Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Saturday, in the Park."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Saturday, in the Park." (Après song by 60s band Chicago/their Chicago V LP)

"Saturday, in the Park." 

...I GET VERTIGO IN THE VERTIGO inside my mind. I WEEP but never cry; certifiable? Probably. I should have been RE-HOUSED from Soullessness long ago.

I get drunk before I'm drunk, a sensitivity of Soul. I write poems about the "only woman I ever loved" long before we meet. (Weird.)

It's so hard to be a sex-symbol when nobody knows. My fashionista tailor is the local Thrift store. Oh boy! Do I shine? -Plaid on Plaid!

I invented the "French-Dip Soup". Forgot to Copyright. Get no royalties. Same THING: Russian TEA/Tea without milk. Culinary History passed me over.

And it's difficult to be "the leader of the Pack" when U hate crowds, like a Politician, Poet or a Freedom Fighter who hates People? The funeral pyre of peoples Autograph Books.

Still. Saturday, in the park, I thought it was the 4th. of July. And there I sat upon the grass, a "Nowhere Man", O.K.-ing -it's O.K. to ask Why...

c.2026. Dave Delacroix. 

Our Man in Europe/now Spying in Belize/not selling Vacuum Cleaners/DAVE DELACROIX: "The RE-CHARGE of the LIGHT BRIGADE" (a

 Our Man in Europe/now Spying in Belize/not selling Vacuum Cleaners/DAVE DELACROIX: "The RE-CHARGE of the LIGHT BRIGADE!"

(A fantasy/creative literary Blogpost of a renown historical event: The Charge of the Light Brigade/Crimean War/1857 responsible for - as in ALL War, lots of needless dead bodies but also Florence Nightingale, the founder of modern-day hospitals: "The Lady with the Lamp".)

"...The RECHARGE of the LIGHT BRIGADE!"

...NOT A LOT OF PEOPLE KNOW THIS - Time Travel? Still under the cloak of Government Secrecy - but I was THERE: C.I.A, K.G.B., M.I.5.; yes, TIME TRAVEL is under wraps less the CHINESE find out and mass produce Time Travel Tourism. But I, yes, I was THERE (assigned/secret agent/undercover) with my "Hasselback", my Kodak instamatic camera too & a Super-8-Cine! (My Cellphone dissolved thru Time Travel, incidentally. No Internet service in 1857 anyhow.) I COULD have used my 35mm-CINE/with aluminum tripod but - wearing Period clothes - a sure target for Russian snipers on the battlefields every side... & it WOULD have wrecked Poet-Tennysons "Into the Valley of Death rode the 600...plus some oddball taking "Selfies"?" (U can't mess with the Past/First Law of Time Travel.)

Anyhow. Into the Valley of whoosits rode the 600? Maybe 575. Yet AS an eyewitness to this debacle, and I too, astride-DONKEY there-in trailing behind the cavalry, snapping photos horses/riders' asses I was a tad - as they say in Italy - "incapacitato"!" -Later I would muse, like mounting a GOYA painting, the Naked MAJA, a Bela on a divan, a Saturday night, wonderfully inebriated but without bedside candelabras/heartbreak-City! -I was essentially blind as a BAT; In other words, no upfront grisly Foto "close ups" to win me a Nobel prize. Photojournalism even incorporating Time Travel is unforgiving outside of getting butchered in the fray. Journalism is self-glorification. The STORY is just backdrop. But I digress:

Lord CARDIGAN, in command of the Light Brigade, perhaps he wore a thick one, (a Cardigan) the precursor of the modern bullet-proof vest/ leastways he survived the charge/didn't get a scratch. By all accounts he was a "jolly good fellow" -madcap-drunk, and these days (2026) a pre-requisite for British Army Sandhurst Officers College. And YES! A True Commander of Troops, faithful unto death, whose BOYS, lances-wielding, sabers swirling, the like of those who sent Napoleon's armies to their graves and as later recorded (& FILMED!) in the GREAT WAR (1914-18), the "like", armed only with a "swagger stick": "Come-On Me-boys! For England & St. George!" Thousands per day of course immediately mowed down...Every English/French town/village has a monument listing names: "Pour la Gare".

But THIS notable "engagement", the stuff of legend, the Charge of the Light Brigade full of "cut & dash" not forgetting eternal military glory, we - on site/"On the Ground" as USA Media reporters love to enunciate, we, my donkey-with, and the Light Brigade, TROT-TROT-TROT went FWD. (Could-a been a Horse guards' parade!) But THAT only lasted for about 20 minutes... A late arrival, a Captain Nolan/superb horseman recently reassigned from warfare in the Punjab (India) had hand-delivered an ancient E-Mail/"DISPATCH" from the "High Command" who were picnicking on a hillside promontory, armed with Telescopes way back yonder which - the DISPATCH - seemed to cause some consternation/confusion/bickering amongst Lord Cardigan, subject to LORD RAGLAN, the engagements senior commander who subsequently retired from the "advance", rejoining the ranks of the reserve "Heavy" brigade.

Anyhow, (TROT-TROT-TROT), a picaresque vision of an assortment of riders, the ranks in splendid formation, be-splendant in uniforms, gold or brass buttoned, red, black & crimson tunics, Jodhpur riding pants, knee high, spurred boots in black or Bond Street fashion Monkey-shit brown, chain-mail strap helmets, paste-board tops or steely-peak caps; mustachioed fellows sharing a brandy flask or 2, a devil-may-care attitude. It struck me that NONE of them had any illusions, not since WATERLOO of what hell they were riding into. -Lord Raglan, out in front. Erect, Sabre upheld!

The rest is now bleary. TWO CANNON-SHRAPNEL bursts exploded overhead. Captain Nolan's horse went down/Nolan's head blown clean off, yet his arm/hand still waggled his saber in the air? The latter of the two-explosive bursts, and my donkeys alarm, I was thrown to the ground, where-in my donkey was directly turned into BBQ! -And my camera equipment, utterly shattered/no "selfies" alas, as the Light Brigade upgraded from a parade ground TROT to a CANTER, hooves pounding & the wails of "Victory or Death!".  

......................The relief of Mafeking, 55 Days in Peking, the Zulu war, Roukes Drift. Korea. Vietnam. TWO WORLD WARS! Yet in the Crimea, "the Lady with the Lamp", Florence Nightingale who took it upon herself with many volunteer nurses and led her OWN CHARGE to patch up the madness of Mans insanity. A heart felt pulse which we should all revere.

Today? So help me God, I've been reassigned. My latest Time Travel mission, (1990s) and no worries, Hi-tech visual recording gear. My global "Maigret's"-government Masters have allocated me personal space-satellite time all downloaded AND encrypted on my cellphone. The password is: "The Rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain/Betty's got a brand-new dog." -I should be able to remember that. I'm still "on the ground" (media speak) in a war zone. It's just as gross as before. This time, the Middle East. A tribal-situ. A bunch of Hatfield & McCoys who've been going AT IT for 2 millennium over divergent Icons in the sky or the correct way to tie the laces on your sandals (?)...

c.2026. dave delacroix.

 

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Swing SISTA Swing!"

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Swing GEISHA Swing!" (Song:)

(Music/rumbling Blues:) ...I ain't no worried bout who IS da MAN, I ain't worried bout some Mandarin plan: So Swing, my lady-Geisha swing.

 DON'T give a hoot bout some IMAN-JU-JU MAN, put ya HIJAB on the fire, get out while U can; why should U service this BRAINWASHED, prayer 5 times a day MEDIAVEL RETARD, swing lady swing...Do like a Geisha Gal do: "Sayonara Dick Breath!?" with his spare SAMAURI SWORD, CHOP!!! OR Biblically (Caravaggio painting:) "Judith & Holofernes" last -she decapitates him - last intimate moments. In FRANCE, a Crime of Passion. No worries. Six-month prison sentence in a Dordogne vineyard. Only FOUR if U don't guzzle their prize Grand-Cru?

...It sounds SO EASY to walk away, and there's U, hardly in disguise, hitch-hiking, over-clothed for some ISLAM OLD MAN but ya gotta walk away - if U can - because HE will fold like a cheap-mattress, the one who's been raping U ON & ON? GET OUT OF THERE!!!

Swing Lady, swing your RIGHTS. Swing Girl, preserving your Rights less U accept a Lifetime of Night, no night a young girl should know: Swing Lady do. Swing HIGH. Swing LOW. But turn your emancipation, your FREEDOM into your MOJO!...

Swing Geisha, Swing Lady. And Swing Indian/Pakistani HONOR BRIDES, swing a GYPSY-OUTCAST Lady. A song to keep, to keep alive, in your head, no HONOR BURNING, nor lonely exile, GO VOTE with your feet & sing out loud (if U can?). Your Song IN UTERO!

Swing Lady DO. It's up to U. Nobody said it would be easy, but unknown FRIENDS R out there. Swing SISTA Do! There's a WORLD that cares for what U DO! Swing out Sister Do! Step out into the Light where those old grey men, afraid of the light, will not follow U.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our MAN (DARIN) in Europe, now Europe, Dave Delacroix: "Singapore-sling!"

 Our Man in Europe, now Europe, Dave Delacroix (Es-Squire): "Singapore Sling!"

(dedicato: Diane Striker in Hong Kong)

"Singapore Sling!"

ZING, ZOOM, SLING (been a loving long time since WE:) Loving. And now singing something, heartfelt-loving/ne-er forgotten, me feeling stupid, but Love feeling free? Here in Corozal-Belize there's a high wind from Jamaica blowing cobwebs, your Song anew/refreshed, I HOWL...a Salute!

Zing, Zoom, Sling-blade-righteous! U gonna dress up ZAZZ, We -cup-O-tea, one index finger UP or a Singapore Sling? Let's rendezvous at RAFFLES in town. We'll, in our minds FLOAT to HARRY'S (Hemmingway's) BAR in Venice, Paris or Rome, some barista who'll mix a fave cocktail, might even remember our names.

(I fell in love with SOMEONE, but as the Song goes:) "It ain't gonna be U, NO HOW!? And if U had a MILLION DOLLARS (USD), my bar tabs couldn't keep up with U! I fell in love long before we met so it AIN'T gonna be U babe, it ain't gonna be U." Until now.

....I wandered lonely as a cloud. My Singapore Sling. A'la Fools & Funkers. Loves death loves a CROWD s-why we now live alone. Our Prides gone South & every song you ever heard from a Cowboy Mouth hollers, canyon echoes, and there's no joy in that prairie-morning campfire where a lone whisp of singular smoke rises into that lonely, empty sky.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix -Ex-Rockstar -: "TIPPERARY!"

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "TIPPERARY!"

(Song/town in Ireland: dedicato/PETE from Caven Town.)

"Tipperary."

...It's a long way to Tipperary; it's a long way to go. It's a long way to Tipperary to go see the sweetest GAL I know. (Geraldine?) Goodbye Piccadilly, farewell Leicester Square; now row-on-row the Poppy flowers grow, our bodies lie there.

(DEATH/WAR doesn't distinguish between an Aristocrat, Poet, Shepherd or Famer's boy?)

It's a long way to San Fransico, outta New York or from Seattle to San Diego - From Oklahoma to the "grapes of wrath" in California groves, the future-un-knowing, the Oregan Trail. Who could have known? It's a long way, "The leaving of Liverpool!" But my heart's right there.

It's a long way to SHANGHAI, outta NANKING, population murdered-raped, a brutal way to go, but sometime expedited, to HIROSHIMA-BANZAI-KAMIKAZI, reluctantly. but we bombed it anyway. Global neighborhood lunatics like Islamic fanatics got no place in our town. History?

It's a long way to MECCA, a long way, historically all roads lead to ROME, those famous Catacombs! Row-on-row of MARTYRED DEAD now lying, lonesome with no Cellphone. Maybe an OVID poem? Or Persia's Shakespeare: AFFIZ SHARAZI (Hafiz!!!) -SUFI POET ploughed asunder by Mohamed/ISLAM-IMANS perhaps on "their OWN destined rendezvous" in DAMASCUS? -poppies await row-on-row. But RIDE your fastest horses!?

It's a long way to Tipperary. It's a long way to go.  It's a long way to Tipperary, some Gal (Geraldine) I never knew? Goodbye Piccadilly. Farewell Leicester Sq.? It's, alas, it's a long-long way to Tipperary but MY Soul, sadly ain't there.

c.dave delacroix. 2026.

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

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

...HAS ANYONE GOTTA (cigarette) FAG? I'm "jones-ing" for a tobacco "rollie". As ANYONE got a mean-assed SHOT of whisky to twirl around my tongue a-rolling? Does anyone still know the "Meaning of Life" to keep our living bullshit rocking & rolling? Can U "spring" for a bottle/cold beer? Maybe a sweet ride downtown before LIFE's glitter turns into a frown? That inevitable 11th hour Curtain hesitatingly ponders your design. Destiny, IN ESSE, has a life of its own.

Does anyone still BELIEVE in "Life-after-Death", some universal calling (HOWL!!!) or intertwine with planet Earth's JU-JU-Men, Imans, Priests, Monks, Budda's, Rabis? Does anyone - these days - blindly embark on a Roman Pilgrimage, visit with JU-JU-PAPPA, get an Easter foot-wash pedicure at the Vatican in the Year of the Dragon, the Year of the Unicorn, did either year ever exist? Religio-souvenir after-life Insurance-Crucifix tucked away in your lingerie drawer.

Or simply, do U just bury family fortunes gone-South automatically, "Ashes to Ashes-Funk to Funky" bury our Dead, kiss their Tomorrows "arrivederci", see U on the other side? Then invest -DA MONI-MONI-MONI", your inheritance, pick up a Gibson guitar, a Marshall amplifier, thrash out some BLUES & bore to death all your neighbors in a village (in Sicily?), or abroad, Montparnasse-France or Winchester-NY, cemeteries where, competing with Museums "infinity goes up on trial"/Bob Dylan-Zimmerman, Mans forever after?

Do NOT go gently into this (?) good living twilight. It can be prematurely as black as HADES, in this case: NO LAZY SUNSET, NO MOON DUDE! And Dog's a-barking! Cats chorus "MEOWW!!!" R U so quickly forgotten or is it a "mortal-crossover" U be dead & gone? As for your Demons, an Edvard Munch Oil Painting, a hollow SCREAM, your bloody past demons reappear, unrecognizable, that fond Stranger U used to be: "Has anyone got a fag? I'm "jones-ing" for a sweet memory...and a bottle of cold beer!"

c.2026. dave delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now-Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Weeping Willow."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Weeping Willow,"

...WHO TAUGHT THE WEEPING WILLOW how to CRY? Look no further. Whilst IN FACT my DAD invented the French-Dip-Soup (not a lot of people know that?) my OWN cultural-contribution: "THE POGO!" -a robotic dance now sweeping European DISCO floors; halcyon days? As for these notes of Creativity? U people don't even know the meaning of heartbreak, leastways what I tell passing strangers after reciting Keats' "The Eve of St. Agnes" before they FLY, never again to have known or met me? People can be so cruel.

The "weeping willow" of course, after post-decades of psychotherapy still prevails "avec" mega amounts of KLEENEX tissues; perhaps like Aspirin, an undiscovered "wonder drug", that "magic bullet", a wonder cure for All societies dysfunctional SNIVELLERS, Cross-dressers or people named Ralph? Admittedly, there is NO CURE for the common Cold 'cept - prevailing - an honorable suicide, and traditionally favored by failed Poets, Game Show hosts with TV low ratings, Stand-Up Comedians? No suicide-note Jokes: Body Bags Anonymous! Montparnasse cemetery: Charles Baudelaire. And alas: Some War-Crime pit. A BABI-YA. Or (Tom Waits growling:) "Out on the edge of Potters Field."

Weeping Willows, rabid Lotus blossoms, Oak Leaf village festivals, or a sudden flight of Swallows, Pigeon shit on your windowsill: WHAT medievalist symbols, or the cult of ISLAM do U embrace, that WANT of your NEED...to "black out" your Fear?... No personal renaissance, no personality "resorgimento" in sight? Yet DEGAS, French Impressionist painter, accidently - snoozing on his sunlit balcony - fair BLINDED, did not succumb, turned his talent to sculpting bronze figurines that make Art collectors sweat & scream & Swiss Banks vaults hording Nazis gold burst at the seams?

Meantime, poor old "Weeping" whoopsies resides in your Soul never likely to release U, that GIG U felt-forced to plant long ago. Poet Arthur Rimbaud. "A Season in Hell". A souvenir, reluctant to lose now infuses all your Tomorrows: A stretch-limousine, a taxi-fare. A dinner at the "Cafe de la Paix", "Maxime's!", which U can no longer afford. And that flower-glint, that spark in once, your childlike eyes now fade to dark.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.