The New Decade Jam - starting Jan 2010

[jimboloco]

do not delete that young man on the river
do not delete he's incomplete and unprepared
he never knew he was gonn sail th highways
wind blowin dead on jammin into it
released hiz brakes thazz all it takes
attitude of gratitude
mee and th wired one both met bob hope
i was th only one who laughed at his three legged chicken joke
they's none of that in heaven i thought
while th nam vets groaned in 1985 shreveport
but good old baltimore is still there now
neighborhoods alive with word jam jive
an jazz buffaloes thrive
noreastern no reason blowin cold snow
but ya'll know the old spirits linger

an they laughin slow....
while zero hero-ines-oes
top to bottom of th world
breathe in pearls of godlove
napping an dozing doubts
lethhhhhhhhthemggooooooo.

[Arcadia]

consciously
I can start counting in the ´70
does it matter?
not era-ser at hand
just a keyboard, a glass of wine
and an erratic radio wave
marching in

[judih]

radio waves with many-handed voices
sound of decibel embraces
i believe there's a plug
and a socket
so many plugs, so little time

[stilltrucking]

it is a wavy world
static in the attic
yakety yak
not enough sax
too many radio active
obfrustacations

difficult at times to maintain
" conscience and good cheer"
unless I can put on an aluminum beanie
as I enter the decade of my seventies.

<center>

doodle art by jitterbug</center>

[jimboloco]

i gotta socket in my pocket
torqueing gyroscopic propeller
circuit tapper no live wires into my fingertips
grounded as i am not yet down to the ground
of being or not of being
a beanie weanie
weaning
off my lifelong lust for a wet nurse at all times
ma ma
i am in my high chair
playing with my pencil
and eraserhead blues
happy with my makeover
burr cut an gray goatee
an unholy lollygagging wonderer
forgetting about martyrdumb
it's not the way forward
moron this latter day dharma bum sinners
jitterbug's doodles
an screaming jets for freedumb
pointing up max performance climb
right on aouta randolph's airfarce place
an into th land of tender folk on th planet's surface
in deep space time a convenience
before the unknown corner on settlements
of goodwill before all the blueberries are crushed into jam

[tarbaby]

I got no ground on jitterbug's plug
standing in a puddle of water
Playing his twelve string guitar
with the electric pickup
daring god

I found my thrill
my purpose on blue berry hill
not a very good purpose
but even still
just to pound these keys

and make meaning from nothing
here ten years after the start of a new mellenium
my father's 19th century hell
has not passed
into that good night

I got my teat in a wringer
while lusting after
dangerous curves
but all is well
for a seventy year old virgin
who has been to dumb to live

I got great hopes for the twenty first century
I don't want to die
while there are few bucks left in social security
I want to burden the system a little more
if I was in Sparta 2500 years ago
I would be on the side of the mountain
starving to death with the old and infirm
and female babies.

But here I am
still celebrating
another day of living
sans purpose
sans money
sans tender embraces
beating my fingers against these keys
a beat a beat
my kingdom for a beat
rock and roll is here to stay

I got trains running through my back yard
And strangers passing in by
saying Hi.
so I got to acknowledge them
but it
breaks my reverie
I wish I was sitting there contemplating your reverie too
I get out to the country when ever I can find a reason
Just to sit and stare
at the continuous multiplicities of my field of visual sensation
without having to be aware of those about me
other fields of visual sensations of passers bye

the eleventh commandment
the eleventh right in the bill
privacy in the age of lidless eyes
a fine and private place

[jimboloco]

washington-on-the-brazos
west of giant houston
across flat open coastal prarie
up onto rolling ranchland
the river cuts thru with neat steep banks
by th old state capital
shadowed and stark in hot texas sun
th banks hiding shade below the rim
and sweeping away straight flat
cookie cutter minimalist
20th century south texas blues
then back into town
meth freaks an
my paranoid
inner child
to rest and work
an draw in desperate yearning

coulda stayed in houston
one poke over th line
sped demon high
manic crash
bad stick
sore as hell

so long ago anything nowsa piece of cake

straight baked

[tinkerjack]

it is your land our land
from the california atrazine laced waters
to the Hawaiian islands
where dugout doug wades ashore
homeboy could have been a general
if not for his baby brother
a small group of intact American males
deal with the rats and maggots of child hood fears

been trying to dream about crazy mike for four days now
no luck
I finally got my lunar calender from Agudas Achiem this year
and the year half gone

Come from the pampas of Lithuania or Russia
to be a doctor
got caught up in Mr Wilson's war to make the world safe for J.P. Morgan and company
got his citizenship in the merchant marines
crazy mike always did love Eugene O'Neill's play the—big sad— Hairy Ape
not quite a white man by the standards of the times
they put him down with the black stokers
he knew claustrophobia
he taught me well
all for the good
I was born for fear

ah well things are sweet jimboloco
I got African gospel music running throuh my memory
can't be wrong
when the gospel came to Colonus

yeah childhood paranoia
Oedipus wreck got nothing on me
you can step on my blue suede shoes
but just don't castrate me with your atrazine
yes my grass is greener than yours

I sit an imagine children unborn
one child left to carry on
the invisible hand of the marketplace is going to be our salvation
the advent of feminized men
we will be a lot more like women
as we blindly tinker with our genome

happiness is the fulfillment of a childhood wish uncle Siggie said
and happiness in love and work is the best hope he could offer
but I found more hope more happiness in coming awake
when I become aware of what I was aware of but feared to see.
wit the help of
a few distant friends
And Camus.

heard a very timely version
of the w. Guthrie song
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=beJZUAdgCN4
The age of irrational exuberance did slowly go bye
in the twenty first century second decade

[WIREMAN]

jam flow
music is love
svetlana brought
her concertina and
we played the music
some more
collata's all around
@ that cuban place
the clouds started
parting as lana and
me made our way back
down market street
a goodbye hug on
the corner of church st.
and like a blonde vision
she glided away.......

[SadLuckDame]

She'd return to shadows
and flowers on monuments
of muddied ribbon beds.

[Arcadia]

last night
Mélange à quatre
in Sana-Sana bar
Ethel´s girl and group
many lands, one voice?
& a verbena smile

[jimboloco]

four or more
not on the floor
a small group of intact American males
deal with the rats and maggots of child hood fears
while their women friends
know more hope more happiness in coming awake
alone on the stoop
or like our cosmpolitan city friends
from baltimore to rosario,
jamming live
not from th cyber confines of th mynddd

[stilltrucking]

In the year 2010 A.F.

After Freud
So many acronyms for these post modern days
now that
B.C. and A.D.
just don’t cut it anymore
We could use B.G. and A.G.
Before and after Godot.
it seems as if
Godot has come and gone
and Kalki dawdles

[stilltrucking]

jimbo wrote

four or more
not on the floor
a small group of intact American males
deal with the rats and maggots of child hood fears
while their women friends
know more hope more happiness in coming awake
alone on the stoop
or like our cosmpolitan city friends
from baltimore to rosario,
jamming live
not from th cyber confines of th mynddd

Just go rond me on that last reply of mine
Kalki was on my keyboard at the time

Studio Eight were men and women friends meet

"... where male and female minds
Shamelessly mated on plush ottomans
Where sensuous mouths dared breathing hard truths"
Tea At Rachel Varnhagen's

Poor old Freud
doctor assisted suicide
it weren't the pain in his jaw
or the cigar is a cigar
it was despair that drove him to it
It was World War Two
or as I like to call it World War One part two after a brief intermission to raise another generation of Cannon Fodder.
Freud's Requiem

meanwhile
I had a dream
April fourth

[WIREMAN]

back in the rockin' town
train ride from d.c. hell
bad energy maximo
yet the rats in the race
love it, coyote gonna come
and clean house someday
reading tristessa by jack
in the cave this week
and on the train 2day
gonna savor the end
once in i was hooked
jack's mexicano azteca visions
listening to future joe excursions now
new decade jammin'!!!!!!