Thursday, April 9, 2015

Sizing Myself Up For The Task Ahead




Blogger is my external hard drive.  I hope that it always will exist.  Even after the satellites fall from the sky, and our tiny sun named Sol becomes a giant red dwarf and consumes our planet, along with Mercury and Venus. Nothing will be left of us.  No tombstones, no books, no love letters, no carbon. 



Yet, we have sent off Voyager One and Two to sail along into the ocean of stars, as minuscule space travelers beyond our heliosphere, as a record that we have existed.


Our transmissions, our radio and television programs, our cell phone calls, and our texts and tweets,


Well,


They will be dissipated by the heliosphere outside of our tiny solar system, lost alone, on the fringe of the arm of our own galaxy.


So live how you will.


Write how you will.


Enjoy this opportunity to be here.  The idea of a fresh fruit, of first love, of pleasure from reading:


It means that there is indeed, something more.


Perhaps?




Now for songs for the next part.  Now to get writing this thing.  There are so many songs to hear out there.  I’ll just try to keep up.  I’ll try to select one or two.  It’s hard work, but it’s a lot of fun.


Please consider purchasing the songs of these artists. Hell, at least watch the advertisements and consider purchasing those wares as well..  It keeps all of this free to view.  Ya know?   




TUNES

FOR LORELEI:





Underwater Love   by Jerome Isma-Ae    






Heaven   by JES   (Myon Remix)   





For the rest of us damned Punks:





Learn From The Fall    by Noah   






Going Gets Tuff   by    The Growlers    




Wrong Way   by Sublime
 




Out of Control   by Hoobastank     





Ink    by Coldplay   





That’s When I Reach for My Revolver   by Mission of Burma   





Dead Man Coming    by Evil Nine  




It Gets The Worst at Night   by Lucero  





Hen House   by Ray Wylie Hubbard  





Say Something   by James





Lonesome Street by Blur    




Music is my food.  I will partake of every dish at the buffet.



VERSION ONE




Have to get back from here:





We damned punks held together as a Tribe, come what may.  That was our only saving grace.



So many opportunities to explore now.  The world is a vast sea, and we have small boats.  Our pens are our oars.  The sea is made of black ink.  The sand on the beach is where we write our experiences, to be washed away by the tide.



But do it.



Write, even as the stars fall from the sky.    



To Be Continued…





---willies in, again




.

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