Day: August 10, 2019

(Original post date from Frankenberry’s Attic @ Blogspot: 06-16-19)

In my last post here, song-wise, I mentioned tilting at windmills. That unflinching Quixote-esque need to wail at and fight against whatever it is that you feel needs be wailing at and fought against. Well, it continues …

Tricking The Whole

 

I’m tricking the whole to new reign of a King

To keep their minds from wondering

What the truth knows

I’m filling the gaps marking all that I say

With prop-a-ganda being way

To sell truth now

 

And it’s really heady matter for elites I lie

For a fake press I lie

The haters cry

But see my dog base blinding there who loyally lap at my feet

Never finding truth crumbs on the floor

 

I’m painting bona fide in a red white and blue

My fingers make confusing swirls

Till you let go

Oooh Oooh Oooh Ahh Ahh

(succumb you will in time)

Hey Hey Hey….Hey

 

And hey batter batter batter

Swing and miss my man, can’t hit this pitch you can’t

Not this big spin

I’m on the mound base is the crowd

They pay no mind they are fact free

See how they’re wowed by my huge back door curve

 

I never take time to study the things that were important yesterday

They don’t matter now

Oooh Oooh Oooh Ahh Ahh

Hey Hey

I’m tricking the whole to new reign of a King

It gets my mind to wandering ’bout new royals Ohhhh

Who we could own owwwwnnn

 

I’m tricking the whole to new reign of a King

My mind is always floundering

In a dark hole…in a dark whole

(Original post date from Frankenberry’s Attic @ Blogspot: 06-16-19)

Now many of you are aware of my current living sitch (kidding…seriously, just kidding. If I ever actually use “sitch” instead of situation, like here, in the future, or any abbreviation of the kind, or use any acronyms for that matter I give you full permission to swat me about the head with something blunt or maybe soggy heavy or even poke me with a pointy stick).

So, beginning again, many of you are aware of my current living situation but for those who aren’t I have a wonderful two bedroom place above a three car garage in the house of a landlady (Celie) who owns/runs an animal shelter and sanctuary. For all of the complaints I may have about living paycheck to paycheck and the difficulties that presents, of just being able to get by, where I, and my Bella and the Unintentionals lay our heads is not one of them. It’s a best of spots. The Unintentionals by the way (not btw) are Mimi the Quirky, Cricket the Blind and a new big guy named Duke who I’ve come to simply call Dude, ’cause, well, he seems like one, and who came to be here from a sad situation that I won’t go into (we’ll keep him well Hope, I promise you). Suffice to say he’s here at the moment and just needs to get along with my Bella and said Unintentionals, the Band if you will. He has some windows with plenty to see, a sort of cat TV, drama’d with the stories of cows and horses and chickens and roosters and cats and dogs, is fed well and has a cat guy who gives him kisses on the forehead. For a new misplaced dude? I hope that is, at least, some of what he could have wished for.

One of the things that has fascinated me from day one, Celie and I were talking of this this morning as a matter of fact, is how all the fur here get along, and there is a lot of fur. There are seven dogs, Pea, Polly, Chrissy, Eve & Senta (the big, really big, I mean wolf size big, German Shepherd sisters who thankfully have never thought of eating me) little Spanky (who has also never thought of eating me though I’m sure I could fend off the ankle advances) and a new bouncy, belly rubs welcome small one who I’ve named Georgia. Initially I came to call her “Gorgeous”. There is a cat here named Handsome so why not a dog named Gorgeous I thought? Then Gorgeous morphed into Gorgeous George (as for some reason I remembered an old wrestler) and then Georgia. The naming thing can be a process.

There are also numerous cats starting with Bruce, who is the man, and on down. Honey Bob Tail “Boo”, Cujo (who earns his name on occasion), Dolly, Sharky, Penny, Buck, Florida, Millie, Lola, Handsome, Trucker, Little Mama…and that’s only in the house. There’s also Dutch, Spud, Curly, Lumpy, Ghost and the B&W twins who come and go through a cat/dog door in the garage and lest we not foget the couple of nameless ones who have comfy spots on the front porch. I think I got everyone, apologies gang, to any of you I may have missed. And there’s new kittens, baby raccoons, baby skunks and even baby groundhogs all underneath my ass in the garage, the kitchen, the downstairs bathroom, the sun room, the little barn and the big barn etcetera etcetera etcetera. It’s a wonder of all spots here, all filled with fur and life, life just looking for care and it is a LOT of care. Cheers to you Celie, Momma Doolittle, for that, for them. As my Dad would have said “You’re a better man (Woman) than I am Gunga Din”. Miss you Dad.

Anyway, as to the getting along and what this long winded post is leading up to? Just a couple of perfect pictures (not pics) that exemplify this coexistence. A (daddy) Pea and a couple of the latest arrivals…plus my new misplaced friend.

Here’s to still breathing and still being able to note our lives.

(Original post date from Frankenberry’s Attic @ Blogspot: 06-02-19)

Windmills and time well spent tilting.

A Stay In The Strife

 

I read the news today, oh boy

Trump’s crooked law set to investigate

Distraction’s cries of being spied

Future des-pot just has to laugh

Conclusion’s writ it’s not a draft

 

William Low Barr is his new star

Re-cusal not this time full owned AG

Case outcome’s all-ready been made

For roses garden stage

A victim propaganda play to usher base a brand new day

 

I read a story just to-day

About religious right their prayers have scored

To force the mass to live their way

Back-wards by the good book

Blindness the new look

They love to dummmmmb yooooou downnnnnnn

……….

(It’s rock paper scissors, what do you choose sir?

Rock of course

But paper covers you

Then I’ll be paper

But scissors cuts you

Well I’ll be scissors then

But rock breaks you

Well how can I win?

You can’t really…it’s a check check check

Well that’s not fair…to me…there has to be a win

There are wins, but only temporary sir

Well can I be all three checks?

That’s not how it works sir

Don’t tell me about how things work)

………

Woke up, feeling of dread

Dragged democracy across my head

Found a few old tales in parchment notes

And looking up the founder’s they did spoke

Found they liked a scene of checks

Keep Kings out of our new stead

But treason’s elephant it’s got a brand new game

Dem-ocracy?…it’s merely now mundane

aaaaaaaaaaahhhhh

……….

(You see, it’s all about changing the rules son

But changing them isn’t fair sir

There is no fair

But you just said, to you, the game wasn’t fair

It wasn’t to me then, but I discovered it was rigged and I couldn’t win

It wasn’t rigged sir

Whatever, this is a new fair…my fair

Okay sir but….?

No buts…and everyone I talk to agrees)

……….

So there’s the news today, oh boy

Fake called it is the tried true orange ploy

To gather base who pay no mind

To what real truth may find

It’s daily King con-firmed they’ll buy always the any of his lies

Trump loves to dummmmmb yooooou downnnnnnn

……….

(I’m sorry sir, it’s been decided, you can’t change the rules

Really? Who said that?

Rock, paper or scissors?

Ok, I’ll play along…again…rock

Sorry, but parchment wins

Good luck with that son. It’s just tired old words on paper written by a bunch of tired old men.

Can I borrow those scissors…and a sharpee?)

(Original post date from Frankenberry’s Attic @ Blogspot: 05-25-19)

So a little less than a year or so ago I decided to have a bit of fun and do some writing and some singing (though I’ll put “singing” in quotes here just to be safe). It was at the time that Trump had nominated angry, partisan and unsuited, other than a back room oath of fealty handshake, Brett Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court right after having bought off his mentor Justice Kennedy to retire. The Georgia Satellites and this tune just struck me right then as a good way to vent my frustrations as to someone as dangerous as the ignorant Orange being in such a position.

If you’re here then you know that I’ve built a few more tunes since then. You’ll also know that they all sound a hell of a lot better than that first attempt though “better” is up for interpretation.

Now, I’m really not one to get uptight about such things, or maybe I am as could be evidenced here, but that first tune has been gnawing at me to update it. So that’s what I’ve done, obsolete Windows Movie Maker in tow (Wow, I’m still not good at it…bear with the old dude).

It’s just a me not being uptight about it kinda thing.

Till I Check It Myself

 

Got a SCOTUS in my pocket going ching-a-ling-ka-ching

Wanna crawl up in his fine robes babee, give him some bling

And every time I do I ask the same old thing

I want your loyaltee, you judgees and you’ll get to kiss my ring

My SCOTUS, my own law, don’t just judge by yourself

I said, “don’t pass no judgement, till I check it myself”

 

Oh, Judgee Judgee Judgee you know to see it my way

You know that I’m your POTUS baby, you have to see it that way

Now I’ll tell you a story ’bout fake news and the now

I’ll say no truthee, no storee comes out without me any how

My SCOTUS, my own law, don’t just judge by yourself

I said, “don’t pass no judgement, till I check it myself”

 

You see I wanted law bad, and I was throwing it to Heck

Then they talked of Constitution, started looking for checks

I said Country it’s my law for the rest of your life

Press said no babee, BUT we’ll stay maybee if we story the strife

My SCOTUS, my own law, don’t just judge by yourself

I said, “don’t pass no judgement, till I check it myself” …

(Original post date from Frankenberry’s Attic @ Blogspot: 05-11-19)

 

Another little one. Who doesn’t like a good sing-along huh?

Orange Quarantine

In the land that we call home

Lives a man who was born to be

A simple con, liar and cheat

Living in an orange quarantine

But in this land he would conceive

A man-boy King of him he would be crowned

And to the law he’d not be bound

In his new found Orange Quarantine

 

 

We all live in an Orange Quarantine

Trading truth for beans, an Orange Quarantine

We all live in an Orange Quarantine

The lies come with a sheen in an Orange Quarantine

 

Blind loyal friends all love the ride

Cheer-fully they chide Democ-racy

A prop-a-gandist band does play

 

We all live in an Orange Quarantine

Where truth is rarely seen in this Orange Quarantine

We all live in an Orange Quarantine

Trump’s pockets full of green, in an Orange Quarantine

 

(Full speed backward, full speed back stupid USA

Blindly so it is general

Look the other way for me… drop the law if you please

Will do general. General?)

 

As we live a life unease

All the rich of us (all the rich of us)

Has what they need (has what they need)

To the rest (to the rest)

Shoulder your part (shoulder your part)

In this Trickle Down (in this trickle down)

Quarantine (quarantine…HA HA!)

 

We all live in an Orange Quarantine

Where ignorance is King in this Orange Quarantine

We all live in an Orange Quarantine

Of woe we’ll surely sing in an Orange Quarantine

We all live in an Orange Quarantine

Bizarro is the norm in this Orange Quarantine

We all live in an Orange Quarantine

Where scary does take form in an Orange Quarantine