Our Man (SPY) in Europe. Now Belize. Dave Delacroix: "MY OWN PERSONAL FUNERAL/SELFIE!"

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/ Dave Delacroix: "My Own Personal Funeral-Selfie!".

(après Wordworth Poem, "I wondered/wandered as a white-fluffy-thingy in the sky..." & that POP SONG "Personal JESUS" /JOHNNY CASH VERSION).

"My Own Personal Funeral-SELFIE!"

...AT YOUR OWN FUNERERAL WERE U CONVEYED in a HEARST? Did U go BENTLY, DAIMLER, or did U swing "savoir-faire" on by, go ROLLS-ROYCE, or corpse-conveyed in a Porche-hatchback, Maserati -suggesting some life-long flair, or humbly, a Triumph Spitfire indicating, "THE FEW", (Air war/Battle of Britain-1940:) 

U were not there, yet your parachute corpse- spreadeagled on that speeding Auto hood, perhaps ghostly-screaming (Mamma-MaMia!!!) for MERCY...: The opposing driver, probably French, Spanish, Italian, they ALL drive like maniacs, cultural Matadors who drive-fandango, who consider modern traffic like a bullfight (OLE!) Cellphone-GLUED? -no clue?

  Then did your Edgar Allen Poe's GOTHIC dynamic survive the funeral drive? (They tried to keep it slow?) Your wives/gals/mistresses were instructed: Low Key! (Somehow, didn't quite work out: WAILING! /Sandwiches-"Au-d'oeuvre après" parking your dead ass in a Montparnasse cemetery.) Sometimes, like on the Internet, Paswords/protocol, they disappear in memory/forgot OUT!!?

Did U CANOE/SUPER-YAUCHT into that fatal ocean squall that takes NO PRISONERS, that SQUAWK-SQUAWK of a lady's menstruation, a Period-Spot, "OUT-DAMNED," said Lady Macbeth wishing her breasts cavort, turned to vinegar in a 1970s cheap-ass SLASHER-MOVIE, better still, a Chateaux-Margaux, vintage 1972 that no-one got to drink?

Do we VIKINGS get launched, burnt-buried at sea, or do er have DUG a shallow grave where DEATH MEETS our fate or to be buried with your SURFING Longboard or high on mountain slopes, clutching our Skies, or in government, the Castle U built; the Crusades against the ISLAM INFIDELS, the books that we write.  Our Tomorrow? No worry. Our Songs dead & gone.

Making JOKES at Funerals apparently R not cool. U bury the DUDE; U bury the FOOL. Alas poor YORICK. He'd be the FIRST DANNISH cool cat to change - via Shakespear's play Hamlet - the Cemetery-ritual rules!!! How-now!? How Now!? A DIVA'S swansong. A classic Soliquily. An imagined flight of Angels. Some on the situ. with a Video-recorder: Here lies A LIFE, loved-Un-loved, for better or worse: Just another skull in the dirt. 

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "The Bride wore Black."

 Our Man in Europe/now in Belize/Dave Delacroix: "The Bride wore Black."

(Après Francois Truffaut's tribute movie to Alfred Hitcock: The bride wore black.)

"The bride wore Black."

...THE BRIDE WORE BLACK, DEAD MAN'S hand (or mirror), the Pirates' BLACK SPOT! The Queen of Spades! An unlikely Roulette-spin-chance or CRAPS-TABLE that feast-promises SNAP, your gambling balls in a vice? A slip? A fall? To upturn the wrong stone? Fate or Destiny does NOT differentiate. To sit at the wrong Paris cafe table, or Strangers on a train? Mozart might have been socially obnoxious, but he could always compose under penury pressure but with billiards, he never failed to pot the black.

The bride wore Black, a French- New Wave -Truffaut cinematic REACTION as a playboy's sniper/balcony BULLET, overlooking a Wedding Party's church-steps, arrayed, was foolishly discharged, a lone shot outta no common-sense, it came outta nowhere, a Bridegroom SLAYED & like a Spider's 5 fingers of death, "a 'la" legendary WW2 Turkish master SPY, that double-agent: CICERO! (Still One finger left however, for retribution?) Black Friday? The 13th.? Some days, uncannily, historically seem accursed?

Avignon, Lyon, Bordeaux? A "film noir" version of the tragicomedy: CLOCHMERLE: But in this case...and the bride wore Black. A solidoid of revenge. 6 suspects accountable, their Fates now non-negotiable. One would "slip" off a high-rise balcony, the second poisoned, the assassin's devoted attention/auto-mechanic-training fixed the car-wreck; no survivors & the "usual suspects" under OTHER detective's glare? The bride in Black was indefatigable!

Just where was the last rogue who partook in the bridegroom's assassination? Why; in jail of course for fraud, misdemeanors... (The assassins' confession before the Guillotine, later successfully appealed as a "Serial Crimes of Passion"/LOL): "I got myself arrested/imprisoned & with a large prison-kitchen carving knife, delivering food to the cells, I asked him, like on my wedding day, "Do U feel lucky?" -and cut his head clean off!" Yup. The Bride in her Pride...wore black! And That's THAT!

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Song of Roland."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Song of Roland."

(dedicato: Roland Alexander from Brit. Columbia/Canada.}

"The Song of Roland."

...SHE WORE A BLACK KIMONO, or her SARI glazed my eyes, or her Hungarian native costume danced in my mind? Her NAVEJO gentle attire "powwowed" into my lost soul as I traveled which would somehow - how 'bout U? - make me feel whole.

Crusades? That first mass-Tourists event (AD.800) "sans kodak camera", just swords, battle-axes, blood-thirsty in primordial foreign travel misery/no cheeseburgers/no cappuccinos on call. And WHO was I, a Crusader within a Crusade, a smock-faded Crucifix astride a valiant mount on my mission against the world's INFIDEL?

My journey, taken far & wide; a purpose, to this day, no-one can decide. And who am I, earthly-bloodied, to fall in love: Just a song of Roland who, loveless, with nothing to lose who elected to fight & die with brave men & true at "Rounsaville", after Thermopylae (Greek gig), histories 2nd Alamo.

She wore a black Kimono. When the Infidels mutilated my body, I saw her still. She wore a black Kimono!

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now lounging in Belize/Dave Delacroix-a.k.a: David Michael Oxley on Facebook: "Yesterday's Gods."

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Yesterday's Gods."

(Heavy-Metal-Poetry. Sorry folks.)

"Yesterday's Gods."

...FROM ZEUS TO GOD, from JUPITER TO JOVE, from Buddy Holly to David Bowie, from Madonna to Taylor Swift, from Jesus to Mohamed, from paycheck-to-paycheck, wotcha-gonna-DO? Times ARE hard. "The good old days never were." (Plato) It's SO hard to keep up with humanities mythical/spiritual/obsessive/historical Rock & Roll fashions upon which this flying rock/globe/this volcanic sponge (the EARTH) upon which we thrive (?), hurtling on its cyclonic dynamic through the universe, all pedal to the metal, accelerating - last clocked - at 18,000 miles per second, hoping (?) not getting a ticket for a D.U.I. from a local provincial COP/"Barney Fife goon"-assuming, PLANETS are TEA-TOTAL.

A Cadillac or Volkswagen, Sampan or Super-yacht? It's ALL atoms or "dark matter", an Artists paradise. We carpet the heavens. A comfort-canopy to allay our fears of NOTHINGNESS. And as for the "chaotica" of primaeval/Egyptian/Greek Mythology, a scratch on the paint job of your treasures, your Maserati-Auto?  Roman Poet OVID in his classic work: METAMORPHOSIS in God-style POETIC-PORN tells ALL: The Gods? Their gig is always about getting plundered, folks getting struck down, murder-"de rigeur", INCEST, women RAPED, all confused, but mostly within this chaos, the GODS having a jolly good time! -Which, alas is mirrored by WE mere mortals here below (Hollywood?) on a super-screen who - wisdom less - we (The Rocky Horror Show/Slasher-movies) still feel the need to SCREAM?

The harder they come... & Pride comes before a fall; the redundant "denouement" of Medievalism, Cults, ISLAM, mindlessly chanting in a Hijab or a Shawl. GOD WILLS IT!? -The Crusaders cried. And bloodied the streets of Jerusalem...And look above! The Night sky! VENUS, goddess of Love! U can see her every night. And, OH! Look. There's MARS! The red planet. The God of War. NEPTUNE, as blue as the Caribbean. And (by Jove!) there's JUPITER. Big guy. Apparently, HE is the vacuum cleaner of the solar systems comet/meteor detritus. All the night-skies cyclical dynamic on view of our universe &, perhaps, a glimpse of TIME.  Of eternity? Which begs the question a 'la the song by 1960s folk singer Sandy Denny: ""Where does the Time go?", a POKE, a pocket full of miracles which we yet abuse, un-controlled on this spongy-hurtling ORB, this Earth, mindlessly wondering... rudderless as we try to control our course on this ship of fools. Like Yesterday's Gods.

SO! Has anyone got any jokes?...

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

 

Our Man in Europe/now basking in Belize/by Mexico/it's on da Map/DAVE DELACROIX: "Foot-Dangling Man."

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: (Song) "Foot-Dangling Man."

(dedicato: Marc Pierson, creative colleague)

"Foot Dangling Man." (Lyrics for an Un-recorded song.)

....SOME CALL ME MAESTRO (I used to be in the Music-Racket, some call me the Gangster of Love/actually some call me their MUSE. Some wish they WERE me, and some refer to me as THE DUDE.

Some sing praises, others, some wish me long-time dead; they R the one's that never call me & think of me: Jusdge Dread.

...But all-in-all I'm a Casual Guy, broken heart, broken Guitars with nothing much to lose. A simple Foot-Dangling man who never bothered to choose U.

...I'm likened to the BIG LEWBOWSKI (Coen Bros. movie) though there's not a Polish bloodcell in my veins. I bask a lot in the Caribbean sunshine/lounge in bed when it rains.

I sometimes, only sometimes/there's no rush, I wander lonesome as a cloud - those white puffy things in the sky - but what people/critics cannot conceive; I AM that frickin cloud! (Sort-a. I never do details.)

But all-in-all I'm a Casual Guy, broken heart, broken Guitars with nothing much to lose. A simple Foot-Dangling man who never bothered to choose U.

(Après Allman Bros song, traveling man:)

"I was born a Foot-Dangling Man! ~ I was born a Foot-Dangling Man!"

c.2026. Dave Delacroix, Corozal-Belize.

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

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: (With a LISP:) "DA WABBIT."

...IS YOUR WABBIT tired of being a Wabbit? Has it had enough; after-all, Wabbits R Wabbits: Wabbits lives matter, after-all!

Is your Wabbit bunny-bunny-furry or just a FRIZZLE in your Soul, the kind that makes U feel FURRY, that makes U feel whole?

These days, just how IS your Wabbit, big ears, can it warn U of tomorrow's sorrows; do U pray to your Wabbit, do U ever hear what it says?

Do U Wabbit a Whabbit within your own Soul? Do U sing of a Saviour from that Whabbit's earthly hole or sadly recline in your Villion or Dante exile. A Whabbit, a singular Whabbit, where Poets go when they have no home.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, next to Mexico, Dave Delacroix: "Dinner @ Trimalchios!"

 Our Man in Europe/now residing in Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Dinner @ Trimalchios!"

(Après the writings of Petronius, (BC 27-AD 62), Roman Emperor NERO's court, fashionista &"Arbiter of Elegance".

"Dinner at Trimalchios."

...I'D RATHER OWN A PAINTING BY CARRAVAGIO than a "Leo-da-Vinci". I'd rather get drunk in Brooklyn than Manhattan. I'd rather midnight-toasty on Rochefort than hardcore Dutch EDAM (cheese) and as for a slab - medium-rare - of Chateaux Brion ("avec legumes/champignons") will serve me (I am now aged 70), a Dover of Sole/Oysters on the half shell) will happily serve me just as well. And as for a fillet-Mignon "avec" (such a convenient French word) Dijon mustard/a Burgundy Rouge BASTED? -U got me on your knees. Petronius would agree.

I'd rather dance (CICERO: "Only fools/Men dance!) if I must at some county fair rather than in a palatial Viennese ballroom. I'd rather savor a Chateaux Margaux (vintage 1962) than mouthwash/swill down an Aussie Yellow Tail cabernet (Who wouldn't but Yellow-Tail stuff DOES Travel-Well?). But who can a case of Chateaux Margaux-afford? I'd also rather go to CHURCH than go to CARNIVALE! My Carnival Days R long gone. Do/does everyone's WANTS exceed what they NEED & as for prayers-answered... is "confession" the key?... I have a theory 'bout this. S-Why I never answer my cellphone. Dinner at Trimalchios. Separate table. Dinner for One. I'll see U on da breeze!

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.