Bolts With Volts

Long ago you did what you wanted to do.
Ignorence, like a bliss kiss.

The self-absorbed and totally self-absorbed.
If it feels good man, if you giggle sis.

But you can't always get what you want.
Sir Mick strutted and proclaimed wisely.

You can't always get what you need neither.
Despite how you try, maybe not ever.

Maybe not even sometimes, is the truth.
What needs to be done can't be done again.

Certainly nothing you can do, not now.
What is expected seems the measure.

The measure that doesn't disappoint.
Where the mellow find peace.

As bad as it gets, as good it might be.
The clouds are full of life, never a bore.

Overhead and circling like silent drones.
Whizzing by with water and shade.

Electricity and crashing booms.
Light shows featuring bolts with volts.


Until The Cool Sets In

Respectfully, of course.
With a certain bit of tender loving care.
Nothing, just nothing.
All the wishes already all came true.
The aspirations of our souls satisfied.
The body is another matter.
It's bones and brains.
The heartbeat that keeps the pace.
Muscles that fight and fight.

Eyes, they dim.
Ears, they muffle.
Lips, they curl.

And it is all fine, just fine.
Because calm is the way.
Until the cool sets in.
As a collection of hypnotists stand by.
With sounds and words.
Made from nothing.
Then, something exists.
Forever in the data cloud.
For no reason.


Got Rid Of The Olds

Send me the news.
Got rid of the olds.
Walking that cliff.
Without no hope.

Take this letter.
Read what I wrote.
Just some songs.
And some other notes.

Said what I said.
Cleared my brain.
Got rid of any doubt.
Any guilt or shame.

Mind's moving on.
Never one to blame.
My own damn fault.
I feel this way.



Brown, Green, Or Blue


See it through, into the irrelevancy slide.
Cast away, adrift and happy.
Just lost in time.

Calm the waters, clean the soul with words.
Nothing expected or sought, left to it.
Not causing a stir.

The tree's deep roots, planted long ago.
Blood is too thick, but water gets through.
More than you know.

We are safe here, in this beautiful home.
Meals are prepared, the glow is aglow.
Never alone.

Bought the farm last week, went all in.
Faith is the seed of trust, it will bloom.
Ragweeds be damned.

Poison in the plants, they give and take.
But the body is strong, it will fight to live.
To die is gain.

The watchtower crumbled, after the boom.
Alive is the world, the future is bright.
There is no doom.

Take the light road, walk by sun and moon.
Look into the reality of eyes, they don't lie.
Brown, green, or blue.


Psyhco Thunder

We encounter it as a vision.
A leisurely paradise.
White sands and suntans.
Fresh seafood and frozen drinks.
Redneck music.
A place of no trouble.

Til the trouble brews.

With high pressures.
And moisture.
Kicked up by the hot Atlantic nights.
Near the tropic line.
Through the colorful islands.

To our Florida.

Whizzing wind, psyhco thunder.
Twisters and floods, lightening bolts.
The race is on.

Out of there.

The slow get left behind.
Darwin wasn't wrong about everything.
The fittest will survive.
In a general sense.
Some fit will not, some slow will.

Absolutes are rarely true.

Either way, the elements rule the world.
The water, the earth, the air.
Designed to sustain and last.
Gravity, atmosphere, and light.

Set on a circular pattern.

Within a galaxy.
Speeding through unending space.
On our way to places unknown.
Only faith, or delusion, keeps us sane.
A conscious, and rational, obliviousness.

Storms came and went.
And will come and go.
People will be people.
The helpers will help.
The pointers will point.


The Gimme Fives

Check the schedule and leave the rest.
Make a move to the life door.
Tucked in the middle areas of our facility.
You will see for yourself.
The hours have ticked and tocked.
And minutes continue continuously.

The half pasts.
The quarters.
The gimme fives.
The justa ones.

60 seconds is all you need.

To describe how you feel.
To tell of the day.
To bleed your heart.
To rest.

The larger reasons for happenings.
Connected in ways undetectable.
Unable to see the good and bad done.
Left to speculate and worry.
But worry is the fuel for anxiety.
And anxious ain't no way to live.


Catbird Seat

The charcoal black cat was in the catbird seat, young rabbit hanging out of its mouth, teeth securing breakfast for the emerald-eyed feline.  The squeak of the brakes must have rattled the hunter and the young hopper hopped away, the yawning Atticus too put out to chase it again.  Everything gets lazy in the suburbs.  Nice and lazy.  Til the panic, til the gasoline runs out, til the hogging starts.  So look out for number one, so NaaNeeNaaNeeBooBoo, so uptight.

Meanwhile, in Houston, the floods are receeding and reality is left.  Nobody is being lazy.  Shout.  Texico!  Texico!  And we remember the chorus of the national anthem...

We stand as Texicans,
Together all along,
Without measure,
Our love for our God.

The Cajun Navy arrived immediately, McGovern's American Red Cross, Zeke's Salvation Army, Mexico, and all the Texans. Okies and Arkies will soon arrive. And it will continue til the city is restored.  Dig those Bayous deeper, build levee walls instead of border walls, God will prevail.  And has.

The faces continue to look down, glancing to the side, watching the destruction of the devil, sure of what's to come, already there.  An unusually dark cloud among blues skies covered the sun, but only for a moment as another battle was won.  The light wins again.  Floating is easy until everything floats away, even the catbird seat.


Make It Pink

All you need to do is look.
The obvious is obviously obvious.
Listen to the testimonial crowd.
They will tell you the deal.
And deal you nothing.
Truth being the way it is.
Others wanting less for you.
Wanting to witness your misery.
So trivial, so human.
Block the sun with the shade.
Mix the marinara and alfredo.
Make it pink.
Colors were made to be blended.


Between Blue And Violet

The essential pop was there.

     Eyes of my girls were wide despite the travel weariness.  Things to see everywhere, clean and friendly. Very Nautical.  Entirely interesting and unique.  Ropes for walls, floating rings on hooks.  Art.  Puppy dogs too.  All explored, the indoor pool, the construction of the pool bar, the outdoor pool being created.  A year early, but the price was right.  The high ceilings and wood floor of the suite formed space and created echoes.  Spotless.
     The bartender gal, an American Cuban New Yorker Dallas Cowboys and Cincinnati Reds fan, made a fine Cuba Libre for my honey.  The local brew was good enough to order two.  Naked Pig Pale Ale from Back Forty in Alabama.  The meatloaf from the kitchen looked incredible, served with tempura asparegus spears.  Two gentlemen at the bar, who were part of the fine building team of brand new Hotel Indigo, left nothing on their plates.
     Evidently, we aren't as free as we think.  These guys wanted to boat to Cuba but the commie red red tape and American fees made it impractical.  Land of the free now means land of the fee.
     People of all mothers.  People of all shades.  Colors were made to be blended.  It's how color works.  Like blue and red make violet.  Like blue and yellow make green.  Like yellow and red make orange.  And in between blue and violet, is indigo.

Yes, the essential pop was there.


1984 Was A Great Van Halen Album

Ahhh, don't worry about no monuments.
Or statues.
Big heads carved on Mount Rushmore seems creepy anyway.

Just live baby, maybe leave some words, or a song, or another creation.  A painting or a sculpture, or a collage.  Computer graphics can be left, or some biotechnical breakthrough.  We idolize our art, like it deserves praise and should be experienced by others.  And dug.  And the artists must be dug most of all.  Like gods.  We are not God.

They always get tore down.  Destroyed and defaced.  Some graffiti and bird droppings.  Ants and cennipedes crawl around the grounds doing their work.  They can smell a scoundrel, we are all the same.  God is unwilling and unable to be tore down.

Fall in with the plan, let the cleaning begin.  Get yours and yours and yours, make em pay, make em pay.  Out the gills with guilt and shame on top.  This is the intelligent people talking, the ones who made it like this, the ones who know more and conceive better than the rest.  And we are the rest, the peaceful, the calm.  Still waters, only rippling, none of the crashing and bashing.  No undercurrents.  No jellyfish, those sad envious stingers, invisible and sloppy.  1984 was a great Van Halen album, but history will never stop Mr. Orwell!  One book is never rewritten, only translated and spoke.  Word.

The gamers are fools, consciously and unconsciously.  Perhaps its partially excused.  They dish, but can't take, they wig when they should wag, they jump when they should duck.  And we all play games, we are all foolish for sure.

Forgiveness is the free-willing way to peace.


Floppy Hats

Everyone wore red.
The palm tree crew.
Left stacking and restacking.
Staying busy.
Those per hour ethics.
Working hard, drinking water.
Hydrate or dydrate.

All the while, lounging in the sand.
Where the ocean made the emerald coast.
Where readers take swims.
Then turn page after page.
In floppy hats.
The book still has a place.
With the dreamers.
Still hoping.

Then a whiff, a cool whiff in the heat.
Shelter is being erected everywhere.
Shade, the commodity.
Like clipping palms, leave the tops.
Haul off the old.

The young matter the most.
Longer futures of going.
What was said was going to be said.
Was said.

That's what I said.


Aquas To The Powders

Turn it down, it's 11.
Everybody be quiet.
Made some lunch for y'all.
Guess jus lost track of time.

This place is all cold.
The blanket's over there.
Sun burnt my feet today.
Fell asleep in a beach chair.


Create the shade.
Til the wind blows.
Cool afternoon British ale.
Might just help me doze.

Blues are the colors.
Of the coastal shores.
Aquas to the powders.
To the deeps and many more.


Belong to the water.
Elemental and rich.
Float on the surface.
Take a dive for some fish.



So In To The Skin


Don't you know, you got no control, so just let it go.

Nevermind, nevermind, nevermind, nevermind, whatever.

If your so in to the skin, stand condemmed as dim men who offend.

Speak what we need to reach and teach our beliefs, love will bring peace.

We bled, then we shed, red tears for the dead, all we're fed is what he said.

Take the fake hate, send it off in a crate, sure it won't break, love every race.


New Music Is Being Formed Deep In The Oceans

The loudness of the ocean at night.
Only faint music and far away laughs break the constant roar of the water.  Booming low, crashing high, rythyms never matched by instruments or voices.  Every measure a masterpiece.  The water's journey just to hit the note.

gggGGGrrrrRraaahhhhCHeeeee! BesssKrrruuuuSPLiishhh!

Half the moon showed up, totally oblivious.  Bugs found the glow.  Bottle of beer and spirit, the lids are loose.  People should want to look you in the eyes.  Let them gaze, and gaze back.  Break them of the habit of tentativeness.  Be interested in them.  Big things are at work, new music is being formed deep in the oceans, way below the surface, near the fault line, near the floor.


Alabama Orange

We'll do all the driving.
Keep it going east toward the sea.
Turn right in Mississippi.

At Jackson, the center of something in the past.  Slow to change and stubborn about it.  Jefferson Davis was a punk.  His belief in himself was his folly.  Probably, he invoked God in justification of his lifestyle.  The white cowards kept avoiding the obvious.  George, Thomas, Ben, Alexander, Andrew, John Quincy, his daddy before him, all of them til Lincoln.  Cowards.  They weren't great on all the issues.  Then, the look-the-other way boys.  Both Roosevelts, Woodrow, Herbert.  For years, keeping the freed down.  No doubt, this is historical.  There is no defense or reasonable rationale.  It was a backwards culture.  Only Ike, born in Denison, Texas, turned the tide.  True liberty is revolutionary.  It must be taken, it must be claimed.  And is.  By those that believe that fear is irrational, that our time is yet to come.  That the disappearance of time is our destiny.  Concious color seperation is misguided and shallow, reserved for the apathetic and dumb.

Then Mobile, where the tunnel obstructs the views and the gulf creeps inland.  Alabama orange and Pensacola blue, Miramar by dusk.  Where the sun dries the rain every day, where waves are counted and days are lost.  Beautifully integrated colors everywhere...


The Gentlemen Kerowax

     How bout something new for a change.  Hooked all over again.  That hollow body echoes, loud and moaning, back to the edge and back.  Dizzy.  The words meaning things, not just holding hands or lonesome.  The gentlemen Kerowax.  The blood rythym section, completely knowing the other.  In all, 16 strings, wahwhas, pedals, skin, and tin.  Amplified to a perfect mix.  That's how you do it folks!  Sincere birthday greetings, no countdown or home shopping network.  Each song finding the others, harmonized, the drummer slamming, the bassist mopping.

     The old, flambouyant hippies were gone by then.  Never miss the headliner.  The audience was whipped, the kegs were cleared and foaming.  No ice was left in the food truck.  Coke should be free.  The Alaskan Smokey beer, compliments of the band, hit right.  Whisky rocks, trips to the alleyways.  Angles must be seen, the scene absorbed.

     These Denton streets are still dark, they seek music, they want to be walked.  They want to sway.


Operating Systems

The operating systems are damaged.

Folders of unknown origins are corrupted.
Call everyone you know and let's worry.

No one knows if we are stable or not.
The worst position of all.
It can be traced and solutions are formed.

They don't know the real person.
The one calling for peace and love.

Plenty of listeners, but no one listening.


Systematic Fires

Here in the shadows, alone with our battles, oh here we go.
Wearing our blinders, hoping we'll find her, I don't know.

Systematic fires, exposing liars, do the zig and zag.
Make em shake, call out the fakes, all they wanna do is brag.

eaex4 verse
baegx2 chorus
dcebx4 bridge

*music by:  mark ball


Above The Peaks

Someone find a heart.
Put it on ice, make sure it still beats.
Send it overnight.
Accross the oceans, above the peaks.

Send it right to me.
Somehow make it fit, modify if needed.
Push the blood through.
Pull it back, clean it up nice and pure.

So it flows bright red.


Lima Beans

**birthday coming up for your honey.

She's a young looking sweetie, never know what to get her.  She says she has everything she wants.  I'm soaking some lima beans,  gonna cook em low all night.  Eat em after church with some cornbread.  Reminds me to get some slab bacon this morning.  She loves lima beans.

**her birthday's next week?

Yep, we give the birthday its full respect in my family, celebrating the days before and after.  My daughters and wife treat me like a king when my week comes.  Usually, they get me a 6-pack of Franconia Dunkel and a trip to the foot massage place.

**everybody nice to each other.

In a sense, yes.  Our love for each other rages, in all ways.  The emotional extremes are moderated over time, forgiveness is required.  The traits are raw with the young.  Which adds spirit and woe alike.  The brain does learn from this.  Intellect is built over time.  Even forgetting in the older years adds to the joy of life.  Blissfully oblivious.

**any other summer plans?

The Redneck Riviera in the middle of August.  White sands, seafood, and the ocean noises.  Rum drinks and wine.  Hurricane season for the Florida panhandle, but we've never seen one.  Narrowly missed the Baton Rouge flood driving back to Texas last year.  Like the whole Louisiana sky just collapsed and became water.   Started northwest just in time, blind driving diagonally up the state.  Sweet Shreveport was never so sweet.  The sun appeared right before night, and Texas was dry.  Wrote this the next day, after the adrenaline wore off...

the flood stalled and kept flooding.  heavy water going.  these are lowlands to begin with.  down from the delta, where the ocean has found its way in, where swamps are always wet, where it's muddy.  a corvette spin, a rocking truckload, and double tow setup.  a few of the hazards.  escaped to the north, through Alexandria and on to Texas.  these roads must be lifted, put the houses on stilts.

**that must'a been something.

Yep.  Wild man, wild.

**so, what now?

Need to get rid of this crud, the western dust and hot air of summer heat got me wheezing.  Should visit the MinuteClinic for some meds.  Get the loopy cough syrup.  The one with codein, the only drug that works.  Usually try to sleep the sick away.

**good luck, get some rest, take some time, chill.


Instructions From A Boogieman Book

You can make a name for anything.
Call it green or verde.
Regardless of what is real.

*Talk is all.

The obvious can be overlooked.
And everything goes with it.
Stand in line.
We are what we say.
Proven examples of sincerity.
It has been declared.

*We are.

But only in our tricked minds.
Only to a point.
The ability to convince ourselves.
And celebrate our boldness.
That's life.
It's not personal.
But we should make it personal.

*The boogieman boogies like a fake.

Like instructions from a boogieman book.
Plastic and static.
Authentic as a robot.
Smiling and malfunctioning.
And blaming things on others.
Getting to the bottom.

*And slithering.


Artificial Turbulence Disease

So we get Fareed's take.
Oh, thankfully.
No reality, only judgment, only smugness.
Stroke the protest, it was the Don's fault.
The Polish have been done dirty again.
The effect, completely fatal to the world.
Sebastian Junger has the thoughts.
We are a tribe.

NaNeeNaNeeBooBoo ain't helpful.
Entire network strategies built upon it.
Central to party tactics.
The future is much more important.
We have been entertained enough.
Fame is not natural.
It causes isolation.
Which is not our natural way of being.

The reporters are afflicted with artificial turbulence disease.
Perhaps it's the deadlines, or the intellectual peer pressure.
True geniuses are conformists, evidently.
All you writers in the lands keep writing.
About the reality of love, suffering, and love again.
Document the scene, give it your take.
Fareed looks nervous.
The words get out.


Hobo Man

The stars were avoided, regrets, regrets.
Too consumed, too preoccupied.
These ruts, these guts, these routines.
Just a hobo man.

No need for a Benz, been hitching rides.
Hitched to San Francisco, took a week.
Found mud, found blood, found smoke.
Like a hobo man.

Eggs over medium well, with butter.
Side of thick bacon, coffee, and toast.
Delicious sweet rolls and kiwi fruit.
Fill up a hobo man.

Mostly walking, from town to town.
Take showers at the the local Y.
National parks and national sounds.
Just a hobo man.



West Texas Waylon Gonzo: Five

'All Waylon' by Mayor

I always loved Waylon.  Grew up in Lubbock.  We were all Waylon, saw him when I was kid.  Be good to have another mix.  Used to go to the Littlefield picnics.  Maines brothers and others.  Saw Willie that one year.  92 maybe.  Could probably do without that same mix. 

'Leftover Pancakes'  by Tone Capone

Gonna get out of here so you can clean, feel like I'm in your way.  Waylon, he's alright.  Y'all need to get away from the Red Dirt stuff.  Went a bit to far.  Oh, you can have the these leftover pancakes.  Surprised Okra changed his tire by himself. 

'Dirk Moment' by Okra.

Hey, hey, hey.  Hey, hey.  Thinking of incorporating some Waylon into my Phillipino choir.  The rumor is that Romo is the backup, if he's needed.  Effing Romo.  I believed.  My family all had jerseys.  We'd come walking in.  Thought he was gonna have his Dirk moment.  What an insult to Dirk.  I bought into it.

'His Left Foot'  by Wiki

After quitting cocaine, he ended his habit of smoking six packs of cigarettes daily in 1988. In December 1988, he underwent triple heart bypass surgery after suffering chest pains while on his tour bus.  By 2000, his diabetes worsened, and the pain reduced his mobility, forcing Jennings to end most touring. Later the same year, he underwent surgery to improve his leg circulation. In December 2001, his left foot was amputated at a hospital in Phoenix. On February 13, 2002, Jennings died in his sleep of diabetic complications in Chandler, Arizona.


West Texas Waylon Gonzo: Four

'Lone Stars And Dome Cars' by jpg

...lone stars and dome cars.
...future was always so far.
...no longer, not anymore.
...nothing can be ignored.

'Digs Plato' by jpg


Take ten breaths and set your minds.
Shrug your shoulders and realize.
Drink a cold drink with a twist of lime.
Look at me honey, look me in the eyes.


Never know what to do, when there's nothing better to do.  Bound to make a bad mistake, bored to death of this same ole place.

Find a woman that thinks the same.
Make her happy, make her golden tan.
Someone that wants a lonely man.
Way she moves you know she understands.


Asks questions about love and soul.
Reads Aristotle, really digs Plato.
What's she's thinking is hard to know.
She's open to it, her mind ain't closed.

'Down To The Knuckles' by jpg

Venus was high in the sky.
Seen from the clear western view.
At night, dark as space.
Look up and know our reality.
Too much time travel.
The weary are loud again.
Restlessness is the mood.
Get on with the end.
Straighten the skeleton.
Pull the muscles tight.
Smooth and rhythmically.
Down to the knuckles.

'Fired'by Wiki

At age 16, after several disciplinary infractions, tenth-grader Jennings was convinced to drop out of high school by the superintendent. Jennings started to work as a DJ in 1956, and moved to Lubbock. His program ran for six hours, from 4:00 in the afternoon to 10:00 in the evening. Jennings played two hours of Country classics, two of current Country, and two of mixed recordings. During those final two hours, Jennings played artists such as Chuck Berry and Little Richard. The owner reprimanded him each time he aired the recordings, and when he then played two Richard records in a row, the owner fired him.


West Texas Waylon Gonzo: Three

'Washer Glory (California Cruiser)' by jpg

...never know what to do when there's nothing to do.  Sandtraps and rocks overcome.  Trail worries and urgent pedals, standing on the odysees and pushing my weight forward.  The California cruiser took it all.  Blues is blues.  Washer glory.  Quick and deadly, feeling it from the shower and nap.  Never had to platoon, boys, count your blessings.  Heroic acts required for the survival of many.  Fighting for each other.  Drinking and smoking the days away.  Pickled squash is tasty.  Waylon getting back to California.  Lucille picked a fine damn time to leave, she left us hungry with no harvest to reap.  Stay away from Connecticut girls, just scoundrels and dames.  We'll teach you to fly...
Pecan praline sipping drink, bacon wrapped filets, smoked, large baked potatoes with butter, sour cream, and cheese.  Course pepper and salt.  An onion and mushroom mixture sat in an iron skillet.  Sauteed in butter and worechester sauce.  Some Duncan or Howell  invention, a bit overcooked.  Good sweet, buttery, corn was the star on the top.  Any, any restaurant in the city would be shamed.  Any.  The idiot city, our home...

'Indeed Comrade' by One Fine Gringo

A little touch up left but the blue and white helmet is now flat red.  Indeed comrade.

'Swahili' by Wiki

In 1985, Jennings joined with USA for Africa to record "We Are the World", but he left the studio because of a dispute over the song's lyrics that were to be sung in Swahili. Ironically, after Jennings left the session, the idea was dropped at the prompting of Stevie Wonder, who pointed out that Ethiopians did not speak Swahili.


West Texas Waylon Gonzo: Two

'Outlaw Bit' by jpg

...because the dogs own the middle days of the West Texas summer.  Finding shade and looking cool.  Our bodies shut down, our motivations become baked, our minds think wildly...
...Waylon sang about conflict.  Literal and figurative.  A combination of stubbornness, stupidity, and vocal uniqueness...with a good band and Fender Tele sound...
...never had a bad meal at New mavericks.  Been awhile since I rode.  Miles flashed by....towns went ignored...Waylon blared. ........The outlaw bit getting out of hand...Amanda lighting up life...T for Texas, t for Tennessee...he'd do one of Hanks now and then, but Hank never did them that way.  Evidently.

'Bag Of Ice' by Tone Capone

Can you please grab a bag of ice?

'Merely Necessary' by jpg

...the road is not mysterious, it is not liberation or freedom...the road is merely nesseccery...

'22 Pilots' by One Fine Gringo

I want to start a band called 22 pilots. We would be like 1 better than 21 Pilots. They could never show their faces again.

'Butte' by Marshall

Jacksonville > New Orleans, LA > Houston, TX > San Antonio, TX > El Paso, TX > Phoenix, AZ > Grand Canyon > Las Vegas, NV > Los Angeles, CA > Yosemite > Redding, CA > Portland, OR > Seattle, WA > Butte, MT > Yellow Stone > Cheyenne, WY > Kansas City, MO > Chattanooga, TN > Jacksonville

'Spanky-Twang' by Wiki

Jennings's music was characterized by his "powerful" singing voice, noted by his "rough-edged quality", as well as his phrasing and texture.  He was also recognized for his "spanky-twang" guitar style. To create his sound, he used a pronounced 'phaser' effect (see 'Modulation Effects': below) plus a mixture of thumb and fingers during the rhythmic parts, while using picks for the lead runs. He combined hammer-on and pull-off riffs, with eventual upper-fret double stops and modulation effects.


West Texas Waylon Gonzo: One

'Backbones And Graffiti' by jpg

So provocative, so provoking.  The feelings of others are important Mayor.  They are the silent ones.  They are the unheard.  They create backbones and graffiti.  They awake with coffee and squats.  They are inked and holy.  Their women love them over and over.  And over.

'Waterboy' by Okra

My kids have found waterboy on Netflix......I'm raising 3 geniuses....Silver haze over the sky......on vacation and thankful for the day.......ttop got his own song.......he probably thinks of me as his best friend......fing honor.

'Women's Tennis Final' by Tone Capone

I was hoping to see some cowboy on the lazy boy watching the women's tennis finals.

'Godzilla Marathon' by The Mayor

Which day?
I found the best coffee in the world.
Where are y'all?  Damn.
Godzilla marathon was the bomb.
He is already two sheets.

'Birth Certificate' by Wiki

The name on his birth certificate was Wayland, meaning land by the highway. His name was changed after a Baptist preacher visited Jennings's parents and congratulated his mother for naming him after the Wayland Baptist University in Plainview, Texas. Lorene Jennings, who had been unaware of the college, changed the spelling to Waylon. Jennings later expressed in his autobiography, "I didn't like Waylon. It sounded corny and hillbilly, but it's been good to me, and I'm pretty well at peace with it right now."


Icy Blades

Not too high.
Not too low.
Almost funny, really.
Both think the same.
For the same reasons.
For as long as the other.
Nerves been got on.
Sicknesses been made.
Time is not on my side.
The evidence is clear.
Almost absurd.
Sell it all and check out.
The ash of our lives.
Containment is hard.
Resentment is real.
Overcomers must forgive.
It's the only rational way.
No laughs tonight.
No giggles or prayers.
Icy blades.

Neon (One Light)

     The stars began moving around on the flag.  The stripes separated and formed random shapes.  Then the colors began changing.  Blue turned green, red turned yellow, white became black.  Suddenly, the stars formed a circle and began spinning around.  Slowely at first, then faster and faster til the stars were moving so fast they became invisible.  To the naked eye, an optical illusion of sorts.  This went on and on over a backdrop of green, yellow, and black.  Then, in an instant, the spinning stars stopped.  The defined lines of one star appeared from the fifty.  Massive and white.  Shining and glowing.  Neon.  Nations, they rise and fall.  Only one flag remains.  One light.




Say it again and again.  In all ways and accents.

New Yawker
Hey Dude
Uppity English
Harsh German
Rough Aussie
Real African
The Eskimos
Land Of Lakes



These Roads


Wake me when it's over.

Is rare.
Is elusive.
Is humbling.
Is real.
Is brave.
Is daring.
Is hard.
Is avoided.
Is true.

Bleed like Jesus, beads of blood dripping down your face.
Love like Jesus, uninhibited and pure.
Die like Jesus, to live again forever.


Trashy ain't cool.

Chuck Berry was better than Elvis.

Turnip greens are essential.

*These roads, always under repair.
*Potholes filled with gravel and tar.
*Patted down to even out the street.
*The hitchhikers complain of the smell.
*Like any consideration is given to them.
*Those without cars or trucks are last.
*Last to arrive and last to leave.

30,000 days.
30,000 nights.
If you live a long life.



Johnny Slacks


Know this dude, his name is Johnny Slacks.
20 years at a grocery store, know he can sack a sack.
Then he found his way to this place that we all work.
Never wore no shorts, never wore no t-shirt.

About 15 years ago, met this dude named Johnny Slacks.
Earned a reputation as a dude that's got your back.
Spent his time on the line, making everything alright.
Big cash roll in his pocket, no one ever called him tight.

All I can say about this dude named Johnny Slacks.
Bet when he leaves this place, he never ever comes back.
Got tunes to pick out, while his wife plays on the keys.
That Takamaine rhythm sound gonna make em slap their knees.


Captured By Words

Scrambled and confused.
A list that never ends.
Replaced, replaced.

Wonderment of the ages.
Opportunity for generations.
Give up control.

No judging here.
Only days and nights of love.
Origins of behaviors.

Conditions are fuzzy.
Elements of humanity.
Only slightly possible.

Live the days ahead.
Describe them all.
Captured by words.


And Our Minds Are Mad

So the rambling went on and on.

And the food was delicious.
Think it through.
Find your best trait.
The very best one.
The one everyone says is your best trait.
Without being asked.
It is what makes you different.
It is what makes you special.
The flaws involved are obvious.
But they are not deadly.

And dying means nothing anyway.
To those who will live forever.
That believe.

And the spirit will even believe for you.
It will be your translator.
When the words are confusing.
Back to the rhytym.
Back to the rhyme.
Where the burden is low.
Where the weight is light.
This sunset is red and wicked.
The night's appearing.
Howlers are approaching.
We can hear their calls.
The unknown is the only way out.

And our minds are mad.


Paint Like A Fool

Need some tools.
Canvass might be cool.
Paint like a fool.
Or a madman.

Make a space.
Clear out the place.
Sure you relate.
Or maybe not.

Pull it apart.
Start from the very start.
That's the art.
Or the mind.

Make music right.
Over and over til its tight.
Over and over all night.
Or get some sleep.

Rigged up just fine.
Make the whoowhoo cry.
Or fly to mars.

A common call.
Pianos falling in the hall.
The house of the Balls.
Or the Hunter S Thompson Soundroom.



Going By Way Of Life

The fiction writers all got together.
Cigarette and coffee stained.

Making minds and outlines.

To make it make sense.
The editors are tough.

Having it back up and stand tall.

Watching from the outside.
Reacting with emotional reactions.

No thinking it through.

Feel it baby.
It will take over for sure.

Your instincts allowing and directing.

Unable, or unwilling, to take instruction.
Unschooled in a way.

Going by way of life.

Cruising with the hazards.
Riding the spinning sphere.


Off With Their Heads

A total mystery.  The forehand of my game.  Gone in an instant.  This has happened before, you lose it, it comes back, small adjustments, minor tweaks, then back to groove.  But no groove is playing now.  No soulful rhythm, no jazz.  More like yell metal, or erratic cowbell, or dreaded silence.  The kind that makes you insane.  Music is not the answer.

The backboard beacons, or a brick wall.  For the basic breakdown.  Get the racquet out front, this is not a sideways form.  Elbow in, rotate the shoulders back, the left tucked under the chin a bit, then recoil on it.  No tentativeness.  Smooth, easy power.  Finish high so the spin will bite.  All the while, knees bent and bouncy and eyes watching the ball all the way to the impact of the strings.  You must be sure that the shot will be successful, you must be thinking of the shot ahead, what your opponent might do and your response, depending.  If all this doesn't go well or doesn't work or goes long or hits the net or your opponent hits an incredible winner, you must put it out of your mind and attempt again.  Impossible.  Which leads to emotions and even magnified emotions, the kind with vulgarities and equipment abuse.  This forehand must be fixed, really think I need to finish higher.  Coach Vita has a drill for that.

KOtC9 in under 24 hours.  Eye on the Duke.  This time last year we played for the French after those terrorist bastards went on their cowardly Paris rampage, this year we play for the U.K. as they endure this evil.  The King has declared, the Prince agrees.  The Duke has the axe, and the Earl of Nantucket is on the way.  Off with their heads.  Mahut!!!


True Pacifist

A true pacifist will fight hard to protect the peace of others.  The tyrants must be confronted, the thugs must be forced aside.  By force.  Extreme, quick, and undeniable force.  Persuasion won't work, diplomacy is futile, only unconditional surrender is acceptable.  We will have peace.  But it is hard.  Swallowing of pride is the hardest of all.  To stop believing, or pretending, you're the answer, your wisdom somehow owed to everyone, your service needed, your giving required, your benevolence divine.  To know you are a failure, and to accept it.  To understand what you don't know, and never will.  A known is a known, but many unknowns are not known to be unknown.  Peace is easy to identify, and it is rare.  It is worth fighting for, it is worth protecting.  And should be fought for and should be protected.  Peace!


Let The Iceberg Float

Sunny side up.
Just the way we like it.
Runny and bright.
Empowering everything.
Let it fly.
Only fear could stop us.
Of failure, death, or worse.

However, it has been put aside.
The mystery of the other side.
Enduring pain.
Overcoming it.
A book is an obsession.
Someone's prison.
Completion comes with relief.


But, no regrets.
All words were written for a reason.
Some left intentionally unwritten.
Let the iceberg float.
The Hemingway way.
To wonder and imagine.
Quirks and smirks.

The Oldest True Hero In The World

They are too worried.
A Tampa Sweet never hurt no one.
A shot of whisky with a splash of coke.
Unless the nurses are pouring.
Then its the other way around.
Smoke of Pearl Harbor is the real deal.
Segregated and brave.
To fight Japan's evil intent.
No nobility in murder.
We showed them war.
Determined, persistent, and lethal.
The Japanese generals are to blame.
For the bombs.
That ended it.
And still drinking from another fountain.
Slow moving justice.
Until now.
Only idiots and jack holes are racist.
That mindset is illegitimate and dumb.
Science and love agree.

They should be discarded and deleted and muted by all.

By all people of all colors.
The skins of America.
Not by law, but by a collective social decision.
A tap away.
Get the blood moving with walks.
All the wisdom and flirts.

Could drive these Austin streets blindfolded.

Take out a rabbit from 50 yards.
Keeps watch from the porch.
Sweet Tampa, Sweet Tampa, spark another.
Grits and milk to start the motor.
The oldest true hero in the world.
A Texan, of course.
Ready for the day.


The Punks And The Monks


Floating on my back, saw it clear as day.
Coming right towards us, right through the sun rays.
Already knew we would never never sink.
The truth is the truth no matter what we think.


Nantucket, Nantucket, we ride, ride, ride.
All the way to the U.K. just to give em five.
The punks and the monks come together and fight.
Nantucket, Nantucket, we ride, ride, ride.

Sails were lifted high as I looked to the sky.
Filled with the wind, the boat was in flight.
Thinking back, there was wings coming out.
Listened real close, there was songs and shouts.

Nantucket, Nantucket, we float, float, float.
All day and night we live our lives upon this boat.
We'll float until we find the land of Spacefolk.
Nantucket, Nantucket, we float, float , float.


Rhythms Of Speed Racers

...Like a dash.  Too fast for proper photographic documentation.  They were gone, down Virginia and back up Louisiana by way of Hunt Street.  Full out east back to the square to loop around the old courthouse on Tennessee Street, then quickly back west on Virginia again.  Over and over, lungs working with the bikes in rhythms of speed racers.  White fences marked the track, hay bales on the turns and corners, a few treacherous brick surfaces.  The Benji house, old Dr. McCarley's, where front teeth destruction was fixed over three decades ago.  After a Spree scotter wreck.  Holy moly, those teeth were gone.  Happy gas and novocaine.  Like some Lone Star wine.  The young will always catch the old, they are not discouraged, they know they will get better, they are motivated by it.  Always, eventually...


The Sledgehammer Is A Demolition Tool

Obvious propaganda will never work.
Intentions of headlines and energizing prosecutors.
Spitting on the cameras and stuttering uncontrollably.

Glee at the misfortunes of others.
Juvenile humor of the unfunny kind.
No Gonzo at all.

Officials, sources, insiders, investigators.
Never any names.
Just they.

The post, the peacock, the times.
Breaking absolutely nothing.
Confusing themselves.

Most others are aware of their lunacy.
Panic disquised as intelligence.
The world continues to spin.

The music still plays.
The sledgehammer is a demolition tool.

Destruction of the old so the new can glow.
Noise and chaos so peace can eventually thrive.
Tough to be a true pacifist.


The Spirit Will Be

Tie up those laces.
Don't wanna trip.
Let the professionals take over.
With the thoughts and plans.

Line up in a line.
And walk like we walk.
Listen up and hear the word.

To hear is to know.
As to see is to know.
And to feel is to know.

Then the thinking takes over.
The what we gonna do's.
And the messes.
The confidence shakers.


Discouragers all around.
Give ups and quitters.


Inactive brain activity.
The body must be used.
Maintenance is not enough.

Wherever there is light.
Wherever there is truth.
The spirit will be.

On your mark.
Get set.


The Daughter Club

rifts of unknown origins.
somewhat of a separation.
lookout duty on the wall.
up high so threats can be seen.

the daughter club is exclusive.
all the protection involved.
soaring high is the way to go.
once their wings get strong.

lean in close to hear the truth.
"know that men are wild-eyed.
be leery of their conclusions.
they are dumber than you."


Bootloop Blues


here I am again, no phone in my hand.
techie man said got an expired plan.
got an expired plan.

they already knew, was a known issue.
all over the news, the class action lawsuit.
wanna join the class action lawsuit.


bootloop comes in the middle of the night.
jamming your startup with loops and knives.
no way to glowface proper and right.
the bootloop blues got me ready to fight.

can mail my lg to another country.
fix the wiring, send it back, all for free.
this is all for free.

that is not the plan, have other demands.
what I demand is a new phone in my hand.
new phone in my hand.

finally went in, not ready to bend.
agent said 'man, you got a grandfathered plan.
got a grandfathered plan.

made the switch, didn't even have to bitch.
now they can pitch the bootloop in the ditch.
the bootloop's in the ditch.


A Twinkle Blinds The Cameraman

of all the predictable events, this was the most easily predicted.
the irritation and annoyance was unmasked and seething.

time had slipped and anxiety was having its effect on tempers.
uninvited and discouraged, the revenge of the provoked.

beauty is evident when it exists within the soul, like magnets.
searching for the attraction of smiles and caring curiosity.

compassion and passion all the same, although moods sway.
to the virtual page a confession is confessed, bowed and wrapped.

sad eyes lighten up a bit and a twinkle blinds the cameraman.
get your three forks and lift them all up, stab the eyes of envy.

relaxation is only a thought and state of mind followed by rest.
the queen is uptight, perhaps it's best to remain at home.


According To The Scottish And Others

the parking spot that wasn't.
a smooth Dallas midday drive.
to the Anatole.
for listening to speakers.
and lunch.
packed with suits and ties and nametags.
a greet the meeters and shakers.
on time, as always.
jazz quartet playing popping sounds.
blowing cool and sharp notes.
to be expected from the mean green.
hallways of our past.
one of the greatest Texans ever.
according to the Scottish and others.
a benevolent and insistent man.
the host.
scholarships and endowments and pledges and commitments.
god blessed the money people.
so they would bless others.
some do.
the discussion, blunt and authentic.
there is a time and a place for cussing.
very effective way to start a speech.
the don is 'bat shit crazy'
tax cuts must be done!
the russian thing is bullshit.
politeness is almost always the best approach.
until it isn't the best approach.
then bluntness is required.
not nervous or shaky.
but obvious, funny obvious.
he knows whoever and them too.
remembered when they did this and that.
I dig, you dig, we all dig.
and the digging continues.


Songs Of MFN Greatest Hits Vol. 2

**Blue As The Sea Of Cortez

Blue as the Sea of Cortez.
Her eyes melt in the light.
Do everything she says.
She makes it worth my while.

We fill our lives with gods.
Goddess lovers too.
Taste all the earthy joys.
Wanna do it with you.

The ships they disappeared, on the horizon line.
Her lips they had no fear, as I looked into her eyes, they were...

Blue as the Sea of Cortez.
Her eyes melt in the light.
Do everything she says.
She makes it worth my while.

Through the gates we're led.
Been walking desert miles.
Suffered and hurt and bled.
Once cried all through the night.

Blue as the Sea of Cortez.
Her eyes melt in the light.
Do everything she says.
She makes everything alright.

**Chosen By The Voters

.you're the sweetest queen that I ever seen, make the world seem nice and clean, make people everywhere dance and sing, I know who you are.

.all afternoon you powder and puff, making millions of bucks but it ain't enough, make a video so they think you're a slut, I know who you are.

.the dice are loaded the decks are stacked, news always talking bout whites and blacks, fools always lying to distort the facts, I know who you are.

.gonna suffer the toll if you drive this way, discover something new every day, all you are now is a clump of clay, I know who you are.

.chosen by the voters to be frozen in time, with your outlaw boots and your country jive, acting like the suits kept spitting in your eye, I know who you are.

.in the evening I hear you breathing, when dreams light up and you're really sleeping, when the room is quiet and your heart's beating, I know who you are.


**Stevie Wonder Show


now's the time to make up your mind and go.  just go.
it's true for sure there is no cure we know.  don't we know.

keep the peace as we try to reach the end.  the bitter end.
all the tears and all the years pretend.  just pretend.

who's the guy that looked in your eyes and said.  yeah I said.
here's the deal I'll love you til I'm dead.  til I'm dead.

end of summer at a stevie wonder show.  what a show.
under the trees the nighttime breeze the glow.  oh the glow.

**Off To Laramie

I'm off to Laramie.
Heading out with my babies and me.
Packing up our suitcase.
Giving up this rat race.
Drive across the western states.
It's the cowboy way.

Named for Jacques LaRamie.
Walked off and got lost in the trees.
Went trapping and never came back.
Took a turn and got off track.
Laid down now he's taking a nap.
It's the cowboy way.

We're off to Laramie.
Where outlaws met vigilantes.
Ace and Con at the bucket of blood.
Took em down and hung em up.
Old west was hard and rough.
It's the cowboy way.

When we get to Laramie.
Spend our days at the Jubilee.
Read our news in the boomerang.
Only a few even know our names.
Everything always seems the same.
It's the cowboy way.


**Melody Confusion

Musical seclusion and new pickups.
Floated for years, got my mind made up.

Skin coat nanny with stars in her eyes.
Never heard a jam that could make her fly.

Melody confusion for a space in time.
Back to the rhythm, back to the rhyme.

Place seems hazy, got a leak in the roof.
Keep the water away from the electric juice.

Obvious intrusion of your mind and ears.
Sounds all mixed so you can hear it clear.

Acoustical theories and gravity waves.
Brain transmitters and gamma rays.


**Conditioning Machines


.sit right down and listen up.
.it ain't the heat.
.or the ozone alerts.
.or nothing like that.
.it is for practical purposes, like all things that are worthy and unworthy.
.reason is involved.
.logical and sound.

.pools of water on the perimeter.
.spider and mosquito nests.
.the spray only eliminates the weak.
.the strong ones live on.

.the real thirsty.

.the mornings are our only refuge.
.and this is night.
.confined and controllable spaces.
.with conditioning machines.
.with music and games.
.begin with the end in mind.

.i can feel it clearly.

**Hippies On The Caprock


Late seventies in Lubbock, Arabs drove prices high, started drilling holes in the land of the big red sky.

Honkeytonk bouncers, where action could be found, knew all the banditos, the baddest gang around.

Flew in during the night, dropped the entire load, from South American valleys, the wild columbian gold.

Tamed all the roughneck oilmen, tamed the rednecks too, hippies on the caprock, nobody had a clue.


Was a new deal.
The way it made em feel.
There's a party in West Texas.
Booze and grass and pills.

Streets were going crazy, the hook had done its thing, desperate for their fixes, the druggies changed the game.

Catch Slide going north, til you hit the loop, go round and round, circle the town, speed was on the loose.

Cops weren't on his mind til they showed up at the door.  A secret operation, they slammed him on the floor.

Thrown to the wolves, to fulfill the drug demand, like a dust storm from the horizon, Red, he was the man.

**Act Like A Rebel

...feel like a dweller, act like a rebel...
.all the while knowing everything's fine.
...feel like a loner, act like a stoner...
.keeping busy and gazing to the sky.

...feel like a downer, can't be a frowner...
.natural born skeptic, gonna give it a try.
...feel like maybe trusting, haven't yet
.life is to live, so live it on the fly.

...feel understated, act motivated...
.paid a wage to make it all seem alright.
...feeling really lucky, life seems really lovely...
.falling asleep with a clear and lit up mind.



Like it when you rock.
Like a earthquake and its aftershocks.
--Like it when you rock.

Love it when you roll.
When you lose your self control.
--Love it when you roll.

Think I got a breakthrough.
Explanation for my brain's loose screw.
--Think I got a breakthrough.

Guess we oughta try.
Let the day go, embrace the night.
--Guess we oughta try.


**Your Flame Still Burns


Started in with the red wine and bread.
Had a restless mind, alot of trash in my head.
Thought I might forget you for awhile.
Everywhere I look I see my babies eyes.



Ohhhh, so bright.
And I fall inside.
Ohhhh, so bright.
Your flame still burns.

Discussions about why we do what we do.
Bout why we laugh, why we cry, why we get the blues.
Guess it all comes back to the order of things.
Forget the cars, forget the cash, forget the diamond ring.


Tell you of sin and temptations within.
Imaginations run wild and the schemes begin.
The seasons continue to leave and return.
Like light in the darkness, Your flame still burns.


Withers Away

Withers away, the garden.
Shine on that cool wind.
Natures of good intentions.
The ones of true friends.

All the time, wasted.
Considering the next move.
Take your steps quickly.
My darlings, just choose.

Tomorrow, its worries.
Like an out of time beat.
Like a wandering fool.
All somber and bleak.

The souls, the faces.
Come into the bright lights.
Show off your beauty.
Gonna all be alright.



Glowdope Is Real

...entitled to lead, watch the myths.  patience.  glowdope is real.  instant gratification is significant.  the most patient, most hopeful, most impactful, most self confident believe.  joy can be constant.  everybody is dealt a bad hand, its how you play it that matters.  find the fun.  what you like to do.  do it.  quit chasing happiness, might just find some joy.  go.  do not follow a bad lead.  the lead should follow.  the lie of not being able to deal.  take the reigns.  millennial magic!  environment of carelessness.  ambition like it's the end of the world, damn fulfillment be damned.  love is left and love is right.  the fix is in, as we know.  the believers know the truth of it all.  how death will come, how sin has infected, how the work has been done.  by the light, the word.  by Another.  humorous, the folly.  but sad too.  leadership cultures are effectively changed only by new leaders.  the glowout strategies and juicing locations.  moderation, of course, a wise way.  laptop warriors everywhere, with carry cases and important looks.  walking with determined pace and asking no questions.  incuriosity.  older than their age. joylessly looking out for number one.  a wasted life.  beanbag chairs are nice, but tough to escape...


Like Bones

...like bones, the drummer is the last to decompose.
The pops and beats, the bangs and booms.

...the bass is like blood, flowing everywhere.
Nutrients to the body, pumped in and out.

...muscle attaches it all, allows for movement.
Lead guitar, stretching, twitching, flexing.

...the rhythm is written in the DNA.
Genes and elements of life that determine colors.

...words are are just talk waiting for some walk.
Holding the vowels, finishing the others.

...made better by electricity vitamins and drinks.
Hydration is good for the skin and eyes.

...the ebonies and ivories are the pep talk.
A green light, a sign off, a blessing for the road.

...memories are taped forever and always.
like archived recordings, moving ahead and on.


Sense Of Some Deja Vu

...in ruins.
...that ring of fire burns.
...hot coals.
...like a social distortion.

...so contrary.
...don't be such an ayyy.
...to react.
...square up and shout.

...only echoes.
...sense of some deja vu.
...we forgive.
...the crown of our family.


Waffling Through The Air Waves

The ash will be ash.
Back from where it was burnt.
Smoldering remains.

Only smoke is left.
Waffling through the air waves.
Disappearing above.

Clear the mesquites.
Stack the piles 100 yards apart.
Spark the gasoline.


A High Fade

.love it soggy and soft.
.green landing.
.easy fairway with huge mounds on either side.
.the bounces to the middle.

.a high fade.

.under the wind, below the tree line.
.sipping drinks with ice.
.stiffed it good once again.
.had some juice on that shot.
.the sand blast.
.the long lagging leave.

.a tap in.

.another raffle win.
.playing it safe.
.imagination of my mind can imagine.
.carefully set up.
.exclusive and perpetual.


Red Mud Gonzo: Four

"The McKenzie Method" by jpg

...remembering the red mud days, alternately thinking of relevant details and noticing an incident in my lower spine.  Nothing the McKenzie Method can't cure.  The curve must be regained, the bubble needs to be deflated, been tricked into a golf game, gotta swing loose and true...what does 'fore' even mean?

"Stevie The Grit" by jpg

...grits are delicious, with butter and pepper.  All americans will rediscover.  Stevie The Grit, fighting off threats in each round, minding his game, bringing his heat, keeping his cool.  Overcoming tricked up shots, an uptight brat, and a true brazilian mudder.  The emerging cramps of the final couple of games furiously rubbed out on a changeover by an Asian wizard.  Perhaps the most incredible massage ever caught on television.  This allowed Stevie The Grit a chance to win the title.  And he did.  His serve, groovy forehand, and improved mindset the reasons.  Thomaz Bellucci's inexplicable weak backhand into the net while The Grit was unable to even take a step, allowing the 3rd set tiebreaker, also contributed to the outcome.  The Brazilian's surprising Romoesqe moment...

"The River Oaks Area Aside" by jpg

...the grip of Houston's perpetual traffic extends north almost to the eloquent and impressive Sam Houston statue in Huntsville.  Surely he would be in distress over the condition of the city that bears his name, especially if he inspected it from a convertible.  The River Oaks area aside, the city planner types should call a meeting.  They should all fire each other for crimes against logic, vision, and project management...

"Ample Samples" by jpg

...Fairfield, Texas.  The Cooper conglomerate of food excellence should be supported coming and going.  Ample samples, friendly folks, clean.  Good...


Men From Nantucket GH Vol. 2

1.  Stevie Wonder Show
2.  Off To Laramie
3.  Melody Confusion
4.  Aftershocks
5.  Act Like A Rebel
6.  Conditioning Machines
7.  Blue As The Sea Of Cortez
8.  Chosen By The Voters
9.  Hippies On The Caprock
10.  Your Flame Still Burns


Red Mud Gonzo: Three

"Coach Glances" by jpg

By the semis, the practice boy grab asses are gone, the showouts and gritless.  The ones that respectfully hate their opponents are left.  As a player, while playing especially, it is a trap to root for others.  Bellucci acknowledged no one as he arrived to practice for his quarterfinal match. Donaldson was hopping on his feet and staying positive after his tough 3 set loss to qualifier Maximo Gonzalez a day ealier.  He should learn from Thomaz Bellucci on how to act.  He don't care about up and comers and he dont care about old and tough.  Bellucci won his quaterfinal match, taking out Querrey.  Also, coach glances and reactions of any kind should be selected carefully.

"Avoid" by jpg

Brookstreet bbq.  D minus.  Cold pork.  Horrible sides.  Avoid...

"TV Jones classic" by OneFineGringo

I would like to welcome the newest who-ah to my who-ah house.
My friend Spencer made it. He's good at stuff. Ive been hassling him to sell it to me and he finally needed the money bad enough. I pick it up next Friday.

Details if interested:
*Neck- maple with rosewood slab fret board made by Warmoth.
*Body- ash thinline from allparts.  Roth metal flake in clear nitro.
*Fender bridge with Glendale cold rolled steel saddles.
*Glendale grip-o-matic knobs
*cts pots CRL 3 way and switchcraft jack.

He wound the pickups. He made the bridge from scratch. It's a hot tele bridge and neck is a TV Jones classic that he also re-wound to work better in a tele neck position.

"So Smoky" by Matt

This is the best homemade ramen I've ever had! So smoky

"All maybe, maybe" by jpg

Don't touch the breakables!  Finish your swing.  Half step forward, momentum is a mother.  Spotts Park revelations and curves.  Internal simmering and demeanor control.  Losing ain't fun, but you're still playing tennis.  All in.  Rain or not.  All out, the only rational way...All maybe, maybe.  No snorting!  Damn important.  Growl.

The Important People

The important people will sort it out.
Let the free spirits bounce and wail.
Hundreds of hours spent chattering.

Just as the horns sound.
By the light of the moon.
Thinking nothing at all.

Approval anxiety.
Only time knows.



Red Mud Gonzo: Two

"My Go-Along Instinct" by jpg

...consultations with former local houston insider...scribbled choice spots for Wed night reflections...market square...hearsay, a dinner place...okra, with some unique community partnership...bad news bar, sounds like bad news...warrens, the nightcap spot...confession: never understood what nightcap meant...last beer?  Final pour of wine?  Last shot of Jack?  Regardless, good to have some insight from a bonafide Houstonian...he seems a fine fellow, former bartender, current trading specialist...however, my go-along instinct is strong...with planning talent like TTop, the general insistence of CB, and the creativity of the ghost prince, my mind is doorless...

"Fog" by CB

Mile Marker 210 hitchhiker wearing a hospital gown. Don't pick him up.
Fog in Angus, TX.

"Drop" by TTop

Always drop a drop.

"Emotional Variance" by jpg

...the tradgedy of jared donaldson, so sure of his potential, unbelieving of mistakes, too much emotional variance...the loud encouragement seems out of place...looking to te stands, the coaching know it alls.  The argentine max gonzalez never looked to the stands...only swatted his shoes free of mud, kept his cool.  A drop killer...


Red Mud Gonzo: One

"Tilted and Torn" by jpg

...this tennis giant, fresh from the mosh pit...an entire generation apart, a two decade head start...but the decline has begun for the elders, life's undeniable truth...the brain's the equilizer, but only for a time...the clay seems darker on the screen, burnt orange...memories of a pearl white pool table with similar colored felt...tilted and torn...genuine draft neon sign, miller's desperate brew...two of three favors the old, three of five favors the young...

"Gritless" by jpg

...the old sturdy german proved too cool, the lanky american dragging his feet and giving up on shots by the end, content with a split set loss...haas, a former u.s. clay court champion, has seen his kind come and go...bend your knees man!  that's what its gonna take...tommy haas will never be too old to beat reilly olpelka...like many other promising yanks of late...gritless...

"Elbow Fatalities" by jpg

...working on improving my game...moving, mental torture avoidance, the elbow realities of an aging player--elbow fatalities rather...yes, only spectating, for now...delusional, perhaps....will be checking in brothers and sisters, from the edge of the gulf of mexico, reporting from the red mud of houston...


Huevo Rancheros

...three dollar bloody mary's with huevo rancheros.  art everywhere.  flag painters and peace corps sculptors.  so foriegn for the creators to perform, as if it matters.  as if God Himself cared about feedback.  He digs His stuff too...


The Ripples Will Dance

...in the aftermath of the storm, when relief was mixed with loss, after the sky's anger had gone, it was still noisey.  but peaceful sounds, not the crashing, thumping taunting of the pitch black clouds.  like dark itself, bumming everyone around...

...take the road near the park line, on over to the narrow bridge, the one that goes over wilson creek.  look out for snakes always and be watchful of others and everything.  observation is the key to learning, curiously paying attention and making notes...

...theories about conspiracies and more and more histories, cashing the checks of innocent sins.  dealing in the arts with the art of the deal, nothing to gain but the deal in my head.  float the boat gently over the water, the ripples will dance...



Just suppose.
That we are in the dark.
No light.
Virtually blind.

Illuminations burn.
What was heard is seen.
In glory.


Only light.
Eliminates darkness.
The tune of always.

Scurry up.
Fight the rain and the wind.
Quite dim.
Still enough to see.
Still some glow.



Like it when you rock.
Like a earthquake and its aftershocks.
--Like it when you rock.

Love it when you roll.
When you lose your self control.
--Love it when you roll.

Think I got a breakthrough.
Explanation for my brain's loose screw.
--Think I got a breakthrough.

Guess we oughta try.
Let the day go, embrace the night.
--Guess we oughta try.



The Shambles Of My Game

The shambles of my game are smoldering in a pit of glowing coals and lava.  Steam lifts as the sweats of anger evaporate.  My earlier explosion caused the blaze--that and an unforgiving opponent.  My tennis education continues.

During the 11th game of the 15 game mahut, after being up 40-love in the previous service game and losing to make it 5-5, I'd decided to quit tennis.  My opponent went on to hold serve and win the 11th game, and then the abuse began.  A crash into the fench, a smash to the hardcourt, even a hard chunk across the net, konking the bench, and careening to my opponent's feet.  A classy moment.  A fit.  Like it was the racquet's fault, and further, the racquet must be punished.  In an abusive and cold manner.  Lunacy.  The eventual loss of 7-8 was tainted with shame.  Asked for forgiveness at the closing net shake.  For stealing my opponent's tennis joy.  And worse, attempting to steal his tennis glory.

Good mahut for me really, a better result than the previous week, where my pathetic mental game helped produce a 2-8 loss.  Summed up in this note describing the mahut...

     The humbling began early, my opponent taking advantage of my chronic mental weakness.  His wounded shoulder in my mind.  Sympathy is such a pathetic and useless emotion in sports.  It can motivate those receiving it unwantingly.  And so it did, 8-2.  Sure, serves came to me with no pop, but the spins were wild, my feet were bumbling, my strokes were incomplete, my tennis anger turned into despair, then defeat.  My opponent taught me a lesson today.  I will take note, I will learn from it.  Seeing him and his red brake covers, hearing the roar of his exhaust, squinting at the shine of his convertible camero, I could only marvel.  I could only wonder.  Has anyone actually seen this MRI indicating a torn rotater cuff?.  Doctor priviledge, I guess, but think of it.  Brilliant.  Surely not, that would be too brilliant.  To fake an injury to ruin the mental game of your opponents.  I will learn from this, yes, I will learn from this mahut.  Mahut!

Physically, everything is good, despite the extra few lbs being lugged around.  Joints, muscles, tendons, ligaments, and back.  The eyes are weakening and the glasses fog, but still strong on the court, the tennis elbow of two years ago defeated.  Plantar fascia troubles no longer.  The mental weakness, however, can lead to a motivational crisis.  And this is where I stood in the 12th and 13th games of my morning's crumbling mahut.  Quit tennis until the Thursday morning Houston mahut, traditionally played before attending the day session of the U.S. Clay Court Championships.  A three week layoff would do me well I thought, all the while aimlessly firing forehands and backhands out, in the net, to the fences.  At least I wasn't screaming profanities and abusing my racquet.....any longer.

Came back and won a couple, but only after ruining the tennis peace of the entire complex.  The Indians were polite, as always.  Maybe it was Green Day, the morning's musical selection.  Perhaps punk rock should be for other venues.  But the morning was jamming, til the emotions in my mind let me down.  The quitting idea has already been abandoned, it is rarely the best option.  Perhaps prayer, yes, prayer.  Prayer is always the answer.  God's Will.  Amen.  Mahut!


Put Em On Hooks

...these are rural Parker County fish, rarely disturbed, rarely excited, just fish.  Big, well fed black bass.  Swimming around in the big Sagecrest Farms lake in schools.  Separated from the small Sagecrest Farms pond by a narrow but sturdy dam, which also serves as the only road down to the cleared out river bank area.  The Brazos waters flowing southeast to the Gulf of Mexico.  These rural Parker County fish were massacred by the Tokie Indian Tribe of North Texas.  Scalped and scaled, marinaded and grilled.  Burned on the edges to get a crispy bite.  Pictures flooded glowphones, social media went wild.  These massive bass being held up by the youngters of the tribe while the chief smiled proudly, blood on his hands.  Put em on hooks, suffocated them of water, prolly took several shots.  Those big fish, surely counting on the catch and release culture they had grown accoustomed to, were shocked.  Under the surface, far from the ability of the Tokies to see, meetings were called.  The elders spoke.  The lazy catfish no-showed, of course.  Even the minnows sent representatives.  A few had been abducted.  The Tokie chief ate one raw.  Evidently, he was making good on a wager of some sort.  Had to do with push-ups, both girl children able to do twice as many and even the small boy doing many more.  The young, always in the process of growing and maturing.  The old are different.  The elder fish called for level 3 caution.  The dumb fish got hooked regardless.  The cocky.  The desperate...


Dot Those Eyes, Cross Those Knees


...dot those eyes.
with green green green.
...blink and wink.
a Queen needs a King.
...go with a few.
pick the one you love.
...walk to the end.
regardless how tough.


cause love will move the mountains.
love is real as it can be.
love's what made the valleys.
and love is what set us free.

...cross those knees.
class is not an option.
...modest and calm.
proceed with caution.
...avoid downers.
they waste your time.
...without hope.
just jealous minds.


Your Flame Still Burns


Started in with the red wine and bread.
Had a restless mind, alot of trash in my head.
Thought I might forget you for awhile.
Everywhere I look I see my babies eyes.



Ohhhh, so bright.
And I fall inside.
Ohhhh, so bright.
Your flame still burns.

Discussions about why we do what we do.
Bout why we laugh, why we cry, why we get the blues.
Guess it all comes back to the order of things.
Forget the cars, forget the cash, forget the diamond ring.


Tell you of sin and temptations within.
Imaginations run wild and the schemes begin.
The seasons continue to leave and return.
Like light in the darkness, Your flame still burns.


Hippies On The Caprock


Late seventies in Lubbock, Arabs drove prices high, started drilling holes in the land of the big red sky.

Honkeytonk bouncers, where action could be found, knew all the banditos, the baddest gang around.

Flew in during the night, dropped the entire load, from South American valleys, the wild columbian gold.

Tamed all the roughneck oilmen, tamed the rednecks too, hippies on the caprock, nobody had a clue.


Was a new deal.
The way it made em feel.
There's a party in West Texas.
Booze and grass and pills.

Streets were going crazy, the hook had done its thing, desperate for their fixes, the druggies changed the game.

Catch Slide going north, til you hit the loop, go round and round, circle the town, speed was on the loose.

Cops weren't on his mind til they showed up at the door.  A secret operation, they slammed him on the floor.

Thrown to the wolves, to fulfill the drug demand, like a dust storm from the horizon, Red, he was the man.


Canyonball Run

...A permit malfuction, causing panic with the Caprock Canyon park ranger, as the trip back to the Rio Blanco was just getting started.  Chance to use the lights and siren.  Tore around the shoulder, passing several cars, skidding to a stop behind my black japanese sedan.   The glow of finishing the level 5 hike was forgotten, the refreshing ice cold coors was gone.  Interrogated of address, rationale, previous visits, and travel plans.  Passed over my ID.  Sniffed and scanned.

"Do not remove the permit from the inside of the windshield until you leave the park boundry."

That's what the scotch tape was for, we now figured.  We got the message, the glare of Okra The Indian from the passanger seat, the cool ease of El Camino in the back, and my crisp answers to questions, quicky convincing the officer to move along.  Nothing here.  Never took the car out of drive, had the foot on the brake. Was ready to hit it if I had to, the Canyonball Run was on!...


Land Dweller

The competition was nothing short
of a healthy hatred.  For a time, wishing woe on others.  Until the end of the game, washered out.  The rum making its way, in healthy doses, to the mind.  Finding everything funny and stumbling.  Weary from the road, but well fed on pickled okra and cheese.  With crackers.  Ritz, the good kind.

The Whitmore Museum of Natural History, famous for the first land dweller, when seas dried up.  The Seymouria Baylorensis, named for the nearby town of Seymour, in the early 1900s, when they were first discovered.  250 million years ago.  70 million years before the big dinosaurs.  The T-Rex had feathers for sure.  Dr. Bakker, the famous Bavarian Paleontologist, insisted for years.  Vindication is so tasty.  Huge animals of all kinds.  Bobcats stalking turkeys and pulling them out if the sky.  The lab, where Glenn and Sandy told us of their passion for these old dirty skeletons, of how it took 2 hours to chip and clean an inch long piece of ancient bone.  The puzzle of the structure.  A fine museum.  They knew of Heard in McKinney.  Legitimate.  Even a replica of the first creature to hear sound, the Diadectus.  What did noise sound like before hearing?  The forest knows.

The ribs are ready.  Slaw and bread.  Everything is green in West Texas.  The early heat growing the grass in late winter.  The cattle will be plump, but the wildfires could be bad.


The Money Tree

In space it must be quiet.
Silence we've never not heard.
Eternal empty hollowness.
Nothing filling the space.
Answers to questions of the day.
The puzzle is always taking form.
Billions of eyes continue the search.
Soundwaves of mute.
Points of view and scripts.
Intellectuals cannot be understood.
They are well known to be wrong.
Common fools in the end.
Bribery will not work anymore.
These scoundrels and thieves.
Innocent palms were nailed.
To the money tree.
This prizefight is full of action.
Body punches and hooks.
Jabs connecting with iron chins.
Spit buckets and broken noses.
Rumble on, rumble on.


Supernatural Elements

To the end of the age.
Teaching, not judging.
Not commanding.
That has already been done.

And go it is.
To make, create.
For no selfish reason.
As best as possible.

No power, just knowledge.
Simple logic.
With supernatural elements.

Articulation of some sort.
About love and how faith is made.
With the participation of God.

At Sicily's the bread keeps coming.
Your wine is free.
The body keeps going.
Until blood is cheap.

Individuals and associations.
Get together to protest lies.
Anything other than the truth.
Regardless of what is lit up.
Despite the observations.


Just A Bust

No relevancy and time for a walk.
The outsiders don't understand.
Where the living is good and easy.
Boxes stacked on boxes.
No keys fit the locks.
Numbered and labeled.
Jarred and stashed on the shelf.
Made to wait and waste time.
As glory gets ever closer.
Through the best and worst.
Towards the daylight of the gate.
For a long time.
No busting out.
Just a bust.


Live Forgiven

Determination and all its flaws.
The chant of the infected......

Control the scene completely.
The envisioning involved......

Imagining all sorts of things.
The blanks have been filled......

In with the water and faith.
When the spirit arrives......

When the Word comes alive.
And the Truth is sweet......

Like candy or fruit or jelly.
The Light has set you free......

No expectations are attached.
Live forgiven......

Happened a long time ago.
Determined and done......


Gonzo Birmingham 4

"Our Gals Are The Best Gals"
by jpg

The reports from Birmingham kept arriving.  Glowing and descriptive, the styles distinctive, the words sparse, as requested.  Only the words that mattered:  Blue Monkey at Nine, Bucket, Veljovic, J Clyde, The Magic City, A 1000 dying suns, Delaney on the mind.  Incidents and no accidents, glaring and demanding victory.  Americans, the Swiss killers.  Alabama Shirly was right.  Everything was fine.  Documented and recorded, accessible digitally forever.  Memories are obsolete.   Making experiences is the modern day making memories.  Do it.  Go.  This is our time.  Houston loomed, a Super time for GaGa to fly, followed by red, white, and blue drones.  A pledge to the flag and a dive.  Piano song showed them all.  Women do rule.  Red clay ahead, River Oaks and the fashion shows.  Feliciano Lopez groupies and discussions with Brad Gilbert.  He was right about Fed.  We were wrong about Sock.  Only CB can save his career, but he would never sign the contract.  If Sock only knew.  He is trapped by the suits.  The guitar players must go to the north where Hobos are needed.  To play the festivals and protests of the city.  The power of the woman is the truest truth of this world.  Like Serena and Venus, the sisterhood is unbreakable.  Collect at the North End of Erwin Park.  Our gals are the best gals.  CB, T-Top, peoplesDuke.  The women of our lives.  We have come to understand, our natures know, and our natures provide.  The Pats, for sure.  For obvious reasons, over time, whatever it takes.

A Thousand Cigarette Butts

Napoleon was a creep.  The power grubber of barbaric Europe.  The civilized moved to Texas.  Back when the cattle roamed back and forth across the Rio Grande.  Like Lonesome Dove.  Visions of McMurtry, our finest writer.  On his terms of endearment and his last picture show.  Duane's depressed. Rhino wars.  The Archer City book man.  Gone hollywood, gone on the road, gone back.  Live and let live, and write it down.  It is some kind of life.  A future, perhaps.

Yes, Napoleon was a creep.  Envied by all the creeps in history, evidently.  Admired for this ridiculous trait.  Hysterics of the sore kind.  Bitterness and snarks.  The boots will snuff em out.  Like a thousand cigarette butts.  Common litter is all.  Your mess is your own mess.  The world needs light, and the world has light.  Good is better than bad.  Happy is better than sad.  The creeps should be drowned, figuratively.  Drowned out and called out.  For abuses to others.  For interrupting the calm and the peace.  Music can exist, and cure, anyway.  Beyond this fight.  Smells like teen spirit for sure, when applied expectations were smashed.  Whatever, nevermind does mean everything.  The importance of every soul.  Keep looking forward my loves, the future goes forever.


Metal Nation (Crazy In New Orleans)

-That ole nothing feeling.  No good or bad or otherwise.

-Lord knows you're up and with it.  Caught my look into your eyes.

-Bring back the Commonwealth. We'll invite y'all to apply.

-Keep out the snakes and suckers.  Might just be you and I.

Wanna hear about your dreams.
Aw yeah, tell me more, tell me more.
Its all gone crazy in New Orleans.
Slipped out the back room door.

-So drive on my outter space friends.  See all the rock formations.

-Point west for the big picture show.  Catch it on the TV station.

-Blow east for wisdom and tricked up zen.  In touch with all creation.

-Go north and know the rusted past that built this metal nation.

Wanna hear about your dreams.
Aw yeah, tell me more, tell me more.
Its all gone crazy in New Orleans.
Slipped out the back room door.




Gonzo Birmingham 3

"That Dog Bites"
by peoplesDuke

T-Top almost whipped a street guitarist's ass for calling him an ass-hole.  For taking a pic of his Husky who was licking his hand.  The dude says "watch out, that dog bites!"  T-Top spoke to the chic on the ground next to the Siberian Husky, the petting approved and implied consent.  The Husky had beautiful blue eyes, the girl had a brown hue all round her.  The clothes, the hair/eyes, the imagined smell.  The entitled 6th St.-type millennial never took his finger off the pick.  He sat on top of a trash bin kept plucking the E string nervously.  T-Top moved aggressively with a clenched fist.  It went from 0 to 60 fast.  Immediately we realized it was not worth it.  We headed down the hill to our hotel.  He called us "Yuppies" when we were 20 ft. away.  We laughed.

"Blue Monkey at 9"
by CB

After the commanding Singles performance of Sock and Isner, confidence levels were high across the board at Legacy arena.  Day 2 doubles, flag ceremonies, team introductions and respect to ball boys ans girls, and of course, the officiating crew.  T-Top shouts at perfect 15 feet away volume "we love you Marijana".  The beautiful Serbian tennis chair umpire, Marijana Veljovic, turns slowly to look at the Texas trio.  Her confidence level kicked up a notch, similar to Sock's second serve.  The Americans showed their colors and finished strong in the 3rd set.  Tennis was done for the Texas trio, and when the stunning Serb walked by a clear message was sent.  "We still love you Marijana, Blue Monkey at 9".

"Hopp Suisse, Seeing Red and I Need More Cowbell"
by peoplesDuke

Now at 13th & Cobb, the cobblestone street lit with 100 year old gas lanterns.  J. Clyde and the famous sauerkraut balls.  "Best I've ever had," T-Top plainly stated.  Over to the Blue Monkey.  The lounge dimly lit.  British Frankie pouring cocktails and Jess interacting with the regulars. Intimate.


Gonzo Birmingham 2

"Delaney on the Mind"
by T-Top

Tracking through the deep south with the hint of andouille sausage, pimento cheese, and local honey seeping from our pores, we are 10 miles outside of Birmingham, AL. headed to the civil rights museum for some historical perspective ...antebellum homes, stars, bars, and pick up trucks ...the Alabama hot biscuit still on our minds.

by CB

Birmingham, the nucleus for race relations on Redneck Island Season 3. Scattered, capped, gravy on the side.  Tennis and more tennis with Delaney itching my mind and other parts.  Black market karaoke with no one to sing.  Executive orders by accused undercover racist.  Our time has come and gone, the dream of unification stays real but seems distant.

"Revolution & Reconciliation"
by peoplesDuke

Just under the surface of 21st century life, the City of Birmingham's past is viewed with an intense, unforgiving microscope.  The prayer marchers gathered near a firehouse downtown.  Four motorcycle cops waiting with flashing lights, silent, helmets with tinted visors and bodies covered uniformly, no skin showing, gloves over hands.  What to eat?  T-Top never tried moo-shoo pork and Yen's is across the street. Tennis at 2. Delaware plates at the Vulcan monument.  The Roman god of fire with an iron hammer in hand watching, protecting the "magic city".