Fuck, I really enjoy the swears
Holy mother of shit I love the mother fucking Grateful fucking Dead.
Let my inspiration flow in token rhyme, suggesting rhythm,
That will not forsake you, till my tale is told and done.
While the firelight’s aglow, strange shadows from the flames will grow,
Till things we’ve never seen will seem familiar.
Shadows of a sailor, forming winds both foul and fair all swarm.
Down in carlisle, he loved a lady many years ago.
Here beside him stands a man, a soldier from the looks of him,
Who came through many fights, but lost at love.
While the story teller speaks, a door within the fire creaks;
Suddenly flies open, and a girl is standing there.
Eyes alight, with glowing hair, all that fancy paints as fair,
She takes her fan and throws it, in the lion’s den.
Which of you to gain me, tell, will risk uncertain pains of hell?
I will not forgive you if you will not take the chance.
The sailor gave at least a try, the soldier being much too wise,
Strategy was his strength, and not disaster.
The sailor, coming out again, the lady fairly leapt at him.
That’s how it stands today. you decide if he was wise.
The story teller makes no choice. soon you will not hear his voice.
His job is to shed light, and not to master.
Since the end is never told, we pay the teller off in gold,
In hopes he will return, but he cannot be bought or sold.
Terrapin station
Inspiration, move me brightly. light the song with sense and color;
Hold away despair, more than this I will not ask.
Faced with mysteries dark and vast, statements just seem vain at last.
Some rise, some fall, some climb, to get to terrapin.
Counting stars by candlelight, all are dim but one is bright;
The spiral light of venus, rising first and shining best,
On, from the northwest corner, of a brand new crescent moon,
While crickets and cicadas sing, a rare and different tune,
Terrapin station.
In the shadow of the moon, terrapin station.
And I know we’ll get there soon, terrapin station.
I can’t figure out, terrapin, if it’s the end or beginning, terrapin,
But the train’s put it’s brakes on, terrapin,
And the whistle is screaming, terrapin.
Terrapin station - at the siding
While you were gone, these faces filled with darkness.
The obvious was hidden. with nothing to believe in,
Sullen wings of fortune beat like rain.
You’re back in terrapin for good or ill again, for good or ill again.
That's quality shit.
I had a muy bitchin week. Except for all the massive aching of my heart but I won't get into that now because it'll just lead to a shame-spiral and no one wants that. Technically right now I'm sopposed to be in Wingham (teeny) with my parents visiting my grandfolks. However, my bro doesn't have to come becuase he's got some bar mitzvah to attend and really it's not fair that I should have to sit there by myself for a 3 day weekend doing nuffin'. SO, I did some persuading and now I can stay here if I promise to stay at other people's houses. I love it home alone.
Yesterday was our Latin Fiesta at Lee's with lots of food and we sat on her roof and smoked and enjoyed our May-hee-can treats and Spanish/Claudia asked "is that a cactapus?" about Lee's plants and decor. What a goon.
Fucking shit I need to see The Last Waltz. It's on fuckin sale too, bitch.
Kensington market is calling my name as I can afford things again.
I simply must go.
Gwen you were wrong. It's like this:
You = Julian (for your tacky, classiness)
Lee = Ricky (for her starting shit and the cuss mouth)
Me = Bubbles (for my non-threatening nature and jumpiness and stupidness)