We’re back on the routine of waking at 02.40 — somewhere in this scene we’ll move on ohho Lordy lordy — We’ve heard that in the foxhole there are no Atheist — why should there be since in very many cases — the soldiers They were put there by some god — or maybe a belief system that disagrees with freedom — so long as you follow orders and call em as they bleed em. — Anyway, it’s another Monday and the name it has been dubbed — They called it Cyber Monday when Americans they shopped at work on line — even if there’s no money — they have credit cards they’ve copped — it’s just another form of slavery and you better believe there’s no way out — It’s just another addiction — something we’re trying to do here — To get back into some mode of being some clerk — it’s shameful and disgraceful to let Santa do the work. — Officially it’s Christmas — and joy and hope pervert — any chance of changing — this really is a NUT Cracker suite. Tradition, tradition that’s all there is to show — we’ll be back in a little while — a driving we must go. –We’re Back in the fourth grade when Hoss built a platform Christmas garden. — A work of art we’d call it with American Flyer trains and little plastic houses — tiny molded people went about their work. Cars and trucks drove on streets that were made of Morton salt on the platform painted green — it had evolved from messier versions where everything had been poured and scattered. — There really is no disconnect there — a lawn was in the future scene. Hoss also built plastic warships — he liked to work with his hands. Christmas was a season when he truly was a family man. The platform was three feet off the ground and wrapped in brick colored wrapping paper. In time Hoss found a log loader and a mechanical coal dumper — One engine was a smoker and the other a Royal Blue — tracks would switch and whistles blow as a train would go through a tunnel or two. — Against the wall were mountains — created from mountain paper — and we really did believe in Santa Claus and everything else in our childhood caper — there really was a fairy god mother who left a nickle under the pillow and magically the tooth would disappear — a piece of our journey through childhood. — Part of our Christmas season was a job at the Steelworkers local Union Hall on Biddle Street — where Armco Steel to us was massive — it wasn’t as big as Sparrows Point where the Patapsco River dumped into the Chesapeake Bay and all the cars were colored orange and what happened to the crabs and oysters? Twenty-four hour operations where many people worked — most could buy a house somewhere though perhaps the air was slightly tainted — we believed in everything — especially America — but the school across from Saint Patrick’s still had eighteen foot fences and was only there for colored — another street name was jigaboos — what was an education? Anyway, once a year we went to the union hall on Biddle Street during the Christmas season — We helped pack red mesh Christmas stockings for the annual Christmas party — there were only tough white men and sons if we recall correctly — the stockings were stuffed with candy and cheap tiny toys that were all made in Japan — the wars were over we had the Bomb and we had learned to duck and cover. At the stocking stuffing no one spoke about the Wars where those who were still living had a job and they were lovers. Of course there were the elitists who made more than an hourly wage — but this was blue collar Baltimore and they made stuff to build the stage. Industry and shipping was the port of Baltimore — though the streetcar tracks were disappearing — train tracks still ran down certain streets. The automobiles kept coming and bathed us in Texas oil — “You can trust your car to the man who wears the Star” and bigger was better became the Standard. Joe McCarthy did his job when he was the Commie Hunter — he wiped out many creatives and from shore to shining shore — helped to ramp up Capitalism in the name of DemoCrazy and ignite a colder WAR — the balance was disrupted and the choice was only one — either with us or against us — in the expansion of the economy — and give everyone a gun. The military industrial complex was really on a roll — though the idea of freedom and equal rights though embedded — were nowhere sincerely spoken as some democratic goal. — The creatives of Hollywood smoke smoked those cigarettes — they could keep on creating as long as they remembered the truth and where to place their bets. Even the criminal element was part of the equation for stronger law enforcement in every situation. Though we were very unaware of the mind control twas practiced — the goal of expand the economy was in our Christmas stocking — with a Japanese transistor radio. The Negroes in the South they were still being lynched — even on Maryland’s Eastern Shore in Snow Hill some of them were pinched. Christmas time on Broadway even in Baltimore we’d run up and down the crowded sidewalk and buy gifts with Dad’s Christmas Bonus — he gave to us and BB every year all that he was given — We used the bucks for Christmas gifts to our family with we be livin. After Yabba Dabba came along — were those the good old days? By the time he was old enough for a share everything was changing. The population of Baltimore was shrinking and rearranging. But back then we’d wait until right before Christmas Day to buy our Christmas tree — at the tree stand on the edge of where the colored school kept — the kids behind the fences at the corner of Broadway and Bank next to the police station on Bethel — on the opposite side from Saint Patrick’s Church a place where the real God slept. It wasn’t that far to carry a tree back to the former funeral parlor. The huge Christmas Tree on Broadway at Eastern had been put there by the merchants — though we saw no coloreds shopping and they worked the neighborhood with ponies pulling wagons collecting stuff a hauling down the street to Bohager’s Scrap — the collectors and Arabers must have felt very good — they were working in this absolutely fabulous country — there were even a few colored lived on Dallas Street where Frederick Douglas had lived — The very same alley Street where lived Frankie — the kid hit and bloodied by a brick after the Church had been put asunder and before the Bank Parking lot was cordoned off and the Banker chased us with a stick. Though we had no clue where they came from or went to after school — Every Christmas morning we’d listen for the rumble of colored kids rolling down Eastern Avenue’s asphalt in groups on roller skates — unless there was a White Christmas because of snow — and we knew nothing except that if they weren’t Catholic it’s to Hell that they would go. Rupert L.T.Rhyme
We were shut down this morning – who knows what da FA – admitting we slept in a bit – till after nine say duck — when we finally tried to access – our daily bloggerel – there be no connection to the site – we’ll say it’s some god’s will. — We spoke with some cat in India or maybe in Spokane – it doesn’t matter where you are — we know you’re quite insane – perhaps it’s only our projection — of trying to fit in – because we know we’re crazy too – that’s a good place to begin. — We gave the Guv a lift last night – after his Music Fix – for someone in his eighties – he still knows all the tricks – we found him on the corner — after finding a parking space – with him was an intoxicated female – all dressed in satin and lace. — She sat in the back with Rousseau — she kept asking for something to smoke – We said we quit over two years ago – even before we crashed and went broke. — The Guv said he enjoys the music as much as anyone – we know we like his stories and still haven’t heard every one. The chicklette was persistent — in asking for some smoke – she directed us to Eager Street — it seemed like dagger and cloak – there was someone in the alley – and someone on the street – She asked us if we wanted anything for the ride — Rousseau barked that we work for food – do you have anything to eat. We waited until she got out and walked — towards presumably where she lives. We joked to the guy waiting – you look strange – what gives. He didn’t seem to possess much humor – so we continued along with the Guv – he continued to tell us stories about all of the women he loved. We didn’t stop for coffee – Thanksgiving was a good holiday –Guv went for dinner with all of his daughters, including grand and great per say — We helped turn on the furnace and Rousseau he smiled good-bye — we got sleep all night last night – We need not wake at three – Rousseau knows how to let himself out if by chance he has to pee — Tania had a day off which very seldom happens – Slavery in America is alive and doing well – they simply call it management or private contractory — It’s okay – we let it happen and pretend we got something to sell. So have another burger and drink another beer and throw the garbage on the ground so the rats can still eat here. Anyway, we spoke to George in Bulgaria and still the site is down and we’re still in the Fourth Grade still circling and bouncing around. George told us that the reason being the server we be on – it went suddenly kaka so our presence we be gone. It happened quite frequently when on another host server we existed – We moved everything to these guys when the breakdowns still persisted. It’s funny how little control we have over every aspect of our lives – it’s not really that big a deal as long as love survives – that too is always hanging by a thread if you believe the story tellers — or forget that an enduring love takes lots of trust and work – and you neglect the love and hang out too much with the other fellers. It’s a misanthropic society where nothing is ever easy – like bacteria we multiply but we still like our French Fries greasy. Still in the Fourth Grade we wander while wading through a Joe Campbell book – we haven’t been able to read in quite awhile because of a detour that we took – We were T-Boned three times within six months and no longer drive a Taxi – We still take pictures but haven’t gotten back to a place where we can at them look. The doggerel we be writing is part of therapy – other than the few people we give rides to we’re actually back in the cabin – ceptin this time it’s a computer we be clunkin on not the Royal we were jabbin. We said it more than once and we’ll say it once again – the audience no longer matters – it’s the pleasure of our company and the time we feel productive — it’s the now that we be doing something that makes us feel constructive – Any story that we tell perhaps has many versions — like the religious zealots promise salvation to any new conversions – we’re working onward to a point where we can once more work with our pictures – it’s point and click and paranoia – the cameras are in the bathroom fixtures. There is no such thing as privacy in the good ole USA — Wee’s got the great technology — with our freedom we did pay. Pretty soon it will happen in China – some freedom of speech they call it – but if they wantcha they gotcha unless you live the zombie way and become a soulless drone doing soulless work and contain your interaction and become another clerk. Rupert L.T.Rhyme — Finally some time this afternoon around about 14.00 — the site came back on line and we serviced our addiction — it’s one we feel the need to feed for the answers that we seek — why early on in childhood we stuttered when we tried to speak. We’ve crossed many thresholds and adventures we have traveled — and always when we looked back at them — they made sense even when we became unraveled. Nothing actually makes much sense but there has always been cause and effect — Maybe it’s some mystical reason that even science will never detect. Hence we see the faith of lemmings when they leap into the abyss — it’s looking for salvation when there’s only a frog to kiss — forgetting that everyone wants your soul — the more the merrier — just like the tailgate parties — pay the price and drink the beer and get a slice of pizza at Lombardis — and remember to point and click.
It’s okay if no one reads this — that’s not really the point — interaction would be welcomed over a vodka in some joint — the fun is in the writing and the doggerel we compose — we stopped looking for an audience a long long time ago — because there’s fighting in our minds numbness in our toes — the fact we like to argue and that’s uncivilized — unless you’re on reality television — and we know that reality ain’t necessarily so — once the camera’s rolling and potential stardom realized — The masks are fixed and plastered on and it’s a director’s economic decision. The new Mythology that people live by — they find it on TV — or maybe in a theater where a movie shows us how to be. — Think about the video games and technology of war — The children are learning younger to kill — than they’ve ever learned before — the joy stick is sex and power without any humanity thrill. — We guess it’s better than getting hit with a rock — or beaten with a paddle or stick — that would be too personal and too many soldiers still go into shock — so we’ll try to make our fighting robots kill others with a mouse click click — for the new generational flock — and smoosh the animated enemy — we’ve created with special effects — just like in the movies with some pretentious fierce context. — The New World Order is being created — by writers and directors — the intelligent design they speak of is pretty over rated — it’s only smoke and mirrors and delusional reflectors. — But way back in the Fourth Grade at old Saint Patrick’s school — we said our prayers, went to church and thought Maynard G. Krebs was cool. If everything hadn’t been such a great big lie — like heaven, hell and freedom — 0n the other hand that’s not the point — it’s still a way they leadum. And everyone does really die. We delivered a mouse out near Belair — earlier this morning. — Earlier yet dropped off Tania to where she’s a baker somewhere other than over there. — We just got back from lifting her home and Rousseau gets more affection — he’s a much loved pooch but still we know if needed he’d be protection. — We bought a paper on the street from a guy out on the corner — but the Sun has fallen so far down — they’re waiting for the coroner. — The written word and photographs take too much time to understand — especially when clowns like us on some unmarked soap box stand — or maybe it’s an Apple box — because selling soap makes money — and the foggerel of this doggerel on this bloggerel isn’t always funny. — Once again we reiterate we’re not living in or wishing for the 1950s era — We can deal with now and believe the future has greater possibilities of being fairer. — The excitement of the possibility of another great extinction — because of human beings and the spaceship earth to keep a clear distinction — between taking responsibility for the lives we live and some mythical Armageddon. — The mind is capable of great knowledge both take and yet for given — it’s time to take a break again and Rousseau and we will pickup — the Gypsy and drive him into town and we must be careful we don’t trip up. — We be on time. — We ain’t seen the Guv in awhile — but we’re certain he’s okay — gotta go but we’ll be back– either tomorrow or later yet today. Rupert L.T.Rhymes And all of this is practice for the time when we think there may be a point where the voices in our chorus sing one song not out of joint and our reference to mythology is something we refer as a path that we have followed which to others was a blur. Therein is the secret and an idea that someone else can never steal — though lemmings follow lemmings a human’s life is their own reel.
The day after yesterday is is is always better than the Day After Tomorrow — if we remember correctly, the latter is a movie title of great sorrow — where the tide comes in and freezes — then survival becomes much different — as though some God just sneezes — and there is no trial for criminal intent. — Some it is said are above the law — like Cheney, Bush, God and Reagan — The perfect juries would be made of twelve — other gods some claim as Pagan. With greenhouse gasses choking and the Camels still be smoking and twelve-twenty-one-twelve is not that far away. Today is not tomorrow and tomorrow never comes — but yesterday was still Thanksgiving Day. — Anyway, the food was great — Brother BB’s ex-wife Glenda and good husband Pepper did cook — and everyone contributed dishes both traditional and off the hook. — BB and Glenda’s two daughters were there — nieces we guess to call them. — and Sister Cherie with husband and son — say nephew — and a friend — and now we’ll cut off from our brain stem. — So many names to remember and we do remember quite a few. — Some things we’ll have to get back to — for the sake of not simply listing through. — Glenda’s daughters with their husbands got bunches of kids and Cherie has only one. — Us and Heather and Julia had Rousseau along for the ride — Though he’s a dog he’s our son. — Rousseau made new friends: Sadie another dog who is only a dog because the others have so many children. — Rousseau also played wit da kids and took us outside where he ran and I could chill then. — A wonderful couple Barbara and Peter sat at the table close by — they brought the Brussels Sprouts and though we like them anyway — were the best we’ve ever tasted. — We even bowed our head to pray. Though everything we tasted was really out of sight. — We tried to argue for nostalgia sake and perhaps it’s in our being — recalling the great discussions on Anne Street — when Hoss still had it in him — but no one there would take the bait to participate in the art of seeing. — We and Sister Cherie came close but Saint Dave her husband stepped in and simply agreed — Ain’t got a clue to what we agreed upon but we shut up to relieve some stress. — it’s a world of non-confrontation — except on the battlefield of politics and war — So we’ll continue to shoot with a camera and fight with a pen — and be thankful they even let us in the door. — Anyway, the time that we be working on is still back in the fifties — when arguments happened for argument sake and the pressure had some place to go — they kept it all in the family — in America the murder rates were low — now people thinks it’s uncivilized to raise a voice in passion for show — So here we are in America where the justice system is overloaded — and the murder rate is through the roof and Americans are fat and bloated. — This is civilization in the richest country in the world — at least for the few that benefit from what the quiet and civilized do. — The protests are by tea baggers — who are against equal rights for gays and a health care public option. — If they want to protest with hairy balls dangling in the mouth — teabagging — why not give gay rights a choice for a marriage and adoption. — Julia was adopted — we’ve never mentioned that — she was born as Heather — she wasn’t born yet in the time we’re working on, the early fifties, though we do bounce around quite a bit. — At least we didn’t know of her at the time– the fifties. — Heather’s is a book in its own right, no shit — and her writing is truly sublime. — The point is we found out Glenda has a son as old as sister Cherie — and though BB would roll over in his grave — and the earth would shake and rumble — if there was any connection to the coffin buried — and the essence that leaves in the tumble — when we die, ya know. — Glenda’s son Kevin was born years before BB came on to her scene — and Glenda put Kevin up for adoption — it’s a good thing if circumstances prevail. — Julia found her birth mother in 99 — and the relationship hasn’t grown stale. — It’s great when these reunions somehow workout for the best — but not always does that act of courage be fine. — So we’re still back in the fourth grade — at Saint Patrick’s old Boy’s School — with the girls on the other side of the yard except on movie Fridays , once a month in the old Saint Patrick’s school hall. — There were four Movie Theaters on Broadway within blocks — but for Children of Fatima we were on call. — They didn’t serve popcorn and we all fit in — boys on one side –girls on the other we’d sit — Saint Pat had his own 16MM projector but the Xavarian Brothers had the sharper wit. Those Nuns, those nuns — oh those nuns– with flowing black dresses, white Halos and rosary beads — We didn’t mind being separated from the girls — though the Brothers beat us — well mostly the others — the Brothers were into sports and filled the needs. — Mind, body and soul were the targets — to make everything strong — with the exception of the whacks and propaganda — they really did nothing wrong. — Rupert L.T.Rhyme P.S. We always hit publish on the first draft and go back and fix it later — and then again at another point in time — out of the public forum we’ll make it worser or greater. — No matter how it turns out — it will still be our point of view — a collaborative adventure by all of us and what we see is true — in some alternative dimension to give Rashomon its due.
The gathering to eat a bird that’s been held captive until it’s fat — is America’s finest hour or so unless we take into account — the genocide of traditional natives that were there on thanks that day — way back when the pilgrims came — though it took awhile to sink in — the freedom to practice their religion would probably be just for them — or whatever group was strongest in a myth illogical way — it’s part of evolution to pretend that we’re not prey. — We love eating turkey and feel no shame at all — it’s a family and friend gathering that happens in the Fall — It’s a good thing we remind ourselves that we still can be somewhat civilized — and it truly is a holiday where thanks is realized — that we’re all part of a Universe when not unilaterally conquering — other countries in the name of verse or psalm or general war mongering. — We don’t watch the parades that much no more — we be working on our English — but we still got kids fighting in a different war — for the golden arches or sachs and gold or whatever. — It’s the sense of AWE that shocks us every morning when we wake up — and appreciate though we’re all assholes some of us don’t break up. — Rousseau is part of the family and though — we don’t believe in humaneugenics and social ranks they shouldn’t matter — but there’s something about Rousseau’s breeding that keeps him off the platter — and he nods thanks. Rupert L.T.Rhyme
ZEESauerkraut and kielbasa are cooked and in the fridge — a bit of time fermenting for tomorrow on some ridge — somewhere in Pennsylvania where folks all dressed in Black — still ride a horse and buggy with a glowing orange triangle dangling on the buggy back. Thanksgiving in the funeral parlor when it was still our home — after the renters had moved from the second story — Peaches and Hoss and BB and us then Yabba Dabba arrived in all his glory — it started out with Macy’s parade even though in Black and White — it told us Christmas was coming and things were still all right. Peaches cooked a turkey stuffed with sage stuffing made from scratch — with string beans and candied sweet potatoes and there always was a batch — of kielbasa from Ostrowski’s and Panzer’s Sauerkraut — though the Panzer Pickle factory was around the corner on Bond Street a ways out — from the Broadway Market Panzer Stand where we bought the pickled stuff to eat. — Sometimes we’d go to Busha Pauline’s or Busha Josephine’s — but we had an early dinner first — leftovers were the means — to make the weekend easier with all the preparation that had been done — all our meals were around the kitchen table together and Mom could have a little fun — Dad would cook occasionally and wasn’t bad at all — he cooked when in the Navy on board the Lucky Lou on call — one of his favorite dishes was liver and onions in gravy though — we love it now but when we were kids we avoided that and tripe — a place we couldn’t go — not until we lived with the Mexicans did the menudo not make us over ripe. — Anyway, the reasons were the gatherings on the Thanksgiving day — were always the beginning of the seasonal family gatherings we’d say. — Otherwise very often we walked with Peaches to Busha Pauline’s on South Rose Street — we’d stop at Mikulski’s Bakery for turnovers and cheese cake and maybe Vienna Bread– this is way before the fourth grade when BB was already in school — Peaches sister Frances and her kids Charlotte, Gloria and Douglas — lived in the house with Busha Pauline and in the back yard there was a deck — with a great grape arbor and Busha Pauline made the wine — we sipped a bit when we were young — for blood it tasted fine. Gloria was a ballet dancer and Charlotte became a nurse we do believe — Douglas was close to our age and liked lizards — especially horned toads in an aquarium we remember that he raised. — Everyone is far away now — but back in the fifties dazed — all the related families lived in or near Baltimore — the place where we was raised. Busha Pauline would visit us in the former funeral parlor — after she would shop at the Broadway market — Busha Pauline would bring some special muffins soft and with a tan — her family was much smaller and Pauline was older too — than Busha Josephine who had a daughter Frances live with her on Anne. — Almost everyone has disappeared so we could just make some things up — even though we keep digging inward — searching for some honest rhyme — and we try to get it within reason before we run out of time. — No matter what we come up with — and we’ve learned this from experience — others will have seen things differently — through many other senses — including views from an open field or looking over fences. — If we make it too confusing we may lose our audience — though it’s our mind we think we’re losing — so we’ll continue with the dance. Today this post is later than we like it to clock in — so we’ll click the publish button and return throughout the day — and try to make it tighter in our unconventional way. We’re back to reading Joseph Campbell — it’s a break through for our mind — to focus once again on things we believe have meaning — other than technology instruction books for gadgets that we find — Joseph Campbell’s an instruction book for comparative mythology and a way to look at life — one thing that he says, “One might reasonably define mythology as other people’s religion. The definition of religion is equally uncomplicated: It is misunderstood mythology.” quoted from Joseph Campbell’s “PATHWAYS TO BLISS”. Many of his books are taken from his taped lectures not just writings — well we’re just a little bit more than slow and for every word we’re fighting. — We’re working through this life and it’s just another faze. — It’s late enough to taste the sauerkraut and look back at the many awkward days. –So for now we’ll end the passage and first give the wife a kiss. — And continue to work harder at what for us we call our bliss. Rupert L.T.Rhyme
We picked up the kielbasa from Ostrowski’s on Washington Street — you can’t find it in any grocery store — that’s a completely different meat — Like many ties that bind — as time goes by there is friction — within and without so many different families — somewhere along the line — the same last names compete — eventually if there is a family gathering — name tags need be used on every seat. — Anyway, today we’ll find bagged sauerkraut that at one time fought off bird flu — at least that’s what they said on the interweb — actually you can find anything there that you might want to do. — Even though when you say the right buzz word, NSA might listen in with a listening gun — still we’ll write our doggerel just because it’s fun. — There certainly is we do believe — some strange noises and acts of observation — Still the black helicopters haven’t hovered overhead with storm troopers crashing through the roof –without any preparation — as long as they’d repair the leak we’d try to stay aloof — that brings us to Peasant Roofers that did our original Rubber Roof — and told us it was our fault after the Mountain Jew his ladder and tools did bring — he tried to localize the spot where the water seemed to come in — We wanted to give a friend money to help support his habit — of staying alive like everyone else though he was living in a hole with some strange rabbit. — Eventually we called the original guys back and they said our warranty was null and voided — because we had this unfriend help us when he actually didn’t know but still enjoyed it. To get down to the skinny the original roofer said — there was extensive damage from the wind that in the Spring we had — so a claim was filed for a new roof — the insurance company sent someone else in for a second opinion — and it turned out that the only thing wrong was the rubber thing wasn’t done right in the very rubber beginning. So here is the dilemma — let’s call it trickle down — since the beginning of 2008 there’s been death and mayhem and a target on our head — and there’s no money in being an unknown clown who sometimes believes he’s really dead. And the roof’s got a misplaced infringement and we possibly might drown — hence the trickle down. Anyway, the Cat’s Eye’s got the Jazz on every Monday night — the Guv called us, including Rousseau, to come and drive him home and get there right. We don’t have to disguise Rousseau to take him into the bar — because he looks like ruck — we say he’s the Guv’s younger brother even though his nose is longer and he’s too short to drive a truck. Rousseau likes the Jazz night — especially all the horn — he sat there for the last song directly in front of the stage — as though this is where he was born — Jazz is big in Paris and Rousseau’s real grandfather was Voltaire, who could satirize political rage — Rousseau tried to pick up women but we told him Heather may care — if any new women came back to the house at practically anytime or any other where — it could affect our shelter and relationship for sure — we think Rousseau got it — that Heather wouldn’t want to share. It takes the Guv a little time to wind it up and say good bye to all of his fan — finally we made it out the door and getting the Guv fed was part of the plan. — We often stopped at MacDonald’s for a burger burger or chicken and chips — the late night menu is limited and the routine was making him sick — the Guv spent a few days in the hospital last week — we now stop in a place where we both eat and sit — and there’s a little time for us to relax and for the Guv to speak — after his night of sipping wine and drinking bourbon and coffee — he’s only eighty something and his stories are detailed and always with a very sharp wit. We know the way our memory fails — The Guv’s stories all seem authentic — and the Guv knows all the ins and outs and if and ands and butts. We really do intend to get past our fourth grade before we become too eccentric — or is that totally nuts. After the SIPNBITE for the second night in a row — after eggs & scrapple and coffee — to Walgreens we did go. The Guv he needed cough drops and something called Tiger Bomb — one of the girls asked if we had a Tiger and why did we need a bomb. We said we had a lion and showed Rousseau off in its place — then drove on through the Fort McHenry tunnel — in the heavy rain there was lots of driving space. We got The Guv over to his house in PARADISE on the other side of town. — Rousseau takes up the entire rear of his Cube and occasionally he even sits down — otherwise his eyes, ears and nose — probably in the opposite order — take him from side to side — he’s learning his way around the city and he’s looking for a bride. Rousseau seems to enjoy his life with the cats and Heather and the rest of us — but after all he’s a champion and his energy is his only fuss. Duda and Norman and Fred and Amos and all the remaining and secretive people — are still searching in our history — we decided we didn’t want kids — there are too many of us already in this mystery. — Heather and Julia are fine with that and Rousseau has no need for Yale or Harvard or anything that’s steady — like his predecessor Mister Justice Brandeis — the general butterfly — who died a couple of years ago — pleasantly in the bathtub at home — is there a better place to die. Anyway, we got the Guv into his house and he thanked us for the company and ride — after we told him the Brandeis tale — Guv said “I only have a shower.” We arrived back on the East Side with still a half an hour — in time to brew a pot of green tea — and give Tania a ride to work around a quarter to three. This morning we fixed breakfast for Heather, brewed coffee and practiced tai-chi. Now it’s time to take Heather to work and that’s the way it be. Maybe later we’ll get back to our exploration of our history and all of the others in our side — it’s good to be writing again and it’s very cool to have an intelligent and patient, understanding, beautiful bride. We really didn’t do anything wrong — it’s simply our new medication — we have no desire to cook the sausage too long so we’ll stop right here after the slightest hesitation. –Rupert L.T.Rhyme
Rupert drove the Guv last night and they stopped for a cup of coffee — The Guv had creamed chipped beef to relax the system at the SipNBite — every where the Ancient One roams at that time of morning and late night — he gathers fans from everywhere — this couple was from a salt water toffee site — their auto had been towed by Greenwood Garage from the football game — and up North it had been stowed . The Guv told a few stories and lots of pictures were taken — Eventually we escaped from there and got the Guv home to inside his house — we returned back home to Heather after Rousseau got to chase a mouse — or something like that in the park — it was dark. Anyway, Tania called when it was going on three and we gave her a ride to work — she be working seven days a week without overtime pay for some clerk — there are other things we could call him — but the Massa makes his own rules — we’ve created one big Rat Race and the workers are no more than very used tools. So here we are back in B’More or Less with the politicians posing — the other governor keeps trying to watch out for who gets the biggest hosing. The Ravens lost another game to the horses we were told — once we quit that religious rite — so many other things seem old. In a moment when we recover from visiting with other long time friends — in the hills of Western Maryland that carry their own trends — we’ll get back to the fourth grade — a time that never seems it ends. There’s not much traffic to worry about until East of Sideling Hill — when 68 and 70 combine North of Hancock and Berkley Springs — the pressure of the Cities build and it’s time to take a pill. Something happened to the evolution of the system and it might just be another bump. The freedom thing is special — until you’re living in a dump and maybe eating from a dumpster. A dump that we’ve created by not really paying attention — to what is really going on with reactive hypertension. There’s a guy who wrote a book based on some game theory — it’s got a lot to do with self-interest — and it wasn’t Timothy Leary. Remembering the LSD days with the few brain cells we have left — and the thought that everyone should drop acid once or twice for the insights on the theft — of the great world that’s been hijacked by the greed and narrow thinkers — the need to control the mindset has taken preference by the stinkers. There are progressive intellectuals and most would probably say — that there is no such thing as Utopia no matter what the preachers pray. it’s a multifaceted Universe of which the more we learn the less we know — what a wonderful problem to have while the wonders continue to grow — and the science of the smaller threads dot matrix contribution — well we’re still stuck in the fourth grade of our cerebral evolution. Just the thought of suddenly vanishing in less than the blink of an eye — it doesn’t matter if there’s anything else — just think if when you die you just die. There’s something else that happens and for now we’re a part of something great — to squander the simplest realization of something that we ate — is digested used and maybe flushed — unless you shit in a bucket — for everything there is a reason without any greater purpose — than simply working through the time that action took for our own self interest and colon cleansing. Anyway, back to the wars — on the other side of the world — while we live in Eldorado — There are many young being murdered every day by others in the shadow — of how great things could really be with a slight shift in the action — the will to power and conquer and maybe just survive — is wasted energy in B’More or Less nitty gritty city. When someone says we’re all in this together — our cynicism peaks — because no one is really listening when anybody speaks. And if someone is — do they understand what that statement means — find out the reason for your own existence and do your job and count your beans. In the Fourth Grade — in the fourth grade. Was the Saint Leo’s baseball summer when we refused to wear our spectacles and never played in a single game. We guess the coaches had second thoughts when they saw us toss the ball in the air and waited for it to come back down to catch — but it hit us on the head. We still got very excited by our uniform that was white and red. The Cardinals was our team and the opening day was exciting even though we didn’t play and the ball had hit us on the bean — in practice. We won that game we remember and once we returned to home — we climbed up on the bathroom sink to see us in the mirror. As said before the sink was deep and wide having been for a funeral parlor — we slipped and fell and busted our chin and let out with a holler. The Cardinal Uniform which was very cool became a little redder — the opening day became just another visit To John Hopkins Emergency Room — where cat gut weaved through our chinny chin chin — stuck us back togedder. Rupert L.T.Rhyme
The steaks were thrown on the grill last night and Hammer cooked the fries — Heather and Rousseau talked to Ozzie Osborne the bird — and that bird don’t tell no lies — sometime after dinner Larry dropped by the Castle on the hill and dropped off Ginseng Berry Juice and a jar of root ground up in little capsules — it be from American Harding’s Woods Grown/Wild Simulated Ginseng Farm — on the mountain next to JRHammer’s — after a short visit it was time to go to sleep — While we sit here punching keys and rambling on this morning — Heather and Hammer are drinking coffee and listening to a Television Preacher — talking bout God and Capitalism and how God makes all things better. On the other hand if you send him cash this will increase your chances — of making lots of money if you do one of the God dances — The surprising thing is not once did he mention the name of Jesus — until the end when the pitch came for da contribution and commercial for his books — he’s a minister from Tennessee or Texas — and we know about the Texas mafia and George Bush and Lyndon Johnson and a dead gas guy once called Sammons — sounds like Carl Rove is his adviser — broadening the market of God is on your side — with positive reinforcement — so praise the Lords and pass the ammunition and leave it for the analyzer — pardon our dust but first bring the soldiers home and the let the lemmings follow the road to their salvation — whatever floats your boat Molly Doc would say — all roads lead to new horizons and some sacrificial configuration — if you keep your head wide open and move back to the herbal garden — but it’s time to move on down the road and see if B’More or Less is still standing. Way up here in Garrett County B’More or Less seems quite senseless — we be Baltimorons without hearing any verdict rendering — about the Mayor’s shopping habits — but we are taking no chances and propose that if they found her guilty — she pay the restitution to da children besides her own and be given community service — let her finish with a conscience clearing — and kick her out in the election. She was elected in the big election with 32,000 votes — many people just stopped voting leaving it to natural selection. When you have a few rights still left and voting is one pretense feeling — stand up and be counted — while the country does its healing. This is simply doggerel that bounces roughly along — but it’s time to roll back down the hills and end our country song — we say we’ll fix it later when we’re back on our own machine — but THAT NOW it just ain’t happened yet — and maybe it really is a dream. We never do keep rolling — bouncing is our game — so we stopped off in Grantsville one more time to visit That Fella again. We thought they shot him at his poetry reading and his stuff was really quite good. It seems that he’s still living and doing very well as near as we could tell — though a bit under the weather — at least he wasn’t dead. When we shot his movie Tribute while he read to cows — when he finally read to people somebody upped and shot him in the head — we swore he was cremated with ashes spread by Buck Six on the mountain top next to Al’s. We even saved the coffee can and it sits upon the mantle — Seems like That Fella found a good woman and moved into a house. Now we’re back in B’More or Less and we learned there be no verdict in the gift card caper — Guess we’ll be here when the jury is hung — we might even pick up a paper. Rupert L.T.Rhyme
DANNY E. NIKLOW, ROSS FIKE, CHARLES W. HOOK, ROGER GARLICK, NORMAN E. THOMAS, and THOMAS FIKE are memorialized on Hammer JR’s Harley — just a bunch of guys from Friendsville who in Vietnam they died. The tragedy we be talking here is Friendsville’s population is maybe bout 600 folk or so — so it’s hard to forget their people if you stick around — don’t go. We didn’t know a single one but JR was in Nam also — for many years Hammer’s been trying to erect a memorial to those youngsters lost — he keeps running into barriers like government, people and cost. Now JR’s son JRJody is off in Afganistan — he did a hitch in Iraq came home and as a Marine went back before he lost his tan. JRHammer got a call last night that his son was MEDIVACTED and so far that’s all the news we have and BAMA LLAMMA ding dong is still distracted — we know that the prez is a diplomat and tries to think things thru — it’s a complicated world out there and we’re in a war or two — unless he fixes the shit at home in the good ole USA — the conservative agenda he’s been handed — will take back the world on their next election day. In the meantime, Senator BABS Mikulski, though Friendsville is on the outer edge — way up in the corner — they gots an actual percentage of their population from Vietnam who died and they should be remembered –somewhere else besides the gas tank of JR’s spiffy Harley. While we be sittin here lookin out the window at rolling hills and fields of green and occasionally punching keys — JR came into the room with news that Jody fell off a mountain — but the tough young kid and platoon leader didn’t break a bone — so pretty soon he’ll be back in that senseless game — fighting for Afghan’s rights to stay corrupt — in a never changing conservative shame. Build a factory to process their drugs and give their people money — send over a few of the overpaid CEOs to correct the infrastructure and legalize all drugs right here in the good ole USA — take the thugs off of the streets with another game to play — education — with the drug prohibition ended it should also end the recession — like maybe it had something to do with ending the Great Depression. The War thing doesn’t work no more — it simply feeds the fewer — in the military industrial complex that is flushing us down the sewer. So we’ll spend a day in Friendsville and continue with our bouncing — maybe Rousseau won’t get eaten by a bear and still have fun in the fields trouncing. Anyway we understand the difficult times in the other countries — the tea baggers are gettin itchy from the hairy balls in their face — we gots to bring the soldiers home fix things here in our country — and maybe then return to the broads wit da burkas over their faces — and help them the right way with rights like a few other places. JRHammer says it’s time to go and visit Twila’s Place and grab some breakfast and coffee and reremember all the time. – Buckwheat cakes and sausage , bacon eggs and potatoes — but Twila’s in West Virginia past the federal prison rhyme. We came back to the castle and found our way into town and sat awhile with Ina when in walked one who turned around. We mentioned Rousseau was from a breeder and decided not to cut his balls — the girlie said with all the rescues available we should be ashamed. We expressed that they eat dogs in China and many other places and then there the cannibals that eat the body of Christ and go on and drink the blood. Anyway, we ain’t lookin to be very popular — we live in a tiny house — and though we need no excuses Rousseau is quiet as a mouse — unless someone come to the front door — Rousseau is the first to let us know — Living in B’More or Less this is sure to save ammo. We crossed the road and drove up the hill and down Good Hope to Buffalo Run — and sat and talked with Smith awhile before he went out for high stakes poker — he likes to shoot his gun, sing, build things and bounce around grand kids — we sipped some bourbon, stopped in town and S&S cut up some New York Strips — well we believe they taste better than Rousseau would but there are many hungry people where hunger would be conquered if a cooked dog would pass their lips. We love animals just as much as much as we love our vegetables — when we be cremated after they kill us — we’ll end up as some plant food. In the meantime, in between time — ain’t we got fun. And ain’t the chicken good. Rupert L.T.Rhyme