Jon, been working on a title for HAKKEN. Some possibilities: DIRTY TOWN, THE UNHEARD, KILLERS AND SPINSTERS, and, of course, JIMMY HAKKEN. Thoughts?
Hey. Let me know if you want to read LIVECELL, where you meet Jimmy and Luke for the first time.
Hobo Jungle
Hell Yeah!! I thought you would never ask!! Send it 
Right now my brain is fried as I;ve just got the gun room computer back on line and I'm running a spy sweep and virus program on it. Got done with the laptop earlier and it took fuckin' 5 hours to complete, but it picked up 21 spys and 4 viruses!
Why in the hell do people have to be so bored and such assholes to create this crap?
"Dirtytown", sounds the best out of the group, what do you think?
Right now my brain is fried as I;ve just got the gun room computer back on line and I'm running a spy sweep and virus program on it. Got done with the laptop earlier and it took fuckin' 5 hours to complete, but it picked up 21 spys and 4 viruses!
Why in the hell do people have to be so bored and such assholes to create this crap?
"Dirtytown", sounds the best out of the group, what do you think?
Finally got some New england weather down this way!! 70's in the day and low 40's at night. Got tomarrow off so maybe we can BS! I hope my new Shay shows up First one had to be sent back, it had a couple of glitches. 
. I have to admit, it's small but, the Shay is probably one of the neatest engines i've ever run!!
Got tomarrow off so maybe we can BS! I hope my new Shay shows up First one had to be sent back, it had a couple of glitches. . I have to admit, it's small but, the Shay is probably one of the neatest engines i've ever run!! Shays are lovely. I scratchbuilt a Climax once, but the Shay owns it. My Berk will be arriving back from 3rd Rail tomorrow. Fixed! An insulating washer was missing on the drawbar, shorting the TMCC. Two more months and the trains go up.
Jon, Where did you get that ho-stream? The light makes it.
Still gnawing over the title. Shall I send LiveCell tomorrow? Macs don't seem to get viruses and spy stuff. We're not worth their time.
Jon, Where did you get that ho-stream? The light makes it.
Still gnawing over the title. Shall I send LiveCell tomorrow? Macs don't seem to get viruses and spy stuff. We're not worth their time.
Tramp, Sure! Send it today if you have time. MAN!!! You made my day on finally having your Berk repaired.
I got the trailer from www.diecastdirect.com then did a search for "trailer". It came with a VW van for around 10.00. Actually I installed the LED in the trailer with a battery and a switch. The LED is actually red and flashes on and off, but for some reason on the camera shot it comes out white
Maybe someone with more camera experience could explain it!!
Jim, what are you waiting for? You got the green light from the Wife to play with your trains!!!!
I got the trailer from www.diecastdirect.com then did a search for "trailer". It came with a VW van for around 10.00. Actually I installed the LED in the trailer with a battery and a switch. The LED is actually red and flashes on and off, but for some reason on the camera shot it comes out white
Maybe someone with more camera experience could explain it!!
Jim, what are you waiting for? You got the green light from the Wife to play with your trains!!!!
John:
She asked me the same thing...She said I thought we were going to work on the trains, I told you that you could go ahead and put then up, you don't have to wait til after thanksgiving! I am going to start soon. Just haven't had the get up and go to start yet. Now that I get up so early in the am, its ruff.
Jim
She asked me the same thing...She said I thought we were going to work on the trains, I told you that you could go ahead and put then up, you don't have to wait til after thanksgiving! I am going to start soon. Just haven't had the get up and go to start yet. Now that I get up so early in the am, its ruff.
Jim
==========KEEP IT ON THE RIGHT TRACK=======
NEIGHBOR
This house across the street:
People just disappear into it
Like a subway entrance.
All winter the snow is never shovelled,
People just slip up and down the steps
(once a brute hacked at the ice with an axe).
But there is this one fellow--I believe he
visits the fat woman with the bad ankle--
He drives an acid-green Thunderbird
With opera windows and a white vinyl top,
And no matter what the weather
The car always looks tenderly polished.
When it's 40 out he wears a T-shirt,
Around freezing he drapes a cardigan
over his tiny hunched bony back,
After it freezes he buttons the sweater,
And only below 20 does he wear a jacket,
A shiny brown Naugahyde left unzipped.
He always walks fast down the hill
His armless sleeve with the stub
Out circling like a bull-rider's.
He parks the T-bird carefully on the flat
Then heads down the hill to the house,
A suitcase of Black Label under his good arm,
Never a hat on his greased-back hair,
Always a pair of wrap-around sunglasses,
Even in the rain.
He knew I liked his car,
I told him the first time we spoke,
Though we only spoke three times.
Once the Thunderbird took a hit,
The passenger-side quarter panel mangled.
So I asked him, "Hey, what happened?"
He stuttered, "S-s-some jerk. Hit me."
"Was the car clean?" I ventured.
He nodded, a big solemn nod, up and down.
"Got to keep a small spot dirty--
Jerks only hit perfectly clean cars."
He smiled then, and nodded so violently
I worried his sunglasses would fly off.
But soon the fender was fixed,
Though the acid-green was a shade darker.
One night late I was at the all-night market,
And there in the fluorescent glare
I saw him working, without sunglasses,
Moving a massive sweeper up the aisle
With his one good arm;
But I stayed out of sight.
Last time we spoke
I was headed up the hill,
He down, with the suitcase of Black Label.
"How she runnin'?" I asked.
"Can't say. You know, shouldn't say!"
And he beamed and nodded.
He had me there.
This house across the street:
People just disappear into it
Like a subway entrance.
All winter the snow is never shovelled,
People just slip up and down the steps
(once a brute hacked at the ice with an axe).
But there is this one fellow--I believe he
visits the fat woman with the bad ankle--
He drives an acid-green Thunderbird
With opera windows and a white vinyl top,
And no matter what the weather
The car always looks tenderly polished.
When it's 40 out he wears a T-shirt,
Around freezing he drapes a cardigan
over his tiny hunched bony back,
After it freezes he buttons the sweater,
And only below 20 does he wear a jacket,
A shiny brown Naugahyde left unzipped.
He always walks fast down the hill
His armless sleeve with the stub
Out circling like a bull-rider's.
He parks the T-bird carefully on the flat
Then heads down the hill to the house,
A suitcase of Black Label under his good arm,
Never a hat on his greased-back hair,
Always a pair of wrap-around sunglasses,
Even in the rain.
He knew I liked his car,
I told him the first time we spoke,
Though we only spoke three times.
Once the Thunderbird took a hit,
The passenger-side quarter panel mangled.
So I asked him, "Hey, what happened?"
He stuttered, "S-s-some jerk. Hit me."
"Was the car clean?" I ventured.
He nodded, a big solemn nod, up and down.
"Got to keep a small spot dirty--
Jerks only hit perfectly clean cars."
He smiled then, and nodded so violently
I worried his sunglasses would fly off.
But soon the fender was fixed,
Though the acid-green was a shade darker.
One night late I was at the all-night market,
And there in the fluorescent glare
I saw him working, without sunglasses,
Moving a massive sweeper up the aisle
With his one good arm;
But I stayed out of sight.
Last time we spoke
I was headed up the hill,
He down, with the suitcase of Black Label.
"How she runnin'?" I asked.
"Can't say. You know, shouldn't say!"
And he beamed and nodded.
He had me there.
-
San Diegan
This morning as I was taking the elevator in our new building along with a gaggle of H1 visa holders, Louie Louie came over the sound system. The Kingmen version. As they were smiling politely, (and probably wondering what part of the caste system I'm in), I was having flashbacks to tequila drunks, rivers of Mai Tai's, and cheap beer. Somebody in security was having some fun messing with these people.
This event precluded my assigned chore of catching up on the latest cyphering algorithms and mandated some serious research (for the umteenth time) into the lyrics for this thing. Here's the sheet music:
But those sure are not the lyrics *I* remember. My high school garage band buddy (and fellow Moonfire explorer) Steve Torres had it down to something that included "..felt my bone in a head of hair..." To get it right, you have to sing it out phonetically.
I felt this might be essential information for the camp.
San
This event precluded my assigned chore of catching up on the latest cyphering algorithms and mandated some serious research (for the umteenth time) into the lyrics for this thing. Here's the sheet music:
But those sure are not the lyrics *I* remember. My high school garage band buddy (and fellow Moonfire explorer) Steve Torres had it down to something that included "..felt my bone in a head of hair..." To get it right, you have to sing it out phonetically.
Looweeloowhy ono sadday we gowgow
yeh yeh yeh yeh yeh sadday looweeloowhy oh bebay sadday we gowgow
Ayfain liyelkurwl away onee
eektatsh ahip oconstalee
ale wine shit wine all alowe
eenever acow aamay gitome
Aloowee loowhy nanananana heywegowgow
Oh no addeeloowee loowhy oh bebay heddeweegoddegow
Wenite andayo afaildefee
kaykogorld ocontoflee
a on ay shit awayteedair
agul ayrow mowinherrair
Aloowee loowhy oh no heddewegowgow
ya ya ya ya ya sadday loowee loowhy oh bebay heddeweegowgow
OWKAYLITSGITITOOWERITENEOW
teey.... teteeynow ingamymoowabow
theymuppeelow they peepeealow
theypayinarhear my artegen
aymebber ay mebbelayergen
Looweeloowhy ono sadday we gowgow
yeh yeh yeh yeh yeh sadday looweeloowhy oh bebay sadday we gowgow
Ayseddewegoddegownow
Beybeeconnoweekot
Etco!
I felt this might be essential information for the camp.
San
-
Jackie Blue
Please forgive this poem. I was 18 when I wrote it. But even 18 year olds know something.
TOUCH
Thousandth wielder at the ancient anvil
pounding at the cold metal of her heart.
I
That black night, came out of black hills
Headlights eyeing the endless road.
Quiet constant: vision of one slant pole
Curving white line into the damp fog.
Last midnight gas, tired old drunk filling the tank,
Push-started, our heads bouncing with beer.
The old Porsche grinding out the distance,
Hill curves out of Vermont,
Kris your head snapping back in sleep,
Bridge into New York State,
Rose dawn falling in a clouded Lake Champlain,
Earth smell, the last sip
In a broken Thermos of coffee.
That night I entered sweat-slick bare-chested,
A twice-read paperback of Burroughs in hand,
Read the part about words falling like dead birds
Into the street. Sober, I realized your nakedness
under the sheet, your red hair against the pillow,
Black eyes turned to the moon-flecked wall;
Out of the conscious quiet a dog bark.
Stiffening in the pants,
Tried to speak of why I hadn't
That morning so hot, Wendy,
About wet last night,
Once on the floor hard,
Long, gentle, again on the sofa.
Vomited in the small bathroom,
Brushed my mouth out,
Peppermint soap and my finger,
Vomited the humid smoke-dull pub
Where I drunk stared at your tits taut in black,
Red hair over tight tight black.
Oh again made you,
Sweat in a pool
Slapping against you,
Your hands, fingers
Digging into my ***,
The smell sweet of your sex,
Morning, your sister seeing us together,
Naked, hopeless, sticky.
Again, the after-coffee highway,
Salvation alone.
II
That night too, moon hung,
Cold, icy, Wisconsin.
First time made you, Ann, in the blue snow.
Threw down my coat for your ***,
Obsessed, pulling down your frozen pants,
Pussy so hot, your pungent juices
Dripping on the leather of my jacket.
In shivering haste, fast, deep,
We laid in that wind-turned valley,
Wine tripping our brains,
Moon glaring in our eyes,
My hand feverishly gripping
Your small trembling breast.
Inside on the worn blue rug,
Skin tingling, naked
Wine clumsy, savage
Tongues reaching salty lemon.
And at late, your brother patting my ***
And drunkenly turning to his own image in sleep.
III
I fell to the western sky
Trying hard to create distance.
Motels, broken neon, lone grain elevators,
Dirt-front gas stations, spicy pie, dank mornings,
All-night Cafes, hail storms at horizon, hitchhikers
[heading,
Curly black hair on the bed sheets, long pipe smokes,
Damp March cold creeping from all cracks,
And you, Lisa, in flannel.
Night of touch tender,
The curve of your back
Lifting my hand fanning over
Cheeks of white flesh, yearning;
Sleep glazed, pressing my hard penis
Into those cheeks hoping you would turn.
Morning kept stretching further,
You reaching in my sleep,
All dreams, all intentions.
And last, you crawling back into bed,
Smelling slightly of toothpaste,
With two steaming styrofoam cups of black coffee.
IV
Andrea, your lips a final warning,
It was at Grand Central Station,
Your eyes, hating, hopeless,
Left me, numb, walking. At long last
Tears clearing away all pretensions,
Lovely pure naked hurt
Pitifully tearing away inside,
Open sobs weakening like rising mist
Passing into the dark sooty streets.
And you, Andrea, lost in the fluorescent hole
Of the Holland Tunnel; only in memory
You choking on my come, staining brown sheets,
One sunny Sunday morning.
Long night, behind a long photo of Rome,
Espresso wakeful, rolling fat cigarettes,
Romantic broken-hearted gloom on mouth edges,
Eyelids dark, thick, tear lines in dirty face,
Rich coffee odor, white table cloths, red roses,
Old violinist spilling songs--you were there
Suddenly, alone, Louise.
Lost talk drifting into the narrow street,
The taxi draining out cold December limbs,
Glancing eyes, black brows, deserted Park Ave.
I showered in your fancy apartment,
Inspected my face in the clouded mirror,
And then, door ajar, steam and me towel-clothed
Penis bulging, moving toward you on the bed.
Sangria on ice and the post-late show mounting
Of your craving body.
Dancing in your darkened room,
New York City out the window,
Last lights fading in your hair,
Dancing tensely careful
My penis in your moist center
For the last time.
Rainy December morning,
Down into the subway
I stand gladly alone
Filled with coffee and waffles,
The slapping rain no longer audible
Against the approaching train
Crashing out of the black.
V
Stef you saved me twice.
Always can hear the voice of your horn
Melting into the gold evening river,
Laying notes over the green ripples,
The ripe scent of late summer,
The garbled talk of the autumn rapids.
Still see you sauntering drunk
Out of the broken end of the big room.
Seen you all seasons--quiet, alive.
Pipes hanging, we molded sanity,
Blew smoke rings, savored toasted corn muffins,
Beans and brown rice. Evenings there was
Jazz, drip-ground coffee, Bass ale,
Slowly coloring meerschaum.
All moments, All visions,
The silent destiny of nothing,
Our own image in the shop windows.
TOUCH
Thousandth wielder at the ancient anvil
pounding at the cold metal of her heart.
I
That black night, came out of black hills
Headlights eyeing the endless road.
Quiet constant: vision of one slant pole
Curving white line into the damp fog.
Last midnight gas, tired old drunk filling the tank,
Push-started, our heads bouncing with beer.
The old Porsche grinding out the distance,
Hill curves out of Vermont,
Kris your head snapping back in sleep,
Bridge into New York State,
Rose dawn falling in a clouded Lake Champlain,
Earth smell, the last sip
In a broken Thermos of coffee.
That night I entered sweat-slick bare-chested,
A twice-read paperback of Burroughs in hand,
Read the part about words falling like dead birds
Into the street. Sober, I realized your nakedness
under the sheet, your red hair against the pillow,
Black eyes turned to the moon-flecked wall;
Out of the conscious quiet a dog bark.
Stiffening in the pants,
Tried to speak of why I hadn't
That morning so hot, Wendy,
About wet last night,
Once on the floor hard,
Long, gentle, again on the sofa.
Vomited in the small bathroom,
Brushed my mouth out,
Peppermint soap and my finger,
Vomited the humid smoke-dull pub
Where I drunk stared at your tits taut in black,
Red hair over tight tight black.
Oh again made you,
Sweat in a pool
Slapping against you,
Your hands, fingers
Digging into my ***,
The smell sweet of your sex,
Morning, your sister seeing us together,
Naked, hopeless, sticky.
Again, the after-coffee highway,
Salvation alone.
II
That night too, moon hung,
Cold, icy, Wisconsin.
First time made you, Ann, in the blue snow.
Threw down my coat for your ***,
Obsessed, pulling down your frozen pants,
Pussy so hot, your pungent juices
Dripping on the leather of my jacket.
In shivering haste, fast, deep,
We laid in that wind-turned valley,
Wine tripping our brains,
Moon glaring in our eyes,
My hand feverishly gripping
Your small trembling breast.
Inside on the worn blue rug,
Skin tingling, naked
Wine clumsy, savage
Tongues reaching salty lemon.
And at late, your brother patting my ***
And drunkenly turning to his own image in sleep.
III
I fell to the western sky
Trying hard to create distance.
Motels, broken neon, lone grain elevators,
Dirt-front gas stations, spicy pie, dank mornings,
All-night Cafes, hail storms at horizon, hitchhikers
[heading,
Curly black hair on the bed sheets, long pipe smokes,
Damp March cold creeping from all cracks,
And you, Lisa, in flannel.
Night of touch tender,
The curve of your back
Lifting my hand fanning over
Cheeks of white flesh, yearning;
Sleep glazed, pressing my hard penis
Into those cheeks hoping you would turn.
Morning kept stretching further,
You reaching in my sleep,
All dreams, all intentions.
And last, you crawling back into bed,
Smelling slightly of toothpaste,
With two steaming styrofoam cups of black coffee.
IV
Andrea, your lips a final warning,
It was at Grand Central Station,
Your eyes, hating, hopeless,
Left me, numb, walking. At long last
Tears clearing away all pretensions,
Lovely pure naked hurt
Pitifully tearing away inside,
Open sobs weakening like rising mist
Passing into the dark sooty streets.
And you, Andrea, lost in the fluorescent hole
Of the Holland Tunnel; only in memory
You choking on my come, staining brown sheets,
One sunny Sunday morning.
Long night, behind a long photo of Rome,
Espresso wakeful, rolling fat cigarettes,
Romantic broken-hearted gloom on mouth edges,
Eyelids dark, thick, tear lines in dirty face,
Rich coffee odor, white table cloths, red roses,
Old violinist spilling songs--you were there
Suddenly, alone, Louise.
Lost talk drifting into the narrow street,
The taxi draining out cold December limbs,
Glancing eyes, black brows, deserted Park Ave.
I showered in your fancy apartment,
Inspected my face in the clouded mirror,
And then, door ajar, steam and me towel-clothed
Penis bulging, moving toward you on the bed.
Sangria on ice and the post-late show mounting
Of your craving body.
Dancing in your darkened room,
New York City out the window,
Last lights fading in your hair,
Dancing tensely careful
My penis in your moist center
For the last time.
Rainy December morning,
Down into the subway
I stand gladly alone
Filled with coffee and waffles,
The slapping rain no longer audible
Against the approaching train
Crashing out of the black.
V
Stef you saved me twice.
Always can hear the voice of your horn
Melting into the gold evening river,
Laying notes over the green ripples,
The ripe scent of late summer,
The garbled talk of the autumn rapids.
Still see you sauntering drunk
Out of the broken end of the big room.
Seen you all seasons--quiet, alive.
Pipes hanging, we molded sanity,
Blew smoke rings, savored toasted corn muffins,
Beans and brown rice. Evenings there was
Jazz, drip-ground coffee, Bass ale,
Slowly coloring meerschaum.
All moments, All visions,
The silent destiny of nothing,
Our own image in the shop windows.
Last edited by Tramp on Wed Nov 10, 2004 9:33 pm, edited 1 time in total.
-
Jackie Blue
Jon, When I was 16 I was making this girl at 2 AM in the middle of a back road. No idea why we where doing it in the middle of the road except that the pavement was so smooth on bare feet, but there we were, standing up, going at it. Well, right, you guessed it: headlights. We hopped into the bushes. It was only late the next day I learned it wasn't ordinary ground cover I'd hunkered down in. Yup. Poison Ivy. Not sure what the lesson is there?
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