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.


Men From Nantucket: Greatest Hits Vol. 2 (drafts)

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".

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.



Gonzo Birmingham 1

"Disguted & Embarrassed"
by peoplesDuke

ATM incident in E. TX., 2 wheels off the ground in Louisiana, listening to ABBA whilst weaving through the endless caravan of 18 wheelers. Nightfall has come and the quiet whir of the road resonates up through the "may-pop" tires. 63k miles on the Elantra and no recollection by the JBK that the tires have been replaced.

Will we get there...
Transaction not authorized. $200 requested, $0 dispensed. Alabama Shirley guaranteed late arrival. Mary, Jenny, Steffi, et. al have settled in for the night. T-Top, peoplesDuke, and "CB" ChillyBilly have taken flight. Evenly spaced red lights mesmerize, hypnotize, and guide by soft light. Johnny & June sing along the way "I'm going to Jackson"  blares.

"Ghosts of Vicksburg"
by CB

Mighty Miss the powerful river in our rear view. The ghosts of Vicksburg haunt us.  The stars, the sky, the north, and the south mix in the air we breathe as motorhead drowns the calling from the souls reaching out from nearby rolling hills.

"Chunky Mississippi"
by CB

Time has slowed... Dixies midnight runners can't run fast enough.  Alabama Shirley is expecting us. Red skys at night like a soft glow of 1000 dying suns.


Made To Create

made to create.
in the image.
make something.
love included.

the emotions of your life.
creeping up like a trader joe.
awareness of the glow kind.
existing for reasons only.
clear priorities and paths.
relationships on the side.

the old are cured of it.
irrational craziness of desire.
with its calculations and schemes.

hit with a bored board.
and blood has been drawn.

no wasting is allowed.
time is too valuable.
and its value increases over time.
no one is left with any.
it cannot be inherited.
it can only be used.

start out with a conceptual picture.
begin with the end in mind.
then create it.



Look, here he comes with his heavy metal songs, its T-Top.
Blarring big and loud beaming big and proud, that's T-Top.

Got a red 280 Z from the last century, its got T-Tops.
Now he has 5 gears turning back the years, he's T-Top.

Motor runs just fine still gets off the line, sweet T-Tops.
Cats all gather round with their low purrrring sounds, round T-Top.

Nice bucket seats with your butt right on the streets, aww T-Top.
Its red just like his head some serious 80s cred, its T-Top.

Look, there he goes nobody really knows what its like to be T-Top.
Sure got a nice ride visions from days gone by, ole T-Top.



All Seasons End


the ache just aches.  too much pain to vomit.  dull and escalating.  all has been tried.

fits and screams, vulgarities and silence.  nothing will help.  the woe is real.  Such a petty thing.

fandom and it's inevitable false hope.  the party ends quick, left with crumbs and dishes.  run around the corner, make a drop.  take the long road to nowhere.

through the fog and January rain.  inches matter and instant replay don't lie.  historic pass for 35 yards.  and the kick slipped through.

the depression was striking and clear.  this was not the blues, nothing that a tune could cure.  tried it all.  three threes in a row.

laid flat on the back.  weight training, hot tub, and 35 huge breaths of menthol-laiden steam.  wore all black.  humor is not funny, anger isn't working.

distractions perhaps, TV and glow.  irritable and unpredictable, poor dogs.  Pete Delkus has a new hair color as he tracks the tornadoes in the area.  we should skip the sportscast.

put the radar on the screen.  chin up my cowboy brothers and sisters, heaven is still badass.  this sweet tooth is only a trap.  medicine, of the drowsy kind.

wonder of MLK's favorite team.  he understood the weakness of us all, the sin we can't overcome ourselves.  regardless of our vows, despite our commitments.  our dedication is worthless, our hope is misplaced.

failure is a gift, a sting that burns.  the embers can become flames again.  but the air is polluted for now, just smoke and ash.  our shoulders slump, our necks tilt forward.

all seasons end.


Only A Whistle Brings Peace

right there, on the line.
dig in, get ready to go.

hold steady, don't flinch.

look for the clues and know the score.
the bandits are winning.

they must be defeated with a final smash.

the grass will fly, the dirt will spew.
a scream begins the pursuit.

grunts and groans, cries and moans.

fix the eyes and ignore the sounds.
do not stop.

only a whistle brings peace.


To Strut And Sneer

...the towels have been thrown...
only the vain fit in here

...set the bar high...

like they were something
...favors can be done...

we might let you play later

...keep the words to a minimum...
drunk on their equipment

...playing old music...

the coolest ever
...Albert King...

the young never heard of him

...those are low down blues...
like he lived

...only replicas and phoneys...

three hours to act like a star
...to strut and sneer...



...not even the great charlie rose can keep john kerry from boring me to death.  never has nothing been accomplished so blandly.  world, america is not that lame...


The Light Lobby


.try the wastelands.

.they go on forever.
.frozen over time.
.melting away.

.mudslides coming quick.

.these snakes that cling.
.the swamp is dry.
.down the drain.

.the Russians are coming.

.they are already here.
.some are brothers.
.some are sisters.

.this is clouding the truth.

.think of what's to come.
.the transparency of business.
.applied to institutions.

.the Light lobby.

.there is a reason for the sun.
.cash gets the cash.
.our eyes will see.

.already the defense is beginning.

.deflect and deny.
.diminish and condescend.
.collect the dimes.

.the dirty double down.

.twice the price.
.summits need speakers.
.with good jokes.


Forever I Said I Do


Years ago we had a wedding show.
And here is where we are.
Glad you stayed, never went away.
Never broke my loving heart.
Now we see it was meant to be.
We're almost to the line.
The one you cross when pride is lost.
And everything seems fine.

Little girls with little curls.
They're almost grown up now.
Watch em walk, hear em talk.
They got it figured out.
So they think but they're on the brink.
Of really living life.
All the flash and all the trash.
Learning on the fly.

As for us, we'll fight the rust.
And swim out to the deep.
Better together in any weather.
The storms will never sleep.
All that night I held you tight.
Told you I'd be true.
Here we are and I'm true so far.
Forever I said I do.



All the senses have been explained.  
Only ways to experience anything. 
The sixth, rebalancing it all. 

Relationships also, feelings inspired by others.  
The many forms of love, the tolerance of hate.  

Prophetic observations, to pass the time.  
Wonderment of the future.  
Utopia and all its glory.  

The hope of many.  
The inconsequentials and quibblers, just playing around.  
Excitement and challenges, making notes.  

Reminders of declines and nostalgic jamborees.
Taking the high road, where the cliffs are steeper and the folks just keep going, never stopping to whine, only to help.  
Resting regularly and remembering dreams.  

Pocketbooks, tight and twisting.  
The blues, hanging around somewhere.  
Don't know where now, but they're around.  

Walking and wandering unknown places, eating and drinking with the locals.  
These parties and talkers, behind the scenes.  
Broken and scared, with panic attacks and shakes.

The Word is heard.
Some perception of someone or some wink from a stranger.  
Passing time, collecting the memories, moving along.


Tapping For The Money

Silent work.
The only real work done.
Meticulous and proper.
Tapping notes.
Jazz and vaudeville.
Tapping for the money.
Hearing nothing and everything.
Like Miles might say.
Understand the surroundings.
And your common traits.
Contentment and its safety.
Recklessness has a bleak future.
Lose it all.
And all of something is something.
Be an old timer.
On your own time.


The Dizziness Is Normal

In the early years of your life, when you worked and worked til the very end.  When you felt important and noticed.  When you struted.  Alarmed you were, to be floated away, to be sent off on a makeshift raft.  Alone, out to the deep seas where the moonlight reflection never ends.  Like the Light itself.  The beginning and the end.

The world is full of intelligent words thought up by ignorant minds.  Masking the idiocy, condemning disent.  Rationality of a perception.  Nothing is found, only defended and debated.  Truth, as we know, is not in us.  Only mathematics, microscopes, and telescopes keep us anywhere near the truth.  Then our theories are made, usually to justify a conclusion.  And some come to pass, some are, in fact, validated.  Absolutely.  However, the list of theories and hypothesis that don't come about, that are wrong, that are invalidated, is a list with no end.

The rotations continue.  The perfect rhythm of our space travel.  Like we're on the end of a string being swung around, suspended forever.  The sun has some kinda pull!  Like a one man band, playing all the intruments, keeping perfect time while infinity waits.  The effort involved is only temporary.  Hold on, the sun will not lose its grip.  The dizziness is normal.


Maintain The Brain

Then the brain gets its oxygen.
And the thinking begins.
But no deciding is done.
Until the mind is tired.
Worn from seeing the angles.
Beat from the hypotheticals.
Routed by what if scenarios.
No decisions could be decided.
Conclusions could be concluded.
Concluding that nothing be decided.

For now.

Hierarchical needs arise.
Becoming the priority thought.
Hunger and desire.
Scheming to satisfy.
Frustration unavoidable and looming.
Literal use can maintain the brain.
Activities of concentration.
Intentional calming techniques.
Collaborations and relationship curiosities.
Your time directed by the Light.


Crash Tester BMXers

Buckskinny boots.
To walk the moon.
China dances with fire.
Attitude of the defeated.
Cheer it up.
Loosen the vice.
Talk of what is unimaginable.
And imagine it.
Space is there.
To be free.
To think a new thought.
To break it.
Then create it.

Crash Tester BMXers.
We ride!
Odd and peculiar.
The renaissance is near.
Trending in our minds.
What's cool is cool.
What's hot is hot.
What's lame is lame.
Any way we slice it.
Another day to enjoy.
And to endure.

Cinnamon frosts the air.
Breathe it deep in your lungs.
Come near the flames.
Bring scarves and games.
Look past the glow.


Chirps And Chirps

edge of day,
spinning always.

brightening slowly,
same pace as time.

the birds know,
chirps and chirps.

equal time,
fairness of vanity.

constant opportunity,
look to others.

become nothing,
as intended.


Evening Song

These eyes, looking to you, wondering and happy.
No future to worry through, no expectations.
Appreciating the reality of it all.
The time passed and the current distractors.
Only night brings peace, resting and sleeping help the world exist.
Memorized and delivered, ready for the challenge, determined to follow through.
Nothing will stop her now.
Or nobody.
Tell them all about it, lightly embellishing the possibilities.
Full of hope, full of excitement.
An afternoon discussion, an evening song.


Gang Of Gagglers

Only a madman would remain.
Gang of gagglers and stragglers.

Carry a switchblade if you need to.
Always watch your back girls.

The liars will seek the vulnerable.
Naive and hoping it all turns out.

Lacking control and searching.
Seeds of resentment planted again.

Shading the years of the future.
Should find a Dr. to tell me the truth.
Tell me what to do.

The barrio was cold and windy.
Clean form and bouncing feet.


Scroll The Screen

.a distant hope.
.reminders always.
.groveling meekly.
.burned again.
.losing track of your mind.
.wasting time.

.these are days for readers.
.page to page.
.scroll the screen.
.make the fountains flow.
.the fruit will be sweet.
.tasty and abundant.

.the scurried and frivolous.
.anxiety of frowns.
.tight faces.
.with a psychedelic sidekick.
.to loosen the mood.
.and laugh a little.


Radiator Blues

...brake pads and menthols.
...been driving way too loose.
...two hours was what you thought.
...then the radiator blues.

...cause that's the way it goes.
...here's the honest truth.
...should buy Japanese.
...won't get radiator blues.

...here's a perfect example.
...for some reason i bought a dodge.
...every automatic window broke.
...that junk was always in the garage.

...but when I buy a Toyota.
...or when I buy Nissan.
...never have to mess with any of that.
...I've learned some hard lessons.

...one thing you should know.
...one thing never to forget.
...if you buy a dodge.
...you'll live with great regret.

...listen for any rattling sounds.
...look for other clues.
...don't wanna leave the new car lot.
...with the radiator blues.



When The Moon Takes The Day


The sleepies got a hold of em.
Just fell down and slept.
Need to get their hair redone.
To get the proper mindset.

Eyes, they're open wide.
Seeing everything they see.
Filling in the blanks.
Like a movie on the screen.

All around the world.
The whole human race.
When the sun lights the night.
d7.                                           g
When the moon takes the day.

The tension will usually bust.
Fingers point and blame.
Resentment is tough to forget.
Someday they'll feel the same.


Forgiveness can be described.
Free willing minds can choose.
Perhaps we'll live peacefully.
We got nothing to lose.




The sad minds of sore losers.
When justice must be done.
Because it just can't be.
The thought of it appalling.
Acceptance unimaginable.
Then the superiority.
The undefeatable case.
Dictated, without rebutal.
The horribleness of it.
Peace is not involved.
Only droning on and on.



.a girl that gives out recipes. .one that holds on. .shakes out your shakes. .if need be. .sleeps close at night. .happily along. .ready for any road. .jump a curb and hit the juice. .leave the pavement behind. .on to the big skys. .where earth has scars. .a place to bust through and seep out. .ooze like molten lava. .slowly and without regard. .engulfing and commanding respect. .thankful love. .wanted or not. .accepted or rejected. .either way.


The Whole Rodeo

Suddenly, the bottom drops.
For all the reasons known.
But it is now, not then.
And now is the only way to really see.
This isn't visions of the future.
Or vivid memories of the past.
Decisions must be made.
It is unavoidable.
Mindset must be had.
Even out of your mind is a mindset.
The brain will not allow a shutdown.
It owns the whole rodeo.
The subconscious and conscious.
The awake and asleep.
The daydreams and nightmares.
Use your mind, it is using you.
Fill it with Love.
Jam it with Word.
Click on the Light.
The Way found you.
Got some good good news.
That's the Truth.


Relax Room

The relax room.
Full of jazz and wine.
Only the freshest allowed.
The working it girls.
Working it.
While the band is on another break.


The Pace Of Bums

perhaps some time on a mountain, solitude finally.
quiet and peaceful, only nature noises and smells.
alone to breathe and moan.
to help the heart be lit again.
blazing for love and excitement.
or maybe on a beach.
sweet, salty air, heavy with chilling.
the pace of bums.
high tides and afternoon rest.
coastal night walks, with the moon following.
don't know what to do.
let the dreams decide, I suppose.


Executive Notes #5


*56 % didn't trust either candidate.  Rasmussen.

*Media down from 55 in 1999 to 32 in 2016.  Gallup.

*Congress.  41 in 86 to 9.  Gallup.

What to do?...avoid.bite your lip.

...got to bring the people back together.
 How?  Conversational Intelligence is the power to elevate our collective intelligence.***

NY Times columnist Wesley Morris....

The term has become the sad equivalent of the jolly drinking axiom: It’s always national-conversation time somewhere. Whenever the mood around an issue ought to change — guns, policing, marriage, the Oscars — somebody will say we need to talk about it. We should be sitting around and figuring this thing out. We need to have “real,” “substantive,” “difficult” exchanges — about our personal biases, about our bad policies — that reach far and go deep. “It’s time for a national conversation” about mental health, retirement savings, drones.

...national conversation.....to an intelligent national conversation.

Double click exercise.  An Intelligent National Conversation.

7 vital conversations***

1*Co-Creating.  Be inclusive.  Exclusive to inclusive.
2*Humanizing.  Be appreciative.  Judging to appreciating.
3*Aspiring.  Be aspirational.  Limiting to expanding.
4*Navigating.  Be trusted and collaborative.  Withholding to sharing.
5*Generating.   Be experimental.  Having all the answers to discovering the new.
6*Expressing.  Be influential.  Dictating to developing.
7*Synchronizing.  Be enterprise.  Compliance to celebration.

***from the book Conversational Intelligence, by Judith E. Glaser


Intellectual Resistance

Acceptance is only an emotion.
It can be intellectually rejected.
It can be refused.
Easily, along with other emotions.
Tougher, when acceptance is felt.
We'll all see.
Business will go on.
Boats will float the oceans and seas.
Lights will be turned on.
The glowhackers will reboot.
Men and women and in betweens.
Looking for kicks.
Listen for the Words of the day.
Mixed with the la la las.
Surrounded by string music.
And low booming drums.
Eratic, and definitely not, static.
And ending abruptly, if need be.

Feel the Spirit.
The Spirit feels you.
The earth is full of its fragrances.
Rising into it's atmosphere.
Unable to be held prisoner.
Released from the surface and gone.
Just now we are spinning into a new day.
The rotation continues and time awareness returns.
Surely the blind are distracted by beauty too.
No doubt the deaf can hum a tune.

Accept or not accept.
Trick your own mind.
It can be done.
Attach the cause to an emotion.
Then, and only then, convince yourself.
Only a closed mind can trick itself.
But closed minds are dumb minds.
And the intellectual becomes sad.
Because of their own hypocricy.
And the intellectual becomes mad.
At themselves really.
Which leads the intellectual to depression.
The soul and the dark nights.
It is hard to open a closed mind.
When the intellectual finally accepts.
The burden is gone.

And actual intellectual resistance can begin.


The Landslide

In huge globs it keeps sliding.
Seperated from the mountain.
Unknown and dangerous.
Unsettling and unexpected.
The shocked stand there.
Insistent, even, that its not real.
Sobered and ignored.
Determining that everyone is stupid.
This is reality.
The ones that knew all along are tired.
But calm.
The only thing left for the disbelieving is anger, depression, then acceptance.
The full range.
Mud will continue to fall for days.
Then it will stop.
And the landslide will be over.


Daybreak Is Daybreak

.so so relative.
.this time conception.
.and the prisoners involved.
.it is continuous and true.
.always there.
.never able to be removed.
.time becomes a part of our culture.
.unable to be commoditized.
.only lived.
.only experienced.
.only enjoyed.
.only filled.
.only used.
.only endured.
.until time is gone.
.and timelessness begins.
.when time is forgotten we are close.
.close to our eternal nature.
.the brain brings it back.
.it cannot understand.
.it must be occupied.
.and it is close to our corrupted heart.
.so we play tennis at daybreak.
.savings time ridiculousness is irrlevant.
.daybreak is daybreak.
.don't be late.


Dignified And Such

Huge eyes, rolling around.
Making looks and chasing it.
Respectability, always now.
Dignified and such.
No communication games.
Places with no names.
Signs ahead said skip the blame.
Enough with the shake off please.
Get through to the offended.
They are wasting their time.
Make the music regardless.
Make the steel drums ding.
These emotions of the mind.
And the reality of the heart.
Together, they can be controlled.
With some soul and rhythm.
On a four four beat.


Reformation Haiku

Not just a small tweak
The reforms do cut deeply-
These cold hallowed nights


Giggling Lunatics

And the chapter does end, the next one practically written in your mind.

All the corner store people, the one's that whistle and stutter, continue their chatter.

They make the most with words, despite the dumb profanity.

To fill the air with punctuation noise.

No reason for alarms or flags.

All is known that can be known.

For now.

Real knowledge can't be bought, only comprehended.

Only revealed.

The world is made up of bandits and jokers.

Laughing maniacs, giggling lunatics.

Don't have a fit.

Only babes are uncontrolled, the classy women are grown.


To Fern Cave

...the long faces of the ancients.
...in a row, generation after generation.
...judging and frowning.
...the guilt of expectations.
...the shame of doubt.
...we are free now.

...walking the river beds.
...hollowed out walls with brittle rocks.
...lines of crystal snake through the red.
...the sandy bottom.
...rough brush, laying low on the trail.
...loose footing and slips.
...to fern cave.
...like eden almost.
...northwest corner of Caprock Canyon.
...near Turkey, Texas.
...where Bob Wills is still the king.

...a quick sit.
...got back on the high ridge.
...incredible scenes.
...then the water ran out.
...the haynes decent went on forever.
...real hiking.
...breaking the fall.
...and a buffalo staredown.

...on the road for the final mile.
...cars from far off states rolling by.
...these red walls echo gravity blues.
...fight and scratch to break through.
...tried to look in the soul to find it.
...instead of leaving everything behind.

After My Dreams

Alone for now.
Not lonely.
Noises of this place enough.
The birds are cawling and errking.
Appliances hum.
Wind is loud out here.
In the good people lands.
Just the cure for the hurry it ups.
The run arounders.
And the gotta do's.
Run to Spur for lunch.
Walk the town a bit.
Be doing that later.
Much later.
After my dreams.

Review Of The Turnaround Cafe

Spur, TX.  First off, go here.  5 of 5 stars.  This cafe off the main downtown road is fantastic.  Fantastic if you like tasty gravy.  Fantastic of you like perfectly chicken fried chicken fried steak.  Fantastic if you like long fresh cut potato tasting fries, texas toast that is fresh and crispy, a salad that is cold.  Like some thousand islands.  Fantastic if you like big tea cups.  Sweeten it yourself if you like.  The waitress anticipated, the menues were clean.  Locals came through steady.  No rush.  Passed on the meatloaf special, but bet it was good.  Fans silently moving the cool October air around.  The chef even came out to clear some dishes.  Polite and respectful, not like the mad cooks in the city.  Unhinged, like some art is being criticized.  Paranoid of thier greatness.  Reputation weary.  The chef of the Turnaround Cafe seeks irrelevancy for himself and perfection for his food.  A very West Texan trait.  The customary ToGo ice tea was large and packed with ice.  Perhaps some music would be nice, but the fans and creaks and doors of the tidy place rang tunes all thier own.  The clangs of dishes, the talk of machines.  If leaving Spur, turnaround to the Turnaround Cafe.  Fantastic.


Glory Is Theirs

Hearing the names for King Of The Court 8 (KOtC8), cleary we are courting the best field ever courted in the history of this perpetual and royal tennis experience.  Tournament Administrator Keck's recruiting excellence has built a royal family of tennis Kings and Princes and Dukes and Earls.  And the Kings do get the spoils of war.  The ransom.  King James (2), King The Todd (2), King Stone, King Foster, and King Huff.  Glory is theirs.

King Stone and King Huff are back for the KOtC8 crown.  The other Kings have unavoidable scheduling conflicts.  The perfectly comfortable friday afternoon cold patio blond ale was smooth and delicious.  Keck continued to reveal the line up.  We were both in, of course.  And Joe and William The Earl.  Frank Friday had confirmed, prioritizing this event while scheduling his USTA fall season.  Another very, very respectable trait that Frank Friday posesses that makes him, a former Prince and Earl, a model KOtC participant.  His joy of winning is another.

Bobby was out, perhaps he will attend, perhaps he will write an expose.  It could be added to the Isner book.  An excerpt, or a quote.  Italicized and bolded.  He is an excellent playwright, his documented observations would be welcome.  Vito is in and the competition committee will ensure that he is placed in my morning round.  In KOtC7, before the deluge that marred the trophy ceremonies, we were to meet in the Duke afternoon round.  Mysteriously, he had to Roddick and left.  His timing was good, he stayed dry, we would have been rained out anyway, but our mahut was never played.  Vito is rythym and blues, Vito is rock, Vito destroyed me 8-2 in KOtC6.  Yes, we will meet in the morning round of KOtC8.  Hunter Foster, son of a King and local collegiate player, is entered and is intense.  The Peruvian Berco is returning.  Our 5-5 mahut in KOtC7 was very enjoyable, happy he is back again.  Really smooth game.  Established in their princely royal blood, Marty Feldman and Chris Fess return thirsty as always.  Marty always looks as though he could never walk another step after finishing the 60 game, 6 opponent, 5 hour KOtC format.  He gives it all to every shot.  Even second serves.  There is a reason his younger brother, King The Todd, accomplished what he has.  In tennis, in his career, in his life.  Marty taught him there is more to exaust in our bodies than our minds determine as rational.  Marty has now taught us all this truth.  Prince Fess, his fierce game, his unreturnable running slice down-the-line backhand, his determined grit, is always thirsty.  Relieved that the competition committee has evidently let me avoid playing him in the morning round on the first draft of the matchups.  Unreturnable shots are tough.

Rhyder Robison has a spot again.  The reputation of his game is glowing.  He has been mentored, personally and professionally, by Keck, toiling under his mentorship and leadership.  Like what Jared and Jack Keck have endured thier entire lives.  Suffering produces perseverance produces character produces hope.  It is the only way to greatness.  Rhyder is a royal threat.  If he don't cramp or get dehydrated.  Water is life once again.  Drink up.  This Scott Verdery was somewhat of a mystery to me.  He played in KOtC6, the one played for the French (The French!), when King Foster staked his claim, when the Vita's abruptly, physically, and literally ridded Tupps Brewery of a maniacal, out of control drunk.  The man was attaking an elderly couple for no reason.  Joe's repeated screams of 'sit down and shut up!' and Bill's legendary involvement is still remembered by the brewmaster and volunteer beer drawers at Tupps.  Ultimately, the staff intervened, tossed the drunken man into an UBER, and sent him on his way.  Back to the rhythms, back to the rhymes.

As always, Keck has entered The Kid, usually a star player on the Justin Quest led Allen Eagles.  Just run us kid, run us around.  Only Dayton has earned royal blood as The Kid.  KOtC3, Prince Dayton.  Then he went off to Shreiner College in Kerrville, TX to join the Mountaineers, where he now plays #6 singles alongside Nick Pena, who plays #3 singles and is also a former The Kid in the KOtC.  The Kid is always a legitimate threat.  Keck had no name, but the name didn't matter.  The final entry is Briggli, evidently a former TCU player originally from Romania.  Plays doubles mostly but, in Keck's estimation, a challenger to the throne.  With King Stone and Huff entered, we'll see.  Duke Holmes is the first alternate in a controversial ommision from the initial 16.  Never had a current royal been put in this position.  He may never know, this invitation is so exclusive.  His complete Kramarian game will be sincerely missed if he doesn't play.  Flying to the net always.  He considered not entering and being the full time administrator.  A Roddicking Keck was incredible in that role as his wrist healed for KOtC7.  He is tempted as the format moves forward with Kaizenian intentions and perpetual minds. But his game is back and intact, he has pop on his serve and could be the Prince.  Too much game left for Keck to hang up the bandana.  He still craves toyal blood.  Expansions have been discussed, the Queen Of The Court dreams, different locations, catered after-parties with kegs and boxes of wine.

For now, glory is theirs for the taking in KOtC8.  Mahut!


Deep Blues


*Daddy never told me nothing bout surviving the deep blues.
*Never let me know how to fight and scratch just to break through.
*Guess he never had to look in his mind to see what he'd find.
*Avoided the emotions by hitting the road almost every time.

*Now I'm in a spot, like it or not, got the deep blues.
*Every day I feel like running away and sometimes I do.
*Midnight run to the North End so I could pray to you.
*You took my rap then you sent me back, then I knew.

*Hold on til morning comes, the deep blues'll pass.
*Find a room to play some tunes, do it fast.
*Sing about loss, sing about the boss, it ain't your fault.
*Times like these when your on your knees, plead baby plead baby plead baby plead.


A Companion Always

These are days of blues.
The melancholy has been fed.
It has grown unattended.
In a general sense.
A companion always.
The canvas of my life.
Colors of playfulness and joy.
Occupiers of attention for a moment.
Like a dream almost.

The Music Lovers Remained

Pylons and barriers everywhere.
Orange was the color.
The runners must be safe.
The traffic must be directed.
Get through to the circle drive and drop it all off.
Beat up and used.
Clear and clean is the air.
A beautiful short fall begining again in Texas.
Catch it quick.
The plug in woes.
Turning dials and checking connections.
A reboot of the reboot.
And the noise was amplified.
Grateful Dead jam to start.

Then P57MONK with the house set.
Incredible sounding winds and robot voices behind a layered array of riffs, rhythms, and other interesting sounds, repeating perfectly and transitioning with fades and DJ engineering.

Nantucket was next.
As always loud and rocking like the ocean, deep waves and crashing downs, prepared for survival in a solid boat before heading off to laramie with a masterpiece.

Popped an Oktoberfest and checked in on the Horns.
The Okies thirsty revenge.
Dodged a choo choo train.
High fives to the silver and bronze.
Gold was too quick.

Then New Sounds arrived.
Tight strat, bass, drum trio, missing their lyricist forth, but not needing her this day.  Clear lead, precise drums, and bass lines carrying the audience through it all like a magic carpet ride.  Only family can get that kind of sound.

The dunking booth was busy.
Everyone wanted a shot.
Went 1 for 3 serving as a mercenary.
.333 average ain't bad.
A brew for MONK as the headliners arrived.

The BoomBachs will play high noon next year.
Dual keys delivered a full sound, these 7 Denton dudes brought the whole show, the bearded lyricist and the drums of rose.  Words with multiple syllables sharply finished off then another, and others followed, all coming together to define the mood.

The music lovers remained.
Strollers strolled off.
Runners ran off.
And the fish were biting.


Conditions Are Perfect For A Masterpiece

...the storms only last for awhile my babe.
...destruction is always followed by peace.
...and the worst day is followed by the best.
...plugged everything in and got sound.
...resting in nantucket til the early morning.
...the give-up is only a temporary solution.
...forgiveness and love will always remain.
...the hope that the vision will be seen again.
...like it was imagined in the kissing days.
...so sad is the sight of insecurity and fear.
...active eyes keeping watch on all the backs.
...emotions and moods are seperate indeed.
...like splashes of color on a solid canvas.
...conditions are perfect for a masterpiece.
...merely an announcement of the band.
...no audience interactions or witty remarks.
...songs with no names play in succession.
...polite nods and appreciation to close.