OUR MAN in EUROPE/BELIZE: Dave Delacroix: " KOSHER-INC!!!!"

 OUR Man IN EUROPE/BELIZE: Dave Delacroix: "KOSHER-INC.!!!"

IT'S ONLY FATAL, U SCMUCK, when U FEEL, that Symphony, that Kosher Deal; it doesn't matter how she FONDLES your BALLS, or predicts betting-scores or decided on Sunday/Cricket-Whites what should U wear? IT'S ONLY CRICTICAL if U SWEAR U say "Liebling" and give her that "Ich Lieber-dich" stare, compounded, sing ya love-mumbles? 

It's ONLY fatal if U FAIL. Failing? Who cares. Big deal? WEAR something Cool!!! Leastways, at the END of your tether, GRISTLE & GRIN/Thorsten Veblen philosophy then sing me a Billie Holliday song? Catch-Cool-Can in our highs & lows; anytime!!!

c.davedelacroix. Alive & well in BELIZE.

OUR MAN in EUROPE/BELIZE, dave delacroix/Daivid michael Oxley, age 67 NOW IN AL HANDS where my BLOG is BEING CENSORSED. (Too much fun?) The HITCH-HIKER!!!

 

Our DAVE in FREEDOM, Dave Delacroix, "hitch-hiker!!!

Couldn't guarantee the WI-FI but we we still had Masturbation. The BUICK? But we still had the Radio! The DASHBOARD:  The WORLD-TRADE-TOWERS? 

"...I met my $60,000 baby at the FIVE & dime." She'd switch from soiled/Levis to Armani, portofino to Blackpool, Caviar to Fish & Chips, who in the Order of Angels would cry out, BITCH! Gimmie your Credit Card!!!?

I met my MILLION-DOLLAR-whossit at the "5 & D", some wicked kind-a rendezvous, some say, on the sly? And CALL ME if U want the BIO; ya fashion YA fashion, streamline!

IF U ever get to St. Louis. By the river, SING. It's a place? I been there too. But had to get back on that Highway, hitch-hiker-shoes. Just a "hitch-hikers shoes', babee, I aint good enough for U.

c.davedelacroix, belize. 2023

Our Man in Europe/Belize, dave delacroix: "Our Green & Pleasant Land."

YAZZA: Our man in Europe/belize/dave delacroix: Our Green & whoost!"

(dedicato: Leigh Overall-Gibbons/London Stock Market/Hugh O'Neil-Chase-Manhattan/Wall St.)

In memorial: Michael Durliat, R.I.P.

GOD KNOWS how U met her. Porn-star, Paris-Night Club, lodged in her CLEAVERAGE, sweating-U & HER? What a way to die? Sex-suffocation! (Bout THIS? Ask Bill Houston: YOLANDA from Egypt?): Songs R written putting da shame to:

Did U DIE in the Gears of a Combine-Harvester, the Shark's - Hawaii jagged tooth? Surf-board-City or eating TOO MUCH Spam? Did U die of DESPAIR, that Gal, never was there, like LAMIA, a snake, u-lost, absorbed in her reptile coils that sucked your throat?

Did U DIE in the City, a London-Taxi hit and run? London BUS? Economy-kill? GOD KNOWS what furrows U plough in your provincial, cocktail-pharmacy where Gold-Diggers thrive in a hive of Vagina-rewards? Songs of Love? -Don't be stupid! Tanqueray & Tonic!?

GOD KNOWS the racketeer, from YALE, RUTGERS, HARROW, Eton, or plebian Schoolgrounds that SODOMIZE the "Game of Cricket" and all "fair play", displayed in a LIFE perchance, cut short & thrown away. Sunday "whites" bloodied, Tea-time over HELL? Testicles-cringe?

GOD KNOWS the new CENTURIONS, the CAPTAINS of us all who survey BETHLEHEM'S debauchery in England's Green-whoost? WHO CRIES OUT for the Mice that infest your Regency houses and that scatter at your feet? Or our long-lost, pre-Industrial ENGLAND that whispers in your dreams where MEANING dissolves in a Blakean canvas?

GOD KNOWS how U met her. Did U die out-right? Or enjoy the slither of her coils?

c.2023, davedelacroix.

Our Man in Europe, Belize: dave delacroix: "...After the GIG."

 Our Man in Europe/Belize: dave delacroix: "..AFTER the Gig."

(dedicato: Mark J. D'agostino)

After the GIG, the stink of metalic: microphones, mic-stands, cables, amplifiers, beer-soaked Song-lists, broken drum-sticks, Coffee-creamer-dust (pyro-technics), plastic beer cups-spilt, the detritus of CONCERT on a Stadium stage, BAR-hell, a rehearsal room; the lacklustre retreat from a potpourri of creative divinity and ALL the SCAMS of ROCK N ROLL leading to disintegration, self-abuse, incriminations, jealousies, betrayed allegiances, Love's abandonment, NEW romances or a stolen drum Kit, expensive Microphone, lighting-rigs or a cherished Gibson guitar?

After the GIG, THE WAG CLUB, Soho, London,  I ALONE went into Chinatown ordered Jasmine Tea & a Won-Ton Soup. Fired by the Band? The Lead DUDE, now, not so? A piece of my heart died that night. Little did I know, decades repetition, till I went SOLO. On my Songwriter's TWO FEET, I - in many other Countries - prevailed and performed/sang-fearlessly, "canzone e canzone" and made Delacroix's mark?

 Alas not ALL Poet's stories are so successfully bitter-sweet...after the Gig?

c.davedelacroix, ourmanin europe/belize/2023

Our Man in Europe/Belize: dave delacroix: MALIBU, homeless with a Spanish Guitar?

 OUR MAN in EUROPE/Belize: dave delacroix: MALIBU, Homeless with a Spanish Guitar:  

What dd U EAT today? Were U roaming CRAMPS like a Vampire in NYC lookin for "something" to EAT? In a city; HUNGER. Easier to get a glass of Fentanyl than a HAM on RYE? DUMPSTER-DIVING ain't what it used to be. (I'll get back to U)

What did U EAT today? That DREAM fluffy bread-roll laden with sliced HAM, tomato-slices, butter/mayo, Dijon? EQUAL to LOVE'S first bite? Back beyond starvation, the gruel roads that now deliver U into physical-hysteria, to grope for a throw-away biscuit in a Malibu parking-lot?

What did U EAT today, a KNUT HAMSUM, a KAFKA without a "Menu de Jour" in faraway spoilt Paris. A bottle of Vin-de-table, That Cafe de perfume to drive U to eat ROCKS, SEAWEED, the rags that U wear? Malnutrition. Emaciated! When U stare at the GUITAR that carried U to this abyss and succored-WAIL as-to the next Song U might compose in MALIBU, this land of Stars?

A paper napkin. LOL. Flutters across the parking lot. A $5 bill! Next minute? Dume Room Bar. BOB DYLAN sitting, next chair. I un-load my $5, hunger-gone and buy a whoosit of Budweiser! My Spanish Guitar? In a corner, in the shadow with my hunger.

What did U eat today? Ask me tomorrow. 

c.davedelacroix, all our yesterdays. yo.

OUR MAN in EUROPE/BELIZE: Dave Delacroix: "Who moved my Cheese.?"

 

Our Man in Europe/Belize: dave delacroix: "Who moved my Cheese?"

(dedicato: Isabel Pessoa)

WHO STOLE my CAMERBERT, my BRIE? Who RE-WROTE my FANDANGO, who decided who'd it BE and I want LAWYERS, HER surly-knave-friends, those bastards wo insinuated their "slime" into MY international-groovy-life? STAND UP!!! PIX on FB! WHO stole Paris, London, Venice, Cologne, Belin, ROMA!!! (Gal from the past.)

Who stole my "Boog-a-loo", my passion, endeavors, my ADVENTURE? WHO "Wiggled", who "Machiavelli", who TIME-GNAWED across my "La Boheme" existence? And NOW!? Who is wearing my LEVIS, who is playing my Guitar? Which BASTARD is singing the songs we loved so well? Is he IRISH, CZECH? 

WHO STOLE my WINDOW, who TOOK my TOMORROW? Who entwines the rhymes we use to worship, chorus and adore? Who wear yesterday's clothes with a Tomorrows promise that WILL, like us, in its infancy wail, SULK, revere our Time and pass on to Poets, in their own Time, Brie & a baguette. A vin-rouge. Who moved my Cheese? TIME.

...S-always TOUGH when U R on the tail end of a love-affair?

Abientot mes-amis. Dave delacroix, Corozal-Belize.

OUR MAN in EUROPE, dave delacroix: "In the Nude!"

Our Man in Europe, dave delacroix: "In the Nude."

... IN THE NUDE OF YOUR CLITORIS ringing like a BELL or that OLD SOLDIER sticking his "Righteousness IN-DAH-WIND", who amongst Rilke's-Angels will cry out on a tropical wind's-day when Palm-trees sway? What INNER-moron will CRY-AGHAST-for-SHAME you skinny-dip buttocks or INCENCE - sans salad-dressing or BBQ sauce; just WHO wails?  Who SCREAMS on the BBQ Pit, the Chicken or the RIB? Lobsters? A few farewell notes?.... Always tough to be on the lower end of ANYBODY'S food chain? Nobody's. Immigrants. And THOSE at peril upon the Sea? ...NAKED: In the nude? Some make it. If only!?

c.2023, davedelacroix.