Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Swing SISTA Swing!"

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Swing GEISHA Swing!" (Song:)

(Music/rumbling Blues:) ...I ain't no worried bout who IS da MAN, I ain't worried bout some Mandarin plan: So Swing, my lady-Geisha swing.

 DON'T give a hoot bout some IMAN-JU-JU MAN, put ya HIJAB on the fire, get out while U can; why should U service this BRAINWASHED, prayer 5 times a day MEDIAVEL RETARD, swing lady swing...Do like a Geisha Gal do: "Sayonara Dick Breath!?" with his spare SAMAURI SWORD, CHOP!!! OR Biblically (Caravaggio painting:) "Judith & Holofernes" last -she decapitates him - last intimate moments. In FRANCE, a Crime of Passion. No worries. Six-month prison sentence in a Dordogne vineyard. Only FOUR if U don't guzzle their prize Grand-Cru?

...It sounds SO EASY to walk away, and there's U, hardly in disguise, hitch-hiking, over-clothed for some ISLAM OLD MAN but ya gotta walk away - if U can - because HE will fold like a cheap-mattress, the one who's been raping U ON & ON? GET OUT OF THERE!!!

Swing Lady, swing your RIGHTS. Swing Girl, preserving your Rights less U accept a Lifetime of Night, no night a young girl should know: Swing Lady do. Swing HIGH. Swing LOW. But turn your emancipation, your FREEDOM into your MOJO!...

Swing Geisha, Swing Lady. And Swing Indian/Pakistani HONOR BRIDES, swing a GYPSY-OUTCAST Lady. A song to keep, to keep alive, in your head, no HONOR BURNING, nor lonely exile, GO VOTE with your feet & sing out loud (if U can?). Your Song IN UTERO!

Swing Lady DO. It's up to U. Nobody said it would be easy, but unknown FRIENDS R out there. Swing SISTA Do! There's a WORLD that cares for what U DO! Swing out Sister Do! Step out into the Light where those old grey men, afraid of the light, will not follow U.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our MAN (DARIN) in Europe, now Europe, Dave Delacroix: "Singapore-sling!"

 Our Man in Europe, now Europe, Dave Delacroix (Es-Squire): "Singapore Sling!"

(dedicato: Diane Striker in Hong Kong)

"Singapore Sling!"

ZING, ZOOM, SLING (been a loving long time since WE:) Loving. And now singing something, heartfelt-loving/ne-er forgotten, me feeling stupid, but Love feeling free? Here in Corozal-Belize there's a high wind from Jamaica blowing cobwebs, your Song anew/refreshed, I HOWL...a Salute!

Zing, Zoom, Sling-blade-righteous! U gonna dress up ZAZZ, We -cup-O-tea, one index finger UP or a Singapore Sling? Let's rendezvous at RAFFLES in town. We'll, in our minds FLOAT to HARRY'S (Hemmingway's) BAR in Venice, Paris or Rome, some barista who'll mix a fave cocktail, might even remember our names.

(I fell in love with SOMEONE, but as the Song goes:) "It ain't gonna be U, NO HOW!? And if U had a MILLION DOLLARS (USD), my bar tabs couldn't keep up with U! I fell in love long before we met so it AIN'T gonna be U babe, it ain't gonna be U." Until now.

....I wandered lonely as a cloud. My Singapore Sling. A'la Fools & Funkers. Loves death loves a CROWD s-why we now live alone. Our Prides gone South & every song you ever heard from a Cowboy Mouth hollers, canyon echoes, and there's no joy in that prairie-morning campfire where a lone whisp of singular smoke rises into that lonely, empty sky.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix -Ex-Rockstar -: "TIPPERARY!"

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "TIPPERARY!"

(Song/town in Ireland: dedicato/PETE from Caven Town.)

"Tipperary."

...It's a long way to Tipperary; it's a long way to go. It's a long way to Tipperary to go see the sweetest GAL I know. (Geraldine?) Goodbye Piccadilly, farewell Leicester Square; now row-on-row the Poppy flowers grow, our bodies lie there.

(DEATH/WAR doesn't distinguish between an Aristocrat, Poet, Shepherd or Famer's boy?)

It's a long way to San Fransico, outta New York or from Seattle to San Diego - From Oklahoma to the "grapes of wrath" in California groves, the future-un-knowing, the Oregan Trail. Who could have known? It's a long way, "The leaving of Liverpool!" But my heart's right there.

It's a long way to SHANGHAI, outta NANKING, population murdered-raped, a brutal way to go, but sometime expedited, to HIROSHIMA-BANZAI-KAMIKAZI, reluctantly. but we bombed it anyway. Global neighborhood lunatics like Islamic fanatics got no place in our town. History?

It's a long way to MECCA, a long way, historically all roads lead to ROME, those famous Catacombs! Row-on-row of MARTYRED DEAD now lying, lonesome with no Cellphone. Maybe an OVID poem? Or Persia's Shakespeare: AFFIZ SHARAZI (Hafiz!!!) -SUFI POET ploughed asunder by Mohamed/ISLAM-IMANS perhaps on "their OWN destined rendezvous" in DAMASCUS? -poppies await row-on-row. But RIDE your fastest horses!?

It's a long way to Tipperary. It's a long way to go.  It's a long way to Tipperary, some Gal (Geraldine) I never knew? Goodbye Piccadilly. Farewell Leicester Sq.? It's, alas, it's a long-long way to Tipperary but MY Soul, sadly ain't there.

c.dave delacroix. 2026.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "DEMONS!"

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "DEMONS!"

...HAS ANYONE GOTTA (cigarette) FAG? I'm "jones-ing" for a tobacco "rollie". As ANYONE got a mean-assed SHOT of whisky to twirl around my tongue a-rolling? Does anyone still know the "Meaning of Life" to keep our living bullshit rocking & rolling? Can U "spring" for a bottle/cold beer? Maybe a sweet ride downtown before LIFE's glitter turns into a frown? That inevitable 11th hour Curtain hesitatingly ponders your design. Destiny, IN ESSE, has a life of its own.

Does anyone still BELIEVE in "Life-after-Death", some universal calling (HOWL!!!) or intertwine with planet Earth's JU-JU-Men, Imans, Priests, Monks, Budda's, Rabis? Does anyone - these days - blindly embark on a Roman Pilgrimage, visit with JU-JU-PAPPA, get an Easter foot-wash pedicure at the Vatican in the Year of the Dragon, the Year of the Unicorn, did either year ever exist? Religio-souvenir after-life Insurance-Crucifix tucked away in your lingerie drawer.

Or simply, do U just bury family fortunes gone-South automatically, "Ashes to Ashes-Funk to Funky" bury our Dead, kiss their Tomorrows "arrivederci", see U on the other side? Then invest -DA MONI-MONI-MONI", your inheritance, pick up a Gibson guitar, a Marshall amplifier, thrash out some BLUES & bore to death all your neighbors in a village (in Sicily?), or abroad, Montparnasse-France or Winchester-NY, cemeteries where, competing with Museums "infinity goes up on trial"/Bob Dylan-Zimmerman, Mans forever after?

Do NOT go gently into this (?) good living twilight. It can be prematurely as black as HADES, in this case: NO LAZY SUNSET, NO MOON DUDE! And Dog's a-barking! Cats chorus "MEOWW!!!" R U so quickly forgotten or is it a "mortal-crossover" U be dead & gone? As for your Demons, an Edvard Munch Oil Painting, a hollow SCREAM, your bloody past demons reappear, unrecognizable, that fond Stranger U used to be: "Has anyone got a fag? I'm "jones-ing" for a sweet memory...and a bottle of cold beer!"

c.2026. dave delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now-Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Weeping Willow."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Weeping Willow,"

...WHO TAUGHT THE WEEPING WILLOW how to CRY? Look no further. Whilst IN FACT my DAD invented the French-Dip-Soup (not a lot of people know that?) my OWN cultural-contribution: "THE POGO!" -a robotic dance now sweeping European DISCO floors; halcyon days? As for these notes of Creativity? U people don't even know the meaning of heartbreak, leastways what I tell passing strangers after reciting Keats' "The Eve of St. Agnes" before they FLY, never again to have known or met me? People can be so cruel.

The "weeping willow" of course, after post-decades of psychotherapy still prevails "avec" mega amounts of KLEENEX tissues; perhaps like Aspirin, an undiscovered "wonder drug", that "magic bullet", a wonder cure for All societies dysfunctional SNIVELLERS, Cross-dressers or people named Ralph? Admittedly, there is NO CURE for the common Cold 'cept - prevailing - an honorable suicide, and traditionally favored by failed Poets, Game Show hosts with TV low ratings, Stand-Up Comedians? No suicide-note Jokes: Body Bags Anonymous! Montparnasse cemetery: Charles Baudelaire. And alas: Some War-Crime pit. A BABI-YA. Or (Tom Waits growling:) "Out on the edge of Potters Field."

Weeping Willows, rabid Lotus blossoms, Oak Leaf village festivals, or a sudden flight of Swallows, Pigeon shit on your windowsill: WHAT medievalist symbols, or the cult of ISLAM do U embrace, that WANT of your NEED...to "black out" your Fear?... No personal renaissance, no personality "resorgimento" in sight? Yet DEGAS, French Impressionist painter, accidently - snoozing on his sunlit balcony - fair BLINDED, did not succumb, turned his talent to sculpting bronze figurines that make Art collectors sweat & scream & Swiss Banks vaults hording Nazis gold burst at the seams?

Meantime, poor old "Weeping" whoopsies resides in your Soul never likely to release U, that GIG U felt-forced to plant long ago. Poet Arthur Rimbaud. "A Season in Hell". A souvenir, reluctant to lose now infuses all your Tomorrows: A stretch-limousine, a taxi-fare. A dinner at the "Cafe de la Paix", "Maxime's!", which U can no longer afford. And that flower-glint, that spark in once, your childlike eyes now fade to dark.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our LAD in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Jack the Ripper!"

 Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "Jack the Ripper!"

(Scene: An Edwardian/Victorian drawing room, late 1800s/early 1900s, cluttered with heavy drapery, flock wallpaper, early (Selfies?) B/W photographs on fireplace mantel, overdressed family connections lately demised.)

(Fast FWD to the present day/same decor?)

..."JUST WHERE IS HENRY, the Butler?" -said I to Betty the chambermaid, these days called an "Au pair". She replied, nervously, "I think he's in the Butler's Buttery (?); I think, SIR, on his Cellphone?". "His phone? ...And have U seen HIDE NOR HAIR of my Horse Stable Lads, in particular with my Mare?" -"With your LADY-Sir?... In the East wing. They share the same Internet service. That CHAT thingy?"

"TIK-TOK? SPRINT?" -I asked. Betty, "I dunno Sir!". (She had a Brooklyn/N.Y.C dialect.) I tried to clarify the situ.: "Did the BUTLER, Henry ever order a Handsome Cab in the name of SHERLOCK HOLMES? -Possibly using the alias of a certain Dr. Watson?" (Betty:) "I'm-ed DUNOON if I say so Sir! Gypsies, Taxis, UBER?" -was BETTY'S, whispered response; a conspirator in a Police-cover-up of a unique "Crime of the Century", horses' hooves on cobble stones, now stretch limousines, nose-candy & Epstein debauchee-jamborees? EDGAR ALLEN POE'S: "Tell-Tale Heart": How could, I be sure?

Jack the Ripper? Sherlock whoosits? EVIL transcends EONS! I too smoke a pipe. A long "Churchwarden". In my case, tobacco laced with opium. (Old local chemist/discreet drug dealer). Sometimes I'm in a profound ZONE for hours. S-why I can get no sense out of Betty, nor she can get no sense out of me? Cutting her Lilly-laced throat or lowering her wages has long since been on my mind? Yet with the advent of LUDDITES, Trade Unions, though a hundred years later, for better or worse, one has to go with the Times?

"Oh Betty?" I asked, upon her departure from my "Book Room"; "Just WHERE IS JACK, I mean, Henry the Butler?". (Her fist in her tiny mouth:) "Likely, Sir, erasing past E-mails, old "Selfies" on his Cellphone.". She nervously babbled on: "Sir, yes! The ones of U & 'IM dressed in Victorian Frockcoats, that is to say, the B/W Fotos of U with your Doctor's bag?" (So, I sighed:) "Jolly good Betty. Here is a brand-new Credit Card. Go buy yourself a Mercedez-Benz or a long holiday in the sun."

c. dave delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize-small country by Mexico, Dave Delacroix:

 Our Man in Europe/Belize-lately/Dave Delacroix/Dave Delacroix:

"REQUIEM/ORATORIO!"

(It means "Shaddup/Die Young/Drink Up & BE somebody!)

"Requiem-Oratorio: When I Died."

...WHEN I DIED, THANKFULLY PENNILESS, mostly friendless, I'd squandered my last paycheck on whisky, betting on slow horses/fast women not to mention forgetting where I'd stashed my last 6-pack of beer? (The heartbreak!) My heir's inheritance (lol), a motley crew STILL cuss me to this day, even in HELL I hear their Banshee-wails/remorseful ghostly needy-cavernous echoes?  AHA!! They TOO R now dead but we don't share the same rooms. Reservations?  I got first dibs! I got to go to HELL first.

When I DIED, quiet affair, post sword fighting, Islamic-pirate-Corsairs gigs? And if those Muslims capture YOU!? Historically: It's all over now Baby Blue. However, Slavery is still (2026) a domestic pastime, immigrant kids from the Philippines, house servants within some Egyptian hell, the CULT of ISLAM, how do U DE-CULTIFY a zillion zealots? Your own crazy privileged daughter. Isn't that enough? = wotchagonnaDo?

...A World of WOES. (Brennus; in 390 BC, "Vae Victus!"): "Woe to the Vanquished!" - on his invasion/sack of Rome, or "Long John Silver/Treasure Island; "DEM DAT DIES'LL BE the Lucky ones!", yet eons later, Euro-patriots fighting those Genghis Khan-fast pony hordes, latter day Scientology or Druids' "Weeping Willow" Cults, we taught them how to BE confused, sometimes, historically, critically, we taught them how to die? (U had to BE there! /There's NO CRYING IN BASEBALL!) U frick THEM or THEY frick THEE? Better wish for a "home run" Babe Ruth!

When I DIED, NO PRISONERS. Easter Bunnies, festive trinkets tied up in a Bow. The reality? JACK PALANCE/movie: SHANE, puts on his gunslinger black gloves, shoots your teddy bear between the eyes, never thinks twice (it's alright) and AGAIN< no TAMBERLAINE, no CEASAR's holocaust in France & all life's partners in WAR, to this day prepared to dance. And in this grayish World do U (Poker-game) hold-Em or fold-Em. Do U protect your Own? Or step aside and get a stiff drink?

When I DIED, a good thing too! I took to my grave a forgotten tune which future Kids will never understand. WHO sings of Charlemagne, Alfred the Great or the Trojans at Thermopylae, some ancient surfing beach/Greek shore where birds in the woods at dusk still imitate the Trojans' death battle cries, an ALAMO, as WE TODAY, with guitar-voice SING OUT, trying to represent a record of Our Time, as we ALL like to think that we did some good, for better or worse, a nobodies-nobody...when I died. And like U, fair or foul, no favor, "Vae Victus" it's up to U.

c.dave delacroix. april. 2026,