0644/1831 50/59 Blue Skies NNE10/15 60%H
DOGS 10528 8171 1136 1742.
Greetings from the Hill.
Chilly again this morning,
fifty degrees above the covers,
dreaming until nine o'clock,
indulging in the luxury of seventy,
eight decades of amazement.
A late evening last night reading
the essays of Joe Bageant,
a wondrous writer with an insight
to today's yuppie hell
from living in hippie heaven
and counterculture reporting
for Paul Krassner.
"Who would have imagined student unrest,
Berkeley and Oakland stirring shit
without Black Panthers or CIA help,
that was against Governor Ronnie,
this against President Barry,
maybe grandchildren of the originals",
mused the madone been there at the time,
a student with Kennedy, in exile with Johnson,
a businessman against Nixon...
no shit on his fedora.
The battles with the police were conceived
in the queer closets about chinatown,
before the gay revolution,
"Yeah, getting beat up was a thrill,
come in your pants with a nightstick,
sick fucking assholes, masochists",
ranting on, older not wiser.
America was now a family of DEBT.
Of course, the solution to the dilemma
was being worked out in
secret deals and no appeals,
no jail time just a big fat fine,
paid for with BAILOUT money,
that 700 Billion that is refilled
whenever half full...
"Ain't government great, always there
to make democracy fair."
Indeed, indeed, as Capt. Conch would say,
knowing words to be turds one might slip on,
when walking on drunken sidewalks...
"Volcker has the Fed in revolt,
as eleven start nibbling at one,
Geithner's follies at FRBNY for Paulson
covering counterparty for Goldie
and the consortium of foreigners
pretending to protect AIG,"
snorting and looking out the window,
sunlight on the window plants at two,
he was not of the mood to blame
the mess of engineered financing
on quant theory mathematicians,
MIT insurance actuarians or
Lehman whores in Armani suits...
his fortune slowly and hard earned
had gone....with Enron.
"Don't get me started about
those fucking derivatives,"
not a man to curse.
A cool day in the fifties...
inside and outside.
'Hey, I got a nice tree,"
smiling at the old friend leaving,
classics from Havana,
cats in chairs,
sunlight on the floor.
"Plant a tree and leave something
that lives and grows with beauty
until some asshole puts in
a swimming pool."
An oldfart said that when Carter was President.
"Well, shiiit, Moody has a cocktail pool
on a half lot with a beautiful balcony,
selling out for 1.2 Million,"
snorted the madone reading the mail
not liking change.
The gardener was on a rideabout,
photographing the rich and famous
who in Key West were unseen,
an address for scoundrels
and high financeers
on low profiles...
"Hey, does Marc Rich
still live on Sunset Key,
Madonna still has her condo,
Brad Pitt lives on Ballast Key,
Larry Fink has the penthouse
at the Reach,
that Yankee baseball player
keeps a suite at La Concha,
Sloan Bashinsky moved to a trailer,"
leaving some insight for blind eyes
when listening to Fox News.
Newt was warning the public,
the Obama Administration
was stealing what little left
of the citizen,s wealth...
converting IRA's and 401K's
into guaranteed trusts
of Treasury Bonds.
"Hey, no one else buy this shit,
direct deductions, Victory Bonds
for losers, hofuckingho...
and when you die,
nothing passes on...
but your bills, suckerfucks,
welcome to Obamaland,
no Hope and small Change,"
snorts the madone
wondering how much dumber
the dumb will become.
Blue skies and swaying palm trees,
classics and clean windows,
cats on sunlit chairs.
A cold breeze
in the florida keys.
On the Hill.