These strings are attached.  They are the only thing keeping this house of cards standing.  Flimsy relationships and sabotage, breaker one nines with radio checks.  Dreads and woes.  Mistaken identities and hacker nerds.  Details upon details.  Crooked cops and rambling tragedies, silenced by the dirt.  Chatterers, shatterers, and climbing the ladderers.  Crusaders of justice, the worst of all, justifying their own crimes with self-righteous smugs.  The servants are quietly among them, watching and waiting meekly.  They will inherit this earth.

The secrets of Highland Park.  Even the rich get old and wither.  Shine on that cool wind.  There is almost no one to trust, almost no one with good intentions.  Most are preoccupied, fearing the unveiling of their daily truth.  Their regrets, their envys, their desires.  Unspoken, bound tight, kept.  Left honoring the past, cynical about the present, and dismissive of the future.  Almost no true friends.  Look for the lights, seek the givers, love the forgivers.

Blow a kiss over to the Chamber of Commerce.  They will grease it good.  Tax breaks, insider insiders, nights on the town, get the rocks off.  Just an interested observer's take.  Like a trader's market, where scores are tallied and cash is stacked.  A traditional approach, a smoky back room.  Time is about negotiation, the reason the wheels move slow.  Less of a hit, more of a drag.  Less of a shot, more of a sip.  Wait it out to get paid out.  Hold it up to get loaded up.  Shake it down for the get down.  Reel them in for the fix is in.

She is running with her plan.  It is the priority situation, anyone could be played, paid, made, saved, or laid.  Drown the guilt in the holy sea and let the water of earth take the blame, forever the essential element.  Double the hydrogen to oxygen and you got ice, steam, and water.  Slick, hot, and clean.  The reality of H2O's importance is obvious and beyond discussion.  Go with the ivory dress for sure, it is pure and elegant.  You will radiate and glow.  Like a light.


Professional Night

"Hey man, gonna see Bob Schneider at The Granada on professional night."

Professional night?  What's that?

"Never heard of professional night?"


"Ever heard of amatuer night?"

Sure, New Years Eve--amatuer night!

"Right.  Bob plays Austin on amateur night every year.  He plays Dallas on professional night, the night before amateur night.  Full band, always a tight group.  Ollie's got the moves.  Slow motion and exact.  Bass player got the bass player sway.  Top of the line players, all of them.  Bob is a master, funny as shit!  You should go."

Gonna be a lot of people there?

"It's Bob.  It will be packed.  The professionals of Dallas know what's up on professional night every year.  It's Bob, man!"

Sounds like a lot of people, not really my scene.

"Not your scene?  Not your scene?!?  This ain't no scene.  This is tunes.  Tunes is the thing.  Nobody gives a shit about a damn scene.  Don't be such a dope.  Come on!  Go."

What's it cost?

"What?!  Seriously.  20 bucks or something."

Drinks?  Are they pricey?

"You sound like the biggest amatuer.  Nevermind, forget I brought it up.  Watch the weatherman talk on TV about temperatures and pipe wrapping and the homeless."

Yeah, need to rest up.

"Why do you need to rest up?"

Going out on New Years Eve.  Gonna eat and drink and dance.

"Of course.  Where?"

The Airport Hyatt.  Coupon said they got a buffett, an ice sculpture, and a free champagne toast right as the clock hits 12.  A big countdown!  And DJ Brickhouse is rocking the music.  Think we might UBER.  Getting a haircut, maybe.  Wanna look sharp.


Wanna go?

'Fuck no.'


Blood On The Tailgate


Before we saw the sun.
Was cleaning my gun.
Under the moonlight.
Was setting my sights.
Sure to shoot em clean.
So they die right on the scene.
Now there's blood on the tailgate,
and that's a damn good thing.

Set up in a blind.
Sipping mellow moonshine.
Being quiet as cats.
Almost took a nap.
Suddenly a rack appeared.
The shot was there, the view was clear.
Now there's blood on the tailgate,
and that's cause for some cheers.

Late in the day.
Kneeling on some hay.
Long bows strung tight,
Like to arrow one out.
Let one fly, shot it just fine.
Smooth release and steady eye.
Now there's blood on the tailgate,
and that's a damn good sign.

*co-written with Corey Baker.


Vantaggio, Vantaggio.
It's your advantage, time to slam the door.
Vantaggio, Vantaggio.
It's your victory, overcame, endured.

Many, many tennis apparel companies will promise many, many things.  Modern fabrics, more modern than the previous modern fabrics.  Lighter apparel, so the weight of your sweat is spilled on the court, not retained and carried during play.  Fashionable and tasteful styles, with sensible tailoring, double stiched and reinforced.  Ample colors that pop, in a certain kind of way, cool and worldly.  Yes, many, many tennis apparel companies will promise these things.  Many.  Only one delivers---Vantaggio.  Its your advantage...

Vantaggio, Vantaggio.
It's your advantage, time to slam the door.
Vantaggio, Vantaggio.
It's your victory, overcame, endured.


*Commissioned by Vantaggio Tennis Apparel Company.  This is a JingleHut creation.


Certain Kind Of Magic


What you wanna say.
What you wanna see.
What you wanna find.
What you wanna be.

Where you wanna go.
Where you wanna fly.
Where you wanna run.
Where you wanna lie.


And all we ever wanted was a certain kind of magic, yes a certain kind of tragic understanding of our minds.

Why you wanna hurt.
Why you wanna bleed.
Why you wanna slide.
Why you wanna need.

When you wanna shine.
When you wanna freak.
When you wanna love.
When you wanna meet.

And all we ever wanted was a certain kind of magic, yes a certain kind of tragic understanding of our minds.

How we gonna know.
How we gonna wake.
How we gonna jam.
How we gonna shake.

Are we gonna dream.
Are we gonna raise hell.
Are we gonna think.
Are we gonna tell.


Wild Chicken

Some version of a vision is all we need to get started.  From there, the wind will help us, the tides will be perfect, the moon will light the way.  Not reacted to, but absorbed quickly.  It's merely information, nothing changes.  We go forward.  Again, with the wind.  Breezy and fresh, a rush of coolness to the stubborn and dumb.

Automatically, we reach for the duct tape.  It has been proven time and time again over the years.  Minor repairs, major emergencies, airtight seals, apprehensions.  Available in all colors, however, silver is by far the most popular.  Some day duct tape will be obsolete like wires are becoming, but it will take awhile.  Decades, maybe.   

Run for the money, hustle all you want.  Rely on the lie.  It is a trap, a waste, a folly.  Make peace and money will run to you.  Care less about it, be careless with it, it is completely irrelevant now.  Everyone will be tested with poverty and prosperity.  The poor have been told they are less, but they are not.  They will own the earth.

Because many years ago on a farm near the Missouri River, a wild chicken laid a beautiful black egg.  Different from the rest, utterly unique.  The one.  Understand what is needed, without words, with love.  Tired of being tired of, let the interested find each other. Western madness is our only chance,  please summon the driver.


Asylum Seekers Beware

1.  It's all relational manipulations and The Chinese.

2.  Interrogations and confidence shakers, then the fidget's betrayal.

3.  The wine's effect, and the get down with the get downs.

4.  She ain't no coward, sister.

5.  Camping out at Camp David for the dignity, sleeping in deciding rooms.

6.  Power never lasts, the greed and paranoyia are too much to overcome.

7.  His only light is dimming, everything else is already dark.

8.  Toward the rocks they are led, near the cliffs of the Pacific Sea.

9.  Asylum seekers beware, your paper means nothing now.

For Reasons Of Reason

In my mind, it is complete. You are either in or out.  Your thoughts are captured, or not.  Activity can distract, but only for a time.

In my heart, the blood gets pumped.  Out to the senses, which know what they like.  Feel it, the heart is where feelings are sent from.

In my conscious, the running feud.  These days must be lived, but there are others involved.  This is not a solitary situation.

In my soul, the truth is clear and known.  But it doesn't take sides.  It has already won, and urgency for love is its preoccupation.

Keep the brain in control and thinking forward, memories can be recalled later as needed or wanted.  Erase the meaningless.

In my logic, it is absurd.  And quite unlikeky.  For reasons of reason and delusional tendencies, this is my mirage.

Tumble down slowly, with all the dignity you got.  Walk it off and whistle a tune.  The world will still spin, gravity will save you.


The General Slayer

The general slayer.
Don't buy the protocol, don't buy the sleaze.
The broken mend.
And they are made stronger from pain.

Then justice is served.
Karma is nothing more than inevitability.
Cold and unapologetic.
Strut and swerve through the in crowd.

Support each other.
Common grounds, get on the road.
Find a way through.
The pity of others is a shock to the soul.

We are forward.
Toward the signs of the times and love.
All is past.
It only existed and now is forgiven.

Silence is not brave.
Amplify it up to rock out the house.
Make the smoke count.
It will smooth the mind with calm.


Gone With The Wine

C.              F.               G.
Well, the glass was tipped.
F.                                 C.
Til all the drops were sipped.
F.                                  C.
Til the eyes dried shut.
C.              G.                 F.            C.
Til the tab was paid up.  Paid up.

Gone with the wine.
Tasted the earth's decline.
Tasted the rains.
Tasted the shames.  Damn shames.

Tune in to the sixer.
Playing tunes, sweet sister.
Playing Anson's blues.
Playing Texas truth. Fucking truth.

Take the county road.
Drive slow and low.
Drive curves and turns.
Drive til you burn.  Baby.  Burn.

Once I had a dream.
Saw colors never seen.
Saw people full of lies.
Saw salvation's disguise.  Disguised.

Such a proper life.
Til time comes to light.
Til fear seems to win.
Til the devil's revenge.  His revenge.

And days just go by.
With those neon nights.
With those sounds of loss.
With those nails of the cross.  Nails, man.

It all seems forgiven.
Just a bit out of rhythym.
Just a bit out of line.
Just a bit out of rhymes.  And times.


The Actual Deal

In every story, true or not, there is a common thread.  A point to the telling.  A reason for the remembrances.  Like it was, with flair and embellishments.  For true non-fiction is never enough.  Some mystery must be present.  Some intrigue.  To not risk is to give up, to quit.  If we can trust anything at all, now is the time.  Love is worth it, truly it is the point of it all.  Nothing about lust or power is considered, or meaningful.  The contrary perceptions are the real thrill, the actual deal.  The uncurious assumers can take a flying fluctuation.  Make it about something very specific.  The cards of this house have gone deep into the brains, where thoughts originate and bloom, where the dots connect and create something new.  From this, relationships can grow strong.  Not the fleeting associations of the insecure and desperate, but knowing unions of common respect.  Complications all around.  Avoid the downers, girls.  They are a total drag.



A fine place of work it was.  Enough action to keep interest high, money enough to thrive, a future to make so.  Possibilities and opportunities, people known for years and years.  Then the silver, then the lips.  A kiss off for the trouble, a smooch for the rest. 

Many days.  Many.  Ready, confident, going along.  Tell the stories, crack them up.  Draw thoughts from others and encourage wildness....within the confines of respectability and laws, of course.  Times, man, times.  Removing doubt, predicting, knowing. 

To the new age, and far ahead.  Catch up to now and you are only way behind.  There is no significance anymore.  What's done is done, what's past is past. 

The lights are still on.


Your Sweet Delights

Ain't got no moves.
No jukes, no jives, no gazes in the eyes.

Only thoughts is all.
Of love, of light, of your sweet delights.

Forget the schemes.
Be blonde, be blue, be happy and true.

Crack a big smile.
Through lies, through sneers, through whispered smears.

We could create pure trust, where nothing is held back and everything is unmasked.  It would be difficult, the survival instinct of pride has captured our natures.  A good life is not good enough, a complete life is what we want.  An exhausted and used life.  One that is not remembered, or emulated, or admired, or rewarded.  Only completed, without fear, without regret, without apologies.  The senses are where the wonders lie, identify our sweet delights through them.  What we like to taste, what we like to see, what we like to hear, what we like to smell, and what we like to feel.  Isolate, then combine, then isolate, then combine, and on and on.  Solitude has its limits, we are made to share.  Our soul is fed when we give.  Something divine is at work, these mysteries are always interesting.  And then the thinking begins.


A Crypto Future

Reminders of a recent past.
The one you forgot and still can't recall.
Like the story was never told.
Or never happened.

Write a crypto future.
Governments will struggle to keep control.
Centralization, diminished.
No paper pushing.
No middle squeeze.

Confusing and wild.
Like other changes within and without.
The open roads are there.
Take a thoughtful approach.
Enjoy the day.

Time is the thing.
Its allocation, its use, its opportunity.
Fall in or decide for yourself.
Arrangements and accommodations.
Compromises and agreements.
The sensible way.
To boredom.
And fear.

You are the user of your time.
Every second, minute, and hour.
Every day, night, week, and month.
Then, years go by.
And you are not dead.

Positively 4th street honey.
Bobby's truth.
Shout a tune of rebellion and evolution.
They are deserving of nothing.
Open your mind and force it to experience.
Then, close it to create.
Pure art.


No Man

     The reign of Queen Rachel has begun.  This killer of Kings, this punker of Princes, this demoralizer of Dukes, this executioner of Earls.  No man!  No man could beat her this day.

     In the Valparaiso Sports Hall of Fame the name Rachel Janssen is enshrined, her accomplishments documented, revered, known far and wide.  A literal Crusader.  The put-away artist.  The set-up specialist.  Think of nothing, she said.  Perhaps watch the strings hit the shot.  Pray.  Simple basics was the only solicited advice she offered.  She wanted every point, she loved to play, she was sleek and swift.  Precise and merciless.  To win a single game against her in the morning round was the highlight of my peasant effort.  King Of the Court 10 ended in historical fashion.  A woman wears the crown.  Queen Rachel.  Immediately, the ramifications were clear.  Marty The Missing no showed for beers, King James' bid for the elusive 3rd title ended in discrace, and JD Miles is singing the Bag Of Ice On My Big Toe Blues.  The Queen only shrugged, accepting the accolades and responsibility in easy stride.  Like her game- graceful, classic, constant.  In truth, the tennis kingdom was ready, another breakthrough, long overdue.  Billie Jean King, tennis culture is freed!  This, however, was not about show business.  Commerce was not sought, statements were not made.  Only points and games to be won, and they all mattered.  All of them.  They mattered most, evidentely, to Queen Rachel.  God, be with her.

     Prince Fess serves the tennis kingdom in his princely way for an unprecedented third time, his gentlemanly exterior hiding a vicious tennis nature.  Keck played him tough, but he was too formidable.  Sellars, jacked up on testosterone, succombed to the experienced Fess, and Frankenh felt the blade end of his royal knife as he played in KOtC for the very first time.  The most lethal and loyal of all the royals, Prince Fess don't mess around.

     The Kid is the Duke.  The Eagles finally fly high again.  With the notable exception of 2- time Prince Dayton Hancock, their royal record has been inconsistent.  After disposing of Bobby Pierson's mixed doubles game, Duke Tyler tied Frank Friday 5-5 in their afternoon Mahut after falling behind 3-5.  It proved to be the difference, despite Frank's triumphantly celebrated moulette of Vito.  The kid showed grit.  And grits are good.

     The bottom courts, the ones with trash on them, the ones with deep cracks, the ones where vulgarities are allowed, was where Earl Joseph Vita did his dirty work.  Sometimes, royalty is taken at the expense of blood.  Royal history is full of the decapitated heads of family members.  Bill Vita's noggin was cut clean off by his brother.  2-8.  Brutal.  The royally, and perpetually, tough Bob Rodgers ruined my chances for Earl with a lethal mid court game.  Even a headless Bill tied me in our Mahut.  To be clear, I did not lose to Earl Joseph.  He clinched mathematically with a 3-4 loss to me.  Congratulations man, hope it helps your brand.  Vantaggio!  Advantage Joe, for now.

Allow a moment for nostalgia as we've redefined scoring methodologies and cultural taboos of tennis, reclaiming its glorious future.  Always know, the past should only be remembered, not protected.  Always forward.  KOtC 10 merely represents a royal foundation.  Collectively, 160 tennis warriors showed up on those ten mornings, 960 mahuts were played in heat and wind and chill, 9600 games were decided in all.  Ten Royal Courts of all shapes, nationalities, personalities, skill, and genders were made immortal, remembered forever.  May all the royals be blessed, may their subjects be grateful, and for Christ's sake----May God Save The Queen!


The Modern Court

Only delusional dreamers would try that.  Who, in their right minds, would attempt it?  Take on the established, normalized cultures of our lives.  To resist expectations and surprise.  Outlandish.  Usually, wrapped in prestige, tradition, and respectability.  Just enough righteouness to keep it sustained, just enough for a slow, but steady, growth.  Keep it together for a hundred years and no one on earth will know an alternative.  Nationalism, religion, economics, political philosophies, relationships of all types.  And, yes, scoring methods. 

The morning of King Of The Court 10, a rejection of the numbing scoring systems of the past, a repudiation of idleness, a slap at subjective ratings and carpetbagging strategies.  A flip to the USTA for propping up this nonsense through fees and grants.  An app could replace the whole operation.  Along with the Isner Scoring Method, a tennis revolution could emerge in America. 

If tennis is to thrive and realize its potential as the greatest sport in the world, it must bloom.  To gather for a common reason, to exhaust the body, to test the mind.  No sitting around, no excuses, no whining.  Only grunts and screams and slams and drops and slices and down the lines.  Some loves and deuces and moulettes.  Overheads and bailouts.  Wides, longs, and just missed.  Double faults.

Watch the ball to the strings, take the short angles, limit the backswing, and finish the motion.  The morning is here, the future is unknown for now.  Royalty will be decided by early afternoon, they will be celebrated and toasted by dusk.  The modern tennis court.  The Royal Court of KOtC10. 



The Stage Dweller

A peaceful, uneasy feeling.
Like a wish it was over.
Get on with it already.

Find out human characteristics.
The heartbeat within.

Hand out compliments and rhyme.

Suppose and occur.
Consider and learn.

Connections through existing entities.
Equipping through expansion and space.
Developing relationships along the way.

One day at a time.
The stage dweller.

Thinking logistically and practically.

Setting the props aside.
Getting into minds.

Fluidly and constantly.
Extracting questions and revealing.
This place is safe.

A matter of scale.
Lighten up everybody.

Have some fun.

Trust the good folks.
They know what they are doing.

Collectively, they are the best in the world.
Admired and known.
It is true.


Falling Out

Had a falling out.
Had a falling out.
Had a falling out.
With your cultural rules.

Need to shut your mouth.
Need to shut your mouth.
Need to shut your mouth.
You intellectual fools.

Went to the shop, was gonna make a drop, saw the truth at last, felt a bit harassed.
Don't wanna go to war, what we fighting for, all the mammas been crying, cause all the babies been dying.  They been dying.

Double crossed again.
Double crossed again.
Double crossed again.
The devil and his lies.

Thought you were my friend.
Thought you were my friend.
Thought you were my friend.
But it was just a ride.

Can't you take a no, told you to hit the road, not feeling the love, dragging me through the mud.  Not just being rude, these creepy creepy dudes, think its about time, call them out on their crimes.  Its about time.

Had a falling out.
Had a falling out.
Had a falling out.
With the latest news.

Now there is no doubt.
Now there is no doubt.
Now there is no doubt.
We'll make it through.



*music by mark ball.


Looked Twice

Those eyes looked twice.
It was an awful mistake.
Mind of thoughtlessness.

Captured by imagination.
Filled with nostalgic awe.
Greedy for youthful love.

Selfishness beyond repair.
Accelerated by mortality.
Consequence ambivilence.

Those eyes looked twice.
Should've gone on then.
Gone over to the highway.

Took the eastern fast lane.
Settle in with jazz music.
Coltrane or Miles or both.

Free the mind of emptiness.
Isolate natural intelligence.
Understand it specifically.

Those eyes looked twice.
Of all the ways to use time.
Outlandish possibilities.

The stupidity of our will.
No rationale or beneficiary.
Only illusions and delusions.

Don't blame times or culture.
Behaviors are responsible.
The eyes that looked twice.



The quiet shattered.
And the peace too.
Never ending.




At the entrance to Siam, better roll hot dice.
A base of operations, gonna be at it all night.
Europe seems scattered, too hard to defend.
And no one at this table is really your friend.

America's wide open, might slip over to Japan.
Not too soon though, don't wanna show my hand.
Leave a few troops down in Peru.
Give em some doubt about the things you'll do.

Looked up in a daze, took a peek at the clock.
Just turned 3 and my stomach was in knots.
Red, Blue, and Black still fighting it out.
Green went out with an FBomb shout.

Finally got to the final showdown.
Black and Red in an African town.
For the last roll was on my knees.
Congo, they hide in the treeeeees!!!!!


Insanity Somehow Avoided, Narrowly

Any old verse will do, the new ones too.
They deal in prophecy and miracles.
Told long ago, the fulfillment of our future.

When our destiny disappears into forever.
Please know the reason for your discontent.
The void within, unable to be made whole.

Drugs or sex or money or punk, nothing.
Be weak and grow strong, humble yourself.
Need someone, the stoics lost the debate.

Celebrate another, be happy for their joy.
Cynicism will destroy the world eventually.
In reality, the worst hardly ever happens.

Usually, we are safe from harm and woe.
Our passions pushed aside for long enough.
Calculations were wrong, need more love.

The mind rules the body bout half the time.
The other half is kept busy with activity.
Insanity somehow avoided, narrowly.




If the blood's not there, then what's the point.
Just a club of vipers, snaking through this joint.
You read your own words, I'll read what I like.
Not up for your debates, not inclined to fight.


Its just this lazyboy is made of leather.
Its just that God decided on this weather.
Not trying to be a wiseguy or too clever.
This morning I just got the Whatever's.

If there was nobody, whose gonna be at fault.
Guess Jesus himself might need to get involved.
Plenty of folks will stack those rows of seats.
Clapping hands and stomping both their feet.

Its just this lazyboy is made of leather.
Its just that God decided on this weather.
Not trying to be a wiseguy or too clever.
This morning I just got the Whatever's.


Music Obsessions

The gender of our humanity is meaningless.
*Our minds are above such matters.
The collective thinking of all the geniouses.
*And the void that is never understood.
Lets talk back and forth about associations.
*This hopeless pursuit of certain woe.
Chimes of freedom from music obsessions.
*These structures need more bridges.


Tribal Folks

This is only an imaginary friend, caught up in a daze of noble intentions and true affection.  Holding back from our natural tendencies, too stubborn to let go of the possibilities, knowing the futility of our future.  This instant makes quite a statement.  Now or never like its never been before.  Absolute time, stable and constant, will never heed, it will never bow down, it will never quit.  We can only fill it.  The reactions to the actions, and the reactions to those.  It continues perpetually, only pausing for our sleep, which is another dimention with its own desires and fears.  Now awakened, we are selective, choosing carefully the people we consider true friends.  Those we are willing, and eager, to experience life alongside.  Those in which we confide.  Our soul brothers and soul sisters.  Tribal folks.


Majestic (Certainly Inevitable)

Pick it up where we left it off.
Last time we said this and that.
Just to be in a conversation, to agree.
Encouraging and remembering.
Top of the game, making her own moves.
Some things are certainly inevitable.


The Wigging And The Wagging

Raise your arms for a full morning stretch.

Groove to the groovy music, got enough rest.

Now's the time for the wigging and the wagging.

You'll be exhausted, your feet'll be dragging.

Til one day when you learn about truth.

Bout money and greed and what it makes people do.

That's when you'll take that extra hour.

To stop for the quiet, stop and smell the flowers.


Skip The Meetings

The sound words of our Our Lord Jesus Christ said not to keep the children from him.  This was before communion debates.  Not to be be disrespectful brothers and sisters, but all those other Synods in 1917 were out of control!  Those predestinarians in Ohio were insane.  Worship, work, and party together.  Avoid everyone else.  Obviously, the drunkards won the liquer question.  This is for the benefit of the outsider, you see.  Unity throughout the length and breadth of the land.  All the men agreed.  Maybe, the ladies all agreed on everything too, but doubtful many were asked.

Martin Luther might even be ashamed.  Wilhems's war cry, Franz claiming the faith as his own, Porterfield's denomination warnings.  Like sad brains had been closed for good, preferring to die than to open.  Even faith is not enough, it must be true faith.  Always the most smart in the room.

Jesus fulfilled all the prophesies of the Old Testament, walked the earth doing miracles and teaching, died, rose, witnessed by thousands.  We got the Holy Spirit left behind and get to have some Jesus at the table.  The water and the word.  This body and blood helps us live a more forgiving and righteous life.  The Holy Spirit really can translate scripture very well, despite our involvement.  We've all been saved, and a compelling is ignited to go.  Point to the word, skip the meetings.

This fraternity fight.  They must close up ranks, forget effectiveness, forget the map.  They fear the contagion of error even more than breathing small pox air.  Such damnableness.  This is devilish, this sarcasm, but ludicrousness must be illuminated.  Like poor scaredy house cats with a sanitation phobia, all breathless and worried.


To The Future Of Light

Strategically, it was clear.
The room should be made right.
All the walls removed.
Replaced with beads.
Let the whole place sway.
With the rhythms of the winds.

Tactically, we should adjust our approach.
What's happening now is not working.
People left frustrated and confused.
Gone are the laid back.
The peaceful easy dealers.
Bring back the joy.

Practically, lets be real.
Frame of reference still matters.
Our own times are all our own.
Lived with scoundrels and angels alike.
Through to now and somehow forgiven.
To the future of light.

Statistically, lets divide it up.
The main three categories.
Yes and no and maybe.
The percentages are wild and crazy.
They must be lit up.
Minds that have been closed are sad.



Like it or not,
Doc found a clot.
Was in my heart,
Em                                 G     
Gotta rip me apart.

The morning came,
was racking my brain.
Gave me some pills,
that gave me the chills.

Folks lifting prayers,
this just isn't fair.
Prepared for the cure,
this procedure.

They looked again,
before they went in.
All were amazed,
the clot went away.

Went to the lungs,
and that's still no fun.
But lemme tell ya Jack,
glad my chest ain't cracked.

Damn, damn, damn,
guess we'll stick to the plan.
Melt that fucking clot,
with drugs and shots.

*prayer for Joey Giammarco.


Grooves And Moves

The thinking types.
Scenarios, hypotheticals, obsessions.

Fade away the heart.
Get past the flame, beyond the trust.

Organized and ready.
In general terms, like talking points.

Listen intently.
Resisting disruptions, creating curiosity.

Then the cold.
Wearing masks, hiding what is real.

Put together.
So regal and stoic, nothing to smile about.

Awkward interactions.
The silences, assumptions, and doubt.

Beauties of the Boulevard.
Sunglasses, Gucci, and boring.

Set the bar higher girls.
Routines, and the mountains ahead.

The inner selves.
To be understood, not to understand.

Nothing wasted.
No laze, no craze, no chills, no thrills.

Properly planned.
Meticulously, then executed perfectly.

The bright stars.
Explosions of light, scattered and sent.

Life of the real.
Knowing and being known, familiar.

Content quiet.
Safe like a bird, caged and fed.

Singing songs.
No holding back, grooves and moves.


The Final Yawnings Of Rest

The whole day makes sense.
Waking early and moving.
Automatically the mind begins work.
Attending to the entire body.
The final yawnings of rest.

Black coffee alerting the still asleep.
New news seems about the same.
Shootings and stabbings in the land.
Creeps giving people the creeps.
And easy money for all.

Kick back and recline.
These minutes are the most important.
They tic tic away.
Daily they tic, the minutes of our lives.
Making time to use or waste.

Intentions are only urges, good or bad.
Plans are different.
Calculated deliberately.
Nothing too haphazard.
The risk, determined to be worthy.

If only boredom could talk.
It would convince us all.
To go.


Lunar Seas

...nothing can really be explained.
...take a big step back and hold on.
...forget what you know for awhile.

...the world could literally be flat.
...like a disk containing everything.
...the pictures of the earth fabricated.

...its been surveyed and there is no curve.
...the moon had already been discovered.
...by giants that walked with dinosaurs.

...lunar rains to lunar rivers to lunar seas.
...long before the lunar ice age began.
...and created the frozen moon of tonight.


Okra Gonzo 1

"A Robbery" by Okra

No pickles currently gentlemen but Duncan Girl's Garden is planning on a big return in 2018 with a Internet and social media marketing focus while not forgetting the grass movement  (trade days) that made us popular.  It's lonley on the outside of the w tx trip.....no shared count downs. ....text of anticipation....  no hanging out with TTop......and I have the ymca asking me for $400 to go camping for 2 days.....  a robbery...  have fun gentlemen.

"Training Aids" by The Mayor

If any of you need golf supplies I have an ass ton.  I inherited a golf store.  All brands.  New used.  I can make you some killer deals.  Just let me know what you want.  I have a butt load of nice clubs.  Shoes, balls, training aids, etc.  I will be unloading the trailer this afternoon, just give me a ring.

"Golf Cart" by Tone Capone

I need a golf cart.

"Three Dollars" by jpg

Jesus Louisus!!!  Would love to plunder through this weekend.  Will bring 3 Dollars...Who died?.

"Uncle's Dad" by The Mayor

Uncle's dad.  No one wanted it so I loaded up all that would fit on my trailer and drug it to my big shop.

"Toyotaing" by jpg

Japanese make the finest cars, Okra.  We will be black Toyotaing through the dust. The Jacksons in Jacksboro won't even know we were there.  The bacon wrapped chopped steak at New Mavericks, followed by a trip through the world-class museum in the back.  Hell, might as well climb Pdiddy Peak.  Take a leak on top.  By that time, the bassist will be convinced.  We will split the BBQ tab at the Poderosa.  From there we will have soup or tea, or maybe just eat salad with ranch.  No firm plans beyond that, of course.  The West is the best place to get lost...


Glare Of A Fox

Just some distance.
So the heart will become more attached.
As it awaits destruction.
By fire, ice, by your mother's little helper.

It is the saddest thing.
This tree we created, its fruit long gone.
All limbs and bark now.
Here come the girl boys, then the boy girls.

They all look the same to me.
Ear buds and screens, deliveries and likes.
The common women.
Like all the other ladies, poor and pouty.

Full of credits.
Pride and vanity conspire, windows wide.
Cool breeze coming through.
Strut of a local, glare of a fox.


Texas Jive

Break out the signs.
The fire trucks and ambulances must get through, move the barricades aside.
A race has ended.
All the winners, every category, are panting and searching for air.

Eyes bugging and clear.
Taste of a Dallas blonde in October, when the seasons arrive, when the simmer of summer ends.
The house gangster is in the house.
Beats surrounded by another brick in the wall, and we got our education.

Smoking food trucks.
An ice wrapped ankle in the red crossed tent, worried children and caregivers.
The sounds of the new.
Everything gonna be alright, it will be cold out one day, freezing.

They got moves.
The sisterhood of the shakes, the sliding and the bumping, the mob getting flashed.
Photographic evidence.
This happening, these cars, these pie face eaters, and these fishing poles.

You got lucky baby.
Melodic confusion again, just a hobo man, giving up this rat race with outlaw boots and Texas jive.
Lay on the fun.
Easy to talk, easy to laugh, nothing but times and scenes, all shaded by shades.

The Word is written with ink.
Truth transforms, the reality of what has happened, the comfort and tranquility.
Love is peaceful.
Not like a ruckus or a battle, sides squaring off and digging in, demanding everyone follow.

Now we live.
Without the careful apprehensions of the past, without the holding back, without the blues.
Light up and connect.
Arrange the obsessions with an orderly method, refining and chipping rocks off the creations.

The wind whips this morning.
From the north, the top of the earth, where days last all day and the lights are like an art show.
We are western.
Always following the sun before sleeping, awakening to another try, seeking smiles.


The Crazy Are Forever Crazy

The stench of the devil.
Moldy and pukey.
Gutter dweller of all time.
Spitting lies and causing pain.
Using all the natures.
Including our own.
Promises of happiness.
Images of success.
Forgetting the reality.
Which will be.

Go on and smile anyway.
Laugh hysterically.
Wide eyes and rocking.
The crazy are fun.
The crazy are forever crazy.
Content with the future.
Because of the past.
Pray out loud.
Just talk with God.
He's crazy too.


The Glitter At Night

Wish upon that star.
Hope it will all end in glory.

Polish it up, gleaming.
Remember what made it so.

Trophies of triumph.
Rings of gold and honor.

The glitter at night.
On a wing and the hail mary.

Break down the film.
Don't get too comfortable in these seats.

A super jazz trio.
Sweet sax, brush drums, and standing bass.

Higher learnings of the higher kind.
Talk to us more about technical disruptors.

Say it with a flair.
How bout them Cowboys!


Pass The Butter

The flavors of all the months, and years even.  Talk of it like it's known.  Known that it's only temporary and time is up. 

But culture is different, it involves the complexity of the human, and further, the complexity is magnified due to the reality of relationships.  It cannot be stopped.  There is no middle ground, you either have equality in all, or equality in none. 

The actions tell it all, and they are easy to spot.  Preparations, isolations, and revelations.  This for that, and pass the butter.  The mighty have not fallen.  The glarers and getters.

Another flavor, another day, it's all connected.  On a ride for good eating.  The taste of truth and trust, which is always perfect.  Like the best bite ever taken, satisfaction complete.


Knowing The Mud Will Now Stick

Ain't really supposed to be here.

Like a dim lamp in the corner.
Moods are on display.

Drown out the arguments with apathy.
Care for nothing.
The council should call a meeting.

Dignitaries would all attend.
Frowning and harrumphing.
Leaning in and whispering into ears.
Nodding and looking, eyes wide.

Leave you out on your own, forgotten.
As quick as you can imagine, they would.
And slander your grave with more dirt.
Knowing the mud will now stick.

Grudges and envy of years mixed in.
Take in some deep breaths.
Hold them for a while and exhale long.

Ten times at least, slow and methodical.
Some oxygen is needed.

Blood ain't supposed to be too blue.


They Are Us

This loud, early morning noise from the southern hills.  Perhaps a car show, they all lost their hearing.

Worn down with sleep deprivation, couldn't wake like normal.  Week of assessments, lightouts, and Mexican food.  Some can't trust nobody.  Some can't look outward with curiosity, only disbelief and fear.  Some wish it was the good old days.  These good new days are the real miracle, suspended in this space, lifted from the depths, spinning.  Squeeze the tree, coins and bills.  Stash the cash, smack the criminals, the downers must leave.

Almost broke out in a slam dance, up close, getting pushed forward.  People screaming the songs all around, strangers nodding and slapping hands, my bandmate looking nervous and without dip.  Slipped back through the crowd, quickly, heads down, avoiding eyes.  Got propositioned for a fight and gave the sideways peace sign.  Like Prince used to.

The fun will continue at Western Days.  Angels are taking care of it, the armoured humvee attraction was incredible.  The U.S. Army was there.  The steel doors of the vehicle were extremely heavy.  The G.I. Joe's and Jane's, engaged and friendly.  Some point, some go.  The blame game is the oldest game in the book.  Artificial turbulence is easy to spot.  Just fight picking.  Don't call them they!  They are us.


Ashes In The Wind

See the captions and all the numbers.
Make them turn and twist in the wind.
No trusting needed, the robots are money.
Except that time that thing went down.
The scrambling and all the panicking.
To lose control and be inundated.

Write words with emotional intelligence.
Scanning each line for wasted letters.
Think them through before and after.
Their meaning of most importance.
Six sentences are all a paragraph can take.

Communion of the supernatural.
Can never be understood completely.
The exclusivity is only an unjustified trick.
Meant to leave out the pagens and others.

Take the short returns and put them away.
The angles are there to take control.
Make the enemy run and go for winners.

The kind are the true angels of this world.
Consideration is an art form.

Burn baby burn, ashes in the wind.


Evidence Of Poison Oak

     These wonderful days, dwindling always. Watching games of games, and all games.  What else of this day, with the Cowboys on Monday night.  Certainly not the millionaires self promotion club.  Like a telethon for whiners, desperate for attention and adulation.  Martyrdom gone wrong.  Right to the heart.  Betrayal of the heroes.  Through jungle napalm, desert gassing, torture, and beheadings.  Home of the free, land of the efffing brave you kneelers!  Kneel for Body, kneel for Blood.  That right there is some righteous kneeling.  In that way, I'll be kneeling around Noon.  Late service lagger is all I am.  After that, might do any of these things instead of watching any non Cowboys NFL:

.drink water.

.with such nice weather coming, clean screens.  The cool fall winds.

.Oktoberfest in downtown.  The Pantry has brunch, bring your own Bloody Mary's.

 .North End of Erwin Park, where respectable civil disobedience occurs around these parts.  I'll be quietly protesting the excessive salary of Robert Goodell and the excessive length and ridiculous conclusion of the year and a half long investigation into a matter law enforcement had settled.  Zeke!  I will pray silently for the young man.  For maturity and self control.  I'll pray Jerry looks at the numbers, which probably wouldn't need my prayers.  Jerry looks at numbers!  Many, many, many would do a superior job at Commissioner at half the salary.  I would do it for only a million a year.  The travel would be tough, but with modern technology and future modern technology, figure I could do most of it from my back porch eventually.  But, I will require 6 weeks of paid vacation, and my lifestyle would have to be maintained.

.buy mix and make cornbread for lima beans.

.weedeat the alleyway, with gloves due to evidence of poison oak.

.drink water.

.glowface activities, catch some scores even.  Eagles, Redskins, and Giants hopeful losers.  The road to the Super Bowl begins with an NFC title.

.light bulbs, the favored chore.

.backstroke laps, gazing at clouds.

.silent TVs, check yourself in the reflection.

.gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.

.gather all old sunglasses in the house and donate them to people who need protection from the rocket's red glare.

.recite the pledge of allegiance from memory.

.slowcook a pork loin for Monday night.  Must win game.  Arizona is tough, especially in Arizona.  However, a huge Cowboy fandom calls Phoenix home.  We built multiple dynastys on the back of the Cardinals.  In St. Louis too.

.all the Cowboys will stand Monday Night for the National Anthem, they will once again remind everyone why they are America's team.  We will have HD, flat screen, 50 something inches of football game on bright in my home.  We will certainly DVR through all commercials, of course, and we will absolutely stand for the national song without a care of what other people choose to do.  Some choose respect, some choose disrespect.


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.