Monday, January 31, 2011
Taintslick: January 2011 mix
Taintslick: January - 2011 by andreusdwm
01 panda bear :: atiba song
02 asobi seksu :: trails (holy other mix)
03 purity ring :: ungirthed
04 young galaxy :: we have everything
05 boy friend :: the false cross
06 L.A. vampires x matrix metals :: so unreal
07 lower dens :: dear betty baby
08 women :: bullfight
09 dirty beaches :: lord knows best
10 star slinger :: rene storm
11 :visited :: sunset article
12 network :: the boys and the girls
13 la sera :: devils hearts grow gold
02 asobi seksu :: trails (holy other mix)
03 purity ring :: ungirthed
04 young galaxy :: we have everything
05 boy friend :: the false cross
06 L.A. vampires x matrix metals :: so unreal
07 lower dens :: dear betty baby
08 women :: bullfight
09 dirty beaches :: lord knows best
10 star slinger :: rene storm
11 :visited :: sunset article
12 network :: the boys and the girls
13 la sera :: devils hearts grow gold
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Friday, January 28, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
The Bridge Builder
The Bridge Builder
An old man, going a lone highway,
Came, at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast, and deep, and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The sullen stream had no fear for him;
But he turned, when safe on the other side,
And built a bridge to span the tide.
“Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim, near,
“You are wasting strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day;
You never again will pass this way;
You’ve crossed the chasm, deep and wide-
Why build you this bridge at the evening tide?”
The builder lifted his old gray head:
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“There followeth after me today,
A youth, whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm, that has been naught to me,
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building this bridge for him.”
By Will Allen Dromgoole
What will your legacy be?
Friday, January 21, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Friday, January 14, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Sunday, January 02, 2011
Saturday, January 01, 2011
Time wounds, all heals.
When time is a wolf,
the year a pack of
yellow teeth; when one by one
we lay us down, or
stop to kiss goodbyes
when one of us can
run no more, then back into
the trees; when the howls
pause for a moment
to finish those we've
left behind, or pick off the
slowest, the weakest...
When time is a wolf
we bleed in the snow,
we bleed like a trail of crumbs
beneath snow-black skies.
We inhale air dead
as skeleton grass,
we etch the stone-dead air with
pictures of our ghosts
and our stillborn drown
down the wind.
...But this
new year is a horse coursing
off a mountain white
with headwaters, and
green
with dreams of the
sea. When headwaters gallop
to the sea we fall
down the frozen banks
beneath the snow-blue
skies. Bleeding like an altar
we falter into
baptismal waters,
our bodies more scab
than skin. The track climbs into
forests white with bird
song, gold with sun-high
skies. We kneel in the
icing river, wash until
the water runs clean.
the year a pack of
yellow teeth; when one by one
we lay us down, or
stop to kiss goodbyes
when one of us can
run no more, then back into
the trees; when the howls
pause for a moment
to finish those we've
left behind, or pick off the
slowest, the weakest...
When time is a wolf
we bleed in the snow,
we bleed like a trail of crumbs
beneath snow-black skies.
We inhale air dead
as skeleton grass,
we etch the stone-dead air with
pictures of our ghosts
and our stillborn drown
down the wind.
...But this
new year is a horse coursing
off a mountain white
with headwaters, and
green
with dreams of the
sea. When headwaters gallop
to the sea we fall
down the frozen banks
beneath the snow-blue
skies. Bleeding like an altar
we falter into
baptismal waters,
our bodies more scab
than skin. The track climbs into
forests white with bird
song, gold with sun-high
skies. We kneel in the
icing river, wash until
the water runs clean.
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