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Wednesday, March 05, 2003
Got a comment today. 'Too many links and not enough stuff.'
OK. You want content, you want action, you want passion, you want Desire? It's a good album. You want something you can put in a book of quotations, when I'm dead and resting comfortably in the belly of a coyote?
Speaking of coyotes..
God bless the coyotes - those gaunt grifters of grasslands, those meager misfits of mountain meadows, those silent specters of stream shores. They clean up the rotting deer, the stinking expired snake. Early in the morning, when you're walking through the woods, they make music more beautiful that Mozart, Beethoven, or Lennon, more haunting than Johnson or Drake. They limit the mesopredators (read: housecats) that would eat the songbirds that sing to me in the morning. They keep an eye on things. Don't worry if you get distracted and temporarily forget about the mountains, the swamps, the desert, the prairie, the rivers, the ponds - the coyotes are watching. They're watching now and they will be long after the last miserable human being dies his or her lonely death. In fact, they will probably eat the last miserable human being.
Pity the man who doesn't learn to love the coyote. He's probably the guy with the housecats. Killing all my birds. May God have mercy on his sorry ass, cuz I won't.
If you haven't read Mark Twain's "Roughing It":
1) What the hell HAVE you been doing?
and
2) Get busy!
And for now, check out this link, which features Twain's description (or, perhaps, ballad) from said book. The best of Pablo Neruda's love poems sound childish, hollow, dispassionate, and lifeless compared to this passage.
-excuse my link..and my opinions.
-m
OK. You want content, you want action, you want passion, you want Desire? It's a good album. You want something you can put in a book of quotations, when I'm dead and resting comfortably in the belly of a coyote?
Speaking of coyotes..
God bless the coyotes - those gaunt grifters of grasslands, those meager misfits of mountain meadows, those silent specters of stream shores. They clean up the rotting deer, the stinking expired snake. Early in the morning, when you're walking through the woods, they make music more beautiful that Mozart, Beethoven, or Lennon, more haunting than Johnson or Drake. They limit the mesopredators (read: housecats) that would eat the songbirds that sing to me in the morning. They keep an eye on things. Don't worry if you get distracted and temporarily forget about the mountains, the swamps, the desert, the prairie, the rivers, the ponds - the coyotes are watching. They're watching now and they will be long after the last miserable human being dies his or her lonely death. In fact, they will probably eat the last miserable human being.
Pity the man who doesn't learn to love the coyote. He's probably the guy with the housecats. Killing all my birds. May God have mercy on his sorry ass, cuz I won't.
If you haven't read Mark Twain's "Roughing It":
1) What the hell HAVE you been doing?
and
2) Get busy!
And for now, check out this link, which features Twain's description (or, perhaps, ballad) from said book. The best of Pablo Neruda's love poems sound childish, hollow, dispassionate, and lifeless compared to this passage.
-excuse my link..and my opinions.
-m
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