RELEVANCE or Mykel Board's Blogpost for December 2026

 

RELEVANCE or Mykel Board's Blog for December 2025

  

You’re STILL Wrong

or

Mykel's December 2025 Blog/Column

RELEVANCE

by Mykel Board    

I lay naked in the crosswalk… 3^rd Street and 2^nd Ave. I can feel the breeze over my body… the cold asphalt against my back. My mind is a fog. Why am I here? How did I get here? Why naked? Something must have happened, but what? I can hear the cars drive around me. I can force my eyes to open… expecting to see a curious crowd looking down at me… maybe a few giggles at my shrunken meat and potatoes. But I see only the tops of passing cars… surrounding buildings… the fading light of a setting sun.

“Stand back… stand away,” I hear spoken in an extremely authoritarian voice… could be a cop.

There’s a siren in the distance… getting louder… maybe it’s for me. Suddenly the sound stops and I hear the click of doors opening… the thump of men jumping to the street… A man wearing a reflective vest stands near my head. A woman similarly dressed stands at my feet.

“What’s your name?” asks the man.

“Mykel Board,” I answer.

“Why are you naked and lying in the street?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer.

“Are you registered to vote?” he asks.

“I’m lying naked in the street… unable to move… and you want to know if I’m registered to vote?” I answer.

“Are you a Yankees fan… or a Mets fan?” he asks.

“If I say Red Sox will you leave me here?” I ask.

“What color socks do you usually wear?” he asks.

“Ok, Mykel,” says Literary Device, “We get the picture. Now what’s the point? You’re obviously using this fake situation as a metaphor for something. What’re you trying to say? You think we like looking at your limp Vienna sausage just so you can make a point? What IS that point, Mykel?”

Ok, I’ll tell you. It comes from a facebook discussion, but it’s got wider implications. I said on facebook that I admired the courage of the few Dems who voted to start up the government again. They defied the brass... thought people getting their paychecks and food stamp recipients eating were more important than holding out to prove a point. Defying the boss takes balls… and these guys (and gals) had the (metaphorical) balls.

And the answers I got after posting this?

How could you support Trump?... Why do you favor pulling healthcare from the poor? ...Since when did you become MAGA? ...It was wrong to cave in like that…

These answers were as relevant to the comment as Are you registered to vote? is to a naked man lying in a crosswalk. Relevance. Relevance. Relevance. THAT’s what I want to write about. My facebook post was not about whether the budget is good or bad… or what’s not in the budget that isn’t passing. My post was about whether bucking party bosses and friends and family was an act of courage… or not. Of course it was! If someone climbs a fence to tickle bull balls hanging from a live bull, she commits an act of courage. It may not be smart, vegan, or match who knows what odd politics… but it is courageous.

As I type these words, television news sells its prescription drugs with the Jeffrey Epstein drama. The tale is mysterious and filled with lies and misleading almost-lies. Women who had sex before the legal age are called survivors. Jeffrey Epstein, murdered in jail to shut him up… was NOT a survivor… but no one mentions that.

[NOTE: I know I wrote about sex and Jeffrey Epstein in the last blog… but it keeps on coming back. And this is a different angle… It’s about survivors and you bet they’ll be in court getting awarded thousands (millions?) for their survival. Maybe one or two will write a best-selling book. Jeffrey Epstein will never write a book.]

[NOTE 2: I just saw a TV report on the Epstein survivors. It repeats the obvious false claims the Epstein died by suicide. That means his guards fell asleep while he wrapped the sheets around his neck? That means that someone who had dirt on the most powerful people in America.. “killed himself” before spilling the goods? Come on! Epstein could never appear in court. Could you imagine the trial? Bill Clinton as a witness? There’s no way he could be allowed to live. He was murdered.]

Ooooo, but sex… ooooo cooties. How could you survive? Romeo was 15. Juliet was 13, just bat mitzvah age. In 2025, Shakespeare would have been arrested for child pornography. Romeo and Juliet would be illegal.. exploiting children. A 17-year old in the sex business is “child trafficked.” Any sex at all is exploitation. Hah, I only WISH someone had exploited me when I was 17.

 “Teach me how to do it, miss… or mister. Exploit me, PLEASE!”

Nature created a natural indication of maturity. That is when a child becomes an adult… ready for sex. It’s called puberty. Allowing a 16-year-old to engage in sex for pay is certainly no worse than allowing a 16-year old to engage in grape-picking for pay. I can see making BOTH illegal if it takes away from school time, or robs an adult of a job, or violates minimum wage laws. But I can’t see making it illegal because it’s SEX.

And, back to the topic, what the fuck does where you put your penis have to do with running a country? Trump is not the stud-in-chief. Who he fucked last century does not affect his ability to govern. It’s not relevant! But …. oooooo…. It’s sex. And what do people do after sex? They survive it.

It looks like Donny Trump is going to war with Venezuela. As I write this, warships are floating in the Caribbean and warplanes are flying overhead. This is regime change… Trump’s Iraqi war. THAT is relevant. How many more will die than have already been killed in his bombing of fishing boats? Those guys WEREN’T survivors. But why care about that when there’s SEX on the table... right? War is war and we always win… right? Sex will sell more prescription Irritable Bowel Syndrome medication than international diplomacy… right?

Whether Trump or Clinton or Marjorie Taylor Greene boffed a teen does not affect the lives… or deaths… of Venezuelans. It doesn’t change the fact that the US has more medical bankruptcy than any other country in the world. It doesn’t help the random people swept off the streets by ICE and shipped to prison in El Salvador. It doesn’t help that gerrymandering wins elections despite majorities voting for the losing candidate. It doesn’t give the homeless homes. It doesn’t feed the hungry. It only feeds the need of the public for news about SEX. And it’s difficult to think of anything more important, right?

See you in hell

Mykel Board

ENDNOTES: [You can contact me on facebook or by email at mykelboard@gmail.com. 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. Send me an email with SUBSCRIBE TO THE BLOG in the subject line. Back blogs and columns are at https://mykelsblog.blogspot.com]

→ Speaking of Epstein dept: Larry Summers, Clinton’s Treasury Secretary and an economic advisor to Obama, wrote a letter to Epstein, recently released to the public. “I’m trying to figure why American elite think if you murder your baby by beating and abandonment it must be irrelevant to your admission to Harvard, but hit on a few women 10 years ago and can’t work at a network or think tank,” Talk about hitting the nail on the head! He’s got it! More details here.

→ Speaking of Me dept: One of my not-so-public hobbies is writing haiku and senryu. For those who don’t know… haiku in English are not those 5-7-5 syllabic things you learn in school, but short poems (usually not rhyming) with 2 parts that deal with immediate, usually visual, events. There are other parts to the genre. Senryu are more flexible haiku… usually written in 3 lines… often humorous or with multi-meanings. You can order my book on Amazon, best if you don’t live in the US. Or from me directly (US orders only) and I’ll sign it. Cost from me is $10… including postage if shipped to a US address. You can Paypal the 10 bucks to: paypal@seidboard.com

→ Speaking of Me Again dept: I’m feeling much better after my heart attack and hospitalization. And I appreciate all the good wishes. Since then, I’ve done what people call “research” these days. That means putting something in a Google (or CHAT GBT) inquiry box. And I found just the answer I was hoping for. Benefits Of Masturbation For Heart Health: Rather than causing heart problems, masturbation can actually have some benefits for cardiovascular health. You can read the whole thing here. I didn’t make it up.

See you in hell (redux)… later rather than sooner, I hope. Happy 2026.

MB

AFRICAN LINKS:

Albert aka Alberto Melody is the reason I went to Kenya. We met on facebook a couple years ago. He has a blog you should take a look at: Albertomelody.blogspot.com. Tell him Mykel sent ya. Oh yeah… He’s looking for friends his own age. So if you’re a 20-something and interested in Africa… or just meeting new people. Contact him at: albertletowon42@gmail.com

NON-AFRICANS

Jim Testa, a long-time friend, journalist, editor, musician and wordsmith, has an interesting substack about music and more. You can find it here.

Sid Yiddish sent me this link to all his videos. It’s a great place to start, especially if you don’t know him.

I did a nice interview with The Aither zine. Interesting questions, complete, and questions I’ve never been asked before. You can read it here. It’s a good one.

Here’s Ricardo Wang with a “micro-label” in Seattle “specializing in 8-track tapes and CDs. WOW! Check out one of their label staples: The Dead Air Fresheners, best band name of the year.

Also on bandcamp: My very long time faves in NYC, the BLACKOUT SHOPPERS. Featuring pals Seth and possibly the next vice-president of the US

Sid Yiddish has posted a video of a show done for WZRD in Chicago. Great live performances, and if you catch the video around the 20+ minute point you might see a familiar face doing the lyrics to his songs (some unrecorded) as poetry. You’ll find it here.

And this sounds right up Sid’s alley. The Bilderberg Jazz Arkestra on Bandcamp!

Eric Grayson has an online music review zine, Sobriquet. Full pictures of the sleeves too! Something missing from too many zines. Sometimes you CAN judge a… er… book… by its cover.

Steen Thomsen is a Dane I’ve known ever since Lincoln was shot. I put his band THE ZERO POINT on the great WORLD CLASS PUNK Cassette for ROIR. It must be worth a mint now. I don’t have any left, I’m afraid. You can (and should) connect to the Zero Point on facebook. Tell ‘em Mykel’s blog sent you.

Sorry Dorothy, we are STILL in Kansas. And it’s as weird as OZ. Check out Bob Cutler’s DISTOPEKA.

You already know Murder & Mayhem zine… those guys who did the Mykel Board centerfold. (No genitals shown… and probably for the better.) Their online version is here.

The Clean Boys from Denmark are also longtime friends of mine. In Denmark we recorded as The Bend-over Boys. Only one 10-inch available… but at least now I can say I have a 10-incher!

Finally, for this month, Margaret O’Brien asked me to include the site: anti-war.com They seem to be folks after my own heart. I’m glad they didn’t call it “anti-defense.”

Oh yeah, then there’s me. I have a blog of stuff I’ve written mostly from last century. You might enjoy it. Then again, you might not. It’s here.

Let me know if you have a blog… or a print zine… or a YouTube and want to be added to the list. You show me yours… you’ve already seen mine. mykelboard@gmail.com

Voting For The Colonel or Mykel's Blog for November 2025

  

You’re STILL Wrong

or

Mykel's November 2025 Blog/Column

VOTING FOR THE COLONEL

by Mykel Board    

If he only wants you for your breasts, legs, and thighs, send him to KFC.
                                                                – Drake

If your idea of a 7 course meal is a bucket of KFC and a sixpack, you might be a redneck.
                                                            – Jeff Foxworthy

There's no reason to be the richest man in the cemetery. You can't do any business from there.
                                                            – Colonel Sanders

“How could you, a Jew, vote for Mamdani? That’s like a chicken voting for Colonel Sanders.” That quote is from one of my best friends. We don’t agree on everything, but I’ve never met a person who agrees with me 100% on politics... or music... or movies. If I ever do, I’ll have to change my opinion. But her answer here, though, is just genius: funny… and it avoids the Godwin’s law trap.

For those who don’t know. Godwin’s law is something like “in any discussion, one party is sure to mention Hitler or The Nazis and, after that, all intelligent discussion is impossible.” Board’s corollary to Godwin’s law is “when person A calls person B on Godwin’s law, person B will inevitably answer yeah, but Godwin himself said it’s all right to mention Nazis if you’re really talking about Nazis.” Of course, that reply is bullshit because anyone Nazi-calling is sure to claim s/he’s talking about REAL Nazis.

My friend’s KFC remark is brilliant because it make concentration camps funny! It brings humor to tragedy. It floats with laughing irony. And it’ll work most everywhere.

Take farmers… please. Overwhelmingly, the redneck/hillbilly vote went to Donny The Trump… Regular readers know that although I don’t think that guy is 100% evil, I think it would be difficult to slip a pinkie into the stuff he’s done right. One of the worst wrong-doings is the ICE kidnaps/round-ups of folks who don’t pass the show me your papers test. Most don’t even get to reach in their pockets for those papers in the first place.

So what happens? Those farm crops lay rotting on the fields because, in normal times, they’re picked by immigrants. What native-speaking white guy is going to work a twelve hour day… under the sun… back bent for 11 and a half of those hours… for 79 cents and a hat? Those (mostly) illegals keep food in good supply.

Poor rednecks are losing money with food that won’t be harvested… Chickens voting for Colonel Sanders.

NOTE: I saw this report on Instagram… ICE visited a farm in Texas. They went to the owner, explained who they were and said they were going to inspect.

“Inspect away,” said the farm boss. “Just don’t go into that field on the left.”

Of course, that’s where they first headed. It’s where the farmer kept his most ferocious wild bulls.

I doubt the truth of the story. It’s too good. But one can always hope to find humor in real life. It’s Colonel Sanders getting his just desserts.

And speaking of Colonel Sanders… Though born in the US, his background is Dutch and Irish. The latter one of the most persecuted groups in America. Get it? The US is a nation of immigrants. One of a sliver of nice things about Franklin Roosevelt is that when he spoke before the DAUGHTERS OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION, a right-wing group of anti-immigrants. At that time, the evil immigrants were mostly Germans.) Roosevelt began his speech with the words: Fellow Immigrants.

My grandparents… on my mother’s side… were “illegal immigrants… from Russia via Canada... walking to Michigan. My dream is for ICE to grab Melania Trump, stuff her in a burlap bag and ship her back to Slovenia. Even so-called native people (aka American Indians) descended from immigrants… born in Mongolia. They walked over the ice of the Bering Strait … through North America... and settled in their tepees on the way. You think the Apaches had passports? Get it? There are NO Native Americans. We’re all here because some relatives came here first. In the case of most of us, there were No papers. No immigration forms. That mean YOU, my fellow illegals.

Wait! Wait! Wait! Brake! Shift! My first plan was to use Chickens Voting for Colonel Sanders over and over again in different contexts… but I just saw a clip from the NYC mayoral debate that changed my plan. I’ll still vote for Mamdani for mayor. A socialist! Wow! 20 punk points. But I gotta say, clipwise, he disappointed me.

Why? Mandami’s become part of the party role reversal plaguing American politics. The Repubs used to be the party of small government. Now, they’re a dictatorship. The Dems used to be the party of anti-censorship, pro-sexual freedom. Now they’re prudes.

The only way I can see to connect the two parts of this blog is CHICKEN!!! We got Colonel Sanders and gay slang for underage boys. It doesn’t quite fit, but at least it’s something to boost the coherence.

What happened in the mayoral debate tonight was that Mamdani snuck someone into the audience. She was one of the women who accused Andrew Cuomo (one of Mamdani’s two opponents) of “sexual harassment.” The Muslim trotted her out during the debate to show what an evil guy Cuomo is. Did Cuomo stab her with a Bowie knife? Did he cheat her out of a fortune? Did he lie about her integrity to get her fired? No!!! He touched her “inappropriately!” Ewww! Cooties!

Oy vey! In Italy, a voluptuous woman walking down the street will likely be complimented with a pinch on the ass. She’ll turn and smile. But in prudeland USA, too tight a hug is harassment. Sex is bad say the Dems… though they wouldn’t say it out loud.

Dems say that it’s fine to give elementary school kids puberty blocking drugs, but touch them in their pre-puberty places… Oh, how horrible.

I’ve seen a facebook post… clearly from a Dem… that calls a 17-year old girl “a child.” In Arkansas you can get married at 16! In several Mexican states, the age of consent is 12. But, in the good old USA, sex is BAD. And young people are not allowed to participate in BAD THINGS.

Donny the Trump draws a cartoon of a naked woman. Naked!! How horrible! And it’s just an outline… as dirty as the Venus de Milo. But naked people have sex! What the hell does sex have to do with running a country? Why care who was friends with Jeffrey Epstein? What does that have to do with an ICE-pack of kidnappers roaming Canal Street?…. Andy Cuomo touched a breast… oooooo people touch breasts when they have sex... sex is evil. Evil Andy! It almost makes me want to vote for him. But I’m a chicken… And I’ll be voting for The Colonel.

See you in hell
Mykel Board

ENDNOTES: [You can contact me on facebook or by email at mykelboard@gmail.com. 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. Send me an email with SUBSCRIBE TO THE BLOG in the subject line. Back blogs and columns are at https://mykelsblog.blogspot.com]

→ Oh no dept: After this was written, I heard from my politically aware nephew that the Colonel Sanders remark was not original with my friend… but an internet meme. That doesn’t make it any less clever. It just makes the source different. And that same nephew told me the Mamdani’s stunt with the Cuomo-groped girl, was a copy of a stunt that Trump pulled with harasser-in-chief Bill Clinton, but I can’t find any internet reference on that one.

→ Real Sex Scandal #1 Dept: Instead of bogus scandal news where 17-year-olds are called “children,” how ‘bout this one? It’s where a doctor left the operating room to boff a nurse, while the patient lay surgically open on the operating table. I hope it was a quickie. Details here.

→Real Sex Scandal #2...this one from Thailand?: Police in Thailand arrested a woman who screwed a bunch of Buddhist monks and then blackmailed them... forcing them to make “large payments” to cover up the nookie. To me, the humor in this one is that the monks involved were de-monked. The process of revoking a monk-license in Thailand is called disrobing. I guess they had to do that. Details here.

→ A real scandal dept: So Chevrolet has gone full-MAGA and is bragging in its commercials that Americans are the best, the strongest and most important. “Never stop being American,” they say. What’s implied behind the message (with video of fighter jets on a bombing mission leaving red, white and blue chem-trails.) is that some people in American never STARTED being American. The country needs to be purified, they imply. Where have I heard THAT before?

See you in hell (redux)
MB

AFRICAN LINKS:

Albert aka Alberto Melody is the reason I went to Kenya. We met on facebook a couple years ago. He has a blog you should take a look at: Albertomelody.blogspot.com. Tell him Mykel sent ya. Oh yeah… He’s looking for friends his own age. So if you’re a 20-something and interested in Africa… or just meeting new people. Contact him at: albertletowon42@gmail.com

NON-AFRICANS

Sid Yiddish sent me this link to all his videos. It’s a great place to start, especially if you don’t know him.

I did a nice interview with The Aither zine. Interesting questions, complete, and questions I’ve never been asked before. You can read it here. It’s a good one.

Here’s Ricardo Wang with a “micro-label” in Seattle “specializing in 8-track tapes and CDs. WOW! Check out one of their label staples: The Dead Air Fresheners, best band name of the year.

Also on bandcamp: My very long time faves in NYC, the BLACKOUT SHOPPERS. Featuring pals Seth and possibly the next vice-president of the US

Sid Yiddish has posted a video of a show done for WZRD in Chicago. Great live performances, and if you catch the video around the 20+ minute point you might see a familiar face doing the lyrics to his songs (some unrecorded) as poetry. You’ll find it here.

And this sounds right up Sid’s alley. The Bilderberg Jazz Arkestra on Bandcamp!

Eric Grayson has an online music review zine, Sobriquet. Full pictures of the sleeves too! Something missing from too many zines. Sometimes you CAN judge a… er… book… by its cover.

Steen Thomsen is a Dane I’ve known ever since Lincoln was shot. I put his band THE ZERO POINT on the great WORLD CLASS PUNK Cassette for ROIR. It must be worth a mint now. I don’t have any left, I’m afraid. You can (and should) connect to the Zero Point on facebook. Tell ‘em Mykel’s blog sent you.

Sorry Dorothy, we are STILL in Kansas. And it’s as weird as OZ. Check out Bob Cutler’s DISTOPEKA.

You already know Murder & Mayhem zine… those guys who did the Mykel Board centerfold. (No genitals shown… and probably for the better.) Their online version is here.

The Clean Boys from Denmark are also longtime friends of mine. In Denmark we recorded as The Bend-over Boys. Only one 10-inch available… but at least now I can say I have a 10-incher!

Finally, for this month, Margaret O’Brien asked me to include the site: anti-war.com They seem to be folks after my own heart. I’m glad they didn’t call it “anti-defense.”

Oh yeah, then there’s me. I have a blog of stuff I’ve written mostly from last century. You might enjoy it. Then again, you might not. It’s here.

Let me know if you have a blog… or a print zine… or a YouTube and want to be added to the list. You show me yours… you’ve already seen mine. mykelboard@gmail.com

Ya Gotta Have Heart or YOU'RE STILL WRONG, Mykel's Blog for October 2025

 

You’re STILL Wrong

or

Mykel's October 2025 Blog/Column

YOU GOTTA HAVE HEART

by Mykel Board    

[Sorry I’m a bit late this month. I had… er… other obligations. You’ll read about them right here, I hope.]

You have to treat the injured person not like a human being with a wound, but like a human wound.                      – Abe Kobo

We forget that health is a means, not an end   – Thomas Szasz

The hardening of the American heart is far more dangerous than the softening of our borders.   – Marianne Williamson

“Feather… Building… Brown.” [NOTE: I’m making up those three words. I have no idea what they really were.] And how are you feeling? Any pain since the operation? Twinges? Body parts? Can you describe how you feel now?

“I’ll never remember those words,” I think. “No pain now but my brain isn’t working right.”

“Mdfabadf ksafsartfa,” I say.

“What was that? Can you remember the three words?”

“No.” I answer, “Kiptoesink wastupa.”

I can say a few single words: bed, door, nurse. Others can go perfectly through my brain… thought waves… but I can’t spit them out verbally.

“Do you know where you are?” comes the question.

“Hospital,” I answer.

“What’s the name of the hospital?”

“I don’t remember,” I answer. “Koospaf smitzerik.”

“I see,” she says. “We’ll let you sleep now.”

“Yes, I’m in a hospital,” my brain tells me. “I came here from another hospital. I forgot the name of this one… The old one used to be called … be called… be called... Oh yes, St. Vincent’s… but it changed names. Why did they send me away… I… I… I…”

I drift off to semi-sleep. As I fall asleep, I have a vision of a psychedelic machine… a white thing… looking a little like a parking meter… with swirling black lines on a gray screen. Have I seen that some place before? In a museum? In college during an acid trip? POW! Awake again.

“I can’t remember the words,” I tell the nurse. “ but I remember telling you I wouldn’t remember them.”

Okay, let’s back up…. Go to the recent past… a couple weeks ago… mainly a blur. I remember the pain… in my chest. I use my finger to trace the ache. Hey isn’t that exactly where my heart is? Didn’t I just use the sharp fingernail on my right hand to trace on my chest an exact outline of my heart?

Hmmm, maybe I should see a doctor.

Flash to the doctor’s office: In Chinatown… Yellow pages cardiologist… closest one. She’s on the insurance plan. Make that appointment.

Meanwhile the pain goes away… and comes back 2 days later. My visit with the doctor… of course… prescription for testing… more testing… in Chinatown. Pain again… harder longer… I can’t wait for the tests I’ll go to Saint Vincent’s. It was closed for a while, but I hear it’s open again with a different name… a drag name: Northwell. I don’t know. Maybe it changed genders Emergency room. Late… near 10 o’clock.

NOTE: As I type these words I feel a mild chest sting. Left side to the upper right of the heart… I know where that is now. Very light pain… but… but…

Back to St. Vincent’s, a temperature test. A blood test for cholesterol… The doctor comes in to tell me the results. I can’t remember what he says, but I do remember him saying… “we have to test again in four hours to confirm the first results.”

It’s now 11 o’clock. I’m not sticking around until 3AM to confirm a test. A fuckin’ heart attack will confirm the test. When the doctor leaves, I wait a few minutes and check myself out the front door.

I don’t know if they’ve got my name… let alone my insurance company. How much is my 3-hour stay gonna cost me? Does it count if they can’t double check.. give me my 3AM confirmation? Fuck ‘em… the pain isn’t bad anyway. I can walk out the front door and no one will notice.. It’s a 20-minute walk home. 20 minutes well spent, I’d say.

I’m out. On the street... no check out... no nothing. I wonder what they’ll think when someone comes up to the bed at 3AM to administer the confirmation. I chuckle to myself thinking about the look on the nurses’ face when she sees the empty bed.

I get to 6^th Ave. No pain… maybe a little tension… a little pressure… Aaaaah, home!

I peel off my clothes and, fully naked, lie down on my bed and fall asleep. Yes, a naked glorious sleep. No beeps. No buzzes… no coughing neighbor, just sleep. I stay in bed most of the next day… fading in and out of consciousness… like a boxer getting hit in the head… waking up… throwing a punch… getting hit again.

About 5 the next morning, I wake up with a chest pain… but not a chest exactly… just at the bottom of the rib cage… I think that’s where the diaphragm is. You know, that flat muscle that pumps the air in and out of the lungs. It’s a steady pain on the right and on the left… I fall asleep again.

It’s later… I don’t know how much later. The pain has moved… up… up into my chest. A small area right in the center. Easily defined… Using my thumbnail, I trace the edges of the pain. Exactly tracing an outline of my heart. Dit.. dit… dit… a heart-shaped pain right where my heart is. Pressure... then stabbing pain… Exactly there… like an anatomy lesson in medical school... Exactly….

I force myself to stand up. Slip on yesterday’s clothes… take my wallet… leave the apartment… Do I lock the door? I can’t remember. Elevator down to the street. It’s dark outside… I start walking… I can’t do this. I hail a cab…

“Get me to the hospital,” I tell the driver, “St. Vincent’s on 7^th Ave.”

I hope he doesn’t panic. I hope I don’t panic. We make it. I throw all the bills in my wallet at the driver… $10? $5? $50? Who knows? He’s too panicked to complain… Just wants me out of the cab. Could you imagine the paperwork if your fare kicks the bucket while you’re driving?

I check into St. Vincents again. The guy at the desk doesn’t recognize me from two days before. Maybe it’s a different guy… I don’t remember showing him ID or an insurance card. I don’t remember them undressing me or what they did to get me in bed. But there I am again… in a hospital gown… naked underneath.

Beeps and buzzes… then a lift… on a stretcher like a TV news victim. An ambulance ride… No siren just the ride uptown. An ambulance without a siren. Where’s the fun? It’s like a jerk off without an orgasm… Why bother?

I’m now at Lenox Hill hospital. They explain that the former St. Vincent’s doesn’t have overnight stays… so I was transferred here. “Here, have something to eat.”

Nothing tastes good. Fruit is the best among the offerings… I guess it’s the high-fructose fructose. Even the coffee is awful. The only taste is bitter… bitter brown water... It gives me gas. Here I lay… tooting away… unable to crawl out of bed and would it make a difference. Putttt… putttt … puttt… not like the beer fart which precedes a beer shit. (“Poetry is like a good beer shit.” Charles Bukowski).

FLASH AHEAD: I give up. I’ve got to force out some poetry. I’ve been here a day now… Not taken a single step in that time. I can do it. I’m sure I can stumble from here to the bathroom. I only need to pass the bed of my roommate, enter the room and close the door. First, I swing my legs over the side. More difficult than it sounds…. First the right… uh… uh… uhhhh... then the left… hospital gown rising up as I move. No one there to see junior and his jowls… revealing himself under my hospital gown. What must it be like for people who see this stuff day in and day out? I’ve often wondered how come all gynecologists aren’t gay? Doesn’t over exposure take away the joy?

Ah… ah… ahh… I lower myself from the bed to the floor. My naked feet touch down. Using my arms I slowly lower my weight to those toes.. the soles… the heels… Full weight… My body sways slightly and I grab the bed for balance.

Right foot… left foot… right foot… Past the cloth curtain room separator. Past the groaning black guy… around my age… gray beard… hospital robe slit visible up the side like a stripper… He squints his eyes open to look at me and then closes them again. I hope he hasn’t died.

Right… left… right… left… OW!! I stepped on something. Tiny and hard. I walk with the pain following me on the bottom of my foot. When I reach the bathroom, I hold the knob with my left hand and lift my right foot… grabbing it with my right hand… pulling up. There... embedded in the sole… near the big toe… is a tiny black speck. I use the nail of my right index finger to scrape it out… It looks like a mouse turd.

I flick it under my roommate’s bed… enter the bathroom… lift up my robe and sit down. Pffffftttt! (Wasn’t that a Rudolf’s Rache song?) I push. A pain shoots through my head. Fuck! I’ve given myself a stroke in addition to my heart attack. The pain disappears with the next pffffftttt! Then I feel it. You know the feeling… starting about navel height you can feel the clump… clumps… move through the lower intestine… millimeter by millimeter… right to left to right again… then down… gloriously down… PLOP! PLOP! Oh God yes!! Yes!! POETRY!

I tilt my body to the right to look at my accomplishment. Not great… but better than the mouse turd I picked out of the bottom of my foot.

FLASH TO MY RELEASE… I’ve found out they put a stent into my heart. It’s a kind of plastic min-tube that keeps a closed artery open. The hospital has made an appointment with new my cardiologist. A six-foot way plus guy. He’s barely more that third my age with a fashionable (as opposed to Chabadnik) beard, and a slim attractive body. When he speaks, I hear an accent, but I can’t identify it. His name is Dr. Farhan… pronounced “far hahn.”

“I have a few questions I’d like to ask you,” I tell him.

“Ask away” says the Doc.

“First,” I tell him. “It’s almost Yom Kippur. Can I or should I fast for the Jewish holiday?”

“It won’t hurt you,” he says. “But I don’t know how much good it’ll do you.”

“Are you Jewish?” I ask. “Where are you from?”

“I’m from Austria,” comes the answer, “but I’m Muslim.”

“Ah,” I tell him. “I’ve got a friend from Bahrain who complains that he gains weight every Ramadan. He tells me that as soon as the sun sets, the eating starts and doesn’t stop until sunrise the next day.”

Doc shakes his head. “My parents were Muslim so I keep the identity nominally. I don’t like the way my fellow Muslims keep the holiday. You’re supposed to feel the starvation… realize the poverty in the fast… the pain of the poor. But we just focus on watching the sunset so we can stuff our faces.”

“Same with a lot of Jews,” I tell him “Yom Kippur is… at least in part... to feel the pain of hunger so we can understand the poor. But we can’t wait to break that fast. Jews and Muslims are like fighting cousins. It’s so sad.”

“I’m non-practicing,” he says.

“Okay,” I say. “Next question: When I was in the hospital something happened to my memory. First I couldn’t even remember how to speak. Then it got a little better, but I couldn’t remember the names of my family members… then cities or places I’ve been. I failed that test… you know when they give you three words to remember? I couldn’t remember even one of them.”

“Okay,” says Dr. Farhan. “I’ll give you three words. Let’s see if you can remember them: Jew, Muslim, Christian.” [NOTE: Those were the actual words he gave me. I remember them now… weeks later.]

I laugh.

I ask about diet… exercise… “Cardiac Rehabilitation”… I got a prescription for it from the hospital, but the bureaucracy in filling that prescription has prevented me from doing it. I still don’t know how much or what kind of exercises I should be doing.

“What about eating and drinking?” I ask.

I expect he’ll tell me to quit drinking alcohol and subsist on a non-hotdogs and non-chicken wings diet washed down with O’douls non-beer.

“You don’t need to quit the good stuff,” he says. “Just try to cut down. How much do you drink now?”

“I just have a beer with dinner,” I lie. [NOTE: Just after I return home, I see in my spam box one of my weekly newsletters with a sub-title WHY PEOPLE LIE TO THEIR DOCTOR. I don’t read it.]

[NOTE: As I write this, I have actually cut down the drinking to about 8 beers a week. And I haven’t had fried wings, a hot dog, or a Jamaican patty since the operation.]

Dr. Fahrhan writes me a prescription. It’s for a statin replacement… “you shoot it into your belly.” He tells me.

“Like Ozempic,” I say. “I’ve seen the ads for that one.”

He holds up his index finger. “Wait a minute!” He says, “I have a practice kit.”

He leaves the office and returns with a box. He opens the box and takes out a tube similar to the Ozempic one. He passes me the tube I lift up my t-shirt and press it against my belly.

 “No… no…” says the doctor. “You have to remove the little red cap in front. Then look for some liquid to fill the tiny window. Then you should pinch your belly and get a nice chunk of fatty tissue between your thumb and forefinger.”

I grab a hunk of flesh and press it between my fingers. “Like this?” I ask.

“Yeah, but use your left hand,” he says. “You need your right hand to do the injection.”

I switch hands.

He nods.

“Now press the tip against the flesh and push the black button in the back. You’ll see the liquid disappears as it goes into your flesh.”

I do. It does.

I feel nothing as the chemical goes into my body. It doesn’t.

“When you take the actual drug,” he says, “you’ll feel a sting. This is just a practice shot. Nothing goes into your skin.”

“You got it!” He continues. “I’ll send a prescription for the Repatha over to your pharmacy.”

He looks at some papers. “CVS on Mulberry Street, right?”

I nod.

ASIDE: PET PEEVE. Doctors used to write prescriptions. SCRIPT means write. PRE- means before. Get it? It’s what the doctor WRITES BEFORE you get your drugs. You should take a written piece of paper into a pharmacy and get a price for the drugs listed on it. If you didn’t like the price, you brought it to another pharmacy. In 2025 YOU HAVE NO CHOICE! In order to prevent fake prescriptions… say a prescription for heroin or cocaine… There has to be direct contact between the doctor’s office and the drugstore. No shopping around for the best price. You pay what they ask or you don’t get it.

After the doctor, I go home... quickly fall asleep, wake up and go to the drugstore. One of the things I like about it is that it’s open 24 hours… another one is that the people who work there are nice.

The next day, I go to pick up the drug. That CVS is my usual go-to drug store even though they keep half their goods locked behind glass. Maybe they all do these days.

I’m there around 11 in the morning. I walk to the prescription section in the back, punch in my name and birthdate [ASIDE: I guess we’ve all seen and those older have noticed, that birthdays have replaced Social Security numbers as proof of ID. Hey Gen Z… do you even KNOW your social security number?]

The druggist greets me... checks the numbers on the screen… types in some words and then POW! “Yes Mr. Board, that’ll be four hundred and sixty-seven dollars.”

See you in hell
Mykel Board

ENDNOTES: [You can contact me on facebook or by email at mykelboard@gmail.com. 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. Send me an email with SUBSCRIBE TO THE BLOG in the subject line. Back blogs and columns are at https://mykelsblog.blogspot.com]

→ Role Reversal Dept pt. 1: I dislike 90% of what Donny The Trump does and the same percentage (or higher) of who he appoints to office. But my friends don’t think about it. They just hate 100% on principle. It used to be that liberals/lefties hate big corporations and love DIY or “mutual aid.” But when former Democrat RFK Jr. says “mental illness” isn’t like cancer or pneumonia and needs a different type of treatment… oooooh cooties! Look, I’ve got a lot of friends who live on the street. They do not live there because they have mental problems. They have mental problems because they live on the street! The cure for homelessness is not a pill from a psychiatrist’s hand. The cure for homelessness is A HOME… not some stupid psycho drug.

→ Role Reversal Dept pt 2: Historical note: The US did not defend itself from a Korean invasion. The US did not set up a military shield to prevent an attack by the Vietnamese. When some Saudi pilots flew some planes into the World Trade Center how did the US DEFEND itself… by invading IRAQ? The US has, in the last 100+ years NEVER defended itself. It has only attacked. Those of us who protested many of those attacks did not protest a DEFENSE. We were not “anti-defense” we were ANTI-WAR. So when Donny changed the name of the DEFENSE DEPARTMENT to the WAR DEPARTMENT… he was correcting a mistake! He was becoming more truthful. It was absolutely the right move. Though, of course, taking money away from healthcare and giving it to the WAR Department. THAT was a mistake.

AFRICAN LINKS:

Albert aka Alberto Melody is the reason I went to Kenya. We met on facebook a couple years ago. He has a blog you should take a look at: Albertomelody.blogspot.com. Tell him Mykel sent ya. Oh yeah… He’s looking for friends his own age. So if you’re a 20-something and interested in Africa… or just meeting new people. Contact him at: albertletowon42@gmail.com

NON-AFRICANS

Sid Yiddish sent me this link to all his videos. It’s a great place to start, especially if you don’t know him.

I did a nice interview with The Aither zine. Interesting questions, complete, and questions I’ve never been asked before. You can read it here. It’s a good one.

Here’s Ricardo Wang with a “micro-label” in Seattle “specializing in 8-track tapes and CDs. WOW! Check out one of their label staples: The Dead Air Fresheners, best band name of the year.

Also on bandcamp: My very long time faves in NYC, the BLACKOUT SHOPPERS. Featuring pals Seth and possibly the next vice-president of the US

Sid Yiddish has posted a video of a show done for WZRD in Chicago. Great live performances, and if you catch the video around the 20+ minute point you might see a familiar face doing the lyrics to his songs (some unrecorded) as poetry. You’ll find it here.

And this sounds right up Sid’s alley. The Bilderberg Jazz Arkestra on Bandcamp!

Eric Grayson has an online music review zine, Sobriquet. Full pictures of the sleeves too! Something missing from too many zines. Sometimes you CAN judge a… er… book… by its cover.

Steen Thomsen is a Dane I’ve known ever since Lincoln was shot. I put his band THE ZERO POINT on the great WORLD CLASS PUNK Cassette for ROIR. It must be worth a mint now. I don’t have any left, I’m afraid. You can (and should) connect to the Zero Point on facebook. Tell ‘em Mykel’s blog sent you.

Sorry Dorothy, we are STILL in Kansas. And it’s as weird as OZ. Check out Bob Cutler’s DISTOPEKA.

You already know Murder & Mayhem zine… those guys who did the Mykel Board centerfold. (No genitals shown… and probably for the better.) Their online version is here.

The Clean Boys from Denmark are also longtime friends of mine. In Denmark we recorded as The Bend-over Boys. Only one 10-inch available… but at least now I can say I have a 10-incher!

Finally, for this month, Margaret O’Brien asked me to include the site: anti-war.com They seem to be folks after my own heart. I’m glad they didn’t call it “anti-defense.”

Oh yeah, then there’s me. I have a blog of stuff I’ve written mostly from last century. You might enjoy it. Then again, you might not. It’s here.

Let me know if you have a blog… or a print zine… or a YouTube and want to be added to the list. You show me yours… you’ve already seen mine. mykelboard@gmail.com