Rosy Monday Into Fat Tuesday

Walking gingerly down Decatur Street whistling a Ragtime melody Slapping a high five for the Rebirth Brass Band with their pounding Sousaphone Dancing improvised with a jambalaya aroma drifting from the hearthstone whetting my appetite as I hear some Dixieland phrases coming from a calliope. The carnival is cracking with eau de cologne overseas with chocolates flying while beer is drunk for breakfast with wieners and mustard frying. Nonetheless here we have it better on this rosy Monday so balmy making our costumes for tomorrow with some Japanese origami. Filled with highest expectations erupting boldly on the scene Shakin' bakin' and rollin' into Big Easy, our sweet ol' New Orleans I am charged up with anticipation for Creole jams with a cooking Zydeco. Listening to Terry Adams and Boozoo Chavis say who's playin' ‘dat salami with Frank Zappa's funky version of Maurice's sexy crazy bolero. Every street band is generating energy with a blistering and electrifying rhythmical excitement initiating an ambiance of emancipated liberty. Bursting forth with a gush of contagiousness like blessed Cupid's arrow captivating each bystander's passion hotter than the lava from a volcano. Coolin' it down with a Mississippi breeze consumed from the voodoo witchery which is lurking by Congo Square about to spur out like a wicked tornado. Bless his simplicity along with his ingenuity our illustrious pianist Toussaint with Irma and Lee andtheir expression of congeniality in their delivery. "Everything I Do's Gohn Be Funky" rings true as the groove goes on easin' our temperament so gently as we grin like a Cheshire cat who always says he ain't. Then we have the man honored for his influence as he jammed with Cuban paint our longhaired professor singin' "Big Chief" for the native tribes as another parade is marchin' to Tipitina's in the north where Loberta is guzzlin' and sleazin'. Whoopin' up a storm and hollerin' the vocals chords warm a faithless renegade attempts to upset the apple cart with oodles of sour tarts somewhat unpleasin'. Plenty of clowns dressed in amber and violet enter through the gate to promenade and strut with some suspenders and zoot suits with no foreseeable flukes or constraint. Laughing like sick hyenas for the Quadragesima starts on Wednesday with charcoal on the forehead with the confessionals full of stories and monkeylike charades. So for the time being the party has just begun without constables who pigeonhole their restrictive regulations which obliterate our fun as they twist and taint. As this Rosy Monday passes at midnight to our culmination of a Fatter Tuesday we declare this city of music as the center of the spirit of a latter blues day. We toast each other as this moment comes only once each passing year bringing time to a kindly standstill to taste the incredibly lavish atmosphere. The wild dogs will then howl to the waxing crescent moon which burns its light luminously upon the dunes and desert as our sacred prophet prays alone avoiding Satan's flirts and evil temptations. Therefore the final day of pleasure before the penance and internal invocation which carries our spirits further as patience and forgiveness we exhibit and precious reconciliation we do calmly assert as our tongues move to the Holy Spirit's haunting tune.