smuggler

Snow On The Grass (part1)

2008-12-04T23:05:00.000-08:00

Copy and Paste this link to read a partial story of George Jung's life told in his words. Enjoy!

http://www.broowaha.com/article.php?id=4158

2008-12-04T22:20:00.000-08:00

Life is three layer
chocolate cake
uninhibited and seductive
totally without guile.

George Jung 2008

Designing Illusions

2008-11-04T22:22:00.000-08:00

Copy and Paste the link below to see his wonderful artwork.

http://davidlewismoon.blogspot.com/2008/04/boston-george-inspired-by-movie-blow.html

Break of Doom

2008-09-22T21:03:00.000-07:00

Flashed burned
In the sun soaked rain
sitting behind the wheel
at
The Break of Doom
in
A junk yard full of blues
with
The rain water blowing
through my mind/

Fifty five naked girls
said
It's all fine
kissing
All of me at the same time/

Take it as soon as possible
they said
If your symptoms do not
improve
Go back to your regular
Dosing
of
under the counter love/

I ordered up Earth Angles
And
Lolitas tasting like
Breakfast at TIffenys/

I told her I wanted
the
tycoon cut
A
Diamond with a diamond
on top/

Wearing designer raw
She did a catwalk
dressed in Lola Rouge/

I was running for a
cause when like a fox caught
in the headlights
I submitted to the lightening
strike
and
wondered in angles
have sex/

In stereophonic delight
at the
Break of Doom
sounding like wind
chimes
in
Heaven/

She told to tell
me
I'm less then you
think
and
more
then you ever
imagined
at
The Break of
Doom/

FOREVER

2008-09-15T15:32:00.000-07:00

No one is ever lost/

They are misplaced and replaced
by what might have been/

The secret of the sleeping rose
is that it believes in spring/

In a world of things that come and
go and nothing to be certain/

You must believe in spring/

A thousand summers anywhere
you go/

Remember that you love
him so/

The time he ran to stand
in the footprints you left in
the sand/

Each tide a life shared
in a moonland/

Touching to grab an instant
in a thousand summers/

Theres no chill yet you
shiver/

No flame yet you'll burn/

In the empty, silent place of
the world
He is a metaphore
illuminating the
silent places in our
hearts
revealing a strange
beauty:

Austere, Elegant

Enigmatic, Haunting

Dancing clowns on buttercups

and

Forever Never Ends

George says good-bye to his father

2008-08-25T21:40:00.000-07:00

Hello Fred,

You know, I remember a lifetime ago I was about three and a half feet tall weighing all of sixty pounds with a determined look on my face. Some Saturday mornings you'd wake me up. It was still dark outside. The earth was covered with snow, and together we'd climb up into your big yellow truck. You know, I used to think that truck was the biggest truck in the world and how important that job was we had to do. If it weren't for us, people would run out of oil and freeze to death. We'd stop after driving it seemed forever in a world that was entirely alien to me, A place could South Boston, with huge brick buildings and strange-looking black people everywhere. I was in awe of these strange-looking people and somewhat afraid, but felt safe with you. Together, we'd get out of that big yellow truck and you'd let me pull the hose down the alleyway to the oil spout. I would struggle desperately through the snow, but the oil spout seemed forever away. I'd never make it more than half way, and then you'd grab the whole of the hose, taking it the rest of the way with ease. I thought you were the strongest guy in the world, and the toughest. Everywhere we went it seemed you knew everyone. I remained under that impression for quite some time.

Remember when you bought the boat for me and the outboard motor? Christ, I couldn't even swim. Are you sure it wasn't a plot to get rid of me? You must have lived in fear, wondering what crazy idea I was about to conceive of next. I believe getting my driver's license was probably the most traumatic experience or your life. It was most definitely the point when you had to give up going to sleep on weekends until the blue-and-white Mercury was safe in the garage.

Football. Now that's an interesting subject. You were my most loyal fan, never missing a game. Remember when Jack Fisher turned against me? And I was going to quit the team? You stuck by me and talked me out of quitting. Every kid on the block loved you, Fred. Remember how they all would hang out at our house? They came to see you, not me. You were unique, and everyone and anybody was always welcome at our house. You were certainly the Pied Piper sitting there with cigar in hand and giving orders and free advice. You always managed to get the guys into some job, cutting the lawn, painting the house, putting up a fence.

They never said, No, Fred. They all loved you. In essence, you had a dozen sons, not just one, making you the richest man in the world. What you had was priceless. In between all this activity, you kept me busy digging up the yard. For the longest time I lived under the impression you were in the septic-tank business. Even Marie would pick up a shovel before Otis would arrive for the Saturday-night date.

Track meets. Remember the old track meets? You were always there to watch me throw the discus. Remember the day I broke the record? Little league baseball. Remember how you encouraged me to become a pitcher? And the day I pitched the first no-hit game for the federal league? I guess we were both proud of each other that day. We did have some crowning achievements, didn't we? Do you think we became legends in our own time, Fred? Well, maybe in Weymouth, anyway.

Then I kind of grew up, well, almost grew up, and went away to college. Two or three colleges, to be exact. Remember Waino, the Tuna? They broke the mold when they made Tuna. How about the day Tuna and I left for California, in that little black sports car. I often wondered what went through your mind that day as you watched Tuna and I drive away in that sports car, to travel three thousand miles to where we'd never been, California. After a few years in California, I returned home with the FBI chasing me. Of course everybody comes with the FBI chasing him, right? The day they caught me in the living room, remember, Fred? I was standing in there, handcuffed, and that FBI agent, Trout, the crazy one that was after me for two years, had to get on his knees to put my boots on. You looked down on him and said 'That's where you belong, putting on his boots.' That was one of your best lines, Fred. That was right out of a John Wayne movie. You even came to visit me in Danbury, remember that? How about the day you picked me up from Danbury, and the car broke down in Connecticut? We made it though, didn't we, buddy? What a team, able to overcome any obstacle.

Well, eventually I did reach the pinnacle of success, and I became a big-time smuggler. Money, Lear jets, fast cars, wild women, houses with maids. Remember how you would say for me to give you half the money to save, otherwise I'd end up broke someday? You were right again, Fred. Well, old man, I'm forty-five years old right now, and I've finally learned what you tried to tell me all those years. As the gambler says, "You got to know when to hold, know when to fold, and know when to walk away when the dealing's done." At least I've learned that much. I'm going to be alright, buddy. You know, I've written a book about all my adventures
called Grazing in the Grass until the Snow Came. And the book is dedicated to my father. "With love, from your son."
"May the wind always be at your back and the sun upon your face, and the winds of destiny carry you aloft to dance with the stars." Dutch-men never give up, do they, Fred? The book comes out in the fall. And I know you're going to be around to read it. I Love You. George.

A Quote

2008-08-25T17:41:00.000-07:00

This is a quote that Boston George sent me in a letter:

For Mike,

"Push the dream to the edge and fly"

-George Jung

2008-08-25T16:37:00.000-07:00

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2008-08-25T16:28:00.001-07:00

Splinter

2008-08-25T16:16:00.000-07:00

Hearts in an instant splinter like ice
on a pond/

The precious few chosen long ago
turn mind bent singularly in its
own satisfaction, its own hunger
primative without remorse
realizing there's no roadmaps to
the crossroads
and
there are no real truths
only
the mystery which is
the magic/

The universe is infinite in soul/

We are the beings of that infinity/

It is the moments which are
gifted upon us by the Gods
allowing
sudden revelations
fueling our journey/

-George Jung

SNARLING

2008-08-25T16:01:00.000-07:00

Ain't what it used to be
when you lose faith in your own
ultimate significance along with your
passions
and your soul becomes as squalid
as your fuckin mind/

You're a non existent reflection
seeking refuge in a closey of
infidelities along with the blameless
clowns you lured into insanities
second rate dreams/

They were just homesteaders on
a dull praire of bullshit
and you the huckster with
another bottle of Dr. feelgood/

You took their saintly mates
who loved kissing bad boys/

You listened to routine dialogues
full of crosstalk betrayal
and suspicion/

You drained the bottle and
walked outside yourself
knkowing that the fate of humanity
was never at stake
and those that are last shall
never be first/

It is in fact another century
which brings to a close my
one act play/

I paid the fare to take me
home/

Let the consequences turn to fool/

-George Jung 2005

2008-08-25T12:14:00.001-07:00

2008-08-25T12:13:00.001-07:00

2008-08-25T12:00:00.000-07:00