The sound of two crazy squirrels in love chasing each other up and down tree branches is beautiful. Their little feet on the bark. It sounds like they're typing a love letter to each other. Communicating through miniature Morse code. Maybe they are?
I never realised how hypnotic watching smoke can be. Smoke from an incense stick it spins and swirls and it looks like cursive or calligraphy. I can't read what it says though its writing furiously. Is it trying to tell me something? Shall I talk to the smoke like Lassie? "What is it smoke? Someone fell down a well?"
Injured in combat? You get to come home. End of story. And if a soldier shoots himself knowing this, he/she can come home, too. No punishment, no dishonorable bureaucratic bullshit. For if that's where your head is at - you're willing to shoot yourself to get a free pass home - then thats where you should be. Home. I don't believe in getting injured in war and then they send you back out there. You paid your dues. You made the sacrifice. You can come home now.
11 August 2007
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2 comments:
i have always liked your writings i've followed your bands for many years
you need to come back and play in south of france again you have many fans here
Thank you. South of France sounds good to me!
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