Hay

go make the hay.
get up early and start cutting.
long rows, straight as strings.

see that it dries a bit.
in the sun and heat.
but, get it before it rains.

big bales quicker.
the square still sell.
these machines make it easy.

part farmer, part mechanic.
greaser towels and buckets of soap.
workshop was off limits.

get that hay in the barn.
the clouds will cry eventually.
and we all must eat.

Glorious Water

Overeactions to come.  Rightousness and elitist yokel-babble.  It will never stop.  Thanks for getting educated.  Your brilliance is obvious and refined.  Right?  Like being your own cheerleader, which is completely natural.  However, this desperation can be avoided with self awareness and practice.  The solutions come from somewhere else.  We know this.  Centered in breathing techniques and moments.  And it works.

Sog the land with intense summer showers, appearing from nothing and moving quick.  Everything cleaner.  Glorious water.

The eyes change overnight, figurative perspective and literal eyeball performance.  The downfall of man is an inward force.  The external forces are constant and timeless, some destructive, some saving.

There is no salvation internally.  It is not of us, it is for us.

Executive Notes: #2

Practiced and practiced. Sliced and diced. Shook and shaked. Added and subtracted. I do like models. Start with objections and questions. Have a point of view. Count it off and say it aloud. The storey transition. Did no juicing, no fertilizer bought. Routines are easy, ruts are tough. Let's get on the court.

Somewhere between value ladder and as we speak.  Out there in emotional intelligence and completing sentences.  Preparations and anxieties of the blinding kind.  Differentiation and real value.  Wrecked.  Understanding the replacability, repeatability, and respectability.  Leaving stones unturned and memorizing lines.

Leaving a Good Impression.  Flawless Execution.  The Navajo Story.  Reworked and mined.  Somewhat framed.  Anticipation of the presentation.  And questions upon questions.  Posture and movements.

Heaven Is Badass

Always sunny with a cool wind blowing.
Understanding things with a complete knowing.
No more pain or decay or trash.
Thank you Jesus, heaven's so badass.

Ignorance don't exist no more.

No more tragedies to endure.
No murders or market crash.
Thank you Jesus, heaven's badass.

So I say to the scum and rude of this world.
I'm one of you if I'm honest with myself.
Remember the times I acted low class
Thank you Jesus, heaven's so badass.

For now I'll just bide my time.
Fake a smile and hide my crimes
So when I croke, when I pass.
Sing about heaven being so badass.

GCG.
D7CG.

So To Speak

.the lingering look.
.don't waste your time.
.move during the transition.
.set still for the point.

.decisions are made emotionally.
.not logically.

.contrast and give hope.
.the challenge is clear.
.introductions come later.
.as the case is made.
.needed information only.
.cut the gluff.
.use natural gestures.
.the ones always known.
.breathe deep, as usual.
.build the momentum.
.light it up.

.so that they will.

.behave a certain way.
.take a step.
.be convinced.

.and it is important.
.otherwise, it is a foolish waste of time.
.with nothing to gain.
.so to speak.
.always we are relative.
.Einstein said it.
.most everything matters for some reason.
.we hate to admit.
.thinking our own matters matter more.
.like the older children.
.entitled and just.

.ac/dc rocked and rocked.
.bottle rock music.
.another empty head.
.trail of dusty tears and muddy sweat.
.nothing can avoid the eventuality.
.as we all know.
.and forget for a time.
.temporarily denied.

.trying some new spices.
.we'll eat it anyway.
.like never buying the same wine.
.try all the reds.
.the white's been done.

.the black liquid is what's left.

.hyped up early.
.when the motivation comes easy.

Thickest Brush

Something bout asking for freedom. Be nice to me or we're surely done. These later years aren't nearly as fun. Let's all shake it down. Yes, let's all shake it down.

Support through all the loss and woe. No one else could ever be this close. 'member when we was making a toast. Let's all shake it up. Yes, let's all shake it up.

Those days were never long enough. Only good memories of our love. Path goes through the thickest brush. Let's all shake it loose. Yes, let's all shake it loose.
ememd7emx3
d7am
d7em

American Dreams

gd7
amgx3
d7

not gonna do what the doctor say,
going to California anyway.
loosing my mind, choosing my time.

everybody left the other day,
left in the morning went every which way.
loosing my mind, choosing my time.

the law tells you all you need to know,
make a mistake and you gotta go.
making a scene, American dreams.

shout your name and make it glow,
everybody sees you in slo mo.
making a scene, American dreams.


we all living our lives,
we all got our liberty,
pursue your happiness,
we've all been freed.


better and better always better,
ranked at the top and got those letters.
ivy educations, formal occasions.

wished now that he'd never left her,
knew he loved her the moment he met her.

Cowboy Wolves

   
     Four white cowboys came into the teepee and sat down across from them.  Big, huge cowboy hats.  Spurs jangling as they walked.  Immediately, his three friends fell asleep.  Only him, the medicine man, and the cowboys remained awake.  A fire burned in the middle and it was smokey.  Then the faces of the cowboys began to change, narrowing and elongating.  Fangs appeared and he looked over to the medicine man who was very calm and void of any fear.  He was seeing the same thing.  Claws formed, black hair grew quickly all over.  Their clothes ripped, they made snorting and growling sounds.  Their eyes were golden and  fierce.  Suddenly, one by one, they left.  To who knows where.  They just fled.  The medicine man then looked over to him and said he had nothing for him.  He too had no fear.  Telling me the story, he claimed it was because he had Christ in his heart and I didn't question it.

     The missing piece for some.  Creation, what the Creator created, is easy.  Look around, nature or mother earth or father earth.  Evident.  The Spirit too, it can be felt and summoned.  There it is, rituals and prayers and songs.  Welling up tears, having compassion, forgiveness even.  Christ is not felt or seen.  He is only known through faith, which is created by the Spirit and The Word.  This story made me think of the Trinity for some reason, but it was clear in my mind.  Three in One.  And science is clear, the human brain likes threes.  It works best in threes.  It understands threes.

     His friends woke after all the cowboy wolves ran out.  They saw nothing, they remembered nothing, they believed the story anyway.

     And I believe Christ is in his heart.

A Big Mystery

     Kneeling near the shaded tree line.  Bout from here to there, 100 yards or so.  Frozen, hair sticking up on his neck, he made out the figure.  Some sort of animal, maybe.  Then it stood up.  It was taller than a house and ran off back through the forest.  An animal alright.  A somewhat human looking giant animal.  That was the first time it was seen by this native of the area.  Evidently, a camera or phone was not available.
     It was the next encounter that left a huge impression and validated the first as authentic.  He told of a sprint across the highway.  The road to Gallup, NM.  Then it glided gracefully over fences, smooth as butter and fast.  His cousin saw this too.  Amazed.  It all happened really quick.  No time to snap a photo.  These are incredible things to see, shocking things to see.  Taking a photo was only a minor thought.  He spoke of his fear liberally.
     The final encounter was at his mother's house, I believe.  Up on a rock or in the mountains.  Near St. Michael.  In the Navajo Lands.  He was there when a massive banging on the house began.  Loud, demonstrative discriptions.  Boom.  Bam.  And wild hand gestures.  The beast never entered the house.  A sawed off shotgun was retrived and held out of a doorway, sideways.  He was too scared to step out. Firing it like this produced a huge back kick, and the gun went flying.  The intended target took off running, again into the forest.  Further inspection of the peremiter of his mother's house revealed emmense footprints.  The feet of someone, or something, really big.  He spoke of others who have seen, over and over, this mystery being.  He talked of eaten animals and deformed trees.  And I had seen these trees that were used to provide back scratching for the creature.  Won't be camping at that place.
     Continued inquiry of video or pictorial documentation was dismissed or ignored.  He mentioned two phones and an SD card he left at his house, but that seemed a diversion.  A camera stakeout should be organized and arranged.  An all nighter.  Or, perhaps, the mystery is better.  A big mystery.

Dirty Cloud

that UFO covered up by a dirty cloud.
been hovering all night.
moves during the day.
the windows tinted dark green.

angels and flying Vs.
flimsy proof of an abduction.
three dots that quiver.
and a loss of time.

the one had long yellow hair.
down to her feet.
she wore flowing garments.
knew she was a woman right off.

these stories were vivid.
each with a another story to tell as well.
I realized this only later.
I listened literally.

they move in erratic movements.
they camouflage invisibly to most.
look up and have no fear.
we are most certainly the aliens.

Young Spirit, Old Soul

Young spirit, old soul.

The ability and willingness to evolve.

Away from present knowledge, into the future.

A long time from now.

And forever.

Huff Is Tough

   
     Arriving at the courts, moonroof open, my radio was jacked up high.  Blaring Frank Zappa, loud cosmic riffs, singing about how his guitar is going to kill somebody.  He truly was a legitimate guitar god, one of the first who has held that lofty reference.  Drove slow past the check in table so I could stare down some opponents.  Spotted Keck, the tournament administrator, who had roddicked two days before.  'Injuries happen' was his attitude.  He communicated the roddick to the group and got a replacement player. This is proper Isner Scoring Method ethic.  To be clear, it is not dishonorable to roddick, not usually, but there is no honor in bailing unannounced, leaving the group in a bind.  Keck would never do that.  His wrist was not healed, further damage was being avoided.  His body would heal itself, eventually.  Then, as we all know, it's something else.  A knee, a plantar fascia tendon, a back.  The tennis life is a tough life, almost never do you feel perfect.
   
     After parking and gathering needed items, bags, and water, walked up on Vito, unloading an Escalade of his tennis equipment.  A guitar god in his own right, I immediately told him of my plans.   He had destroyed me at the previous tournament with a sweet backhand, quick feet, and warrior grit.  Perhaps we could meet in the Duke division, an opportunity for revenge.  I told him this, and he knew I was coming for him.  He smiled, like he does.  But I would have to overcome Frank Friday who was in my morning group first.  Keck had called it the 'Group of Death' in communications leading up to the event.  With me, Frank, Prince Fess, and two time King James, I was somehow supposed to feel honored. 10 game mahuts against each of them to start the day.  The most games won of the 30 goes to the afternoon King group, 2nd most Prince, 3rd Duke, last Earl. The format is repeated in the afternoon to determine The Royal Court.  In all, 60 total games against 6 different players in about 6 hours.  In addition, because we are playing a defined number of games, the dreaded downtime is avoided.  I had been the Earl.  The Earl of Nantucket.  KOtC5.  It was royal and sweet, but it had been done.  I was hungry for the Duke.  I was going to have to dig to get another shot at Vito and the Duke title.  The air was heating up rapidly when Keck announced play to start.  He also encouraged the group to maintain hydration and explained why 'Mahut!' is shouted by the server to begin each mahut.
   
     Imagine my panic when, in my first mahut of the day, Frank Friday had me down 4-1, serving, up 40-30.  To lose the point would mean disaster.  This was the game after Frank had won several amazing points, punctuated by several authentic celebrations.  Frank is one of the greatest of all KOtC players.  A former Prince and a former Earl, his intensity is well known by many.  Frank Friday double faulted.  I went on to win that game and the next four to win the mahut 6-4.  One of his authentic celebrations, the one at the net with a clenched fist thrust towards my face and a long, spit producing roar, helped turn my game around.  He played King James tough, but fell.  Prince Fess then mouletted Frank, further helping me get into the Duke division for the afternoon.  Later, King James confided that one of these authentic celebrations from Frank had motivated him as well.  Frank Friday celebrates winning.  It is a very admirable trait, but can sabotage his efforts by inspiring his opponent.  He was not celebrating being in the Earl Division.  Coach Bill Vita went on to win the Earl title that afternoon, taking it from his older brother, the KOtC6 Earl.  William The Earl.  A true inspiration, a reinstitution of a tennis institution.  Trained at the Julian Kinsky School Of Tennis Instruction near Philadelphia, he had fell away from the game for a time.  His royal success was well earned.
   
     King James made it to the King division again.  He tied both King Foster and Justin Huffman and was on his way to finishing off Hunter Foster, college player and son of King Foster, when the rains came.  The dark clouds had been near.  The heat that day was heavy and fierce.  Suffocating.  In some ways the torential rain was welcome, but it required rulings from Keck, the tournament administrator, because continued play was impossible.  Huffman had a one game edge over King James when all was totalled.  A veteran of the King division, he had never broken through.  Grit pays, perseverence is rewarded, all hail King Huff!  Every game matters in the KOtC format.  Those lost games could have mattered, but they never existed.  Water is water.  The Fosters were gracious and friendly in defeat, but the elder seethed visibly as the rain drenched everything.  Keck awarded the trophy and bobblehead under an umbrella to the new, beaming King.
   
     The Prince division disintegrated due to cramping, heat exaustion, and other injuries.  Once Prince Fess took out Marty Feldman, it was done.  It went quick.  The two time Prince then sped off to play more tennis, with a royal glow.  I had been up on him 3-1 in the morning round before he changed tactics and beat me 6-4.  He was a very good player and his backhand flip, down the line, was a devestating shot.  Determined and relentless, he is a fitting Prince.  He'll be at the Fries Cup later in the summer, his company a title sponsor in the war on cancer.  Hopefully, I'll get another invite from Marty.  It was an honor to play for the winning Blowfish team.  Perhaps my 3-0 record, good behavior, and responsible social drinking will be remembered.  Marty is a busy man, I hope he doesn't forget.  His brother, King The Todd, 2-time winner of this event, must have had a hockey game or something.  His absence for the last two tournaments, KOtC's 6 and 7, is inexplicable.  Has he forgot us?  Has he abandoned the game?  Is his desire for royalty gone?  Surely, he could still compete for the King' s crown.  Inexplicable.  Keck has no answers and doesn't seem to be in contact.  His brother doesn't even know.  Maybe we'll be teammates at the Fries Cup.  King The Todd is missed.  His public will welcome him back.  They will cheer him.  He could become the first 3 time King in November, a distinction that eluded King James in KOtC7.
   
     When I walked onto the court in the afternoon for the Duke fight, the 3 other players were warming up.  Berco Neiman, the Peuvian ace who once beat Keck and had a very steady game.  Austen Holmes, a first time KOtC player with a true Kramarian game.  The old 'big' game.  Came to the net after every serve, evidently since he was 15 years old he told me during the 30 minute break that separates the morning and afternoon rounds.  From Lubbock originally, he understood air weight and winds.  In his 30s now, that's alot of rushing the net.  I was very, very impressed with his style of play.  It is rarely seen anymore.  Every serve, come in at all costs.  Also there, warming up, was Vito.  He had beaten Coach Vita, now William The Earl, in the morning.  I could not have asked for more.  I played Berco first and it was a back and forth match, his steady game and my unsteady game finishing 5-5.  He was extremely complimentary and respectful, engaging in interesting conversation on changeovers.  When I go to Peru one day I will remember his advice.  Aquas Calientes, I think.  Near the ancient Inca lands.  Austen Holmes, the Kramarian, was true to his word.  He was good at it, swooshing in to put away any weak return.  Stuck them right in the corners.  Of course, to play that kind of game takes resilience.  A Kramarian player can expect to get passed by, lobbed over, and fired at.  Persistence to the strategy requires a numb memory.  I had my share of success, especially with my serve, but he was too much and took me down 6-4.  By then we were all 50 games in, we were dragging and the dark clouds were bearing down.  While grabbing more water for my final mahut againt Vito, I still held out hope for the Duke title.  He and Berco were going long, giving me the advantage in rest and hydration.  Then, walking from the courts, Vito announced he had to go.  Unavoidable conflict with something or the other.  I was gracious, even somewhat relieved.  My body and mind were fried.  I could have played, would have fought hard, may have even beat Vito, but the Duke would elude me either way.  Keck decided, based on games won, Berco and Austen would play for the Duke.  One game in, the skies poured water.  Austen, up two games, was announced the Duke.  I really admired his game.  Duke Holmes, rushing the net since 15.
   
     Everyone left quickly when it rained. William the Earl received his trophy from a barefoot and soaked Keck.   We met at Dodies Cajun Place after.  Bobby was there too.  Surviving a heart attack, marrying off his daughter, and playing mixed doubles had him busy the previous 6 months.  He is like a tennis brother.  And a writer brother.  A mad combination.  A fighter for royalty himself, just not this time around.  King Huff was there.  He celebrated with many large beers. William the Earl got tater tots with his burger, his brother Joe wore an electric blue shirt.  He looked like he could play more.  Keck, of course, beaming because of the smoothness of the event.  Frank Friday was there too. He was disappointed, no doubt, bit jovial.  King James was there, cussing the rain.  His bid for a third crown fell just short.  He was laid back as usual, despite the disappointment.  We re-lived the points and games and mahuts.  We compared scores, we made involuntary noises of pain, we ordered multiple 'another rounds'.  Yes, Huff was tough.  Like all Kings.  Tougher than everybody this day.

Crusty Lips: Jingle Hut

Ain't no kiss.
Ain't no kiss.
Ain't no kiss with those crusty lips.

Carmex saves.
Carmex saves.
Carmex saves em from the sun rays.

Ain't no kiss.
Ain't no kiss.
Ain't no kiss with those crusty lips.

With Conditioning Machines

eaex8
cgdx2

.sit right down and listen up.
.it ain't the heat.
.or the ozone alerts.
.or nothing like that.
.it is for practical purposes, like all things that are worthy and unworthy.
.reason is involved.
.logical and sound.

.pools of water on the perimeter.
.spider and mosquito nests.
.the spray only eliminates the weak.
.the strong ones live on.

.the real thirsty.

.the mornings are our only refuge.
.and this is night.
.confined and controllable spaces.
.with conditioning machines.
.with music and games.
.begin with the end in mind.

.i can feel it clearly.

Executive Notes: #1

   
     This assignment of a watershed.  When things changed.  When there was a before and after.  Clear and distinct.  There are many.  Degrees, even.  Some minor, some major, the culmination of what we are and where we are now.  And so much more, our impact on others.  Our involvement in their wastersheds.  The majors and the minors, much of it unknown.  Random circumstances or intentional associations, controlled by some external superior power with intentions all their own?  These wastersheds are real.  Some leaky, some broken.  Most important to consider and know, but some important to forget.  The past is only a part of your life, it is less important than the future.
     Settlement is taken for granted.  Only when it is stripped is it realized.  Misinterpreted as security early on, only now is it understood as a natural longing.  It is not a crisis, it is a calm.  Once known, it becomes treasured.  Settled into middle school in Sherman, Texas in the early eighties, my elementary years had been spent with rugged boyish endeavors, mostly of the outdoor kind.  Girls were now a priority and eighth grade had brought first, second, and third loves.  So I thought.  The coming years were clear in my mind.  Take my pick, have a girl fall in love with me, then get a boat, a family, and make a life.  It was all settled.  Family, friends, the good life.  This was my pre-teen mind.
     One day my dad, Texas Instruments Ace--The Boss, came home and informed his family we were moving to Lubbock, Texas.  Evidently, the engineering wizards of TI had developed the greatest personal computer known to mankind.  The TI 99-4A.  Affordable, portable, and incedible.  This was before Dell, as Apple was in their infancy, as Microsoft was plotting their takeover.  TI, known for smarts and manufacturing sleekness, was gonna run the whole operation out of Lubbock.  The Silicon Caprock.  As we planned our move, I kept a brave face.  The truth, looking back, was confusion, depression, and an unsettled mind.  We all, both older brothers and mother, chose to welcome the adventure and new experiences.  Off we moved during the Spring Break of my 8th grade year.
     Lubbock was fine.  Inside the loop, like a suburban oasis in the West Texas desert lands.  First in an apartment, then a house on 10th street, near Slide.  Unsettled, especially when I walked into MacKenzie Jr. High.  Assigned some student guide, my first buddy.  He seemed put out and unfocused on the task at hand.  His mind seemed on summer already.  I ditched him on day 2 in favor of a solitary existence.  At least for a couple of weeks.  I was happy to see my family in the evening, the most settled time for us all.  Everything outside the house was different, all of us were weary.  We grew closer as a family, even my oldest brother moved in, attending Texas Tech University for a time.  Although oddly, very little evidence exists of his academic record at the school.  It was short lived, as was our time in Lubbock.  Only nine months total.
     Looking back, Texas Instruments had a pathetic marketing department.  My father has since told me he knew the gig was up when he asked where all these computers being made in Lubbock were going.  He found out a million units were being stored in a huge wharehouse in Abilene, Tx.  They wern't moving, but we were.  First to Midland, Tx. for 5 months, then to McKinney, Tx.  By then, I was fully aware of being unsettled.  It didn't bother me much.  I was better at it by then.  Observe and listen while unsettled, remain patient and wait for life to unfold, for others to approach, for opportunities.   Starting McKinney High in the 10th grade was a breeze.  Eased into several groups, made lifelong friends, met the girl of my dreams, went to college, married the girl of my dreams, began a career,  built a house, began a family, and settled down.  Or settled in, rather.
    It's routines now, settle in and adjust appropriately.  Test the waters.  Be mindful of the difference between settling for and settling in.  Habits are critical and should change with time.  Settle on your priorities.  I don't get restless too often, only when things are unsettled.  Faith helps, the ultimate calm and perspective.  Like a glassy pond.  Word and Spirit do their thing.  Think about the peacemakers and their fate, lift up levity to its rightful place, settle the petty scores.  Settle the big scores too.  It is worth the effort, to be content, to be satisfied, to eat our daily bread.


***presentation 1***

Tennis Is Superior To Golf.

1.  Athletic activity.
2.  Costs less.
3.  Takes less time.
4.  More Competitive.
5.  Promotes far less drinking and smoking.

Far from perfect, tennis shares some other characteristics of golf, including: wear and tear on the body, likely outbursts of vulgarities, and obsessive tendencies.  Both sports are steeped in history and have somewhat similar development timelines.  Both have exciting professional tours to humble the masses, although women's professional tennis has far exceeded the success of the professional women golfers.  The Serena effect.  Both demand etiquett and trustworthiness.  Both offer stylish attire choices, even influencing broader culture.  Golf has the slight edge in nature proximity, deal making, and corporate events.  However, on the whole, the time and costs alone are enough to make tennis a superior recreational pursuit to golf.



***presentation2***

Texican Chili

to make a good chili, you gotta start with the meat selection. shoulder roast is best, for sure, but more importantly the way you get it ground up is critical. ask the butcher for the chili meat cut and get about 3 pounds. it will be lean so that will make quite a bit. enough for six to eight.  mainly with chili, it's about the spices you don't use. many will dazzle you with concoctions of ridiculous proportions. spices of unknown orgin. strangely, always leaving out the pepper. here's the deal, all you need is a bunch of chili power and cumin, perhaps combining whole seeds and cumin powder, in a 2/1 ratio. you then have the basis of chili. salt and pepper at the very end. i've eaten horrible chili before. chili with kahlua, chili with chocolate, white chili. i've left many full bowls of chili on the table due to taste issues. the creativity comes next. tomato sauce and diced tomatoes are a given, but here's where you should take note. rotel. yes, the mexican and queso staple. it will add the proper spice to finish off the pot of texican chili. a chopped whole onion should be cooked along with the meat intitially, fresh garlic added in the latter stages. cook it long, cook it low. honestly, it should be cooled and refridgerated overnight to really taste it's true potential and experience its perfectly tender texture. serve with corn chips, raw onions, sharp chedder, and sliced avacodos. light english beer goes good. ice water too.  beans should be eaten at a seperate meal.

Already Cracked

Coming from nowhere.
Out of the black.
Surprise attack.
Surprise attack.

Left with an empty stare.
Already cracked.
Surprise attack.
Surprise attack.

Tradgedies are tragic.
Tears falling faster.
Faster and faster.
Faster and faster.

Love works like magic.
Direct from the master.
Faster and faster.
Faster and faster.

Mix up some cocktails.
Start up some tunes.
In the soundroom.
In the soundroom.

Birds land on rails.
Plug em in soon.
In the soundroom.
In the soundroom.

A Game Of Slush

.don't own a gun.
.hun.
.but I told my daughter to tell her boyfriend that I sleep next to a heavy metal pipe.
.just to be clear.
.had to sing him hog killing weather.
.just to be clear.
.dear.
.pick out 5 fat ones.
.the air is getting cold.
.rent some freezer space in town.
.frown.
.break away from this noise.
.see it for what it is.
.liz.
.a game of slush.
.the funds ready to wire.
.bought the hook.
.crooks.

High Class Dinners

GCG
D7CG

Showing up late, showing at all, walk in unison, down the hall.

Work is done through words and deeds, body and blood brings em all to their knees.

Water does its thing like its always done, flooding the world, announcing the Son.

Streets are paved with the already saved.
All day sinners eating high class dinners.
The hero don't live here anymore.


Shake it all loose give one more run, drive to the sands for some summer fun.

Shut the doors and make some noise, out of our minds with the beastie boys.

Fight for your right to get your delights, travel the world to find the light.

(chorus)

One of these nights in a purple haze, picking out tunes for the big parade.

All we'll find on either side are plastic people living plastic lives.

I like dirt, and i like mud, like to remember we're all in love.

Temporary Hassles

.growing old is just getting closer to living forever.  .these breakdowns and breakups don't mean nothing.  .temporary hassles and ruckuses.  .flipped on the lid.  .for really good reasons.  .but no excuse is good enough.  .excuses are pathetic anyways.  .reasons, however, they are always there.  .why in the world is right.  .goodness gracious is all to say.  .respect of time and space.  .the ways and means are mean indeed.  .stepped carefully into the future.  .awake and aware.  .compromising on the truth is unthinkable.  .ludicrois and easy.

Conclusion Of Thought

Religion is the conclusion of thought.

Highlighter Orange

   
     Crashing to the court Keck must have been furious.  Coach Vita and I had insisted on the 6:45 daybreak start, before the sun evaporated the mist, before the courts were dry, when the surface was at it's most slick.  Our tune up Saturday round robin was planned days before.  15 game mahuts to make up 45 total, just 15 games shy of what will be played in the upcoming King Of The Court tournament.  The 7th KOtC.  The Lion Earl Joe Vita was there too, in highlighter orange Adidas apparel.  Lenny Kravitz was the tunes.  Memories of his afroed, coed band at the Bronco Bowl came back in nostalgic waves as we listened to his riffs.  Cab Driver, Rosemary, Let Love Rule.  The reminder is always needed.  Love is the only way.  Life, as in tennis, must be loved to to be played to its potenial. Lenny can jam.  His opening act that night did not belong there.  Sean Lennon has Yoko's voice.
     We were early in our mahut when Keck hit a backhand return.  While scurrying back to the middle of the court, I hit a balls deep inside out forehand back to his backhand.  I'm sure he regrets even going for it, but his instincts were too ingrained.  Down at the time to an inferior player, he attempted to misdirect his momentum and the slippery court did it's thing.  His feet slid out from under him, his whole body suspended in the air, and he came crashing to the surface, loud and quick.  Thankfully, to prevent gruesome facial injuries, he was of enough mind to react as his hands and arms quickly broke the fall.  Immediately he got up, dusted off, checked for any blood and began nursing the right wrist.  He had the look of someone who knew, someone that felt something different, perhaps even someone that heard the unnatural pop.  Everyone is their own best Doctor, especially with the internet.  The inside out forehand had landed perfectly in the corner, accelerated by topspin and biting down severely.  I was happy to get the point, and even now I remember the crispness of the contact, the decision to misdirect made early, allowing for a full setup and attention to technique.  It was a good strategy considering the conditions, just wish Keck would have given up on that one, let it ring the fence, let the point be won by another.  Give up a winner.  His hatred of losing, even a point, is well known.  Since the injury I'm certain he's wondered 'what if' we had a more reasonable 8 o'clock start.  The 'what ifs', tourtureing his mental well being.  Duke Keck will heal, slower now that he's older, but he will be ready for King Of The Court 7.
     We finished the mahuts we could with the remaining healthy players, concluding in a 2 round modified california doubles format.  Joe the Lion Earl won despite Coach Vita's attempted calculation confusion and scoring lapses.  We all had our Zverev moments, those moments when a big point is on your racquet for an easy volly putaway and it ends up hitting the middle of the net and dribbling to your feet.  We went for winners, we hit drop shots.  Slams, double faults, aces, unforced errors, nubs, effs, down the line screamers, ridiculous angles, and Zverevs.  Liked that highlighter orange look, like a construction zone, or a life jacket.  Just what my game needs.

Nonsense After All

It is the same.
The space and time.
Defined again.
Validated.
Run through the muddy path.
Make it work.
Find the historical story.
These real people are real.
No deal stuck in my head.
Engine's just a bunch of junk.
The air is gone.
So are the songs.
They don't mean anything.
Nonsense after all.
Tomorrow we play.
Nothing better to do.
Fun is fun.
The draggers are hard to take.
No score is settled.
No grudge is gone.
Let the people cry it out.
Loud and bluesy.
Clean and verbed.

Dawns And Dusks

.the clouds were dancing.
.perfectly and chaotically.
.all the while laughing was heard.
.random and joyous.
.the day is happening.
.dawns and dusks.
.the people of this world look up.
.he will come to you.
.he will do it all.
.enjoy life like the young do.
.unashamed and bold.
.the kingdom is within you.
.seek out the peacemakers.
.they are known by their actions.
.sincerity is rare indeed.
.mostly beyond our capabilities.
.the envious cry tears of justice.
.which they know not.

And Why

what's left.

what does it even mean.
who are these people.
and why.
where in this place.
when does it all just stop.

what's right.

who gets to decide.
what is done in this world.
and why.
when should we leave.
where would we go.

Dirtbags And Winos

ink is just ink.
it meant something at some point.
but it's only ink.

the dirtbags gathered again.
at the twin valleys.
torn hands and faces.

rode off to the east.
back where the sun is early.
and the migration began.

take the old out.
replace it with something pristine.
no graffiti even.

the roman pick pocket kids.
and the same thing in Spain.
the nuns bring the good word.

dirtbags and winos.
goes hand in hand.
sleep off the pressure steamer.

an expression of some sort.
the big middle finger.
less talk is all.

Floods And Muds

Beyond repaired.
Like the declining body.
Soften the landing.
Go light on your feet.
Style kills.
Provided for enough.
Keeping up with this race.

Sunrise with storms leaving.
Going east after the clean sweep.
Like Bourbon Street and its morning suds.
Memories only now.
Documentation breach.

The tuxedo is out.
A spoof to spoof.
Mean green line cufflinks.
The triangle of my life.

Established and looking to the horizon.
Its been a long float.
Wild winds and storms.
The ship careening up the waves.
Crashing down hard.
Shaking the whole boat.
Sending passangers to desperate prayers.
And they are answered too.

The birds are the signal callers.
This day of song.
The thunder is gone for now.
Lightening bolts gone to Louisiana.
With the floods and muds.

Big Bad Wolf

Big bad wolf.  Assumptions and broad brushes. Liked the name.  Move forward and avoid the glow... improve management...flatten that cow.  Executive summaries.  More details is the details.  The return comes later...the A/V is the knife in the heart.  Awkwardness...a minor annoyance.  Listen and be heard.

Sweet Ole Time

am.                       d.
anytime before midnight.
g.                           am.
when your eyes are bright.
g.                            d.
under the moonbeams, my darling.
             am.
we will reunite.

call each other my baby.
laugh like we're going crazy.
just taking our sweet ole time.
just being lazy.

only time for things we enjoy.
knowing the devil's been destroyed.
his lies don't work on us.
don't worry anymore.

Shampoos

Conditioners all around, but no shampoos.
Sea of plastic floating in the sea.

Another small insignificant piece of trash thrown out.
Was made to be used.

Like a racecar, made to be drove.
The blind understand this clearly.

Waste is incompetent.
Trying to do too much.

Telling me who I respect.
It is not implicit.

Because of blood or family trees.
Because of some desired state.

Wishful thinking is for the fools.
And I am certainly one of those.

Visioning activities, to call out the possibilities.
Every other eye.

Covered Convertibles

This journey is real.
Steve Perry and his case of stage fright.
One for Merle, Bowie, and Prince.
With Nantucket worked in.
Patios, porches, and gardens
Covered convertibles everywhere.

Could Have

blinded by regrets.
should have.
think of the difference.
could have.
if only this or the other.
would have.
like a constant insult.
no contentment at all.
just tired and sleepy.
no real living.
only resting and avoiding.

No Fight Left

Decide, will you stay or will you go.
Brown sugar days.
And another brick in the wall.
Just leave me be.
Me and my annoyances.
Completely self absorbed with thoughts.
Visions of perfection and afternoon love.
Only visions these days.
The nights are more like it.
Sleep and quiet peace.
Temporary grace.
Driven crazy on the wireless.
Pack it up and get away.
It must be done.
Maneuver of flight.
Escape out the back.
You might like what you find.
No more irritating noises.
Or listening lapses.
The unhappiness might stop.
To love again.
Sacrificed and branded.
Low expectations and careless.
If only they knew.
This cracked and broken heart
Unattended.
The mind will eventually crack too.
And the body's slow decent.
The peeves are the final straw.
Embarrassments of the past.
Just hang it up and quit.
Liberated, finally.
That Son of a bee.
Buzzed all day long.
Tomorrow is tomorrow.
Today is its own.
Got no fight left.
Get a new one, huh?
What's all the fuss.
To the mysterious end.
Companionship and walks.
In common interest.
The word and all.
Blood all shed for us all.
The puzzle does not come together.
A canvas is not painted.
Our eyes do not see.
Our ears won't hear.
Our lying lips.
Even a whiff of the wind has no effect.
Forget that.
It will not become true.
It is true.
Short circuit for a flash.
Saw raging stars and got woozy.
Almost fled to another plane.
Deviations in decisions.
Affection is important now as well.
We can find a way.
Fade on, fade out, fade away.
Like a good song that needs ending.
Its almost all relative.
Matters of commerce continue.
Plans and projects and engagements.
Through it all, together bound.

These Words Glow

...the actions of reactions.
...bounced around weirdly.
forgiveness is the path to peace.
and actions do matter.
...only word destroys evil.
...and has.
all else seems envious and dim.
senses of dollars and cents.
...comfort and abundance.
...the ease of these days.
tolerance is the hard road.
allowing other ways.
...the theives and crooks are all around.
...they are the ones that look innocent.
pointing fingers and wagging.
throwing the word around.
...but this is light.
...and these words glow.

Tennis Is Peace

   
     After coming off a strong mahut against Keck, playing King James on the clay courts of Brookhaven on an early Friday morning was highly anticipated.  Not only was my tennis game under relative control, but it was my debut to the surface.  The surface of the French.  The surface of River Oaks in Houston.  I wanted to slide like Juan Monaco, dig like Novak, and click the mud off my shoes like Fed.  My invitation for an invitation to the only clay courts in Collin County was sent earlier in the week after Keck and Coach Vita were guests of the King.  Membership does have it's privileges and being a former member of the Royal Court, The Earl of KOtC5, emboldened me.  And envy overtook me.  King James accommodated graciously with an invitation.  The court was in perfect condition, with the rains of the past week captured in the mud.  A thin layer of dirt covered the base clay of the court.  Upon arrival, the King was combing the court with a contraption especially designed for the task.  Unlike the crew in Houston, we left the lines unswept.  Tight net, low 70s, little wind, water jug, large shade trees, new can, efficient warm up, the soft clay.  Brent has smooth shots, as we know, and is well practiced.  Got me running and my legs got heavy, got me thinking and I had mental breakdowns, hit my serves back for winners.  In the end, had a number higher than my most optimistic hope and a number better than the 3-17 beat down King James put on Keck two mornings prior.  21 games into our first Isner Match and I'm down 6-15.  All this recent tennis, from attending the U.S. Clay Court Championships in Houston to my continuing tennis schedule, naturally got me thinking of KOtC7 preparations.

   
     King Foster, the unexpected King, should return.  His protégée, Prince, won the same amount of games in the afternoon King division of KOtC6.  They tied 5-5 in their mahut, eliminating the first tiebreaker.  Initially, King Foster insisted the throne be given to Prince, but that idea was abandoned when Keck, the Tournament Administrator, determined that total games from the morning mahuts was the 2nd tiebreaker.  Brilliant.  Consulting the morning brackets indicated King Foster with one more game than Prince.  Every game counting is at the core of the Isner Scoring Method.  My 1-9 result against Prince in the morning mattered.  A game is a game.  For literary effect I was secretly hoping for a King Prince in KOtC6, but it was not to be.  Hopefully, Prince will be back too, after a year of Collin College training.  He is a physically gifted and talented player.  From Klien, near Houston.  Ultimately, royalty, any worthy royalty anyway, hates to lose. That will determine the fate of all players.  Not in an unhealthy way, understand, just a simmering distaste.  This hate can lead to actions that decrease the odds of losing including:  practice, training, professional instruction, rest, creative expressions, and equipment adjustments.  Can be anything, but it is clearly self motivated.  This hate can also lead to actions that increase the odds of losing including: frustration, quitting, cussing, pouting, drinking, and equipment destruction.  Self control of mind, body, and tennis spirit.  Swing to swing, point to point, game to game, mahut to mahut.  We are gathered here today to think through this thing called life.  Electric word, life, means forever, and that's a mighty long time.  Prince Mardy Feldman, brother of King The Todd, should return if his schedule allows.  He fishes in far away oceans, he drives race cars, he has people.  Duke Keck, who also serves as Tournament Administrator, will return, of course.  His recent callout to Allen Civic Leader and Tennis Ambassador, Justin Quest, for an acceptable summer date will set in motion a series of actions, culminating in the tournament and crowning of royalty.  Earl Joe Vita served his time well.  Newspaper articles and ads, Golden Circle recognition for his professional efforts, trips to New York, multiple trips to Hawaii.  He also protected a 70 year old man from a dangerous raging drunk at Tupps Brewery.  His loud and repeated verbal assaults of "sit down and shut up!" was all he needed.  Royal as ever.  His desent to the Earl after serving as the Duke was, no doubt, humbling.  But the life of an a Earl is good.  The common royal.  Like the 10 of hearts in a Royal straight flush.  He' ll be back unless unavoidable conflicts arise.
   
     The invitations will be sent in due time.  All the former Kings:  King Foster, King Stone, King The Todd, and King James.  In time for preparations, better come in shape.  Avoid the Jack Sock at any cost.  Hydrate and live simply.  Should have saw that coming.  Juan Monaco came to play in Houston.  Coach Vita noticed it after the Quarters.  Keck favored Monaco all along.  His Aggasian strategy of running the American Sock ragged in the finals paid off.  Perhaps it was only a coincidence that Brad Gilbert, former coach of Andre Aggasi, was seen with Juan Monaco during the tournament.  We can only speculate, as the busy Gilbert seemed everywhere--pictures with Bush41 in the club, at the USTA booth discussing windows of opportunity and the next great player, on TV.  Dig his hat.  He seems the modern day Bud Collins, another that has departed here.  Probably all on Merle's Silver Wings.  Merle, Bud Collins, The Artist Formerly Known As Prince, and Bowie.  To glory, because they left their glories behind.  Ahh yes, the clay got me thinking.  Tennis is peace, even when doves cry.

Soaked In Purple Rain

the diamond needle.
and the grooves.
met in a hotel lobby.
thinking through this thing called life.
and the eyes have it.
baby, you're a star.
soaked in purple rain.
and laughing.
dig, if you will, that picture.

Slick And Sogged

Slick and sogged.
All waterlogged.
The densest fog.
Folks ever saw'd.

Ain't No Charity In Tennis

...i see what i see, and immediately the information is sent, by brain transmitters, to the part of the mind that makes decisions.  This happens in an instant, especially if there is no doubt what is seen.  From there, a signal is sent to the vocal controllers and a call is made.  Quickness indicates the recognition process is working smoothly.  Upon further reflection, the serve was not only wide, it was long as well.  Ain't no charity in tennis.  Mahut!

Alot To Think About

These lost days and nights.
When the love line goes quiet.
When its too late for cryin'
That's alot to think about.
Alot to think about.

Saying words that hurt the heart.
Spending too much time apart.
Like we need a brand new start.
That's alot to think about.
Alot to think about.

Sleep, it don't come cheap.
Weary, tired, and beat.
She makes my life complete.
That's alot to think about.
Alot to think about.

We're diamonds in the rough.
Just shining all our love.
Just trying to stay tough.
That's alot to think about.
Alot to think about.

fcX3
g
c

The Don

The news boys and girls.
Predicting the future in vain.
Some green bay night.
Before the new york apple bite.
A merger of the fed up.
The acquisition to come in the fall.
Entertainment only.
For reasons believed by me.
The Don.

The Fooled Of April

...she's knocked her teeth clean out.
.just like me at fifteen...
...some sort of accidental slip.
.a loud rumbling noise...
...screams and wails and tears.
.the motherly instincts to get ice...
...irritation at the shocked and despondent.
.standing outside watching the flames...
...it's not your fault.
.crackling sound of tissue in the back...
...replicating the inferno.
.heartbeats and oh my Gods...
...several punch lines before it clicked.
.the mischievous win again...
...the fooled of April.

Forget It

...aww, jus forget it...
.what?
...forget it, nevrmind...
.really, what?
...jus forget it...
.never knew it.
...jus forget it then...
.then what?
...well, jus forget it...
.forget what?
...nothing...
.can't forget nothing, really.
...forget I spoke...
.hard to forget.
...forgive me...
.for what?
...aww, jus forget it...

Imagination Of Time

.these are only reminders.
.it doesn't happen every year.
.the celebrations and readings.
.historical and foretold.
.the places are just places.
.only noteworthy now.
.this plot or that plot.
.no pilgrimages to the holy sites.
.all sites are holy in some way.
.the virtual too.
.imagination of time.

Lonely Dandelion

.just a lonely dandelion.
.blowing in the wind.
.grew up quick, all alone.
.the world broke you in.

.just another love of mine.
.you don't even know.
.oh my lonely dandelion.
.you are not your own.

.cause you need me and I love you.
.yes, you need me and I love you.

.born in all your glory.
.found all you could find.
.wrote a thousand stories.
.for the other dandelions.

.meet me there someday.
.after all your crimes.
.set your heart ablaze.
my lonely dandelion.

cgx2
dcgx2

Punk It Up Some More

punk it up some more.
make it short and quick.
these emotions must be recognized as fake.
they can be made into something and left.
for our own benefit mainly.
like forgiveness, in a way.
a worthy selfish act.
although, One did, once, forgive unselfishly.
completely unselfishly.
to withhold forgiveness is selfish too.
more selfish, waiting for the other to ask.
but, to ask another to ask for your forgiveness seems a waste.
like a forced apology.
it's all aftermath.
the pure in heart, the peaceful, are in the Word.
translations are emerging.
far and wide.
applications and wireless.
the truth is in us.
it came from somewhere and someplace else.
in from the outside.
where we'll go again.
these murderers are choking in death.
their passion comes from fear.
life will crush them.
their end will be the pit.
ruthless and with cause.
enemies of The Lord.

Slightly Alone

Motivation deficient.
The particulars.
Moving like waves.
Disappearing and appearing.
In the sky to the east.

Slightly alone.
True friends and family.
No grudges of afflictions.
It was not their fault.
They are their own.

Heart attacks and cardiac arrests.
Throw them in the slammer too.
The tin tank.
With soldier guards.
With razor wire.

Bust out the folk records.
Guitar music and harmonies.
Stories of struggle.
This machine kills fascists.
And all the politics involved.

The Shoeshine

a7d7
e7a7
d7a7
e7d7a7

Tape the fists and spit the spit.
Getting toned and getting ripped.
Jump that rope one more time.
The way its done at the shoeshine.

Another run then lift them bells.
Legs are burning, feel like hell.
Spar with another in their prime.
The way its done at the shoeshine.

Before you step another step.
Or climb a rope in helplessness.
Call us, text us, either is fine.
The way its done at the shoeshine.

Gaming Room

.slow, like the minute hand.
.undeniable in movement.
.picking only the good spots.
.hardly a word spoken aloud.

.got left in the gaming room.
.where the portable bar is at.
.billiards and pinball machines.
.trophies and blue ribbons.

Beyond Our Sensibilities

     The final run.  Before the melting.  Without fear.  Despite the burn.  Hydrate and radiate.  Gravity engine.  Lean into the mountain.  Trust the edge.  Get warm and don't stop.  Quicker and smoother.  Quiet, long curves.  The groomed way.  Peak to peak.  Zach's Cabin views.  The stylish cat arrivers.  Private parking spots and waxings.  Hook ups.  The woods.  A plan devised and fulfilled.

     Dogs running loose in the flatlands.  Awakened rudely and abruptly.  Nasal noises and ice scrapers.  No drinks in here.  Only brew.  Where Aaron knows perseverence and what comes after.  Where Yuri sees visions of the future.  The dirtbag dunkel.  Then the bonfire dimmed for now.
   
     Cut the bullshit, God created evolution.  Beyond our sensibilities.  Like all good art.  Unanswerable riddles and a torn up song.  Independent thinking.  Roo walking on the corner of bull run.  The shy went away easy.  A silent night and the shut up blues.  Cold mountain air streaming through the windows.
   
     Popped that curve in Frisco.  Into the unknown.  The icy red cliffs.  Shelf driving at night.  The space warp and white lines.  Not feeling the road or speed.  Tracy Chapman jams getting us through.

The Ghostly Interpreter

   
     Trust, by it's very nature, is authentic.  It can only be felt by someone for someone or something else.  Trusting in ourself is ultimately futile.  Canes and magnifying glasses and doctor visits are a few examples of this truth.  We go to mechanics and chefs and jewelers.  Antimate and inanimate.  Everyone trusts someone or something else to do something for them at some point.  Self sufficiency is a myth.  The trust we give others is based on what they have done to be trusted.   It is not gained blindly and should not be given blindly.  If trust in someone is lost, it is through actions that trust is restored.  Intentions and promises are only a good start.  They can help lead to actions that regain trust from another, but too often the actions don't follow.  Or the motivations of the actions are not authentic and misaligned with the needs of the one giving the trust.  Authentic actions over time will produce authentic trust.  Faith is another matter.  It can only be received.  It is given by Word and The Ghostly Interpreter.

Up To Your Eyes

Top of the night.
The loudness is unusual and ever louder.
Cries and woes.
Whines of incredible proportions.
Whimpering slobber.
Perhaps the night will continue on.
For awhile.
Our time and understanding.
Only for a song.
A daydreaming son of a bitch.
Delusions and time.
Up to your ears in complaints and requests.
Up to your eyes in love.