It work.
They writing.
It writing work.
It work work.
It regular work.
It hard work.
It hard labor.
They be spinning wheels and turning heads.
Turning talking heads upon their heads.
It physical.
It physical work.
It physical comedy.
They googling.
She and he working for Google.
And this working them.
It working for her and him.
It working for the whole company for the whole troupe the whole cathouse corral of hungry horses.
It working for everybody.
No, someone said, It not working.
It working.
And it now working again.
It working.
Now it not working.
It physical.
It going in circles.
It circling.
It writhing like a rattlesnake that has been run over by an automobile.
It in trouble. It in over its head. It in up to its eyeballs. Up to its neck. It in deep. It in deep trouble. Deep yogurt. Deep S. It all full of bull. It all full of B.S. It skirting and sidestepping all sorts of pothouses and potholes, donkeys and jackasses and assassins.
It off to the races.
It gone fishing.
It finished working and so it now off fishing.
It finished.
It polished.
It ready for viewing.
Ready for consumption.
Ready for the trash.
Ready to be trashed.
It ready.
It ripe and it ready.
It everything.
It up and now it down.
It on the go and on the ball and eating at the restuarant.
It locked up.
It pinned down.
Tied down.
In jail.
They in jail.
She and he in jail.
They locked up.
They tired.
They dead tired.
They working.
They at work.
Call it work.
It called work.
It was work.
Physical fiscal work.
It tricky.
It funny.
It slippery.
It lived like a devil.
It like a dog.
It tricky technical tightrope walking.
It deady and it dangerous.
It maddening and seductive and seducing. It rolling along down the road. It a driving force. It a force of nature. It all natural all orginal. It all pratical. It paying the bills. It money in the bank. It like honey. It hot and it heavy. It all over the place all over the map all over the country and the countryside. All over the hills and all over the mountains and the valleys and the cities and the towns and the terrible territory.
It all over creation.
It all over The Universe.
And all over The University.
It all over the joint.
It like a rollercoaster.
It wild and it wicked.
It dirty and nasty.
It dancing.
It hard work. It difficult work. It artistic work. It music. It composing. It conducting and it directing. It filmmaking. It scripting. It screening. It showing. It show business. It open for business. It raking in the dough and raking in the leaves.
It all hot and it all bothered. It got folks all worked up into a lather and it got a few horses all worked up into a lather as well.
It got people all riled up.
They got them reading.
It got them thinking about things.
They got them going.
It got her and him going.
They got Wendy and Al thrown in the pokie.
It got them arrested and tossed in jail. Without a trial even. It trying to spy on people. It bugging them. It bugging people. It bugging her and him. It bugging Wendy and Al. It bothering Alaska and Hank too. It trying to forget Gilligan and Beaver Cleaver and Charlie Brown. It trying to leave them behind. It trying to keep them hidden in the foundation. It trying to reveal something sort of new.
It working.
It work.
It spy work.
It deadly dangerous governmental top-secret secret-service work.
It working for the government.
It working for the country.
It hard dirty work.
It drilling oil.
It like pulling teeth.
It like extracting gold from a lead mine.
It art work.
It fancy footwork.
It ballroom dancing. It The Tango. The Argentine Tango. It playing classical guitar. It rock and roll. It loud and in your face. It an office job. It an inside job. And then it an outside job. It walking and surviving and keeping on moving and forging ahead under extremely difficult and unpredicable circumstances. Volatile circumstances. Highly volatile. Like a war. Or like a woman and a man duking it out. Having it out. Getting it out. Getting the love that was buried deep in their hearts out and into the open and hanging on a wall and perhaps playing in a theater somewhere someplace sometime.

It all a brutal bunch of business really.
It all about businesss.
It all about the money.
It all about hauling in the bucks. The big bucks.
It all about the bottom line and the final results and end the end.
It all about winning and not losing.
It all about cutting throats.
Cutting trout open and gutting them of their entrails of their inside of their guts. Cutting open cutthroat trout. And rainbow trout. Brown trout and sockeye salmon. Atlantic Salmon and Alaskan Halibut. It all about the fish. It all about football. It all about staying afloat and on the boat.
It all about the metaphor.
It all about the pick-your-own metaphor.
It all about pick-your-own word.
Your own image.
Your own picture.
Your own projection.
It all about you. And me. And her and him. And it.
It all about it.
It all about doing the simple things with a very high level of skill.
And raising the stakes along with growing the marijuana-like crops. The cash crops and the cash cows. The bread and the butter. The smell of the manure. The discipline of cleaning catcrap out of a litterbox every single day.
Of doing the same thing every single and all day long.
Of putting the pain to good use.
Putting the time in.
Putting hours in.
Putting the sweat in.
Putting the bad badwy body to good use.
Putting it to work. And then eventually putting it to sleep. Putting it to rest. Putting the putter down and clubs away. And moving on to something else. Something new. Something different. Something sound based...perhaps. Something like playing guitar. And singing songs. Little ditties. Humming and working out little rhythms. And ballroom dancing too perhaps. And traveling the world. And seeing a bit of it. Sampling some of its colorful creations and creatures and characteristics. Sampling a bit of its finery.
And brutality.
Its ugliness and nastiness.
Its filth. And its wealth.
Its wealth of filth. Its wealth of riches and its wealth of rags. Its lives and deaths and ebbs and flows, rivers and creeks and streams, blue skies and orange sunsets and sunrises. White full moons and dark starry nights. Starry Van Gogh nights. And grassy Van Scoy beaches.
Its environmental disasters and its sociological disasters. Dispatches of genocide. Images of Goya madness. Guitar playing Goya madness. Miami Beach symphony conductors the the sounds...the rhtyhms...the themes...the sequencing of the notes. Their shades and modes and feelings. Tones and timbres. Their malleability. Capable of being forged. Of being heated and hammered and pounded and coaxed and tricked into a certain special unique form.
A note.
One note.
One single solitary sole alone note. Capable of doing and being all that and more. Much much more. Mucho mucho mas...senoritas y senors...ladies and gentleman.
One little note.
One little nothing.
One little nobody.
One little not.
One little no.
One little one.
Going around and around in circles. Going straight and straight in a line on a line in time in turn in tune in step rhythm in place in one direction.

It work.
It work at work.
It work working.
It be work that was working.
It be work that was at work.
This work be a work of art.
This work be a thing of beauty.
It be a kind of madness.
A beautiful exquisite musical and mathematical sort of madness.
And easy. Soft and cozy. Warm and fuzzy.
Foggy and sunny.
Most interesting.
Tailor-made for madness.
Tailor-made for one mad madman.
One mathematician.
One musician.
One player.
One guitarist.
One soloist.
One singer.
Stay with the story. Hang on for the ride. Hold the reins...of the horse. Hold them firm yet gentle. Not too hard and not so soft. This work.
It brutal.
It dificult.
It art.
It deep.
It rich.
It wild.
It out there.
It unique.
Yet very repeatable.
Very reliable.
It tried and it true. It tested and it vetted. It hacking. It being a hack. Being a regular hacker. Being a good one. Being good at what it was doing. It was good at it. This hack was good at hacking. This hack was one of the best hackers. This hack seasoned. This hack a veteran. This one a fully vetted fully vested veteran. An old pro. Very smart. Extremely sharp. Highly skilled. Been through many a campaign. Many trials. Been down many a trail. Seen lots of action and lots of trouble.
Seen the world.
Seen things.
Seen many things.
Heard many songs.
Lots of songs.
And with lots of different sounds.
Heard a few stories. In the day. Back in the day. And over the years.
Walked a number of highways.
Drank glasses of champagne.
Drank juice.
Drank water.
Drank whiskey.
Smoked cigars.
Played the ponies...for awhile.
Played poker...for a time.
And blackjack. 21.
Worked the waterfronts like a longshoreman.
Patrolled streets along with the policmen.
Got into trouble with women...he did. This man did.
Got not right with God.
Running with The Devil.
And with The Bulls.
And The Bucks.
...And the Bears.
And Lions and Tigers and Elephants and Ants.
It all some fashion or another.
Exhausting work.
Done in solitary confinement.
Done behind closed and locked doors.
Done in isolation.
In utter and complete isolation.
In desperation and as a last a remote mountain ski resort...and in a cabin in the woods in Montana and also one out on the edge of the plains.
Done day after day.
Hour after hour.
And year after year.
Twenty-one years now...say...and counting.
Packing alot of stuff into alot of time.
Packin heat.
Carrying a gun.
Firing the gun.
Shooting it.
Buying bullets for it.
Cleaning it . Dusting it off from time to time. Admiring it. Looking at it. Thinking about it and then not thinking about it.

Monkey Munney

If the words of this little sample taste of the one hundred or so pages of this eBook have moved you in any way perhaps you might wish to konsider making an inquiry of any kind direkted at the publisher at And Finally...Thank You. And Thank You And Again Thank You. So Much. Many Thanks. For Everything. Most Especially For The Stuff That Is Kalled Love.