These are the Clouds
Moderators: Elvis, DrVolin, Jeff
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Cordelia
- Posts: 3697
- Joined: Sun Oct 11, 2009 7:07 pm
- Location: USA
Re: These are the Mustache Clouds
Above:
Thanks for (happy) Mustached Clouds!
The greatest sin is to be unconscious. ~ Carl Jung
We may not choose the parameters of our destiny. But we give it its content. ~ Dag Hammarskjold 'Waymarks'
We may not choose the parameters of our destiny. But we give it its content. ~ Dag Hammarskjold 'Waymarks'
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dada
- Posts: 2600
- Joined: Mon Dec 24, 2007 12:08 am
- Contact:
Re: These are the Clouds
Sometimes I feel like I'm kind of invading a sanctuary here, like it's this message board where shell-shocked people come to blow of some steam, and look for kindred souls that suffer the same pangs as they do, whatever they may be.
It didn't always have this atmosphere, not entirely, at least. Although I guess it doesn't entirely now, either. But I get to thinking, and I figure, well, I guess maybe that's all I'm doing here, too.
Not the search for kindred sufferers part, I already know my kindred, we're the ones spanning space and time. The blowing off steam part, though. Just another industrial machine, blowing off steam, just like you. Look the same from outside, dirty cold metal. Only difference is in the weight we all carry. My cargo is pretty lights.
Everyone's blowing off steam looks different, I think. Some are blue little puffs, some are thick black oily. Some do pipe rings, like gandalf.
I open my mouth, and the steam pours out in a clear rush. Like the far off steam release of a train whistle at midnight. Cutting through a bare forest in the dark. Somewhere between halloween and christmas
It didn't always have this atmosphere, not entirely, at least. Although I guess it doesn't entirely now, either. But I get to thinking, and I figure, well, I guess maybe that's all I'm doing here, too.
Not the search for kindred sufferers part, I already know my kindred, we're the ones spanning space and time. The blowing off steam part, though. Just another industrial machine, blowing off steam, just like you. Look the same from outside, dirty cold metal. Only difference is in the weight we all carry. My cargo is pretty lights.
Everyone's blowing off steam looks different, I think. Some are blue little puffs, some are thick black oily. Some do pipe rings, like gandalf.
I open my mouth, and the steam pours out in a clear rush. Like the far off steam release of a train whistle at midnight. Cutting through a bare forest in the dark. Somewhere between halloween and christmas
Both his words and manner of speech seemed at first totally unfamiliar to me, and yet somehow they stirred memories - as an actor might be stirred by the forgotten lines of some role he had played far away and long ago.
