For just one night we let go of our precious, obsessional hold. We let go of the ringing cash register and the heavy, silent till.
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The Ocean is large and I'm still finding my way (even though I don't know where I'm going)
Move over TS Eliot
Down on your hands and knees
Underneath the poplar trees
Down in the sticks and stones
Looking for store bought bones
Baby I'm the rising sun
Clutching at your holstered gun
Baby I'm a shooting star
I'm looking wherever you are
Looking through a telescope
Maybe there's a sign of hope
Leaving everything behind
Discovering your store bought mind
Sending everything to the sea
Wishing you were here by me
Shifting through the mountain of bricks
Searching for a store bought fix
You can't buy what you can't find what you can't buy
What you find what you can't buy what you can't
What you can't buy what you can't find what you can't
You can't buy what you can't find what you can't buy
What you find what you can't buy what you can't
What you can't buy what you can't find what you can't
What you can't buy what you can't find what you can't
Blog Archive
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2007
(97)
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October
(28)
- When I heard about the new airbus...
- A boy tries skimboarding, part II
- Cary Tennis is back!
- A boy tries skimboarding
- Tough week
- Move over Cary Tennis, my new love is The Manolo
- Worry and distraction
- More Agressive Undergarments
- Agressive countermeasures
- What I'm doing instead of working on a job talk
- We are what we remember
- Being a mother and a scientist
- Daring to go with Dangerous
- Poem of the day, little girl style
- I was home sick yesterday (really)
- It's all about perspective and taking a step back
- Note of the day
- Sidewalk ephemera
- Oh no! Long and lean is in
- Irritating quote of the day
- Poem of the day
- Beach walk at Dillon Beach
- The new bunk bed
- Little girl list for the week
- Dillon Beach
- I met a guy on Craigslist...
- I have to love myself (desperately, beyond reason)...
- Perfection costs $15,000
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October
(28)
About Me
I grow old...I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers and walk along the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
TS Eliot
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers and walk along the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
TS Eliot
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