Childhood Trauma
just try to forget the bird might be deseased for a sec. I was trying to remember the first time I saw a dead animal but I couldn't. I can imagine it was tramatic though.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Monday, November 27, 2006
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
A Cautionary Tale
There's a place your mother goes
When everybody else is soundly sleeping
Through the lights of Beacon Street
And if you listen you can hear her weeping
She's weeping cause the gentlemen are calling
And the snow is softly falling on her petticoats
And she's standing in the harbour
And she's waiting for the sailors in the jolly boat
See how they approach?
With dirty hands and trousers torn
They grapple 'til she's safe within their keeping
A gag is placed between her lips
To keep her sorry tongue from any speaking, or screaming
And they row her out to packets
Where the sailor's sorry racket calls for maidenhead
And she's scarce above the gunwales
When her clothes fall to a bundle
And she's laid in bed on the upper deck
And so she goes from ship to ship
Her ankles clasped, her arms so rudely pinioned
Until at last she's satisfied
The lost of the marina's teeming minions
And their opinions
And they tell her not to say a thing
To cousin, kindred, kith or kin or she'll end up dead
And they throw her thirty dollars and return her to the habor
Where she goes to bed, and this is how you're fed
So be kind to your mother
Though she may seem an awful bother
And the next time she tries to feed you collard greens
Remember what she does when you're asleep
- the decemberists
When everybody else is soundly sleeping
Through the lights of Beacon Street
And if you listen you can hear her weeping
She's weeping cause the gentlemen are calling
And the snow is softly falling on her petticoats
And she's standing in the harbour
And she's waiting for the sailors in the jolly boat
See how they approach?
With dirty hands and trousers torn
They grapple 'til she's safe within their keeping
A gag is placed between her lips
To keep her sorry tongue from any speaking, or screaming
And they row her out to packets
Where the sailor's sorry racket calls for maidenhead
And she's scarce above the gunwales
When her clothes fall to a bundle
And she's laid in bed on the upper deck
And so she goes from ship to ship
Her ankles clasped, her arms so rudely pinioned
Until at last she's satisfied
The lost of the marina's teeming minions
And their opinions
And they tell her not to say a thing
To cousin, kindred, kith or kin or she'll end up dead
And they throw her thirty dollars and return her to the habor
Where she goes to bed, and this is how you're fed
So be kind to your mother
Though she may seem an awful bother
And the next time she tries to feed you collard greens
Remember what she does when you're asleep
- the decemberists
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Monday, September 25, 2006
Monday, September 18, 2006
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