Our Man in Europe/Dave Delacroix; "Cyclops-introspective."

Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix, "Cyclops-Introspective.".

THAT THING IN YOUR EYE, that irritation which by morning will bleed onto your cheek, might be a "Guilt", might be a freak; ya never know Nature's throw-a-way, a Planet-COMET to destroy all we know, the NYC skyline, the ruins of Rome, piss off your cats & dogs, obliterate your home? 

That thing in your EYE, an UN-Seeing Gig that riddles your Mind, yet a light in the fog, borne by irritation, a ragtime tune where fun-foot-dangling don't quite make the grade, white, yellow, black man whose SCIENTIST gonna come UP with a hand of Spades or Natures Old Man? -Moses, Allah, the local JU-JU-Man. oR the old gal in the village who will bandage your wound. "I've heard it said!?" Some SOULS can be saved?...

There's a lotta WISDOM out there. It just doesn't come in the ECCONOMY size.

That THING, that grit in your EYE your Momma wipes away gently with a towel. People/tribes in other towns/villages got their own elixirs and they DO wanna help out., what to DO with a GRIT in your eye?

Suffer-suffer old men sing. No worries we sail into eternity. We leave that catechu IN your eye.  Neither blind nor seeing. That thing in your eye. A CYCLOPS witness. A Ulysses & his buddies passing by.

c.2025. dave delacroix. 

Our Man in Europe/Dave Delacroix: "A taste of Life.

Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "A taste of Life." 

Take your Mayonnaise, take your Mayonnaise, take your phone. Take AI, stick it UP your spout and leave me alone. Take your Mayonnaise home, my Gal and Me, cool as can be, take your salad cream and stick it up in your scream, your Intel dream doesn't mean NOTHING to my Babe & Me.

So, dance your dance, go talk Chinese, a RUSSKIE or Tartare meat on a saddle, we'll eat it rare. And take your Escuerzo-/snails, sup your Boule et Bais, Boris Stroganoff, or Pho Man Chez? Go take your Irish stew, alone with Wine, Rum, Vodka, Scotch on da rocks? Go smoke it/ rot it in your SOCKS!

Take the BREW U think U can chew which MOMMA made when U were once new. Hold ON to those memories, your Spring-golden years. A taste of Life. Big EARS & proud bearing; nutting wrong with that an old-time radio show. Can U remember the old Soap/cleaning product-commercial singing tunes? "DAZZ! will make your Toilet JAZZ!?"

Buuuuut YEARS later: Take your mayonnaise, take your sour cream. Lies & truths shoveled into your brain by Media, Governments, GOSSIP, social fears, where is the haunting GHOST of yesteryear to pronounce a moment true? As for life's TRUTH that now tastes like sawdust in your mouth. "Crackling-Rose/U saw-born Woman" (Neil Diamond song) or that RODEO Star buckin-broncos that man U used to be. Or that Rattlesnake roundup that never was? (Still a mystery to me?)

Mayonnaise on a double take-out Cheeseburger from an Arizona or Texas highway truck stop, Tucumcari or just West of San Antonio, ask me, times past if the ketchup tastes the same?

c.2025. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "DEATH by proxy!"

 Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "Death by proxy!"

...Death BY proxy! Who'd a 'guessed? The King, the Queen IN your life, the Court Jester, a Jack of Knaves to slice your intelligence at your knees OR Gypsy-Rose-Lee, a limerick bout a gal from Swansea (Wales), a mysterious Jewess with no fear of HELL, a Rebecca to Ivanhoe: Fortunes to tell?

Death by proxy, a "rag and bone man" scouring slums, collecting people's scraps year after year; mostly rubbish, throw-a-ways, pots & pans, sometimes a DIAMOND falls into his hands, a genius magnet?

OH!! Who cries for the beauty, away from satanic mills, now mind-bending "AI" communion, Bitcoin, where is that daisy field, bluebells in the forests, in the woods, nature's fragile shield to shade tomorrow's eye, enforced to see the narrow horror of Tomorrow?

Death by Proxy, friends/people come & go, a CULLING so the next "school-class" can come & grow. Clouds on clouds in different form to enhance each generation to their norm. A song or 2 to hum?

Death by whoopsies. Fate will never hand U the key. Soldiers falling to your left & right. My valor has no wounds. Why is it not Me? And YES! (Singing:) "It's a long, long way to Tipperary but my heart's right there!" A death in any which way I lose. U'd better take it!

c.2025. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Nothingness, Dave Delacroix: "A Life in Proxy."

 

Our Man in Europe/now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "A Life in Proxy."

A LIFE in PROXY, the Man who was never there, indivisible, a masked man, some Cat who, unknowing was BOOGALOO, someplace-upstairs? WOTCHAGONNADO when U don't feel U EXIST, U drink the wine, U eat the ham & cheese, yet all TASTE crumbles into nothingness?

People/friends travel far & wide where YOU have lived before & died, never spoken-of, but your inner-silence, quietly sliced? YET THEY adventure, fall in love, get married, squirt out some brats, age, DIE, come & go and all the while sunrise-sunset, the bestiality of existence rackets the coffin of your inner-meaning, to what purpose only some SOLAR Ironmonger knows?

A LIFE of PROXY, a SHILL of a Man, an over-seeing intense cyclops-telescope/obscure of Life's CHAOS! The World's stupidity, Insanity, GREED, Pathos; who marries the debutante, who marries that "charming man/turning out he's a pervert", his father, an old Battle of Britain SPITFIRE pilot; throws the teacup, unexpectedly cross the dining room table.

WHO'S NOT THERE!!!..Who's not anywhere? That Universal question, BEING-UN-BEING, your dance alas has begun! Meantime? A Life of PROXY. And there's Whisky IN the JAR!!! And on your journey a Hamlet in the back seat of your car...trusting as U travel along....A LIFE in PROXY. A'la the loser who sings this Song.

c. dave  delacroix. november. age 70 & groovin.

Our Man in Europe/HEAD-CASE, Dave Delacroix Esq./"Into the Mystic!"

 Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "Into the Mystic!"

DO NOT ARROGANCE, acrobat-somnambulist, high-wire act, a sleight of hand, into the Mystic. It isn't worth it! Many have tried, many have died thru fright, WAR, battles, suicide, despair.

 Do NOT go "robust" INTO THE Mystic which will cut U down, slice your Soul, leastways sever the lipstick from your mouth or strip clean or swipe the mascara from your eyes, your suggestion of a living truth, a decision, a paint stroke, an existential living tooth?

Into the MYSTIC rarely anyone goes. That subconscious place of SHADOWS; a HELL to Mine, digging for Diamonds/GOLD or whatever catches Greeds-Eye, out of sight of neighbors, SPY versus SPY? Do not, arrogant, a POKER-GAME dead Mans hand put all your cards on the table in the MYSTIC land.

Do NOT flamboyance spread your wings too soon, Icarus in the Sun, Sisyphus- a Rolling Stone & in mediocrity, your grave has already been dug.

c.2025, Dave Delacroix: Remember, remember the 5th of November, Guy Fawkes & his tortured to death band of Brothers! Tried to BLOW UP the Houses of Parliament/still a reasonable idea? (Bonfire Night!). Refugees VOTE with their feet. Better that for a horizon of freedom. The MYSTIC for which we yearn for. The simplicity at our feet?

Our Man in Europe, now Belelize, Dave Delacroix, a.k.a. David Michael Oxley on Facebook: "I never sang of..."

Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "I never SANG a Song in no particular order..."

(Posting this TWICE cos Laptop fricking Nuts!)

...I never SANG for LORRAINE who lugged my prize Epiphone/Gibson Guitar from the USA in a heavy guitar case all the way from Denver-Colorado to Corozal-Belize. I never SANG/w-guitar, patio-concertina to sweet-Lorraine yet whose long-legged FOTO graces my bookshelves twix Raymond Chandler/ Connan-Doyles "Sherlock" books, a Lady worthy of infinite mystery, that music in our souls?

I never SANG for Greg Perez, a latter-day CONQUISTADOR who conquered (Culinary) France/see his food-U-tube Posts, Mexico, USA/St. Louis-Restaurants, BELIZE (he sold me my VILLA)....Whining 'bout having no strings he brought me - cross Mexican border - a fine Spanish Acoustic!

I never SANG, maybe in SONG but not in BLOG-POST, sadly, UN-forgivable of Caroline, a backbone/cultural-lifeline whose brought JOY to ALL she knew despite JUDAS'S along the way, yet "WE!" the happy "FEW", happy to "SPITFIRE" and make her tomorrows her happy horizons?

I never SANG - too much - of the rogues, banshees, ragamuffins I met along the way nr the Farmers, Families, the cool Cats out THERE; these journey PASTELS, works in OIL, GUACHE on a skyscape that color Life's highway

And the TORCHERS (Dancing Gals), the 2-TONE Hollywood Screechers/Scoundrels who'll rivet a Virgins Soul, that 6-String Guitar complainer, singing his soul into a hole; where does it begin, where does it forget its misery, where does it end? Something about the wind?

The cognoscenti, life's axel to an intellectual furnace, a spirit's eternal COUGH albeit what makes a frog jump from rock to rock?

I never SANG for the Samaritans whom, incidentally, historically helped US AL.L on our way; altruists, PETERBILT TRUCK DRIVERS, my hitch-hiking - USA - way, 50,000 miles, life-stoned-shared. WHERE NOW R those Boys AND GIRLS and do we equally REMBERED!?

I never SANG, maybe sometimes I did of the STRANGER - invisible - who helped me along the way, that Navajo blanket/warm at night - that wisp-prairie Missouri breeze - that Montana, no fingerprints, I never really sang of California except when I was wasted on a drunken whisky bar floor. Does ANYONE remember just WHO they ever where?

c.2025. dave delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize, Dave Delacroix; "Why YELL at the Moon!?"

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "WHY YELL at the Moon?"

...Why yell at the moon? Why NOT!!! S'what it's there for!... I get asked this question - in Mandarin - a lot, sometimes in ITALIANO (?), Arabic too? But especially from my neighbors who - nighttime - trying to get some sleep? (sad saps!) Bad neighbor.

Why HOWL at the Moon? Because it's there/WOTCHAGONNADO? It's just U, the NIGHT, that frickin Moon staring U right back, handbags at 20 pacers plus no-one gets SHOT, no-one gets arrested, no court case, no VICTIM but somehow there's always some "peekaboo", 

some un-satisfied "vagina", some non-smoking-WOKE Matilda ready to rectify the Feng-Shay? And as for being accused of being a basket case", a menace to society all because someone just wants to howl at the Moon?

HOWL at the Moon! Howl at the Moon! It's never too soon but don't leave your HOWL too late. That universal chemistry will invade your fate.

Why YELL at the Moon, Saturn or MARS, symbols orbiting all we R. Why yell at the Moon, sheild our eyes from the SUN. Why sleep at night? Because we must.

c.2025. Dave Delacroix.