Tuesday, 6 December 2011

The Clementine Blues-for mon ami Clement Allic

The Clementine Blues" accompanied by organ grinder; smell of greek-frites & a crowd of fanatical Shia Muslims celebrating Masharraam.

Woke up this morning, feeling so blue
My Shrink never told me what I had to do
Ohhh these lonesome blues.

The whisky bottle's empty, the gin stinks like hell
Some asshole is ringing my door belle
Ohhhhhh these lonesome blues

My girlfriend busts my ass everytime I leave the door
She wants me just for sex but I aint so shure no more
Ohhhhh these lonesome blues

Call me in the evening, call me when my day is done
Tell me that you love me and just want "clean clean" fun-(unsung-groan)
Ohhhhh these lonesome blues.

Waht you got, you aint got no more!

Somewhere i thought you were mine
In the misty forests of the back of my mind
I was stupid enough to think
You'd never change.
Your love I carried in my jean pocket
Buried with the tobacco & some string
(a few coins rolled over your face
But I know you never felt a thing)
So onwards goes your love
Into other arms but mine,
Was it vanity or blindness
Made me think that you were mine?
The rain is crying out my sorrow
For what was never to be
A story that I love
A story of you and me.

Monday, 28 November 2011

Pot Luck Poems.

Pot Luck Poems.

A forever new horizon

(a sphinx i can never be)

draw me like gold

To a sunset I've never seen

Sit outside the mosque
hear the murmur of the prayers

Hear the camels farting

the munching in my ears

i'd ride with Genghis Khan

If a horse was up for sale

Ride the steppes, 
hunt with the hawks

And sleep with a Circassain princess

a new one every dawn.

Cross a a jackel with a snake,

Cross your heart & swear it'll never break.

Take my hand in yours

my Herat heart so cold

Give it to the Devil
Keep it warm -upon his stove.

I'd love to love you
If only one more time

Feel the turbulence of the words that fall-

Feel the excitement of both our bodies so enthralled

I lose my breath every time i see your face

That's what happens

When you cross a jackal with a snake.

I tattoed your soul with colours so gay
Spiked ink under your skin

Once so grey

Held the texture for hours & hours

Felt the intimacy as if we were both in the shower

Transformed your outside into something brand new

Now you've got it -what ya going to do
A shaman, a thug, a criminal clown or a thief
A bit of your soul I caught in the drift
I keep it on the altar where the Buddha sits still

Be welcome my love-it's another of my skills!

The Buddha chews gum

spits on the street

Mohammed thinks women are kinda cute

Ramana Maharshi has fleas in his beard

Bob Dylan is putting out another Christmas Album this year

Politicains lie & cheat

The rest of us wonder what the fuck were going to eat

Al Queida have an order-new sandals all round

And Victorias Secret have gone underground

To publish a book is more than a threat

Goodnight everyone-sorting out my debt!
Lost my mind on your railway line

Lost my money paying for your time

Lost bout all, why why why

Just born under a bad sign

Lost at poker, lost on a Joker

Gained a disease for a diamond

Got washed out in my creek

Just picking scabs

Just born under a bad sign

Been cleaned in Louisiana

Cleaned out by a crocodile
Paid the Mojo Man a fortune

Just to spend a life with you

Mmm born under a bad sign.

 Coffee feelings-cold room blues

Woke up thinking about you

All the good things we used to do

Left the lights on just to be sure that I was here

Left water running-
Just don't seem to care

Mmmm Good Morning Blues

Whatcha going to do

Throw me out, throw out even my shoes?

If you'd come back baby I promise to be a better man

Yes Baby I can still be a better man

Leave all my wickedness behind me
Go to heaven on my hands!
Sorceress inside the lungs
Raging demons in the brain

Uneasiness is my business in trade

When all looks easy

When she smells real fine

When there's no wolves howling

And you're living at the bottom of the mine.

Look over your shoulder

Where the darkness has an even glow

I'll be sitting wondering and saying

How do you Do?

Friday, 16 September 2011


Darling I've a dose of the blues you could weigh on the scales, it might even break them! Came out the walls, took me by the balls & swung me round my head all day, let me go let me go, i've nothing to show , except dreams by the score i could sell.
From the elephants bathing in a Cambodian basin to the paddle-steamer stuck on the Niger, an orange juice seller could easily do better peeling oranges by the banks of the Nile, Give me a stick, lend me a brick, let's build a house on the edge of the world. Eat mangoes all day, steamy sex in the hay & a cow with milk without end-if I say that I miss you don't think I'm hissing like a snake in the corner of a rock' it's just that I'm feeling that I need a little healing -and where that may come from God only knows, so rub yourself against my dreams and even if it seems dirty, funky & blue-remember the time when you were still mine and your body was my Garden Of Eden. The Owner kicked us out for stealing a trout from his river by the Transylvanian Border. That opium den where 20 smokes cost only ten is imprinted on the map of my soul, unravel the map, there's a a Venus Fly Trap to catch you and to take you prisoner, you know what I'll do, I'll make the same brew that kept you by my side all that time, love you.

Thursday, 18 August 2011

Tombuctou-Centre du Monde.

Tombouctoo, Centre of the World

Wanna go where the Desert ain’t so far
The Minarets still sticking
 Like Storks against the sky.
See the River Niger wandering through the land
Tuareg & Bedounins – their skins considered white
The Centre of The World has always been
Mud Walls & Mosques, Paddle steamers too
Who’d want to stay home when the wotld is still so huge
Mosque of Nando where barren women come
The offspring called Missiri Nando
             Blesings to the One.
The Cliffs of the Dogons every day destroyed
Clicking of the camera ,nicks & nacks for sale
            Oh Spirits of the Dead
Would you walk around a graveyard with vampire’s in your head?
Sand storms and Djinns, a kidnapping or two
Three women for wives, what yo going to do?
Baobob trees before the Romans conquered
Already gave their shade, stinking old camels
Munching all the thorns,a purple turban
Just before the dawn.
Dust In the air, dust In the sky
The Farmers looking for symbols in the sky
Stars like comets, comets like the stars
In Desert Darkness put to shame the Sun
Beting down with no mercy
Where the world beagn.

Saturday, 30 July 2011

for everyman

To you I am a Father
For another I am a friend
To my sisters aways a brother
To the wind something to bend
To the elephant a flea upon the earth
To the red rose just a thief, plucked and given you
Token from your friend
Do you my mouth tell wonders of the stas ror just idle pratlle
A childs rattle
Could do better.

fron Suyia to Lissos

The harbour slips behind as my feet mount the gorge
Cicadas shrill song from every tree
Stink of Billy goats and semen on the rocks
Small piles of stones as in the high Himalaya
Where pilgrims have passed
Cypress roots push between the rocks
Wind so still yet Africa is never far away
Climbing up,climbing up the rocky hillsides
Until the hill becomes flat
(what a place to love you, the view so huge and wide )
along the earthy path where donkeys have left their mark
Then suddenly the view of Lisssos where once the Romans ran
Tiny blue Bay , turquoise water lapping
Lissos Bay-for you with my eyes.
love Jimmy

Sunday, 5 June 2011

Heart Garden Grow.

I must plow the heart earth
Leave it fallow for a season or two
Let the ravens & crows settle
Where there used to be you
Let weeds grow, shambles and thorns
Get it back to before I was born.
Tear out the roots of the love 
That took over the garden so wild
Let snow & rain do their job from inside
Let the winds blow away the last seed of love
That dared to stay longer than a day.
If the time comes when i plant again
Only a savage garden will grow
Where foxes and field mice may rest
Without your love still in my chest.

Tuesday, 31 May 2011

For Miss Perl

My Boulevard of Broken  Hearts
Makes a man feel that he ain't got a start
Wish the clouds would leave my eyes
And I'd see you through unbroken eyes.

Highway dust and a woman's lust
Christ in a Church, the window so still
Second Hand Redemption
A blessing from afar
Baby just let me drive your car.

Thunder in a V8, lightening on the hills
Screaming tyres and a pile of unpaid bills.
Drift down to the Delta
Katerina's been and gone

Cleaned out the City where Billy Bowden blew
Storyville Blue in a pouring sky
Louisiana stew, crawfish for sale
A dollar a dozen, who's buying tonight?

be a Fly .

Be a fly and annoy me
Be a moth & burn out in my fire
Be a snake wrap me tight
Be a woman & love me all night.
Be gentle in the morning
You can treat me bad at night
Take me with you when the winds begin to blow
Use me as a sail on the oceans waves
but in the cabin, I'll be your slave.

Sunday, 22 May 2011

The Avenue of love.

The cops dont care on the avenue of love
The whores all share on the avenue of love
The dogs of hell are gentle as mice
On the Avenue of love.

Dead roses gather in the shadows
Poison ivy creeps up the walls
Small tarantulas so cool
Don't take me for no fool.

Done my time on the Avenue of love
Written too many rhymes on the Avenue of love
Got jailed and got busted went to Rikers Island and got back-slided
Just 'coz I live on The Anenue of Love.

Wheels go round

I could've been born a elephant but the space was too small

When as a tiger I came I just became big game

for some asshole with a rifle & small dick

When in Eskimo incarnations I refused invitations

From walruses & women so white

Reborn in Japan with a geisha like fan

My obo always got in the way.

When born in Brasil an Indian I became

Under the canopy of the forest so huge

Born this time, It really took time

To fall in love with you

Wake up woman !

Life i so short whatever you've got

It's true that time is on the wing

Could i have done more than walk out the door

With a tear escaping my eye,

like a miser your loving you gave

it dripped down the walls sticky and salty.

This time ill try to conquer the sky

Whatever it costs i'll do

Leave your body behind, you still twist my miind

intp knots of complexity so raw
Sisal & string, do you still wear the ring

I found in Chorki Bazaar

The Bosphurus, a Muetzim hollering
Call to prayer an electric cacophony

Dead sea gulls at night fly in Circles so tight

Round the dome of Anya Sofia.

La danse du ventre as they told me it ws called

Up some seedy street by the sea

I was caught unawares when you climbed up the stairs

With a rich Pasha from Tashkent!

You're charms you sell, a receptionist from hell

Why did I sign my name?



Alone as a butterfly in an overheated room
tortoise-shell wings falling in middle winter's snow

Alone as the last bear on Macedonia's Border
Hiding in the mountains, no honey in the tree.

Alone as a stone, Hidden in a drawer
Never opend in a dusty museum.

A walk in mid winter across a field that's fallow
No moon to light the night The Owl cries-a field mouse dies.

Alone as you & me
Seperated by a distance
That I cant see.

A soul in pain, an overflowing drain
That's what it feels like tonight.!

Sunday, 15 May 2011

how can I know, i just wrote it!

I ve been too long in the storm
Where your spirit just stole the dawn
And death walks with a cane.
Saw a whale in the sky
& fish that were dry
...My tears they drank like rain.
Your decision to go where the Karakorum Winds blow
Would you bundle me into your bag?
3 elephants said-You're emotonally dead
I just told them I was very sad.

Wednesday, 11 May 2011

In Nefarious Dens of Iniquity ,( Paris to Stockholm)

Spring 1964
A Tall Tale of Jackets & Friendship.
Lying on Bill Shakespeare grave its 03. 00 am and pissing down, my sleepin bag's soaked, better warmth than borrowed genius so heading of in the dark to find a derelict building or shelter. I find in the rain-soaked night a house that seems empty, go in and in the pitchblack night find a patch of floor and lay my weary head to sleep, morning comes-I look around and see hanging on the wall a blue double-breasted donkey jacket, I call out, no answer, place seems to be deserted, smoke a fag, feel hungry, thirsty and in need of a piss, roll up said sleepin bag and take the donkey jacket from the wall's rusty nail, it fits like a glove.
                          I leave Stratford to the River Avon and it's inhabitants and head off toward , Cornwall, Dover and God knows where else (with the jacket over my shoulders), heading for the sun and to cut a long story short, the year rolls on and I arrive In Istanbul via Paris, Fréjus, Stockholm, Kobenhavn Trieste, Beograd, Sophia, Edirne and a million rides, trucks n trains, tomatoes squashed into puree under my sleepin body on a truck in Bulgaria somewhere, round-abouts cut in half by a mad Professor in Salzburg,Austria and finally settlin in Istanbul, I'm on the Gulhane Hotel roof, playin Tony's guitar, sittin on this Donkey Jacket, halfway to paradise when this disreputable character with outrageous knee-high red boots, beat-long hair and inquisitive eyes sits down and we smoke Turkish cones and take Chai, sharin travellers tales of Baalbech, Beiruit and the road between, he's older than me by a few years which inspires instant respect in self, and the afternoon drifts on till Steve, as I find out he's called, has to move 'n on rising he suddenly freezes,
    “Where the fuck did you find that jacket” he asks and I embark upon my shaggy dog Shakespeare story,
    “Thats my jacket” says he,
    “What?” says I, worried immediately as winter is in the air, and I know there are very high mountains twixt here and India.
    “Thats my name sewn on the inside, Stephen Pitt-Trower, look! “ and shure enuff, it's there, Steven Pitt Trower.
    His Mother had sewn on the name tag for school years earlier, he'd bin in Sratford 6 weeks before me and due to a story of a skirt with legs inside it and tits on top ,had left the jacket behind, I'd inherited a FRIEND and a jacket, Steve graciously bequethed me the item in question, intoduced me to his life and we became the dearest of friends till he died in Martigues 3 years ago, talk 'bout God remaining anonymous, the jacket had travelled 10, 000 kms at least to do its job, survived Customs, rides, derelict buildings, nights of joy n days of hunger, I'll say no more but

                            Pieds-noirs & France,July 1964.

Crossin' the Channel from Dover to Calais in a rusty ferry, beer and cheap fags arriving in La France, down Avenues along the Route Nacional, trees touchin branches over the road, leafy, low slung Citroens full of families, kids baskets, bottles and towels, picnics by the roadside, thumb out, family stops n' finds room fer self plus sleeping-bag & guitar, and to Paris we head, n they tell me of fleein' Algeria, of leavin behind farms n vines, graves and fields, rich earth, of burnin sheds tools of labour lost forever to a war they didn't want, of eyes flirtin behind scarves to conceal beauty, just makin that beauty even more desirable, of Casbahs and Souks, of abandon, lost under North African skies cobalt blue, burnin buildings and hurried departs with shotgun-arms, moustaches breezed with brown earth, frightened eyes, smell of fear, children pissin in the dust, brimmed hats blown away in the winds of time immemorial, like Carthage down the road n Hannibal n his elephants, a salted-earth Roman style, refugees, betrayed promise of pompous Charles de Gaulle in Palais Matignon, off the Champs-Elysés, boats and seagulls screamin off the Cote d'Azur, rusty tramp steamers groanin in a choppy sea, dumped in Marseille, a country unknown- La France.
             Great Grandad had been buried near Oran, Grandma within the sound of the sea, as she wanted it on Africa's northernmost coast, hard to quit the dead, children raised without shoes, and peasant love, refugees again!
    Wasn't my war, my people, my land but I know that feelin so well, just do, and they take me to a flat in Sarcelles, the Bronx d'içi, Nanu d'içi, the Scrubs d'içi n treat me like a King, wine n cheese, and a clean bed, daughter's eyes freckled brown getting too interested in my teenage rebellion, and it's down the road I go afore I'm in trouble again, to Ile de la Cité. Weepin Willow in the lazy summer Seine, the same tree there to this day, beats n tramps, clochards and chicks, friends made in Finches, Googe Street &  Duke of Wales Rathbone Place London, in Café Nic Kobenhavn, in  Tetleys Tea house Kunstergatten Stockholm, in Constituion Place Athens, in Café Baba Tangiers, Hotel-roofs in Istanbul, Yenners Cafe Sultan Ahmet, at Chez Popoff in the Rue de la Hauchette, in St Michel Paris, a crossroads of those of us to whom the roads home,
Wine-drinkin, dope smokin, fornicatin under bridges children, buskin beggin, stealin and a cheatin children fuckin a system (we hate to this day), opium ball eatin, cognac consumin, no good life-loving children escapin to wherever's better then from where we come, escaping  armies n parents like Sergant-Majors, education that stunk to high heaven from destinies imposed by a society under a mushroom cloud, spies and cold wars, gentlemen politicians stuck n a timewarp of the First World War, oh what a lot to be angry about. JFKs dead-our last hope, Gandhiiji's long gone.

                                 Life under the Pont Neuf
                    Irish fishin songs from the Arran Isles ringin out under the Pont Neuf, smell of sunbaked piss and broken glass n Swedish gals with blond bosoms n long hair blue borealis eyes, brown Frenchgirl eyes and sunburnt skin aquiline noses and cleavage promisin' heaven . Patched jeans n anoraks, rucsacs safe in the midst of Chez Popoff's, Rue de la  Hauchette's back room, fountain of St. Michel my shower, so many lovely faces watchin the river flow, Devils and Gargoyles starin of over the vaults on the Pont Neuf from whatever's comin this way, even the rats are descended from noble stock as they frisk about at night, Diego Rivera's walked here Tamara de Lempika too, Pic of the Arseholes walked here, Montpassant's walked here even Modliani probably spat 'is lungs on these cobbles, Portos n Arthos, Dartagnan fought duels under my feet and here's Baron Lima, expatriate Italian Count, wizzled face a conker of a nose, twinklin eyes dark curls falling across his sholders, rings a shinin on every finger, small in stature big in soul, pointed boots and a rap from heaven in an Italian accent,
“Whereee uuus caaannn sllleep, I know and eatin Si Si muito importante I know too, and café drinkin soon ah yes “Petter, nice to c you again, Police no so bad in Paris? “
The perfect ambassador to divine decadence, homosexual methinks but he never tried it on with me, and I was Gay meat in my youth, more later of that, sleepin in a derelict palace near the Pantheon, broken staircases and leakin taps, six stories high of beats and nicks, of bums n girls, a babel o languages, promiscuity and love, a safe haven 'til the Cops show up n carry y'all to the local dungeon round the corner 'coz some intelligent mudda wants to blow the President (Mr. Charles de Gaulle), away, the Renseignements General- French Secret Service know he's out there-the Jackal of Michael Caine fame -but don't know where or how, even what he's lookin like! So we pass 3 days bein checked up 'n out, smokin black Gauloise n eatin soup 30 in the cell, laughter 'n sleep till were let out into the streets and back to the Palace, and were ready for Bastille Day
                         -14 de juillet-
which is celebrated in immitable style with red wine in copius amounts, of Morrocan keef and whatever else is to hand, the cobbles of Ile de la Cite are awash with pools of vomit smellin of wine, I've earnt a 100 dollars playin like a scalded cat on the Pont Neuf, Alelulah I'm a bum, and the French people laugh with us at us, who cares, arms thrown around each other, stolen kisses with respectable good family girls whilst parents hunt the shadows in angst for their daughters, Boulevard St Michel packed with la fété, Mai '68 is 4 years away still, but the Syndicats are out, Communists to a man, and Left Wing rags n calls to strike ground underfoot in this Celebration  of Life.
Down the road apiece.
In the morning, bad head, bad breath and the feelin 'tis time 't leave Paris City, n the days roll onto the long road 't the south, to Juan les Pins, the Jazz Festival, Fréjus and hikin n hitching and more avenues of trees, more rides, 3 or 4 days to get down to the beaches and find the tribe, songs of wine and lust, sand up the arse, sand in the food, sand in sleepin bag n, and my mouth full a boils from swimmin in the Seine drunk and it's off to hospital in Nice I go, untill they wanna keep me in, so escapin' into the night, back to the beach back to Ulla's arms thighs and smile.
                   « Jimmy you wanta go t'  Stocholm? Says  Ulla .
           “Let's go”, more roads up thru' Switzerand Germany and Demark and thru' endless pine forests and small wooden towns, to the suburbs of Stocholm, and a Swedish house, Swedish bread, Swedish herrings, Swedish mum n Swedish Sex n and things get confusing.
            I'm no Casanova and two in the bed plus me is outta my league at the time, and it's out the door- Ulla'less -into the night or mornin, not too much night in Northern Lights, and to the Kunstergaaten do I go with sleepin bag n guitar and tumble upon Boz Scaggs near the statue who teaches me some Blues. Come Back Baby- (later he joins the Steve Miller Band-then Silk Degrees and other songs)-and Mad Paul with Oswley Acid from Frisco-n I realize that it's happenin over there too, in Amerika, I know Bob Dylan, Ramblin Jack Eliot, Woody Guthrie n Pete Seeger, José Marti, Tina Moriaty, Pancho Villa, all very political, ain't read Kerouac yet, never heard of Tim Leary and Wavy Gravy or the Pranksters, didn't exist yet methinks, but hell, were all at it, breakin the rules, fuckin the codes out the windows, playin the songs- Subteranaen Homesick am I, and I go to live under the pontoon bridge, with Finns who sling vodka down like water and pull out long knives and take care of me with Prince and Cecil stolen cigarettes.
Like all beautiful cities, of which ain't too many left (as there buried under the automobile,) statues are everywhere, fountains with Baltic fishes spoutin out water, statues of people I ain't ever heard of, oh so beautiful

Tuesday, 10 May 2011

8th May 1911, Birthday Robert Johnson.

Robert Johnson Birthday. 8th May 1911.

Rolling off a train in Greensville
Guitarcase and spats so fine
Fingers like spiders and hands so light
...Whose that man still looks like a kid?
Tooks out a bottle of moonshine
Got two women on his arms
Faster than lightning can strike
Plays the Devils Music, Legba's real fine
Goin to hell just as fast as my eyes can blink
Why thats Robert Johnson dontcha know , plays real good!

Thursday, 5 May 2011

That old Viennnese Waltz

That Old Viennese Waltz

I saw you in an old Café in Vienna
Choclate & gold were the walls
A yellow chiffon dress you were wearing
As you danced that old Viennese Waltz.

The wounded and mutilated soldiers
Paid a mark to danse with you a turn
Many cried on your shoulder
Your face was a picture of pain
As you danced to that ancient refrain

I sat in a corner and watched you
Still too young and to fresh and too clean
Following each move of your footsteps
As you danced it again and again and again.

The war years raised me to a staion
So far from the slum from which I came
But when I entered that Club on the Tiergaaten
You were still dancing to the same sad refrain
My uniform black, Death Heads in silver I wore
a tremble I felt as my feet touched the floor
Of that Viennese Waltz once again
Still that familiar refrain

May dance with you 'Mein Liebe ?'
I asked politely, your style pleases my eye,
Do I know you from somewhere Mein Herr Kapitan
As you caught my eyes in full shame
Again & again & again;

Why I think not, the lie from my lips just slid
Like a snake from an old skin
I'm back from the Eastern Front
And this is my favorite refrain.


You took me and shook me as we twirled
around that tiny Dance floor
T'was then I knew I loved you
as I'd never loved before.
What makes a man love I asked myself
As your head on my shoulder it lay
Is it a chemical reaction
Or the waltz that makes me so fey?

'Can I see you when all this is finished'
like a suppliant for a job of esteem
we can wine & dine on Baltic oyters
and still listen to that Viennese refrain.

If I say No you'll imprison me
if i say Yes it's almost the same
Your cold hands on my throat so Stalingrad cold
And still that terrible refrain.

A club in a cellar we found
A flute of real Champagne
drunken men shouting the words to Lili Marlene.

As the dawn rose over Berlin
My room as cold as Siberian ice
The drone of bombers in the sky
Your lovely face lay dead on my shoulder
I still sung that Viennese Refrain.

Wednesday, 27 April 2011

Illusion again

What is this reflection i take for real
it shimmers in the water
It whispers through my ears,
It lies and says "I'm real" but I know it's not.
Like the wind that cannot be seen
...I feel the leaves tremble before the storm
I search for you from dusk to dawn
searching for your love.

Sunday, 3 April 2011

by Jimmy Coquelle on Thursday, February 10, 2011 at 4:50pm
 Dear Me, how are you  doing? You've been very busy lately rushing around the world, what you acheived ,how's that  old heart of yours doing,never mind the lasses in all their splendour ,tell me old friend,what's up?
Well  dear James,I've been finishing unfinished business in Rio de Janeiro Br. and killing my saudades and all things related,met many old friends and when I say old I mean in earth years ,not galaxied years as in  Kali Yuga Hindustan! Some have been friends 30/40 years now, thats a half a contemprary life Baba, a life ,nor a  half life,  at  all  !!!!
So I put my name on my daughter Ananda's Birth Certifiacte as Father, 34 years late, better late than never, kind of Amends for things left undone in the past, put my daughter Coral's Grave right after 15 years of abandon by those more on the corner of the Cemetry than self, her Mother etc,her half sister,who don't seem to care, realized that whatever her Mother did or didn't do,(beleives or  lies to herself about beleiving)-it's  really not my business at all and the anger I feel of having 15 productive years stolen by  her are my fault as much as hers,not contesting the divorce etc,should have  teken her to the  cleaners when I had the chance LOL. No good crying over spilt milk!
The  friends I have & love Caio, Carlinhos, Samantha, Carol, Russell & Renata, Penho & sua familia,Sagui,Roberto Mann & sua familia, Penho ,Lipe, Tonia, Mabity, Fedoca, Mabel, Zebinho e sua familia, Noelmi, Cristiano and Monica, Narciso , Mano, Marcello Serra & sua  familia, Gigi & Noilton, Tininha & Julica Tulipa,Dora Doentinha, Noemi & Jan ,Derek & Fatima, Serge de Kraker, Salvador de Nova Iguaçu, aquelis motorsitas  do taxi, Drs & others too many  to  name here plus a few I'm forgetting ,thank you for your wonderful friendships ,kindness,hospitality & things (joy laughter coffee suco  de maracuja  etc) For those I see no more,you're either dead or changed lives so much I can't see you anymore from where I am but I carry you in my heart nevertheless,especially Petit-teu sorriso me deixar cego quando eu vejo photos,Lui-sua musica sonhe no meu coraçao,Coral eu penso de voçe tudo dia my beloved daughter so so missed by me ,to all the monkeys in Jardin Botanico rushing along the high wires,all the  canaries in cages every wave that crashes on the beach ,bless you all for existing!!!