The Great Wake 96: Despite The Bullhorns

 

Ungratefulness is predominant, even Thomas Jefferson can't catch a break.  America was an illusion of an idea all along, unless our charity is needed, or our blood, or our smarts, or our music.  All that was real, it was glorious and tangible.  And now we have arrived at now, and now we have a problem.  We got no fight.

Despite the marches, despite the flags, despite the bullhorns.  That ain't fighting.  Flimsy patriotism and common greed, equity obsession and resentment, moron inclusion and IQ diversity.  Dumb it down.  Just do it, where's the beef, 7-11 is making a big comeback.

Make it all up, Jefferson did, but he was looking into the future, he manifested, he knew destiny.  These ungrateful, dim, depressing, do-nothings.  They are in control now.  Inevitably, the meek inherit what they do not deserve.  And, also inevitably, the brave wake and take it back.

Fever Of The Moon

 

Can't believe Jimmy Buffett died.

Eating cheeseburgers in paradise.

Still got those island tears in my eyes.

Can't believe Jimmy Buffett died.

Can't believe Charlie Watts is gone.

Drummed on every Rolling Stones song.

The rhythm section never went wrong.

Can't believe Charlie Watts is gone.

Wish Merle Haggard was still around.

Missed him when he last came to town.

His mamma cried when they put him down.

Wish Merle Haggard was still around.

Just go Tom Petty, leave us too soon.

Went solo, caught the fever of the moon.

Find Nelson and Lefty, play some Wilbury tunes.

Just go Tom Petty, leave us too soon.

CFGC

FFCC

GCFC

CFGC

Filled With Spacefolk

 

Prepared for months and weeks.

Every note, every tune, every detail.

Meticulous.

The Silverleaf of Dan.

All the lights, all the sound, on the marquee.

Nantucket ride.

No stopping now, sailor.

Write the words, write the chords, write the tap tap.

Melodical.

Hunter S Thompson room.

Filled with tunes, filled with art, filled with spacefolk.

Those Frisco nights.

Fantastic Sudden Recognition

 

None of this is serious,

Loafing has no future.

The irrelevant fellow,

Decorations.

The artist opens eyes,

And the nature of sound.

Find your own mantra,

Chant like you like.

Read this fine cosmology book,

Why this idiocy.

Like children making faces,

Absolutely absurd.

This babbling Hindu sound.

Out of their heads.

Fantastic sudden recognition,

Getting hung up and hooked.

Classical music of India,

No legs being pulled.

Everything is meaningless,

The rhythm of life.

Like the branches of a fern,

Level it proper.

We're all leaning on each other,

One way or the other.

*Notes on an Alan Watts lecture.

Tater Tot

 

Think I met a tater tot.

Mighta been a glowing bot.

They cried and whined and talked alot.

But they made no sense.

Said they wanted love and peace.

But they couldn't keep the beat.

Seems like they still got their baby teeth.

Their small minds are dense.

Don't tell me about their skin.

Thinner than it's ever been.

Come on, give me an Amen.

Tater tots can't take a joke.

They deserve it all.

The mocking and the cat calls.

Grow a pair of balls.

I'll end it on that note.

CCDGx3.GC

The Great Wake 95: Wink Winks

 

As a one issue voter, Erwin Park must remain whole.  Loopholes, kickbacks, and wink winks aside, this is an essential municipal necessity.  Creekfront, Lakefront, Northside, Southside, The Jungle.  All of it.  Nothing we can do about the bulldozed century old trees.

Happenings must be made transparent.  What, why, and what happens now?  Elections matter, the yard signs, the street signs, the suburban corners of red, white, and blue signs.  A captive audience.  The winners are our leaders, they are the city.  

Run with it, know all about it, build upon the builders of the past.  Wheel, deal, make it real.  Parking garages, custom houses, acres and acres of land.  Carve it up, wish you good luck, make some money if you can.  Wolves will howl, dogs will bark, keep your hands off Erwin Park.

The Great Wake 94: Time Is A Stalker

 

The last of the Sri Lankan chutney was delicious, cinnamon is the spice of life.  Like butter for the New York Strips.  The season is upon us, watch for sales and free delivery days.  Take a break from the spooky and scary, the sky falls every day and night, regardless.  Time is a stalker.

Wineries are the new ranches in Texas, profits are hard fought and subsidized.  The swag business is usually the money maker.  Trinkets.  No sighting of Willie or Waylon or The Boys, but Fredericksburg is a fine place to wear a fine hat.  The outlaws cleared out, went to Austin or Nashville to fake it, then make it.

The wine was good, no sugar, all earth, the only wine worth drinking.  "Getcha some Mad Dog if ya wanna get smashed!".  Hold on to the good times, make them last and last, pause. Tanya Tucker knew all about Ridin' Rainbows in '77, left her lonely.  Vinyl hits different somehow.