It's Later Than You Think

I've seen the people crying seen them lined up in the road standing backed against the wall nowhere left to go I see the sun keep coming up the morning sky turn blue I make myself remember that we're only passing through Still, someday a time will come you better know it will he who was first will now be last and gonna have to pay that bill

CARNIVAL

These ancient narrow streets, once dark with mad legend, now crawling alive below twisted, cursive wrought iron. Looking down into chaos and falling through the long hall back to memory of her, sitting late at the bar, saying, how could I miss it, the smorgasbord of pleasure. I spoke words of leaving to her smile and her eyes told me that my words were lies. Below my feet are spirits of many worlds and faces, dragged up each time to meet in this weird pageant like the drunken contents of lost sepulchers spilled together onto littered streets. The howling of tears and song, of laughter and of minds lost, of lovers found, to be forgotten. Wine and spirits pour like blood at some fantastic mass communion, the wafer of our very flesh consumed on altars of desire. All ghosts are holy here and vestments, glorious and vain, tatter in the pulling hands of the blessed and the damned, falling together into bliss or to burn in eternal flame. The call rises to fever pitch and turning back, I step inside to find my feet upon the stairs. Treading down deep into dark, I see a light that lies ahead. Following my walking feet, the iron gate is all that holds the street back from this inner sanctum of sanity and calm repose. Swinging open the bars and stepping out into the crowd, immediately I am lost and swept away by relentless current, feet no longer touching ground, laughter ripped from out my mouth so loudly, yet I cannot hear it nor can I recall my name or where I was before this time of twitching orgiastic dance or why those balconies look safely down with distant faces like I once knew, when just below them hunger reigns and I have fed myself, at last, into the mouth of the beast.

Playing the Race Card & Hard Pimpin, yo.

It has come to my attention that Troy Henry, not satisfied with plastering Dutch Morial’s picture all over his website (Mrs. Morial made him take it down), trying to align himself with the first Black Mayor of New Orleans, has now posted pictures of Dr. Martin Luther King, pleading with us to watch his video, Troy Henry Tribute to Martin Luther King. Since Mister Henry announced that he wished race were not an issue in this election, I find it nauseating beyond all measure that he would pander to feelings of racism, trying to get himself elected solely on skin color. His credentials, like being president of a water company that has several ‘presidents’, or bragging about his ‘consulting firm’, a partner of which is now suing him for using company funds to support his campaign, certainly speak for themselves. To my ears, they speak Naginomics, a shallow attempt to pander to the worst fears of his own people, in order to gain complete power over them, giving him the best vantage point to lie & steal, just as he is now doing to his partners & anyone buying his Mayoral Race shenanigans. MLK would probably have him escorted from the building. Then of course, is Election Time Lunatic, John George. As an official Dangerous Person of the Internet, I wonder why full page glossy pamphlets picturing Mister Georges shining face are crammed into my mail box, taking up space usually reserved for Netflix, pornography ads, and ladies underwear, usually left around 3am (just ring the bell next time, darlin. I’m up…). I guess he thinks that because I live in ‘The ‘Hood”, I must be black, and about to squander my vote on the likes of Troy Henry. Not a chance, Georgie. By the way, the Marigny, while not anything like your rich ass gated community or the private school where you send your kids, all in the name of keeping it real with New Orleans, is rated in the top ten up & coming neighborhoods, nationally. Of course, if my lunatic father were a poker machine magnate, and had named me ‘Nike Georges’, I’d want to go to private school, too. Those playground beatings can get ugly. Anyway… John Georges didn’t stop there. Oh, no siree bob. At evening rush hour, he has four teenage African American girls, standing on the four corners of Elysian Fields & Caliborne Avenue, looking every bit of their 12 to 16 years, and waving his ‘Vote for John Georges’ signs around, to the horn beeping and cat calling of any passerby who finds this exciting during a two light wait at rush hour. Hard Pimping and pandering to the best & brightest, yo. I hope those gals are well paid. I’m sure they don’t understand the ramifications of selling out their own folks while using their bodies as bait. John Georges, certainly does, however. I wonder why Nike, Lisa & Zana aren’t out there? I thought Mister Georges was all about ‘the Family Business’ as this full color propaganda says. I guess HIS kids are only allowed to get pimped out in gated communities. “Most important to me is my family & church” the flyer declares. What’s important to you, John ‘Douche bag’ Georges, is winning at any cost, pandering to race, spewing hate towards bloggers who seek the truth and pushing your fucking poker machines down the throats of any & all of the poorest, seeking hope while you drain them of their very last drop. You, John Georges & Troy Henry, are what’s wrong with New Orleans, a pariah to us all, and will be forgotten too soon to have your actions pinned on you properly, guaranteeing you that special place in hell, all the same, for rich & powerful assholes hungry for more power for the sake of power, and willing to step on anyone or anything to get it. Thanks for the new dart board, by the way, Johnny old chum. Too bad it isn’t voodoo doll I’m punching holes in. Lord David Skull Club New Orleans

We Are Not Alone

The concept that we are the only intelligent living things in all of this vast expanse is ludicrous, at best. The idea that there is The One God here who punishes our personal minor infractions and encourages us to make war upon each other in His Name would be entirely laughable, were it not for the millions who have died at the hands of 'believers'. While our paltry lives are not even a blink in it's existence, we are, all the same, part of this magnificent experience, and therefore equally capable of beauty. Behold, the True Nature of 'Heaven', so exquisite, it brings a tear to the understanding eye. We are not alone, but part of a cosmic dance of all eternity.

With the right kind of eyes....

We can see that we are all the Same Infinite Spirit, dreaming we exist in separate bodies, wiggling along in a space time continuum. Dream a dream of peace, love & understanding. Lord knows we could always use more...

Meet the New Boss, Same as the Old Boss....

Yeah, those are lyrics from The Who’s anthem, ‘Won’t Get Fooled Again‘. You might have heard it on one of those CSI shows where all the Sci-Tech gals are playmates and the mailman drives a Ferrari. While TV & Rock and Roll are Classic American Distractions, that particular song holds special meaning for New Orleanians as the Mayoral Race closes to the final sprinting distance. We were certainly ‘fooled again’ when Mitch Landrieu was outvoted four years ago by a grinning jackal we know as C. Ray Nagin. Of concern to me in this race, among other things, is do we really want another cocky business man at the helm, telling himself he can do no wrong behind his Isolation of Power Door, or can we deal with the slippery slope of half truth and convenient beliefs. Of special interest in current events is the ongoing playing of the race card by Nagin and most recently (and pathetically) by Warren Riley. Even Troy Henry has “lambasted recent news reports suggesting “a likelihood that the next mayor of New Orleans would be white.” He went on to say, “”All we’re asking for is fairness and equal consideration, period.” These are, of course, admirable qualities to strive for. I’m also told that Troy Henry & Stacy Head are ‘friends’ which I’m guessing is some sort of euphemism for political associates. I doubt they have Sunday Tea together, but hey, I could be wrong. Neither of them has ever invited me. Go figure. So, anyway, I’m wondering where all of this ‘can’t we all just get along racially’ song and dance was when Veronica White et al were breaking laws all over the place, focusing only on white council members and using her race to cover up her inept failure at, well, covering up her inept failure. You gotta give Veronica points for consistency, something she must have learned during her political science days. At Beauty School. Where was Troy’s righteous indignation at race baiting in City Hall then? In fact, where is it NOW, when his buddy, Ms Head, is taking dirty shots from a known liar (check his crime stats) in uniform, also busting out the unethical chops by accusing her of open racism in an email he cannot produce or even prove exists? Nowhere, that’s where. Nada, zip, squat. He’s not gonna do shit to stand up for his ‘friend’, for what’s right, for what WAS right as long as he can spend his time using this Race Baiting issue to get himself closer to being in office. Once there, I’m guessing that we can expect the same race card shenanigans, ignoring alliances with those fighting the good fight, and general shuck & jive bullshit that we’ve been drowning in for the past eight years. It’s not okay to DO IT to Troy Henry, but if it’s not a stain on his tie, it doesn’t exist. This lack of concern for a real issue that has has cost the City Of New Orleans years of recovery, suddenly turning around when it may effect his bid for Mayor, just stinks to high heaven of personal agenda and the Delusional Egomaniac show that were about to celebrate the end of. Or are we? “I pick up my guitar & play. Just like yesterday. Then I get on my knees and pray…. We don’t get fooled again.” - Peter Townsend Lord David Skull Club New Orleans