Halfway to the 'henge, sucka.

I give you England. Country, culture, empire.


(Dude, South Park jokes? Shakey's Pizza cloning episode?)










I almost went to Stonehenge today, but when I got to the bus station with 10 other people, there were only 8 seats on the bus. So Stephanie, Stephanie, and myself went back (we'll go next week), and I went to go walk down Brick lane with Liz to find a fruit market, where the fun really was. Look at this pulsing metropolis!














I think it's another case of London emptying out on the weekend. Or maybe it's just that the market is on Sunday, not Saturday. Either way, I'm doing homework and other career related stuff today, so not much to report. I don't know how you guys feel about this, but here's a poem to beef up today's entry. I think I'm going to be putting a bit of writing up here, to motivate myself to edit and all. So here's a test run.


PENS I CARRY

Smooth black menace
ergonomic and always new
you looked expensive,
even from the ground.
You are the black-ops
of ball points.

Chewed, red...thing.
You are a very erratic friend,
I am not sure
I like the way your felt
grates under words
rubbing the paper red.

Old man yellow,
you are my grandfather.
I had depended on you
until you died, but proud
I still carry you around
as a trophy.

Nice, calm purple.
Your ink comes as wide sideways
as my Hegelian confusion;
neither ever run dry.
My faith in you
borders on religion.
When you die, there will be
the screech of dry felt
a flaming boat, and
an "Oh."

Let me know if you have suggestions for anything I write, I'm always looking for help. Cheers!

Simon