born somewhere between the mountains and reality, reside on an alluvial flood plain near the gold rush

oh go through the walls, if you must,
walk on the ledges of roofs, of
oceans; cover yourself with light;
use menace, use prayer–
My sleepers will flee toward
another America

Kann man mit diesem Fahrkarten die fahrt unterbrechen?

a vast game board with most of the pieces missing. the last battle will be fought here. I am a pawn she was a queen. we fight it out as equals. our hardware is tooth and nail. we both are scathed and exhausted. yet she has the more energy. I am spent. I awake feeling tender towards my murderer. Reaching out to convice myself of her softness my hand is never going to touch. too far away now. her door allows me access but I am ashamed to take a step. who am I that lurks near her heart? how can it be thus and thus? smoke and mist rise between us and I sink below her.
maddtom at hack-a-way dot com

Sour, sweet, bitter, pungent, all must be tasted–proverb

And it is not always good to be healed in body. Nor is it always evil to die in battle, even in bitter pain. Were I permitted, in this dark hour I would choose the latter.–J.R.R. Tolkien

Life is pretty simple: You do some stuff. Most fails. Some works. You do more of what works. If it works big, others quickly copy it. Then you do something else. The trick is the doing something else.
–Leonardo da Vinci

I think I better go now. He thought of trying to get out of bed, but the thought of the thump and the drop and the accompanying escalation of pain constantly deterred him. Distantly, from the parlor, he could hear the rippling strains of Chopin, and he paused with the strip of towel still in his left hand, listening. I was actually thinking of you,she said, spooning soup into his mouth and then professionally wiping away a dribble, from the comer with a napkin.

I knew it – the real part of my mind did – but I can still hardly be – There’s blood and broken glass and charred paper in there. The wagon had barely stopped before one of the rear doors flew open and a guy dressed in combat-fatigue pants and a Deadhead tee-shirt leaped out. I guessed that it was the truth.
Confucius say if man want to grow one row of corn, first must shovel one ton of shit.
The answer was a resounding HELL, NO! From the tips of her toes to the crown of her chestnut hair, she was dressed in bees.