Stuff I miss doing
ever since I started working:
1. Cooking pasta
2. Reading + Writing
3. The utter casual randomness of an unplanned day
helter-skelter happy Beatles image: because I’m feeling nostalgic
Just because there’s a mole to whack, doesn’t mean can anyhow whack
“Nowhere does it say that the blacks would be differently treated.”
Clearly, someone wasn’t informed about the three-fifths compromise.
Oopsy.
P.S.: I had a choice between “Oopsy” or “OooooooooOooooooorhhhhh”.
Personally, I felt that the former was more polite. and somewhat cuter. Hence.
They all talk in present tense
Ah. Rhythms.
in life.
I shall do a dance, and you can hum a tune.
We is always Changing
Tomorrow On Friday, I’ll wave goodbye to one of my dearest friends. And I won’t know when we’ll meet again, exactly.
for dessert, for drinks, for scrabble.
Life’s too short for Melancholy, but occasionally it does take a seat on your front yard, and then there’s no use turning on the sprinklers for it (because mostly, Melancholy loves moping in the wet).
Ah. But where will we be without the people who’ve travelled our ways? Probably, not a great distance (I think). And perhaps, a little lost, as well.
So here’s to the great journey ahead, my dearest Miss marycherry. And may our paths collide as much and as often as they have. I’m sure we’ll find each other again someday. After all, the galaxy is only so small.
And we.
This forever friendship of ours.
So much bigger.
The Tex Men They Cometh Kollectin’
The wayward men of sunset boulevard were smoking their feet-long cigars, huffing and puffing their incense smoke serpents to the sun dogs and dragging their knife feet into the ground.
Beyond eyesight the sun going downs, like the silk screen panorama of the untouched sanctuary of the saints and sinners; their black horses tied up to the wintry branches of the Joshua’s trunk; their silence is constant. solemn and rebellious.
“i-l-l Tyranny,” mutters one man: his cowboy hat giv’n straying ways to dustland sands and silversnakes.
The rest gently nodding to the beat of the eagles above baffling heights and gravitas; across lands the sun horizon races continents and darkness soon is absorbing and absent.
“we gots to get the monsters. the monsters, the demons, the ghosts and the gods,” says second man. The ropes they all carry lie in the boots dirt, submerged in old superstition and new existence…
O Brother don’t you take pity on a fool like that
the tired rodeo boys and their cowboy hats
They riders of sunset; they men of dawn
They’ll ride you till the souls are goneSmoke gun Sally, Bill Buffalo the Great
Oh no Sir! Make no Red Indian mistake!Saddle your spirits, the raging horses due West!
Oh yes the Tex Men, they cometh collectin’
the last devil deeds
of the godless driven rest.
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