20/20 Gonzo 69: Tint Of The Season

Oranges make em happy, pops like no other color, they tang.  Apples, crisp and sweet, red and substantial.  There is no either or, they are not exclusive.  The fruits should be mixed, the colors should be blended.  The taste of fall, the tint of the season, the odds and ends.

To be twenty, when the decades were looming.  Twenty more and you're in the soup, simmering, the dinner half done, salad enjoyed, entree on its way.  Appetized and hydrated, ready for the order, the main dish will be delicious.  Only order envy can ruin it now, but don't let it happen.  Get what you like.

The practical woke joke is on us.  It's not funny, there's no humor, it's all been set up to humiliate and embarrass.  A trap, a booby trap!  Step lightly, fully aware, the punkers are on the loose, looking for people to punk, looking for suckers and gullible fools, the unsuspecting and tuned out.  The asleep.


She's No Wallace

Ruined is the word man.

Idiots really stick out.

Chicken shit.

Dark winter.

Never ever ever.

We're not hurting that much.

Rolling around in bed at night.

She's no Wallace.

No where to go.

Who built the cages.

Sitting in squalor.

What about the hoodies.

Laughing at dead birds.

Go to bed, fool.

Success will bring us together.


20/20 Gonzo 68: Especially The Electric

The pangs are undeniable, clear and sharp, through the night.  Ouch.  These willow fools, these fearful babes, these inept minds.  Manipulated, wrapped in virtue, and secured with a ribbon of righteousness.  It will be sad for them.

But sad don't matter, it will be relief, it will be a new kind of despair.  People are dying daily, all will be reminded, as if graveyards never existed or people are oblivious to our one shared fate.  And it is a good fate indeed, for heaven is badass, no pain management required, no hearts to break, no thoughts to haunt, no souls to crush.  But that's for the immortals to sort out and anticipate, the mortals can chill out, kick back, and jam.  Like coyotes.

The feeble should realize their feebleness.  Canes are cheap and stylish, walking sticks are abundant, grab the handles, wear appropriate shoes, prevent.  Thankfully for now, these are only my observations, but I'm gonna be an early cane adopter in 2045 or so, God willing.  A stubborn delayed cane adoption seems risky.  Good thing a bicycle can be ridden way past feebleness, especially the electric. 


20/20 Gonzo 67: A Touch Of Gonzo


Then he went on to call his opponent in the American Presidential Election of 2020, 'Gonzo'.  Yes, stood up there on that Carson City airfield stage, with thousands screaming and waving flags, and said he was 'Gonzo'.  Inferring his brain had been compromised, that he had been a better person before, or higher functioning to be clear.  It was an interesting use of the word, but it fit in a way, everybody has a touch of 'Gonzo' in them, all minds alter.  Can't remember what the president said next, maybe it will come to me later, should start writing my mental notes down.

Attention spans are on the decline, which is mostly good, our attentions have been wasted long enough.  Dwindling is the market for the thousand page novel, the three hour epic movie, the seven minute rock song, the two hour lecture, the 18 hour work day, and long Major League Baseball games.  Many people are not as bored, our life is filled with more things to experience.  Even quick prayers work fine.  Get on with it, those fortunate to live a long life only live around 35 thousand days.

Get your daily 8, your weekly 56, make the sleep hours happen, they are humanity's medicine, with dreams and tosses and turns and snores and rejuvenation.  As with most everything, moderation is essential.  Too much sleep, too many dreams, too many tosses, too many turns, too many snores, and too much rejuvenation is bad for balance.  Work it out, 10 long breaths, really deep and full of oxygen, massive exhales.  If that doesn't work, 2 Tylenol PMs, groggy is slightly better than tired.


Bop, Boom, Bang

God suffered too, and suffers, and will again.  

Everlasting, ever-expanding infinity, otherwise it's all meaningless.

And that's nonsense, there is meaning, there is bop, boom, bang.  


20/20 Gonzo 66: Left Dripping And Clean

Mao shamed, Stalin stirred, Fidel became the hero of too many Cubans, a cult of personality.  Making a play for the airwaves, digital clouds, and social clubs.  These thought controllers, these thought washers, scrub, scrub, always scrubbing, even their robots scrub, like a drive through car wash, left dripping and clean.  1984 was Eddie Van Halen's best work.  Orwell's too.

And all the brain washed voters will throw a disbelieving landslide fit, they'll need a group bath hug, all wet wipes in America will be sold out.  Again.  Tricked clean by the Democommies.  Sad.  Sad what these washed brains are put through, it's not right.  The Democommies need enough cleaned voters to take over, and there just ain't enough cleaned voters in America.  


In two decades you'll see, perhaps only 15 years says the Scrubber Of All America.  The work involved in closing down various industries is projected to lead to solid, well paying demolition and snooping jobs.  Capping the oil wells, tracking the infected and socially non-distanced, replacing residential thermal insulation, non electric car junkyard management, drone patrol pilots, among others.  This Democommie dude went on to talk about 8 year olds and lifeguarding in his early years.  Creepy and odd.



20/20 Gonzo 65: Boycott Abuse

The questions are insane, they are not actually questions if the asker answers them.  The inside of a brain, where internal conversations occur, is a different domain, don't do it out loud.  Eyes are revealing, the darting, the squinting, the lookaways, the glares, the blinks, the tears.  Watch those glimpses, those little glimpses.  Or the empty eyes, those reaching for words, or thoughts, those that are sadly vacant.

Smart people are obvious, the dumb not as much, but even the dumb can fool fools.  The most obvious of the dumb is the vocal dumb who are convinced they are smart, usually through delusion or insecurity, or both.  Eventually, their dumbness emerges due to actual dumbness, the dumb should be quieter, but they won't take advice.  Not that smart, not that dumb, right down the middle here, the gonzo way.  Hooray for the B minus, cheers for the bell curve center, respect to Tony Romo.

Boycotts have consequences.  Disrespect a boycott, pay the price.  Pull the plug after 1 day, be ignored, be rightly mocked, be boycotted for boycott abuse.  Call it a strike, or a fit, or call it grieving, if appropriate.  Boycotts are for customers, not employees.


20/20 Gonzo 64: Like A Crawdaddy

Walked the bike up the last ridge at the Rio Blanco Canyon, the grades don't lie.  That sandy road muffled the tires, that gravel had to be pushed through.  Momentum takes confidence to reach its full potential, it must be used, it should never be wasted.  Damn the stop signs, forget the social engagements, use the inertia to its end.  Keep moving.

Quit plodding, no more mumbling, try not to moan and groan as much.  Save it for the pain, save it for the fight.  Wail and flail, krunk the funk, smatter and flatter, make em laugh.  Slide under the barb wires, watch the christmas cactus, it'll catch you good. Cruise down rock pit road like a diesel truck, run forever.

Come clean with the goods, the deal, the story.  Your face is in double vision, got a fever of 103.  Like some foreigner in this free land, no one understands your ways, no one is down for what you are putting down.  Your eyes are vacant, like a mutant, like a crawdaddy, like a sneaky coyote howling like a coward, waiting for the easy prey, the injured, the dying, the dead.  Covering tracks, high on the hog.


Punk Wood



Gather up some punk wood.

It's the best kind to burn.

All around this neighborhood.

Stacks at every turn.

It's a pocketknife revolution.

Started a long time ago.

Only a minor intrusion.

In the days of Texico.

Cervecerias in the afternoon.

Acoustic relaxations.

Everything seems so in tune.

Away from the demonstrations.

It's that leftover October heat.

The kind you thought was gone.

Grass as dry as the creek.

Been cooking all summer long.

Sweet mesquite sunset breeze.

Umbrellas got enough slop.

Ignoring the pains in our knees.

And drown the stomach knots.

The ice is getting down to the slush.

But the melt is still cold.

We got time, no need to rush.

Napping to the Black Crowes.

Spider Eyes

Cinder blocked fire, gotta a burn ban.

Eucalyptus trip on a starry, milky night.

Spider eyes, let's get back to some stars.

Catch them before they catch the wind.

Twice a year with up to 13 in a litter.

They need to be killed just to be killed.

Antelope roamed all the way to Guthrie.

Blacktail deer tastes better than whitetail.

Whip up some eggs and grilled tortillas.

The coffee percolates over a hot flame.

Onions and peppers, cooked up right.

Wheezy Relish and crisp peppered meat.


20/20 Gonzo 63: A Certain Stink

A viral shock.  The virus don't care about the masked, or the anonymous, or the known, or the unmasked.  You stay away from me, I stay away from you, as the song goes.  Wash your hands as you wash your brain, often and repeatedly.  But it's not actually shocking, not at all, somewhat predictable, somewhat real, somewhat humanizing.  The rally around wagon will stir, it will wake, the woke will be dunked, the slam will be spiked.

Something to defeat, another thing to overcome, undoomed, optimistic.  These are traits, like an inclination, like a bias, like a trend.  The inauthentic graciousness and well wishing is transparent, the giddiness bubbles over, a certain stink can't be contained.  A mist of shit.  They lie when they brag about daily prayers.

A sad, sad thing to see the transformation of the old Denison Tennis Club into a church.  A dang church!  Courts still tucked on the hill, neglected, worn out, unplayable, droopy rotted nets, rusted fences, and broken lights.  This church is a big disappointment, jacked up priorities, wayward and wandering, going nowhere in this earthly wilderness, just wandering.  God gave them a tennis club and they squandered it, wasted it, ruined it.


20/20 Gonzo 62: Whine Pollution


The chaos theory is brilliant, its hypothesis is spastic, its assumptions are scarce, its outcomes are radical.  Order has its place, of course, order being order, but it's not primary and there is no brilliance in it, only of it.  Chaos is of order, chaos is not of chaos.  Perhaps that's why life is more like a cylinder than a circle.  Or, like a spiral.

Denounce anyone who would eulogize a big shot leader of any known racist group, even if the departed was the longest serving U.S. Senator in history at 51 years.  And, anyone who would've been this vile person's friend, knowing the racism, should be denounced.  And those that would put signs in their yards or bumper stickers on their cars celebrating this person's name, knowing of the eulogy delivered, should be denounced.  All these people should never be undenounced, for to undenounce is to never denounce.  Denouncing is for all time, like real boycotting.

Crying and whining is only influential in the short term, especially in regards to the petty.  Anything to get away from it, even inauthentic and tepid agreement, is the initial instinct of most.  However, the mid and long term influence of crying and whining is actually inverted, ironically ensuring the opposite effect.  Crying should be reserved for actual emotional reactions and whining is never appropriate.  Whine pollution must be defeated.


The Vast

This small world.
.....following directions.
Closing in tighter.
.....for the good of humanity.
The mental toll.
.....an incredible test of still.
Months and months.
.....the vast awaits our arrival.

Shut off the escalators.
.....our soft lives of $15 drinks.
Ground all the airplanes.
.....and their unrighteous fees.
Patrol the neighborhoods.
.....on the search for gatherings.
Suit up with your masks.
.....zombies in a movie scene.


20/20 Gonzo 61: The Worst Adult

The underdog is ready for the show.  Don't care about the tax collector blues, the cash finds its way there somehow.  These billionaires these days are highly leveraged, they don't miss out, they pay the tolls, their accountants are worth their weight in gold.  The loops and deductions can't hide, the cash flow is what matters.  More assumptions of idiocy, the art of the belittle.      

Gullible, stupid, and confused, add them all up and go for broke.  Throw in the irritated and irked, the embarrassed and ashamed, the envious and stuck up.  It'll all amount to 2nd place, and to 2nd place goes the crying.  They will scream in people's faces more, they will throw fits more, they will delude themselves more, for delusion is part of the washing process, otherwise the brains could get dirty.  Simple minds must be clean to work right, dimly and dull.

Big 10 football is back!  The moderator has picked sides for sure, seems to be on a power trip, like the worst adult at the picnic.  Two against one isn't really that unfair, the flapping going on is so obvious, what a long list of impediments.  And the smirking continues, use the dead for sick purposes, use the doom.  All the fans are feeling good, like draft night, they all give their team high marks.


Texas Lookouts


...broken bluebonnet pottery.

...someone lived here long ago.

...rusted red bicycle fender.

...bout a mile from the railroad.

...earth covered relics of the 30s.

...when times were the times.

...live on swine meat and geese.

...berries and roots whatever they find. 

...fish the river for carp and cats.

...the o'malley family story.

...wind and its incredible loud.

...to the north, Indian territory.

...on the southern ridge, Texas lookouts.

...channel 12 gets all the scoops.

...chainsawing and splitting stumps.

...plenty of firewood to warm your blues.

...owls watch it all from their perches.

...and the flock waits for ole shotgun.


20/20 Gonzo 60: Nothing Rots In Vain


Most condemn rioting, of course.  And most call B.S. on looting, no doubt.  Targeted assassinations of peace officers is universally rejected by most, without question.  Seems most have come to a level of agreement, something most can peacefully protest together. Screw the few.

This Kay girl must be really rich.  Not sure what 401 means, but evidently she's worth trillions upon trillions.  There's old rumors about her hula hoops or tax loops, something or the other. Details escape me, but there was scandalous infidelity and betrayal involved.  If you see Kay, tell her I need her, if you see Kay, tell her I'll be here.

Mojo can never be taken, ever.  It's only given away or abandoned.  Reluctantly, unwillingly, knowing of the oldness to come, conscious of what it all means, but fine with it, inclined to it, realism of days and time and night.  Let it rot in the road, for nothing rots in vain, Mojo will find another ride.  Take a look around, see which way the wind blows.


20/20 Gonzo 59: Mooch Away


Instead of the word politics, use the word game.  The gamers are lined up and ready, this gaming campaign has gone on long enough.  Insults are flying, reputation trashing has begun, shit talking, comparisons to evil historical figures, planting seeds of fear and doubt.  This gaming scene is tough, need the best gaming advisors possible, need to break out all the gaming tricks.  Gamers will say anything to get picked.


No dying wishes here, lots of appreciation for getting to be a human for awhile. It's all been free, except for the painful tax.  Reliance is the way through, rely on and be relied upon.  On each other, and things, and intelligence, and faith, and peace, and music.  Mooch away.


Thankfully, most don't care all that much about the self-righteous.  Especially the stupid self-righteous.  More sore losing, more crying, more Mao shaming.  Snore.  Boring games, a bunch of boring gamers playing boring games.


20/20 Gonzo 58: The Tune Out

No comment, my Lords.  The glowgods were all gathered, Zapp and Bree were bossing all the other gods around, talking about search engines and algorithms.  The social club protested, Geka and Lars were completely aghast, calling them old fogies and mocking their bossing.  Bont and Tona didn't care, if they coded it, they coded it, Scol and Kish could worry about the transmissions, that was their job.  Mostly, it was petty god bickering, I didn't want to get involved.

The capacity to ignore, like turning the cheek, like avoiding primal instincts, like chilling.  Not immediately, a chance is given, an open mind, an attempt to understand and reason, but wasting time is a no no.  Out of eyes and ears, out of mind.  It will nag, this something being ignored, it will remind, its annoying little ways.  The tune out still has some static, but the volume fades and fades.


Step 1 is deciding what to ignore.  Next, ignore any judgement by others on what is ignored, this is a personal exercise.  Then, ignore any doubting thoughts, step 1 should not be taken lightly, count the costs prior to deciding what to ignore.  As a general rule, ignore the uninspiring, ignore the hopeless, ignore the cynics.  Your attention is too valuable, ignore wisely. 


20/20 Gonzo 57: Without The Cons


Must be some sort of plan, surely the doctors have consulted, coordinated, and determined the best way forward.  Only the family can know, they certainly want it all to get better, for the better, the sooner the better, the drugs don't even kick it anymore.  For now, ignore the obvious seems the play, endure the embarrassment.  Couldn't happen to a sweller guy, shameless as ever, raging mutterer, indignant about the lack of dignity.  All the while, on the take, taking, indistinguishable from the other takers, an uncommon looter.

The sound of snoring, the true anthem of the NFL.  Referees waving yellow flags, yawning spectators, ceremonial attire.  Like professional boxing and Elvis before their falls, bloated and boring, likely compromised, big paydays above all, nothing but a foolish spectacle, owned by Vegas.  Thirty minutes of action packed into three hours, players rarely looking tired, most of them playing less than ten plays.  For excitement, participation, and fun, the actual version pales in comparison to Madden 2020.  Get all the pros, without the cons.

Alert the crew, I'm out in the burning forest, the Governor is doing a commercial, it's hotter he says, it's wetter he says, it's somebody's fault he cries.  The implication, supposedly, is that it's better to be colder and dryer.  Not so sure about that, but a dry frozen cold is undeniably colder than a wet unfrozen cold.  He's acting like a meteorologist, he's pointing, he's asking questions and answering them himself, he's coughing awkwardly, like it's forced, odd, odd, odd.  Smoke or virus or neither, I wondered.


Crisp Up Those Buns


Entirely entranced.  The Chestnut Square Farmer's Market was going on all around.  Too many people, not enough space.  

Melons, onions, tomatoes, okra.  It was all for sale.  Booths and tents and concessions.  

Suddenly, a case of the pandemic panics hit.  Went south for a few Tupps brews.  Clear our heads, regroup.  

Mexican Lager, the Oktoberfest.  Barley burger was delicious.  The way they crisp up those buns.  

Hustled all the way back.  Flying on the downhills.  Like cars.


20/20 Gonzo 56: Downer Beat Down

No one really needs a full time downer around.  Those bummer bums with long, meandering explanations of some personal woe-is-us, some horrible probable outcome, some reason why hope is lost.  Any reason, things just suck and suck, many days they have their worst day ever.  All must know of the down.

Forget the good news, they say, it's not good.  But we know it is good, good news is good news, and good news deniers are downers by definition, clearly.  They seem the definition of downer.  Be an upper, a lifter upper, a proper upper, a shut upper if need be.  Down with the full time downer beat down.

All the gates.  Water gates, Russian gates, sucker gates, Bill Gates.  It's all confusing by design, manipulation of useful idiots, washing, always washing.  Glad those ISIS fuckers aren't cutting heads off Americans on YouTube anymore.  That's good news.


20/20 Gonzo 55: Ski Goggles


A weekend mob.  Mom, gonna need a $20, and pack a few Capri-Suns in my backpack, dad said it was fine to borrow his ski goggles.  Relax, Monday's Labor Day, I'll catch up on my rest, sleep late.  No worries on TP, we usually do # 1 on parked cars, and we all do our #2 business in the same spot so the shit hurlers can use it, we got tons of TP.  Its all really organized, oh, gonna need eggs, keep them in the carton for now.  Yes I took my chewable vitamin, yes I packed my blanky, yes I got a lighter, yes I'll cover my face.

Rules are rules, I guess, but discretion is discretion, and the better the discretion, the better off, almost always.  Reckless discretion, and worse--no discretion, is doomed to failure eventually, and nothing is more reckless and feckless than blaming rules when bad decisions are made.  Weak and destructive, cowardly and lame, the opposite of leadership.  Every speeder doesn't get a ticket, every broken city ordinance doesn't get a fine, every illegally parked car doesn't get towed.  Selective application is fine in the money game, it happens, sort of a capitalistic realism, a reasonable waiver, maybe a stern warning could work, a point, a game, or something like a cussing tax, or a frustration tax, but not a default.

Agnostic words like 'y'all', or the magnified 'all y'all'.  A slight head nod and a 'what's up' or 'hey you'.  Keep the male female and female male thoughts, curiosities, and further ramifications to yourselves, there is no reason to know more.  The male males and female females have it easy, that's the truth of it, the honest truth.  Use positive nouns and pronouns, verbs and adverbs, use the adjective and prepositions to describe the wonderfulness of it all, sparsely, with good timing, and common discretion.


20/20 Gonzo 54: Some Something Something

The dumb are back.  Those that say they heard, or heard of someone that heard, or knew, those that know what they're told to know, those that think it's all obvious. They've got the quotes, heard they've got the tapes, in pixels, and sound waves.  Off the cuff, paraphrases, assumptions, and innuendos.  Sources of the traiting kind.

Nose deep in money slop, and kickbacks are down.  The honorable this or that, the esteemed servants, the upholders of freedom, our supposed finest, at senior levels.  Got to have that house on the hill, got to pay some bills, got to get some something something.  That twist and shout, do it like this.  The bribery market has crashed!

The blinking yellow lights demanding 20 MPH maximum speed, local police suburban pulled up on the grassy center median watching out for the safety of the elementary aged road crossers, directing the action, making it all go smooth.  Fond memories, fantastic flashbacks, and DejaVu jolted me all at once.  It had been awhile, this former scene, this former delay, this former normal.  Caution, blink, caution, blink, caution, blink.  Slow down everybody, the future is walking by.   


20/20 Gonzo 53: Echo Style


Think of those last days of the poor Branch Davidians, when the cult members bought every last word, to every last drop.  Sad, really fucking sad.  Signed up for peace and love and harmonies, a real wholesome group, supportive and everlasting.  Ignore the creepiness, justify the sickos, embrace the weirdness.  Isolated, manipulated, idiodic.

Everybody nod.  Yes, yes.  I sing this, you sing that, echo style.  Form a line, fist up, why did the chicken cross the road, to get to the other side.  All together now, one, two, three!

Anyway, Novak Djokovic is the greatest male tennis player of all time.  It's true.  We all have our favorites for various reasons from McEnroe to Federer to Yannick to Ashe to Sampras to Boris to Edberg to Pancho to Cash to Nadal to Connors to Vilas to Vitas to Agassi to Wawrinka to Laver to Tennys to Stevie The Grit to Monfils to Nick to Roscoe Tanner.  And others, even Lendl had some fans.  But nobody, I mean nobody, is better at tennis than The Joker.


Lush It Up

Frontal depression from the west.

To cool this late August early morning.

Say that again.

Flashes, like bulbs from Hollowood.

Thunder drowned out with tunes.

Feel it come through.

Radar reveals an assurance of red rain.

Prosper is getting it good.

Tuck the patio tight.

High ceilings worth the view.

Silly little man.

That dude from the Faces.

Who wished he wouldn't have quit.

Regrets are the worst.

The first drop.

Out from the dangerous open sky.

Flying coffee.

Dogs in their inside digs.

And water fell and fell.

Gravity again.

Drenching everything around.

Spooked toads hopping crazily.

Out of control.

Plenty of action with dice chunkers and soldiers.

They don't mind getting wet.

Plants plan to feed the planet.

Lush it up.


20/20 Gonzo 52: That Love Spray

Nothing to see here, this boycott is over, a pitiful boycott if you ask me, but I'm a serious boycotter, a boycotter for life when I boycott, a deep grudger, an active consumer enemy of the boycotted.  Consider sucky National Tire And Battery, Inc., a ridiculous excuse for a company.  Forget the details, but they did me wrong in 1994.  Beyond boycotting, I'm directly involved with influencing Discount Tire Company patronage to friends, family, and strangers.  NTB has a crook culture, wrapped in a sneering disdain for the customer, flavored with a general dumbness covering every square foot of every one of their sorry rodent infested smelly establishments.

And here it comes, here it comes, here comes your 19th nervous breakdown.  Visions of a massive middle class middle finger, held up high and mighty, woken from leisurely slumber, lurking.  Priorities lost, metaphorically, time to flap it out and flip it off, the middle folks have arrived.  Voices are harmonizing low, the back beat won't quit, the lead's sharp tones dance all around the bass line.  Listen for the rumble, listen for it, this band of many colors, zing.

Go local, these national types reek.  Bribery skunks all around, the lobbies, foyers, and rotundas are full of them.  Lawns in all directions.  Pepe LaPue wants to buy your vote, so sure you are down for the date, those suave moves, those close quarters, that razzle dazzled charm, that love spray.  Nevermind the stink, you'll get used to the smell, skunks are your friends, just keep your distance.


20/20 Gonzo 51: Peace Out

Conventional wisdom indicates the reduction of skill and ethics in the journalism profession is obvious.  However, some take exception to the notion of that notion, pointing out the skill and ethics of the profession had long been pathetic.  Either way, we are changing all that, reporting from the middle, observing the far reaches of the story, understanding what is, so to speak.  Wondering of thoughts and motives, mostly curious about the present and future, history is already known.

An upset is imminent, a boycott won't matter.  The old diversions will disappear one by one,  disappear as they were.  Ain't even seen extremely upset yet, reality like a mud puddle to a washed car, when self-control is lost and fairness is demanded.  Not a general fairness, but an edge to make up for previous unfairness, tangible or not, like a super fairness was earned somehow.  Whining to the refs, ranting in the post game pressers, sulking in the hot tubs.  Disbelieving.

Tops will pop.  Streets will fill.  Signs will proclaim.  Same song and dance, no peace, no peace.  Seems the peace out is close, wasting time has no future.


The B Side Of Tattoo You


Either extremely late or extraordinarily early.

          It's the same time.

Place before about to be and after just was.

          There it flew.

Intentional actions and occurrences of fate.

          Now that's real.

Defending the B side of Tattoo You.

          Take you to the Tops.



Since you asked,

Don't be too irritated by irritations.


20/20 Gonzo 50: Several Elegant Evenings


Grateful the Democratic Party was busted by Eisenhower in the 50s and Civil Rights legislation became the law of the land.  Those Democrats were stubborn in their convictions, unsurprisingly ignorant, and without soul.  Similar to the Democrats a century prior, fighting Lincoln and the Republicans to break the Union and create their Confederate nirvana.  What the modern day Democrats see in Communism, I do not know, but it continues a pattern of taking indefensible and dumb positions.  Although the modern Democrats have lost most intellectual credibility, it's hard to believe they had any left to lose.  

In 1878, Senator Aaron A. Sargent. (R-CA) initiated a proposal that eventually gave American women of age the right to vote.  However, it took over 40 years to overcome the Democrat's feisty opposition when they gave up their filibuster and the 19th Amendment, the Susan B. Anthony Amendment, was finally ratified in 1920.  Then a decade of roaring, followed by a decade of depressing, followed by Rosie The Riveter literally building our World War II war machine.  A war machine that helped eliminate the most barbaric evil of the day, saving all of Europe and Asia from certain doom.  But unfortunately, doom descended anyways, as it will, called communism, it's really about cash money, seizure of wealth, cash money, greed, and cash money.

The classless of all classless has gathered together for several elegant evenings of pre-taped telethon segments.  Wandering around in empty buildings, pointing at nothing, insulting our country, it's leaders, most of it's people, and our intelligence.  We see your slather, we know things, we can detect your smell through the screens, despite the editing, that same sour, dour, cynical froth common among the classless, tasteless, and humorless.  Go ahead, pile on, cancel Thanksgiving for sure, Christmas is for fools, give us three extra paid Labor Days instead, screw Eisenhower, Suzi B was overrated.  At least Jerry Lewis made us laugh and money was raised to fight a specific health hazard, his telethons were so much better.


20/20 Gonzo 49: Splatting A Fly

Certainly don't want to court any postal animosity, no confusion regarding envelopes, direct marketing, and graduation announcements to my home address, only respectful admiration to the postpeoples of America, the sorters, the front desk, the drivers, the slotters, the dotters, the entire operation.  Awed by the story of The Pony Express, riding those mustangs from Missouri to California, stables 10 miles apart, toting one revolver, a water pouch, and a mochila containing the sacred communications, usually arriving on the west coast within 7-10 days.  But they closed up operations after telegraph technology progressed, couldn't make money, the business model collapsed, and Buffalo Bill, Johnny Fry, and the Cliff Brothers were out of work, but not for long, they went on to find more lucrative careers anyway.  Like the Pony Express of 160 years ago, we can do without the U.S. Postal Service now, we have FedX, we have UPS, we have Amazon, we have eBills, we have social media, we have drones, and all the rest.

The shamed voter will vote for sure.  They will crawl through a pit of snakes, they will wade through sewer muck, they will dash through a grapefruit size hail storm to vote.  And shaming is at record levels, the go-to tactic for social justice and public health, for sins of fathers and mothers of centuries ago, for skin color, for subconscious thoughts, for economic success.  It's really contrary to what most were taught growing up, do unto others.  But shaming is ineffective against the unashamed, mostly it's ignored, like a fly is ignored, mild irritation and waving away, but eventually the fly swatter starts splatting, there's little guilt involved in splatting a fly.

It's on now, well into the final 3 month countdown to the U.S. presidential election.  One side is stirring the soup of racial and class discontent, counting on a shamed and guilt ridden population, systemically shaming, projecting superficial systemic outrage at systemic unfairness, a system they are from, a system they developed and maintained, a system they shook down, a system that shook them down.  Yes, we know, the system sucks.  The other side looks unworried, like they know something, and you know they do, a calm confidence, like they got the goods, like they got the votes, like they've won the argument, like the check is in the mail, tucked inside an overpriced Hallmark greeting card, post-dated for early November, when the system eventually, and shamelessly, yields our President.  Even the checkmarked votes from the U.S. Mail will be systemically counted, within 7-10 days.



20/20 Gonzo 48: Mass Moping

Somewhat dumb, and absolutely bold, to blame all viral deaths on one person.  Only the American ones, I guess.  Is the President liable for all the viral deaths in the world too?  It must be a sick life to hope the viral death numbers go up, and likely few are actually hoping for more viral death, but some of these political sleazes seem capable, are capable, and are hoping for more viral death.  It's merely a hunch, a gut feeling, like indigestion almost, like termite rot.    

Evidently, we are all fighting for the soul of our nation, and the soul is worthy of the fight.  Different than the body and the mind, it's mysterious and supernatural.  The soul is an essence, eternal, the 7th sense.  Soul has moves, it slides and glides, soul is swayed by the moon, soul is mood, and the mood of the country is vengeance.  In reality, our soul will fight for itself, and win easily.  The soul train will not be stopped.

Encouragement is lost, manipulation games. Mostly ignored by the sane, but not this sane journalist, not this 20/20 Gonzoer, I see clearly.  A dank, dank picture emerges, a humorless mix of obedience, reliance, and mass moping.  Live by the gaslight, die by the sunlight.  Laugh in, laugh out, lighten up, loosen up, jump up, get on the soul train, where nobody mopes.


20/20 Gonzo 47: Surly Old Shih-Zhu

Checked in with the Warlord, but he skipped town and is working roof replacements in the various hurricane zones of America.  Evidently, makes all his money in 6 months.  Brilliant, leaves plenty of time for Warlording and art projects during the calm season.  Left no number, no location, no nothing, just following hurricane damage, everybody's got to work.  He had mentioned his love of seafood, especially shrimp and lobster, hope he's having a good meal somewhere, roofing is tough work.

Brando the dog has lost his hearing, most of his eyesight, much of his balance, but none of his spirit.  Come on, man, keep it up, don't turn into a surly old Shih-Zhu.  Don't snap when surprised, don't try doing things you used to do, enjoy your naps, drink water, keep scratching, be smart.  15 years is a long time for a dog, he's done alot, his dogness is proven.  Rest easy, Brando, rest easy.

The West platform is interesting.  Objective form, subjective concepts held within, framed by Word.  In context and clear, aspirational.  Creative art of the Kanye kind, protecting the creation of humanity itself.  Among other things, his vow to avoid non interest advancing 'foreign quagmires' in the 4th way to Create A Culture Of Life seemed especially on point.  



Aroma Of August

Tops of the trees were burning white.  Sun light glittered and speckled through the leaves, leaving a canopy of perfect natural lighting.  It was clear, the air had the aroma of August, roasted slow, simmering, cooking in its own juices.  Then the wind whirled, everything became dizzy, everything became chaotic, flashes and awful noises.  This was followed by an indefinable moment of a pure peaceful, easy feeling.  Looked up, but could not see.  Listened for sounds, but nothing was heard.  Took a step, but the step didn't find dirt.  Even the aroma of August was gone, only the bitter taste of thirst was left.  Like dreaming, but fully awake.  Like really alive, but only in the mind.  Tools of the skeleton, hands, fingers, feet, legs, all pointless and useless.  Even a shrug was impossible.  Contentment.  This feeling of nothing went away quick, the weirdest thing.  In reality, nothing couldn't go away.  There is nowhere for nothing to go.  It was there all along, and is there always.  


Anxiety Lost


An empty feeling, like nothing.
Complete order and assurances.
Anxiety lost.

If Budda got a deluxe Swedish massage.
If Budda drank a gallon of green tea.
If Budda stared at a candle flame for an hour.
If Budda went on a 3 mile nature walk.
If Budda took several long deliberate breaths.
If Budda nodded off in a hammock.

Even knowledge wouldn't matter.
Mind readers would be irrelevant.
Motives would be pure.

Nothing is fake in dreams, it's all being dreamed.


20/20 Gonzo 46: The Bubble Method

Surely he will be declared unfit by his own before the fall.  It is only humane, his remaining dignity is at stake.  He worked hard as a public servant for years, he sacrificed opportunity and fortune, he comforted many, the shoulder squeezes, the exhaled deep whispers, let him enjoy the fruits of his labor in his declining years.  The modern American presidency requires a capable warrior, ready for the arrows and punches, ready to punch back, ready to pull the blade of self defense.  Instincts, faculties, active brain cells of memory, discernment, self-control, literal balance, temperament, appearance, it is all being closely evaluated by the passively interested observers.

It's come down to a matter of weeks.  When to open the economy, when we get back to normal, essentially, school openings are a proxy.  The shutdown, lockdown, show up for the protest show will continue on into the winter, imagine the bonfires when it gets cold, putting them out would be considered freezing people to death, imagine the flames after a reelection. All the fire station staff wants to do it extinguish fires and rescue people, animals, and property.

Professional baseball seems the same, boring mixed with artificial fan noise.  The baseball nerds still get their statistics, the gamblers still get their outcomes, all the goods without the hassle and expense of going out to the good ole ballgame.  The Men's Professional Basketball Bubble could easily pop, but it will be full of entertainment, platform leveraging, platform creating, causes supported, causes denounced, and maybe some defensive light, Globetrotter's style, prime time, free wheelin' play, dunks and 35 footers.  The Women's Professional Basketball Bubble (The Wubble!) are bubbled in a separate bubble.  The gamblers still get their outcomes, the players get their paychecks, and the public gets to be educated on philosophy, sociology, free market economics, justice, injustice, historical truths, historical untruths, flag respect, flag disrespect, effective viral protocols, ineffective viral protocols, and professional basketball player bubble fashion.  It could work for Professional Tennis, but both genders should be under the same bubble, it would be much more interesting, more economical, and likely more sustainable, especially for the long term.


20/20 Gonzo 45: Uncontroversial Pill Harmony

The Faces did it.  Rod Stewart and Ronnie Wood got in, got up, got out, got off, then wrecked the place.  If we knew what we know now when we were younger, ooh la la, ooh la la.  Nothing condoned, nothing glorified, rejected and denounced, in fact.  However, the Stones had to be saved, and Rod The Bod went disco, they did not stay.

The Democommie Party has gone prime time, but Americans hate communism.  Cause it sucks, and it renders those under its horrible method of governance broke, depressed, malnourished, and without hope.  It's nothing more than a greedy, dirty, bloody looting strategy.  Stalin and Mao were loaded, Putin's got mounds and mounds of Red Rubles.  The Fidel fools, Cuba's manipulated idiots.

I dig Bayer, you dig Tylenol, he digs Advil, she digs Excedrin. And, we all live together in uncontroversial pill harmony.  I don't think any of em work good, most of our pain still hurts, and if it doesn't, it soon will.  Either way, to pill or not to pill, swallow what you want.  The hook, the line, and the sinker.


20/20 Gonzo 44: Freak Out And Scatter

The aftermath of the landslide will be full of shocks and fits and depressions.  Like the last landslide.  Self-righteous snickering mixed with deluded minds, shaming tactics, and disrespect.  Lots to snore about for now, but the day after election day is under 100 days away.  The rats will freak out and scatter, rodents are fairly predictable.

The intelligence of the overall American population has been insulted.  Eyes, ears, even smells, senses don't lie to people with sense.  Most see, hear, and smell bullshit when they see, hear, and smell bullshit.  The current mental note scene seems very active, people generally hate being taken for fools.  They will land, they will slide, they will vote.

Curious about economics and the reality of the big Cincinnati Tennis Tournament, weirdly scheduled to be played in a NYC 'bubble' next month, set to pay the winner $280k instead of the $1.2 million paid out last year.  Sign of things to come perhaps, professional sports is in for a reckoning.  The naming of stadiums won't command the same price, TV revenue will decline, no expensive warm beer, no parking revenues, no ticket sales, no swag dollars.  Demand will determine the supply, balance sheets will be balanced, Laissez Faire is in our collective economic genetic code.  For now, we rest up, for now we snore.


In Menawa's Day

What this place needs is a good, solid tropical depression.  Clear out the ice cream places, stand apart, keep your minds about you. 

Quit freaking out.  Lay back, chill, eat fish slowly, casually.  

Buy your own booze, and keep it down after 11.  So much wind here, gale force, knock you down wind.  

Orange groves froze hard for good in '25, after a quarter century of prosperous juice business.  Took another quarter century to get a paved road, electricity, and telephone service.  

Not til after WWII.

The Creeks were robbed by McIntosh, also known as Hutkee.  A greedy bastard who signed fake treaties for land and cash, who kidnapped, who sold people, who was bribed, who bribed, who was a particularly pitiful human.  

Who brought misery on his peaceful nation.  Who eventually died at 50 while escaping from his burning plantation home.  

Outside, waited a few hundred Red Stick Law Menders delivering his sentence for unauthorized treaty activities.  Each took an arrow shot.  

Tough way to go, but everyone makes choices.  Everyone contributes to their own demise.

Justice in Menawa's day.


20/20 Gonzo 43: The Rooks Rock

The under reaction caused the overreaction again.  Reaction to the action, the oldest law in the book of natural ways, the way we greet the day, the way we say goodnight.  But not in Portland, where the overreaction caused the under reaction.  Only another overreaction could eventually lead to another under reaction, which would be the end of it, if an end is desired, which is doubtful.  They broke the huddle with the play, strapped up their helmets and adjusted their face masks, they're trying to win the game.  But they won't.

The electoral season is upon us now.  The checkers players are looking wild eyed and mumble words about nothing, deep down they know they are merely checkers players, reacting like checkers players, overreacting like checkers players, under reacting like checkers players, shit talk and bluster.  A humorless shroud of inauthenticity, cynicism, and fear cover them.  The chess players are thinking ahead, using knowledge from the past, leveraging the many maneuvers and capabilities available, anticipating the opponent's reaction to any action employed.  They act concerned and worried, but in reality, they are not, they know chess players will always beat checkers players, the knights ride, the bishops bless, the rooks rock, and the pawns shop.

Seems about a 100 Years Ago, don't you think sometimes it wise not to grow up.  Ain't got no time to waste, maybe it's time to hide away.  The air smells sweet and strange, must be the Goats Head Soup (73).  Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo Heartbreaker, and Angie, and Coming Down Again, and Silver Train, and Star Star.  That Scarlet track would have fit nice, they must have been cognitively impaired at the time not to include it.


Ruby Afternoons

Not as spectacular as Texico.
With the ruby afternoons.
Kindness and considerations.
Clean the nerves.
Percussions and riffs.

Ocean does its thing always.
Seeking land and humankind.
With magic and sound waves.
And food and speed.
Soft, pastel skies.

Stretch out on the white sea sands.
Tune out the talking.
It's mere talk anyway.
Mainly filler and fodder.
Meaningless words.


That Hat From Mexico


Feather passed by in the Emerald River.
Some poor bird must have drown.
Maybe not, maybe it was a drifter.
Passing through like a circus clown.

Years ago it must have been real nice.
Without all the ads and screens.
Stare into the ocean til late at night.
Nobody selling you anything.


Hey ya wanna buy this, Ms.
Wanna have some fun, son.
Well look no further, sir.
You can buy it from me.  How bout a...
Margarita swirl, girl.
A Malibu Rum, hun.
Cold beer in a can, man.
You can buy it from me.

Toy soldiers invaded in the dark.
One was left behind.
Probably just missed the mark.
Possibly missed the time.

Picking up garbage in a trash bag.
The cost of all our gold.
Gotta be real fly, gotta be so swag.
That hat from Mexico.


Voodoo Fix


Got hypnotized at the beach.
Trying to find some heat relief.
All the umbrellas were packed away.
Drinking an ice cold lemonade.

Sea birds criss and cross the surf.
The fish in the ocean feel them lurk.
They'll glide and dive til they get it right.
Gonna chirp and burp at dinner tonight.

Where's that noise coming from?
Can't be the trumpet, must be the drums.
Separate from all the other tracks.
Couldn't believe it, my ears went crack.

Make your point, make it real quick.
Think I need some sort of voodoo fix.
A friendly smile, a friendly face.
Look at what I found on the beach today.


Got minimized at the beach.
Said jump in the water.

Got tranquilized at the beach.
Said jump, jump, jump in the water.

Finally realized at the beach.
Said jump in the water.

Then I closed my eyes at the beach.
Said jump, jump, jump in the water.

20/20 Gonzo 42: Properly Ignored

It was the 2nd of a double wave.  Over the original sand barrier and into a temporary beach pool.  There was no crash, where the momentum and gravity destroy a wave and it settles into a rushing bed of white bubbles and sand, it was more a slow approaching ripple that kissed the land and reflected back slowly.  There are no still moments in life, it depends on movement, life is sustained by movement.  The heart, the blood, the oxygen intake, the breathing out, ticks and twitches, microbiology, clustering cells, spastic atoms, and twisting deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA), everything collides with everything, it's all absolutely connected, all of it was created, and all of it was allowed to create.

The worry is litter.  This current viral outbreak has devastated the good citizen trash pick-up scene.  Ick ick ick.  It's our reaction to hysteria of course, but the number of chronic litterers, the lazy scum, has likely stayed the same or perhaps even grown due to increases in take out food, trash can leeriness, and general anxiety, we know the maddening cigarette butt thumpers are still out there, smoking maniacally, hopefully they aren't driving as much and are using ash trays more.  Reversely, the number of people willing to dispose of other people's trash, without being paid, has dwindled for certain.

No use pouting about it though, contorted faces, scowls, sneers, baby fits.  It does nothing--unless it works.  Like toddlers, let them cry it out, pout it out, scream it out, til they fall asleep in the baby crib.  Eventually, most parents learn not to be too attentive, the earlier those babies learn they can't always get what they want, the better, and oh the gratitude when they do get what they want in life.  I'm lucky, being the 3rd of 3 boys, my parents properly ignored me from the start, my fits hardly ever worked.



Shook and torn.
Relieved in a way.
Time for rest, time for slow.
Done with the running.
Running is an odd form of misery.


20/20 Gonzo 41: Freedom Of Mute

The muting is rampant, and thankfully freedom of mute is a constitutionally protected act.  The ability to mute or unmute shall never be denied.  Silence and noise was created by God, by God!  Muzzling is another matter, not allowing a perspective, muted or not.  Like the thoughts in your own head, mostly quiet, mostly unsaid, but reasoned by your own brain.

And speaking of brains, the brainwashing is running rampant too.  In general terms, many people seem to be brainwashing themselves.  Muting this, blocking that, sort of the lazy way to think.  Usually, this way of washing your brain leads to distortion of all types, and eventually to disappointment, disillusionment, and despair.  Try the IQ form of brain soap, maybe some reality shampoo, let the conditioner sit in for awhile, get it healthy, more cleaning, less washing.

Which reminds me of Washington and the forthcoming name change of their sorry NFL football team.  Even Dave Campo, the worst head coach in Cowboys history, winning only 31% of his games in his too long 3 year tenure, was 5-1 against them.  Should probably stick with inanimate objects, animals, or super generic.  In fact, the Cowboys could come under name scrutiny some day, the Patriots, 49ers, Texans, Saints, even the Buccaneers had some very unsavory pirates among them.  Maybe the Washington Lunatics, or Scammers, or Muzzlers, or Brainwashers, or how about just The Washington Reds.


The Mean Truth

The mean truth.
It's truth too.

The realities of reality
Actual situations as they actually transpire.

Speculation assassins.
Mocked and bloodthirsty.

Tabloiders and exploiters.
Dishers with scoopers and scummers.

The uninsultable shall overcome.
Words will never hurt me.

Gather up the sticks for a blaze.
Those stones'll make a fine fire pit.

Hey you with the blue shoes.
And touch of silver on the wings.

Speak your mind.
Even if it's the mean truth.


20/20 Gonzo 40: Squirmy Dopes

Don't care about math, the numbers mean nothing anymore, what adds, divides, multiplies, and subtracts.  Just meaningless envy and greed, perfectly dressed in grievance and injustice.  Look around you, literally around you, most people are peaceful.  And, if there is not peace, it can be found easily.  If, of course, peace is desired, and peace without justice is tough because injustice is all over and has been all over and will be all over, forever.  Life ain't fair the old saying goes.

Likely I missed a request or email to sign the now famous cancel cancel culture open letter, but I'm not much of a signer anyway, seems odd to me, like you're gonna pay something down the road, with interest.  Signatures always make me think of money, one feeds the other.  Autographs are different, it's a true honor to give one, those that charge for autographs are dopes, squirmy dopes.  Capitalism at its worse.

Sure don't want to he cancelled, dang.  Like, that sounds awful, like terminal, like fatal, like horrible.  To be cancelled, to be put out, to be erased, eradicated to the city dump, to be tarred and feathered, to be blocked, to be muted, to be exiled, to be punked.  Personal pacifism seems the way, finding peace, searching for it, demanding it, so much justice in that.  Signed, jpg.


20/20 Gonzo 39: Big Fancy Band

Never one to join things, associations, causes, political parties, clubs, teams, bands, or gangs.  At least not for free.  Usually, it doesn't work out all that great.  Prefer creating loose affiliations with clear purpose, processed and ordered, with some aspects of perpetual evaluation and constant adjustments, productive and eternal.  Once something is joined, reality and reason are secondary afterthoughts, the organization and it's objectives become primary.

For example, let's say the Rolling Stones wanted me to join their band.  A prolific songwriter, solid rhythm guitar player, and Townes freak, it could be outstanding.  A western texan vibe, Keith riffing, Ronnie sliding, the Watts beat, and I'd be cool with Mick doing the harmonica parts on my tunes.  He's really good.  But no, I'd probably be like current bassist Darryl Jones, stuck playing the same ole tunes and probably getting less pay for the opportunity to be an employee of their big fancy band.

And for what, some sort of subservient credibility or status, an instant following, a beneficiary of another's vision, another's destiny, another's everything.  Sure, I'd do if for enough jack, if they paid me enough.  Think we could make something out of these dirt bike songs I've been writing lately and I believe Mick and Ronnie are both tennis players, or once were.  It could work, but we'd have to ditch some of the old tunes and feelings could be hurt, fist fights could break out, the limits of my personal pacifism could be tested, legacies altered, generational gaps, British rockstar egos.  Thankfully, this Rolling Stones hypothetical is just a hypothetical to illustrate a point, just be thoughtful and selective about joining things is all.


Armani Has Arrived

Wife insisted on the Porsche.
With a huge sunroof.
Practice argument regarding courts.

It's never a bad time to have a baby.
All was smooth.
And they should do what they want to do.

Adria Tour was an incredible event.
28 days of brutal isolation.
Novak was just dancing on the disco floor.

The disgusting media and crowds.
Bone pickers and shit eaters.
Journalists have the right to be biased.

Master of languages.
Talk of cancelling the U.S. Open.
Lack of entertainment.

Without towels.
The future of wristbands is bright.
In Serbia they play serious tennis.

Opening facilities everywhere.
From Berlin, to China, to Tel Aviv.
Monetization is not easy.

Well run homemade organization.
Born to do it.
All of life is connected.

The reason is money.
Ashe Stadium is a closed environment.
Double standards are standard.

When he was #1.
Toughest time of his life.
Living like a pro athlete at 14.

Smashed and tired by the end of the day.
The psychological aspect.
Didn't understand professionalism.

Dirk, the mysterious 2nd father figure.
Cigarettes and joy.
Reality check from a foreigner.

Terrible consistency.
Reaction to the action adjustments.
The Davis Cup still matters.

Team effort led by the unbeatable.
Learn from the young.
Can't do nothing from the bench.

Armani has arrived.
From Belgrade to Miami.
Janko is the man.

Aggravation is the key to change.
Ineffective leadership is ineffective.
The players are just dumb enough.


20/20 Gonzo 38: Sift Through The Garbage

Even the Maoist rejected the Struggle Session after 1978.  The scripted, intentional, and humiliating public shaming used to destroy people's lives, supposedly the oppressors, supposedly the powerful, supposedly for some intellectual and cultural utopia.  This was way before all the Wal-Mart contracts, millions of manufacturing camps, the one daughter limit, and British Petroleum.  Commies always working some angle, always stirring up the easily stirred.  Lingering class resentments, common envy, and revengeful justice, Stalin's useful tricks.

Hard to notice an actual journalist these days, they've mostly taken sides, usually the side of the boss, the paycheck signers. Imagine the modern newsroom, a collection of zoom heads, seeking ways to push the news, provoke some news, make some news, manipulate some news, make a name, gather followers.  The news is news to them, industry vanity virus.  The actual journalist will write what they learn, they will learn by curiosity, the best will ask the best questions.  Of others and internally, that ever-present 'Hmmm, but...?', that refined logic of space and timeline, that series of events, those possible probable realities.

There's no shame in clarity.  The patient can take the medicine, the citizen can take the actual story, the good citizen will sift through the garbage anyway, there is always some truth, dumpster diving can yield some dinner before it hits the landfill.  The things folks will trash!  Throw it all away, out of sight, out of mind, discard liberally, waste.  Because no waste is really wasted in the end, bugs have to eat too.


20/20 Gonzo 37: No Idols Yet

A proxy for lowly humans long gone, stick it to them anyway, for sins of mission and omission.  Just marble, granite, or metal now, a place for birds to sit, to shit.  A chance for some to learn something, but statues are not the whole story, they memorialize, they represent, they ignite, they glorify, they indicate, but they do not capture the universal history of anything. All were commissioned at one point, all were unveiled, ribbon cuttings and afternoon refreshments, news conferences perhaps, the sculptor politely answering questions, knowing the toil, the imperfections, the features, the anxiety of unlikeness.  The finished art is usually better than the subject, for all people have darkness.

Monuments seem different, more for the masses, more about ideas or efforts, initiatives and victories.  Less idolatry, more commemoration.  Statues of people are tenuous, somewhat endorsing and/or excusing lifelong behavior, certifying lifelong actions, forever sainting someone in a way, despite scandal, lameness, greed, or any other social distortion.  Perhaps generic faces are best, nameless muses, professional models, the artist's imagination.  Like the massive Statue of Liberty, Bartholdi and Effiel's creation, a gift from the French, depicting Libertas, the Roman goddess of Liberty,  unshackled and walking forward, raised flame, cradling a dovetail handled tablet with the date July 4, 1776 chiseled in Roman Numerals: JULY IV MDCCLXXVI.

In general, and eventually, the dumb will lose to the wise, the frantic will lose to the calm, the cowards will lose to the brave.  In life, in sports, in love, in business, in politics.  On all seven continents, both hemispheres, along the Tropic of Cancer and the Tropic of Capricorn, even in space, even on the moon.  Mars will be no different, but there will be no statues or monuments for the losers to blame.  It's not a place for injustice, not a place for chaos, there are no idols yet.


No Joke Dirt Biking

     Tree hugging and drenched in early summer evening rains. The norther hit the hot, wet air up from the Gulf of Mexico and a frontal war broke loose in the atmosphere above Erwin Park.  Bolts, loud thunder, cracks, booms, and bams!  Eventually, even a massive oak tree's massive natural canopy was not enough shelter from the torrent.  We made a dash for the automobiles, despite my predictions of a quickly passing storm and pleas for endurance.  Even mocking the rain as mere water at one point.  I didn't know, I was only hoping.  JD and TTop ignored my hope, thankfully.  They were their own leaders, peer pressure was irrelevant.  It was every man for himself.

     After we gathered up our belongings, racked the bikes, and performed a litter walk through Erwin Park Campsite #1, we reconvened and ate incredible burgers in JD's SUV.  Grilled and buttered corn, all the fixings included.  Tupperware and ziplock bags saved dinner again.  The cook's timing was impressively perfect.  We were fine, just fine.  The food was dry and fine, just fine.  Car eating like we did as boys in the 70s, before we became fathers in our 50s.  Hydrated and full.  Thankful to be dads, and thankful for our dads and their dads.  Wherever they were at that moment.  Happily exhausted after the grueling 9 mile loop through the woods, creek beds, and prairies that surrounded us.  It's no joke dirt biking at Erwin.  It's like a fight where the two fighters are friends in the end.  The trail and the biker.  Buds.  A few observations and encouragements...

A.  If the roots get too jankee, walk the bike through.  Pride is dumb.

B.  Tires don't grab the dirt like they grab concrete.  Careful with sharp turns, watch the slip.

C.  Helmets provide needed protection from abundant overhead tree limbs.

D.  Sidewalks are less safe than roads usually, especially in the suburbs.

E.  As a general rule, follow the By-Pass signs.

F.  Bias towards the higher gear.

G.  Learn to let riders pass skillfully, learn to pass skillfully.

H.  Coast.


20/20 Gonzo 36: Purple Punch

Reminds me of the time my youngest daughter turned 7, hosted a backyard costume party (Her birthday is October 25th).  A Halloween tune-up, the entire soccer team, schoolmates, neighbors, family members.  Lots of Princesses, some female superheroes, a few Star Wars characters, robots, couple of hippies, a box of macaroni and cheese, and one red devil.  I dressed as a butler, or a roadie, I don't remember.  Tension and anticipation ran high, lots of attention was being paid to the birthday girl, she was being showered with praise.

She was about to take the microphone.  Had set up my PA and created a stage on the backyard deck.  Jam out, get the iPods hooked up.  Sing girls, sing!  It was gonna be great, she had been practicing, some Jonas Brothers, some Hanna Montana, some Emma Lou Harris.

But the big ole gal jumped up and grabbed the microphone, and she wasn't giving it up once the actual show started, the one the birthday girl was supposed to kick off.  In fact, when my sweet, sweet little baby girl got on the stage and went for it, that big ole gal, her soccer teammate, the worst player on the team by far, whacked her on the forehead with the microphone causing a wafflelike mark on her that took two weeks to disappear.  Shocked, and in pain, she ripped it from her, hit the tunes, wailed her set like a rockstar, dropped the mic, slammed a full glass of purple punch, blew out all her candles without flinching, thanked every guest with a goodie bag, and banked on presents.  She never cried, she never shed a tear, she didn't even care.


Old Hoboes From Farmersville


Forward motion is our potion.
And raw emotion is our notion.
We can see past the road.
Looks dark, looks wild, needs to be mowed.

Four way stop, damn it's hot.
Legs are shot, it's all we got.
Birds they chirp, snakes they hiss.
Sound tired, sound mad, hungry and pissed.



8 mile crossing on the Chapparal Trail.
Just past Merit we rode like hell.
Found our stride, gave it our best.
Headed back for an afternoon rest.

Let's go, let's roll, kick it in gear.
Just follow Joe, he's iced some beers.
Chase him down, keep the pace.
Feel strong, King Kong, your biking face.

Be on caution for heat exhaustion.
8 mile crossing on the way to New Boston.
Railroad tracks used to go through here.
Old echoes, old hoboes from Farmersville.

(Chorus x2)

20/20 Gonzo 35: Hypnotized And Sad

The warlord came by this morning.  Said his right side was his best side, be tight with the video.  Being a mere gonzo scriber, I nodded knowingly, knowing the wrath of left side warlord video was not among my concerns.  Press credentials are not easy to come by, the less said the better, like a mute almost.  He was covered in spray paint.

Guess the police can work from home too, just leave when an urgent call comes in, take care of business, the dirty business, the tragic business, the dangerous business, the business no one else will do.  Let the drones do the boring patrols, let others mess with the traffic.  The station, the headquarters, the precinct, a future relic really, like stores, moviehouses, restaurants, corporate buildings.  It's all art now and the warlord showed me his graffiti work-- it was a bit pretentious, and vulgar, and lacked the needed layered quality and shadowing evident in the best work.  "Cool," I told him as he beamed with pride.

At lunch, got into it with a food truck scammer.  Intrigued by the 3 for 2 taco special, was surprised when he handed me one taco after good cash money was paid for three.  Assuming some unintentional oversight, politely, and with good nature, I pointed out his mistake.  He just stared at me blankly, without expression or indication of understanding, like he was hypnotized and sad.  Furious, but held back by my personal pacifism, I called him 'buster', insulted his taco, and assured him the warlord would hear of his shameful business practices.


Good Burger

She just wanted a good burger.
That's all.
World's been closing in.
Issues, quandaries, paradoxes, the like.
Thinking about picking sides.
This or that, they say.
Quick, decide.
What about the other thing, she wonders.
And the other, and the other, and the other.
Maybe more like a league with 12 sides.
Teams, perhaps.
The debates would be incredible.
Streaming across Netflix, episode style.
More diversity, deeper thoughts.
Her mind was racing, details.
Questions of team size, sponsorships.
Format outlines, hosting possibilities.
It was all too much.
Now, in this time of all her time.
In this moment of all her moments.
What she really wanted was a good burger.



Already decided what kind of person to be, long ago while hiking the side of a mountain.  If nothing else, if alone or not, a levity of humor, the satirical opposite of cynicism.  Giving or taking, turn to the irony, the absurd, the unimagined.  It's not funny, either, and can be tragic, depressing, and defeated.  The give-ups are easy, towels thrown, live out the afternoons in complaint, the nights in regret, and the mornings in worry.

Health is at stake.

Give it to the pine trees, they are literally calling for it, the wind makes them talk.  Nature is connected in ways we are not.  Her citizens work together without question, ever evolving, ever surviving, ever thriving.  We are not of it, the shrug she makes as we quake, drown, and burn.


20/20 Gonzo 34: Bring It To Ruin

Looked at me like I was speaking some other language, I repeated what I told him, using the same english language, hoping he would understand this time, "Protests around here are usually at Erwin Park.  North End," I said, slower than the first time.  He had asked me where the march was happening, his two friends stayed in the car.  Figured everyone knew where to go, but they were out of towners.  Gave him some quick directions and wished them a successful protest, everybody loves Erwin Park, especially when they visit for the first time.  Unique by nature I thought as they drove away, that place is like our own Central Park, never, never, never shall a housing development, or some other enterprise, bring it to ruin.

Madness, in all it forms, will take you down.  It is best to avoid by occupying time with productive, benevolent, and/or entertaining activities surrounded by plenty of sleep.  Keeps you from going crazy, keeps you from going mean.  The airing of grievances has never been easier, let it out out, but don't let it pop.  Needs to have the right bounce to work right, not too flat, not too full.

The seething of the majority, sickened by the screens, losing faith in many, faith displaced from the start.  All have done unrighteous things, all have had unrighteous thoughts, all are guilty of something.  Humans are humans, it is a common trait.  The self righteous are ignorant, they know not what they do, they hide behind things, they hide things, they justify things, they demand things.  It's easy to spot because we all recognize it in ourselves, and the mirror don't lie, but it sure can can make us mad.


20/20 Gonzo 33: Yucky Medicine

The street cred of the day, nothing else to do anyway.  Music shows, sporting events, restaurants, daily activities--not alot going on.  The boredom is intense, months and months of lockdown, a place to go, a movement to join, a huge vent, people.  Shame as a weapon, guilt as a tool, the sit down and shut up treatment.  No taste for it, like salty in a bad way, like bitter with a shot of burnt char, like yucky medicine.

Payroll day will tell the story.  Fewer paychecks, fewer direct deposits, fewer bonuses.  The boss keeps it, actually makes money on the interest, the cash doesn't disappear.  Poor get poorer, rich get richer, true since money was invented.  The after math doesn't look good.

King size mattresses, cheesecakes, headphones, shoes upon shoes, iPhones, bicycles, stuffed animals, watches, prescriptions, a Tesla.  OK, now what?  The stores will most likely not be restocked.  Can only speculate, of course.  I don't know.


Cherry Wood

Dodging turtles, taking out some brush.
Ain't no future in rust.
Turbines are legit.

General store pies, buttermilk and coconut.
Harps, for ice and assorted provisions.
Bacon, eggs, O'Brien potatoes.

Clear the cabin, windows down.
Taste the souls.
Remotely, in an air tight compartment.

The narrow trail goes right up the rocks.
Jeeping through a national forest.
River crossings and other obstructions.
Effective machinery will not be denied.

Cherry wood delivered right on time.
Night fire burned hot and glowed.
On that London to Paris international line.
Karate Kid turned down Back To The Future.

Hammock needs replacing.
Screens would be a fine addition.
And a back deck to see the sunrise.
Could drop a light over the kitchen table.


20/20 Gonzo 32: Sweep The Ashes

The liars say the liars are the liars.  Could be, but eventually they'll all be washed up and lit up and cleaned up with truth.  Like looters on the loose, grabbing lamps and scoring smart TVs.  The good protesters can only watch as the buildings burn.  Just wanted to protest, just wanted to matter.

Think of the insurance money, Target is making out.  They should invest heavily into delivery methods and systems now, hardly anyone wants to go to a store anymore, anyway.  Don't rebuild a store.  Just sweep the ashes, make it a big, massive parking lot.  Fill it with a fleet of armoured delivery trucks and redeploy the workforce.

With gas being so cheap, the economics make sense.  Soon, even medical professionals will make house calls, as they're physical presence is needed. Procedures will done at home, the hospital room will become similar to the dining room or the laundry room, every house will have one.  Ambulances will be transformed into Mobile Care Units (MCUs), many types of medical activities could be performed in this method.  XRays, check ups, minor skeletal and muscular issues, initial diagnoses, blood work, lab work, pain management, eyes, ears, nasal, skin rashes, coughs, deep coughs, consultations, plans for recovery, foot care, even cosmetic surgeries.


Parts Of Stars


Lost my mind on the radio line, trying to make my heart sing.
Hit the mood with some Bitches Brew, Miles blowing through my brain.
Then I dreamed of some scenery, was flying over the Amazon.
Jungle trees and murdering bees, was right at the break of dawn.

Had to think after a drink, think the water went to my head.
Six forty five looked in my eyes, said you got to get out of bed.
Something 'bout the sun coming out, helps with the status quo.
World still turns, stomachs churn, no shelter from the cold.


All we are is parts of stars.
All we are is parts of stars.
All we are is parts of stars.
All we are is parts of stars.


20/20 Gonzo 31: The Mold Class

Was thinking of the future while driving around my town, shopping for any retail store that could sell me a webcam for my occupational laptop.  Suppose I could've went to the Amazon, but felt like a good ole store visit would do me good, lift my spirits, restore my faith in economic prospects, sweet nostalgia.  Besides, anxious to get a feel for the post pandemic capitalistic  culture -- the processes, the safeguards, the consumer experience.  After going a stubborn 0-5 at the typical suburban box spots, I'm declaring shopping as we knew it a total and complete bust.  Barely evaded a parking lot wreck, avoided by many masked employees, saw very few smiles, many glares, inconsistent audible communication, struck out on the webcam purchase, and eventually, after 2 hours, hit up the Amazon.

But that's fine.  Before this black swan arrived, we were consumer zombies, wasting time, paying markups, suckers with credit.  Similar to breaking the fandom hypnosis, many will emerge from our unified viral absence with rewired rituals, thoughtful reconsiderations.  At this moment, for example, I can't think of any reason I would ever walk into a mall again.  Soon, the rats will finally take them over for good.

Let all the politicians worry about it, the corporate bean counters, the commercial real estate agents, the deans, the owners of professional sports teams.  We have more important things needing attention, a brave new world, unmasked and alive, spotlighted, unashamed, helping others with simple gestures and small tokens.  Compare that to the boredom of gossip, what the sources say off the record, a secondary truth to dress up the primary lie.  Decorated in ass covering memos, intentional leaks, and smug denials.  The mold class.


Talk Like People

Never more clear.  -Pristine.
Seldom more quiet.  -Hollow.
Rarely easier.  -Leisurely.
Always older.  -Never younger.
The moment passes.  -Like that!
Like many other moments.  -Gone.
Not the ones to come.  -However.
They await.  -Future moments.
To experience.  -To make so.
Decisions plus fate.  -Life math.
Exponential love.  -In all forms.
Squared and cubed.  -Slice of pie.
Grounded for now.  -Bones and brains.
Write with spirit.  -Accentuated.
Say what is written.  -Read it out.
Talk like people.  -Explain enough.
Provoke thought.  -Inspire tangents.
All between is fine.  -Summarize.
Inconclusive.  -Unable to know.