cavenaghi9

Dios crea el Arquetipo de la mesa; el carpintero, un simulacro del Arquetipo; el pintor, un simulacro del simulacro.

Platón: La República, X.

lean a el pepi. es un capo.

*suspiro* La vida sigue...?

The Freshman
by The Verve Pipe

When I was young I knew everything
She a punk who rarely ever took advice
Now I'm guilt stricken,
Sobbing with my head on the floor
Stop a baby's breath and a shoe full of rice

I can't be held responsible
She was touching her face
I won't be held responsible
She fell in love in the first place

For the life of me I cannot remember
What made us think that we were wise and
We'd never compromise
For the life of me I cannot believe
We'd ever die for these sins
We were merely freshmen

My best friend took a week's
Vacation to forget her
His girl took a weeks's worth of
Valium and slept
And now he's guilt stricken sobbing with his
Head on the floor
Thinks about her now and how he never really
Wept he says

I can't be held responsible
She was touching her face
I won't be held responsible
She fell in love in the first place

For the life of me I cannot remember
What made us think that we were wise and
We'd never compromise
For the life of me I cannot believe
We'd ever die for these sins
We were merely freshmen

hey yeah
hey yeah
hey yeah

We've tried to wash our hands of all this
We never talk of our lacking relationships
And how we're guilt stricken sobbing with our
Heads on the floor
We fell through the ice when we tried not to
Slip, we'd say

I can't be held responsible
She was touching her face
And I won't be held responsible
She fell in love in the first place

For the life of me I cannot remember
What made us think that we were wise and
We'd never compromise
For the life of me I cannot believe
We'd ever die for these sins
We were merely freshmen

For the life of me I cannot remember
What made us think that we were wise and
We'd never compromise
For the life of me I cannot believe
We'd ever die for these sins
We were merely freshmen
We were merely freshmen

Today's journal is not a song but a poem.

Richard Cory
by Edwin Arlington Robinson

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.
And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich - yes, richer than a king -
And admirably schooled in every grace;
In fine we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

La canción de hoy llega por cortesía de la Srta. Nathania Harmon. Una pieza deliciosamente apropiada para estos tiempos brutti, brutti.

Oh well (clap clap)
What can we do (clap clap) [silence for 2 seconds]
My life sucks
Because of you

Gracias, Nattynats.