Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Scribble

My feet are both misused and broken by a hundred miles of road
My back is blistered by the radiation of a naked sun
My hands are twisted and ungainly, tangled in the sailors' line
My heart is frozen and unmoving from a former lover's scold
Yet I push on, I keep on moving, for there's nothing else to do.

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Lituracher

Wanting to read:

The Quantum Thief by Hannu Rajaneimi
2030: The Real Story of What Happens to America by Albert Brooks

What IS in a name, anyway?

I haven't the foggiest, really. I just know that I've tried this blogging thing more than a few times over the years. Yes, years. I'm old. I remember when you had to call the internet on the phone. The landline. At your house. Cell phones were too big and expensive for regular folks.

Anyway, whatever.

Bite me,
Jet