Saturday, July 11, 2009

Ruminations and Faraway Nations.

0645/2019 82/90 hazy E10/15 60@H.
DOGS 8146 5973 9130 1260.

Greetings from the Hill.

Another early morning
rising with the eastern star
"And the fucking roosters,"
growls the madone pissed
and popping a Hurricane
leftover last night.

He was leaving again.

Going to buy himself a new car,
a bright red convertible,
hot off the line...
with Ontario license plates,
no asshole american hybird,
made in Canada, all canadian,
even the gasoline.

"Fuck that Obama horses ass,
next he'll be preaching in Africa,
promoting a kingdom of Change,
getting the spearchuckers enraged,"
growls the madone distrustful
of the teacher preacher.

"Yes sir allfuckingright....
right from Barry's backyard, Oshawa,
the canadian government bailed
the company out to save the plant,
Michigan can't save Detroit,"
disgusted with the lot.

A beautiful day in paradise, cats fed,
classics from Havana, chimes ringing,
a twenty knot wind from the east.

Tea, toast and juice on the balcony.

Another walkabout to the waterfront,
saturday morning drunks on stools
sucking suds at the Schooner Wharf,
behind an empty lot blows sand
where a great dream was foreclosed,
how many more to come when
"The commercial paper hits shit,"
rants a knowitall from the bar.

Serendipity, kismit, coincidence,
accident, oddity....Key West.

"I helped invent that machine, you know,
yes sir, back at Princeton, before...
we had a good plan too, far advanced,
long before Google, and that's another,
Serkie and I were roomates, I speak russian,
I also taught him ballroom dancing,
Sniffing and Phishing were my expertise,
I was a hightech Seal...."

it was the 'breakfast club'
and tales of old keywesters.
One never knows who really knows,
so many stories told, so many secrets kept,
even at the 'Little Whitehouse'
that Harry enjoyed so much
and many presidents thereafter.

"Get a fresh lease on life."

"You can rent..but you're not trusted to own."

"But I was great once," boasts the Dunce,
now merely a resident,
no longer a citizen of Duncedom.

"Bad habits," frowned the banker
disdaining the predicament,
the very one who provided the loans
to buy the toxins that poisoned the system,
refused to pay doctor bills,
let alone offering hospital insurance,
but himself insured if the patient passes.
"How horrible that Uncle Sam died..
he was such a kindly gentleman before
taking up with the daughters of DEBT,"
sighed the niece with a box of derivatives
and counterparties to pay...
a polite chinaman in suit and tie
waiting at the front door,
a nasty oldjew from Goldman Sachs
already in the kitchen,
russians in the winecellar stealing inventory
arabs sitting in the Escalade.

Funny thoughts on a walkabout.

Inside the Reef.

High on the Rock.

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