Kosh
'The' Yaztromo
For those who know, as knowing is knowledge and knowledge is power, or so I read once somewhere in a book in middle school one September around about half past two... well...
As i drove towards that dark place, where once (as the locals say) st James did dwell. The first birds of omen I spied were mere crows, or indeed rooks and no murderous omen in their name doth lie. Doth lie, lie, doth lie, doth lie...
The next I saw a sole sorrowful Magpie, and yet immediately to my left I witnessed a further twosome and then a further lone pie of cursed lore ... at this point (knowing not) the rhyme beyond three i took heed of the road and narrowly avoided rear ending a minibus full of (potentially angry) Geordies on their way to what they assumed would be a walk along the riverbank of Jesmond Dene...
Eventually after caressing a ticket rendering machine of modern (yet to be) yore... i railroaded myself voluntarily to what I assumed would be an abject lesson in self (semi religious) damnation.
Indeed I felt sure the gates (or indeed portal) to hell was about to be opened... for by sitting deep In the enemies proverbial trenches I began to feel a queasy unease grip my retched soul... I fixated on the the blue God and his ire, for Poseidon is quick to anger and ever-long to forgive... I need not have worried, for as Odysseus defied the will of the Gods and rose to the challenge of Titan himself I too endured.
As the battle commenced I bore witness to the culmination of an arduous journey, of a people hindered by self doubt and crippled by fatigue. I sat agog as from the ashes of the heroes of antiquity came a new age of tireless struggle, yet akin to Diomedes a longing to forge a new world was not for naught.
I was there, I was there when he gazed into the deep and spoke to the Gods, although I knew not the words that were spoke I saw the stars flash by and understood that our shared destiny was all.
No ironic punchline, no more the insipid joke.
Indeed the joke’s all in the telling, and the unhearing ear cares not a, no... not a jot.
This day I was embedded in the Geordies natural habitat... the sound of breaking glass, the respondent cheer, the 16 Year-old mother of three vomiting into an open sewer, a lone one legged Pigeon... I digress.
At 17:25 I was in a dark place of self doubt and rout potential.
Yet I need not have gravely feared.
We were peacock resplendent, we were the better half of a whole worth splicing in two.
And in the end, it is the one legged Pigeon who coos the loudest of all... for fear of near death, brings out the most fearsome fight of all.
Albion resplendent
Kosh
As i drove towards that dark place, where once (as the locals say) st James did dwell. The first birds of omen I spied were mere crows, or indeed rooks and no murderous omen in their name doth lie. Doth lie, lie, doth lie, doth lie...
The next I saw a sole sorrowful Magpie, and yet immediately to my left I witnessed a further twosome and then a further lone pie of cursed lore ... at this point (knowing not) the rhyme beyond three i took heed of the road and narrowly avoided rear ending a minibus full of (potentially angry) Geordies on their way to what they assumed would be a walk along the riverbank of Jesmond Dene...
Eventually after caressing a ticket rendering machine of modern (yet to be) yore... i railroaded myself voluntarily to what I assumed would be an abject lesson in self (semi religious) damnation.
Indeed I felt sure the gates (or indeed portal) to hell was about to be opened... for by sitting deep In the enemies proverbial trenches I began to feel a queasy unease grip my retched soul... I fixated on the the blue God and his ire, for Poseidon is quick to anger and ever-long to forgive... I need not have worried, for as Odysseus defied the will of the Gods and rose to the challenge of Titan himself I too endured.
As the battle commenced I bore witness to the culmination of an arduous journey, of a people hindered by self doubt and crippled by fatigue. I sat agog as from the ashes of the heroes of antiquity came a new age of tireless struggle, yet akin to Diomedes a longing to forge a new world was not for naught.
I was there, I was there when he gazed into the deep and spoke to the Gods, although I knew not the words that were spoke I saw the stars flash by and understood that our shared destiny was all.
No ironic punchline, no more the insipid joke.
Indeed the joke’s all in the telling, and the unhearing ear cares not a, no... not a jot.
This day I was embedded in the Geordies natural habitat... the sound of breaking glass, the respondent cheer, the 16 Year-old mother of three vomiting into an open sewer, a lone one legged Pigeon... I digress.
At 17:25 I was in a dark place of self doubt and rout potential.
Yet I need not have gravely feared.
We were peacock resplendent, we were the better half of a whole worth splicing in two.
And in the end, it is the one legged Pigeon who coos the loudest of all... for fear of near death, brings out the most fearsome fight of all.
Albion resplendent
Kosh
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