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.

Our Man in Europe, noe BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "Swansong!"

 Our Man in Europe, now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "Swansong!"

...WE HAVE ALL DIED A HUNDRED times AS IN a rehearsal, a repetitive SOUNDCHECK: "1-2! Check 1-2!" before our finale, that swansong concert? ...Fluttering in limelight, we have spread our talent (?) like gypsy moths before an audiences' hypnotic gaze, flickering "avec" guitar or tambourine with gossamer wings, some pirouette, some drunken stagger by a microphone stand, some smashed guitar, some mosh-pit dive into that unpredictable YAAH! of Hollywood fame.

Some found, some resound, some burnt out, some strive. A lounge gig to heaven until U die. Some WAIL; some sing. Some walk on by. Some, a "strut & fret" into their own magic hour. Perhaps their finest hour never to know? Many of course sail into a World of no-return leaving behind a guitar in the trunk of a burnish Mustang auto, a change of clothes. Some weed.

Then one day some clown in a Hollywood studio who ordinarily just makes the coffee, dusts off an old 2-inch tape: Some song some kid begged to record, plays it by, a snippet in front of INDUSTRY STARS, Robert PLANT, Rod STWEART, or Stevie NICKS. Their geriatric fading talent gleams in their eyes, a lifetime of glory, fame, mega-wealth un-disguised, pounce like vultures, the star making machine, once again, UN-paralyzed! 

We have ALL died a hundred times, yet after we are gone, a legacy of DAZZLE may touch your humble resting place and sing your "besties" song? Word travels fast to Heaven. My old girlfriend, a now aging ballerina, an inspiration for the song, heard of its recording-resurrection, sauntered by, announced herself, but the Studio slammed the door in her face!

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: (In IRAN): BLOOD MOON!"

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: (In Iran): BLOOD MOON!"

(Dedicato: Benhrang & Arish, my Iranian BROS.)

"Blood Moon."

BLOOD MOON, PERSIAN POET HAFIZ: "Do not play with a Tigers Cubs nor destroy a woman loves illusions!" "AHAH!!! At SOME POINT that Judith will cut OFF your Holofernes head?  As that tragic Scottish warrior MACBETH, his horizon afore consciousness, fated (?) enjoined by a Lady's incontinence: "OUT DAMNED SPOT!", downright GOTHIC! An equal dark metaphor, like a HITLER who only read ONE book, the one he wrote, "Mein Kampf" (His struggle?) ... A distorted, evil, war torn, mustard-gas survivor, distorted sinew of a mind..."I gotta RANT or DIE!"

..."A'la" STALIN", Russian Dictator/Tyrant or an IRANIAN KHOMEINI: "Kill all our daughters "sans" HIJABS, suppressed the EDUCATED! As for RUSSIAN Stalin? Just KILL potential rebels with no drab fashion sense/rob their Kopecks from their Pockets (tra-la-la); EXECUTE! THEY won't mind. It's for the greater Good, TRAITOR-COMRADES/Small DICKS, "Unleash the DOGS of SOCIAL-CANNIBALISM!! Enforce the STATE!? What GOOD if the dumb-ass Masses won't obey?"...Give Em their fave "JU-JU" Man! (Monty Python, Brit. TV Show. There R many ways to serve SPAM!) Gulag-lunch "Plat de Jour!". 

 Under a BLOOD RED MOON in the afternoon, yet at night DARK SHADOWS of MURDER sunset a holocaust of vibrant IRANIAN Youth who are Internet-SAVVIE, yearning for a Tomorrow... suppressed by religio fanatic IMANS, MULLAHS, MEDIEAEVELIST, OLD MALE sexless CRONES chanting/quoting the Quran into their insanity,  a non-eternity in its fallacy - of Man's JU-JU religions', Buddhists, Muslims, Mormons, Jews, Quakers, Catholics, Protestants; ALL are MONEY-MAKERS.  They send out for their laundry. Dry Cleaning. Always look spic-an-span.  Clipping coins. An ornate tapestry U can never afford. 

Or a South Sea balloon.'. A Hi-Tech craze. A Bitcoin. A substance U can never eat. A Sodom & Gamora, a Las Vegas. The lure of riches in your pocket only to find a snake.

The History of MAN. The story of Power & Greed, "JU-JU-MEN" will EVER prevail; -S-why they can afford their Real Estate & over charge Gentiles, Infidels, but that's another story. All GOD-FANATICS R essentially (The Beatles:): BLUE MEANIES!

GODS & ANGELS!!! Are there any left to name? ZINGO, MARY-LOU? As for your "State of Grace", an indoctrinated-praying, 5-times a day, on a PLANET spinning 28,000 miles an hour around the SUN, a star, one of zillions in a universe, man's EGO apparently translates by some half-assed JU-JU MAN (who probably lives in a desert hutch/ hates Women/small Dick etc.), a snake charmer, a Turban, the  composers of the WORST songs, stacked with Wizard tricks, that balding Priest who salivates over confessions from Latino Virgins? 

Under a BLOOD MOON, Sugar served to the masses on a spoon, chanting by ordination; who R these CON-MEN in robes with elementary brain-washing techniques?  AS IN HOW do U rescue your KID from a brainwashing Spiritual CULT In Arizona, Oregon or California?...

 Humanity-TRAGEDY...So how do U rescue CULT BRAINWASHED MILLIONS!? .... Nutcase, Mad-fucks Asylums gotta be sparse? Not talking Nazis-Race-Death Camps here, but why don't we donate ALASKA? Give Em a place to be Un-doctrinated? Send Em some wooly clothes? Some Elvis Presley records and there up in the frigid North, exposure to the AURORA BOREALIS it might give Em a universal clue without some ICON JU-JU Man ringing a Bell...and learn it's just cool to be your own U?

BLOOD RED MOON. Can't come around too soon. Humanities - historical - MENOPAUSE? ANYTHING, everything can go WRONG!... Whiskers on Dames. Drooping Dicks on the Strong! The Road to Damascus awaits!!! Beware my - IRANIAN - friends of what new Shah, what new Tyrant; the Old Boss, just like the Old Boss, ready to Usurp your lives on a THRONE. A Khormeini gone, a Khomeini in a Tuxedo anew? Yet another Blood Red Moon?

Simplicity? NOPE! Fight to be free, organize, UNITE, or the RUSSKIES, the USA, worst still, the CHINESE will help U fail. (Relax on the French & English. They're no longer worth the candle.) The French of course can still muddy your waters. They've been doing that since WW1, the treaty of Versailles, 1918., Indo China/Vietnam, borders drawn, straight lines, Iraq, Syria, Iran borders, etc,etc. "ZOOT-ALLORS!!!" Histories "Plat de Jour!"

 Meanwhile, back in PERSIA. (Hafiz:): "I saw DEATH in Babylon. Mamma-mia! I immediately booked a passage on an Express Camel! Rode like Hell to Damascus! Arrived, I sat down. A sidewalk Cafe. I Relaxed. I smoked a Hooker-pipe. Nuttin' on my mind; but, alas, DEATH reappeared! I said: "FUCK U! Didn't I escape U in Babylon!" But DEATH in my face saying, "But our meeting was always (Damascus) HERE!"

"So, say farewell to your Loves, a a farewell to your Life, the SUC, the BAZAAR, your friends at the Cafe, the life that U knew, a farewell to your Civil Rights. IF U DON'T stand & FIGHT, then shake that worthless cold hand within you, YOU PERSIAN EX-PATRIOTS scattered across the globe. Now is the time to come home. U should go back home. FIGHT, make a stand against Tyranny. in memory of ALL those young Ladies, brutalize, raped & tortured in ISLAM's name that lead YOU now to your sad-ass, convictions guessing-game...

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

 

Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "Belize morning/I ain't going nowhere."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Belize morning/I aint going nowhere."

...THE MORNINGS SWIFT FLIGHT of swallows (no carry-ons) zoom effortlessly across my Corozal bay horizon. Three "butter birds" (yellow-breasted "Avion" thingies) stalk/stake-out my Cats food tray. And a high wind to Jamaica blusters, comes & goes exposing a patch of blue. (Gotta be Happy-Hour someplace?)

YUP! The dawn CHORUS has begun. That Cuckoo/Dove persists with its "telephone engaged" hour long repetition song & a MURDER of CROWS, now exhausted with, well, "Crowing", fighting over the pine trees-branches-seating/sleeping arrangements now finally resolve to buzz off & take to the skies.

A lone Pelican, quite apt here at our Chateaux-Pelican Guest Villa plops onto the roof of our poolside cabana, regurgitates the reward of its 'dawn patrol", possibly to de-bone "sans" cutlery or serviette? Whilst two blackbirds (decaffeinated Crows) sucking down chlorine-tainted swim-pool water, straighten up, then patrol the adjacent poolside lawn in search of bugs on seemingly staggering, drunken legs?

Up at natures DEFCOM-4 level (the old, tall pine trees a-back the Villa) the stealth IGUANAS (green Party as opposed to the orange variety/staunch Republicans) slither down the pine tree trunks, stand & stare at each other, flex their backbone needles-spiked-armor in case, perchance an EAGLE, looking for an easy kill swoops by? "Allors!" (French, for GADZOOKS!!!); out back, RALPH, our semi-resident transgender Crocodile in the mangroves/canal/bayou wiggles his armored tail, floats on the ebb tide out to Corozal bay, a reptiles convenience store. S-where his/her munchies are!

And all the while, tropic regulation, Zillionaire or BUM, Tee-shirt & shorts, flipflops optional in FEBRUARY "avec" Bloody Mary & Smokes, a Rock & Roll breakfast! "Far from the madding crowd!": U took the words right out of my mouth! -I aint going Nowhere. Besides? With my "Feng-Sui" at stake not to mention sabotaging my contribution to my morning's ritual philosophical debate on the significance of "Dialectic Materialism" in 2026 with TWO Fur-Balls, Soldier & Bela! (CATS ANONYMOUS! - the 12 steps of Purring!)

It goes something like this:

 "Meow."

"Meow?"

"MEOW!?"

"Hmm/Purr/ Meow!"

"MEOWW?

""Me-Me-OWWW!!!"

"OK. Me, er, OWWW!"

"ZIPPO! -Meow..."

"U know what I'm saying?"

...All on a Corozal-Belize tropic morning. And U got it. I aint going nowhere!

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.

Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Tambourine Girl."

 Our Man in Europe, now Belize, Dave Delacroix: "Tambourine Girl."

...NO SHOES, FRAYED DRESS, flaxen hair-locks, long askew, a tambourine beating an unlikely tempo, no percussive back-up, nose upward, proudly appointed, yet a stark despair in her dark eyes that SCREAMS triumph wrapped in an Anaconda-snakes squeeze of poverty...

...but yes, there IS defiance in her eyes... at the coins U fling at her... as U walk on by.

No shoes, HUNGER, a "Gitano/Gypsy" outcast? Might as well be your long-lost daughter trying to make her OWN way to survive...solo with a tambourine... What Gods or Spirts can save her need? An Oracle? A SYBIL? One day perhaps her Prince will come...?

Who HERALDS!!!

...Did U unknowingly pass her by, or recognized, SHRINK! A family likeness? Or grudgingly remember: "Did He or made the Lamb make thee?" (Tambourine-Rattlesnake SHRILL!) The kernel of your Soul suddenly crushed under foot, your past altruism apparently worthless as U walk on by?

...Tambourine Girl: Now wearing shoes, dumpster-reclaimed, "flip-flops", past their "sell date" but toes knit together with dirt. BEHOLD! A "raggedly-Anne" awash into Societies seven seas! Somebodies KID on your OWN Cities streets!

... How does she eat? Where does she sleep? With whom MUST she sleep!? In an Anaconda snakes deadly grip. Lamia on Lamia. But for this moment...Tambourine SHRILL!!! An Angel. MUSIC! The girl with the Tambourine.

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.