Hope floats in many forms. It wears a warm sweater on a cold night before rain fall. Hair falls into eyes, nose wrinkles. Tom Yam. Bangkok traffic. A floating marketplace with the juicy red tomatoes and the crunchy green brocoli sold by old women with honest, toothless smiles.
So you want to be a rock and roll star? Then listen now to what I say. Just get an electric guitar, then take some time
and learn how to play. And with your hair swung right, and your pants too tight It's gonna be all right.
---The Byrds, "So You Wanna Be A Rock 'N Roll Star"
Here is gone. I don't know why it always has to be this way. All you can do is seize the moment and squeeze. Sunrise. cold air falls. When love left town on the last train to the coast I was the last to know. Lotion. Rain. Root beer. Crash.
Poi disser me: "O Tosco, ch'al collegio de l'ipocriti tristi se' venuto, dir chi tu se' non avere in dispregio."
it seems that my journeys into the beyond maybe curtailed by forces beyond my countrol. Secret words whispered between nameless men have sealed the fate of more men than even they can fathom. But all hope is not lost, Pandora's gift remains sealed deep within the box.
