Episode 1 & 2

An illusion with a twist.
A certain kind of injustice.
Distractions and delays.
Coordinated and arranged.

Leaks, grease, and definately no glue.
Hi-fi rhetorical righteousness audio.
And video.

A Coke for the lady!
The happening described.
Therapy must work.
Mined the mind.
For time and place, episode 1.

Doctors and judges and polygraph testers.
Questions and speeches and interruptions.

Little things.
Took none of the bait.
Wormy hooks.
Then the callout.

Oz.

Dorothy's indignation and insight.
Messing with her friends.
Brain games.
Whirl up the fears and doubts.
Even the absurd.
And predictable, episode 2.

Stupidity leads to gullibility.
Literally.

Noticing Gravity

Look up there for 5 minutes.
Blow your mind.
The approaching trip.

Set into a future crown like a jewel.
Sparkling.
The way it reaches for you.

Hardly a day goes by.
Without noticing gravity.
The urge to jump to the moon.

Here and now we are here and it is now.
Cling.
The world is a place love can be found.

Calling all people of insight.
Those that think and understand.
The uncelebrated.

Open the curtains from your windows.
Know that light will always destroy dark.
The answer is up there.

The Junkyard Court: Square And Fair

     Her look is utterly unique.  She could care less and she's about to kick your inferior tennis efforts off the court.  And then she speaks.  The sweetest, most gracious, articulation set to a perfectly pitched A minor.  Naomi Osaka, Japan's native gal, America's Open Champion.  Relentless and motivated purely.  Fearless and situationally elevated.  Tireless and constantly offensive.  Excellent first serve.  Her victory over Serena in the finals was established within the lines of Arthur Ashe court.  Clearly, the cause was Osaka's beat down, the effect was the aftermath.  An aftermath that included her apologizing to the crowd for defeating the greatest athlete to walk the earth.  Square and fair.  Twice as many aces.  1 double fault to 6 for Serena, and so very Vantaggio with 4 break points won, how Champions slam the door.  Serena won 1.

     Of course, Osaka's emotional control was superior.  Until the podium, when she couldn't contain it any longer.  When the tennis playing was over.  When Serena's maternal instincts took over from the microphone and proper order returned to the ceremony.  Earlier, during the match, Serena needed an emotional rescue.  A knight in shining armour.  Ironically, the first slip started with her coach, paid to help her.  As he coached from the stands, which is not allowed and was witnessed by the umpire.  Video don't lie, Venus saw it too.  Serena defended herself, claiming the coaching the umpire saw was not received by her.  She didn't see it.  Does coaching need to be received to be called coaching?  A question for the next USTA board meeting. Maybe squeeze in a discussion between fee hikes and the subjective ratings calibration workshop.  Either way, the coach caused the first infraction, which didn't cost Serena a point, but left her emotionally vulnerable.

     Feeling disrespected is always challenging to overcome, but to a losing champion who destests losing, it becomes magnified.  Demanded apologies seem pointless and irrational, anyway.  Then the destroyed racquet soon after.  From experience, it is a rush of pure anger, uncontrollable and instinctive.  It is always self disgust.  It is completely irrational.  And it is against the rules.  And 2 infractions costs a point.  Then, still feeling like an apology from the umpire was needed, Serena spent an entire changeover arguing.  Eventually, another infraction for verbal abuse resulted in the loss of a game.  Osaka could've cared less.  She was cruising to victory regardless, despite, and for sure.  Serena got beat, got offended, got angry, and got the runner up trophy.  In that order.  She temporarily lost her cool.  But only temporarily.

**these are the observations of a male.

Space Trip

Completely activated, activated, activated.

My mind, my mind, my mind.

Throughout the day, into the night.

Only sleeping provides relief.

Going crazy on the vine.
Ready for good wine months ago.

The rolling and returning seasons.
Hanging on, going quick, hypnotized.

These people with these lives.
Billions of them facing a certain end.

It is merely a space trip we're on.
The world is a massive identified object.

Cast into the endless black.
Lit with exploding stars so all can see.

She seems like a supernova.
Cosmic, a shock wave, a molecular cloud.

All for the love of others.
Relations, associations, and creations.

Future Music

Arrived to the crooning.
The Balcony Club.
Rapping drums.
And keyboard smooth.
Led by the bassist.
Players in and out.
Guitarist from Wichita.
Berklee students.
A San Francisco cat.
In town for a visit.
Remembered the west coast scene.
Sweet singer came up for a standard.
Her voice was pure.
That backroom smell.
All the pictures on the wall.
A disorderly drunk kicked out quick.
This was an orderly place.
The chaos was in the music.
Within the confines.
Respect the structure.
Find the way back.
Clues and nods and taste.
Couples everywhere.
The Lakewood Theater looked sad.
Empty and still.
Future music will sound there.
We will hear it in the balcony.

Almost Friday

The low information people need us.
Distribution of righteousness must be orderly.
Our values, and all of our souls, are shook.
Shook to the core.
Crying that night, watching the returns.
Bewildered.

No one knows the future.
It is all unknown and scary.
The time has come for us to explain.
Our brilliance is required.
Even in the mid lands.
Austin comes to mind.
Now more than ever, our work matters.
The new fiber strategy is critical and important.
Evidently.

We're the real business people.
Taxes can't get too low.
World education depends on our profits.
Capitalism should be set aside.
Canada awaits.
The northern border is open.
Could slip right through.
Easy.

Don't wanna live like a refugee.
The pettiness.
We'll take that one about charity offline.
Dialogue is good.
Conversations.

Mums to words on the business question.
No answers.
Be assured, its ok to dig the don here.
No hostility at all.
Silicon it up in the valleys.
Thank God it's almost Friday.

Some Dude Named Amos Project Plan (2018)

Players committed, songs selected, here is the project plan for Some Dude Named Amos' unnamed debut.

1.  Into The Mystic--Van Morrison
2.  Jive Talkin'--BeeGees
3.  Sundown--Gordon Lightfoot
4.  Amie--Pure Prarie League
5.  Do It Again--Steely Dan

Session 1:  Initial Jam.

Players gather, the project plan is discussed and altered as appropriate so expectations are clear.  An initial jam of 20 minutes for each song.  Debrief, discussing arrangements, vocal assignments, instrumentation.  No recordings.

9.10.18 update:  

5 players showed.  Matt The Bassist, JD, Neme, Chad, and I.  Amie is out.  On the lookout for fifth song.  Warren Zevon has been mentioned.  Perhaps, but no Werewolves In London.  Maybe Ooh La La by the Faces.  The other songs are a go.  Will tighten arrangements, minimize space.  Crisp and out.  For the recordings.  Chad working out the Jive Talkin' guitar solo.  I'm on shaker.  JD will provide only vocals on Do It Again.  Sundown sounds great, mandolin needed.  Will shorten, maybe add our own lyrics towards the end.  Gordon Lightfoot would be honored.  Into The Mystic is a jewel.  Good vibe, confident the Some Dude Named Amos project will be successful.  Working title is now Covered Up.

9.22.18 update:  

Much has happened, the picture is starting to appear as desicions are made and music is internalized, alone, by all the players.  Ooh La La has been selected as the replacement for Amie, Matt The Bassist established as the lead vocalist.  The chorus should be a literal chorus, all of us wishing we knew what we know now when we were younger.  And stronger.  Sparse guitars, mandolin perhaps, shakers.  Into The Mystic vocals claimed by me, got a floating, slowed done, clean version.  Like way back in the days of old.  Jive Talkin' should be quick, with Chad's tight solo featured throughout.  JD with high harmony wails throughout.  Matt The Bassist hits the bassline big time.  Disco Punk.  Quick, and all in on guitars.  Do It Again will feature JD on lead lyrics and Neme will be counted on heavily to pull off the 'back jack' riff.   Sundown will be the highlight of the project in my estimation.  The E must be highlighted throughout and very important not to get behind on the lyrics.  Likely a sing along.  Logos being considered, FAYM has been invoked.  Draft recordings in two days.  Must finalize arrangements.  Will exercise producing duties.  

Session 2:  Draft Recordings.

Each song played and recorded 3 times.  Best versions sent to group for feedback, appropriate alterations, and further practice.

10.27.18 update:

The session went even better than expected, and it was expected to go very well.  Practice does payoff and Into The Mystic was proof.  It was the first song we draft recorded.  Drafts are recorded twice.  Roughly 80% of the time the 2nd recording will be superior.  Repetition begets confidence and confidence begets excellence.  Do it Again featured JD coming off the guitar and focusing on vocals.  My shaker work and Neme's important lead fit nicely as we went back Jack and did it again.  Jive Talkin' was taken over by Matt The Bassist.  Start, middle, and end.  Again, JD's vocal work gave it distinction.  High wails.  Still hoping for some Chad on this song, but my personal song choice indulgement is on track.  Sundown may be our best collective effort.  Neme's high harmony will come up in the final version, and as a general statement, his guitar work needs more volume throughout the final session. This is critical, his tasteful work is so tasteful.  Ooh La La, our bastard child, our 6th pick, Amie's replacement, is the enigma.  Two versions and arrangements being considered.  JD is being counted on heavily for rhythym guitar.  There is no bass.  Matt's incredible voice is not fully tamed, but almost.  Clear articulation and execution of the lyrics is a must.  Ditch the unneeded 'ands' in the verses and must be perfect on the chorus.  Likely, Matt will take the verses solo, and the chorus will feature our unique brand of intentional imperfect dueting.  Ooh La La!  The food was appreciated (cool that Luke left us 3 wings), Chad was missed, the drafts are encouraging, adjustments have been identified.  Sundown will be the 5th song.  Into The Mystic should open, just seems like the beginning of something, not the end.  Jive and Do It Again need to be split by Ooh La La.  It is all coming together.  Although, pre-release in Spur, Tx on track for October 12th, details of official Release Party TBA.  Just too early.

Session 3:  Final Recordings.

Each song played and recorded 3 times.
Best versions selected by Producer and Some Dude Named Amos.  Project released internationally on Soundcloud by Eldorado Suitcase Records.

A Hazy Afternoon

With connecting dots to lines.
Think ahead.

The possibilities.
With the end in mind.

Eyes in front for a reason.
Point that skull forward.

Navigation is usually about going.
Unless the storms cause a delay.

And there are always storms.
Wait them out.

A mindful person is rare.
Understanding the emotions involved.

The past is less connected.
It has merely led us here.

There are no dots or lines.
Just forgiveness and memories.

A hazy afternoon.
Time has gone, don't wish it back.

The Kicking Team

.all systems go, the ride at noon.
.send in the kicking team.
.put some points on the board.
.before we all lose heart.
.the easy way out is indifference.
.then the burden is light.
.like it should be.
.it is better that way.

.components have been upgraded.
.beyond specs, evidently.
.multiple gears only complicate.
.go all in and all out.
.til rest time.
.56 hours a week.
.easy sleep, tired and guiltless.
.even dreamless.
.save them for the waking hours.
.when something can be done.
.or, perhaps, undone.

.this building of knowledge.
.open at 10 am.
.books still got the looks.
.as our digital transformation continues.
.clouds, look to the clouds.
.they gather and build.
.they sneer.
.flash it some more.
.we are creatures of beauty.

.we like what we like.
.what I am is what I am.
.what we are is what we are.
.like the new bohemians.
.in that shallow water.
.way back.

Generation Of New Grooves

Mind creates and turns.
Anything to burn.
To yearn.

Like spirits will aspire.
On the live wire.
Our desires.

Rolled up in humanity.
And those realities.
Love feeds.

The seas we all navigate.
To another place.
That face.

Generation of new grooves.
Old ain't smooth.
Just used.

Expressions sang out loud.
Break from the crowd.
Do it now.

Sync it up now and celebrate.
Atmosphere of this place.
Pure grace.

Instant Boom City Blues

The Crush Crash and its shrapnel.
Free rail rides forever.
Spectacles cure the boredom somehow.
Horse races have always been money.

Jack Johnson was a phenomenon.
Galveston's famous superior son.
All the white hope dopes.
And the Reno beating.

Before hurricanes were named.
Isaac Cline's most beautiful day.
And no high ground.
Ferocious surge in the darkness.

Oil gusher for nine days at Spindeltop.
The petroleum revolution.
Wildcatters striking everywhere.
Instant boom city blues.

Urbanization like a rapid virus.
Haphazardly constructed.
Systemless spaces of unsanitized insanity.
The cost of industry.

E7A7x2
D7A7
E7D7A7

Ethicless

Intellect and emotion are inseparable.
Chemicals in the brain are altered.
A constant blending of colors and facts.
Memory is recalled, or not recalled.
Oxygen and its complete necessity.
       The sensory intakes.

Emotion without intellect is unrestrained.
     Ethicless.
          Primal.
               Uncivilized.

Without emotion, intelligence is stale.
Think of having a map, but no urge to go.
Jokes that never lead to laughter.
Answers without curiosity or ambition.
Associations without affections.
       Tragedy without sadness.

Worry With Worry

Extreme helpfulness.
Completely listening.
Curiously understanding.
Doing nothing else.
It is a tremendous skill.
It can be made a habit.
Close your eyes.
Give it 3 long inhales.
Give it 3 long exhales.
Breathe.
Like Pink Floyd sang.
Run rabbit, run.
Let the others worry with worry.
If they want to.

Alabama Sugar

Jesus!  The ocean is dark at night.
God!  And loud as a rocket motorcycle gang.
Lord!  The stars.
Good God, the stars.
Like Alabama sugar.
Dotting the black space.
Eternally.

Hot Tamales

...only takes one observent person.
...to notice everything around.
...interesting and uninteresting alike.
...a thoughtful walk.
...the young have more choices.
...morning has come.
...with another picture in the gallery.
...the golden light hitting just right.

...money ain't nothing and chicks ain't free.
...hippies with birkenstocks.
...unattainable supermodels.
...political give-em-hells.
...suits.
...mommies, God willing.
...all or none or something else or the other.
...whatever you wanna be.

...those were some hot tamales.
...that verde sauce had too much bite.

...my time is off.
...it tic tocs no longer.
...the rhythym of an eight count.
...always there.

The Junkyard Court: Vantaggio Side

     The professionally done sign in the lobby of Ariel Dunes 2 indicated a daily round robin at the Destin Tennis Club.  Named a Best Of in 2015.  9-11 am, $20 bucks.  To play on the green Florida clay was well worth it.  Perhaps some local players, similar to my tennis pals on Texas.  They would surely welcome me into the group for the 4 mornings I would play.  Monday through Thursday.  Unexpected, but had my gear and my annual month long tennis hiatus was done.  Back to it on the clay, work out the physical, the mental, and the anger.  Peaceful is the only way to play, it is true.  After a very beachy, boozy Sunday, followed by an outstanding Pontchartrain dish at Acme Oyster Bar, somehow awoke 30 minutes prior to the Monday morning event.  Got ready quick, out the door, and at the pro shop at 10 til.  Ready for these Florida dudes.  Ready to demonstrate Isner trained superiority, lone star grit, and Vantaggioian attitude.  It was going to be a smashing.

     The small  pro shop was tidy.  It fronted the community pool, which was full of about 15 mature ladies doing water aerobics.  They were in a circle, all seemed to know the routine.  How nice, I thought.  Palm Trees, Crape Myrtles, and other greenery was everywhere.  Oh, to be a 'resident', an actual 'resident'.  They probably had names for people who weren't 'residents'.  Out Of Towner Downers or Beach Buttholes or Yank Danks.  Signs were everywhere.  'Residents' this, 'residents' that.  I felt irritated as I walked in the shop.  Ready to take it to 'em.  Hopefully, I would play a 'resident'.  The nice assistant pro, Holly, greeted me with a fine simile and active demeanor.  Paid up for the round robin and she introduced me to Guido, who was making out a check.  A nice fella in his 70s, he had a wide smile and a fabulous Italian accent.  Holly sent us to the back courts where everyone would collect and warm up.  Behind the pool, the back courts were merely 100 feet away.

     The complex has 8 very well maintained clay courts, ice water jugs, rakes, and shaded benches.  Guido got in his car and drove to the back courts.  We met at the spectator benches on the outside of the fenced in double court.  The clay was smooth, soft, and perfect.  Let the sliding begin!  Chatted with Guido for awhile.  Got a new knee a year and a half ago, now the other one hurts.  He only plays doubles.  Kept watching his watch, bringing up how Bob was supposed to come, and a few others.  Spoke of this guy who was 85.  Rides his bike to play sometimes.  Always moving, never stopping.  Guido himself talked fast, with huge laughs in between and suspect listening.  He was a Steelers fan.  He said he didn't remember the bullshit Benny Barnes interference call in Super Bowl XIII, but he was lying.  Told him we owed them one more, reminding him of the Emmitt Cowboys revenge.  He laughed, even doubled over, before looking at his watch again in worry.  It was 10 after now, no one was coming.  Had this ever happened, I inquired.  He laughed again, this time with a melancholy tone.  Sometimes they have 5 or 6 he said, usually Mondays were good.  He didn't know.  He had just talked to Bob a couple of days prior and he told him he would see him Monday.  That meant that he should be here.  But he wasn't.  I offered to hit around with him, but he was insistent that he could only play doubles.  He pointed to his very tan left knee.  The vertical scar was a foot long.  He had to go prepare to go to the beach.  "No tennis, beach day.", he said in his Italian sound, "Maybe I see you Wednesday, eh?".  Absolutely.  Hope so, Guido.

     What was left was drills and serves.  Alone, on these perfect courts.  Towels, water, 2 fresh cans, white bandana, and the classic Australian Blue Vantaggio grey T-shirt.  Addidas Bounce fit just right, ready for the dirt.  Babalot raquet. the kind Nadal plays with . After two laps, 10 pushups, and 20 squats, set up the Isner drill.  3 balls, spaced equally on both sides of singles lines, 6 total.  One on the baseline, one on the service line, one by the net.  Starting from the middle of the base line, each ball is retrieved and returned to the starting point.  One at a time, from the baseline to the net, left, then right.  It is exhausting, and a very good footwork drill.  I slid, I dug.  Then some serves, then a drill, then some serves, drill, pushups, squats, then some serves.  Sweat was pouring, water was guzzled, shade was sought.  This went on for 2 hours.  The clay marks told the story.  My serve on the Vantaggio Side, the advantage side, needed to be over to the right and deeper.  In general, work your opponent's backhand, especially with the serve.

     It was a good workout.  Shed my soaked shirt and headband and, like Nadal would, put on a dry shirt before leaving the court.  Checked in at the pro shop and Holly assured me to show up the next day and my fee would be covered.  No one was around, the pool was now empty.  It was only 11 o'clock.  It's a beach day for me too, Guido.  Far from the Grand Slams, the Tennis Channel, the endorsement contracts, and the incredible Williams sisters, tennis is dying.  No-showed in Florida.  And it is sad. 

**word is Keck is meeting with Jimmy Connors to discuss an invitation to KOtC11.  Perhaps at TBar M in Dallas.  Negotiations are on-going...

These Cotton Beaches

Where the big bang slammed.
Making the Gulf Of Mexico.
With its deep waters.
Eliminating the age of giants.

This one yellow star shines down.
From the south.
Among the other more ivory stars.
Surrounding the Emerald Coast.

Clear space for now.
Thunder from the dark ocean.
Strikes far off.
Peripheral visions.

And airy, wavy sounds.
Salts and sands.
These cotton beaches.
Best at night.

Morocco

Thought I should let you know.
Got a show in Morocco.
Gonna blast the past real fast.
With electric blues and class.

Set in another time.
Close the blinds with open minds.
This song won't take too long.
Little diddy, then I'll move along.

Travel around the world.
Have a swirl with all the girls.
Step to the edge of the ledge.
No need to plead or beg.

And when I meet their king.
Think Mohammed is his name.
Give him a five on the side.
The beat poets have arrived.

DC
GC
GD
CG

Twinkle And Smirk

Like a happening.
An event.
That time when it went down.
The opening action.
Cared for intensly.
Fiercely.
Directed and shaped.
Chipped and smoothed.
Styled.
Made happy.
From the Funderburgh Paulson crowd.
Loved up.
Then a twinkle and smirk.
Fell for it.
Still falling and falling.
Into the sea of life.
And miracles.
Two happenings of our own.
All together.
Til the twinkles and smirks.

Blessed by your birth.

Bravo, Bravo Max

Bravo, Bravo Max!  The Saturday night show in Dallas was blistering.  From sound check on.  The Foundry on Pittman.  Near Commerce Street, east of the Trinity.  Over the new bridge with winding cables and a big lone star flag on one side and old glory on the other.  Lucky to have each other, but Texas is the central jewel of America's crown.  More and more.

Trying not to say anything negative, which makes for ineffective food criticism, and always has.  Will not comment on the chicken place next door to the venue.  Supposed to be famous and good, but mopey works nowhere.  The basics.

The band was having drinks at The Foundry's bar when we arrived.  Matt The Bassist and I.  Having met a couple of times previously, felt fine going right up and thanking them in advance for the groovy smashing about to be delivered from the shaded, enclosed, breezy outdoor stage.  Recognizing me from a couple of Jack Kerowax shows, and aware of the Men From Nantucket spacefolk sound and occasional field trips, they were completely cool and talkative.  Unnervous, calm.  Expressed our excitement for the Bullfighter Blues numbers and MI-5.  Halfway through another Bravo Max project (unnamed for now), they promised some of the new tunes and a few covers.  So they did.  Harlem, Misfits, The Kinks, and James Gang.  The Walk Away closer was like a smooth engine going all out, finding its destination as everything was steaming and smoking, just shy of liquidation.  Passengers arriving safe, weary, and in need of quiet, desolate solitude.  It is true that without Joe Walsh the Eagles would have been another Poco.  He saved them, and them, him.

The crowd stuck, the riffs were too perfectly spazzed, the drums were too boomingly hypnotic, the bass was too precisely hammered, the lead guitar travels were just too far and wide.  The got down was got down.  No one dared leave at the break, the band had much more to create for us.  All were gyrating wildly, Garret was convulsing and electrocution seemed possible.  Green aesteroid rains were seen.  Stars.  He was plugged in.  The dials were mixed and maxed.  The pedals were clicking all night, each click announcing another trip.  We were clocked, knocked, and rocked by the best psychorock band from Dallas, Texas.  Bravo, Bravo Max!

Microglowphone

There's a bubble somewhere.
And it's waitin' to pop.
Got some trouble declared.
We'll all be shocked.
Don't fall for this nonsense.
Avoid the hooks.
Don't know where this bubble is.
Why even look?

There's people won't eat today.
Not protesting.
Just no food around for awhile.
No ingesting.
The brunches are advertising.
The weekend rush.
Looks so very appetizing.
Just too much.

And your skin's real thin.
Like a little baby.
Sticks and stones ain't alone.
Words can't hurt me.
The microglowphone is open to all.
Audio and video.
Declare a truce or sing a song.
Be a wacko.

Em
Am
DD7
G

Shivers Delight

Let the waves decide.
Hear what they say.
Gonna let em weigh in.
Then seal my fate.

All afternoon.
Every single night.
In the morning too.
Shivers delight.

Just popping through.
These living days.
Til I ride the road.
Up to heaven's gate.

G
C
D
CG

Alright Nights

And once the delusions clear, really clear, through the range of emotions.  Decisions are made.  Or realizations are realized, finally.  A mechanism of practicality, sacrifice, and denial.  The drifting of affection, physical and intellectual.  Respect is hard to earn anymore.  Must say what you must say, but with discretion and good timing.  And never to fools.  There is no reason for it.  Observations only, the commentary can wait, added to the overall narrative, a story to tell another day.  To people that are strangers now.  The faces of the public are dazed, their minds are working to please themselves.  But there are still things to learn and know and experience.  The ride is not over.  Relations and alright nights.   

Being Mooned

Funny writer was pissed off tonight.
Adolf jokes and a celebration of abortion.
Opinions amplified and unorganized.
Reading of notes was confusing.
Verbal punctuations, nerves, and guts.
Chicken was savory, and more charming.
All read to us before the answer session.
Described as a political speech.
It was most definately not that.
More of a puking, a barfing, a vomiting.
The audience was very attentive.
Sympathetic of a horrible condition.
To know someone is experiencing nausea.
We've all been there to some degree.
A side effect to offensive medical efforts.
To be endured, worked out, recovered.
You of privledge and entitlement listen up.
A lecture you really need to hear.
The storytelling can wait for now, spew.
Non-Fiction of the illuminated kind.
1st Amendment is a favored Amendment.
Among many favored.
This was not fake and it was no joke.
Funny, yes funny, in a peculiar way.
Like being mooned or something.
It was wise to close the bar.

Money Illusions

Gold is overrated.
We are in success mode.

Mine to hold.
Mine to sell.
Mine to hedge.

S curves don't lie.
All the money in the world.

Bonds?

Proof of work utilization is near.
Money illusions of 192 currencies.
A crypto macro-cosmic reality.
The allocation evolution.

The Restricted Area

The marina was open and active.

Hookups and fill ups.

Took a ride to the flag pole.

Old glory whipping like a slapper.

The restricted area was off limits.

No trespassing or entry.

Violators faced sure prosecution.

The canyon was closed off.

Lush greens were layered.

Showers fluttered weakly.

From the west.

Busting from the edge of the clouds.

Reached for a Bloody Mary.

The Germans just keep coming.

Got the Serena Blues.

There are no gazing starlets.

We have been ignored.

The Joker, the Queen, and the drone.

Our future is closer than ever.

Closer than it's ever been.

Galaxy Explosion

...that west Texas rained on air.

The kind that rarely produces rain...

...when it does it gushes down.

With a galaxy explosion far away...

...the ground drinks it fast.

The dust and dirt becomes mud...

...in the suburbs it flows smooth.

The city planners did fine work...

...cement will divert the floods.

Trails all up through there...

...everything connected in the end.

La Cerveza del Pacifico on ice...

...limes cut big and juicy.

Fought the truth of middle age...

...crossed my heart and made words.

Shook the life out of my mind...

...made mistakes but nothing too bad.

Know its always gonna be me and you...

...walking the beats of each other's tune.

The Junkyard Court: Strawberry Cream

At the 2018 Wimbledon Men's Quarters the bracket rings true.  All the hustle, all the troubles, all the smashes, all the clashes.  Left is Fed and Nadal, of course.  Easy like.  Fed will demolish the lanky South African Anderson on his way to the title.  Like mowing, his grass always smells cut.  Nadal gets washed out by Del Po, the red dirt still sweating out of his system.  Novak looks good, but stressed.  He plays Kei Nishikori, the Japanese serve return master coming back from injury.  Hungry, very hungry.   

The token American is Isner.  He should be celebrated wildly, his career is the lone notable male American tennis career of an entire generation.  Many records, that serve, Miami.  He's tall.  Maybe Querry, maybe his career is notable.  Stevie The Grit will always be beloved.  Sock stinks.  Lets move on.com, please.

(Sorry Wayne, referring only to singles.  Your boy's accomplishments are incredible, especially Bob, who teamed with an almost 50 year old Martina Navratilova and won the 2006 U.S. Open Mixed Doubles title.  So much hardware.)

First time Wimbledon Quarterfinalist Isner plays Canadien Milos Raonic.  Isner will be destroyed.  He is happy and satisfied with what he's done.  It is his nature.  After Miami, he flopped.  After 70-68, he flopped.  Raonic has too much game and John McEnroe still echos in his ear from his time as his coach.  Definately has more swagger than Big John, whose shoulders must be worn completely out.  His trademark between the legs bounce prior to his serve is classic.  And very cool.  Of course, Fed will strawberry cream either of these North Americans quick in the Semis.

With Fed in the final, and the eventual winner, the runner up will be the Argentine Del Po, who made it there by forehanding Kei off the court.  Kei, who steadily battled a crazed Novak to get to the Semis, could only look over to his coach, Michael Chang, and shrug.  That forehand of Del Po is an all timer.  Maybe the US Open for Novak, but whose gonna beat a rested Nadal in New York?

Then the alarm went off and I woke up on a Tuesday.  Maniacal Monday was over.  Sweet Jesus, Serena's gonna win another title!  That moon was just a sliver this morning.  Looked like a spaceship coming through the sky.  Wonder if Del Po won his suspended quarterfinal with Gilles Simon.  He was up 2 sets to 1.  Think it's about to come on.  Can't quite remember that dream, but it was weird.  All the Wild Boars get out of that cave?  Fed might win this.

Electric Element

Please keep it to yourself.

The outrage and opinions.

This is the Social Outcast System.

Welcome back for a return engagement.
They got numbers, they got taste.
Miles is using the silence.
Like a sillouette, the outline decides.
Love is love.
Affections and passions and obsessions.
However it evolves.

The end is already confirmed.
This fleeting space of time is free willing.
And free wheeling!
The tracks can be popped at any time.
We are speeding along, rushing.
Mechanically, breakdowns will occur.
Even with regular maintenance they occur.
The engineers are worthless.
They can only operate.
The mechanics must be summoned.
Wake them, whatever it takes.
Bring the light over, it is dark.
The sky is space all over.
Very clear, due to early rains.

Tomorrow might arrive.
It would be another miracle.
Like every breath taken.
Like everything seen.
Or heard, or felt.
The big bang is not a sufficient explanation.
Evolution alone indicates intelligence.

The dumb remain the same.
Static, airless, stale.
The evil become monsters.
Imposers and imposters.
The chicken live in caves.
Nomads, always running away.
The sad have given up.
Frowns and moans and wasting time.

It is a chemical condition.
An imbalance in the brain.
The leveling begins with water.
Pure as possible.
The most electric element of all.

Deleted

Made many words that were deleted.  

Gone, every letter and all the lines.

Too true, too sad, just too much.

Shout to the happy and feel.

See their smiles shine.

Caught a big mess.

Know my rights.

And my lies.

Crimes.

Those Old Ways (American Fans)

Was nothing 'round here.
There was no shops or lots.
But we got nothing to fear.
New thoughts and robots.

Back roads still the same.
Lord knows I'm still to blame.
Those old days, those old ways.
Toss them all in the flames.

Cause its all gonna change.
Boats will dive, cars will fly.
And its all pre-arranged.
Our tribal vibe of light.

Oh, the days of the Walkman.
We were all American fans.
Those old days, those old ways.
This land is our land.

E
A
E
BaE

Splash Art

Story of life.
No win situations and refusals.
Back ain't got.
Manipulations of later accounts.
Less and less.
Respectable and free as possible.
Ghost writers.
Flying high with speeding words.
Perfectly sane.
Loving the crazy and the normal.
Unattended to.
Only conditional conditions exist.
Truth or dare.
Twist and shout for the get down.
Disco is real.
Outrageous myth of the good life.
Hippie eyes.
Occupying thoughts with activity.
Watch the glow.
Those mustangs have held up nice.
Splash art.
The roads are old and broken here.
Orange zones.
Lake Carolyn is surrounded by lives.

Float The Blue

The Mandalay babes were tucked in the dark luxurious room, beauty rest is at it's most powerful on Saturday mornings.  After a night of being somewhere else, after a night of long talks about things only sisters and mothers should talk about.  Combined, they know it all, everything there is to know.

The controlled emotions of competition, finding the weak spots, climbing out of holes, gasping for calm, a faint vulgarity.  Caught up and hung around like a straggler, went deuce juice to get back in it.  Made my mark with the service shot, snapped and curving.  To have victory, to compete successfully, even barely.  It is the shit.

Float the blue, let it carry you away.  Sad eyed woman turned happy eyed, regal posture, dignified and accomplished.  Portugal will need to score early.  The Uraguans will panic.  The cost of losing is practically a death of sorts.  Failure hasn't been considered, they have been told of their own greatness.  To lose is to be surprised, devastated.  Portugal must score early.

At the end of the road, looping tunes of real scenarios.  Lonely horn solos.  Tossed away to the Goodwill, heart a mess, wondering what happened to the dinosaurs.  Just blood and bones, the late night show in Oak Cliff.  Might be the last we see of him, but probably not.  Lake Michigan is too cold in the winter.  More to dig around here.  Good thing the law will be around.

Superiority Complex

...the sturdy and nervous Germans were everywhere...surely the Sweeeeds felt their insistence...the rights of the European thugs...with their superiority complex...

...the Benz and the Beemer...master mechanics, evidently...my affinities, and loyalties, are with Japanese...this Mockingbird Station scene...

*******************

...to Trinity Hall...the flowing flags, the striking colors, the corridors...obstructed sight lines and standers...they used to make telephones near here...

...during the wars...that gal never missed a day...Nila, the great matriarch...walked over from Highland Park...

********************

...across the North to South highway...penalties are killers...shoulda played it clean...the hooking kick to the far upper corner of the net and the crowd errupts...

...hugs and fives and bumps and wows...the 2 o'clock beers were wearing thin...some fish and chips...water does the trick...

********************

...a delay to acclimate...the Texicans would have a team in this thing...the Texicans would probably win it all...the cup of the world, baby...

Karmatical

Like a skeleton or a frame, built upon.
Decorated with colors and jewels and jazz.

Notice existence, it is all around.
Here to be discovered.

Relationships form from curiosity.
Maintained by considerations and love.

And love is kind.
And patient.
And many other things, humble and gentle.
Soft, without edges, smoothed over time.
Until it becomes constant and eternal.

From some cosmic place.
Floats around between all of us, ready.

The get down is our obsession.
Quick pops that move and describe.
Images of nirvana.
Knowingly unattainable and unreal.

The mind gets involved.
Its rationality deciding or not deciding.
The body can be tamed.

Complications and woe are karmatical.

Flee

Let the exploiting begin.
Fresh meat on the border.
For the idiot winders.

An orderly process.
Enforcement can be ugly.
The irresponsibility of it all.

Flee, flee like the migrants.
Those thieves run the place.
Busting the seams.

The shamelessness and hypocrisy.
Those 80 million were separated.
Violently, willingly, mercilessly.

The rejected miracles.
Literal creation.
Ruined.

Rebel Yell

Take your rebel yell.
Take it somewhere else.
Go on a protest march.
Like when they burned all their draft cards.

Fighting over the news.
Its a silly thing to do.
They just pulling your chain.
For the money, for the story, for the fame.

At the end of the night.
When the sun shows its light.
Everything seems fair.
Low clouds early, by noon they'll clear.

Even if we pout about.
If our love ends up in shouts.
Our time is ticking away.
The seconds, minutes, hours, and days.

Yes, let the rebels yell.
Just yell somewhere else.
No more noise pollution.
No more self righteous illusions.

Red Light

gcd7g

Red light's been on.
Been on for years.
Stop what you're doing.
Do it more, my dear.

Wanna go go.
Wanna wanna go green.
Need to ride a little while.
Need to hit the sheets.

dc
gcx2
gdg

Been sitting at this red light.
Wasting my appetites.
Watching lovers go by.
Trying to stay dignified.

At the yellow caution light.
Try not to brake.
Accelerate, move along.
Avoid this static state.

Like its never gonna change.
Time just idling by.
Stranded on this city street.
Lord it just ain't right.

Tangles Of Vines And Brush

     The drift of the aged, unwilling to battle the currents anymore.  Go on along for the ride.  Float that water, stay alert.  Scream laughs maniacally.  Hollar.  Only the banks can save our lives.  The east bank is peaceful, a beach leading up to rolling hills.  Green and lush.  The west is full of tangles of vines and brush.  Right up to the water line.  Massively tall trees.  Dark, like a jungle.

     Scavenger birds circled, knowing another's death was near.  The scavengers die too, eventually.  An ocean will be found.  Washed out with the mud.  Worn and weary, exhuasted and spent.  The afternoon is not full of romance, the best is yet to come.  The sweet evening, the mad night, then the dreams.  Daily, every hour.  The things done, never assured, never imagined.  Experienced is all.  Felt.

     Turn the lights up.  Get the cameras in place.  No talking on the set.  Actors, take your spots.  Actresses too!  Your lines have been memorized, need your best delivery.  3, 2, 1, go.

Coin Bits

A second level ledger and utilization.

Selling power for coin bits.

The transactions always run.

No inconvienience will be allowed.

No time, no trust, no inflation.

But, the stashers!  What of the stashers?

All us mortals.

The off blocks and off chains too.

Decentralization of the decentralized.

Each central to its own culture.

None identical.

Generations of evolution.

To give up the bucks.

No bills, no green, no bread.

Completely fraudless and true.

These are only the escavators.

Demolition is underway.

Next, the foundations, pipes, lines, terminals.

Then, the framing is done.

Measured and attached together.

Ready for the skin and final touches.

Make it all work under one roof.

Give up controls and manipulations.

Powerless.

Absolute scarcity.

If we solve for this 51%.

I Like Ike

Mostly, we were quiet.
No one could fully understand another.

They could only imagine their emotions, they could only guess at their thoughts.

Speculations of motivations.
The sunken treasure is still there.
For the taking, for the effort.
Whatever it takes.

Nobody is on standby.
It is only us.
We must determine our own fate.

Wash out the washouts.
They will never storm the beach again.
D-Day is remembered tomorrow.
Europe had to be taken back.
And was.

I like Ike.

Two Number Twos

Got two number twos.
Now you know just what to do.
Drain your brain.
Let your mind do its thing.

Always been smart.
IQ seems off the charts.
Nerves are normal, babe.
Breath it out, let em fade.

(Chorus)

We just sat around.
Sat waitin' for the testing to go down.
We just sat around.

Was early Saturday.
Made sure we weren't late.
Original photo ID.
And a certified receipt.

Guess the colleges wanna know.
If you ready for the show.
Got nothing to lose.
With your two number two's.

(Chorus)

D
C
G
DG

CGx2
DCG

The Freeze Brain

++Came in low and early, before the wave, before the simmer, before the sizzle.

++They will burn off quick, those north moving clouds.

××Then the clicks everywhere, the freeze brain, fans and mists.

××Watch it blue up, like the gulf waters of Galveston, out of nowhere.

÷÷The inland life, let the sweat shake out in the swamps, let the mud creatures get muddy, let them have it.

÷÷Build on the hills.

--The floods will come back one day.

--For now, extreme degrees and ozone colors.

==Acclimate like the birds do.

==Sing when the sun rises, eat late, play the wind.

Bicycle Kick

As usual, the ride was smooth.  Shaded trails with curves and dips.  Cutting through the thick woods, full of lowlands and wetlands.  Along Wilson Creek, then up the hill, to the cotton mill.  Watching out for poisonous water moccasins.  They are all around here.  For now.  Arrived thirsty, a bike race was under way.  We wheeled through the crowd and the marked off track without stopping.  Through to the brewery.  The black, the wheat, the make-it-a-double.

The operation, ever changing, ever growing.  Organically, and from without.  The iron art foundation, layered with modern creations, music always.  The PA plugin is all.  No DJ, no spinning, no talking, some heavy metal.  The back patio, covered with tin.  Fountain.  Cool corner, outside lounge.  The wino bottle tree, the monikers.  Organized the parts yard, spruced up just enough.  Fermenting more and more, innovating processes, ambitious, real.  Games.  People of all sizes and hair color.  Young and old.  Smoke coming from smokers, the 10 dollar plate.  Some even witnessed the legendary Gareth Bale goal that won the Champions Leauge for Real Madrid.  Appropriately, on a bicycle kick.  God bless the American soccer nerds and their European punk idols.

Moderation and its challenges, a ride back.  An easy cruise initially, lingered at the old bridge, wheelies and figure eights.  Navigation of intersections and automobiles, back through the trees.  A turn off, a tip of the hat, then back south. Up Sorrell Hill to Hardin.  Parched, burnt, out of water, miles from home.  Exhausted legs, shoulders tensed, sweat still pouring, the beer of 2 hours ago drank, tasted, swallowed, absorbed, affected, and cleared.  Extreme rehydration measures performed immediately at home.  50 ounces of water, 3 cold fruit cups with heavy syrup, brisket and sausage, followed by a cold pool soak.  Followed by a hot tub soak, followed by another cold pool soak.  Followed by 10 hours of sleep.

Essential Ingredients (Product Of Texas)

Just at the right time, at the perfect time, the fruit is ready.  The ripening process.  Survived the winds, sat up high enough, those low hangers were just unlucky, and the fate of the dropped is awful.  The whole ruin process stinks.  Ants and their running around and nerves.  The queens must be demanding.  No rest.  No relaxation. 

Sitting in the middle, firmly attached to the tree.  Strong limbs, sunlight gets through mid morning and afternoon, the heat's not so bad.  Early dews and plenty of water.  Sprayed good for pests, bugs, and the like.  Chemicals.  No spoiling, only tended and farmed.  Only preparing.  Invested in the yield.  Harvest time will come, but not yet.

Then, one day, when glory has been reached, when taste is at its best, the plucking.  Cleaned and washed, wrapped in white, and sent away in a limousine.  Unspoiled.  Full of vitamins, essential ingredients, and flavor.  A pie, a salad, a cake, a smoothie.  Raw.  Bursting, producing smiles and yums.  Product of Texas, made with care.

Golden And Really Riffy

And from the bushes, music.
Golden and really riffy.
The crew cut warrior squinted.
The colosseum was around them.
Canines rested and watched, panting.
Musical instruments were all around.
Horns, strings, gongs, and chimes.
And oh, the chimes did chime.

Then circles upon circles upon circles.
And a streaking white line.
Glares beneath the shades.
Upside down, counting.
The bizziness of the business people.
Such a waste.
Unhealthy and destructive.
Proven over and over, time after time.

It's only money, and money is easy.
The suckers, the worried, the insecure.
They will spend their days worshiping it.
Things are afforded, things are deserved.
Floating in judgement, silently.
No shock, no surprise.
Scattered and cleared, only blue now.
And cool.

Abstractions

Sensing other matters as priority, tucked back into the literary corner.  Not to work something out, clear thoughts, or provide any therapy to the situation.  No, more of an indulgent, and indignant, acting upon an opportunity of time.  This word habit, this tapping, this quiet paragraph.

Round the edges smooth, level the scene.  Go sharp and quick, the structure should be respected.  Early on, especially.  Abstractions come from it, not the other way around.  Keep the beat.  Seperate truth from speculation, distinctly.  Imagination and style.  Facts and a few figures.  Quotes.

The candle, the lamp, the sun.  Light the way.  Glow.  Digital documentation and cloudy archives.  A place to write.  Know when to break.  Feel it.  An unfinished something.  Will never write the last word.  Or the loveliest word.  Or the most true word.  That is left to others.  At another time.

Then A Cosmic Collision

Construction of the progress.  Never ending.  Mother nature has her evolutions and she has her eruptions.  Boulders flying, lava creeping, the earth is smoking. 

Clever they are, the doomers.  The science they invent, so uncreative.  We spun slower then, our trip was longer.  The age of the ageless.  Easy, restful.  Then a cosmic collision, a bump in the night.  The air collapsed, some life escaped, spans diminished, heaven is near. 

Less is more.  It is better, our sorrows are brief.  From the little big horn til now, our entitled rights.  Our destiny.  Our greed.  Like the stashers, the grubby selfish, like the true person in all of us. 

A precarious road.  The southwestern way, the direction of the Baja.  The Pacific blues, where the sun disappears perfectly.  Perfectly, every day.

Roman Gonzo A

"Empire Memories" by jpg

...these thoughts in my head. Weirdly, all being translated in real time from Italian.  Keep cash in the front pocket.  Walk the old Roman roads, rent a Vespa GS160, drink only wine and water.  Avoid the dust, it is full of empire memories.  Don't faint... 



"Lefty" by PeoplesDuke

Returned from the night out.  Witnessed a street brawl outside a trattoria.  50 meters from the Trevi Fountain.  Keck says "a fight".  I look forward and see 6 people squared off and fighting 3 on 3.  Tables get knocked over and women and kids are screaming.  Next thing I see is a "lefty" holding a fully cocked bottle of wine.  He hurled it at the head of his opponent.  Opponent ducks and the bottle comes straight at us and shatters at our feet.  The chards of glass and wine spray towards us hitting our legs and soaking my shoes.  I jumped into a small leather goods shop while Keck continued to watch the melee unfold.  One of the combatants made a run for it.  He was chased down by the shop owner who picked up another wine bottle.  The shop owner caught him from behind.  Keck said he was running full speed holding the bottle by the neck above his head like he was doing the DoubleV.  In a forceful single blow he smashed the runner's head at the temple.  The fella fell head first into the cobblestone street and layed there unconscious.  Keck thought he was dead!   The two friends tried furiously to drag the lifeless body to safety.  They moved him a few feet but he was too heavy.  A minute or two later he reanimates.  He ducks into a local creperie and the staff helps administer first aid.  All activity ceased for several minutes on this busy street.  Oddly the bottle used to bash the guys head did not break.  It lay undisturbed next to a pool of blood in the center of the cobblestone.



"Something's Happening There" by jpg

The people of this world await.  Somehow drums are beating, somewhere the bass kicks in, something's happening there.  No falsehoods.  No bluster.  Italy.



"Al Dente" by PeoplesDuke

He insulted the chef's Spaghetti Carbonara. Claimed the pasta wasn't "al dente". Crazy.



"Awesome" by King James

Fucking Awesome!!!

The Other Way Around The Sun

D7Cx3
G

Venus and its shining light.
At the center of all our nights.
Goes the other way around the sun.
Beautiful view.

We all know, the secret's out.
Fighting wars on shaky grounds.
Won a battle, but we're never done.
Just old and used.

Everyone gotta different take.
Think it through in an altered state.
Analyze that piece of your mind.
That makes it blue.

Lets all get together in love.
Have no fear and never give up.
Vibing, vibing, shaking and jiving.
We always knew.

CCD7D7x3
G

Ooohhh....