0707/1744 60/70 Blue Skies NE15/20 90%H.
DOGS 11588 9156 1379 2940. Libor 24. Vix 18.
Greetings from the Hill.
Another beautiful day in paradise,
Tony back at home,
Jeffery busy downstairs,
Steve on his cellphone,
the oldman blogging...
"Doesn't get better than that,"
laughs the madone.
Tending the balcony cuban oregano,
giving a plant to Sandy,
one of Steve's students,
who arrived in 1980, the Carter Wave.
The house was alive...
the home comfortable.
Tony's special chili simmering
in the galley above Love Lane.
Classics in the study,
Tits and fools on CNBC,
Tony cooking and Steve lecturing,
the oldman sipping a pint.
The closing bell for another day
of fraudsters, thieves, and banksters,
a pathetic coverup for corruption
with dissemination to the dummies.
"Hey, Steve, calling your broker,"
laughs Rigo offering best wishes.
He arrived in 1965.
The oldman knew him since he was twelve.
Key West is the best.
"All right, oldman, gotta go,
just want to see you're alive, buuuttt,"
as the dream arrives in the hallway,
always the flirt.
"Hello, hello, hello,"
grinning with curiosity,
offering the lady a chair
and accepting another pint.
Life goes on.
The oldman was pissed again,
CNBC made him mad...
trillions were the common denominator,
toxic securities the equation
with the Fed as shadow banker,
for the global debt and world bankers,
the dollar as currency reserve
has 'it's' last Christmas...
Uncle Sam ain't Santa Claus.
"We have lost both relative economic strength
and more important, we have lost a coherent
successful government model
to be emulated by the rest of the world...
instead we are faced with broken financial markets,
underperformance of our economy
and a fractious political climate...
the question is whether
the exceptional role of the dollar
can be maintained."
Paul Volcker.
The question is has China been manipulated
or is doing the manipulating,
the end of dollar hegemony
when there is no Slurp to the Zirp,
no more blood in 401K's
and trading marrow for toll roads.
Cash flows to CINTRA and MIG
engineered by Goldman Sachs,
the traitors who trade away
the flag for money,
while young men die
in an Idiot's War.
Another pussy president
who never served his country
or defended his nation,
Yellow George was the last.
He parachuted out of his plane,
leaving his copilot to land,
and that grin forever.
A sorry ass bunch of leaders
who follow the money
but can't find corruption
under the desk.
Imagine if lying was taxed,
a little untruth or horribly uncouth,
a small transfer tax on trades
made every day on other peoples stock,
monitored through clearing houses
by computers out dated
and terminals by Bloomberg,
grifters and balance account lifters
determined to implement pixels
to replace fiat...
debit cards for all
and the Obama flat tax
on purchases...
food stamps from JPMC,
30% loans from CITI
and 10% mortgages
from Freddie and Fannie,
guaranteed by the IRS...
Until Death do we Pay!
"What the fuck happened to the plan,
surely 'it' wasn't a scam
modeled after a Fed model
with flat tits and no ass...
looking like Greenspan's wife,
bubbles on bubbles
until an economy in rubbles,
planned destruction for globalists
for a one world credit card...
and a clearing house
in Washington,"
snorts the oldman
enjoying the chili
in the dark of the night.
The rules of the game were still the same,
stiff the sucker and fleece the rube,
always a circus
and no free ride.
One day no one comes.
Above the Horn.
Inside the Reef.
Merry Christmas.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
Forty Degrees tonight...Inside!
0701/1740 50/60 Cloudy NW15/30 60%H.
DOGS 11467 8865 1399 2966. Libor 24. Vix 17.
Greetings from the Hill.
Cold and getting colder,
hunkering down for the forties,
"Inside the house tonight,
no central heating or plugins,
just blanket on blanket,"
laughs the madone
done 'it' before.
The strawberries are fucked in Florida.
The painter in the garden
warming up on the grill...
chicken breasts and baked potatoes,
green beans and yams
with cafe con leche...
tough life on the hill.
"Hey, oldman, your ride is waiting,"
mocking Peter's Wraithe,
the Queen's colours.
The young lady treating the oldfart.
A night on the town with a dream.
Almost forty years ago when Howie
moved the building from the library
down Duval Street trucked by Red,
trimming the poincianas on the way,
putting daylight on Fleming Street...
when things were different.
"Hey, Mad Jack...I thought you were dead,"
laughs the owner still out of jail.
The sweet one held his arm,
walking him to Capt. Tony's
and thirty years of memories,
Joe oogling the lady love...
"And I thought you were dead,"
offering drinks on the house.
"I read your blog about Barry and Ben,"
admitting his death a myth.
The Rolls Royce followed up the street.
Carter was President when Shar
ran the 'Bull' bar, another love,
three decades ago...
the oldman's legs were wobbly,
memories were just as thin,
a sensitive touch guiding him
to a leather back seat...
and home on the hill.
Back to Big Mac.
Reading Joe Bageant in Mexico.
Watching the Weather Channel.
Making up stories about the Fed and Ted,
basis points and Libor,
the City of London and Main Street,
Rothschild's and Rockefeller's
ownership through the CFR
of Media Mainstream,
"Fox and talking cocks,
dumbify the consumer cows,
Rubert and Wendy, stooges for the Illuminati,
computer clouding from Comcast,
Google with the X37B
and the idiot Obama dunces."
"Buy silver and fuck JPMC and Dimon."
"Not very fucking likely in the nation of meek."
"Boehner sheds a tear for Ron Paul...
Domestic Monetary Policy Chairman
with a retarded son, Rand, ruining all,
stupider than Bush, dumber than Palin,
some clever conspiracy by whom?"
Wonders a voice in the hallway.
Bill sucking Gross and Larry fucking Fink.
Hedge funds have sequestered the cash,
acquired the worthless bonds
and shorted the equities...
BlackRock Bank of America
has the new signs ready.
The British are back...
never trust a limey!
Barclay Bank is Jewish.
Hillary's son in law is one of 'them'.
Obama is a gutless wonder.
George Soros is not that smart,
maybe he has access to a 2.6 petaflopper,
a quadrillion a second, NVidia Tesla,
courtesy of Wendy Dong,
to calculate gas reserves in Iran.
Bernanke and the twelve boobs
with their twenty five slugs
corrupt the nation.
Above the Horn.
Within the Reef.
On the Hill.
DOGS 11467 8865 1399 2966. Libor 24. Vix 17.
Greetings from the Hill.
Cold and getting colder,
hunkering down for the forties,
"Inside the house tonight,
no central heating or plugins,
just blanket on blanket,"
laughs the madone
done 'it' before.
The strawberries are fucked in Florida.
The painter in the garden
warming up on the grill...
chicken breasts and baked potatoes,
green beans and yams
with cafe con leche...
tough life on the hill.
"Hey, oldman, your ride is waiting,"
mocking Peter's Wraithe,
the Queen's colours.
The young lady treating the oldfart.
A night on the town with a dream.
Almost forty years ago when Howie
moved the building from the library
down Duval Street trucked by Red,
trimming the poincianas on the way,
putting daylight on Fleming Street...
when things were different.
"Hey, Mad Jack...I thought you were dead,"
laughs the owner still out of jail.
The sweet one held his arm,
walking him to Capt. Tony's
and thirty years of memories,
Joe oogling the lady love...
"And I thought you were dead,"
offering drinks on the house.
"I read your blog about Barry and Ben,"
admitting his death a myth.
The Rolls Royce followed up the street.
Carter was President when Shar
ran the 'Bull' bar, another love,
three decades ago...
the oldman's legs were wobbly,
memories were just as thin,
a sensitive touch guiding him
to a leather back seat...
and home on the hill.
Back to Big Mac.
Reading Joe Bageant in Mexico.
Watching the Weather Channel.
Making up stories about the Fed and Ted,
basis points and Libor,
the City of London and Main Street,
Rothschild's and Rockefeller's
ownership through the CFR
of Media Mainstream,
"Fox and talking cocks,
dumbify the consumer cows,
Rubert and Wendy, stooges for the Illuminati,
computer clouding from Comcast,
Google with the X37B
and the idiot Obama dunces."
"Buy silver and fuck JPMC and Dimon."
"Not very fucking likely in the nation of meek."
"Boehner sheds a tear for Ron Paul...
Domestic Monetary Policy Chairman
with a retarded son, Rand, ruining all,
stupider than Bush, dumber than Palin,
some clever conspiracy by whom?"
Wonders a voice in the hallway.
Bill sucking Gross and Larry fucking Fink.
Hedge funds have sequestered the cash,
acquired the worthless bonds
and shorted the equities...
BlackRock Bank of America
has the new signs ready.
The British are back...
never trust a limey!
Barclay Bank is Jewish.
Hillary's son in law is one of 'them'.
Obama is a gutless wonder.
George Soros is not that smart,
maybe he has access to a 2.6 petaflopper,
a quadrillion a second, NVidia Tesla,
courtesy of Wendy Dong,
to calculate gas reserves in Iran.
Bernanke and the twelve boobs
with their twenty five slugs
corrupt the nation.
Above the Horn.
Within the Reef.
On the Hill.
Friday, December 3, 2010
How High is the Ceiling of Debt?
0654/1738 60/70 Blue Skies NE10/20 80%H.
DOGS 11318 8715 1389 2615.Libor 24. Vix 21.
Greetings from the Hill.
A chilly day in paradise,
long pants and socks,
cats on the sunny railing
and windows closed...
the oldman trying to find the time
to get the imagination in rhyme.
Watching House and ignoring CNBC,
"Not even the senile Maestro
playing mindfuck with the morons,"
laughs the madone bringing coffee.
"You lift 600 pounds at noon
then drink six pounds in the afternoon,"
frowning about daily habits,
but saying with a smile.
The painter had made 'it' through the month.
Three sold,six finished and four in progress,
rent paid, fridge and pantry filled,
colored TV in the gazebo
with baby coons as guests.
"Hey...I like 'it' here!"
A seeker of that mysterious wonder of gift
that allows the eye and hand to reproduce
with paint and canvas and a trusty easal,
something pleasing to the eye,
a vision curious to the mind.
that moment captured in time...
usually a week
standing on the street,
the stawker at night watching
the night people...
sucking beer
smoking pot
dreaming of pussy.
"Hey, I am what I am,"
laughing and playing a 'Popeye' song
on his harmonica,
an actual one man band
with bass, keyboard and guitar.
The ultimate studio man.
"That's damn white of you, Bigotman,
color TV and adornondak chairs,
gas grill in a succulent garden
classics and internet
with four windows
and a rocker on the balcony...
maybe he'll paint portraits at home,"
snarled the snot on the balcony,
feeding Viola a saucer of morning milk.
Jake arrived to pay his loan
and boast about romancing a topless dancer.
The oldman turned on the classics
and switched to CNBC.
Sunny and seventy degrees.
One imagines how long the bullshit goes on,
lying Assholes shorting currency bets
protected by derivative bets
guaranteed by counterparties...
not even investments,
gambling on a trend
how soon will 'it'' end...
the default of sovereign governments
and the Euro with
a new world currency...
an Amro with an Afro.
Five Primary Dealers,
twelve central banks
and a crooked congress.
responsible for the mess.
"Maybe something sneaky is going on,
the books are being fudged,
the off balance sheet
is a profit treat,"
laughs the Kid
leaving a rhyme.
Key West is my town,
trouble my gown,
sex without frown...
all one family
in paradise.
"Mad Jack..Mad Jack..,"
gushes the love of his mind,
"I am so sorry I lost Tony's bike,"
apologizing for stupidity
and gullibility.
Dumb and not young
anymore.
Gold was1416 and oil looked at ninety.
Silver was being manipulated
by Uncle George
for another blue bicycle.
"Obama, where is Osama?"
"We have to grow the economy."
With cheeseburgers in paradise.
The painter leaves
to paint the empty streets.
Above the Horn.
Within the Reef.
Safe on the Hill...
the christmas tree lights on.
DOGS 11318 8715 1389 2615.Libor 24. Vix 21.
Greetings from the Hill.
A chilly day in paradise,
long pants and socks,
cats on the sunny railing
and windows closed...
the oldman trying to find the time
to get the imagination in rhyme.
Watching House and ignoring CNBC,
"Not even the senile Maestro
playing mindfuck with the morons,"
laughs the madone bringing coffee.
"You lift 600 pounds at noon
then drink six pounds in the afternoon,"
frowning about daily habits,
but saying with a smile.
The painter had made 'it' through the month.
Three sold,six finished and four in progress,
rent paid, fridge and pantry filled,
colored TV in the gazebo
with baby coons as guests.
"Hey...I like 'it' here!"
A seeker of that mysterious wonder of gift
that allows the eye and hand to reproduce
with paint and canvas and a trusty easal,
something pleasing to the eye,
a vision curious to the mind.
that moment captured in time...
usually a week
standing on the street,
the stawker at night watching
the night people...
sucking beer
smoking pot
dreaming of pussy.
"Hey, I am what I am,"
laughing and playing a 'Popeye' song
on his harmonica,
an actual one man band
with bass, keyboard and guitar.
The ultimate studio man.
"That's damn white of you, Bigotman,
color TV and adornondak chairs,
gas grill in a succulent garden
classics and internet
with four windows
and a rocker on the balcony...
maybe he'll paint portraits at home,"
snarled the snot on the balcony,
feeding Viola a saucer of morning milk.
Jake arrived to pay his loan
and boast about romancing a topless dancer.
The oldman turned on the classics
and switched to CNBC.
Sunny and seventy degrees.
One imagines how long the bullshit goes on,
lying Assholes shorting currency bets
protected by derivative bets
guaranteed by counterparties...
not even investments,
gambling on a trend
how soon will 'it'' end...
the default of sovereign governments
and the Euro with
a new world currency...
an Amro with an Afro.
Five Primary Dealers,
twelve central banks
and a crooked congress.
responsible for the mess.
"Maybe something sneaky is going on,
the books are being fudged,
the off balance sheet
is a profit treat,"
laughs the Kid
leaving a rhyme.
Key West is my town,
trouble my gown,
sex without frown...
all one family
in paradise.
"Mad Jack..Mad Jack..,"
gushes the love of his mind,
"I am so sorry I lost Tony's bike,"
apologizing for stupidity
and gullibility.
Dumb and not young
anymore.
Gold was1416 and oil looked at ninety.
Silver was being manipulated
by Uncle George
for another blue bicycle.
"Obama, where is Osama?"
"We have to grow the economy."
With cheeseburgers in paradise.
The painter leaves
to paint the empty streets.
Above the Horn.
Within the Reef.
Safe on the Hill...
the christmas tree lights on.
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