jpaulgorman

  As a one issue voter, Erwin Park must remain whole.  Loopholes, kickbacks, and wink winks aside, this is an essential municipal necessity.  Creekfront, Lakefront, Northside, Southside, The Jungle.  All of it.  Nothing we can do about the bulldozed century old trees. Happenings must be made transparent.  What, why, and what happens now?  Elections matter, the yard signs, the street signs, the suburban corners of red, white, and blue signs.  A captive audience.  The winners are our leaders, they are the city.   Run with it, know all about it, build upon the builders of the past.  Wheel, deal, make it real.  Parking garages, custom houses, acres and acres of land.  Carve it up, wish you good luck, make some money if you can.  Wolves will howl, dogs will bark, keep your hands off Erwin Park.

  The last of the Sri Lankan chutney was delicious, cinnamon is the spice of life.  Like butter for the New York Strips.  The season is upon us, watch for sales and free delivery days.  Take a break from the spooky and scary, the sky falls every day and night, regardless.  Time is a stalker. Wineries are the new ranches in Texas, profits are hard fought and subsidized.  The swag business is usually the money maker.  Trinkets.  No sighting of Willie or Waylon or The Boys, but Fredericksburg is a fine place to wear a fine hat.  The outlaws cleared out, went to Austin or Nashville to fake it, then make it. The wine was good, no sugar, all earth, the only wine worth drinking.  "Getcha some Mad Dog if ya wanna get smashed!".  Hold on to the good times, make them last and last, pause. Tanya Tucker knew all about Ridin' Rainbows in '77, left her lonely.  Vinyl hits different somehow.

  Laughing while relaxing away the morning.  Anxiety must be combated.  Only a temporary diversion from the reality of our times.  The gloomy and doomy, the pessimistic, the down.  Living inside a video game, waiting on our turns.   Charge up your laser beams, your gonna need 'em.  Lighthouse communications and code, radio waves and bicycle messengers, The Trek Express.  Lock blades at the ready, helmets on, protect yourselves.  Probably should go tubeless, thorns and shattered glass and stickers.  Spend your nights near the creeks, their echoes will carry. Canned food is overrated, dehydrate.  Lighter, better, easier.  Complications should be minimized.  Corn ain't gonna keep you alive.  Jerky is what the mountain people eat, jerky and seeds.

  When golden years turned to stolen years and your eyes turned away.  After afterglow went on the the road and we woke up in a daze. All the while, we've been wasting miles, should've been set free.  Since that time, a few minor crimes, nothing that made you bleed. From here, who knows, a single rose, I'm lost in this blasted town.  Not much for casinos, chess, or bingo, guess I'll just get on down. DCGC/GCG

  Shame has no rules, some avoid it, some ignore it, some embrace it.  The asses are showing up all over.  T-shirt worries, avatar confusion, something to protest.  Goldfish in a bowl, tadpoles in a withering puddle, flies on fly paper.  Marking time. Nights must be scary for a hostage, knowing they will wake up to their same reality.  Probably not sleeping much.  The leaders of the captors are eating a breakfast buffet this morning.  They got some decent sleep, it was quiet in Qatar.  In America, the justification rallies continue, it's a sad, and mad, scene. Maybe they'll get some bread and water today, but maybe not.  Still wonder if that Mayor of London asked about them, he seemed to know some people who might know some people who might know.  All the politicians and intelligence agencies and think tanks and holy folks don't seem to know much.  They still give speeches, though, for some reason.  Hope they get some sunl...

  The commentators are speechless and horrified, they escape into old habits, it can't be helped.  Oppression and freedom fighting justifications, suddenly a cry for peace.  But peace must be kept, it will not care for itself.  Only intention is needed, there will be peace.  But not now. The fall of D.C. games, the whacked out fools, the reds, the blues, the hoodies, the cooties.  But that's all fine, just fine, we got football.  Another dark winter from our leader, three in a row.  Cut the invite lists again this year, protect everybody with needles and masks.  Spy on us. The first thing will be the arrests and indictments, then we'll move to the trials.  Peers will be eager, ready to serve, ready to judge.  The evidence will speak for itself.  Bribes are easy, blackmail is hard.  Only the lonely know peace.

Like a flood, the next day is for assessment.  What's critical and what's essential.  Early morning start for the crews.  Chainsaws, trailers, blowers, sweepers.  By 9am, all is clean and neat and lush, the bike ride was fabulous. This town runs.  With the Reds, I mean Feds, on a self-imposed suspension, life is as it is here.  Fall has arrived, the torching of Texas is over.  Now the A/C's can take a break, most were outstanding, some inefficient, a few, broke.  Pop a window or two, get the drafts going. In Washington D.C., they are considering returning back to the Redskins, the Commanders just fell flat.  We need some native spirit, some cultivation of the land.  I'd sign the petition if I was there, but why bother.  Those punks still crowing 'bout the Smurfs.  As if Dave Campo wasn't 5-1 against them, despite Darrel Greene.