above Solaris Hill

Back on the Hill.

2010-03-24T18:56:00.000-07:00

Blue skies and beautiful
a gorgeous day in paradise.

No photos yet.

Waiting the engineer...

Then the Editor.

solaris hill notes

madonthehill.blogspot.com

pretty fucking funny for a senile
seventy year oldman.

High on the Hill.

Back on the Hill.

2010-03-24T18:54:00.000-07:00

A Chilly Day in Paradise.

2010-03-01T11:48:00.000-08:00

Greetings from the Hill.

Perhaps the time has come to edit
the learning experience.
Not much else since ignores
an uneducated oldman.

Solaris Hill Notes arises as
madonthehill.blogspot.com

Does 'it' connect...
send a comment or email,
madjackgunn@gmail.com.

"Is anyone out 'there' or
indifferent to CHANGE
or the HOPE of the DOPE",
growled the madone.

Blue skies and breezy
above the Hill.

solaris hill notes madonthehill,blogspot.com.

2010-02-15T14:20:00.000-08:00

Greetings from the Hill.

Due to technical problems,
Mad Jack has the above new spot.

Kind of hard to find????

Chilly day on the Hill.

No help from Blogger!

2010-02-09T12:02:00.000-08:00

0704/1817 70/75 Blue Skies SSE20/25 75%
DOGS 10035 7271 1077 1530.

Greetings from the Hill.

Pissed off with Google...
the assholes can monitor every message
but not return help email,
Suckspies for the CIA.

bXcqnn4m, you fuckfaces!

joebageant.com on CounterPunch,
socialist ragbagger.

Continued from before the fuckup.

Money was the rule, the law the fool,
class separation in the cocaine nation,
as Ronald mumbled and Nancy smiled,
technology was creating the communication
to network the world...
The Wall crumbled as Capitalism
invaded Communism...
who would have believed
except Mitchell and Schultz.

This peculiar process of making money
by dealmaking had infected the economy,
financing became the profitable division
of the multinationals...
"Hey, fuck 'it',
why make it here, too many problems,
unions, benefits, pensions, insurance...
cheap labor and shipping,
warehousing and retailing."

The financial engineers designed the economy
according to Ann Ryand's secret lover
and Atlas Shrugged
as America got mugged.

And Boob Tubes were made by Mexicans,
then in Korea for the Japs,
then China for T Bonds.

"What a concept," enthused the senile Greenspan,
with Rubin and Summers,
mass producing derivatives
to ensure the insurance
against default and protect the bet,
hedging the hedge, both short and long,
bundling the tranches from the cellar
to the mezzanine...
shit in a steak sandwich.

"Billy Blythe, aka Bill Clinton
sold out for a blowjob
and a library, white trash
jiving like brother Barry,
Liars in the White House,"
fumes the madone,
disappointed with sellouts,
and pathetic actors,
politicians playing games
while Demons Rule.

No pictures today.

Blogspot a snot.

2010-02-04T12:13:00.000-08:00

Greetings from the Hill.
bXcqnn4m attack?

The mind is overloaded with bullshit,
the continuous crap prevaricated by media,
commentators and journalists afraid
to explain the facts...
pawns of their sponsors who create
the fantasies of free markets
and an honest government,
both trustees of public monies,
schememakers of consumer fantasies,
the middleclass dreams of upperclass illusions,
a fine wardrobe and fancy car
covers a dumb mind...
A gullible brain who borrows his tomorrows
to pretend tonight,
cinderellas with granite countertops,
hardons with Viagra pills.

"A better life for the children,
a finer education and aricher lifestyle,"
my heavens, but wasn't that a fifties dream
that produced dropouts of the sixties
and drugdealers of the seventies,
assholes who made money breaking the law,
bending the law spending
on crooked lawyers.

Not enough Warriors to be Saviors.

2010-01-20T12:55:00.000-08:00

0711/1803 62/75 Blue Skies NE10/15 77%H
DOGS 10561 7696 1112 1802.

Greetings from the Hill.

A beautiful day in paradise,
reading the New Yorker on the balcony,
classics through the open window,
in the morning sun...
CNBC fools ignored in the bedroom,
roosters across the street,
away from the madone's hose,
cat's sleeping in chairs of their own.

Swaying palm trees and quiet streets.

A message from Alida, the hot dog lady,
when Carter was President...
an entrepreneur with the aluminum wagon,
"Steam your buns
and relish your wiener."
She had a dream to be city manager
and change the conch corruption...
hearts are broken in paradise
minds turn to alcoholic slop,
and hope exists in dope.

"Hey, asshole, only for those who stay,"
laughs the madone, seen it all,
watcher of fools fall,
and the brokers call.

"Yeah, fucking blah, 'it's' all bullshit,"
said Billy to Henry Fonda,
when Scott Brown sucked ass
in the state senate, another Guardsman,
a JAGmaster and no kills,
strange religious background
that didn't get him into BAIN
and Romneys' circle.

The oldman watched him embarrass
his lovely daughters on National TV,
"They are available..."
even George Stupid Bush
wouldn't pimp his daughters,
this fuck is a fool.

And the grinning President pumped hands
in another losing show of support.

An earthquake destroys an already ruined nation.

The Three Stooges agree to help.

Three Assholes who have ruined America.

One wonders if the spokesman
is always the jokesman,
comfort the audience
and smile at the ladies,
humor the fat fool
paying the bill...
the credit card consumer...
"Spend, spend, spend,"
encouraged George after 9/11
on the road to debt heaven.

Clinton released the Three Headed Dog.

This verbal flowmaster believes his own shit,
whoever unleased this monster of deceit
will find the dog of CHAOS
with a fix on the River Styxx...

"Imagine what happened this year,
Hope and Change in Obamaville,
this jivetalking halfwhite geek
made whitefolk ghettos
out of suburbs,"
growled the madone
hating the Joker Clown.

FCIC to understand what caused the theft
of wealth and assets, the fortunes
of middleclass masses without cable,
for the Super Bowl...
a month to go before outrage
"And outage."

The Consumer Cow is out of Milk.

Curdled and girdled on wobbly legs,
too weak to eat green shoots.

"Sell your stock, take the walk,
or is 'it' all in name
of Cede and Company,
the shadow holders of all,
the bogus trust of DTCC,
a game one cannot see."
growls the oldman not blind.

The classics get static at sunset,
grey skies and palm leaves,
Angora squeezing through the louvered door,
cat food in the President's room,
Tony finished in the garden,
Alger at his computer,
this house not for sale.

"Make 'it' a home,"
said Mrs Albury,
when the oldman was young.

Viola jumps through the empty pane
broken by a raving rooster,
the attacks from unwanted birds,
pets of the indian woman,
rejected by Hollywood
and the neighbor on 'The Lane'.

Perhaps a star is needed,
a quarterback
not an Ombumboy
for George Soros
and the Moniests

Above the Horn,

Beyond the Reef,

On the Hill.

.

2010-01-13T07:40:00.000-08:00

Bankers at the White House.

2010-01-13T06:50:00.000-08:00

0712/1758 50/60 Blue Skies NNE15/20 75%H
DOGS 10598 8025 1136 1846.

Greetings from the Hill.

Blue skies and fifty degrees at ten o'clock,
cats taking the sunbeams in chairs,
classics from Havana in the blogroom,
windows and door closed...
Tony's special chili simmering
in the microwave,
palms swaying outside.

"So this is the big meeting of the minds,
the leaders of corruption and fraud,
the innovators of financial engineering,
the creators of wealth management,
caretakers of the commoner's currency,
manipulators of mortgages,"
snorts the madone always curious
of swindles and lies,
moreso the gullibility of the conned,
those believers of something more
than what they are getting,
those wannabees in SUV's.....

Imagine if Obama asked for answers
not explained by journalists,
not argued by commentators,
not wondered by pundits...
"What the fuck are derivatives
and how could there be
a quadrillion dollar market
in insuring default on debt
in the trillions...
and why were counterparties
paid with government monies?"

The current crop of crooks
had not the experience of politics,
being part of Change without Truth,
deregulating tiresome interference,
technoregulatory arbitrage...
financial fraud,
innovation allowing the forbidden,
getting around the rules,
bending the law, fixing a ticket,
"Get a good lawyer, hofuckingho,
if you want to keep your house
and find your pension funds,"
shysters and shylocks,
Citibank at thirty percent
Zero percent from the Fed.

"Duh duh, 'it's all beyond me,"

Imagine 'this shit' started
with Reaganomics when the president
was a convincing fellow in a time
of peril and financial worries,
a man of delegation, he allowed
his advisors to execute and effect
administration policies ....

"Sounds good to me, Olly,"
a little trade here and there,
"Good David, Nancy likes 'it'."

And Stockman still lurks about.

"It is all about Efficient Market Hypothesis,
intellectually sounding phrases about
managing risk by turning volatility
against 'it'....
the Theory of Heterogeneous Expectation,
longing an exchange trade and shorting the OTC,
and Madeoff ran the Nasdaq.....
pink slips for jew lips..hohoho,"
the madone was learning his lines.

Back at the White House the mulatto
had on his thinking cap wondering
about directorships and speeches,
he had a way with words
but was never good with numbers,
he could learn fedspeak...
but would there be a Federal Reserve,
even if he retired after one term,
'that fucking Ron Paul',
and that bald headed little jew
makes sixty million in salary,
god knows how much hidden everywhere,
grinning at Blankfein to confuse him
and frowning at Dimon,
his finger in the FRBNY,
fingerfuck, both hands.

This new guy at the Bank of America,
a little too agreeable...
the monster was a wreck like Citi,
and too many of those things,
fucking derivatives, bets on bets,
and now death, air, and our roads.

"Is nothing sacred from your gambling,"
the President posed to the banksters
who as one sat silent.

"The Fink started 'it',"
sneered the man from Mellon,
the Ten Trillion Dollar man.

From First Boston to Lehman,
to Blackstone then Blackrock,
ML,PNC,Barclays eighty percent
and still in the chair.

Runs AIG's collection of shit
for the Treasury and Tiny Tim,
where was 'he' today.

"Brrrrr ohfuckingbrrrr,"
laughs Tony with cold beer
and a sandwich from BO's,
joining the oldman at noon.

Chores in the afternoon to repair
the damaged plants from roosters
scavaging the balcony beauties,
his precious cuban oregano.

"No one tells the Truth...
does anyone really know anymore,
is 'it' all offshore
beneath an invisible island
in a carnival cavern
run by the pixelman,"
muses the oldman coming alive
with chilibeans and beer,
a grouper fish sandwich
with french fries.

The media is controlled
by senile old fools,
Murdoch and his chinese spy,
a pussypipeline to the Reds,
hahaha, an anachronism...
but maybe not.

"Whatever, whatever, the dorks
watch FOX while dudes read WSJ
and the DOW keeps records...
Roger Ailes makes 23M making FOX
700M, more than the others combined,
kind of says it all,"
sniffs the knowitall madone.

And Redstone is not the
daughter haters real name.

"Mr. President, sir, wakeup....
Derivatives are rational instruments
for unlocking latent value
in financial transactions
through mathematical logic...
a net value creation derived
from an underlying asset
exchanging cash flow
or equivalent assets
over time based contracts..."

"Without leverage,
the Derivative Ballroom
will have no dancers,"
echoed a voice in his mind.

It was time for Lincoln's room.

Above the Horn.

Beyond the Reef.

Inside the house.

A Quadrillion Here or There.

2010-01-06T14:15:00.000-08:00

0712/1753 50/60 Blue Skies N15 70%H
DOGS 10511 8176 1129 1804.

Greetings from the Hill.

Shoes, socks, sweater and coat...
closed windows and cats inside,
no heating in this old house,
two comforters and no spouse.

Classics from Havana and swaying palms,
"You lying old dog, you have a heater on
in the President's room,"
laughed the madone,
sipping hot chocolate.

The oldman was studying derivatives again,
Barry Obumboy promised to intercede
on this perplexing problem not understood
by the oppressed masses and horse's asses,
those elected officials.

The very idea that someone could conceive
of such a scam to circumvent debt
seemed beyond fair and honest accounting,
more likely a limey plot by City of London...
and American investment bankers,
to perpetrate one world currency.

"Hey asshole, a Visa card does that
with a higher net profit than banks,"
laughs the madone amazed
at a public gone dumb.

The bitch was now running the commodity racket
for Jamie Dimon and the Cap and Trade
beyond imagination ripoff...
"Could anyone believe this scam,
Greenhouse Alfucking Gore,
dumb as they come,"
snorts the madone,
pissed with another asshole
speechmaking for Goldie Sox
and the Wall Street pimps.

The media has enough whores
flashing thighs eying the camera,
interrupting shrill cunts,
talking over emasculated dicks
who weakly concede,
not a man left standing.

"A K Street whore,"roars a man
still shouting from Florida,
a dissenting man who resents
the Federal Reserve System,
the private company of Thieves,
Liars and Cheats, twelve disciples
of economic deceit.

"This Robertson slut was in the bag
with the Gramm's , Rubin, Summers
and Blowjob Bill...
deregulation on the Hill to save Citi,
and now Obama sucks tit,"
growling in the dark,
the oldman was mad.

Little Ben, the pathetic academic
who pretends so well to try,
suckass fuckfaces using words
of excuses for failures...
worse than a preacher.

"Pump the printer, buy T bonds,
stash them in the Funny Bank
with F and F's toxic waste
and the Big Twelves shadow debt,
leveraged bets gone bad,
while the Hedge Hogs wait
to change the signs,"
muses the oldman
as the cat shits in the corner.

A savior to this calamity, this outrage
to the believers of goodtimes for all,
supporters of optimistic futures,
comfort and decency in old age,
small fortunes to pass on....
"Hofuckingho, asshole,
get a grip on reality,
there is no heaven or hell,
jews run the CFR,
and you have AIG on your face,"
snorts the madone
hating that kike Greenberg
who caused 'it' all.

Of course 'Tiny Tim' will save the world
from the imaginators of wealth,
engineers of financial products
that promise rewards beyond before...
and of course protection from loss,
the age of risk management
when the largest company in the world
"Goes fucking bankrupt....
Up up and away in your new Chevrolet."

The oldman was disgusted with the gutless.

The sellout started with cheap goods,
the power of a world reserve dollar,
military intimidation and information,
spies went to the skies
and no man went to the moon,
since then every president
has been a goon.

This one merely educated,

Beyond the Reef.

Enjoying the Hill.

How was your Decade?

2009-12-30T09:24:00.000-08:00

0710/1748 59/74 Blue Skies NE15 70%H
DOGS 10543 7945 1095 1230.

Greetings from the Hill.

A beautiful day in paradise...
seventy one degrees at noon
after a double comforter night
with windows closed and cats inside.

A day reading comments on 'Zero Decade',
Crudman's NYT ostentatious yuppie barf,
insipeous wanting attention remarks
without any sense of reality,
or simply edited for LaLa world.

"The fucker has conned the world as well
as the dickhead masses on hardon pills
and obamaphones, the black professor
of the American Constitution, my oh my,"
growls the madone disgusted with 'it' all,
this sordid affair between government
and the investment bankers manipulation
of the central banking system.

Representatives of the people....
certainly true for the limited few,
those five million families surviving
on 100T to 1M annual income,
executive managers of the show,
while 120 thousand families exist
on 1M to 20M annually.

"What about those four thousand families
with over twenty million a year,
and where are they today...."
growls the oldman
always amazed with ignorance.

A politician for every three Goldman Sachs
thieving cheating lying partners...
and that's not the Dimon grifters
or petty crooks like the Countrywide king,
635 elected assholes pretending to know
about balanced budgets while living
ungainfully from the 'perks' of Office.

"My my my...is anything left to borrow on,
the roads, insurance policies, the air we breath,
ho ho ho, a carbon tax and death derivatives,
privatization for tollways, squeeze what you can,"
the boys who fucked Mexico are doing 'it'
to hapless hopeless Uncle Sam,
the old Rothschild game....
buy those bonds and wait a few years.

After all, new management is always lurking.

A Zero Decade for struggling families
who earn between five and thirty thousand,
not much for half the population,
fifty million families must be growing herb,
and sixteen million underclass living
between 500 and 5000 dollars annually,
the same sixteen million in middle class...
30 to 50 thousand bucks a year.

"Who the fuck invents these figures,
Ben Bernanke or that stooge at FRBNY,
say goodbye to unions Mister AFLCIO,
Dimon's mentor holds the wand.

"A flaw, I have found a flaw, but...
I don't know what 'it' is," stumbles
the wizard of risk prevention,
the promoter of derivatives,
the inventor of financial chaos,
the creator of Fedspeak.

"A lovely model."

"But she has no tits,"

"Fatten her ass."

Gullible's Travels forewarned the greedy,
a clever publication for the curious.

"Oldman, you're not doing very well,
there is no subtle message or joke,
poetry creates pictures, comedy a laugh,
your snide remarks on photos..."
the madone was tired of chasing roosters,
the oldman knew this was not the day
to uncover the true criminals
behind banksters, corporapists, fraudsters,
the book of Law is written every day
by shysters and shylocks.

Blue skies and beautiful
with perfectly clean windows
open for the breeze.

'It' was a very good year.

Christmas Turkey and Pie in the Sky.

2009-12-25T08:58:00.000-08:00

0709 1746 72/80 Cloudy SSE 5/10 90%H.
DOGS 10423 7650 1100 1729.

Greetings from the Hill.

A month away from searching and snooping,
seeking the invisible thieves in the banks,
the facilitators who manage the drainwork
down which underlying assets disappear
into the dark opaque toxic waters
of cisterns beneath the shadow offices
of OTC and DTC now connected to FRBNY.

"We have learned how to manage risk this time,
there will not be a second wave....."
assures the Master of the Treasury looking funny,
as if he were a lying politician promising hope,
or a general assuring victory in Afghanistan,
perhaps a waiter at Happy Hour.

Of course the water is rising in Arizona,
over the heads of homeowners
with no equity life rafts and no walkaways.

State income down twenty five percent,
back to 2002 levels before the boom.

Actually the same when Bill was on the Hill.

"Who the fuck created this mess and who
has profitted from the financial engineering,"
sneered the madone well aware of the criminals
who talked and walked the same game,
played boldly without shame,
those who held the trust of a nation
to adventure in speculation.

"Kings of the Street, Masters of Fraud,
Manipulators of Governments,
Treasury Agents, Keepers of the Fiat,"
scoffed the oldman awakening
from a morning nap.

He had dreamed Hillary came for lunch
and told him about Bill and Phil
conspiring with Wendy and Enron
to alienate Brooksley Born,
permitting the explosion of betting
without table stakes,
the word of a turd
in the derivatives Game.

Within two years, the remarks...
"A trillion here, a trillion there,"
were now unregulated quadrillions.

"Deer hunting with Jesus,"
mused the oldman over his gift,
a present to himself.

The stylings of Joe Bageant
encouraged him to dream of Truth.

The Weather Channel in the bedroom,
classics from Havana and Big Mac
in the Presidents' room,
cats and roosters on the balcony,
thirty five years looking out
the same windows...

"Paradise is still Paradise."

"What about that little worm, Larry Fink,
the smartfuck kike from Boston
who can't control his bitch,
the elite cunts needing age rage counselling,
watching the men of power glower
in skyscraper erections.

The very idea that a man of humble status
could comprehend the mechanics
of computerized algorithms
without a nightcourse from MIT
or a day job at McDonalds....
"Is fucking Absurd,"
laughed the oldman
after smoking a joint with Alger
and sipping a cold pint with Tony.

The turkey was simmering in his mind.

The last vestige of hypocrisy is now in danger...
"Horror of fucking Horrors,
that black boy went berserk....
but he's only part black, the bad part,
a big stick went to his head,
he'll caddy for the President somewhere,"
saddens the oldman wondering
if the worst has past
and no one is cleaning up the mess.

A humid day in paradise

beyond the reef

above the horn

Happy on the Hill.

More Congressional Corruption.

2009-11-14T06:51:00.000-08:00

0642/1740 68/76Blue Skies N5/10 80%H
DOGS 10230 7699 1116 1716.

Greetings from the Hill.

A comfortable day in paradise,
a cool breeze from the north
for the milliondollar machines,
big spenders from the elite world.

The town grasping at events
to add to a diminishing cash flow
while retailers disappear in the night
unwilling to pay exorbitant rents.

"The signs are on the street
and more and more unlighted,"
snorts the madone.

"Empty seats at the World Series,"
shrugs John, visiting for the day,
a ticketholder himself...
"The bastards are cleaning us out
and nobody cares, you gotta think,
the mafia had morals, these pricks
are bloodsucking leeches,"
sipping a beer on the balcony
then heading into the coastal storm
returning to HedgeHog City.

More and more each day the fool
reveals himself beyond control,
becoming an embarassment,
a babbling pretentious imposter
as leader of the World...
Commander in Chief of a military
in another losing adventure
that profits only the privateers
and the drug cartels.

"Public memory is deleted nightly."

Too big to understand, too much to know,
those who toil for the soilings of others
can only dream and never chance to scheme
in the financial engineering of fraud.

"This fucking contagian is a disease
that was created in the minds
of mathmatical manipulators
for fast talking marketeers
of the swine pits of Lehman
and the cages of Bear...
'make a deal, how much can I steal',
the mantra for vultures and hogs
offering twenty percent gains
with bribes on the side ",
fumes the madone pissed
with liars and cheats,
embezzlers of the soul,
thieves of Trust.

"Yeah fucking yeah...
in Fraud we Trust,"
grumbles the oldman,
weak, sick and emfeebled,
body and mind diseased,
without insurance to cover
the catastrophic costs
of sustaining life...
allowing nature to determine
one's time on the planet.

A cool breeze on the balcony,
classics from Havana and CNBC,
cats on the chairs, doves on the railings,
roosters never silent,
a cold pint at noon...
Warren, the wood turner
downstairs on the lathe,
Tony protecting his garden,
the flautist silent.

"So what about this bigeared jewess
who engineers the law
for the Goldie Sox Gang,
this bitch must control Masters
and her derivative scam
with all the other crooked twats...
dried up cunts taking over
the Viagra dicks,
hohofuckingho,"
laughs the oldman
over being nice to anyone.

The Bribees in Congress sucked ass again
under the leadership of Bunghole Barney,
two stupid bills empowering Fraud Street
to fleece the naked sheep again,
"These fucking derivatives that no one
understands or wants to for fear of stupidity,
after all what does 'it' mean...
insurance on shorting an investment
to hedge against loss and gain
in the offshore havens
of the British Mavens,
controlled by
'The City of London',"
cunts from Caimbridge,
pimps from JPMorgan,
traitors like Dimon.

"Go get them, Janet."

The bitch in the White House
pedals a healthcare plan
for cellphone drugdealers
and Acorn nutcases,
pathetic and preposterous,
the schill on the Hill.

One down and more to go,
Corzine and his largess,
New Jersey a mess.

Blue skies and beautiful,
a breeze in the keys.

Beyond the reef.

Above the Horn.
or

The King is Dead.

2009-10-29T13:53:00.000-07:00

0733/1848 78/85 Blue Skies ESE10/20 75%H
DOGS 9878 7928 1043 1615.

Greetings from the Hill.

Another beautiful day in paradise,
chimes ringing, roosters singing,
gentle overnight showers...
"And no late night drunks,"
offers the madone,
surley from Larry King
with Ron Paul and Michael Moore
at three AM on CNN.

This years Fantasy Fest seems a bust,
usually a week long party
only a weekend orgy,
the mood darkened
with the death of last year's King,
Captain Timothy Brown.

"Good morning, How are you."

Always giving with love and laughter,
helpful with happiness,
so rare among the selfish,
a very rare bird.

The oldman will miss the man.

Another week and the ruse continues,
more coverups about fuckups,
the gaming without blaming
the banksters and corporapists,
the lawyers and lobbyists
who contrive then bribe,
the checks and balances
are payments to politicians.

Greenspan with Pimco
and 'the other Paulson'
"How low does 'it' go."

"Could there be a revenge of the others,
that half downtrodden by men
with fat wallets and stiff dicks,
'The Pissed Off Party of Women',"
muses the oldman
thinking of Brooksley Born
lecturing the FDIC
on the disaster of derivatives,
"I told you so!"

The bully Summers advising Obama.

"Of course if middle class women
hadn't wanted granite kitchentops
and husbandless wives swimming pools,
the mess would have never occured,"
claims Jeff Beck.

Busy street at noon, even motorcycles,
not a parking spot available,
soon the power will go out,
"The Conch's revenge."

The ConchTrain passes full.

"The Audacity of Fraud Street,"
claims Mish, pissed with the pack
of moneyeaters gorging
at the Trough of Debt,
pigplanning the next meal
in 'the derivative steal'.

"Where is the Outrage,"
rants Denninger in Market Ticker,
attempting to rattle
the addled brains.

"Hedge Funds will fall in the winter,
with Citi returned to the same games,
seperate companies controlled by the same
who are responsible for 'it' all,"
claims Cramer the seer,
a Goldman Sachs queer,
his last comedy tips
before moving to the Weather Channel.

The Three Headed Dog has now one head
and getting smaller each day
while GMAC goes looking
for an Obama bone.

"Why does he not make me mad,"
sighs the oldindian passing
the joint with an excuse
for part payment...
"I'll pay the rest tomorrow."

What can an oldman do
but sigh in the sun.

A charming con who acts the part,
plays the role with the look
of sincerity and soul
while busting the check book.

"Where did he learn to salute,"
growls the madone watching
a clip on the tarmac.

An interesting reunion of the past,
thirty years of FantasyFest
and how many alive,
who did survive
the party of Death...
AIDS.

The event evolved to a fundraiser
for the victims of an unknown,
a curse, perhaps revenge...
"Queers can't love naturally,"
claimed a certain preacher
who bungholed a whore
and paid cash
from the collection plate.

"What's it all about...Baarrry,
are you sorry you were a Sorieto,
did you never love Granny Dunham,
tough having white parents,"
growled the madone
sipping a cold pint
at two o'clock
in the balcony breeze.

"Pretenders in Paradise....."
mulled the oldman thinking
about the visitors drinking
and laughing across the street
with seasonal owners.

The gardener stopped for a spell,
before taking a rideabout,
smoking a butt, sipping a pint,
then off with his camera...
"But, they're all old and ugly,"
those who survived
and never arrived.

As Mayor McCoy said
thirty years ago,
"We'll have sunset condos
for the old and the rich."

CitiBank charges 30% for your DEBT.

Blue skies and beautiful.

Inside the Reef.

Above the Horn.

Just another Sad Song.

2009-10-22T06:20:00.000-07:00

0728/1854 75/85 Blue Skies E15/25 85%H
DOGS 9913 8290 1060 1750.

Greetings from the Hill.

An average day in paradise...
weatherwise.
Seems more like a perfect day
for sailing, golfing, diving,
even fishing
or reading a book,
perhaps jogging at Nude Beach
flopping the tits.

Morning sunlight on the balcony,
cats on chairs sleeping,
chickens on the railings
to sneak in the catbowls,
"Fuck off, you parasites,"
the madone hosing them to flight
dive bombing passing cars...
"Chickens do fly."

The oldman was distressed
with the mess,
no comics with courage,
no singers with heart,
no satirists with sear,
"Gutless dicks and shrill tits,
who hires these actors,
the casting department
'needs a makeover',
Wall Street on Madison Avenue,"
thinking of ryhmes
with the musical chimes,
a gusty beeze
in the keys.

The Big Urgency has disappeared
as the government agency
into banking appeared,
more coverup with TARP blankets,
but commercial arms
sticking out
in rigor mortis.

"Talk, talk, you braindead fools,
no Charlie Rose in your weedpatch,
liars, cowards and whores,"
rants the madone at CNBC
with the opening bell
for traders from Hell.

The ten o'clock sun accented
a dozen oregano on the balcony,
time for the winter seedlings,
"Yeah, something to eat,
not just gawk at,"
grumbles the nasty one.

Today seemed a good day to live,
maybe write a country song.

"Okay...pick up a chorus."

'Down to my last buck..
and I don't give a fuck.'

"Oh oh, despair and foul talk."

'All my payments are late
my current account past
don't know how much longer
my credit cards will last'

"Hey hey, country and middle class
with a little trailer park trash."

'My banker on Main Street
sold my mortgage to Wall Street
who peddled it in tranches
to worldwide branches'

"Oh, oh, a little esoteric like Bob Dylan."

'Now that sputtering Barney Frank
and the fulminating Dodd
conspire with every bank
in the financially engineered fraud'

"Pooh pooh, stretching for a ryhme,
and what about the chorus."

'Been working all my life
for the red white and blue
but I'm losing my home
and my union job too'

'Out on the street soon
sleeping under the moon'

"Well, that's a stretch...
maybe Charlie Daniels
or Arlo Guthie."

'Blame it all on George
but Bill signed the bill
that made Wall Street
King of the Hill'

'A conspiracy by the few
or mathmatics gone mad
politicians and bankers
all greedy men gone bad'

"Hey there Horatio, what's up,
is this some jazz poem now,
a liitle Miles Davis bitches brew."

'All Hope is small Change
from a smooth talking leader
down to my last buck
and don't give a fuck'

"My my heavens, what to say."

A beautiful breeze
in the florida keys.

Inside the reef.

Above the Horn.

Something beyond Economics.

2009-10-15T10:08:00.000-07:00

0725/1900 82/88 Blue Skies SSE/5 75%H.
DOGS 994 7490 1051 1751.

Greetings from the Hill.

A good day for an adventure,
gardens watered, cats fed,
time to visit the outside world
away from the home arrest,
the selfimposed observer.

A month of creative gardening
changing dereliction to beauty,
"I do 'it' because I enjoy 'it',"
laughing and smiling,
an attitude forgotten
in a culture of greed,
a nation obsessed with billing,
overcharging incompetence,
served with an insult.

The fellow possessed an overview
that allowed him to see as an artist,
not anothers' design or plan,
simply the thing itself
unfolding on 'its' own,
without some asshole
imposing will.

A photographer who takes
the perfect shot because
he thought with patience
and a gentle kindly sense,
not dollars and cents.

A quiet morning street but for
"Those fucking roosters talk
to each other, nasty birds
that only interrupt to mock,
reminds me of certain people,"
grumbles the oldman gazing
down the street at the dead lady's
empty house, keeping sorrow
private and never discussed,
a walk in the garden
to test the legs.

The street was oddly active,
dirtbags up early scrounging
off the cruiseship walkers,
gawking in Tshirt shops,
the oddest collection of tourists
for a 'Five Star Destination'.

"Not Fat Mac's dream no more."

Passing the Green Parrot bar,
the oldman barred for life,
just as well...

"Hey, Jack, don't slow down now,
we got another mile to go before
we shoot the cannon, Hoho,"
concerned about the
wobbly legs,
the faint heart,
and dizziness.

"Where did this water come from,"
resting in the cool of the brick,
a few decades since the last visit,
wondering if this would be
the final.

This was Tony's part of paradise,
facing Matamoros to the west,
fifteen hundred miles
of water...
the same to New Orleans.

"Well, its a lot closer to Havana,"
laughing in the sand...
"Key West is a beeetch,"
mocking some song or slogan.

The oldman had made the voyage,
his last breath beneath
the palms and pines
hands in the sand
soul in paradise.

"Hey, Mad Jack..how are you,
I heard you was dead...
have a cold beer, man,"
a voice from the past.

Inside the Reef,

Above the Horn.

A Tree Grows in Paradise.

2009-10-13T07:16:00.000-07:00

0724/1901 82/88 Blue Skies E5/10 65%H.
DOGS 9818 7316 1067 1762.

Greetings from the Hill.

A lovely morning in paradise,
classics and 'Law and Order',
chimes ringing, cats sleeping,
green tea with the laptop.

Blue skies and beautiful.

An Australian pine grows
on the abandoned Flagler Railway,
trees unwanted at Fort Zackary,
by know it alls with caps,
"An invasive and not indigenous,"
something like a tourist.

"Imagine that...a peace price
for conducting two wars at large
and the Hopeless War at home,"
snorts the madone annoyed
with this pompous jackass
who pontificates to the masses
as were they ignorant asses,
lecturing to the uneducated
of government corruption
and corporate fraud
while representing the elements
of the most sinister of cabals.

"A fucking shill on the Hill
playing frontman to the public,
while ignoring the moneymaster
manipulations of M123,"
growls the oldman
getting testy
from sobriety.

The secret deals not so secret,
the stock deals with Barclays Bank,
Goldman Sachs and BlackRock,
a few shares of the Lynchpin
to tie to BofA and CountryWide,
all holding hands walking down
MaidenLane with Tiny Tim
and Larry Fink.

"Bite the billet....
blow your strumpet."

The public speaks and votes,
15,446 registered voters out
of 20,000 sounds fishy...
2777 elect a new mayor
by 51%, avoiding a runoff and
Big Mac and the gang of bullies
are exchanged for another
group of hopefully decent
uncorruptible spirits
with "Natures Bounty."

Imagine the Kings at lunch
discussing their favorite soup,
'Chinese derivative Aigdrop',
Blankfein laughs to Dimon,
"What about those gold derivatives
you dumped on the little buggers,
'they' threaten to renege
and ignore their obligation,"
slopping soup on his tie.

"Not a chance, theyr'e still hiding
the junkbonds from CountryWide
and those ratass MBS derivatives
that Ken got from Lynch, as well
as Freddy and Fanny crapbonds,
communist capitalists are no different
than socialist capitalists, Ha Ha,
TLC, thieving, lying cheats,"
enjoys the king of JPMC.

"Say Ken, that hundred mill payout
to retire silently is sucky, not enough
to start a MooGoo fund, Ha Ha,"
chiding the older man.

"Jamie, your'e getting drunk again,
you know Ken is major short on BA,
we've pumped 'it' up with that
fucking AIGshit for the fall in fall,"
always playing the clever jew.

"You know, I never thought banking
would be such a destuctive profession,
risk management was a hedge originally,
now a casino that games us all,"
a good man not cruel enough
for the primary dealers club.

He would be the Thanksgiving Turkey.

"Hey, 'its' all bullshit, engineered spin,
convince the sucker to buy something
all the time, oil the machine, grease
the wheels of the deals of money,
those sneaky masons used silly George,
gave him an apron and rich wife,
while Ben danced in Paris,
and the Rothschild family watched.

That time of the year again, mindless...
golf, baseball, football, hockey, basketball,
a couch and a cellphone, the Plasma TV,
even brokers sportbet, the bookies heaven,
Vegas betting on betting on betting...
imagine if the Mob was to reappear,
certain assholes might disappear
in dark toxic pools in the shadow
of the Goldie Sox Tower.

A falling dollar, market nervousness,
bank stress levels, price volatility,
investor aloofness, economic stagnation,
horrifying unemployment, tighter money,
sluggish growth, and diarrhea...
of the mouth.

Talking Tits and Jim Cramer.

Hang on to your toilet seat
before FantasyFest.

Fill up the pantry,
stock up on beer,
stop smoking.

A beautiful breeze
in the florida keys.

Inside the Reef.

Vote the Assholes Out!

2009-10-06T05:53:00.000-07:00

0721/1908 82/90 Blue Skies ESE/5 75%H.
DOGS 960 7145 1028 1701.

Greetings from the Hill.

A perfect morning in paradise,
oddly busy on the street,
perhaps the early voters
absenting the scondrels from power.

The effects of the recession
seem oblivious to the town council
as plans go forward
for TWENTY MILLION DOLLAR offices
to operate a ghost town
with cruise ship fees.

Kings and Princes of Duncedom
following the great leadership
of Obumboy from whence all comes
through DEBT.

October, the usual month of business,
partimers grooming homes for FantasyFest,
once a weekend, now a monthly
celebration of delusion and illusion,
this years' theme....
BuckFucking.

"Certainly appropriate to Barney Franks
and Bendover Obama, hofuckingho,"
laughs the madone watering roosters
on the sidewalk sending them
flying in front of cars...
"Fly fly, far away from the rooster hag,"
below on the porch enticing them
with her cursed flute.

The roosters were occupying the block
and the empty houses,
perching on the railings,
shitting on the porch floors,
six soldiers sqawking
on each side of the street,
their pecking ground the only
hundred foot lawn in town,
the corner lot.

The school board scandal with
the asshole Acevedo family,
bubba'd in with Fat Mac
who seems to empower influence
despite a hopeless failure at everything,
the corruption of bureaucracy
that sustains through incestuous
blackmail, bribery and patronage
flourishes as an immortal saint
of the Conch Republic.

"Fuck the government, piss on the feds,
take their money and remember to forget,"
the usual theme song of locals
regarding any intrusions of elements
beyond the county line,
public or private.

The hippies had found paradise...
far out islands and choice buds,
Big Mac was in the gang.

Gayboys found the Columbian Connection,
fruity old men gentrified houses,
partying at LaTeDa.

The Days before Aids.

"Thirty years after and your'e alive,
must be a virgin and a drunk,"
suggests the madone,
seen it all, heard it all.

Another week of bullshit from Obama,
"Focusing your life solely on making a buck
shows a certain poverty of ambition.
It asks too little of yourself,
because it is only when
you hitch your wagon to something larger
than yourself that you realize
your true potential."

Once again that mysterious 'it'
and the Wagon Trail.

This silly ass must write
these sorryass scripts himself.

Snorkling in a Sea of Debt...
Treading water in the Toxic Lake.

An amusing site, Stupid Quotes,
by famous people, necessary reference.

"Financial Markets are inherently unstable
and there are social needs that cannot be met
by giving free market free rein.
Unfortunately their defects are not recognized.
Instead there is a widespread belief...
that markets are selfcorrecting,"
George Soros, killer of Jews.

"It is not the resposibility of the Federal Reserve
nor would it be appropriate to protect
leaders and investors from the consequences
of thier financial decisions.....
I expect there will be failures,
I don't expect any serious problems
among large investment banks
that make up the substantial part
of the banking system,"
offered Chairman Ben.

"'It' is one fuck of a mess and less known,
chasing down David X Li
and the Gaussian Copula
or finding the counterparties
in Greenberg's AIGF,
another CFR spy....
and what about the owners
of the twelve Federal Reserve banks
who worry Alger Hart,
yes indeed, that scary unknown
could make one fart
in the black of night,"
worried the oldman,
thirsty at noon.

Hardly a breeze
in the keys.

Inside the Reef.

Above the Horn.

Final Words to a Dying Dollar.

2009-10-01T11:19:00.000-07:00

0718/1913 75/85 Blue Skies SW/5 0%H

DOGS 9574 702 1003 1651.

Greetings from the Hill.

Another month in paradise,

the garden a delightful change,

improvements of love and beauty,

without the buck's derange.

"There was no buck to arrange,"

snides the madone concerned

about the large type

wondering about the glasses.

The oldman was bored with blogging,

overfilled with the deceit of all,

statistics to boggle the mind,

semantics to confuse the brain,

talking tits with white teeth

sounding bossy smart

to emasculated men.

All a great piece of propaganda

to disguise the War of Poverty,

the demise of consumers

and the middle class.

"Replaced by Big Government,

the All Consumer," growls

the madone.

"If GM had kept up with technology,

like the computer industry has,

we would have $25 cars

with 1000 mpg," says Bill,

adding sagely,

"If you can't make it good,

then make 'it' look good."

So much for the richest man

in the world.

The old fart from Omaha

who disdained derivatives

yet holds tens of trillions

claiming to be a five year keeper

of all things American offered,

"If past history was all

there was to the game,

the richest people

would be librarians."

Certainly makes one wonder

who's ideas 'they' steal

and the lawyers protecting

the theft.

The ingenuity of financial engineering.

"This crisis exposed

very significant problems

in the financial system of the US

and other economies...

innovation got too far in front

of the knowledge of risk,"

says Treasurer Timmy,

"Hofuckingho, because of leverage,

like forty and sixty to one, assholes,

Canada at sixteen to one

has avoided the blind risk,"

the madone enjoyed reports.

"Fucking asshole machine."

Dharma Bums to Pharma Bums.

2009-09-24T07:05:00.000-07:00

0716/1927 82/88 Blue Skies E10/15 75%H
DOGS 9739 610 1016 1695.

Greetings from the Hill.

A beautiful day in paradise,
classics in the president's room,
chimes ringing in the breeze,
ties and tits lying on TV,
cats fed and the oldman alive.

The gardens lovelier every day
from nightly rain and morning Tony.

"Too gorgeous a day to get mad
at the fools on CNBC,
it's golf day for the Fedex Cup,
15 Million deferred, hofuckingho,"
laughs the madone in a good mood.

Internetting with the foreign rags,
much more truthful in reporting
than on this soiled soil.

The great symbols of american status
all gone and going from the graft.

"Goodbye Caddilac, Hello Geely
at every Chinese embassy in the world,
the game is lost by the grifters,"
sighs the oldman recalling California,
little red books at Berkeley,
little girls with Mao infatuation
never imagining the outcome
of the revolution,
the marxist capitalist mixture
that would rule without weapons,
using ideas and originality
and the classrooms of Harvard,
Stanford, UofC, MIT, Yale...

"No American will invest where a dictator
can take his investment away,"
and now the 'free market' dictators
of Wall Street and Washington
have rendered the citizens'
pensions and healthcare worthless,
future obligations not payable,
no longer refinanceable,
DEBT defaulted.

Of course Golman Sachs invested
bailout money and 2009 profits
in Geely International,
communist profiteers,
"Money carries no flag,
certainly not the Goldman Gang."

Palm trees swaying in the blue sky,
an hour before tee time at East Lake,
classics and golf in the afternoon,
the oldman was lucky to survive
and contented to be alive
in these contengious times
where twenty million families
cannot pay their bills
while thirty golfers play
this weekend for first prize
of FIFTEEN MILLION dollars.

Dancing contests in the depression,
dancing in the dark,
no mugging in the park,
stoned at home alone,
bean soup
without a ham bone...

They, They, They...
Who the fuck are They?

Lehman suits at JP desks,
Bear Stern ties
at Goldman computers,
Drexel derivative dames
now Washington commuters.

Pimps and whores
at WhiteHouse doors.

The Joker telling the youth
to strive beyond uncouth,
transparency and fake opaque,
the TRUTH and Babe Ruth.

In Clevland, an empty Ford factory
becomes a Roller Derby Palace,
the times are familiar
for oldfarts with memories
and the young still curious,
been there before
be there again,
those benefit packages promoted
by crooked unions conning
Joe Paycheck for deductions
to crooked politicians...
"All for a golden future,
a condo on the beach,
the hospital nearby,
a drugstore downstairs,
and insurance
for the loved ones...
unless Goldie Sox gets it,"
growls the oldman
at seventy.

Boomerboy...
the DEBT you have today..
is your grandfathers,
and your mother and fathers,
better get a snorkel.

The DEBT market, in olden times
the Bond Market before
the financial engineers
with fancy words
improvised from Greenspan
and Ayn Rand,
back to Objectivism
and the secret plot...
"Secure the loan
by spreading the butter thin,
make the jam synthetic,
sell the sandwich twice,
but keep it in the fridge,"
laughed the oldman.

The dilemma in the DEBT
was refinancing things that
were never repaid, only
carried forth by counterparty,
perpetual guarantees to pay
as long as insured by AAA.

The Day is now to Pay.

A sunshower before noon,
roosters crowing,
cats contented.

Inside the Reef,
Above the Horn.

Justice in Paradise.

2009-09-18T07:01:00.000-07:00

0714/1927 83/89 Blue Skies E6 75%H
DOGS 9814 7218 1015 1717.

Greetings from the Hill.

A quiet friday in paradise,
cats sleeping, doves disappeared,
roosters nonrelenting,
Gregory Peck in a classic western,
fuck the CNBC agitators.

No tradesmen, no handymen
or illegal housecleaners.

Local commentors riled and outraged
over Judge Jones' sentencing
of Randy Wade Acevedo...
suspended school superintendent
by Governor Crist himself,
suspended with pay???
to pay the lawyer
but not his wife's,
the dear woman gave him five grand
of stolen school money
to support his reelection,
"Thanks kids."

A strange and dangerous apathy affects
the essence of the proleteriat expanded
to the lost middleclass...defeatists all.

"Who gives a fuck anymore, the system sucks,
from the city and county
to state and federal,
The American Buck buys the Fuck,
with a handshake and the clap,
the dollar hopelessly diseased,
each day dripping away it's health,"
snorts the madone wondering
if this central bank scheme
is as stupid as Greenspan's dream
of risk management
with derivatives
now contangled with gold and silver,
buyers buying promises
of hot air movement.

The Chinese reneging on the Fraud,
another financial engineering scam
from Lloyd and Jamie...
such clever fellows who manage
to steal whatever possible
from whomever gullible
through big check lobbyists.

Imagine the next cons...
Cap and Trade.
Privatization of freeways.
Securitization of insurance.
Corporate management
of Treasury Funds (already done)
and for all, regardless of age,
Citizen Debt Obligation Notes...
hohofucking ho.

"There are believers
and there are relievers...
so go shit yourself, it's over.
This asshole Obama has lied
to a nation of fools who want
to believe the lies, the dunces
who played the game of DEBT
within their own four walls
and now the basement
is flooding from toxic paper
clogging the drain...
is the insurance paid
for fire and flood,
a hurricane perhaps,
no more Fema checks,
the money is being used for
The Homeland Security Headquarters
on a hundred and eighty acres
within Whitehouse pissing distance,
Obama's personal embassy,
a dime store general,"
snorts the madone pissed,
hosing down a rooster.

This greed for ostentation,
the mask of image personified
by objects, a home, symbols of status,
a scorecard of social standing
in a community of realestate agents,
"Dip or flip, every two years,
onwards and upwards with Greenspan,
and then the little nerd...
until, Oh, oh, the smell of a turd,"
laughs the oldman
amused with the plight
of the mentally slight.

This Acevedo pair in foreclosure,
the Mayor, two commissioners,
the county tax collector,
assholes managing hundreds
of millions of dollars
mismanaging personal budgets,
"Put it on the card,
the government card,"
rape of the state,
bunghole Uncle Sam
and buttfuck Miss Liberty...
anything for MONEY,
"Maybe 'it' was the game shows,
everything deductible,
new cards in the mail,
Countrywide and Quicken,
Lehman suits around the world,
bundling those tranches
with AAA branches,
globalizing garbage
before the stink,"
mused the oldman
ready for a cold pint
at noon.

"These fucking asholes,"
steamed the oldman aggravated
with the property tax bill,
the Sheriff's budget up 30 percent,
School budget up 20 percent,
( Acevedo's embezzlement),
city up 10 percent,
total taxes up 20 percent,
market value off 30 percent,
out of the million dollar club,
the homestead exemption
got millrate trumped.

So much for balanced budgets.

"This shit is just beginning,
leaches in the hot tubs for fatso's,
buybacks for clunkers,
back to grandma's house,
memberships cancelled,
television and beer,"
shrugged the poor oldman.

Above the Horn,
inside the Reef,
overlooking
Soleris Hill.

Hands Talking in the Breeze.

2009-09-14T06:31:00.000-07:00

0712/1931 81/88 Light Clouds W/5 75%H
DOGS 9664 6878 9982 1642.

Greetings from the Hill.

A noisy morning in paradise,
could this nasty interruption in greed be over,
this two decade pursuit of objects
and other worthless things
demanded by stupid people be back,
"A year later and all is well,"
encourage the CNBC liars,
promoting prosperity
to halfwits,
halfrich as before the Fall,
half a hundred million households
treading water in the dark
illiquid pools of toxic mortgage.

Crap sustained and promoted
to fools seeking fame not profit,
the League of Liars on Fraud Street,
where the bosses
take no losses,
commissions on every tick,
a flag on every stick.

"So Paulson wants his job back
after saving Goldman Sachs,
he spurns the NYFED, no loot,
perhaps Ambassador to China
with the franchise for Asia,
spreading the poison
repeating the disease
and equalizing DEBT,"
laughs the madone.

Barney Frank sputters on CNBC.

The oldman was tired of the hand jobs,
stars of galaxies of power talking shit,
confusion with triple talk,
"Put the sin on spin,
transparency in the blouses
of the Talking Tits."

The noise subsided, the street quiet,
cats fed, roosters silent, doves cooing,
the recession back,
the bigtitted girl parks
her new yellow convertible
walking to work by eleven,
Duval Street still conning tourists.

The President has promised
not to Lie again
and never to children....
again.

Blahblahfuckingblah,
on and on these fools repeat
the same silly stories of hope,
"That Big Hope fabricator
who manufactures Obamashit
and spreads 'it' with a smile,
the sinister joker's grin,"
growls the madone,
avoiding the TRUTH.

There is no return from DEBT.

LBO's, the beginning of the pox,
created by the banking pools,
all getting a piece of the action,
too big for one, spread the risk,
then cover the loss with hedge,
spread some derivative sauce
with future orders and threaten
accountants and raters....

"Just like that asshole at Enron,
dumb fucks never change
the Phil Gramm game,
the Texan with the gook wife,
apologees for the war prefabricated
for the understanding electorate
who is but the electoral college,
the school of conspiracy
of an expanding want of better."

"That fucking lying ashole,"
screaming at the silent screen,
knocking over the glass of beer...
drunk again and stoned as well.

Classics from Havana, that CNBC,
regular traffic at noon,
chimes from the west.

Everything is beautiful,
but mankind,
so kindless.

DERIVATIVES...FINANCIAL AIDS.

2009-09-02T07:45:00.000-07:00

070 1944 2/90 Blue Skies SSE5/10 75%H.
DOGS 92 670 9652 1430.

Greetings from the Hill.

A beautiful day in paradise,
classics from Havana, lies from CNBC,
doves on the railings,
cats on chairs and roosters
crowing on every corner.

Back on the east side
after a week in the west bay...
change for the oldman.

Bermudagrass growing on the green.

Back to school and the Superintendent
"Guilty on all counts," reckons the jury
in but two hours, Bubba justice.

The wife facing serious time.

Florida's population actually falling
as homeowners flee north,
Key West with more empty homes
fewer children at schools,
"Then why the fuck are taxes up...
phoney appraisals continue and
mill rates escalate, more ripoffs,"
growls the madone,
pissed with cheats and liars,
bureaucrats covering their asses
and benefit free passes.

"The fucking government leaches
in sixty eight degree offices,
air conditioned cars and trucks,
perks for jerks, bucks for fucks,
buttholing Uncle Sam for more,
the revolving money door
to Ben's printing presses,"
mad at noon....
and the Millers man arrives.

The oldman watched another rerun
of 'House of Cards last night,
the story more understandable,
the treachery less tolerable,
the audacity of the senile fool
grinning over his Fed debauchery,
smoothtalking in Randisms,
confusing with obfuscation.

"Did derivatives create this predicament,"
questions the brave young man
to the wizard of financial engineering
who permited this monetary contagion
to infect the economic system
with an unregulated disease
of greed and debt...
Financial Aids.

Risk prevention against default,
insurance and protection
against infection
from dirty dollars.

"Hofuckingho, socialized medicine
will keep the dying longer
in drugged out states
prolonging divestiture of assets,
suck out the inheritence,"
snorts the madone
popping a cold pint.

The oldman wondered when 'it' changed,
was their a time that altered
the conventional wisdom of wealth,
a reason to buy without payment
up front in advance....
finance companies provided white goods
then furniture and carpets,
can anyone remember
the Diners Club card
and life after Lyndon,
the Woodstock Freaks became
bummers in Beamers,
hippies became capitalists,
greedy cowards at heart,
"I need, I want, I deserve,
I fucking I and of course me,"
the mantra of the generation.

Brand names and labels for assholes,
the beginning of something for nothing,
"Smuggle some coke, a free vacation,"
from Key West to New York,
the real gay revolution.

Keeping up with the Joneses
became keeping up with the Gays,
straights had queer haircuts
but didn't know 'it'.

"Maybe 'it' was the cunt's revenge,
all those years of oppression,
the lying, the cheating,
the stupidity of existence,"
considered the oldman
sipping the warming beer.

Talking tits blathering over Sheila Bair
and commercial real estate being
'the next shoe to fall', fucking assholes,
a big boot in the ass,
jerkweed morons flirting on screen
to an audience of gullible goons,
General Electric pitchpeople.

A phoney rollup of stock prices
for the vultures to rape rewards
then short the market down
"To Sixfucking Hundred,"
grumbles the madone,
the traders are traitors
living in a world of quadrillions
where a point is a billion.

"Totally out of control of comprehension,
mathematical models of blindmen,
multinational corporations gone global,
headquartered in New Jersey,
outside the rotten apple.

Bet on a bet on a bet and cover your risk,
hedge your hedge and insure
the counterparties through shorts,
'want to make a billion',
'don't flip your house',
acquire a liitle platinum,
a pocketful of titanium,
and a dash of plutanium,
lots of fresh water and
a pantry of canned goods.

The worst is yet to come.

Above the Horn.

Beyond the reef.

Hardly a breeze in the keys.

Forty years in the Shadows.

2009-08-27T08:55:00.000-07:00

0706/1950 82/90 Blue Skies SE5/10 75%H
DOGS 9505 7028 9442 1460.

Greetings from the Hill.

Up early before a sunset walk,
the CNBC gang eulogizing Ted,
always the advertising for oneself,
idiots in the game of fame,
dating only their rating.

The oldman lived the dream of Camelot.

Santa Barbara in the fifties,
San Francisco in the early sixties,
those Kennedy boys with Marilyn
and the pimp, Peter Lawford.

A gracious young mother in the White House,
Jack's sluts sneaking in all doors,
even a Chicago mobman's mistress,
and always Barbra pulling his honk,
while Teddy took his chair
too young but 'so what',
Papa Joe watched over.

The young man had opened
his first golfcourse that november,
"Who the fuck shot Jack,"
wondered a stunned nation,
shocked and numb,
the beginning of media dumb,
Ford presides over 'the report',
whitewashing all,
the mafia and Castro,
the CIA and KGB,
Johnson and Nixon.

"Maybe 'it' was the hippies,
drug crazed revolutionaries,
undermining Camelot,"
said the warmongers.

Lyndon turned white and quit,
leaving Bulldog Bobbie to challenge
the invisible powers of war,
Teddy running a campaign.

The young man was president
of California Graphics Limited
when the blood flowed again
and black and white dreams
both ended with assasinations,
a nation in chaos.

Dark forces and trained killers
adding acid to the minds
of the dumb.

"Who killed Bobby and Why?."

Teddy never asked.

The middleaged man was married
with three children
living on a lake
smoking pot with Barry
when Teddy went off the bridge
and created the poster,
he was a poster king.

Nixon, Ford and Carter pass,
perhaps the curse as well,
could the drunk sober up and run,
at least stagger through the motions
of reliving the dynasty,
"No fucking way, a loser, a lush,
tar him with another brush,
refugees and amnesty,
eviscerate Intelligence,"
leftwinged liberal.

The patriarch of the family fortune
that no one seems to know about,
the bootleg fortune...
"Horror of horrors, the little boy
who saluted his dead dad
died....that fucking curse
that lets the worthless live,"
growled the madone recalling
that week ten years ago.

The Kennedy's couldn't take the Clintons.

Strange how these shifting dynasties
buttbacked by the Bushes
have brought down the House
of Uncle Sam by Uncle Tom.

By the Jewish House of Goldman.

By the Council of Foreign Relations.

By middleclass morons
believing beyond their means
and bankers providing
the DEBT.

Blue skies and beautiful,
hardly a breeze
in the fabulous florida keys.

Under the Table. Smoking Outside.

2009-08-25T06:26:00.000-07:00

0705/1953 82/90 Blue Skies SE5/10 80%H
DOGS 9506 7235 9550 1410.

Greetings from the Hill.

A bit humid in paradise without breeze,
classics to the west, CNBC in the east,
cats on the railing, doves on the table,
the oldman pecking on the Toshiba,
was 'it' just another day...
"Or the end of the Recession."

Echoed the talking tits and twisted ties.

That little halfblack boy
is the most powerful man
in the world.

"Imagine fucking that,"
wonders the madone.

Of course who could believe that only one
might have such power to change
the direction of policy,
that one man could unite all americans
in many beliefs...
then suck up the banker's asses
with hedgefund managed reliefs.
"And this phoney health plan,
fake and pass, a jivetalking ass,
dead bodies fighting a drug war,
trillions of dollars and not one
major infrastructure project,
'it' is all about moving money,"
growls the madone
pissed with liars.

The oldman stretched and walked the balcony
looking down the hill to Bonny's,
empty since her death,
the matriarch of Soleris Hill,
the oldman's friend
since Ford was President.

Across the street,
Dead Ned's house was empty
and also for sale...
only for the ghosts.

The mansion up the street,
empty and now for sale.

"Two million too,"
snorted the madone.

The KCFedparty
at Jackson Hole portended redundance,
"The financial storm that reached
gale force this time last year...
( read a year ago hofuckingho )
has not yet subsided and it's effects
are becoming apparent in the form
of softening economic activity
and rising unemployment,
adding inflation and global commodity boom
creates the most challenging economic
environment
in memory."

"IN memorium, you asswipe,
you fucked up royally, should be fired,
but no, the Obumboy for the thirty jews
directing the CFR, applauds his fuckup
with reappointment for the higher plan,"
two pretentious academics quoting
melodious memories to a hearer
who listens not.

The most insidious tax of all unfolds,
a temporary guest who stays forever,
a relative with a trailer...
"Inflation for the nation,
cigarettes and booze state taxes,
dining and bedding next,
a fee, a charge, a billing,
the agents for the nation's
cashcows, those cash flows,"
spits the madone
at a rooster below.

Record keeping, the biggest lie of all,
"How much did you do today?"

A retailer cheating himself,
a wholesaler paying cash,
a manufacturer outsourcing,
the banker offshoring...
all crooked record keeping.

Enter another superstar from Canada,
this fellow from B.C. went east
to Bay Street and Wood Gundy,
then CIBC and TD, then Europe,
spun off his group to specialize in....
"Those fucking Derivatives."

The oldman had been watching Lance Uggla
since setting his secret little scheme
to become a leading provider of
independent daily portfolio valuation
and OTC derivative trade processing,
after all if your partners provide the info
to the world of billions you may go,
while recording trades in trillions,
within seven years, less than Bush,
a market exploding to 62TRILLION,
figure that number if you own
CDSindex, IIC, ITraxx, IBoxx, CDX,
ICE Trust,on and on....
so some smart fucker convinced
eleven of the biggest houses
to buy ownership
and provide information to
Mark It, now Markit,
fuck you, AIGFP.

Of course, of course, Off course,
what if the Big Lie got out,
imagine if all those dreamers
wanted to dream again
and found out the bankers
had gambled their trust
"And gone Bust, Haha."

"But 'it's all numbers, mere pixels
moving through an electronic world,
and what if some foreign spy
frigged the fuckwadder, but no fear,
the smartones are always near,
those California brains now have
'the Lossy Difference Aggregator',
that's Goldie Sox's alligator
diagnosing fine grain delays
and paquet losses through
hashbased primitive routers
one per million per second,
what a fucking relief,"
laughs the oldman
nearing the Truth.

2009-08-19T15:37:00.001-07:00

Sympathy for the Devils.

2009-08-19T10:57:00.000-07:00

0703/1957 82/88 Blue Skies ESE15/20 75%H.
DOGS 9300 7263 9465 1390.

Greetings from the Hill.

A breezy beautiful day in paradise,
chimes ringing, CNBC whining,
classics from Havana, cats fed,
Tony seeding the putting green,
Bill gone out to sea,
leaving the home undamaged.

The oldman listened to the Toshiba,
a habit vowed never to do....
"Yeah, yeah, but he was great,"
agreed the madone sharing an hour
with the professor from Montreal,
Global Research.ca.

"Financial Disarmament....",
mused the oldman enjoying the analogy,
the dumbones cannot recall the sixties
and threats of nuclear extermination,
the big bombs on big targets,
"Like Wall Street and Las Vegas,"
thinking of how 'it' was.

The current weapons of mass destruction
are no longer housed at Twin Towers,
a perpetrated terror ruse,
now kept away from the Goldie Tower,
beneath the New Jersey farms,
the financial bomb of econmics,
those fucking derivatives,
strange contracts without accounting,
"Because pirates abide no laws
but the rules of the Seal of the House."

What the fuck are these bets on bets,
gamble on a stock not delivered,
increase holdings through margin,
protect losses with short accounts...
simple shit from the seventies.

Insurance and risk management,
fund managers on marijuana,
salesmen on hash,
investors on acid.

"Hey, there is more money in financials,
spin off the manufacturing and keep the paper,"
the paradigm shift from doers
to dealers.

"Buy, buy, buy..."cackles the Fool in the White House.

Indulge the rape of home ownership
after paying for the prom
and the shotgun wedding.
Privatization and globalization,
old soldiers and bankers
given the keys to the central vaults
in Iraq and America,
"It's all about oil, stupid,"
more media lies.

Greenspan claimed derivatives were 'it',
the magic for risk management,
the world spread of risk,
the gee whiz cheese whiz,
"House prices never fall."

Financial products without regulation,
then the april'04 ultimate bank leverage,
"Thirty fucking to one fractional banking,"
snorted the madone about the con,
done before in Mexico,
mastered in Asia,
now targeted for America,
"The fucking traders are the traitors,"
Blankfein and Dimon pirate scum.

The booty kept in underground caves
beneath the Cayman Islands,
the fourth largest financial centre,
and British Owned.

"Debt is the answer to our wealth,"
agreed those greedy heartless cunts
behind the scheme to ruin the dreams
of blacks, illegals and trailer trash
who dreamed of fireplaces,
SUV's and PlasmaTV's,
a two story McMansion
with Big Macs
on a diningroom table.

"Sign here my man, no worry,
you have privacy rights,
granite tops and a pool,
a backyard with a view,"
the originator
of financial paper.

"What the fuck happened,
a few foreclosures don't mean shit,
something else sunk a ship,
the pirates have no honor,
sink the Bear Stearns and steal
her booty the best traders,
down with Lehman Brothers
and change the flag of Merrill
consolidating the risk of peril,
keep the secret and the model,
don't ever lose the router,
Sniffing and Phisching,
the sisters of Snoop,
ETF's scare you to death,
but something went wrong,
or was 'it' financial engineering,"
wondered the oldman.

"Bonds never default
and homes never lose value,"
now the vultures turn to
servicing of events
of origination...
derivatives appropriately
gambling on spent air,
and carbon waste,
any indice will do
for gambling fools
without brains for tools.

"Well, well, trailertrash, you had
no right pretending,
you could see Elvis in Las Vegas...
you lost your mama's money,
but not your nagging honey."

After the market bell,
beyond the Reef,
above the Horn.

Hurricane Preparations.

2009-08-12T13:10:00.000-07:00

0700/2003 84/90 Blue Skies E10/15 85%H.

DOGS 9409 7032 9504 1454. LIBOR 0450 SP 1010.

Greetings from the Hill.

A very warm day in paradise...

faint winds from Havana,

not even the classics,

CNBC muted for the weather,

Hurricane Anna off Africa.

Tony improving and securing

the Love Lane gardens

ignored by Detective Bill,

off with another dream,

chasing another's scheme.

Two months along without a storm,

not even springtime showers,

the only thing flooding

the drains is money,

Obama Money...

Junker money,

an antique honey,

but mostly american trucks

traded for japmachines.

"Hey, HalfWhite, you dumb shit,

Mister Chicago School of Economics,

Professor of Constitutional Law,

son of two doctors who

bred a bastard,"

growls the madone

pissed with the fraud,

disgusted with an actor

imitating an African American.

"That's enough of the disgusting rants,

and I hate double spacing and machines

I do not understand,"

growls the oldman.

From

Lobsterfest and half full Conch Trains.

2009-08-08T10:45:00.000-07:00

0658/2005 84/92 Blue Skies ESE 10/15 75%H.

DOGS 9370 7047 9560 1462. LIBOR .046.

Greetings from the Hill.

A gorgeous day in paradise...

if one were deaf.

The walking talking fools,

idiots riding mopeds,

drunks on bicycles,

"Fucking asshole tourists,

too drunk to drive back

and too cheap to rent a room,"

rants the madone,

pissed with daytrippers,

passed out crashed

on someone's porch.

How wonderful to take a drive

in an american sportster,

Mustang limited edition for whom,

certainly Steve Bing and Jay Leno,

collectors of the rare

and men of the dare...

americans who share

the spirit of freedom.

"Hofuckingho, dream on oldman,

you haven't had a licence

since Ford was President,"

mocks the madone,

"Barefoot Jack in paradise."

Reading the Fed reports this week

and wondering about the governors

of the economic balance that

levels inflation and employment

and promotes prosperity...

"The Twelve Heads of Duncedom,"

interrupts the cynic knowing

the language of Fedspeak,

the terminology of Greenspan,

the weepings of Bernanke,

the changling lies

of Geithner.

"Love Lane...", gushes a drunken twat,

dreaming of something other

than than her trailer park,

a baldheaded biker shuffling

beside her in sandals.

Walking to Duval Street and the past,

with nothing but memories

and no credit cards.

"Paradise ain't cheap,"

laughs Tony with another fourpack.

"I'm off to the beach,"

loading up the bike,

his van parked below.

An interesting week in the world,

Bubba Bill saving Asshole Al,

who should have been president

were 'it' not been for Crooked George

and the Harris Connection...

would the Miami condos be empty,

should derivatives have become

the diet of banking,

the dessert of Goldie Sox.

"Would, could and should,

if the SEC had not allowed

on 4 4 2004 permitted

bank leverage to 30/1 giving

Paulson the store of DEBT

to Wall Street wholesalers,"

fumes the madone

pissed with lies.

Dear friend Barry back from SF,

returning to Oshawa,

the home of Camaros,

one wonders where the Mustang

is built.

"IT's all about corruption,

wormfucks and conchslugs

thinking no one watches,

no one knows about the ways

of inbred retards with credit cards,

the cock of the rock

and his football flock,"

snorts the madone

walking to the dock

at four o'clock.

"Hey, oldman, have a beer

and forget about the shit,

come take a ride

in my foreign machine,"

laughs Doctor Coy

returning from

Bagdad.

Good friends on the Rock,

always meet again.

Above the Horn.

Love that Bubba Bill.

2009-08-06T13:33:00.000-07:00

0657/2007 77/92 Rain and Blue Skies ESE 10/20 80@H
DOGS 9257 7081 9660 1495

Greetings from the Hill.

A wonderful day in paradise,
gusting wind and torrential rain,
blue skies at four o'clock.

Classics from Havana,
Burn Notice in the bedroom,
Tony watching golf in the study,
cats on the balcony.

The oldman brousing the Web,
selecting photos to uncover
and perhaps discover
the Truth.

Watching Current TV online,
the girl is great and convincing,
certainly more balls than
Al who is but money rinsing
through his Goldie Sox guys...

these parasites are all invasive.

"Yeah, check out the directors
of his investment fund and
his Carbon Cap sorryass rap,"
growls the madone
wondering why Bill
saved his lying ass.

Perhaps his service to the country
for two months as a journalist
strengthened his patriotic duty,
while others fought for years,
one of a dozen from Harvard.

Home to Poppa's paper,
then the divinity...

"All for the ratings,"
mused the oldman
watching the reportings
in Mexico and Brazil,
the girl has guts,
trying to outfame her sister.

A day away from the frothing fools
on CNBC, just USA..
NCIS reruns at five
with the roosters.

Kind of strange how Obama
authorizes a mission of diplomacy
circumventing usual channels,
then involving Dow and Bing
coordinated by the common man,
to arrange the old bird's dream,
"A date with the "Hollywood Madam,"
laughed the madone
knowing the Truth.

Blue skies and breezy,
another balcony day,
in the fabulous
florida keys.

Inside the Reef.

Above the Horn.

Exculpating the Derivative Excresence.

2009-08-03T13:39:00.000-07:00

0656/2009 84/90 Blue Skies SE10/15 65%H
DOGS 9235 7130 9580 1425.

Greetings from the Hill.

A beautiful day in paradise,
blue skies and perfect white clouds,
a flag in the putting hole
in the artscaped backyard,
Tony, the golfcourse lover.

The guest who filled the pantry.

One wonders what the Fink's discuss
alone together if ever,
the man who knows 'it' all,
and will not tell,
the innovator of risk management
back in Boston days past...
"Imagine Joe Kennedy at the Bay,"
muses the oldman,
considering the master
of deceit.

Larry is managing the funds
for the three stooges.

"Pretty fucking funny,
the biggest hedge fund
running the Treasury and Fed,"
snorts the madone amazed,
amused and annoyed.

FDR put the biggest crook
to run the SEC, Joe Kennedy,
a criminal consultant.

Another of those derivative dames
has a crew of the Leftovers
from dead investment banks
charting courses for corpses.

Just sitting on his throne,
not yapping like dog Dimon,
apparently beyond the dumb,
those simple shits who know not
of forwards, options, swaps
or time based contracts
on the OTC...

"The Nasdaq blows it's bubble,
hofuckingho, that pirate's den
where Madoff presided learning
his craft of grifting and lifting
the last dollars of suckers,"
rants the madone drinking
warm Miller pints
before dinner.

Six o'clock advertising on CNBC,
GM, ATT, TDTRADE, and Dan Marino.
"This asshole has brainloss, a mockery
of the financial foundation of the nation,
entertainment for Airheads,
MadTV and Goldman Sachs,
where are the skits,
bring on the fits,
send in the clowns,"
fumes the madone
at fuckhead Cramer,
a posing loser
bankrolled by
the shorters.

The dick should be in leather
in a street parade.

Some silly old man
picked up a Miami whore,
took a pecker pill
and went running at sunrise
at the Nude Beach,
'it' was still up at sundown.

"Where was the Viagra cop?"

Swaying palm trees surrounding the house,
fucking roosters always crowing,
cats sleeping on the balcony,
classics from Havana,
chimes in the wind,
above solaris hill.

"You can't have everything,"
smiles the oldman
to himself.

Above the Horn.

gotta pay the mortgage.

2009-08-02T04:57:00.000-07:00

0655/2011 83/90 SE/5 Showers 90%H
DOGS 9096 6450 9720 1450.

Greetings from the Hill.

The oldman was crippled in bed again,
four Hurricanes and a joint
renders his body out of order
the following day.

Raindrops sliding down the window pane,
blue skies to the east with
billowing rain clouds over nude beach,
perhaps a nudecam
for stayathomes.

Thinking about the Great Fraud
and amazed at the extent
of the culpability...everyone.

"Not everyone, just most...
most of the middleclass,
McDonalds and McMansions
'gotta pay the mortgage',
hofuckingho," laughs the madone.

The derivatives coming to light.

Last year a trillion was the new
adventure into a world of worry
and unimaginable debt numbers
created to protect counterparties
who guarantee against default,
if the stock market falls fifty percent,
unemployment rises to ten percent,
foreclosure to eight percent.

"The Models fucked up."

The World of Quadrillions.

Tony arrived with four hundred pounds
of real hurricane insurance,
pantry supplies.

Sunday morning in paradise,
no alcohol til noon,

Good thing there's no mortgage
on this old house.

High on the Hill.

welcome the weather channel!

2009-07-28T08:25:00.000-07:00

0652/2015 77/87 Showers NE 10/20 80H%

DOGS 9092 6854 9360 1366 LIBOR 0.50

Greetings from the Hill.

A perect day in pardise, lush greenery everywhere,
that smell of tropical air...
a marvelous day to open the beach,
naked butts seeking salt water,
and Famous Al here
to share 'it' all.

Hohofuckingho.

"A five star destination Fat Farm,"
laughs the madone thinking about
little obeise piggys and parents
discovering 'the cure' in Key West,
then running tanned and trim
down a white sand beach
at sunrise.

Viagra is against the Law.

All Curing Homes are licensed,
inspected and permitted,
photographed and filed
before receiving
state tax accounts.

Topless Only.

"Donny said no genitals
of either sex exposed,
tits are good, no hardons,"
explained Sergeant Rodregish
to the local media,
referring to the chief of police,
the first of his kind,
and gay as well.

The Mayor loves to see his wife naked,
"But no one else to covet,"
he claims that nudity should be
at home under a roof
not in public.

The Editor of " The Other Paper",
makes no comment of opinion.

The Candidate for Mayor,
a title in itself.....
Sonny McCoy the most.
Capt. Tony five times
and now, Sloan for Mayor,
if you care,
if you dare,
if you want to share....
A Nude Beach.

A Town Divided...sandels seperated.

The showers end, a light breeze.

Sunshine and blue skies

In the Florida Keys.

Inside the conch horn
abandoned on the beach.

Eighty degrees at noon.

Hemingway Frauds with Viagra rods.

2009-07-25T12:21:00.000-07:00

0650/2016 83/90 Hazy S/5 90%H

DOGS 9093 6814 9515 1387. LIBOR 03/05

Greetings from the Hill.

A fucking killer day in paradise,

blue skies and thunder...

stick the shirt to your back,

white bearded fat fucks

ready to chase the Bull,

imitators in illusion,

"Buy a classic car and stay

away from replications,"

snorted Mad Jack,

watched the fraud,

laid the sod.

Another excuse to fill the rooms,

maintain the mortgage payments,

cook an epicureans delight

by CIA's unknown,

and entertain with no ones.

"Who ever wrote a Key West song,

created the poem of lost gold,

manufactured the mystery

of hometown banking theft,"

wonders the madone.

Mendacity, a family bank.

An egg farmer from Mendocino,

a drag queen from the 'Birdcage',

who can recall ' Howies Lounge'

and Bobby at the bar,

the sheriff and the chief,

Bum Farto and Manny James.

"And this is where cocaine

\is as easy to buy

as Key Lime pie,"

broadcasted all networks.

Shrimp boats are coming,

pink gold from Columbia,

"Where is Mikes' nose,

missing with Kennedy's brain,

and OJ's wife's tits,"

growled the madone,

thunder and lightning

on the balcony.

Nothing like a cooling afternoon rain,
cleaning the streets and washing
the sidewalks of dogshit
that male owners
forget about 'it'.

Something about motherhood.

One thing about these pretenders,
these immitators at the feast,
they are all fat and overweight,
most unlike Ernest even late
in his career.

The Wall Street pretenders
are having investigations into trading,
that very fast electronic kind
that the Goldie Sox gang use
to siphon that first wave of buys,
twentyfive cents to a penny
adds up when the 'firm'
does have the action.

"Hey, how long before a foreign spy
infiltrated the system and syphoned
a bit by bit the capital balances
of those phoney pink sheets,
imploding the derivative racket
before the banksters try to coverup
this mockery of finance
with transparent clearinghouses,
Yeahfuckingyeah, when Obumboy
drains the Treasury to finance
the current accounts all empty,
250 Billion this week
and traders laughing,"
rants the madone.

Six months and 'it' gets worse.

The very sight of this pompous ass,
every day pontificating on TV,
selfinflating with arrogance
and posing, posturing to the camera
with his facial routines,
a real fucking fraud.

No wonder fat people pretend.

Time to get 'high' on the Hill.

2009-07-25T05:05:00.000-07:00

Substitutability of Securitisation.

2009-07-23T07:16:00.000-07:00

0651/2015 83/90 Blue Skies SW/5 75%H
DOGS 8848 6502 9505 1366 LIBOR .30

Greetings from the Hill.

Another beautiful day in paradise,
an early morning ride to the beach
ruminating on BIS #79, good stuff,
get that jargon down and...
"You could be on The Daily Show,
telling lies with a smile,
telling the truth with a laugh,"
smirks the madone
feeding the cats,
hosing the roosters.

A good piece on Clusterfuck,
the comments mostly foolish
or ingratiating, Kuntsler's
obsessions with suburban sprawl
and the fourwheel love affair.

"Hey, hey, the Big Road is back,
from tacos to polar bears,
the shit from China lands on the west,
distribution plants in Mexico,
sorted and shipped throughout
North America on trucks...
no no no, not rail, trucks...
GM trucks made in China,
who the fuck owns those plants
outselling the US dealers, hummm,"
wonders the madone.

Closed windows keeping the room cool,
clear and clean for the guest,
an A/C installed for the night,
the fellow wrote and watched
movies and reruns.

He had been away for five terms,
during the arms for drugs,
sailboats for snow and square grouper days,
Key West at 'its' best.

Before arms became a realestate term
and a New York queer named McDaniel
brought his little dandies
to treat on the nose candies,
flying on Air Sunshine
with baggies of joy.

Key West was Nosetown USA.

The Great Seal of a once great nation.

"The talking tits and dildo heads
arguing in disharmony, interrupting
for attention, scripted, rehersed
for ultimate unnerving, legshots
of cunts in miniskirts, these silly whores
no brighter than weather women,
and those voices," growls the madone,
sneering at CNBC,
cleaning the inside windows.

Mad Jack liked to see out.

He had been inside too long.

Fat fools with beards and even fatter
beardless wives without their knives,
waddling not too far without the car,
larger asses than a black momma,
"We are the Gold Bond girls,"
shouts the madone at the pair
of shorthaired widesterns,
the husbands guts the same size,
one wobbles, the other bobbles.

One wonders how these creatures
came to be so large and portly,
perhaps a donut diet with pizza,
comfortably ensconsed on a couch,
halfway between kitchen and TV,
Lady Woobly serving King Bobble
in their Kingdom of Duncedom
while manipulators and traitors
steal their pensions funds
and embezzle from Medicare
taking away any HOPE
for a comfortable old age...
"And the oldbag can forget about
the fantasies from insurance,
Goldman sucked out the AIG,
nothing but an empty shell,"
cackled the madone
getting goofy by noon,
ninety degrees in the shade.

"This fucking media, an extension
of the National Enquirer by Murdock,
total ignorance by censorship...
finally a hardon on TV, hilarious,
'The Fortyearold Virgin', maybe..
the hidden persuaders behind all,
little messages in your mind that call,"
smiles the oldman pleased
to have Mad Jack back.

Any asshole can read about Obama,
Barry Dunham, sounds corny and Kansas,
granny's boy spoiled by Stanley,
accepted by the Hawaiians,
his mother was a doctor who travelled
in search of a dream, a hippie dream,
porked by a married blackman with children,
but bigamy is legal in Kenya.

The prick leaves boy and wife to carry on
with another white woman at Harvard,
in later years marries and has children
with this teacher in Kenya.

The guy is a firstclass asshole drunk
who DWI's losing both legs and still breeds.

Hits another drunk ditch and ends 'it'.

Barry Dunham Barrack Obama,
sweet memories.

Another day in paradise
without CNBC.

Watch out for forced reintermediation.
"Laws for The Few."

Tranched Apple Pie from a Binomial Tree.

2009-07-21T09:20:00.000-07:00

0650 2016 84/90 Cloudy,Rain E10/15 70%H.
DOGS 8855 6415 9470 1354.

Greetings from the Hill.

Rain, thunder, lightning, and sirens,
the quivering voice of Bernanke on TV,
politicians ingratiating to the mystery
that not one wishes to investigate.

"They brings the covers to hide the body
from the gawking eyes of publicans,
who do not want to know the name,
see the face, hear the crime...
assholes deserve rats like Rattner,
a suckass bumboy for Bloomberg,"
rants the madone knowing about
the weasle's work as bagboy
for the HedgeHogs,
the plunderers
of pension funds.

"It can all be settled with transparency
rather than private, secret, hidden
accounting of offshore assets...
hofuckinghoho, tell that to banksters,
gangsters with shiny shoes and heads."

A weekend read of BIS#79 2008,
explains the situation with clarity,
but to accept the facts is to find
the fuckheads that perpetrate the crime.

"Not a crime, not regulated by the SEC,
crooked lawyers guiding every step,
steering the Golden Ship through all
the naked shorts, the put and call,
the Weinberg barge of one hundred years,
from Sidney and John Whitehead
with FDR and the War Board, Ford's IPO,
John L. and the investment dealer
of Treasury Bonds and partner
in the world of takeovers and buyouts,
John the third W, a token officer
earned but 22Million at Goldie Sox,
where 30T average 880T....
a lot of taxes for NYS,"
muses the oldman working on the bed,
away from the torrential rain,
flooding streets driving tourists
to discuss the economy in bars.

"Go fishing with the mayor,
maybe dive on the Vandenberg,
the 8million dollar destination
and five star fish hotel,
allowing morons to manage money
might be a cause of the crisis...
unable to manage at home,
these incompetent blowhards
determine the operational funds,
select the bond agencies and
manage balanced budgets...
fuck everything up and leave,
real estate values collapse,
appraisals are cut, equity diminished,
and the millrate increased...
crooked government
is a local thing.

Another interesting read was from
FRBSL, a Financial Crisis, Timeline,
absolutely amazing the available knowledge
of the situation but the failure to act,
this collection of economists at the Fed
must be an odd group.

Those things that will not go away,
Greenspan's beautiful balloons,
algorithms, simple equations projected
into ifwhats, couldbes, watchouts,
then beautified into mathematical models.

Probability Theory, Stochastic calculus,
IR correlation, Montecarlo, PRAM, DMM,
and the oldman's favorite by Simon Shaw,
the Binomial Tree, a primer for politicians,
shaking out the leaves and it seems
so much of that derivative shit came from
Cambridge...Hello Hello, where that cunt
from JP Morgan learned her numbers.

Also noticed over the weekend Jamie Boy
cashed some options for 20 or 30 Million,
must be buying some Goldie Sox.

How nice to know the investment bankers
are policing themselves with a fancy report
rationalizing past behavior and covering
the dead trades with granny's opaque blanket.
These lying pricks are protected by the media,
CNBC, owned by GE, one of the gang...
As William K Black offers, "The leaders
are scared shitless the public will learn,"
another exsupporter of Obama,
"Unfortunately this president has reneiged
on his promises and changes, becoming
more reckless than Bush, plunging the nation
into depths of Debt, financial quicksand."

Midday, storms over, blue skies, light breeze,
roosters crowing on all corners,
entertaining tourists.

A beautiful day in paradise,
"Turn those gasping gushing dresses off,
and that fraud Santelli,"
snorts the madone ready for a walk
in the tropical sun and beneath
the royal poinciannas gone green.

Buy canned goods,
grow mushrooms,
store potatoes.

In fraud we trust.

2009-07-17T12:10:00.000-07:00

0648/2017 82/91 Blue Skies NSW/5 65%H
DOGS 8733 6358 9370 1335.

Greetings from the Hill.

Peace and quiet in paradise,
the cement truck left,
the bathtub pool makers
back to Miami...
upgrading finished.

Cats on the railings,
classics from Havana,
idiots gushing on CNBC,
roosters back on the street.

The Waterman servicing his customers,
salt, filters and a smile,
with of course a check.

"Ain't life great in Key West."

The oldman was crippled again,
unable to write resting in bed.
"What if the mind is in a state of TV,
would the mood be subjective,
incapable of objectivity, imagine if

a society was hypnotized into believing
that commercials were real....
only consumers of course,"
musing to the cat on the windowsill.

He was watching the movie, 'Ed',
a Meathead parody of Reality TV.

All in the Family of Duncedom.

The lingering doubts of those 'things'
and the schemes of financial engineers,
more and more the idea of deceit, distrust,
magnitudes of money numbers
entering the galaxies of quadrillions,
a timespace differentation into
the conspiracy of currency.

"World devaluation on a numeric scale
by derivative inflation, hofuckingho,
central banks guarantee derivative debt
invented by counterparties' debt,
debt, debt, debt, credit to a bank,
fractional banking and shadow leverage,
based on the price of a home,"
snorts the oldman on the balcony
a slight breeze in the keys
at the closing bell.

"Upward mobility in the middleclass,
sell the house make a profit,
don't plant a garden
or cut the grass,"
growled the madone
surrounded by 'flippers',
no longer equity dippers.

A Trillion Dollars of savings spent
on toys for the boys,
granite tops for the wife with a knife,
all for the lawyers.

"That lying suckass weneed perpetrator
of false promises and bogomoney,"
growls the madone hearing
the preacher teacher deadeying
the spirit hope.

Reggie Jackson smiling and grinning
on CNBC with Maria,
making the weekend better.

Goldman Sachs has holes in their socks.

"Hey Hank, how's your portfolio,
hopefully with polio,"
chuckles Airhead, a bit drunk,
off to Faustos for beer and wine.

Another glorious day
in paradise...
dinner on the balcony,
beyond the reef,
outside the Straits,
high on the hill,
on top of the Rock.

Lefteyed with Jesus and the CFR.

2009-07-15T15:22:00.000-07:00

Greetings from theHill.

No weather..no numerical immaginations.

"Sunset time on the balcony,

a small plane noises overhead,

NCIS reruns on TV,

in the oldmans bedroom,

the AC going in the 'West Wing."

The voice in the unpainted hall...

who knows it all and dreams

when recuperating

from a fall,,,

comma obama.dom....

a hopefree oportunity world dreamn

whofuckinghopes..

"A Jacksso a day..

you ashoole,the indian went,

to Faustos but not Bucko's for water...

Stupid shit again.

2009-07-13T18:19:00.000-07:00

Pissing about with the layout.

Can't leave well enough alone.

Googleblog offers no help.

Just spys and secrets.

2009-07-13T18:14:00.000-07:00

Chasing down those derivatives.

2009-07-13T11:23:00.000-07:00

0646/2018 81/88 Cloudy and Showers E/5 75%H
DOGS 8286 5939 9205 1275.

Greetings from the Hill.

A cooler day on the balcony, a few showers,
keeping the birds under the house,
an investigative day tying in the notes
from the beginning of the Blog.

"Where do you come up with this shit,
sometimes 'its' before the mainstream,"
wonders the madone being polite,
throwing catfood in the garden
for the chickeebees.

Tiny Tim wanted to be a tennis star but..
"The theft began at home,
stealing from the kitchen for the garage,
borrowing from the bedroom for the backyard.
The dream couple became the working couple
and the lies began...
the homemaker became the commuter,
household incomes were coupled and
granny moved into the basement,
spoiling the kids, buying their clothes
with her social security money,"
Tim could be honest, he suffered,
"The dumb dick wasn't getting anywhere,
watching TV, sucking beer,
couldn't get 'it' up until Viagra."

The dream was a nightly passout
as the American Hero wasted away.

A smart limey cunt with a big mouth,
"In bypassing barriers between
different classes, maturities, ratings
and debt seniority levels,
credit derivatives are creating
enormous opportunities to exploit
and profit from associated discontinuities
in the pricing of credit risk, Ha ha ha,"
she laughed to Bill Demchak, Peter Hancock,
Terri Duhon all wasted out of their skulls,
you had to be, it was the old Pothead's
funny way of talking, Fedspeak.

The magic of Objectivism.

So the wiseasses packaged the first deal
pooling 300 loans of 10billion,
"Let's call them Super Seniors,
for a better rating and an exotic label,
a broad index securitised offering,
BISTRO," offered Romita Shetty,
sucking on the columbian gold,
after all they were in Miami.

Acronyms and financial engineering.

"Hey, I know this greedy wop at AIGFP,
he will do anything to get laid...
Joey Cassano, something like that,"

Imagination is funny when one is high.

Of course some people are just sour,
all the different chairs they sit in,
the hats some get to wear
seem to change nothing.

The children often react doing things
just because they can.

"That fucking George, son of George
just kicked out the sheriff and let
the country go to Hell and Hot money,
detirmined to ruin the nation
and end the American Dream,"
growled the madone wondering
how these foreign cunts
outsmarted the jews on Wall Street,
maybe they were spys from
the chinese branch
of the Rothschild family.

Too tired to walk, take a train ride
and think about things in the head...

"Hope..leaves us to invent new fixes
to old messes, elects politicians
with the biggest empty promise,
like greed, fuels the engine of capitalism,"
Margaret Atwood.

"Too many generations that believe
that if they bend over and grunt hard enough,
they'll magically shit gold coins
and pay off their debts."
hofuckingho, too funny.

"Junior AARP's looking at harps,
the last party, the big heart attack,
fat guts, boats, trophy wives
and crumbling McMansions.....
the fuckup was insured
with AIG."

Wannabees, fat hags in denial,
epistomologically unsound.

A note from the geniuses at the Fed.

More than twenty years ago, Hyman Minsky
proposed a financial instability hypothisis,
arguing prosperous times can induce
borrowers to accumulate debt,
beyond their ability to repay
out of current income....
leading to financial crisis
and severe economic contractions.

All since the little lady went to work.

And left the kitchen.

Above Solaris Hill.

Blue skies and beautiful.

Ruminations and Faraway Nations.

2009-07-11T07:49:00.000-07:00

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.
onceonce
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.

Another walkabout with old friends.

2009-07-09T11:19:00.000-07:00

0645/2019 82/90 Hazy S5/10 80%H
DOGS 8211 6028 9158 1298.

Greetings from the Hill.

The lazy hazy days of summer,
hard to imagine that chickens
are an endangered species
in Key West.

"Why not the drunks and homeless,"
rants the oldman from the balcony
getting the hose ready.

The breeding bastards communicate
from all corners of the lot
and the block...
arrogant red assholes
with their fucking wives,
and that crazy old indianwoman
midwife to the breed,
a blogger now
sitting on her ass
telling lies
avoiding reality.

Off to the waterfront and gawk
at the tourists who walk
a short block to Duval Street,
"And buy a stupid Tshirt,"
growls the madone hating crowds
of gullible people
expecting something original.

"Visit the Custom House and learn,
you worthless dumbfucks," screaming
and making a scene among
the senseless sheep.

His brain was filled with conspiracies,
secret plots and encrypted codes,
sniffers and phishing,
fastflux botnets,
unique shings of URL's,
the Obama spam and...
the malcode gang.

Someone would understand hopefully,
a glass of wine with a friend,
recollections of days past.

"Hey, Mad Jack, you old fucker,
come on in, I heard you were dead,"
laughing and offering a chair
and a clean glass
with cat hair.

Some things never change.

"Hey, I read your blog..
too bad you never learned to write,
let alone type....you see, I had to,
when I was a reporter with
the Toronto Star, Eh..Ha,Ha,"
emptying the bottle of wine.

Tourists and cats passed unseeing.

His head was dizzy and he had a date.

"Well, sweetie, you're late as usual,
getting drunk with that fraud,"
pretending outrage and rejection,
"Everyone knows everything
in our queer community, we talk..
on telephones,..heh heh heh,"
offering a foamy glass of beer
with dog hair.

They moved to the gazebo
joining other guests
who seemed ageless,
"I say, Ten," boomed
the manly Gore Vidal,
"Let's have a gay day."

And so 'it' became.

Finally arriving on the beach
and the patient lady.

"Visiting old friends from the past,"
that knowing smile,
enquiring for more.

"The current crisis is not only the bust
that follows the housing boom,
its basically the end
of a sixty year period
of continuing credit expansion
of the dollar as reserve currency.
Following the pound.
Now the rest of the world
is increasingly unwilling
to accumulate dollars...",
she sighed, gazing towards Cuba.

"No longer a reserve currency globally..
maybe the renmindi, the euro,
maybe the world buck,
or simply VISA,"
smiled the oldman
with youthful thoughts,
adlibbing a George Soros speech.

A strange day in paradise
where memories never age
and dreams dance
with the wind
talking in the night.

A summer breeze in the keys.

Hofuckingho,
pretty funny.

Off the balcony and around the town.

2009-07-07T12:27:00.000-07:00

0644/2020 82/90 Blue Skies SW5/10 75%H
DOGS 8187 6254 9260 1313.

G suck secondreetings from the Hill.

Another beautiful day in paradise,
a lovely breeze on the balcony...
classics from Havana,
CNBC on TV,
talking tits and stupid heads.

Rodgin Cohen is quite the fellow.

His billion dollar firm of shysters
play both and every way...
he could never suck second
to Tiny Tim.

Enough to leave the house.

These guys are all in the know,
arrange the biggest mergers
and advise the leveraged buyouts.

Permit the banks thier pieces of gold,
after the toxic is sold
to the citizens of Duncedom.

"They make the laws
to break the laws,"rages the madone
tying his sneakers for the walk.

Another morning studying those things,
those very mysterious things
that Alan Greenspan loves
and will be the savior of greed
and the nemesis of need...

"A financial instrument whose value
is based on the value of an underlying
reference...commodity, currency, bond,
equity...or an index or event.
Price, yield, volatility,dividends,
weather, carbon exhaust and death."
suggests Sheila Bair.

Replicating a sale without owning.

"Ever get a corporate certifcate,
Fuck no, street name so the banksters
use your stock for leverage and...
those naked shorts, hofuckingho,
investors with pants down,"
grumbles the madone
heading away from hucksters.

Tourists certainly are a strange bunch,
behaving as they are without neighbors,
without fools in thier pools.

"As the Austrian School of Economics
always said, 'it' was human behavior
with a huge random element
not to mention Talib's Black Swan hypothisis
of unforeseen catastrophic events
making a complete mockery
of bell curve probabilities
to forecast longterm expected results,"
hofuckingho mused the oldman
heading to the blue waters.

Perhaps 'it' was something simpler,
a desire to be wanted and loved...
I need, I want, I deserve.
Go for the Best Deal.
The Price is Right.
Reach for the Star.
You deserve the Best.

Phrases from the Devil's Handbook
of financial engineering
and the whores of Madison Avenue.

"Have a drink oldman, Flagler's Folly,
'they' took out the putting greens,"
laughed the madone helping
the oldfart through the hallway.

Already three miles from home
and ninety degrees in the shade.

A lovely young woman administered
to the oldman's needs
beneath a palm tree
on the beach,
she worked for Raymond James.

"What does 'it' mean oldman,"
she smiled in the tropical sun.

"Absurdity, my dear, the twisted tongue
of legal semantics....'Security related
derivatives are securities, therefore
SEC regulated'...
If you bet on a horse in a horse race,
do you own the nag, the track
or the concessions...."
the investment dealers are agents
of the government conducting
a market for invisible trades
without a systemic risk regulator.

Section 17A.

Tax the trades and follow the trail.

Just like a phonecall.

The oldman was weak and feeling faint,
perhaps a swim before renting
a windsurfer or canoe.

"Hey, Mad Jack, you're looking good,
I heard you were dead,"
smiles a happy soul from the past,
inviting the oldman to the shelter
on the beach with an ocean view.

Sunset on the other side of the Rock.

Above the Horn.

Beyond the Reef.

Waiting....

Stoned on the Hill

Above Solaris Hill

with the help of

old friends.

Fireworks and Fantasies.

2009-07-04T14:19:00.000-07:00

0643/2019 82/90 blue skies NE5/10 55@H
Fuck the Dogs.

Greetings from the Hill.

A whole afternoon lost in space
somewhere in the ethernet,
very frustrating to a slowtyper.

Thunder and lightning
black skies and rumbling
now cleared for fireworks.

Outrage about the Obama's
757 flight for fish and chips,
so much lopears tasking
of corporate America.

Off to see the Queen
avoiding that Sarkozy woman
and a visit to the Louvre.

Special treatment for
the black princesses
of a bigamist grandfather.

So much for the smooth talker.

"Hey, face facts, a worm's a worm,
bait on Wall Street's hookers."

The Goldie Sox girls will
have him for brunch.

Don't expect lunch
with Lori and Larry.

Model wives differ across the seas.

Madame Wu is gonna get you,
boy....

Burned out after losing the good stuff.

Love the country,
distrust politicians,
and never believe
statisticians.

Maybe jazz musicians.

North Americans, not Middle Americans.

2009-07-01T13:38:00.000-07:00

Happy Canada Day.

Humour with the you.

Saturday Night Live.

Happy Birthday, Dannyboy
from Ottawa.

Glenn Ford and Leslie Neilsen
same age.

Who makes you laugh Yankee,
all those pissed off canadians,
watching from above
mocking with love.

Steal their Hockey
and Fuck 'it' up.

All for ratings
and crooked scores.

Happy fucking Forth of July.

Find your you.

Making out and made off.

2009-07-01T09:01:00.000-07:00

0642/2020 83/89 cloudy SE10/20 80@H
Dogs 8440 7010 9470 1360

Greetings from the Hill.

Another month and what will pass,
certainly not intelligent laws
or honest regulation.

The halfwhite pompous halfwit
has a goat and a revolution.

Hard times on the Rock for all,
politicians in financial foreclosure,
mentally as well....
"Borrowing and stealing to live
in a five star destination where
room rates never fall....
but house prices sure as shit did,"
laughs the madone
wondering about county income.

A collusion among the Conchs
to protect the native born braindead.

The Mayor's buddy elected as well
finding himself an unwitting recipient
of his spouses largess...
size 54 suits and campaign funding
for schools superintendent.
"Hey, kids....this is how to do 'it',"
that insideous 'it' that diseases the brain
and makes embezzling just reward
for enduring the system.

Princess Dunce steals and charges
a couple hundred grand from the school funds
that no one seemed to miss, after all
the Ace Vedos can't live on 200T salaries.

After all, responsibility has immortality,
'The Avevedo School' or the 'McCoy Airport',
collapsed concrete and stolen dreams.

"Jesus H Fuck, mellow out oldman,
a southern breeze, static from Havana,
talking tits onTV, sleeping cats,
papers blowing on the balcony floor,
love doves on the railings
and roosters on the sidewalk...
ain't paradise great,"
snorts the madone
sipping honey and green tea.

Thirty five years ago the oldman printed
'The Real McCoy' on a hundred dollar bill,
matching green and fine halftone,
for Sonny's reelection,
he wondered about the implications
way back then.

An eight million dollar diving destination.

Two halfwit mayors collude to sink
The Vandenberg for the fivestar
destination.
Mario got the bends in Spain
and was never quite right since,
Big Mac never got over
his pot fantasies.

Kings of Duncedom.

"Yeah,yeah, but how about the WaterPark,
another five star playground
to enhance the family destination
with moorings for yachts
and maybe another hotel,
perfectly designed on the navy base,
operated by the Spottswood Family
and financed by a city bond,
hofuckingcheeryho,"
grumbles the oldman
seen 'it' all,
heard 'it' all.

All before Pretty Sing
lost to the California bankers.

"Oh yeah, but that was the
Jimmy Weekly Giveaway,
local affordable housing
that became weekly rentals,
the conbook never changes,"
sighed the oldman thirsty
after an alcoholfree day
and puffed fingers,
the classics clear
and traffic oddly
busy for summer.

Had the Recession ended
or was a hurricane coming?

Days past and nothing but that,
an oldfart slowtyping in the breeze,
living a dream in the keys.

Above the Horn
beyond the Straits
inside the Reef
high on the Hill.

Obama is a puppet
of George Soros
and Larrry Fink.

Grow mosquitoes
and water
roosters.

Summer on the balcony with a laptop.

2009-06-27T12:16:00.000-07:00

0640/2019 82/88 blue skies SE10/15 75%H
DOGS 8409 6951 9371 1402 Libor 0630

Greetings from the Hill.

A beautiful day in paradise, a slight breeze,
classics from Havana on the balcony,
flute sounds below on the porch.

Another summer with Ronnie and Nancy,
Michael starred with the Thriller,
tried everything to be fancy,
but was just another nose killer.

"Was 'it' little boys and girls,"
wondered the madone.

Six months since the oldman fell
down the stairs, all fifteen,
the day of the inaugaration,
his farewell salute to GWB,
slipping on rooster shit,
the house had become a coop
for the indian's birds.

Urgency, the theme of the Republicans
was carried forward beyondthe halfwhite
leader of the free market world,
inculcating DEBT beyond Georgie Boys'
wildest dream and bailouts......

"Hunker under the TARP boys,
after the banks and autos,
pensions and medical costs,
we'll save the states,
profits from our investment
in investment banks,"
announced Barney Franks,
convinced there was a sage
behind every White House page.

"Six months and what has happened,
absolutely nothing.....
the same numbers, the same bullshit,
TLC, thieving, lying, cheats,
hiding the mystery the worms on CNBC
will not discuss even with Larry Fink,
the snake behind derivatives,
the worm beneath Blackrock,
a hedge fund managing
the government bailouts,
fucking asshole insanity,"
rants the madone popping
an afternoon beer with hardly a breeze.

The oldman did very little after the accident,
walking was slow and dangerous,
inner ear balance problems
and outer ear hearing...like trucks.

The fracture repaired but the friction
continued, the constant arguement
over control of the estate,
the empowerment of final decisions,
the name on the mailbox,
the color of the trim,
the flowers in the pots.

Dreams were the blossoms
of imagination,
tasks were fallen leaves
forgotten.

"Yeah yeah fucking blah,
all a horrible conspiracy by them,
those sinister manipulators
in high places of all races,
masks and hairpieces,
fake teeth and high heels,
mouthpieces
to oil the wheels,
and keep the consumers
consuming...."
grumbles the oldman
getting nasty and senile.

"Let them feed off their fat,
plenty to roll around,"
since the accident, he himself
had gained twenty pounds.

The retarded rooster crowing
on Love Lane driving Bob
to La Te Da, there was no point
in bitching, not his nature,
he didn't wear dresses
like Joe and Todd
at the end of the lane,
six months and a hundred more
from each hen, a lot of eggs
that walk across the street.

"Add up the numbers and laugh,
the joke is on your children's children,
somebody changed the formula
and altered the model
then redesigned the brand,
NEW.COM CHANGE.COM
after all 'it's just a name,
hohofuckingho,"
mocked the mystery voice
in the painted hallway.

]Rusty Fish burned to death,
a terrible way to die later
from his wounds
in a home
not his own.

Five o'clock and the breeze better,
this typing shit takes forever
but might enhance the inner awareness
and allow a holistic flow of spirit
permiting the negative ions
to dissipate through the finger tips
healing the calcium deficient nails
and soothe the arthritis
making piano playing easy
in the breeze
in the florida keys
above the Horn
inside the reef
on a piece of Rock

Above Solaris Hill.

Magic Jack and the Family.

Hofuckingho.

A Week before Xmas and the Plants are Closing.

2008-12-18T14:51:00.000-08:00

0705/1741 68/78 Blue Skies NE10/15 85%H
DOGS 8828 3860 8850 1140 Libor138...

Greetings from the Hill.

A perfect day in paradise for golfers,
if they likied a lady's course,
silly little 5500 yarder.

Magenta skies through the president's room,
classics from Havana, swaying palms,
the old cat on the console,
the oldman belching on the second pint.

Shopping at the plaza, a busride home.

Living beneath one's means.

A week of watching the voices of turmoil
agitate the roiling markets
and boil the volatility of the VIXX,
amusing how these poseurs of truth
pursue the devil's tongue,
whores of General Electric and NBC,
3 Billion in Iraq electric equipment,
Georgie's Xmas gift.

Another month and the Bushites leave
and the Shittes return...
"Fucking Democratic Capitalism,
same sauce, same patty, same bun,
the price may vary depending
on the cost of shipping,"
hofuckingho Fedex.

"What's 'it' all about, Arnie,"
he never lied,
Jack wore checkered pants,
Tiger sold Buicks,
China's favorite car
and GM closes for the holidays.

Old people are resting in bed
arranging their head
wondering if Goldie Sox
has Santa in a box
of Derivatives to Swap.

"How stupid can the public be,
citizens who voted for denizens
of deceit and default...
trading the Pink Elephant
for a halfwhite jackass,"
fumes the madone
watching a Clinton rerun.

"Tourism is the Number One
business of America," spouts
the CNBC talking tie,
the tits nodding,
Key West business down 30%,
like auto sales,
air flights down 30%
to paradise at McCoy International,
hello daytrippers
and weekends in Cuba.

"Some destinations will do better,
the AARP market will chose
comfort and convenience,
a walk to the store,
a bicycle ride to the beach,
cocktails on the balcony,
dinner in the back garden,
balmy nights in paradise,"
soothes the oldman.

The battle rages in Washington
and Detroit loses to wages,
benefits going to healthcare
and hardone pills,
happy old women waiting
for insurance from AIG...
"Who could have imagined."

Quiet streets without cars,
driving or parking.

Partimers gone north,
houses empty,
no Xmas lights,
paradise lost.

"Seems like old times
before daily greed."

Above the Horn.

Beyond the Reef.

A Rainy Day in Paradise

2008-12-11T12:53:00.000-08:00

0701/1740 74/78 Cloudy ESE/20 90%H
DOGS 8660 4760 8203 1039 Libor 1996.

Greetings from the Hill.

A cool and cloudy day in paradise,
gusting rain with 30 knot westerlies
damping the president's floor.

Classics from Havana, CNBC boasting
it's interview with Jamie Dimon,
"Who tells the truth,"
oozes an asshole gossiper
kissing ass to a 20M CEO.

Ah, yes, a formidable young liar,
experienced in the deceit of Lehman...
had not JPMorgan invented or at best,
sophisticated the swindle
during the Asian central bank ripoff,
added dear Blythe Masters to the coop
of flying Vultures on Air Derivative.

Hofuckingho, selling Hot Air Insurance.

"Erin, you little slut, gushing over Jamie,
your pussy dripping in fantasy,"
growls the madone watching
the talking tits from five to five,
disgusted with the producers of trashTV,
and Jack Welch a guest host

"There is a chance that housing prices
could fall, but it's effect on the economy
will be limited," Greenspan 10/04.

"The use of a growing array of derivatives
and the related application
of more sophisticated approaches
to measuring and managing risk
are key factors underpinning
the greater resilence of our largest
financial institutions....
Derivatives have permitted
the unbundling of financial risks,"
Greenspan 5/05.

"the Market impact of the US subprime
mortgage fallout is largely contained and
the global economy is as strong
as it has been in decades," Paulson 1/07

"It is not the responsibility of the Federal Reserve
nor would it be appropriate to protect
lenders and investors from
the consequences of their
financial decisions," Bernanke 10/07

My heavens, but so much deceit fills
the Recession River it overflows
with Turd Tarps and Tarf rafts,
25 Billion to CITI and JPM,
20 Billion to B/A and Wells,
10 Billion to GS and MS,
3 Billion to Mellon and State...
"Ain't Hank the US Bank,"
growls the madone
as Trillions flow down
this subprime tributary
into the Great Depression River
soon a sandbed.

"Come off this shit, this is America,
nothing lasts very long at all,
a fad, a fashion, a style, a look...
Change on the range, a new pony,
fast cars and slow sex...
marriage two years,"
resisting the truth
of eight years of loss and lies.

Clearing skies in the keys,
lush greenery everywhere,
rain water out to sea.

Recycling sucks,
cardboard down 135/35
plastic 25/2
aluminum 80/40,
and scrap 525 to 100.

At least bicycle.

Above the Horn.

Sleeping in the Fifties.

2008-12-03T08:58:00.000-08:00

0656/1736 58/68 Blue Skies NE15 65%H
DOGS 8244 4687 7721 0975 Libor 220

Greetings from the Hill.

A beautiful day in paradise, looking out..
warm clothes on inside after the chill,
camping out in the fifties at home,
no heating no A/C, pansy things.

"Hey, the tropics, frostfree, never freeze,
no need for antifreeze in the Keys,"
laughs the madone alcoholfree.

Blue skies and palm trees swaying,
perfectly clean windows for the view,
classics from Havana in the west room
with CNBC arguing in the east,
fools with fast answers.

The corporapists driving to Washington
to slum for loans from the representatives
of the taxpaying public who have no choice,
politicians who are experts at DEBT.

GM sales down 41% at 153T last month,
Toyota down 34% at 130T,
Ford down 30% at 119T,
Chrysler down 47% at 85T,
Honda down 32% at 76T...

Imagine the worst month since 1945,
Moody rating a C for GMAC,
Smartnotes looking dumb
but seeking the conversion to banking.

"Hofuckingho, the lameduck fuckup,
Carter for Savings and Loans,
Clinton for investment banks,
that asshole with Rubin and Greenspan
created the financial shitstorm,
and now the Halfwit in seven weeks
will make Hedge Funds full access banks
with 50 to 1 fractional leverage,
GO GO GEORGY PO,"
rants the madone taking a noon pint.

Not a problem, gross income 13Trillion,
against 50T in DEBT,
the stupid government owes 100 Trillion
and the mystery bets in Derivatives,
650 Trillion in the USA and.....
1.25 Quadrillion in the World.

"Now what is a few hundred billion
to save a hundred year old industry,
credit derivatives aren't even twenty,
blame 'it' on Blythe Masters and JP,
hang them from the rafters,"
growls the madone pissed with the Lies.

"Yes yes of course, 'its' all in the VIXX,
the big plays are in options because
of the volatility in the market,
swings of three and four hundred points
within an hour, but the costs are up,"
barking for the Chicago Vultures
trying to keep their monopoly.

"Sorryass shits starting to look confused
about their scripts, GE falling, NBC worried,
CBS and Redstone in disarray and ABC,
and the truth in alphabets...
the Greek of the Geeks has put
Alpha and Beta in Default, all bullshit,
TARP is not enough, add some TARF
for MBS and LDS, initials for Duncedom,"
the oldman was disgusted with FED economists
conned by HedgeHogs...
the looters with short sale shooters.

Idiots in the bedroom gasping on CNBC
over SOC, save our cars and jobs,
but a deal with Getttleberger
who controls the union DEBT,
"My heavens but isn't who is first,
the insurance companies that guarantee
the couterparties, the pools, funny words
for joint ventures, pieces of a DEAL,
a piece of the ACTION,
same old assholes,
all MERCHANTS OF DEBT,
and KKR just fucked BELL CANADA,
some public offering,"
sick of words for numbers.

Blue skies and shiney leaves,
silver roofs and afternoon shadows
with sleeping cats in the sun,
life beyond urgency
and anxiety.

Above the Florida Horn.

Recycle and bicycle.

Retire while you can.

At Home for Thanksgiving.

2008-11-29T06:47:00.000-08:00

0653/1737 70/75 Blue Skies SSE5/10 65%H
DOGS 8650 5385 8111 1012 Libor 221.

Greetings from the Hill.

A beautiful day in paradise, somewhat cool...
cats fed, classics from Cuba, roosters crowing,
the last weekend of a month of Change
yet all seems the same with banksters
the corporapists, gangsters and pranksters,
smooth words with deceit and dissemble
lying in your eye stealing apple pie,
Obama acting in charge, Bush absent...
"Yeah, without a letter from Pop,
another mess, another failure,
this one, the nation," growls the madone.

Fences make good neighbors said a sage,
the Love Lane Improvement Society
decided to rebuild an eyesore
after ruined by their remodeling,
but only kindly Bill
paid for and did the work...
answers are not solutions.

A week watching television, Bloomberg early,
then CNBC, talking tits, suits with smirks,
every day parading the charade of truth,
pretending the puzzle beyond understanding,
panderers to the great coverup...
"Fucking right, three Trillion Dollars
printed for Paulson by Bernanke,
a TARF for the TARP, saving CITI,
sucking Goldman's titty," growls the madone.

A view from a window of the blue,
palm trees prevent madness.

The crisis in spending requires liquidity,
available funds for lending
opening the vaults for 110 Million Households
spending a little over 2 Trillion,
6 Million Households higher up
spend the same, 100T to 1M incomes.
135 Thousand rich shits, 1M to 20M
spend 270 Billion.
"Who dares to care about gas and groceries."

In this socalled newage of austerity,
one wonders if the inhabitants can survive
without prepared entertainment and food,
spectators propagating hemmoroids,
walking to the bathroom,
"The family unit would have to contribute
to each other functioning as a team
in the great American Dream, of course
after counseling and rehab...
the obeisity battle begins at home,
salads and water, fat asses
get no passes,"grumbling to the kitchen.

"The Counterparties have been paid off
with the Fifty Billion or so...
the Default Swaps are next,
'it' will take a Trillion dollars or more,
this situation is global,"
a funny smirk on the old jew's face,
the biggest loser in the world,
his company stolen by pirates
sailing the good ship Derivative,
all AIG on his face,
chatting to CNBC from Key Largo...

History Channel and more myths,
no such thing as the Battle of Bunker Hill,
'it' was Breen's Hill, Paul Revere was gay,
a black runaway slave was the first martyr
of the Boston Massacre,the Summer of 75.

"Fucking assholes beleive their own bullshit."

Heart pains and weak legs, stuck at home,
banks use loan money for acquisitions,
the Bailout a Fallout, Bushshit...
CitiBank gives the Mets 400M,
AIG gives Manchester 25M,
GM cans the Tiger,hummmm.

"The Financial Market turmoil is stabilized,
the Fed is buying the MBS of F and F,
this is a once or twice in a century situation,
conservatorship mortgage spreads up,
there is a problem with AAA paper,"
stuttering and swaying, bobbing and nodding,
the oldman had sympathy for his fortitude,
"We will work to the last day,"
when Geithner takes his job.

And the Markets fell again.

"By securitising the Debt,
the new bond's risk will be spread,"
echoes the ghost of Greenspan
repeating and repeating
until the revolvers come down.

"Spread the debt and insure the couterparties,
concentrate the deal with the few
by the few, Licensed To Steal,
Goldman and JPMorgan,
BofA and Merrill, Wells and Wasitfuck,
consolidation for the nation,
Chevrolet Motors and WalMart,
so much for individuality,
guaranteed by the US of DEBT,"
pissed and popping a pint.

Watching the tourists gawk and talk.

Elections and Thanksgiving over.

Santa Claus is coming.

A cool breeze in the fabulous florida keys.

Above the Straits.

Blue Skies and Beautiful

2008-11-19T11:12:00.000-08:00

0646/1739 58/66 Blue Skies N15/25 65%H
DOGS 8190 5402 7378 0915...

Greetings from the Hill.

Yeah, fucking yeah, back in the waves,
goddamn machine is malfunctioning,
WiWi's from ATT monitoring the signal.

A gorgeous day in paradise.

Classics from Havana, CNBC in the East,
cats fed and sunning, doves eating,
below Hilda mothers her chickabees
in Bill's porch garden.

Bill, the neighbour, repairing
the Love Lane fence
for Connie Lee...

PI Bill is too busy to visit.

Economic Populism makes large promises
without knowing how to finance them...
Paulson's Folly..Harp on the Tarp,
then Change to social Capitalism,
market capitalism guaranteed by government
and a nation of Debtors...
"Send the taxpayers share certificates
of invested banks as collateral...
Fucking Bullshit again, Treasury Bonds
discounted at 80 Basis Points,
spliced and diced for speculators,
Tarp Bonds to cover
the toxic waste barrels
transported to Duncedom,"
growls the madone
pissed with the Great Coverup,
the League of Liars,
a nation so diseased with deceit
that all are guilty of the con...
sell shit to family and friends,
anything for money,
make the deal,
feed the need
to play the machine,
get a handle on the gamble,
leverage the odds
and sell the Debt.

"Oh, oh, who opened the door
to the Money Store...
and we trusted the pin stripes,
should have been Joe not Phil,"
mocking spokesmen.

Believe what you see,
not what you hear.

Voiceovers.

Clean clear windows
and camera's to picture.

A cool breeze in the Keys.

Beyond Insanity.

Bicycle and recycle.

Big Change or just small change.

2008-11-08T08:52:00.000-08:00

0639/1742 72/78 Grey skies NE10/15 85%H

Greetings from the Hill.

A depressing grey sky day,
ten knot winds for the Power Boats,
a wake at Capt. Tony's
for his fifty years of compassion,
faith and understanding,
the laughing eye of lust
for straights and gays,
"Why Not."

Forty years ago in another age,
the oldman got clubbed in Chicago
at Grant's Park for another's dream
about freedom of speech...
"And the whiteman lied and lied
and told and sold promises
of a home of one's own, regardless..."
Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan,
Bush, Clinton, Bush,
and where is Osama, Obama????

The Four Fools will not exit without
blackmail on the email,
Volker and Rubin with Soros,
"Hey, Hitler had the VW,
one label one brand,
our country stores,
guaranteed by USA...
WalMart, BofA, General Chrysler
and one plastic card,"
snorts the madone,
pissed with 'it' all.

Bush gives a speech, the Market falls,
Tarp is implemented, down 500...
"Oh, oh, 'its' so volatile, why why,"
wonder the talking tits
to the baldmen with zits
watching their ratings
dreaming of Merideth,
the younger and older,
with a body slammer
and a numbers cruncher,
who to believe, who to trust ,
which face on the box.

"The ThreeHeaded Dog from Styxx,
who owns GMAC and Moparts,
and Albertsons, Hofuckingho,"
snorts the madone sipping
warm beer watching
palm trees sway
and staying away
from Capt. Tony's wake
at Joe's Bar.

"You're so beautiful...
you remind me of my wife,"
making Kathy's heart swoon
and 'Mad Jack' proud,
who printed his tshirts for Mayor,
'If you Care', 'If you Dare',
then 'Why Not',
and Sonny McCoy
lost to the barefoot Mayor,
when times were good.

Then times changed with gentrification
and the big money buyouts
of local originality,
"Made in Key West,"
became a gay disease.

TLC, tender loving care
had gone Republican...
Thieving Lying Cheats.

Crooked lawyers and
paid off politicians.

Gullible homeowners
greedy for debt.

SUV's and Plasma TV's.

Sink the Vandenberg
and pay the 'Ducks'.

What fools we elect.

Beyond the Straits
and above the Horn.

In Paradise.

Two Weeks Lost without Internet.

2008-10-29T10:10:00.000-07:00

0732/1848 62/70 Cloudy NE10/15 60%H
DOGS 9120 6746 7560 9855...

Greetings from the Hill,
the Dow, Oil, Gas and Silver...DOGS..
arf fuckingarf.

A chilly night in paradise
beneath a comforter
inside closed windows,
not sense last major storm...
isolated without internet,
only the classics from Havana
and cable from America and CNBC.

The oldman was into his fall change,
Law and Order at 0400, then
Bloomberg until 0800,
reading Greenspan, great sentences...

"Hey, oldman, how are you feeling,"
not looking at the withered person
shivering in the heat of the console
bringing the world an update
on the continuing financial rape
of Big Daddy Warbucks
and his retarded son, George...
the oldman nodded
and took the cold pint,
"Inflation has hit home...
Millers went up a dime,
thats 15% inflation at once,
the recession begins for real,"
rants the madone on fixed income.

Two weeks off riding the roiling seas
and the crashing waves of volatility,
200 and 300 then 500 point changes,
the VIXX, 80 points of Volatility,
another indice to bet, oh, oh,
the betting Market...
the drugs are on the street,
credit default swaps and
derivatives no longer the secret,
Markit, Markit, Markit gives
you the prices, have for years,
"Some secret to the dunces,
those payroll slaves in the
Kingdom of Duncedom,
the lovers of George,"
spitting snot over the balcony
towards Bill the rooster,
he crowed in the noon sunlight,
from the porch railing,
blazing colors ruffling in contrast
to the natural ambiance
of the unpainted wood.

The financial news competes
with the presidential election,
lie upon lie upon lie by the best,
Greenspan, Snow and Cox
and the politician waving the Truth,
thank cable for CSPAN...
"The fuckers freaked over that one,
holding up 'the document' of fact,
the True Debt numbers USA,"
smiled the madone shrugging,
the numbers were so exagerated
and words between lying in your eye,
the betting voting fools believe
in their own lies and of course
buy their own bullshit.

John McCain is acting silly being nice,
his voice sounds drugged and he sways,
could he be swooning for a fantasy
in black nylon over thunder thighs,
grade school teachers glasses
and a voice only a deaf man
could love...a shrill shrew,
Palen gets worse by the week.

The halfwhite fellow is syrupy,
trying to be something he isn't
by making up poverty stories
while playing basketball at a private
very elite and expensive high school,
now visiting the dying white granny
who paid for 'it' all and the'uppity'
kept expecting more, spoiled, spoiled,
another mommies boy
with dead daddies in the ditch.

"Well, my heavens, maybe this was planned
by treacherous minds to collapse
the nation by DEBT not BLOOD,
moles inside the FED monitoring the funds
awaiting the timing of events
leading to the declaration MARTIAL LAW,
Hofuckingho and King George for Christmas,"
laughs the madone at the irony.

Solve the whole problem...Warbucks.

The oldman liked to listen to Greenspan,
his past of Ayn Rand and jazz
with the Village background made musical
the movement of trillions of dollars
lost in the past month in equities
while the same loaned back with toxic collateral,
the Twelve Bankers of Fedhell
playing games with the Federal Banking Agents,
JPMorgan on the foodstamp card
"Love that cashflow on plastic,
trunching and tranching, dicing and slicing
those derivatives fly high in the sky
of US DEBT, no lifeboats no anchor,
ports closed running on empty,
the captain in the galley
cooking turkey,"
ready for an afternoon walk.

The curious thing about the Big Rush on the Tarp
was the results of government intervention,
"Everyone is selling and no one is buying,"
oozes the talking tits to TVland, strange...
how can you sell if no one buys,
but then no one owns anything, 'its' streetname,
short what you don't own, who knows,
"The computer knows and operators
make secret numbered trades to protect
those gamblers and speculators of The Market,
that forum of Democratic Capitalism,
the global Fuck of the Buck by 'them',
the secret society of jewish masons,"
growled the madone off to Faustos.

A good day to clean windows.

The indianwoman was working for Doug
and had another 'gig' at Blue Heaven
with a telephone in her rogosuite,
her life was improving in the recession.

The oldman was increasing his reserves.

The FantasyFest was a fantasy fast,
the season was looking bleak,
free beer with a tshirt
and 99cent cheeseburgers
for local McMansioners.

Recycle and bicycle.

A fourpack went up forty cents.

Alcoholfree sundays.

A beautiful day in paradise.

A Bouncing Fevered Market and Frigid Credit.

2008-10-12T08:50:00.001-07:00

0723/1902 78/84 Cloudy ESE10 80%H
8451 79 912 11.5

Greetings from the Hill.

Black clouds over the Straits,
static with the classics from Havana,
a cool breeze and a feeling of fall...
"Yeah, fall down a financial hole,
excavated by the 'Goldie Sox' gang
that have kidnapped the Fed
and blackmailed central banks
shorting the 'shit' they sold them,"
taking the warm beer downstairs
to the freezer.

The scandal starts with the nonjew,
token head of the Street, 50M a year man,
who sells his 500M in GS at the top,
taxfree gift from George...
consolidates the investment business,
wipes out competition and banks,
acquires a portfolio of WellsFargo
then resigns by Thanksgiving
taking the turkey and trimmings
from whichever loser...
and takes little Bens' job.

Georgie becomes a supreme court judge,
appointing himself at Christmas.

"Ho, fuckingho, Santa Claus,
Mumbles gets elected, but he's sick...
Wacko becomes Wonderwoman in black
and Pelosi as Speaker becomes VP,
a nation united under WomanKind,
could 'it' be worse than being halfwhite,
with a black foreigner father
and a black alien family,"
chortles the madone
accepting the failure of 'it' all.

A strange week watching numbers and
listening to the talking tits playing coy,
the tricks with the hair and smirk
to the camera, a secret not shared...
always the last word driving
the oldman to drink
by the closing bell.

"They are all Jews from New York,
they sound like Streisand doing
a horse racing announcer,"
he laughed at a funny one.

What a sorryass fuckup George is,
he chairs the G6 in Washington,
gives a speech after the 'bell'
and the 'Market' tumbles
500 Points before rallying,
"Trust me, Believe me,
I won't cum in your ear,"
this dickhead is heading
a World Economy Summit,
"See how we do 'it'."

And next the G20, hofuckingho.

"Tough shit you dumb bastards,
imagine had all your retirement
been invested in equity shares
managed by traitorous traders,"
snorted the oldman bored
with crime without punishment.

This whole pile of shit was predicated
on the odds in the gamble
and the larceny of the House
and the Street and the Strip,
the last a family destination
for Main Streeters,
like sending the little boys
camping in Key West.

"Who the fuck made you think
your home would double
every five years, a little voice on TV,
those moneymaggots convincing you,
'You deserve 'it' because you want 'it',
anddddd, you need it, pictures you see
on Big Screen slopping pizza
and guzzling beer with the men,
while the little woman connives
with other wives...
another conspiracy, the worst,
mendacity.. what a word,
you can see it drooling
from Orson Welles' lips,"
snorted the madone
checking the freezer.

The old indianwoman was in bliss,
a breeze blowing through the window,
cigarettes, grapes, avocados, a mango
in bamboo trays, a filled fridge...
she was the foodstamp
Queen for a Day.

And played her flutes
for the fruit loops
at Capt Tim's political rally
for King of Fantasy Fest.

"Rally round the Faghags, guys."

"What the fuck, I remember when
we'd bumfuck a whitegirl caught
screwing a spearchucker,
those black boys don't like
the Hershey Highway,"
laughed the madone
remembering days past
growing up in Detroit.

Times had changed or something else,
acceptance and compromise
seemed to be effected by bloatedness...
the american public was fatter
not in the bank but in the ass,
not in the stash but in the gut,
piggy banks had become food banks.

And overfilled septic tanks.

The blabbering idiots talk about polls,
the odds, the bet for what...
only stupid ass americans would
bet on a losing race...
"Guess what...
The American Race is Over,
no cars, no drivers, no gas,
no Track....no fans,"
spits the oldman
on a sleeping cat.

IT was all bullshit, a good word
said Henry Fonda to Billy,
an ability to tell a lie
when one knows the truth,
to tell the truth knowing a lie,
with a trusting eye.

Financial instruments of a bygone era,
common stocks and debt obligations
have been augmented by a vast array
of complex hybrid financial products
which allow risk to be isolated
but which in many cases
seemingly challenge human understanding.

Hofuckingho, wrote the jazzman,
a lover of Ayn Rand
and the spreader
of financial disease,
all bullshit.

Blue skies and beautiful.

Fuck Bill,
bunghole Hillary.

Palm trees swaying
and three weeks
before Martial Law.

A Trillion here, a Trillion there.

Memories, sweet memories in Paradise.

2008-10-07T13:27:00.000-07:00

0722/1908 78/84 Blue skies ENE10/20 80%H
DOW 9447 down 508 OIL 89 GOLD 887 SILVER 11.6

Greetings from the Hill.

Blue skies and beautiful unless...
one invests with numbers,
maybe weather derivatives
or other bets on bets.

"Hey, keep 'it' in the bank,
your safe secure local branch."

The oldman deposited his first check
from Capt. Tony for 'a gross' of shirts,
the man had style and gambled
that printed shirts would 'be the thing',
and millions later still are.

Banks just change the signs.

This oversight committee is pathetic,
certainly Waxman suckassing
to the sleezeking Fuld
who emanates boiler room mentality,
the prick hired George Sr to lie,
then dipshit Jeb to peddle toxic bonds
to state pension funds.

These keepers of the public trust
are now taking a break for three months
while the nation goes to hell...
"Hello, hello, is anyone at home
while corrupters seek reelection,
vote every scumball out
and have 'Real Change."

"Credit Default Swaps, my oh my,"
says the black lady, a lawyer as well,
knowing the bet on bets and
insuring the insurance over and over,
"In a Casino Type mentality, Woooeee,"
finally the awareness is being communicated
that chief officers of the companies
were culpible through interbanking,
"Woooee, counterparties and derivatives,"
putting a stain in Fuld's pants.

Who could say, who can say...
forty five years ago and still a dream,
"I have a Dream..."
well, this dream could be
your worst nightmare
when civil rights are lost
by all but the rich one percent.

And overhead small planes approach
an airport incomplete and shamed
where once 727's landed
and times were different...
the natives were not slaves
to a greedy needy daily dollar
enjoying time to enjoy
life in paradise.

Storms would come and go,
before million dollar houses,
not homes for living,
but trim and spin,
the real estate whores with
bed partners in the bank.
"All One Family Together."

Nothing stays the same, times change,
nature has 'its' way and day,
buildings too tall can fall.

A good rain can clean the streets
and chicken shit from a car,
emblazon the poinciannas
and burst a backyard orchid...
island living with
as Frenchy would say,
"The Carribbean Soul."

So the stock market is falling,
room rates or rent won't,
nor will gas or milk or cigarettes.

Don't drive, fart or smoke.

Live beneath your means,
walk to work'
go fishing.

Have fishburger on Sunday.

Life is a breeze
in the florida keys.

The Roof is Falling, Run to your Yacht.

2008-10-04T07:58:00.000-07:00

0720/1910 78/83 Grey skies E10/15 95%H

Greetings from the Hill.

Overcast and a grey cover above,
perhaps God has put a TARP overhead
to create a proper mood to begin
the financial fall, a golden autumn,
silver moments for sunset years...
"But in your paper dreams,
nothing is real, we will insure your hedge
against moneyworms," laughs the madone
beyond 'it' all.

A dear friend arrived to take the oldman
for a famous hogfish sandwich
overlooking mangroves and still waters
and his the only cellphone...
keeping track of what was left
after that 777 day of doom.
"And just the beginning, this is fraud,
I know, you know where I live,
'the HedgeHog town, Ha Ha...
I like that, maybe put up a sign,"
his broker called between beers,
no martini lunches for this
morning fisherman...
he lived there before the hogs,
the honest years after Nixon.

"No one is going to learn about this scam
and no one wants to know, cover it up,
your 'it' will go away, or..."
shrugging and pouring from the pitcher,
it had a bag of ice to keep it cool
and half full, four fucking cups
for eight dollars, little cups
the lunch was sixteen bucks each.
"Hey, don't worry, I'm paying
and this is worth the flight,"
always at home in his dream.

"You know everything is half price
for cash," he laughed and frowned
wondering how far down,
things were not good in town,
restaurants and bars half full
at happy hour, no one laughing.
"It's getting like the seventies
before drugs and samesex,
money and perversion
and then corruption
with government hand's out,
now 'it's' handouts,"
leaving the out islands
for a stop at Home Depot.

"Three registers, that's all,"
always watching things,
"And at Walmart in Homestead
when I got the catfood..four,"
emphasizing the signs of the times.

"Might as well give the country
to the janitors and the cashiers,
moneycounters and floorsweepers,
the service industry," snorting,
"In service of slavery."

Away in the rental and off to Miami,
a drink in Atlanta and homeward
for fishing in the morning
off the banks of the green witches,
the greedy wives of Hedge Hogs.

The oldman was drained from a week
that was lying words of worry
by those talking tits dreaming
of their ratings and fucking Warren,
models expert with the look
and sidekicks as stupid as weathermen
comic relief and silly gaffoons...
"Oh oh where can we go, ask Jim,"
the idiot savant playing court jester
for blue collar investors
trading SUV's for SIV's,
buying CMO's for maturity,
and coffee and oil options
from Goldman Sachs,
all online of course
from a laptop on the golfcourse.

"It ain't over yet,"
said John Wayne in the rain.

Of course of course, off course,
the baked alaskan wonderwoman
turned into a shrill knownothing
with an even dumber daughter
who couldn't cross her legs
to a hockey stick.

Mumbles wife loves the family,
she upgrades the slow witted,
the poor and the handicapped,
and loves dayglo green.

Fast moving grey clouds passing
over the hill, static with the classics,
the weather station a relief from CNBC,
anxiety over roof leaks
and not dollar dam breaks.

Bernanke and fellow stockholders of the FED,
that private company acquiring the DEBTS
of this nation of FOOLS as well as assets,
those specific contracts available later,
after the bankruptcy proceedings
of cities and counties...
"Hello assholes, remember Orange County,
the biggest, the richest in the WORLD,
the Keating Five and who got away,
Honest John and Senator Glenn,
but not Mike, he did time
and kept the money,
a trail through the Grammholes
and Enron with the dish of delight
DERIVATIVES....
'too fucking complicated', claim
those occupants of Foggy Bottom,"
ranted the madone pissed with liars
who hire expensive lawyers
or own the law firms
and change the LAW.

The smirking murderer walked
and strutted florida free
for thirteen years when justice failed
and now traitors will trade away
the soul and heart of everyman
who dreamed beyond his means
then schemed with coconspirators
who knock on foreclosed doors,
and peddle on the Internet
opportunities to own
the AMERICAN DREAM.

Too many crooks walking,
too many lies talking.

Too few angry pissed off people.

A nation of gutless wonders
with big bellies.

Enjoy the breeze
from politicians passing wind
not LAW.

Whatever could come next.

2008-09-30T09:13:00.000-07:00

0718/1914 78/84 Cloudy SE/5 80%H

Greetings from the Hill.

A strange calm day in paradise,
perhaps the laidback are laidout...
banks unwilling to loan to each other,
short term money gone long,
LIBOR rates going to the roof,
equities plunging to the floor,
no realtors at the door...

"Horror of Horrors, let's lunch
while the plastic's good..
and have fun in the sun,"
laughs the madone
to his friend from Greenwitch.

The Wheasle was on again this morning
acting like the rejected worm he is,
"Embarassing and pathetic",
says Peggy Noonan,
"A defeated bill of the party in power
means resignation in most nations".

But not in the rein of George Insane.

The oldman wondered about this 'thing',
'all about oil' and the money pixels,
electronic transfers at all times
and instant accounting of balances,
credit and debt, transparent and opaque,
cooking books with smoking pens...
certainly nothing was learned from Enron,
the same stupid shit globalized
through commissioned salesmen
under the umbrella of 'meritocracy'
"Boy, ain't that a lovely term,
the realtor, the broker, the banker,
now that's a three headed dog
barking at Hell's Pond,"
cackled the madone.

The Odd Couple, she babbled
while he blathered
like a toothless woman,
where was gaypower
and queerbucks...
another silent minority
in a disgusted nation.

"Well, you assholes, get ready to live
with CHANGE, a new lifestyle,
jailbirds will eat better and no
gas to buy or mortgage to pay,
'they' can save money",
snorts the madone.

"We lost over a trillion dollars",
wails a grovelling politician to TV,
hoping to confuse with fear
and force a vote for 'Mo Money'
from the taxpayers deep pockets
some time in the future.
"A Trillion here, a Trillion there,
soon we'll be talking real money",
said somebody funny,
but there was no jokes on The Street
or in The House as the rats
scurried about looking to find
another disease to start
another plague to begin
feeders off life
breeders of death
Of a Once Great Nation.

King Rat Dimon was doing well,
after all had not JPMorgan
created the con in derivatives
then sliced the tranches of CMO's,
to distribute to greedy bankers,
taking from Freddy and Fanny
then repackaging bonds to nations
like Russia and China
for a handsome fee of course,
"Guaranteed by the USA,
IN GOD WE TRUST,
imagine all those athiests and buddhists
buying that bullshit,"
belches the oldman,
grey skies and classics from Havana,
the end of another month,
the financial quarter,
more lying numbers from Washington
and a chance for Hedge Fund investors
to take the money and run
for the gold
"But the Gold is all gone,
hiding somewhere unknown,
maybe in yellow submarines,"
mused the oldman sighing
going downstairs
to check the bullion
in the freezer.

The Mogambo Guru claims the Chinese
government banks are accumulating
vast amounts of gold to establish
a financial system backed by gold
not facetious specious fiat...
clever little laundryman
collecting coins.
By amassing such monopoly
the world standard would become
"Up your ying yuang."
Twenty years of planning for 2020
have been assisted by the Dunce
who in eight years destroyed
a hundred years of progress.

Get your children a Chinese tutor
and a Mexican cook...
maybe a canadian hockey coach.

Things are slowing down in town,
of course it's October
and quite pleasant without
those wasteful extravagant visitors
showing off their wealth,
eating and shitting.

As Deak the Freak would say,
"Two Legged Shit Factories."

The sun is shining in paradise.

Blue skies and beautiful.

A slight breeze in the Keys.

Recycle and bicycle.

What would Paul Newman say to Barney.

2008-09-27T13:45:00.000-07:00

0717/1917 78/83 Grey skies E/10 80%H

Greetings from the Hill.

A rainy day in paradise, death is dreary,
the oldman was sad about his favorite star,
but eighty three is a full life
with one woman
and a sultry voice...
fucking with Orson Wells and Liz,
sucking eggs with George
"We have a failure to communicate,"
caused more shit for the policestate
at that time before BushCops
and Homeland Security .

"What would Paul say.."

'"Fuck the Fed and elect Ron Paul,"
but he never said 'it',
tough shit, maybe he was a chickenshit.

Kind of like the two assholes
not debating, not relating,
just kissassing to sponsors
who invested in advertising bullshit,
GE and NBC with Cramer Crap
and talking tit teeth.
Very pathetic ruses for attention
to the middleclass market
with Freddie and Fannie toxic slime.

Arms to be gone
like soldier's legs
in a domestic financial bomb.

Warren Fuckit Buffett and George Soros
leer and profiteer at the expense
of the dumb stupid masses
sitting on their overweight asses
too lazy to question the elected liars
who soothe and ooze the verbs
engineered by scriptwriters
that create compliance...
cows eating cud.

"Well what about the 'Get Rich Quick Thing',
that infomercial on late night, foreclosures,
a house for $500, that sort of thing,"
wonders the drunk at three in the morning,
worried about his gas tank,
thinking about CHANGE
but really chumpchange.

"Sure sure, blame 'it' on the outsiders,
Bush is too stupid to understand derivatives,
Greenspan told him but so what,
he wanted to finish Daddy's War
and be the COMMANDER...
money, materials and manpower,
what an executive,"
growled the madone disgusted
with the smartasses like Uggla,
creating indices for imbeciles
and bankrolled by prime dealers...
Markit Markit Markit
save the crooked market.

Sorryass horsefucks from Fort Riley
caused the Spanish Flu,
this epidemic is from the floors
and greedy banker's doors
who opened houses
to germs in too many bathrooms.

Walk to work

if you have a job.

Enjoy an afternoon nap
and walk the wife.

Enjoy the sunsets.

And a breeze in the keys

Above the Horn

Paulson takes the Grill for Bookcookers

2008-09-24T09:48:00.000-07:00

0718/1921 78/85 Blue skies E10/15 70%H

Greetings from the Hill.

A beautiful day in paradise,
classics from Havana,
cats sleeping and CNBC ranting...
today Ben is alone with representatives,
Paulson crying with the two dunces
wailing and bailing,
wondering what to steal
and not reveal.

The Senate Banking Committee yesterday,
such a television treat to watch
as these watchdogs stumble
and fumble with words
overlooking numbers...
"That represents $7,000 per household,"
figures a wise one contemplating.
"But only $2,300 per person,"
offers the 'hold to maturity' advocate
against mark to market
and 'firesale' pricing'
a proponent of cashcards at birth.

Senator Dodd had a chance for the throne
but had those Mozzili sillys
with the rest that love BofA
and look at them now...

Going after the Goldie Sox gang.

Now Schumer is senior in New York,
keeping the shrew on the leash,
but who wants this fucking mess
started by Wonderboy Bill...
Phil Gramm and Greenspan,
Summers and Rubin,
and coke from Columbia,
"Hey you fucking assholes, give me the Truth."

Not a hope in Hell, these twenty deadheads
were responsible to monitor the Fed
and sucked Bush's tit for four years,
then under Pelosi did shit
while the Shrew manipulated
in her bitch's brew
with the dike's of America.

"Great Ceasar's Ghost, such a dilemma,
a pickle in the porkhole", laughed the madone.

Could there not be a voice of reason,
a combination of Sense,
the good doctor and Elizabeth Dole,
a Secretary herself...
"Credit Default Swaps over 63 Trillion,
an Over The Counter derivative market,
a growing counterparty crisis that
is swept under shadow banking,"
Paulson stuttering again, Ben in tears,
the heart felt for the academic,
but not the baldheaded bullshitter.

All very nice, this capitalist democracy
based on who owns the debt
and who can collect, the mob is gone,
no broken knees on Wall Street,
just fuckup bonuses, 'Paid to Fail'
and a parachute to Dubai.

"Hey, look at the Odd Couple,
imagine if this pair took over...
the Democrats stall the Bailout,
maintain control and lose the White House",
snorts the madone amused
at the scenario of the shrill
and Mister Mumbles,
better than Bojangles.

"And think of Sick Dick
and the gun totting bitch
fatassing in his chair,"
snapping a pint
and watering the rooster.

The oldman sighed,
his broken shoulders ached,
there would be no surgery
not even pain pills,
just living with pain
beneath one's means,
drinking at home and
saving ten percent each month.

Walking to the bus stop.

Sweeping the sidewalk.

Watering the chickens.

Above the Horn.

Inside the Straits.

Lies Ties and Fingers in Financial Dikes.

2008-09-21T12:49:00.000-07:00

0715/1923 78/85 Blue skies E10/15 75%H

Greetings from the Hill.

A beautiful day in paradise,

swaying palm trees in the breeze,

cats fed and plants watered,

the odd roar of a motorcyle,

the rooster crowing for catfood...

the opera from Havana,

the Red Sox and Blue Jays

across the hall.

All seems well.

"Yeah, asshole, we are blessed

for reasons unknown, but...

that buthead in the Whitehouse,"

the madone getting geared up

over the disasterous policies

of the whore of Wall Street

bailing out the banksters

and corporapists, trading toxic paper

for treasury credits and Fed fiat...

"The Fuckball keeping Goldie Socks

alive to survive with 'it' all,

the deceptions of derivatives and

the 'Bet on Debt' at the US Casino

with ETN's and ETF's, new schemes

sneakier than the CDS's of toxic slop,

trading shorts through Rydex.."
fumes the madone as the machine
fucks up like asshole americans.

Ron Paul was interviewed on CNN,
'Doctor Sense' who won't support
either incompetant candidate.

Poor old Greenberg loses 20 Billion,
a lot of AIG on his face from
another snot trading derivatives,
"Hofuckingho, insuring insurance
without dead bodies or burned houses,
just evaporated paper,"
growls the madone pissed.

The terrorists have renewed power
with the collapse of Money Power,
the free market is social insurance
for the rich and shit for the public.

Government fools administrating finance,
the Rat that whined on dollar burgers
while sequestering bullion...
"More, more, I need more",
at the Senate Door.

Fagasaurus Rex opening the vaults
to another collection of thieves
to keep the F and F alive,
the fantasy of every sleezeball politician
to be empowered with spending
"Buttfuckers and Buckfuckers".

Houston citizens have no water,
can't shit and don't even revolt.

The steers are hungry.

Time for a third party,
a talking jackass and a senile elephant,
a sorry ass state of affairs.

Turn the lights out...
if you still have electricity.

Walk to work.

Still a breeze in the keys.

After Gustav, Hanna and Ike

2008-09-19T10:32:00.000-07:00

0716/1926 78/85 Cloudy NE10/15 80%H

Greetings from the Hill.

Back to the fun after a budget problem
and another skirt with the wind,
all windows boarded up
just in case...
of course Bill did the hard work
climbing to the second floor,
then racing home ahead of Ike.

Two weeks watching the unraveling
on Bloomberg and CNBC...
while reading 'The Conspiracy of Fools',
the Enron story and 'The Age of Turbulence',
Greenspan's interesting interpretation.
"Yeah, an applicable background for the end
of summer Bush League, Hofuckingho,"
snorts the madone coming to life.

"Well, well, the week is over, and ..."
sputter the talking tits and shiny heads.

"Changes never imagined in my lifetime,
hardly free markets with shorts gone
and insurance insured by the government,
and who will lead these Changes,"
wonders the commentator in confusion
as the Market rebounds another 500 points'
a billion shares, all that commission
up and down the toilet flows.

Deeper into Joe Fourpack's pockets,
cutting him down to quarts

"Ah, yes...let Lehman go, Enron was 63B,
the largest bankruptcy, this one, ten times
and the unknown offbalance sheet shit,
OTC derivatives, the fake opaques
soon to be uncovered as the SEC
vows to regulate this shadow market,
Hofuckingho... Welcome to the
United States Socialist Republic,
how ironic and no healthcare,"
growls the madone
joining the oldman on pirate wireless.

Ah, yes, the great leaders of finance...
the global expansion of american
financial products after shylocks,
credit is debt, to owe better than own,
charge a yacht or a barge.

Trundle and bundle the tranches
for baby suburban ranches...
toxic sludge packaged shit,
unlike Milorganite,
grows nothing rots everything,
eventually destroying the very fortunes
of those writers, packagers and traders
of borrowed money, the 20/20 Club,
"Horror of Horrors, could the HedgeHogs
short the Investment Funds, Oh Oh,
put a stop order on shorting Financials,
Uncle Henry, Cousin Chris.. save us,"
whine the Goldie Sock gang
who created 'it' all.

Kind of strange how soon catastrophes
are forgotten, millions dislocated and still
without water and toilets, basics..
the JPMorganChase building in Houston
got trashed, the Bush family's hometown,
Galveston gone, save the OnePercenters
and let the others 'Save at Walmart',
the suit and tie elite who run the 'Street'
and fuck Main Street, but that was
in another time before instant cash
and electronic trading and records
are out there 'somewhere'...

Lies from the Traitors,
the Traders of Greed.

New phrases with the uptick,
"You must want to Save."

"God will give you a Piggy Bank."

"Ten Percent still gets you to Heaven."

Recyle and bicycle.

Above the Horn.

Inside the Straits.

In the fabulous florida keys.

The First Female Vice President.

2008-08-29T11:20:00.000-07:00

0707/1947 80/87 Blue Skies E10/15 70%H

Greetings from the Hill.

A beautiful day in paradise, sunny and showers,
morning notes watching crap television
waiting for the surprise to change
Bullshit Boy's concept of 'Change'.

Sneaky John was beaming with pride,
who could ever imagine this script...
the oldman loved this family.

"Hey, she was better at basketball
than that uppity halfwhite boy,"
the madone loved this change of plot.
"What a true American Story,
born in Idaho, moves to Alaska,
dad a teacher, mom a school secretary,
falls in love with high school sweetheart,
a Yupik Eskimo," he beamed with joy.
"Returned to Idaho for BA in journalism,
a minor in politics, back to Wasilia
to marry Todd and raise a family,
Todd a four time 'Iron Dog' champion,
their oldest son off to Bagdad next month,
at twentyeight a councilwoman,
at thirtytwo a mayor, at fortytwo the first
woman Governor of Alaska."

The oldman loved this story
stirring the chicken soup but worried
how the Evil McCain would dramatize
Baby Trigg and his Down's Syndrome.

Blue skies and a lovely breeze outside,
classics from Havana with static,
two year's ago was Katrina then Rita,
now Gustav and Hanna...
10,000 weary guardsmen off to help
while the vultures speculate on oil,
fucking gamblers always betting
in the Great Casino of Debt,
hedged now always by derivatives,
Greenspan's 'perfect insurance'.

"And if that ain't the crock of shit,"
snorts the madone studying Google Earth
and the island of Molokai where
Jake was visiting Uncle Ernie,
the oddest couple imaginable.

"All those ugly bitches for Hillary
will have a problem now, twenty percent,
nasty, pushy, beligerent dikes...
real women will love Sarah and
Michelle can be Queen DikeHag,
hofuckingho, she's nasty enough,"
chortled the madone,
enjoying the possibilities
of social change in the Beltway,
the WhiteHouse would remain white,
and Ferraro could smile.

Would any of this change the course
of the ship of state steaming
towards the Arabian Sea,
DumbFuck's final attempt
to complete disaster
or a bankrupt Treasury
and Federal Reserve with toxic IOU's,
economists dumbfounded in europe
with no solutions to the mess,
Ben and his smartfarts partying
in Jackson Hole...
"We stand ready to take additional actions,
it's not the Fed's job to bail out investors..
we will act as needed to limit adverse effects
arising from disruptions in financial markets."

HohofuckingHo, a big fat recession
is a volcano erupting."

"It is our twentieth wedding anniversary today,
and I told Todd it would be a surprise,"
softening the hearts of talking teeth.

The oldman had passed out before Obama bullshit,
he disliked the uppity halfwhite,
bigeared grinning fool...
of course he hated the party
of George FuckHead Bush.

A hazy day in paradise,
a light breeze
in the keys.

Between
two storms.

After Fay and before Hillary

2008-08-25T09:03:00.000-07:00

0705/1951 81/90 Light Clouds ESE/10 70%H

Greetings from the Hill.

Another beautiful day in paradise,
up early and no water..a hot pump,
broken lines beneath the house,
intruding insurgents...
the oldman trimmed the broken pipe,
replaced the fittings and took a walk
to Walgreens, his discount dream,
enjoying the sun.

Cats fed, plants watered, floors swept,
perusing the Internet favorites,
morning notes with breakfast
on the balcony...
Plumber Jack was back
on track,
straight in week four,
sober in week two
avoiding those with temptation.

This week of the convention in Denver
with the Wimp and the Wacko
while the Clintons scheme bringing
Florida delegates into the fold,
and that fucking Bill
and his dirty deeds repealing
the Glass Steagle Act
and....passing during 106th Congress
'The Silk Road Strategy Act of1999 ',
the prick who pardoned Rich as well,
a very evil pair indeed.

"Well, what's 'it' all about besides oil
and all that natural gas for Europe,
China and India...Hofuckingho,"
chuckled the madone at lunch,
a peanut butter sandwich with milk,
the diet for an onlyone.

The lunatic pawn of the Bushbrainers
and their incompetent generals
fucked up again in a miniwar...
"Operation Brimstone, what a joke,
the navy was not allowed in the Black Sea,
Putin pissed on George's shoes,"
cackled the madone following
events on Pravda and others,
his favorite, GlobalResearch.ca,
no US bullshit.

IOUSA opened about the country this week,
would the braindead consider the content,
discuss the ramifications of the situation,
hardly likely, whine about the popcorn price
and bitch in the plaza parking lot over
another store closed.

David Walker tried and no one listened,
now with a born again Pete Peterson,
they are trying for change...
not the silly sophistry of Obama,
looking more like a pretentious pansy,
apathy allows indifference to a system,
disgust without disdain,
change by avoidance,
denial of decision.

"Hey, we're all in 'it' together,
let's pool our debt and spread 'it' out,
yeah, debt diversification...
send some overseas to the greedy upstarts
of democratic capitalism,
market populism to the masses,
back to Walter Wriston emulating
Charlie Mitchell, city slickers
spreading financial products
to a global market...
Ah, yes, the free market that
transcends politics and dictatorships,
the great levelor of trade,
the floating dollar,
hofuckingho...
about to sink into the dark liquidity
of the Caspian Sea,"
mocks the madone always amazed
at the stupidity of gullibility,
a dumbed nation of watchers
who believe the actors they see
are real, the words they utter
are true, the faith they project
.....honest.

"When lying becomes acceptable,
deceit is normal and fraud..
is the law," sighs the oldman
ready for an afternoon walk.

A beautiful breeze
in the fabulous florida keys
above the Horn
beyond the Straits.

Imagine What If.

2008-08-14T10:37:00.000-07:00

0701/2002 82/91 Blue Skies SW/5 70%H

Greetings from the Hill.

A hot day in paradise in a quiet house,
cats sleeping and birds gone,
classics from Havana,
History Channel in the bedroom,
the crippledone in the pool,
life without interruption.

"Interrupt this oldman,
George Insane is doing 'it' again,
that fuckhead is mobilizing on water
for the naval blockade of Iran...
Operation Brimstone,
with all the suckass countries,
even your pussy Maple Leafs,"
growls the madone always
suspecting the plot
behind the plot.

'It's all about oil, stupid.'

"Yeah, fuckingyeah, that oil slime
sends the black bitch snaking about
bribing for missile shields
to surround Iran and Russia
and cut off the pipeline
through Georgia, Hofuckingho,"
pissed off with media lies,
he watched Pravda and Regnum,
barked at Fox and CNN/Disney.

Saakashvili bombs and kills
2000 innocents invading South Ossetia
during the Olympic's truce,
typical US Israeli tactics,
cowardly administrations
and gutless leaders
who avoided service
to war vicariously.

Create the bogeyman fear at home
to avoid the reality of chaos,
unite against the yellow peril..
glowing uranium.

Who wants to know the truth
of defaults and deceit,
the corruption of congress
for gangsters on Wall Street
and bankers on Main Street..
"Hey, those fucks buried FASB,
so much for fair accounting,
not a hope in Hell now to find
about the shadow system
unless reading Markit,
but who reads graphs,"
snorts the madone amazed
at the nerve of the chosenones
of the FED, licensed thieves
for the Treasury at usury,
the Goldie Socks gang
who have fucked up housing
and the loan business and now
will operate the infrastructure,
financing the purchase of tollroads,
the Pennsylvania Turnpike gone..
"Trundle and Tranche those bonds,
own a share of the roadway on which
you cannot afford to drive."

Sorryass saps watching the country bleed
slowly through the summer waiting
for CHANGE that will be
chumpchange if the other is elected...
income tax increases to the already poor,
return of the inheritance tax,
a home sale tax,
all those foreclosures
and imagine Barry Bambi as
COMMANDER IN CHIEF...

God bless America, the land I love,
the people are lost and leaderless,
braindead from white bread,
too much greed in the head.

Recycle and bicycle

Save stamps

Avoid freeway ramps.

White Shirts and More Lies.

2008-08-06T14:26:00.000-07:00

0658/2007 80/88 Blue Skies E/5 80%H

Greetings from the Hill.

Another day in paradise...
the indianwoman crippled,
wasting away in bed,
chickens eating dogfood,
chores neglected...
no one to help.

"Close the door, get off the floor."

The oldman had no patience
for wagbag walkers.

He didn't like Obama either,
a grinning dildo like Bill
who both were pussy whipped,
cumcheese on crumpets,
smelly snatch eaters...

He'd been listening to
David Allen Coe's 'dirty records',
pretty funny thirty years ago.

Quiet streets without outsiders.

Watching television was an experience
in the persuasives of advertising
still suckering the assholes...
"Buy buy until goodbye,"
laughs the madone.

The Gaussian Copula had failed
as had the Black Scholes model,
the theory of elliptic copulas...pure crap,
an anologue of implied volatility
based on Greek from geeks...

"Housing is collapsing,
state budgets in shambles,
unemployment soaring and
savings invisible..
the dollar sinking,
the bond market doomed
by 'dark liquidity' and
accounting malfeasance..
all shall be saved by
the King of Debt
and the Treasurer of Duncedom,
HohoFuckinghiyoSilver,"
laughs the madone.

A 99cent breakfast takeout
to eat on the porch
of a Mc Mansion,
summer delights from McDonalds.

Ride the bicycle

hide the SUV.

Watch FreeTV

Listen to Alice Cooper.

Walk to Fausto's.

No breeze in the Keys
above the Horn.

Bailing out SIV's and SUV's.

2008-07-25T09:03:00.000-07:00

0650/2014 81/90 Blue skies SE5/10 60%H

Greetings from the Hill.

A lovely day in paradise,
classics from Havana...
Beverley Hillbilly's on FreeTV,
billowing clouds over the Straits,
cats sleeping in chairs,
the oldman was in therapy again.

"The Sociological Imagination
by C Wright Mills, my heavens,
that's Kennedy vintage,hummm,
reading with color cable, classic movies,
favorite reruns and all those
commercials you hate,
probably smoke in bed,"
mocks the madone
over the oldman
decoupling from americanism.

Wall Street, a classic twenty years ago,
a seven am watch for the unemployed,
troubles and issues begins Mills
comparing private and public distinctions
between the inner and outer man,
the oldman still had his book collections
from the days of 'Camelot'.

At ten, Jon Stewart, then asshole Colbert,
off to Chicago and Nash Bridges,
while assimilating the evolvement
of scientific and humanistic cultures.

"You watch the noon movie on GAYTV,
and TULSA, who's queer in that,"
wondering with a cold pint.

"It's about success, sexuality and ecology,"
smiled the oldman.

The radio crackled and the air was damp.

The television set downstairs
had a volume problem,
just captions...no voices.
"Fucking cunts, makes one naseous,
whores and bores, fruits on Bravo,
voiceover on every ad, hopeless couples
using Tilanol and KY after an Arby's,
but listening to that constant hype..."
the oldman was inundated
by advertising idiocy
after five days.

The economic crisis had been averted
so politicians could be with loved ones
counting what was left.

The very idea of government backing
seems appropo of Duncedom,
a collection of lying thieves boondoggling
the braindead masses with dreams
of a better life, a better wife,
complete healthcare, cheaper airfare,
a solution to pollution...
"Hofuckingho....no money for JoeFourPak,
save China, Japan and Russia,
a paper war and guess who lost,
all during the rein
of George Insane,"
growls the madone
who hated bureaucrats,
the whores of political pimps.

Oh, oh, can I count the derivatives
in the shadow exchanges
or off balance sheets
in Over the Counter
and under the table transactions
of the fake opaque...
so many greedy young men
dreaming and scheming
at their consoles
playing outside the Street
in new bourses
with new horses.

"Take the money and run boys,
convert to gold, hide the toys,
and don't come back...
nothing left to sack."

Goldman and Sachs are experts,
they and the others raped Mexico
and now fleeced their own Uncle Sam...

Traitors are always traders.

Grey skies in the west,
thunder and crackling.

Time for two o'clock brew.

Recycle and bicycle.

Don't drink bottled water.

Pee in your backyard.

Above the Horn of Florida.

FEDS fly in when FOOLS fall out.

2008-07-17T07:45:00.000-07:00

0647/2017 81/88 Blue Skies SSE5/10 75%H

Greetings from the Hill.

A beautiful morning in paradise,
blue skies and swaying palms..
sunlight on the scaffolding,
cats sleeping, doves cooing,
hens stealing food
and chickens fly.

The oldman was distressed
with the US dilemma...

The FED, SEC, CFTC, GWB
and all regulatory and supervisory
bureaus and bodies
seemed like the RATERS
and the twit Dodd,
with the whole pack of clowns
serving the citizens of DEBTDUMB
seemed not to have noticed
the signs...myfuckingmy.

"But the computer programs were
not modeled for shortfalls
or downfalls,
certainly not twenty per cent,
the FED balances inflation,
absolutely recessionproof,
the American Dream; up, up and away
in you new Chevrolet,
and the stock is seven bucks,"
mocks the madone
pissed with the chickens,
perhaps the two dozen birds
could be penned.

A HenPen egg farm
surrounded by the herb gardens
and tomato fields
protected by the nuts above...
one had to consider the future
when faced with an economic downturn,
dangerous curves
and falling stocks.

"And the price of catfood...
ripfuckingoff the petlovers
time for bulkbuying
and home cooking...
for those with a home
and time......"
the madone hosed down
a chicken on the sidewalk.

The strange thing about the Bush League
is the image of leadership...
not one of distance, hardly aloof
and apparently unworldly...
"Why goddamn, a shotgun riding
pickup truck good oldboy,"
parodied the madone
of a nation reformed from the excesses
of the eighties, Ronnie and Nancy
pontificating 'Just say No' while
everyone over twelve said 'Yes'.

GeorgieBoy couldn't find a wet well,
didn't last long at anything,
failed at everything, then given
management of the Texas Rangers...
a cheerleader who flunked flying
becomes the American Dream Sportowner,
apple pie and pretend to fly,
learn to cheat and lie
from the best...
"Read my lips, no new taxes,"
family ties and family lies
and secret connections
to wealth power and knowledge...
Poppa was the CIA and the China Man
who fried shit in a CFR skillet
and simmered in a Carlyle crockpot,
president at the height of greatness,
living to see a son,
'the blacksheep one'
reduce a nation to impotence.

"Or what...another conspiracy."

Millers High Life
seventy five cents a pint.

Recycle and bicycle.

Twelve month farming.

On the Florida Horn.

Happy Fourth of July.

2008-07-04T05:43:00.000-07:00

0642/2019 80/90 Cloudy E/5 70%H

Greetings from the Hill.

Grey skies always depressed the oldman,
"Reading the BIS annual report will too,"
snorts the madone with breakfast.

Toasted crumpets and cream cheese,
Total and milk, chilled orange juice,
classics from Havana, FreeTV,
the pipe filled...
"And the good old summertime begins
with fireworks at nine o'clock,"
feeling better.

Tuesday was Canada Day to the north,
"Well it has been for a while,
merely a Dominion with differences,
life appointed senators and a PM
not elected, love that oil price...
the largest exporter to US,
then Africa, Mexico, Venezuela,
then the fucking ragheads,"
grumbles the oldman
always pissed with lies.

A week wearing out the failing eyes
seeking new sources of TRUTH
but getting weary of the same,
writers who repeat and knock off,
mental masturbators...
Jim Daughty is a favorite,
Chris Whalen, Denninger, Kunstler,
Roubini a bureaucrat now,
but not a funnyman since who ???

Really sucks without comedians
when the roof is disappearing
and bankruptcy is nearing,
"Poor fucks going sailing..
Harfuckinghar,
yardsaling their treasures."

"Hey, how come China has
two trillion in US reserves,
Japan a trillion, Russia 500B,
India and Taiwan 300B and
the US twentythird with 75B,
maybe its the derivatives
and credit swaps that
no one knows about,"
wondered the madone
lighting the pipe
at midmorning.

Square jugs was clever,
once a few brains are freed
of greed to improvise,
the flag can fly free
and proud,
above the traitor traders
seeking world dominance
through globalization.

"Fucking assholes ruin the farm,
mortgage the home and
whore the daughter
to be a Hedge Fund operator,
with a wheelbarrow
full of money,"
the broken arm
hurt.

The sun was shining
in paradise.

A refreshing breeze
in the florida keys.

Bicycle and recycle.

Summertime Scandals are Brewing.

2008-06-24T10:52:00.000-07:00

0639/2018 81/90 Hazy E/10 75%H

Greetings from the Hill.

Away from the Rock for a visit,
politics have become obsessive
and economics depressing...
a simpler view of life.

A front yard chair and a toasty home.

"Well, 'it' didn't last long,
that indian song,"
grumbles the madone left alone.

"And a new face on the Rock."

The oldman had been studying machines,
those peculiar devices that record information
for marketeers of financial products
giving the Hedge an edge.

"Perhaps Obama knows about those 'things'
and those companies like CitiGroup
and their 2000 subsidiaries worldwide,
not offices...companies,
paid 850M for ATD that processes
200M deals a day...6% of the Action.
It is not Regulation, 'IT' is the equipment,
the technology to monitor the banksters,
the IRS doesn't have the tools, not the SEC,
nor CRTC, the FED's models are a decade old,
perhaps an expert economist might,"
muses the oldman sipping a warm beer.

"I don't know how to use a computer,
that's why I have Phil and Wendy,"
bullshits another braindead candidate,
another King for Duncedom.

This Georgia Texan Democrat Republican
wear any coat with money in the pockets
and his corrupted wife are frauds...
her as CMFA of CFTC setting up deregulation
for ENRON for BUSHONE,
then joining the gangsters
as financial director
with all the payoffs.

Scuzzball sucks ass and cons Clinton
with the Gramm Leach Bliley Act
and the world of Credit Swaps...
"Hey, asshole, familiar....
2000 Subs and offshore derivatives
coming down on Bobby Rubin,
man the torpedoes, call the Fed."

My heavens but this shit is not new,
merely relabeled for export
and gullible foreigners who want
the American Dream.

Even the Swiss got sucked in
by Silly Phil and Wendy the Gook

The Forgotten War of George Insane.

2008-06-23T13:08:00.000-07:00

0638/2018 81/88 Blue Skies SSE/5 70%H

Greetings from the Hill.

A hot and humid day in paradise,
a faint breeze from Havana,
classics clear in the president's room.

Outrage from Ontario
and photos to match...
"Hey, who doesn't hate the Worm,
who can remember Katrina..
or their mortgage payments,"
snorts the madone watering
the rooster on the balcony.

These young men traumatized for what...
for Oil Conglomerates to return
and suck out $200 barrels for a buck
dislocating a million souls
and destroying antiquity,
"Perverts for Profit,"
growls the madone...
"MadCow burgereaters."

These fuckingassholes have won
and destroyed the American Dream
of the patriot young,
fighters for banker's wars
too dumb to know
that Traders are
the real Traitors.

"Sell a number,
Sell a Soul...."
a baseball agent.
Yeah, that's when 'it' started,
Brooklyn went to LA and TV,
the market went national,
then international and...
"WorldWide Wrestling,"
StupidGeorge's favorite show.

"Is it any wonder," wondered the oldman.

And young men suffered the lies
of baby killers and profiteers
to be crippled for years,
while billionaires fly in jets
to taxfree havens
abetted by regulaters
bribed by crooked lawyers
and accountants.

"We must have accountability
and transparency and truth
in shadow banking," lied the Limey,
that cunt who is rumoured
to have invented those 'things'
for JPM in London
for the Rothschild Brand.

Keep saving cans,
tin is going up.

Bicycle to work.

Don't eat dinner.

Blythe Masters is a Spy.

Saving for the Seasons.

2008-06-19T07:31:00.000-07:00

0638/2017 79/89 Light Clouds SW15/20 75%H

Greetings from the Hill.

The reddish orange blossoms of poincianna
fill the open west window
against a brilliant blue background.
Thunder roars from Mallory Square,
Florida Bay a menacing grey,
the joy of island living.

Cats, birds and chickens fed,
plants watered, floors swept,
the backyard garden a trimming...
extending daily chores to prevent
atrophication of the soul,
laboring for love
not greed.

"That fucking Bud is horsepiss anyway,
and Joe Fourpack just don't care,
poor fucks just nibbled away,"
snorts the madone fingering the conchtrain
and four passengers...
empty parking spaces,
storm shuttered houses,
summer vacation
for spoiled students,
"And no more drug testing...
Free to Board, Free to Board,"
babbling on the balcony.

It was just one of those days,
the mind full of MarketWatch and Roubini,
Clusterfuck, Asia Times, NYT and KWC,
Rueters, the Economist, the Guardian and BBC,
lovely lies from the WhiteHouse and FRB,
and into the mental blender of wonderment
concocts 'SmoothyShit', the answer
to 'it'....derivatives and credit swaps,
manipulations of the 'Twenty Dealers',
partners in all crime...
"The Fucking Fed,
Clearing Corporation,
and Markit,
the Shadows of OTC,
you'll see when out to sea
on a sinking raft,"
rants the thirstyone
at noon.

The broken shoulder was not healing,
pain kept the brain alive,
those without benefits
alone must survive
or sell sell sell
to pay to die.

America supports her Poor,
the old and crippled,
with a soupbone to stir.

"Now, now, don't be disturbed,
'it' was a dogbone
from the gas shelter,
but who knows next...Soylent Green,"

"Revenge is sweet...sweet crude futures,
all those years of ugly american bucklording
over the little people now fuckbucked
in their big fat asses,"
thinking of lunch.

"Cornburgers for the Chinese,
raw eggs for the ragheads,
barbequed beets for East Indians,
baby seals for Canadians
at McDonalds' McMansions,
America's Bed and Breakfasts,"
and 'it' could come true.

Recycle and bicycle.

Walk for beer.

Summer Planning.

2008-06-12T10:17:00.000-07:00

0632/2015 78/88 Blue Skies E10/15 70%H

Greetings from the Hill.

A Magnum PI day in paradise,

a lovely young lady hiding below

from a murderous exlover,

the richest lesbian in town.

"Where's PI Bill,"

wonders the madone

with a gallon of paint.

The engineer could have fun

for the summer season.

Worked for the biggest, GE,

to get his first ring at Georgia Tech,

then off to Annapolis

and nuclear submarine school,

a ring on the USS INIANAPOLIS.

Back on land with nuclear plants

from Michigan to Turkey Point.

Then heading Universal Exploits,

an innovator in the INTERNET,

KEYS WATER.COM.

Perhaps 'it' could be nice,
the weather without destruction
"And life without construction,"
sighs the oldman wondering
about the indians' friend below.

A lovely day in paradise
where Jimmy B. was A1A
on the Anchor Inn bar,
Bud's bar....
eating Laurie's pussy.

Off to the beach
in Terry's tractor.

Boil your tomatoes,
cook your books.

Eat raw fish.

Sing in the rain.

Hurricane Season and Horseshit.

2008-06-08T11:02:00.000-07:00

0636/2014 80/88 Blue Skies ESE10/15 70%H

Greetings from the Hill.

A gorgeous day in paradise, blue skies,
billowing white clouds, swaying palms,
quiet streets before the tour arrives...
"The What and for Whom,"
sputters the madone,
amazed at the neighbour exposing his home
for 'Pridefest', a week when
gays and lesbians talk
to each other...
"And that ripoff 'Rainbow Flag',"
snorting and wondering
about Moody's persuasion.

The oldman sighed and sipped
another pint,
fat dikes and fruits on bikes,
another way to sell a house,
tours for whores.

The opera from Havana,
Dragnet on FreeTV,
doves eating catfood,
cats sleeping on scaffolding,
roosters in the gardens,
underwear on the clothesline,
the Rogosuite empty and neat,
the indian on a rideabout.

The oldman wondered about the future,
less than five months...
would he live to see 'Change'
or the same dumb shit
avoiding the truth of 'it'.

"Barryboy or Bambi, as the cunt calls him
is an effete, not killer quality,
he might get the 20%'s,
but queers aren't sissies anymore,
too weak to lead mercenaries,"
grumbles the madone
disgusted with the deceit
of pathetic faces
pretending races.

"The dumbfuck public doesn't vote,
give them a beercard, a gascard,
good for an 'Andrew Jackson',
get them to the polling booth
and home with a dime,"
the oldman hated house tours.

And snotty fat shorthaired dikes.

The gayboys next door had gone north
and shuttered their home
for the season.

The hurricane season.

A lovely breeze in the Keys
the Isles of Eternal Sun,
All One Family
until November.

Recycle and bicycle.

Buy the canned goods.

And don't wear hoods.

On to the Convention.

2008-06-04T05:51:00.000-07:00

0637/2012 78/88 Blue Skies SSE/5 70%H.

Greetings from the Hill.

A beautiful morning in paradise,
chores done at sunup,
quiet streets and empty spaces,
the June exodus...
evictions to those too poor to leave.

"What a fucking mess for the next,
four lawyers in The White House
can't save this disaster...
and the prick who started 'it'
will be sniffing about,"
grumbles the madone
never impressed with Billy Blythe
after repealing 'The Glass Steagle Act'
making banks conglomerates.

"Now 'this blackman' is pure spin,
a bastard born to a married man
doing postgraduate studies
on a white woman...
who abandons forever his family
doctoring in economics at Harvard,
returning to native Kenya
raising more pureblacks
and dies drunk...
just like Billy's dad
in a ditch,"
snorts the oldman
belching on tomato juice.

Roosters crowing below.

Breakfast served in the president's room,
homefries, cheese omelette, rye toast,
a garden grown tomato,
the oldman was starving...
life had been tumultuous lately.

Gregory Peck and Robert Mitchum
in Cape Fear, the classic, on FreeTV,
classics from Havana,
palm trees swaying,
cats sleeping,
the oldman pecking
about politics.

"Truth..gimme some truth,"
shouts the madone
walking out to the balcony,
spouting to a deserted street.
"Barry Soetoro for President
or why not Barry Dunham,
but Obama the bigamist,
shit on shit on shit
on a shithead public."

The white jury convicted
an innocent blackman
not in Cape Fear,
but To Kill A Mockingbird,
the oldman was senile.

The little boy had a new daddy
and moved to Jakarta at six,
learning muslim and catholic prayers,
returning to Hawaii and granny,
the only white female vicepresident
in state banking...proud of Barry Who
and their daughter now a doctor...

Columbia and Harvard then Chicago,
and the world of law and politics,
a black lawyer wife
and African roots
of bigamist Obama.

"Hey, fuckwad.. and you think Bush lies,
read the Fed speeches, fancy shit,
fancier graphs and charts,
FOMC and Satyajit Das,
Superderivatives ragmag,"
not even started
with Janet Yellen,
his favorite fed.

Billowing white clouds
and blue skies
with a lazy breeze.

Recycle and bicycle.

Free at Last....Free at Last.

2008-05-30T10:40:00.000-07:00

0637/2010 78/88 Blue Skies E5/10 60%H

Greetings from the Hill.

No Fridays Lies today...
just money in the bank,
donations for the household,
keeping the lights on,
cats and birds fed,
crappers flushing,
hotless water flowing.

The financial engineer was 'tight',
orders on the Internet had stopped,
the phone silent...
he had spent the week with family,
a rented home in Charleston,
playing golf with Dad,
and brother Jack,
the otherjack.

"He reneges, lies cheats,"
snorted the indianwoman
after a game of cutthroat bridge
in the 'RogoSuite'.

"Of course, of course,"
the oldman smiled...
"Usually off course."

His most worshipfull of shitmaster
took on the judge with delay,
the courts delay and stalled
the system through mirrors
of the secret clan
unseen by the common man.

"Elitest shithead pretender
to the warbase of rangers
and fatass computer scouts
who fantasize of 'Being Crazy'
raising a mob to Madness....
Not a fuckingchance.."
the madone still investigating
P I BILL.

The Cheerleader controlled the Mob.

"What could that mean...
a redneck Texas cheerleader at Harvard
snorting coke guzzling whiskey
playing queer mocking Dad,
nasty little pecker kicking
his sissy brother at home
with the ragheads...
No movie I ever saw,"
shrugs the oldman ready,
especially at three in the afternoon
on a gorgeous day in paradise,
breakfast on the balcony,
cafe conleche and a booger,
internet and emails,
perhaps another blog.

The Poinceanna sprouting delicate leaves,
two nights of rain,
green weeds on the corner lawn,
classics from Havana,
a brancheater on the corner,
Canada day this weekend,
Judge Overby dismissed the case.

Blue skies and beautiful,
where Life is the Breeze.

Recycle and bicycle.

Sunday on the Sunnyside.

2008-05-25T06:42:00.000-07:00

0638/2008 78/88 Billowing Clouds SE5/10 70%H

Greetings from the Hill.

Sunday morning in paradise,
sunshine and shadows,
Segovia from Havana 59AM
John Wayne on FreeTV,
roosters crowing
for catfood,
bars closed.

Clouds drifting southwest
through the front windows,
floating northwest
through the side windows...
"Holey horsefuck, that's a storm,"
laughs the madone
ready for the rain.

"And tomorrows a bank holiday,
the last for banksters and hedgehogs,
the summer of discontent
brewing in the engine's roar
as Detroit gasps 'it's' last...
ragheads stuffing their pipes,"
grumbles the oldman,
a pint before noon at home,
within the law
for now.

"Yeah well fuckingwhat...
that evil little prick won't leave.
A setup for martial law.
Economic collapse
Dollar collapse
Civil war
Detainment of insurgents
Antipolitical actions
MexCanAm ...MACDOLLAR.
Blackstone, Blackrock, Blackwater.
The Kingdom of Duncedom
the reign of Insane,"
limping downstairs
for beer and grease.

The oldman read the Fed speeches,
tried to understand the 'models'
in 'Liz' Laderman's reports,
an admission of intent
by the economists
to dictate policy
beyond reason.

"A fucking mathmatical model
with government figures
approved by investment dealers
rated by subscribers
unknown to all
but an MIT acidhead,
the 20/20 Club,
Bet on a Bet on a Bet
to the last dollar,
the home is gone,"
sighs the oldman
ready for the rain.

Butter on toasted black rye,
wide sliced homefries
with Visalia onyins,
fat sliced Homestead tomato
beside an omelette
of green onyins and cheese
under the house eggs,
another pint,
a roach with a belch,
brunch at noon
cooked by the indian.

Life on the Hill.

always a breeze
in the fabulous keys.

Recycle and bicycle.

Save cans...
beer cans.

Happy Holiday.

Memorial Day Blues.

2008-05-24T09:09:00.000-07:00

0639/2007 79/88 Hazy Hot S/8 70%H

Greetings from the Hill.

The thirtythird of this holiday weekend
in paradise, these thrice blessed keys,
islands of the eternal sun...

"That's Honorary Conch Shit,"
laughs the madone celebrating
with a pint for lunch at 92 degrees
and 24.6/81.6 generalities.

The oldman was crippled again,
falling on the new plywood floors.

His right side too, the typing arm...

"Apple Blossom Weekend,"
smiled his mother enjoying the ride
around The Falls into Buffalo
to visit Aunt Effie and Uncle Frank,
a bookiebank and mobman.

"We Like Ike."

Chocolate bars and baseball cards,
angora sweaters and ducktails,
Bill Haley and The Comets...

"What the fuck happened then, oldman,
the frigging neutron bomb,
rock and fucking roll, or ........
the birth control pill, Harfuckinghar,"
cackles the madone,
as roosters crow
and hens fly to the scaffolding
eating dove and catfood
while the indianwoman plays the flute,
smoking Poker cigarettes,
snacking Ben and Jerry's,
feeding steak to the dog.

"Camelot and a parking lot
for plazas and suburban sod,
commuters and looters,
bomb shelters made into
backyard pools,
safe from 'the commie threat'
until 'that ride in Dallas'."

"She was jaded and callous,
had left her oldman,
dead in Dallas...
and married 'The Greek',
Jackie the Wacky and Wall Street,
just the beginning,"
mused the oldman in the heat
of the afternoon,
the dog eating chicken bones,
the stupid oldcunt up the street
leaving her pets alone
to bark and bark.

"But, I never heard my dogs bark
when I was out."

Americanfuckingassholes playing roles.

Red Sunset Depression Blues.

2008-05-17T07:51:00.000-07:00

Greetings from the Hill.

0641/2004 76/86 Blue skies and breezy SSW 10/20 70%H

Another splendid day in paradise in the President's room,
cobalt blue skies and lush green trees
thirsting for a springtime shower,
the neighbour's corner lawn..brown.
The oldman watered everyday.

"Hey, how's the new setup," offering pleasantries
for change in the neworld of Kindness,
a radical new approach to Greed
and the peckers of coin.

The oldman had accumulated extensive notes
the past week recuperating from work,
the day of Miss Vickery's wake,
"No noise during the memorial,"
growls the madone
never trusting the engineer.

Seventeen sheets of plywood,
unloaded, cut and screwed
on the second floor
covering an oldman's dream...
"By Order of the Judge,"
laughs the madone.

The oldman never made it inside
reminiscing on the porch
with a ghost and a dream,
such a work of art,
balance, style and color
oversized for the special
centuryold hundredweight,
"Now, look at that, Jack,"
the teacher teaching observaton.

Looking is listening to the sound
of nature seeing color.

"And not listening to rich oldcunts
pretend they're not horny,"
cackles the indianwoman bringing
bread, juice and milk with...
"And I'm out of pot,"
shuffling out followed
by the dog.

"And I'm out of water,"
talking to the fifteen steps.

"What's 'it' all about,
Who are They,
and Where,
When will 'it' happen
and Why?"

wonders a stranded motorist
on USOne.

The breeze rattled the window,
the gnarled poinciana was bloomless,
southwest was the Yucatan,
a thousand miles of water
before Tampa
and The Foreclosure Coast,
Key West had it's own troubles,
subprimes were backing up,
the waters were becoming toxic
"It could get in your hair...
It's in the air,"
mumbles the indianwoman
with a lunch treat.

"Any idiot can figure 'it' out...
a simple equation based on the model,
Smets Wouters 2003 DSGE/AWM
analysing the optimality of stratagies,
a newer model interelates real GDP,
consuption, investment,employment,
real wages, inflation and
short term interest
as opposed to
Bayesian estimation and validation
and vector auto regressions VAR's,
HOhofuckingHO."

The voice in the hallway of thirst.

"Hey, oldman, what about Janet Yellen
up there (B.C.) with the CFA, Yuck, Yuck,"
sneaking in his notes again..
"Events are roiling US markets,
turmoil in all loan forms as a result of
Financial Engineering and the 'model',
'The Originate to Distribute Business Model'
admitting to 7M subprime in the air,
defaults in ABS, MBS, CDO, and Muni's,
interbanking and counterparties reluctant,
the TAF, TSLF, PDCF bailouts a last window,
blah blah fucking blah."

Walking downstairs with the credit card.

"Investing in Treasury futures using CBOT
contracts and propriety model to identify
discrepancies in value against the yield curve
entailing arbitrage strategy...Yofuckingyo...
all to swindle administrators
and other traitors of Trust,"
sighed the oldman
late for lunch.

"The jury is guilty too."

"The boss is crooked, so is everyone on the take."

"Eight years of Failure."

Stay with canned goods.

The floors are safe.

Paradise ain't cheap.

Laura must be a bitch.

Skateboards for Baghdad.

2008-05-07T16:51:00.000-07:00

0646/1958 Blue Skies ESE10/15 80%H

Greetings from the Hill.

A lovely day in paradise
reading on the balcony...
the diary of Henry Wallace.
A reincarnation for the times.

Imagine ugly skateboards, 100,000,
going to Baghdad to promote
the Disney Skatepark,
or boardpunks avoiding deadheads
and those without beds.

Could this promotion of the 'Occupants'
be bizarre or the fantasy's
of the King of Duncedom.

"Another fucking week of Bullshit
and Bushturds,"
grumbles the madone pissed
with monitoring the lies
from banksters and corporapists,
the spin from pixel land,
CountryWide on cheap TV,
and now the Garden gone
for a theme park

"A pathetic collection of cowards,
the men pretend to decide upon
the input from women too old
for their sexual fantasies,
coupled households
and obeise brats,"
sighs the oldman thirsty
for a coldone
but too weary
to be disturbed.

The fools of local government
closed the newly built SkatePark
to fuck the kids
as well as Harry and Pritham...
"And just who might those fools be,"
snorting at such lowlife,
the fulltime bureaucrat and other
brokers of favors,
a system so slimey that all
are contaminated in crime,
guilt that runs corruption
and makes a fool
believe
in god.

"Take a walk around the block,"
growling to the oldman,
something very suspicious was
happening in the financial markets,
obviously a sinister plot so far beyond
the banksters and fedsters
the hedgehogs and raters,
equity and debt,
canned goods and cash.

"It's the Rapture or a Rupture,"
smiles the oldman to the cat behind him,
a warm night without breeze
and the feel of thunder,
too long without rain
and too many things
out of harmony,
too long living the lie
of another' dream,
greed's scheme
of the lender's cream...

"Fuck you allllllllllll...
Subprime and Sour Milk,
SIV's in the dark
and CDO's that bark,"
laughing in the moonlight

on a tropical night

with hardly a breeze

in the quiet keys.

Lyndon LaRouche
supports Hillary...
whatfuckingnext.

McCoy is eighty.

SKATEBOARDS IN PARADISE...Where???

2008-05-07T16:29:00.000-07:00

Level Plumb and Square.

2008-04-29T07:47:00.000-07:00

0652/1954 75/85 Hazy S/5 75%H

Greetings from the Hill.

A sultry spring day in paradise,

hazy, warm and humid...

the oldman was still sick and suffering

headaches, ringing ears, dizziness,

burning eyes and lack of concentration...

"Too fucking tired to blog or..

sick of the banksters and liaticians

who dumb and numb the brain,"

growls the madone,

classics from Havana, no TV,

cats fed and sleeping,

dishes done,

plants watered

floors swept.

"Tomorrow and another day at court,

a new code inspector to dig deeper

into the historic house problems...

the engineer has leveled the floor,

plumbed the tilted walls

and squared the beams...

pretty damn good by himself,"

acknowledges the madone.

"And a new railing yesterday,"

muses the oldman becoming

faint at noon.

All this oppressive shit of finance,

minor millionaires pretending,

playing in bigtime digits

betting on betting on betting.

"Yeah, you assholes..

square derivatives that

magnify the 32/1 leverage

of HedgeHogging in the Caymans

or the world's largest sandtrap

Dubai."

Hazy silver skies and roofs

surrounded by lush spring leaves,

the forty foot Key Lime burgeoning

with yellow blossoms across the street,

a red trumpet of Royal Poinciana

dazzles through the west window...

"Greedy pissant thieves who strive

to drive the Bush SUV with SIV's

and exotic titles fueled by corn,

maybe the hungry starving masses

will push and pull for pennies...

Or maybe a ten cent dollar,"

wondering what reason

beside the greed of all

could cause Uncle Sam

to fall.

"Don't want to hear about 'it',

that answer to the predicament,

a cause of recession, a factor

in the financial model of bankers,

the buzzwords of hustlers with

lists of million dollar suckers...

the 20/20 Club," spitting

at the chickens below,

who only wanted food,

a little rice perhaps

or maybe corn.

"The dumbass fuckwads can't see,

never view their bulging bodies naked,

or are the fatones lowerclass, underclass,

the million elite are trim and slim

and the middleclass all on diets,

living not as they are

but who they fantasize...

smaller clothes sizes,

larger room sizes,"

upward mobility towards

The Diety of Debt,

gloom and doom without a tomb.

"Ah, it happens every decade,

a few trillion gets wiped out,

gamblers out of their league,

amateurs with the pros,"

skoffs Mileken beyond 'it',

that mysterious 'it' again...

all serving, like 'fuck it',

which the sheeple of this

'Once Great Nation'

ought to consider

come November.

The oldman's head was aching

from the fraud and deception,

truth in advertising but no returns

without buyer protection...

"Insurance is the name of the game,

hedge your bets for the gamble,

protect AAA's with derivatives,

that 'shadowy OTC market' by Markit,

coowned by the 'Top Twenty'

who get saved by 'Bailout Bernie'

and Whoever Whatever

the Fool in the Debt House.

Save canned goods.

Live on fifty a week.

Don't drive to work.

Buy Miller fourpacks.

Hardly a breeze

in the florida keys

where building booms

and nothing sells.

"

Million Dollar Appraisal.

2008-04-19T08:39:00.000-07:00

0700/1950 72/82 Blue Skies SW5/10 65%H

Greetings from the Hill.

A beautiful morning in paradise,
blue skies and green trees
pictured in the five windows
of the writer's room...
cats outside sleeping
in the balcony sun,
classics from Havana,
John Wayne on FreeTV31...
a fellow might write
something inspired.

"Oh, yeah...Well, imagine leaving,"
growled the madone disturbed with
the partner's hiring of the dreaded
'Professional Real Estate Appraiser',
yes...those assholes who started 'it'
and the flimflam of makebelieve...
a banker, a broker, a 'Lending Tree'
for full DEBT enhancement
to the Zenith of Leverage.

The oldman had been walking a mile
and more every day,
paying bills and visiting
county and city offices
seeking information on 'What If'...

Thirtythree years of sunrises
over three thousand miles of ocean,
sunsets across the gulf
and Tropic of Cancer...
"And never left the balcony
for any storm of every kind
from hurricanes to tenants,"
mused the oldman to the blackcat
finishing his milk and Total,
avoiding the banana slices.

"Everybody is lying out their asshole,
believing in the television image
of 'the american consumer'...
buy the shit and you become 'it',
that fucking 'it' again,"
growls the madone
cleaning windows for therapy,
at least the fortyeight panes
on the balcony.

"Well, who do you trust...
that Dork on a Dell ad or
the Ann Murray lookalike
for the homelenders...
guess who says yes in the family
for mini and maxi McMansions,
that sweet missus beside her man
now out of her mind...
the real shit begins,"
vinegar and newspaper,
tried and true
like grandma
who never borrowed
on the home.

"Gentrification...the upward mobility
of the american middleclass from
two bedroom bungalows to
portico facaded McMansions
with Plasma TV and a Mercedes SUV,
fat stupid kids and a stuffed dog,
illegal domestics and gardener,
parents in a nursing home,"
muses the oldman wondering
about his independence,
his health and wealth,
alone in paradise.

The afternoon opera from Havana,
quiet streets without workers
and lanes without alien gardeners,
"I don't hire americans anymore,
they lie, cheat, and don't work,
drive around in new trucks
and talk shit on cellphones,"
rants my neighbor on the Alley.

Images on the small screen that makes
big time dreams and schemes...
"I need it," Need, the seed of greed...
"I want it," Want, the taunt of the Flaunt.

The Devil's work in Advertising.

Appealing to the disposable dumb money
that seems to be disappearing
as their toys are repossessed...
"Couch potato sofa for sale."

Starting again somewhere else
and where is the promised land,
enough to farm on for a family,
a barn for a tractor,
a well with water.

"Hello, hello, I'm with the Government,
you'll need permits, papers and passports,
and a vaccination for the dog,
no lights after midnight,
In God we Trust, Heh, Heh..."
fucking bureaucrats like in communism
before globalization
and the massmarketing
of DEBT.

Sit on your fat asses and do nothing...
at least read Iacocca's new book,
the last living honest patriot...
"Yeah, right, where the fuck
is the outrage over the whole collection
of grifting grafting politicians and those
bribing bastards, the lobbyists who
whore for the corporapists and banksters,"
snorts the oldman not even beginning.

A good spot on the Hill.

One to enjoy for a while.

Maybe even learn to write.

The buds have burgeoned,
full lush green trees on the Hill.

Living with kindness
unlike others.

Save those cans.

Sunday with the Saltman.

2008-04-13T10:04:00.000-07:00

0710/1950 73/83 Blue Skies SW/5 60%H

Greetings from the Hill.

The oldman was napping early,
chores done at sunup then
the walkabout three blocks,
one hundred and fifty homes,
twenty for sale....
five in foreclosure.

"What..on our Hill, Solares Hill,"
mocked the madone,
unsettled with 'The Offer',
by the partner of twenty years
to buy the oldman out.

The neighbour Jim had died
forgotten with his possessions
emptied in two days...
for realestate pimps.

"Could there be evil men
in the rein of George Insane,"
mused Doctor Coy on the balcony
inspecting the last leaf fall
from the 'Key Lime' tree
across the street...
tomorrow it would sprout.

"Perhaps, if one thinks a secret cabal
controls world finance, a group of banks
that govern all money flows and dams,
enjoinment with private corporapists
who own the raters, the indices, the agents
of insurance, the moneychangers...
sound familiar,"
tossing catfood to a dozen
hungry chickadees below
in Bill's garden.

"Now is not a good time to sell,
your assets are falling, take a writedown,"
that funny smile of knowing...
"And Bill would be a very cruel landlord
to a dying writer."

Leaving as the Salt Truck returns.

Job's deliveryman returns with a brother,
a Knights Templar...
hoodwinking on the balcony.

"See you later, we're off for a bit to eat,"
cheery and proud to show his work.
An afternoon in paradise enjoying
rather than grunging in the dirt
beneath the home.

The indianwoman arrived with a cold pint,
'it' was chilly between her and 'Billy' as well,
that well of unpotable water
not even hot....
and the new hotwater tank
intentionally disconnected,
"And I won't pay utilities
as long as she is here,"
not caring for
the oldman's
carekeeper.

The three o'clock opera from Havana,
John Wayne on FreeTV31,
banging noises from Jan's house,
not Bill today on his 'gayplaner',
cats sleeping on the scaffolding,
doves eating leftovers,
twenty chickens below,
puffballs coming along 'The Cancer'
from the Yucatan,
a lovely writer's flat.

"People don't come to Key West to write,
to type the diatripe of emptiness,
a lifetime of illusion and delusion
by heartbreakers and soulkillers,
those takers of dreams...
....'Pay up or Fuckoff'.
and the home became the banker's house,"
mocked the madone blowing
a snotball out the window
on Bill's blocks.

The MasonMaster leveling the house,
squaring his Debt,
angling his approach.

Imagine all those people
losing their homes,
the pride of possession,
a love of their own,
ruined by a monkeybrain
who became dictator.

Imagine being proud
of being republican
under Shitforbrains.

A beautiful day in paradise,
a bit warm and moist,
think about the three
faces for President.

Don't buy Bushdollars.

Silver or Gold.

Loony's by the bushel.

Love your partner.

Hofuckingho.

Second Season of Recession.

2008-04-03T09:39:00.000-07:00

0715/1943 73/82 Blue Skies ESE10/15 80%H.

Greetings from the Hill.

Times are tough...
the oldman walked to Faustos
and home with 25 pounds
for 20 US dollars...
the indianwoman bussed to the plaza
and biked home
on a 200 US dollar bicycle
knocked off in China...
so much for Schwinn

A mermaid swimming through the mangroves
seeking the mariner's cove
and a Cay Club dock
or a Singh's sling.

The oldman was pissed.

Always the same, a fool with money
and no insurance...
no SIV's for two wheelers
when the SUV is gone,
peanut butter for caviar
and beer for wine,
smiling in the sun
with the air in the hair
rather than on
the oldman's breakfast fare.

"Well, isn't that nice...,"
mocked the madone pissed
with the malfeasance of fiscal
responsibility...
roof and pantry
before ostentation..
"Fat ass on a bicycle,
Shitfuck in the carrier,
silly old trout."

What in the world are the banksters doing
wondering alone with the classics
and the man who lost his mind
on FreeTV...
the east breeze bending the fronds,
cats on the balcony
doves on the scaffolding
chickens below...

Bill in Las Vegas
betting the house.

Great opportunities in Water.

"If it was potable
and hot and not
as it still is,"
sighed the happy woman
out on her thrill.

How long does a bicycle last on the hill.

The indianwoman waved on the street
and the dog grinned,
fun in paradise.

"Keeping up with the Gays
ain't like the Jonese's and Martha Stewart
with KMart cottonwear
and unwashed underwear,
it's an elite effete
who style the shoes on your feet,"
shrugs the oldman after four pints
at two o'clock in paradise.

"The Queer's control the Market...
straights in gay clothes,
cunt's in fruitpants,
dykes in jockey shorts,
music by Geffen.."
how many of those pansy's
are putting shorts
in your long pants,"
cackled the madone....drunk.

The oldman belched...
a beautiful afternoon
with a breeze in the Keys,
another four pints in reserve
to ignore the Day's Deceit
"Markit, Markit...
you fucking morons...
Bet on Lance the Looney,
the dark avenues
towards the culdesac ofOTC."
pissed of with ignorance.

Sink the Vandenburg.

Use Big Mac as an anchor
with local banks
as dying bait.

Don't eat local fish.

Don't swim in the waters.

Drink at home.

Sunday Morning Delight

2008-03-30T07:24:00.000-07:00

0719/1942 70/80 Grey Skies, Light Rain, Calm.

Greetings from the Hill.

Orange juice and cafeconleche, cuban breadtoast,
chores done but no walk around the block,
a good day to stay away from grumbling
about thieves and liars,
"Right on, oldman...
Enjoy what you got
while you can still walk, Harharhairball,"
the madone cackling
with the light shower.

The indianwoman brought breakfast..
four pieces of bacon
with french toast and maple syrup
from Quebec.

"Hey, oldman, you said Canada was safe..
what's this Caisse de Depot and crap
from Goldman, ABCP's again...
and SIM's,VIES,SFT's, SIV's,
UFO's and the CIA, hofuckingho,"
eating the oldman's breakfast.

Was there no place safe and secure,
no wind in the pines,
an empty beach
not occupied
by tourists.

"You cannot drink in Key West until noon
on Sunday, unless at home,"
as the madone went downstairs
for a cold pint.

The oldman wondered if only the few
knew about Paulson's secret plans
on laws and regulation...
like FDR with Joe at the SEC,
a wiley fox watching golden goose eggs
soon to be scrambled eggs.

Perhaps the time had come for change
but to where and why for what...
to leave a life of comfort for another,
beginning again without a balcony,
no cats or doves, nor clucking below.

"Ah, yes, the dilemma and analemma,
the temperature at sunrise,
for a walk on the beach,"
smiled Doctor Coy
inquiring of his good freind Joe
outposting in Belize,
they had trained together
in the Erasian Gulf.

joebageant.com

"Well I think he's the best
when he too gets mad,"
adds the indian woman
with a cold beer
and thin joint
before noon.

Calm and quiet
in Key West.

Save your canned food.

A Very Old Man.

2008-03-28T14:19:00.000-07:00

0721/1941 72/82 Blue Skies ESE/10 55%H

Greetings from the Hill.

A love dove trapped in the flat,
confused by the clean windowpanes
perfected by the alien.

Next door west,
nervous gaymen
giggled on the porch...
and the roosters crowed
and the walking tourists laughed.

"That bird is shitting on your bed,"
grumpled the indianwoman
with another joint
and cold pint.

"Fuck off, go paint the porch
of the hundred year old woman,"
as the lovedove smashed
into the clear clean glass...
bleeding on the bed.

Eight years of that asshole Bush...
imagine the progress at home
for those who stayed
more than two years
before finding
a TV dream....
Countrywide and Citigroup,
Blackstone and Blackrock
guarded by Blackwater
over the Federal Reserve Dam
of subprime slime
"A dollar for your dime,"
smiled the mortgage regulator
behind your back,
a political hack.

"They are all in together, part of 'it',
always have been, one or the other, Eh..
Democrats or Republicans of what,"
spitting over the balcony
on the rooster,
a dumb Rhode Island Red.

"What can an honest man say
could truth from the common man sway
the merchandisers way...
over dumbfuck buyers,"
sighed the greatone.

Leaving the dove dead on the bed.

Canned beans was an answer.

There was no hotwater.

The weather was warmer.

A breeze in the Keys.

The Sixtyninth Year (69).

2008-03-27T08:11:00.000-07:00

0725/1940 Blue Skies 68/78 E10/20 50%H

Greetings from the Hill

The oldman was watching Seven Mile Reef
on FreeTV, listening to the classics,
lush and clear in the east wind,
blue skies and beautiful...

"Happy birthday, oldfart..Your'e still alive,"
laughed the madone with the morning Times
and the wind rattled the chimes,
the cats ignored the gawker
too many too soon would come
the new owners
and what was
will have been.

The oldman was in one of 'those moods',
thirty three birthdays
in the same house
"The same fucking bedroom..
although the adjective might be Clintonesqe,
Harfucking hairball,"
cackled the madone
stoned and now
popping a cold pint
in paradise.

"You see the sun, you feel the sun,
you face the rays of energy,
the solar fuel for blood in humans,
photosynthesis for plants,"
smiled the kind Doctor Coy
on the balcony
with a rare cactus
that blossomed
every
thirty three years.

The Kid arrived for lunch
the mother was late.

Noontime in the American Subtropics...

The oldman woke up at four o'clock
for Total and toast,
a late breakfast after two joints
and four pints...Goldie Hawn's husband
was starring in a chinese movie
on FreeTV...
oldcat drank the milk
at home on the Hill.

"What's up, oldman...
still breathing,"
laughed the cuban freind
of thirty years
with a treat
for the living.

Conch chowder and oyster crackers.

The oldman was ready for the movie in bed,
On Golden Pond.

An east breeze
in the florida keys.

And the night had yet
to begin.

Urbi et Orbi "Or is it Orbi et Urbi."

2008-03-24T07:55:00.000-07:00

0726/1939 Blue Skies 70/80 W5 50%H

Greetings from the Hill.

An absolutely beautiful morning for breakfast,
on the balcony of course, with cats,
and lovedoves,
and chickens...
the thirtythird Easter in paradise.

At home of course.

"Good morning oldman, How's the recession,"
mocks the madone bringing cafeconleche and
cuban bread with the Miami Herald
open at the business section.
"A cold spell coming, down in the sixties
like the value of a buck, Har fuckingharhair,"
agitating the dying oldone.

An Emerson record player replica in the corner
of the presidents room played Sinatra,
an original from Miss Vickey's collection,
the machine, a birthday gift
from the indianwoman...
the songs from the sixties too he mused.

"The Trading Traitors play Blackheart."

The ultimate screw your Uncle Sam scam
unfolded as the dealers convinced
the twelve bankers of the Reserve
to take their Toxic Shit as collateral
for 400B to short the US dollar.

"Hello hello out there in Duncedom...
does anyone question the thinking,
perhaps a pause between hypnosis,
maybe disbelief of deceit...
won't laugh at your greed for need,"
the madone was performing
on the balcony
to the passing swells.

The oldman had been reading speeches
of the Fed bankers, Fish the mexican
is funny, the woman a liar, a band of the same
scoundrels from a traders' seat.
"Lie until you Die,"
grumbling without a cold pint
taking a walk so as not to atrophy
or the calves turn to lead,
a tour about the block at sunset
had revitalized the hope
to survive alive
"Birthday 68."

The oldman had been babbling on to the boy
who's eyes looked funny in another world,
indianmothers' eyes were black
in protection and anger.

"I'm taking him to the hospital."

The boy had had another fit.

Some days suck.

Hardly a breeze in the Keys.

Don't drink wellwater.

"There is a smile in the air."

Grey skies and beautiful.

Sail away from the Sale

2008-03-18T07:32:00.000-07:00

0732/1937 Cloudy and Windy SE15/25 70%H

Greetings from the Hill.
What a day for sailing, chimes singing, trees bending,
windows rattling, papers blowing about,
"Notes on the scammers, those crooked banksters
and the corporapists...fuck them," growls the madone
finishing his egg and sausage crumpet with cafeconleche,
a big breeze in the keys today.

A crisis in the education program over lunches...
parents are delinquent in prepaying for the crap
that is confused as food for thier little hoggies.
"Let the fat turds fast on odd days," grumbles the oldman,
disgusted with the walking bloated.

"It's a goddamned shame the way these people look,
fifty inch asses flopping up the street...
imagine the strain on the toilet seat,"
belching from the hot sausage,
farting from the eggs
ready for a cigarette.

The odd thing about this financial crisis is the con.

Economists beyond the american media suspect
a plot of conspirators beyond belief...
"The Indians shrug and decouple thier market,
the Chinese smile and wait, the Russians have got
the investment bankers secret stash with no fear
of Hedge Fund takeovers....the old KGB,"
offers the doctor visiting the cripple.

The wind was blowing off the last leaves
of the key lime tree, springtime in paradise,
summer arrives hand in hand, 70/80....

One wonders if the McMansions are worried about
thier gardens and pets, children and grandparents,
the wind in thier, hair classics in the air,
or.....CSI on plasmaTV, fuel in the SUV,
the Harley in the back garage,
and Cramer's barrage.

"It is a consolidation of power by the agents,
these licensed distributers of government debt
who can control the money markets through
the Federal Reserve, itself under the aegis
of the GoldieSocks graduates," sighs the doctor,
attending to the oregano taking the balcony sun.

"What the vulture funds have done with debt
is now being applied by the top twenty, now the top
nineteen," chuckling to himself....
"The mystery is the rotten root, the decayed apple
that spreads its disease through the money trees
of economic greed groves....and the rot is not
from subprime mortgages."

"No fucking shit Sherlock," growls the oldman
too weak to walk to Faustos on a sunny day,
trapped behind the machine of gloom and doom,
locked inside a devaluating room,
sick and tired of being retired
from living....

"So the fuck what, it's all bullshit, Doctor..
and the 'it' is government shit, funny how the problems
all began with one man and the WTC and WMD,
this savage little prick then brought Homeland
and Blackwater for protection for Halliburton,
oh yes..privatization of government for profit,"
the oldman was getting heart palpitations
fuming about the scumball structure.

"Relax yourself, death comes soon enough,"
soothed the kindly spirit leaving the oldman
to his house arrested development.

"How stupid can a populace be that allows a clown
to represent the most powerful nation on earth,"
sighs the weary oldman wishing he were forty.

"House for sale, built with plastic nail,
an Astroturf lawn with imitation gardens,
lovingly looked after by aliens,"
snorted the madone.

Take the breeze in the keys,
sail on small seas,
Don't eat canned worms.

Springtime in Paradise

2008-03-14T08:05:00.000-07:00

0736/1935 Cloudy 65/78 ESE10/15 70%H
Greetings from the Hill.

Finally back on the machine, a new console
and two new mice, double sided action
to understand the duplicity of government.

Hard to imagine a blueblood Walker boy,
scion of Wall Street bankers and supporters
of the Hitler regime and Horace Schacht
could look like a redneck niggerkiller.

"Hey, hey, oldman walking...
hard to imagine Hippies back in the White House,
....or will it be the Black House,"
laughs the madone walking to the balcony,
filling the bowls on the scaffolding,
for six cats and twenty doves,
feeding the carekillers meals
to sixteen chickens in the garden below.

The oldman was in regression again,
after a month of being homebound from paralysis
he began walking, first a block, then increasing
to twenty five and almost a heart attack.

"Then you fucking near cut your arm off, asshole,
redesigning the flat with a northwest galley,"
second floor chores done, the madone sat down
beside the oldcat eating caviar and sipping milk.
He often wondered about things like that
on a fifty dollar a week budget.
The oldman seemed to have a way with money...
or a way without 'it', that mysterious it again.

"A fool in power who believes his words..."
the doctor had returned from his studies,
soothing the balcony plants with love
talking in plant tongue.

"Only these Americans believe thier own propoganda,
trust advertising, and have faith in thier dollar,"
shaking his head and watching a springbreak bum
on a passing bicycle, the joy of youth,
without a cellphone.

"Against the ruination of mankind there is
but one defense," pausing to perform
to the passing Conchtrain, the sun shining,
god's spotlight on the good Doctor Coy,
"The creative act."

The oldman smiled in amusement at the ripoff,
forty years ago in the hills beyond MillValley,
the cliffs above the Golden Gate,
in the valleys of the Redwoods
before hippies and peaceniks,
lived the Beatnicks....
The oldman and Roy Coy
also went to Berkeley to chase pussy.

"Dream on, oldman....
its closer to fifty years," offers the madone,
sending the oldfart on a walkabout
for a cold pint before noon.

Time was closing it's channel on the oldman,
the joy of watching and walking
a battle with degenerative disease
and an unrefined diet.
Independence and freedom, a choice of time,
the very essence of spirit,
shackled by carekillers and takeover artists,
vultures preying upon the weak,
picking raw the love of life,
taking the Love Lane mailbox,
stomping the lovevine,
poisoning little chickees.

"So what is the solution, Doctor...
surrender to the banksters and corporapists.."
offers the madone as the skies turn blue
and a salt breeze clears the air,
placing plates on the balcony table,
fresh roses in the vases,
homemade bread with fresh hair.

Lunch at noon...
blue skies and beautiful.

The oldman was starting to crank it up
with rhyme and free time.

A joint and a cold pint.

"All is not right," claim the commenters
not the commentors who proclaim
the spirit of advertising with
spin in the wind from the gas
passed from the ass in the White House
who has mortgaged 'it' to the most.

"Think about that, Asshole....
walking debt with hidden assets
illegally unreported, not fake opaque
transparently recorded and reported."

The voice from the hallway.

All part of a very mysterious will,
an option on an estate, half interest
in a broken dream....

The sad case that never closes.

Until the chickees leave home.

Don't eat hairbread.

Today is almost balanced in orbit
and time 736/737

There forces of intelligence
somewhere else.

A cock on the Rock.

Supershit Tuesday.

2008-02-05T06:45:00.000-08:00

Greetings from the Hill
72/80 Blue skies SE10/15 0708/1813 70%H

Been away from the machine, sick of all the lies,
wrapped crap and syndicated shit and.....
fucking television programs have gone deranged,
one might assume not enough themes and plots
left in the madhouse playbooks but...
the business news, Cramer and Krudlow followed
by baldheaded goatees and a sappy cunt.

One must have to wonder about the minds behind
the talking tits and shiney heads.

The demented producers packaging these urgencies,
first news first, new poles report, from the scene...
the need to know.

"It's all horsefuckingshit, turn the sound off and read,
watch the movements of the actors, thats all they are,
performers on the great american stage of fraud,
no smiles no laughter no joy...greed and worry,
now that makes the suckers buy, gurgle and drool
the sponsors and network owners all one
in the globalized dumbthink of advertising,"
growls the madone pissed with it all,
that fucking mysterious conspiracy of 'it'.

The oldman had been sick for two weeks
slowly regaining his legs before they shriveled
and withered away, he was down to jockey weight
but couldn't ride a horse...he shuffled about
watering plants on the balcony
and tourists on the sidewalk.

The oldindianwoman and her dog had returned
abandoned by billybratbrown, the internet lover
who preyed upon unfulfilled women
and prayed they had money...
this time, neither did..peanutbutter dinners.

Back living in the sitting room
and working on Love Lane for Douglas,
at least not starving or crying.

Some people are arseholes.

"Well, what about 'it', oldfart..
you reading George Washington last night,
he'd have a shit attack..
a halfblack and halfwoman, Hofuckingho,"
mocking the contenders for the office of debt.

"That retarded monkeybrain hit Three Trillion
and a 400B shortfall and during his insane reign
accumulated five more trillion in debt....
doubling what had taken two hundred and twenty years,
think about that when your credit ends,"
growling about the sorryass state of the nation.

Times were bad on the Rock and sales were flat,
"As flat as the Florida Bay in june,"
laughed the flyfisherman turned board peddlar
selling boatslips to braindrips,
just another scam to a fleeing fool
avoiding bankruptcy in Florida.

"See you later, oldman, got four part time jobs,
got to pay for bad habits and past whores,"
leaving some grouper for the oldwoman,
they had sailed in the seventies.

A splendid day in paradise, lovely breeze
from the beach, hazy blue sky, cuckoo trains
full of smiling gawkers, a good tourist day...
the cats watched from the scaffolding,
chimes ringing in the wind, papayas getting fat,
the calm before Change.

"Ten thousand delegates to select the nominees
in a two party system with hardly a difference,
the game too expensive for mavericks
unless a Bloomberg Paul adventure...
the system is rotten and diseased through
bureaucracy, the ultimate payoff...
insurance and pensions plus insurance,"
coughed the oldman still suffering,
the fever had not gone fishing
and the pain would remain.

"Of course there seems to be a dilemma,
these holes in the SIV's and the fake opaque,
insurance brokers and OTC traders who
couldn't seem to 'Mark It' right, my oh my,
that mysterious 'it' invented by a foreigner,
Lance Uggla of CNIBC..thats no US network,
that's a mapleleaf bank coming to take,"
smiles the oldman in irony, the revenge of the Looney.

"CMO bonds are in every government pension fund,
from state to county, even behind city bonds,
toxic debt in commercial paper all to justify
inflated net worth for loans more loans that ended
in waste, baubles and bubbles, gone ..gone..
bullfuckingshit, all short profits waiting for the long term,
these Bulls are saving that sperm for better times,
holding that paper in the vaults like Turner Classics,
financial products alright, smart, very smart,
only certain minds could divine this disaster..
the revenge masters,"
snorted the oldman ready for a walk,
maybe his lastone.

Blue skies and beautiful

High above the Horn

A bit above Cancer.

Don't drive or eat meat.

Grandfather's Economic Post

2008-01-24T11:21:00.000-08:00

Greetings from the Hill
65/75 N/5 Grey skies 0711/1805 90%H

The mood seems to follow the falling DOW,
watching the fortunes of working slaves
eaten away by the parasites on cellphones,
the computer ghouls at trading desks
dealing in the american product...DEBT.

This beast evolved from own with a loan,
masterminded by backroom Fink's
and the merchants of death with debt
and hedged with insurance...
"Yeah, yeah...let the government take charge,
and charge and charge, all guaranteed by fiat,
and that ain't no car," rants the madone
while watering the oregano and floors,
the gardens below and passing tourists.

"Learn from history, hofuckingho...
the young dunces are the stupidist ever,
the worst in the world, hardly able to
operate a cash register, but all transactions
will be plastic, the ultimate banking,"
grumbling in disgust as a young couple
pass below each talking on their cellphone.

The afternoon sun buoys the attitude,
cats on the scaffolding watching
the lovedoves eat their food,
across the street the lime tree losing leaves
...the end of winter...Key West seasons.

The oldman was facing the ultimate choice
and as always would procrastinate.

"You're so full of shit, tax time and another
birthday, more moving to Cuba tales,
put a big fat mortgage on the house
and see the world, hofuckingho..
got a passport yet," snapping two pints.

Of course the idea of raising funds to play
in the game of acquisition is a temptation
what with the given equity...
"Right on oldman, start your Vulture Fund
and pedal it to chinamen on bicycles,"
laughing out to the balcony.

Classics from Havana, Cary Grant in black
and white TV31, papayas bulging outside,
the old cat sleeping on the printer,
clean windows and shiny floors,
the machine to play with...
hard to leave paradise.

"A twenty percent adjustment in real estate,
prices will reflect reality.."
the oldman snorted at the talking teeth
on the downstairs television,
not permitted in the flat...
"Oil prices may come down
if the dollar levels out and the markets hold,"
the spin was getting thin,
as thin as Goldie Socks' ice,
may the crooked cocksuckers drown
in their pools of toxic waste.

Have a nice day,
not a breeze in the keys,
above the florida horn
and tropic of cancer.

Save canned food.

Eat at home.

Drink tap water.

Wondering where the other sock is.

2008-01-15T09:35:00.000-08:00

Greetings from the Hill.
62/70 Cloudy NE15/20 0712/1759 75%H

Grey skies and cooler, hardly very inspiring,
the past week reading doom and gloom
every day and hearing it each night,
"It's giving the oldman such a fright,"
grumbles the madone in pants and socks.

"It's all bullshit, always has been,"
spitting out the open window,
the neighbour sweeping his roof,
the poinciana leaves had fallen,
winter arrived with bare limbs.

"Getting too smart and too bloody old,"
the oldman was losing humor and hope
and had smoked up the dope.

"The fucking gangsters sell it and short it,
individually wrapped or truckload lots,
all those 'it's', all those commissions,
lose or win you pay, 'The Vulture Funds'
and the million realestate whores,"
flicking a butt in the garden.

"Hey, oldman, you shouldn't read all that crap,
it was forty years ago when you joined
the boys on Bay Street, they are all dead,
maybe you could tell some tales,
hofuckingho....and what was the DOW,"
the madone joined the cats on the balcony.

The world was getting funny and shaking hands,
enemies making deals and freinds decoupling,
russian gas for an indian car in China...
french electricity for modular housing in Iran,
american war materiel for arabs and jews.

There must be an analogy somewhere
a metaphor for the derangement
a phrase for the madness
a quote from the bible
..."I told you so."

The addiction to gambling and the absurdity
that mental choice transcends physical labor,
the short term attention dwellers
living in the cellars
of their minds
while renting out their eyes
and ears
to the advertising man.
The one eyed monster
barking bargains
in pixel land...
where all is invented.

"Hey, honey...
I've got a great idea...
we can mortgage the house
and buy a SIV," watching Kramer.

"But dear, we just bought a SUV."

"Ho ho, silly... and just plain vanilla,"
a coservative republican.

"Hummm, are there any strawberry sivs
with a long straw,"
wondered the other half
of the consumer market.

"And honey, take the garbage out
on the way to the store."

The way we live is
the way we think we live...
a fucking commercial,
buy the product and become the creature
in the ad, a beautiful skinny model,
rather than dumpy fatfucks
always waddling to the bathroom.

"Norman...the bankerbrokerrealestate man
is calling again," the inlaws down the block.

"Whats happening my man, todays the day,"
the executive turned huckster,
"Big shorts on RMCDO's on the OTC
and fat puts on the Korean derivative market,"
offered the opportunity for advancement
in the global connection.

"Norman...please don't mortgage the cottage,
and take the garbage out on the way to the store,"
sweeping the floors and feeding the bird,
watering the dog and cutting a log
for the chilly afternoon
far from paradise.

Where the sun shone through the window,
a slight breeze in the keys,
at the top of the florida horn
above the tropic of cancer.

Time for a walk to Faustos

catfood and dovefood
and foolfuel.

Sell your car and buy canned goods.

Yo yo mas.

The Roady's and two dogs Arrive.

2008-01-06T07:47:00.000-08:00

Greetings from the Hill.
66/76 Blueskies ENE5/10 60%H

A good day with breakfast in bed
while finishing the book on Hess.
Chores done in an hour,
irrigation on.

The Internetting is interrupted
by two dogs and the travellers,
a swirling dervish of chaos,
the mentor and his nephew...
their home..
a black and white Ford Shelby,
perfectly disguised.

The officer graduate from Annapolis
restrained the dogs while Big Trick
rolled from his westcoast bag,
the dogs crashed on the pinus elliotti.

Happy Birhday, Miss Vickory.

2008-01-03T15:02:00.000-08:00

Greetings from the Hill.
48/55 Blue Skies NE10/30 o715/1730 40%H

A very cold day in paradise,
cats fed and kept inside,
plants watered, floors swept,
windows cleaned,
reading in the balcony sun.

An invitation from Mr. Bedgood
for a birthday visit.
My dear neighbor of thirtytwo years
is one hundred and one.

The home a work of art
the man created for the lady,
the real queen of Love Lane.
Bless you Douglas.

Warm and toasty,
elegant and comfortable,
a home not a house.

"She doesn't hear too well,
but reads perfectly," he smiles
as she reads her cards,
"One hundred and one,"
she beams to the oldman,
beside her.

"What do you think of that, Jack."
too stunned to reply.

Pleased to be
on this florida key.

VULTURE FUND to invest in Key West

2007-12-29T10:18:00.000-08:00

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.

Blue Skies in Paradise

2007-12-27T09:47:00.000-08:00

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