20/20 Gonzo 32: Sweep The Ashes

The liars say the liars are the liars.  Could be, but eventually they'll all be washed up and lit up and cleaned up with truth.  Like looters on the loose, grabbing lamps and scoring smart TVs.  The good protesters can only watch as the buildings burn.  Just wanted to protest, just wanted to matter.

Think of the insurance money, Target is making out.  They should invest heavily into delivery methods and systems now, hardly anyone wants to go to a store anymore, anyway.  Don't rebuild a store.  Just sweep the ashes, make it a big, massive parking lot.  Fill it with a fleet of armoured delivery trucks and redeploy the workforce.

With gas being so cheap, the economics make sense.  Soon, even medical professionals will make house calls, as they're physical presence is needed. Procedures will done at home, the hospital room will become similar to the dining room or the laundry room, every house will have one.  Ambulances will be transformed into Mobile Care Units (MCUs), many types of medical activities could be performed in this method.  XRays, check ups, minor skeletal and muscular issues, initial diagnoses, blood work, lab work, pain management, eyes, ears, nasal, skin rashes, coughs, deep coughs, consultations, plans for recovery, foot care, even cosmetic surgeries.

Parts Of Stars

G
CG

Lost my mind on the radio line, trying to make my heart sing.
Hit the mood with some Bitches Brew, Miles blowing through my brain.
Then I dreamed of some scenery, was flying over the Amazon.
Jungle trees and murdering bees, was right at the break of dawn.

Had to think after a drink, think the water went to my head.
Six forty five looked in my eyes, said you got to get out of bed.
Something 'bout the sun coming out, helps with the status quo.
World still turns, stomachs churn, no shelter from the cold.

FAmx3
FC

All we are is parts of stars.
All we are is parts of stars.
All we are is parts of stars.
All we are is parts of stars.

20/20 Gonzo 31: The Mold Class

Was thinking of the future while driving around my town, shopping for any retail store that could sell me a webcam for my occupational laptop.  Suppose I could've went to the Amazon, but felt like a good ole store visit would do me good, lift my spirits, restore my faith in economic prospects, sweet nostalgia.  Besides, anxious to get a feel for the post pandemic capitalistic  culture -- the processes, the safeguards, the consumer experience.  After going a stubborn 0-5 at the typical suburban box spots, I'm declaring shopping as we knew it a total and complete bust.  Barely evaded a parking lot wreck, avoided by many masked employees, saw very few smiles, many glares, inconsistent audible communication, struck out on the webcam purchase, and eventually, after 2 hours, hit up the Amazon.

But that's fine.  Before this black swan arrived, we were consumer zombies, wasting time, paying markups, suckers with credit.  Similar to breaking the fandom hypnosis, many will emerge from our unified viral absence with rewired rituals, thoughtful reconsiderations.  At this moment, for example, I can't think of any reason I would ever walk into a mall again.  Soon, the rats will finally take them over for good.

Let all the politicians worry about it, the corporate bean counters, the commercial real estate agents, the deans, the owners of professional sports teams.  We have more important things needing attention, a brave new world, unmasked and alive, spotlighted, unashamed, helping others with simple gestures and small tokens.  Compare that to the boredom of gossip, what the sources say off the record, a secondary truth to dress up the primary lie.  Decorated in ass covering memos, intentional leaks, and smug denials.  The mold class.
 

Talk Like People

Never more clear.  -Pristine.
Seldom more quiet.  -Hollow.
Rarely easier.  -Leisurely.
Always older.  -Never younger.
The moment passes.  -Like that!
Like many other moments.  -Gone.
Not the ones to come.  -However.
They await.  -Future moments.
To experience.  -To make so.
Decisions plus fate.  -Life math.
Exponential love.  -In all forms.
Squared and cubed.  -Slice of pie.
Grounded for now.  -Bones and brains.
Write with spirit.  -Accentuated.
Say what is written.  -Read it out.
Talk like people.  -Explain enough.
Provoke thought.  -Inspire tangents.
All between is fine.  -Summarize.
Inconclusive.  -Unable to know.

Too Much Mud

GCDG
CDCG
DDDC
GCDG

Hit a trail, it went deep in the woods.
Wasn't quite sure if I shouldn't or I should.
Started getting mushy beneath my tires.
Knew right away, I'm no condition denier.

C
G
DD7
G

That's too much mud.
Even for a stud.
Let me tell ya, bud.
It's just too much mud.

My buddy looked at me with true disgust.
He spit on the ground then started to cuss.
"Fuck this, fuck that, fuck it all." he said.
"A muddy boogieman is in your head."

That's too much mud.
Even for a stud.
Let me tell ya, bud.
It's just too much mud.

He took off anyway and disappeared.
For a time it was silent, nothing to hear.
Then a loud gulp echoed through the dark.
Now we're at his funeral with broken hearts.

That's too much mud.
Even for a stud.
Let me tell ya, bud.
It's just too much mud.

Leaving The Cool

Of all things.
A simple note.
Uncomplicated.

Commaless.
Intentionally bolded.
Up a font.

Clarity of days.
Those raining nights.
Leaving the cool.

Taste of nostalgia.
No arguing with myself.
Settled in the valley.

Noisy wind.
Water ripples.
Fresh reflections.

20/20 Gonzo 30: Land Of Creepy People

For reasons known only to him, this maniac, partially masked fool screamed for me to "wear a maaaaask!" while hanging out the passenger side window of a baby blue minivan.  I was riding up a hill on Eldorado Parkway, my home turf, on the Trek Marlin 5, recently acquired with some of my economic stimulus money.  First off, it's a cowardly way to protest.  In a minivan, going 45 MPH, no chance at a rebuke, no chance for a retort.  Finally, fuck him.

These virus geniuses come in all types.  Some over-informed, can't make out what they're saying, contradicting data that is statistically valid or not.  Some partially informed, with a touch of fear always, they whip up the worry, they fret.  Then the know nothing know-it-alls, the worst, just enough terminology, just enough lingo to influence a significant amount of people, usually they are wrong, but they are loud and without much class, like the cowardly mask shamer previously described.  Then the clueless, the world should treat them better, they are clueless, they know not.

In the land of creepy people, Washington D.C., the show continues.  Like professional wrestling, we know it's all fake.  There is skill involved, for sure, but all the sane among us take it for what it is, and it has gotten old.  Ratings are down, the lame will fold, darwinistic capitalism and the lovers of liberty will thrive.  Unmasked, unanonymous.

The Sound Of Waves Is Never Wrong

It was a vibrancy of life, a mental experience, a reward of awareness, of everything around.  Back to a few normalities, back to some selected vulgarities.  The mother of them all!  Back to being admonished, back to seeking forgiveness.  Without too much sacrifice, enough of that.  It was already enough sacrifice 2 millinia ago, still hitched to that train.  Railing it home.  With faith, created by hope, created by word, created by truth.  The light.

Seeing the initial wave, with their signs and demands and lawsuits.  Then the 2nd wave, more bold, more sure.  Respectful, yet uncaring of approval.  Quiet.  Then the 3rd, loud and boisterous, drunks and cranks, a few anyway.  The 4th wave will follow.  The classy wave, renewed, the best among us.  They needed a rest, they needed some perspective.  The 5th is the 5th.  Nothing more to say about the 5th wave.  Then the 6th, who barely noticed the previous two month's viral condition.  They are intentionally uninformed, they are gamer aces, they listen to thrash metal.  All of them, they all listen to thrash metal.  Finally, the 7th wave with a silent arrival, the preparers, the real mountain people, the gridless, swampy and wild.  Stocking up always.

The extreme clean freaks, they will be 7th wave, and they will encounter a cleaner world.  Best of times for these 7th wavers.  Howard Hughes' nirvana.  At no time in history have germs and viruses been more under attack.  The smell of Lysol is with us now, no more wasting the dusk.  It is part of our earthling air, we will drink it in, breath it constantly.  Chlorinate the pools, listen to the waves.  They all sound different.  And it is fine, the sound of waves is never wrong.

20/20 Gonzo 29: Suggested Conformity

The larger, older, more aggressive cop approached our semi-circle of chairs after driving up and getting out of his cop suburban.  "Did you know you have 2 violations right now?" he asked.  Evidently I was parked off the road too much, must stay on the street at Erwin Park, especially near the campsites.  "That's $350 bucks right there alone.  And you can't drink here, that's another citation."

My daughters were merely dancing to tunes at sundown, we were celebrating the partial opening of Texas.  It was May 1st.  "Well, earlier my wife suggested I park on the street, suggested I follow the rules, suggested conformity.  Look at me now," I joked.  The smaller, younger, and less confident cop reinforced the drinking ban and apologetically mentioned something about doing their jobs, then got back into his seperate cop suburban after proudly telling me they would let me off with only a warning.

Up the hill and around the big loop, on the north side of Erwin Park, a bonfire raged.  I could smell it in the air, wood crates stacked high, orange glow in the dark night, more wood crates stacked high on a trailer nearby.  Something about building a fire, a huge fire, liberates with its ashes and smoke and wild flames.  The Fire Department was called, police interrogations, and an automotive scattering of youth.  Wondered if that guitar player was there, the one with the funny hair.

Daytime Robber

Go to all the trouble, conform to the circumstances, become the light.
 
Beaming forward, making the future lit.
 
But the future was always there, and will be there always.
 
The past is the least important time perspective, the knowledge known, the experiences experienced, the damage done.

Read the words, remember the memories, that's all the past is, words and memories.

There are no saints. 

They were all burned or shot or hung or mangled or fell to some other fate. 

Death don't care about good or bad deeds, it just comes anyway. 

Like a daytime robber with no worries of getting caught. 

Maskless and all up in your personal business, invading your personal space.