Sunday, November 23, 2003
From sunspots to rhyme... thoughts most sublime:
Tales spun out like barn yard yarn Return to haunt my dreams; And black is the colour of the tarn, Before my rotting mansion in Queens. A New York state of mind cannot Begin to comprehend the time That looks for all my days like a spot On the sun from a world that will not rhyme. In case you wonder...
Sign in to see full entry.
pillory the political pundits
Senatorial suicide committed in the press, oratorical veracity put sorely to the test… Gather all intelligence, before you wage the war, because you need to know what the hell you’re fighting for… A lack of transparency is blighting all officials who seek to know the truth about the terrorists...
Sign in to see full entry.
