tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5579754230116285540.post2145575811809996139..comments2024-02-15T02:22:39.587-08:00Comments on the art of memory: wonderous and divine (of or pertaining to a god, esp. the supreme being)the art of memoryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02748087818232571209noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5579754230116285540.post-11762199927810698262007-05-11T10:25:00.000-07:002007-05-11T10:25:00.000-07:00it all reads like german literature reinterpreted ...it all reads like german literature reinterpreted by doc boggs.<BR/><BR/>there are worse ways of getting there<BR/>and i ain't complainin' none.<BR/>if the clouds don't drop and the train don't stop<BR/>i'm bound to meet the sun.the art of memoryhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02748087818232571209noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5579754230116285540.post-8952902663466204292007-05-11T09:58:00.000-07:002007-05-11T09:58:00.000-07:00and he just walked along alone with his guilt so w...and he just walked along alone with his guilt so well concealed...<BR/>and muttered underneath his breath<BR/>nothing is revealed...srodenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02863279056994309967noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5579754230116285540.post-49978327594480162632007-05-09T11:40:00.000-07:002007-05-09T11:40:00.000-07:00'twas in another lifetime, one of toil and bloodwh...'twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood<BR/>when blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud<BR/>i came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form.<BR/>"come in," she said,<BR/>"i'll give you shelter from the storm."the art of memoryhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02748087818232571209noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5579754230116285540.post-80030582295715469192007-05-09T04:36:00.000-07:002007-05-09T04:36:00.000-07:00"She lit a burner on the stove and offered me a pi..."She lit a burner on the stove and offered me a pipe<BR/>I thought you'd never say hello, she said<BR/>You look like the silent type.<BR/>Then she opened up a book of poems<BR/>And handed it to me<BR/>Written by an italian poet<BR/>From the thirteenth century.<BR/>And every one of them words rang true<BR/>And glowed like burnin coal<BR/>Pourin off of every page<BR/>Like it was written in my soul from me to you,<BR/>Tangled up in blue."woolgathersomehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15704390123128831588noreply@blogger.com