whuts shakin Mike? i'm typically not a fan of the holiday season...not gunna start a rant about how commericalized it all is. Just wanna let ya know my holiday 'decorations' will be loading "Fairytale of New York" as my profile song. it's brilliant, i cant wait...once i get thru Turkey day, it'll be up and give ya some play, again.
Hey, check out our new song. . . please join our band before it's too late. We're looking for 1000's of people around the world just like you! History will harshly judge those who fail to act. www. foxycock. com
i love you man. thank you for being you, mike. i told marty what you said and it even made him feel a ton better. you just rule - on so many levels. i always knew you were the raddest :)
'There's a flawed place in the fabric of your heart. Do you think I could not know? You alone were mutinous. You alone reserved in your soul some corner of clemency for the heathen. But you were a witness against yourself. Only that man who has offered himself up entire to the blood of war, who has been to the floor of the pit and seen horror in the round and learned at last that it speaks to his inmost heart, only that man can dance. '
Let me know you're alright when you get a chance, captain.
and while I'm heeere.. here's some of one of our favorite bands (in english, of course)
What should I do with you, waves, you who can never decide whether you’re the first or the last? You think you can define the coast with your constant wish-wash, grind it down with your coming and going. And yet no one knows how long the coastline really is, where land stops, where land begins, and you’re forever changing the line, length, lay, with the moon and unpredictable.
Consistent alone is your inconsistency.
Ultimately victorious since, as so often evoked, this wears away the stones, grinds the sand down as fine as needed for hourglasses and egg-timers, as required for calibrating time, for telling the difference between hard and soft.
Victorious also because, never tiring, you win the contest who of us will be the first to fall asleep, or you, being the ocean still, because you never sleep.
Although colourless yourself, you seem blue when the sky is gently mirrored on your surface, the ideal course for being strolled upon by the carpenter’s son, the most changeable element.
And inversely, when you are wild and loud and your breakers thunder, I listen between the peaks of your rollers, and from the highest waves, from breaking spume, a thousand voices break away, mine, yesterday’s ones that I didn’t know, that otherwise just whisper, and all the others too, and in their midst the Nazarene. Over and over again those stupendous five final words: Why have you left me?
I hold my own, shout at each single wave: Are you staying? Are you staying? Are you staying, or what?
