The Hook Of Texas 23: Far Out

 

"Imagine the hours of driving, imagine the right way to plot it, develop a skeleton of a plan.  To see the most, to hear the most, but not too much, certainly not rushed.  Make it easy, make it happen, you're not on your own anymore, man.  You've got responsibilities, you're now a guide, a scout, a catalyst."  This was my silent conversation with myself as I was planning a roadtrip to the 2023 Viva Big Bend Music Festival with my favorite daughter and my other favorite daughter.

No more wandering aimlessly, digging everything in sight, gawking, driving in circles, blabbering nonsense, this was a different deal, time to put my travels to good use.  The music will hit, the Texas Tycoons, Butch Hancock, and Blan Scott return; the Los Texmaniacs, The Hot Tamales, and West Texas Exiles are interesting additions, and Doug Moreland at Château Wright near Ft. Davis on Sunday afternoon is a legendary closer.  He's the local musical prodigal.  Works with chainsaws and fiddles, writes songs about clowns and dads in Cadillacs and bringing back the swing.  Perfect for brunch.

The rest is far out driving, far out riding, and far out scenes.  Dunes and telescopes, El Camino del Rio (River Road 170) and Balmorhea, Mule Ears and The Boathouse, Chinati walks and ribeye dinners.  My daughters will do some driving, it'll feel different, there'll be questions, there'll be anticipations, there'll be silent astonishments.  It'll be far out.

Baby Beds

 

Threads, meds, feds, and baby beds.
No getting away from what you said.
No show no doze, don't get shocked.
Can't take the dish, can't take the mock.

Checkers, electors, psycho protectors.
Line's over there for the vaccine testers.
Mush, hush, shush, don't make a fuss.
Take a long ride on the Barbie bus.

Ding, ping, sing, give us any ole thing.
Ban the bots that wanna to make us think.
Ban the tan and the mean ole man.
The dirty work of the Steely Dan.

AmEmAmEm

D

Am

The Great Wake 84: Pop A Tune Or Two

 

The modern skin is the melting pot, all mixed and matched and unattached.  The results of our American experiments.  Squabbling will never fade away on its own, time to take the lead.  This old digital war of bans and glow bravery is burnt out.  Let it go, ya know.

The hot haze has descended, it has covered the land and the lakes.  Sitting there with its high pressure and heavy air.  Fill up the lungs, they can take it, pop a tune or two.  The Dandy Warhols know the dilemma, they wanna be bohemians like you.  Cause they like you.

But that makes no difference, these days are numbered.  They are yours.  Take them all in, the awoke, the asleep, the aloof.  Apathetic of circumstance, unaffected.  Chill.

    

Rusty Pegs

 

Rusty pegs and long tan legs.
Memories of a tennis club.
Long before paddles and echos that rattle.
When stringers were the biggest studs.

Vantaggio, Sergio, Izod and Polo.
Brands that have some flash.
Zippers are out, rusted, no doubt.
Just like Uomo's hats.

Still got the the Slams, they're still grand.
The Grass, the Clay, New York.
Even down under, despite their blunder.
Tennis is the ultimate sport.

GC

DG

The Great Wake 83: Trunk Of The Tree

 

What a bomb.  Laughed off the stage, demented and weak, delusional and ignorant.  A murderous criminal, too.  Armed and dangerous, maniacal and deranged, gutless and heartless.  A pathetic American.

The future will sort out the sordid details, but the future won't care much, let's all move on.  Remember the tyrants and the fooled tyrant followers.  Put their words inside their mouths, put their writings up their wazoo, put their hypocrisy in lights.  Mock alot, they deserve it.

Tell us another folksy story about the good ole days in Scranton, about most of your grandkids, about most of your blood offspring.  The patriarch, the trunk of the tree, the rock of the family, the man.  Shuffle on, find a seat, you look a little withered.  Karma has taken its toll, but it's got a long way to go, this is a dirty person.  The fruit of his spirit seems rotted.

This Undreamy Reality

 

This undreamy reality.  

Another caravan, another expert, let's argue some more.  

It's the natural way to roll.  

When you're hopeless, when you're tired, when you're maximized.  

Keep the mind, ignore the nerves, be quiet.

The Great Wake 82: The Bribed Tribe

"Sorry about that 10 grand. But Pell Grants are off the charts and if you become a teacher, we got your back.  Wink, wink, ya know.  Where's the crapper, I gotta go.  These tamales are rank around here.  Bust a gut, King Tut."

Then he stumbled away, like a fool.  Back to the mask, back to his room.  Jacked up on needle juice and ludes seemed to me.  Summon the White House Docs!  Who's drugging this man?

Face facts.  This is bad news, and a drop in the bucket.  Think of all the other guilty greasers, red, blue, white, grey, gay, straight, black, and otherwise.  Selected, elected, and protected.  The bribed tribe.