I love trees. But I wouldn't want to be one.
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this is me
I took these photos with my Lumix camera. It has a Leica lens. Laika was the first dog in space. Dogs In Space is an Australian film made in 1986. My friend Fiona played Barbara the Socialist. Now my friend Miss Simons lives two doors from the house where Dogs In Space was shot in Melbourne. I just sold the Dogs In Space R-rated soundtrack LP on eBay for $26.
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go and see
- A View From The Battlements
- buzzardbilly, appalachian being
- C.rag and her Lusts
- Cake Wrecks
- Etta Modern
- Mutterings of a Mad Bookseller
- Old Fish and Lemonade
- PhoebeFay
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- Rocketboom
- Sara Says ... beer is not food (except on saturdays)
- skittering thoughts
- Tetherd Cow Ahead
- The Joey Polanski Show
- Tongue in check
- Why he has high blood pressure
25 comments:
The best life is a fetus. I don't have to do anything except kick my Landlady in the ribs & she still has to have food delivered straight to me.
Autumn has finally come here, & I'm loving it.
ag: Yeah, foetuses are good, I guess. But you can't sit under them for shade on a hot day. Maybe I could sit under the Landlady's belly.
cuntie: I do love Autumn & Winter. Apart from anything else, one can neglect one's depilation in the colder months!
BUT ... if you were to be one ... which one would ye be?
My Answer: The Dogwood.
sara sue: Woof!
I think I would be a Moreton Bay Fig.
If you like bondage, you would like being a tree.
I talk to the trees, but they don't listen to me.
malach: That's a big if.
anaglyph: The breeze hasn't time to stop and hear what I say.
We love our trees. Have a 300-year old maple here, that we are trying to keep alive. Trees are a 365-a-day thing. If you were a tree, I'd be your leaf blower...
does that work?
Not sure. Does it work with vegemite?
I'd rather see one than to be one.
colonel: Everything works with vegemite.
chickie; Very well put.
This mornin I heard sompm not very good:
Th wind broke quite violently thru th wood.
In the woods, the wind blew soft
'Hark', said Joe, 'whose bottom coughed?'
HAHAHAHAHA!
The silver setting sun hugs close
among the maples; grey-boned ghosts
march row on row across the ground. Come night, alas,
they’re not yet bound as birds
that sing, against their trees
as night glides in against the day.
The grey of maples,
marked with scars,
shining in among the stars,
as splinters echo
through the night;
the grey and yellow
splinters bare
against the chill
night's frosty air,
which wraps our knees
against our coats,
we huddle close, our
breath makes ghosts,
the starlight beckons,
blazes,
boasts,
a timeless hymn
sung by the free
uncaring void which
sparkles,
marks,
a flaming spark
to light our
ghostly breaths
in grey.
Come,
sit with me
'till break of day.
Why wouldn't you want to be a tree, cissy?
I would...if I was certain that I'd be left alone to carry on living by a river, bloom, lose branches, endure lightning, woodpeckers and tire swings, and eventually die in my own time, returning to the forest floor.
Hey, look at me,
A grand ol oak tree,
Th symbol o firmness & might!
Unfortunatly,
I aint so healfy,
My bark bein werse than my blight.
There was a young tree from Nantucket...
... whose wood ended up in a bucket.
HAHAHAHHA!!!!!
Thats whatcha call tag-team poemin!
...if I had more time
I'd think of a rhyme
But I don't, so instead I say fuck it.
colonel: Just lovely. sigh.
hereT: Cause I'm a wanderer, yes a wanderer, I roam around around around around around...
But your way sounds wonderful, too.
Joey, Colonel, Atlas: It's a lucky blog that gets your contributions. *sniffles into her hankie (in a ladylike manner naturally)*
Sarkasm notd.
HAHAHAHAHA!
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