Our Man in Europe/Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Joseph & Jack on Patrol."

 

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Joseph & Jack on Patrol."

I-MAH OUTTA MONEY, OUTTA MONEy, not the first time or (?) the last. I'm out of MONEY, today, it's not funny, no Plan-B flying from this mast. So, KEEL-HAUL ME, PRESS GANG ME to some other foreign creative voyage. Give me a fresh bottle of Whisky on a Tramp-Steamer outta Curaçao: Oh-Boy-Oh-Boy! 'CUZ I'm outta Whisky, got no money! Can any WILLIAM-MORRIS TALENT AGENCY Dicksta or remote Hoboken Dock-Rat, Hollywood producer hear this song?

I'M outta DUCATS, Pieces of Eights/Pieces of 4ths if U prefer. Got not a Farthing, a silver Scheckel, my throat is dry -not a song in mah heart. I knew a Gal in San Francisco, one in Tobago, another in Belize? But what's it gets me? I spent my money, like a Jack London, a Joseph Conrad, a refugee, HACKS U never heard of who wrote books, scraped Alaskan soil for gold or sailed the seven seas. 

Can I SELL U my personal Brass Sea-Compass for a decent bottle of Rye? I'll tell U stories, magic tales of adventures of those pacific isles, the legend of NOSTROMO or KURTZ up the Congo river, darkest Africa, I sailed with these boys, got in and back alive, gimmie a bottle of GIN & I'll tell U no lies.

I'Mah outta MONEY, it ain't funny, U see me a doorway beggar. Glitterati-Skid-Row/sunny side of the boulevard. Please note my Thrift store fashion, my teeth a 'rotting it wasn't always my style? Once I was LORD JIM, leastways his Bosun. We crafted/skimmed thru Coral, sandbanks, tidal treachery. We hunted Ivory, DIAMONDS, EMERALDS, those barbules U could feast on in the palm of your hand! And film shoots outta Palmdale, CA. Confiscated USAF experimental plane crashes ON FILM. I think I squirrelled some away in some recording studio in Burbank? S-why the F.B.I. still got me on File?

But BACK to Jack London. Back to Joseph Conrad! Where did they go to? MOVIELAND: "Call of the Wild", "APPOCALYSE NOW!"...YO! Just look at my weathered hands. Oh-boy! Oh Boy! For an extra bottle of Whisky ...I could tell U more...

Jack London of course, similar kind of fish, had he & Conrad met: Would have been a drunken pistol/fisticuffs/sword duel? (TICKETS for THAT I could 'ave sold?). We R talking eye-witness accounts here-buddy/park up the Whisky...Anyways. Out of (BRRR!) Alaska, probably the USA's future Millennia's Mass Prison Camp, Jack L. getting a nod - sans no dueling with Joseph C. - adventured to warmer climes. His short stories R a kid's adventure delight!

...It's funny how my throat gets dry...For another $10s....Or a $50,000 advance for this Screenplay/Movie 5% rights? ...I'd tell U more.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "A Lover's Swan lament."

Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "A Lover's Swan lament." 

IN COLOGNE/KOLN...R U WOOGIE, R U WIGGLE-WOOGIE, R U BOOGIE-WOOGIE at all? R U BLINKY, twinky-TWINKLY, no need to punctuate it out for one and all? Do U SNEEZE or do U WHEEZE; do U dance the ROE-BOE? & if u don't, $20-a shot I'll show U how to freeze on the dance floor. (DO DAH ROBO!!!)

R U MAGIC, do U SWIRL, cast off those high heel shoes! (Red ones?) I thought they were never, but something to throw at a Bull, Gigolos at the "WasserfalL-disco", ten-a-penny. Can U MAGIC? MAGIC-MAGIC!!! - sway within your OWN charms? Do U have a (Song, dave Delacroix: "Fire Exit) fire alarm? -like a TAZER!!! -Tits & Teeth Babee!

R U BOO-GA-LOO, (subversive TWIST & Shout), a "COLD WAR" Berlin tremble? Do U tunnel under the WHA?), "A whiter shade of Pale", the Gal that U wish/ought to be. The Gal who came IN from the Cold? (More Boogaloo). Did U grow OLD just like me?

...R U now WHOOPSIE-DO but nobody (?) gets your Gig. Always nodding your head to all THESE FRICKS U meet? Will they EVER see the, will they ever see the Lady U R and - in their lecherous eyes - the Star U were meant to be.

 Did we ever farewell hug or kiss, did U ditch or die over YOUTH, a remiss. Beyond Pscyber-space. The Internet: Do U wiggle-waggle, forget & leave me in this lonely place. Spinning hearts love into eternity. No fault. Could it ever be? But our own.

...Ya gotta feed a Heart. But a hungry heart alas... ain't got no home. So, lament. Prozac or tomorrow's sunrise? It's always tough when U lose your life-long Swan. Yo! It's not funny. This pond-life in which mostly we dwell, as the years go by gets lonely.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "DA MOMMAS & DA PAPPAS!"

 Our man in Europe, Dave Delacroix "DA MOMMAS & DA PAPPAS!"

...On a Mexican "ADO" City-to City bus, Merida to Chetumal, 200 miles, a CANCER treatment survivor (MIO!) with severe hair loss, a 1944 "AUSCHWITZ-SELFIE", skeletal features, an image of despair. No Song, no Guitar but back on the road to someplace, no name, no destination...miles & miles of jungle-green, fast backward-bus speeding, no glimpse of the highway road signs. Speeding along. A Belizean BRO, Lionel Forte, tall guy, holding my Cancer-limp hand.

"All the leaves R brown & the sky is grey" - here - Corozal-Belize - across the street we hear it day by day like NATURE'S LUNGS, just sometimes an occasional breeze: (Singing: "And if I didn't tell her...") What discretion/modesty in some Mind's Chinatown, Shanghai, Paris, Milano, your legendary background, who's to say it was only California dreaming?

I went into a Church. I cooked a "Coq au Vin". A DICK inflated with wine incumbent rhyme. I wason a "mission", Psycho Missionaries one & al, their wisdom like JOKES, wherever their punch line falls. Still, "all the leaves R brown. A Greek Chorus of HARRADIANS - old gals in your local Corozal-Belize drunk tanks -  yet just WHO SCARS your Twilight ZONE, your projected 11th hour solitude, and later a Cognac or 2, pet-felines. Da Mommas & da Pappas: A crescent moon.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix. 

Our Man in Europe, now a 'la GREAT GATSBY residing in Belize: Dave Delacroix: "Li'lle Old BYE-POLAR me."

 Our Man in Europe NOW - a 'la Great Gatsby residing in Belize: Dave Delacroix: "Lil'le Old Bye-Polar Me."

...I was born - To CHER's song, "Gypsies, Tramps & Thieves": I was born in a camper-trailer down Arkansas-way. Broad beans & rice kept our Childhood alive, & with Banjo lessons I learnt to survive; other folks had much worse stories than, than Li'lle Old Bye-Polar me.

...NOT up to much at UNI-VERSE-CITY (Little Rock), my pronounced "attention deficit disorder" somehow kept me in Key; I never (1960s) protested, didn't March for any fashionable Cause. Under wraps I kept - now diagnosed - quite oblivious, medically: "ALL Fricked-Up Syndrome", and by this (A.D.H.D) nature I discreetly prevailed in its Socio-survival "low key". YUP! -Li'lle old bye-polar me.

...Sometimes I wander, er...WONDER just what in Life I missed? Was I Dyslectic or prone to bleak or stark ephemeral flashes of Genius? -Albeit the mundane, arrogantly throwing away a winning Lottery ticket or some hot gal's kiss. Yet All in ALL I thank the Gods I - in esse - I wasn't THERE or bare naked in Life's Carnival of Souls, or sometimes amongst (WOKE) Fools? - Li'lle old BYE-BYE-Bi-Polar me.

And now the World's a-glare. WARS, sadly not out of fashion. PEOPLE STARE not knowing Tomorrow's justice. I AM sometimes just NOT there. And I rarely go ONLINE'. I never answer Fb messages. I never answer the Cell phone. It rings? I just check the Time. In the World's Court of Justice, I will probably be Tried, absolutely GUILTY!  -burnt at the Stake, accused of MADNESS-NON-COMPLIANCE: There U have it: Li'lle old Bi-Polar Me.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix...This Post inspired by Actress Jan Sterling cabaret-performing song "It "ain't gonna be me." in the Film-Noir movie, THE NAKED JUNGLE, 1954. /Movie on Utube. Like U, like me, the BUGS keep eating at me. WOTCHA-GONNA-DO!?

c.2026. Dave Delacroix. Sometimes we get tired. Touble IS, it's people -for all our disabilities - allow the NAZIS/now Religio-ISLAMISTS to arrive!...

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, near Mexico, Dave Delacroix: "BRIGADOON!"

 Our Man in Europe (James Bond incognito wearing Thrift Store clothes-disguise), now in Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Brigadoon!"

(dedicato: Johnnie X in Glasgow. He showed me - late 1970s- the town/Glasgow/Rene Mcintosh architecture, Glasgow University, Gibson St. for YOWSA Indian Curies, the (Pub) Stonehaven: Arrayed with 200 Single Malt Whiskies. (We made a dent in that?) We actually met/worked together out on the Oil Rigs in the North Sea off Scotland/Norway. Oil Platform construction. Wild West stuff. Helicopters landing/taking off day & night. Oil Rig construction in those days was a battlefield. Dead or Disfigured bodies airlifted OUT daily. Accidents. Fires! Guys going NUTS with Fire Axes! BIG SHOT Texan Engineers whining over the radio waves to their wives in Scotland: Short-wave, everyone could hear. And cabin Sleepwalker, Epilepsy-dudes? All the OIL COMPANIES, Chevron, Texaco, etc. All they wanted was semi-skilled cannon fodder...Johnnie & I survived. We don't whine about PSTD. That's for pussies, As for Military pussies who SIGNED ON to USE a Gun, can U spell BULLIT!!!?... JOHNNIE & MY own enemy was raw nature, 90ft waves...Nobody (THE STARE? HORROR!) walks away from that; 200 colleagues, upturned, drowned on a North Sea barge, seated/gathered in the cinema room watching "The Sound of Music" or some Porn flick?  Lads we knew from previous offshore construction gigs. They didn't have a chance. We mourned these BROS, pitched in our Wages for their bereaved families... we didn't whine or need therapy. OUT THERE, the North Sea, U know what U R up against. Big DANGER-BIG BUCKS! ....BURRRT there IS..."Brigadoon!" (Swirl-Swirl-Swirl!)...The Ghosts in our lives. Do we get to meet them again? And if so?

"BRIGADOON!"

...FORGIVE ME. I WAS PREPPING a "Coq au vin" (chicken stew-thingy), chop-chop veggies, slice-slice and all necessary condiments, VINO-Blanco, coriander, black pepper, bay leaf, oregano, onion-garlic, a potpourri of gastronomic (Rive Gauche!) meets April Fool's Day, easy on the DIJON?

It's always a FACIA to unexpectedly rendezvous with your OWN "Brigadoon", that legend-SOTTISH-myth, that New years' (Hogmanay?) whoosits enjoyed with Haggis, a rotting cheese, washed down with a Single Malt (Whisky)?

That "single malt" served sparingly, we serve to the BAIRNS in a teaspoon, the Gals in a Glasgow "STEAMIE" doing laundry, but on a Saturday night we "highland Fling", their Joy, our Ladies, is our respectful CLAN-HUZZAH~! St. Mungo! his voice perhaps caresses the river, the bonnie Clyde.

And your OWN- CLANSMAN, "Och-aye!" my Highland brethren, did U wreck Bonnie Prince Charlies soul, invaded Egland, got as far as the Midlands then PULLED out his Soul; probably, in the way of things, Royalty - incestuous - dog eat dog - even normal families have been known to murder their own, but I guess it'll never get U an INVITE to Brigadoon:

BRIGADOON! BRIGADOON!  We ECHO, that legendary Scottish Myth that only APPEARS but once a year, when bagpipes WAIL, the Princesses of the Highlands SWIRL, a season-exclusive, that Holy "CEILIDH", a Club, a refuge of honored souls to re-enact a sacred dance, all enshrined, to sanctify the ghosts of the past who annually gather, a BRAEMAR, a Brigadoon to rejuvenate, to ne-er forget the BRAW LADS who died at the battle of Culloden mowed down by the English King Georges bayonets, musket & ball.

It is an uncanny TATTOO, Edinburgh's annual Castle Pipe & Drum/marching regiments, annual HOLLER-BAH-LOO- where-in-UNDER me-thinks lurks that BRIGADOON to prick the conscious of Edinburgh's-TATTOOED-tomorrow's fools? For better or worse, Scotland has SCARS, what bleak legacy has known extreme deprivation, persecution, a latter-day KILT emblem, a TARTAN, a Sporran to hold ya ducats, a few mists & yarns. "Lochie-Ness", the high road or the low (Loch Lomond) ...

...and what remains in their (the Scots) of this RENTAL we share of our brief eternity? A BRIGADOON! A Brigadoon. A bridge to a one night's paradise. A St. Walpurgis night. An Equinox? The stuff of Poets locked in a room where only imagination's Swallows escape, their wings, noiselessly, rise into the sky, Pipes wail across the Glens?

Brigadoon! Brigadoon! Hogmanay! That night of the year. A mystical place, Lochs, Scottish mists, then smoke/bonfires but ONLY ONCE, no "Cock-a-leekie Soup" only your Truth. Invited to this mystic Ceilelh, as highland ladies dance around your "sticking post" to decide if your Highland heart be true or false.

Brigadoon. Brigadoon. Nary for SOME -Joy! But for OTHERS? A bleak dawning comes too soon.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix. (April Fools day.)

Our Man in Europe/now residing in Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Melancholy Mood."

 Our Man in Europe/now residing in Belize/ Dave Delacroix: "Melancholy Mood."

...WE AIN'T DEPRESSED (Johnny Depp?), nor hungry or thirsty, nor love-forlorn (I might wanna revise the latter re. Sylvia in Freiburg-Germany) but MOSTLY TOPPO as much as we're supposed to be when U lost that winning lottery ticket, back pocket of your Levis denims & stuck it in the washing machine?

 SHREDS! Shreds. A'la all the seeds we think we've sown, the best laid plans of mice & men, a dirge to haunt tomorrow's yesterdays, yet a HOOP-LA! -don't let it shade your horizon? (Momentary GRRRR!!!!)

Sampan? No Sampan? No super yacht to take U out to sea? We AIN'T "going under", we still gotta a smile like that long-distance hitch-hiker U once were, who just got a ride? YO! We're getting to SOMEPLACE, it  ain't no place at all, but it'll do. Yet without U, I'm in a melancholy mood.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix. 

Our Man in Europe/now BELIZE/Dave Delacroix: "Foot-Dangling in Paradise!"

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