Grandfather's Economic Post

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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

The Day After Christmas

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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



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


Later alligator.

Don't dial a crocodile.



Yo Yo Mas.