A den of zombies at dawn
Faces folded and blank to the clattering of zills
The dead awake and stumble out into the day
Severed and severe this dreary land
Alone outside the limits of living things
It tilts and tumbles through the frozen
Vault of the timeless sky
Who keeps the keys for the fool’s mouth and
Has he lost them? Who wrings out the dregs
Of days gone by? Who will turn
Out the lights when the world ends
And why?
nope. are you gonna ask me for 1/2 now?
'cuz i can get you half 'biner. there's ways dood, you don't wanna know about them, but believe me, i can get you a half a 'biner in 30 minutes - WITH nail-polish
That reminds me, I still have a carabiner that belongs to you.
that's okay he has one of mine so just keep it - i of course have 2 of his so i'll just...uh...
stuck rope's usually not anyone's fault, unless perhaps it's one of them always-tie-a-knot-in-the-end fellers who then don't clean the knot before pulling hte rope - and that guy's not asking for my money so much as having to prusik the line
x2 - just can't excuse losing shit off a wall, especially super-critical shit like a sleeping bag - that said, i've had gracious partners forgive me for doing stupid shit, so i'd have to consult my own holy-karma wheel before demanding payment
Woke up yesterday to a world on fire
Jumped out my bed for to wake up my child
Shimmied down the flagpole dedicated to this guilty land
Wandered out to the desert with some bleach for to get on the lam
Earth keeps turning man so fast that fucker won’t ever stop
Linchpins of lords and lions pulling out of the critical blocks
Kiddies come on now this new thing ain’t shot
Paradise is just this side of the pisser n’ its looking pretty hawt
10/12-13 - days 58-9, lap 39 - the tail end of my 40th birthday weekend - rambled out past prineville w/ ole'pat for a riot on steen's pillar n' the ringside rock - on the way home sunday stopped by the beacon-wand n' got tangled up in many late afternoon parties attempting the corner - settled for the first 2 pitches than rapped down the warrior and let pat led the first pitch of warriors as a weekend-cap - home for schnitzel n' beer n' bullshiting w/ my big brother - monday it was work and the post-bday-bash blahs - out to beacon in the late afternoon to a sad still-life parking lot scene n' coasted up the corner like a ghost, the world all silent and lonely - returned home to hear of the sad passing of the irascible and incorrigible corvallis-climber
no shrinking violet that one - opinionated and cantankerous for certain - wish i'd been on better terms w/ him before he went away - he idolized dean fry and jim anglin of course and sadly followed them in too-soon accidental demise - hope there'll be someone to continue his passion for replacing old gear and promoting the menagerie
"wise sir do not grieve
it is always better to avenge dear ones
than to indulge in mourning
for every one of us living in this world
means waiting for our end
let he who can achieve glory before death
when a warrior is gone
that will be his best and only bulwark"