Saturday, December 29, 2007

VULTURE FUND to invest in Key West

Greetings from the Hill
75/85 SE5/10 Hazy 0709/1747 85%H

"JesusHFuckingChrist,"sighs the oldman,
all morning on Roubini and his comments,
those Airheads who don't have blogs
and incestuously interrelate.

Pissed off from yesterday and CNBC,
"Those longhaired small titted
talking white teeth goofy ho's,"
playing an Imas, "For the dirty old
jewish media owners beating off
to Plasma Screen fantasies...
Fuck you Redstone and Blackstone
and Blackrock."

Feeling better.

The wilted dicks cut the professor off.

"Turn the sound off and watch the actors."

The Conchtrain babbled by,
a hazy hot day with breezes from the Straits,
doves on the monkey bars hungry,
no catfood left...

The oldman was drinking again
in the afternoon,
no pot for the funny thought,
just old age rage.

"It's all bullshit, Norman,
Disneyworld at the Bank of America,"
complained Billy
on Golden Pond Too.

The big fish was subprime on the scale
that Fitch and Snitch regulated
for consumer protection,
against toxic cosumption.

"CDS's are insurance policies
with multiple policies on the same event,"
what the fuck does that mean,
perhaps the CDS's were sold by
synthetic CDO's and then purchased
by speculaters on leveraged margin.

"Who who," asked the blind owl
released at Fort Zacary Taylor.

"The correlation traders who work
for Goldie Socks running scared
for a beach house in Dubai before
the Democrats find a leader,"
grumbles Doctor Coy
trimming the oregano
and bringing food for the cats and birds.

"The investigaters will find under
this money manure pile,
'the black swan'...CPDOs,"
horror of horrors,
constant proportion debt obligation.


Capital letters were simple with the CIA.

Hazy skies and
a southern breeze
in the keys.

Above the Horn
slightly north of Cancer.

Don't bet on the Patriots.

Thursday, December 27, 2007

Blue Skies in Paradise

Greetings from the Hill
68/80 Blue skies ENE5/10 0708/1746 85%H

At home alone for the holidays, Sweet Jesus...
cats fed, floors swept, plants watered,
notes written, internet broused, Blog plogging,
"Doesn't get better than this," smiles the oldman
sipping a cold glass of Millers with a booger.

Reading Cayo Dave, a realestate blogger,
thirteen homes sold last month,
seven houses, six condoboxes at prices
from 300/FT to 600/FT.
"Hey, the gay neighbour says the new rate
will be by the queer inch, Hofuckingho,"
laughs the madone feeling good.

Butterflies in the papaya tree
cuban wrens in the love vine
cats sleeping on the scaffolding
palm trees swaying...
"That's what 'it' is about,
right..oldman,"
walking onto the balcony
enjoying it.

The oldman was 'hoohooing' to the doves,
"These are Purple necked Madagasgar doves
very special and holy," intoned Rigo
visiting the day of his father's death,
"This is my sanctuary," with a rare tear.

"They are as fat as pigeons and tastier,"
offered the erudite opinion of Doctor Coy
returning from above for financing
"In Cuba," chorused the oldman
and the madone, a dream of dreams.

"The problem is one of interim financing,"
trimming the oregano for the future hillsides
of chinese style growing gardenfalls
a grand idea four thousand years feeding
nations without SIVs taking thier SUVs
without advertising taking the eye
away from the moment
the black cat on the scaffolding in the high sun
above the streets of tourist gold.

In these Isles

Above the Horn.

Above Cancer.



Happyfuckingnewyear.

MJ

Wednesday, December 26, 2007

The Day After Christmas

Greetings from the Hill
68/78 Blue skies NE5/10 0715/1743 60%H

The numbers are perfect but tourists' don't know,
no sense visiting for the weather...

The oldman was feeling better, he had eaten
a second plate of cuban christmas dinner,
blackbeans and rice, succulent roast pork,
yucca and plantain with a cuban roll.
The Kid arrived at the usual time with a joint.

"You know that something is not right,"
allowing an ear to listen, the pot to talk...

"Its all out there to filter through the lies
and learn to understand the law
and the judiciary that ignores the Book,"
sitting back in the swivelroller to gaze
at the thirsty Key Lime tree
protecting two neighbours rooves
across the street.

"The SIVs and CDOs are falling into a conduit
that has no name, some are calling it, 'it', for it,"
smiled the oldman at his funny way...
the back was aching and his shoulder
reinjured from the fall unattended,
the good eye would not focus
and both ears rang "Very Fucking High,"
he growled very, very thirsty,


"Fucking Angina, cancer, dizziness, weakness
for fucking starters on broken bones,
lefteyed and righthanded, try billiards,"
snorted the madone with the same pain,
making another day a treasure.

"Say listen, do you think you could walk,
the Paki's are three blocks closer...
how about a walkabout, see if
your'e gonna make it...
you know
that
'it'.



"Hot fucking shit, not dead yet,"
sighs the oldman popping a pint
of the 'twice as strong' and...
"And reconnected to no one,"
sitting back sipping in the
afternoon sun,
enjoying life
with natural ice
in the subtropics.


Later alligator.

Don't dial a crocodile.



Yo Yo Mas.

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

The ThirtySecond Xmas in Key West

Greetings from the Hill.
67/78 Blue Skies NE5/10 0708/1744 60%H

"If the weather ain't perfect, and home again,
another year and getting better, what more
could an oldman want...eggs benedict?",
smiles the madone feeling good.

A normal day in paradise and chores done,
cats fed on the balcony with xmas treats,
floors swept and plants watered,
the studio without a guest.

A good day to think about the year and
home improvements with that crippling cost.
"Who the fuck pays for that shit, materials...
wood, concrete, steel, bolts, bars and screws
and the tools...SantafuckingClaus, Hohoho,"
snorts the oldman coming to life.

The uncertainty of home ownership increases
with age and four year plans, white house terms
a sort of middlemanagement calendar to ending
whatever is unfinished, a probable blame accounting.

"Ah, yes, a change of power, leadership, control,
sound familiar...close to home, still got a bed,"
inquires the voice in the Hall.

Barefooted and barechested strolling with the dog,
a wagbag in hand for the xmas turds,
sun staight above at noon and cool concrete,
quiet empty streets in paradise.

The idiot train rattles by fully loaded with gawkers
travelling to fast to see the beauty,
the driver telling historic lies to worried
bouncing tourists without seatbelts.
Another attraction morphed into the ultimate.
"Sell everything....At least Once a Day,"
roars the madone.

Monday, December 24, 2007

Xmas Sunday in Paradise

A New Season's Greetings from the Hill.
65/75 Blue Skies NE5/10 0706/1736 80%H.

Another season to live, ain't that grand...
the judge continues the home probation
for four months...to see progress,
and of course compliance to standards.
Save Secure Sanitary Hark HARC.

Life contiues with the heart attack,
cats fed, floors swept, plants watered...
well water, fuck the rationing by Them.
Below in the galley an aroma of
homefries and back bacon lingering
with the cheese omelette while the Kid
glazes a few window panes for rent.

"The same old shit gets old," growls
the madone pissed with domestic drudge
that flames in arguement and truth
then watered with lies in reclaimed sludge.

"He's pussywhipped and suckfaced...
better with a rich old woman to care for
and live in comfort...the fellow is soft
in the head, always wants spoiling,"
hawking a snotball onto the sidewalk,
just another day in paradise,
classics from Havana, the movie on TV31,
On Golden Pond in the bedroom,
a magic pipe on the President's table,
Apache in the Chair.

Of course the floor was still tilted but...
the oldman had fancy computer chair
and drapery on the window to shade
the monitor for the Blogger.

Engineer Bill had raised the west sillbeam
"What...two fucking inches,
it'll fall over," laughed the alien
bringing morning treats.

"Sorry to hear of the theft, a weeks' budget,
likely your window paint, not good,"
leaving the matter in the past,
not forgotten nor forgived,
debt with curse of guilt.

A chilled Molson and a pack of Rothmans
on the balcony an hour before
sunday serving time Barrytime
and Terry in Barrietime.

Blue skies and beautiful,
a cool breeze
in the keys.

High above
the Florida Horn.

Have a Happy Happy Holiday.

Oldman Gunn.


Drink downstairs at Home.



Hi Yo Silver Away.

Saturday, December 15, 2007

The Kingdom of Assbackwards.

Greetings from the Hill.
72/80 BLUE SKIES E5/10 0702/1740 85%H

A gorgeous day in paradise, chores done, cats fed,
a few pages in the journal, the usual internetting,
an email from Joe Bageant, his liver survived the
Australian book tour....the drain of fame.

The breeze shifting to the southeast, the humidity
of the tropics from the Gulfstream and overnight
showers, quiet streets without the Conchtrain
filled with cruiseshippers, the bigspenders.....

"Ah, yes, this five star destination for the rich and
greedy, two hundred dollar rooms at hotels and
motels, buy a condosuite for 1M to3M and
rent for five hundred a night, what a joke,"
growled the madone sitting back and thinking,
"Eggs benedict, a bloody Mary and a fat line of coke
on the Pier House outer deck, those were the days,"
the days of Ronald Reagan.....

Of course they were the days, the nights of excitement,
usually forgotten but always related by better memories
the next morning arranging the 'deal' in every yard.
Pot was still the straights drug of choice, but getting
much to bulky for transportation, other minds had other
bright ideas....the gay guesthouses had better plans.

"Fucking Aone, a little white bag on Air Sunshine,
then back to the Big City with Key West delights,
these asshole condoboneheads are the real sissies,"
snorting in imagination of the smuggling days.

The oldman checked the webcam to check on cruiseships,
marvelous devices for the homeridden, a strange word,
the constant obsession with the tourist market....
"Makes a person puke and wonder, home prices falling,
bank loans tightening like a virgin's asshole,
condo sales off twenty percent in Miami and....
the Conchs are building....assbackwards, fucking dunces,"
sipping tea, finishing the toast before the ants,
cats taking the breeze in the window sills,
the neighbor's four front palm trees swaying in quartet,
green all about from the view on the Hill.

"Jesus H Fuck, the death tour, oldfarts with stickers
and wrinkles looking for a condotel in paradise,"
grumbling as the eleven oclock load passes half full,
Swifty's realestate tour and they pay to gawk.

The Development Dilemma seems only elsewhere
not in the land of the Golden Goosed where all is up
and up and up....and the rich will pay.

"And so does say Big Mac and Little M., together
as they conspire to take the golden goose eggs
from the TDC, my my, one wonders why,
cutbacks in state funding, shortfalls in property tax,
but the bedtax gets bigger and bigger, hofuckingho,"
muses the oldman seen it before always more.

Strange things about the waterfront and the operaters,
the address seems necessary in the trundled bundles,
an all year destination with no snow removal
and no class entertainment, one would think that
Blackstone would bring New York names
to Casa Marina and The Reach, cheap fucks.

The north side is going to own your own whatever
and of course those slips are extra....
this venture of 300 million is mastered by locals,
the Princes of Duncedom,
buttt the Palace Gates to the Golden City
seem to be under the control of the Conch Queens,
a most formidable force.

Without a doubt the island has gentrified from the days
of The West Key Bar, the 900 Bar, the FullMoon Saloon,
some say The Monster started 'it' all....
always looking for 'it'..
maybe in the Citizen classified
that sorryass excuse for the Truth,
oldman Artman's houses are still in the family.

The oldman's back was aching from this effort,
time for a noon beer on the balcony

taking the breeze
in the florida keys

in the Isles of Eternal Sun
above the Florida Horn.

The Panthers suck
the Dolphins pathetic

Welcome to Miami.

South in search of Golden Eggs.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Blue Skies in Paradise

Greetings from the Hill
72/80 Morning Clouds NE10/15 85%H 0701/1739

A good day today, up with the sun tending the chores,
feeding the cats, watering the gardens, sweeping floors,
a happy rhyme to keep the harmony in time....
returning to normal after a week alone.

Had a weakspell and watched television yesterday,
literally, with sound off captions only, CNN is a farce.
Amazing how performance relegates to the lowest
common denominator, like equating to Bush...
can't get more pathetic than the Wheasle.

The Republicans in Iowa on the Blitzer Hour,
maybe the oldman is getting old, but...
thirty seconds to explain the dilemma we're in,
spin may be in but this is thin.

The black man who seemed to interrupt so much
made the most sense, also from Chicago,
but only emotionally, typical rap and jive,
all subordinating to the King of Bain
who looked fine but made no impression.

Topics, some silly cunt moderating this flimflam
kept reiterating to, but nothing was discussed,
happy news for Christmas, don't confuse the issue
at hand..."Consumers, Spend, Buy, Charge...
in the legacy of George Insane...Go Shopping,
that fucking asshole,"growls the madone joining
the oldman with tea and toast on the balcony.

"Yeah, sure, the guy has it all, but he inherits
the same mugs and thugs that supported stupid,
the same thieves corrupted by lobbyists from
who else...'The Corporapists', and now this band
of nitwits allows the 'King of Subprime Slime',
the originator back in Milken's era, to oversee
the damage he created as Good King Blackrock,
this is The Three Stooges in The White House,"
snorts the madone giving Fat Bill some toast.

A fool with money can always live on honey.

The wheasle finishes up the worst presidency
in history...with a recession, how fitting.
From Clinton's surplus to uncontrolled catastrophe
and Bill's wizard at the Treasury sits in the boardroom
at Goldie Socks, an unwelcome Democrat.
Imagine the fantasies come true under the cheerleaders'
ravings...more millionaires ( own a house), more
hundred millionaires and more billionaires,
McMansions with Escalades and Humvees and
that fancy bottled water "We don't drink."

"But we love the Market," ah yes, those little piggies
going to market, pigeyed hundred millionaires lusting
for the mud of HedgeHog profits and taxfree dollars,
the list of suckers moved into global gambling.

Uncle Sam was being picked clean, his insurance
was dropped to forget the funeral, his home foreclosed,
the family moved to a beach house in Dubai,
the old man forced homeless to wander the streets
looking for an honest man...the Tyrant in The White House
had alerted Homeland Security and Blackwater,
as well as Blackstone and Blackrock...
the dark days of the reign of George Insane.

Maybe Ron Paul is an honest man with the band of thieves.

A topic not discussed...derivatives, in particular, those others,
credit derivatives, "The single most traded market
in the world," begins Greenspan, "The CDS is probably the
most important instrument in finance by laying off all risk
of highly leveraged institutions...and that is what banks are."

"My oh my, and now it's all about oil."

Satya Jitdas is the global authority on the 'Special Purpose Vehicle'
that sounds like the repoman fixing the SIV and taking the SUV,
quite an interesting read that fixes the first synthetic CDO
with JPMorgan CD team creating a Xmas BISTRO in '97,
the world of synthetic securitization now transferred
credit risk rather than the loan, 'it' is all about insurance
and hedging the hog.

"Hey, this shit is exhausting and very confusing because its crooked,
settlements in the OTC derivatives market that has
no regulation, no transparency, that fake opaque again
that piggyeyes love squinting in HedgeHog greed,
oinking and farting in unison, Georgie's Animal Farm "
the skies clear and time for walk,a little exercise for the heart
and legs, away from the machine in the window.

An easterly breeze
in the florida keys.

In these Isles of Eternal Sun
above the Florida Horn.

Round About Midnight
and Miles Davis....

Eh, Bill B.


,

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Cloudy Skies and Heart Pains

Greetings from the Hill
68/78 Cloudy NW5/10 0656/1737 60%H

Late in bed with closed windows and strange dreams,
ringing ears, weak legs and heart pains already,
another day of recuperating from stress and excess,
that odd couple who can reverse roles with guilt.

"Hey, oldman, start taking care of yourself,
you want to live to this election, watching it on TV,
remember the first one," being nice was not normal
for the madone, the oldman wobbled to his spot
and thought....it was summer vacation in1948,
Uncle Frank had arranged a surprise at Uncle Eddies'
beach house in Erie on the Lake..."For Jackie."
The Democratic Convention on TV from Philadelphia,
President Truman in his snappy white suit at midnight,
everyone asleep but an eight yearold, then Sunday night,
'The Toast of The Town', the Ed Sullivan show.

The street was quiet, a brief period without renovaters
and their trucks and tools and fools, peace on the Hill,
could one hope that the speculaters might stop....

"Well, what do you think about that," the oldman talking
to the only child in the back seat of his new burgandy Ford,
"Not the politics nor entertainment, the idea of 'it'..."
once again that mysterious 'it' confused the kids' mind.
Harry surprised the country narrowly dispatching Dewey
and the first television set in town arrived for the election,
Buffalo, Rochester and Syracuse, the three networks,
and the whole wide world of advertising....
Life seemed simpler in black and white westerns,
The Show of Shows, Gillettes' Friday Night Fights,
that always faded out before the knockdown,
simpler times before the next dimension.

"We Like Ike", the convention in color, 'it' was different
and the General would build freeways.

Memories, memories, all an oldfart has, a body crippled
with abuse, neglect and lack of love, struggling downstairs
to feed the pets on the porch and sweep the floors,
water the plants and inventory the damage report.

The west side was quite an accomplishment and looked
as natural as in1875 before painting, historical integrity
according to Bill, original pinus elliotti densa, rather extinct,
"My, my, what does that make the house, a museum piece,"
mocked the madone, "And what about those boards,
swampwood decking at an Andrew Jackson each."

Last year at this time the balcony flooring was finished and
Master Eduardo, carpenter extrodonaire was working
on the porch while Bill was cutting and planing the porch
beams and joists, the partner was getting involved...
soon a lathe would arrive and Warren the wood turner
would improve the attitude of the impetuous one.

The oldman hobbled into the street testing his skinny legs,
taking a last walk while he was able....
the Internet Bride smiled at the door with Fang,
the catkilling Shitzer who had already killed
two cats from Love Lane, the indianwoman put
them in Bills' stew and he praised the taste,
of course they were fed with dinner scraps.

A few more days and the long weekend would end,
"A month of weekends," snorts the madone
preferring to be miserable alone, a nasty halfbreed.

The oldman belched and looked at the greengrowth,
vines burgeoning, flowers blossoming, monkey bars
covered with Love Vine, the scaffolding of course
that was erected during the Iraqi War before
the subprime crisis and home foreclosures,
the week after the oldman was judged homeless.

"That was cruel and subversive, a plot to get the oldman
off the lot..", growled the madone knowing the scam,
red tagged and condemned for affordable housing,
cut off the income and force the landlord out
and under a boat, into the mangroves, on the beach,
better the golfcourse than the Homeless Shelter,
not an offered bed let alone a free dinner fed.

Thanksgiving and Christmas not allowed at home,
an unrelenting judge until the balcony safe,
"I don't want someone drunk falling over."

Seasons changed and the oldman returned
for perhaps his final, in this old house.

"Hey, oldman ...put a plug in all that shit,
what is over is over, holding grudges is foolthought
mentality of petty minds without an original idea,
tomorrow is always different, let it flow, Joe."



Blue skies and beautiful,
a norhwest breeze in the Keys.

In these Isles of Eternal Sun
above the Florida Horn.



Have a nice day...Eh.

Friday, November 30, 2007

Blue Skies and an Easterly Breeze

Greetings from the Hill
73/83 BLUE SKIES E5/10 0655/1738 60%H

A gorgeous day in paradise, survived another month,
palm trees swaying in the noontime breeze, cats
sleeping on the balcony, still sipping cafe conleche,
windows clean and floors swept, a retirees' life.

"Hey, turdbird, you been retired since Carter lost,"
laughs the madone in an unusually good mood
despite the ominous news from honest sources,
those bloggers not on the advertisers' take,
media connivers who convince the gullible fools
to put up decorations and lights four weeks
before Xmas..."Hey, its for Real Estate Sales,
a home for the Holiday," mocks the mocker.

"So what about these CEO cheeseburgers
on Fall Street, a lot of relish on their buns,"
aluding to the fuckups who get vast bonuses
and stock payouts to lose billions, but where,
where is "it' lost, writedowns held on books'
"Duhh, like off the books balance sheets,
the ones the raters, Fitch and never snitch
get paid to ignore, accountants, regulators,
evaluators, appraisers, kind of like having
Joe Kennedy head of the S.E.C.,the system
is devised for the system....wait until the
Chinese and Indians play the game."

The oldman sat back taking the sun through
the open window, perhaps the talk of recession
was merely a WhiteHouse coverup before
the extension of war, domestic problems first,
"Who gives a fuck about 'away over there',
when we're losing the house and can't afford
pizza and beer."

Could the situation be as diabolical as actors portray,
a cheerleader as commander in chief....
Rasputin who never wore warboots and a cabal
of alsorans running for Hedgehogs..
the oldman sold out to the Ragheads with Zapata,
he had the magic touch and developed Offshore,
dumbfuck couldn't find oil if he fell in a hole,
the moron was a pin the tale on an elephant.

"All very cynical, but the demented rule the masses,
and the masses have become messes and spineless,
eight years of Bab's fool to be followed by the Bitch
or the crooked party and the Golden Morman...
his daddy was one of the best and Mitt made
a success at Bain, how ironic that an expert
at the game could rid the nation of theives,"
dreamed the oldman a dream, an american dream.

Blue skies and beautiful,
a delicate breeze in the Keys,
above the Florida Horn.


"Hi Yo, Silver, away.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Grey skies and light showers

Greetings from the Hill
74/82 GREY SKIES E/5 0653/1735 80%H

Breakfast in the presidents room, rain and open windows,
a cheese omelette, home fries, orange juice, toast and jam,
cafe conleche....the woman below in the suite
waiting for the wedding.

"Something sneaky is happening,and starting at Faustos...
three dollar eggs, four dollar bread, four dollar cheese,
beer holding at three dollars a four pack," suspects
the madone trying to maintain the weekly budget.

The rape is beginning by the corporapists...
the thugs of Wall Street, juniors of Jr., the Jews from Yale,
"Yes,yes..certainly a muddle in the middle of the financial
puddle, but what can one expect from the Prince of Duncedom,
an asshole who leads a nation into 450 billion annual losses
and a fifty trillion debt, this fuck is going to solve the
domestic dilemma...what a gutless collection of citizens
who smile and bend over for a financial bumfuck...
while Bushites flip the fuckees a half dollar for a Washington,"
growls the madone pissed with sadsacks in halftracks.

Doctor Coy was trimming the balcony oregano and offering,
"The DOW has the first big sell signal, computers reacting
to 1250, tangling with the twisted tale of derivatives and
confusing the bankers' greed whose seedlings shade all
dealings in darkness...opaque for this global fake,"
a mysterious smile as sunlight shone through showers.
..."And interbank market making may be suspended...
the dollar sliding to 149 on the Euro, gold to 814,
oil flirting at one hundred a barrel, the yen to 107,
all forcing a selloff of Hedge Fund assets levered through
the carriage trade...Ho Ho, back to horses,"
the oldman sighed and wondered if everyone realized
their global worth was falling..falling....falling......falling.

"It should not be a shock to anyone that reads Roubini,
Kunstler, the foriegn papers of course and not the
advertising rags of the, as the madone calls, corporapists,"
replanting fat stems in new earth, inhaling the herb...
shaking his head, "Now a discovery that FHLB of Atlanta
gives Countrywide 51 billion bailout guaranteed by their
worthless toxic subprime, and that Mozillo gangster takes
a 100million at 32, B of A takes convertibles for 2billion,
the stock down from thirtyfive to eight...just the tip..."
the clouds clearing, blue skies and beautiful,
far away from the fools in commercials and commerce.

"Profits privatized and losses socialized becomes
sleaze capitalism and corporate wellfare, another
public bailout of reckless lenders....and who condones
this criminal financial behavior, ' Where the buck stops'
at the Wheasles' desk..." adds the madone pissed with
the greedy corruption of the worst administration in
american history, condoned by greedy moralists and
offshore patriots, exiles by intent, the true tax evaders
and corporate raiders.......
the corporapists, soulsucking parasites, who are now
draining the last halfdollars under elitist socialism...
"Sound familiar.."


Grey skies and a cool breeze
in the florida keys

"Have a nice day...Eh."





their global worth was falling..falling....falling.

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Sunrise on the Hill

Greetings from the Hill.
72/82 BLUE SKIES NE10/150646/1737

Sunrise in the presidents' room, classics and TV31,
settling into the new quarters after a month
of change, dire predictions, and another guest...
the homelessindianwoman found a home
as soon as she can afford to leave.

That crumbling world of the american economy
has sustained through 11/15 without collapse,
so much for honesty in accounting..FASB 157.
Goldman Sachs has the Wheasles' ear, Yalites,
golden socks of Rubin, Thain, Rederbauer, Och,
Bolten, Paulsen....Central Banks of Canada and Italy
"Hey, if you want to be relevant be secret and opaque
with a president on the take."

On the Rock, new town captured old town, change
among the mindless mouths.."Build build, sell sell,"
fucking greedy asshole parasites never satisfied
until the last yard is pooled or paved, all trees cut.
Big Mac the pastor turned realtor again mayor,
"This phoney fuck is as dumb as a Cuban bun,"
grumbles the madone, disgusted with liars.

"What about that dollar, if that ain't a conspiracy
by the jewish bankers and the Ragheads, hoho,
'hey, yanks..xmas presents or fuel oil', and head
offices in taxfree Dubai, fly Airbus, haha,"
mocking the mockery of richrats departure
to the world of sand and glass houses
where all is transparent.

Cats fed, plants watered, floors swept, movie on,
life in the flat above a perfectly kept suite,
the aroma of coffee and homefries drifting
up the stairs, the soontobemarriedone typing
her morning notes of love...to Bill Brown.

"Enough is enough, nothing ends on Thanksgiving,
stuff the turkey with cash."

Blue skies and beautiful.
these Ilsles of Eternal Sun
on the Florida Horn.

Saturday, October 27, 2007

Fantasy Fest...the pretenders' quest.

Greetings from the watcher on the Hill.

A chorale piece from Havana fills the room, four windows
forty eight panes cleaned inside and out, exercise for the
arms and pleasure for the eyes, a back wind blowing
through the bathroom and open kitchen door through
the open original front door, Tiger taking the breeze
on the newly painted floor.....
"Keeping up with the people next door," laughs
the oldman still finding the absurdity of life.

"Major introduction there, don't fuck up the rhyme,
or heaven forbid dangle the pentameter,"
snides the smartone.

"Well, do you have something to say, a jest perhest,
ruminations on gentrifications, reflections on the past
wasted and forgotten in a drunken bed, perhaps
something nice to say....", suggested the Korean gardener.

"Absolutely, Coy Poy,( his name )... the sky is blue
and time to enjoy the sunny side of the street
for a Barrywalk and treats for whoever visits."

The chicken soup simmered on the gas stove,
four cats on four chairs waited for lunch,
peaceful before the engineer arrived.

Definitely a full town, parking spaces filled,
tourists out and about, a cyclist bumping
the oldman off the sidewalk, following a couple
down Fleming, he with black shoes and a tropical
shirt, she with an ahoo covering a naked top,
white four inch knee boots that stepped in dogshit,
rather flabby back, crossing at the light where a
busload of black tourists from Miami parked
at the Chinese restaurant for whatever....
she flashed and their cameras as well,
airbrushed obiesity.

The crazyone arrived demanding information
on the rainy night intruder threatening the life,
what little left, of the oldman, actually thirsty,
downing a cold pint.."I haven't drank in two days,"
a milestone for the cracker, who left to pretend.

The oldman left him to his tools and noise,
two pints and a buzz, toys for the boys,
drunken home improvements,
naked with his tool belt,
raw on the Rock.

The opera in the east rooms,
smashing and crashing,
pounding and thumping.

The west side monster without power,
an electrical engineer from Georgia Tech,
a house with troubled wiring,
a fellow with a strange agenda.

"What's happening, oldman, still hiding out,"
shouts the visitor from the far side with treats
from Humbolt County and the Mad River.

"That lunatic is still destroying the house,
the porch is great, but Eddie did it," thirty years
of insults and truth, the travelling man
without a bed, a mailbox, a roof or kitchen,
a junkyard dream on Big Pine Key.

"See you later, gotta see naked tit, don't like
Airheads' vibes, all negative energy,
the Mason vaccum cleaner," leaving another treat
on the clean glass table.

1500 the opera on the east side,
the other on the west, thirsting for change.

Blue skies and a breeze,
the pretender in paradise.

The oldman to the balcony.

Away from the madness.

The Fruit Festival Parade

Greetings from the Hill.
80/88 E10 65%H 0730/1850

A very quiet morning after a ruckussless night.
The usual drunken assholes may have taken
other routes or the free transportation.

Grey skies and static from Havana, the studio
more organized, neat, clean and spacious...
"Absolutely, looking great, ready for the man,
the Greatone back from the past, one of
history's mystery's....", laughs the madone.

Routines that keep the homekeepers directed,
feeding cats, sweeping floors, watering plants,
cleaning dishes, washing windows, cooking meals.
"Then you get to write, read the Internet,and....
play the Blogist....then like all great artists....
get drunk and visit the dreamworld," offers
an alien observation.

The mornings internetting have been on the crisis,
like all under George Insane, covered with lies.
An amusing speech by Bernie Bullshit
to the Economic Club of NY, 10/15, wonderful
words of comfort to the agents and dealers....
they were of opposites in the old days.
Basicly all laws are circumvented by the Beige Book,
the twelve apostles of Central Bank deceit, much
the same as the Israelie does at Homeland...walls.

Could there be something simple behind this dilemma,
gangsters in suits fronting for the true enemy,
able to avoid prosecution because of deep moles
in invisible holes within the IRS, the SEC, the Congress,
Hedge Funds from offshore, a tsunami at the door,
the dollar and treasury notes sinking as well....
"But Georgie, you could not have done this alone,
did Jeb put you up to this, bad enough what he did
to Florida, but son, youv'e ruined the country,"
sighed a weary mother her hair turned red as well.

"Well, yes it could be a conspiracy, a marxistcapitalist
union of exKGB and other athiests who do not embrace
The Rapture, thats what Uncle Dick said."

"You must find love, son, the voters will forgive and forget,"
weary of George's crooked children.

Put the dumbest son of a yellow flier in the White House
and a populous of obeise minddead greedy gobblers
consuming until hospitalised, pigfarming outsourced
by a billion little yellow people visiting soon...
"Smile when you flip those burgers."

A cooling breeze
in the florida keys
on the Florida Horn.

Ahoy,eh.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

An Afternoon Walkabout

Greetings from the Hill

A pleasant walkabout, away from the machine,
supplies from Wallgreens and Faustos and a look
down Duval, tourists filling the sidewalk bars,
mostly walking and gawking, searching for what,
"Is not and never will be again."

Leaving the goods in the studio then a walk,
that strange walk into the past,
a journey when things were different,
streets were not paved with tourist gold.

The sun was the gold and shadows silver,
porches were alive with families and friends,
pets to love and plants to feed, music from a piano
not noises between commercials nor a tourguide
telling lies to oldfarts from cruiseships.

"Jaaaacckk," screams my niegbour of 33 years,
holding abstracts of her property back 133 years.
Too fast and in spanish the past was updated.
"I no like what they do, and him, I spit on."
So much for memory lane.

The speculator stuck in his money pit gone quicksand
his senior years needing junior's income and
a rich husband for daughter...
moving in on Halloween.

One of Those Days.

Greetings from the Hill.
80/88 ESE10/15 65%H 0729/1853

All this concern over doom is bloody depressing,
as if a voice never heard could change events.
"You like to see your words and those pictures
with clever captions, gossip and comixs," growls
the madone sipping leftover wine.

"Hello, hello, this is David M Walker...
and we're in shit."

Really..another financial report...
2006 Losses....450 billion dollars.
Liability .... 50 trillion dollars.
up 20 trillion since George Insane.

2,715,000 employees @ $67,000.

"Ohhhh those benefits..."

No one listens to the Controller General.

"Really, you silly old bugger, a downhill race
for a stuffed turkey trophy, no more Clinton
magic, that was immigrant and drug money,"
snorts the madone pretending, buttttt....
imagine.....Gimmeee some Truth....
and not an assasin.

Fuck it all, its Barrytime, blue skies and breezy,
a walk on the sunny side of the street,
off to Faustos for good cheer and beer.

An afternoon playing in the garden
imagining beautiful things
in These Ilse' of Eternal Sun
on the Florida Horn.


Adios Amigos.

Saturday, October 20, 2007

Rainy Day in Paradise

Greetings from the Hill.
80/86 Light Rain S5/10 0727/1856

Helped the neighbor start his car with
an extension cord, fancy folks on Love Lane.

Writing on the glass table in the studio,
saturday morning notes,
a coolness in the air.

Cats inside, classics from Cuba, the Weather
Channel showing lots of green,
tires slick on the street.

Thinking about chores and bores,
home improvement for whom...

"Very simple, oldboy, don't smoke pot..
eat..and drink later," offers the visitor
at the screen door, folding his umbrella
on the front porch...the limey had been away
for a while, a rough tough first mate
in a pickup, in those days.

But this identity change was interesting,
perhaps different roles were manifesting or,
at crises, the original character revealed,
rather than the american disguises.

The Union Jack was back
and all the gold was in London, the Rothschild
clan and that silly other bitch,
the pound would get it's revenge on the buck,
and Michael Ra really gave a fuck.
"What's up mate," pretending again.

"I say..and who is this brave lad.."
picking up the big Tiger, purring
to the old friend....
"You must be the house Tiger,"
rocking him in his arms, big green eyes
in love and amazed this stranger
knew his name, of course Ra knew all,
the sungod on a rainy day in paradise.

"Well now..a lovely break in the mist..
let me take a look," dancing down the steps
doing a bit of an Irish jig to confuse,
a black Mercedes trunk lid popped
with a touchtone.

"I say, I say..but 'Today is the Day,"
laughing with his past and Mel Fisher
days at the Schooner Wharf...
a large bag of Meow Mix, two sixpacks
of Harp and Guiness.

"Never visit without gifts," dropping
twenty pounds on the porch with a thud..
"Very nice deck..looks like twenty
dollar swamp wood boards," unfolding
a white tshirt with a red maple leaf,
a strange grin.

"The loony is at par, the pound is up,
and I have no investments in the U.S.
but my limey heart and green card."

"Good to see you, my friend,"
a bit of a hug but neither were
of the graspy nature, a smile and good word,
the direct eye were what mattered
between oldfarts.

"Say, listen, I don't mean to be rude, but I am,"
affluence to poverty, the way it is, it....
"I have a few errands to attend," blue eyes
turning to black, old debts due, the walkabout.

"Here's the keys if you still like driving these things,
I bought in Toronto, white plates, got an apartment
above the lake...twisted the minds of the bloody
border boobs with my passports..Hofuckingho,"
leaving something else on the table.

The skies cleared at noon, blue skies of course,
smiling in the sun, Ra the sungod swung on the pole,
laughing.."Love vine on Love Lane....
no match for a Mason."

Only the oldman knew the Truth of that.

Friday, October 19, 2007

Blue Skies and Beautiful

Greetings from the Hill
82/88 S5/10 75%H 0726/1856

One of those slow days after prowling about
and internetting between two and four a.m.
Joe Bageant's essay, Princes of Gringolia,
festering in the brain, fat and gutless, rather
ironic that the Bitch will be President.

"Don't worry about it, oldman, you won't be
around to see the chaos, the despair, the
bankruptcies and foreclosures, the homeless,
the unemployed, closed factories, empty
office buildings, cars abandoned...Oh no,"
growls the madone, recalling scenes after
the riots and revolution long forgotten,
Harlem in "68 and the projects, Baltimore
barricaded, Watts burning, showdown Chicago,
CIA instigated student anarchy, and Tricky
didn't have eight years like the Weasle.

"Who the fuck remembers forty years ago
unless it's on History Channel," more grumbling.

Chores done; cats fed, plants watered, floors swept,
dishes done, Total milk and juice at the machine.

"Getting old sucks, can't run, lift boulders, carry
cement bags, don't even ride a bike...only have sex
at night," sighs the oldman living part time.

No fan, no breeze, the soap opera from Havana
at noon, a way back in radio time, what a life,
just recording the final days at home.

"Hofuckingho, that story, the true story
will never be told," laughed the alien visiting
with treats and some cash for the oldman.

A cuban mix and cold Molson on the front porch,
the local rags and gossip about the mayor's race,
inside dirt on crooked developers and payoffs
to the bureaufatcats, scalleywag bribes,
a cuban wife at City Hall knows all.

Blue skies and a southern breeze.

"Take care old man, be careful with that pot,
makes your legs..wobbly, Adios Amigo,"
just like in the old westerns.


A humid light breeze
in the florida keys,
under the Eternal Sun
on the Florida Horn.

Thursday, October 18, 2007

A Few more Notes

Greetings again from the Hill

Last friday morning a whistle in the dark, familiar..
that kind kids do playing in the woods, Ce Cile..
through thier teeth, the oldman wobbled downstairs
in the dark, a diesal engine rattled up the street.

Happy cats in the street light luminating 'Kit and Kaboodle'
and two whole wheat loaves on the porch. Before going north,
the man drove sixty miles out of his way
for an oldman and his cats.

"An eastern star," so bright gazing towards the airport,
moving to another bowl for Muggsie then Lightning,
a great constellation blue in a black sky above
"The Southern Cross, what a delightful morning,"
smiled the oldman happy to be alive.

Too much life wasted on other people's schemes
and not one's own nightime dreams.

Ruminating on a week with Gumbo Limbo, The Mango Opera,
Bone Island Mambo, Octopus Alibi, Air Dance Iguana...
great titles crappy covers considering the hero is as well,
a fine art photographer...Tom Corcoran is funny.

Going blind from the Internet and books again,
abandoning television but for FreeTV31,
plug it in and rerun Heaven and never forget
the classics from Havana 58AM.

But there is a world going funny led by a silly fellow.
Alfred E Newman from Mad Magazine...
"What . Me Worry."
and he sleeps with Laura.

Not much breeze
in the Keys.

Blue skies in Paradise

Greetings from the Hill
82/88 SE5/10 75%H 0725/1855

"My heavens, but the economy has yet to collapse,
maybe the madman in the WhiteHouse is waiting
for Xmas to cross out his list," grumbles the oldman,
tea and toast with the machine, classics from Havana,
soon a treasonable offence.

"The dysfunctional state of american politics does not
give me great confidence in the short run.....
but how about one percent..," Alan Ginsberg '87/'06.

"The job of the Federal Reserve is to take away the
punchbowl just when the party gets interesting...,"
William McChesney Martin '51/'70

"Well now Georgie Boy, this is one awful mess....
you couldn't have done this alone, someone must
have put ideas in your mind," murmurs Mom.

Must have been those Conduit makers for the SIV's,
maybe the rebundlers of CDO's and bad bankers.
Those unregulated offshore Hedge Funds orrrr...
Uncle Dick's company now in Dubai...
"Gee whiz, the dollar's got a slow leak as well,"
wonders Ralph Nader not wanting the job.

Of course one must trust the numbers like ratings,
advertising for realestate, pictures in paradise,
come one come all....a new fall rate,
"Affordable Housing in Foreclosures," mocks the madone
a new adventure for Vulture Funds..the key to a door.

And the Madness is just beginning...look at the prices,
catfood, milk and orange juice...bread,beer and bananas
mad cow, diseased chicken, poisoned pork,
floods in California, "Homeland Security at work,
no hurricane relief to fuckup, Georgies' jewspy at the helm
of the USS FUCKUP.

Of course there is no inflation
and houses cant fly
unless a big wind
from Wall Street.

Where life is a breeze
in the florida keys
these Isles of Eternal Sun.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Blue Skies and Beautiful

Greetings from the Hill
80/86 E10/20 60%H 0723/1904

Another lazy day on the balcony reading in the sun,
tea and toast with 'The Mango Opera',
more of Tom Corcorans' home town mysteries
a bit of lightness from Vidal's 'Hollywood'
and the intrigues of Washington and the movies.

Noontime at the machine and a roar at the door,
the multimillionaire from Greenwitch,
home of HedgeHogs and offshore sailors...
"Lets do lunch," laughing into the house.

A ride in the antique Mercedes to Geiger Point
stopping for catfood, beer and wholewheat bread.

"Isn't this beautiful," peaceful waters and mangroves,
grouper sandwiches and frenchfries, yinyang draft,
a visit to the past without tourists,
time to talk about PT's and the 'Big Fleet'.

"They don't remember, Mad Jack," soothed the friend,
looking at his watch and thinking ahead.

Dark blue waters with a ripple of whitecaps,
back to the Rock without the shock,
the oldman was happy drunk and
forgot the bread and catfood in the trunk.

Adventures for the oldfolks,
a blast from the past,
full jib on the mast.

Water and wind on USOne,
the breeze in the Keys
and 'The Eternal Sun'.

Sunday, October 7, 2007

After the Walkabout

A pleasant walk to Faustos for supplies,
cigarettes for the week, a pack of Buglers,
meat for the tomato sauce with liguini,
four pints for the typist.

Sunday afternoon with the opera,
the Red Sox and Angels scoreless and
what about those Rockies,
a real estate boom in Denver.

The Yankees collapsing again
to a bankrupt city.

What does all this mean.....

1600 Blue skies and breezy.

"Okay, this is it, last friday morning in bed,
genuflections and ruminations during
Camelot in San Francisco, nothing specific".

1100
A destination point..a point of view, a view
from the hill..the hill above the surge,
that surge that flows from within to within
and passes into another drain and out to sea
into a greater flow and current.

"Might as well wack off in the waves..."
perhaps it was time for messages again,
the machine would open the eyes
to catoragize and analyse.

Posters, the San Francisco age, psycedelic
dayglo drug outrageous fuck zodiac designs,
East Totem West and Funky Sam,
Celestial Arts and Bill Bates.
Romantic, be nice, still alone, a sticker
on the fridge, flower power....
burn down the guettos and jail free speech.

End the war, bring home the boys
and put real stoners on the streets.

"And that was it, head shops became boutiques,
then into department stores.....
big companies and brand names....
Duhhh, what next."

1200
"You make it sound so simple, a sign on the door,
a colorful logo, the image, an International
Billboard, brand labeling on the ass
of your pants, the neck of your shirt,
the grill of your car, steers to the cash register",
snorts the oldman, eyes heavy, ears ringing,
yearning for something unknown,
a proccupation with finality, but far from ready
to leave..not this house, not this life, always
an optimist believing in the sunny day.

In a vicarious world of entertainment that offers
duplicate hats and sweaters and the chance
to look like an asshole on television,
only fools would spectate.

Identity becomes a color change, a slimmer body,
enhanced options, change the bed and keep
the partner, sell the house and leave
the partner.

"Your'e missing the point asshole,
it is all about change...
but not the evolving comprehensive kind,
the tools and toys, baubles bangles and clothes,
better housekeeping...
trade in and turnover, an address changes
every two years, hardly time to grow a garden,"
snorts the madone unamused with the gypsy way
that started when the Dodgers moved to L.A.

Then goalies wore masks,
the snakes climbed up ladders
from thier law offices into elevators
and agency floors, lobbiest for stars,
dealmakers for the percentage, an allegiance
to the highest price.

The team number became the dollar number
and the frachise is Bushleague.

Always end with a joke.

Blue skies and beautiful,
a good breeze in the Keys.

Ready for the cold pint.

1730 time to cook dinner.

More Rainy Day Notes

Three hundred words an hour, better learn to type.....

0900
Families visited families with a boobtube, and soon
a skyline of antennas and birdshit interupted the view,
the Korean War was far away and too unpleasant
to broadcast, suburbia was spreading it's sod and
middleclass management learned to commute,
even the workingclass could afford a home
of thier own, flats were for foriegners, immigrants
that did the hard and dirty work..no blacks
just irish and italian, catholics of course...
"My heavens, but somewhat prejudiced,
church and state in a holy union but no peerage
in castles on crown land, this was a proletariat nation,"
muses the oldman gazing out over the balcony,
pigeons flapping for catfood, quiet streets below,
sunlight on cuban oregano, Chopin and Slovak
Paradise in its' second hour....
indeed, indeed, the oldman lived in a dream.

Free of other people's schedules, time to enjoy
the luxury of enjoying, those copulating verbs
so misunderstood for lack of use..
"Ho Ho, remember to remember, how curious
to be curious..," gazing out the north window
at floating poincianna limbs and swaying
palm leaves, orange blossoms long gone and
thoughts of the last month of hurricane season.
the constant dread of destruction...
"Of what, a roof, the porch and balcony,
windows and floors, gardens and fences,
furniture and appliances....Ho fucking Ho",
chuckles the oldman naked on the bed,
listening to a growling gut, as a fully loaded
cuckootrain passes babbling bullshit
to cruiseshippers gawking at paradise.

harrumff harrumfff.


1000

"Change your life for the better, upgrade your
standards, improve your lifestyle..",announces
the madone pretending to pretend,
certainly squandering one's thoughts in a
notebook for none to discover seems selfish,
but perhaps the concept has the purpose
of evolving out of the subconscious into a style
or even a larger theme...doing without to discover
what is truly necessary, eliminating waste
to eliminate less...

"Yeah..you fat hogs, eat less..shit less, for starters,
entertain yourself and stay at home,
maybe write read and listen to classics
and the sound of no hand clapping
...Oh oh, I couldn't be alone..
who could hear me groan...", mocks the madone
holding the broom in the hallway as the oldman's
fingers begin to cramp and he had yet to discover
why Jack Keroauc went On the Road without
a corvette on Route 66, and beatniks were said
to be a name by Herb Cain when psuedointellectuals
sat at Bandice's on Broadway picking up rich pussy
from Nob Hill, homosexuals arriving from New York
for the rennaisance, tailors for sailors, Camelot
arrived and Gore Vidal was Jackie's pet.

Johnny Mathis, of course not, Liberace was beyond,
certainly not Rock, decades before
the dark age of disease.

"But everyone is bi at Berkley",
wails the jewish girls
and the age of experimentation begins
with sex and drugs as the whores
in the tenderloin were men
decades before a clever adman
introduced the gay market.

And the oldman lived at Turk and Hyde
across from the Blackhawk.

Before Kennedy was killed.

A little sunshine for the walk
to Faustos.

Love Vine is growing on Love Lane

Greetings from the Hill
79/88 NE10/20 80%H 0721/1907

What a time for the gardens, God bowling up above,
the evening light shows stroblighting silver roofs,
indeed a balcony view of awe in nature....
a bit subdued from the hurricane watches of past,
but we are not yet through the seasons.

Cats fed,floors swept, dishes done, typing begins
with juice, toast and tea and the classics from Havana,
the writer at his island outpost in the Horn of Florida.

"No moaning and groaning about the White House Weasle,"
suggests the madone with enough of politics,
the local race into a runoff for Mayor.

Indeed, indeed as Captain Conch would say, the editor
of Big Pine Key.com, his experiment in suburban outreach
for those who enjoy true keys lifestyles.

In town Cayo Dave monitors the housing dilemma but...
"Yeah, but where is Rock Trueblood," wondered the oldman,
unheard of in a month, stultified voices and no opinions,
smiling poses to the Conch Color realestate rag...
the politician prodevelopment picture editor, "Say Cheese."

The true treasure is Goodmorningkeywest.com, the daily
notes of the pirate and pastor, strange natures together,
"This pirate did survive to sixty five and quite alive..
Happy Birhday, Sloan," congratulates the oldman.

Perhaps it is the grey skies, islanders are so spoiled with
'blue skies in paradise' always walking on the sunny side
of the street, the morning music of a mockingbird,
swaying palm leaves with undulating poincianas and...
"Yes, even the nothere rich, plant lovely gardens,"
admits the madone overlooking the illegal caretakers.

Fun to play with words and maybe invent a few.

This is a page from the daily journals begun in bed...

0800
"Not working for others...but not working for
yourself is in a definite reactionary mode,
the drunk thing could be investigated a bit more
with the mass pursuit of gambling..
a study on domestic aberrational behavior...,"
muses the oldman to the cat, surrounded by the
swarms, mosquitos seek black,..the reasons for not,
the subconscious denial of slavery that evolved
with suit rejection, then fashion for the poor..
jeans and tshirt, the James Dean hair
and the Marlon Brando sneer, but what of ..
the girls who loved Elvis, those hot things after
bobbysoxers who dreamed of being bad girls
with big tits driving daddy's new car and mommy nuts
with Ricky Nelson in the trunk....

ahhh..television and the top ten, from actual drama
to the friday night fights, Gillette and Texaco,
Groucho Marx peddling Lacky Strikes and Chrysler,
with of course a gorgeous girl showing leg
as she swung into the drivers' seat...
"The beginning.... and Groucho did it", smiling to the cat
my heavens but who would have believed how that
subtle revolution began that made delivery drivers
of housewives, this expanded duty prepping thier talents
for the fulltime workforce as well, couldn't support
the family needs with but one income abd one couldn't
expect the brats to work....
the beginning of middleclass distinction, cliques that seperated
the girls in classes and boys' sweaters with letters,
television seperated the income classes,
antenna poles were expensive
and color was to come.

Commercials spun thier insideous advertising
into a gullible nation of wanto believers.


"Well well, and that was page one hour one,"
typing was blowing up his fingers,
and five more pages of morning memories,
maybe on installments and it was screwing
up his photo gallery.

The grey sky rumbles,
the winds blow,
driving rain

In these Isles of Eternal Sun.

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

Another Election

Greetings from the Hill
82/88 SSW5 65%H 0719/1912

My heavens but a town divided in mind,
now a runoff between the Big Mac
and 'you can't beat our meat'....
the battle of the carnivori to be
settled after the 'Fruit Festival',
hummmm as Sloan would write.

The elitist lawyer and planning judge
not the landslide expected stuck in his mud
from eliminating too much forest...
"No leaves in the pools", smiled barehead.

A womans point of view again on the dias
in place of age with a sense of humour,
the greedy rat back, whoremaster of Duval
and Ambassador of Alcoholism.

Poor old Harry ruined by the drunken rage
and sunken vehicle of his son...
out of one of Tom's local tales,
soon forgotten but by the 'bladers'.

"But what does this mean for the future,
two years and five stars, hofuckingho,"
laughs the madone watching it all
and predicting the fall
before winter.

Seasons change and chairs rearrange,
bureaucrats retire or get fired
and the politician becomes lobbiest
the lawyer changes sides
and no one writes the Truth about
resident slaves and moniest knaves.

"What about you, Mr. Golden Flake,"
laughs the oldman of the poet politician,
the editors who suck ass for ads
and pimp for realestate, gutless wimps.
Voices that speak for green trees
aqua waters, rainbows of blossoms,
and even butterflies...all free.

"Fuck these pricetag makers for the Gullible,
rapers of blue sky victims in paradise,
outrageous chargers of illusion, delusion,
'take a drunk down whorehouse lane',
and send him home on a plane,"
growls the madone, too old to care,
too contended to dare,
and too poor for the fare.

Classics from Havana, a silent house,
a slight breeze from the south,
cats fed, plants watered, floors swept.

Getting weaker every day with age,
reading too much of Vidal and Bashinsky,
distressed with the american way of greed
that personifies in a tourist town,
"A hundred dollar bill gets lunch
and not even an insult," musing
over times past that didn't last.

Time to get a life
maybe a new wife.

A slight breeze in the keys,
these Isles of Eternal Sun.

Tuesday, October 2, 2007

Election Day

Greetings from the Hill
82/88 E5/10 60%H 0720/1915

"And how many mayors and how many elections
have you seen rearrange the Rock," wondered
the madone to the oldman sipping a cold pint
each on the balcony, a blue sky breeze at noon.

The oldman mused and thought of the first..McCoy,
The Real McCoy on a hundred dollar bill....
'McCoy fills the Bill above the print, great job,
hard to reproduce on cotton, the color perfect as well.

Mad Jack, the T shirt King.

Captain Tony.....why not, if you care, if you dare..
an upset and a barefoot mayor.

He thought Heymen an odd name for a gay mayor.

Wardlow was Swifty's stooge.

Someone was missing during the drunk decade.

Weekley and the Pretty Sing giveaway,
developers welcome in or out of the closet,
paved streets, drains that dont work,
the laterals stopped neither stink nor infection
"But made the plumbers rich, eh bubba,"
smiled the madone.

Morgan, the loveable pastor but a mean bear,
todays the day for change for ten dollars a vote,
very cheap for a 10,000 dollar job, 80 hours a week
free drugs,food and booze...trips galore.

Two thousand votes maybe three thousand
apathy thy name is voter but democrats have
plurality and the Tampoites support the butcher,
but the hatchetman got the navyman.

Cats sleeping in chairs, classics from Havana,
a window breeze, a change in the keys...
"Not very fucking likely, money is the honey
of these beekeepers of zoning and moaning,"
growls the madone heading to the booth.

Another beautiful day in paradise,
these Isles of the Eternal Sun.

Thursday, September 27, 2007

After the Fall of Love Vine

Greetings from the Hill



The engineer bringing a gallon of beer

to the oldman and the visitor

who didnt drink.



Apologies for Love Vine killed

pink flowers dying in the sun.


The cat Tiger through the front door,
Meow Mix on the floor
in antique plates
without mates.

The Tenting a disaster
by the Chaos Master.

The Secret Society of the Rothschild
clan pricing gold in London
for vulgarians of the world
.

The price of paradise
a platinum table top
green glass windows
and pinus elliotti densa
without paint.

Life for the faint
in these Isles of the Eternal Sun.


And the freindliest people
of the Florida Horn.




A Cracker without conch chowder,

a Mason with an electric

Another Season in Paradise

Greetings from the Hill
82/90 NNW5/10 0717/1918

Another beautiful day and one for a walkabout,
enjoying life for another season before another
appointment with the judge.
The house still on propation by the powers that be
those voices who never take the time to see.

Yesterday a chat with the house appraiser next door
the old man needing refinancing to move back in.
A contractor sucking him blind.
"A million I guess, but everything is down twenty
five percent....and foreclosures," the lady frowned,
her husband was in realestate, she was busy.

A walk to the City Hall and stopping at a white wall,
the future block of four million dollar homes,
thirty two in a 500 foot square, how much a foot.
The old Andersen house, home in '75, gentrified,
shrimp docks long gone, Jabours' Trailer Park,
the VFW club and soon the Schooner Wharf Bar,
Buco quitting his work of greatness.

"Look at that shit," the old Ace Hardware a Mall,
half filled or half empty, coming or going,
a lot of signs and empty space, but of course
it is the offseason before the Fruit Festival
and everything is rented and all are saved,
perhaps even the Two Daves.

Two hours of amusement and backstepping
by the judge reducing a 40,000 dollar fine
to a few hundred including a lecture to the
opportunist attorney Miss Stone.
Thousand dollar sewage bills by houses in
foreclosure, renters deluded by spinbrokers,
a red tag at their front door.

An empty courtroom but for the engineer
and the oldman, patient and accepting.
A year ago the judge declared the oldhouse
"Unsafe to live in."
The oldman a homeless soul until porch
and balcony finished and approved.
Six months living in another world alone.

"Never froze to death nor starved," musing
on the way home for a pipe and pint.

A book on the balcony, cat food on the porch,
floors swept, dishes done, plants watered,
the engineer on the Internet.

A bit of a breeze in the Keys.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

The Walkabout

Greetings from the Hill
An easterly breeze welcomed the mayor
with his lovely colored sign
the oldman covered the body
with a painters' tarp.

The wind blew in a storm,
the mayor looked at the red sneakers,
the oldman on his fourth pint,
still a computer without speakers.

Key West is Key West.

On the afternoons' Edge

still on the Hill

Another day with power outages but 'those kind',
the oldman smiled thinking of the election tradition
the power behind the Power...lunch and dinner out
and often in the dark of the special Few, he was mad
and shot the prick in the heart thrusting body and
head into the Weather Channel, blood on the floor,
a woman watching at the screen door..
she wanted no more.

It was definetly one of those days, the corpse was not
coagulating, a trail crossing the crooked floor
puddling beneath the blogists' barefeet.

"Fucking bloodsucking mosquitos," growled the madone
watching the situation progress from the same chair
a watcher of life, a recorder to death.

"Such wonderful tales that could be told," laughed
the oldman cleaning his mystery weapon.

In the setting of The Eternal Sun.

Still on the Edge

Greetings again, the machine cut me off.

Writing about Canadians, they are the only
nation to have remained in the big league
of foreigners since the Depression....
1930 Italy Germany England Canada Poland
Russia. 1960 Italy Germany Canada Poland
Russia England. 1980 Mexico Germany Canada
Italy England Cuba. 2000 Mexico China
Philipines India Cuba Canada......of course,
eight million out numbered all others.

The trend is to learn and earn big in global
companies, look at the names at Google
a lot of brilliant Indian mathematicians
in Silly Valley and Big Fall Street....
and those pesky canadians with their Snagtooth.
The Italians earn and go back home
to grow gardens for wine and families and food.
The Americans keep going to the bank
to pay for at home delivery of vitamin enfanced.

Acomfortable chair with a view of the blue
and feel of the breeze in the Keys
These Isles of Eternal Sun
from Mogmat to Key West.


The oldman was watching Color Purple
in the newly designed balcony bedroom,
the Library was empty cats sleeping in
the noonday noise of the workers leaving
for lunch...

It has seemed to be one those mystery days
of watching with a sober eye
enhanced by an earlylunchsmoke
will see to the sea.

The storm was twirling in his ears
as the sound came through the door.



the classics from Havana stopped
without power.

On the Storms' Edge

Greetings from the Hill
79/88 E15/20 75%H 0714/1921

Another pleasant day in paradise, the rains
those overnight showers have brought the
lushness to gardens also swarms of the
biting pests about the oldmans' bare feet.

Two weeks since abandoning this quest for
answers to the impending implosion....
the world of waste soon without toilet paper,
a conspiracy that begins in public toilets
then spreads to McDonalds and Burgerking.

The collapse of Commercial Paper has yet
to happen as Ben the printer cranks out more
of the devalued dollar and the Looney level.
"Now that is not a good thing for Americas
largest exporter of oil and trucks, electricity
and water, lumber and gold to name a few...
and all those comedians," muses the madone.

Monday, September 10, 2007

Under the House

The engineer bolts the steel plates
into the sill beams reinforcing
a corner rotting from rainwater
without gutters and drainpipes.

An old house neglected for too long
"Yeah, since Higgs died in1933,"
growls the madone dirty and wet
working with Bill..RehaBillitation,
this infrastructure attending to.

That tuesday morning 830 shock
that put all doors on lock
with a permanent mental block.

Grey Skies and More Rain

Greetings from the Hill
79/88 NE10/15 90%H 0715/1940

A dark rainy morning in paradise, lush gardens
from a week of gods water, papayas sprouting,
banana trees growing, love vine creeping.

The time since the disaster and the takeover
of the little dictator seem but a surreal dream,
more a nightmare to the unelite....
"Go out and shop," urged the Wheasle
and McMansions were bought with three car
garages for Escalades, Humvees, the pickup
for the drug dealing kid, Mom in realestate.

Immigrants did drywall and gardening, looked
after the little ones, "Who else to trust," the
bloated nouveauriche of the middle class.

Hurricanes of 2005 still a forgotten repair to
the still homeless of New Orleans ignored
bridges collapsing, students left behind...
warmongers in Washington.

The american dream a Vulture Funds' scheme
"Hello, wake me up, is this for real
or just Real Estate."

No blue skies today.

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

Blue Skies and Breezy

Greetings from the Hill
84/90 SE10/15 70%H 0645/1945

A labor of love on the weekend, the engineer
rebuilds the back sill beam between mixing
home made icecream...then grilling steaks,
a family visit at This Old House.

Hope Joe is well in Belize as another monster
approaches his retirement home disrupting
his other family again.

Strange things happening as the British leave
and Bush arrives to inspect his billiondollar
fortress built with slavelabour from Asia
by a Kuwaiti contractor subbed by Halliburton,
head offices in taxfree Dubai...Cheney the patriot.

How long this corporape will continue, how long
before the lifeblood and soul of a nation drained
by a government sucking itself off, the Weasle,
a mental masterbator grinning like an alligator.

"Take a break, oldman, there is nothing to be done,
the spirit is dead and hope as dark as empty
condos in Miami," growls the madone.
The oldman snapped a pint and took notebook
and pen to the balcony and feel the breeze
in the florida keys, these Isles of Eternal Sun.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Hurricane Practice

Greetings from the Hill
82/90 E5/10 0707/1948 80%H

Blue skies beautiful and....humid,
the morning after a rain and another
day without water, problems with the
pump and a dumb oldman.

A fractured rib from another fall before
dark, drunk and stoned without meals,
"When will you learn to cook and sip,
almost fifty years and still stupid,"
sighs the madone weary of worries and
nowarranties on eldercaring, of course
he was alluding to the drinking years
beginning with the Comtempus bar
the youngman bought in '59.

The days of Miles Davis and Mort Sahl,
the latter never a drinker or smoker,
and still sarcastic, brilliant, witty and alive.
The comedians of today fuckmouths without
intellect nor imagination, appealing to the
lowest common denominator, bad taste
and the advertisers message.

"What can you do...live in an igloo,build a zoo
on a tropical island, grow bananas and nuts,
too cold for the former, trying the other,"
muses the oldman sucking a Bugler
ignoring the pain waiting for rain to fill up
the pails and flush the toilets, the power on...
classics from Havana and blogging on,
no storms on the Weather Channel
another shutterfree week,
ninety-two at noon.

In these Isles of Eternal Sun.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

After the Theft in Key West

Greetings from the Hill

82/88 E10/20 0700/1950 75



Some lowlife stole the oldman's cards

and left the bankers light on,

and leaving pictures of Dad and long

expired identity, a life exposed

" Fuck no...not for a worthless passport

to only never leave the driveway." Or



in downtown Havana with three floors

which way to live on the sunny side or
in the shadows of the other kind.

Home invasion changes the illusion of
trust in the dark of the night no fright
but now the defence a cement fence
and electric wires cameras bright
to observe to reserve to preserve
the intruder in sight.

Things will never be the same
in These Isles of the
Eternal Sun.






"Hit that right tab little landing spots

for snoopets and snoopers thosr

d











hich way too live..

Sunday, August 26, 2007

Blue Skies and Hot

Greetings from the Hill
82/90 SE5/10 0705/1951 75%H

A lovely sunday morning, garden irrigating,
cats fed, floors swept, dishes done...
a cup of tea on the porch with 'Solares Hill'
the brain fermenting amid confusion.

A week of studying the impending doom,
the down in the trenches with the tranches,
the world of 'Financial Products', euphemisms
and capital letters for ' hot fucking air', the
madone groans about Erdman's curse,
the absurdity of Cornfield's hypothicatings,
packaged for low forehead CFO's running
pension funds that will soon evaporate.

The ABCP that bred the SIV's for the CDO's
the bundlers and bumblers that took too much
from the single family home dream scheme,
Bush and Greenspan, HUD and FANNY MAE,
one percent juice from the Fed, make the
elephants fart and bark, of course, of course,
it was those damn immigrants wanting the
'american dream', home and family with
a picket fence and a dog named Spot.

"Yeah and now look at this sorry mess,"
smiles the madone, "The Two Daves in
Turtle Shit Cay, hofuckingho and their
rentback schemes."

On the Hill the property tax might be bill
arrived, market assessment at a million $US,
a bit of a thrill when taxes are reduced by
eight percent and love that CAP.....
"Have a morning beer on Bill,"
listening to the classics from Havana, ignoring
the swarming mosquitoes, enjoying the
company of Tiger...prince of the Hill.

Life on the Rock until you drop, and now
a treat from the Beat country songwriter.
If I was an ARRP carp.
Too late to be great
Too old to be bold
Not artistic enough
to be sarcastic
Not dumb enough
to act young
Old and unschooled
and never tooled.

An ARRP and a carp
in a drainage ditch
no fancy fish
in a bowl.
Maybe a swimming pool
in a tropical garden
on Love Lane
a harem of Coy
patches of Bok Choy

A Chink in whitegay paradise
just a fishtail
and an exotic tale.


A humid breeze in the Keys, these Isles
of The Eternal Sun.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

The Engineer is Home

Greetings from the Hill

82/88 blue skies E10/15 0705/1954

When my father bought a new Chevrolet,
he was always a Ford owner
from his first new car.

Times change and tires dont go flat
technology rains supreme
in the flood of intelligenceafter Bush's
dams broke at the seam.

William wanders the floors
pinus elliottii tounge and groove
ripped from the dining room
President Grant ceiling
the wiring exposed
the cats agaist.

The oldman sat back and relaxed,
another hear attack could be
the last.

He filled the pipe
and popped

a Yuengling


Chinese was only
another lanquage.


Bil tore more boards


join the chinks.

Sunday, August 19, 2007

Blue Skies and Death

The End on the Hill

The Lady is Dead.

Thirty three years a supporter
for the oldman, a friend whenever
the struggle seemed too harsh,
a symbol of the individual.

Alone she lived without help
maintaining her home,
the rare matriarch without
family for sunday dinner.

Alone she died discovered
by an unanswered call
from her island friend....
the heart weeps heavy.

Life so final....denial..

Bonny Albury a voice
no longer speaking
eyes no longer watching
over the family block.

Nothing to say....

Blue Skies and Beautiful

Greetings from the Hill
84/92 E10/20 60%H 0703/1958

Another day in paradise and yet
to leave the house, no watering
with more showers overnight,
cats fed, floors swept, dishes done.

"Yes, yes, get the chores completed
before the investigation, the CFO
of the Truth Report, currently
inspecting the Department of Treasury
and its 1.519.842.980.048.19 dollar
budget, yep, one and a half trillion,"
laughs the madone at the oldman
and his fantasies of trust.

Start with 'The Centre for Public Integrity'
the list of Corporapists, thugs in suits,
all connected as consultants in reward
for Daddy's War, now Sonny's Scourge.

"No fucking wonder Joe Bageant leaves,
the smirk runs the jerk...cheat, steal and
lie with a coyote eye and the religious
retards have flags in thier yards,"
growls the madone sick of slime.

The afternoon opera from Havana,
the television sputtering on the Weather
Channel, cats sleeping on the table,
open windows breeze height....
fuck the truth and believing.

"This guy is leaving for Faustos
to support the next mayor."

Ah, these Emerald Isles with
blue sky days that promote
those drinking ways.

Friday, August 17, 2007

Blue skies and Beautiful

Greetings from the Hill
82/92 E5/10 0700/1959 70%H

Downstairs and domestics,
cats contented, floors swept,
windows cleaned, chicken soup
simmering with carrots, pasta
potatoes and spices.....

Watching Dean not Erin,
the first worry on the Hill.

A morning with Richard Cook,
and US monetary reform,
a necessary reading to
comprehend the Worm
in the White House.

"Clearing Houses are cleaning
houses for the indentured,
money but a number,
an electronic pixel,"
growls the madone.

Payday for the pirates,
fridays' lies for the tenants.

Another weekend in paradise
with no catfood or cash
for the busride.

Blue skies in paradise
and bullshit in the bank.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

When failure is not an Option

Greetings from the Hill

85/92 E10/15 0700/2000



Afternoon rainstorms, a warning

of Erin storming from Africa.



Time to fix the shutters and

install the gutters...

last year was Ernesto and

evacuation not according to

Judge Overbee, said he.



Another year and a balcony

safe and secure.



The crimes of high office

a privatized force of course

the largest of mankind

sponsored by the new bourse.



Privatized politicians consulting

the course of democracy

for the corporapists and those

of the White House idiocy.



The Seal with zeal and obsessions

to realize a cowards fantasy,

Blackwater as murkey as

Americas president turkey.



"Fucking assholes those 565

brains on Viagra and minds

bribed by money in Dubai ".

scorns the madone.



A rainstorm in paradise without

rainbarrels to save the water,

wasting down the streets

into a dying bay

while voices have no say.



The oldman was reading Millers'

last biography in bed

above the oblivious and ignorant

saving secrets in his head.



Imagining for a better world

in "These Isles Eternal Sun

Friday, August 10, 2007

Blue Skies and Beautiful

Greetings from the Hill
85/92 E5/10 60%H 0700/2003

Almost time to turn on an A/C....
the oldman was beginning to wilt
with the august 'dogdays',
a morning studying fraud.

American style, con a sucker,
convince an investor to own
a piece of paper, dumb fucker
or a house to loan.

"This is much too complicated,"
groans the madone sifting through
hedge funds and derivatives,
CDO's in not so transparent bundles,
the Three Headed Dog at the Bear's door
all leverage from the Floor.

"This dilemma is an analemma,
summer and fall, short long and
tall, put and call, a cellphone away
from a billion a day," snorts the
oldman silly and sober.

The Yaley, Robert Shiller, Macromarkets,
has a short and long con.....
a futures market in derivatives,
"You bet the House."

Crazier than Joe Cunts' dog.

As usual, the last get passed by
on the road of the greedy horde,
lonely at the top of the market
and the catch of the day
smells of last week.

Just getting by in "These Isles of
The Eternal Sun."

Tuesday, August 7, 2007

General Accounting

Greetings from the Hill
82/92 N/5 70%H 658/807

Another normal day in paradise
cats fed, steps swept, floors hosed.

Garden irrigated, dishes done,
hash browns cooking,
sausage simmering.

Back to the morning watch...
GAO David Walker
and....
the Director of Intelligence
imagine that under Bush.

Locally the community is
Tampoaites retrenching
against the Shit its.

The Cashturds of older
conchfamilies
and the foriegn operators..

from retiredCEO's
to illegal garden ho's,
Ha Imas ha.

'Pick up the slack...Jack


Pictures on a Tshirt

Ten US dollars

Think about it.

And dont sneeze
in the breeze
from the east
in the keys

'These Emerald Isles
of The Eternal Sun"
mocks the madone.

Sunday, August 5, 2007

Saturday, August 4, 2007

Blue Skies and an Easterly Breeze

Greetings from the Hill
82/92 E10/20 70%H 655/808

A gorgeous day on the hill, warm
and breezy, the morning reading
Chalmers Johnson and the expansion
of military imperialism, the vangaurd
for American Fastfood and Slowshit.

News from the indianlady in Delaware,
crooked corporations and chickens,
rivers now being sanitized, water
revitalized, fish to eat.....

The same shit that pollutes the reef,
KFC and Chicken Macs....
no facts just slime tracks.

"Where did the minds go and when,
has money become Zen."
sighs the oldman petting Tiger.

So weary and dreary this culture,
this lack of culture....counters of
small change and no cash,
makers of Trash.

Time to water the gardens and
enjoy the classics from Havana,
trim the coconuts and porkfat,
warm the rice and beans.

Another blessing in These Isles
of The Eternal Sun.

Thursday, August 2, 2007

Blue Skies and Hurricane Worries

Greetings from the Hill
85/92 S/5 60%H 656/810

Life back to normal, cats fed
and counted, the house next
door tented....floors swept,
plants watered, cleaning the
windows....three hundred and
ninety six original panes of
green glass and pain in the ass.

Not really, just ryhming...

Watching the morning rerun of
our leaders in action....sensible
citizen input on Key West waste
was ignored as 8 Million Dollars
was approved for a trash station.

A lovely internal auditor in white,
an angel to untangle the naughty
web of Julio, kiss ass commisioners
angling for avenues of escape.

Doctor Garbage himself confessing
of the failures and problems of waste
to energy and mulching nasty plants

" My yes, those exotic invaders, aliens
from another country, not Puritan
Petunias ", grumbles the madone
out of jail and exonerated with a letter
of commendations for efforts next door.

The lady drops the bombshell..." the Rogo
Report ", the leaders waffle and point to
lawyer Slick Smith , a problem that no
one would answer to, let alone define,
the stinky trail of Pretty Sing and his
crooked criminal consultant.....Blah blah
fucking blah.

"Clean the windows oldman and check out
the storm shutters", instructs the voice
of Law and Order.

The oldman took his notebook and pen
to the balcony to begin, a cold pint

A bit of a breeze
in the florida keys

The Isles of Eternal Sun.

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

TRUTH IN ADVERTISING

Greetings from the Hill

90 degrees southwesterlies.

The police arrested the madone.

The oldman needed help.

Who will feed the cats and

water the plants

living on oolite........

The Miller's girl
swing from the moon
when Frank was the bank.

With Riddles fiddles.

The floor was listing
drydock for a silly cock.

Had green beans, mashed potatoes
breast of chicken with two eggs
over easy with Cuban bread
for brunch


after the copcars left.

BLUE SKIES AND CANCER

Greetings from the Hill

82/92 SW5 60%H 654/811



Another beautiful day, chores

completed with tea and the last

of the indiantreats on the porch

watching workers fuck about

on Moody's Blues across the lane

"Love Lane, a million dollar address

an internet name and domain, the

future is fame", ranted the oldman

after Carter lost, but no one listened

then........before the gay spin, take

this house and sell it to a richer

one of ' All in the 'funny' Family'.



Now you can kiss half a million

.....goodbye to lies, licenses, permits,

delay of office, inspections and those

photos to the judge, compliance is

the magic word......."Do you have

a plan, drawings, a list, a schedule,

permits...", the Waterman rotated

his hands in secret signals and the

judge frowned and told him to

return next season making progress.



" Yeah you horses ass, you'll see

fucking progress when the new

tax assessment arrives ", growls

the madone always been there,

an existentialist martyr for those

of a different kind, a foundation

for a crooked house trying to level

the swindler's road.



Screams from next door interrupt

the classics, the television had timed

out............the porch had collapsed

on two painters, thier screams

frightening the cats, attracting the

curious tourist, the other tradesmen

left in thier vehicles relaying a report

on cellphones.....illegal aliens not

wanting to get involved.

The oldman got his hockey stick,

struggled over and pried the whiners

out and on to the sidewalk as

five cop cars arrive.



He had forgotten about the doctors

report, these guys could have died

toooo.



And now, other reports.



Blue skies and blue and whites,

the Isles of the Eternal Sun

and a warm breeze from

the west.

Sunday, July 29, 2007

BLUE SKIES AND BEAUTIFUL

Greetings from the Hill

79/88 East5/10 60% H 653/812

A glorious day in paradise, relaxing after
chores...cats fed, dishes done, gardens
and potted plants watered as well as
the twenty dollar cypress boards.

Enjoying the classics from Havana,
the Weather Channel always alert,
the hurricanes of 2005 forever
in the mind, in the big picture
of postcards from 'the Keys'.

Email examined, comments at the
Globe and Mail....loony parity.
"Sounds about right, the canadians
are as dumb as the Yanks, imitating
all things stupid and expensive,"
growls the madone making
flapjacks with Quebec syrup.

Another sobersunday, drug free and
old and wise...no longer an urgency
to discover the evil ways of bankers,
or uncover the hidden agreements
of privatized politicians, not a look at
the statisticians inventions...

"But your'e sitting at the machine..
the answer box about the fox
stealing the golden eggs
under the White House",
laughs the cook in the Kitchen.

The oldman smiled and sat back,
perhaps the land of Oz, funny man,
not as funny as Fake Steve Jobs
or Hollywood Comics......

HUMMMM
Hash browns, sausage, flapjacks
and syrup, cuban bread and a cup
of Earl Grey tea on the porch.

On these Isles of Eternal Sun,
a friendly citizen of
The Keys.

Saturday, July 28, 2007

Friday, July 27, 2007

The Dreaded Porch Sale

Greetings from the Hill



The last possessions of thirty years

living with a heart always in

Key West..... old friends and others

forgotten around the corner and

over the decades, dont get out much.



A weekend of socializing and collecting

cash for the pets' limosene ride to

the past, Delaware of an eight yearold,

an oldfriend unseen in fortyplus years

.......adapting after losing a home to

five hurricanes, a cottage to rateincrease

...nothing but disability income

and a way with the flute.



A decision to leave with some where

to go and not be a burden..

A crate in the garage, a sack

for the dog, feeding chores

for a family of drools and

no internet.



The homeless are hurt so easy.



Ought to put Cheney in a crate

to a Bagdad market with Bushboy

selling his bark and sneer,

for a Budweiser beer.

Saturday, July 21, 2007

Friday, July 20, 2007

Blue skies in Paradise

Greetings from the Hill

82/91 NE5/10 70%H Blue Skies

Finally left the house after a week
of recovering from the excesses...
the body is better without.

"Praise the Lord, the oldman walks,
the oldman talks to his friendly teller,
the pretty asian at Faustos and to
the homelessindianwoman smoking
a cigar on the front porch," laughs
the madone resigned to the SSP.

The situation was one of transparency,
not the view of opaque, nor bear but
mostly Bull...words to describe the
Central Bank and Hedge Fund
conspiracy....Yeh Yeah...them...
'We try harder..
to steal your larder."

My heavens, all this disturbance over
the price of razors and potatoes
and certainly not Vultaggio
nor the Miller girl
4.7 cents per ounce.

"Of course this is going somewhere,
survival, week to week, waiting for
the payout...fifty big bucks."
No wonder he stayed at home.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

blue skies in paradise

Greetings from the Hill

Back from the dead,
heart attacks are for
oldfarts............

Mad Jack returned from
OntarifuckingHo..
with no passport,
dumbasshole foriegner.

The old trout is still here,
talking to the iquana..
fucking thing ate my pet,
"Tiger tiger burning bright,
dead... forever."

THE OLDMAN WAS MAD

The oldtrout was noising
the way irritants do,
grasping on to a memory
dreaming for a dream.

"It's all fucking bullshit,"
growls the madone tired
from the beer, the pot and
'the trout in the milk pond'

The parlor silent,
the classics without sound,
television timed out,
Jake out of pot.

The oldman popped
the last pint
and indian played her flute
on the porch.


High priced Art
and lowpriced Labor.

MAD JACK IS BACK.

82/92 EAST 10/20 6/45 8/15

Greetings from the Hill.

The olman had another heart attack,
after he fell down the stairs....
again and again...
drunk at eight oclock.

The old scwaw was buying a gallon
a day and rolling him joints
trying to get in his bed............

Spent the night on the balcony,
unbelievable job...."Great going,
Bill....You just get better,"

Just returned from the donotcusturd
....plant a red maple leaf tree,
the fools are buying the
BushBill.


Pray for theold man and the madone

Your ears might ring and
see to the seas

ABOVE SOLARIS HIL

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Monday, July 16, 2007

Grey clouds and an hour long rain

Greetings from the Hill



Blue skies and beautiful again,

plants lush and the iquana happy

.....in the garden.



The oldhomelessindian woman

was shuffling and chanting.....

made it rain.



Listening to the 'Powers' on 77,

the classics from Havana,

making up phrases with funny

......words.



An oldfolks home on xmas island

richer folks in the park

solar power on Mount Trashmore

a desalination industry

the keys to research.



The oldman was thinking again,

time for the walk up the stairs.

"Fifteen fucking steps to the Door",

mocked the madone about Masons.

He eased toward the balcony...

a trusty threeiron in the palm.



"Jesus Christ Jack...", startling

the soberone at three oclock.



The Iquana was eating his favorite

cat.....like dead.