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“Who’d win in a wrestling match, Lemmy or God?” | American Research Station Outpost #31
https://seancampbellmccoy.wordpress.com/whod-win-in-a-wrestling-match-lemmy-or-god
American Research Station Outpost #31. I dunno what the hell's in there, but it's weird and pissed off, whatever it is. 8220;Who’d win in a wrestling match, Lemmy or God? 8220;You gotta be fucking kidding.”. 8220;Who’d win in a wrestling match, Lemmy or God? 8220;You gotta be fucking kidding.”. 8220;Who’d win in a wrestling match, Lemmy or God? Anything musical that I cover here will be archived in this section. Do me – and your ears – a favor: click a link or two. Brave Young (formerly Giant).
sibyllinebard.blogspot.com
Sibylline Bard: Longing for the Deep
http://sibyllinebard.blogspot.com/2010/08/longing-for-deep.html
Longing for the Deep. He found her crouching in the ice plants on the cliffs of the sea. Her skin irredescent as the sand as it slips through your fingers. Hair, whipping wildly with the wind as it rushes up the shore. The color of the sun as it drinks the vast blue lifeblood of their small island. She did not shutter as he approaoched, though his presence was formidable. She simply reached for the water with the longing of a drunk after wine. She fought at first, but then lost her will quickly. He watch...
sibyllinebard.blogspot.com
Sibylline Bard: November 2010
http://sibyllinebard.blogspot.com/2010_11_01_archive.html
A Train at Night. I like the train best at night. I hide my face under the curtain. To foil the glare. From scattered reading lights. In an otherwise dark cabin, and. Press my cheek to the cold window. All the world is in shadow;. School the night in darkness. I spy a planet, orange and unwavering. In the charcoal sky. On a cloudy night, like this one,. The lighted blotches on the lid. Hint at cities nestled. In some hidden valley. Wisps of red light fly by. At the crossings,. I am a quiet voyeur.
mysonsnameiscarter.blogspot.com
My Son's Name Is Carter: April 2009
http://mysonsnameiscarter.blogspot.com/2009_04_01_archive.html
My Son's Name Is Carter. Sunday, April 5, 2009. Levi's STFs are the Best. 160;I bought my first pair of Levi's 501 Shrink to Fit Jeans in the middle of December. And today I washed them for the first time. I am looking forward to seeing the results for my three months of toil. . I think everybody should have a pair, so hear is how it works. . STEP 4: Wear them a while without washing them, you have got to let your sweat and oils work into the denim. . Some Pluses of the Levi's 501 STF:. The weight of th...
sibyllinebard.blogspot.com
Sibylline Bard: January 2010
http://sibyllinebard.blogspot.com/2010_01_01_archive.html
If you wonder where i am. If you wonder where i am. He'll tell you my mail has piled up. Packed and bursting into my sad copper bin. Sitting in a row with all the other apartment boxes. 210, 405, 108, that one's mine. Not sure where she's got off to," he'd say. By the looks of this, she sure ain't here.". Stuff, stuff, cram and shut. If you haven't found me yet. He runs the little market. Next to the taco joint and the dry cleaner. He's seen me walk in with cloth bags. All sure and unconcerned. I think i...
sibyllinebard.blogspot.com
Sibylline Bard: January 2009
http://sibyllinebard.blogspot.com/2009_01_01_archive.html
She speaks to me. Every day I hear some new aspect of her being, crying out to me. She wants to be written. She wants me to tell her story. The layers of my life: a memoir in the making. This is a project i began in the summer of 2002 with my grandmother, Barbara Helen Seufert. She passed the following February before she could take me to her. Dominican. she did make one thing very clear, however. she wanted her memoir to be called, The Layers of My Life. And so it shall be. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom).
sibyllinebard.blogspot.com
Sibylline Bard: June 2010
http://sibyllinebard.blogspot.com/2010_06_01_archive.html
Why are your hands so soft? She pulls at her loose skin quizzically,. Pondering the blotched olive crests. That fall slowly, but never completely. Then, just as slowly, her eyes fall to my hands. Pink and iridescent, freckled and slender. Angled and extended near hers. Now, those are young hands. Then back to her own,. Funny how that happens. I wait for something eloquent or profound. To say, or even something funny. But, nothing could be simpler. Her hands are old. My hands are not,. Well, not to her.
sibyllinebard.blogspot.com
Sibylline Bard: young hands
http://sibyllinebard.blogspot.com/2010/06/young-hands.html
Why are your hands so soft? She pulls at her loose skin quizzically,. Pondering the blotched olive crests. That fall slowly, but never completely. Then, just as slowly, her eyes fall to my hands. Pink and iridescent, freckled and slender. Angled and extended near hers. Now, those are young hands. Then back to her own,. Funny how that happens. I wait for something eloquent or profound. To say, or even something funny. But, nothing could be simpler. Her hands are old. My hands are not,. Well, not to her.
sibyllinebard.blogspot.com
Sibylline Bard: August 2010
http://sibyllinebard.blogspot.com/2010_08_01_archive.html
Longing for the Deep. He found her crouching in the ice plants on the cliffs of the sea. Her skin irredescent as the sand as it slips through your fingers. Hair, whipping wildly with the wind as it rushes up the shore. The color of the sun as it drinks the vast blue lifeblood of their small island. She did not shutter as he approaoched, though his presence was formidable. She simply reached for the water with the longing of a drunk after wine. She fought at first, but then lost her will quickly. He watch...
sibyllinebard.blogspot.com
Sibylline Bard: This Year's Valentine
http://sibyllinebard.blogspot.com/2010/02/this-years-valentine.html
Pump frenzy into air ducts. And rage into reservoirs,. And drown cities,. Cry fire in theaters. As the victims are burning,. I will find my way through blackened streets. And kneel down at your side. Jump the median, head-on,. And obliterate the future,. Fit 45's to the hands of kids. And skate them off to school,. Flip live butts into tinderbox forests. And hellfire half the heavens,. In the rubble of smoking cottages. I will hold you in my arms. Send kidnappers to kindergartens. Kooy To The World.
