Our Man in Europe (place near FINLAND): watchtower: nO. 11: "richard lll" APRES, bILL sHAKESPEARE...

oUR dUDE IN eUROPE: nO: 11: WATCHTOWER: "Richard III" (apres Billy Shakespeare....)

Sheffield Steel, Newcastle Coal, Derby Porcelain and all the the good "bitter" (beer) the towns of the (river) Avon can seduce that WE, Sons of History, fans of Sheffield Wednesday (soccer team) and the NOBLE game of RUGBY -can produce.

It's "seasons of mists and mellow fruitfulness"; ask anyone? Xmas is around the corner: "What clock? What a'clock!? Do I hear ticking?"

Lately, whilst - in lieu of money - I've been throwing people's wrist watches BACK at them, people seem dismayed. They are, perhaps, far more intelligent; more than I can suspect.....?
My gal, Sylvia? She just laughs. She has a GYRO that defies time or space. She's an intelligent woman. When she laughs, she echoes: "Sheffield Steel, Newcastle Coal, Derby Porcelain and ALL the good brew that U can meet. WE ROAR!!!

"WE are the prisoners of the world." she says; wrapped in an exotic silk robe/smoking a "fattie".

The next morning? (this IS a true story). Alas, alas, alas! She is gone. Quite dead.... Cops/Ambulence/coroner, etc.

She left me, only with a PEN.

"In THIS dream kingdom, your kiss, pillows and gentles
far from the callous world of indifference.
Outside? MINDS SPIN.
Let them."

A Stretch Limo!!! A Stretch Limousine!!! Half my Kingdomn for a "Stretcch!!!"

c 2012. davedelacroix/LORD BORGO esq./Piacacenza/Italia/found a new brew outlet for Sundays on the Via Roma....:)

OUR MAN in EROPE: "WATCHTOWER": No. 10: "I win the Noble Prize, again..."

Our Man in Europe/WATCHTOWER: No. 10: "I win the Noble Prize, again..."


So; well, whatchagonnado?... I win the Noble Prize again (third time) from those guys up in Finland.. It's a blessing. I need the money. I'm also ALL out of writing paper and reduced to writing on book flap-jackets: Shakespeare publications are my fave. At the back? There's gallosches of "note" pages. "Billy's" work, of course, is just full of quotations. (I know. I know.) but, remember, there's "gallosches" of note paper in the back!

...I knew/met an interesting guy in JACKS-FLA (Jacksonville-Florida), long time back. Think hot/humid/palm meadow bugs/Spannish moss/iced beers on the veranda..... He was a Wizard. Played a sonorious guitar (Fender Strat) and had a beautiful - with Soul! - mother. I thought of her like a big sister; we clicked.... Whilst a guest in their Savannah type mansion abode, "Momsie" and I used to buzz off (whilst the Wizard slept) every Sunday morning, cross the "DRY" County Line to go get a Bloody Mary. It became a tradition.

...Sunday morning? DON'T "go" to Chapel: GO TO CHAPEL. In this case - across the DRY, aforesaid, County Line: a tavern called THE SIX PACK, THE SOAK AND SUDS, or DON'T TELL MY WIFE I'M HERE! (Burritoes: $1.00!!!)

One Sunday morn, the bar-gal looked particularly glum. Momsie  and I  both enquired...?
"My Uncle," she said, dewy eyed, "LEE VAN CLIFF/Spaghetti Westerns/Movie Star..." (we held our breath) "...just died...."

My FIRST thought was to put out an A.P.B. on Clint Eastwood. Plus! I knew where he lived! (Carmel, California: he's the Mayor of the town, for chrissakes!)...and is KNOWN to weild a MAGNUM handgun which, when discharged: "Will blow your head KLEEN OFF!"...
Yup. YOU got it. I stayed mumm.
"Lee's dead?" -Momsie.
Sadly, the bar-gal nodded.
"Was it Cancer?" I, as it were, optimistically enquired.
"No dice, Dave (she knew my name) came the reply. Adding: "3 months ago some Quack told him if he didn't quit smoking & drinking "U'er gonna croak!"
"And?" asked Momsie.
"He went cold turkey. Felt like shit. 3 month later? Dead."

Naturally, I was outraged. SO was Momsie.
My Noble Prize (3rd time) for INTOLERANCE? I like to think extends not ONLY to organized religion, Scientologists in general, Jack Daniels mixed with Cocoa-cola, a Police man without a Classical education...but ALSO to that classic "Professional Opinion" dispensed by Doctors, Dentists  and reasonably sober Airline Pilots.... It's only OPINION, mind; not a DICTUM.
OK. Now? Let me tell U a story.

c2012/davedelacroix/lord borgo/piacenza/italia/days of wine & utility bills....:)

OUR MAN in EUROPE: WATCHTOWER: No 9, NUMBER NINE: "Dark as the Grave..."

OUR MAN in EUROPE: "WATCHTOWER": No 9: "....Dark as the Grave."

Dark as the grave."

Dark as the grave where-in my Soul is laid: "I'LL DO ANYTHING FOR YOU!" -she once, but, yes: demanded (?)... These days? -I just whistle a tune. ANY tune. "I will rule the frickin' World!" -sez I; a young
guys aspiration... IF, again, "these days" I can conquer a Friday nite bar with an old Spannish guirtar? -I thank "Y'all!", in bunches. The Fashions change but the faces, uncannily DO NOT!
There's always some - next town - "guitar-drummer-punk" who says: "YO! YOU are NEW to the "Scene..."
Again? THESE DAYS? I say: "Buddy? - like I've been telling these punks since the 1970's - I AM THE SCENE." ....-unlikely to add (though desperately tempted) "As dark as the Grave... where YOU are surely bound.... and, as we speak, where-in my Soul is laid."

c 2012/davedelecroix/lord borgo esq./piacenza/italia/inter-net cafe/about to strangle the Arab who is CRYING with gusto on the Scype to his mother in Addis Abbaba. (it's somewhere south-east of Israel.)....(:

OUR MAN in EUROPE: "WATCHTOWER": No 8: GANDHI.

Our Man in Europe: "WATCHTOWER": No. 8:   ... GANDHI.

My heroes have NEVER been Cowboys. I've met a few. They're as dumb as a sack of hammers (like me).... Who's YOUR big hero in history? Tough call. Like naming your "fave" song, singer, actor or movie. It's, alas, encyclopaedic!
To be flawed is Human.
Back in the days of "yore" ALL "hipsters" had a picture of Che Guevara on their wall. The girls?... THEY
had it "gilt framed", bedside.
 (I always felt a tad "miffed" by this)
Today? PLANET fellow Man/Women? If U DON'T have a picture of MAHATMA GANDHI (sans gilt frame) in your house (assuming U HAVE a house) then U are missing something....
Like I say: My Heroes have NEVER been Cowboys...excepting that greatest Cowboy of them all:
 GANDHI.

c 2012/davedelacroix/piacenza/hotel dave/€25 per nite/big screen TV/Italia

OUR MAN in EUROPE: WATCHTOWER: No. 007: Foreign Correspondent.

Our MaN IN eUROPE: watchtower: nO. 007: fOREIGN cORRESPONDENT...

(Well!?)....  DO we WILL... or DO we WON'T?....
 It took a very expenssive, English education to get me here. Like Desscarte (spell?), "I DRINK therefore, I AM".... And "bienevuto!!"....
 Fortuanately, like "U"... I walk alone. It's how it is.. We, as artists,; we don't lick the plate: we lick the spoon!... and wishing "all our yesterdays" DONUT (donut!?)
-don't come home too soon.
 Voulez-vous? Under the Moon? Voulez-vous? Would "U", too?

-It's a Saturday nite/Sunday morning question. Go figure it out........ By-the-bye? Ya probably got this post figured: Send food stamps, a spatchelor, a Pink Giraffe; but no need to write.

c 2012/dave d. lord borgo/piacenza/italia....:)

Our Man in Europe: WATCHTOWER: No. 6: "...No sleep till Brooklyn."

Our Man in Europe: WATCHTOWER: No. 6: "...No sleep till Brooklyn."

No sleep till Brooklyn. No sleep in "memento."... Am I chasing U? Or are U chasing Me? Am I "fresh?" Am I cool? Is THAT how U see?..... (let me just make a note)........................................... Killed Bhudda the other day. (I made a note of it) She wanted to "move in", into the HOTEL DAVE (€34 per nite/big screen TV) but I caught her at the front door with: "Is it Yesterday, yet?"......... I sent her on her way........... Then, later relaxing, soft lights & sofa, bathrobe/Martini-chill-stoogie, I PLAYED on "ye olde laptop" juke-box: "Do U know the Way to San Jose?"

c 2012/davedelacroix/34 degrees & luvin' it/piacenza/italy/near france, I guess...:)

Our dude in Europe: WATCHTOWER: No. 5: "FRANK IFIELD".

Our Man in europe: WATCHTOWER: No. 5:  "Frank Ifield"...

What ever happened to Frank Ifield?..... Australian, 60's pop singer fella?... He had a big "hit" with the song: "I remember U!"..... Is he dead? Was he gay?.... Guess I'll have to drag my lazy ass off this bar stool and go "Google"..... or, maybe not? I enjoy an untidy mind. Answers to half-assed questions invariably alert U to your own self-degeneration. For now? It's enough that "I remember" FRANK IFIELD, who, I guessed, succeeded...and try - as a Music-man - to walk in his shoes.

c 2012/davedelacroix/piacenza/It's in Italy.

Our Man in Europe: WATCHTOWER! - No. 3: "Foyne Haven"

Watchtower No. 3 "Foyne Haven."

...Back "in the Day" (the 60's), the GRAND NATIONAL of the U.K. (like the Kentucy Derby/BIG horse race thing...) -the best of the best, horses AND jockeys, lined up at the starting post, all respendent............ The Queen (QE2), rich Arab sheiks, business cats, men of power, all gathered: the stakes were high!............. Out of all these pedigrees, full of blue-blood razzamatazz and Thorsten Veblens "Conspicuous Consumption"......poor old FOYNE HAVEN (the horse) had to be carried on a stretcher to the course's starting post............. FOYNE HAVEN's Jockey (the rider) also had to be alerted that the "race" (the GRANDE NATIONAL) was about to begin....... Irish fella, I believe. Wrote Poetry in his spare time. Unshaven. Chain smoking, and knocking back Single Malts in the Clubhouse.......... Anyways, they got his Ass OUT of the bar, told him NOT to chain smoke whilst "in the saddle" ("It's being TELEVISED, for chrissakes!?"), and?... And DON'T whip poor ol' FOYNE HAVEN too much as FOYNE HAVEN - getting along in years -  is a tad sensitive and/OR unlikely to respond WITH SPEED in any case?...

So. BADDABOOM. The Starting pistol is fired. The race begins. ALL the "thoroughbreds" (the horses) zoom off down the track/race course.

Ol' FOYNE HAVEN? He...he kind'a circles at the Starting Post for a minute. The JOCKEY? (the rider) Him?... He has a last drag on a "funny cigarette" then prods his mount (FOYNE HAVEN) to get on after all his fellow equestrian kin...who are by now a thousand away!
And so it goes.

The GRAND NATIONAL course (race track) is punctuated with rather high hedge-like hurdles. The horses have to gallop then LEAP over these fences/hedge-obstacles, then again gallop and repeat the exercise.
It's, actually, a tiresome affair and from the spectators point of view -  unless you're a betting man or totally drunk on Rum from Trinidad - a Mathmatically inane proposition.

The "gristle", of course, is the Betting. Everyone, even Grannie Smith, puts a bet on just which horse will win the race. Big money. A Lotto!...... Anyways; Starting Pistol! POOF!, The Race begins, ALL the "thoroughbreds" (fast horses) bugger off down the track. FOYNE HAVEN, as I say; stumbles around a bit. His Jockey - wearing shades and taking a LAST "toke" on his "funny cigarette" - finally gets going and together they go in search of the "thoroughbreds".... Meantime? The RACE is ON! It's fierce. Money/horse flesh at stake. Stud fees. ALL THAT stuff. It's a hot day, too. The crowd is goin' nuts. It's like a Soccer game in Brazil or Argentina! The Queen (QE2), the Arab Sheiks, the bigshots in business? They? They've all shed their dignity. The heat, the sweat, the  pounding hoofs, the LASH of the jockey's whip? God! It's almost sexual!!!!

...........About 2 hurdles short of the race's Finishing Post, ALL the "thoroughbreds", shoulder to shoulder, packed together like Wolves; they collide, brutally,  whilst taking a hurdle......  Man o'man! It's Equestrian carnage. Broken limbs. Blood. The wild neighing of horses. Jockeys - who are not especially articulate - crying: "FUCK, OH  FUCK!  FUCK! OH, FUCK!"..... Most of these "thoroughbreds" have to be "put down". Their riders (the Jockeys) are quickly hospitalized, though some of their number elect to go into an insane asylum......

Meanwhile, poor ol' FOYNE HAVEN and his hapless - now, completely stoned  - Jockey-fella come clunking along; pausing, incidentally, at EVERY hurdles-fence jump thingy BEFORE actuallty jumping it. But along they come, clunking along 5 minutes after the "thoroughbred" debacle.....

If my memory serves me well, I think both FOYNE HAVEN and his rider gave the adavance carnage a brief look then proceeded to go on and - wheezing! - cross the finishing line.

This particular GRAND NATIONAL (Horse race thingy) I recall because I had an Aunt in Sheffield, England - long since passed - who actually betted on FOYNE HAVEN and won a bunch of money. She was, like me, a bit of a Gypsy 'cept SHE could/would read your Future from the array of leftover tea leaves in your tea cup..........

Did she forsee the outcome of the Grand National????

Oh yeah.


............................c 2012/davedelacroix/lord borgo/Augusto/piacenza/Italia

Our Man in Europe: WATCHTOWER: No. 3: "Come back, PREACHER!!..."

Our Man in Europe: WATCHTOWER: No. 3: "Come back, PREACHER!!!"...................................

Comes a Pale Horse....and a Pale Rider....... People close their windows, when I pass by, and lock their doors...... Children, however, dance gaily, like Spring in the lap of Winter; innocently, they touch my knees, not knowing Life's Devil that I with-hold....to later, perhaps, touch their minds...when they, older, alert, find, whatever twists' a mind....?................................................................................................ Comes a Pale horse... and comes a Pale Rider; an equinox, premature; that STIGMATA of ALL Youth, that drags them away, from loins to tooth..............................................................................Bienvenuto! Bonjour! Howdy-doo-dee! -and with a whisper?..... There's alaways more...........................................................Comes a Pale Horse, and comes the Dude above......... "COME BACK, Preacher!?" she hollers to the silent mountains. "Come back, Preacher!?" -one & all........................................................................

c 2012/davedelacroix/piacenza/italy/i think it's August: send money....:)

Our Man in Europe: WATCHTOWER No. 2: HAIR! - by Silvano.

Our Man in Europe: WATCHTOWER: HAIR! -by Silvano......................................................................

All U Los Angelenos? All U New Yorkers?... Catch a plane to Milano. Go 30 minutes South?... Piacenza; home of "di Casa Silvano" hair salon.... The Maestro, a gypsy wizard, SILVANO by name, dances the room like a "will o'the wisp" a'la "snip-snip-snip!".... He dosen't just CUT/style hair, he makes U look and feel like ELVIS!!!!.... As for the girls?.... He captures your OWN self-image, un-awares; on the WATCHTOWER? -trust me: you're debonair, if not to DIE FOR!!!!?......................................................................................

(SILVANO's Hair salon for GIRLS & Guys: He works out of  a Pallazzio on the via S. Giovanno, Piacenza........ Mention MY name? - U might get Rock & Roll discount!....:)................................................................................................

c 2012/davedelacroix/piacenza/italy/Nobody, BUT NOBODY, except SILVANO can make ME look like Jack Kerouac (and ELVIS), but lord knows? -he did it!...:)

OUR MAN in EUROPE: The Watchtower, No. 1: "In the Heat of the Night."

Our Man in Europe: THE WATCHTOWER, No. 1: "...In the heat of the night."

....In the heat of the night? -U languish & tight skirt, wraps an aching Soul and restless, long limbs; displayed........... U tilt your head; blonde tresses tumble & eyes "sloe-Mo"- Cassandra-stare........... Lightly breathing, your breasts challenge: Does your heart wake or sleep?........ People come & go. Only YOU will decide just what you lose or keep.......? .... Outside the HOTEL DAVE   (€35 per nite/incl. big screen T.V.) the Italian traffic rises to honking frenzy!!!...... There are so MANY, many,  voices....... Yours? - I do NOT forget - in the heat of the night.

c 2012/davedelacroix/hot july/piacenza/italy/yabba-ayabba-dooooo!!!!!:)