MRR Column no 52

Brain Police!
by Mykel Board

Anger will never disappear so long as thoughts of resentment are cherished in the mind. Anger will disappear just as soon as thoughts of resentment are forgotten.” --Buddha

I know of no country in which there is so little independence of mind and real freedom of discussion as in America. --de Tocqueville

What will you do if the people you knew were the plastic that melted, and the chromium too? WHO ARE THE BRAIN POLICE? --Frank Zappa

Yo! Yeah, I'm talking to you. No, don't look over your shoulder... There's no one there. Yeah you! You... the echo of every tweet that agrees with you. You... the spewer of every fashionable idea that every one of your friends spouts... verbatim. You... the cop-hating language cop. You the safe-spacer... the spouter of thoughts you take for granted... but are wrong. Yeah, I'm talking to you!

FLASH TO PORNHUB.COM: Damn it! A search for bisexual Africans is one page long and it only has lesbos with guys. What's up with that? Where is the doggie-style girl on her hands and knees... one guy on either end... the black twinks kissing each other as the girl gives head to one and takes the other up the wazoo? Forward me the links... please!

Elena once asked me if I still could jerk off only to what's in my mind... if I NEEDED porn to get a stiffy... if I could use my own fantasy to spew the few drops my prostate has left onto that faithful purple rag that hangs next to the computer.

An interesting question. The facile answer is Of course I don't need porn. An attractive REAL LIVE naked person will work just fine. That is a cheat... and it's not the point. The point? Can I construct a fantasy in my mind... one strong enough to get me off? With no pictures... no text... no outside inspiration?

I can do it, if I fantasize about someone I've seen. I can have an orgasmic mental vision if the people are real. I can rise and stroke if I have an image in my head of someone substantive... a real LIVE person. But I cannot create from scratch. I cannot make a face... a body... a dialog... out of nothing... and then jerk off to it. I USED TO be able to do it. But now I can't. Is porn responsible for that inability? We'll talk about that later.

FLASH TO LAS VEGAS NEVADA: Stephen Paddock, an ex-serviceman, open-fires on a Country and Western crowd. Blau... blau. BlauBlauBlau.. A....aaaaa.aaaaaaaaaa...aaaaa...

Bodies crash to the ground. That ground quickly turns to crimson mud. A young woman tries to run from the shots... she trips over a corpse... near corpse?... she's down. Ratatatatat across her back. Two corpses.... Then more. By the time it's over, the body count is 59.

FLASH TO SUTHERLAND SPRINGS, TEXAS: Devin Patrick Kelley enters a church on November 4... He opens fire. Heavy artillery... through the pews... KERPOW! KERPOW! KERPOW! Bullet-torn victims from 24 months to 70 years old.. A sea of bloody Christians... come together to ask for God's blessing and this is what they get. Almost enough to make you think God is not such a nice guy.

FLASH TO NEW YORK... HALLOWEEN: I hate Halloween. Next to Santacon, it's my least favorite holiday of the year. In NYU-land... around the corner from my apartment, Halloween is an excuse for every closet-queen fratboy to dress in borrowed frills and stuffed brassieres.. and parade his drunken idiocy on the street. It's gotten worse since the costume cops make even this unacceptable (sexist, they say)... limiting approved trans-costumes to Superheroes ... and inanimate objects.  

The morning of this Halloween a rented truck in Soho plows into a group of cyclists and pedestrians. The driver shouts ALLAH AKHBAR or something like that. BLAM! Right down the bike path. PITUM! PITUM! PITUM! Like a ball in a bowling alley. Bikes and people fly through the air like bowling pins. Eight people die. 

You don't have to be Nostradamus to predict the reaction. MASSACRE... MASSACRE... TERROR.

Social Justice Warriors twitter up a storm:

On and on... a tsunami of righteous indignation. When I object, I hear that old 1960s refrain. Mykel, you're either part of the solution or you're part of the problem.

I say: YOU'RE WRONG! The solution IS the problem.

FLASH TO HATE-CRIMES: Somebody scrawls a swastika on a tombstone in a Jewish cemetery. It's A HATE CRIME!! That means the perp goes to jail... for graffiti.

It's a dark side street in Greenwich Village. Two young guys... matching haircuts... walk down the street hand-in-hand. The sound of voices rings from behind.

Let's get 'em!”

A gaggle of colored teens is on the homosexuals. A fist to the ribs... one to the head. One of the attackers holds one of the gay pair. Another reaches into the victim's pocket and and takes his wallet.

Yeah, you homos... I need this more than you do.”

The colored guys are later arrested and charged with assault and robbery as a hate crime... sentenced to an extra two years in jail... just for the hate part.


Carson is playing THE GREAT CARNAC! Wearing a huge turban (politically incorrect in the 21st Century) festooned with jewels, he takes a sealed envelope and holds it to his temple.

And the answer is PETER PAN!” He says. Then he opens the envelope and reads:

What do you use to fry a Peter?”

Next envelope:

And the answer is Hi Diddly Dee.” And he opens the envelope.

How do you say Good Morning to your diddly dee?”

Get it? Mind reading was a trick. A joke. Something that everyone knew was fake... an impossibility. That was 1965... Sometimes what everybody knew, nobody knows anymore.

Now, what's IN THE MIND is no longer a joke. It's not a parlor trick. It's a crime! TERRORISM, like a HATE-CRIME is in the mind of the criminal... not in the action. It is a thought crime. Your support for HATE-CRIME laws, makes TERRORISM laws possible. YOU... yeah you... give the okay to criminalize what people are thinking.

What makes the Muslim a terrorist while the white guys aren't? It's the same reasoning that makes a subway graffitier an artist and a swastika painter a hate criminal. It's the MIND.

Don't tell me there are other thought crimes. Crimes of intent. The difference between a killing by accident and MURDER. Intent requires SOMETHING in the mind of the perp... but it doesn't say what that something is. If I plan to kill you... that shows intent. If I stalk you. Follow your comings and goings... wait outside your door for you to show yourself... that shows intent. It doesn't matter WHAT the motive is... jealousy... fear... hatred... revenge... intent is the only requirement. It doesn't take a mind-reader to figure it out.

In the 21st Century, things have changed. Where mind-reading was a joke, now it's deadly serious. People are going to jail... maybe executed... because of their thoughts! Because of what's in their minds.

You're pissed that the white guys massacred and the Arab was a terrorist! The reason is the thought, not the action. Terrorism is for political ends. The THOUGHT must be to make some political change. The massacre-makers had no politics. They were in it for the blood. More people died in the massacres, but the killers didn't THINK terrorist® thoughts.

I've written before about my feelings on hate crimes. Now we see it reflected in terrorism. The same people who support hate crime laws, now complain about “unfair” terrorism charges. You... yeah you... you don't get it. You're the problem.

Once you allow MIND-CRIMES... once you allow the law to prosecute thoughts... what's in the mind... you unleash a terrible power. How many of my fantasies are illegal... and yours? How many women dream about getting raped... but would never want it in real life? What if there were penalties just for the fantasy? How many diaries... blogs... pre-bedtime jerk-offs... daydreams... nightmares are against the law... or will be?
Is my increasing inability to fantasize a reaction to increasing thought control? I donno, but it might be.

When we police thinking... we stop thinking. Americans suffer from lack of thinking enough. My inability to create a hard-on-inducing image from scratch is a precursor to ALL of our inabilities to imagine anything new, different, transgressive, strange.

The cliched answer to Why do they hate is? is: They're jealous of our freedom. As long as THINKING is against the law, we have no freedom to be jealous of.

--End of the Main Part--

ENDNOTES: [You can contact me by email at Through the post office: send those... er... private DVDs..or music or zines... or anything else (legal only!) to: Mykel Board, POB 137, New York, NY 10012-0003. If you like my writing, you can be notified when anything new is available by subscribing to the MYKEL'S READERS Yahoo group

--> I said it in the 80s dept: I found a link to a "song" I wrote in the 1980s that had similar ideas... called "terrorist." You can find it at:, but you might have to cut and paste, because Blogger is acting up today.  

-->Scalp em! dept: The Minneapolis Sculpture Garden has dismantled an anti-slavery artwork that tried to recreate the gallows Americans used to help enslave non-white people. Why was it dismantled? Indians!
      Protesters said it was traumatic “because it recalled the execution of 38 tribesmen in 1862.” Traumatic? That's the idea! But you can't talk to people about trauma... it may cause a traumatic reaction.

-->Leaving Absurdistan dept: By the time you read this I'll be out of New York on my yearly adventure to... someplace. This year I'm going to:

     1.Los Angeles from Dec 1 through the 7th
  1. New Zealand from Dec 9 through New Year's Eve
  2. Tahiti (Pape-ete) for a SECOND New Year's Eve (It's on the other side of the International Dateline, get it?) Till Jan 8
  3. San Francisco Till Jan 14

If you'll be in any of those places let me know... and we can meet up. If you've got beer and a couch, that's even better.

-->Busy little beaver dept: There's lots to pimp this month. First, there's an essay I wrote (actually a version of an MRR column), about GG Allin's last show in New York. The book it's in is expensive, but great! Click on it for more information and Amazon ordering. Maybe you can get it used.

-->Something for the girls dept: I contributed a lot of photos, but they only wanted the ones that presented a “positive image.” So I think I have one picture in the book... even then, it's a fine inspiration and memory of a time when females did more than complain about being touched.

-->You're kidding dept: Those who REALLY know me, know that I'm a fan of haiku and senryu (more human, usually humorous, haiku). I don't mean those idiotic 5-7-5 internet joke haiku. I mean REAL stuff. Stuff that ignores 5-7-5 and goes for something deeper. For 25 years or so, I've belonged to The Spring Street Haiku Group. We do small chapbook anthologies. Here's the current one... and it's cheap. If you can't connect by clicking on the book, it's because I'm out of town. Try again at the end of January, or send a crisp $5 bill to me at POB 137, NYC 10012. I'll send you a copy when I get back.

-->Last With A Hard-on dept: Remember when homos celebrated QUEERNESS instead of pushing to be JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE? You can see me, Tom Jennings, Larry Livermore, Bruce LaBruce and the terrific GB Jones (among others). In the Queercore documentary... Here's a link to their facebook page. 


If you're interested in my travel writing , check out

You can read some of my classics as far back as the 70s at:

I also have some random postings including several on how rich people spend their money.
Those are at: http:/



I read that the search engines like lots of links... and it's also nice to support my friends and enemies in their blogs. So facebook me or email me if you have a blog, webpage or something else to connect to.

Here's a start:

  • Poetry and humor fans will like Justin Martin in The Latency
  • Sometimes I contribute to an interesting multi-talented blog called OgFomK Arts see me there!
  • And my friend Mike R has a nice site with recipe hits from the past! (He cooked for me once... great stuff.) Check out Yesterday's Recipes
  • And here's one by a member of ANTI-SEEN... a tour diary of sorts.

See you in hell!

--Mykel Board