Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "A Whiter shade of Blue."

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize-by Mexico/Dave Delacroix" "A Whiter shade of Blue."

MY OWN MOGLIDIANI PAINTING, with Chinese eyes, perpetual SMIRK, a Balalaika-background in the fog/mist, that Pharaonic Egyptian mascara-image that SCREWS into your mind? Worse still, as if you culled Love-in-paint, a Moglidiani, somebody, your girl or a picture of U? -MOGGY? He died aged 37.

THUS HANGS - MOGGIE PORTRAIT - a "selfie" of your mischief, your Past, long since at Societies, "Let's burn her at the stake?" -though no-one's quite guilty, nobody's quite a whiter shade of blue: Isolated! As if I wake up without U. I wake reverent in sandals. Sometimes I got no shoes? Nobody gonna ever wash my feet? Like a...

...Like a Modigliani, an oil painting on the wall, a canvas without a frame, a Concept-oblivious, a "SELFIE" un-constrained, exhibited/pinned like a butterfly & as for the weak-at-heart I may as well, artistically be hung for a (stolen) sheep as a lamb; mutton is mutton -U cook it long enough? Or U paste oil paint on a canvas?

Who's the MAN who sharpens the revolution Guillotine & who curdles the Witches' brew, 9x9, thrice by thrice, Lord Cawldwder, soon to be king, a bloodied legacy spurred on by the witch of witches, probably your wife? (Lady Macbeth?) That ZIG-ZAG-U or a whiter shade of blue? Or Fate? No-one gets not to glad-hand their doom?

It's a long way to Tipperary (Old WW.1 Song) & the cemetery of crosses of the dead, row on row? When all hope gone, yet a whiter shade of blue as I nod to my 2 striped-tiger cats? It's not my fault but we have no cat-treats today; it's just a whiter shade of blue. And as for Russki-Modigliani? Was he in fact a Bolshevik or Italian? I'll leave that up to U. 

c.2026. Dave Delacroix. 

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "A BIGGER SPLASH!!!"

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "A Bigger Splash!"

(Après David Hochny's famous Painting/A Bigger Splash.)

"A Bigger Splash!"

...The MISFITS, THE CHILDREN playing in your garden whacking imagination to new heights or like imagined Dolphins in your swimming pool/SPLISH-SPLASH devour your twilight hour?

It's only the Lonely in their bleakest hour who perceives the universal angst of TIME, a multitude of bewigged lawyers who can ensure U Innocence is a Crime?

GO then to thy sticking post passed Ambition, Greed & Fear where-as your Soul burns on the Witches' Stake in that fading spectacle of your memory, as a Child; splish-splash! How did U become a Cow?

A RAGE unfinished. A dynamic screaming to unfold. A MISFIT. A CHILD, playing in your garden, whacking imagination, an exile from your cloud. A bigger splash in utero. PAINTED! A kiss without a smile.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

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

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix Esquire: "Singapore Bling!"

...NEW YORK CITY (hitherto referred to as N.Y.C) KIDS can't make it thru - there IS no - silent night; SIRENS -SUPER-CRAPPIT-FRAG-A-LIPSTICK...in the super-economy package, wailing every 7 minutes/I counted! In N.Y.C. silence don't count! -The BRONX/BROOKLYN/QUEENS neighbors having an "anti-pasta" dispute, Romeo & Juliet down on the sidewalk (where the sidewalk ends), their CABBIE asking "Who's gonna pay the fare?" -Some prime location Panhandler always ready to change (your) any large $-bill? -Rupees, Shekels, 3-Bob Irish pound notes, no problem!

...Whilst MOMBASA (Kenya) kids stand & stare as some MASAAI-banditos (with a Junker) drive window smash into an INDU Jewelry store but their aging Sedan-doors, constrained by the zig-zag netting, metal security window fence? A smash & grab. What could go wrong? Trapped in their Junker/auto. The crowd gathers. The Mombasa COPS will show up IF U send them a private LIMO or free vouchers for Police uniform dry-cleaning?

Singapore-Sling! Shanghai-Bling! "A'la recherche" the songs we used to sing? -The N.Y.C. kids or the madding-crowd Mombasa-stare & every day we pretend WE R not there? There's THAT. And we let it go! A Shanghai-Bling, like a Singapore-sling. Gimmie a Whisky & Soda cause sometime times LIFE ain't what it OUGHTA!!!

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Hi'Folks. If U have a mind to, U can sign on as a FOLLOWER on this BLOG. U don't necessarily have to read each POST; I ain't no Stalker; but Blog-wise it'll make me look good/semi-popular.  This is a FREE GIG. And thank U.

Our Man in Europe, now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "LITTLE-Old BI-POLAR ME!"

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Li'll old bi-polar Me."

(Singing:) Don't sing of your sorrows, Blues-TURRETZ-repartee.

Don't mull over your olden wine, don't "achoo!" when U sneeze? (Just snivel?)

Don't look for an Alibi, your collapsing facade, every time U wheeze!

...& ever guilty-as-charged? -Li'll old bi-polar Me.

I may get to shouting...for no reason at all? I may get U confounded

like in a U.K. football hooligan brawl?

U MAY get be-dazzled but mostly appalled when U witness -a-foot!

Li'll old bi-polar Me.

There's a Ballad here somewhere, some Angst-KAREN on patrol,

a someone unlikely, someone not quite whole? WE WING every morrow,

our yesterdays, all gone to seed? So, forgive me my friends> "Lill old bi-polar 

Me."

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

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 PERSONAL 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? Still? YOU ARE DEAD.

 (To continue:) Then did your Edgar Allen Poe's GOTHIC dynamic survive the funeral drive? (They reluctantly, yearning for "après-funeral" - Cakes & Ale, 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/steer your 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 into vinegar in a 1970s cheap-ass SLASHER-MOVIE, better still, a Chateaux-Margaux, vintage 1972 that no-one can afford?

Do we VIKINGS get launched, burnt-buried at sea, or have we DUG our own shallow grave where DEATH MEETS our fate, to be buried with your SURFING Longboard or high on mountain slopes, clutching-SKIES, or in government, the Castles U built; the Crusades against the ISLAM INFIDELS, the books that we write. Who curries our Tomorrow?... No worries. Our Songs, no need for Nostradamus, are predictably 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!? Or a DIVA'S swansong. A classic Soliloquy. An imagined flight of Angels. Some on the situ. (CNN-NEWS report: "On da Ground"!? -where else would they be?) with a Video-recorder: Here lies A LIFE, loved-Un-loved, for better or worse: Just another skull in the dirt. "R.S.V.P.".

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.