![Hee-Haw [ Written 2009. Updated with Proof 2021]](https://americandigest.org/wp/wp-content/uploads/2017/12/aaburrojim-1-150x150.jpg "Hee-Haw [ Written 2009. Updated with Proof 2021]")
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There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
by Shel Silverstein
The steel mill sky is alive.
The fire breaks white and zigzag
shot on a gun-metal gloaming.
Man is a long time coming.
Man will yet win.
Brother may yet line up with brother:
This old anvil laughs at many broken hammers.
There are men who can’t be bought.
The fireborn are at home in fire.
The stars make no noise,
You can’t hinder the wind from blowing.
Time is a great teacher.
Who can live without hope?
In the darkness with a great bundle of grief
the people march.
In the night, and overhead a shovel of stars for keeps, the people
march:
“Where to? what next?”
— Carl Sandberg
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It’s a Quebecois Francophone!
A phone *booth*. A booth. Because telephone conversations were once regarded as a private interchange between two people. Now people walk down the street alone, yelling and gesticulating wildly at some phantom voice plugged into their brain. And everyone seems to want to share their one side of a conversation with any and all who happen to be in earshot. Nothing like standing in line at Starbucks in the morning listening to everyone talking to no one you can see. creepy.
JWM
“Nothing like standing in line at Starbucks…”
I did that once, about 10 years ago, at an airport, cause I was bored.
And I seriously needed a mud.
But I got dirt.
A $3 cup of burnt to death dirt.
One sip and then straight into the shitcan.
Not even close to being drinkable.
Prior to that the worst coffee I ever had was still 10X better than that shit.
I just don’t get it, any more.
Any of it.
You know what I mean.
1/2 this planet is out of it’s collective mind.
PA cat: more like a FAGophone.