Carnations
Pale blossoms, each balanced on a single jointed stem,
The leaves curled back in elaborate Corinthian scrolls;
And the air cool, as if drifting down from wet hemlocks,
Or rising out of ferns not far from water,
A crisp hyacinthine coolness,
Like that clear autumnal weather of eternity,
The windless perpetual morning above a September cloud.
--Theodore Roethke
Mont de Sundua:
My Morning Jacket:
I think this is the best song written in the past 30 or so years... I need to think about this more before I get verbose, but I seriously think it's the best since...
Bob Dylan:
Have a good weekend. Santa called me the other day. He's sees every last one of you fuckers.
Go Bucks.
PC
Go Bucks.
PC
2 comments:
PC, seriously, if you talk to saint nick again, tell him that the whole hookers and stealing the car thing last weekend was an accident and it'll never happen again. thanks, man.
keep up the good work, boys. :)
He said that if you drove one of the hookers up to the north pole in the stolen car all would be forgotten.
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