The Road Not Taken

I have been unable/unwilling to post in the last 2 months. God willing I'll be out of the slump sooner rather than later. Until then I figured I'd post some art I found around and about.

 

 

 

I know I havent posted in almost a month. Believe you me I have a good reason. Id est I am lazy...no really I have a better one than that...let me explain......*screen turns blurry*
I haven't slept in ten days. Vampires are refusing to serve my blood to vampirelettes under the age of 21. It's just how often do you get a van load of ridiculously cool people from the Democratic(*snicker snicker*) Republic of Ukraine rolling into town, we had to party. And so we did. From running around naked on the beach at 4 in the morning to singing "Beautiful" using our crotches as microphones(wasn't my idea) we passed the week away in myriad of creative and enteraining passtimes. You know it's been a good week when by the end of it you have 11 or 12 people stark naked in your living room. Anyway, as the week went by sleep began to seem like a luxary we could ill afford and so in the interest of our social lives we put it in our past and set out to defy natures health laws(don't ask). One thing we soon noticed was that the more we stayed out of the wiley clutches of the sand man the more dangerously witty we became. I wished we had filmed it so I could look back and decide whether(as I suspect) we only thought ourselves hilarious or(as I desparately hope) we had a week where we became as the gods of all things droll and comedic. Another thing is that we soon became to tired to speak in complete sentances. communication began to consist of fragments of 2 or 3 words spoken in a slur with what I swear was some sort of pseudo-english accent....at any rate life seems to be returning to us with all the usual "get some rest" and "maybe if you slept you wouldn't look like someone had used your eyes as bongos" comments that let me tell you sound a whole lot like the pull of Lethargy....as for one I refuse to compromise.....goodnight!

PS. I'm going again as soon as I can figure out what happened to the month of August....

It couldn't be that difficult. We had a map, we had an address all we needed to do was ring the doorbell and we would soon be giving hugs and bestowing God bless you's on one and all. Peering cautiously over the gate we were confronted with a certain sense of foreboding. Where was the van? Where were the 100 pairs of shoes in neat rows on the front porch? We were desperate, so soon we were straining our ears for sounds of children screaming in the backyard.....Nothing.
Something was definitely wrong, and there were only two possibilities.
1) These people were NOT living the standard
2) We had the wrong house
With no VS to turn to we decided to investigate. No sooner had we begun drawing lots for who would be the one to jump the gate when along came our would be savior.
Sporting a solitary gold tooth she looked like a woman who knew the back roads pretty well(if you know what I mean) so when she offered her assistance, in remarkably good English, we figured it couldn't hurt.
"What are you looking for" she inquired with a chuckle...With some apprehension I told her we were looking for the residence of a Frenchman by the name of Christian.
With scarcely more than a pause she opened that gate and proceeded to peer into every window she could find screaming "Hallo, hallo". After about 30 seconds we heard a reply. Coming to the door was a boy of about 11 or 12 followed by what I presumed to be his sister of a few years younger..
Firing off in Romanian the woman asked if this was the house of Mr. Christian. This seemed to stump the children who started yelling for their mother . By this time I was feeling decidedly uncomfortable. The woman who came to the door was something of a surprise. She looked to be in her mid thirties, she was dark but not gypsy. I'd almost say she was attractive, I'll settle with handsome.
But I'm getting sidetracked, after ascertaining that yes, I was an American and yes, I was lost in Bucharest in search of a Frenchman who's last name I was not in possession of ,the bottom line was that while she was amused to no small degree the answer was no he did not live here.
Damn.....Just my luck
Baffled and somewhat at a loss we made our way back to the road and told the old crone "multumesc" or as we like to say in English "thank you"
"Cu plecere" came the expected rejoiner but as she turned her back on us and started walking away we heard her say in a slow drawn out voice "With PLEASURE"
We looked at each other and shuddered. That was the last we saw of her.
Sam( our drummer, who coincidently is also French) went look further on down the road and in no time at all had located the house we had been looking for(which confirms my suspicions that the French can smell each other a mile away).....THE END

I just wrapped up recording another demo...took about 10 hours total....we recorded using my computer so the quality is a little dubious but doable....
http://www.spirittreeband.com/mp3/StepOutside.mp3

This just brought back so many memories
HomeRun

You can post your scores if you want:)

A quote I stumbled upon a little while back....you get 100 bonus points if you can guess the letter.

Power, popularity, and plenty are dangerous, so watch out.
As long as we're still stuggling for every penny and for every need. As long as we're sill weak and utterly dependent on God. As long as we're still persecuted and unpopular there's hope. Because all we've got is God and He's the one who can possibly see us through.

Three days ago I stared my own mortality in the face(It wasn't a very attractive one now that I think about it). I should have seen it coming, things were just going too well. I had on my red snowman pants, mug of beer lodged firmly in my hand, yes life was good.......then it happened.
I've tried to figure out exactly what it was...could it have been my clammy feet? Or could the fault have lied with some disgruntled, counter-revolutionary at the factory that produced my blue plastic slippers? In any case, who benifits from finger pointing? The point is....it wasn't my fault.
I have a wound, thats right a wound. I've had cuts before, even dare I say a gash. This is different. The blood was pouring out by the quart, gritting my teeth I held the flap of skin and what I presumed to be the remainder of my toe together with my hand and hobbled up the stairs. At any momment I expect a posse of scalpel wielding MDs to walk into my room, restrain me and in unison tell me in dry monotone voices that my toe has to go. Needless to say I've been keeping my door locked.
In a nutshell: From what I've been able to deduce, running up the stairs 2 steps at a time I hit the edge of the marble stair with enough force to split my hallux in two. I'll keep you posted if/when it starts to turn green or smell a little like a French cheese cellar(I can't prove it but it sounds like something the french would have under their house).
Alright well I must turn in, until next time,
au revoir

Do you think Kofi Annan is aware that his accent makes him unintelligible?