Get The Knots Out

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

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

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

Go Dizzy

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

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

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

Down With Delta

 

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

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

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

EAAE

DEx2.ADE

Quit Like The Brits

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

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

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

The Light Winter

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

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

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

We're All Done

 

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

EEAE

EEDE

X2.

Ole Fitz

 

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

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

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

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

GC/GD/GC/GDG

Blackmail Gravy

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

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

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

Go Retro Digital

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

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

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

Loosen Up The Tundra

 

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

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

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

Raise The Glass Of Gratitude

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

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

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

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

GGDG
CCGC
GGDC
GCDG

Ruined By Thinking

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

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

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

Low Cool

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

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

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

Perhaps Sade Tonight

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

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

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

Techno King

 

CF

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

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

CAmx3

FC

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

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

For The Communal Good

 

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

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

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

Never Closed

G.C.G.D/d7

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

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

CG/g7x3
DCG

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

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

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

The Delicious Truth

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

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

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

Outbursts Of Sissy Woe

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

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

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

 

Sledgehammer Shortages

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

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

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

Drunk On Day Dreaming

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

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

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

Simmering With Freedom

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

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

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

Liberty Overalls

CF

GFC

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Slims cultivated that plant, long time after Pappy passed. 

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

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

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

He spent his days preaching the Word of the cross

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

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

*Written by Kent Deville.

Lights Of Texarkana

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

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

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

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

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

CCGC/CCGG/FFCC/CFGC

They Lie Big

 

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

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

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

Burned By The Roach

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

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

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

Evasive By Nature

 

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

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

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

God Bless Everything

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

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

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

Creamy Notes

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

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

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

The Ballad Of V.B. Owen

 

CGFC

-The day he found out Molly Ringwald turned down the movie Ghost.
-When the circuits got all realigned and the circuit boards were toast.
-Had to make another entrance, had to make another showing.
-At it again with all his friends, the final quarter for V.B. Owen.

-Well old V.B. stayed up late at night writing words and picking tunes.
-Moved his body around the court, mostly wore old tennis shoes.
-Had this super looking Visor, was green and see through.
-Nobody would ever know it, but the leaving leaves him blue.

-The work's just getting started, V.B.'s got bills to pay.
-Prolly live to a hundred or more, before he hits the grave.
-Those Owen folks live long if you check their family tree.
-Must be something in the wine they drink, makes them seem so free.

---cowritten by Griff.

House Of Bribes

 

Built on a house of bribes.  Got to follow through to keep your integrity, grifters move on to another town.  These are high class criminals in Washington DC, legitimized by titles and words.  Meeting in lobbies, meeting with lobbies, depositing lobbies.  Rats eventually point fingers at other rats, and the other rats point back.

And it continues like this, two rats pointing at each other, for years, for terms, for decades.  These must be important rats, able to avoid the rat traps, able to sniff out the rat poison, able to keep their rat claws off the rat glueboard, able to thrive and grow old and grey.  Like cockroaches, they scatter in light.  They die in light.

Take the 75 mile trip up to space, past the skin of our atmosphere.  Suspend your insecurity and envy for a moment.  Float with the gravity of rationality, see the world in its delicate condition.  As it is.  We're all just spinning, even the rats.

   

Liberty Will Swirl

Look past the masses, get to the point of sleep, good sleep.  Fresh minds can think it out better, clear the visions, calmly.  Panic is almost always a bad idea.  Determine your own thought process, develop it over time.  Talk yourself out of things, go against the instincts, ignore the gut.

As we slip into isolation and justification, remember the free flow of the ocean, back and forth, swaying.  Harmony already ingrained, swirling and swirling.  To resist is madness, to resist is doom.  It cannot be harnessed, liberty will not comply.  Liberty will swirl.

Lock your doors and rot in your rooms.  Not my kind of place, not my scene.  Exclusion is not exclusive, the secret's out.  Stand with your kind, I'll sit with mine, free thinkers, in the thinking hot tub, with thinking jets, and thinking bubbles.  Thinking tanks are so last decade.

Woken Dreams (Watch Me Flitter)

Watch me flitter, like a bug.
Don't get bitter, still in love.
Take these shambles, stack them high.
Damn the vandals, suck you dry.

Stars still glitter, like they do.
Full of tricksters, playing clues.
Bound for glory, moving feet.
Tells the story, from the streets.

Mop up hitter, clear the trash.
Stand up, Mister. Just a rash.
Quit your creeping, off my screen.
Keep on sleeping, woken dreams.

EB7GA

The Crease Grease

 

Took a pass on obvious election fraud, they'll pass on freedom of religion, speech, self-protection, and Gulag mandates.  And other liberties, depending on pigment.  Prolly ban the F word, considering its recent publicity.  Oh, and the Declaration Of Independence, along with Jefferson, has got to go.  God Save The Queen!

These nine'll do nothing, a broken branch for sure.  At least it's a solid industry, paid by the hour, crank it slow, new litigation opportunities on the horizon, slanders, larcenies, confinments.  Lawyers are brilliant digital paper pushers, the best in the land, the crack hunters.  The crease grease, they'll find it.  Most politicians are lawyers for a reason.

The flashlight burns bright, perhaps brighter than ever, the dark rooms are lit.  Good to know who your friends are, but critical to know where the enemy lurks.  Once uncovered, they got nothing to lose. The swarmy meddling becomes indignant orders, the fear of exposure becomes intentional division, the superiority complex becomes homicidal justification.  The way it's gone throughout human history.

You're Just Sucking

"No, no, I'm a lobbyist, I lobby."  But then I questioned their meaningless word, set it right.  Perhaps you're a bribist, giving bribes.  For favorable returns, of course.  For lucrative pursuits of noble conclusions.

"I resent that implication, I'm a professional."  Sure, the professional government class, heard all about it, you're the reason we don't have term limits for congress.  Heard it from a Senator himself, Cornball was his name, he's against any term limits because of the professional government class.  Might cramp his style, might expose his digital trail, might mess up his personal balance sheet.  Keep it quiet, everyone goes through the lobby to enter.

"How dare you claim I'm bribing the US Congress!"  Settle down, pumpkin spice.  Tough to realize, but it's true.  It's an organized crime, you're just a sucker.  You're just sucking.

Everyone Woke Up

Everyone woke up.  Some were alert, bright-eyes, rationality and reason.  Some were zoned out, still wired, frantic and numb.  We see you there, you scoundrels, you snakes, we're ready for you now.  We got more turf.

Take credit for something, your leadership is a hungry rodent, it must eat.  Deep down, it's a cannibal, it enjoys its own taste.  The fixers, the kiss of assers, and the fawning handlers, handling who knows what.  No one will catch them when they fall, they've earned their humbling, they should not trust others.  They will decay alone.

The re-emergence will be swift, liberty will not be denied, cannot be denied.  It's liberty.  The oppressors will be banished, the emperors will fade away, they will be exiled and ignored.  Banished to the past.  Stuck in time.

Say No And Sue

 

Say No and Sue.
Nothing else to do.
Reds are worthless.
Worse than the Blues.

Say No and Sue.
No need to be rude.
Call up the lawyer.
Give them the Blues.

Say No and Sue.
Found out what to do.
Tell em the news in a lawsuit.
That'll change their mood.

Our Covering Of Blue

Our covering of blue.  So thin, you're through it in an instant.  You're into the black.  Light left behind, space is larger than little green men and colorful orbs.  The jeopardy, the vulnerability, the air is a sliver.

Mars doesn't have it, to dirty earth is a whole 'nuther matter.  It's death out there.  Experience it in 3D.  Delay and gitters, the simulation doesn't capture it, the G Forces can be survived.  No one cares what the billionaires say, Captain Kirk laid it out.

A rocket ride for now, it's the way of the future.  Like bicycles, like cars, like planes, like eBikes.  Novelty luxury items at first.  West Texas is lit, the center of space.  Like a modern day spectator sport, the race is on, rocket riders 62 miles up. 

Spy Swatter

 

With all the snitching going on, it's important to have the proper tools around.  Nuisances should be smacked, we all agree.  Nothing more irritating than a spy, we all agree.  Introducing the Spy Swatter.  Just a swipe away.

It's mostly wrist, not an arm motion.  Know their end is quick and justified.  A block, a mute, a bird, or two.  Sign me up for the Fuck Joe Biden movement, always wanna align with the rational young folks of the country.  As a general rule. 

Dig up the past, search, search, search.  Like grave shovelers, mixing in the organic fertilizer to make the colors pop.  Smelling of gasoline and animal poison.  Sounding like digital clippers, staring oddly into their snitching screens.  Hacking, turning, twisting, without soul, without intelligence, artificial or otherwise.

The Frito Chili Cheese Flood

All beware of the chip shortage.  Supply chains are whacked, the Fritos came in hot with the chili cheese, completely misreading the market, now there's no shelf space for the new line up of baked products.  The Frito Chili Cheese Flood as the street is calling it, they flooded the damn market with Chili Cheese Fritos.  Now, family bags are going for $1.25, Frito and Lay are getting crunched, everyone is demanding the baked products.

Next month it'll be natural gas and, of course, national toilet paper panic day, my favorite worry of the year.  Lots of meat, lettuce, cheese, and coconuts.  Anticipating.  Eating up the worries, taking action.  Been popping fish oil pills.

Inflammation busters, smooth out the spikes.  Circulate and circulate.  Move, keep moving, like the really old say, keep moving.  Summon the thoughts and think them through, let the trivial pass on by.  We got no time for trivial.

Pages Of Goo

The Rat Rags of Times and Posts and New Yorkers.  Pages of goo.  Nothing to learn, pretentious and bland, shameless and simple, boring and thought numbing.  Write words better, write better words.  Your perspectives come from the rat nest.

Get the lighting right on those photos, they must be like replicas, we'll all live in basements eventually.  They're in under their heads, a sorry condition.  Incompetence is sad to watch, but usually the incompetent had it coming.  They are usually pricks.  It's a defense mechanism for insecurity.

This think tank got together and made up slogans, they chanted all afternoon, they kissed each other and gave one another Wet Willie's as they skipped around the think tank complex.  They ate dinner, guzzling wine and shots.  Then they talked about what they thought, if front of the tank.  The tank smelled horrible, it reeked of reek, it was foul, foul as it gets.  They all ignored it, they just ignored the shit, like the shit wasn't even there, like the shit didn't exist.

Red River Shootout At Franconia Brewery 10/9/21

>>>Amos Mashed Set.

1.  Friend Of The Devil.  Grateful Dead.
2.  Three Little Birds.  Bob Marley.
3.  Me And Bobby McGee.  Kristofferson/Joplin.
4.  Tulsa Time.  Don Williams.
5.  That Hat From Mexico.  PG.
6.  The Joker.  Steve Miller Band.
7.  Don't Lose My Koozie.  PG.
8.  Ripple.  Grateful Dead
9.  Buckets Of Rain.  Dylan.

****Intermission****

>>>The Russ Solo Set.

>>>Weird Ear Set.

1.  Slow Living.
2.  Audience Eyes.
3.  Pocket Player.

4.  High Heeling.
5.  Private Noises.
6.  On The Fringe.
7.  Here's When You're Gonna Blink.
8.  The Protest Blues.

9.  Corporate Maxed.

10.  Tijuana Taxi
11.  The Okie Sixty Nine.
12.  Wet Cigarette Butts.

Getting Off On The Licks

Everyone, panic!  We need more caring.  Care, dangit, care!  Hear me, hear me, hear me whisper.  You will care.

This irrelevant person kept right on, losing his thought train, blabbering about, indecently.  Creepily.  Gropingly.  Hovering like a frustrated schoolmaster gone bad, with a ruler and an eyeball.  Getting off on the licks.

Dark seasons and rooms with scary ceilings, thoughts of woe and tragedy, sleepy, sleepy now.  Find your own hut, Mister.  Your dignity is homeless, its got needles in its veins, junked out, wired.  We should all care a bit less, that's all.  Care a bit less.

Here's When You're Gonna Blink

 

You can't say that.
What?  What?
You can't do that.
What?  What?
We can't have that.
What?  What?
Like a cat in the hat.
What?  What?

And all the words we humming.

All the chords we been strumming.

Good Lord ain't it really something.

What?  What?  What?  What?

You best walk the line.
Where's the line?
You best find the line.
Where's the line?
You best toe line.
Where's the line?
Probably blow your mind.
Where's the line?

Go on step right up to it.

Remember last time when you drew it.

Guess that's when we really knew it.

Where's the line?  Where's the line?

Here's what you're gonna think.
Why?  Why?
Here's what you're gonna drink.
Why?  Why?
Here's when you're gonna blink.
Why?  Why?
Told you not to think.
Why?  Why?

When you think, bad things will appear.

Start thinking bout new things to fear.

There's no way to make it any clear.

Why?  Why?  Why?  Why?

G

DD7

AmGx3

DD7x2

Only The Blockheads Are Real

One topic at a time, click, click, click.  Stories on a story board, stacked like blocks.  Of anything, of views and reviews, of fluffs and duffs, enough, enough.  Squeals and fires, shots and liars.  Only the blockheads are real, they'll sing anything.

Keeping the motor running, sending some oil your way.  These are mechanical devices, everything can't be in the clouds.  Chips and conductors and semi conductors.  We are the grid, make us all light up.  Make us all glow.

On next month's story board, a dark winter figure will appear, dressed for cold, checking in on the WiFi.  Then after that, some terrorism or invasion or other calamity.  Sit tight, stay tuned, get your rest.  Many worries to ignore, many fools to avoid, many casters casting and casting.  Trying to hook a fish.

Waterfall Ride

 

Shipwreck stuck on some rocks and trees.
Hadn't moved an inch in a year I believe.
Til one day when the water did its thing.
Headed for the falls gonna drop to the deep.

Wonder if we oughta jump right off.
We could make it to shore with a bit of luck.
Current is rough and there's an undertow.
Whitewater splashing on the rocks below.

But it's our only chance to tell you the truth.
The falls gonna give us more than a bruise.
Just can't see no way we could survive.
Staying on this shipwreck for a waterfall ride.

Jump, jump, hurry now jump.
Let the waterfall have this dump.
Smash the ship to smithereens.
Get another one, all new and clean.

CGFC

GFGC

FFCC

GCFC

Infrastructure Of Crust

We'll eat pizza all night, we'll do whatever it takes.  Statespeople of the highest integrity.  Hopefully we can get there, we can't let down the American people, we can't get away with scarfing down thin crust, we gotta stuff the crust with stuff.  We'll eat pizza all night if we have too, ain't wasting our eating capacity on salads and soda pops.  This is how the pizza gets made!

The infrastructure of crust is important, we got it down, just takes some tossing and stretching, you, you know the thing.  Some tomato paste with Italian spices, spread around.  No square pizzas allowed in this pizzeria, Mammamia.  Then the cheese, then the pepperoni, or beef, or whatever, even chicken.  Artichokes and onions, yummy and delicious.

This Statesperson kept on talking.  Red pepper packets, marinara sauce, strombolis, cannellonis, cannolis, calzones.  It was making me hungry and it was just past noon.  What a gig, I thought, paid to eat pizza all night.  Hope they have plenty of Rolaids available, and 7-Up can help settle an upset tummy.

The Protest Blues

 

Walked out of class to join the band.
March for justice in this land.
No lack of shelter, no lack of food.
Down at the bottom of the protest blues.

Down at the bottom of the protest blues.

Got my music and I got my glow.
Can watch replays of every single show.
Can't help it though, I'm in the mood.
Fix something quick for my protest blues.

Fix something quick for my protest blues.

Don't you dare look at me thataway.
Take my suspension like a runaway.
Didn't have to be so mean and rude.
Just had a case of the protest blues.

Just had a case of the protest blues.

The T-shirt says it all I guess.
Shrunk up, but the it's still the best.
Raise our fist and stomp our shoes.
Nothing can cure my protest blues.

Nothing can cure my protest blues.

EAD7Ex3
EDAEx2

The Glitter Spitters

Run for the office, waste your time on another's gold.  Mercenaries.  Fighting for a compensation line item.  Holding on so the judgment turns out right, so the evaluation is enough, just enough to be exceptional.  Get a few more bites.

Respectability to others and the loss of dignity, you tell me what to say.  Alignment of the simple kind, the only kind that works.  Some sort of brilliant trinity-- excellent, expedient, and exquisite.  The E's have it.  Can't touch this.

Then the story tellers, the twisters of yawns, the glitter spitters.  Utopia is nice and lush, green and full of money.  Flattery and support.  Watch for the lease and chain gang, the dotted liners, the small printers.  Move slow, knock holes, take it to the skeptics, talk yourself out.

Citizens Of The 3rd Degree

America's not gone for good, the drawing back, the coiling, the snap will snap, we still got bills.  This is cover-up work, these are skeleton graves, these are skunky undertakers.  Shoveling hound dogs.  Their followers are imaginary, they don't exist.  Shout them down in the 1st degree.

Goon scene down under, the Quarantine Resorts.  Try that here, the 2nd degree kicks in, armed and protected.  They'll move the soldiers in next, take their quarters, kick out the citizens of the 3rd degree.  Proximity.  Then the search and seizure of the 4th degree, goons don't need a warrant, evidently.

Guilty until proven innocent, the 5th and 6th degrees of the often accused, but the never convicted.  No speedy trials around D.C. anymore, 7th degree of the horned helmets and capital tour participants.  Bail out the crooks of the 8th degree with a bailout fund for crooks of the 8th degree.  Not to mention the 9th degree, but get the fuck out of my space.  Get out of my state, your 10th degree is meaningless here, obviously.