The Hook Of Texas 8: Visions At Chinati

Drove over two thousand miles, I went all through the Hook Of Texas:  Alpine, Marfa, Ft. Davis, Valentine, Van Horn, Presidio, Terlingua, Lajitas, Marathon.  Through and in between, around and over, it was all fabulous.  In the last piece of Texas, which is the edge of America, I encountered peace and quiet and beauty.  Alive and well, there for the trip.  The dunes of Monahans, the water of the Rio Grande, and Judd's visions at Chinati.

Drive the Davis Mountains at night, visit Prada Marfa near Valentine, moonroof it, avoid the thorns.  I was never hassled, never bugged, only encountered, only welcomed.  The cultural vibe seemed acceptance and solitude; embrace the isolation and space; use it.  Leaving was as natural as arriving, it was time to go.  I packed up and headed east.

The Talking Heads blared in my earbuds.  New wave music took over til Brady, the geographical center of Texas:  Sparks, The Replacements, Yaz, Pretenders, Echo & The Bunnymen, Tom Tom Club.  Stayed a night in the Bonnie And Clyde Room at the historic, and partially renovated, Brady Hotel.  It was loud, the people were rowdy, the room was cold, the bathroom was in the hallway, I was gone at dawn, took back roads to home.  Clyde should've known better, could've hid out in the Hook Of Texas, made a good life with Bonnie, might've seen the Lights Of Marfa, might've found some gold.

Dallas Open Gonzo 1: Tournament Host Status

Forget the claustrophobia, forget the fluorescent lights tinting everyone, forget the kinks.  Nevermind the visible seam in the court, overlook the $12 can of Dallas Blonde, forgive the Kyrgios and Dimitrov withdrawals.  The Dallas Open is on!  In the snazziest area of the city, with a draw full of top 50 players.  Back in business like we was with the WTC decades ago, professional tennis has finally returned.

First night of the main draw.  It was Monday, when grinding the grind is most important, when the bill money is made.  My seat had me looking directly down the middle of the burnt orange stadium court, row 7, seat 11; the place was like a sauna, it smelled of cheap Cabernet Sauvingon and popcorn. In the first match, the young American, Nakashima, took down Millman from Australia with a powerful first serve and a backhand that eventually came around.  Millman was tight, jittery, and constantly looking to his coach in the stands, he was merely acting confident.

Sock and Isner playing doubles was next and they nuked the Nedovyesov/Quereshi duo with massive forehands and serves.  They'll be tough to beat, but Isner could be distracted by his tournament host status.  A migrant to Dallas, he sunk his efforts into helping bring back professional tennis.  America's greatest male tennis player of the past two decades--a Texan.  An ace.

The Hook Of Texas 7: The 44 Farms Ribeye

 

Driving through Big Bend National Park from the east on Hwy 118, I was in the middle of Mars it seemed.  Massive, jagged horizons through every open window, the rear view mirror was its own production.  Through the Junctions:  Maverick, Santa Elena, Basin, and Panther.  To the park headquarters.  Speed was kept appropriarely low, sundown was approaching, long shadows went on for miles, my eyes darted in every direction, my head exploded.

From the park headquarters, a humble rest stop with pamplets and the familiar brown sign of all national parks, I took Hwy 385 directly north to Marathon.  71 miles.  It was a slow motion sundown most of the way until dark overwhelmed.  I stopped to hear the silence, cut the engine.  It was fly.  The eastern half of the park would have to wait until next time, dinner was on my mind.

The 44 Farms Ribeye at The Gage Hotel in in Marathon was discussed by an Alpine local the previous afternoon at Harry's Tinaja.  Only a few specific stops were planned on this loopy day trip around the Hook Of Texas, and this was one.  However, the previous descriptions of this place failed to mention the completely renovated dining room, the fine art everywhere, or the first class staff, I was worried when the Maitre 'D asked me if I had a reservation.  She scanned the chart and escorted me to a tucked away corner table, lit warmly by a cowskull wall lamp and set with thoughtfulness.  The glistening medium rare 44 Farms Ribeye was served with hatch green chili cream corn, sautéed spinach, pastry butter rolls, a jalapeño margarita, and chocolate delight to finish; it was a meal from heaven, directly from God.

The Hook Of Texas 6: Terlingua Jack

To Terlingua and the Starlight Theater.  Jerry Jeff, Willie, Gil, and the others, where guitars ring with smooth chords, where the ghost town is full of life and music, where I saw Mule Ears for the first time.  One of the most famous landscape masterpieces in Big Bend, I had no idea where to look until local resident Jack Smith pointed it out while sitting next to me on the Starelight porch.  He was every bit the 6'6" he claimed, looked mid 70's, and indicated he'd dropped 90 lbs over the past couple years after his wife passed.  He took care of her until the end.

Players just showed up and played according to Barry, an Alpine local and familiar musician around this part of Texas, the optimal time to show was 3:30.  We'd met the day before and traded tunes for 5 hours as we closed down Harry's Tinaja along with his harmonizing lady, Sara.  Modeloes with limes, a Yamaha, and a newly cleaned up, strung up old Seagull.  "A gringo has never sung Spanish better," declared Jack, who knew Barry and wanted me to tell him the accordian player was back in Terlingua.  Immediately I sent a note, it seemed important to him.

Grabbed my guitar out of my trunk, this was a chance to play the legendary porch; a couple of players were picking and singing sweet Rio Grande river tunes, a dozen or so other folks were milling around waiting for the Starlight to open for dinner.  Then it was my turn, the locals nodded, I dropped a foot tamborine downbeat and started in on Must Be From Space (Lights Of Marfa).  Written two nights prior, the tune came out perfect, the articulation was on, the finger picking was clean, it was the freshest I had; didn't come down here to play cover tunes.  Terlingua Jack stomped and clapped, he listened, he dug them all:  Dark Sky, Techno King, Tijuana Taxi, That Hat From Mexico, Red Hour, and Coporate Maxed.  When the Starlight opened, everyone cleared out and I was left there alone looking at Mule Ears in the cool afternoon; under me I noticed a white book of matches with the words 'Thank You' printed on the cover, nothing else, just 'Thank You'.

The Hook Of Texas 5: On The Fringe

In Presidio, Texas the tallest structure in town is the Border Canopy, it stuck out immediately.  No one was there at noon, nothing to report, the place seemed peaceful, one people, one purpose; now on to the famed Farm To Market 170, snaking the Rio Grande for 50 miles to Terlingua and on into Big Bend National Park.  As a lifelong Texan who's never seen this part of the Lone Star State, this was the main dish, the whole enchilada, and the savory, sopped up sauce.  Postcard after postcard, the sky was electric blue, the visibility went on and on, God's rockpile for sure.  The river cut all through it, deep spots, shallow spots, no one was around.

Big shots, reverse shots, angled shots, looking for scale, looking for shade.  Snap, snap, snap, like a snapping fool.  It cannot be avoided the first time you drive the 170, the Pacific Highway of Texas.  Good God, God is good.  Pictures don't even do it justice, next time I'll just drive and look, already got the photos.

I recorded On The Fringe near the river at one spot.  A border tune:

Said, what would you find.
If you broke into my mind.
No longer blind, what would you find, what would you find.

And, how would you like.
If I gave it a try.
If I stayed up all night, til we saw the light, saw the light.

And, where will this go.
No one really knows.
Take the path you chose, and let it roll, rock and roll.

Next time we meet again.
Maybe we'll be friends.
Maybe I make you cringe, on the fringe, i'm jumping in.

The rushing water was in the background, the wind whipped, the guitar was tuned up tight.  There was no one around, I was on the fringe.  It was nice.

The Hook Of Texas 4: Don't Marfa My Alpine

 

One big bending bender blur, 279 miles in all: 27 from Alpine to Marfa, 61 from Marfa to Presidio, 66 from Presidio to Terlingua, 24 from Terlingua to Big Bend National Park Headquarters, 70 from Big Bend National Park Headquarters to Marathon, 31 from Marathon back to Alpine.  Twelve hours total, a hexagon when drawn out on a map.  A blast.  Scratchy radio, no glowreception, sun roof open, windows down.  Was a crispy cool, mid morning 53 degrees when I filled up my gas tank in Alpine.

Took the familiar Hwy 90 to Marfa where I got a daytime look at the Mystery Lights area.  Armed with research and a closer inspection of the map, have concluded the lights to be a combination of automobiles, trains, and other explainable illuminations.  Nopal Road, Mitchell Road, FM 169, US 67, and the Texas Pacifico railroad line can all be seen from the viewing area at night, maybe 20 to 30 miles out.  Still freaky though, got their very own Bigfoot in Marfa.  Hell, worked for Loch Ness.

No wonder that handwritten sign at Harry's Tinaja in Alpine said "Don't Marfa my Alpine."  Get over yourselves, down with your political Adobe tax, driving out the natives with real estate prices and forced art.  It's fine, it's fine.  Nevermind, nevermind, it's a great place to visit.  But I was anxious to go south, to the border, to the Rio Grande; I drove right through Marfa, hooked a left at their light, and was on my way to Presidio.

The Hook Of Texas 3: Super Freaky

I figured Pancho Villa would have been taller.  His life-size likeness at the Museum Of The Big Bend in Alpine was one of many highlights; another was a far out exhibit of Texas ariel photos painted over with shocking colors.  Dozens of them in a room all their own, the sun lighting the works through impressive windows.  Place was packed with history of the area, from the days before humans to now.  I spent the whole morning gawking, snapping photos, and reading all the small print. 

Then a drive to the Davis Mountains and the McDonald Observatory.  Who knew of such a serious mountain range in Texas, but there it was.  I took the curving, exciting road up to the top and checked around.  Telescopes.  No telling what they see through those suckers, didn't get to look through them, they were shut down for routine calibration.

With the sun moving down fast in the late Janurary afternoon, took the road to Marfa to investigate the famed mystery lights.  Automobiles, campfires, train reflections, orbs, aliens with lanterns, whatever they were, wanted to see for myself.  The cold dusk lasted an hour, but finally darkness took over the official viewing area 9 miles west of town.  While stars blazed above, far off lights appeared on the southern horizon line, then disappeared, then reappeared, then moved around.  Freaky, super freaky.

Must Be From Space (Lights Of Marfa)

 

Em

Whatcha see in those telescopes.
Am

Any Supernovas, any alien folks.
Em

As long as we avoid the asteroids.
Am

Don't get caught up in a black hole void.

Wonder what the Lights of Marfa are.
Maybe it's campfires, maybe it's cars.
Flicker on and off, they move around.
Since the 1800's, nothing's been found.

(Chorus)

D.                        Em

They move around.

D.                         Em
Then they disappear.
Am.                      Em

Must be from space.
Am.                       Em

Must be from space.

(Verse solo)

Prolly some orbs, nothing to fear.
A phenomenon of the atmosphere.
Maybe it's ghosts, I don't know.
But they sure put on a hell of a show.

From Mick Jagger to King Of The Hill.
Unsolved Mysteries tried to bust the deal. Physicists, researching all night.
Can't figure out these mystery lights.

(Chorus)

(Verse solo)

(Chorus solo)

(Chorus)

(Verse 1)  out on Em.  "Black hole void."

The Hook Of Texas 2: Big Bend Cycles

Settled in and oriented.  North, south, east, and west.  Dinner, billiards, and beers at the famed Holland Hotel led to a full night's sleep.  Alpine is located at the center of the Texas Hook, it's a worthy unofficial capital.  Natural beauty, higher education, rough elegance, striving people, railroads, beef.

Next morning, drove 25 miles to Marfa, through the Paisano volcanoes.  Where James Dean was a Giant, where Mick Jagger had No Spare Parts, where McConaughey eats burritos.  Popped the bike off the rack and rode the whole town.  Colorful and rickety, transparent and remote, undertones of a clear class situation.  Minor, incompleted renovations everywhere, odd and tidy, murals of various quality.

Took a thorn near Coffield City Park, got a flat tire and had to walk the bike back to Marfa Burrito.  Without any spare parts, found Big Bend Cycles where Earnest patched the lifeless tube back to life.  Retired from the Border Patrol after 23 years, he now works on motorcycles and helps the occasional pedaler.  The shop smelled of oils and metals and years, blues was on the bluetooth.  A sign read "Be sure to taste your words before you spit 'em out."

The Hook Of Texas 1: An Extended Stay

Set out early, about when the sun announced the day.  Planned for a late afternoon arrival in Alpine, Texas, it was a solid 8 hours.  Packing went quick and light.  Essentials, mainly.  Warm clothes, sack of food, cooler of food, guitar, audio necessities, flashlight, Guy Clark biography, Trek Marlin 5, backpack, bike helmet, flip flops, and a few koozies.

Everything else would be at the El Viejo Adobe, acquired for an extended stay, across from Sul Ross University.  Sort of a home base.  The pictures were promising, the place seemed an ideal spot for first trip to the Hook Of Texas.  Down west and low, where Big Bend looms large, where the dark sky frames each star in glory, through Farm to Market 1776--Revolution Road.  Near Marfa, and Presidio, and Marathon, near Lajitas.

Only imaged the landscapes, only seen the pictures.  A place so far away, even most Texans haven't been, drive to the middle of space and time, and keep driving.  Long ago nostalgia, saw Ted Nugent in Odessa in the mid 80s.  Full loin cloth, shot a lit arrow to the back of the arena, hit the bullseye, destroyed his guitar, blew our faces off, everyone freaked.  Just too much for a 9th grader, despite the parachute pants.

Dark Sky

DCG

Wanna see a dark sky.
Take over these tired eyes.
These tired eyes.

Chasing that dark sky.
I'm bound to see it tonight.
Oh yeah, tonight.

CGG7

Every twinkle, like every wrinkle, seems another lonely trip.
But every one, like all these songs, is just another gift.

Gonna find a dark sky.
Stars gonna shine their light.
Shine their light.

Dreaming bout a dark sky.
Woke up about midnight.
It was midnight.

*co-written by Roger Brown.

Capital Rats 10: Nibble On The Edges

Infested.  Have your gutter, float your sewer, suck your teeth.  Nibble on the edges, the trash cans and grease pits.  Get on the take, man.  Get real.

Chatter chatter, it's a show, the buzz of larceny.  The weak squeaks of rodents in wait, knowing the eventual slumber of the masses.  Traps and poisons and baits, they've seen them all, they live on.  And will.  The revenge of the capital rat.

For now, stay protected, seal up the cracks, sweep up the crumbs.  Those sniffers will move on, looking for easy scores.  Plenty of garbage to sift, scraps to lick.  This place is too doomy, this place is too gloomy.  Might as well party, might as well have tunes.

  

Capital Rats 9: Saints Of Liberty

Erase the saints of liberty.  Buy into your new heroes, ones with track marks and hair jelly.  People who cry and wail.  It's whine time in the chamber.  All called to order, echo, echo, echo.

There's no one here, they booked the studio time months ago.  Close the doors like a permanent holiday, we don't care if your mail gets through.  Signed off on the budget months ago.  Got money to raise.  Never stops, the shakedown never stops, it's a numbers game.

Contributions to foundations, donations to causes, dinner that costs 10 grand a plate.  Best chicken you ever ate, despite the rubbery mushrooms.  A few boring remarks from a capital rat about democracy and the public trust.  Oh goodie, a goodie bag.  Full of shit.

Capital Rats 8: Paper And Masking Tape

These are the insides, this is the pit of the stomach.  Where the food gets broken down.  The good stuff, absorbed.  The elements of life, squeezed tight.  Light the brain.

Motivation comes first, the reason is next.  We are the independent angels, here to help, here to encourage your courage.  This monster is made of paper and masking tape.  Rip it up.  Wad it.

Your bill is flat, thudded on the table, a weightless blob of nonsense.  An oily mess.  Dripping on the floor.  The buzzards wait their turn, they like that tire taste, they'll eat it off the dirty street.  No hassles, there's always plenty of scraps.

Capital Rats 7: Despite The Injections

And a scene it was, the doctor lecture.  Keep your mind and body sharp, don't fall to the easy way, go the best way.  The best you know.  Repetition and laughter, hysterical and robust.  Grin.

Out of the way old people, most of you have under a decade to live.  Maximum desperation, quit blaming our grandchildren, and their grandchildren.  Greed slime goos down your faces despite the injections.  Power puffed, enriched.  Gross.

But you are not respectable or dignified.  Mostly, our capital proxys are cowardly and silent.  You dropped your gloves, you took a fall, you took a dive.  Got paid off.  Greased.

Capital Rats 6: The Money Veins

The great dissection of the madness, the money veins, the favored, the paid up, the shake for the capital shakers.  With their shakedown.  The professional government class, the smooth operators, the best greasers on earth.  Handlers and aides, they circle and circle.  Guards watch and whisper and point.

Resign now, out of the way.  Your cover-up is uncovered.  Get back to your family, go do business, save the air, whatever the rationale.  Your time on the branch was a failure.  The snook came and snooked you good.

Got put to sleep, tranquilized, pacified.  Rolled the dice and lost, trusted the greedy, the self righteous, the pompous.  Experts got bought off, even doctors.  Those book advances spend nice.  Manipulation on the cheap.

Capital Rats 5: Laugh Them Off

 

Investigate each other, we don't care.  Meaningless at this point.  The sham is on display, this banana republic is about to get peeled.  Slip out while you can, it's gonna get slick quick.  Your gig is up, go peacefully, quietly, or not, either way.

The poor poor people, woe is them, on behalf of all kind, rational peoples.  Let's all help poor people, even if you're poor, help the poor.  And the needy!  The needy people need us, even the poor need to help the poor needy people.  The banana farmers are looking out for themselves, they won't help.

Until then, mute the airwaves, the soundwaves, and the glowwaves, there is no skipping out.  Time must occur.  Defiance and birds all the way, more of a fuck off than a fuck you.  End the wasting,  laugh them off.  Shrug.

Capital Rats 4: Avalanche Of Tyranny

That orbit you're on is different, let it ride.  Go back to the cruising mode.  There is no stopping the momentum, like an avalanche of tyranny.  Seen in open view, looking to bury the independent spirits.  Take a few with them as they melt away.

But independent spirits won't stay under the dirt, they will not be confined.  Their thoughts are with them, they know and understand.  Our house will be cleaned by late fall.  Detailed, fumigated, purified.  Ratted out.

Wining and dining the judges again, that capital eatery scene looks a bit stiff.  This is how it works, those robes are just for show.  More billing opportunities for the lawyers, the slow and lucrative justice industry.  Spin the wheel, get a prize.  Step right up.

Capital Rats 3: When Liberty Is Rationed

Let's get past this past tension.  This is the easy road, the road that goes forever.  Turning, spiraling, speeding, airborne.  Through or around anything.  Probably anything.

We won't know for sure, but scurry around to prove your points anyway, research, state facts, offer motives, determine.  Get your sleep.  Rest up for the adventure, the revolution is on.  Freedom is crispy cold.  Wake.

Think of future versions, when the meds kick in, when the hypnotic glow mushes minds to mash, when liberty is rationed.  Take your time, demand it back, feel it.  No curfew, no alarm, no calls, no attention.  Let the capital babies cry it out, leave them in their capital crib, they'll eventually pass out.  They will give it up.

Capital Rats 2: Silence Under Oath

 

Reality of the representation game.  Leading nothing but the fundraising charts, doing what they were bought to do.  Owned.  Little by little it all sells out.  Call the 1-800 number, sign up for a virtual townhall.

That rumble you hear, those horns, that's the liberty calls.  Independent minds don't really believe the farce.  Not really.  They protect their brain's wiring, their common sense receptors remain open, they think their own thoughts.  They reason.

The insiders ran the action, this we know.  Silence under oath says alot.  The staging was ideal, the red carpet was laid, evacuations proceeded.  No terms, no demands, a Capital tour of sorts.  One fatality, a tourist from California.

Capital Rats 1: Spitting On The Citizens

Please, please, for the sake of God itself.  This must end.  No more begging, silver tongue deviling, or declaring.  Do some ceremonies, feed some children, help some widows.  Quit blathering, drooling, and spitting on the citizens.  It's too creepy and pathetic to be sad.

Unleashed, the people cannot be disrespected for long.  Our system accounts for little, feeble tyrants.  The weak and woke won't get in another sucker punch.  We'll see it coming this time, their jaws will crack. Quick left jab followed by a right hook.

Weasels, go back to your holes.  Bore and bore.  Make a home for your dark winter.  Huddle around your small fire.  Eat your weak and young.

Get The Knots Out

Flash it back to 1999.  Take it from Prince, back when he went by Prince.  "If you didn't come to party, don't bother knocking at my door."  Shake it, go for the splits, fly into a raging guitar solo, demolish the fret board.  But don't ruin your hips, take care of your hips, keep your hips loose.  Get the knots out. 

The sad of the world can be sad if they want to, or have to.  It's sad.  Sad as hell.  Sad is all around, sad this, sad that.  Sad 'til midnight, sad 'til dawn, sad 'til we're all dead and gone.

The groans and moans of humans, hear it in the distance, it will fade away to nothing.  Dig the seasons of our lives.  Dig in, our time is now, and the days after now.  America ain't gone for good, keep it real.  Keep it loose and hippy.

Go Dizzy

Close it up again, shutter.  Wrap this year in Saran Wrap, pull it tight.  The air might getcha.  Don't let the air getcha.  Getcha, getcha, getcha.  

The boogieman bums are back.  Amatuers of the lowest order, the gutter league, the small timers.  Let them clock stare, let them tick their tock alone. They can count it down by themselves.  From ten to one.

The ball fools.  Resolution whacks, the turn leaf liars, the wave chasers.  Spin.  Go dizzy in the new year, go around again.  Spin.

Down With Delta

 

Down with Delta, it's Delta down.
Find your soul in their lost and found.
Their planes seem stinky and full of scuzz.
Dumping them forever, just because...

Hell, they don't care.
Heck, they're not fair.
Messed with my children.
Oh, don't you dare.

So I'm down on Delta, take Delta down.
Hear that knocking, that grudgy sound.
Gonna leave a review, no need to be rude.
One star of 5, good for my grudgy mood.

EAAE

DEx2.ADE

Quit Like The Brits

Sense of something common, it's freezing in here.  Same revolution.  It just goes and goes, ripping back our freedom and dignity, turning it up to 11.  Make 'em quit like the Brits.  We don't want your empire.

Fluctuate and position, scheme and strategize, blame the game, dish the pain.  Assume too much, fill in the blanks with delusions.  Chew on it.  Nothing will make it taste better.  Days are numbered, we are in the double digits now.

The color of thin clouds at dawn.  Fluorescent.  Moving northeast, clearing out.  Bright days ahead.  Lizzy tunes about jailbreaks.

The Light Winter

Forget the leaves, the turning is done.  Now is the time for the rakes.  Bag these old, crispy, red oakers.  Get the damn acorns too.  Shade will return in spring, the light winter is here getting ready for the birth.

Word is out.  Maybe has been upgraded to probably with doubt running for the back door.  When the house lights blaze, the gig is over.  Time to get.  Time to get going.

Shambles are fine, all our broken ways.  We'll stay afloat, somehow, someway.  Like always, so far.  The gone know more than the present.  Missing someone on the roll call this morning.

We're All Done

 

February 1, think we're all done.
We'll have our say with election returns.
Ain't reading your signs no more.
Done, we're done, we're all just bored.

EEAE

EEDE

X2.

Ole Fitz

 

Say hello to Grandma, say hello to Ole Fitz too.
Tell 'em all about their radical crew.
Tell 'em 'bout the Turkey Bowl, tell 'em 'bout the fishing holes.
Tell 'em all about their radical crew.

Times we went down to the wire, times our pants caught on fire.
Times we threw it up for grabs, times we drove 'em mad.
Times we felt the hands of God, times we knew we all got robbed.
The times don't always act like we want 'em to.

Sure you'll have a smile on your face, smirking like you knew 'bout grace.
How's it feel to have your sins washed clean for good?
Maybe the Cowboys'll make a run, prolly not the refs are bums.
Guess it'll all be just as it should.

Say hello to Grandma, say hello to Ole Fitz too.
Tell 'em all about their radical crew.
Tell 'em 'bout the Turkey Bowl, tell 'em 'bout the fishing holes.
Tell 'em all about their radical crew.

GC/GD/GC/GDG

Blackmail Gravy

The bribes were a pleasure to take, so fly and new, so hidden and unknown.  The things, the places, the glory.  Spend it like a freebird, fast and flashy.  Signal the next benefactors, squirm up more green lettuce, more green backs, more green juice.  The fun part.

Then the cooking starts.  Butter first, to grease the pan, to coat the food, to make it savory.  Next, the meat, marinaded and trimmed, turned once.  Mushrooms and onions added, simmered down, sautéed.  More butter.

Seasoned with salt and pepper, the knife and fork are ready to devour the delicious.  But first, some blackmail gravy on top, it's just how the dish is served.  Ignore the sour, bitter taste.  Pay no attention to the runny, lumpy, gooey substance ruining the food.  The bribed will eat it anyway.

Go Retro Digital

Keep the pressure on, take it to the end. Condition, condition, condition.  For the seasons ahead.  This is normal now.  We have slipped, the slope does not forgive.

Do less, be less, have less, want less.  More is not better anymore, more is worse, more is immoral, evidently.  Abundance is awful to the scummy moral tyrants, wrapping themselves in false righteousness.  They cannot withstand light, they will end.  Walking dust.

Tune it out, go retro digital.  Like the punks, stick it to the robots.  Make them work it, make them pop it, make them do the human dance.  The moonwalks and spinners, the ballrooms and bordellos, the discos and studios, the cardios and radios.  They are artificial.

Loosen Up The Tundra

 

It all seems nonsense.  Almost all, but even if you see it or hear or read it, it might not have occurred, or might have.  Like nonsense, chasing tails, our own and others.  Say what and when and why and how.  And where.

These podium pill pushers are on mute now, their moose is running in sticky globs down their sunken cheeks.  They are yanker suckers, in the literal and figurative.  They are skeltons of cold meat, they have cold blood, cold brains, cold shoulders, cold souls.  Let them sulk in global warming, let them melt slowly, warm up the electric heat lamps, loosen up the tundra.  Let's play in the mud.

All the while, the people party keeps the party alive.  Living, laughing, learning, loving, they know it's a scam, and a sham, and a shame, they're just trying to make it through.  Nothing wrong with that, time is clicking and ticking and tocking and clocking.  Hope and worry is pointless.  Shouting '22, '22, all is fine in '22, like time doesn't even matter, it all seems nonsense.

Raise The Glass Of Gratitude

Must go away for 40 days.
Find my mind in the desert haze.
Raise the glass of gratitude.
Thank you thank you thank you too.

Now I'm gone on my own way.
Finish this up with some final pay.
Clear my head and clear my mood.
Decide my reasons and speak the truth.

One day a ways away from here.
When my mind and my moods are cleared.
I'll find the answer that I'm looking for.
Prolly come walking through an open door.

Must go away for 40 days.
Find my mind in the desert haze.
Raise the glass of gratitude.
Thank you thank you thank you too.

GGDG
CCGC
GGDC
GCDG

Ruined By Thinking

The minions took another cannonball, but nothing important got hit.  The high road has so many advantages.  Cruise on through.  Make a peace sign, victory and death.  Real adults are usually distracted by dollars and cents.

Take it to the end, keep showing up, til you show up no longer.  Levity cannot be measured, only felt.  No canned laughter, that's gone on long enough.  Bust your side, wheeze, lose your breath, cackle out loud, snort.  Hysterical and long, don't stop, can't stop.

There are other things, different angles, alternative options, greener pastures.  Opinions come in all forms, most are ruined by thinking.  Pointless conclusions of minor importance, of minor consequence.  Take it like a human, man!  Bleed.

Low Cool

That one came in hot, low cool, a myth buster.  Someone gets a pat on the back for ruthlessness.  Admirable, in a way.  Regardless of behavioral class, despite the awkwardness, when want and can collide.  It is what it is, and isn't what it isn't too.

Social studies of predetermined ethics and lack of evolution.  Decay of humanity, the dwindling of character, the loss of trust.  It's not needed anymore, it's definitely not wanted.  Drift away, catch the audio waves, the ocean waves, the love waves, in Hi-Fi. In some stereo.

Keep it level, keep it steady, 'til the harbour is cleared.  'Til we get past the bay.  Figure out will arrive, be tuned, be open.  Create habits and systems and processes.  Peticulate, obsess.
  

Perhaps Sade Tonight

No need for looking, or talking.  Or even hearing.  We can all do that later in our other world.  Made to order, the goggles are financed like cars.  You pay for what you get, six sense versions are six figures minimum.

Other world real estate, everyone wants a plot, lots of rentals.  Eat the Gatesloaf or the Zuckmuck, tastes like filet mignon, sitting in a snazzy rooftop restaurant.  Some live music in the corner, perhaps Sade tonight.  10 bucks an hour.  Digital odor circuits, everything smells perfect, hints of every season and spice.

Worlds should balance out, the other and the real.  Synchronized, integrated, leveraged, your life should be enhanced.  One day we'll have an eternity pill, you won't actually live forever, it will just seem that way.  A mind trick is all, a program.  Angels of scientific fiction.

Techno King

 

CF

That's right he said he was techno king.
Made it official and everything.
Said he didn't need to be no Chief.
That's a made up thing, means nothing.

Take your shares, make em all cash.
Keep em away from your crypto stash.
Building his place in the Texas heart.
Near Austin where the armadillos are.

CAmx3

FC

Techno King on the mic.
Wizard of the techno night.
Go to the moon, hell, go to Mars.
We'll all be driving those electric cars.

Government built on debt and grease.
Got nothing to win by keeping the peace.
Stir up the people, get em all mad.
Fighting each other while the bribes are passed.

For The Communal Good

 

For the communal good, he raised his voice as he said it.  His nose was up in the air, he was looking down on the screen, he glowed dim white, he sqeaked.  Beagles moaned low everywhere, they knew of his previous communal good declarations.  They lost some family members, they lost some blood.  Everybody in the dog houses knew what communal good meant, that's what the midnight howls are all about.

For the communal good, send away the dirty, even though they are pure.  Punish the defiant, even though they are right.  Tell us X, as we look at Y.  Lie to our faces.  What goes up will come down.

In a heap of a pile of a stack of trash.  Where it belongs, in the landfill of history.  Keep the oceans clean, leave the water to the future, love the ice, ban all billboards.  Reject the community thieves.  They'll do anything for a bag of bitcoins.

Never Closed

G.C.G.D/d7

We don't think about you.
We don't read about you.
We don't really care much anymore.

Nothing you could tell me.
Nothing you could feed me.
Why you even care about me for?

CG/g7x3
DCG

Already paved our way.
Always and forever, babe.
The door's never closed, it's never closed.
It's never closed.

We're no longer hungry.
We're no longer funny.
Our screens are full of serious bores.

Sick of all the shout outs.
Sick of all the blackouts.
Smashing and grabbing all the stores.

The Delicious Truth

Times, they are a'rearranging.  Flip the chip.  Put the fools on display, let them mutter and stutter, hear them lie.  That's what the razor wire is for, keep the stand ups out, keep them away.  No question.

Behind the fortress, a babbling mess.  Bribes and payoffs and blackmail, this cannot get out, you see.  The payers, the takers, the cover uppers.  Buy the news if you want, but they've already been bought.  It's not a business anymore, never really was.

Put the writers through the muffin, find the poppy seeds and the nuts.  The scammers and scoundrels, the artificial flavors.  Lick the frosting, spit it out, peel the wrapper off.  Bite into the blueberries, the truth, the delicious truth.  Straight from the lumpy batter.

Outbursts Of Sissy Woe

The dupee crowd couldn't understand, they are forever duped.  Lost in translations, lost in pride, lost forever.  Evil takes it to the max while it can.  No going back, no changing that mind, it will die along with that attached body, dust to dust.  Maybe that soul will move on, unknowable, maybe that soul will burn.

Listen up, this is 3rd grade now, gotta step up our Cootie game, recess is coming fast this afternoon.  No more 2nd grade giggling, no more outbursts of sissy woe, they're coming after you, they will not smile this year.  We're off to a solid start, our greek has improved, but we still need to fill in some blanks.  Look each other in the eyes, know that backs are got, know that it's impossible to defeat gotten backs.  We are reflecting our sense of common dignity.

Best method of discarding this madness is ignoring techniques, determine it a figment of imagination, do not engage the enemy with any of the five main senses.  Smell will be the hardest to ignore, but trust me, it's the only way.  And for God's sake, do not chase them.  Listen, you go into 4th Grade still messing around with 2nd and 3rd Grade silliness, you're middle school prospects are in the trash.  Grow up, get ahead the curve, start acting like 4th Graders as soon as possible. 

 

Sledgehammer Shortages

Keeping up with the mutations, scattered and spiked.  Peek-A-Boo, here's Johnny.  Virtually and figuratively.  Laugh in your beer, it's nice and foamy.  Ferment your mind.

Exclusive sequencing, like a fingerprint, like an eyeball iris.  Distinctive and unique, confirmed by the vitamin industry.  A mist is being developed.  All will be cured, even the well.  Prevention is the new mandate.

Walls crumbling, people are done climbing.  Sledgehammer shortages, make a face while you throw rocks, keep a personal pocketknife for personal protection.  Walk on the sidewalk, run in the streets.  Be slick, be stealth, be unseen.  Chant.

Drunk On Day Dreaming

Constantly reminding, the Z's have it.  Out of wits, a boring shell shock game.  Open this door, around that corner, in full retreat.  Take a number, another year.  Dissed the respect.

No rut on this road, it's slick and smooth.  Done and gone.  Vanished.  Drunk on day dreaming.  Fooled.

Outside, in the cold.  Without fire, without fur.  Shaking, chattering, uncomfortably numb.  Right, but dying.  Quick dimmer, like dusk, like a fade.

Simmering With Freedom

Recalling nothing, no plans, no excitement, no spice.  A vacant lot.  Intentional abandonment, punitive and vindictive.  Complete.  Net zero.

Fresh new virus, fresh new boogie germ, fresh new spooky.  Cut bait, take your losses, live to cry another day.  Run, hide, shake in your boots.  Worry, the fraidy cats are first in line.  Lecture.

Apathy is your friend, healthy and clean.  Don't hear, don't listen.  They are yanking, they yank and yank and yank.  They think we are understanding what they are putting down, but we are full of liberty.  We are simmering with freedom.

Liberty Overalls

CF

GFC

Pappy was a big man, whose love was bigger than life.

Slim was an out of towner in town working for a time. 

Slim started sniffing after Pappys daughter, Pappy saw they were having fun. 

The days go on and two became one, making Slim, Pappy's only son.  

Pappy lead with a spiritual tone, inspiring slim to develop his own.

Slim watched taking notes as they went, trials ensued, but they weren't alone. 

Building barns, moving beds, and traveling some, Slim  was left to carry on.

The shoes were big and Slim felt small, but Pappy was there even though  he was gone.

White willow from his past, an ancestral plant that barely lasts.

Slims cultivated that plant, long time after Pappy passed. 

First bloom came the summer after Pappy went home from here.  

The coveted plant is treated with care as slim gives it the upmost care.

Pappy was a good man, he was strong as an Ox.

He spent his days preaching the Word of the cross

He loved to look at  flowers, His mother passed that love on,  

Favorite of all was Liberty Overalls, and his precious darling, Dot.

*Written by Kent Deville.

Lights Of Texarkana

Lifted by the wind 3500 hundred feet.
Going bout 165, above the crowded streets.
Headed to Magnolia, suspended in flight.
The lights of Texarkana to my left and to my right.

Sun disappeared into a blazing red horizon.
Dusk of the west leave a grown man crying.
Buckle your seat belts, pull 'em on real tight.
The lights of Texarkana to my left and to my right.

In the dark was Arkansas several miles away.
Getting excited, Dodger's bout to play.
Then we started our decent from the sky.
The lights of Texarkana to my left and to my right.

Coming in from the south, the runway lit up.
Landed soft and smooth, without any fuss.
Saddle up, y'all!!  Was the Mulerider's night.

Now the lights of Texarkana to my left and to my right.

CCGC/CCGG/FFCC/CFGC

They Lie Big

 

This debunking is merely creating doubt.  It's a tactic, likely means there's some truth to the debunked.  Otherwise, why bother debunking?  They got fact checkers for that, and fact suckers, and fact makers.  When hoaxes become reality, they're at optimal operating efficiency.

These propaganda pros are slick, they stick to the plan.  They lie big.  And often, and again and again.  They operate with rigor, words words words, jam em with words.  They got the goods on the right folks. 

Look away from where they point to look.  In the opposite direction, see in 20/20 Gonzo vision.  Clear, unconfused, where things add up.  Like an iceberg, really, the tip is all we need to know.  The ommission media is on another mission, they are blindfolders.

Burned By The Roach

OK, OK, OK, lemme get this straight.  The OK sign is a White superiority thing now.  The raised 3 of the NBA long distance bombers, and other basketball players, guys and gals.  The joint smoking sign, rolled and passed.  Don't get burned by the roach.

Not buying it, a pile of dummy dung.  The racers are desperate, the people aren't experiencing what they describe.  The news hacks don't journalism anymore, Geraldo ruined them all.  They are heads.  Back in 3, 2, 1.

Keep the OK sign in tact.  Either hand, or both.  Fold the pinky and ring finger down.  That's about right, that's about right.  Finger chicken good.

Evasive By Nature

 

Think it's fact, most likely it's true.  Supression is evasive by nature, it was born to hide.  Cheer up, Francis.  This is the time of your life.  This is it.

Our baggage is not yours, our pettiness will die with us, unresolved.  Stuck in our ways and means, frozen in our generation.  Conditioned.  Wisdom is aware.  Stay tuned, always stay tuned.

Give Freud the slip, he was obsessed with his own business.  An egomaniac.  Get over the hump.  Coasting time, the beach says it all, waves of waves, coming in waves.  They all break somewhere.

God Bless Everything

Works like a transaction.  All the promising, all the winking, all the links, structured just right.  These bills are paid in full.  Now for services rendered, accounts receivables is satisfied.  With elections coming up, working on the next round of funding.

Push the mandering, Gerry.  Lock it in unless we need a tuck, or a duck.  Don't leave it to luck.  Get used to the razor wire fencing, blockade out the tourists, much less trash around.  You are talking to no one, fill out a form to suggest, encourage, or comment. 

We are tied up, busy.  Make sure we get some good angles, our makeup goes runny in the lights.  Ribbons and pins, they speak to people, ribbons and pins say it all.  Call everyone friend.  God bless everything. 

Creamy Notes

The guitar player was gulping wine between tunes, overdressed for the occasion.  Italian chords and nylon strings.  Chick singer sang creamy notes.  Straight rows of vines, umbrellas shading the sun.  Bluest sky of the year, perfectly cool breeze.

Texas Hill Country vibe with complex, simple tastes.  Tannins, fruits, aromatic stimulation.  Balance.  Set your pace in the middle.  Keep the mood light, keep the lights dim.

Watch for deer and smokies on the way back from Austin.  Especially at 1 am.  The Saxon Pub on Monday night should not be missed.  Then Donn's Depot, where that sweet keys player who played with Glen Campbell plays 'til midnight.  Name droppers all over that town.