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July twooth Stomp Scramble ramble bamble. Two daze driven mad and manic squealing wheeling and dealing in Dante's western hot house Hades aka Hemet. Hundred degrees in the front seat, no A/C. Story of my life. And zip zap skitter skitter scorpion black drops back and into the rear view mirror red and blues aflashing. Welcome to the post nine eleven police state. Black, white and packin, the boys all the fashion. What? Whad-die do? Plate sticker illegible, gotta eat your vegetables, Officers Brimstone and Treacle gonna search your vehicle. Jeeeeeezus. And this on the heels of half an hour of debasement by some horrid state agency. I am a whore, abhorred, floored by your flagrant disdain for the poor. Anymore, now then and eternal, it's a crime to be poor. Nobody told me there'd be daze like this. Nobody told me that all that Fear & Loathing warn't no joke. Or that someday it'd all come true. I say pooh pooh. Pooh the art of zen pooh pooh. Winnie wanna wiggle and jiggle. I say it all ends here. I say down with fear. Or up with Who Cares? Carefree, gonna be. Got 2 B. I know a man with a jigglebrain. And I can see the Kansas City newspaper headlines: Man with Jiggle Brain Stops Train! First Time in Ten Years! Boogie woogie Brad builds mental bridges, baseball diamonds of the acid angel alien mind. Flying saucers? Nevermind.
Onward and upward. Life: make it whale-sized, big as Moby Dick da big white brainchild of Captain Kennedy, my good man Tommy. Duke, near as tall, will carry the torch and cafe crew on the fourth. Fifteen feet your head in the sky high atop my prurient mind monster ride. Dig the aroma this indie pan dance day with Oooh-Bear the Belgian, Francis Machine and the Beat-all Bisque Team. Lord Duke gonna stomp on da terra. Lord Buckley said that, then up and died, and twenty thirty whatever years later one of his surviving knights bestowed the title of lord on the Duke. No kiddin. And that to say nothing of that august Oregon mountain night when Ken Kesey the One who flew over the cuckoo's nest, the merriest of Merry Pranksters himself did lay an eye on Duke and bestow his blessings thereon. And before that there was the night that Michael Mileham laid Duke at the feet of the late Peter Cooke, and came Dudley Moore, Stephen Stills, Lynn Redgrave and Weird Al all to honor the priest who wed the Princess Bride and be be-dazzled by the Duke. And so on and so on. Oh what a wild web that 4-wheeled wonder has woven. And Henry Ford rolls over in his 4-barrel carburated crankcase coffin and groans and moans and jazzman Jack says back, "Go roll your bones, alone.. and of this life report you well and truly." I'm tryin, Jack. I'm tryin. -RSM the Duke of Rising Above It All
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