WEEKLY SOUTHERN ARTS
"Sometime the boogaloo 
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  • Lowell George searching for authenticity
  • A Telling Lie
  • Part One: The Monster Is Summoned
  • Like Billy Eckstein Singing to an Empty Club at 1:00 AM on a Saturday Night in 1975.
  • Bent
  • Kelly Joe Phelps
  • Why The Devil Don't Come Around No More
  • Hearing Junior Wells “On Tap'' one more Time
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  • American Youth: The Rise of The New Media
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  • This is Not a Political Article
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  • Jesus Was a Sly Dog
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  • The Prison Yard Blues
  • Conspiracy Theory
  • 4 More Poems, 4 More Pictures
  • "Are You Freaking People Insane?"
  • 4 Pictures 4 Poems
  • The Ballad of Carlos Slim
  • Pretending What's in Your Head is True
  • The Cognitive Dissonance of a Faithful Democrat
  • The Human Snakepit
  • George Freeman - Unsung Master of the Jazz Guitar
  • The Price of Milk
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  • Bill O'Reilly Sexual Predator?
  • The New Soldier
  • Orwell Revisited
  • Larry Coryell - The Godfather is Dead
  • A Tiger Beat
  • South Florida - HOT & COOL
  • Jean Paul Sartre & the Existentialist Mojo
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  • Thomas Sowell
  • A Tree Falls In Central Park on a Gay Banker
  • Black Codes From The Underground
  • Man Talk, with Donald Trump pt. 1
  • Man Talk, with Donald Trump pt. 2
  • Brexit Was the Shot Heard Around the World
  • I Love The Dead
  • The Game
  • Goodbye Scotty Moore
  • If a Bluebird Plays the Blues Why Can't it Play Free Jazz
  • When David Slew Goliath
  • Why Cream still Matters 50 Years Later
  • Goodbye Lonnie Mack
  • Black Lies Matter, All Lies Matter
  • The Folly of Foibles
  • The Life of an Imaginary Historian
  • Angel: part 7
  • Wayne Cochran "Going Back to Miami"
  • The Last Damned Healthcare Article You'll Ever Need
  • The Gospel According to Mark
  • Angel: part VI
  • Ted Bundy & The Hunt For The Devil
  • Charlie & Clint: Dead & Deader
  • Trayvon & George : An American Hate Story
  • Jury Duty
  • Little Tommy & The Blues Kings
  • Kayaking "The Big Cypress" with Crocodlies
  • The Birth of The Jazz Guitarist
  • Gay Marriage
  • Garage Band - The 1960's
  • King Arthur, Pelagius and Original Sin
  • The Story of Ricky
  • Hidden Miami
  • I Hate the 60's: A Personal Rock Odyssey
  • Crocodiles and Alligators in Florida: Monsters in our Backyard
  • The Legend of Robert Pete Williams
  • Saturday Night At Big Tinys
  • The Case Of The Infinite Monkeys
  • The American Heritage Series
  • The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress
  • Blue And Green

              4 Pictures 4 Poems 

Picture
"Winter floated in, hovering just above the carpet, sweeping up then down. Around the legs of the dining room chairs it swept, moving between the wood of the antique dresser and an open vent close to the floor. Out from the vent, heat emerged from its slumber and met winter. It was a ballet without violence and no blood was shed, only memory was lost, and even that was questionable."

Picture
"The boy stared out the window, when his grandma said “Boy! Don’t you go out there. Not in them streets. You just keep looking out that window and be thankful to God for them bars on that window and the fence in the yard. Can’t nobody get in that way. Only them bullets…..only them bullets.”

Picture
"She wore a mask. So did everyone else. Under her mask, was another mask, and another, and another. She wondered to herself “Did those other people have different masks, too?” She hoped they did. Life was hard without a disguise. To have only one, was nearly as tragic. But to have none? That was enough to ruin the day. And so she slipped on her new mask. “It helped.” She thought. It erased the past. If not completely, it kept it distant. From the window she could see only its outline. And maybe, someday, she wouldn't see it at all."

Picture
"It was a bad day for the stork. He’d delivered many a baby, but no baby like this. It weighed as much as a boulder, and was a dark as a well. Not its skin. But its soul, which was black like night. And so the clouds turned dark and the sun disappeared from sight, as the stork flew. “Better fly quick.” He thought. For even my wings are beginning to fail. But there was no landing place in sight. As the sky spread out, black as night."

Mark Magula