Pawns Dancing (song)

(to Dave Matthews “Ants Marching”)

Don’t know where the thought for this one came from, no, wait, I DO know where the thought came from, it came from the same spot most of my parody tunes/musical opinion pieces come from … our everyday madness and the surreal state of things where rational thought has been just completely discarded for welcomed authoritarian leanings and profound ignorance, or flat out lies and fascist style propaganda. But the thought of the Dave Matthews tune itself? It just popped in head one day and seemed a good place to fill in those thoughts.


They wake up always grasping

At conspiracies of the big de-feat

That they say didn’t happen

Even with real truth so right-fully



Tinfoil hats gleam in the sun

One powered by the big lying orange one

And they all walk the same line

Like drunken lemmings’ nose to ass that cliff is just fine


They take to their knees

Willing blind fealty

Tethered not reality

Indentured to cult

Blood oaths easily took

GOP share the same sign

New astrology for stars to now a-lign

In their own special lie sky

No other sky is right for stars now to a-light


Take to their knees

Willing blind fealty

Tethered not reality

Indentured to cult

Blood oaths easily took


He looks down from gold tower

Directs his masses to cower if ranks are broke

You must tow the company line

As truths are mine and your minds must keep time


As all you little pawns keep dancing

Marionettes in my power play

Look to the stars for new king’s

Star’s shine to show you the right waaaaaaay

Orangeman controlling the thoughts

Of a party hopelessly lost

Watch his dogs cut back on the vote

With a bleak end, dark end cut the hope

And an end to an autocrat lend

Democracy pop 

You’re dead

Take to their knees

Willing blind fealty

Tethered not reality

Indentured to cult

Blood oaths easily took


Blood oaths easily took

Left Hip (for my Mimi the Quirky – The Memes)

I gave Celie a call not sure if she were around to check and see if I could take Memes down to the shelter for a look, even if there were no Doc’s there, just a look, just a look from anyone other than me and my sudden worry where Sherry said she is a “special” girl has always been a “special” girl with quotes intended as to her issues, her quirky these issues as I thought of them, old quirky, my quirky, but with now some not quite quirky foaming around her mouth and eyes glazed, mouth wiped, again, again, a seizure of old special girls and phones answered with a tear and brought her back up to the apartment to see if maybe there might be a bounce back and we watched the Secret Life of Walter Mitty with Ben Stiller putting Mimi at my left hip, which is her spot, and imagined the rememberings of our own not quite Walter Mitty-like adventures, just simple apartment ones and of how much I liked this movie and so much love left hips.

Afraid of the encore right now though Memes, so afraid, but left hip. Still Memes, left hip.


“C’mon Memes” and I patted the bed after a day done and a finally sat down waiting for my dinner to heat in the toaster oven while finding something, someone (s) on the tube to join me … well, along with Cricket the Blind who, with her seeming little cat wrist watch, always knows the time to lap from when I get home and putz about to when I sit down waiting for the toaster oven’s ding while my little Bella just looks on disapprovingly. I patted the bed and waited, as I always do, while Mimi thought and peered up and over and wavered and rocked back and forth, looked up at me for another pat of the bed and peered up and over again, wavered some more in her Mimi way until she took the small leap of bed faith to then triumphantly, well, as triumphantly as a Mimi can, ginger step around the comforter to grab her Steve and that left hip. This was her moment, the reward of another day waiting, all she’s every really wanted after a pick up hello at the kitchen door and then me always feeling so awful when I have to move her aside, the simplest of lay downs, just a little, for a moment, to get up at a ding.

“Don’t worry Memes, be right back, plus we got wings tonight, you like wings”    


“Hey You!” as I made my way through Celie’s kitchen, after another day and a hello to Celie and the gang, to the living room and a “Hey You!” to a small old Siamese cat stretching, just woke, paws tappy tapping in that stretch and then an as fast straight legged fast as a Mimi can fast over to a me and my “Hey You!”

She knew the sound of my voice I guess, and would wake from her spot in the Sunroom just past the living room to make sure she got a “Hey You!” followed with a quirky, reluctant, “Ok, don’t know what I was thinking but do know what I was thinking” backing off on the pet, but not, and a licky lick at the air and then a pick up and a belly rub with more air licky licks.

I added “The Quirky” to her title for a reason.

Ok, before I repeat myself as I’m doing right now going backwards in time and revisiting some of what I’ve already written as life’s words can tend to do that, images, moments you’ve labeled with words that stick, remind, come back, repeat.

I’m just going to link instead to something I wrote of Mimi a year or so ago, on a night not unlike any other night, something from a different time that was a little brighter.

Curing a Cat of Hiccups and Other Tails

And something about the Memes and the gang that is, again, from a brighter time and proved how they could be my muses, sometimes for just some silly fun.

The Frankenberry Synchronized Cat Laying Team: Bella Joins Forces


Sam came up the hill and up the stairs and she gave Memes a bit of a shot to ease the before and said she would give me some time and come back. Thank you Sam.



Arms. Computer chair. Arms holding. Chair rocking. Tears.

“I know it’s only been two and a half years with me upstairs here Memes but I’d like to think that maybe these were the best of your long years, some undivided attention, a bed’s TV left hip or a night’s pillow to share or a PC desk and a hip in a chair, with a guy who you adopted and held onto fiercely in your quirky, Mimi, old girl way.”

“And I don’t know where we go Memes, none of us do, some may tell themselves that they know … but they don’t … ” (and again I’m repeating myself from past things)

“Maybe though Mimi, there might be a place we go, where we all go, where I have a little apartment and we’re all together, all who have been with me, with really tall cat scratchers and stuffed mice with bells and those blueberry cat treats, and boundless left hips … oh, and windows with cat seats Memes, yeah windows, you so loved your windows too, gotsta have lots of windows.”

Salad Dogs

It’s cold. I hate cold. I’m sure I’m not alone in this. It’s a thing that makes me question every year where I live. Though it’s not a real cold, comparatively speaking, not a place where you could REALLY question where you live, places in videos that make you put on an extra layer or two or three and grab unnecessary mittens to wear around, even in a warm house, at just the view in your comfy where water is maybe thrown in the air to immediately be frozen in pretty air portraits wondering of how people can live like that, but it’s still cold here. And I still hate it. Just sayin’.

As I did my daily weather report, a one put in the can to run for a few evening hours for a little radio station here in the Hudson Valley, right before I left for the day, I noted that it would be single digits in the overnight along with the always dramatic DUM DUM DUM of wind chills dropping the temperature to imagined bone levels where we’re all gonna die.

Gotcha wind chill. Fuck you wind chill. Just tell me, me tell you what the temperature is gonna be, period. I’ll prepare and raise a collar and don my army surplus jacket that has me looking underpass smelling of Jack and sweat with a hood and extra pockets for hand warmer packets and double sweats for end of days if need be, no wind chill warnings necessary.

When I got home, looking forward to nothing other than being home on a cold night, as cold nights will have you, furry girls in their spots just past the top of the stairs, there was a little shelter guy who is new to the house downstairs for the moment, an acclimate to other dogs and some cats little fella who looks like he could use a salad, a little puffy puffer fish of a thing with a tiny dog head who yip yaps until, to his surprise, you give a little under chin scratch of attention. A one who didn’t know this warm. Yip yaps yawn.

It’s cold outside, but need salad dogs stop their yip and their yap with a sudden knowing.

“I gotcha little man, kinda nice this warm and the under chins huh? Now how’s about a bit of jog when things aren’t so cold? You’re lookin’ a little chunky my friend”

(plus I just called a post “Salad Dogs” … kinda cool)