Edit: “Firefighters and other rescuers worked furiously Sunday to save a driver whose BMW plunged off Interstate 5 into a Southern California creek and got carried away by the swift current. The water was moving so fast that it tore the man’s pants off.”
The torrential rains here knocked out my dsl phone line. I will only be online via dialup, work, or café wireless until sometime late Wednesday at the earliest. Email should be sent to either conrad@tmail.com or substitute@gmail.com because my domain’s MX is horked and so is my backup. Yey.
From: snake4699@yahoo.com
Subject: Re: Message from GOD(D) _ . . | . / . _ [BRAIN RECOVERY]
Date: January 10, 2005 5:24:05 AM PST
To: sarfatti@pacbell.net, jacques@sbvpartners.com, brotherblue93@hotmail.com, and 43 more…
Cc: terri.hillhouse@gopusa.com, english@palestine-info.co.uk, CloudRider@aol.com, quanta@mail.cruzio.com, palast@gregpalast.com, davidicketalks@aol.com, skylax@comcast.net, and 43 more…
A League Of Oxygen-Breathing PsychoCeramacists Of Their Very Own Crrrracking!!
bwongggg
Twenty years ago I joined the staff of my college radio station. By the next year I was in the music department, and before I left the place I had been the music director and program director.
College radio in the early to mid 1980s was an aftershock of the FM radio revolution. Most stations were format-free, and the DJs played what they liked. Since punk rock had been through and smashed up genres pretty thoroughly, us 19-year-old music freaks spun a mess of different things: punk, new wave, electronic, reggae, metal, rap, folk, etc. Since most of us were middle-class white kids, there was a lot of guitar pop, but the term “alternative radio” was not a joke; it really was a format-free alternative to commercial radio and the new and frightening MTV.
It included a disgusting war picture of a guy who had his head shot off, which I have not attached. Prize to whomever decodes what “A Monkey” was trying to say to me.
schizophrenia is bad.
I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains,–but the best is lost.
The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love, —
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave,
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
— Edna St. Vincent Millay
Two more days of rain to come. Blub blub.
Be My Blog 