Ding-a-ling-a-dah! Dah-dah dah, dah daguh-daguh . . .
It's the very same recording on my SoundCloud, now just more Youtubey.
Ooh. Youtubey.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Up on the Tube: Two Stars
'Shopped an image to set music to so the song could be loaded up to YouTube. Here you go:
Ding-a-ling-a-dah! Dah-dah dah, dah daguh-daguh . . .
It's the very same recording on my SoundCloud, now just more Youtubey.
Ooh. Youtubey.
Ding-a-ling-a-dah! Dah-dah dah, dah daguh-daguh . . .
It's the very same recording on my SoundCloud, now just more Youtubey.
Ooh. Youtubey.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Shifty in the A.M.
Stepcha- stepcha- stepcha-
Listening to Coolduder talk movies. Before that, Bill Burr. Before that, Karl vs. Steve. And in this unlit room, the glow from a laptop screen light up fingers clacking on a keyboard; copy-pasting html code in an effort to place the playlists on the home page for more fitting access. How's it look? Ooh, more colors. The window is open and the night's cold crawls in. Where I sit I can feel a bit of the chill and it's nice. The streetlight just outside electrifies the surrounding twilight with a harsh yellow squeeze. Though not pretty, it's better than the dusky, empty shade; seen where big trees act as 80 watt goalies. (Yo, no light here, they might say in plant-speak.) Those areas are where shifty gremlins sprout from.
Stepcha- stepcha- stepcha- stepcha
Someone's walking.
Stepcha- Step-
"Yeah strange," I think, shuffling up from the computer and -- ever so slightly -- peeking out from the bottom of the window like a groundhog. "Where?" Scanning left then right with my peepers I catch it! Clad in a white hooded sweatshirt, there it goes, bumbling forward on the sidewalk with sludgy steps.
SLUDGY STEPS!
With jittery eyes I shudder, "From that dusky shade, it can only be one thing . . .
WHITE HOODED SWEATSHIRT ZOMBIES!!!"
Gahhh!! . . . wait.
Stepcha-
Nope. That dude is stumbling along
And zigzagging.
In a sloppy non-pattern.
As it turns out (2:36 a.m.) it's just a drunkard trying to get home without hitting a light pole.
Listening to Coolduder talk movies. Before that, Bill Burr. Before that, Karl vs. Steve. And in this unlit room, the glow from a laptop screen light up fingers clacking on a keyboard; copy-pasting html code in an effort to place the playlists on the home page for more fitting access. How's it look? Ooh, more colors. The window is open and the night's cold crawls in. Where I sit I can feel a bit of the chill and it's nice. The streetlight just outside electrifies the surrounding twilight with a harsh yellow squeeze. Though not pretty, it's better than the dusky, empty shade; seen where big trees act as 80 watt goalies. (Yo, no light here, they might say in plant-speak.) Those areas are where shifty gremlins sprout from.
Stepcha- stepcha- stepcha- stepcha
Someone's walking.
Stepcha- Step-
"Yeah strange," I think, shuffling up from the computer and -- ever so slightly -- peeking out from the bottom of the window like a groundhog. "Where?" Scanning left then right with my peepers I catch it! Clad in a white hooded sweatshirt, there it goes, bumbling forward on the sidewalk with sludgy steps.
SLUDGY STEPS!
With jittery eyes I shudder, "From that dusky shade, it can only be one thing . . .
WHITE HOODED SWEATSHIRT ZOMBIES!!!"
Gahhh!! . . . wait.
Stepcha-
Nope. That dude is stumbling along
And zigzagging.
In a sloppy non-pattern.
As it turns out (2:36 a.m.) it's just a drunkard trying to get home without hitting a light pole.
Friday, September 7, 2012
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
The Wellspring In The Ruin
Why yes it's nice to know
Oh that I might be someone good,
On your witness, though a time ago
How you smiled when I once stood
On barren days return root hours; the principle recline
Oh tender you, I ought remember -- rise! -- to drink a smile
Oh that I might be someone good,
On your witness, though a time ago
How you smiled when I once stood
On barren days return root hours; the principle recline
Oh tender you, I ought remember -- rise! -- to drink a smile
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