pitchers tuck by buddy don: pitchers tuck on a purty weekend

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revues of buddy don: a book to wake ye up agin

tiz lackly ye have du herd bout that book name of The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. tiz a fable. ifn ye read it, ye will wonta thank back on whut yer dream wuz n figger out whuther ye been a'follerin it or not.

a frien leant it to me n i couldnt harly putt it down.

now i keep wunderin bout my own dream, witch twuz to rite, but whut i caint hep but wunder is whuther twuz to publish also. evertime i cunsidder doin whut it takes to git sumbidy to publish yer book, seems lack i could spend my lil time on earth better by ritin sumthin else or trine to git sumthin i dun writ into better shape. (tiz the best thang bout havin a blog on a counta thays a good three of four folks that has dun read sum of my stuff.)

tiz my reckomendayshun that ye git ye a copy of that book n read it. then whenever ye wunder whut yer life is all bout, ye kin read it agin.

tiz the kinda book that could bare a lot of re-readin.

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pomes of buddy don: Mighty Modern Marvels

Mighty Modern Marvels
(from a nightmare)

The population problem had been solved –
As droughts and storms liquidated billions –
Solutions that the fix would have involved
Were deemed unfit as they would have cost trillions.

Instead the age of oil had dead-ended –
Its bi-products creating its demise –
The laws of physics would not be upended –
With nature there could be no compromise.

Small scattered bands of humans still survived –
The winners of earth’s grimmest lottery –
Of many wonders they were now deprived
Returning to the age of pottery.

The eons' passing, entropy and rust
Let mighty modern marvels fall to dust.

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'pomes' of buddy don: not yer real pome

I should myself recriminate
For I did just procrastinate
And wish that I had done by now
What wasted minutes won't allow
Since it's too late and I must run
And leave this poor blog post un ...

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quik note of buddy don: recommendayshun fer espn

to them folks over at espn. ye gut whut ye call 'whip around coveridge' of the ladies basketball turny. thats whar ye tease yer audients by showin em a bit of one game n then switch over to show em a bit of a nuthern till ye find one that mite be a goodn n then mayhap ye dwell on it fer a quarter or two. i reckun ye do the same thang now n then fer that thar mens turny too.

heres my sugjestchun: why dont ye call it jerk around coveridge? on a counta thats whut yer a'doon to yer audients: yer jerkin em around.

ye had them lady vols on n aint no doubt twoodnt be much of a game, but fer them amung us with orange blood, twuz cruel teasin to move it frum them to michigan state vs delaware, witch wuz a better game n shoulda been yer focus frum the git go.

that is all.

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observayshuns of buddy don: four years

we dun made it to the four year anniversry of the war that dint half to be.

corse, we wuz tole by mr rumsfeld, twoodnt be long till twuz over:

"It is unknowable how long that conflict [the war in Iraq] will last. It could last six days, six weeks. I doubt six months." -in Feb. 2003

dead amurkin troops: 3,217

lucky fer them, most of em dint die in the major combat operayshuns:

Admiral Kelly, Captain Card, officers and sailors of the USS Abraham Lincoln, my fellow Americans: Major combat operations in Iraq have ended. In the Battle of Iraq, the United States and our allies have prevailed.

lucky fer us, taint no quagmire, rite? not whut that thar baghdad bob feller sed:

Iraqi fighters in Umm Qasr are giving the hordes of American and Brtish mercenaries the taste of definite death. We have drawn them into a quagmire and they will never get out of it. (Mohammed Saeed al-Sahaf)

quagmire:

quag·mire /ˈkwægˌmaɪər, ˈkwɒg-/–noun
1. an area of miry or boggy ground whose surface yields under the tread; a bog.
2. a situation from which extrication is very difficult ...

of yeah, thay wuz a nuther casualty of war:

They all had hope for a better life in post-Saddam Iraq. Like me, they thought it would be the last of all wars.

But slowly that hope disappeared. Militia groups roamed the streets, kidnapping became prevalent, and safety was lost.

Three-and-a-half years later, I took the same trip I took at the start of the war.

I found the people who danced in the streets of Kirkuk disappointed and skeptical about the future of their city. Near Hussein's hometown, angry people had kept their vows and become insurgents. In Baghdad, the streets were as lifeless as they were those first days. In Hilla, the smiles disappeared as car bombs created new mass graves.

The war has united Iraqis in their disappointment. I ask myself if our expectations were too high. It is hard to answer. But I look back and realize that the fears that I had four years ago were misplaced: If Bush had changed his mind about the war, things might be better now.

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pinions of buddy don: ifn ye bleeve that

thays a bridge over in brooklyn that mayhap ye dun herd bout. tiz a beeyooty. heres a pitcher of how it looks whenever yer jes steppin onto it ...



member them prossecutin atturneys that wuz fired? twuz jes fer performants. ifn ye bleeve that, ye kin buy that bridge.

tiz a good bridge, with views of the statchew of liberty way off in the distunts, witch i aint sayin liberty gittin so small aint no metafor fer nuthin ...



them same prossecutin atturneys wudnt fired on a counta pallticks, nor fer not heppin them publicans win eleckshuns by investigatin voter fraud whar thay wudnt nun, witch thats a nuthern ye need to bleeve ifn ye wonta buy that bridge.

but that bridge is wurth it! ye kin see how tiz useful fer carryin traffick from brooklyn over to man hattan or vice uh versa ...



n corse, dint alberto gonzalez have nuthin to do with the firin of them atturneys neether, on a counta how hes a grate atturney general of these here united states, witch i real eyes the list of thangs ye gut to bleeve is long.

but tiz a grate bridge ye kin buy ifn ye kin jes bleeve it all. ye git grate views of famus bildins into the bargain! that thar woolworth bildin, fer instunts, witch tiz a worl class beeyooty ...



corse, karl rove dint have nuthin to do with firin them atturneys on a counta everthang he duz is pure pallticks n thay wudnt nuthin pallitickull bout them firins, witch ifn ye bleeve everthang up to now ye wood shorely bleeve that since ye wood bleeve innythang.

sides that, tiz a bridge that brangs folks frum all over, even film makers ...



finely, it goes without sayin that mr bush dint have nuthin, i reepeat, nuthin to do with it. not atall nohow. noway.

that bridge is well cunstructed, even bettern sum lies that sum folks tells, n taint lackly to fall apart n i have herd ye kin git it fer about a hundert dollars, ifn ye kin bleeve ...



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pitchers tuck by buddy don: them buds is reddy to burst

yesterdy me n miz bd tuck a day off n wint over to that brooklyn botanick garden, witch we had herd a false report that thay wuz sum cherry blooms alreddy. twernt the case atall. fack is, the hole garden wuz lack the backstage at a big broadway show ere tiz opend. thay wuz gardenin folk everwhar diggin n plantin n puttin manure down n yew name it.

i tuck a slew of pitchers innyway, partly on a counta them buds thats reddy to burst. one of em dont look all that differnt frum a nuthern.

but that look to em, that theys reddy to open up n show thar flowers or leaves n drank in the sun is sumthin that putts me in mind of ritin. ye git the mere bud of a idee of whut ye wonta say n near everone has the same undeefined way of bein. tiz only when ye rite it that ye find out whut yer truly a'gone say.

sum folks thank that whenever ye rite, whut yer a'doin is reducin whut ye dun alreddy know to wurds. taint so. yer larnin whut ye know n dint know ye knew till ye red whut ye rote.

heres a few buds that fixin to burst into sprang ...

thisns a magnolia bud


heres a cherry bud


thisns on a lilac bush, witch it looks more lack a tree dont it?


ole fuzzy wuzzy heres a japanese pussy willow ...


n natcherly, thays yer crocuses dun alreddy showin colors ...


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pitchers tuck by buddy don: that thar human parade

me n miz bd is takin the day off to celebrate, witch we dint have no chants to yesterdy. we plan to go to that thar brooklyn botanick garden fer the furst time this year. we will be walkin thru that thar human parade but we wont be trudgin off to wurk. tiz a nice thang to have a vacayshun day in the middle of the week lack this!

meanwhile, that thar human parade cuntinues ...









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pomes of buddy don: In Such Love to Believe

In Such Love to Believe
(March 13, 2007)

Ten years ago upon this very date
On Edinburgh’s lovely royal mile
Did stroll two lovers who could hardly wait
Their nuptials to celebrate in style.

The bride, a beauty clad in black and lace,
Had traveled her hard roads both high and low –
For forty years she had not seen the face
Of the poor child to whom she was betrothed.

That child was now full grown, dressed in his kilt –
The tartan of the ancient Cameron clan –
His life, like hers, had been a patchword quilt
Of all the mistakes known to mortal man.

They had not dared in such love to believe –
That day t’was theirs to give and to receive!


(by the way, sweet'art: happy birthday!)

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: shine the lite on liberty

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pomes of buddy don: The Only Thing

The Only Thing

Every day I face the same dilemma
In trying to determine what to write.
Did Austen face it while creating Emma?
Or Dickinson with certain slants of light?

Was Robert Service stymied now and then
Or were his rhymes as easy as they sound?
Did Twain sweat blood when inking his sharp pen?
Were Dostoevski’s words always profound?

With illness as a primary distraction
Then how could Marcel Proust still hear his muse?
Since suicide for her held such attraction
How did Virginia Wolfe so long refuse?

For those of us who know no other way,
Except to strive to say what we must say,
Though leading us astray, the need to write
Determines everything, both great and slight,
And though we might not reach what we pursue
To write’s the only thing that we must do.

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short post of buddy don: that thar proximity affeck

las nite we gut a call frum the mama of my stepson, witch she wuz wurried bout im on a counta she cum home n found the door unlocked n the tee vee a'blarin away, but he wudnt thar. she figgerd he mus be down on the corner sumwhars n wint cooked sum dinner. by the time she called us, twuz nigh onto 11 pee em, witch tony wuz spozed to be at wurk this mornin by 5:50. she wonted to know the number of the cell fone we had give im, witch twuz a disappointment to here he hadnt even tole her that number nor even shared our message of feliz cumpleaño that we left as a message on thar other fone on her birthdy.

i give er the number n then me n miz bd had a short discusshun whilst trine to fall asleep agin bout how ye dont wurry much bout em when thar off in a nuther state, but once them yunguns is close, ye caint hep but wunder bout em mos ever mint.

innywho, that hole thang hepped me recolleck to tell ye that them crawdads, killer n miz tenna, have dun give birth to a lil crawdad that miz bd named crawbaby. thang is, whenever we feed em, miz tenna goes over in frunt of the hole whar crawbaby lives to make shore dont no other fish git in. tiz also the reason i aint been able to git no pitcher of that tiny lil critter.

tiz also a shame to see how killer has dun turnt verr lethargick of late, but we have red whar the males die not long after the new generayshun is borned. we will let ye know ifn that happens, witch we hope it dont.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: st patricks day parade in hoboken

on saturdy thay wuz this parade in hoboken, witch twuz thatn fer saint patrick. tiz spozed to be fer them irish that lived here fer minny a year, witch fer years everthang frum washington street over to the hudson wuz irish n everthang frum washington street over to the cliffs wuz eye-talian.

innywho, we wuz a'gone celebrate the birthdy of my stepson tony who moved back last week, so we invited loretta n paddy to cum early sos they could see the parade.

i reckun twuz a bit of a disapointmint fer paddy on a counta mos of them folks that wuz givin the bars bizness at 6 AM (thats rite: they opend at 6 AM), wudnt ackshly irish. that hurts on a counta everbidy lacks to say ye kin tell how them irish luvs to drank by how minny of em gits drunk fer the st patricks day parade.

paddy splaind to me how in ireland tiz differnt, how st patricks day starts with mass n then tea n only late in the evenin sum folks mite go out to the pub fer a pint.

heres sum pitchers of folks lined up at bars trine to git in n a few of the folks gittin reddy to walk in the parade ...





























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pitchers tuck by buddy don: new york botanicull garden orchid show

i dun spent all mornin after a grate nites sleep trine to git the better of over 400 pitchers i tuck whenever me n miz bd went to that new york botanicull garden to see this years orchid show, witch ye caint hardly bleeve thay could be such a audashuss flower as a orchid. tiz almost obseen sum of the thangs them flowers kin cum up with. heres a few pitchers i tuck, witch the lastn will take ye to the hole gallery of em all.















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pomes of buddy don: Classified

mayhap ye caught this here story in the washington post name of New Doubts On Nuclear Efforts by North Korea; U.S. Less Certain of Uranium Program:

The Bush administration is backing away from its long-held assertions that North Korea has an active clandestine program to enrich uranium, leading some experts to believe that the original U.S. intelligence that started the crisis over Pyongyang's nuclear ambitions may have been flawed.

The chief intelligence officer for North Korea, Joseph R. DeTrani, told Congress on Tuesday that while there is "high confidence" North Korea acquired materials that could be used in a "production-scale" uranium program, there is only "mid-confidence" such a program exists. Meanwhile, Assistant Secretary of State Christopher R. Hill, the chief negotiator for disarmament talks, told a conference last week in Washington that it is unclear whether North Korea ever mastered the production techniques necessary for such a program.

If the materials North Korea bought "did not go into a highly enriched uranium program, maybe they went somewhere else," Hill said. "Fine. We can have a discussion about where they are and where they've gone."

The administration's stance today stands in sharp contrast to the certainty expressed by top officials in 2002, when the administration accused Pyongyang of running a secret uranium program -- and demanded it be dismantled at once. President Bush told a news conference that November: "We discovered that, contrary to an agreement they had with the United States, they're enriching uranium, with a desire of developing a weapon."

The accusation about the alleged uranium program backfired, sparking a series of events that ultimately led to North Korea's first nuclear test -- using another material, plutonium -- nearly five months ago.

it putt me in mind to rite a lil pome bout how our leaders use classified infermayshun:

Classified

The classified data that we review
Is ours to assess so we know what to do
Or even what’s said to the likes of you
To make you believe that our truth is true
Since it is our job to make you construe
Conclusions that sanction the paths we pursue
When later we say we knew what we knew.

The truth is that proof is all classified:
And you can’t prove whether we truly lied.

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reefelckshuns of buddy don: caint git back in my rooteen

seems lack i am havin truble gittin used to all that depakote i been takin lately, witch thats makin it hard to blog the way i wood lack to do. but as i reefleck on thangs ...



... i real eyes that thangs could be much wurser, witch las year at this time i wuz in the midst of a 2.5 munth short-term disabilty on a counta them migraines.

whenever i am havin truble sleepin, i dont count sheep but blessins, and thays a plenty of em!

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sleep of buddy don: depakote dreams

yesterdy buck frum tete a tete a tete writ a questchun in the comments astin whuther them depakote dreams i been havin lack crazy makes inny sense. lack mos thangs, sum of em do n sum of em dont. heres a cuple of em i had lately.

furstn wuz bout the new boss of my new boss, witch he used to report to me ere i gut sick n wint out on disabilty. i wont say nuthin bout her ceptn that shes new to the group n larnin how to take control over it, witch inny time ye putt sumbidy in such a tuff spot thays bound to be sum cumplaints here n thar.

innywho, in the dream, i real eyes that she n i are livin in the same apartment, not in inny kinda romanticull fashun but jes to make eggspentses. she wuz bout the git marrd, witch thats true in real life, n i wuz waitin fer miz bd to git back frum sumwhars whilst our apartment wuz havin sum wurk dun. all that wuz stuff i knowd sumhow but never stated in the dream.

in sted, thay wuz a game on tv n the boss ast me whut i thunk of it. i tuck a glants n figgerd twuz one of them all star football games (east/west or blue/gray) n tole er i wudnt much of a fan of em on a counta they tended to be all offents or miss takes.

she ast me to take a closer look n whenever i dun it i seen how the ball wuz a odd shape n finely i figgerd out twuz australyun rules football bein played. i couldnt hardly bleeve she wuz a fan of that but turnt out she wuz. i wonted to clean up the floor in the livin room, witch twuz a mess with dust bunnies n such.

i wuz bout to vacuum it when folks started arrivin at the door. turnt out twuz a party bout to brake out. i tole the boss twuz a lot lack whenever i wuz in collidge with all these folks cummin over, kindly lack party centrull. she sed twuz eggzackly that. twuz a nuther sprize fer me.

innywho, one feller wuz trine to git a keg across the threshhold, so i offerd to hep n picked it up n tuck it in.

rite after that i woke up with a terrbull back ache in my sholders.

i kin make sum sense outta thatn, but it mite not mean much to nobidy else (nuthins quite a borin as sumbidy elses dreams, witch thar nitemares generly make better readin).

nuther dream wuz bout hikin in the smokies with a long time frien n howard stern. the frien wuz a close frien fer nigh on to 17 years but our frienship ended whenever i gut marrd. fer sum reason he dint approve of my wife (luv of my life) n lef me to choose, witch i made the rite choice. innywho, we had dun finished the hike n turnt out howard stern wuz in the button bizness n couldnt find sum buttons he needed. i seen em on the floor n give em too im. then i sed twuz six n bout time we lef. miz bd wuz suddenly thar n she wuz reddy to go as well. my longtime frien ast dint we wonta smoke sum of theevil weed, but i tole im i had dun quit. ye wooda thunk i had slapped im. i woke up with a nuther back ache, witch fer sum reason i *wuz* trine to slap im. i reckun thatn aint hard to make sense of neethur.

nuff of that. i am hopin to catch the early bus today. i hope everbidy has em a grate day n that thar good dreams cum true n thar nitemares leave em happy to be awake.

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pall gies of buddy don: overslep!

used to be my goal of a nite wuz to sleep till 4 am. this mornin i dint wake up till 5:30, witch i dreamt lack never befor. tiz that depakote, no doubt. i aint gut time to blog, tho, so this here note is it, with my pall gies!

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: celebraytin the return

yesterdy evenin, after a verr long bus ride, my stepson tony finely gut home agin after spendin nigh onto seven years down in tennessee. hes moved back at long last n we are hopin to celebrayt his birthdy this week. seems impossibull that he could be 27 alreddy, but facts is facts!

now he will be walkin these same streets i walk everday, witch heres sum pitchers frum my walk home on fridy:









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pall gies of buddy don: bloggerd

i had me a post nigh onto reddy till eethur blogger or firefox failed me. now i am off to wurk. i will be lookin bof ways when i cross the street ... or the avenue!





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quick note of buddy don: whut happend to that thar 8800

yesterdy i writ bout attendin that eevent whar they give out blackburr 8800 deevices to everbidy that cum toot. ye mite could thank that wood mean i had one by now, but taint so. in sted, the one i wuz give will becum thatn beelongin to the boss of the boss of my boss on a counta (1) i know my place n (2) i have nuthin but grate reespeck fer the man, witch he has stuck with me thru all them migraines. tiz true i been deemoted n am reportin to a feller that used to report to me, but i aint tuck no cut in pay n am still wurkin on whuts importunt, witch thats my health not my wealth nor my presteege neethur.

sorry bout inny confushun i mite coulda sparked with my post. i wish i had more time, but seems lack that depakote makes me dream lack never in my life n makes it hardern ever to wake up of a mornin.

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late nites of buddy don: a eggsclusive eevent

i wuz up way later i am used to last nite on a counta i attended this eggsclusive eevent down in soho over on hudson street. twuz putt on by bof Research in Motion n Cingular Wireless or AT&T, whichever they is now.

twuz a massive geek fest with mayhap 4 men fer ever woman, geeks frum all races, free food n wine n a seeleckshun of free dranks includin dewars white label fer scotch, witch i tuck a shot of jack daniels in sted. twuz way too loud in thar on a counta thay wuz this infernull thumpin sound kinda musick that i dint much lack the furst time it cum round as disco, witch i dont know whut thar a'callin it these daze on a counta me bein completely out of it far as musick is cuncernd (i give up radio after twuz ruint by the tell a communicayshuns ack of 1996).

innywho, they had folks walkin roun talkin n such, witch twuz one of them scenes whar ye gut to shout jes to be herd, so i tuck my book (Hyperion by Dan Simmons -- eggzellent!) n my jack n ast sum folks did they mind ifn i sat at thar table. they dint so i did. i dint notice till twuz too late that they wuz a'wurkin at goodbank same as me, witch they woodnt have noticed ceptn we all gut name tags statin whar we wuz frum. as ye mite magine, goodbank is verr big, so twudnt atall unusual to meet folks ye handnt never seen frum the same cumpny.

the big attrackshun of the evenin wuz when they brung out tiki barber to publick speak at us n take sum questchuns, witch truble wuz them acoosticks wuz so bad in thar to whar ye couldnt hear nuthin he wuz sayin.

oh yeah, tuther thang they dun wuz give ever geek in the place, yers truly inclooded, one of thar newest blackburrs, the 8800, in a verr nice black box with a deep shine on it, witch i will half to use the blackburr at wurk (i woodnt wonta pay the munthly nut to run one of em) but miz bd kin have that thar box.

wurst of all wuz how it run till 10 pee em, witch i am generally long past fallin asleep by then.

i hope all yall have ye a good day. i am bout to take my new toy to wurk whar i kin show it off. twill make me the secunt person in our lil worl to have one, witch the furstn is the big boss.

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pitchers tuck by buddy don: that thar golden pig

as ye know, tiz the year of the golden pig. i wuz a pig bout sleepin last nite n dint wake up in time to do nuthin but post this here pitcher!



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cold disapointment of buddy don: no firewurks fer the chinese new year

me n miz bd braved the verr cold nite sos we could git a pitcher of them firwurks that wuz advertised fer the chinese new years celebrayshun down in chinatown, witch tiz the year of that thar golden pig.

we knew whar twuz a'gone be n knew thay wood be way too minny folk thar fer us to git a elbow in edgewise, so we tuck the lite rail down to eggschange place n figgerd we wood take sum pitchers frum thar. we lackd to froze, but we dint git nary a pitcher of no firewurks, mayhap on a counta thay wudnt nun? we jes caint tell. taint a wurd bout em in them local noosepapers, neethur the new york times nor the daily news nor the post.

heres a cuple pitchers of lower man hattan i tuck whilst we wuz waitin:





that wite bildin is the woolwurths bildin. ifn them twin towers wuz still standin, they wood be jes to the lef of the tall bildin to the lef of it.

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notes of buddy don: bout the new chaptur

i real eyes how tiz almos impossibull fer innybidy to pick up the story here after i wudnt able to rite nary a wurd on it fer over a year. ifn ye wuz to look back on it, ye wood find out how twuz rite after ritin that last chaputr on februwairy 2 of last year that i gut into a long streak of migraines, witch i wuz out on short term disbilty fer 2.5 munths on a count of it. i half to add mitt fear of them migraines kep me offn that ritin horse fer a while, but ye caint jes give up.

so ifn ye wonta ketch up with the story, furst heres a list of them careackters frum the story in the part thats a'goin on: ritin of buddy don: care ackter list

nex, heres whar sum of them chapturs leadin up to thisn are:

• re-rites of buddy don, chapter 141: thonly white man in heaven
• life of buddy don, chapter 142: emilys cumplaint
• life of buddy don, chapter 143: buyin a car
• life of buddy don, chapter 144: a hauntin questchun
• life of buddy don, chapter 145: puzzles of the hart
• life of buddy don, chapter 146: the strange summer of 1983

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life of buddy don, chapter 147: a lesson in looseburg

long tords the end of august in 1983, we tuck us a lil trip to looseburg sos emily could see all her folks ere the fall quarter wuz in full swang. we had spent our time readin n watching baseball on tee vee n in my case wurkin on a reevishun of crap notes n playin racketball everday over at the y n seein sum of the folks that we wuz in graduwait skool with. i seen a lot of bud rankin n billy stewart on a counta bud needed lots of talk bout his marrg brakin up n billy couldnt never git a nuff racketball to suit im. we all missd johnny mayhew sumthin awfull n bud vowed he wood move on up to new york city lack johnny dun. i dint thank nuthin much wood cum of that on a counta how he had gut hisself sined up to teach three classes over at ut, but i kep my mouth mosly shut.

we wuz packin up our stuff the nite before we wuz a’gone drive across the state whenever sharon worth cum by fer a visit. she had dinner with us n stayed till bout 10, mosly talkin bout cassandra. odd thang wuz how emily wuz jes as innerested in the topick as i wuz, speshly whenever sharon sed she hated to say it, speshly in frunt of miz duncan, but she bleeved cassandra wuz in luv with mr d, witch thats whut all em students wuz a’callin me by then. she even sed cassandra had dun tole her she hoped mr d wood be the one to ‘deeflower’ her, witch wuz jes the way she sed it n ye wood swear she wuz blushin only ye couldnt tell fer sartin.

that putt me to wundern bout how could she have been raped ifn she still wonted to be deeflowerd n later on emily splaind how she had tuck cassandra to the gynacallgist fer a checkup n they couldnt do no pap smear on a counta they couldnt git nuthin in thar she wuz so tite. i ast emily how could all these facks add up to innythang n emily sed she figgerd twuz lackly that a rape dint count as no deeflowerin, witch that wood be sumthin a woman gives willinly, not that emily wonted me to be the one to take it, n mayhap after the rape cassandra gut so skeerd to whar she sealed rite up sum kinda way.

nex day emily gut to wurryin bout leavin the apartment fer so long n how twood be possibull that sumbidy could brake in n go thru all our thangs n sumhow figger out witch book of the two thousund we had that she had hid our certificate of deeposit on the cee dee we had bought, so i ast her could she find it, n after a lil search she did. i tuck it over to the bank n gut us one of them safety deeposit boxes n putt it in thar. corse that ment we gut a late start, witch that ment we wuz late gittin to looseburg n couldnt pick up maureen frum her wurk lack we wuz spozed to have dun. in sted, we had to stop in nashvull n search fer a fone booth sos we could call to splain how we wood be late.

but maureen wood fergive mos innythang n turnt out they wuz plannin to go shoppin at the mall, so we gut her n drove out to columbya to the mall whar emily turnt her nose up at about fifty differnt parr of shoes, so we give it up n drove on into looseburg. twuz a fridy evenin, so bout as quick as we gut home, along cum milton n his wife n daughter, witch we spent the evenin drankin n laffin n fer them, smokin so minny cigarettes to whar ye could see the air.

nex day we wint over to see nanny. she had cooked a big ole lunch of fried chicken, sweet taters, fried corn, green beans, fried apples, home made cole slaw, macaroni n cheese, corn bread, sliced tomaters, iced tea n a deesert of peach cobbler. nanny gut her feelin hurt ifn ye dint have two plates, so i wuz one stuffed lad by the time we wuz reddy to leave. i wish i could say thonly thang i member bout that visit wuz the grate food, but whut i member most whuz how nanny ast me did i ever half to touch my students on the skin. twuz such a odd questchun that i dint ever fergit it.

i dont member whut i ansered nor even ifn i did. i do member feelin a lil awkwurd till she ast me could i git rid of sum waspers that had dun built three nests round her house. she give me a long broom n ast could i run fast. i sed i coult but that i wood be rite back. i drove down to the otasco hardware store n gut a can of that vigaro stuff that kills waspers n sprayed it on them nests n then knocked em down. twuz a blessin to have that to do whenever i wuz feelin so odd bout her questchun. corse i had dun touched my students on a counta i had this habit of shakin thar hands n hi fivin n such. but whut gut me mos bout it wuz how i had such fantasies of makin luv to cassandra, dreamin of touchin her all over her bidy. i hate to add mitt it, but that gut to be one of the mane fantasies that wood hep me with my evenin handshake on them nites whenever emily wudnt in the mood fer luvin.

after that i tuck emily home sos she n her mama could drive back up to the mall in search of shoes whilst i wint over to miltons to drank beer n watch the cubs on tee vee. milton wuz in rare form, as they say, tellin jokes n lettin me know jes how much he add mired me fer teachin over at that nigger collidge, witch he couldnt hardly git thru a sentence without usin the wurds ‘goddamm’ n ‘nigger.’ once wurk wuz over his wife cum home n she wuz steamd to find milton drankin on a counta we wuz all a’gone over to maureens that evenin fer a big dinner party n she dint wont him acktin out, but he sed he wuz fine.

then his daughter charnell cum home n tole im she wonted to brang her boyfrien to the party. he ast her who he wuz n she tole im twuz sum feller name of keith or kevin or sum name startin with the letter k. then he ast her wuz he a white boy n she sed, ‘daddy! whut do yew thank?’ so he tole her he had been a’thankin bout sumthin he had been meanin to tell her n me bein thar putt im in mind of it, witch he wonted her to know thay wuz two goddammed thangs that wood brake the hart of ever daddy in amurka n thay wuz ifn thar chile wuz to git involved in drugs n ifn she wuz to git herself involved with a nigger, witch whenever he sed that he turnt to me n tole me he dint mean no offents.

i wisht i hadda known whut to anser back, but i wuz fresh out of wurds fer once. twuz the secunt moment in that trip whar all i could thank bout wuz my fantasies n how i wuz dun involved n fer that matter, in a odd sorta way, so wuz emily. ye mite could be wundern why wood i spend inny time with a feller lack milton, witch i wuz wundern the same thang long bout then, but fack wuz, twuz eggspeckted on a counta him bein such a frien to the fambly. he had ‘been thar’ fer emily durin sum awfull times n had ‘been thar’ fer maureen when thangs wuz rocky whenever she n pete wuz brakin up n had even gut between the two of em whenever pete wuz gittin a lil too ruff, so twernt as simple as sayin ye dint wonta sit down n drank beer with such a feller.

but thay wuz more toot than that n tiz sumthin bout me that i cant say whuther tiz good or bad n that is how i have verr often been in places with folks that minny a nuther person wood not find wurthy of thar cumpny, but i couldnt never git to whar i could judge nobidy all that well. wurser, i always lacked watchin em n storin up the memries of how they wuz acktin on a counta thankin maybe sumday i wood use em in a story or whutever. so minnys the time i wuz thar but more lack a specktater than a participunt.

or mayhap i am makin eggscuses. but it dont matter nun on a counta ifn i hadnt spent the afternoon watchin baseball n drankin beer with milton, i wuz a’gone be spendin the evenin with a hole bunch of folk over at maureens: milton n his wife jackelin n savannah n keith or kevin n red wilson n his wife miko n a frien frum japan name of yoko (lack in yoko ono only twudnt her) n maureens bes frien polly. we had stakes n baked taters n salads n dinner rolls n all the iced tea ye could hold. then twuz time to pore the whisky n putt on sum musick n dance a lil n laff n tell jokes n stories n such, all the while drankin n everbidy but me smokin a steddy stream of cigarettes till i had to go outside ever now n agin jes to breath.

everthang wuz fine till pete smith showed up. he wuz a stankin mess, still wearin his orange huntin vest n drunk as yer proverbyull skunk. he made a kindly scene whenever maureen dint wonta dance with im n rite then i seen why milton wuz such a friend to maureen on a counta pete wuz gittin to whar he lackly wooda hit her but milton stood up n tuck out his eye n ast pete did he wont it. pete ast im whut wuz he spozed to do with his bes friens glass eyeball. he sed mayhap twood hep im see whut a fool he wuz makin outta his self. now ye mite could thank pete wooda flew mad bout that, but he jes kindly laffed n sed he reckund twuz time fer im to be gittin home innywho.

corse it hit emily lack a baseball bat in the back of the noggin. she wint to her room a’crine n that wuz the end of the party fer me. seems lack tutherns kep on drankin n such, but we gut to bed n gut to talkin bout how she couldnt trust nobidy ifn her own daddy wood do her thataway. i sed it dint seem to me lack he wuz a’doin nuthin to her but more to maureen, witch she tole me i must not be able to understand the simplest thang. i sed twuz so but whenever she ast me to hold er, jes hold er, i knew a nuff to doot till she wuz sleepin, witch i eased er into the bed n tuck off her jeans n let her sleep in her flannel shirt n bra n knee socks. she had nitemares that nite n woke up maybe three times astin me wood i hold her agin, witch i dun it evertime till we drifted back off to sleep.

nex mornin i wuz up early to read n drank coffee n chat with maureen while she wuz cookin up a big brakefuss of country ham n fried eggs n biskits n sweet milk gravy n coffee n orange juice, witch i squeezed that to do my lil part. maureen kep pallgizin bout pete cummin by as ifn she had planned it. i couldnt thank of nuthin to say, so i let er talk n dint say how i dint see it bein sumthin she had dun. purty soon the brakefuss wuz reddy so she went to git emily n we et.

fer sum reason, emily tole me i had abandoned er n left er unperteckted by lettin maureen wake er up. that gut us into a lil fuss n fite on a counta i tole her twernt possibull fer me to know that she orten to be awoken by her own mother n that led her to tell me she had dun lost all the progress she had made with her counselor, witch she had been seein a feller name of jim buckminster, who he wuz a grad student a’studyin hed shrankin n she had er a kinda crush on im. she figgerd she had made a lot of progress durin thar meetins but that this horribull trip home had set er back to wurser than whenever she had started a’seein im. i dint hardly know whut to say on a counta it dint seem to me she wuz so bad off, but she dint see it thataway. i dint know whut twuz lack to have pete smith fer a daddy, she pointed out, witch that wuz the truth. i dint know whut twuz lack to have all these small minded cuntry racists fer her fambly n how she wuz shamed to brang me thar n putt me thru all that.

this hole fuss n fite kep up whilst we drove out to the cuntry, witch thats how emily putt it whenever we wint to visit her grandmother out at her uncle terrys in cornersvull. ye wood thank we wood burst frum all the food we et! they had been cookin since early lite n thay wuz fried chickin n ham n turnup greens n biskits n gravy n mashed taters n sweet taters n corn on the cob n fried okra n bof apple n chocklutt pie fer deesert n aint not doubt i missed sum of the food they served us.

after we had et we all sat out on the back porch fer a good three or four hours of sittin n talkin n such. the kids had em sum rabbits that they wuz feedin n playin with n they gut me to ride horses with em fer a while. i member cummin back with my legs so tired i could barely cross em whenever i herd grandmother splainin to emily n terry n sister how awful it had been in the hospitull, witch i reckun she had been in overnite not too long befor we cum to visit. i wonted to git up n walk away whenever she splaind whut wuz so awful: ‘they orta treat a bidy bettern that. that nigger nurse putt her hands all over me, jabbin me with needles n acktin lack she wuz jes a’doon her job, but i know she wuz bein ruff on purpose.’ i couldnt tell ifn this kinda talk bout black folk had always been a’goin on or ifn i wuz jes noticin it on a counta how i wuz teachin at knoxvull collidge. i reckun twuz always thar but i hadnt larnt to here it fer whut twuz.

on the drive back home to knoxvull emily tuck up the same fuss n fite of a topick we had been a’havin on the way out to the cuntry only by then twudnt no fuss n fite. insted she couldnt tell me a nuff how shamed she wuz of her folks n her home n how she hated bein two folks, the person she really wuz in knoxvull n the person she had to be whenever she cum back home. she ast me did i know whut she ment n i tole er i figgerd i mite could.

i wont never fergit that trip. we et a nuff to sank a battleship, witch twill give ye a idee of whut a bidy duz in looseburg other than drank n smoke cigarettes. ye eat till ye could burst, meal after meal, all of em as deelishus as ye could ever hope fer. but thay wuz a lesson fer me thar n i figgerd i wuz startin to larn it whenever emily ast me wuz i lookin ford to seein cassandra agin? i dint say nuthin fer a mint n she sed she knew i wuz n odd thang wuz, so wuz she.

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book reports of buddy don: Ringworld

i aint a'gone pertend this is a revue on a counta i aint gut time to try to eevaluwait how good the Ringworld Series by Larry Niven is. but i did wonta say ye orta give it a read. i aint hardly been able to putt em down ever since my friend (whose site name of thinking meat is one of my faverts) sug-jested it to me. i hope to have a lil time to talk more bout sci fi n sum of my other faverts, but at the moment, tiz out into the snow n cold fer me in hopes of gittin to grand centrull in time to buy sum of them new dollar coins, witch i give em out as part of the daily agenda. they aint sellin em till 8 AM, but ifn tiz in man hattan, ye half to git thar early ifn ye wonta have a half a chants to git innythang.

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revues of buddy don: the beatles love

i aint gut much to say other than ifn ye lack the beatles or even ifn ye dont, ye orta give a listen to that album name of love by the beatles, witch twuz putt together by george martin n his son giles. they tuck lots of them recordins n mashed em up together to whar ye caint hardly bleeve how well the fit. reason they dun it is sos they could pervide the musick fer one of them cirque du soleil shows, witch me n miz bd wuz lucky a nuff to see dralion on a counta my irish friend micky takin us.

miz bd herd bout it frum her bruther whenever she went out to ohio fer that funerull. he tole her it mite hep her feel a lil better, so i wint out n gut a copy n i kin say fer a fack that he wuz rite.

fack is, far as i kin tell, tiz the best beatles album ever ...

... oh, thats rite: the title of it (love) fits todays hallday purty good too.

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pomes of buddy don: Failure Is Not an Option

this lil pome below is ment to be the endin to the three pomes i posted last week name of The First Hubristic Failure, Our Second Failure, and Our Third Great Failure. mayhap i will putt em all four together tomorruh, but ye git the idee.

Failure Is Not an Option

Our count of Iraq failures start with three
And spiral upwards almost endlessly –
Our failure to find W M D
Or to restore pre-war ‘lectricity
Or to up-armor our own HMVs
Or to provide the kevlar our troops need
Or to anticipate contractor greed –

We failed to track the billions handed out
As cash that we can’t prove beyond a doubt
Did not go to al qaeda in Iraq
Or to replenish the insurgents’ stock
Of weapons and of war materiél,
Of the ingredients that make war hell.

Or to guard arms dumps as they were looted,
The weapons then used by those recruited
To join in violent retribution
On those who warped their own constitution
At Abu Ghraib, Gitmo and at "Black Sites" –
Pure ideals compromised with evil rites–

This list can be extended as all know
Since this war is an internetted show –
We fail if we depart, yet if we wait
We’re caught in civil war’s cross-fire hate.

Our President says failure’s not an option and it’s true
Since in Iraq, time after time, failure’s just what we do.

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missed events of buddy don: miz bds wurds at a funeral

as i menchunned last mundy, one of miz bds furst cusins passed away last sundy. miz bd wuz able to make it to the funeral, whar she wuz ast to say a few wurds after the preacher had sed his few. i wuz later tole by everbidy how i wooda been proud of miz bd, as ifn i wudnt alreddy bout to burst with pride at havin her (the bestn) in my life.

miz bds mama wuz kind a nuff to type up them wurds, witch that makes it possibull fer me to share em with ye. ifn ye dint dun alreddy know bout why i am so proud of havin the luv of my life fer my wife, ye kin git ye a lil idee here:

Linda
1948-2007

The word “Linda” means “beautiful” in Spanish. That was the perfect name for our Linda, because she WAS beautiful.

Yes, she knew all the various ways to fluff up hair and highlight eyes and add a little color to cheeks and lips. She knew how to add the decorations, too, right down to the practical aspects of piercing ears with a sewing needle and an ice cube. What she didn't know was that she didn't really need any enhancements: she was just plain beautiful. But Linda was not the first name I knew her by. To me, her adoring younger cousin, she was half of PatsynLinda. It took me quite awhile to think of Patsy and Linda as separate people, partly because it seemed like they were always together. PatsynLinda helped me learn to read. PatsynLinda taught me to dance along with the latest 45 rpm records.

It was always a holiday when PatsynLinda came to visit. And getting to visit them was an exotic vacation. On one visit, when I was in junior high school, I got to go to school with Linda for a day. She was in high school then, planning to go on to college and a career. But life had other plans for Linda. After she finished high school, she became a mother, so on my next visit she taught me how to take care of a baby.

Lee was still just a toddler when Linda went to work in a factory. I got to babysit him now and then, and I remember Linda coming home from work with machine oil under her fingernails. She might not have believed it, but her hands were still beautiful even then.

One day she came home unusually happy. She'd met this wonderful guy named Bill, and he'd asked her out. Bill was able to look right past Linda's factory-worker hands and see how beautiful she was.

Bill tells me it snowed the day they met, so what you see on the ground out there is just Linda's way of saying goodbye.

It's beautiful, isn't it?

Bill and Linda got married and brought even more beauty into the world: Lee's lovely sister Belina, who looks so much like her mother.

In what seems like the blink of an eye, another generation came along, and now Bill and Linda have three beautiful grandchildren.

Science tells us that the actual physical material that makes up our bodies is completely replaced every few months, so what makes us what we are, and who we are, is not the physical but the spiritual, a pattern of energy.

Linda's physical body won't be with us anymore, but her energy remains.

I will remember Linda every time I sing along with an old rock-n-roll song on the radio, every time I put on makeup or try to fix my hair. I will remember her whenever I do something good for my health. I will remember her when I think of one of our favorite places: the old swimming hole at Potter's Falls in Tennessee. I will remember all the things, and all the ways she taught me about the beauty of this world.

Thank you, Linda.

And on behalf of Linda's family, I thank all of you for being here to honor her today.

With love,
[miz duncan]
February 8, 2007

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pomes of buddy don: Our Third Great Failure

Our Third Great Failure

Our third great failure was that we installed
Political appointees to run all –
Or if it was not all, then it was most –
Of the prime institutions from their posts
Within The Green Zone where they felt no harm
From gunfire, explosions or alarms,
Or from their gaping lack of expertise
At running even well-made agencies,
Which theirs were not since we, with shock and awe,
Had brought the infrastructure to a crawl
And used Iraq as our own proving ground
For economic theories that abound
In Chicago labs, not the arena
Where events occur such as Katrina.

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pomes of buddy don: Our Second Failure

Our Second Failure

Our second failure was when we presumed
To disband their armed forces, who were doomed
To fade into their homeland desert sands,
Each with his Devil’s workshop idle hands,
Where, with no means to earn his daily bread –
Since coalition leaders chose instead
To hire no-bid contract companies
Who’d earned their booty by the victories
Won in elections in the USA
(For to the victor go the spoils, they say!) –
He could observe the messy liberty
And degradation of security
As we were amazed by the emergence
Of such well-trained Iraqi insurgents.

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pomes of buddy don: The First Hubristic Failure

The First Hubristic Failure

The first hubristic failure was to think
That in the governing of three distinct,
Antagonistic groups who’d never choose
To be a single country, to be fused
Into the pressure-cooker human stock,
Forged by the British and then called Iraq,
That we knew how, with bullets and with guns
And billions upon billions of our funds,
To do with good what no one else has done,
That is, to compel them to live as one,
Secure in peace and brotherhood as friends,
To show us gratitude, to serve our ends
(And never to become a Vietnam)
As soon as we brought down the vile Saddam.

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pinions of buddy don: fishin thru the net

heres a few thangs that state thangs all too well. frum that thar daily kos site, thays this articull name of The Good Option by darksyde:

Are you losing track of the good and the bad in Iraq? We're told the Sunni insurgents are bad, but they're backed by Bush's noble Saudi pals. The Shiites are our default allies in Iraq, but the Iranians who are helping them are bad. The Kurds are good, because they're relatively peaceful and independent, except their peaceful independence is creating profound anxiety among our Turkish friends, which is bad. Al Qaeda is bad, we all agree, except when they oppose Shiite Cleric Muqtada Al-Sadr, which is ... what ... good?

And that's only scratching the surface. Within each of these groups are a dazzling array of quasi-official militias, criminal gangs, death squads, and even the local version of end-o-the-world religious maniacs hoping to hasten Armageddon. On any given day, these groups can be 'good,' while, paradoxically, their allies are 'bad.' Those classifications swing unpredictably on a right-wing whim dictated by whatever bullshit soundbite is mumbled incoherently that day to keep our fighting men and women in the blood-soaked turmoil.

The confusion is only furthered by an Administration warning that Iran may get involved if we leave, while telling us on alternating days that Iran is deeply involved. That Al Qaeda could gain a foothold in any vacuum left behind, while telling us repeatedly that the place is swarming with Al Qaeda. And we're sternly reminded we cannot pull US forces out or Iraq would become a failed state, in blissful, willful ignorance of the fact that Iraq is a failed state and, more to the point, it became one while occupied by US forces.

reeminds me of that ny times articull name of In a New Joint U.S.-Iraqi Patrol, the Americans Go First:

When the Iraqi units finally did show up, it was with the air of a class outing, cheering and laughing as the Americans blew locks off doors with shotguns. As the morning wore on and the troops came under fire from all directions, another apparent flaw in this strategy became clear as empty apartments became lairs for gunmen who flitted from window to window and killed at least one American soldier, with a shot to the head.

Whether the gunfire was coming from Sunni or Shiite insurgents or militia fighters or some of the Iraqi soldiers who had disappeared into the Gotham-like cityscape, no one could say.

“Who the hell is shooting at us?” shouted Sgt. First Class Marc Biletski, whose platoon was jammed into a small room off an alley that was being swept by a sniper’s bullets. “Who’s shooting at us? Do we know who they are?”

sad thang is, we are stuck in a war that everbidy agrees we dont have no idee how to git out of.

that putts me in mind of a book i red a cuple years ago by Kevin Philips name of Wealth and Democracy whar he splaind how the prior three grate world economick powers cum undun. thay wuz three steps to the process, witch heres the way i member em:

1. in sted of makin thangs, ye git folks in other cuntries to make em fer ye on a counta how they kin doot fer less money, makin it moren more possibull fer them thats rich to git richer, futher concentratin the cuntrys wealth in fewer n fewer hands
2. after ye git to be a grate worl power, ye go frum havin a economy based on makin thangs to one based on finants, insurants, n real estate
3. yer cuntry becums a debtor nayshun (we dun that in 1985 with the hep frum presdint raygun), witch that makes the disparity of wealth, meanin the concentrayshun of wealth into the hands of fewer n fewer people, grow
4. yer cuntry gits itself involved in a long war that it caint git out of.

the good news is how we dont need to wurry no more bout that global warmin stuff on a counta how thay aint nuthin we kin really do bout it now.

taint no wunder we luv sports so much: lease thar we kin have justus n fair play. n ifn it seems lack thay wuz a bad call, ye kin have a instunt reeplay. wish we could have one fer that seleckshun of 2000.

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mixed happy ness of buddy don: glad fer them colts, but ...

yesterdy we gut sum bad news: one of miz bds furst cusins passed away after a long struggle with cancer. she n miz bd wuz close in age n all so it kindly putt a damper on our happy ness to see them colts win, to see my dungy git his furst trophy, to see peyton manning git his.

twuz a reeminder of the most importunt facks. we live, we luv or not, we die. sum win, sum lose, but ever last one of us has gut to die. may she rest in peace.

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pomes of buddy don: Brigid

anne over at the gods are bored give me a challenge tuther day, witch twuz to rite a pome in honor of this day (or yesterdy in sum places) known in the celtic wheel of the year as imbolc. tiz the celebrayshun of brigid, witch ye kin google her ifn ye wonta know more. i will let this here lil pome speak fer my poor understandin of such mystries.

Brigid

Upon a day that legends say hog shadows can fortell
The ending of the hoary winter season,
A child was born one early morn between heaven and hell,
Between the warmth of spirit and cold reason.

The year was old, the winter cold, yet tiny shoots of grass
Still bravely pierced the hardened frosty rime –
Their shoots unbowed they stood the vow that like the newborn lass
The spring would quickly grow and reach her prime.

For from that start twixt head and heart a small girl bathed in milk
Would grow to be the saint of three great arts –
She would exalt distiller’s malt, weavers craft, poet’s ilk –
All treasures from the soul’s liminal parts.

Our faith is clear in times most drear, when earth is bleak and frigid –
The gods did send a guide, a friend, to all in lovely Brigid.


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songs of buddy don: Heartbroken in Hoboken

heres a nuther song me n miz bd writ but never gut round to reecordin. ackshly, we dun a take of the piano part in G but turnt out to be a lil too low fer me to sang so i putt it into A but still dint have it rite on a counta not leavin inny time to breath twixt the two parts of the versus. so twuz re-writ agin but even tho i play it now n agin, we aint reecorded it rite.

as ye kin see, tiz a lil on the long side n has lots of differnt parts. tiz a verr fun song in a ragtime style.

thang is, i been dreamin a lot bout this song on a counta thays a feller at wurk thats been goin thru a ruff 'partin of the ways' with his long time gurlfrien n tho this song dont eggzackly fit his circumstantses, it cums purt near.

Heartbroken in Hoboken

If it had been a snake, it would have bit me
If it had been a bee, I’d have been stung
A baseball bat would have hit me
For a Grand Slam Home Run

But it was a look in her eyes
It was a sadness in her sighs
I didn’t catch it
Now I am wretched

Heartbroken in Hoboken
She said something inside was choking
But when she laughed, I thought she was joking
Though I really did care

Heartbroken in Hoboken
Them harsh word have done been spoken
Them sad feelings done been awoken
I was not prepared

She said I could have been a contender
But I was content to play the pretender

But I ain’t pretending I’m ...
Heartbroken in
Heartbroken in
Heartbroken in Hoboken

She was talking about her career
And I really didn’t have a clue
So when she said, “You act so sincere.”
I said, “It’s the least I can do.”

She said, “You don’t get my drift”
I guess she must have been miffed
I did not detect it
Now I’m dejected

Heartbroken in Hoboken
She raised a glass while I was toking
She had class, I was plain spoken
Opposites attract

Heartbroken in Hoboken
She went fast, I kept poking
She had a pass, I had the wrong token
Now she won’t come back.

She said I could have been a contender
But I was content to play the pretender

But I ain’t pretending I’m ...
Heartbroken in
Heartbroken in
Heartbroken in Hoboken

So I went on down to the pier
Guess you could say I was hoping to see her
But all I saw was an old fisherman catching an eel

“Oh Lord I’m hungry,” was all he said
As he bent down to cut off the head
And as the blood flowed red
I said, “I know just how you feel.”

Cause I found a letter on the bed
When I came home from work one night
It told me all the things she said she’d said
Though I never seemed to read her right

She said that if my love had been true
I’d have known exactly what to do
She gave me hints
But I was dense

Heartbroken in Hoboken
How can you hear something unspoken?
How can you fix what you don’t know’s broken?
It don’t seem fair

Heartbroken in Hoboken
Them harsh words have done been spoken
Them sad feelings done been awoken
I was not prepared

She said I could have been a contender
But I was content to play the pretender

But I ain’t pretending I’m ...
Heartbroken in
Heartbroken in
Heartbroken in Hoboken

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