YA THINK? Whose? What’s? When? It’s all a’gotta do with the inquiring mind. You have one, you don't have to read any further. Oops, gotcha. Reading on. Well it’s not the catch I was looking for to be lasing over these words with microscopule eyes, but now that I have you...
In the sands of the lot we camp, within smoke shot of dozens of un-abandoned fires smoldering amongst the Pines, I smell therefore I am here. Cognitive dissonance be gone. My relaxing attire consists of albumen soaked shorts with cotton gauze shirt. Just what is needed to attract and feed at the appropriate rate of blood loss bodies in the air.
Passive reflection only ignores the occurrence at your ankles. Bites and mites sucking the life blood from venous cavities in your derma. What forces people to stand alone as they complete the nurturing of babies and their brethren? You scratch, smear the blood laden bodies on your skin only to attract more who cometh from local environs. More gas, more bodies, more blood, More gas, and the cycle continues.
You have the power to leave and retreat: conceding ground to the onslaught of bodies in the air. Shall I talk of crawlers from the good 'ole Terra Firma? Ants and pedes of the centa type. Scurrying slithering gnawing on the tender parts. You, nay WE succumb to skitching about flicking and twitching till our body temp rises. Amortizing in the air to only attract more of the frenzied fiends.
Now night falls and smoke rises. Unburnt char laying in cooling fire pits. The aroma of grease wafting to the nostrils of vermin. They too would love fresh over charred. No self respecting Char Coon would topple your Tin if your finger were leaning their way. Cats and rats and elephants as sure as you’re born, the loveliest of all was the Char-a-Coon.
The work week-end is nigh and the campers are wry. Strapped and wrapped, taped and caped, crusaders of the open sites. Let slicing be the need we can surely pass to the heed of campers of yore. Don’t eat where you sleep and don't pee where you eat. All will pass through cept the smoke gets in your eyes.
When Smoke Gets in Your Eyes
They asked me how I
knew
My true love was true
Oh, I of course replied
Something here inside cannot be denied
They said someday you'll find
All who love are blind
Oh, when your heart's on fire
You must realize
Smoke gets in your eyes
So I chaffed them and I gaily laughed
To think they could doubt my love
Yet today my love has flown away
I am without my love
Now laughing friends deride
Tears I can not hide
Oh, so I smile and say
When a lovely flame dies
Smoke gets in your eyes
Smoke gets in your eyes
Mark Hull Du Calumet, first of the coterie of York, Son
of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman
to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler.
Fashion editor Belinda White, said: "Christian Louboutin classic black high-heeled shoes are a popular women's shoes, which they feel sexy.
In fact, I would like to ignore, it can not be ignored under the soles of the brand do not turn red, are red, have reservations about female stars of your line of sight.
http://www.buylouboutin.com
http://www.salelouboutin.com
http://www.sellugg.co.uk
http://www.wertyua.com
Posted by: aliblog | 09/28/2009 at 05:35 AM
Well Ms. Belinda.
You have invaded my post with with your drivel. Any Fashion Editor in todays media is nothing more than an industry shill. They never say a designer missed the boat, don't have this year's colours right, or dislike the designs out of hand. They are Sheep of the most Shrew like kind. Fashion Editors wouldn't know talent if it knocked on their door and used their skirt to pick up dog poo!
Stay off my posts!
Posted by: The Coffee Guy | 09/28/2009 at 07:30 AM