interneteric.blogspot.com
Net_Eric: 06.2007
http://interneteric.blogspot.com/2007_06_01_archive.html
Weblogs are Net People. Just like your circle of friends, some are particularly good at original content, some are just great at relaying links to other information. Some say too much, some say too little, but a weblog is the singular voice of a person.". Rands, of randsinrepose.com. Irish Folk: Exposure for the Uninitiated. This version features Sinead O'Connor singing for The Chieftans. On their 1995 album The Long Black Veil. The song itself is a chronicling of the Easter Uprise. Of 1916 and was inten...
interneteric.blogspot.com
Net_Eric: 05.2006
http://interneteric.blogspot.com/2006_05_01_archive.html
Weblogs are Net People. Just like your circle of friends, some are particularly good at original content, some are just great at relaying links to other information. Some say too much, some say too little, but a weblog is the singular voice of a person.". Rands, of randsinrepose.com. Reds vs. Diamondbacks. Buy me some peanuts and cracker jack, and say goodbye to your 401k. Haha, enough ranting. Which I took, and have, to SHARE! These aren't all I took, but these are the ones I bothered to resize. Say som...
amlitgirl.blogspot.com
The Future Anterior: The Future Anterior
http://amlitgirl.blogspot.com/2007/04/future-anterior.html
To write is human. to once have written, a tragedy. Bastard Out of Carolina. House of Mirth, The. Their Eyes Were Watching God. Bent over the couch,. From the Brotherly missionary. Run in circles,. Away from the iron to hammer my face as a nail. Patch the hole with a poster. His eye on the sparrow. Books block the doorway. When mama comes home. When mama comes home. The house is disaster. The list by a magnet. And blood from my knee. His eyes on fire. Eyes familiar and distant. Eyes that warn so like mine.
amlitgirl.blogspot.com
The Future Anterior: On the To-Read Shelf
http://amlitgirl.blogspot.com/2007/05/on-to-read-shelf.html
To write is human. to once have written, a tragedy. Bastard Out of Carolina. House of Mirth, The. Their Eyes Were Watching God. Bent over the couch,. From the Brotherly missionary. Run in circles,. Away from the iron to hammer my face as a nail. Patch the hole with a poster. His eye on the sparrow. Books block the doorway. When mama comes home. When mama comes home. The house is disaster. The list by a magnet. And blood from my knee. His eyes on fire. Eyes familiar and distant. Eyes that warn so like mine.
amlitgirl.blogspot.com
The Future Anterior: Paper Topics of the Moment
http://amlitgirl.blogspot.com/2007/04/paper-topics-of-moment.html
To write is human. to once have written, a tragedy. Bastard Out of Carolina. House of Mirth, The. Their Eyes Were Watching God. Bent over the couch,. From the Brotherly missionary. Run in circles,. Away from the iron to hammer my face as a nail. Patch the hole with a poster. His eye on the sparrow. Books block the doorway. When mama comes home. When mama comes home. The house is disaster. The list by a magnet. And blood from my knee. His eyes on fire. Eyes familiar and distant. Eyes that warn so like mine.
amlitgirl.blogspot.com
The Future Anterior: A Voice, Crying in the Wilderness...
http://amlitgirl.blogspot.com/2007/05/voice-crying-in-wilderness.html
To write is human. to once have written, a tragedy. Bastard Out of Carolina. House of Mirth, The. Their Eyes Were Watching God. Bent over the couch,. From the Brotherly missionary. Run in circles,. Away from the iron to hammer my face as a nail. Patch the hole with a poster. His eye on the sparrow. Books block the doorway. When mama comes home. When mama comes home. The house is disaster. The list by a magnet. And blood from my knee. His eyes on fire. Eyes familiar and distant. Eyes that warn so like mine.
amlitgirl.blogspot.com
The Future Anterior: The Lies We Tell Ourselves
http://amlitgirl.blogspot.com/2007/04/article-review.html
To write is human. to once have written, a tragedy. Bastard Out of Carolina. House of Mirth, The. Their Eyes Were Watching God. Bent over the couch,. From the Brotherly missionary. Run in circles,. Away from the iron to hammer my face as a nail. Patch the hole with a poster. His eye on the sparrow. Books block the doorway. When mama comes home. When mama comes home. The house is disaster. The list by a magnet. And blood from my knee. His eyes on fire. Eyes familiar and distant. Eyes that warn so like mine.
amlitgirl.blogspot.com
The Future Anterior: Summer: The Season of Heat
http://amlitgirl.blogspot.com/2007/05/summer-season-of-heat.html
To write is human. to once have written, a tragedy. Bastard Out of Carolina. House of Mirth, The. Their Eyes Were Watching God. Bent over the couch,. From the Brotherly missionary. Run in circles,. Away from the iron to hammer my face as a nail. Patch the hole with a poster. His eye on the sparrow. Books block the doorway. When mama comes home. When mama comes home. The house is disaster. The list by a magnet. And blood from my knee. His eyes on fire. Eyes familiar and distant. Eyes that warn so like mine.
amlitgirl.blogspot.com
The Future Anterior: May 2007
http://amlitgirl.blogspot.com/2007_05_01_archive.html
To write is human. to once have written, a tragedy. Bastard Out of Carolina. House of Mirth, The. Their Eyes Were Watching God. Bent over the couch,. From the Brotherly missionary. Run in circles,. Away from the iron to hammer my face as a nail. Patch the hole with a poster. His eye on the sparrow. Books block the doorway. When mama comes home. When mama comes home. The house is disaster. The list by a magnet. And blood from my knee. His eyes on fire. Eyes familiar and distant. Eyes that warn so like mine.
