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