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
congressional closets,
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.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
A West Wind from the Gulf.
0646/1830 56/65 Blue Skies W 20/30 60%H
DOGS 10408 8088 1141 1722.
Greetings from the Hill.
A bit of a chilly day in paradise,
classics from Havana, cats on the table,
talking tits across the hallway,
sunshine on the balcony.
Perusing the Internet blogs,
Denninger, Shedlock, Roubini,
Asia Times, New York Times,
Globe and Mail, Key West Citizen,
paper rags gone into space
for cripples who cannot leave
their place...
the oldman walked to Faustos.
"The Wives of Wall Street",
smiled the oldman to the 'artist',
snooping about for something new,
languishing in lethargy,
more procrastination on Love Lane,
constipation in his brain.
"It's a reality show for HBO,
somewhat like the Bravo Channel,
House Wives of Wherever,
but with the richest bitches,
snotty elitist cunts",
chuckled the oldfart.
The fellow shook his head
in the four o'clock sun
and pulled out a skinny one.
With a grin on his face.
"Imagine living 'up there',
trying to understand 'them'",
he shrugged.
Krugman ignored his comments.
Joe Bageant was an exile self imposed.
The laundry was in the backyard sun.
Getting disturbed over the rhetoric
of the Professor in the White House
would recall Woodrow and House,
who had Obama's mind????
Was he still a Muslim??????
A Zen Buddist with a rosary
or sitting on Dimon's knee.
A Trillion dollar DEBT MASTER
to the KINGS of FIAT.
Did the Dunce understand DEBT.
"Not very fucking likely,
another shill on the Hill",
growled the madone
bringing in the laundry
fresh from the breeze
in the florid keys.
Another sunset
in paradise.
DOGS 10408 8088 1141 1722.
Greetings from the Hill.
A bit of a chilly day in paradise,
classics from Havana, cats on the table,
talking tits across the hallway,
sunshine on the balcony.
Perusing the Internet blogs,
Denninger, Shedlock, Roubini,
Asia Times, New York Times,
Globe and Mail, Key West Citizen,
paper rags gone into space
for cripples who cannot leave
their place...
the oldman walked to Faustos.
"The Wives of Wall Street",
smiled the oldman to the 'artist',
snooping about for something new,
languishing in lethargy,
more procrastination on Love Lane,
constipation in his brain.
"It's a reality show for HBO,
somewhat like the Bravo Channel,
House Wives of Wherever,
but with the richest bitches,
snotty elitist cunts",
chuckled the oldfart.
The fellow shook his head
in the four o'clock sun
and pulled out a skinny one.
With a grin on his face.
"Imagine living 'up there',
trying to understand 'them'",
he shrugged.
Krugman ignored his comments.
Joe Bageant was an exile self imposed.
The laundry was in the backyard sun.
Getting disturbed over the rhetoric
of the Professor in the White House
would recall Woodrow and House,
who had Obama's mind????
Was he still a Muslim??????
A Zen Buddist with a rosary
or sitting on Dimon's knee.
A Trillion dollar DEBT MASTER
to the KINGS of FIAT.
Did the Dunce understand DEBT.
"Not very fucking likely,
another shill on the Hill",
growled the madone
bringing in the laundry
fresh from the breeze
in the florid keys.
Another sunset
in paradise.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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