Generation Of New Grooves

Mind creates and turns.
Anything to burn.
To yearn.

Like spirits will aspire.
On the live wire.
Our desires.

Rolled up in humanity.
And those realities.
Love feeds.

The seas we all navigate.
To another place.
That face.

Generation of new grooves.
Old ain't smooth.
Just used.

Expressions sang out loud.
Break from the crowd.
Do it now.

Sync it up now and celebrate.
Atmosphere of this place.
Pure grace.

Instant Boom City Blues

The Crush Crash and its shrapnel.
Free rail rides forever.
Spectacles cure the boredom somehow.
Horse races have always been money.

Jack Johnson was a phenomenon.
Galveston's famous superior son.
All the white hope dopes.
And the Reno beating.

Before hurricanes were named.
Isaac Cline's most beautiful day.
And no high ground.
Ferocious surge in the darkness.

Oil gusher for nine days at Spindeltop.
The petroleum revolution.
Wildcatters striking everywhere.
Instant boom city blues.

Urbanization like a rapid virus.
Haphazardly constructed.
Systemless spaces of unsanitized insanity.
The cost of industry.

E7A7x2
D7A7
E7D7A7

Ethicless

Intellect and emotion are inseparable.
Chemicals in the brain are altered.
A constant blending of colors and facts.
Memory is recalled, or not recalled.
Oxygen and its complete necessity.
       The sensory intakes.

Emotion without intellect is unrestrained.
     Ethicless.
          Primal.
               Uncivilized.

Without emotion, intelligence is stale.
Think of having a map, but no urge to go.
Jokes that never lead to laughter.
Answers without curiosity or ambition.
Associations without affections.
       Tragedy without sadness.

Worry With Worry

Extreme helpfulness.
Completely listening.
Curiously understanding.
Doing nothing else.
It is a tremendous skill.
It can be made a habit.
Close your eyes.
Give it 3 long inhales.
Give it 3 long exhales.
Breathe.
Like Pink Floyd sang.
Run rabbit, run.
Let the others worry with worry.
If they want to.

Alabama Sugar

Jesus!  The ocean is dark at night.
God!  And loud as a rocket motorcycle gang.
Lord!  The stars.
Good God, the stars.
Like Alabama sugar.
Dotting the black space.
Eternally.

Hot Tamales

...only takes one observent person.
...to notice everything around.
...interesting and uninteresting alike.
...a thoughtful walk.
...the young have more choices.
...morning has come.
...with another picture in the gallery.
...the golden light hitting just right.

...money ain't nothing and chicks ain't free.
...hippies with birkenstocks.
...unattainable supermodels.
...political give-em-hells.
...suits.
...mommies, God willing.
...all or none or something else or the other.
...whatever you wanna be.

...those were some hot tamales.
...that verde sauce had too much bite.

...my time is off.
...it tic tocs no longer.
...the rhythym of an eight count.
...always there.

The Junkyard Court: Vantaggio Side

     The professionally done sign in the lobby of Ariel Dunes 2 indicated a daily round robin at the Destin Tennis Club.  Named a Best Of in 2015.  9-11 am, $20 bucks.  To play on the green Florida clay was well worth it.  Perhaps some local players, similar to my tennis pals on Texas.  They would surely welcome me into the group for the 4 mornings I would play.  Monday through Thursday.  Unexpected, but had my gear and my annual month long tennis hiatus was done.  Back to it on the clay, work out the physical, the mental, and the anger.  Peaceful is the only way to play, it is true.  After a very beachy, boozy Sunday, followed by an outstanding Pontchartrain dish at Acme Oyster Bar, somehow awoke 30 minutes prior to the Monday morning event.  Got ready quick, out the door, and at the pro shop at 10 til.  Ready for these Florida dudes.  Ready to demonstrate Isner trained superiority, lone star grit, and Vantaggioian attitude.  It was going to be a smashing.

     The small  pro shop was tidy.  It fronted the community pool, which was full of about 15 mature ladies doing water aerobics.  They were in a circle, all seemed to know the routine.  How nice, I thought.  Palm Trees, Crape Myrtles, and other greenery was everywhere.  Oh, to be a 'resident', an actual 'resident'.  They probably had names for people who weren't 'residents'.  Out Of Towner Downers or Beach Buttholes or Yank Danks.  Signs were everywhere.  'Residents' this, 'residents' that.  I felt irritated as I walked in the shop.  Ready to take it to 'em.  Hopefully, I would play a 'resident'.  The nice assistant pro, Holly, greeted me with a fine simile and active demeanor.  Paid up for the round robin and she introduced me to Guido, who was making out a check.  A nice fella in his 70s, he had a wide smile and a fabulous Italian accent.  Holly sent us to the back courts where everyone would collect and warm up.  Behind the pool, the back courts were merely 100 feet away.

     The complex has 8 very well maintained clay courts, ice water jugs, rakes, and shaded benches.  Guido got in his car and drove to the back courts.  We met at the spectator benches on the outside of the fenced in double court.  The clay was smooth, soft, and perfect.  Let the sliding begin!  Chatted with Guido for awhile.  Got a new knee a year and a half ago, now the other one hurts.  He only plays doubles.  Kept watching his watch, bringing up how Bob was supposed to come, and a few others.  Spoke of this guy who was 85.  Rides his bike to play sometimes.  Always moving, never stopping.  Guido himself talked fast, with huge laughs in between and suspect listening.  He was a Steelers fan.  He said he didn't remember the bullshit Benny Barnes interference call in Super Bowl XIII, but he was lying.  Told him we owed them one more, reminding him of the Emmitt Cowboys revenge.  He laughed, even doubled over, before looking at his watch again in worry.  It was 10 after now, no one was coming.  Had this ever happened, I inquired.  He laughed again, this time with a melancholy tone.  Sometimes they have 5 or 6 he said, usually Mondays were good.  He didn't know.  He had just talked to Bob a couple of days prior and he told him he would see him Monday.  That meant that he should be here.  But he wasn't.  I offered to hit around with him, but he was insistent that he could only play doubles.  He pointed to his very tan left knee.  The vertical scar was a foot long.  He had to go prepare to go to the beach.  "No tennis, beach day.", he said in his Italian sound, "Maybe I see you Wednesday, eh?".  Absolutely.  Hope so, Guido.

     What was left was drills and serves.  Alone, on these perfect courts.  Towels, water, 2 fresh cans, white bandana, and the classic Australian Blue Vantaggio grey T-shirt.  Addidas Bounce fit just right, ready for the dirt.  Babalot raquet. the kind Nadal plays with . After two laps, 10 pushups, and 20 squats, set up the Isner drill.  3 balls, spaced equally on both sides of singles lines, 6 total.  One on the baseline, one on the service line, one by the net.  Starting from the middle of the base line, each ball is retrieved and returned to the starting point.  One at a time, from the baseline to the net, left, then right.  It is exhausting, and a very good footwork drill.  I slid, I dug.  Then some serves, then a drill, then some serves, drill, pushups, squats, then some serves.  Sweat was pouring, water was guzzled, shade was sought.  This went on for 2 hours.  The clay marks told the story.  My serve on the Vantaggio Side, the advantage side, needed to be over to the right and deeper.  In general, work your opponent's backhand, especially with the serve.

     It was a good workout.  Shed my soaked shirt and headband and, like Nadal would, put on a dry shirt before leaving the court.  Checked in at the pro shop and Holly assured me to show up the next day and my fee would be covered.  No one was around, the pool was now empty.  It was only 11 o'clock.  It's a beach day for me too, Guido.  Far from the Grand Slams, the Tennis Channel, the endorsement contracts, and the incredible Williams sisters, tennis is dying.  No-showed in Florida.  And it is sad. 

**word is Keck is meeting with Jimmy Connors to discuss an invitation to KOtC11.  Perhaps at TBar M in Dallas.  Negotiations are on-going...

These Cotton Beaches

Where the big bang slammed.
Making the Gulf Of Mexico.
With its deep waters.
Eliminating the age of giants.

This one yellow star shines down.
From the south.
Among the other more ivory stars.
Surrounding the Emerald Coast.

Clear space for now.
Thunder from the dark ocean.
Strikes far off.
Peripheral visions.

And airy, wavy sounds.
Salts and sands.
These cotton beaches.
Best at night.

Morocco

Thought I should let you know.
Got a show in Morocco.
Gonna blast the past real fast.
With electric blues and class.

Set in another time.
Close the blinds with open minds.
This song won't take too long.
Little diddy, then I'll move along.

Travel around the world.
Have a swirl with all the girls.
Step to the edge of the ledge.
No need to plead or beg.

And when I meet their king.
Think Mohammed is his name.
Give him a five on the side.
The beat poets have arrived.

DC
GC
GD
CG

Twinkle And Smirk

Like a happening.
An event.
That time when it went down.
The opening action.
Cared for intensly.
Fiercely.
Directed and shaped.
Chipped and smoothed.
Styled.
Made happy.
From the Funderburgh Paulson crowd.
Loved up.
Then a twinkle and smirk.
Fell for it.
Still falling and falling.
Into the sea of life.
And miracles.
Two happenings of our own.
All together.
Til the twinkles and smirks.

Blessed by your birth.