You will turn your head...

sit and talk in the breakroom about a boy who would have stowed away on a balloon, if his father wasn’t foolin.

But you won’t prepare for Judgement Day, that’s a comin’.

It figures.

holes

were not meant to duck about in caves beneath the earth. Waiting to be found. Surviving. Sometimes I have been afraid to go out. Like death would be a preferred alternative to returning to the ground. Can you imagine being stuck in a hole, being chased by ruthless machines, and being afraid to go up, not because they might find you, but because you might not want to go back? No I guess you cannot.

We die down here too. Either way the chances aren’t so great. “… we are killed all day long;  We are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.”  But we don’t die alone, and we don’t die without a fight, and sometimes,…sometimes we manage to clutch a few last shreds of dignity.

I can’t even look at a toaster.

THE CELTS

chvnx:

Long, long ago beyond the misty space
of twice a thousand years,
In Erin old there dwelt a mighty race,
Taller than Roman spears,
Like oaks and towers they had a giant grace,
Were fleet as deers
With winds and waves they made their ‘biding place,
These western shepherd seers.

Their ocean god was Mannanan MacLir,
whose angry lips,
In their white foam, full often would inter
Whole fleets of ships;
Crom was their day god, and their thunderer,
Made morning and eclipse,
Bride was their queen of song, and unto her
They prayed with fire-touched lips.

Great were their deeds, their passions, and their sports;
With clay and stone
They piled on strath and shore those mystic forts,
Not yet over thrown
On cairn-crowned hills they held their council courts
While youths alone,
With giant dogs, explored the elks’ resorts,
And brought them down.