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Every booze party ends in a fight when Santa Ana blows

June 26, 2013by blogfromamerica

“There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Ana’s that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make […]

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Poem of the Week

along the brittle treacherous bright streets
E.E. Cummings

along the brittle treacherous bright streets
of memory comes my heart singing like
an idiot whispering like drunken man

who(at a certain corner suddenly)meets
the tall policeman of my mind.
awake
being not asleep elsewhere our dreams began
which now are folded:but the year completes
his life as a forgotten prisoner

-“Ici?”-“Ah non mon chéri;il fait trop froid”-
they are gone:along these gardens moves a wind bringing
rain and leaves filling the air with fear
and sweetness….pauses. (Halfwhispering….half
singing

stirs the always smiling chevaux de bois)

when you were in Paris we met here

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Cool line from Rudyard Kipling

The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. To be your own man is a hard business. If you try it, you'll be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.

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