album notes for Texas Socialist Infiltration Dance Songs

I titled this album with tongue slightly in cheek. Most of the songs are fun and non-political. But, I do not believe that “In the beginning God created heaven and the earth” so that T. Boone Pickens could own and control the water. I do not believe that “And the earth brought forth grass, and herb yielding seed after his kind, and the tree yielding fruit, whose seed was in itself, after his kind: and God saw that it was good” so that Monsanto could co-opt the sacred process and become the god of seeds.
I do believe in the Public Library, Public Health Departments, and Community Fire Departments. You see, much of what Socialism does is to provide a democratic control of things that, by logic and By God belong to the People and for the People. The early basis for laws governing broadcast radio and later TV, was that the “airwaves” belong to the People. I see no difference now that we have cable and the internet. The electromagnetic spectrum was always in the “airwaves.”
Many grandparents and great-grandparents of today’s Texans were farmers and they knew exactly who their enemies were: national banks, corporate and private monopolies topped the list. Lampasas and Parker Counties were hotbeds of activity for populist causes like cooperatives and water rights. And, Texas was the only southern state whose Farmer’s Alliance was open to black farmers!
Remember, before George W. and Rick Perry the Governor of Texas was Ann Richards. Jim Hightower was the Commissioner of the Texas Department of Agriculture. Mr. Hightower (who, by the way, has great taste in hats as well as quips) managed the presidential campaign of the great Oklahoma Senator Fred Roy Harris. In one of Senator Harris’ novels an Okie grandmother expresses Biblically based disgust at the practice of making money from loans instead of work.
So just put it out of your heads that Texas is nothing but a bunch of gun-nut, racist yahoos. It’s half progressive and overdue for a progressive comeback. So keep on coming to Austin in the springtime. Keep on being the freak you are and don’t let the current national insanity overwhelm you. Don’t blame Texas.
If you take out the tragedy of the Viet Nam War from the legacy of LBJ he was one fine president. I am no more a party-line Socialist than I am a party-line Democrat. As to the title, I'll quote an old Seattle friend named Robert Smith, "Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke!"
Before I had my albums replicated by CD Baby I burned them on my computer. Naturally, after the first year I recorded with Big John Mills and Sterling Finlay I put all the songs I liked from that year on the CD. I had Contrary replicated first because it was all such a fresh creation and I was so proud of it. My wife did not like Contrary's guns and threats and murder AT ALL, but I put it out first. When I was preparing Texas Dance Songs I followed Big John's advice. He said why put in a controversial song or two on an album that otherwise is dance music? So I saved all my political stuff. "Demand and Supply" was recorded the first or second day of the first year. Big John counted us in at a tempo way faster than I had ever played it and man, it improved the song 100%. You can just hear how much fun we had. And, by the way, the song is about private property rights - sorta strange for a socialist album, eh? 
Neither Big John nor Sterling said a word about "I Wasn't Born in the Homeland," and trust me, if Big John was offended he would have let me know one way or another. I'm not saying they agreed with every word, just that they played it quite sweetly. By the time we did "My Magical Horse" Big John was so into his big lyrical sound that I stopped the first take and said, "Hey man, it's just a simple folk song. It doesn't need to sound majestic." 
In 2011 engineer Russell Tanner fed and mixed some recordings that my son, Forest Arturo Dunn, and I had recorded on an early Roland digital workstation. Forest added so many tracks that he had to do a lot of bouncing and Russell worked hard with some fancy plug-ins to bring out some aspects, such as Forest's piano playing. Big John used his Tele to overdub parts on "The Real Thing" and "Bar Talk."
Forest spent his last years in Tucson and he had a great drummer friend named Rick Moe. Forest told me that the first tracks he did for Bar Talk was Rick's drums. I wasn't there and Forest did not play along. Imagine that! He somehow communicated every nuance of that song to Rick and Rick wailed out every beat and every change. Then Forest added all his parts and finally I came to town and did rhythm guitar and sang as the very last things! That's the kind of talent we lost when we lost Forest. And Rick, I sure hope you are in a great band in New York City or wherever you are now. Nobody sounds like Rick Moe except Rick.
Kundalini Baby and Don Felp's '65 Ford were the only songs on this album from the 2013 session. I heard Don in Austin and fell in love with his songs. Don is a real deal cowboy tall drink of water writer and I thank him for working out publishing so that I could record his song without it just being a handshake deal. It's published by Don and registered with BMI. 
All my albums can be heard on Spotify and some other online stations. All my albums can be downloaded from iTunes, amazon, CD Baby and others. 

album notes for "Contrary"

In the winter of 2011 I first took my best friend, the rez dog Edy, with me to Texas. We went to Padre Island where I had memories of my baby Forest Arturo Dunn in a Snugglie on Mama's chest and sea birds flying over his head. I practiced up on old and new songs that I thought might go well at open mics in Austin. As I described in the album notes for "Texas Dance Songs" I ended up recording with Big John Mills and Sterling Finlay at the Woodshed Studios of the Cheatham Street Warehouse in San Marcos, Texas. Russell Tanner, engineer.
With the thrill of a successful session in memory I was more inspired about writing than I had been for decades. For 2012 I had an idea for a song cycle - concept album - whatever you want to call it. I had some of it written but mostly I finished it on the beach. I scattered some of the few ashes I had of my son's body on the beach. I drank, wrote, played, and walked with dear old Edy who was obviously in her last years with me.
My concept was highly influenced by the news. I had been reading so many stories of men released from prison after DNA evidence proved their innocence. I was wondering how many poor innocent victims had been tortured at Abu Ghraib and were being tortured at Guantanamo and at secret prisons around the world. I knew in my heart that America was creating future terrorists by these actions. When reading about Americans released after being cleared of rape, murder, and other crimes by DNA evidence I was always struck by the statements and apparent attitudes of these men. Where was their anger? Had it been burned out by religion? Had they become passive due to an overload of injustice?
I wrote "Confession" from the point of view of a man who was confessing that, by God, he was going to kill that damn, lying judge who sent him away unjustly. But as I began "Tattooed With Regret" I knew I didn't want to finish the album with the concept of killing. And I knew I wasn't going to have the man find religion. No, I turned to a theme close to my heart - the idea of living invisibly - the theme of many of my short stories like "The Meadow." It's only in the last two songs that it becomes clear how the man will end up.
As a country murder ballad, I'm very proud of "Fear the Man." "Riverside Blues" is actually a song I wrote around 1969 and I use it as the turn-around moment when he turns his heart from hatred to his strange future.
Anyway, here's the story of the recording of "Contrary." I said to Kent Finlay, the American Treasure, patron of songwriters, that I wanted a drummer who just used a snare drum, but who used every inch of it - like I've seen on the streets and in the bars in Mexico. Poor guy who only has that snare drum, sticks, and brushes. And wails, Man. And I wanted to start with a song that is only drums and guitar. Kent said it was unusual but he got me Johnny Arredondo. Thanks Kent!
So Johnny shows up with a nice big kit and cases of percussion instruments. Oh well. Russell Tanner sets us up in separate rooms but where we can see each other and we work out for a bit. The sweet drum intro is where he was at about a minute into my original idea. He counted me in - 1,2,3,4."
I must say, I was not shy in asking to do something in the studio. I had recorded - the most important being the lovely year when Forest Arturo Dunn, my son, played with me. I'll talk more about those for the album notes of "Texas Socialist Infiltration Dance Songs Instigated and Agitated by Burl Dunn."
When we did the first track of "Light My Last Cigarette" I just played a 12 bar blues hitting one chord per measure on the first beat. The track was meant to be dropped, I just wanted to give Johnny free reign on how he played it. The next day (half drunk) I said, "Johnny, can you turn this s*** into wine?" But after about few minutes he asked, "What do you want me to do with this?" I said, "Play it like it's 1962 and you're backing the stripper at Jack Ruby's club in Dallas." And he grinned and did.
I laid down "Riverside Blues" on my nylon string guitar and wanted to try a better take the next day, but Johnny and Russell kept saying leave it so I did. I can't remember how many tracks they used for the drums and percussion. I just drank beer and enjoyed my money's worth! (As an aside, I'll tell you that working with pros at the Woodshed can be more affordable than you'd imagine.) Uh, that's not a dispersion on Johnny's playing. Russell must have told him that it was my daughter Hannah's and her brother's favorite. When he finished he said, "I'll live forever 'cause I played on that song." I wish it didn't look sappy on the printed page. Johnny treated me totally as a peer.
The last two songs where my twisted ideas appear have a funny musical story. Big John Mills, on about 10 seconds of hearing my playing before turning it over to him, improvised a sweet song along with Sterling Finlay. I rewrote the words and melody accordingly. "Let's Go Now" is the same chords as "Round and 'Round." ! You'd have to listen to them back to back to get the irony of that!
I was working on the lyrics to "Let's Go Now" in a motel early one morning. Rosemary was sleeping and I had headphones on. I forgot that my voice was something she'd hear. So she wakes up to me saying, "Shhhh, are you ready? Let's go now? Are you ready? I've got the feeling, I've seen the light..." Rosemary is fun.

If you google "Burl Dunn" that's me. Or just type my name into your favorite download page. I'm a "CD Baby." BMI

album notes for "Texas Dance Songs"

I miss the mere size of old lp records with pictures you can see and notes on the back you don't have to unfold and squint at. These are the album notes for my CD I call "Texas Dance Songs."
Every third of July as I grew up I watched my Uncle Joe Dunn play his fiddle and lead a band of Dunns through some fine old songs and hymns. When the '60s Folk Boom hit I was primed to learn guitar and when I heard Pete Seeger and Bob Dylan - well it was all over. I was twelve and I taught myself to play, but of course I had been playing violin since the fourth grade so I thank the Amarillo, Texas Public School District for teaching me to read music.
...
Well, in 2011, my wife Rosemary encouraged me to go to Austin and see if I could get something going. I found the open mic at the Cheatham Street Warehouse run by the great Kent Finlay. He had a studio, the Woodshed, and could get you any backup musician you needed. It all depended on how much you could pay the player. Rosemary was eager to pay for a record. I thought that if I could get some recognition I could bring my son's songs to the attention of the world.
I thought I'd get a country band sound complete with fiddle and steel guitar, but then I heard Big John Mills play an acoustic set at Cheatham Street. My God, what a talent! Kent's son Sterling is a fine upright bass man. I thought about one of my favorite old records - Gordon Lightfoot's first album. It's all Gordon singing and playing guitar, a lead guitar, and an upright bass, so that's how we did it. I even copied Gordon by having one song that was just bass and voice - "Pack Rat Nest." Sterling and I did that in one take.
I was determined to play ensemble style, not lay down track by track. The first song we recorded was "Cockroach Fever."  Nailed it in two takes. I labeled it as explicit when I listed it with CD Baby which I wish I hadn't done especially because if you see the album on Amazon they have every single song labeled "explicit." My favorite cousin, a strict Southern Baptist loves it so it sure ain't dirty.
As that first day sailed along we recorded most of what became "Texas Dance Songs" and several of the songs on "Texas Socialist Infiltration Dance Songs." I was mighty proud that I kept up with Big John and Sterling. We clicked. Late in the session we were playing some song and my mind drifted into how amazing it sounded and - I fucked it up. After that I bowed out for two songs. I had lyrics and chords written out. I played a few bars of each song to give them the idea and then they played. What came out was beautiful, but it wasn't those two songs anymore so I put them on the back burner.  After Big John and Sterling left I laid down my guitar part for Rosemary's two favorites - "I Never Waltzed With You" and "In Our Dance" - because I was afraid I wouldn't capture the lilt of those two songs in the ensemble setting.
The second day we finished up. Then Big John laid down electric lead parts on some songs that Forest and I had recorded around 2000. 'Round and 'Round is one of those. More on that when I write notes on "Texas Socialist Dance Songs."
It had been a prolific session. I was happier than I had been for a long time.
Next year, 2012, was also a prolific year. I wrote seven new songs in a month or so. After recording that album (Contrary) I sat in a motel room and wrote four chord progressions using the common chords from the diatonic scale - major, minor, minor, major, major, minor, diminished. It was an exercise for old three chord Burl. I asked Big John to play those chords but didn't specify how. Then Johnny Arredondo added drums. I was so amazed with the results that I offered Big John the chance to own half of the copyright and performance rights in exchange for free work later. I tried to offer that twice, but each time, before I even got the whole concept of the deal out of my mouth he turned it down. It makes me think of all those guys going to the California Gold Rush (me) who went broke and the one who set up a supply store (Big John) and made fortunes. The two best of these songs are on Texas Dance Songs: "Top Down" and "Just Us Chickens."
 All my albums can be heard on Spotify and some other online stations. All my albums can be downloaded from iTunes, amazon, CD Baby and others.  I go by my middle name, Burl, because if you google "Burl Dunn" it's easy to find. Try it! Thanks.

about WWII allies

Thank you, Russia. And thank you Venezuela, Bolivia, Nicaragua for offering asylum to Snowden. Considering the history of the U.S. in South America it showed amazing courage. Courage beyond the call of duty, indeed.
Since, officially or not, Russia and all of the former Soviet Union are on the list Bush called "the Evil Empire" I would have preferred my EU fantasy to come true.
It seems to me that the Military/Industrial/Secrecy/Prison Complex that truly rules America grew for the purpose of making fortunes immediately following WWII. Now they can't even honor the alliance that won WWII with the U.S.
Of what Franklin Roosevelt called "The Big Three" WWII allies (USSR, U.S., Great Britain) the sacrifice of the Soviet Union was not acknowledged by the people of the U.S. Indeed they became the first enemy of the now eternal quest for enemies America needs to justify the eternal expansion of military power.
Another ally, France has become the butt of jokes and even hatred in recent years by American politicians.
China was once called by Roosevelt one of the world's needed "Four Policemen" (before Mao) along with the Big Three. Well, of the four (U.S., USSR, Great Britain, and China) China (internally) is a dictatorship. The U.S. is a prison Empire. The USSR is no more. What exists is a group of countries whose developments  unfortunately were distorted by the U.S. and are considered more or less evil according to how much they cooperate with America's sick "Complex."
That leaves Great Britain. Expanding beyond Great Britain is the entire EU and all of Central and South America. I would like to see this group ban together to oppose the worst excesses of the Empire. I know it is the American People who should fix America, our fight, our fault, etc., but don't bet on it.
So I hope the entire world applauds Russia's action and works through its diplomatic abilities to protect those countries which take stands against the cancer of our Military/Industrial/Secrecy/Prison Complex. The little but brave countries need some help.
As for Russia. They can take it. WWII proved that. But the impact of a group of major allies upon thinking Americans (we do exist) and thinking politicians might work wonders!

It would be lovely if you'd search for me at your favorite music download site or Spotify or Jango Radio.

about Snowden and Manning

Private Manning is a tragic young man who wanted to do a good thing. Two tragedies: 1. He is irretrievably in the hands of the U.S. "Justice" system, just like the Guantanamo prisoners (most of whom are more innocent than he of the accused crimes)  - he's fucked; 2. He was too young to understand that most Americans don't give a s*** about the world. Killing a foreign journalist? Big deal.
Edward Snowden - now there's an issue that could be creatively addressed. My dream for Edward Snowden is that Russia and some MAJOR American ally work out an agreement. Like, Russia flies him aboard Air Putin, WITH Putin on board, to, say Germany. Angela Merkel meets the plane, and Germany hides him away in some pleasant village for life. And the entire European Union cheers. Now that should send a message!

It would be lovely if you'd search for me at your favorite music download site or Spotify or Jango Radio.

Skinny Wash on a Four Corners River, a fantasy escapist story by Burl Dunn

So I've got the truck all loaded. We're going on a very special rafting trip. I won't tell you the river, but it's one of the many great rafting trips in the four Corners of The U.S. It's either in Colorado, Arizona, New Mexico, or Utah. People zip down the river every spring and summer, most in a raft powered by by 10 horse power or so motor. Many use the various companies and paddle themselves with a guide or go on an oar boat paddled by a guides. Guides are a WHOLE other story. And so are the people, especially the ones who pay for gourmet meals and wine every night.
My girlfriend braided our first rope from WWII parachute cord. I made an oar frame that looked a lot like Meryl Streep's in "River Wild." We have shot class 4s ... shot class 3s without even scouting. It's been real.
We've also gone at water levels that most people find to be a drag, but when you go slow you see things, new things, things that 99% of people don't give a second glance. Aye, there's the rub.
So there are some spectacular washes where everyone stops to play. But I saw this REALLY skinny wash about 10 years ago. Have you ever gone in the slot canyons like in Utah? Have you gone through a place so tight that you had to squeeze every ounce on breath out and then force your way through in one big push? Yeah. That's tight.
Well, I found one on this river. If the water is low you have to pull away from it to stay in the current. If the water is high you might just graze the bushes as you whisk by. If you're like me you might think, "I wonder what's back there?" Well, I know what's back there. Me, some birds, and as far as I can tell, that's it. No mountain sheep in this area. No bears. Well ... Cougar maybe and some other cat. But I haven't seen scat.
I pulled in one year and flopped my way through the mud until I had some rocks underfoot. Then I tore myself to hell fighting through the creosote bush. Finally, I could shuffle along a rock wall above the bed of the wash where all the mess is. I angled up and got to the good stuff. There is an Anasazi store room where they could keep grain and stuff. If you pick your way around the rocks just right you can get to the sweetest Cottonwood tree God put on this earth. Bar None. I wouldn't kid you. Sweet green grass underneath. Hell, you'd think you were on a Morman Temple lawn.  There is a spring that once dripped a gallon in four hours.
So I'm goin' in. I have two friends with rope skills. We have things as rigged as can possibly be until we get there and see just how we will have to do it. I don't feel like going into all the technical stuff, ok? I'm into the romance of the escape. We figure we can get it all up without being seen and without making a lot of tracks and sign. We're going to be so set for a few months! Then they go back to their lives and I have some thinking to do.

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The Hidden Cave on Route 66, an escapist fantasy story by Burl Dunn ... continued

copyright by Larry Burl Dunn

People don’t credit the American Southwest and that’s just how I hope it stays. I can drive on state and county roads for over an hour and not pass another car. I can pull into a “natural attraction” and be the only person there. I mean, like ones with lined parking lots and those functional national park toilets. I hate the current bullshit that says the United States of America will not pay to have, say a once a week inspection and, if necessary, cleaning of these simple, but essential constructions. We’re probably paying Halliburton a million dollars a shot to throw them up all over Iraq or Afghanistan. Hum, on second thought, we’re probably paying Haliburton a BILLION dollars a shot to throw up anything - but something half as useful.

         I’ve seen some locked toilets on federal highways where folks just must say “F*U*” and the ground is disgusting. You may say, “Oh these disgusting people,” but I think they’re, like, “I pay my taxes and I can’t even find a place to take a s***!”

“This is America?” says James out loud to his dog Ely pronounced (LE). They hike up the trail whose parking lot this is and do the natural in more discreet locations, in holes James digs with the heel of his boot.
        James learned the distance/people ratio years ago when he hiked the Grand Canyon several times a year. The further one walks away from pavement, the fewer people there are. I mean, like, even in a huge international tourist attraction like the Grand Canyon. Less than a mile down the Bright Angel Trail (the two-lane highway of Grand Canyon Trails) you leave behind about 90% of the people who set foot on the trail at the rim. A full mile down and you're in the elite 1%. Keep going past the Indian Garden campsite (about halfway to the bottom) and you are one of the few, the proud, the Intrepid Travelers. In fact, if you are an American who is sick of your fellow Americans, the ones that are on TV and news, you know ... just take a hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and you can meet a delightful bunch of young Europeans and Asians. The few Americans in the mix are most likely the cool ones.
        James was sick of his fellow Americans.

One album (over and over) and four hours later, James and Ely pull off an exit of I-40. The next right-turn and they’re on old Route 66! But then, Jim sees a real old Route 66 sign out his passenger side window. There is a little blockade, easily driven around, and the two are on the Mother Road!  It’s pockmarked and twisty. I mean 15 mph twisty. They descend. There’s some lava rocks, some big, but hidden by the lush growth of bushes. There’s some stream-bed smooth rock. Then a big hole and it’s time to turn around. Or get out. James and Ely get out. Ely bounds around like a pup as James heads down the smooth stone.

        It was once a riverbed. You can see the signs of a high-water event and imagine… Off to the sides you are surrounded by lava tubes and lava rocks. It is the El Malpais of New Mexico – but outside the Park Service and BLM jurisdictions. Once among the lava there had been some ancient limestone. And now there were  some ancient caves. James cavorted in and out of shallow cave after cave, but it was when Ely disappeared that the wonder had been rediscovered.

The wonder of one kid in the 1800s they later called Billy… Damn it, it’s New Mexico. I don’t have to make this shit up… This cave had a bunch of air holes over about 80 acres. The land on top was bad as bad can be. But if you happened to find yourself way out here, over a mile from the old 66 I should add, you might collapse from heat exhaustion right by an old cactus. And hidden by that cactus is a golf-ball size hole and from that hole you feel a cool breeze. Ely started with that, except she was nowhere near doggie heat exhaustion. Her massive tongue was a sight to see and it was only half out as she lithely bounded around.

Then she found the opening. Before Billy there had been a young Dine boy … a Navajo ashkii who later spent his last years chanting and praying in that wondrous cave with the tiny opening. Before that there must have been some Anasazi. Pot shards were there, the treasures of the Four Corners that must always remain where they are found. Ely went in and barked. James heard the muffled echo and freaked. “Ely! Ely!” Ely emerged and licked his hand. And James had seen from whence she had emerged like some ancient story of a creation myth, like some baby emerging from Mama. 
      Only in this story one is reborn by crawling back INTO Mama!

 James crawled in.

You could stand up within three feet, but nothing larger than a back pack or a guitar would fit the entrance. Inside were many rooms. And a well. At high water  there was a pond over the well. At very high water would the entire cave fill? James was already thinking along these lines.

While wandering the rooms in the cavern looking for high spots and signs of safety from flooding, James began to notice that there were light sources from the ventilation shafts. Some had a bright light for a short time. Most had at least a filtered light  all day. Finally, James came to another well only this one was more of a pit. It seemed that high flowing water might drop down and out at this point. So James decided to chance it.

      He began weekly trips stashing the cave with baking soda, pinto beans, lard, and flour  – all the simple old pioneer basics. He could have been getting ready for a wagon train trek in 1800. On a whim he bought some catfish fry and put them in the pond. He sprinkled the top with cheap dry cat food to feed the fish. He bought some cheap water filters. Under one of the ventilation holes he set up a small cook stove. Cooking would be a night time activity. He would carefully make hot fires that put out the least smoke.

As he stocked the cave he didn’t think about living there, but rather having a hide-out in which to escape the world from time to time. Some people spend a million dollars on a vacation home. James wasn’t even close to spending a few thousand yet and he was running out of things he might need down there. His kitchen and larder were set. He was adding grains like Buckwheat groats and rice. Coffee, sugar, canned milk -  all his food was in  tight containers and would keep well. His sleeping area was high and dry.

He was learning the network of “windows” as he called them and had a routine of moving from room to room to enjoy the light as the day progressed.

Ely, of course had her stash of food and a little bed. After almost 6 months of establishing his underground bunker James began to wonder about the logistics of living there. When he had the place fully stocked what could he reasonably expect? To live there a year? Then what? He didn’t know, but he put a thousand dollars in a safety deposit box. “Coming out money,” he called it. To get a motel room, clean up, get a haircut and look for a job.

Who am I kidding? Who will hire me? What do I say about the missing year? Pretty hit or miss. And it’d be a hard thing to leave the cave and then become a homeless street bum in Albuquerque.

There needed to be a grubstake. One thousand dollars is not a grubstake. One Hundred Thousand sounded better. But how to get it?

James never had a criminal mind before, but he was starting to think about victimless crimes. He couldn’t  imagine getting away with robbing a convenience store. They have cameras. Hell, you have to assume that there are cameras everywhere these days. Some put up by cops, some by business and home owners, and then there were the digital legions who could shoot the vid and have it posted on facebook in ten minutes. All the great crimes are over. It’s all inside jobs now. Big business, big lobbying, Wall Street rigging. Shit you go into Congress a mere millionaire and if you don’t come out a billionaire you’re either  a putz or one of the few men left for Diogenes to find. I’ll bet his lantern is getting pretty dim.

      He spent a lot of time dreaming about coming up on single vehicle Brinks armored car rollovers with no one alive to save and money, money, money lying around for the taking. An overturned marijuana or cocaine shipment might work. 
James needed some rest.

James was nursing a beer one night in a pretty dicey joint when some asshole started beating up on the stripper. Some in the audience cheered at first thinking it was a new twist in the act. Then the place started to clear out fast. No one was helping the stripper except other strippers. Billy picked up a full bottle of liquor from the bar and walloped the jerk above the ear.

The chicken-shit manager was out in the street calling 911 on his cell. Only 5 strippers witnessed the end. The asshole was clearly dead. Machine Gun Kelly was the oldest, wisest stripper from the bunch. She was way old style, her main skill being the twirling of her nipple tassles in opposite directions, but she only did it as she was “firing” her “tommy gun” wearing the sexiest imaginable pin stripped suit cut down to - not much. She was also the financial advisor to any girl who would listen. “Listen, kid, most of you girls live high, blow your money on drugs and lousy boyfriends and you leave the life with nothing but damaged minds, fake tits, and wrinkles. If you ever want to know how to make some money and keep it, talk to me.”

Machine Gun Kelly had over two hundred thousand dollars in the bank. When she left the club every day she looked like she was headed for mass – and she was. She lived in the same cheap apartment for years; she NEVER gave out the address, but she would accompany a date to a motel when her instincts told her it was safe. “Date money” had always gone into savings. She lived on her tiny wages and decent tips. She gave a lap dance that left men panting and searching for the nearest bathroom This money she invested in a string of tattoo parlors.

Needless to say, Kelly took charge. “First of all, this man saved our friend and we’re getting him out of here. Nobody got a good look. It all happened too quick. He was just another average size man in blue jeans with a cap pulled low over his head. Now, you, mister go out the back. My friend Lola just pulled up for her shift, but is not coming in and is going to leave because of the confusion. She’ll take you wherever you say. And you lay low. Then, we’re out of it, see? You were never here and we never saw you before. Thanks, but don’t come back here ever. Got it? Now get.”

Lola was a bit surprised at how little James picked up from his apartment – just a backpack and a dog. “Head down I-40 West. There’s a place you’ll set me out and then drive on. I’ll be alright from there.” Lola couldn’t imagine how he was going to be alright. From the side of the road in all directions there were no houses – nothing but cactus and lava. That's where James got out. She drove off and when she was out of sight, Ely and Jim sauntered off the highway, down into a gulley, and then over to the cave. “This is it, girl. We’ve got maybe a year in here and then I just don’t know.”

In they went, Ely went straight to the pond and caught a 12 inch catfish in her jaws. “Well, thought James, maybe we’ll last longer than a year. Good dog.”

James started nocturnal excursions to bring back dirt. He planted mostly greens in likely places near the light. He planted pot in 5 gallon buckets and hauled them from bright light to bright light as the day progressed. He played guitar. He had a decent library. And God bless playful dogs. For some of us they provide the most human companionship of our lives.

Still, feeling lonely led him to take a chance. He tied Ely up by the pool one day, leaving food and after a loving talk,  hitchhiked to Albuquerque where he hoped to find some weed to tide him over until his crop was ready. Lola recognized him on the street. “Hey, you still alive?” “Yeah”, he answered. “Thanks for what you did for me. How’s Kelly?” “She’s pretty scared. She thinks the IRS is on to her money. She’s thinking of taking it to Mexico and hoping to live quietly.” “Tell her I’ve got a better idea. She can live cheaper than Mexico. Tell her I’ll meet her tomorrow for lunch at that restaurant right there if she wants to hear my plan. I owe her.”
...

Well Kelly could hardly believe it. “A cave? With a catfish pond? You’re growing pot there? Really, how can I not believe this? It’s too good for a crazy person to make up. And listen, I’m a day or so away from losing it all. I just feel it. So, if you’re offering me a chance, I’ll take it.’

“Just bring a few things. A nice outfit that will stay in a suitcase for when it’s needed. Some rugged clothes. Good shoes. Your money all wrapped up so it can’t get ruined by moisture. Lola can drive us at night to where we just walk off into the wilds.”

“Jesus. Okay. Let’s do this.’

And they did.
                            *********

Wan is on his way back from climbing at Yosemite. He is a 40 year old Chinese native. His company sent him to America to climb famous sites using the gear manufactured by his company, China Rocks. He hadn’t wanted to come, but he was the most qualified to represent his company both as a climber and with public relations. Wan had appeared on television in California, Alaska, and Colorado extolling the quality of China Rocks climbing ropes, carabineers, and other gear. Of course, in addition to demonstrating the quality of ropes he praised the close working relationships of his government with the United States. It was all an act. I mean the China Rocks equipment was as good as anyone’s, but the act was all about praising U.S. /China relations. You see, Wan’s brother had taken him to Tienamin square in 1989. He pointed to Lady Liberty and said, “America will see that we, too, want freedom. That we, too, are created equal and that we need help to gain our inalienable rights. Nixon came to China to open Mao’s Communist regime to the world and that is impossible unless we have democracy, just like in the United States.” Wan had seen the lone man standing in front of a huge tank. He had believed – right up until the night the troops cleared the square. Right up until his brother never came home.

Wan believed his brother was dead right up until he learned about Guantanemo. Then it hit him – his brother was just as likely to be alive in some rendition-style prison, in some Chinese Guantanemo, a gulag where men are forever tortured and locked away because their government deems them to be irredeemable. He had always believed his country did such things; and now he knew that even the God Almighty United States of America did them, too.

Sure, it hit him like a ton of bricks at first, but then he thought that, logically, his brother was dead. Why would he be kept alive? It was comforting in a sick kind of way to think that his brother might have been killed instantly or, at least did not suffer too long. The other ton of bricks – that the United States did not give a fuck for the words they used: “equality,” “freedom,” “inalienable rights” – you don’t get more blatant than Tienamin Square. The whole world knows that behind the freedom-loving lies put forth by the American government is a system of kidnapping, murder, and torture worthy of any Communist or other totalitarian state. With every passing day the United States and China were becoming more alike. It’s no accident that China and the U.S. lock up a higher percentage of their citizens than other countries.

As Wan drove down a segment of old Route 66 he was thinking about the crazy irony that every poor country on earth knew how to keep the United States from getting what it wants. Oh, it’s brutal. It can’t be done unless your government is either on your side or else uninvolved. But Viet Nam, Afghanistan, and Iraq have proven it. The United States cannot win a war. They can kill and ruin everything, but they can’t win unless you surrender. They will stay until the corporations have made enough money from selling weapons of war and then they will leave. The hue and cry will arise from the U.S. to stay and “Kill them all.” But, you see, some peoples have been down for so long that they don’t give a fuck. “Kill me. Go ahead. You killed my children, my parents, my wife. I will fight you until I die. I expect to die. But I will not surrender.” And therein lies the secret. The poor expect to die, and the Americans still think they can win.

Wan needed some rest.
to be continued