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.