A musical story

 

I am a hoarder of things, books, musical delivery and song-saving devices and places I know, I bet I have a couple of thousand records, mostly albums. Books too, I get them for cheap here and there, but the top of the book acquisition department at "El Plumero Fine Literature and Carne Asada and Al Pastor Tacos" remain unhoarded as I eat them too fast for the time to get hoarded, them tacos are hard for me to deny, where was I getting all that gristly meat and cheap books? At the big yearly library sale, I got fifteen CDs too, way cheap, so cheap I don't bitch

Now,listen up. There is no way Donald Trump could have kept his nose out of the massive flows of money that are in the air, transferring themselves all around us, buzzing in our ears at dinner, causing toilets to jam when the wrong paper got tossed in by accident, the Chief of Staff waits by the street trap for the money to flow with all the rest of the dumb shit coming down the pipe, sloshing around and foaming brownly, drinking water for the indentured.

Hold Up There

I was digressing again, this fuckin weed in the morning with my tea,  never enough,  some more while I can, 

I Got This Book*****"Really The Blues"..written by an old school from the olden times big band swinger, a clarinet player named Milton Mezzrow, it is in an old beat up cloth covered cardboard cover, in a grey color, grey like the bottom of a wrinkle, the first page of prose is as follows and is what intrigued me

"To all hipsters, hustlers, and fly cats tipping along The Stroll

(keep scuffling.)

To all the cons in all the houses of many slammers wrastling with chinches

(Short time, boys.)

To all the junkies and lushheads  in two-bit scratch pads, and the flophouse grads in morgue iceboxes

(R.I.P.)

To the sweettalkers and the gumbeaters and the high jivers,out of the gallion for good and never going to take low again.

(You got to make it,daddy.)

                                                                               *

To Bessie Smith, Jimmy Noone, King Oliver, Louis Armstrong, Zutty Singleton, Johnny Dodds, Sidney Bechet, and Tommy Ladnier.

(Grab a taste of millenium, gate.)

                                                      ************P.I.T.P.*********

                                               *******Department of Looking Into******

                                              WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN 

Slang, Jargon, pitter-patter of ancient coolness, I gotta find out what they are, if I am going to read it, I will need a glossary...lemme see if I got one here, I'm looking now..

we got one...it says here.."The Big Bean" is the sun..ok...here we go...the language of music in the days of swing, big band jazz, and...5 piece combos, check-in in the bop era, but not yet, wait for Miles and Herbie and Bird, Prez is in Paris and won't come back, who could blame any black person for cutting out, now everyone is finding out, it is great and very disturbing, go ahead and disturb, let's get it right now, right now...these guys are cool but careful in the twenties, thirties, forties, everyone is hanging out and it's cool but quiet, carefully, hanging out carefully, what a bitch, on and on......

So, this is it, I gotta go, out for a walk around our newly designated federal wetland right on the edge of town, people are coming along, no dogs allowed, we will have to talk about that, maybe I can just fuck it off but I don't want any dead ducks on my conscience either, I got enough sustainable guilt built up already, I'm full. What the fuck is a "gallion'..an old Portugese Sailing Ship?? Soon, we will know all that is find outable, but not right now.

I am this ridiculous

.

I would be this ridiculous if I could get away with it
my wife has something to say about it
that's why