Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "All along the Lee Shore."

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "All along the Lee Shore."

(dedicato: Gordon Westran/Sheffield/U.K. Bro.)

....ALL ALONG THE LEE SHORE, shipwrecks like U & Me lie half buried in the sand, all with a story to tell like some almost forgotten song old seafarers still hum: "OH-ANACREON (Greek Poet) we raise a glass to thee!" or "ADMIRAL LORD NELSON -we'll DRIVE HOME into the gates of HELL for thee!"

ANACREON in heaven? We raise a glass to thee!

Sometimes U feel like an old Sheffield Wednesday Football Club soccer ball. Not %100 inflated left over from a muddy field. 

Alas! And so it goes, beached as we R on this mind-set Skeleton Coast, an empiric-elephantine boneyard OF MEMORY left to be buried by Time's desert sands like a Saharan OZYMANDU monument for future generations to gape at and wonder. Nevertheless, a Lee Shore which no West-Wind-OH! Mariner ever expects. It comes as the Iron Duke of WATERLOO fame now faded into obscurity.

ANACREON in heaven? We raise a glass to thee! Anacreon, U bawdy hack? We sing U into eternity. (UP THE OWLS!!!)

c.2026. Dave Delacroix/David Michael Oxley.

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.

Our LAD in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Jack the Ripper!"

 Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix: "Jack the Ripper!"

(Scene: An Edwardian/Victorian drawing room, late 1800s/early 1900s, cluttered with heavy drapery, flock wallpaper, early (Selfies?) B/W photographs on fireplace mantel, overdressed family connections lately demised.)

(Fast FWD to the present day/same decor?)

..."JUST WHERE IS HENRY, the Butler?" -said I to Betty the chambermaid, these days called an "Au pair". She replied, nervously, "I think he's in the Butler's Buttery (?); I think, SIR, on his Cellphone?". "His phone? ...And have U seen HIDE NOR HAIR of my Horse Stable Lads, in particular with my Mare?" -"With your LADY-Sir?... In the East wing. They share the same Internet service. That CHAT thingy?"

"TIK-TOK? SPRINT?" -I asked. Betty, "I dunno Sir!". (She had a Brooklyn/N.Y.C dialect.) I tried to clarify the situ.: "Did the BUTLER, Henry ever order a Handsome Cab in the name of SHERLOCK HOLMES? -Possibly using the alias of a certain Dr. Watson?" (Betty:) "I'm-ed DUNOON if I say so Sir! Gypsies, Taxis, UBER?" -was BETTY'S, whispered response; a conspirator in a Police-cover-up of a unique "Crime of the Century", horses' hooves on cobble stones, now stretch limousines, nose-candy & Epstein debauchee-jamborees? EDGAR ALLEN POE'S: "Tell-Tale Heart": How could, I be sure?

Jack the Ripper? Sherlock whoosits? EVIL transcends EONS! I too smoke a pipe. A long "Churchwarden". In my case, tobacco laced with opium. (Old local chemist/discreet drug dealer). Sometimes I'm in a profound ZONE for hours. S-why I can get no sense out of Betty, nor she can get no sense out of me? Cutting her Lilly-laced throat or lowering her wages has long since been on my mind? Yet with the advent of LUDDITES, Trade Unions, though a hundred years later, for better or worse, one has to go with the Times?

"Oh Betty?" I asked, upon her departure from my "Book Room"; "Just WHERE IS JACK, I mean, Henry the Butler?". (Her fist in her tiny mouth:) "Likely, Sir, erasing past E-mails, old "Selfies" on his Cellphone.". She nervously babbled on: "Sir, yes! The ones of U & 'IM dressed in Victorian Frockcoats, that is to say, the B/W Fotos of U with your Doctor's bag?" (So, I sighed:) "Jolly good Betty. Here is a brand-new Credit Card. Go buy yourself a Mercedez-Benz or a long holiday in the sun."

c. dave delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize-small country by Mexico, Dave Delacroix:

 Our Man in Europe/Belize-lately/Dave Delacroix/Dave Delacroix:

"REQUIEM/ORATORIO!"

(It means "Shaddup/Die Young/Drink Up & BE somebody!)

"Requiem-Oratorio: When I Died."

...WHEN I DIED, THANKFULLY PENNILESS, mostly friendless, I'd squandered my last paycheck on whisky, betting on slow horses/fast women not to mention forgetting where I'd stashed my last 6-pack of beer? (The heartbreak!) My heir's inheritance (lol), a motley crew STILL cuss me to this day, even in HELL I hear their Banshee-wails/remorseful ghostly needy-cavernous echoes?  AHA!! They TOO R now dead but we don't share the same rooms. Reservations?  I got first dibs! I got to go to HELL first.

When I DIED, quiet affair, post sword fighting, Islamic-pirate-Corsairs gigs? And if those Muslims capture YOU!? Historically: It's all over now Baby Blue. However, Slavery is still (2026) a domestic pastime, immigrant kids from the Philippines, house servants within some Egyptian hell, the CULT of ISLAM, how do U DE-CULTIFY a zillion zealots? Your own crazy privileged daughter. Isn't that enough? = wotchagonnaDo?

...A World of WOES. (Brennus; in 390 BC, "Vae Victus!"): "Woe to the Vanquished!" - on his invasion/sack of Rome, or "Long John Silver/Treasure Island; "DEM DAT DIES'LL BE the Lucky ones!", yet eons later, Euro-patriots fighting those Genghis Khan-fast pony hordes, latter day Scientology or Druids' "Weeping Willow" Cults, we taught them how to BE confused, sometimes, historically, critically, we taught them how to die? (U had to BE there! /There's NO CRYING IN BASEBALL!) U frick THEM or THEY frick THEE? Better wish for a "home run" Babe Ruth!

When I DIED, NO PRISONERS. Easter Bunnies, festive trinkets tied up in a Bow. The reality? JACK PALANCE/movie: SHANE, puts on his gunslinger black gloves, shoots your teddy bear between the eyes, never thinks twice (it's alright) and AGAIN< no TAMBERLAINE, no CEASAR's holocaust in France & all life's partners in WAR, to this day prepared to dance. And in this grayish World do U (Poker-game) hold-Em or fold-Em. Do U protect your Own? Or step aside and get a stiff drink?

When I DIED, a good thing too! I took to my grave a forgotten tune which future Kids will never understand. WHO sings of Charlemagne, Alfred the Great or the Trojans at Thermopylae, some ancient surfing beach/Greek shore where birds in the woods at dusk still imitate the Trojans' death battle cries, an ALAMO, as WE TODAY, with guitar-voice SING OUT, trying to represent a record of Our Time, as we ALL like to think that we did some good, for better or worse, a nobodies-nobody...when I died. And like U, fair or foul, no favor, "Vae Victus" it's up to U.

c.dave delacroix. april. 2026,

 

Our Man in Europe, now residing in Belize, Dave Delacroix (David Michael Oxley -on Facebook): The Samauri's yesterday."

 Our Man in Europe/now in Belize/Dave Delacroix": "The Samauri's yesterday."

(Dedicato: Roger Armstrong, R.I.P.)

"The Samauri's yesterday."

...WHY IS IT WE R PRONE to look for Darkness when we, basking in the sunlight, a 'la once, from under a Mater's skirts furtively peep out? Allors!!! In the Mind's Eye, an epiphany/GOBSMACKED: Did HE who fricked the Lamb frick Thee!? And what's for Tea? Would U like it YIN or YANG?

GADZOOKS!!! To BE or NOT TO BE - the Marx Brothers make it seem SO easy like a Night at the Opera/DUCK SOUP - on the menu -  or those THREE STOOGES smacking rhythm on their knees; alas poor YORICK, ya look pretty silly, a grinning skull/graveyard backdrop, a Courtly Fool, this Life U left for WE?

How (WOW!) do I love thee, let me count the ways? G.P.S. gonna come in handy so my "Techie-Buds" say but WHERE DO all sorrows go a 'la "recherche du whoosits"? How is it we R compelled - genetically - to pander TO our memories, a "release" button disabled?

(Poet Rilke:) "Who, if I cried out"...winged frickers... ANGELS would hear be BAWL/call 1-800-I'm All fricked up!/We only use first names/phone or E-mail. At the TONE leave ya whoosits. We'll get back to U. (Don't worry. Be happy)

...We tilled the soil, but now no longer productive, almost (?) as if we have made PEACE yet it is a DESERT, this survival VICTORY of our latter-day needs, haunted (guilt-ridden?), that fearless youth who sailed the 7 Seas who loved & lost. Was there ANY HOPE that we would discover faraway Cathay, El Dorado or Ponce de Lyons Fountain of Youth? (Bit part in a Movie?)

And tomorrow & tomorrow. Tomorrow's eternal Tomorrow. Time's spinning web to un-seat Kings, tyrants, proud or brave, a monument for some famous jousting Knight or a renown Samauri's yesterday; a courtly lady laments in a Gothic Chapel or a Geisha maiden weeps by a Kyoto temple... as Tomorrow creeps upon our petty place.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "DEAD SOULS."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "DEAD SOULS." (Midnight-ravings/Whisky enhanced.)

(dedicato: Impoverished Children of the World)

"DEAD SOULS."

(1): ...WE R MARINE WEATHER, we R rain into shine, we R ever seeing, sometimes - given a voice - we R blind, blind on blind, instantly BLITZED, out of sight, an epileptics recovery from a profound FIT, post-frothing at the mouth not knowing.

Alas, there IS "no knowing". All the Heavens - like "California-Dreaming" -are leafy-brown & within your unique individuality: a Thought profound? -A "cafe au lait" at the SAVOY (London Hotel), The RITZ (Paris), Lady Diana Spencer's last pit-stop. Death on a Dime! (Mein Gott!)

"I LAUGHED! I thought I'd DIE! They'd bury me. Bury me? There'd be Worms! Worms? They'd TICKLE! Tickle? I'd laugh. I thought I'd die!" (But it ain't funny!) A mental in-continence on un-solid ground. A Rasputin in the sky? Pride's prejudice in the naked eye.

(2): ... Dead Souls. (Lady Diana?) A REGAL/Government "HIT JOB". Dead Souls. The ones we forget. Like GOGOL's novel, Dead Souls. We still count them as living currency and global-histories-holocausts, no worries, still culturally TAX DEDUCTIBLE to grease our tomorrows in the name of GOD, Patriotism or ROAR for our local football club.

Dead Souls. Rotted away & gone. THEY, who knew Winters, Sunshine, who cried or loved. Who marched for "freedom", who farmed the land, built citadels of industry; some, who sacrificed their lives for a valiant cause...who left a sweetheart behind to cry. Mothers against Drunk Drivers? Only Mammas really cry.

(3):... Who, brave enough, will Martyr for the Martyrs. Dead Souls. -Who paved the road U tread. Dead Souls. Do U honor? Give a thought? And at that inevitable "rendezvous" of Souls: DEAD, as they say, dead as a door nail, will U sing: "If I was a Carpenter & U were a Lady? Would U marry me anyway. Would U be my baby."...

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/SPY-DUDE: 006-1/2, now in Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Paradise Cove."

 ...Our Man in Europe/Spy-Dude/now in Belize/DAVE DELACROIX/Cousin of Jim Rockford P.! : Phone ringing: "At the tone...Jim/DAVE, your cheque bounced at the Chinese Happy Laundry. They (the Chinese) R NOT happy despite their business Logo. U might wanna relocate outta: "PARADISE COVE!"

(dedicato: William Houston, Daniel Washburn-R.I.P., Paul Z. Zermeno, Dan W. Randolph & John Scace/Malibu-California)

..."Paradise Cove."

... I CONTRACTED ...BUT NEVER SIGNED any legal document unless I was blind drunk/a good idea for a latter-day Legal get-out-clause?... Anyways, I contracted THROAT CANCER probably from breathing the same air as U, surfing the waves at Malibu'-Californias' Surfrider point or some Gal, kissing in wild abandon, POINT DUME!!! It happens. Contracted. Or, who knows, in some Brothel or Busking/Guitar-jangle on a street by a Texas Oil Refinery Industrial zone. Maybe a brutal SUNBURNT day hitch-hiking through USA-Nevada's ATOMIC BOMB TESTING GROUND? Don't ask. A Mariachis highways are endless.... Paradise Cove?  We'll get to that....As for my UNIQUE - we R ALL unique for better or worse -  my medical-Situ-diagnosis, it called for CHEMO/RADIATION/ they politely call it "treatment", a medical application whence my frontal-hairless scalp appeared - we talking VIKING LOCKS-gone!!! - and out of nowhere, though semi/quite dignified as if I'd just fought a noble Duel yet the (Cancer) treatment was/IS exhaustive/Radio (Radio? No AM/FM) therapy strips U down to your "boxers"< WHEELED/stretcher into an M.R.I. DEATH TUBE probably designed by some young M.I.T. "Frank-En-Steen".... (Aside note: I was STILL/rollie cigarettes, chain smoking throughout this gig/Cancer Doctors frowned? What's THEIR problem!?)

...Where was I? The DEATH TUBE. The M.R.I. "Frank-und-Steen", Frau BLUCHER-whinnying horses! Or IGOR, actor Marty Feldman with bulging eyes/probably a Clinic Assistant, hospital smocks & face mask?? Perfect disguise! GREEN LIGHT/RED LIGHT! Like stale cheese on the cracker, those "bits & bobs" they never forewarn, they applied a HEATED TENNIS RACKET- RADIOFACE-MASK over my face, NO WARNING! ~~ and just in case things go wrong - a death mask, a souvenir - "Sorry. He's DEAD. Better call Jim Rockford. AND AT THE TONE ask 'bout his Chinatown un-paid laundry/DAVE DELACROIX. Dave Delacroix? -We never heard of him; and sometimes - Japanese? - "Syonara-babee!"

Paradise Cove in the afternoon. A Burger at the "Sandcastle" bar & grill. No-one'll think U ever go slink in there? ('Cept to use the phone?). Tacos, easy on the chilli sauce. That new long-legged British Maitre'D. put wise to keep my Creditors away from me. They can impound my Trailer, but THIS Taco/hot sauce belongs to ME!

...But BACK to the CANCER DEATH TUBE, strapped in, (PRE-Corpse) launched into potential psycho-eternity as they slide me IN, thinking of Film-Noir Movies, GILDA, LAURA, BELINDA, BLENDA! Again, with the Japanese! -was there a BLENDA? Was I IN ONE? Jeeze--eeze! Yet a MACHINE, the M.R.I. gizmo/Death Tube (free admission) instantly ROARS, Cyclic-ROARS! And even within the molded Tennis Racket DEATH MASK, U observe flickering lights - ROAR! ROAR! ROAR! - a monotonous soundtrack punctuated with an accompanying staccato "BEEP! BEEP!

This optic/aural experience - in the DEATH TUBE -  it CAN get a tad more complex a'la a Dave Brubeck (Genius Jazz dude: "TAKE FIVE!") as the M.R.I. machine then progresses into "Tripple-Bob: BEEP-BEEP-BEEP!" And U got nuttin' to DO 'cept lie back, and being a Music man, instinctively I tried repeatedly to identify a "rhythm", so I'd tapped my foot, left or right, which one I don't recall but the ever-hovering Marty Feldman - with bulging eyes - Clinical Assistants - the dude/s who'd strapped me down for this M.R.I. Death Tube - advised me - they mumbled through their face masks - in ESPERANTO (?) better I didn't "foot-dangle/twiggle my tootsise less the Cancer-Radio-Sputnik-RADAR-fotos didn't come out alright?" And in horror I asked:  -Aeroflot! -"was THIS Russian built!?"

...But it was the WAY their insidious demeanor, cloaked/masked, they looked down upon me like I was an almost fresh CADAVER out of an Auschwitz Death camp tube, conferring ..."Has he still gotta pulse? Somebody give him a poke?" ...Victims/Patients sometime have good reason to get suspicious. Anyhow. All alas is now well. My Cancer IS in remission whatever that means. I guess the 'treatment' scored a goal. I still get to bark & whine, for how long, that's in the hands of the Universal Ju-Ju-Man. But I AM OF THE OPINION that the M.R.I. Death Tube machine should be outfitted with an overhead JUKE BOX display feature to stare at - to distract U from its ROAR/BEEP-BEEP!... Essentially, with a selection of tunes to placate We Patients. Perhaps "The Sound of Music-Movie-soundtrack" for sensitive souls, IGGY POPS, "I am the Passenger". for ex-junkies, DONOVAN's "Try & Catch the wind." for your average Space Cadet, or Frank Zappa's "Cosmic debris."? ...The latter for Surfer-Cats from Paradise Cove, Malibu-California... Some Point "DUME ROOM BAR" illuminati. Probably like U & Me. "HEY THERE BROTHER!!!"...

c.2026, Dave Delacroix.

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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Our Man in Europe/now residing in BELIZE/Dave Delacroix: "...Only the Moon."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "...Only the Moon."

...DO NOT FEAR my Child, my love, do not fear tomorrow's ill wind? Do not tremble. I will keep U safe. I will keep U warm; it's ONLY the Moon!

Do not fret my Sweet. Do not blanket-cloak your head to stave off Un-founded nightmares? I will lullaby U a song. I'll promise U Tomorrow's joy! As for now? It's only the Moon.

Do not SIGH my love, do not cry. We R on a Voyage of discovery: "LAND-O!!!". Our feet soon upon a distant shore; do we then command? As for now, it's only the Moon.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "DYLAN THOMAS BLUES!"

. Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Dylan Thomas Blues."

...NOW WHEN I WAS A LAD without a Thought below my kneecaps. bruised, bandaged, my Schooldays RUGBY fields knocked, wrestled, kicked SCRUM & PASS, score a "TRY!" on a Yorkshire Winters hard TURF was everything!

A mug of BOVIRIL, 

A RUGGER song.

 On that Rugby Team 1960s Chara banc: 

A  3 hour bus ride home.

...Now when I was LAD, Schooldays trips to London, sandwiches & a flask of coffee, 

Our Man in Europe, now in BELIZE, Dave Delacroix:

 Our Man in Europe, now semi-retired in BELIZE, Dave Delacroix:

,,,IT'S SO HARD, once again TO BE A SEX SYMBOL. U-Lady? U-Dude? Cosmetics bloody expensive; call me MAX FACTOR, Lanvin No.? I'll sell U a clown mask! On jet-plane flights they might come in handy when U need a disguise, an escape from your STALKER!

WHO WHISPERS your name on the wind, on the Internet; some CRAB-like Spider inviting, U oblivious, an entrapment, the Spider & the Fly, a Praying Mantis, Death-Watch Beetle, a Black Widow! That classic Venus Flytrap? to exterminate, usurp, curtail all your Tomorrows?

YESTERDAY'S most famous Stalker, Marcel Proust (French Guy/wrote: "Memories of times past", the one who actually STALKED his Past; but it couldn't last. HE, like his OWN existence expired. Yet generations still wallow in his Stalking pastime.

WAS HE A STALKER or just a frantic masturbator who couldn't let go of his DICK? It HAS, of renown, a German 1800s serial sex murderer asked if he would actually "ejaculate" at the moment of his execution, Religio-Martyrs burnt at the STAKE, this is not necessarily "on record" due to their Oral Infamy; Convent Sisters/NUNS doubly fled these scenes of "Purification" to re-consecrate their sacred vows?...

Our Man in Europe, relocated to BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "In my Solitude" (Après Song by Billie Holliday...)

 Our Man in Europe, relocated to Belize, Dave Delacroix: "In My Solitude..." (Après Song by Billie Holliday, Jazz singer.)

"In My Solitude."

...IN MY SOLITUDE - semi retired - I LAUGH my ass off, far from the madding crowd, autograph hunters, GROUPIES, all they want is a piece of U or "colleagues" to steal your fire? In my solitude I forgot the beginning that knows no end, a 'la the Night that never finds the Day; no mission, no crusade, that illusion/concept U learn in school singing "Onward Christian Soldiers!", worse too, schools of religion, politicians, CULTS who cannot thrive without a piece of U? Your combat Body-Bag awaits! No-worries. A flag over your corpse. Some Iman, Priest, Rabbi will recount your bravery, words U will never hear.

"Allah-Akbar! A-KHADISH, Ave Maria!" -Ancient Iconoclasts, historically did the best they could? (Bob Dylan: "Don't follow Leaders/Watch the Parking Meters!) ... Paintings on temple walls as Caravaggio hunting down a Papal paycheck, Da Vinci, Michaelangelo, Raphael stalling the evolution of Art History -GOTTA BE BIBLICAL DUDE! No Bosch, Bruegel, no Impressionists till the Spanish Inquisition had almost extinguished creative minds? "Allah-Akbar! GOD WILLs IT!!!" Or a Yiddish Kadish, the Red Sea Pharaohs at their heels? - A TSUNAMI saved the day?

In my solitude, Societies pathetic soliloquies of insidious "brain washing", some JU-JU Man, probably Islamic, could ever land U on any kind of an altruistic footing? Pre-arranged marriages, BRIDE-BURNING, Cervical-Surgery less a HIJAB Gal gets "frisky", do U dance the fandango "in flight" or with down-to-earth muddy feet identify, embrace protest this HUMANOID Night?...

...or succumb, cowered, worship a Fascist symbol, a Societal inferno of FEAR? That collective SCREAM, a solitude within solitude apparently pre-destined, within a ROOM where WE, UN-thrived, sneak on our neighbors, where we 'squirrel", where we LIVE...in solitude: to tear down the tapestry of our Youth.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe. now living in BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "Mariachi Opus 2."

 Our Man in Europe, now living in Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Mariachi Opus 2."

(dedicato: to Alan Siilhetoe, English writer, 1960s who penned "The loneliness of the long-distance Runner" with whom, being a young Poet, 1970s, Alan corresponded with me. We shared collective tales of early childhood poverty.)

"Mariachi Opus 2."

...SOME MEN WEAR A HAT for warmth, some for Fashion, some for SHADE. It's an oddball World...Some R Scientists, some, outdoors, in the heat or cold, some to attract a Lover's NEON? Whilst SOME to shadow their evil play, yet a hat with a guitar, all descriptions listed above, the MARIACHI...trumps the game.

...The Mariachi: Sometime be-spangled a 'la Toreador! Sometimes in RAGS knocking at a girlfriend's late-night door? But never without Hat/Guitar, or at a Cafe, GUITAR-STRUM, a Poem-recital, at the drop of a sombrero, a Cantata to dance to, a tale to catch the eye of a Beauties flirting eye? An anthem to swarm the minds of a drunken crowd? Flamenco, the Blues. Storied lovers, the outcome is the same?

Some BOYS become old men before their time. Wannabe-Minstrels! And before your eyes? A genetic disintegration, a portrait of Dorian Grey, no SAP in their "diabolic", "weekend" rockstars or 6-String complainers; just where do these latter-day medieval "mummers"/MINSTRELS go to die? In a Butcher's Shop enterprise? "Pork or Beef Sausages Madam?" "We just got fresh Ham?" A soliloquy to prick the conscience of a Cougar or an old Queen?

ALL HAIL-AVE!!! The Mariachi. Some Gringo, Spanish, Mexican who never wavered, who stayed on course thru thick & thin yet scorned by guitar-wannabees-amateurs who could not Rock N' Roll? "The loneliness of the long-distance runner", victory in sight: The marathon finishing post, the regular LADS a 'trailing, the Mariachi, FAME-anon, in his minstrel-sad world, a race to WHA!? -who decided not to shine nor elect to win.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now in Belize, Dave Delacroix: "RUSALKA; The Lady in the Lake."

 Our Man in Europe, now in Belize, working on my "foot-dangling" trying to be a Beach Bum, DAVE DELACROIX: "Rusalka, The Lady in the Lake" (après aria by composer Dvorak)

"Rusalka. The Lady in the Lake."

...I wasn't up to much. Damned ragged! Big night with a bottle of "Jack" & a gal called Lois? And then a botched Bank Robbery. I was IN on it, planned over a Poker game in Sherman Oaks but I'd failed to show up on time. The Crew? By the time I got there they were all arrested -"sans" clown masks. I'd advised that squirt water pistols weren't gonna do the job less they were instantly dehydrated - no one listens to me - the bank tellers of course pissed their pants, the squirrel of a bank manager - who'd enrolled in TAP-DANCING lessons had managed, even with: "Get down on the floor U Mudder! Unlock da Safe!!!" managed his toe-pinky sandal to press the banks secret alarm. And then he said, "I ain't the Manager. He don't come in till noon." The BOYS, exasperated, indicated they were in a hurry, the girl bank tellers by this time were afraid to giggle, the BOYS waggled their Water Pistols, but everyone then got reverent, so S-WHEN the COPS, with REAL GUNS showed up.

I wasn't up to much. S-why I'm ON THE RUN. I was an innocent bystander - a bit late - but I could tell by the "failed bank robber FELONS stares" - I was hanging cross the street, my timing- tardiness, they'd plea-bargain -Criminal Mastermind - get me in deep. I'd also cleaned them out the night before. There's NO SUCH THING as a "friendly game of POKER." Losers always hate your guts. Never-ever again will they buy U beer. (Lots to think about there?)

So, there I was. A Christopher Cross song. "I'm on the Run! Ride the Wind!" -up nigh in the California desert, Sierra-no place, the old I-15, now desolate due to the modern I-15 Interstate highway up by yonder. But here, a lost highway, AMERICANA-PROGRESSO, miles & miles of broken Gas stations, derelict Motels, blank-gaudy road signs, abandoned-rusted Pontiac convertibles, a few up-turned skeletal slot machines that once promised gold, a Jack Kerouac's "On the Road" highway memory, sand-grit embalming. Creepy!

I wasn't up to much. Cops SURE - my bleating bank robber crew spewing their guts - Cops would be on my trail. I'm in THE DESERT here don't U know? But one thing 'bout the desert, the MOJAVE...when it RAINS, it POURS & this desert turns into a botanical garden. It happens once or twice in every decade. Lakes, outta nowhere FORM!

So, there I was. Sitting by this LAKE. Cops on my trail. Whistling DIXIE wasn't an option. The Bank Crew would sell me down the "lazy River", probably get me a 15-year stretch/never see LOIS till she/I was old & grey SO a suicide option, a suicide NOTE. Goddam it. I only had a Pencil, not even a Pen; jeeze, by this lake U don't know the meaning of heartbreak? And there I was, simpering, a-ruing when RUSALKA appeared out of this Lake! Bikini. A laurel round her head.

Yet BUSTED! BEAT! She still waded over. She lent me $20. Which I promised to pay her back. We collectively tweedled desert sand between our toes. Night fell. Slumber. I guess she disappeared, maybe back into that transient lake...A heart gone. Her name was Rusalka. European? I never saw her again.

c.2026. dave delacroix

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Masturbation-Classical Symphonies." Part 1.

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Masturbating Classical Symphonies" Part 1.

...I'VE ALWAYS HAD MY DOUBTS about Tchaikovsky, Russki composers as a whole. It's un-likely - whilst masturbating/lonesome listeners as we R - ever could be comfortable, maybe in a Turkish Bath, or psychologically become commensurate within ICE COLD SOVIET comfort? Lenin or Stalin. Legs a-tremble, pretending they had Alzheimer's? (It's cold out there?) And why worry about EUROPE? They got 5 times the size of the U.S.A to their EAST! (Kansas with no Banjo!)

The TSARS, fluent in several languages except their own -otherwise they would never have been deposed, IVAN the "Terrible", spilling cocktails on your Persian rug, openly fornicating with his concubines, willing or UN-willing on the same rug, that's why he was known as "I-DUDE.com-the Terrible": and not that good (?) in the sack... & in a fit of rage, killed his own SON. The Balalaikas ring on out...An up-side-down Macbeth?...

 ...or a Tchaikovsky tune? "Mein Gott!" They ALL trace back to the RUSS, bloody Vikings, river-longboat pirates. Thank God TCHAIK-Shostakovich, etc., never got plundered by Romans/Greeks despite the cultural ALAMO of KIEV, Greek Orthodoxy; the Russkies generally looked West because they didn't fancy KANSAS in the economy size?

WHO SWOONS at Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 6.? Or frantically masturbate/tap loudly their feet on the upper circle of London's Royal Albert Hall? Can anyone CONCEIVE the EXPANSE, the DESOLATION, the Trans-Siberian railroad, the bodies buried alongside, GOGOL's "Dead Souls"? DOSTEYVESKY, a weekend pass to Baden-Baden? Lost his shirt on the casino "banco", but so do we all?

I always had my doubts about Russian Composers. They always cloud their photo "Selfies" in beards. And all those 1800 fucks!  Bloody Writers: TOLSTOY always dressed down. CHEKHOV, another "mystery man". Bloody Tchaikovsky? Symphonies up the WAZEE. Masturbate or NOT: It's what it means. And when U strip down the orchestration, Debussy, Chopin, wet underpants in stench garrets on French boulevards? A Siberian wilderness or maybe U get the same groove in a room?

....The Masturbation Symphonies. PART 2. -to be continued...

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "BEATLES SONG!" (A long Summers Snow.)

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "UNCENSORED BEATLES SONG!"

"A long Summers Snow."

...IS IT WEDNESDAY or THURSDAY, does anyone care when U stare into your dirty dish-laden kitchen sink, ya screaming Kids back there? And nobody hears your sigh, the Cats whining, the dog in the yard on a chain; and the Radio-weather R talking about "Happy Days" when it's always raining?

(She's leaving home bye-bye.)

Is it Wednesday or Thursday, she gotta get outta this "home", BRANDED as a Jezabel, absconded, only one suitcase, the age of 33? Out there on the road she picks up a Man -who thinks she's SPAM, could it get better or could it be worse? In a B& B in Sheffield or Manchester her flight cements her grief.

(She's leaving home bye-bye.)

It was Wednesday or Thursday, where does she run to? Those past cold slaps on her face, and no future a-new, but as a GIRL she wrote Poetry. Where did that spirit go?... A Wednesday, a Thursday in her long summers snow. A Wednesday, a Thursday in her long summers snow.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now in Belize/Dave Delacroix: "The Bride wore French Fries!"

 Our Man in Europe, now in BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "The Bride wore French Fries!" 

(..."après" Truffaut's movie tribute to Alfred HITCHCOCK (fat-dour guy), Truffaut's "The Bride wore Black.", and actor Richard Widmark throwing Wheelchair woman down flight of stairs (Movie, "Kiss me deadly!") or actor Lee Marvin throwing hot Coffee into Gloria Graham's face, (The Big Heat!), a literary exploration of Cinematic-Urban & domestic horror...)

"The bride wore French Fries!"

...S-ALWAYS BEEN BETTER TO TELL DA TRUTH: In a Court of Law? Why not? But by lying - some shark Prosecutor twists your testimony, U get busted! And IN the Court of Public Opinion U can get thrown to the Wolves! (HOWL!!!) Best U crumble, plea-bargain, sing like a Canary! Domestic MURDERS rarely involve "The Boys!" otherwise known as the "Cannoli Twins.".At THAT time they were both (acting) getting MURDERED by CIRCE (Greek Goddess) in Dave Delacroix's scripted Short Movie: "FIVE EASY PEASY!" in Corozal-Belize! (It's on UTUBE!)

Infidelity? Sodomy? Those serials Kill Gigs I didn't "fess" to? WHERE R the victims buried? Or R they playing Tennis down in Saratoga, F.L.A, unknowing, or on Pedophile-EPSTEIN's Caribbean Island? Buried in sand? Vagina-locomotives, never mind the Killers and just WHO R the Victims who escaped? Where R they now? Photos on Milk Cartons? Strangers within an F.B.I. un-cared-for empty file?

Alas. Our minds wander. A murder every day. Some Sex-WAH!, more money, some over Played. Or some KILL over your neighbor's grass verge, his dog pissing in your swimming pool or beating some Kid over your own Kids baseball game, some HOMICIDE on the SLIDE it might come to U? I don't think JESUS got around to these details, shores of Galilee. Missing Dead Sea Scroll?

Yet SOCIETY'S Banshees, WOLVES (in Latin:) "Jammus-Packus!" -folks without a Life, scared shitless less YOUR culpability extends to their furtive SHADOWS? -Probably closet Nazis, ready to denounce your lack of hygiene. dirty fingernails (they thrive on details!), We R some deviant Communists and with whom did we sleep last night? ISLAMIST or Bride Burning? Medievalism now equipped with a Micro-wave. a kitchen Blenda, or God helps us, an Atom Bomb?

"So help me GOD! I was at Uncle Ernie's Fish & Chip shop ALL NIGHT and HE will swear on a stack of "stoled" Welsh Valley Chapel bibles, we were working on tomorrow's "mushy Peas? He DID pop out for an hour or so..." The Village "Harridans", their gossip, the evil Spinster of "Clochemerle"? An Assassin for an Assassin, the one on J.F.K's , the "Grassy knoll?" Wicked sunglasses! Not a guillotine insight. 3 rifle shots? A splattered head in a Chevrolet limousine.

The recent TABLOID "Spatchuler Murders". It wasn't ME. My cheating Fiancé, future bride who stuck her OWN HEAD in the "Chip-Frypan"; the 2nd Cookie Gal - a babe I had on the side - testifying from the back kitchen (she heard) my Fiancé sing: "Farewell cruel world! /Beware of non-smokers!!!" Made sense to me?

Maybe it was my Uncle Ernie, her cheating on HIM, jealous of her marrying ME, my future bride and after, Uncle Ernie had refused to split the Franchise on HIS string of Fish & Chip Shops on the basis of her giving up her "maidenhead"? And God knows where "I" figured? Empires have fallen for less.

...U never KNOW with FAMILY. Or maybe some FEUD a'la the Hatfields & the McCoys. British, Irish, Welsh, Protestant, Catholics, ISLAM cults, so help me GOD, I have no idea? And the bride wore French Fries. Not a pretty sight. The Detectives hauled me down to the Morgue. "IDENTIFY! Is this your Gal?"... Under my breath: "I wish the coroner had applied more Mayo?"

Politicians, Philosophers, Religions whittle down the Truth till - for mere mortals - it becomes a LIE. U get OLD when U no longer go to weddings/funerals, no inner-wheels: a 66 Dodge-Comet 50 convertible under your accelerator feet? Youth with its fleeting wings. Like ICARUS, wax-wings & all, too close to the Sun, it don't matter if U die or if U need to kill?...

...yet a "tell-tale HEART" -Edgar Allen POE, RADAR-EYES, a scope within an echo chamber, a reflected SONAR "BIP-BIP-BIP!"  What guilt THROBS under your sitting "chez-lounge" to prick the conscience of a King, your Fiancé, or be a jealous boyfriend, in-esse, a Lover from afar. The one U least expect to waggle-taggle under innocent eyes?

...When the Detectives arrested me for Romantic/PRE-marital "folly" they perplexed me with: "Does anyone know what Time is?" I responded like OTHELLO: "Vengeance is mine! Let me check my SWISS-KNIFE, er WATCH!"

(Detective:) "The bride wore French Whoosits! None of her fingerprints were on the Mayo/Ketchup bottles "après" her murder? Just yours."... I'd forgotten to cover my tracks. Silly me.

Edith Piaf, at that moment was on the transistor radio singing: "No regrets!" 

(Fish & Chips?) The One u least expect, that black hole amongst the Stars.. I later confessed: " I just didn't want her just FRIED like that... LOVE is a killer!!!...I wanted her still to be beautiful"

(In the MOVIE of course a throaty Saxophone solo ensues, entitled, "My Sphincter don't do Sphincter anymore".)

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "A half-hearted BRIEF History of SLOTH!"

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "A half-hearted BRIEF HISTORY of SLOTH!"

..."A TALE TOLD BY AN IDIOT". Once upon a time... it started slowly then fizzled out altogether. SLOTH. A Cardinal Sin, how'd Cardinals get such a bad rap? The Borgias? Where do U begin? It's hard to START without one. A Start? Sloth or Sin. One or the other. Maybe a double Whammy burger? Vegans still not exempt. Nondrinkers. Non-Smokers. Hitler! Watch out for them both.

"Where R the songs of Spring? Aye! Where R they?" -probably HUNGOVER, slacking off till post noon, in BED?? Smoking a Doobie: "And death shall have no dominion"?... Jerusalem? How the  WEST was won? Was it EVER? David Crocket running round with a RACOON HAT, a vivisection, IT STARING AT U? Devilled-egg glass eye! ...Doc Holiday/Jesse James/Billy the Kid ...in a PISTOLE-GUNFIGHT... would have had to note a tad psychological disadvantage? (Extenuating SLOTH circumstances?)

...It's always TOUGH to get motivated when U. R. NOT given to Motivation. The Student Post-Grad with a University degree - in Existentialism - alas, employment/resigned to a Council-City Job (in Parks & civic Gardening) feels NO URGE other than, vague literary attempts at Biography (Auto-the Early Years), and as FOR an Auto purchase, car payments impossible? Tavern beers. A game of Darts. "Who in the Order of Angels, if I cried out would hear me?"

Even HI-TECH PIMPS at PORNHUB.COM, now swamped by Soft-Porn outlets on Facebook (.Com) are losing all enthusiasm for Internet/Video masturbation? -as a Zillion Dicks droop? -Sloth ensues! A'la HUMPTY-DUMPTY, off the Wagon. The Duke of York, Adolf Hitler! -Couldn't put back all those Rock & Roll "HEP-CATS" back together again/ Stuck Em in a Gas Chamber!!!

"How sweet thou't R" -Bitch Life!  HAMLET'S DILEMMA: Not needing to play the national lottery, not short of Ducats, with Royal position, a swinging wardrobe, a ROOF! -2 or 3 beyond Elsinore?

"The Play's the thing to prick the conscience of a King"?  "What hand or EYE", a "fearful symmetry". "OUT DAMED SPOT!!!" What HELL! U-betcha!!! Nothing much going on. A Lifestyle, SLOTH, the act of a fool caressing Yorick's skull in a cemetery? As for "the IDES of March", not much doing for Guy Fawkes on the - remember-remember - the 5th of November.

"Stranger who pass on by": Go now. "Goe & catch a falling star!" Or "I wandered lonely as a cloud"?

"MAH!? Can U lend me $20. I'm all outta beer!"

(MAH:) "Get out of bed & get a JOB!"

"MAH? Gimme a break. I'm in a meeting!"...

(MAH:) "Go tell the SPARTANS!!!"

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

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

 Our Man in Europe, Dave Delacroix, Smoked Salmon/Potato Chips: "VERTIGO!"

I GET VERTIGO. I get vertigo. When I see U. A cliche: I FALL. But I never hit the ground. Some spot U. R. saving for some other...blank space...clown.

I get VERTIGO, dizzy, reflected in your black mirror. Non-suggestive, nobodies' icon, nobodies' song, nobodies star, a fleeting glimpse of light, some galaxy afar.

I get Vertigo. I get Vertigo. Your path is short. Whilst mine? A downward cylindrical swirl, a falling, but where I land on my feet.

(Meanwhile? Dancing to music is STILL an option!)

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

OUR MAN in EUROPE, now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "Space Cadet."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Space Cadet."

...SO I MARRIED A SPACE CADET.  U DON'T wanna know. So I jumped off the Empire State building, TRIED to flap my arms/hands/fingers before I SPLURGED, serious headache on the sidewalk concrete 50 floors down.

Concerned Citizens not un-used to NEW YORK CITY'S banking fortune's taciturn dynamics nevertheless GROUPED-Cell phones filming-waving, Toreadors-witness to a dying Matador? All suicides have a sense of "majestic", a finger to the World?

I gurgled blood: "Tell that bitch we R outta milk & we need another 6-pack of OLD MILWAUKIE- RED!" A sigh from the surrounding Manhattan Champagne set.

Yet, these Citizens, mystified, leaned FWD. I gurgled some more blood, so I outlined, gave them my blood type, appendix scar situ & to donate my penis-foreskin to some BUM down in the Bowery. It worked for me, maybe it'll work for him?

Meanwhile, still gurgling blood, the ambulance arrived (stretcher bearers pissed/supposed to be Off-Shift?) & TWO COP WAGONS-uniformed Barney Fifes dressed ready to invade Poland/this was in "Hell's Kitchen" near the Beirut Cafe?

"Hands on your heads-NIGGERS!" (...In my body-Splurge, mud & dirt from what I could SEE...everyone, the Cellphone Toreadors WERE WHITE but - fashionistas - wearing uniform Blue-Beat trilby hats & RAYBAN sunglasses) A WHITE COP'S honest mistake?

COPS: "His he..."

MIO; (gurgling blood) "Are you guys' GERMAN!?"

Swift kick to my head. (Irish Cops.)

...They cleared the crowd, cellphone/Utube parasites as "I", ambulanced on my own personal-valet stretcher was conveyed to the nearest hospital CASUALTY WARD. That Hotel California for America's Un-insured.

...MONTHS LATER: "The Man who jumped off the Empire State Building & LIVED", CELEBRITY CITY, on Talk Shows in my wheelchair, "Why'd U do it?" "I married a Space Cadet. She drove me nuts?", "How do U now FEEL?", "It's so hard to BE a Paraleiptic-wheelchair Sex Symbol; it's-what I always tell my fans?"

MEDIA: "But...So how do U FEEL?"

MIO: "Dunno Bro. Some bastard hearing my last Will & Testament, I was delirious!"

MEDIA: "U donated something in your final altruistic 'breath?"

MIO: "Yup! My foreskin has gone! WOTCHAGONNA-DO!?"

MEDIA: "WE FEEL your pain & hope U get Closure!"

c. Dabe Delacroix, beware the Ides of March 2026.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Unknown Soldier."

 Our Man in Europe, now BELIZE (Chateaux-Pelican Guest Villa) Dave Delacroix: "The Unknown Soldier."

...I WUZ ON A MISSION. Stuck behind enemy lines. KILLERS, Wars refuge, surrounding. Bugs/flies least of my worries. Heidi's photo, breast pocket, behind my medal, a Silver Star.  But where have all the Flowers gone?

I was a DOCU-monologue, at best an obscure soliloquy, a POET: Where have all the flowers gone? And "in deep", up to my Shekels, with NO JESUS to redeem me; where have all the flowers...natures thingies...where have they gone? -Poppies row on row?

Graveyards, Cemeteries have LEGS. They follow War's madness. I was "badged & chained" like a fool in a bigger fool's game. I BLUNDERED -lonely as a cloud, just WHERE have all the flowers gone? Too late to be a Poet.

A ROOM with a view, a fantasy, now a dire necessity. Could your heart reach mine, a pumping organ, stone cold? A killer of killers? ...Horizons whisper but just where have all the flowers gone? A dawn patrol. A snipers bullet. Then rapid fire. No-one knew I was dead bah the shouting.

I WUZ ON A MISSION, parachuted, hand grenade twix my teeth, an AK-47 machine gun in my lap. Just a soldier, a pawn in somebody else's power game. A BODY BAG shipped back to the U.S.A. & lest we forget, where R your flowers now? An Unknown soldier. The green fields of France R filled with my brethren.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in EUROPE/now BELIZE (a.k.a. David Michael Oxley...on Facebook); the Loser with the Floosies: "GHOSTS!!!"

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize, Dave Delacroix: the Loser with the Floosies: "GHOSTS!"

(dedicato: Ina Kaab)

THAT GHOST, the ORINGINAL GHOST - in the way of things - her OWN GHOST - go figure/SPOOKY- who never felt haunted. NEVER felt HAUNTED... (U with me so far?) The Ghost? Some Gal. Relax. Love is foggy.

Yet She, unconfounded, A GHOST! -she flitters thru Life's gossamer intangibility, a flicker in twilight, an undecipherable enigma that U just cannot pin down. (U with me so far?) ...wish "I" was. ("I talked dat weeping Willow how to sigh!") Let's all chain smoke!

THIS GHOST whose lipstick never smeared a Vino glass, a shirt collar, but perhaps a memory, maybe crossed YOUR path ...who did everything WRONG; wearing "Ninfa N0-5" perfume, or a GUITAR, or tits like rocks yet could trash your accustomed "feng sui"...that BOOGALOO, that Time of U? WotchagonnaDo? More Boogaloo? I need your advice!!!

This GHOST who - methinks - missed HER only Ghost who now midnight oil parks her toes on foreign soil; will U too suffer; the love U have to give? A force of Nature. A Psychopathic sneeze. "ALLORS!!! Traveler, who pass on by? This milestone is meant for .... sign in your name. For now, that Ghost is U.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix. (A Loser with the Floosies.) Ghost on Ghost.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: CRIMI-TRILOGY No. 3: "The Great BATSBY."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: CRIMI-TRILOGY No. 3: "The Great BATSBY."

...It's SOOOO hard to be a SEX SYMBOL as any Sex Symbol knows. U could BE a cinematic/comedic dwarf (loved!) a Leading Man/STARLETTE/the Oomph Gal with Internet stalkers up the wazee?

(Lerman coming over with the bourbon?)

U R the ONLY woman I ever loved, No. 62 s-why I always invite U to my pool parties/bring your friends/welcome to the ILLUSION of Paradise. Distilled-TIME. A "cosa-nostra."

(Police Sergeant Jones arriving with Johnny Walker Black Label?)

An anchor, a backbone, a sinew-spiritual of SOUL, a long-forgotten song usurping Times natural blockade of forgetting....

O.K. ENOUGH of THAT verbiage, bugs here in Corozal-Belize crawling cross my laptop screen...

"OK! ACTION!!! LIGHTS!!! CAMERA!!"

OUR MAN in EUROPE, now Belize, DAVE DELACROIX: "THE BIG BATSBY!"

...The TRAIN that never stopped, the Lemons on your tree, an ALIBHI, a "Maigret" detective, smokey, PARIS-1930s (cinematic B/W), LOCOMOTIVE that seeps into your nostalgia which whispers COGNAC, Calvados, your Pappas pipe smoke, a "debutante de la vie?" And that night of the... that BIG BATSBY SOIREE, the night U lost your virginity> Remember?

Somehow profound, somehow we remember, somehow, we DIE feeling like an April's fool WITHIN a fool, idiosinz-metic (? ) an inner spiral all the way to Loves front door; pity the POETS Verlaine, Rimbaud who pissed on each other's manuscripts, the urinal on the Boulevard St. Germaine, where Superstars, a 'la Johnny Depp reside, stinking, yet glistens in the Paris-morning sun...

,,,the GREAT BATSBY...shot dead in his own swimming pool, oddly, jitterbug jazz music homicide-backdrop. His servants HUMMED: "Do I have to fuck U/ Do I have to fuck your Wife?" It's always, summertime, tough on Long Island. A golf club over your head. A swimming pool. A floater. Maybe a "transient" did the dirty deed? A passer-by? "We just made the Cocktails. Can we keep these Tuxedoes?"

As for gay Paree: The Train that never stops. The lemons on your tree. An Alibi. Sherlock Holmes, MAIGRET, a 7-11-USA, or as in Mexico, 24-7, the OXO convenience outlet: The BIG, the GREAT BATSBY, like the ENRON-CORPORATION, too big to fail. A Charleston upbeat song simmers across Big Batsby's swimming pool. Even Macbeth's three Witches decline to wail.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: A CRIMI-Trinity, No.2: "Kit Marlowe in a Fedora."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: A CRIMI-Trinity, No. 2: "Kit Marlowe in a Fedora."

...AS I WUZ WORKING ON MAH FOOT DANGLING, ruminating on an overdue "Mullet" grooming, trying to get that song - one I didn't write - out of my morning's head; Bloody Mary's don't always cure what ails U, your GALS foto U slam face down and as the phone ain't ringing, U just ignore it. Never bug a Dog with its bone. If U got a dog. If it's got a bone. If U got a phone.

...WUZ working on mah "foot-dangling" like a drunk in a Motel room, staring down a fifth of "JACK" hypnotized by my tobacco-stained fingernails, accomplishers to the signing of Bank Cheques (kites) U expect to bounce, no tomorrow (Peggy Lee singing: "Get out a'here. Get me some money too.)  no monetary expectations, a new fedora- a dream. The best laid plans of Mice & Men just coming home to SCREAM.

WUZ working on my "footsie-whootsie", that rocking chair/Punk Rock chewing Gum of the mind; an inner kernel of festivity- which sobriety cannot hide.  JUXTAPOSED, a parallel, a universe, I cranked UP the Venetian blinds, behind me, SHE cruised into the room, a CLIENT, Safari-tied gaberdine, pink slacks, a scimitar straw hat (worth $50, $10 resale), Chanel No. something. A fresh wave upon my barren shore. Gene Tierney?

As I, now done with my "foot dangling", I resurrected my limbs! Nothing PRIVATE 'bout a P.I. We're listed in Phone Books, on the Internet, sometimes even on PORNHUB as long as we wear Spandex, a THONG, nor cavorting with anyone under 16, P.I. MARLOWE with a new (enquiry agent) Case. UP to his neck in competition like Kit Marlowe, William Shakespeare, Marlowe at his creative heels to solve/explain Julius Caesar's murder...was this Gal, my new Client - Cleopatra by name - I ASKED her were U actually in the room?  Cigarette butts anywhere? Temple of Pompey? A private address? Honey, I think I need more information?...

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now Belize (A CRIMI-TRINITY in the Economy size, No, 1:) "The SEPTIC -Tank - MAN!"

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize (A CRIMI-TRINITY in the Economy size, No. 1:) "The SEPTIC - tank - MAN!"

...I am da SEPTIC MAN. The Septic TANK Man. In Medieval days, the CESS PIT dude! Close friend of the BAT-MAN. We deal in the same "non-vogue" of Societal shit. In INDIA? "Untouchables!!!... Batman? HE gets rid of your house-infestations where-as I get rid U of your Shit which we CAN actually market to the local farmers, help crops grow, what goes around comes around. Leastways, before Industrialization, how it used to be. Curry on Curry! Bhuna, Tika, Madras?

"Did He who make the Lamb make Thee?"

 Thank God for CHILLIES, Habaneros, imported from the Colonies, Cancer aint gotta chance.And U WILL eat your OWN "goobly-googbly" like it or not!" TUMERIC? -it saves the Day, leastways, spices shades-look-a-like promenade for a SULTAN! Keep the Devil, this side, eat an apple-a-day?

"Did HE who make the Lamb make THEE?"

 The cuisine of Kalas, Sumeric recipes we still cannot read. Anacreon-Songs, (Greek Poet) SING OUT!...The BAT-MAN & MIO now work in darkness, latter-day Chimney Sweeps, grubby, sweaty, a 'come home from some Victorian-era night shift, only sometimes, spit & polish for the Annual SEWER WORKERS CHISTMAS BALL, Israeli Slaves, Zuck-OFF across the RED SEA, Highway 401 to Galilei-we prevail. "AI internet makes fools of past Masters!" A cinematic-Hollywood-Wide screen jamboree!

"Did He who made the Lamb make Thee?"

...Pyramids, Pharaohs dissolve in our LEGEND, a Torah, some myth in our glory, a masterplan to make fools, by an architecture of the mind, that wide-eyed-askance, that Un-knowing from which zealots, Rabbis, Imans, Priests cannot Un-wind to inflict, religio-cult- brainwash on brittle consciousness busy staving off fear & hunger suggesting Spring but in the lap of contrived Winter. ALL RESCUED RELIGIO CULT MEMBERS, rescued, now just where do they GO? Heroin addiction: Next stop: JESUS? (Movie, Young Frankenstein: "Put the Candlestick BACK!)

"Did HE who made the Lamb make THEE? -outsiders toy's & wonders?

My Buddy, the BAT-MAN, surrounded by upside-down VIDEO-DISCO-animated critters (the Bats), GUANO (Bat Shit)  on the dance floor prior executing -the Bat-Man -  his Civic obligations, religiously, enacts his duties then bellows OUT a Bat Song: "BZZZ!-ZRZZUS!" to alert these upside-down critters, taking a midday NAP to BUZZ OFF from under your town-villas Victorian eaves before he spray-toxifies the ancient architecture...

"Did HE who made the Lamb make THEE? -outsiders toy's & wonders? (Wear a God-damned Covids Masks?)

 ...BAT be nimble, BAT be quick! Go catch some Locusts, better FLEE! (MEMORY!!!) There WAS ONE German Soldier who refused to participate in the NAZIS extermination of Gypsies, Jews, Homosexuals, Hep-Cat Music folks. (A scene from 1960s T.V. series MAIGRET: "How small was he?... He must have been pretty small to hang himself from a door knocker?"

"Did he who make the BA-BA make THEE?"

...And IN my opinion, ecological-sensitive as it gets: THE BATS, FLY-Fly-Fly! - a clean break to - BAT RADAR - to intercept swarms of LOCUSTS, a prairie Farmers'/crop growing bane, yet clear/EVICT; there's always a Chase-Manhattan Bank or a BITCOIN waiting for U 2 stumble! Locusts swarm in their Vaults...And kick Oklahoma Sharecroppers off the land? The grapes of wrath, your tomorrow's tomorrow? An empty shopping mall. A desert main street sand? 

"Did HE who made the Lamb make Thee?"

DOWN IN THE SHIT however, up to our foreskins in "detritus", those Town Councilors (a polite definition) of those Civic Suits/Hollywood Suits who never had course for a "NOSE-GAY! The SEPTIC TANK MAN's bane, albeit technology Progresso, now trucks with VACUUM PUMPS have elevated our Societal prestige? The Story of Man. The Story of GREED. Mano-e-Mano, Cannibalistic on which Civilization feeds. We R CIVIL SERVANTS. Our new uniform, a PINK TUTU? We-re supposed to use extra deodorant?

"Did He who made the Lamb make Thee?"

...THESE DAYS we just GROWL-ENGINE & PARK/gears-cranking! And with Mega-Vacuum-TUBES, pardon my expression, just "fillatio", we SUCK the shit out of your WHOOSITS, septic tanks, in Malibu, Paris, Long Island, mechanical, scientific, a tad NOISEY, like an Appendix extraction "sans" anesthetic, yet a GASEOUS aroma pervades & insults your garden's "feng sui" a'la HIROSHIMA for a day or so but no WORRIES, Nature's BBUGS; their chemical enhanced SUICIDE NOTES litter your lawn.

Any Bats left? "Did WE who make the Lamb make Thee?"

I AM THE SEPTIC - tank - MAN, like my Buddy, your neighborhood BAT-MAN, the WHISTLER who travels by Night. He knows your dreams, he knows your Wife. A BAT-MAN who don't need U, but sometimes, U cannot DO without? (1-800-I can't DO WITHOUT U/please fuck my Wife!?)...WE USED to shovel SHIT, now they call us IMPRESSIONISTS, Sculpturers, failed Rockstars, fail movie Icons, we fawn under the patronage of POPES, Aristocrats, rich fucks, but we're still shoveling U know what? We just got better at holding our NOSE, painting your MOUTH like the lips of a vagina.

"Did We who make the Lamb make Thee?"

c.2026.Dave Delacroix...

 

Our Man in Europe, now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "The Lotus Eaters."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Lotus Eaters."

...(In Italian:) "Dove' mi amici, Andrea Squizz, Andrea Speroni, dove' Paolo Bossallini, mi ragazzi-Piacenza? (In French:) "Ou sans mon/mes frere, Loic Vauvert-Guillaud, le Marquis Jean Debats, ARTIST Isabel Pesoa, where R U now? (FAURE'S Requiem: "Libero mi, Domini")

...That I should live in a tropical paradise haunted by "memories-guests", an UN-forgetting of RUMOURS in Time's ripples, awash, washed upon a distant shore? (Mozart aria:) "La mia Dorabella! Tra-la-la-la-la!".

(In French:) "Ou sans les neigh d'antan?" the Concert ROAR which drove me to this "sticking post"; palm trees, swimming pool, a BIGGER SPLASH: Ciao-bene! Leonardo Gianone - DOG R BARKING! - yet our DEAD R DEAD in yesterday's tomb?

Bloodied Death's scythe, never unemployed, cuts us down, sometimes with a CRY, sometimes with a SONG; Apollinaire, Rimbaud, Baudelaire, Poets with pen & paper to chill/HAIL a Life that THEY TOO could not fill?

(German Poet, Rilke:) "Who if I cried out amongst the Order of the Angels?" and what chance have WE to "strut & fret", squirrel our cognoscente/adversity, MAKE SENSE, incidentals, an ephemera, a Jack-in-a-Box talent, the UN-talented dream?

Weekenders. Six string (guitar) complainers. Drunks on a Saturday night. Lotus Eaters looking for a bigger splash. No where in sight. Yet WE Carnivale a'la Tomorrow-Tomorrow. Lives measured in cigarette butts, Cognac glasses, E-mails, perhaps deluded, but... for NOW...WE happy few...

c.2026. Dave Delacroix. 

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delaroix: "DJUMBI/VOODOO!!!"

 Our Man in Europe, now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "DJUMBI/VOODOO!!!"

.... DJAMBI/VOODOO, the Devil/Saint of thee WHO R YOU OF YOU, the WHO? -Witch Doctor, rattle human bones, a JU-JU MAN, a bewitched Mamma, put a spell on U?

Does she Kiss or Curse; are U immune?

DJAMBO/VOODOO, an aboriginal dance by a sparkling fireside, a hieroglyphic, burnt into ROCK (90,000 years old). A Gerontius-mammas womb, barren but scared with legend?

DJUMBI/VOODOO, mosquito bites. When "No-see-ums'" (invisible bug swarms) rash, tropic nights.  Razzle skin yet later to roar? (They NEVER tell jokes?)

Every picture - a story. Every WORD - a holy moment. Something good friends share OR a Boomerang to resonate your ski-whiff hollowness in the air? (Do U OWE anybody Money?)

DJUMBA/VOODOO, an almost silent drum, pulsating, stirring the pot, ripples on Logic, a canker that will not stop to divine the divinity that drives our furnace hearts.

BELLS R RINGING Dick Whittington! Go back to LONDON. Maybe one day U'll be Lord-Mayor! Leastways VOODOO the Cat in your knapsack! Djambi, Jambu, Djamba, Voodoo! Just U.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Love in a HOODIE!"

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Love in a HOODIE!"

...A BRUTAL MORNING, MISTY, THAT DISCORD romantica, a hot knife thru butter, that outside-kiss that sometime can UN-kiss; cold lips left behind...despite spiritual gain?

A brutal morning, a glass half empty, a glass half full. An array of Martinis now scattered on a patio glass table, an ice-rink tableau that shimmers your mind. The Big Lebowski, out of "White Russians". The Great Gatsby out of Caviar/Champagne.

...Like a brutal morning, not a "Bloody Mary" in sight. Love's retreat, LOVE in a "HOODIE" seeking refuge in shadows from which Love can hardly rebound. A Ragtime piano, echoing in a wing of your Villa. No song in your heart.

Indeed! A melancholy, a stark dawn with a LAMIA-hiss, a Cat's invective "ME-OWWW", a surround of breeze-thieves to chip away a love once found. The Lady across the lake. The Lady IN the lake. Ephemeral love. Time, the great leveler. For Wednesdays Child, nobody asks why.

There's no JOY in the knowing. There's no joy in the JOY! Joys grape BUSTED, suddenly just a toy. Like a brutal morning, a high wind to Jamaica - palm trees erratically swaying! -  to vacuum Loves paradise that U once knew.

As swimming pool ripples that no longer bubble & sway. A dysfunctional Calypso, an unwanted desperate song of songs? Still, the glass half empty, halfway full; clouds will gather, tropic skies-pre-HURRICANE arrival, like Love in a "Hoodie" on a misty morning...grow silent, lull.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

OUR MAN in EUROPE, now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "Dylan Thomas Blues."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Dylan Thomas Blues."

(Dedicato: Carol Aniello & Nadia Sellers)

"Dylan Thomas Blues."

...NOW WHEN I WAS A LAD without a thought, bandaged, padded below kneecaps from School days RUGBY fields, shins kicked & knocked from SCRUM & ball-pass to score a "TRY!"  on a Yorkshire's Winter's hard turf yet COULD - for a 13-yr old School-Blazer/Tie, with "Piss-off!" attitude survive! And after a cup of hot BOVIRIL, a "Good show old boy!" from the team Captain. Teammates slap on your back? A 3-hour "CHARA-BANC" (old bus) ride back to the ranch/old school, singing/bellowing out RUGGER SONGS, oddball renditions of popular tunes, incl. Johnny Cash's: "Cocksuckers in the Sky."

Now when I was a LAD, School Daze, School TRIPS to LONDON, satchel-Sandwiches & flask of Tea, to go see Nelsons column, ROYALTY CRYPTS & GALLERY PORTRAIT- ROYAL SELFIES, and the British Science Museum where, we then ignorantly glanced at our forefathers - Sheffield STEEL towns - industrial ingenuity: "TOY-R-US" in iron & greed?...BRAIN DEAD at this point but the icing/cake of the London School Trip gig, an hour to escape, back of the British Museum, the Grand Russell Hotel-Bloomsbury with an Irish Barkeep who - I guess? - needed our shillings and who, after 2 Pints of Ale, joined in with a Dublin brogue: "Ghostriders in the Sky!" Her name was Brenda.

Now when I was a LAD, put TO, after serious schoolgirl seduction AT SCHOOL put my hand up her 14-yr old skirt which at SOME POINT she thought was a "might forward"; it got me dragged into School-Headmasters quarters, a place, a DUDE nobody ever saw...Yet BONKING in haystacks, BONKING in the fields: "Country Matters!" In the rural 1960s nothing seemed wrong. Decades LATER I always felt sorry for those URBAN Kids. Wall to wall people. "Can I take U for a Burger. Take U to the WIMPEY BAR/coffee? "I hear the KINKS R playing at the PALAIS...but WE R under-aged/no chance to BONK?" (Dead Cocks in the Sky!)

Now when I was a LAD, "FERN HILL, STRAWBERRY FIELDS, BLACK BERRY WAY", unbridled, I'd weekend exercise the local famers horse and more often as not, a vivacious School gal pal riding pillion. We'd trot then canter, tear up the local golf course greens then gallop, golf balls of anger whizzing by our heads, nary a thought of what tomorrow would bring. An Under Milkwood. A Dylan Thomas blues. We countryside Lords of the flies. We Ghostriders in the sky. We childhood Ghostriders in the sky.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe/now BELIZE/Dave Delacroix: "The Death of Julius Ceasar."

 OUR Man in Europe now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "The Death of Julius Ceasar."

...THERE'S ALWAYS A JUDAS, a (Shakespear's) Othello's IAGO to muddy the waters in your inner circle who cares nothing BUT for their own advancement, a steppingstone to POWER, GOLD, an EGO-inflated, insidious GLORY! A people-scum, social parasite, a rash under your skin.

There's always a TRAITOR, a worm in the bud, and within; a festering EGO, it's PANIC/self-survival to articulate/swear on a stack of religious texts, a bloody sack of LIES...to prevail and elevate a tomorrow, to widen the gap twix U & your wife? The mouse in the wainscotting. The Spider. The reptile. Their EGO-surrounds, a blight, the rat hanging on until your ship goes down. An inverted sincerity. That smeared-fake cosmetic, the tears of a Clown...

...A fracture, encapsuled-TIME, a ripple, as Empires Built-Empires fall down. An Emperor's Red Cloak, an ancient diplomatic dispute, just another CEASAR stabbed 29 times on the steps of the temple of Pompey-Maximus (NOW LOCATED in Rome's Piazza de Argentino) ...presently an urban refuge for Rome's stray Cats...

...within & without, Ceasar's nemesis/competitor (Pompey-Max) who was harried into latter day EGYPT! Decapitated on arrival! (Egyptian Immigration Check-In). As for Ceasar, a Texas Grassy Knoll assassination, (Piazza di Argentino) a political cause & effect, the outcome was the same, these final acts/thoughts for Poets to exclaim: (Shakespear's Cassius): "Brutus! The fault lies NOT in our stars but in ourselves!" Histories epitaph UN-worthy of Vaudeville. Yet does it not hook a corner in your mind?

These last swirling Julius Ceasar's thoughts/dynamics race, exacerbate. A BRIGHT LIGHT? A Ghost-ECHO! BETRAYAL! ...Histories mortal CLOAK leaves no-one alive. As ever my LADY ROSA, my Housekeeper's birthday present, a Panama hat, here in Corozal-Belize and in Time's ETERNITY things that may survive - forget about JESUS! -  or Caesar/Emperor., Pompey Maximus., my friends & MIO; (my Panama hat?), or my Guitar, that ZIPPO LIGHTER! Uncanny how our life's trinkets outlive the lot!

Ceasar's bloodied TOGA... Did some faithful Slave/attendant carry it away to create a hidden-ethereal shrine that now fires the tokens our own imaginings?...

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "Les Enfant Sauvage!"

 Our Man in Europe, now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "Les Enfant Sauvage." 

(dedicato to Roger Armstrong, Sergei & Jeff Dahl./R.I.P./my Bros.)

"Les Enfant Sauvage..."

...NEEDLES IN A DOLLS PUPPET HEAD like devils in the fog in search of all the things that grate your SOUL-LOST, ashes to ashes, dust to dust;  and all OUR YESTERDAYS now riddled in Idealism, rusting-fragile, brittle, a SAMPAN, broken masts, yet with  full tide, floating, drifting into some harbor, a ship  manned only by a crew of  RATS to infect some haven, a Whitby, Harfleur, a Bordeaux with a NOSFERATU and a daughter's-daughter seductive VIRUS from a Vampire to infect your neck? A Cargo.

SPIKES in a Dolls neck. How animated do U feel? Petticoats, shawls & lace. To RAVAGE mascara, face cream, powder, beauties restitution, a'la a mortuary of existence-death memory-struck-down by generations, U raise-RESURRECT generations, witness their dance, dancing the Dance-Macabre, a Dia de la MORTE in your tomorrows MIRROR face? A FACER!!! ZAP! It sometimes it assails, think on, a faraway vista of a SAMPAN, the solo promise in SOUL U needing a Wrap, a Scarf around your neck to keep you warm from your Children's wrath in the cold South China Seas? What needs your need? Children's screams?

Needles in a Dolls head or neck. A JU-JU Man. Economy Witchdoctors. State Medication. Petticoats of Lace. To SAUVAGE mascara, creamed face, a mortuary for the dead, memory-cold, struck down by the generations U raise. Do U Do? Do U Do! Do THEY dance the dance, DO THEY dance the Dance MACABRE, "facia et Facie", "Mano et Mono", a "Dia dela Morte", your mirrors FACE? Who sings? "Les Enfant Sauvage", do they sing for U? Or like some Ulrike Meinhof's, her BAMBULE. A domestic chaotic-a. TRASH just what they see. Trash what they feel. WAILING out a Song: "A Whiter shade of Pale!"

 Sometimes U gotta find away from your own Childhoods rage, that's what I tell my Kids; that NEEDLE U felt poked in your head and that fire...your Childhoods blaze. As for your PUPPET HEAD, wooden top wobbles in your broken Puppet Dolls head. U wiggle through the years. Duck when U gotta duck; but always - give EM shit - GET SAVAGE!!!...and come out fighting!

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.