In Memory of Cassandra

Women be wise, keep your mouth shut, don't advertise your man Don't sit around gossiping, explaining what your good man really can do Some women nowadays, Lord they ain't no good They will laugh in your face, Then try to steal your man from you Women be wise, keep your mouth shut, don't advertise your man Don't be no fool

Wednesday, October 06, 2004

Friend is a Four Letter Word

To me, coming from you,
Friend is a four letter word
End is the only part of the word,
That I heard.
Call me morbid or absurd,
But to me,
Coming from you,
Friend is a four letter word

To me,
Coming from you,
Friend is a four letter word
End is the only part of the word
That I heard,
Call me morbid or absurd,
But to me,
Coming from you,
Friend is a four letter word

When I go fishing for the words,
I am wishing you would say to me,
I am really only praying that
The words you'll soon be saying
Might betray the way you feel about me.

But to me,
Coming from you,
Friend is a four letter word.

--cake

For some reason I feel strongly that this song should be the song of the moment.

Now that for a brief time I'm allowed to breath, perhaps even sleep without the daunting thought that I have papers due and examinations to pass I turn toward things that I would like to do. Aside from spending all my time catching up on the reading I neglected this past week... I'd like to watch my Joseph Cambell 'power of myth' dvd... i dont really anticipate any of you will want to do that with me, but if for any reason that sounds appealing please do drop me a line.

There are a few things i'd like to do...

anybody feels like spending time.. let me know

Monday, October 04, 2004

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a
family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing
machines, cars compact disc players, and electrical tin
openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental
insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments.
Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose
leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece
suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose
DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday
morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-
numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk
food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all,
pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an
embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned
to replace yourself.
Choose your future.
Choose life.

--trainspotting