Love And Litter

A little road can make a big difference.  Dirt, concrete, brick, gravel, or stones.  As on a map, the lines say nothing.  They are just lines.  The actual roads might talk to each other when no one's around.  They might talk about freedom and independence.  They might talk about failure and tragedy. 

Only roads know what roads go through.  They are a kindred spirit, they are somehow all connected.  They have dents and holes, skids and blood, love and litter.  Mostly, they hum.  Each it's own hum, for no two hums can, or should be, exactly the same.  They all have different sounds, trips are like symphonies, except on the Interstate. 

That's just loud racquet, not worth the trouble, not worth the sadness, not worth the speed.  All time should be enjoyed, especially time on roads, otherwise, stay home.  There is enjoyment there too, where the hearts are, memories made, pride busting, the friendly.  Patio birds and butterflies.  Dreams and mist.  Words.

Electric Fence Shock

Take the hammer too.
Need to nail it home.
Really smash it good.
Give it a final whack.

Acceptance has a sweet taste.
It's lack of bitterness.
Clean and fresh.
Light.

Like an electric fence shock.
Zips you good.
Tingles the heart.
Wakes you up.

Anger has no future.
It'll just wear itself out.
Finish up tired and worn.
And wasted.

Forgive the world.
Let others forgive you.
Forgiving yourself is pointless.
And impossible.

20/20 Gonzo 28: Essentially Blinded

Avoiding eye contact, no smiles under the masks.  Hands in pockets unless you got business, and if you got hands, gloves are handy.  The age of assumptions is over, card carriers and micro validations of proper vaccinations and exterminations, bugs and viruses will never gain the high ground again.  Humanity will not succumb. 

The pathetic campaigners sound silly and look sillier.  Pay attention and listen up, your swampy, slathering, lumpy, lard butter suggestions and your grime coated, cottage cheese covered analysis are being ignored.  Muted until unmuted.  Like Time Bandits, like the roadrunner and coyote, like ELO, like picking peaches from an orchard, like bluebonnets and Indian paintbrushes on the side of the highway.  Like Atari and Asteroids, phasers and laser shots, quarter after quarter.

No way to tell, but the irresponsible and ignorant will lead the way back.  The reckless, the desperate, the smug, the frightened.  Their sheep will follow, like sheep will follow and follow, follow to the end, the very end, because they follow.  Following is what sheep do, wool covers their eyes.  They are essentially blinded, blinded for life.

Stare Down My Madness

CGx3

D7CG

One day I'll leave this place.

With a smile on my face.

Gonna leave the human race.

Behind.

Don't come after me.

Don't try to save me.

If you want to take care of me.

Then fine.

Stare down my madness.

Time, it's still passing.

Reaching for my glasses.

Going blind.

Perhaps tonight I'll dream.

Some psychedelic scene.

Like a colorful quarantine.

It shines.

What The Beatles Can Do

DCGx2
DD.CG

There is nothing to find.

The infantry feels good.

War doesn't hurt, it just looks like it ought to.

71 thousand and the American dream.

Shake up the family with art.

Hopefully, there are writers in Kansas City.

The pity of the mad.

Kind gestures need to be somewhere.

Selection of incidents.

Happier than they thought they were.

The Indy laps.

If you want to write fast.

Block the block.

Feel good anyway.

Artist aren't supposed to be political.

They have enough to do.

Inner necessity.

From right handed to left handed.

About the end of the world near Lake Erie.

The earth is exhausted.

PR at GE.

Popular plot form.

'Til He rose.  Water.

Love in the English Department.

Constantly interviewed.

Treasure Island, Jeckel And Hyde.

Lessons on how to live.

Knew Kerouac slightly.

Died a couple of weeks ago.

Tremendous amounts of alcohol.

Save creative lives.

Talk about other aspects of life.

Room 471 has no energy.

Don't kill, don't litter, only what you need.

Hillbillies are fundamentalists.

The only known poem.

Go write, without help.

To make contented.

To sustain and distract.

What The Beatles can do.

Be silly, cheer people up.

It isn't very hard.

20/20 Gonzo 27: Dripping With Sanitizer

The drive-thrus are thriving.  Everywhere cars and trucks line up to get to the window.  The window slides open and the touchless transactions occur, efficiently inefficient.  One at at time, a sad modern day symbol of the population's sacrifice and misery.  Dripping with sanitizer, served with a smile.

One party has banned males from becoming Vice President.  Seems odd.  Who would wanna be VP any way, unless you could get bribes or something.  But, one has to have a taste for that kind of money, too greasy for my stomach.  A shitty way to get rich.

Black Saturday leaves us shamed.  Weak and unable to do anything about it, the tomb is closed, everyone scattered, ran like chickens.  Ran to the chicken coupe, wait it out in the feathers, settle in for a nice rest.  The rooster's been crowing low, before the light, before glory, because glory's for tomorrow.  Today he just crows low.

Muddy Fool

That's a long list.
With awful deeds.
Offenses.
Defenses.
Irritations and peeves.
Robber of years.
Stealer of dignity.

A muddy fool.

Brainwashed and ruined.
Psyched out.
Color drained.
Worn.
A long list.
Of disappointment.

And shame.
And sins.
And more.

Here, take this nail.

Make Some Deja Vu

E
A

You're so contagious.
Intimidated.
It's so outrageous.
I'm fascinated.
My goodness gracious.
Not overstated.
Nothing salacious.
Sophisticated.

DAx3
GAx3

You're so outlandish.
Bet you're a cool chick.
You live so lavish.
Hit your mojo mix.
Sing it in Spanish.
Extravagante.
Your mind's so delish.
With all your lipsticks.

DAx3
GAx3

Like patient zero.
Doesn't have a clue.
Kind of a weirdo.
Thought they had the flu.
Put on some disco.
Make some deja vu.
Your innuendo.
Your whole attitude.

20/20 Gonzo 26: The Moron Crowd

On the side lines are the sneerers, the snickerers, the low-down slitherers, the extra sour.  Practically cheering on the calamity, the death, the vindication.  As if 'I told you so" applies.  As if their scientifically charged brains justify some sanctimonious standing.  The moron crowd.

The death is excruciating, suffocation and gasps, breathing machines, beeps and bangs.  Scurrying everywhere, recoveries and care.  Fought and fought and fought.  Broke another fever, breaking through, fight.  Stick with it.

On the inside, we are inside, together and alone.  It has come to this, no work around, no other way through.  A temporary sacrifice of freedom and liberty, self imposed and righteous.  A decision that's made.  Freely.

Bandana Revival

DG
CG

What you gonna wear for a mask?
Gotta do what the President asks.
And who you gonna get close to?
Not too close, we keeping track of you.
Where you going this time of night?
You know we got this shut down tight.
And why you think you need so much?
Go on over there, don't cause such a fuss.

You some kinda quarantine outlaw?
Super spreader, asymptomatic, the gall.
Don't you know you gotta stay inside?
The Rona is airborne, you better hide.
Any idea about your infection potential?
Only get out for the very most essential.
What you think about a bandana revival?
Flatten the curve to maximize survival.

The Solitude Machine

E
A
DA
EA

The solitude machine.
Don't move around.
Just stay right in your places.
Don't you make a sound.

The solitude machine.
Put on your socks.
Don't wanna get too chilled.
Wanna keep it kinda hot.

DAx3
EA

I'm sure you knew
Heard the news.
A million or more.
Gonna die in this war.

The solitude machine.
Gotta keep it greased.
Cranks and gears can't rust.
They gotta keep the peace.

The solitude machine.
One day it's gonna stop.
Park it in the back near the windmill.
Stash it in that vacant lot.

20/20 Gonzo 25: Hot Juices

The bats are back in the wet markets of China.  The soup, the stir fry, raw.  In my kitchen, a slow cooked beef roast simmers in a crockpot, whole carrots and red potatoes, tender in the hot juices.  Overnight it was made perfect, time did it's thing.  Real meat, not bats.

The statistics are everywhere.  Ratios, percentages, testing access, ventilator capacity, mask stockpiles, survival rates, mortality odds, confirmed deaths, age groups.  Sliced, compared, graphed, used, all the numbers will be exploited by the political professionals.  Only two sides to join, however, for professionals anyway.  They will twist from their homes.  Double free agents are rare.

The Rona is indifferent, indiscriminate, and invisible.  Keep your distance, outside the perimeter.  Sneezes can travel 10 yards.  Reporting from the rose garden, with the doctors and business leaders, and others.  Fear the rose garden podium microphone, the microphone could be infected, it could be full of The Rona, that microphone gets spit on daily by multiple people.  Wind's picking up, it's hairspray weather in DC.

Avoid Mobs

...that's my water bottle.
No, I just got one out a minute ago.
...but that one is cold, it's mine, trust me.
Quit ridiculing me.
...that's ridiculous, that's not ridicule.
You know, you're impossible.
...no, I don't know, no one is impossible.
See, right there, what you just said.
... just making a point, like an observation.
You and your observations.
...here, this one is your water, drink up.
Oh, that's right, that one's mine.
...episode 6 tomorrow maybe.
Those people are so weird.
...don't be a follower, avoid mobs.

Twilight Zoning

Broke and stockbrokering.

Dimensions and conceptualizing.

Jay's custom stringing.

Around the world hunkering.

HBO came calling.

Check his remembering.

Nothing worse than bad bossing.

Players only love it when they're playing.

Finally got sick of trucking.

Tired of all that seducing.

Martin Mulligan recounting.

Naturalized Italian still FILAing.

Lots and lots of interviewing.

Keeping the show popping.

How's Nick Bollettieri doing?

The downside of credentialing.

Unacknowledged for the digging.

Depends on what you mean by interesting.

Hiring to firings.

The story of not disliking.

Former number one boasting.

Losses make up for the winning.

Journalists inquiring.

Wrong about the overreacting.

Had no feeling.

Twilight zoning.

BG been isolationing.

Doing good as they were practicing.

Tournaments are just moving.

Events need saving.

Tennis might start booming.

Line up for the testing.

The lousy and the pandering.

Topic jumping.

Memory is searing.

Must have fueled all the ass kicking.

Venus and Serena pioneering.

And the James Blake cuffing.

Keep up the barking.

U.S. Open running.

Sergio Tacchini is missing.

The glorious Martina pairing.

Start the thinking.

Momma been sleepbagging.

Beware the entourageing.

King Richard is filming!

Devil's Been Lurking Like A Coward

D7G
CG
D7C
D7CG

Now I understand.
We are made to overcome.
Our anti-bodies, our virus attackers.
Just let them have their guns.

Now I realize.
They slide and they pop.
Storm through the atoms and the cells.
You know they won't ever stop.

Now I just breathe.
Take in some good air.
Get some nitrogen and some oxygen.
No need to be so scared.

Now I step back.
See it for what it is.
Devil's been lurking like a coward.
Seeing if he can't stay hid.

Now I take 5.
Whenever I need some time.
Been liberated from death itself.
Got it through my mind.

20/20 Gonzo 24: The Smug Bug Club

Seems shockingly unfair and phobic to call this damn virus the Coronavirus.  The Corona Brewing Company had nothing to do with this unfortunate viral development, but now almost 40% of their main demographic (Dumb beer sheep convinced by ads they are drinking decent Mexican beer, aged 25-50) believe that drinking a Corona Extra is death sentence.  They are doomed, their brand is toast, call it a kegger.  DosXX, Pacificos, Modeloes, and Sols are all better anyway, but it's still sad, it's still an ender.  Never bought in to the urban myth of piss in the Corona brew, but it wasn't an overly outlandish accusation, it might've been true.

This Hydroxychloroquine, taken along with the mighty Z-Pack, seems promising, and the anti-bodies are plentiful now, vaccines are in development.  The end is in sight.  Politicians will take credit, they will blame and sneer, they will not make us proud.  The newspeople will do their tabloiding, it is all they know.  The smug bug club.

A resurrection of our American life is on the horizon, we will get busy again, we will consume, we will have it our way.  It will be made in the U.S.A., by yankees, doodles, and dandies.  China already has a Great Wall, but it didn't seem to work.  Viruses don't care about walls, they are busy mutating.  They lurk.

Gotta Go Near The Alamo

GGFC

FFGC

Ozzy Osbourne on a drinking binge.

Fired his whole band in a manic fit.

Doing the Sabbath record on his own.

Gotta go, gotta go, near the Alamo.

Davy Crockett came from Tennessee.

Then the Mexicans started the seige.

Played his fiddle when the sun went low.

Gotta go, it's sundown at the Alamo.

Never forget about that Juan Seguin.

Slipped out before the final scene.

Carried the news that all needed to know.

Gotta go, God help the Alamo.

G
C
GF
FGC

Sitting on the Riverwalk.
Having some brews.
Pacifico after Pacifico.
Let it flow near the Alamo.
Spotted the bathrooms.
Over the river bridge.
Be right back, gotta go.
Gotta go near the Alamo.

Jim Bowie and his big ole Bowie knife.

Victory or death, Barrett Travis gave his life.

They let Susanna and her baby girl go.

Gotta go, go tell em bout the Alamo.

Santa Anna he was a murdering thug.

Nothing could quench his thirst for blood.

Houston took him down in San Jacinto.

Gotta go, remember the Alamo

Ozzy Osborne banned for a decade.

San Antone told him to stay away.

Apologized before he played another show.

Gotta go, gotta go, to the Alamo.

20/20 Gonzo 23: Keeping The Cool

These potential solutions and resolutions, propelling our future, redefining our culture, changing the game, awakening our society.  Meanwhile, the finest checker players in the world gathered in the newsrooms, huddled up for the Zoom meeting, and plotted their next play.  One move at a time, isolated in the present, victims of historical ignorance and horizon blindness.  No nuance, only bluster, low IQ, low EQ, the basic minds.  Cheering themselves.
   
The chess players wait their turn, hooks baited.  Learning from the past, anticipating the future.  The knights, the rooks, the bishops, even the pawns.  All working together to defend, attack, flank, maneuver, and set up.  Working the boards, keeping the cool, checking the mates.

In China, commies do what commies do, we've all seen this before. Only our capitalism makes them go. However, the demand for their supply is shrinking fast, they are the thugs of Asia. Their people want their MTV too, they mourn, Mao is squirming in his tomb. The liberty virus is highly contagious.

Day To Day Days

EA

Rest in peace, they say.
As if there's any other way.
No noise, no distractions, no war.
Peace in earth.
That's when.

Anyhow, back to the day to day days.
Provisions and prospects, hungry for hope.
Sanitized, fumigated, and bleached.

The cycles of our movements, the routines of our cycles, the movements of our routines.

The Slanted Court

Extended introduction.

Plant based future.

All name hall of fame.

Shouldn't be, but supposed to be.

Europe ain't swinging.

Speaking of dysfunction.

And open lines of communication.

Spin the wheels of the mind.

AWOL for 15 minutes.

Serve and control, partial.

No gluten, no dairy, no sugar.

First five set loss.

Terrible, terrible, terrible, just terrible.

Back to the Ramada Inn.

Different levels of brutal.

Blacked out like old school.

The slanted court.

Choked on the warm up.

South African playing dreams.

Mediocre.

Tennys on Line 4.

Serious and unsquandered.

No wrong decisions to make.

Tough club.

Unexpected results were unexpected.

Came from the grass slam.

Worn out and torn out labrum.

Top 100.

Liked the problematic.

The worst interrpetation.

Triple A right around the corner.

Summer might be a wash.

Can't gather for our tennis.

Stockton Challenger shotgun blast.

Wind tunnel.

Auckland.

Lean and mean solo travel.

Coaches want more coaching.

Beyond good and evil.

Tools and staples.

Yards at the yard house.

Hysterical.

The king is moving back to wood.

More dink and dunk.

Losing the aesthetics.

Stay Away

GC
DCG

You stay away from me,
I stay away from you.
You stay away from me,
I stay away from you.
You stay away from me,
I stay away from you.
You stay away from me,
I stay away from you.

You stay away from me,
I stay away from you.
You stay away from me,
I stay away from you.
You stay away from me,
I stay away from you.
You stay away from me,
I stay away from you.

You stay away from me,
I stay away from you.
You stay away from me,
I stay away from you.
You stay away from me,
I stay away from you.
You stay away from me,
I stay away from you.

You stay away from me,
I stay away from you.
You stay away from me,
I stay away from you.
You stay away from me,
I stay away from you.
You stay away from me,
I stay away from you.

20/20 Gonzo 22: The Scarecrowers

Silver linings are all around.  The end of handshake culture, reinforcement of proper sanitary habits, cancellation of MLB baseball games, a dating freeze.  A real social awakening, you stay away from me, I stay away from you.  Young people all over America are cheering school closings.  No word on prorated tuition rebates, but it seems a legitimate request considering circumstances.

The political finger pointers know of nothing else to do but point at their opponents, tacky or not.  They pounce like buzzards going after roadkill, they stir it up, they slither under the notion of leadership.  They lead nothing but the panic.  The classless class, the manipulators, the dumb, the scarecrowers.  May the crows shit upon them.

This is no high horse, it is the low horse for sure.  From the observation basement, from the middle of the fight, from the hunker down bunker, from the wine cellar.  Remote, but alive and reporting the stories.  Sheltering, distancing, unsocializing, stocking, disinfecting, listening, learning.  No coughing, or coffin, yet.

Our Private Pads

AmAmFG
D7D7CEm

Lost an hour to the devil, never got it back.
That virus gonna give me a stress attack.

Pandemic panic bout to drive us all mad.
Confined to the confines of our private pads.

Blocking out the wind, cutting out the germs.
Everything's cancelled, hotels got burned.

Gone are the good times and memories.
Maybe just for now, temporarily.


GC
FD7Am

Wash your hands.
Cover your sneeze, please.
Wash your hands.
Cover your sneeze, please.


Look at the stars, listen to some disco.
Watch some movies, check out a few shows.

Get some sun, let it burn your skin.
Before we freak out and everyone goes in.

Do what you want, don't need an event.
A ticket booth or hospitality tent.

Won't catch nothing while driving the road.
Windows down, crank the radio.

Hunker Down Blues

AmEmx3
D7GAm

Bounce.
          Bounce.
                    Bounce.
Down.
          It.
                    Goes.
Round.
          Round.
                    Round.
Isolationism.
          Is.
                    Viral.
Hunker.
          Down.
                    Blues.
Trickle.
          Trickle.
                    Trickle.
Loss.
          Is.
                    Gain.
Only.
          If.
                    Crazy.
Reason.
          Reason.
                    Reason.
Think.
          Things.
                     Through.
Minds.
          Create.
                     Life.
Blank.
           Blank.
                     Blank.

Red Mud Gonzo: Seventeen

"Technical Form And Mechanical Solutions"  by jpg

All you weary tennis vagabonds, all you lost souls of technical form and mechanical solutions, all you attired and tired, all you Dallas nobles with your products and networks and drinking establishments.  Once a year, just once a year, let's go to Houston.  Despite the zoning, despite the grid, despite the unpleasant.  Split the room how ever many ways.  Rooftop views, they know we're coming, but they are not prepared.



"Isolationism" by jpg

Houston is strong.  Come on!  Be steady, keep panic tendencies out of the decision rooms.  Let Wayne Bryan decide, he is reasonable, he won't pull an Indian Wells.  Madness.  The Houston folks can be influenced.  They trust our thoughts, they need our courage, Vantaggio eats Virus Omlettes for breakfast.  We juice the deuce, we spin in and win, we crash the crash.  Isolationism has no place here.



"The Fear Segment" by AJ

Sadness. Madness… Pervasive. Courtesy of the fear segment of the news.



"Tamiflu"  by CB

Just started Tamiflu today.  Glad it's only 3 days.



"Pit Of Hell" by peoplesDuke

Good luck. Plenty o fluids. You'll lose 10-15 pounds and feel great in a week. I think it's Gods way of keeping us humble. Praying for you and your body to heal itself.  3 days in the pit of hell. Days 4 and 5 are adjusting back to human life.



"Indian Wells Is Cancelled" by TTop

Can't believe Indian Wells is cancelled...crazy.

The Anthem 4: Cooked Up Crow

No sour grapes here, no Designated NFM Judge bitterness, just the delicious taste of cooked up crow.  Shot, plucked, quartered, marinaded, grilled, seasoned, and enjoyed.  The marketing department of Nebraska Furniture Market couldn't have been more clear in what they were after.  An anthem of home, of feelings, of family, of sights, smells, and the pursuit of happiness.  Sell Cheap, Tell The Truth missed the mark, not even making it to the public voting round.  Of the 10 songs that advanced, 7 have the word 'home' in the title.  I used this critical word only once, tucked in the 2nd verse, after a wailing harmonica part.  Evidently, my double down on Mrs. B was a mistake.  History and company culture were largely ignored by the insiders, scoffed at by the NFM Designated Judges, they were listening for something different.  I just wanted to move product.

A cynic might conclude they're reverting to a Sell High, Tell Them Lies creed, but thankfully I'm not a cynic.  Just wish the public could've decided, my entire strategy assumed ascension to the public voting stage.  But wishes are just wishes and bitching is just bitching, they are worthless activities, a horrible way to spend time.  Frankly, a bit relieved to avoid the top 5 Omaha trip stage, where the remaining contestants receive a free one-night accommodation voucher.  Weirdly, and cheaply, travel costs to the event are not covered.  A gas card should have been offered.  But my suggestions (there are others) are for the marketing department and their lawyers, the steerers of the sales strategy, the creators of the contest rules.  Clearly, they need help.  The songwriters remaining are my heroes, and as my crow was enjoyed, I participated in the voting process.

The Danika Portz tune, House Becomes A Home, is on another level from all others.  Anthem velcro, with a perfectly executed piano opening, excellent vocal phrasing, and a noted lack of lyrical cheese.  A seasoned Nashville musician with years of USO tours and a big smile, she should run away with the $25K.  Got my vote.  The Snackboyz tune, Flex Anthem, is shockingly entertaining, they must be one of the Omaha 5.  Kyle Sexton's Home Has A Place In The Heart gets into the historical aspects of the company and is well written.  The current vote leader, 20% to 19% over Danika, is Bethany Cranfield's Welcome Home.  After another listen, appreciate the workplace culture vibe and understand the support the song is getting during the early days of voting.  Probably John Rose with Memories is next, "infinite moments, smelling the donuts" is a fabulous line.  Several could make a run.  Elections are odd, as we all know.  Enjoy Omaha, all the best to all the best.  A wine toast with wine made from the best grapes, the sweet ones, the juicy ones, the perfect ones.  The ones that aren't sour.

Some Like Hot Cheetoes is considered a classic by many.  Vantaggio, of course.  Queso, Biltmore Blonde, Two Step, Novocaine, and Cold Meat Blues.  Songs of commerce, instruments of rocketing sales, diddys of distinction.  My jingle portfolio is well stocked, some written and recorded, some just written, some just clear in my mind.  One day, years from now, The Jingle Hut, Inc. could revolutionize musical advertising.  One day, perhaps.  For now, Nebraska Furniture Mart is on their own, but Danika will bail out the marketing department.  It will be fine, just fine.  Houses will become homes. They will thrive, their Anthem will be way better than anything from The Room Store or Rooms To Go.  Truth is music, and music sells.  Vote.

20/20 Gonzo 21: Public Intoxication

A delegate dash to the Democratic National Convention.  That's what we got, folks.  Either a 78 year old male or a 77 year old male after another 78 year old male killed his campaign and a 70 year old female considers bailing out.  All are considered Caucasian by most objective observers.  Too soon to tell if the lack of diversity, or inclusion, will hurt them in the November general election against the Republican candidate.

Interesting this war on the undiversified dairy industry, have mixed emotions. While no other mammal drinks the milk of another mammal, main concern is the potential elimination of cheese.  Think of Italian or Tex-Mex without it, depressing at best, inedible at worst.  A world without queso seems odd, but gotta respect the fight for female cows.  A dairy gig has got to be the worst, grass grazing and slaughterhouse processing seems the better option for any cow, regardless of gender.

Lines were long on Super Tuesday in Texas.  Surprised to see 72 year old Joe Walsh running for President of the United States on the Republican side.  Really like his stuff with the James Gang and his impact on the Eagles is well known, but it seems some political experience could help his chances.  Guess he's attended to his closet skeletons, all research indicates he's a cool dude, nothing too sinister, nothing too lame.  Probably a few speeding tickets, maybe a public intoxication, some minor hotel vandalism allegations, nothing major.

Windshield Breakers And Tumbleweeds

time to shine.

guns up everywhere.

final four cred.

the techies of Texas.

undercover horn.

amped on amber vision.

lets make our free throws.

conga drums and wild jumping.

name the fruit contest.

the United supermarkets Arena.

that oughta be a technical.

44 works.

don't let 4 shoot.

time out on the floor.

Rodman showed up for the gorilla toss.

shoot.

sweet caroline.

andre emmet day.

the weinerschnitzel dog race.

winner ran off the track.

airball from half court for the grand prize.

5 grand from caprock.

for heart deezeez.

not time for that.

to go cold.

the pom pom girls were right on.

karaoke cam.

get loud geico.

lockdown defense is all it took.

sent them techies home crying.

this ain't your scene.

lines ain't my scene.

blue jean blues and dusty pebble roads.
windshield breakers and tumbleweeds.

Flown Like A Mule

In darkness the blinking light is constant, a beacon to guide the landers, the birds of the night, the propelled, the lifted up, the crow flyers.  Everyone knows of straight lines, it is practical, reasonable, possible, and preferred to float above.  The ground is busy, crowded, and confining.  Air is the high road, spacious, and liberating.  Piloting is obsessing, an alternate lifestyle complete with siblings, secret codes, and Crown Victorias.

Commerce was a jump, Magnolia was a leap, the Arkansas morning air was fresh and cool.  Full of tree farm oxygen, smelling of pine.  The soggy bottoms, the muddy fairways, the weedy greens.  Sloppy, sloppy golf, but glory shots by all.  Wal-Mart bags of ice beer, an overpriced pool, and one working cart at Magnolia Country Club.  Evidently, El Dorado Country Club, up the road, has decimated the membership, and for good reason.  No one wants to be a part of an electrocution.

A spirited start with defensive intensity.  Up in the space, swatting and reaching for everything, lots of obstruction, lots of pestering.  Easy buckets.  Then the clamp, then the streaky, then the turnovers.  Blood, concussions, collisions, step backs, put backs, and kick backs.  Like kicking mules, like an air guitar, like 5 cannon balls from the Texas cannon, a decoy by the end.  Deception is the art of winning.  Community establishments and downtown folks, lit up by the fight, neon and open, loud and excited.  Playoffs secured, some madness in March assured, this ride ain't over yet.

Mental checklist of flight.  Visual inspections, the rudder, the props, the seals, instruments, navigational tools, tire pressures, buckles, headphone ears.  Then the engine roars, get it hot.  Taxi the runway, tower permission to depart, easy lift, climbing and veering east.  From Perrin Field at sunrise, my elementary education continues, learned to fly.  Over Bonham, then Blue Ridge, at 3,000 feet, solo, for five solid minutes, executing slight turns and slight climbs and slight dives.  Flown like a mule.

The Superiorists

With a flip of the glorious bird.
Tweet tweeting and chirping.
The twin finger on the other hand.
Ready for the double flight.

To all the judgers and branders.
The smug, the superiorists, the ridiculers.
Shamers, the behind-the-back slanderers.
The fucking thieves, the idiot racists.

For no other reason than liberty.
Certainly not in anger or malice.
More like punctuation for the apathetic.
These two wings from the same bird.

DD7G
CG
DD7G
DCG

20/20 Gonzo 20: The Boogie Red Nation

This Berniac claimed if Bernie was a commie, then I was a commie.  Just trying to break it down, the overtaking of capitalistic institutions, the classless society, where basic needs are met, where the rich become poor, the poor stay poor, the government decides, and public protests are disbanded with tear gas, tanks, and Wi-Fi blackouts.  It is true every Russian I've met I've liked, they seem proud, funny, although, a bit guarded.  Like they know something I don't, but it's too depressing to bring up, we were alive and aware in the 90s, when the commie crack up happened.  When the boogie red nation, the CCCP, the USSR, greedily crumbled.

But superdelegates don't care.  Who are these people?  The shadiness, the shadows, the vape filled back rooms, the creeps of these national committees, whipping up the money, greasing whatever, saying whatever, doing whatever.  Run by the parties, whoever they are, whatever they do.  Elected by nobody, that's for sure, that's been verified and certified and validated.

Lone votes are like mist, a hint of cool moisture, but meaning nothing, and worthless to the overall ecosystem.  The greenhouse controls the air anyway, the outdoors is irrelevant.  Humidity, pressure, lighting, and cameras, all controlled, all decided.  1984 all over again, complete with an Animal Farm vibe and Huxillian dream.  The brave shall live and die, the meek shall live and inherit, and they shall inherit what they do not deserve to inherit.  The land of the free and the home of the brave. 

On Display At The DMA

Saw one with European towers.
Checked out the Mexican Flowers.
Walked the place for 2 or 3 hours.
On display at the DMA.

Postcard about a retro session.
9 separate screens of voice inflection.
Can't miss the wood carving lesson.
On display at the DMA.

Wall art from 500 BC.
Rooster in red, looking mean.
Crown worn by a Mayan queen.
On display at the DMA.

Fisherman with one glass eye.
Safety matches in perfect light.
Cotton balls and Texas skies.
On display at the DMA.

Yes, the Dallas Museum Of Art.
Across from Clyde Warren Park.
Best art around these parts.
On display at the DMA.

GGCG
DDCG
GGCG
DCGG

The Anthem 3: The Waiting Is The Hardest Part

The waiting is the hardest part, it's my petty pet peeve.  Sell Cheap, Tell The Truth was submitted weeks ago.  The rules and timelines of The Anthem Contest were clear, I knew February would be a challenge.  The anxiety will nudge a bit during the early March initial judging process, prior to public voting.  Referring back to page 7 of the fully capitalized NEBRASKA FURNITURE MART SONGWRITING COMPETITION OFFICIAL RULES, a tremendously formal document, all submissions will be screened by one or more NFM designated judges.  Then, at NFM's sole discretion, up to 10 submissions will be chosen for public voting and will appear on the competition website.  The rules also indicated only submissions that are chosen for public voting will receive prior notification by email or phone.  Don't call us, we'll call you.  Ruthless, but the most pragmatic method for sure.  Take it on faith, take it to the heart, the waiting is the hardest part.

To even consider public voting process strategies or tactics seems presumptuous and entitled, but it's impossible not to think ahead.  First, the rules are clear.  No shenanigans!  Any macro robotic scripts, bribes, or other fraudulent means to achieve voting success will be quickly squashed and the submission thrown out of the contest.  Legit is the only way with NFM, integrity is in the song title--Tell The Truth.  My loose plan is to engage my various contacts, introduce the contest, and ask they participate in the voting process.  Not to vote for my entry, to be clear, but to participate in the voting process.  Fair and square, best song wins.  Entitlement is for the weak, nothing is deserved, prevail on the merits.  Maybe I'll catch some breaks, maybe I'll catch some luck.  Like the song goes.  Perhaps my tune is the best anthem for Nebraska Furniture Mart, perhaps it's not.  We'll see, I expect it to win.

In the meantime, to remain occupied, plenty to keep me busy.  If a person is blessed to live a long life, it's roughly 30,000 days.  To me, that doesn't seem like a lot, so spending days anticipating tomorrows seems wasteful.  Got full time work, where I get to lead a group of corporate professionals at a world class private company in the financial services industry.  Got full time family, where my wife of 28 years and 2 daughters aged 19 and 21 keep me grounded, loved, and motivated to try and pay my bills.  Got other musical projects, including completion of Some Dude Named Amos Vol. 6 which features 5 songs released in the 70s, among them Hotel California and Bobby McGee.  Texans Don Henley and Janis Joplin can bust out a tune, so it's a significant challenge.  Always reminded that NFL Hall Of Famer and overall football legend, Jimmy Johnson, went to high school with Janis in Port Arthur, Texas.  Something in that water for sure.  Got a tennis career, of course.  Vantaggio Tennis Apparel Company is in full flight.  Third year of the five year plan.  I remain an unpaid, unofficial, affiliate of the brand.  We are much like NFM in some ways it seems.  Their anthem, which I wrote couple of years ago, is similar to the approach taken with Sell Cheap, Tell The Truth, but that was more of a brand defining situation.  NFM is 85 years old, and doubling down on their values.  Lots to admire, lots to learn.  My backhand is grooved out better than ever, my hip hurts.

Driving home from work yesterday, noticed an electronic billboard on the south side of 121, between NFM and Toyota World Headquarters.  The Anthem Contest was being advertised.  A gleaming NFM delivery truck was in the right lane next to me, cruising in late afternoon Collin County traffic.  The Billboard changed, evidently Tony Bennet was appearing at the Winstar Casino in Thackerville, Oklahoma on April 18th.  Doubt I'll make the show, casinos bore me, but I like his version of Fly Me To The Moon even better than Sinatra's.  Perhaps it was a good sign.  We'll just have to wait and see.

The Silence Box

Three doors in my mind,
all ready for the show.
Don't pay me no nevermind,
play it out, then I'll go.

First door, it's the past,
memories and dreams came true.
Figured it would always last,
time takes away our youth.

Next door is the future,
oh, the possibilities.
Travels, love, and humor,
peace and tranquility.

Last door is right now,
what I feel and what I see.
Feel like a getting loud,
need to find a jamboree.

Then the doors all shut,
heard the clicks of the locks.
All the noises, they went hush,
back into the silence box.

AmEmDG

20/20 Gonzo 19: Cartoon Convention

"Listen, if you can't keep your seat, of you can't quit name calling, if you can't quit throwing fits, I will march all of you right back to the 1st grade!"  The teacher eyed each one of them, a serious glare.  The cliques were already formed, they snickered and whispered despite the lecture, they simply did not care.  They started making bodily noises and laughing, they threw things at each other, they made faces, they slouched, they interrupted, they pointed.  Calmly, the teacher sat back down at her desk, guess it just comes with the territory, the way it goes in the 2nd grade.

All the calculators broke in Iowa.  The phones were whacked, the tabulators didn't know what to do, the guy who developed the caucus counting application wasn't around, something about being arrested at a cartoon convention in Seoul, South Korea.  According to the police report, he was in a jail cell after attacking two convention attendees dressed up as Tom and Jerry.  Witnesses saw the crazed man, dressed as Spartacus, pull a sword and swing it around and around above his head while running towards the victims.  Luckily, in self defense, Jerry caught him with a roundhouse kick to the jaw, knocking him out cold.

On the D.C. streets the hecklers are relentless, the order is gone, the rules about talking, formality and dignity.  Where the actual clowns work, where the bums get their dimes, where tailpipes smoke.  News conferences to declare crooks and creeps, interviews to express outrage, fire pits to burn copies of speeches.  Headed to New Hampshire, time is up here, need a recess, need a snack, need to work on my multiplication tables, division is next, then fractions, then decimals.  Like all elementary skills, math is developed by guidance, repetition, and reinforcement.

Ordered A Robot

My own confidant.
My own restaurant.
My own debutante.
Got me what I want.

Ordered French croissants.
Ordered whiskey shots.
Ordered a robot.
Got me what I want.

Need it a la carte.
Need it super sharp.
Need it torn apart.
Got me what I want.

Have a topless car.
Have Martin guitars.
Have a chocolate bar.
Got me what I want.

To all humankind.
To all unaligned.
To all undefined.
Got me what I want.

Found some peace of mind.
Found some good good times.
Found some words that ryhme.
Got me what I want.

EAx3
DAE

Inslamnia

GC
DC
GD
CG

DG
CG

Isolate each point.
Focus in.
Gonna rock this joint.
Bout to win.

Fighting off the yawns.
Coffee up.
Three hours til dawn.
Filled my cup.

Get the Melbourne news.
Inslamnia.
Down under Blues.
Inslamnia.
Sleep deprivation.
Inslamnia.
Infecting the nation.
Inslamnia.

Concentrate again.
Check the draws.
What's up with the men.
King Nadal.

Money's on Novak.
He can't lose.
Like inslamniacs.
Hit the snooze.

Check in on the gals.
See what's up.
Osaka went down.
CoCo's tough.

Serena won't quit.
She can't lose.
Got a nice outfit.
Hightop shoes.

**co-written by AJ Chabria

Connor Cruse Karma

Our group was ready to hit the courts.  We had just enjoyed the featured exhibition match and formal ceremonies, which took place between separate 2-hour drilling sessions.  Each session featured 4 rotating local tennis pros working a group of 10 players.  The annual TeamConnor Smashing Childhood Cancer Event at the Lifetime Fitness Indoor courts in Plano, TX was not to be missed.

Since my initial involvement the year prior, I knew what to expect.  Goes like this:  The tennis pro gathers the group at the net.  After quick introductions, a drill is explained.  We nod like we understand right away, but it usually takes a few minutes of confusion and further explanation before we get in the rhythm.  Then it's constant movement, swings, overheads, volleys, and encouragement.  After 25 minutes, the tennis pros rotate and we repeat.  It's a tremendous workout, the fellow players are generally friendly, although I wasn't so friendly when I smashed an overhead and smacked a fellow driller on the side of her foot.  The sound echoed loudly, her husband glared at me, I apologized sincerely, she was gracious and merciful.  Later, her husband almost took my head off in a volley drill.  Chivalry is still alive.  I was happy when they won designer earrings in the raffle, and I was disappointed to lose out on the Del Frisco's prize.  Karma is still alive too.

During the formal ceremonies a couple of 7th graders spoke about their buddy from school.  He was being honored but was too ill to attend.  His buddies spoke of his fight, they thanked all the players for coming, they told us of how funny he is, how he inspires others.  I look forward to meeting him next year.  The event organizers told us about TeamConnor, about how Connor kicked his original cancer to the curb before succumbing to another cancer caused by the cancer treatment.  My eyes filled with tears.  That was years ago.  Since then, the TeamConnor organization has raised millions for Cancer treatment research.  Great promise lies in gene replacement therapy and other potential methods.  Science is a gift from God, it must be explored to its end.

Afterwards, while drinking a cold Red Stripe beer on my McKinney patio, I thought of Connor, of the buddy of those 7th graders, of other children I've known with cancer.  I thought of my grooved out backhand, I worried about my overhead, my hip hurt, I was proud Vantaggio Tennis Apparel Company was involved.  Then I wrote this:


--Instantaneous Automatic Maneuver--

Rotations and directions, everywhere they pointed.  Side to side, front to back, four tries.  Make them count, follow through, move forward.  

A turn should happen first, the first move.  Then a step up.  Like an instantaneous automatic maneuver.  

The odd crowd, internalists mostly.  Keeping it in, needing an outlet.  They are smashing.  

Care is expensive, the research is stalled.  Get to the point.  The genes done it, family history don't lie.  

Molecules and atoms can be made right.  Keep it going, the rallies are fine.  Let's work up some sweat, get the legs moving, quick feet, on your toes.  

Pick up 5, make a big circle.  Jump in whenever.  The tennis underground is represented, make time for the burn out drill.  

Shower up, the cold will do its magic.  Fresh and clean.  Red Stripe hit the spot.  Brand awareness, for the love of the game.

Thanks for your mission, TeamConnor.  Appreciate donating the indoor courts, Lifetime Fitness.  Dug the goodie bag, the delicious sandwiches, and the two drink tickets.  Thanks to all who contributed, to the tennis pros and all the other volunteers involved.  Bless you, Joy Cruse.  Sorry for hitting that woman on the foot, really smashed that one.

Oh, and to hell with cancer.  Connor Cruse Karma is still alive.

Killer Caterpillar

She was a killer caterpillar.
Scooting down the lane.
Avoiding the annoying.
Groovy groovy games.

Could get crushed or smushed.
Wouldn't take much at all.
A slip, a rip, or even a the yips.
Could get killed by a tennis ball.

Kept on going never knowing.
What might happen next.
Eventually, she broke free.
Then I became perplexed.

Then about then, she turned and went.
In the sweetest little voice.
My, oh my, I'll be your butterfly.
Won't have to scoot no more.

Then that killer caterpillar.
With her blushing eyes.
Got took by a bird, a swooping bird.
Off into the sky.

GC
FGC

Trash Day

Wild trip around the sun ahead.
Time to slam it down.
Things racking my peaceful head.
Going underground.

It's morning.
Again.
We're awake.
Again.
Let's all ride.
Again.
Hold on tight.
Again.

Kick the garbage out of they way.
Send it to the city dump.
Think today is your trash day.
Get rid of that chump.

E
DAE

AEx3
DAx3
E

20/20 Gonzo 18: Full Of Waste

One house manager had his pants pulled up to his chest, the oddest thing ever.  He talked fast, he stuttered, he smacked, he seemed unclean, he seemed washed out, he seemed someone to avoid.  Could only imagine the odor, was watching through the TV, but those around him kept their distance.  No shame in B.O., but it is an infringement on others, especially with anti-sweating deodorant products getting better and better, and readily available.  We pay our congresspeople enough to expect reasonable hygiene.

Diversions upon diversions, proof that hasn't been proved, ridiculous proclamations, theatrical flops.  Binders, post-it notes, cufflinks, microphones, a robe.  We the people, we know a Pinocchio, we know how rats operate, we can smell.  These are wasted days, but no one needs them anyway, this is not the people's branch anymore.  Yes my fellow Americans, these days are full of waste.

This next question came from the back row, the head honchos wanted to know, the public deserved the truth.  The card was passed along to the Chief Justice of the United States, he seemed confused, he conferred with his aides, he took a huge gulp of water.  He adjusted his glasses.  Then he read the question, directed to the President's lawyers.  "Why doesn't The Don ever look worried?"

20/20 Gonzo 17: Sloppy Joe Of The North

The constitution is nothing like apple pie and baseball!  This house manager must be on something.  First off, apple pie has light, fluffy crust, and next, baseball is more about steroids, surveillance, and TV contracts.  Still don't understand the vileness of the offenses, or the righteous reactions, or the ramifications.  It will all be made clear by spring, in the meantime the TV heads are cheering for their side, insulting the other side, and likely washing down lots of pills with lots of booze.

In a victory for male attire sanity and practicality, ties are out.  An unfunctioning burden literally wrapped around the neck, tucked under a collar, and in the way.  At least bow ties stay cleaner, and look especially sharp on those with moustaches, but somehow they add a clownish tinge.  Suspenders seem a thing of the past too, and rightfully so, gone the way of overalls, the athletic clothing revolution has done its thing.  As for females, their attire sanity and practicality is their own, nothing but admiration, appreciation, and support.

Iowa is about the most heavenly place on earth.  Green rolling hills, miles and miles of corn rows, the Bridges of Madison County, folks with big teethy smiles, and maid rites- the sloppy joe of the north.  The buses and vans have arrived, the expresses, the barn stormers, the presidential candidates who will save their lives from Oz.  The corporations are coming with their evil money and and their awful innovations and their dumb jobs, we are not in Kansas anymore.  Ready for the get down, ready for the show, watch the yellow brick road, the scarecrow will be there soon.

20/20 Gonzo 16: Blood Stained Hands

One if the house managers just plagiarized Mick Jagger by claiming the President is "practiced at the art of deception."  He did not, thankfully, go on to talk about blood stained hands or Mr. Jimmy or receptions, but clearly it was an intentional ripoff of You Can't Always Get What You Want.  This is the worst movie ever, the acting is awful, the cinematography is a joke, and whoever is in charge of wardrobe should be replaced.  These aren't legislators or statespeople, these are mostly thirsty lawyers.  Snore.

Pens for everyone.  For no good reason, it's not like an actual president used them, the pens had no worth.  Perhaps they were a reminder of all the praying that was being done, perhaps somber symbols of dastardly deeds done, maybe the ink was black, maybe the ink was blue, maybe they were purchased from the office supply budget.  Or the office party budget.  Either way, seems a waste, pens are so last decade.

A live video feed could work as good, this chamber is a bit stiff.  Everyone is having phone anxiety, everyone is tired of water, no one wants to drink milk.  This is insane!  Surely we can send in some food, no doubt we can pipe in some light music, and for the love of God, hopefully we can do something about the back drop, the brown marble has got to go.  Looks nothing like a modern workplace.

The Anthem 2: Double Down On Mrs. B

Everywhere I saw them now, the Nebraska Furniture Market trucks, as I went back and forth on the great Sam Rayburn Tollway to and from my daily occupational responsibilities, passing their huge Texas location in the ever expanding suburbs north of Dallas.  Like a sign, like an announcement, like kind of weird.  Oh well, similar phenomenon to when you buy a new car, I thought.  Or shoes.  They were everywhere, rain or shine, even saw a picture on Twitter of a delivery in a blizzard in Des Moines.  This place makes an impression.  Over the previous week as I told folks of my anthem plans, many had declared devotion to the place, each with stories of satisfied experiences, notable memories, and overall affection.

I agreed.  As a 2 time customer myself, I had been happy each time.  A natural clearance browser, I once bought the very patio lounger I'm lounging on as I tap these words on a sweetheart deal.  I was there to buy a double recliner couch, with USB hookups, and durable leather.  A forest green flower print recliner and a fly silver make up chair for my youngest daughter, also from the clearance stock, completed my purchases.  Delivery was spot on, think they hit the window.  Only a USB input malfunction months later caused irritation. When my wife made communication with the warranty company, evidently there was some fine print about the USB hookups.  Other than that, it's been 5 of 5 stars in all categories.  Visited with my mom and the expedition and efficiency of the entire experience was outstanding.  A cool and comfortable black leather recliner that lights up, plugs in, and has all the things, including nifty compartments on each side.  She also got a breakfast table and chairs, with nice padding and sturdy construction.  She was thrilled, in and out quick, delivery date and time set.  I believe the delivery hit the window or I would have heard.

All these testimonials, and my own experiences and research, had me convinced the song I wrote as the anthem was complete.  No talking verse needed to be added, the harmonica would help it jump, double down on Mrs. B, the chorus was done, a folk song of heroic capitalism, focused on the customer, an anthem for this age, complete with a modern day Rockefeller.  After a couple of minor editing adjustments, the writing was done.

The decision to record the song completely solo was made quickly.  More control, less confusion, fewer distractions, grand prize money greed.  Plus, with a down home song, acoustic and sparse, lyrics articulated crisp, the less on the canvas the better.  Home recording, in the foyer, vocals and Ibanez hollow body classical guitar through my Yorkville standup PA, captured through a Zoom4 field recorder.  My preferred set up.  D harp fit perfect with the song, the D7 chord adding some Blues tone.  That was the plan, and that's how it went down.  Did two recordings, one with reverb effect, one with ensemble effect, both had distinct moments of lyrical and melodic hooks.  In the end, the ensemble version was chosen, it was the 2nd take and the harmonica was dialed in better.  Also, the first version of the song included an odd pronunciation of Warren.  It seemed a fatal flew, it was ditched.

Immediately, I uploaded the song to my Soundcloud page as required.  For the song image, found the famous Rose Blumkin motto that served as my title and chorus and used it.  Double down on Mrs. B.  Hopefully, NFM will give me a litigation pass since I'm borrowing their motto for their own contest.  Plus, it's in the folk and blues traditions to use whatever.  Her estate can surely have co-writing credits if it's possible, probably covered on one of the pages of the terms and conditions anyway.

Once posted, all seemed done.  Received affirmative overnight feedback from a few trusted sources then officially entered the contest early the following morning.  After screenshoting the confirmation of my entry, posted the song on selected social media medium, connecting to the NFM headquarters and using the preferred hash.  The Anthem is in, it's in the cloud, it's on the cloud.  The lyrics were attached.

Hop

The moon balls were mooning.
It was her only chance.
The other player was better.
But mentality changes things.

Thinking thinking curiously is wise.
Day by day sublimation.
Keeping with the rhythms.
Keeping time.

Sure about the fires, they warm up good.
Once the shot is decided, all in.
Partial aggression will not work.
This is good company.

Lines and angles.
Back and forth.
Side to side.
Move the feet, hop.

Point it out.
Smash the moon before it bounces.
Take it from the sky.
Make way for the sun.

EmAm

The Anthem 1: Hooks And Nooks

The appliance entrance was huge.  An impressive first impression of a retail experience.  The signs out front directed those interested in 'seeing what all the excitement is about' to the far east front doors.  The signs were helpful.  The Nebraska Furniture Mart is holding a contest to identify its anthem.  It's being facilitated through their 4 urban/suburban locations:  Omaha, Kansas City, Des Moines, and Dallas.  I was there to attend the Dallas area Launch Party/Packet Pickup, carefully following the instructions from their website.  The song was written already, during lunch the day prior.  After researching the story of the company and its culture, the song came easy.  With an almost 100 year old motto that serves as a nice chorus, and a story worthy of modern capitalistic folklore, it was really a fastball right down the middle.

Sell Cheap, Tell The Truth is immediately an anthem in its own category, melodic marketing velcro that reinforces value and trust, a lyrical lesson of continuing evolution and reality of a vision.  Mrs. B would, and will, likely dig the song, for the dearly departed hear our music.  It is true.  Now the place is owned by Berkshire Hathaway, Warren Buffet's company.  Guess that accounts for the $25k Grand Prize.  #NFMTheAnthem.  I expect to win.

The packet included 2 stickers, a small note pad, an informational packet, and a medium sized hardcard with important dates and social media encouragements.  All had The Anthem logo.  Another sticker for the guitar case is always a welcomed site, almost regardless of the sticker, I was intrigued further.  The packet was picked up at a table full of chips and dips, the smell of queso hovered.  Two friendly employees asked me if I needed a packet and gave me one when I answered 'yes'.  That was it, only shoppers were around, perhaps I was expecting something different.  There was a guy playing guitar and singing for tips on a stage set up under a huge Customer Service sign, seemed like it was a regular gig for him.  I wondered if he was entering the contest.  Seth Johnston was his name, he sat on a cajon and had a sign indicating he could play weddings and parties.  He had cards.  His tip jar was busting with ones, a few fives, and even a twenty.  He wore boots.  He could be some competition, but I'm confident in my song, especially after reading the Keys To Winning on page 3 of the Informational Packet:

1.  Compose a unique lyrical piece, but not a jingle.
2.  Capture the feeling of home.
3.  Find inspiration in our history.

Check, check, check.  Page 4 got more official, even wording that allows a cancellation of the entire contest if it's a bust.  Eligibility requirements, dates and deadlines, participation requirements, submission guidelines, initial judging, public voting, appearance requirements, licensing, publicity releases, competition modification possibilities, and even a conflict resolution clause involving an arbitration process on the 12th and final page.  Down for it all.

Thinking now about the song recording and feel like Red Headed Stranger vibe could work good.  Willie's raw and rough classic Columbia Records initially thought was only a demo tape.  It was released, as was, in 1975.  Less being more somehow.  Cheap for sure, but not in a trashy way, with an authentic sound, with hooks and nooks.  Will articulate an easy natural voice, easy on the twang, perhaps a harmonica part.  Percussive picking style, will go solo on this one.  Patio recording for sure, on the patio furniture I got from Nebraska Furniture Mart.

20/20 Gonzo 15: Frozen In Their Thoughts

Everybody watched the war.  TVs, iPhones, Androids, tablets, World War III, run for the hills, panic, freak out, stock up.  Rockets and laser beams, destruction and chaos, confusion with reporters on the scene.  Was a time when reporters cleared up the confusion, but no longer.  More about intrigue, frenzy, suspense, speculation, whip it good, then back to the studio panel of dumb experts, former insiders, and uptight stiffs.

World War III was over quick, thankfully, I should note.  No invasion, no draft, no electro-cyber attack blackouts, no gasoline shortages, and no American casualties at last count.  The SCUDS were duds, then they quit.  Best to stick with other strategies, best to keep the lights on, best to keep their heads.  The hackers, the drones, and the 2 trillion dollar army.

Some will never quit, the blame must be put on to something or somebody, or both.  Never can there be humility, faces have to be saved.  Minds are not changed, they are frozen in their thoughts, the brain naturally works to reinforce the conclusion already concluded.  With proper training and persistence, pre-determined conclusion thought patterns can be eliminated.  It can take years, decades even, but it will prevent all types of twistedness.

Sell Cheap, Tell The Truth

Mrs. B from Belarus.
Sold cheap and told the truth.
Started with 500 bucks.
Caught some breaks, caught some luck.
Now it's worth a billion or two.
Warren Buffet had a clue.
Absorb the lessons from Omaha.
Lessons not taught in Ivy halls.

Sell cheap.
Tell the truth.
Sell cheap.
Tell the truth.
Sell cheap.
Tell the truth.
Sell cheap.
Tell the truth.

So come on in, make yourself at home.
We'll help you out, we'll leave you alone.
Whatever you need us to do.
Keep you clear of the overpriced blues.
A couch, a chair, a floor, a bed.
Need an appliance, need to get fed.
Count on us, we'll do our part.
At the Nebraska Furniture Mart.

D7C
GC

GCx8

*written for Nebraska Furniture Mart Anthem Contest.  #NFMTheAnthem

Didn't Sleep Much Last Night

All night long, I thought of you.
All night long, I cried too.
Cleared my mind like you told me to do.
Didn't sleep much last night.

All day long, stared out the glass.
All day long, thought of the past.
Reality has shown me of the truth at last.
Didn't sleep much last night.

All week long, been low down and blue.
All week long, had a low down mood.
Accepted what alread knew to be true.
Didn't sleep much last night.

CGx3
DCG

20/20 Gonzo 14: Junkies Just Shoot Junk

In that summer of '80, when the creepy Ayatollah spooked everyone good and kept holding Americans hostage, against their wills, under threat of death, blindfolded.  Heat wave in Texas, London calling, peanut Jimmy and the Gipper calling each other names.  Death to America, death to all, they kept screaming, death to your flags, to ashes with your flags, fire to your flags, they hated our flags.  Like an Iranian high school pep rally without any women, the Revolutionry Guard team runs through the smoking mouth of a snake, ready to burn flags.  The tailgate parties have ended for most, the game has started and it is no game.

Huddle up and let's all decide to call him a crazed person, irresponsible, dumb, a phone calling, qid-pro-quoing, orange-faced billionaire monster who has the gall to threaten a promise.  Kill them before they kill you seems the strategy, and the robot drones don't miss.  Rough day at the Bagdad airport.  Heaven awaits, hell is right here, bones are just bones, the soul disappears.  Dear ole Iran, seems your vows were heard, your promises of death, your threats of terror.

Speaking for no one, merely an observer, a scribe of the times, on the glowing scene, watching from the front, listening to the rumbles, smelling the embers, anticipating the responses, seeing what is seen.  Long ago America was made their devil, they needed a devil to justify their mardyrs.  The dim will moan, the ashamed will cry, the lost will protest, the junkies just shoot junk.  Movies will be made, books and book tours, and book tour signings, free with a purchase of a book.  1980 was a fine year, sorry some had to miss it.