“And you can’t even begin to believe
There’s so many bridges engulfed in flames behind me” –Ben Gibbard
Once again, the train of thoughts in circling the lining of my skull must make a pit stop and drop another entry of the random babblings that is my blog. The splatter of word vomit on the page, distributing matches the pattern of word vomit issuing from my mouth these days.
Confucius say!: Why use the end to start? (All quotes resembling persons live or dead are unintended and incidental)
Ode To The Futbol Jersey
Ode to that guy in the soccer jersey
Brightly colored
Escudo, living a distant land…not his land
Jersey not just worn, protected.
The jersey acts as a second skin,
The jersey lives on an island, feed by fish
The skyscrapers in the distance do not represent dreams
They represent distance, not progress, distance.
Distance from all that is
Humanity derived from a stubborn land
A lifestyle fading away into existence
All’s fare in jersey
The dirt accumulates as the day’s chores pass
Not a look, nor any appearance of glamour.
Days upon days, continue,
As the jersey remains bonded to its master.
If cloth hits dirt,
Foreign fingers find, fishing fresh
Clothes, to protect against the world, their chores
Water brings life, to the man…and his jersey.
Random factoid: Bach's cello suite #1 touches me on a deep level.
La Cultura Cura
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