Continuing saga: Open Mic Night fiction,fiction,fiction

I guess everyone knows but Sinsemelia Jones once accused me of stealing his guitar, didn't, and we wound up on half warm speaking terms years later.    I was playing this hybrid import with triple humbuckers, and it looked exaclty like his real deal  expensive glam ax.  Or close enough to rouse suspicion.  From across the room at open mic night.    I'm glad he beat the person who really did steal his instrument to shit.   Even that can bring people closer together in a slum.   Unifying stardust could choke you to death.   We had hard knocks  in common.

Another club favorite, Mikey Mumbawumba, was sneak attacked one night at the club.   I'll get to what happened to the prick who stole Mikey's Haitian Curse.   So he claims, he was gifted  the instrument by a wizard during a machete massacre.   He probably bought it at a pawn shop.   Doesn't matter.   He's very vindictive.    He and I are on chilly speaking terms, in a no fault way.    I've seen him act rude and surly towards Frankie Primavera, which is wrong, but that's rocket engineer's measuring.   Mikey is pugnacioius.  But very courtley when he's in a duet with Lavoris Crackman.   They love doing Broadway showtunes.

One night I was playing what I had, Frankie was on bass, Lavoris was singing, and Mikey was playing this guitar he claimed a swami conjured out of a barrel of copper heads.   Ms. Crackman was radiant, the bullet hole in her spacious prominent chin accentuating her long boned elegance.  She sings Mac the Knife.   Makes you bleed.   That night she was on Somewhere Over the Rainbow.   That's a bone crusher.

You meet some interesting stand-over per sons when someone like Sinsemelia Jones or Mikey Mumbawumba is looking for a stolen guitar.   Mr. Jones brought his friends when he dropped by my crash pad, looking for his ax.    That came up daisies.   Mikey's pursuit is worse because of the voo doo.   Even if it's BS, it draws creepier goons than Sins' pals. 

A lead came in that night.    Some asshole was planning a machete massacre, and may have stolen Mikey's guitar.   Some sort of synchonicity horse shit.  Bastards always think they have a better chance of having their way if they have the right talisman.   It's genie-in-the-bottle garbage, and Mikey's guitar doesn't give a fat shit about their stupid massacre, but who ever stole the guitar should have been worrying.  


...

Another Micro-festo. That's a puny, soft manifesto. Real peaceful-like.

Yours truly is moaning again about a tri-plex of dreadful big deals.    There's crises in validity, ethics and human relations.   Being a life long voting Democrat, a puny, mournful one, it's been my recurring thoughts Dems should have been tending to these existential conquistadors, rather than running an all day, everyday hate  the President campaign.    One can despise and reform at the same time.   

It might have been better to adopt a more benign and sociable mentality towards an administration that's whack.   It might be better to sustain a civil continuum of recommendations.   Alternatives.  Maybe skip the 1984 style three minute hate.   Been my misfortune to see business and professional networking smooshed in Godzialla's grimy toes.   A massive hostile environment got outta' a sci-fi flick.    Us poor lousy folks on the fringe can't function in politically polarized communities.  

Dems should do two things.    Agree on what their candidate should do, and resolve the three things I'm moaning on the loudest:  validity, ethics and human relations.  This isn't all Dems, people all over the place morphed into lying, cheating bastards.   The tri-plex of beefs.   Try to iron 'em out.

The Lyrics

see that knave
decked out in silk
in his alabaster cave
drinking strawberry milk
don't talk or wave
the knave he silly
give him what he wants
psycho-billy
just chill alone
don't ya' piss and moan
that boy is cornpone
see the pitchfork in the hay
he'll pick it up one day
don't tease or wave
to that college boy knave





Relocating


floating the ohio river
in a flax colored tractor inner tube
whim of oxidation and wear
designer rings of algae
duck  masterpiece radiating
the sailor dude wakes to what resembles a flood
 but it's a row of industrial buildings
Bates exit to town
diminishing for five miles
to an ink dot
it's the same trip as last time
the sailor is slightly Iron Eyes Cody
aspect of treasure maps a pin point
push pins in heaven get pulled
the sailor got Gor-Tex
he feels he's breaking even

Flash fiction past. Not true at all. Fictional. Nonsense.

Flashbacks of Squares

You don't know who I am, the name I'm using is BS because my real one is dog shit, but I was a regular on the Hollywood Squares for a lucky seasonal run, not long after the Mi Lai massacre, which everyone got on the news along with their game shows. The late Wally Cox had a crush on me at the time, and I lost my spot because of quiz politics and the casting couch. That was the last time I was on television.

People were still wearing novelty sombreros and rustic straw sun hats with loose hanging reeds. Hawaiian shirts were popular then. We were important to the travel and leisure business. People saw themselves in us. Being a Hollywood Square was one of nine incarnations of Jesus in a neon light frame. I was the fright wig and sequin guiding light.

People have to confess to someone, for some thing. This is about lassitude. Alienation went out of style with modern mental health intervention, jeez you can't even look fucked up without a do-gooder turning you into the Psyche Brigade. I haven't done anything in decades. Nothing that distinguishes peon A from serf B. That's why I have this logorhea.  No ass, just thoughts.  Seems everyone is paralyzed and moaning. Me too. Moan with me. Let's dance.

A voting registered Democrat here. Maybe we should show some fucking due consideration.

Being diminutive and all, people don't seem to so much as pick their toes on my advice.   Maybe it's a case of charisma deficit disorder.   It's not likely voting Democrats will jump on this opportunity to sieze a plan for 2020.  Here it is, anyway, and I might be a jerk for bringing it up.

Trump's planning isn't all wrong, and if Hillary won 2016 Big Roll'o dice, maybe Dems would be cheering her on for doing some of the same things.   The plan to increase border security, beef up the nuke arsenal and reduce the scale of a standing army could be the best hope for greater world peace.    It's also about less globalized intercession, which is great for setting up the next military  invaision or internal insurrection.   Isalotionism is the better way to less boots on the ground.   Too, it is to focus on the US economy and to better serve those, here, who are distressed and in need. 

S'pose Dems fess up this is a viable, maybe beneficial strategy, and adopt it, with their grudging thanks.  The Dems haven't come forward with any long term strategy, only the short term one of keeping up with allegations, e.g racism, gender bias, fascism.     Just me warbling at home, but I think the US morphed into an oppressive corporate oligarchy long before 2016.  The Dems can continue with their humnaitarian agendas.  It's not mutually exclusive. 

 Globalism isn't working so great, and the Dems haven't offered much to correct it.  Maybe they can win in 2020 by fessing up and making some changes.   They want a Democrat in the White House.  This might be the ticket. 

Resolving

there are 95 degrees of separation
I got this dime store compass with dreadfully thin slide arm
my circles just don't meet so well at the point that fucking matters
we have wrongful co-ordinates
fucking GPS unit
fucking wheel well
bastards watch and don't chime in
throw you a bum steer
compile folders
they still have sheet steel furniture
just have to get it home
that creak when you pull out the drawer
it's Winston Fucking Churchill

Self pity need not be the crashing bore it often is.  People are too fucking lazy to jazz it up good.  That's where I differ from unter-mensch.   I'm a Nietzchian gloom factory.

I'm sweating about retirement planning.   At this point, much as I got is I plan to get Alzheimer's disease, and up the road a piece from there, cremation.  While still sadly lucid, the money situation here is deplorable.   People in Haiti live better than this.   The ruling elite is a very troubled minority down there.  It's hard to get decent caviar.   I can't get so much as a Marsh Wheeling stogie.   Strapped.  On a banana republic diet.