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

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

I AM NOT THE MAN U think I am. I am not that Dude, tuxedoed, clean-cut & groomed. I am not the hero in your story. I am not some Court Fool nor your stooge.

I'm not the Man in your alphabet nor Captain of treasure-laden ship returning from overseas. That Conquistador died long ago; the El Dorado of my dreams.

I'm not the Man, the kid most likely to succeed nor school class clown, nor Rugby star, just a Man who comes home late at night & wonders where the past years sleep.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "Something Blue."

 Our Man in Europe/now BELIZE/Dave Delacroix: "Something Blue."

...I DON'T know U from EVE, a Nemesis, friend or foe or some Banshee, Witch, a LAMIA who can strangle me in reptilian coils? ...WE, lonesome hearts-vulnerability, rudderless Souls in a storm a-sea? So, make it fresh, make it Cool or maybe, if U can: Just make it Blue.

...WE have travelled SOOO far in this hemisphere, blind-on-blind yet kisses sweet, UN-knowing "a 'la" destiny, a universal sweep? Almost lost in Society's vacuum, re-surfacing UP for air? We gulp down Oxygen pretending all is Hunky-Dory! (Who came up with that one/David Bowie?) Alas, BIG-D is no longer there. (Ashes to ashes!).

Yet a forlorn "HUZZAH!". Sometimes a yawn. An exigency! A yearning, (My Japanese Girl!) to make it fresh, make it Cool, hoping we make it Blue. Something fresh, something NEW, something Cool, but all the time wishing for something Blue.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

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

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

(dedicato: Johan Perez)

"Raybans."

...GOT MAH MOJO WORKING, got my ancient/misty RAYBANS (Sunglasses), got Em at the "Goodwill" store. Borrowed this tuxedo from Crooner, Steven St. James, my "winklepicker" hand-made Italian shoes, a gift from Horst, my Deutch-drummer, Hildesheim band? 

My Music Producer (Serbian/he doesn't like publicity), his Credit Card - on loan - is worth about half a Song. Alas, Hollywood, that insidious community, always anticipates you going wrong.

GOTTA DREAM, had a dream, not that U'd notice or about OUR tomorrows, about Me & You, or that KICK in my solar plexus, that tangle, & gotta FEAR, nothing is true. Was it ever?

Gotta Blue Moon in my sunset, gotta boulevard in my Soul; the only scrap of evidential existentialism that U ever, ever own?  A Bridal gown moth-eaten in your closet? There IS of course, in the WILD-WORLD that gridlock-kamikaze, a perpetual origami that butterflies, an exotic pest that never leaves U alone. Do we cease to BE?

HAMELT, confused dude, outshone by a Cigar brand. Keep that in mind.

Got my ragged Raybans -a-nose, a-dangling, an antique "pince-nez", a PROM Night, half-assed groomed from head to toe and WITH LUCK this new love of mine, never ending. (I must try to elicit her name without appearing to have forgotten it?)

Nobody's perfect. NOBODY BUT YOU in your smart-set/pristine RAYBANS (Sunglasses), the STUFF of past-perfect U never ever needs to know. S'why I'm "putting on the Ritz just this - long-since - last time. Get hung for a sheep as a lamb in this our world of pettiness, cheap-ass nickels & dimes. Ya just CAN'T sweat the "small stuff"; it's ALL "pretty-petite!"

O.K>!!! RAYBANS ON! (I got my MOJO working:) Show time!

c. Dave Delacroix. 2026.....DEAR POST READER? If U feel inclined U might post your name on the BLOG as a "Follower". No scam. All free. It'll make me look good/popular, I suppose. Thank U.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "The Midnight Swim."

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "The Midnight Swim."

...IN THE MIDNIGHT SWIM, a splish-splash in the swimming pool, subterranean, no need for AIR, your head DUCKED UNDER and your locks feel like ROPE in need of shampoo; but your loins feel so free, in the midnight swim S-where U need to be.

In the midnight SWIM, there's no War or Peace, just the RINSING of Life's memories, the live & deceased, the latter may they R.I.P. And breaststroke or crawl, duck paddle, whatever it takes to get out of the deep end: One or the other, just don't drown.

In the midnight swim where your nothingness is ALL, U float, gazing up at the stars & lactate in your Wonder, a shattered yet benign MIRROR, reflecting the Man or Woman U thought U could have been; perhaps a Partner awaiting, poolside, with a bathrobe? A midnight swim. In a dark pool. Just a midnight swim.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacoix: "My Favorite VAMP!"

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "My Favorite VAMP!"

...WE LIVE IN HOPE, IN HOPE we live. as we strut for Truth & FRET our hour upon the Stage singing idiotic songs of sound & fury, of Love & Loss, of WAR but namely of Peace?

 -To rebound DEM slings & arrows of outrageous fortune, PUNCH-BACK! A defiant Sentinel, that KID in your Soul who said, "Not One step back!!!" Youthful songs, U forget & never remember, never get back? (fickle filter of memory?)

As for my Babee, the one who left me behind? -She was a Vamp, a Hollywood- Silk-dressed VAMP, a "Moon-over Sunset-Boulevard" LAMIA, who left me un-twined. AND I wish I could travel her ways; to slither across/within her Universe but somehow, I found it perverse? I never understood her ways.

We live in Hope; in hope we live but when emotional coastal tides recede U just know where it's going. My favorite Vamp. She'll sail across the sea & find some other prospect who (sad sap) probably looked just like me? 

(But IN this crazy World, what's a lonely Gal to DO!!!?) An Evening dress & a sparking Purse. That BLING of ENTRANCE, a "savoir-faire" & her signature - fake - diamond ring. What "House of Mirth" to make HOPE sing, in hope, in hope, where we all live.

As for my Babee, now aged, faded, in some "pensione", an Ille de la Cite/Paris, enjoying a block of Brie, a Vin de table-Rouge. An ancient - techno - C.D. player, no Internet, a frigid labium, but still a HUM in her songs & wondering how life could have been?

c.2026. Dave Delacroix. 

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Battle of the Bands!"

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Battle of the Bands!"

...AS FOR THESE ORCHESTRA "cover bands" with intense-lunatic Baton-Dude--waving/arms akimbo, up & down, (surprised they don't execute summersaults!) or shoot (with blanks) the 1st Violinist or "mosh-pit" dive into the hood of the grand piano (screaming: STEINWAY or Death!) or post-gig get prosecuted for trying to sodomize the prettiest Celloist or the "petite-petite" virgins in the Woodwind section, male or female? Classical Orchestras must be rancid with incestuous sexuality?

As Marlene Deitrich sings: "Go see what the Boys in the back room will have & I'll have a drop of the same!"

Still, as we distill the kernel of Music's dynamic/composition in Time's test tube of infinity, yet Time marches on, generations of genius, come & gone; an Ode to Joy or a Saraband, Litz, Chopin, Satie kicked aside to the sidewalk, (too incidental); later, in Nature's wisdom, will periscope & expose the inimitable cacophony of Man's creativity. As now, a thousand Spirits presently reside in La Scala, the Paris Opera & London's Royal Albert Hall. But there will always BE a Vivaldi who peeks out & sneers: "I got ya Number!!!" Or a Paul McCartney who'll sink your gig with a Song like "Yesterday..." An oubliette. Like yesteryears "Battle of the Bands". 

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

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

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

ARE YOU DEAD? DID U DIE? That feeling when there's no other place to go? Do U wither or 'shoot-up" some succulence, an extra-ordinary substance (Cocaine?) to excite your Soul, or did U weather the MOOD's storm, searching for a lighthouse in a raging seas moonless night?

Do U panic in fright in anticipation of Tomorrow's MIGHT; a living shipwreck afoul of shoals, reefs, jagged rocks & WRECKERS, daggers-drawn, awaiting on a Cornish ragged shore to tear the wreck-survivor's "living daylights" out of your Soul?

WHO survives the living horror, that dankness neath ALL we can conceive yet never know? A funeral pyre of rotting seaweed, pebbles, scallop shells? Are U dead, still? Did U die? Like a floating island in the stream or survive like flotsam by some foreign shore where Loves Moon no longer shines?

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.