Sunday, February 28, 2010

Sunday in Paradise.

0649/1828 55/70 Blue Skies NW 10 80%H
DOGS 10350 7880 1150 1610

Greetings from the Hill.

The oldman sober, the second alcoholfree day,
classics from Havana, Law and Order
in the bedroom with cats.

Clean closed windows, swaying palm trees...
the eyes see clearer, the mind calmer.

"Hey, Jack," laughing the hallway looking in,
"I can smell the pot."
The gardener had become a mason
repairing the steps between Jake and BO,
hofuckingho, figure that tale.

The Waterman was coming to enhance
the electrical system
on The Lord's Day.

"Putting power to 736 Love Lane...
his old christmas card address,"
snorted the madone,
not a fan of
'King of the Hill'.

"My, my," sighed the oldman
enjoying 'Rigoletto' from Cuba,
looking at the clouds over 'The Straits',
a lovely view on the hill.

"Say, Jack...can I share something
with you?", the artist studying fraud
in the derivative trade,
and other peculiarities
in the American Dream.

"I think the president has a scheme..."

The oldman's thoughts pictured a Wendy's commercial
and a refreshing beer to go with 'it'.

Alger absorbed
and loved,
but two points of view
of many thousands
in the internet universe.

"I also know about the porch columns,
Jackim and Boaz from Soloman's temple
all in the masonary book,"
he had a funny way with words.

A brilliant blue sky,
silver tipped palms swaying
in the westerly breeze,
sunlight warming the blogroom.

The oldman belched from the sugar and coffee
then farted from the milk,
sunday afternoon soirees of the intellect,
predispositions toward revolution,
the curiosity of conspiracy...
could those Pirates of Wall Street
have created a plot to bankrupt a nation,
enslaving the masses with debt
and lifetime repayment with work...
"Horror of fuckinghorrors, the agents
are privateers of the purse,
maybe Jekyll Island jackals
howl outside Bernanke's window
and a voice in the madness of his mind
echoes in a full moon....
'Let me issue and control
a nations money supply,
and I care not who
makes 'it's' laws',
there is still David Rothschild,
the current King of Isn'treal,
wishing the legs could walk.

"The ship has been sinking since
Nixon abandoned the gold flag
embracing the colors of Rockefeller,
and the clubs controlled ...
Council of Foreign Affairs,
Trilateral Commission,
that birthed Neoliberalism
from the University of Chicago,
more than just Friedman,
the treachery of Kissinger
who manipulated all",
the oldman had arrived in Key West
when Ford fumbled the money ball
and Aramco controlled petrodollars,
the country was fucked...
Volker, as GFRB jammed 'it'
up the masses' ass
with eighteen percent interest,
"Hello, hello...
Welcome the hegemony of money and
investment banks loaning to nations,
who allowed 'that', wonder, wonder",
adding a bit of shit from the door,
as Herbie Butts arrived with the beer
and a cheer as Canada scored.

"Well, I got things to do",
huffed the artist not liking crowds
or different opinions.

What the fuck was 'he' doing when
the Cold War ended and Mexico defaulted,
the skuzzballs at Goldie Sox shorted
the peso demanding loans...
a familiar pattern as traitors trade
in numbers without allegiance to nation,
multinationals and Central Banks
facilitate IB's to oligopize global economy
through IMF, WB and SAP's...
then BushOne's quickie war,
"Hey, fuck off, this shit sucks
and only gets worse, enjoy the opera,
drink a beer, watch hockey",
as the four o'clock sun
warms the room.

Bernie Madoff was head of Nasdaq.

DEBT was a way to buy companies.

Derivatives was a scam on the CME.

"Two to one, second period over,
announces Tony with steak and rice,
the electrician was late.

Those fucking Gramm's had the blowjob's ear,
deregulate and dismantle
urged Summers, Rubin and Greenspan
against Brooksley's advice,
allowing the Enron scam
and contracts as collateral,
brokerage, banking and insurance
under the Travelers' umbrella,
one stop shopping.

Eight years of Billy Blythe
and the Dow Jones peaks
after the Fraudsters
had fucked Mexico, Asia and Russia
while screwing Argentina.

Eight years again and the peak returns
to fall as the Twin Towers,
into middle class rubble.

Obama borrows three trillion dollars
for banksters and million dollar soldiers
to drain the soul of freedom.

Blue skies and beautiful,
hardly a breeze
in the florida keys

Thursday, February 25, 2010

How does the garden grow?

0651/1827 56/65 Blue Skies NNW 15/20 70%H
DOGS 10220 8000 1110 1610.

Greetings from the Hill.

Cold and beautiful from the balcony,
a morning taking the sun with the classics,
reading notes from wiseass bloggers
looking for clever phrases,
but finding intellectual mazes...

As petty as schoolteachers keeping secrets.

"Tis a shame the brain has gone lame,
a daily diet of stupidity
has given the imagination rigidity,"
laughing to the cats.

A different approach to the blogspot,
that stain left from a leaking drain
dripping from a skuzzy snooper's brain,
the free flow is dammed by debt...
"Open the Rivers of Credit,"
laughs the madone beyond cash,
all banking online,
all records transparent.

"Fuck this jiveshit...
how's the garden and the cats,
did you bury Angora in a nice spot,"
snarled the cuban
checking on the oldman and his will.

He had his eye on certain treasures,
thirty five years of journals
was a lot of blackmail
in the wrong hands
or igloo bands.

The oldman dropped his rollup
in an empty Millers pint
as sunset darkened,
Vivaldi from Havana,
static beginning before
the coldest night on record...
hockey night under comforters,
plants unprotected.

"What about that Scooterman,
seems to be a knowitall
on the Financial Fall,"
laughs Alger from the Rogosuite,
monitoring Key West blogists
in his gas stove warmed studio.

The oldman's fingers were cold
as the grey clouds raced
to Cuba over the Straits.

"No score..." laughed Tony,
a jacket on with long pants and socks
watching hockey sticks waving
around helmeted women
from US and Canada...
three windows and
big screen TV
in the dormroom.

"Fifty fucking degrees,"
shivered the oldman at seven
sucking a very cold pint.

"Obama is a sorryass Sophist,"
chuckled the oldfart beginning
to consider a rant against
the Commander in Chief
who has readied the returnies,
80,000 from Stupid Bushs' wars,
and his million dollar grunts
in Afghanistan fighting
30,000 patriots.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

The Roosters have Gone.

0653/1825 70/77 Blue Skies N/5 70%H
DOGS 10300 7870 1102 1583.

Greetings from the Hill.

A warm night in paradise,
classics from Havana,
hockey from Vancouver,
pissed off Maple Leaves
from the Frog in goal...

Another week of Goldman plots
to bury the Euro with Greece,
credit swaps to cover ratings
and mask mark to market
with crooked price tags.

"Insure the DEBT with a bet,
hedge the short with a hedge,
LIBOR and VIX make the fix,
back Toxics with Treasuries
supported by Citi usuries,"
growls the madone pissed
with crooked lawyers,
lying politicians
and thieving bankers,
skimming the cream
leaving sour milk for the masses.

"Make yogurt and slim down."

"Porky Pigs who can't afford cigs."

"Don't be cruel to a dumbass fool."

"We deserved the American Dream
and were served a Wall Street scheme."

"McMansions and Big Mac's,"
seems like Key West.

Room temperature IQ's....

Bring it on home Bubba, open the pit
of Bahama Village shit,
sell low what you bought high
and build offices in the sky,
with Key Lime pie...
"But there is no more coke to buy."

A smugglers town with fakes and fruits,
flakes and sissies looking for routes
to the road to the promised land
of promise and change...

"Obama is your Momma."

Classics still from Havana,
no rain yet...

Sober at ten o'clock,

in the fabulous florida keys.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Obama's Second Presidents Day.

0700/1821 56/66 Light Clouds NNE 5/10 70%H
DOGS 10109 7407 1091 1545.

Greetings from the Hill.

Another chilly day in paradise,
quiet morning streets, no gawkers,
not even a pickup truck of illegals,
gentrification is basic repairs,
old queens now bend in their gardens.

The asshole across the street
trapped two hens in his rental cage,
"One hundred dollars,from 'The Bird People,"
he boasted, like a crowing cock,
another pompous part time resident,
"They wake me up.."

The cage was in Love Lane,
"Not the fuckwad's property,"
growled the madone...
of course the house photographers
failed to record the atrocity,
merely an oldman's word.

No gushing rushing urgency from CNBC,
but the traitors are always trading,
cats under comforters in the balcony sun,
classics from Havana, palm trees
through forty eight window panes,
socks, shirt and sweater
beneath the blogist's robe,
coffee finished by noon.

"That fucking Fink has the mulatto's ear,"
growls the madone having followed his career,
another mathematical genius said to have
invented derivatives for Boston Bank,
...."Way back when."

Seems like a lot of people invented those things
that....."No one understands."

But when did Joe FourPack ever read
a bank statement, things like that
were done by the 'little lady',
while cooking, cleaning, chauffeuring
for the rat pack, in between
a job of her own....
the land of equality for all,
"Only where a real 'black' woman
could become First Lady of America,
'Hello hello, take a look'
and another pair of Lawyers
in the White House,
the white couple on World Tour,
sandwiched between the librarian
and the cheerleader...My My,"
sighs the oldman
wondering about lunch.

"The dogs have been unleashed,
sniffing the tainted money trail
that dissipates like Frisco Fog,
into sunny day pixels
connected by the universal network
of innovative financial engineering,
expensive words to disguise THEFT,"
'Too Big to Know', frowns a judge,
one of the ten clowns who made
corporations human to bribe,
finally the way of business is legalized
for the corporapists and banksters
to officially manage 435 stooges
and fifty one goons with an underclass
of state, county, city and town
corrupted officials...

"Guys like Vinear understand the system,
a tight organization of thirty thousand,
controlled top down, secrets tight
but interchanged like overnight money,
and pools for massive deals...
opening the dark pools of opaque deals
in the pink pits of Nasdaq's OTC,
Hofuckingho, a weekend away from overdraft
on billion dollar scams,
'a trillion here, a trillion there'",
fumed the madone feeding the cats
on the sunny blue sky balcony.

"Hey...what about those Crisis Derivatives
being perpetrated by Citibank," laughs Alger,
resident painter and student
of Fraud Street deceit,
visiting the blogist.

"And now the shit is beginning to bubble
from the septic tank,"
grinning with his witticisms,
enjoying the intrigue of
Thieving Lying Cheats.

A curious mind is a pleasure to find.

"And 'they' say Bush and Blair
had an affair, hehehe...
with Connie," giggling
as his cellphone chimes.

The master of the Banking Houses,
overlord of the twelve keepers
of consumer cash flows
continues to talk shit
now bubbling in the basements
of homes, factories and hotels
underwater, the financial flood
of 2007 DEBT with only
fifty cents to cover the buck
from the Wall Street Fuck.

"Great Opportunities in China,"
exude the investment hustlers
as chinese companies are listed
on the NYSE for trading
by the traders.

"We do our best," lie the leaders
of the banking establishment.

Time runs the course,
as rivers turn to rapids,
bridges collapse without repair,
subdivisions become vacant,
and another derivative scam
is sold for hot air.

Blue skies and beautiful,
a breeze in the keys.

And always sunset.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Something new....

Greetings from the Hill.

A chilly day in paradise, cats inside,
classics from Havana, food warming...
Tony watching Olympics,
Alger printing souvenir notes,
the oldman starting again.

'Fucking cold," raves the madone,
not comfortable on a new stage.

Circumventing the technical malaise
of the omniscient WherewithAll
for another blog is neat, cool,
farfuckingout, an option...
in the choiceless society.

Another old friend has died,
thirty five years ago when
sharing that first joint
at the Midget Bar.

Fried Fish gone as well.

"Hey, oldman..wear a helmet."

Blue skies and beautiful
with a chilly breeze
in the florida keys.