Our Man in Europe/nowBelize, Dave Delacroix: "PALOOKAVILLE!"

 Our Man in Europe, now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "PALOOKAVILLE!"(after Raymond Chandler)

"Palookaville!"

...I was working, office sink mirror, on my Mullet (haircut), my neglected foot-dangling a tad askew. I needed to exercise. Hit the office bottle. I hadn't seen VELMA in a while. NOBODY-lately, no high-end corpse having got murdered for a discreet "P.I." (A Shamus). This is bad for business: 

A lady suspected with a diamond necklace/absent dude in a Tuxedo, the chauffer A.W.O.L. with the big shots Rolls-Royce? And lipstick on your collar? (Thank U VELMA!) Even unemployed I felt like I needed a Chinatown laundry; a Palookaville-one way ticket stub before I hit downtown?

Some say that a STIFF (Dead frick U murdered) his heavier than a broken heart. Throw him in a Packards trunk, off the pier, South L.A. Bay: Malibu canyons, Las Vegas surrounds make Arlington Cemetery small, sadly less renown.

The TORCHER (Razzy-Night Club singer with the everlasting nylons), another VELMA, ZELDA (whatever) sitting now in my humble outta office, sniffling, handing me an envelope stuffed with dead Presidents, should I take the Case?

'Did U kill him? Did U drive him off the cliff, Pacific Palisades? It's IN the NEWS, that Packard, driven off the pier, that lipstick smear upon his dead lips? Did U KILL HIM!?"

...THIS GIG (a SHAMUS)  ain't for just anyone, the crunch Fedora, Gabardine-belted, a resident leer, wise cracks on hand, a loser, a fool ...in someone else's "Film Noir"?...

"Did U kill him?"

"NO! My lover, the chauffer!"

"Is he dead too?"

"I can explain that!"

At which point, Sergeant Nalty/Uniforms (L.A.P.D.) burst through my office door!

c.2026. dave delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix -a.k.a. David Michael Oxley on Facebook - "FAT MARGO."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Fat Margo."

HER LAST GREAT AFFAIR, she could do no wrong, that menopause, that urgence, that throng. That LAMIA coil, one last time, writhing she had to BE strong. That Girl now a great Lady, a need to sing her song.

That Period Pimple once upon her face now vanquished as times, now erased. No Ovulating, no bleeding, no trace of who she was. Her last great affair...a lonely maiden's song; she sings of tomorrow but mostly of yesterday... whence minstrels would court her & gather round and life seemed so gay.

Come-come U Dances! Come play!

Her last great affair, a dagger to her heart!  AGE! An inner elopement confounded, a tribal/Clan surrounded, yet then, when the bounder-suitor's absconded, last heard: No fixed address, killed, cutlass/pistole with Kit Marlowe (playwright) in a London South River bar?

Close friends whisper: "I told u so?"

Her last great affair, a Nunnery bound. And ALL this took place before, a posey Romeo & Juliet, Paris & Helene, Abelard & Whoopsies, serious stuff/history, her last great affair REVERBS and leaves tears on the ground. Message in a bottle? Maybe a ghost-Email, Time-Travel; Loves wormhole?

"TO THE NUNNERY-WENCH!", Mediaeval songs sing. Fat Margo. Brothel Ma'am. Whose last great affair do U sing of now?  Leaving the rest of us - a kind of Loving - in this WORLD BORDELLO ...where we ply our trade.

c.2026. Jan. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "GUITAR! GUITAR!"

 Our Man In Europe, Dave Delacroix/now Belize: "GUITAR! GUITAR!"

(For LOIC, Mon frere dans Montmartre-Paris)

I KNEW A GERMAN KID IN LUDWIGSHAFEN who used to SLEEP with his Gibson Les Paul guitar. A white one. His dream. I never did tell him most of my OWN guitars had been smashed on stage, fricked out, stolen, 1 or 2... I stole too or, ON THE ROAD used them as a pillow, guitar-case blanket on concrete, in times of frustration threw them/SMASHED-NECK on the ground in hot deserts, Montana cold or California dew.

Played them at Music Festivals, Culture Festivals, Bars, Clubs, Roadhouses, House Parties, played/sang my heart out I guess...but invariably ON THE STREET, Winter, Summer, cold & sleet, my "TELL-TALE- HEART: (Edgar Allen Poe): Guitar-Guitar! Sometimes, not musically deranged, GITANO-MAN looking strange, FRANCOIS VILLION minstrel cursed perhaps (BAH!), other times I'd worship the guitar, their nubile shape, change the worn-out strings, get to short-string round the tuning pegs, make playable so the dammed things RING, 20 minutes MORE busking for medicine, 2 pitches of Budweiser at the nearest bar?

And ON THE ROAD, Guitar-Guitar! Crashed out in some alley, Guitar-pillowcase, TWICE stolen & papers, song lyrics, a change of clothes, gone!!! I'm passed out of course, drunk with the ghosts of beyond? Guitar? It doesn't matter. LIFE's choices, Men & Boys. Another Guitar? U meet some cool Gal. Get a "windfall". Back a Pony Winner. Cameo on a L.A."GONG SHOW!" Or HOOK A TUNE. Hollywood loves an un-invited talent adrift; but it's the MUSIC U share that stirs life's fresh brew... for the World?... Guitar-Guitar. Guitar-guitar. A Song. The Unique. And who U are.

Long time ago I met a kid in Ludwigshafen who used to sleep with his Guitar....

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Rendezvous SANS Rendezvous!"

 Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "Rendezvous SANS Rendezvous!"

,,,THERE'S A JU-JU MAN in every Soul, a genetic implant, an opportune Budda, Mohamed, Jesus or a pantheon of GODS, a quik fix Rubik's Cube to (Beatles song:) "I'm fixing a HOLE where the rain gets IN & stops my mind from wondering."...to fog your destiny?

There's a JU-JU Man, a cerebral-septic in every Soul, dyslectic, bipolar, an eventual GOBSMACK-own goal? A Film-Noir script devil, the Devil Un-blinking, that lost UN-KISS, romance-frigid. And U STILL owe money to your Tailor, the taxi - meter running - awaiting your ride?

There's a JU-JU Man, Conscience DRUMS with regrets BEAT. U tear up her foto, her love letters thrown into the fire. Her E-Mail deleted with murder in your heart? Sweet memories, a rendezvous Sans rendezvous, that heat of your night when nothing else mattered, yet the wings of your plight.

Rendezvous sans rendezvous, at the Cafe where we met, on a corner, the boulevard St. Germain like Amber Heard & Johnny Depp. Yet somehow, the best of times, the worst of times it all went South. A rendezvous sans rendezvous, played out, a Cowboy's mouth.

c.2026. dave delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now in Belize, DAVE DELACROIX; A.K.A. David Michael Oxley on Facebook: "The Good Woman of Szechwan."

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize//Dave Delacroix: "The Good Woman of Szechwan!"

,,,,I-MAH GONNA WRITE A LETTER, an E-mail or post an Inter-net POST/we R all -- within reason/sic. - somehow, collectively insane. So, I'm gonna COMPLAIN, it's what FREE PEOPLE do, anonymous, synonymous within the cloak of personal dignity whilst keeping our powder dry; an UZI transformed into a BANJO!?

I'm gonna COMPLAIN. I'm gonna write a letter/rattle my walking stick on the concrete before the Sun sets & the World goes to Hell in a handbasket, Histories "B-Movie" plot: Whence DO "B-Movie actors OR Real-Estate dirt-bags, essentially BODY NAZIS & DIRT PIGS become Presidents as well as their WIVES (Livia-wife of Caesar Augustus/Ancient Rome) ...

.... (Nancy Reagan/her evil twin Margaret Thatcher/U.K. P.M) get to rule by proxy the World & launch missiles to beyond? Girls on fire!? -Max Factor/Lanvin No.5 get to fiery kiss Foreign Policy, un-restrained without consultation to CONGRESS, PARLIAMENT, the MASONS, MOSAD, OPUS DEI, or my Ol'Granny in the British/gossip Fish & Chip shop!?

I'm gonna write a letter. The PEN is supposed to be mightier than the SWORD (discounting Suicide notes). MRS CHAIRMAN MAO & the "Gang of 4"? Just WHO can "let loose the dogs of War" except historically, Caesar, Napoleon, Hitler, Stalin, ISLAMISTS, and most recently, TSARIST Vlad. Putin presently "impaling" Russia's economy, the mass murder of Ukraine's youngsters/Russian KIDS too?

I'm gona write a letter: PITY the good woman of Szechwan washing laundry, cooking rice, her limousine-a -BICYCLE reflecting on a life of sacrifice. And all the days, THESE OUR DAYS, a long day's journey into night that ne'er ever can find TOMORROW'S light.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix/a.k.a-David Michael Oxley on Facebook: "The Queen of Spades."

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix/a.k.a. David Michael Oxley on Facebook: "The Queen of Spades."

"The Queen of Spades/"apres" Russian Poet PUSHKIN.

....MURDER IS MURDER, a heart for a heart, Cain & Abel, REMUS & the other guy, a GAL somewhere in between. Poison? A stiletto?

Or a Glock 9mm, that old Victorian fave ARSENIC ("sans" old lace) to cramp/crimp the advances of your best friend, brother, cousin, the competition, to win a young maid's heart?

Maybe she doesn't LIKE YOU!? Rachael-Rachael! "Ask the Maiden!" Does she have to die?

Murder is murder. U might get to SWING (?), a gamble on a playing card, the Queen of Spades; with your own hands U dig your own grave, instant, or regrets, a haunting plague, a Kadish or Dirge...but not for U. Darkness orbits in all that we choose.

 And the "long time Sun", as planets YO-YO/cycling, shine out after U've been hanged, a silent echo to yet further UN-resound. Guaranteed-forgotten! What is this passion/CULTURE that turns Men into Hounds? 

Murder is murder. A Life for a Life. A Contessa, a Lady, a fishmonger's wife. A girl defying ISLAM who let her long hair flow free. Stoned to death, Bride-burning, yet Medievalist/Islamist MEN a-feared she be the Queen of Spades, "in shah-Allah" towards their darkest evil fate.

Like Prometheus, a dark specter hovers, carrion picking at my bones, in a World of gender of in-justice & my computer-laptop battery is running low.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Whistler."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Whistler."

1) LONDON BRIDGE IS falling down, my fair Lady. I flipped a Nickel on Dean street-SOHO, it came up a Dime, don't ask me why. Should-a bought a lottery ticket?

London bridge is falling down, my fair lady. A Billie Holliday song. It resonated! How come it gets "moon-ish", Hemmingway's Death in the Afternoon. Like an unemployed Matador "sans TORO" pawning his gear? 

London bridge is falling down, my fair lady. I got TWO PENNIES trying to mate, a guitar missing a "D" string, a voiceless cancer throat, nothing drums. Yet a PULSE!

London bridge is falling down, my fair lady. Who "da Man" who counts your "counters" down on main street? Money changers in Jerusalem. Jesus without a Credit card or Bitcoin? (Where did it all go wrong?)

2) And ALL THE KINGS HORSES and all the King men couldn't put him back together again. Ya gotta be "Ray Noble" conducting, when "Al Bowlly" croons. A talent unique. Prophets have the worst luck. AL got bombed by a Nazi V-2 rocket in London-WW2! (WotchagonnaDo?)

All the Kings horses & all the Kings men, sticking plaster/band-aid/WD40 maybe? -"I am the WHISTLER and I whistle by night. I seep into your sleep. Conscience, regrets, plague your nap.

All the King horses & all the Kings men. My NEED is your KEEP! - Needy people need needy sleep yet fail to honor their waking hours...Yet who's to judge in this Bi-polar World? The yen for the YEN, ducats, drachmas, COIN, something U cannot eat.

3) RING-A-RING a ROSES, a pocket full of poesies. "ATTICHOO! ATTICHOO!" We all fall down. (No Medicare!)

Ring-a-ring a-roses, a pocket full of poesies. Alas, nothing will ever put our Love back together again. "ATTICHOO! ATTICHOO!" Like clowns. We all fall down. Or fret ourselves into dusty death.

,,,,London Bridge is falling down, my fair Lady. London bridge is falling down, my fair Lady.

c.2026. dave delacroix.