OUR MAN in EUROPE, now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "Dylan Thomas Blues."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Dylan Thomas Blues."

(Dedicato: Carol Aniello & Nadia Sellers)

"Dylan Thomas Blues."

...NOW WHEN I WAS A LAD without a thought, bandaged, padded below kneecaps from School days RUGBY fields, shins kicked & knocked from SCRUM & ball-pass to score a "TRY!"  on a Yorkshire's Winter's hard turf yet COULD - for a 13-yr old School-Blazer/Tie, with "Piss-off!" attitude survive! And after a cup of hot BOVIRIL, a "Good show old boy!" from the team Captain. Teammates slap on your back? A 3-hour "CHARA-BANC" (old bus) ride back to the ranch/old school, singing/bellowing out RUGGER SONGS, oddball renditions of popular tunes, incl. Johnny Cash's: "Cocksuckers in the Sky."

Now when I was a LAD, School Daze, School TRIPS to LONDON, satchel-Sandwiches & flask of Tea, to go see Nelsons column, ROYALTY CRYPTS & GALLERY PORTRAIT- ROYAL SELFIES, and the British Science Museum where, we then ignorantly glanced at our forefathers - Sheffield STEEL towns - industrial ingenuity: "TOY-R-US" in iron & greed?...BRAIN DEAD at this point but the icing/cake of the London School Trip gig, an hour to escape, back of the British Museum, the Grand Russell Hotel-Bloomsbury with an Irish Barkeep who - I guess? - needed our shillings and who, after 2 Pints of Ale, joined in with a Dublin brogue: "Ghostriders in the Sky!" Her name was Brenda.

Now when I was a LAD, put TO, after serious schoolgirl seduction AT SCHOOL put my hand up her 14-yr old skirt which at SOME POINT she thought was a "might forward"; it got me dragged into School-Headmasters quarters, a place, a DUDE nobody ever saw...Yet BONKING in haystacks, BONKING in the fields: "Country Matters!" In the rural 1960s nothing seemed wrong. Decades LATER I always felt sorry for those URBAN Kids. Wall to wall people. "Can I take U for a Burger. Take U to the WIMPEY BAR/coffee? "I hear the KINKS R playing at the PALAIS...but WE R under-aged/no chance to BONK?" (Dead Cocks in the Sky!)

Now when I was a LAD, "FERN HILL, STRAWBERRY FIELDS, BLACK BERRY WAY", unbridled, I'd weekend exercise the local famers horse and more often as not, a vivacious School gal pal riding pillion. We'd trot then canter, tear up the local golf course greens then gallop, golf balls of anger whizzing by our heads, nary a thought of what tomorrow would bring. An Under Milkwood. A Dylan Thomas blues. We countryside Lords of the flies. We Ghostriders in the sky. We childhood Ghostriders in the sky.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now BELIZE/Dave Delacroix: "The Death of Julius Ceasar."

 OUR Man in Europe now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Death of Julius Ceasar."

...THERE'S ALWAYS A JUDAS, a (Shakespear's) Othello's IAGO to muddy the waters in your inner circle who cares nothing BUT for their own advancement, a steppingstone to POWER, GOLD, an EGO-inflated, insidious GLORY! A people-scum, social parasite, a rash under your skin.

There's always a TRAITOR, a worm in the bud, and within; a festering EGO, it's PANIC/self-survival to articulate/swear on a stack of religious texts, a bloody sack of LIES...to prevail and elevate a tomorrow, to widen the gap twix U & your wife? The mouse in the wainscotting. The Spider. The reptile. Their EGO-surrounds, a blight, the rat hanging on until your ship goes down. An inverted sincerity. That smeared-fake cosmetic, the tears of a Clown...

...A fracture, encapsuled-TIME, a ripple, as Empires Built-Empires fall down. An Emperor's Red Cloak, an ancient diplomatic dispute, just another CEASAR stabbed 29 times on the steps of the temple of Pompey-Maximus (NOW LOCATED in Rome's Piazza de Argentino) ...presently an urban refuge for Rome's stray Cats...

...within & without, Ceasar's nemesis/competitor (Pompey-Max) who was harried into latter day EGYPT! Decapitated on arrival! (Egyptian Immigration Check-In). As for Ceasar, a Texas Grassy Knoll assassination, (Piazza di Argentino) a political cause & effect, the outcome was the same, these final acts/thoughts for Poets to exclaim: (Shakespear's Cassius): "Brutus! The fault lies NOT in our stars but in ourselves!" Histories epitaph UN-worthy of Vaudeville. Yet does it not hook a corner in your mind?

These last swirling Julius Ceasar's thoughts/dynamics race, exacerbate. A BRIGHT LIGHT? A Ghost-ECHO! BETRAYAL! ...Histories mortal CLOAK leaves no-one alive. As ever my LADY ROSA, my Housekeeper's birthday present, a Panama hat, here in Corozal-Belize and in Time's ETERNITY things that may survive - forget about JESUS! -  or Caesar/Emperor., Pompey Maximus., my friends & MIO; (my Panama hat?), or my Guitar, that ZIPPO LIGHTER! Uncanny how our life's trinkets outlive the lot!

Ceasar's bloodied TOGA... Did some faithful Slave/attendant carry it away to create a hidden-ethereal shrine that now fires the tokens our own imaginings?...

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "Les Enfant Sauvage!"

 Our Man in Europe, now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "Les Enfant Sauvage." 

(dedicato to Roger Armstrong, Sergei & Jeff Dahl./R.I.P./my Bros.)

"Les Enfant Sauvage..."

...NEEDLES IN A DOLLS PUPPET HEAD like devils in the fog in search of all the things that grate your SOUL-LOST, ashes to ashes, dust to dust;  and all OUR YESTERDAYS now riddled in Idealism, rusting-fragile, brittle, a SAMPAN, broken masts, yet with  full tide, floating, drifting into some harbor, a ship  manned only by a crew of  RATS to infect some haven, a Whitby, Harfleur, a Bordeaux with a NOSFERATU and a daughter's-daughter seductive VIRUS from a Vampire to infect your neck? A Cargo.

SPIKES in a Dolls neck. How animated do U feel? Petticoats, shawls & lace. To RAVAGE mascara, face cream, powder, beauties restitution, a'la a mortuary of existence-death memory-struck-down by generations, U raise-RESURRECT generations, witness their dance, dancing the Dance-Macabre, a Dia de la MORTE in your tomorrows MIRROR face? A FACER!!! ZAP! It sometimes it assails, think on, a faraway vista of a SAMPAN, the solo promise in SOUL U needing a Wrap, a Scarf around your neck to keep you warm from your Children's wrath in the cold South China Seas? What needs your need? Children's screams?

Needles in a Dolls head or neck. A JU-JU Man. Economy Witchdoctors. State Medication. Petticoats of Lace. To SAUVAGE mascara, creamed face, a mortuary for the dead, memory-cold, struck down by the generations U raise. Do U Do? Do U Do! Do THEY dance the dance, DO THEY dance the Dance MACABRE, "facia et Facie", "Mano et Mono", a "Dia dela Morte", your mirrors FACE? Who sings? "Les Enfant Sauvage", do they sing for U? Or like some Ulrike Meinhof's, her BAMBULE. A domestic chaotic-a. TRASH just what they see. Trash what they feel. WAILING out a Song: "A Whiter shade of Pale!"

 Sometimes U gotta find away from your own Childhoods rage, that's what I tell my Kids; that NEEDLE U felt poked in your head and that fire...your Childhoods blaze. As for your PUPPET HEAD, wooden top wobbles in your broken Puppet Dolls head. U wiggle through the years. Duck when U gotta duck; but always - give EM shit - GET SAVAGE!!!...and come out fighting!

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, noe BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "Swansong!"

 Our Man in Europe, now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "Swansong!"

...WE HAVE ALL DIED A HUNDRED times AS IN a rehearsal, a repetitive SOUNDCHECK: "1-2! Check 1-2!" before our finale, that swansong concert? ...Fluttering in limelight, we have spread our talent (?) like gypsy moths before an audiences' hypnotic gaze, flickering "avec" guitar or tambourine with gossamer wings, some pirouette, some drunken stagger by a microphone stand, some smashed guitar, some mosh-pit dive into that unpredictable YAAH! of Hollywood fame.

Some found, some resound, some burnt out, some strive. A lounge gig to heaven until U die. Some WAIL; some sing. Some walk on by. Some, a "strut & fret" into their own magic hour. Perhaps their finest hour never to know? Many of course sail into a World of no-return leaving behind a guitar in the trunk of a burnish Mustang auto, a change of clothes. Some weed.

Then one day some clown in a Hollywood studio who ordinarily just makes the coffee, dusts off an old 2-inch tape: Some song some kid begged to record, plays it by, a snippet in front of INDUSTRY STARS, Robert PLANT, Rod STWEART, or Stevie NICKS. Their geriatric fading talent gleams in their eyes, a lifetime of glory, fame, mega-wealth un-disguised, pounce like vultures, the star making machine, once again, UN-paralyzed! 

We have ALL died a hundred times, yet after we are gone, a legacy of DAZZLE may touch your humble resting place and sing your "besties" song? Word travels fast to Heaven. My old girlfriend, a now aging ballerina, an inspiration for the song, heard of its recording-resurrection, sauntered by, announced herself, but the Studio slammed the door in her face!

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: (In IRAN): BLOOD MOON!"

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: (In Iran): BLOOD MOON!"

(Dedicato: Benhrang & Arish, my Iranian BROS.)

"Blood Moon."

BLOOD MOON, PERSIAN POET HAFIZ: "Do not play with a Tigers Cubs nor destroy a woman loves illusions!" "AHAH!!! At SOME POINT that Judith will cut OFF your Holofernes head?  As that tragic Scottish warrior MACBETH, his horizon afore consciousness, fated (?) enjoined by a Lady's incontinence: "OUT DAMNED SPOT!", downright GOTHIC! An equal dark metaphor, like a HITLER who only read ONE book, the one he wrote, "Mein Kampf" (His struggle?) ... A distorted, evil, war torn, mustard-gas survivor, distorted sinew of a mind..."I gotta RANT or DIE!"

..."A'la" STALIN", Russian Dictator/Tyrant or an IRANIAN KHOMEINI: "Kill all our daughters "sans" HIJABS, suppressed the EDUCATED! As for RUSSIAN Stalin? Just KILL potential rebels with no drab fashion sense/rob their Kopecks from their Pockets (tra-la-la); EXECUTE! THEY won't mind. It's for the greater Good, TRAITOR-COMRADES/Small DICKS, "Unleash the DOGS of SOCIAL-CANNIBALISM!! Enforce the STATE!? What GOOD if the dumb-ass Masses won't obey?"...Give Em their fave "JU-JU" Man! (Monty Python, Brit. TV Show. There R many ways to serve SPAM!) Gulag-lunch "Plat de Jour!". 

 Under a BLOOD RED MOON in the afternoon, yet at night DARK SHADOWS of MURDER sunset a holocaust of vibrant IRANIAN Youth who are Internet-SAVVIE, yearning for a Tomorrow... suppressed by religio fanatic IMANS, MULLAHS, MEDIEAEVELIST, OLD MALE sexless CRONES chanting/quoting the Quran into their insanity,  a non-eternity in its fallacy - of Man's JU-JU religions', Buddhists, Muslims, Mormons, Jews, Quakers, Catholics, Protestants; ALL are MONEY-MAKERS.  They send out for their laundry. Dry Cleaning. Always look spic-an-span.  Clipping coins. An ornate tapestry U can never afford. 

Or a South Sea balloon.'. A Hi-Tech craze. A Bitcoin. A substance U can never eat. A Sodom & Gamora, a Las Vegas. The lure of riches in your pocket only to find a snake.

The History of MAN. The story of Power & Greed, "JU-JU-MEN" will EVER prevail; -S-why they can afford their Real Estate & over charge Gentiles, Infidels, but that's another story. All GOD-FANATICS R essentially (The Beatles:): BLUE MEANIES!

GODS & ANGELS!!! Are there any left to name? ZINGO, MARY-LOU? As for your "State of Grace", an indoctrinated-praying, 5-times a day, on a PLANET spinning 28,000 miles an hour around the SUN, a star, one of zillions in a universe, man's EGO apparently translates by some half-assed JU-JU MAN (who probably lives in a desert hutch/ hates Women/small Dick etc.), a snake charmer, a Turban, the  composers of the WORST songs, stacked with Wizard tricks, that balding Priest who salivates over confessions from Latino Virgins? 

Under a BLOOD MOON, Sugar served to the masses on a spoon, chanting by ordination; who R these CON-MEN in robes with elementary brain-washing techniques?  AS IN HOW do U rescue your KID from a brainwashing Spiritual CULT In Arizona, Oregon or California?...

 Humanity-TRAGEDY...So how do U rescue CULT BRAINWASHED MILLIONS!? .... Nutcase, Mad-fucks Asylums gotta be sparse? Not talking Nazis-Race-Death Camps here, but why don't we donate ALASKA? Give Em a place to be Un-doctrinated? Send Em some wooly clothes? Some Elvis Presley records and there up in the frigid North, exposure to the AURORA BOREALIS it might give Em a universal clue without some ICON JU-JU Man ringing a Bell...and learn it's just cool to be your own U?

BLOOD RED MOON. Can't come around too soon. Humanities - historical - MENOPAUSE? ANYTHING, everything can go WRONG!... Whiskers on Dames. Drooping Dicks on the Strong! The Road to Damascus awaits!!! Beware my - IRANIAN - friends of what new Shah, what new Tyrant; the Old Boss, just like the Old Boss, ready to Usurp your lives on a THRONE. A Khormeini gone, a Khomeini in a Tuxedo anew? Yet another Blood Red Moon?

Simplicity? NOPE! Fight to be free, organize, UNITE, or the RUSSKIES, the USA, worst still, the CHINESE will help U fail. (Relax on the French & English. They're no longer worth the candle.) The French of course can still muddy your waters. They've been doing that since WW1, the treaty of Versailles, 1918., Indo China/Vietnam, borders drawn, straight lines, Iraq, Syria, Iran borders, etc,etc. "ZOOT-ALLORS!!!" Histories "Plat de Jour!"

 Meanwhile, back in PERSIA. (Hafiz:): "I saw DEATH in Babylon. Mamma-mia! I immediately booked a passage on an Express Camel! Rode like Hell to Damascus! Arrived, I sat down. A sidewalk Cafe. I Relaxed. I smoked a Hooker-pipe. Nuttin' on my mind; but, alas, DEATH reappeared! I said: "FUCK U! Didn't I escape U in Babylon!" But DEATH in my face saying, "But our meeting was always (Damascus) HERE!"

"So, say farewell to your Loves, a a farewell to your Life, the SUC, the BAZAAR, your friends at the Cafe, the life that U knew, a farewell to your Civil Rights. IF U DON'T stand & FIGHT, then shake that worthless cold hand within you, YOU PERSIAN EX-PATRIOTS scattered across the globe. Now is the time to come home. U should go back home. FIGHT, make a stand against Tyranny. in memory of ALL those young Ladies, brutalize, raped & tortured in ISLAM's name that lead YOU now to your sad-ass, convictions guessing-game...

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

 

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Belize morning/I ain't going nowhere."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Belize morning/I aint going nowhere."

...THE MORNINGS SWIFT FLIGHT of swallows (no carry-ons) zoom effortlessly across my Corozal bay horizon. Three "butter birds" (yellow-breasted "Avion" thingies) stalk/stake-out my Cats food tray. And a high wind to Jamaica blusters, comes & goes exposing a patch of blue. (Gotta be Happy-Hour someplace?)

YUP! The dawn CHORUS has begun. That Cuckoo/Dove persists with its "telephone engaged" hour long repetition song & a MURDER of CROWS, now exhausted with, well, "Crowing", fighting over the pine trees-branches-seating/sleeping arrangements now finally resolve to buzz off & take to the skies.

A lone Pelican, quite apt here at our Chateaux-Pelican Guest Villa plops onto the roof of our poolside cabana, regurgitates the reward of its 'dawn patrol", possibly to de-bone "sans" cutlery or serviette? Whilst two blackbirds (decaffeinated Crows) sucking down chlorine-tainted swim-pool water, straighten up, then patrol the adjacent poolside lawn in search of bugs on seemingly staggering, drunken legs?

Up at natures DEFCOM-4 level (the old, tall pine trees a-back the Villa) the stealth IGUANAS (green Party as opposed to the orange variety/staunch Republicans) slither down the pine tree trunks, stand & stare at each other, flex their backbone needles-spiked-armor in case, perchance an EAGLE, looking for an easy kill swoops by? "Allors!" (French, for GADZOOKS!!!); out back, RALPH, our semi-resident transgender Crocodile in the mangroves/canal/bayou wiggles his armored tail, floats on the ebb tide out to Corozal bay, a reptiles convenience store. S-where his/her munchies are!

And all the while, tropic regulation, Zillionaire or BUM, Tee-shirt & shorts, flipflops optional in FEBRUARY "avec" Bloody Mary & Smokes, a Rock & Roll breakfast! "Far from the madding crowd!": U took the words right out of my mouth! -I aint going Nowhere. Besides? With my "Feng-Sui" at stake not to mention sabotaging my contribution to my morning's ritual philosophical debate on the significance of "Dialectic Materialism" in 2026 with TWO Fur-Balls, Soldier & Bela! (CATS ANONYMOUS! - the 12 steps of Purring!)

It goes something like this:

 "Meow."

"Meow?"

"MEOW!?"

"Hmm/Purr/ Meow!"

"MEOWW?

""Me-Me-OWWW!!!"

"OK. Me, er, OWWW!"

"ZIPPO! -Meow..."

"U know what I'm saying?"

...All on a Corozal-Belize tropic morning. And U got it. I aint going nowhere!

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Tambourine Girl."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Tambourine Girl."

...NO SHOES, FRAYED DRESS, flaxen hair-locks, long askew, a tambourine beating an unlikely tempo, no percussive back-up, nose upward, proudly appointed, yet a stark despair in her dark eyes that SCREAMS triumph wrapped in an Anaconda-snakes squeeze of poverty...

...but yes, there IS defiance in her eyes... at the coins U fling at her... as U walk on by.

No shoes, HUNGER, a "Gitano/Gypsy" outcast? Might as well be your long-lost daughter trying to make her OWN way to survive...solo with a tambourine... What Gods or Spirts can save her need? An Oracle? A SYBIL? One day perhaps her Prince will come...?

Who HERALDS!!!

...Did U unknowingly pass her by, or recognized, SHRINK! A family likeness? Or grudgingly remember: "Did He or made the Lamb make thee?" (Tambourine-Rattlesnake SHRILL!) The kernel of your Soul suddenly crushed under foot, your past altruism apparently worthless as U walk on by?

...Tambourine Girl: Now wearing shoes, dumpster-reclaimed, "flip-flops", past their "sell date" but toes knit together with dirt. BEHOLD! A "raggedly-Anne" awash into Societies seven seas! Somebodies KID on your OWN Cities streets!

... How does she eat? Where does she sleep? With whom MUST she sleep!? In an Anaconda snakes deadly grip. Lamia on Lamia. But for this moment...Tambourine SHRILL!!! An Angel. MUSIC! The girl with the Tambourine.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.