The Great Wake 29: Pure Paradise

It's tight in here, but there's room to grow.  Squirming and kicking help as long as I keep my head down.  Don't wanna go the breeched route, only four months left, roughly 120 days.  Look who's counting, look who's waiting, look who's floating, look who's growing.  Honestly, it's not bad in here.

She had the calamari last evening, makes my arms and legs dance, the sauce was a sweet marinara.  Some white wine would've been nice, but she won't drink a drop.  Said she's gonna drink an entire box when I'm out.  Not sure what I'll eat on the outside, hope it's good, hope it's in stock.  That cheeseburger she ate the other day was pure paradise.

One day I'll take her to lunch, me and her and that dude with the muffled voice.  Not sure about him, seems obsessed with high gas prices.  Can't quite make it out, but seems to blame a guy named Puck Moe.  Who knows, who cares, I'm sleepy.  See you on the outside.

The Great Wake 28: The New Intellectuals

 

Expand your outlook, then look back, from the outside, observe the mad.  We can see it clearly, there are no surprises.  Time and reproduction, demographics of the bloodlines, the other side of lust.  Nationalism on the trading block, the t-shirts are ready to ship, through air, over water, underground.  None of this is fair, but nothing is fair.

Hypocrites are the new intellectuals, they got it figured out.  As I say, not as I did.  The elevated class, sniffing their own asses.  And each other's.  In all their different lifes:  social life, sleeping life, travel life, virtual life, relationship life, culture life, political life, benevolent life.

Continue to notice, the backlash is predictable, humanity is like the ocean.  We are still babies in our knowledge, we have much to learn.  Some think we know too much already, but that's crazy, we learn more each trip around the sun.  The seasons are the teachers, it's a simple evolution.  Summer is just beginning, it's gonna to get hotter.

Yellow Iron

 

GCDC
GGCC
DCDG
CCGG

Heard those stories bout yellow iron.
Caterpillar's coming to town.
Had enough of Chicago.
That machine is all broke down.

Got earth to move, got earth to dig.
We set our stuff up right.
Things to build, roads through hills.
And those bright Texas nights.

DGx3
DCG

We dig with yellow iron.
We dig with yellow iron.
We dig with yellow iron.
We dig, we dig, we dig.

Looking for a bottom of this market crash.
Enhance my portfolio.
Prolly be a month or so from now.
Buy CAT at its low.

Sell high, sell high, sell it high.
Cash it for some quick gold.
Or ride it for half a decade or more.
Be rich when you get old.

Only A Woman

 

A woman's got those eyes.
Take you on a ride.
A woman's got that smile.
Gives it up with style.

Don't get me started 'bout their skin.
And the signals that it sends.
Feel it in my bones, ya know.
Takes my heart, rocks my soul.

A woman's got those curves.
They don't need to say a word.
A woman's got that hair.
Flowing everywhere.

And what about their complex minds.
Cut a man down, then be so kind.
Makes no sense, but it don't have to.
Only a woman can cure my blues.

A woman's got that thing.
Makes me move and sing.
A woman's got that taste.
Don't let it go to waste.

CF/GCx2

FC/GCx2

Everything Will Orbit

In the twilight we'll look back like we know, but we don't.  We'll develop philosophies all our own, claiming ownership of our thoughts.  Like our own small dominion, our own private paradise, our own world.  We'll be at the center, everything will evolve around us, everything will orbit.  Reason is lost on the night line, when the sun sinks, when darkness wakes.

CG

The Great Wake 27: Peaceful Stomachs

 

Clean up the mess, darlings.  Should be just a few more months.  It's for the common good.  No one will take the fall, it will disappear into soupy haze.  The smell of the times.

We're loaded to the purse snaps, we got them good.  Left them whining and complaining, unable to move on, holding on to old grudges.  Sulking.  Like 5 year olds grounded from their toys, pouting and simmering.  Red faced.

For us is the cash, the dough-ray-me.  That's what spins the world, that's what spends.  Security and ease, peaceful minds and peaceful stomachs.  As just as anything else is just, we justify.  Better to take than to get took, we reason.

Gulf Of Gonzo 3: Beach Disco

 

Sunk into the crystal white beach, just a hop, a skip, and a jump, over to the Emerald Coast of Florida.  Gulfweed was floating ashore from the Sargasso Sea, a region of the Altlantc Ocean framed by four currents, the only sea in the world without a land border.  The lush plants were signs of a healthy and producing ocean, don't believe the hype, the water of earth is in top condition.  The waves were cresting and crashing, looping and busting, popping and locking, then finally, gliding and sliding onto the sand.  Beach Disco.

Starts with a uh-huh, rolling in from the deep.  Then we get the boom bam after it reaches its peak.  After that it seems to sizzle, as it fizzles to your feet.  Reaches far as it can, where land and water meet.  Then that wave rides back out again, wants to rock around some more, wants to find its disco friends, left them on the ocean floor.

And each wave has a story, none the same.  They go where they go, playing their music, dancing and swaying, like a soul train.  Keep the gravity right where it is, screen out the trash idiots.  Our tunes are louder, our drinks are better, we'll sleep regardless.  Consideration is the beginning of class.

Gulf Of Gonzo 2: Mercy Walks The Planks

 

We went where the French were quartered in the late morning.  Tight roads, colorful buildings, steel railed balconies draped with colorful beads and spanish moss, restaurants, courtyards, inns, art galleries, salons, bars, old fashioned beggars, soap shops, dog shops, hat shops, dress shops, and more bars.  Jazz, zydeco, and booming paint buckets echoed through narrow city block canyons, huge magnolias covered green park squares.  A toxic mix of odors combined to produce a smell of basic puke, a smell that could not be ignored or avoided.  America's drain, dump your trash in the Mississippi and it'll find its way to New Orleans.

People keep coming down, hustling, looking for big easys, looking for kicks. Cry babies keep moving.  Andrew Jackson knew the importance of the town, he recruited natives and Lafitte's pirates to help fight off the Brits after they burned down the White House.  In the end, they were too prissy for the swamps, they were no match for the locals.  The redcoat survivors were sent back to their little king.

Was good enough for the man in the long black coat over on Soniat Street, he don't care about war.  Float your illusions of grandeur and evil eyes back to Europe, all diseased with conceit.  What was it you wanted, tell us again, we forgot.  We're shooting stars living in a world where mercy walks the planks, ain't no use jiving, ain't no use joking, they all got broken.  Ring them bells for the blind and deaf, ring them bells for all of us who are left.

Gulf Of Gonzo 1: Musical Grafitti

 

We were wind driving, swirling through east Texas between an 18-wheeler with log chips flying out and a jacked up black suburban with illegal dark tint.  Television was kicking in with Marquee Moon and the gals were in various states of sleeping, navigating, joking, and leaving their worries behind.  Their baby was boarded back in Dallas.  Suddenly, we ran up on some tire debris, all over I-20 ahead of us.  Nothing to do but glide through it, gonna be some rubber on the road, I assured them, be calm, no jerking the wheel.

Real life driving lessons aside, the time for lessons is over and done for now, their life is ahead, and they are formally prepared.  Now the settling in, the removal of testing burdens.  No presentations, no deadlines around here, shake it off in New Orleans.  The Paladar 511 is ready to serve, the wagyu was sliced atop a bean puree, arugula and grilled turnips, and small maple bacon chunks.  Grilled to medium, it was scrumptious.

These streets ain't made for walking, it's a destination town.  We scouted it out, got some places in mind, it's all loose, sticking together, got a blade close.  Lie to bums, gals, simple and quick, "I got nothing, man."  Instead, save your money for the musicians of the night, listen for the jazz bopping and chopping and popping.  Like musical graffiti.

The Great Wake 26: A Moron Will

 

A moron will march for death.  A moron will deny their private parts.  A moron will eat media mush in their oatmeal.  A moron will burn a flag.  A moron will step on a crack, breaking their mamma's back.

A moron will buy the t-shirt, the one that must be bought.  A moron will yank their own chain.  A moron will honk their horn in anger, like a road rage yell.  A moron will whine alot.  A moron will nod and nod and nod and nod.

A moron will not get the joke.  A moron will talk alot about hypocrisy.  A moron will find patriotism eventually, though not all patriots are morons, or even many--most patriots are authentic patriots, the morons among them are easy to spot.  A moron will sound like a moron.  A moron will assume you are a moron.

The Great Wake 25: Ashes In The Air

 

One day you realize the good guys were the bad girls, and the good girls were the bad guys.  Looking back, it all makes sense, the total eclipse of the heart.  But that means nothing now, this is our time still, this is our woke up call.  Let the summer simmer, exhaust your grievances, wail and moan, march and chant, wear your costume.  All in good fun.

Burn ban in the west, winds are whirling wild.  Smokey smells, charcoal ruins, ashes in the air.  The California Governor is in his forest fire jacket again, his camera crew follows him everywhere.  In San Francisco, he built the largest tarp city ever known.  He seems an ugly, ineffective man of unusual inauthenticity.

The boom balloon deflated, the helium got sucked up by the gigglers, the bull headed yappers who buy, buy, buy.  Stick to the plan they'll say, history is on your side.  The fat is best cut after the grilling, let the juices fry.  Sear with the high heat all over, trap the flavor.  Make every bite count. 

The People's Mob

 

Then the People's Mob took over.
Rationality became so fly.
Pragmatism in the afternoon.
Flashlights through the night.

What we saw in the capital halls.
Like it was written for the movie screens.
Insulting my intelligence.
Think you know what I mean.

(Chorus)

Make way for the People's Mob,
we coming through in waves.
Had it with your bribery racquets, your needles and your chains.
Back to basics now, we know our time got robbed.
Now's the time to testify, answer to the People's Mob.

Thirsty for war, thirsty for whores.
Greased up, paid up, your time has passed.
Wonder where they got all that dough.
Think we should find out fast.

Tell me the who, wanna know why.
Put 'em on the stand, make 'em sweat.
Interrogation of the tyrant class.
You ain't seen nothing yet.

EAx3

DAE

(Chorus)

AEx3

DAE

The Great Wake 24: Apart From Conformity

 

The weak imposters, talking about javelins and stingers, not considering the death they endorse.  Their podiums and prompters are disappearing, they will be run off.  But they don't know peace, they will attach their doom to others, they are heartless, soulless, and brainless.  Hooked up, hooked on, and hooked out.  Caught.

It's called the Declaration Of Independence for a reason.  Apart from authority, apart from royalty, apart from conformity.  Leave us alone to live and to die, we'll get by fine without you.  Cut the tax, Jacks, you don't own us.  Truth be known, we just ignore old uncle Sam, he blabbers and points fingers with his dumb hat and goofy scowl.

We'll get to the whole truth, beyond speculation, beyond a reasonable doubt.  It'll involve money and death and other details, it almost always does.  Dark is no match for light.  We've been sold out, inflation is pure math.  The crooks must go down.

The Great Wake 23: A Certain Method Of Thought

 

The detecting is automatic now.  The best kind of automation, automation of the human mind, thinking through a process and pathway, a certain method of thought.  Starts with the push, the reason we're being swayed.  For money, love, or hate, it's one or more of those, could be all three.  The motive could be the only thing that's true.

Note the audience, could be mere validation for those already convinced or casual proclamations to sofly nudge the go-alongers.  Flimsy stuff.  A more independent thinking group, a rational and curious group, requires other actions.  The identify and avoid tactic is the most used. Can't fool those listeners, those with one raised eyebrow, those unconvinced, those with tuned senses, those that ask.

False until proven true, the new news.  And, of course, the proof is false too, and must be proven true, and the proof of the proof and so on.  There is plenty of light in fiction, it's non-fiction that fools.  Make it all up, blame the sources, blame the screens, blame the rich and poor.  A decision has been made on your reporting.

Turpentine

 

Take some more soma, gonna sit right here at home ahh, all alone ahh, on my phone ahh.  'Til the morning cracks, when the sun slacks, watch your backs, we're being tracked.

Fall into the grey, let come what may, what's that you say, stay away, stay away.  Don't try so hard, let it fall apart, it's just another start, another color chart.

You smell like turpentine.
Just like turpentine.

Break the mold, ditch the old, my blood is cold, won't go where I'm told.  It's a poisoned drink, makes ya think, makes ya think, takes you to the brink.

It's all a big mess, this diplomatic address, this hornet's nest, we should all care less.  The end ain't far, a few years is all, another ride in a car, another fight in a bar.

CG

DCGx2

The Great Wake 22: Send Powdered Milk

 

Peek-a-boo, we see you.  The professional panicers, the loons, the irrelevant.  We've moved on, we're not in a war, we say what we want to say, we call it like we see it.  Like always.  We ignore signs.

Watch that looting, the market crash and grab, just like televisions from Target.  Same element, masked Mercedes theives.  Snagged all the bread, guess they got mouths to feed.  Woe to the underprivileged, send crates of peanut butter and jelly, send powdered milk.  This will be a managed decline.

Might as well jump, like 1984.  We've seen the toughest around, roll with the punches, put your back against the record machine.  You know what I mean.  Ignore the worry, ignore the anxiety.  Fly above the story. 

Three Dead Skunks

 

Maybe it's the goo on my shoe from the backroom hairdoos.
Could be some old food voodoo, maybe their bread is turning blue.
Couldn't really tell what made the smell, but it smelled like hell.
Air was stale like sour milk pails, like a stinky, moldy jail.

(Chorus)

Paid my green fee.
Didn't look like many trees.
Just a slight southern breeze.
But the stink almost knocked me down.

Jumped in a cart about to start, loosening up all my body parts.
Broke my heart, they had no scorecards, keeping score in my head is hard.
Hit nothing but junk, score was sunk, water balls went kaplunk kaplunk.
Was in a funk, was playing like a punk, then I drove by 3 dead skunks.

(Chorus)

Rest of the round no putts went down, almost par'd 7 but the ball lipped out.
This small town, hard pan ground, 9 hole course we somehow found.
It was going to pot, place smelled like rot, took a snowman on 8, then took a shot.
By 9 we were fine, we'll remember the time, Blanket Muni Golf Course, the scene of the crime.

(Chorus)


GCDG

DCx3
G

*co-written by Corey Baker

The Great Wake 22: Ignite The Breath

The acquisition is first.  Then comes the demolition, which includes the clearing of debris.  Next is the cleaning and disinfecting, the scrubbing and scraping.  Dig out all the dirt and grime, from the corners, from the creases.  That's how the stink is fixed.

Now that we have fresh air, the renovation can begin.  Start with a skeleton, bare to the bones.  Shake, rattle, and roll.  Smooth the edges, repair the ligaments and disks.  Stuff in the organs, glands, and various veins, removing all obstructions.

Wrap it with ripped muscles, pull them tight to the bones with tendons.  Cover it all with thick skin, the most durable type kind of skin.  Tune the six senses to a fine tune, balanced and common.  Load the brain with knowledge, flip the heart pump, ignite the breath.  Wake, speak freely.
  

The Great Wake 21: Scribble That Reality

 

"Mr. Nick, Mr Nick, tell us about that song you wrote," the reporters were relentless.  "Nothing new, really, just a plead for pragmatism, just a frame of clarity, just a folk tune.  Three chords and a mock, rolling in the rock, watch the shooting clock, here's one for the drop.  Do it, just like that.  Dribble that melody, scribble that reality."

"Call me Peace, please.  Mr. Nick is my father's name.  He's got more scars than me, but I got some.  In the end, war has blinded, war has ruined, war has done no good.  The diplomats of the world have mostly failed, got plucked and greased.  On with the future, cut the anchors, leave then at the bottom of the ocean, let them rust to nothing."

"What are you implying?"  Most reporters are dumb, missing the opportunity to understand for themselves, missing out on the thinking, wasting brains.  Dull.  "About the grease or the pluck?"  The press room went silent, glazed eyes were everywhere.

The Great Wake 20: Asia Major

Kittens and puppies stuffed in bags to suffocate, these are the unholy for sure.  Without soul, these humans, without soul.  Asia Major has a major problem, their days are numbered, like everyone elses.  The hazmat suits, the smog blocking face masks, the humorless smirking.  That charming Chinese culture.

Like the Hero Of Kiev, his country wrecked, blood on his hands.  Like the Old Man In Moscow, still sucking that Stalin tit.  Like the Ole Skinny Dipper, nothing but a pervert.  Like The Natoists, always gearing up for more greasy war.  Like the Techno Nerds, trying in vain to be cool.

The twist is still to come, this plot gets thicker.  Grubby finds the money, and we can print and print for now, shrink and shrink, oh sweet Venezuela.  They are stealing it now, high inflation is an unarmed robbery.  Next is unrealized gains and a 401k tax, or some other heist-like maneuver in the tax code.  Good bye blue skies, good bye.

Red Mud Gonzo: Twenty Two

 

"Like The Joker" by King James

I'm now gonna be pulling for the Sabanov doubles team going forward.  Never heard of them before this trip.  And, they are Serbian like the Joker.  Greatness!  You couldn't pay me to watch that singles final.  Ugly tennis, but congrats, Opelka.



"Ivan And Matej Sabanov" by AJ

These crosses were gifts from a Serbian player I coached back in California.  If these had been in my bag, I would have given them to Ivan and Matej Sabanov. Great guys, God bless 'em.  So pure.  So skilled.  Big future.  Idemo!

"Grooving The C Spot" by jpg

Missed it, was busy losing 4-6, 1-6 to some Brookhaven 4.0 aces.  Played decent, only one double fault, but they broke my serve into shattered shards.  Net wizards, lobbed us.  Team won 3-2.  Undefeated so far.  Moving my shorts, not my shirt.  Grooving the C spot...the wins will come.



"Texas Chain Serve Massacre" by jpg

At least Opelka has murder within him, a killer must kill, and does kill.  Along with his Dallas Open win, he completes the first ever Texas Chain Serve Massacre.  It's never been done, the double homicide.  I was going for Isner, but I'm glad the kid won it.  More to come, Opelka goes for blood.

"Review of 1118 Peveto Street" by jpg

Location is important in Houston and this spot was ideal for a 3 day visit to the US Clay Court Championships at River Oaks. Close to Kirby Drive.  Super nice accomodations.  Clean, comfortable, and cool.  Backyard patio very comfortable. Appreciated the guitars, played the one in the middle for a few tunes, including the live debut of Margin Squeeze.  Fine A/C.  Hosts were great, laid back, friendly, and helpful.  Close to Whole Foods and Brenner's On The Bayou.  Straight shot to Irma's.

Donkey Day

 

Nice this morning, spring is here.
Starting today gonna have no fear.
King is coming, He's on his way.
Lay down your palms for donkey day.

Like it said in the prophesy.
Gonna be saved by the Prince Of Peace.
Gonna ride in and make them pay.
Lay down your palms for donkey day.

Crowd didn't know what would go down.
Figured Jesus would take the crown.
But later that week He was betrayed.
Lay down your palms for donkey day.

Had to be done, had to bleed in the sun.
Up on a cross on a hill he hung.
His final breath means we was saved.
Lay down you palms for donkey day.

CFC/GFCx2

Red Mud Gonzo: Twenty One

 

"Prince Of A Guy" by AJ

Absolutely a prince of a guy. Very serious.... serious about going to a movie in an actual theatre right now to prep for his next match. Then he will go back to Canberra and hibernate until the grass court season.  Nick moves in mysterious waze.  Same specs, leather and overgrip as my sticks. 

"Not A Bad Life" by King The Todd

Cool. He seems like a good guy when he's not in a match.  Kind of strange that he's opting out of the clay court season too. It will be funny if he wins this clay court tourney then skips the rest.  Not a bad life.

"Double Edged Swordsman"  by jpg

Punked his way out of a doubles win against the Sabanov Brothers, such a double edged swordsman.  Nick plays with fury when on, plays with extreme apathy when off.  His partner, Jack Sock, played awful, just awful.  From my courtside seat I observed.  Kirgios chattered constantly, his eyes darted, his ears heard everything.  Fucks wern't given, then fucks were given, then fucks were spoken, then fucks were yelled.  He's in a good spot, River Oaks will feed his soul.  Hope he wins the singles, but Garin is nails.

"Crazy Man" by King James

Tiafoe forehand... crazy man...

"Yoko Shrieking In The Background" by Amos

Steve Vai, his role with the Czech Republic declaring independence (until his opinions got him in in hot water), Tina Turner and the Ikettes as background singers on Over-Nite Sensation, jamming live with John Lennon (and fing Yoko shrieking in the background), the Turtles singers (named as Flo and Eddie due to lawsuits), etc, etc, and the music!  Indescribable....

Red Mud Gonzo: Twenty

 

"Butter Cups" by TTop.

Add the pad right to the shorts or pants.  Seat cushions and butt enhancers.  Call them Butter Cups.  I don't know about you, but these seats are hard, tough to sit through a whole match, and people don't want to carry a bulky seat cusion.

"Potato Buns" by jpg

The hat flew off in a burst of wind, Brad Gilbert had a panicked look.  His fedora was rolling towards me, and I bent down and grabbed it.  He was very grateful, but humorless in his response to TTop's Ebay joke.  This seemed a different BG than we had known, preoccupied and distant, you never really know what's going on with anybody, grace is the only way.  Glad he didn't have to run after it, glad he wasn't put in an embarrassing position, he maintained his dignity, he is among the River Oaks' esteemed.


The chicken must have been pounded out with a mallet, it was paper thin.  Marketed as spicy, a pile of jarred jalapeños were stacked on the sandwich.  Any use of potato buns is a shortsighted, cost saving giveup.  The fries were awful, the windows were dirty, no salt and pepper, the staff was closing up, just going through the motions.  FM Kitchen and Bar is rated 2 of 5 stars, the peoplesDuke would've been disappointed.  This was no Pizza Motus.

McEnroe bending  the space and time continuum, so early, so precise.  ABCD deconstruction of the hitting zones, with C dominating modern tennis strategies, test if they can get around it for a fully extended forehand.  Move the shorts, not the shirt.  Hit it way over the net, take the short ones to the A zone.  Tangible takeaways from AJ's Thursday morning electric court drill session, El Rey hit--4.5 of 5 stars.

"Smoked" by King The Todd

Smoked by a complete unknown.

"Zappa Playing Blues" by Amos

Found some gold in my research.   First 25 songs (disc 1) is from '69 tour with the mothers....playing cool R&B with Zappa playing blues guitar leads...is best stuff I've listened to.

Red Mud Gonzo: Nineteen

 

"Use The Pixels" by jpg

This is bullshit, no TV yet.  WTA all damn day!  Any cameras in Houston?  Gilbert?  Tennis Channel?  Get the red mud asetetic going, use the color of the season to capture viewers, use the pixels.  What a giveaway, two whole days of wasted opportunity.  Maybe test out some new announcer talent.  Like AJ.  Or Billy, think of that!  Cheap ass bean counters.



"Girls Tennis" by King James

Agreed. They showed girls tennis during a rain delay of girls tennis. I literally watched them dry off the lines on a clay court.

"Nail The Coffin" by jpg

Aww, man.  Nail the coffin, Garin!  Sock will wilt......Match point!......Breaks to win the 3 setter.



"Up Early" by AJ

Can't wait. I'm up early to get some work done and drive down this afternoon. Hoping to see you guys at the NK vs Tommy Paul match at about five pm at river oaks. Dinner after?

"Flex Otherwise" by TTop

I have a place I want to go one day for breakfast or brunch...I'm flex otherwise but El Rey should be on the list for consistency sake, great coffee and breakfast tacos!  Yes sir!!  Let's hit a good grub spot, PG I'm on time, leaving in about 10.

"Red Mud Mansion" by jpg

Gotta check into our Red Mud Mansion, then off into the Houston culinary night.

Red Mud Gonzo: Eighteen

"Alcaraz" by King James

Alcaraz gonna win the French.


"Heavy Metal Nooner" by jpg

Some sort of mental deficiency, perhaps too much warming up.  Broke down late to lose 0-6, 5-7, (1-10).  As others ascended, I descended.   Coach Bill, AJ?  Team won 3-2 over Canyon Creek, avenging a 2-3 loss from last fall.  Mutes the personal loss a bit, but only a bit.  Wanted to hit Houston with winner vibes, not the Bayou Blues.  Heavy Metal Nooner at 1140 on Tuesday, TTop.  Think Motorhead is up, that should get my groove back for the Red Mud.


"Red Mud Cleansing" by AJ

Tough loss, amigo. Red mud cleansing this week.


"Motorhead For Sure" by TTop

Check out the draw! Looks like Ruud, Opelka, Isner and Fritz are all set to play Weds so hopefully Kyrgios, Feli Lopez, Brooksby, and Tiafoe Thurs!  Man, that is a tough one... Motorhead for sure.


"Rogelio Pardo"  by peoplesDuke

Rogelio Pardo Los hermanos y las chicas bonitas y la gorda y la flaca.


"Inflation Is A Bitch" by CB

Inflation is a bitch and I'm not in a good state.  Did you hear about Azerenka storming off the court after a teenager was kicking her ass. Tennis is a mental game and the Belarusian succumbed to emotional strain. It's a sad and difficult world we live in today.

The Great Wake 19: Dig The Synthesizers

 

Remove your eyes and ears, keep your words to yourself, dole them out carefully.  Take your brain and trick it, convince it of good and bad, of right and wrong.  Walk into the wind, don't get swooped up, turn your back if you must, keep the sand away from your face.  Walk backwards so you can see the view, so you can see the crash from afar, from a high ridge.  Enjoy time.

Lawyers, needles, and money.  Here it comes, here it comes, like lions getting thrown swine in a courtroom cage.  The damage done.  That's some low class action suits, the waivers will be shredded, the money will be gone, shrunk and gone.  Like a lost sock, leaving the other sock behind.

Come back Jonee cries DEVO.  This is the second new wave, the wave before the third wave and after the electronic new wave, which came after the first new wave.  Music is best against the wind, shades for the eyes, voices for the words, reverb for the ears.  Tighten up your ego, have some self respect, be fierce for others.  Dig the synthesizers.

Tupps At Four

 

There I was walking through the door.
Word got out it was Tupps At Four.
Thought about The Yard, Plano's too far.
Maybe I can bike it, no need for a car.

Step up and choose your favorite brew.
Or take a taste of something new.
Check out the art, tour the machines.
The twisted iron and the music scene.

Stand up, sit down, lounge on the couch.
Make a food truck run or just hang out.
Propeller fans and stacks of cans.
Echoes from some Nantucket jams.

There I was walking through the door.
Word got out it was Tupps At Four.
Thought about The Yard, Plano's too far.
Maybe I can bike it, no need for a car.

GDCGx3/DCDG

Margin Squeeze

 

Make it for this, sell it for that.
Gotta make a profit or the business cracks.
Microchips, steel and wood.
Cutting into my margins good.

Please, please, please.
Take it from me.
Never wanna get into a marginsqueeze.

Oh, no, no.
Takes more dough.
To buy the same thing I bought a week ago.

Refinance and print cash for free.
Gold won't hold in the 22nd century.
Waiting around for the great default.
While the criminals are already bought.

EADEx2//AEDEx2

Gravy Chilling

 

Sitting on the patio ahead of the curve.
Hammock I'm on got the perfect swerve.
Breeze coming through, keeping it cool.
Degrees ain't earned by lazy fools.

Aww, that's some gravy chilling.
That's some high tone grilling.
That's some sweet dealing.
Yes, that's some gravy chilling.

Fake it to the hoop, take a step back.
Behind the line, got to bank the cash.
Or cut hard to the lane looking to dish.
Either way I go, I just can't miss.

Aww, that's some gravy chilling.
That's some high tone grilling.
That's some sweet dealing.
Yes, that's some gravy chilling.

CG/DCGx2//AmCx3/DCG

The Great Wake 18: A Pepto Bismol Evening

 

There is no relevance to your red carpet.  Read the room.  Preen and glare into the flashes, glamorous and indignant.  Your public is a hassle, you know the depth of your shallow pool, no diving, no horseplay.  This is serious, we have war.

Pilled and coked, vaped and doped.  Agents are sweating and hyperventilating, chauffeurs are pretending to dig everything, interviewers are having audio difficulties.  The shit show of America.  Stand for the Indians, the Ukrainians won't mind.  They have other worries.

Steal from the past, even Toy Story gets ripped off.  Nothing new, same scripts.  Like stale cinematic bread, bland and hard to digest.  Knotty stomach aches all around, acid reflux moans, a pepto bismol evening.  Try not to crack a tooth.

 

Field Of Bodies

 

Sneers of the future, full of snide.
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
All day long the bombs kept dropping.
Old man shuffles through a field of bodies.

Says there's gonna be a consequence.
Watch out, man, I'll build a border fence.
Out on a Sunday wandering and shopping.
Old man shuffles through a field of bodies.

Snake eyes squinting like they always do.
His mask keeps him from the Kung Fu Flu.
Once the drooling starts there ain't no stopping.
Old man shuffles through a field of bodies.

Three or four wars, never made no peace.
Vietnam, Baghdad, blood in the streets.
Something smells fishy, something smells rotten.
Old man shuffles through a field of bodies.

GAmx2

GD

CG

The Great Wake 17: Mad War

Mad is right, he seems upset and crazed.  The Russian leader, long known for his conniving smarts and strategic moves, didn't go loopy overnight.  His stoicism is legendary, his relationships are crafted, his history is telling.  Madness alters judgement, madness creates delusions, madness don't compromise.  Pragmatism is of secondary concern.

His two uncles were killed in WWII, his grandfather was the personal chef to Stalin and Lenin, he began Judo at age 12.  Then, on to the KGB and the life of an inside operator until the Soviet collapse.  The 1990's were the darkest days for the Russians since millions were killed by famine and Germans in the middle of last century.  With all these grinds, he accumulated his stock of axes.  He took over the first day of the century, promising to make Russia great again.

Guess the handshakes and summits didn't work, all the presidents, all the vice presidents, all the secretaries and senators.  Wasted buffets, wasted tokens of appreciations, wasted time.  It ended when the reptiles came to town with greasy pockets, cool guns, and slander bombs.  That's when his madness began, that's when the red line was drawn, that's when his anger simmered.  It's a mad, mad, mad, mad war.

  

The Great Wake 16: Oval Bowl

 

"Tell me about my schedule today, boy.  I got no time for messing around, you see, better toe the line, you see, I need a whole hour for lunch, man.  Step back, out of my way, I got the runs.  Stinking you out, but you'll get used to it, keep the bathroom unlocked, you use the one down the hall.  The Oval Bowl is all mine, I'm the President of the United States."

"Nice, nice, a bike ride, now that's some fun, keep moving is what I always say.  Stand still and you might freeze up, end up stiff, take it from me.  Cut that Vietnam War meeting with those G.I.'s, ditch the Baghdad call, ghost Kabul, we might have new war now.  Heard that Putin fella might invade Ukraine, we just can't let that happen.  Not on my watch, not on this watch, not on any watch."

"Get my son on the face television, he's got some new art he wants to show me.  He's working in ash now, all his pictures are made with ashes.  He burns all his clothes and uses the ashes.  Think of it, brilliant!  Burns his clothes to make the ashes, that's where he gets his ashes, his bicycle ash picture sold for 50 grand."

The Great Wake 15: The Spirit Of 2076

 

It is years from now.  Everybody shares almost everything deemed essential: transportation, homes, food, employment, clothes, you name it.  The Deemer Commission is responsible for organizing and administering the use of these types of resources, and also deem multiple levels of states of emergencies, which, in turn, determines the use of these types of resources.  Share the sacrifice, share the blame, share the shame.

The previous generation's criminals made off with the money, took the whole pie and stuffed it in their pockets.  Left us with some crust and crumbs, a little fruit filling smeared around the edges of the tin pan.  Took those dollars and converted them to pounds, the revenge of the English was in the banks.  Our grandparent's grandparent's parents were greedy idiots, fooled by emotions, laced with cowardice, addicted to mope; the hypnotized generation, as they were called.

The generation after them had it the roughest, they had known prosperity, they became despondent, they shut down.  They virtually existed.  They asked few questions, they went along, they were for nothing, they were against nothing.  Thankfully, this current group of folks seems to have a bit more spark.  The Spirit of 2076, the year punk rock returned.

The Great Wake 14: This Loop Of War

The media that cried wolf, few believe them anymore.  Only the willing suckers, only the wannabe lollipops, only the dazed and confused.  The real news is your common senses, what you think, feel, hear, smell, and see.  What you know.  Your own data analysis, your own math.

The faces of our leaders are melting, few are following, few are even taking their calls.  The old skin of America, thin and blemished.  Their instincts are delayed, their responsiveness is unacceptable, their accessibility is gone.  Create your own nation, a spinoff, a separatist state, out of this loop of war.  Uninformed, without experts, clean.

The cowards are waking now, now that the sun is shining bright on the truth, as it does.  By midmorning they will reset, by noon the t-shirts will be ready.  They'll be cowards again by early afternoon, pretending to be fighting in a war.  Stealing the glory of others, suffering nothing, risking nothing, braving nothing.  Wearing a pin.

The Great Wake 13: Like Crickets

The readers on the news are shoveling it, the scripts are full of bullshit.  Serve it up without shame, hold your nose at first, eventually you'll get used to it.  A bit gamey, but it does the job, it fills the brain, it tastes fine after a while.  Like crickets, like slugs, like bats--eat up.  Wipe your chin off with your t-shirt, napkins are in short supply.

Get in on the inside, the scenes are horrible, like an apocalypse movie.  The political readers can't even read, the PowerPoint decks are out of order.  Russia is invading Russia.  The words they read makes no sense, they are suppling chains for the big yanking.  They don't care about your grandchildren's grandchildren, they don't care about Ukrainian children or Urkainian women or Ukrainian men.

Sanctions, cackle, refugees, cackle, planes, cackle, hospital explosions, cackle, insider trading, cackle, icebergs, cackle, next slide, cackle.  Walk like an Egyptian, let my people go.  Roadtrip summer, America!  Hit the beaches, take RVs around the country, visit National Parks, visit State Parks, mountains, lakes, drive, drive, drive.  Oh, nevermind.

We Need Some Road

 

Don't care what gas costs.
Nevermind this traffic jam.
Soon we'll be cruising through
That Texas open land.

(Chorus)
We need some road.
Wanna cut loose.
Drive with the windows down.
Change my whole attitude.

Gonna go south from here.
Shunpiking after Waco.
Bluebonnets blooming.
Scratchy radio.

(Chorus)

We're skipping Austin.
We're skipping San Antone.
Too many cars and folks.
We kinda wanna be alone.

(Chorus)

Gonna watch dawn and dusk.
Eat Port Aransas seafood.
Sleep like the beach bums sleep.
Near the ocean blue.

(Chorus)

GCG
GDG
GDG
DCG

The Great Wake 12: The Weakling Muttered

They ain't living like the refugees, but they're here for them in spirit and fashion.  Thoughts and prayers and solidarity and ribbons and pins.  How heroes are made, how viruses are defeated.  Sounded like an invite, a small incursion was one thing, a large incursion was another.  The weakling muttered at the microphone as he stood soft and wobbly.

His decay seemed forced, the circle talking, the circle jerks, the circle of grease.  Map it out, missles for cash, they weren't paid for planes, they weren't paid for no fly zones, they weren't paid for war.  This is not our fight, he reasoned, just keep the wire transfers and SWIFT transactions moving, "Clear out the prosecutors, I'm from Scranton and Beau is dead."  He's not up for the moment, he's in the basement bunker, betrayers are betrayers by nature, and traitors are traitors to the end.

This feeling of being manipulated, so easy to recognize, so transparent.  The bullshit is deep, the cowardice is shocking.  Our superpower level is on low, simmering for some reason.  Profound, significant, and crippling sanctions have had no profound, significant, or crippling effect.  Ask a Ukraininan refugee about our sanctioning super powers.

Paint Me With Your Own Mind

GEmAmD

Go on paint me with your own mind.
Create the picture you want to see.
Mix the oils just right, use the brush that makes it tight.
The curves are just like they need to be.

Tell me all the I've lost for good.
Then tell me what you need to grow.
You should know I would, you should know I could.
But you cut me loose a long time ago.

And your picture looks alright to to me.
Abstractions always catch my eyes.
Your popping colors are sweet, your framing lines are neat.
And the lighting catches it just right.

Go on and paint me with your own mind.
Go on and paint me with your own mind.
Go on and paint me with your own mind.
Go on and paint me with your own mind.

The Great Wake 11: Executive Producers Of War

Big stories from the headroom news patio, gasoline has hit the fan, nevermind the suffering refugees, nevermind the stink in the high heavens, nevermind somebody's robot speech.  The death ticker is next, we've seen the thing, twice removed, arms length.  The viralology experts have been replaced, the map pointers and war sages are pointing and mapping and suggesting.  In other happenings, the new Batman movie is setting records.  It's a story about a city being destroyed, innocent people being blown up, crazy weirdos, and corruption at the highest levels.

The spoonman in our White House has left his mind behind.  Still stirring the race soup, he boosts it with vaccine injections and seasons it with Ukrainian patriotism.  Glad he stays in Deleware most of the time, keep the human rot smell away from our presidential bedrooms.  Like an undesirable guest, he should get blackballed on the AirBB reviews.  One star, let's not rent to him again.

Turn to the movie screen for a while.  Lots of death in Gotham City, the Garden Arena flooded, bridges fell, fire and explosions, and down goes the tin men.  The audience sipped it up like kittens.  But this is not a riddle, this is no joke, this is suffering, this is real milk.  These are the executive producers of war.

The Great Wake 10: Another Universe

 

This must be another universe, these parties have crashed.  Get the kids together and see what happens, the peacemakers have been exiled, the madness is on the live wire, the reporters do nothing but report on reports, or statements, or releases.  Take no side, be for the people.  Time to walk away so more people don't die, time to draw up some conditions, time to quit.  Ditch the diplomats, they have budgets on their minds, they don't produce peace, they are greedy cowards.

My own congressional representative in D.C. just resigned.  Something about an affair with a former member of ISIS, the radical group that was chopping infidel heads off on YouTube 7 years ago. Never got to meet this Van Taylor, now I'm glad I never shook his hand, no telling where it's been.  Seems like treason to me, but I'd have to look up the law.  At least he resigned.

The current state of this union is awake, incumbent fish frys are being scheduled all over.  Dignity just met honor on a street corner in Winslow, Arizona.  Bravery went the other way, split off with integrity.  Respect just sat there crying about reputations and bank accounts.  Liberty finished a nap, rested and ready, dreamy and calm.

Done With Van

 

I'm done with Van.
Supposed to be my man.
Didn't make a stand.
Not much of a fan.

We need some spine.
Done with wine and dine.
Done with robbing us blind.
Ain't it about time.

Turn up the grease.
An incumbent feast.
Fry 'em where they sleep.
Need to keep the peace.

Respect yourself.
Good for your heath.
Time to ditch the filth.
Vote for Keith Self.

EADE

The Great Wake 9: The Institute Industry

International pariahs and international criminals, all the same to me.  The people wrong and fooled for years seem wrong and fooled again, gulping the stink bait like hungry catfish at the bottom of a muddy man-made west texas lake.  Dig for information, get out of your hotel room, ditch the heavy blue helmet in favor of a lightweight model, ask questions.  War corresponding is tough business, get in there like Hemingway, know things, discover things, ride in an ambulance, Fareweall To Arms, write things.  We only need the tip of the iceberg.

The institutes, organizations of thinking and scenario modelling, are drawing blanks.  They have no idea, although they keep thinking and fundraising.  Such a shady industry--the institute industry--lots of washed up minds, lots of alcohol and pills.  Low overhead, petty cash stashes, and zoom call happy hours.  Theories.

The makeup artists are the real deal, the best in the world.  Powders and rouges and eye liners. Mascaras and lipsticks, concealers and brow trimmers.  Dull out the face grease, dim the set lights, check all teeth.  Three, two, one--action.

Working On My Tan

 

Don't owe you a dime.
Done wasting my time.
Finished with the fooled.
The ones who are ruled.

Decided long time ago.
Ain't doing what I'm told.
Fine with the severance pay.
Supposed to be that way.

Division is what we got.
Demanded from the very top.
Went packing with a few grand.
Now I'm working on my tan.

Hit the beach in a few weeks.
Counting waves brings me peace.
So little we control.
Too much greed and gold.

DCDDx2

GCGGx2

The Great Wake 8: The Other Press

 

The room was practically empty, the other press were nowhere to be seen.  The Press Secretary took to the podium with 'reports of' and 'state departments say' and 'videos show'.  Hey man, I want some answers, lady!  Let's get to the root of the seed of the reasons for this deadly mess, I pressed.  She stared at me and asked me politely to put on a mask.

To this I scoffed, muttering something low and true about suffocation, and got back to demanding more clarity.  Tell me about Ukrainian oil money, tell me about bribes, tell me about grease.  I pressed like the press should.  She asked me again to put on a mask, this time with a 'please' and a point to a sign.  I pressed more about the Ukrainian adoption industry, the Ukrainian drug scene, conditions for Ukraininan women and children, Ukrainian widows, Ukrainian boards.

Then she rudely told me, "Sir, put on a mask now!"  I stared at her silently for 30 seconds, it was me and her, her and me, eyes to eyes, my brains against her mush.  She was unmasked, she was red, she didn't blink once, she raged with hate, she reminded me of my 4th grade teacher who was so into Language Arts.  I ignored her command and kept on pressing; inhaling oxygen, exhaling carbon dioxide, asking open ended questions, yes/no questions, fill in the blankers, hypotheticals, theoreticals.  She finally squeezed up a tear and left me alone in the press room to "Reflect on your manners and review the protocols--like the others."

The Great Wake 7: Body Odor And Long Fingernails

This analysis came strait from the source, got it from the source.  Jeff Spicoli is worn out, but he's not done yet, the Vice documentary squad is on the scene.  The Neo-Journalists.  With Neo-Wave music and hairsprayed hair.  Thought he was taller, I was surprised when he stood.

He smelled of body odor and long fingernails, he looked like an actor, he acted like he was acting.  He frowned.  So much promise way back, free spirit, class cutter, a teacher's nightmare.  Now this, pouting and somber, and sober.  Mr. Hand got the last laugh, the 'told you so' laugh.

But it's a hollow laughter, a sad laughter, it's heavy.  This ain't no disco, this ain't no party, this ain't no fooling around.  He kept talking, I was having trouble following his logic.  Then he looks at me dead in the the eyes, calm like, and said, “What Jefferson was saying was, Hey! You know, we left this England place ’cause it was bogus; so if we don’t get some cool rules ourselves—pronto—we’ll just be bogus, too! Get it?"  And I did get it, we needed some cool rules quick, some Neo-Cool Rules.

The Great Wake 6: Tired Generals Of Last Century

He looked across the table and sized up his foe, a baby with candy.  Easy pickings, dude can't get his thumbnail out of his teeth.  The opposite of stoic, more like a bafoon, a village idiot, a weak and frail rotted soul, compromised by his past indiscretions.  A known grifter, a known groper, a known racist.  The Russian matched the pot and called.

Proclamations of significant sanctions, name calling and pouting, nervous laughter and cryptic responses.  Gone America for now, that stench is from DC, our fenced in capital.  It's all razor wired now.  A standoff is good for some involved, this game of chicken is profitable.  Follow the money.

News screen readers is all we got, amateur viralogists, and gabbers with no gifts of gab.  Retired, tired generals of last century blabber for pay, their analysis taken for truth by the mopey dopey class of society.  They got to say something.  Then the host nods perfectly, just like it's written on their teleprompter, "Thanks for joining us, let's all hope for the best.  Back after the break to highlight the difference between home equity values broken down by vaccine status, and cross referenced by ethicity, you may be alarmed."

The Great Wake 5: Mosh Pit

Ottawa had way more action than Ukraine, better organized and festive, honks and wizzbangs.  Those trucker hosers unmasked the despots, God bless 'em.  The moral high ground collapsed, it's the mosh pit now, it's a slam dance.  Elbows in, those are the rules.  Head butts and hip chunks, back whacks and knee jams, a punk war.

Information is liberty, reasoned and clean.  Without the newsroom morning staffer, without editorial boards, without associate production and executive production.  Thought provokers.  Thought liberators.  Thought whisperers.

This is mere satire, it's much worse.  Another dark winter, another sacrifice, another whopper, another trillion, another lecture about race from the high tech lynchers.  More hair plugs and plastic surgery for the old and done, more grease for the deep fryer, more of the same.  Six dollar gas, shrinking bags of chips, and gatesmeat burgers, sources predict.  Oh, and the vote tabulators haven't changed, still infested with bugs and tics and wires.

The Great Wake 4: Station To Station

"Wolverines!" screamed Patrick Swayze and C. Thomas Howell.  Fresh off The Outsiders, they were the best we had, actors on the 80's A-list; oh, the incredible cast of Red Dawn.  Next, Ivan Drago was sent packing to Ukraine.  Nobody fucks with Rocky and Apollo Creed and gets away with it, James Brown knows what's up in America, we don't juice, we train.  Eye of the tiger, home of the free, home of the brave, the righteoues, the honorable.

Then the opening of the Iron Curtain, George Sr. taking Reagan's credit; exploiting the situation.  Turning the Cold War into the Sold War, where it's all paid for up front.  Grind to a standoff and deal.  Send around pallets of gold.  The lend write-off, the cash game, the layered wire transfers, the currency squeeze.

Russian Daniil Medvedev don't care, he's trying to win the French Open, but it looks like Novak is playing.  Back to reality!  Back to this century.  Tune up and out, the deceptions are obvious, the Russians aren't coming, we don't have to run for the hills, we're not being invaded.  Living in America, eye to eye, station to station.