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

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

...DO U "DO-DA-DOOBIE" in the morning? Do U "do-da-doobie" at night? OR...do U do-dah Bossa Nova, under the moon? Or, at midday; make the Sun go crazy!

Do U Mambo, Jumambi, Ju-Ju-karma? Do U LIMBO under the sky? Do U intestate-kamikaze, that inner spasm, just never wondering why.

Do U cleanse your Soul, a cerebral Tsunami, to feel that U R sometimes worthy, sometimes whole? Is it necessary to go shopping to get out of this groove;

1) Bambu/cigarette papers.

2) Case of Milk.

3) Tobacco.

4) VINO!

5) Bug Spray.

6) Chutney, to garnish Samosas.

...And Uncle Tom Cobbly & all!

Do U DO-BE-DOOBIE in the morning, at your laptop or on the street?  A Jumambi. A VOODOO! That worm in the bud/the turning of your screw. Would anyone understand except, maybe, some stranger U have yet to meet. That yeast in the air to ferment/focus on all, alas, we still feel is missing.

OK!!! Back to shopping:

1) A Pink inflatable Giraffe! (Life size)

2) A 45-foot Yacht!

3) Solar powered LEAR JET.

4) Unlimited supply of Madras Curry powder!

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Ode on Indolence."

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Ode on Indolence." (Après poem by John Keats.)

...A-MAH BIN WORKING ON MAH tropical (Belize) morning chorus-bird calls: "Coo-whoosits/CAW-CAW/Swoop=SWOP, Crack-a-fricking too!!!"; also catching up on my foot-dangling & trimming my MULLET (hairstyle). This doesn't leave me a lot of time for "indolence".

...I've been busy, managing/delegating in monosyllables to Rosa, Villa-housekeeping, Gerry, swimming pool maintenance & new kid on Campus, Kendrick, our Chateaux-Pelican Guest Villa compound landscaping dude which does not leave me a lot of time for "indolence".

I'm even getting complaints for my absenteeism @ my Corozal-Belize local bar, the "Natural Mystic"! ..."Where's U bin? How de doody?" etc. fully knowing they're blasting out (song) Van Morrison's "Into the Mystic"/one of my faves. And WOTCHAGONNA-DO, flip-flops instead of (Irish?) Brogues. Out here in the tropics, not a lot of time for "indolence".

Predictably, folks like me get a lot of Hate-Mail. They don't see what WE see, back-to-back bicyclists on a sandy street/we call it GRIDLOCK or standing at a Belize bus stop, sharing with a BZ Matriarch loaded down with groceries/we call that OVER CROWDING & if there's tumbleweeds blowing around the local mini market aisles, ya KNOW ya getting chiseled; alas, "indolence doesn't stand a chance! 

I've been -so-so working on my tropical bird calls, catching up on my foot-dangling & trimming my Mullet, and righteously, I'm sure you'll agree. Indolence is a MOOD-THINGY that needs to get a hold of me! But maybe not yet. I'll get back to U!

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "...At the Gringo Bar!"

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "...At the Gringo Bar!"

(dedicato: Rene Jr/Rene Snr @ the Natural Mystic Pub, Corozal-Belize.)

"...At the Gringo Bar!"

...AT THE GRINGO BAR WE only talk to the Bartender, we never confess (Why should we?) or to our Priests; we only spill the Beans to fellow drunks, hitchhikers, highway encounters, never-likely to confide in Lovers-close. (E-Mail is SO passe?) "I left my heart in San Diego; holler back?"

We only talk "facia-a-facia" to Strangers, hoping it will "OUT-WASH/RINSE" our Conscience/GUILT (?), that "sang-froid", (OKLAHOMA WINTER), cold, the rot that resides in our Souls; Gold, Mir & Frankincense; a Curry where all myths, religion, redundant theology BOOGALOOS in your mind? -Keep those drinks a-coming!!!

We only converse, eloquent, raw-thirst, as our HUNGER becomes a DUST BOWL, ashes to ashes/funk to funky, nothing left, that ECCO-Holocaust, whence Kids once wallpapered their sad-Shack bedrooms with Newspapers, made dresses out of patterned flour sack cloth, devout in their FAMINE, no Banjo on Campus/no Charlie Chaplin in sight?

As with the Gringo Bar. No grapes, no wrath! Just a hopeless sojourn. A lame Crusade, a transmigration, Knights-Templars, Black Fridy (13th). A BUDWEISER NEON flickers. A Natural Mystic that labyrinthine's U into your own personal oubliette! At the Gringo Bar; a sad final retreat, for so many, a forgetting: (HAPPY-HAPPY!!!).

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "ROMEO on CAMPUS!"

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Romeo on Campus!"

(It's a Song/Music-thing.)

....NO REASON TO get lonely, no reason to just get PHONEY! It ain't no crime...to fall in love.

No reason, no vivid adventure; wotchagonna-DO: (fill in the .......blanks!)

...NO SENSE, no sensibility, no way of looking, U sometimes SEE the world upside down?

No reason TO get lonely. Ask me? -The World's way too phony. But like your average SAD-SAP (Just shoot me!) I'll fall in love at the drop of a hat!?

No reason to get lonely. No reason to BE PHONEY! It ain't no crime to fall in love.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in EUROPE/now residing in BELIZE/Dave Delacroix: "BISCUITS on a PLATE! /THE RIDDLER!"

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Biscuits on a plate! /THE RIDDLER!"

...YOURS, THE MEMORY OF POP SONGS of cerebral-Biscuits, some trend-flavor of the (your) Times, that perfect Natures periodical epiphany, a flash of genius or sincere, (nobody forgets their youth time music golden oldies!) genuine inner genuflection which makes our passage through Time seem ultra real a 'la your first passion, a teen-age Crush so PROFOUND; a "Riddler", a "Ponce de Lyon" searching for that Fountain of Youth? (But in Florida? Why not Chicago or the outskirts of Torino-Italy!?)

There's a kick-in-the-ASS, that Cleopatra's ASP (Whoo!) who'll sting: Soul-bound! Not with-standing/Guillotine-threats, the howls of the Mob/the madding-crowd who chip away/altruism gone South which rattles your "inner-GIZMO" of your own personal (Idaho?) voyage to Treasure Island? "LAND AHOY!!!" (If Life was only that simple?) JIM HAWKINS: "Smart as Paint!"

BUT YOURS IS the Memory, your ghosts/regrets, a labyrinth of coils, the stuff of your inner eternity, that DRUM Tattoo, un-ceasing, marching U into that 11th hour, and promises-sworn, betrayed or forgotten, a Maverick in your Style? No magic carpet but maybe an Axminster, a comfortable rug? SEX!? Get it whilst U can. It's never too early, but sometimes ...it's too late!

But THERE'S the "Biscuit", a teeth-marked crumble/biscuit; perhaps a pre-destined suicide note never sent, some Apocrypha Bible book never published, the book of Judas, Mary Magdalene, almost forgotten yet recorded in Sanskrit, Sumerian, or Biro-penned on the back of some old Hippies Vinyl-L.P. to at last settle, perhaps on YOU or another's historical memory... That pesky RIDDLER, the mouse in the wainscotting, that turning of the screw. A dark cloud appears. A wedding ceremony. Vows & all: Whence U pronounce, - Oh what the hell? "I DO!"

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

OUR MAN in EUROPE/now residing in BELIZE/Dave Delacroix: "The Sweats!"

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

(Song:) AH GOT DA SWEATS, I got the Sweats! Damned BUGS here in the Tropics; I got dah Sweats!

I got dah BATS! I got da Bats. Better call Doctor WHISKY; he knows just how to get rid of that!

I got the FEVER; AH GOT da Fever! That Peggy Lee Song; You KNOW she's been there, to sing that song?

I got the SWEATS, yup! I got da Sweats. Only mad dogs & Englishmen (Out in the midday sun) R prone to that!

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

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

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

...THE STREET GIVETH, THE STREET taketh away. Any Homeless person will tell U that...Got NO Babee anymore!

Boulevards, Strasser's, Via de Corso-ROMA, the grimy streets of London/its "Underground", the Paris METRO?

The Street giveth, the throngs, the People, future Lovers, the antagonists, the Francois Villon, Poets & thieves that U R sure to meet?

The Street GIVETH, the Street taketh away; THIS Mariachi, Minstrel, a Busker who strummed & sang his life away? Songs, compositions describing U, daily life, as U pass me by.

The Street giveth and the World BUTTERFLIES yet TIME ITSELF takes OUR song into nothingness. Time, weighed by its eternity, against-which our Song, in desperation, looks for a rhyme, dissolving as we sing.

The Street giveth. The Street taketh away, not WHOLE but in Life's chapters, existing, we must pay. "Where's mah goddamned Whisky!? Or O.K. I'll share my Tobacco/who scrounged the pizza?"

Even living under a bridge, living on the Street folks have their needs: On the Street!  & the Street giveth; anyone will tell U that...BUT! U got NO Babee anymore. Someone's got their no Babee anymore...On the Street.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.