Thursday, September 27, 2007

"This Girl's Not From Ipemema"

Some of us oldsters who were then and are still alert enough, to pay any attention to anything, may recall some of the 'folk' songs we sang in the sweet grass days of yore.

We used to sing with each other, for fun.

Imagine that.

Sometimes a song can be so elegant and emotive, at the crossroads of ancient rhythms and the news of the day and how we feel and well, if that ain't the Blues, byes and gals, you can call me RayJay.

The first drum is the heart.

We are the rhythm.

The melody and harmony require strong concensus and lyric expression, and when we are all in accord, we sing Anthems.

Here's an example from the current U.S. Enemy Aliens List,

"Guantanamara, Guajita Guantanamara..."

This song is to Cubanos as "America the Beautiful" was prior to the coming of the neo- pissants.

Just how useful is all this slandering the cultural totems of others, about which we know nothing, other than fear-mongering?

Where does Hoyle say that American Interests are always trump?

Bush, Cheney and Rice = Greasy, Gassy and Oily.

That's what needs remembering.

Everything they say is "Boogie Woogie," nothin' to do with Rock+Roll.

So WTF are Yanks doing, squatting in Guantanamo Bay?

Say one word about the Maine and we'll stick it up Yr. Alamo.

How and when did the USN become washroom attendants for the Pubic's ghoulish fetish with torture?

Andele Raoul! Batter up Fidel! Listen to the vox populi, void the "Lease," tell G2 and his mini-Mengles to vamoose+go home.

Invite some Iraqis to watch.

Por favor mi amigos, how 'bout an election while Yr. at it, its been fifty years?

Who, except the Pubics, wouldn't adopt this plan in a 9/11 minute?

If Bush/Cheney want to "free" Cuba, they can make a raft like everyone else and "Bring it on," we'll give 'em the paddles.

Cuba's South from Key West, FYI Walker.

Suppose every other Nation said to Uncle Spam, we'll trade with you fairly, not freely, nothing's free you neo-nitwits (they yip about this all the time).

Clean-up Yr. own campsite.
Bus Yr. own tables.
Straighten up+fly right.
Keep Yr. nose out of other people's.......everything.
You weren't invited, and all the fish have gone (bad).
Stay home.
Get a grip.

The Biosphere, with which we've tinkered for a couple of centuries, seems a tetch perturbed, you don't suppose its our fart, do you?

The rising Sea will remediate Guantanamo Bay before an American handshake has any par value around the world again, if ever.

Brava Condi.

Whatever ever happened to "Upper down" votes?

Where did "Consent of the Governed" disaperato?

Veteran Warriors who have, actually, been in a war, soon grasp that Ceasefire, Truce, Armistice, Negotiation, Concessions, Accord, and above all Peace are, unlike the profanity of lies+damn lies from all these pissant little neos, deeply Sacred to everyone.

Fearless or the Field, "With me or ag'in' me," the Tiger or the Lady. So, ah, who do ya like here?

Faites vos jeux, mes amis.

Oh, by the way, the minimum bet at this table is the lives of all of the Grand Children (and any subsequent stragglers) and a large portion of extant flora and most fauna.

We have Yr. imprint, invoices will be forwarded.

"Yo soy un hombre sincero, de donde cresen la pina."

As they say at the Opryland, "Time's a wastin' Walker."