john + yoko

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It's pretty funny that my pals derekfz and waxpumpkin each posted almost simultaneously bemoaning what LJ/ social media have become. Then again maybe not so odd as they are palz. As for me, LJ is fast becoming a place where I (a) talk to about 3-4 people occasionally and (b) aggregate blog feeds from other sites and (c) occasionally write a post myself, more or less for my own pleasure or ventaciousness, as I realize almost no one is around here to read it, which is fine by me.

Since this permanent account still seems to aggregate feeds OK and it would be a big hassle to start all over again in a new place, I am probably going to be deleting even more people's blogs off my LJ so it will mostly be a site for reading feeds and keeping up with the 3-4 people who do read, comment and/or respond to comments I make. This is not a matter of dislike, just a matter of pruning and making some room for new feeds.
a salty salute

Proud Brothers, Do Not Fret. The Bus Will Get You There Yet. (It does every year!)

I am Extremely proud and happy to know and be friends with every single person who contributed to, appeared in, or otherwise had anything to do with this Dayton City Paper article by my Deathfest mate Mr. Gary Spencer. Rock on brothers and sisters, you have done more to improve my life and world view than you can ever imagine, and the best part is you would all say "right back atcha." \m/ \m/

"Heedfest: A Love Story" by Gary Spencer in the Dayton City Paper
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john + yoko

Forever Begins When You Say Yes.

For so long
I was out in the cold
And I taught myself to believe every story I told
It was fun hanging onto the moon heading into the sun
But it's been too long
Now I want to come home

Came so close
To the edge of defeat
But I made my way in the shade keeping out of the heat
It was fun shooting out of the stars looking into the sun
But it's been too long
Now I want to come home

Home, where there's nothing but sweet surrender
To the memories from afar
Home, to the place where the truth lies waiting
We remember who we are

For too long
I was out on my own
Every day I spent trying to prove I could make it alone
It was fun hanging onto the moon heading into the sun
But it's been too long
Now I want to come home

For so long
I was out in the cold
But I taught myself to believe every story I told
It was fun hanging onto the moon heading into the sun
But it's been too long
Now I want to come home
Yeah it's been too long
Now I want to come home
Been too long
Now I want to come home.
a purple polar beh

This Is Rock Now.

One of the cool things about being a Robert Pollard fan is that the guy has written so, so many songs that you can't possibly love them all equally at the same time or even keep track of them, so you're constantly re-discovering songs that maybe you heard a few times before, that drifted past your consciousness like the guy at the next desk in school who for a year looked pleasant but not such a much, and then all of a sudden you Noticed him and "Good heavens, Ms. Yamamoto, you're beautiful" sort of moment, et cetera. What I mean is, all of a sudden I will get attached to a particular Bobsong for days, weeks, months, because it suits me and my current mood so wonderfully well. I remember a holiday weekend 11 years ago where I did nothing for three days but sit in a chair playing "Game of Pricks" over and over and over, like having a craving for chocolate chip cookie dough where that's all you eat for three days and then go back to just wanting it once in a while. And of course, "I'm Cold," the one I posted last winter, is now indelibly etched on my soul as belonging to a time when it was dark and snowy and cold and I missed Ohio and felt trapped by a hateful job.

anyway, this one is my latest suits who I am and how I feel right now, very very well, whether you understand "heavy metal" as the musical genre or as the video interprets it, as planes, weaponry, armor.

Come with high regard from heavy metal country
They write you super-love and seal it with a kick

And now, the creator's skull is cracked,
Out come the underground with artificial lungs
They're singing loud, so very proud
To show the mess they made
At Zoo Arcade
When something central took away their guns.
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