Calgary libre is the best motherfucking football club ever. Mostly because I'm affliated.
Besides the wows of soccer (and what wonderful wows they are.
) Its been a daft couple of days, in summation, I'll let the lyrical genious of my brother John K Sampson say something not entirely unrelated.
"Garage Sale. Saturday. I need to pay my heart's outstanding bills. A cracked-up compass and a pocket watch, some plastic daffodils, the cutlery and coffee cups I stole from all-night restaurants, a sense of wonder (only slightly used), a year of two to haunt you in the dark, a wage-slave forty-hour work week (weighs a thousand kilograms, so bend you knees) -- comes with a free fake smile for all your dumb demands, the cordless razor that my father bought when I turned 17, a puke-green sofa, the outline to a complicated dream of dignity, and a laugh (too loud and too long). For a place where awkward belongs, or a phone call from far away with a "Hi, how are you today", and a sign that recovery come to broken ones. Or best offer."
I can only listen to this song occasionally. Like most stuff by the 'thans its just the fact it hits so close to the sentiment I've lived through. Its kinda like like staring directly into a welding are - you can feel your eyeballs blistering for how deeply the little white light against the surrounding darkness burns - sometimes its a little to much for all my frailty to bear.
In alternate news, I like John Steward sometimes, (like on nigths after a couple soccer games and a lot of sushi. I hate promotional groups, or street teams for bands. Most vindictive use of youthful enthusiasm since junior high math teams.
Oh one more: In most african countries were the populations are largely below any standard of a povertly line - the nestle corpporation does the good deed of donating powedered milk formula to mothers;a two month supply, right before they give birth. Unfortunately, that means when they give birht, they have no reason to lactate and don't, and suddenly two months of free formula means thier children depend on the shit for the next eight to ten.
Besides the wows of soccer (and what wonderful wows they are.
) Its been a daft couple of days, in summation, I'll let the lyrical genious of my brother John K Sampson say something not entirely unrelated.
"Garage Sale. Saturday. I need to pay my heart's outstanding bills. A cracked-up compass and a pocket watch, some plastic daffodils, the cutlery and coffee cups I stole from all-night restaurants, a sense of wonder (only slightly used), a year of two to haunt you in the dark, a wage-slave forty-hour work week (weighs a thousand kilograms, so bend you knees) -- comes with a free fake smile for all your dumb demands, the cordless razor that my father bought when I turned 17, a puke-green sofa, the outline to a complicated dream of dignity, and a laugh (too loud and too long). For a place where awkward belongs, or a phone call from far away with a "Hi, how are you today", and a sign that recovery come to broken ones. Or best offer."
I can only listen to this song occasionally. Like most stuff by the 'thans its just the fact it hits so close to the sentiment I've lived through. Its kinda like like staring directly into a welding are - you can feel your eyeballs blistering for how deeply the little white light against the surrounding darkness burns - sometimes its a little to much for all my frailty to bear.
In alternate news, I like John Steward sometimes, (like on nigths after a couple soccer games and a lot of sushi. I hate promotional groups, or street teams for bands. Most vindictive use of youthful enthusiasm since junior high math teams.
Oh one more: In most african countries were the populations are largely below any standard of a povertly line - the nestle corpporation does the good deed of donating powedered milk formula to mothers;a two month supply, right before they give birth. Unfortunately, that means when they give birht, they have no reason to lactate and don't, and suddenly two months of free formula means thier children depend on the shit for the next eight to ten.