Saturday, July 23, 2016

BALLAD OF THE EP3--By JC Langelle--(C) 2003

:"ballad of the ep-3"--
                  Sat Apr 21 18:50:02
ballad of the ep-3--
flying over the south china sea and a long, long way from
the land of the free--
was a navy plane called the "ep-3", with a pilot
and his crew of twenty-three--
it was there spying on the chinese reds so americans
could sleep safe in their beds--
and if reconnaissance is the name of the game, there
ain't no glory and not much fame--
then suddenly out of the dangerous sky came a chinese
pilot who thought he could fly--
it must have been air rage that blurred his vision, for
suddenly there was a terrible collision--
the chinese mig disappeared from the sky and the pilot
would soon afterward die--
as for the fate of the reconnaissance plane with a navy
crew and a pilot named shane--
with its flaps gone and a bent propeller, the spy plane
started heading for the cellar--
the plane fell for thousands of feet with each crew
member glued to a seat--
because the pilot was exceptionally skilled, the entire
crew didn't get killed--
the crew landed on hainan isle where the chinese reds
made them stay for awhile--
the chinese president in the western hemisphere, demanded
apologies and drank tecate beer--
while president bush in washington,dc demanded the crew
and plane set free--
the chinese reds let the crew talk to an army guy named
general sealock--
who reported back that the crew was well after it's
harrowing flight to a place called hell--
from the plane the chinese took all of the gear from top
to bottom, from front to rear--
they got the crypto and the rest of the stuff and still
complained it wasn't enough--
with the crew detained the reds dragged their feet and
the internet discussions were in full heat--
chinese agents invaded in hordes and posted propaganda
all over the boards--
on capitol hill the senators were hot putting bush and
powell on the spot--
and if "sorry" wasn't exactly good, it was
something the chinese understood--
after twelve long days for the crew had past, the chinese
set them free at last--
and if anybody's got to be out of their heads--it's the
chinese communist reds--

            Message thread:
              "ballad of the ep-3"-- - reconpresseusa-- Sat Apr 21 18:50:02

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Friday, July 22, 2016

GREENWICH VILLAGE BUREAU--Notes by JC Langelle--(C) 1990

                  ---new york nemesis---
                        he is what he wears, clothes make the man--
                        and around the village he wears what he can--
                        but one thing he has and he sure doesn't lack it--
                        is his silver studded black leather jacket--
                        some guys like to wear bomber coats--
                        but with the girls they never get any votes--
                        and others are in the long wool overcoat racket--
                        but they can't beat the silver studded black leather
                        for those who like to play it rough
                        there's a set of manacles to handcuff--
                        the gal who thinks she can hack it--
                        the derelict in the silver studded black leather
                        a man's got to be at the end of his tether--
                        to be into so much glitz and leather--
                        if i had one wish
                        it would be to die in the kettle of fish
                        some late night as the village sleeps
                        and the grim reaper reaps
                        what he sows
                        beyond the rows
                        as he walks down the rows
                        of houses around washington square
                        where late at night no one dare
                        go except to the kettle of fish
                        to die, one day, i wish--
                        if i had one wish
                        it would be to die in the kettle of fish
                        as the moon sinks over the village west
                        that's where to lay my soul to rest
                        out in the dark
                        at the square park
                        underneath washington arch
                        drums beating a funeral march
                        as life goes on in the kettle of fish
                        there, i'll die, someday, i wish
                        if i had one wish
                        it would be to die in the kettle of fish
                        as fog diminishes the view outside
                        so no one there would know i died
                        except for a few, maybe one or two
                        who might have known why i was there
                        and if they had one minute to spare
                        grant me that single wish
                        and let me die in the kettle of fish--
                        before i'm old and gray--
                        keeping with tradition of protest and sedition, i
                        examined my condition working for the man all day--
                        a task that never varied as i struggled and i tarried
                        with the burden that i carried, this for little pay--
                        the alarm on the clock made me jump and walk, it was
                        useless to talk, i had nothing to say--
                        one foggy morning and with great forlorning, i gave not
                        a warning, i quit and ran away--
                        i had nothing to take, there was no one to forsake, no
                        promises to break, no one asked me to stay--
                        i set my destination and my launch defenestration was to
                        cross this mighty nation hoping that i would not stray--
                        i would travel west to east loaded down with the least
                        so not taken for a beast that need be held at bay--
                        i would travel through a blizzard, perhaps mistaken for
                        a wizard and would sacrifice my gizzard if i didn't have
                        to pray--
                        and not return again to places i had been or to find the
                        next of kin in a town along the way--
                        no one need to take pity for i'll be sitting pretty when
                        i reach new york city, before i'm old and gray--
                  published by reconpresseusa--greenwich village section--