i DIED LAST NIGHT! or You're STILL Wrong, Mykel's February 2025 Blog/Column

 

I DIED LAST NIGHT!, or You're STILL Wrong, Mykel's February 2025 Blog/Column

 

You’re STILL Wrong
Mykel's

January 2025 Blog/Column

BANG! YOU'RE DEAD!

I didn't realize it, but the days came along one after another, and then two years were gone, and everything was gone, and I was gone.
                                            -- F. Scott Fitzgerald

What I can’t understand is the selfishness! Those of you who want to die and take your whole lives doing it.
                                            --Edward Albee

The world may be strange to a child, but he does not fear it the way a man fears it. He marvels at it, but the grown man mainly dreads it. And why? Because of death.                     
                                            --Saul Bellow

But he found the men of the world all engrossed in the quest for profit or fame, there was not one who had any care for the end in store for him. 
                                                -- Wu Cheng’ en

I died last night at exactly 12:04 AM. It was a peaceful death… well not peaceful, but not unpleasant. I know the time because I was laying down… my WZRD shotglass empty on the low table next to the bed… just drained of a pour of Jim Beam.

Now it’s time to do that thing that most guys do to help getting to sleep. My laptop on my stomach… my browser tuned to xvideos… Ah, here’s a good one: Two Boys and a Girl: First Time For All. I click on it. Oh yeah, if they’re 18, I’m a twink.

My fist around my protrusion, I stare at the screen. It’s just the way I like it. Girl on her back on the bed. Blond boy lying on top, inserted balls deep. On his back is the brunette guy, inserted balls deep into the blond guy.

My eyes dance over the screen. I especially like to focus on the faces. You know that Andy Warhol movie Blow Job? That’s the kind of entertainment I… My eyes dart to that little clock in the corner of the screen. It’s 12:03 AM.,, right time to fall asleep. But there’s something wrong… or at least different. I have a headache… really bad.

I think about my hand. I can’t feel anything. Yeah, I’m not a large guy… but NOTHING? There’s an emptiness between my legs… Actually, I can’t feel anything at all. Not the organ in my fist... not the computer on my belly… not the bed underneath me.

I look back at the screen and there’s nothing there… not a blank screen, but nothing at all. I remember I had a headache, but now there’s nothing. It suddenly occurs to me that I must be dead. A stroke, I guess.

All the stories I’ve read, told by dying people saved just before they’re completely gone… They talk about rising up… going through a tunnel with a bright light at the end… flying toward the light. There is none of that for me.

No tunnel. No floating. No flying. I do move, but it’s more like teleportation… Beam Me Up, Scotty… than flying. Suddenly, I’m in a white room. Standing naked on a white tile floor. Clouds of something white form and dissolve around me. Gradually the forms solidify, like when the transporter puts Captain Kirk back together… molecule by molecule. As they take shape, I can see all my heroes –at least the dead ones– form as complete figures… not naked… in the room around me. There’s Celine, mustached… arching eyebrows… just standing, arms limply at his side. Bella Abzug… yes, wearing a hat… the bellicose one now silently standing with her arms folded over her chest. Stiv Bators, with his thin weasel-like face squished into one of his typical Stiv Bators stage antics. Oh look, over there… smirking in the corner, a cigarette burning in his developing hand… Yes, it’s William Burroughs!

I turn around and around, watching new people appear… each seems oblivious to the others in the room… and to the naked me watching it all from someplace near the middle. Thurman Munson and Phil Rizzuto… right next to each other, seemingly unaware. Barry Goldwater and Jimmy Carter… this time at opposite sides of the room. Marcel Duchamp and Frida Kahlo and more heroes than I knew I had.

I wonder if I can talk to these people. All of them are dead. The only one I’ve ever spoken to in real life is Stiv Bators and we didn’t say all that much to each other. Gradually, I lose my uneasiness at being nude. I walk up to Celine, deciding the best way to start a conversation is with a compliment. I’m going to tell him that he was the greatest writer who ever lived… or died.

I walk up to him, not feeling the floor against my bare feet. I’m behind him now. I reach out to tap him on the shoulder. But he’s not there. None of them are there. The room… the whiteness… the clouds… the people… nothing. I’m still naked, but now I’m outside… in what looks like a forest… or at least a very large public park or some other wilderness. I look down and under my bare feet are leaves… nothing but leaves.

Otto Kentrol once told me he could tell the name of a tree just by looking at it. An oak, a birch, an elm… anything. The shape of the tree... the leaves... the way the branches hang. KERCHOW! He could tell you what kind of tree it was… an awe-inspiring skill.

Me? In Hicksville, we had a weeping willow in the backyard. I think I’d know one if I saw it again. I probably could tell a giant redwood if a car drove through a tunnel in the trunk. But that’s about it. Here, I know nothing. It’s a like a painting… filled with greens and browns and a burst of red here and there. The sky is blue… skyblue like the skies they get in Texas sometimes. And trees… lots of trees. I can’t tell one from the other.

I wonder if I can time travel as well as travel from one place to another. After all there are fewer than 10 billion people alive on earth. But there must be zillions of dead people here in heaven. Living people go through a cycle: birth, life, death. The same for everyone, although to varying degrees.

Time exists as a marker between birth and death. You get older. Some people die. Other people are born. Time is how you keep track. But if there is no birth or life… only an eternal death, then there is no time. Moving to the past or present is meaningless.

I’m distracted from these thoughts by the cold wet splash of semen on my naked feet. It’s my own semen, of course, still leaking from my continued harditude. Strange that it is the only thing I’m able to feel.

I’m off again… not flying, just transporting… new place. Another woods-like area but here is a little clearing with a tree in the middle. Despite my usual inability to distinguish trees, I understand that this is an apple tree. The apples growing from the branches are the best clue.

I have no feeling of hunger, but I can imagine the taste of an apple and have half an urge to experience it. I reach for the red fruit.

There is a rustling next to me. And I see a young woman… also naked… the first other naked person I’ve seen since my death.

And she’s a WOW! Short dark hair… in a dykish crew cut, breasts risen, tight, two handfuls. A face that could be in a K-Pop boy band.

I feel a stirring between my legs. Something that I haven’t felt for a year. Even alive… after my prostate radiation… I never got the sense… but here it is… heavenly.

She looks my way.

Wow!

It’s impossible to imagine. When I was alive, I was a believer. Too many things go wrong for there not to be a God. Not to mention, she kills everyone who ever lives. And just think of how miserable life is for so many people… you and me. You think that’s an accident? Only a God… an evil God could be responsible for that horror.

But, until now, I didn’t believe in heaven or hell. I thought once you kicked the bucket, it was all over. Like a dreamless sleep you never wake up from.

The naked young woman reaches to my dripping organ and fondles it. It throbs. Has the dripping stopped? I’m not sure. She kneels in front of me then takes me into her mouth.

“Whatever the case,” I tell her. “I sure didn’t expect heaven to be like this.”

“Heaven?” she laughs, speaking around my fullness. “Heaven? That’s where you think you are?” She laughs again.

Then she bites down… hard. This time I feel it.

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 in the subject line. Back blogs and columns are at https://mykelsblog.blogspot.com]

→ Explanation Dept: As this is February, you might have guessed this was not my annual APRIL FOOLS’ column. It was an experiment… a trial at a new way of writing… a new form… something new… like a Beatles Album. Maybe I should dedicate it to the spirit of David Lynch. He must be ghosting around the cosmos now.
    Comments are welcome. It’s a first attempt at an alternate reality (I think that’s what they call it) non-political blogpost. I’m trying to combine a few genres here. Let me know if it’s a hit or a miss… or a near hit or near miss. Thanks.

→Kenya: By the time you read this I’ll probably be in Kenya. It’ll be my first trip to East Africa. I start in Nairobi, which my Lonely Planet Guide tells me is known as Nairobbery by the locals. Whatever happens, it’ll be an adventure. I might even die there. Contact me if you have any Kenyan connections, the more the merrier. By the way, there may be no March blog this year. I’ll be too busy going native.

→Speaking of Kenya dept: MSN reports that a giant metal ring fell from the sky onto earth in a small Kenyan village. The space ring weighs over a ton. Its origins are unknown.. and just listed as “somewhere in outer space.” Here’s a picture of it:

TIME TO READ THIS AGAIN!!

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.

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. I add you. You add me.

Here's a start:

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.

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

And a terrific performance piece from Sid Yiddish and his Candy Store Henchmen, with some special guest stars you might recognize. All for WZRD radio.

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

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.

And for a quiet smile and a much needed break for you and the dog, try G.C. Adams’ YouTube entry.

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!

Margaret O’Brien asked me to include the site: anti-war.com They seem to be folks after my own heart.

Jennifer Blowdryer has just come out with a great book called Music A-Z. Anybody who’s ever played in a band will be able to relate to the drug-addled club rip-off people here. You can order it here… directly from the publisher.

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. god@mykelboard.com