Lush It Up

Frontal depression from the west.

To cool this late August early morning.

Say that again.

Flashes, like bulbs from Hollowood.

Thunder drowned out with tunes.

Feel it come through.

Radar reveals an assurance of red rain.

Prosper is getting it good.

Tuck the patio tight.

High ceilings worth the view.

Silly little man.

That dude from the Faces.

Who wished he wouldn't have quit.

Regrets are the worst.

The first drop.

Out from the dangerous open sky.

Flying coffee.

Dogs in their inside digs.

And water fell and fell.

Gravity again.

Drenching everything around.

Spooked toads hopping crazily.

Out of control.

Plenty of action with dice chunkers and soldiers.

They don't mind getting wet.

Plants plan to feed the planet.

Lush it up.

20/20 Gonzo 52: That Love Spray

Nothing to see here, this boycott is over, a pitiful boycott if you ask me, but I'm a serious boycotter, a boycotter for life when I boycott, a deep grudger, an active consumer enemy of the boycotted.  Consider sucky National Tire And Battery, Inc., a ridiculous excuse for a company.  Forget the details, but they did me wrong in 1994.  Beyond boycotting, I'm directly involved with influencing Discount Tire Company patronage to friends, family, and strangers.  NTB has a crook culture, wrapped in a sneering disdain for the customer, flavored with a general dumbness covering every square foot of every one of their sorry rodent infested smelly establishments.

And here it comes, here it comes, here comes your 19th nervous breakdown.  Visions of a massive middle class middle finger, held up high and mighty, woken from leisurely slumber, lurking.  Priorities lost, metaphorically, time to flap it out and flip it off, the middle folks have arrived.  Voices are harmonizing low, the back beat won't quit, the lead's sharp tones dance all around the bass line.  Listen for the rumble, listen for it, this band of many colors, zing.

Go local, these national types reek.  Bribery skunks all around, the lobbies, foyers, and rotundas are full of them.  Lawns in all directions.  Pepe LaPue wants to buy your vote, so sure you are down for the date, those suave moves, those close quarters, that razzle dazzled charm, that love spray.  Nevermind the stink, you'll get used to the smell, skunks are your friends, just keep your distance.

20/20 Gonzo 51: Peace Out

Conventional wisdom indicates the reduction of skill and ethics in the journalism profession is obvious.  However, some take exception to the notion of that notion, pointing out the skill and ethics of the profession had long been pathetic.  Either way, we are changing all that, reporting from the middle, observing the far reaches of the story, understanding what is, so to speak.  Wondering of thoughts and motives, mostly curious about the present and future, history is already known.

An upset is imminent, a boycott won't matter.  The old diversions will disappear one by one,  disappear as they were.  Ain't even seen extremely upset yet, reality like a mud puddle to a washed car, when self-control is lost and fairness is demanded.  Not a general fairness, but an edge to make up for previous unfairness, tangible or not, like a super fairness was earned somehow.  Whining to the refs, ranting in the post game pressers, sulking in the hot tubs.  Disbelieving.

Tops will pop.  Streets will fill.  Signs will proclaim.  Same song and dance, no peace, no peace.  Seems the peace out is close, wasting time has no future.

The B Side Of Tattoo You

 

Either extremely late or extraordinarily early.

          It's the same time.

Place before about to be and after just was.

          There it flew.

Intentional actions and occurrences of fate.

          Now that's real.

Defending the B side of Tattoo You.

          Take you to the Tops.

Irritations

Since you asked,

Don't be too irritated by irritations.

20/20 Gonzo 50: Several Elegant Evenings

  

Grateful the Democratic Party was busted by Eisenhower in the 50s and Civil Rights legislation became the law of the land.  Those Democrats were stubborn in their convictions, unsurprisingly ignorant, and without soul.  Similar to the Democrats a century prior, fighting Lincoln and the Republicans to break the Union and create their Confederate nirvana.  What the modern day Democrats see in Communism, I do not know, but it continues a pattern of taking indefensible and dumb positions.  Although the modern Democrats have lost most intellectual credibility, it's hard to believe they had any left to lose.  

In 1878, Senator Aaron A. Sargent. (R-CA) initiated a proposal that eventually gave American women of age the right to vote.  However, it took over 40 years to overcome the Democrat's feisty opposition when they gave up their filibuster and the 19th Amendment, the Susan B. Anthony Amendment, was finally ratified in 1920.  Then a decade of roaring, followed by a decade of depressing, followed by Rosie The Riveter literally building our World War II war machine.  A war machine that helped eliminate the most barbaric evil of the day, saving all of Europe and Asia from certain doom.  But unfortunately, doom descended anyways, as it will, called communism, it's really about cash money, seizure of wealth, cash money, greed, and cash money.

The classless of all classless has gathered together for several elegant evenings of pre-taped telethon segments.  Wandering around in empty buildings, pointing at nothing, insulting our country, it's leaders, most of it's people, and our intelligence.  We see your slather, we know things, we can detect your smell through the screens, despite the editing, that same sour, dour, cynical froth common among the classless, tasteless, and humorless.  Go ahead, pile on, cancel Thanksgiving for sure, Christmas is for fools, give us three extra paid Labor Days instead, screw Eisenhower, Suzi B was overrated.  At least Jerry Lewis made us laugh and money was raised to fight a specific health hazard, his telethons were so much better.

20/20 Gonzo 49: Splatting A Fly

Certainly don't want to court any postal animosity, no confusion regarding envelopes, direct marketing, and graduation announcements to my home address, only respectful admiration to the postpeoples of America, the sorters, the front desk, the drivers, the slotters, the dotters, the entire operation.  Awed by the story of The Pony Express, riding those mustangs from Missouri to California, stables 10 miles apart, toting one revolver, a water pouch, and a mochila containing the sacred communications, usually arriving on the west coast within 7-10 days.  But they closed up operations after telegraph technology progressed, couldn't make money, the business model collapsed, and Buffalo Bill, Johnny Fry, and the Cliff Brothers were out of work, but not for long, they went on to find more lucrative careers anyway.  Like the Pony Express of 160 years ago, we can do without the U.S. Postal Service now, we have FedX, we have UPS, we have Amazon, we have eBills, we have social media, we have drones, and all the rest.

The shamed voter will vote for sure.  They will crawl through a pit of snakes, they will wade through sewer muck, they will dash through a grapefruit size hail storm to vote.  And shaming is at record levels, the go-to tactic for social justice and public health, for sins of fathers and mothers of centuries ago, for skin color, for subconscious thoughts, for economic success.  It's really contrary to what most were taught growing up, do unto others.  But shaming is ineffective against the unashamed, mostly it's ignored, like a fly is ignored, mild irritation and waving away, but eventually the fly swatter starts splatting, there's little guilt involved in splatting a fly.

It's on now, well into the final 3 month countdown to the U.S. presidential election.  One side is stirring the soup of racial and class discontent, counting on a shamed and guilt ridden population, systemically shaming, projecting superficial systemic outrage at systemic unfairness, a system they are from, a system they developed and maintained, a system they shook down, a system that shook them down.  Yes, we know, the system sucks.  The other side looks unworried, like they know something, and you know they do, a calm confidence, like they got the goods, like they got the votes, like they've won the argument, like the check is in the mail, tucked inside an overpriced Hallmark greeting card, post-dated for early November, when the system eventually, and shamelessly, yields our President.  Even the checkmarked votes from the U.S. Mail will be systemically counted, within 7-10 days.

            

20/20 Gonzo 48: Mass Moping

Somewhat dumb, and absolutely bold, to blame all viral deaths on one person.  Only the American ones, I guess.  Is the President liable for all the viral deaths in the world too?  It must be a sick life to hope the viral death numbers go up, and likely few are actually hoping for more viral death, but some of these political sleazes seem capable, are capable, and are hoping for more viral death.  It's merely a hunch, a gut feeling, like indigestion almost, like termite rot.    

Evidently, we are all fighting for the soul of our nation, and the soul is worthy of the fight.  Different than the body and the mind, it's mysterious and supernatural.  The soul is an essence, eternal, the 7th sense.  Soul has moves, it slides and glides, soul is swayed by the moon, soul is mood, and the mood of the country is vengeance.  In reality, our soul will fight for itself, and win easily.  The soul train will not be stopped.

Encouragement is lost, manipulation games. Mostly ignored by the sane, but not this sane journalist, not this 20/20 Gonzoer, I see clearly.  A dank, dank picture emerges, a humorless mix of obedience, reliance, and mass moping.  Live by the gaslight, die by the sunlight.  Laugh in, laugh out, lighten up, loosen up, jump up, get on the soul train, where nobody mopes.

20/20 Gonzo 47: Surly Old Shih-Zhu

Checked in with the Warlord, but he skipped town and is working roof replacements in the various hurricane zones of America.  Evidently, makes all his money in 6 months.  Brilliant, leaves plenty of time for Warlording and art projects during the calm season.  Left no number, no location, no nothing, just following hurricane damage, everybody's got to work.  He had mentioned his love of seafood, especially shrimp and lobster, hope he's having a good meal somewhere, roofing is tough work.

Brando the dog has lost his hearing, most of his eyesight, much of his balance, but none of his spirit.  Come on, man, keep it up, don't turn into a surly old Shih-Zhu.  Don't snap when surprised, don't try doing things you used to do, enjoy your naps, drink water, keep scratching, be smart.  15 years is a long time for a dog, he's done alot, his dogness is proven.  Rest easy, Brando, rest easy.

The West platform is interesting.  Objective form, subjective concepts held within, framed by Word.  In context and clear, aspirational.  Creative art of the Kanye kind, protecting the creation of humanity itself.  Among other things, his vow to avoid non interest advancing 'foreign quagmires' in the 4th way to Create A Culture Of Life seemed especially on point.  

 

Aroma Of August

Tops of the trees were burning white.  Sun light glittered and speckled through the leaves, leaving a canopy of perfect natural lighting.  It was clear, the air had the aroma of August, roasted slow, simmering, cooking in its own juices.  Then the wind whirled, everything became dizzy, everything became chaotic, flashes and awful noises.  This was followed by an indefinable moment of a pure peaceful, easy feeling.  Looked up, but could not see.  Listened for sounds, but nothing was heard.  Took a step, but the step didn't find dirt.  Even the aroma of August was gone, only the bitter taste of thirst was left.  Like dreaming, but fully awake.  Like really alive, but only in the mind.  Tools of the skeleton, hands, fingers, feet, legs, all pointless and useless.  Even a shrug was impossible.  Contentment.  This feeling of nothing went away quick, the weirdest thing.  In reality, nothing couldn't go away.  There is nowhere for nothing to go.  It was there all along, and is there always.  

Anxiety Lost

GCDC

An empty feeling, like nothing.

Complete order and assurances.

Anxiety lost.

If Buddha got a deluxe Swedish massage.

If Buddha drank a gallon of green tea.

If Buddha stared at a candle flame for an hour.

If Buddha went on a 3 mile nature walk.

If Buddha took several long deliberate breaths.

If Buddha nodded off in a hammock.

Even knowledge wouldn't matter.

Mind readers would be irrelevant.

Motives would be pure.

Nothing is fake in dreams, it's all being dreamed.

20/20 Gonzo 46: The Bubble Method

Surely he will be declared unfit by his own before the fall.  It is only humane, his remaining dignity is at stake.  He worked hard as a public servant for years, he sacrificed opportunity and fortune, he comforted many, the shoulder squeezes, the exhaled deep whispers, let him enjoy the fruits of his labor in his declining years.  The modern American presidency requires a capable warrior, ready for the arrows and punches, ready to punch back, ready to pull the blade of self defense.  Instincts, faculties, active brain cells of memory, discernment, self-control, literal balance, temperament, appearance, it is all being closely evaluated by the passively interested observers.

It's come down to a matter of weeks.  When to open the economy, when we get back to normal, essentially, school openings are a proxy.  The shutdown, lockdown, show up for the protest show will continue on into the winter, imagine the bonfires when it gets cold, putting them out would be considered freezing people to death, imagine the flames after a reelection. All the fire station staff wants to do it extinguish fires and rescue people, animals, and property.

Professional baseball seems the same, boring mixed with artificial fan noise.  The baseball nerds still get their statistics, the gamblers still get their outcomes, all the goods without the hassle and expense of going out to the good ole ballgame.  The Men's Professional Basketball Bubble could easily pop, but it will be full of entertainment, platform leveraging, platform creating, causes supported, causes denounced, and maybe some defensive light, Globetrotter's style, prime time, free wheelin' play, dunks and 35 footers.  The Women's Professional Basketball Bubble (The Wubble!) are bubbled in a separate bubble.  The gamblers still get their outcomes, the players get their paychecks, and the public gets to be educated on philosophy, sociology, free market economics, justice, injustice, historical truths, historical untruths, flag respect, flag disrespect, effective viral protocols, ineffective viral protocols, and professional basketball player bubble fashion.  It could work for Professional Tennis, but both genders should be under the same bubble, it would be much more interesting, more economical, and likely more sustainable, especially for the long term.