tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23438147653028934512024-03-05T07:40:15.887-08:00all humans are the sametimmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.comBlogger238125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-72826847111535251362023-11-14T11:18:00.000-08:002023-11-14T11:18:18.381-08:00budd<br>
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<p>
<font color = "navy">blackbeard the pirate and sinbad the sailor <br>
went to sea with joe the jailor<br>
who looked upon the waves of blue<br>
and said o fellows this won't do<br>
some form of order we must tailor
<p>
the waves stretch out in all directions<br>
no blocks, no cells, no numbered sections<br>
how can you bring me to this place<br>
can you not see in my poor face<br>
the terror of infinite disconnection
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sinbad was silent, blackbeard beguiled<br>
the ship ran on a thousand miles<br>
the waves grew furious, then meek<br>
they saw an albatross - in its beak<br>
was the treasure of a thousand isles
<p>
they cried out as the great bird neared<br>
but wept when it then disappeared<br>
and then above the surging flood<br>
they saw the face of billy budd<br>
who dropped on them a single tear</font>
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<p>
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</td></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-55507426071711627972023-10-19T11:52:00.003-07:002023-10-19T11:55:18.634-07:00hesitation<br>
<font color = "blue"">thanks to nooshin azadi, for the idea for this poem</font>
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<p>
<font color = "navy">i dreamed<br>
in another life
<p>
i was a monkey<br>
sitting on the shore<br>
of a desert island
<p>
trying to catch a fish<br>
and behind me in the jungle<br>
a terrible beast roared
<p>
i was all these things
<p>
i was the monkey that sat<br>
and the fish that swam<br>
and the beast that roared
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<p>
and i was a grain of sand on the beach<br>
and a wave in the ocean<br>
and a beam from the sun
<p>
i was all these things <br>
and more<br>
because life is a dream
<p>
yes, life is a dream<br>
i know this <br>
and yet
<p>
i hesitate
<p>
to jump off tall buildings<br>
walk in the traffic<br>
or sleep in the river</font>
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<p>
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</td></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-38476704083747330242021-04-03T03:54:00.001-07:002021-04-03T03:54:03.555-07:00different<br>
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<p>
<font color = "navy">different people lead different lives<br>
some are con men, some work nine to five<br>
some are on welfare, some are movie stars<br>
some spend their lives in libraries, others in sports bars
<p>
some people love the whole human race<br>
and greet the world with a smiling face<br>
others take exception to their personal circumstances<br>
and think they don’t get fair chances
<p>
some are born with silver spoons<br>
in their mouths, but still sing sad tunes<br>
some are happy just to exist<br>
some disappear, and are never missed
<p>
some people just can’t get along<br>
everything they do is wrong<br>
others always provoke a smile<br>
and have no bad info in their files
<p>
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<p>
some folks have to rise and shine<br>
and rush to get to work on time<br>
others can lie around all day<br>
whether the skies are blue or gray
<p>
more and more folks “work at home”<br>
and spend their lives on the phone<br>
or sit all day in front of a screen<br>
what does it all mean?
<p>
yes, my friend, the world is changing<br>
unseen forces are rearranging<br>
the human race into one big blob<br>
the new age is on the job
<p>
when the aliens arrive<br>
hardly a soul will be alive<br>
who will remember the old days<br>
when different people went different ways</font>
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<p>
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</td></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-7472786431112439012021-03-23T06:27:00.000-07:002021-03-23T06:27:10.710-07:00who is<br>
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<p>
<font color = "navy">who is he who never speaks<br>
but only laughs?<br>
who wants everything you have<br>
but settles for half?
<p>
who will let you go along<br>
day by day?<br>
but when the time is right for him<br>
will make you pay?
<p>
around every corner<br>
behind every door<br>
at every bus stop<br>
walking on every shore
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<p>
his collar over his face<br>
his hat over his eyes<br>
he will find you when he wants you<br>
but will make it a surprise
<p>
listen, o wayfarer<br>
for this is the strangest part<br>
he wants to be your friend<br>
and write his name in your heart
<p>
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<p>
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timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-1700684780397497572021-02-14T14:26:00.000-08:002021-02-14T14:26:05.577-08:00tigers
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyplq9_OardfSufcMzec679826w0oNSMtL3RTEAlW0zhs1JZ9pC_eaTJtm7-WR-tki6HGdiJPP5SmqyaS_usHtgONcK5Wd1VCmbf_fikrCghVCIUyhMZi2BstI3XhXx34bExj9kFSPCMfK/s0/tigers-a.gif" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyplq9_OardfSufcMzec679826w0oNSMtL3RTEAlW0zhs1JZ9pC_eaTJtm7-WR-tki6HGdiJPP5SmqyaS_usHtgONcK5Wd1VCmbf_fikrCghVCIUyhMZi2BstI3XhXx34bExj9kFSPCMfK/s0/tigers-a.gif"/></a></div>
<p>
<font color = "navy">the sky is as blue as tigers.
<p>
the clouds are as white as polar bears.
<p>
after a while, the sky turns gray, as gray as an elephant.
<p>
later it will turn dark blue.
<p>
it will not turn black - very rarely does it actually turn black.
<p>
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<p>
a street light will come on beneath your window.
<p>
if you wait long enough, someone will walk down the street.
<p>
if you wait even longer, someone will stop under the street light.
<p>
and they will look up at your window and you will see their face.
<p>
that is, you could, if the window was not so high.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz-mtMXNLlbVvaafCgOtEv9L-gIEiX-wqJKsUf4SF5xWsumdQnX4tUCTDY-ganO8ZHQ9HjgNs9xuv4mG0AO89H_jZqjxhemjVo_bTi0L9lKVZcV0MuD18Dwwii7ReNs95tTWZHdzXeufKY/s0/tigers-c.gif" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz-mtMXNLlbVvaafCgOtEv9L-gIEiX-wqJKsUf4SF5xWsumdQnX4tUCTDY-ganO8ZHQ9HjgNs9xuv4mG0AO89H_jZqjxhemjVo_bTi0L9lKVZcV0MuD18Dwwii7ReNs95tTWZHdzXeufKY/s0/tigers-c.gif"/></a></div>
<p>
the window is as high as the sky.
<p>
there is a sliver of moon in the sky.
<p>
but it is hidden behind the clouds.
<p>
the clouds in the dark blue night.
<p>
you listen, but you hear nothing.
<p>
not even a lonesome whistle.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZr-3Nhkc_3vESilVEab2AHGoVA2Xon44xA8kYwjoqtOxNk_cfM31RRyo3Bqr2WjAihDhbr4rqYKq-TASfO4Pdil0XUoSKF4tCldQI6GpUXDIfkfTuk7N42UoPRssJ5z1RznZQpiiNiRyM/s0/tigers-d.gif" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZr-3Nhkc_3vESilVEab2AHGoVA2Xon44xA8kYwjoqtOxNk_cfM31RRyo3Bqr2WjAihDhbr4rqYKq-TASfO4Pdil0XUoSKF4tCldQI6GpUXDIfkfTuk7N42UoPRssJ5z1RznZQpiiNiRyM/s0/tigers-d.gif"/></a></div>
<p>
or the sound of tires in the rain.
<p>
because it is not raining.
<p>
it has not rained for a long time.</font
<p>
<br>
</td></tr></table></center>
<br>
</td></tr></table>
timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-62656074831103427232021-01-12T04:23:00.000-08:002021-01-12T04:23:12.978-08:00in the wind
<br>
<table bgcolor = "green" width = 550><tr><td>
<br>
<center><table bgcolor = "white" width = 520><tr><td>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMUiOZiMvQ4Ta11fun1iq4JgnF9aqHzT_myGJVv-F2Nd3z4ChU_-W2Lt-Qbw7ROKZUj8G9oKbm1hk7asp4Cg1T6Lb-mI5wMn1herAq3k6iCkbM6oDsK-D1ozf3J0pZY893EvCC7NBbG7DX/s0/in+the+wind+-+a.gif" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMUiOZiMvQ4Ta11fun1iq4JgnF9aqHzT_myGJVv-F2Nd3z4ChU_-W2Lt-Qbw7ROKZUj8G9oKbm1hk7asp4Cg1T6Lb-mI5wMn1herAq3k6iCkbM6oDsK-D1ozf3J0pZY893EvCC7NBbG7DX/s0/in+the+wind+-+a.gif"/></a></div>
<p>
<font color = "navy">american dog<br>
waiting on windy corner<br>
where is my old friend?
<p>
american bum<br>
standing in coffee shop door<br>
i need a new friend
<p>
no more sable coats<br>
or nights at the opera<br>
for you or for me
<p>
right and proper, sir<br>
perfect room temperature<br>
the way you like it
<p>
a good martini<br>
like a good faithful puppy<br>
should not disappoint
<p>
but my dear fellow<br>
you expect me to believe<br>
you have no old friends
<p>
when i was your age<br>
i had conquered the old world<br>
and threatened the new
<p>
but now all is lost<br>
in the american night<br>
on the gray sidewalk
<p>
in the rain, the rain<br>
outside on the gray sidewalk<br>
where are my old friends?</font>
<p>
<br>
</td></tr></table></center>
<br>
</td></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-29096547263325227082018-09-10T06:34:00.000-07:002018-09-10T06:34:12.508-07:00weary<br>
<table bgcolor = "silver" width = 480><tr><td>
<br>
<center><table bgcolor = "white" width = 460><tr><td>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLyUXtmE9duGlLPgyvDY-UfkYozaKg4t6uh926eJ06bbx7kc7o0JqK9g933nKpDSPSIHyyFCO4gDhSV-xGJyYJZ5d2SphbMg0aTZLhhFgENQmqQvjU08m9J5NfLqkaFmLOarQKsvYkXsY/s1600/weary.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLyUXtmE9duGlLPgyvDY-UfkYozaKg4t6uh926eJ06bbx7kc7o0JqK9g933nKpDSPSIHyyFCO4gDhSV-xGJyYJZ5d2SphbMg0aTZLhhFgENQmqQvjU08m9J5NfLqkaFmLOarQKsvYkXsY/s1600/weary.gif" data-original-width="240" data-original-height="240" /></a></div>
<p>
<font color = "navy">as i walked through the wind and rain<br>
beneath the elevated train<br>
i heard the buildings laugh and the trashcans snicker<br>
of mercy's light i saw not a flicker
<p>
the wind was playing a sad sad song<br>
but the rain just wouldn't go along<br>
it tried to pick up a happy beat<br>
as it squished into my weary feet
<p>
violin music far away<br>
further and further away<br>
i'd like to sit down on the sidewalk<br>
and just listen to them play
<p>
as i soon as i sit on the cold concrete<br>
to rest my weary brain and feet<br>
my dreams rise up like dragons<br>
and memories circle my wagons</font>
<p>
<br>
</td></tr></table></center>
<br>
</td></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-52824462734613520732018-09-09T17:27:00.001-07:002018-09-09T17:27:16.814-07:00sad<br>
<table bgcolor = "purple" width = 480><tr><td>
<br>
<center><table bgcolor = "white" width = 460><tr><td>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSmgv0_QkaHc791EsWHjKhd2LuJT0wzSauNNM_5y7DITJ5B0u-zOjBqH4ZVKkROijJbs1Ibpwbbc50S-f48Q2sGozLcr6gJa1xJQWkX-jg6a3TjR7G9ve9atNlqtRIBTC2pztWM6TAWiA/s1600/sad-poem.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSmgv0_QkaHc791EsWHjKhd2LuJT0wzSauNNM_5y7DITJ5B0u-zOjBqH4ZVKkROijJbs1Ibpwbbc50S-f48Q2sGozLcr6gJa1xJQWkX-jg6a3TjR7G9ve9atNlqtRIBTC2pztWM6TAWiA/s1600/sad-poem.gif" data-original-width="240" data-original-height="480" /></a></div>
<br>
<font color = "navy">life is sad<br>
people are bad<br>
time rolls on<br>
like a ball on a lawn
<p>
billboard smiles<br>
walk for miles<br>
sky turns gray<br>
birds fly away
<p>
night is falling<br>
emptiness calling<br>
drops of rain<br>
feel no pain
<p>
life is sad<br>
people are bad<br>
bus blows past<br>
shotgun blast
<p>
whirling sky<br>
who was i?<br>
end of the line<br>
pal of mine</font>
<p>
<br>
</td></tr></table></center>
<br>
</td></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-90361498931624842692018-04-26T04:19:00.000-07:002018-04-26T04:19:27.899-07:00a walk in the rain<br>
<table bgcolor = "aqua" width = 540><tr><td>
<br>
<center><table bgcolor = "white" width = 520><tr><td>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPY3375fPKvUHdjH_UOqwAdPWDOcj9vm44kQyD3lcxPtY3oW5F1ODRqUrLmE97z-LQf362zFZ8oEuSdgqpoGJ3U0UMRXr0uYksHfjWNTH0kUQ5WeRG0ocA5gUUw_R3u3j8-7tU8Jcy4pXz/s1600/walk+in+te+rain+-+a.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPY3375fPKvUHdjH_UOqwAdPWDOcj9vm44kQyD3lcxPtY3oW5F1ODRqUrLmE97z-LQf362zFZ8oEuSdgqpoGJ3U0UMRXr0uYksHfjWNTH0kUQ5WeRG0ocA5gUUw_R3u3j8-7tU8Jcy4pXz/s1600/walk+in+te+rain+-+a.gif" data-original-width="240" data-original-height="240" /></a></div>
<br>
<font color = "navy">i decided to do something different<br>
and went for a walk in the rain<br>
and looked for signs in puddles<br>
the mystery of life to explain
<p>
i met a cat with a serious face<br>
and a dog that was wagging its tail<br>
they passed me by with a look in their eye<br>
that said wisdom was not for sale
<p>
i passed a bag lady drinking a fanta<br>
with the daily news spread on her head<br>
a taxi splashed me with muddy water<br>
i wished i was home in bed
<p>
<center>i entered a store of convenience<br>
a lottery ticket to buy<br>
the drawing was not until tuesday<br>
i returned to the street with a sigh
<p>
i saw a man in a doorway<br>
and thought i knew his name<br>
but i passed him by without asking<br>
he might know my secret shame
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV2AeecGNdOkBYzyMoWcoWu8gG2WBcXrFPPaHUuAfjhj51eko0YC8aQTDzj5v0bJ-EWMgudWvVMFcRikCXeQMgNUug8mStQPM5SppvcGVSkOLiif5FvNO7Gwi3q8rwyuVdH2PrfwHd6ExV/s1600/walk+in+the+rain+-+b.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV2AeecGNdOkBYzyMoWcoWu8gG2WBcXrFPPaHUuAfjhj51eko0YC8aQTDzj5v0bJ-EWMgudWvVMFcRikCXeQMgNUug8mStQPM5SppvcGVSkOLiif5FvNO7Gwi3q8rwyuVdH2PrfwHd6ExV/s1600/walk+in+the+rain+-+b.gif" data-original-width="240" data-original-height="240" /></a></div>
<p>
i wish it would rain forever<br>
and nothing ever get dry<br>
i would meet myself at the river<br>
and look myself in the eye</center></font>
<p>
<br>
</td></tr></table></center>
<br>
</td></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-70075785523730883842018-04-18T06:18:00.001-07:002018-04-18T06:18:43.829-07:00i already saw this movie more than once<br>
<table bgcolor = "green" width = 540><tr><td>
<br>
<center><table bgcolor = "white" width = 500><tr><td>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuhYJPGEJlN4jSWZ7DmfXU2CNvI9YOO-YDdT7Rv29MFPT2SNtjrh4TnzL1Z0SlMpBTkJZ6CeDbbTSfWdjIaX4z-Ys6T9ieh-tERw56IpU3Lu7CHmc-K9QGqTfSsTur3EJtTPfvPGcMAmM/s1600/i+already+-+a.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height = "420" width = "210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuhYJPGEJlN4jSWZ7DmfXU2CNvI9YOO-YDdT7Rv29MFPT2SNtjrh4TnzL1Z0SlMpBTkJZ6CeDbbTSfWdjIaX4z-Ys6T9ieh-tERw56IpU3Lu7CHmc-K9QGqTfSsTur3EJtTPfvPGcMAmM/s1600/i+already+-+a.gif" data-original-width="200" data-original-height="400" /></a></div>
<br>
<font color = "navy">i have walked this way before<br>
likewise, seen that moonlit shore<br>
this deserted garden looks familiar<br>
and oh those distant hills, yeah
<p>
it’s a dirty shame<br>
but it all looks the same<br>
every night i return<br>
to this street but never learn
<p>
who is looking down on me<br>
from that bridge above the sea<br>
from that ship in the night<br>
as it floats away from sight
<p>
and the light that briefly shines<br>
through the lonesome pines<br>
as the car runs out of gas<br>
yes, this way we all must pass
<p>
and the house on the hill<br>
i should get there, but never will<br>
i walk and walk and walk<br>
there are no numbers on the clock</font>
<p>
<br>
</td></tr></table></center>
<br>
</td></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-68945093765115472102018-04-10T06:03:00.001-07:002018-04-10T06:03:52.491-07:00sandwich<br>
<table bgcolor = "black" width = 480><tr><td>
<br>
<center><table bgcolor = "white" width = 460><tr><td>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqmNz1o_Nsttq4FTXGCce-ixvLlaW2Dzit_bhGzh92Gh-FAmhrRLRX7E3vB9VWNOUlvlVTUZTS4a0O-Hnbv6k1dZlXi154aXqGh74YD1TkWfzitUgUSHx7ibxto6hFQER5xkzVGIqfNeg/s1600/sandwich-a.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqmNz1o_Nsttq4FTXGCce-ixvLlaW2Dzit_bhGzh92Gh-FAmhrRLRX7E3vB9VWNOUlvlVTUZTS4a0O-Hnbv6k1dZlXi154aXqGh74YD1TkWfzitUgUSHx7ibxto6hFQER5xkzVGIqfNeg/s1600/sandwich-a.gif" data-original-width="200" data-original-height="440" /></a></div>
<br>
<br>
<font color = "navy">i was walking<br>
because i wanted a sandwich
<p>
not an apple or an orange<br>
or a soft drink
<p>
but a sandwich<br>
i kept on walking
<p>
block after block<br>
even though i knew
<p>
i had to get back<br>
to the conference
<p>
the blocks were long<br>
and filled with people
<p>
people different from me<br>
wearing white t shirts and wifebeaters
<p>
and speaking a different language<br>
they were not hostile
<p>
they just ignored me<br>
it was getting dark
<p>
there were stores<br>
that sold fruit and vegetables and scratch cards
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheEBJ0zixYoLLXZsaow_qR7mcL-XNOBDxXwcbycqJm1z_zS6gMPMFtQKGJJB-Iud-m9N7yuahem49u-wZNIgE83yo7IhZicXKqSaSS8WVC4dJsLKfohtrNLrHwUw9XYopSJYmjN3ZkTvA/s1600/sandwich+-+b.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheEBJ0zixYoLLXZsaow_qR7mcL-XNOBDxXwcbycqJm1z_zS6gMPMFtQKGJJB-Iud-m9N7yuahem49u-wZNIgE83yo7IhZicXKqSaSS8WVC4dJsLKfohtrNLrHwUw9XYopSJYmjN3ZkTvA/s1600/sandwich+-+b.gif" data-original-width="200" data-original-height="440" /></a></div>
<br>
and coke and moxie and fanta<br>
but no sandwiches
<p>
i wanted a sandwich<br>
there were no cafes or sub shops
<p>
one little place had books<br>
tom swift and hardy boy books
<p>
but no sandwiches<br>
if i kept on walking
<p>
i would end up in yonkers<br>
or in albany
<p>
i wanted a sandwich so bad<br>
but i had to get back
<p>
to the conference<br>
before it got completely dark
<p>
l am so unhappy<br>
nobody likes me
<p>
this is the story of my life<br>
life is so unfair
<p>
i told this dream to nellie<br>
and she said
<p>
“why didn’t you just go into one of the little stores<br>
and ask them to make you a sandwich?”</font>
<p>
</td></tr></table></center>
<br>
</td></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-82810577317489902362018-04-02T06:53:00.000-07:002018-04-02T06:53:32.394-07:00joe<br>
<table bgcolor = "lime" width = 480><tr><td>
<br>
<center><table bgcolor = "white" width = 460><tr><td>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik1EL4dPcOhovQW8Mqmipe2cW70xgnYtQmzrW2gPJXj9TnsuGogCirN5Nny7ypuJWBiOKP3TlRaUceEja8HXukCaMjYM3WJ7otoUl5wUgx7dNRQshiDrqwJTvUVw3sP0v7oSrJSjihc_8/s1600/joe-a.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik1EL4dPcOhovQW8Mqmipe2cW70xgnYtQmzrW2gPJXj9TnsuGogCirN5Nny7ypuJWBiOKP3TlRaUceEja8HXukCaMjYM3WJ7otoUl5wUgx7dNRQshiDrqwJTvUVw3sP0v7oSrJSjihc_8/s1600/joe-a.gif" data-original-width="200" data-original-height="400" /></a></div>
<br>
<br>
<font color = "navy"></font>time is a dog named joe<br>
and i am a ball<br>
in joe’s mouth
<p>
he is running away<br>
out of the park<br>
and down the street
<p>
i shout<br>
come back, joe
<p>
but he doesn’t come back
<p>
he runs across the street
<p>
into the traffic<br>
and gets hit by a bus
<p>
he always was a bad dog
<p>
</td></tr></table></center>
<br>
</td></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-76821203502688006442017-12-21T08:47:00.000-08:002017-12-21T08:47:24.293-08:00jenny<br>
<table bgcolor = "blue" width = 500><tr><td>
<br>
<center><table bgcolor = "white" width = 480><tr><td>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ckHWgrlb68iKt4N9Qpq4sjeYZkhKpdQPVitUmNw0Q0664FZZejn7h4MfP3P9DecURm12O5n5JtuT7lZg5MhgCEjQLlOndj9YAjioFP8UbOVqLazMM_tEAstCA_lqcU_KE-hr1DHboX0/s1600/jenny-a.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" width = "216" height = "360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ckHWgrlb68iKt4N9Qpq4sjeYZkhKpdQPVitUmNw0Q0664FZZejn7h4MfP3P9DecURm12O5n5JtuT7lZg5MhgCEjQLlOndj9YAjioFP8UbOVqLazMM_tEAstCA_lqcU_KE-hr1DHboX0/s1600/jenny-a.gif" data-original-width="240" data-original-height="400" /></a></div>
<br>
<br>
<font color = "navy">jenny was a girl<br>
who lived on a hill<br>
i loved her once<br>
and i always will
<p>
i loved her like a river<br>
a river so deep<br>
“stop following me,<br>
you disgusting creep”
<p>
jenny was a girl<br>
who disappeared in the mist<br>
went to the city<br>
and became a feminist
<p>
love is a street<br>
than can run one way<br>
but it still burns bright<br>
no matter what they say
<p>
<br>
<center>i look at the sunset<br>
and the midnight sky<br>
i will always love jenny<br>
until the day i die
<p>
i loved jenny<br>
but she didn’t love me<br>
that is just the way<br>
it was meant to be
<p>
i wrote this poem<br>
from the heart<br>
is it a “good” poem?<br>
- don’t start</center></font>
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49TfNp_pqhUPvHQzbL2eur4sMtcNoPWKguQ2zTkI-wIOW7N-DW7eMr4P1SRDDJ9zqaKsaWiCkvzCwG1diJYog_CdShV0cex0iqWq_d6SRXeyGzUaUzRmdCwx52LATa5UDlw6pef-nMKw/s1600/jenny-b.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi49TfNp_pqhUPvHQzbL2eur4sMtcNoPWKguQ2zTkI-wIOW7N-DW7eMr4P1SRDDJ9zqaKsaWiCkvzCwG1diJYog_CdShV0cex0iqWq_d6SRXeyGzUaUzRmdCwx52LATa5UDlw6pef-nMKw/s1600/jenny-b.gif" data-original-width="240" data-original-height="240" /></a></div>
<br>
</td></tr></table></center>
<br>
</td></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-40894340428877307372017-05-16T12:31:00.003-07:002017-12-21T08:31:21.782-08:00a sad case<br>
<table bgcolor = "aqua" width = 500><tr><td>
<br>
<center><table bgcolor = "white" width = 480><tr><td>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji8vFVGFFZxKphZP0hRIoPVZGVb-Ky1SShc4XbK5hm6wAPd49AXWhVors-Y-n_-r4Jy0TdwCUpYNazKwBI1cth-SnO47YjxYI1h81W84mM5RBY_hE5CM7ch2o6qxCTU9SD6TaXW70K0Oc/s1600/sad+case-a.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji8vFVGFFZxKphZP0hRIoPVZGVb-Ky1SShc4XbK5hm6wAPd49AXWhVors-Y-n_-r4Jy0TdwCUpYNazKwBI1cth-SnO47YjxYI1h81W84mM5RBY_hE5CM7ch2o6qxCTU9SD6TaXW70K0Oc/s1600/sad+case-a.gif" /></a></div>
<br>
<br>
<font color = "navy">
<p>long ago and far away<br>
i had nothing much to say<br>
my head was largely void of thought<br>
and ambition i had not
<p>
i cared not for wealth or fame<br>
or whether anyone knew my name<br>
my brain was not consumed by fire<br>
i had only one desire
<p>
and that was never to be tossed<br>
with all the other damned and lost<br>
into society’s swirling deep<br>
and have to - earn my keep
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRnUvl95re9DgAJUKkF_v6zFkpwyQPp8lYf4QhFpl_JMO2pEdGyREv9o5LgKoiGS8H0dcvAvDZaIGDxEs6QUd7GrZQeT4TVLQ8zYOVR3bVXgtDFwmxvMFhGP0Bzf68QxjIMRrgqHT7GqE/s1600/sad+case+-+b.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRnUvl95re9DgAJUKkF_v6zFkpwyQPp8lYf4QhFpl_JMO2pEdGyREv9o5LgKoiGS8H0dcvAvDZaIGDxEs6QUd7GrZQeT4TVLQ8zYOVR3bVXgtDFwmxvMFhGP0Bzf68QxjIMRrgqHT7GqE/s1600/sad+case+-+b.gif" /></a></div>
<p>
o my fellows, can you say<br>
who invented the working day?<br>
who put chains upon our souls<br>
and cast us in these rigid roles
<p>
i should have lived on grass and seeds<br>
hidden in society’s weeds<br>
slept in benches, or in a box<br>
rather than endure the pox
<p>
of rising every day at six<br>
to perform employment’s tricks <br>
in a cage of glass and steel <br>
lashed to mammon’s iron wheel
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaUN_nTMo6quovGvE85XHBHXijYUv_1urZd1T9vtndSk5oT6wmR90vIVh5xSjAP_NoczJ6AmOBToWY5Y1T9lKzYjEkI4bk1rPMVHi09rH8p5CisIlFEKOYQhToOXf8Dv5GxBOL3GC9FeQ/s1600/sad+case+-+c.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaUN_nTMo6quovGvE85XHBHXijYUv_1urZd1T9vtndSk5oT6wmR90vIVh5xSjAP_NoczJ6AmOBToWY5Y1T9lKzYjEkI4bk1rPMVHi09rH8p5CisIlFEKOYQhToOXf8Dv5GxBOL3GC9FeQ/s1600/sad+case+-+c.gif" /></a></div>
<p>
the wheel once started, how to stop?<br>
turn, turn, until you drop<br>
like a feather into the abyss<br>
was there something that i missed?
<br>
</font>
<br>
</td></tr></table></center>
<br>
</td></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-1690387636065588192017-03-25T06:44:00.000-07:002017-03-25T06:44:13.011-07:00white<br>
<table bgcolor = "aqua" width = 500><tr><td>
<br>
<center><table bgcolor = "white" width = 480><tr><td>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Y2dyZ_JMiAjrM28TOjpzBJeVddn4hoDB9RomIZeuZOxA3hW0lcz8xe-8a-9RCIsem73Fnm_uRJkWhBkPhOfoNyckqt7j4cul9rr95s4bUMYeaNKhZSLFd7DKSAAv2mNZhrwPBPn2p6k/s1600/white-a.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height = "240" width = "240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Y2dyZ_JMiAjrM28TOjpzBJeVddn4hoDB9RomIZeuZOxA3hW0lcz8xe-8a-9RCIsem73Fnm_uRJkWhBkPhOfoNyckqt7j4cul9rr95s4bUMYeaNKhZSLFd7DKSAAv2mNZhrwPBPn2p6k/s1600/white-a.gif" /></a></div>
<br>
<font color = "navy">last night i played chess with my brother<br>
he always played white
<p>
he could never understand<br>
why he should not always play white
<p>
he had one oreo cookie left on the board<br>
and i only had a chocolate chip cookie left
<p>
he asked if i conceded <br>
and i did
<p>
he suggested another game<br>
and i agreed, if i could play white
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRLgncssBhftg_bzW3OnV9pJsXr-bvIjirT5eh6QPhdeXBEE3TsEArvR5_jBztgxZK6UZnE5FILLSKoVK0f6tLc4NsPBlLjV7B9Vq7s-4sg6TUe5rMYBgdNqbXrF9dWqkprruXWOqfu34/s1600/white-c.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRLgncssBhftg_bzW3OnV9pJsXr-bvIjirT5eh6QPhdeXBEE3TsEArvR5_jBztgxZK6UZnE5FILLSKoVK0f6tLc4NsPBlLjV7B9Vq7s-4sg6TUe5rMYBgdNqbXrF9dWqkprruXWOqfu34/s1600/white-c.gif" /></a></div>
<p>
he got up angrily and left the room
<p>
outside, the red sox were playing the giants<br>
and a plane flew low overhead
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTIcjv2Dh5ujgQiO-bW6aFDd9NXCpRslHLF3B73q0yyTg0o9s5SQgwUIBhqnhCyKri3_rTC19kaEAz0S2VOQ9zVobQbhv7fKXPq0ccmIbWQRNFwex-X1gvpM9uDliLtJcBtbxZcVmBlHo/s1600/white-b.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0"height = "240" width = "240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTIcjv2Dh5ujgQiO-bW6aFDd9NXCpRslHLF3B73q0yyTg0o9s5SQgwUIBhqnhCyKri3_rTC19kaEAz0S2VOQ9zVobQbhv7fKXPq0ccmIbWQRNFwex-X1gvpM9uDliLtJcBtbxZcVmBlHo/s1600/white-b.gif" /></a></div>
<p>
under a few thin clouds
<p>
i wondered why i had returned to san francisco<br>
as it had changed so much from the days of ambrose bierce and jack london</font>
<p>
<br>
</td></tr></table></center>
<br>
</ttd></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-1263786449495413582016-09-08T09:15:00.000-07:002016-09-08T09:15:07.235-07:00daniel boone<br>
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<center><table bgcolor = "white" width = 480><tr><td>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVocgtMaCF4Qc3obxGTZMsxEj7ZyQCj1SiC5SxBVVapPCDKrLgF8HFNd4QKPE-_8cr3X31vYsxK42mgWRnMT0b3QzMl9oJPCS-WCpBzCI4LoexMzi1oThXLJ-QobuqpX7I1vR7is1YwsE/s1600/boone-a.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height = "340" width = "240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVocgtMaCF4Qc3obxGTZMsxEj7ZyQCj1SiC5SxBVVapPCDKrLgF8HFNd4QKPE-_8cr3X31vYsxK42mgWRnMT0b3QzMl9oJPCS-WCpBzCI4LoexMzi1oThXLJ-QobuqpX7I1vR7is1YwsE/s1600/boone-a.gif" /></a></div>
<br>
<font color = "navy">daniel boone was a mighty man<br>
a mighty man was he<br>
he carried a long long rifle<br>
and slept beneath a tree
<p>
daniel was not as one man<br>
but had the strength of ten<br>
he marched all through the wilderness<br>
and marched back out again
<p>
some say he never did the things<br>
that he was said to do<br>
but i believe he did them<br>
because his heart was true
<p>
daniel boone killed indians<br>
like you and me kill flies<br>
who knows what scenes of hate and death<br>
passed before his eyes</font>
<p>
<br>
</td></tr></table></center>
<br>
</ttd></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-72358536083146851562016-09-07T09:06:00.000-07:002016-09-07T09:06:50.025-07:00benjamin harrison<br>
<table bgcolor = "#89ca9d" width = 440><tr><td>
<br>
<center><table bgcolor = "white" width = 420><tr><td>
<br>
<font color = "navy">spencer perceval was prime minister of england<br>
but nobody knew who he was
<p>
benjamin harrison was president of the united states<br>
but nobody knew who he was
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQRgbBRPKNAQXk80N4GBuCADiZizsWMoj_RLIDR8hblGjnbnEnk0tFrhRKwm8YSTNPKOqCRacOXnKXRWa-2F4B6Us3G_swl_IGWRLAhQwdPeoMe-XQg-Uo2aFsCevmXwomR75MN1m80U/s1600/bj-a.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height = "240" width = "240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQRgbBRPKNAQXk80N4GBuCADiZizsWMoj_RLIDR8hblGjnbnEnk0tFrhRKwm8YSTNPKOqCRacOXnKXRWa-2F4B6Us3G_swl_IGWRLAhQwdPeoMe-XQg-Uo2aFsCevmXwomR75MN1m80U/s1600/bj-a.gif" /></a></div>
<p>
they were pious men who knew their bible<br>
and took their responsibilities seriously
<p>
sometimes benjamin harrison would get up<br>
and look out the window at the white house lawn
<p>
and think, i am president of the united states<br>
but nobody knows who i am
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3aiucYWz9bAOUPOohi2Q1dIiNsis5rgaiZhFv5tN1cfS5sX1wDrEh4e1WCcDPg_y0lFzyruiwf9d02arzi7Laa-BKzhPK6fzzL1bvfDg5hn_c0kq4AvtlUQJz9oe3jovuu9qRtrQvhA/s1600/bj-b.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0"height = "240" width = "240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3aiucYWz9bAOUPOohi2Q1dIiNsis5rgaiZhFv5tN1cfS5sX1wDrEh4e1WCcDPg_y0lFzyruiwf9d02arzi7Laa-BKzhPK6fzzL1bvfDg5hn_c0kq4AvtlUQJz9oe3jovuu9qRtrQvhA/s1600/bj-b.gif" /></a></div>
<p>
sometimes i think i am just like benjamin harrison<br>
and i am not even president of the united states</font>
<p>
<br>
</td></tr></table></center>
<br>
</td></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-6882270607010734042016-03-07T14:47:00.000-08:002016-10-06T06:25:34.734-07:00jerry the human and spot the dog, part 4<br>
<font color = "black"> for previous episode, click <a href = "http://allhumansarethesame.blogspot.com/2009/10/jerry-human-and-spot-dog-part-3.html "><font color = "red"> here </font></a></font>
<br>
<br>
<font color = "black"> to begin at the beginning, click <a href = "http://allhumansarethesame.blogspot.com/2009/09/jerry-human-and-spot-dog-part-1.html "><font color = "blue"> here </font></a></font>
<br>
<br>
<table bgcolor = "red" width = 520><tr><td>
<br />
<center><table bgcolor = "white" width = 504><tr><td>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPyuQvBm91QkkLXckxuD98QamB_QZ4HKzQGVBIKBHXMNA4sfeUD_ylc6Hng8ku40DIf5ksoGLMryVPCY7dJ4OJmC0g7VqUdxpUHoxgQATivyNl38Iz3_vQTU_2WUOre3w18gQuwt0vfEA/s1600/jerry-4-a.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height = "240" width = "240"src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPyuQvBm91QkkLXckxuD98QamB_QZ4HKzQGVBIKBHXMNA4sfeUD_ylc6Hng8ku40DIf5ksoGLMryVPCY7dJ4OJmC0g7VqUdxpUHoxgQATivyNl38Iz3_vQTU_2WUOre3w18gQuwt0vfEA/s1600/jerry-4-a.gif" /></a></div>
<br /><br>
<font color = "navy">as we previously mentioned, jerry was descended from many other humans.
<p>
how many, he couldn't say. determining exactly how many was difficult. few humans cared to investigate the subject, or found it interesting.
<p>
at first glance, the math was easy. each person had two parents, therefore four grandparents, eight great grandparents, sixteen great great grandparents, etc. so by this math every person is descended from about 1,500,000,000,000,000,000 persons after sixty generations.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0HUqQZ827spjKHH7E1iRHI5XyKBi3s9Moo8YbS6mgLfmwZq4045bVyqYZ52JuNdJrsZTSDGOkG0MwXdC0huoHoe_BTwEkokSveuMo9Rx5WR9mpTZffL4qy4hvLTtXQBH-YCZ7wXhcaAg/s1600/jerry-4-b.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0"height = "240" width = "240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0HUqQZ827spjKHH7E1iRHI5XyKBi3s9Moo8YbS6mgLfmwZq4045bVyqYZ52JuNdJrsZTSDGOkG0MwXdC0huoHoe_BTwEkokSveuMo9Rx5WR9mpTZffL4qy4hvLTtXQBH-YCZ7wXhcaAg/s1600/jerry-4-b.gif" /></a></div>
<br>
this is obviously untrue as there have never been so many people.
<p>
in jerry's time he could have gone to a library and found books which would have told him that therefore every person alive in his day was descended from every person alive sixty generations (twenty centuries) ago. but obviously this can not be true either. they might be <i>related</i> to every person alive then, but they can't be <i>descended</i> from them all because many people live and die with no descendants.
<p>
and many others leave descendants but their "line" dies out when their descendants leave none. and the "line", once broken, is never picked up. and nobody can be descended from a person who has no descendants.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-JYIBJkFeVnqqJEaMiMPhqMR8NwD1MyZfjEizOxe7SvNjY4hvQN_pOiB3QkVIDT4DquPLuz5u7Twh97SHQz-yw7CVM14q_Naf0UOfS-JTF_pXekoP2E2nnkUi7FeMhyvSaf0T_jyiC8/s1600/jerry-4-c.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0"height = "240" width = "240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-JYIBJkFeVnqqJEaMiMPhqMR8NwD1MyZfjEizOxe7SvNjY4hvQN_pOiB3QkVIDT4DquPLuz5u7Twh97SHQz-yw7CVM14q_Naf0UOfS-JTF_pXekoP2E2nnkUi7FeMhyvSaf0T_jyiC8/s1600/jerry-4-c.gif" /></a></div>
<br>
because it is possible. though unlikely, that one person could be descended from another after sixty generations but only inherit 1/1,500,000,000,000,000,000th of their "genes".
<p>
there must have been a lot of people at the time of john the baptist or nero who are the “ancestors” of an awful lot of people walking the earth today. or - maybe there are only a few of them.
<p>
and what about pockets of “primitive” people who hardly had any contact with the “outside world” until the 19th or 20th century?
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiVA2NL5tAzXzuzSjZeOpZuDi3iPfctmbhZ7UkGOvgoSm908dhSjQ2DPxco1sqpQGbdEpC1J3kTgr8ZxHXrcMJLWI7LI9ppmpExsgHIy3eapvDsyqBpP-Cv3h-cWum1nPiI3828fMjah8/s1600/jerry-4-d.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0""height = "240" width = "240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiVA2NL5tAzXzuzSjZeOpZuDi3iPfctmbhZ7UkGOvgoSm908dhSjQ2DPxco1sqpQGbdEpC1J3kTgr8ZxHXrcMJLWI7LI9ppmpExsgHIy3eapvDsyqBpP-Cv3h-cWum1nPiI3828fMjah8/s1600/jerry-4-d.gif" /></a></div>
<br>
take anybody alive today - might there have been only about ten or twenty people at the time of the pharaohs that they are descended from?
<p>
and here is something else - everybody has a string of male descendants - father’s father’s father’s etc - and female descendants - mother’s mother’s mother’s mother - going all the way back to before “homo sapiens”.
<p>
think about it! somewhere in the world (africa?) in the year 3,000,000 b c there was a sort of human who was your father’s father’s father…. and a sort of human female who was your mother’s mother’s mother… did they meet? did they mate? if there was just one little tribe or just a few tribes raiding and fighting each other, maybe they did…
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinFis-tDIUuslIdSSe0pGWtBhSZ27TTMN8Mor6XU7fthqLba9SdPqi7pwU7JMxz69fYhpvUrKHwZ4q7fFkGr-gOdtmAnTs1G8adv047PJRe66bpzzeGBFHfBg6s9ZE4Ye69ROy5YVpcbA/s1600/jerry-4-e.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0"height = "240" width = "240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinFis-tDIUuslIdSSe0pGWtBhSZ27TTMN8Mor6XU7fthqLba9SdPqi7pwU7JMxz69fYhpvUrKHwZ4q7fFkGr-gOdtmAnTs1G8adv047PJRe66bpzzeGBFHfBg6s9ZE4Ye69ROy5YVpcbA/s1600/jerry-4-e.gif" /></a></div>
<br>
jerry would get to thinking about these things and forget where he was.
<p>
“why are you sitting in the dark, jerry?” his grandmother asked him when she got home from work. she had a big brown bag of groceries in her arms.
<p>
“oh — uh — i guess i kind of dozed off.” jerry mumbled.
<p>
“your eyes were wide open,” his grandmother, whose name was pearl, said as she took her coat off. “you must have been thinking about something.”
<p>
jerry started to explain to pearl what he had been thinking about.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg58FxkTFS2AQco_V0Nr8XZnWiY8kXUfor_Ns_ec_9jnk3DltyqU_sHWI0bkpEIyp9d02zW-veGHDZW851nkulDBRq9cJnmQzXiCpVith4uqu7FhTHpwDhWlMm7aCAte_1jdp-qL3KXBvs/s1600/jerry-4-f.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0"height = "240" width = "240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg58FxkTFS2AQco_V0Nr8XZnWiY8kXUfor_Ns_ec_9jnk3DltyqU_sHWI0bkpEIyp9d02zW-veGHDZW851nkulDBRq9cJnmQzXiCpVith4uqu7FhTHpwDhWlMm7aCAte_1jdp-qL3KXBvs/s1600/jerry-4-f.gif" /></a></div>
<br>
“why do you think about stuff like that?” she interrupted him after he went on for about minute and a half.
<p>
“it just interests me.”
<p>
“you shouldn’t be interested in stuff, it’s a waste of time. you should do stuff, that way you make can money and support yourself,” pearl told jerry, in a kindly voice.
<p>
pearl picked up the bag of groceries and headed for the kitchen. “come on, help me make dinner. i got some nice potatoes on sale, you can peel some.”
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsLN092Js2XJnTDro4Kt17a0-C5mMj9jAVlJJ_zpulN-2Ufa4jaxbHv09Yc5nw4YWiButUxwfMXglP6K_LBzzdvHujZhOqVbEMFff0y8_TG8SfnIhl5Kj7vSFD2AKO6TIoc083uwp11Yc/s1600/jerry-4-g.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0"height = "240" width = "240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsLN092Js2XJnTDro4Kt17a0-C5mMj9jAVlJJ_zpulN-2Ufa4jaxbHv09Yc5nw4YWiButUxwfMXglP6K_LBzzdvHujZhOqVbEMFff0y8_TG8SfnIhl5Kj7vSFD2AKO6TIoc083uwp11Yc/s1600/jerry-4-g.gif" /></a></div>
<br>
jerry got up and followed pearl into the kitchen.
<p>
“i hope you like potatoes because we are going to be eating these for at least a week,” said pearl.
<p>
“that’s all right, i am used to potatoes,” jerry told her.
<p>
<center>*</center>
<p>
meanwhile, back at the animal shelter, spot was alone with his thoughts, after a meager dinner of very dry dog food and a little water.
<p>
contrary to jerry’s theories, spot knew very well why he had been put in the shelter and had some very definite views on the subject.
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-lRiGD6bRLJy2AApepMsouOAxJ56j4e2ul9w6_DwN8lxnYhyphenhyphenOywiTrIbv-GuBYLIYntRhUVYgCuL7GbYIM_Xz_NDdRYLvDWfiBDMbiyxcUin3NxFqgd3yHzXuwNrO6kJtlsxHNcG3jPs/s1600/jerry-4-h.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0"height = "240" width = "240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-lRiGD6bRLJy2AApepMsouOAxJ56j4e2ul9w6_DwN8lxnYhyphenhyphenOywiTrIbv-GuBYLIYntRhUVYgCuL7GbYIM_Xz_NDdRYLvDWfiBDMbiyxcUin3NxFqgd3yHzXuwNrO6kJtlsxHNcG3jPs/s1600/jerry-4-h.gif" /></a></div>
<p>
spot knew other things, too. things of which jerry, and the rest of the human race, did not dare to dream.</font>
<p>
<center><font color = "red"> to be continued </font></center>
<br>
</td></tr></table></center>
<br>
</td></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-86828170902718838182015-07-01T10:50:00.000-07:002015-07-01T10:50:17.401-07:00ash<br>
<table bgcolor = "black" width = 460><tr><td>
<br>
<center><table bgcolor = "white" width = 444><tr><td>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUZF4nuwPIf14ZIRboUmB-fOh5vS9Tx5eJBy77TePQAOocmzoXJ3U4BI1vAOyi3Gz0zDSY77iwd88s1bHDPI_JvC3XDjX5XkyIVd3rD-F1134ulvNC4huQc68sdCu0d-Prlfsl2NVpxSE/s1600/volcano-00.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height = "240" width = "240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUZF4nuwPIf14ZIRboUmB-fOh5vS9Tx5eJBy77TePQAOocmzoXJ3U4BI1vAOyi3Gz0zDSY77iwd88s1bHDPI_JvC3XDjX5XkyIVd3rD-F1134ulvNC4huQc68sdCu0d-Prlfsl2NVpxSE/s1600/volcano-00.gif" /></a></div>
<br>
<p>
<font color = "navy"><center>worse than anything that has gone before
<p>
*
<p>
i as no go fu the pogiz ded man - no way
<p>
*
<p>
no mo sef steam
<p>
*
<p>
when they got back to the hideout, they laughed their asses off
<p>
*
<p>
shine the light
<p>
*
<p>
everything is more real after it already happens
<p>
*
<p>
after the other side beat the shit out of him, he had trouble thinking and talking, and his own friends lost interest in him
<p>
*
<p>
he didn’t mind the constipation - that was between him and god - but not fitting into his uniform made him lose his self-esteem
<p>
*
<p>
almost thirty years old - and no war in sight! he wondered if he would ever join the hero’s hall of fame
<p>
*
<p>
now that he was locked up, and would be talking to interrogators instead of to his victims, he would need a new vocabulary
<p>
*
<p>
the guards were not bad guys after you got to know them. they were all perverts too.</center></font>
<p>
*
<p>
<br>
</td></tr></table></center>
<br>
</td></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-65070905354833980652015-07-01T07:59:00.000-07:002015-07-01T07:59:05.899-07:00volcano<br>
<table bgcolor = "orange" width = 460><tr><td>
<br>
<center><table bgcolor = "white" width = 444><tr><td>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdABEhmwH6rqVDCAFHGpnpHBZ9NZF9sQd2BjlJOM6tdPlMR26-Es4kM63e7IZsU3waiyBD_ngIly0jB-kEwJ9HRtu8JDnnmg9_oMmMFvj44qbLZ8sB6-h2CtI5uqFDcobIgwbiABN08hE/s1600/volcano-0.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height = "240" width = "240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdABEhmwH6rqVDCAFHGpnpHBZ9NZF9sQd2BjlJOM6tdPlMR26-Es4kM63e7IZsU3waiyBD_ngIly0jB-kEwJ9HRtu8JDnnmg9_oMmMFvj44qbLZ8sB6-h2CtI5uqFDcobIgwbiABN08hE/s1600/volcano-0.gif" /></a></div>
<br>
<font color = "navy"><center>
somebody tried to talk to me the other day
<p>
*
<p>
quite an experience
<p>
*
<p>
short attention span
<p>
*
<p>
i just like to watch the red sox games and not get too alive
<p>
*
<p>
you know
<p>
*
<p>
jack didn’t like to talk but he was easily enraged
<p>
*
<p>
there was this guy
<p>
*
<p>
when the missionary saw the volcano looming through the mist, his heart began to beat rapidly and he forgot to pray
<p>
*
<p>
that’s a dirty shame
<p>
*
<p>
george brady had mores jokes to tell than any man in the county. you name it, he had a joke about it. where did he get them?
<p>
*
<p>
it all started in the schoolyard
<p>
*
<p>
god was watching, but he wasn’t listening
<p>
*
<p>
even then, when they were just starting out, they specialized
<p>
*
<p>
everybody has their own style - it can’t be learned or unlearned
<p>
*
<p>
speak up, young man
<p>
*</center></font>
<p>
<br>
</td></tr></table></center>
<br>
</td></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-71106391765110192812015-03-25T07:32:00.000-07:002015-03-25T07:32:10.025-07:00like a movie<br>
<table bgcolor = "green" width = 440><tr><td>
<br>
<center><table bgcolor = "white" width = 420><tr><td>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqVGRsZSV6TLB8O5mCLWPSC-t2Pz8epl3zr9GPZQDASrt1vcVXXa3mH6mhZvdKiWNgFWA_YgUjjYTVx-GVCwyipEoNLUXe8woj5MbTt52b69cBWUVJlnGNMblMV0VbUo7bS7ILT8A5My0/s1600/like+a+movie.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqVGRsZSV6TLB8O5mCLWPSC-t2Pz8epl3zr9GPZQDASrt1vcVXXa3mH6mhZvdKiWNgFWA_YgUjjYTVx-GVCwyipEoNLUXe8woj5MbTt52b69cBWUVJlnGNMblMV0VbUo7bS7ILT8A5My0/s1600/like+a+movie.gif" /></a></div>
<br>
<font color = "navy">you know how<br>
it is when
<p>
you just <br>
happen
<p>
to see<br>
somebody
<p>
you know from<br>
a second
<p>
or third floor<br>
window or
<p>
from a bus<br>
window it’s
<p>
like they are<br>
in a movie
<p>
and they don't <br>
see you and
<p>
<br>
<center>they don't know <br>
you see them
<p>
and even<br>
if you don’t
<p>
like them or<br>
forgot them
<p>
and never<br>
want to talk
<p>
to them again<br>
they look so
<p>
sad and lost<br>
and alone
<p>
</font></center>
<p>
<br>
</td></tr></table></center>
<br>
</td></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-86796281465870046032015-02-14T06:46:00.001-08:002015-02-14T06:46:12.406-08:00lunch hour<br>
<table bgcolor = "aqua" width = 520><tr><td>
<br>
<center><table bgcolor = "white" width = 488><tr><td>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUJsl2u5scm_0QHSVl_MXLQrfA1OVaAyjKuTIDrEJGEi4zvsGzNnRFEXyH9iH4V1GoZ4mN51wCW6Lkq7AuE4pbVys4VIaHoQvoyKC3CPX8g6Xc79xaxdlpvzg51M6dNAoLTYatJt_1jM/s1600/lunch-a.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height = "380" width = "190"src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUJsl2u5scm_0QHSVl_MXLQrfA1OVaAyjKuTIDrEJGEi4zvsGzNnRFEXyH9iH4V1GoZ4mN51wCW6Lkq7AuE4pbVys4VIaHoQvoyKC3CPX8g6Xc79xaxdlpvzg51M6dNAoLTYatJt_1jM/s1600/lunch-a.gif" /></a></div>
<br>
<font color = "navy">the maidens who work in the miasma of moloch's malaria<br>
move their feet slowly<br>
and their pocketbooks calmly<br>
in the pure blue afternoon of atlantis
<p>
the flower seller has survived<br>
but the man who sold newspapers (printed on paper) is history<br>
and the shoe shine man has been written out of the history<br>
which has itself been burned in the blast furnace of buck rogers's blueberry pies
<p>
i would like to ask the flower seller<br>
the secret of her enduring fame<br>
but the curtain of caution falls over me like catwoman's caressing camellias<br>
as don fernando tunes his piano for his final performance outside the newly opened panera's
<p>
<br>
someday - very soon<br>
savants will remember panera, and ruby tuesdays, and dunkin donuts<br>
as the flashing emblems and impregnable strongholds<br>
of a lost empire
<p>
and nothing , not even the smiles of aging maidens<br>
opening their pocketbooks to buy flowers in the blue afternoon of betelgeuse<br>
from the last flower vendor in the expanding universe<br>
is so sad as a lost empire</font>
<p>
<br>
</td></tr></table></center>
<br>
</td></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-43995192476641170902015-01-16T08:24:00.001-08:002015-01-16T08:24:54.095-08:00movie poem<br>
<table bgcolor = "green" width = 480><tr><td>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6bDOfq2h23_lohAbPhbfGB-3pNNmbv0cy7RFCCwtWplpzgF7xB7Yz9hWBOn7NE_j6zQDBUBKgw3lQLLE0UxAE2K5G_CDvlu3o36_Z5nF9b9PGmW6qcSBLJx_1BA73w3Znfrq3VP8YVCs/s1600/movie.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6bDOfq2h23_lohAbPhbfGB-3pNNmbv0cy7RFCCwtWplpzgF7xB7Yz9hWBOn7NE_j6zQDBUBKgw3lQLLE0UxAE2K5G_CDvlu3o36_Z5nF9b9PGmW6qcSBLJx_1BA73w3Znfrq3VP8YVCs/s1600/movie.gif" /></a></div>
<br>
<center><table bgcolor = "#ececec" width = 466><tr><td>
<br>
<font color = "navy">life is a <br>
movie, as
<p>
long as you <br>
can buy a
<p>
large diet<br>
pepsi, and
<p>
a big box<br>
of sno caps,
<p>
and find a <br>
seat in the
<p>
darkness, and <br>
get through the
<p>
previews, all<br>
will be well</font>
<p>
<br>
</td></tr></table></center>
<br>
</td></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-29166056503321925942015-01-07T19:20:00.000-08:002015-01-07T19:20:16.958-08:00creation<br>
<table bgcolor = "blue" width = 400><tr><td>
<br>
<center><table bgcolor = "white" width = 390><tr><td>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0YsPZ89FN0ry72lXJjXuSH6tRGUZMgX9cX1hNLD5xdY87gQwkpECaF6-Y8_gk88kHQTKjECoftYaGNQ6hhtW-t9nqp48aAt12LjO089YCMGLoZb54suiYU2By0dumOqa9jTcbn-OZzU4/s1600/creation.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0YsPZ89FN0ry72lXJjXuSH6tRGUZMgX9cX1hNLD5xdY87gQwkpECaF6-Y8_gk88kHQTKjECoftYaGNQ6hhtW-t9nqp48aAt12LjO089YCMGLoZb54suiYU2By0dumOqa9jTcbn-OZzU4/s1600/creation.gif" /></a></div>
<br>
<font color = "navy">i was walking<br>
down the street
<p>
and i saw some<br>
regular people
<p>
just regular people<br>
not famous
<p>
not crazy<br>
nothing in particular
<p>
just regular people<br>
lots of them
<p>
i kept seeing them<br>
they just kept on coming
<p>
young and old<br>
but mostly old
<p>
the world is getting old<br>
that's just a fact
<p>
and i thought<br>
<center>these are just regular people
<p>
regular people<br>
being regular
<p>
i don't know what else<br>
i expected
<p>
but there they were<br>
and are
<p>
they just keep rolling along<br>
and cats and dogs
<p>
and hamsters and tropical fish<br>
and other creatures too
<p>
creation<br>
there you have it, my friend</center></font>
<p>
<br>
</td></tr></table></center>
<br>
</td></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2343814765302893451.post-40584328096203881282013-05-10T06:06:00.000-07:002013-05-10T06:08:18.493-07:00memoir<table bgcolor = "navy" width = 400><tr><td>
<br>
<center><table bgcolor = "white" width = 380><tr><td>
<br>
<font color = "black">i sat on the wall at midnight<br>
watching the tide
<p>
the black waves rolled and swelled<br>
without a trace of foam
<p>
the rain began to fall<br>
like bullets
<p>
one drop, two drops<br>
then a million
<p>
i was never so alone<br>
and never so happy
<p>
and what i now tremble before<br>
i faced without fear</font>
<p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHLihkENuBk3cfwgNM2tXL5heXF3E5_IT3o84ewIkUVOUAm8oB2cw5chROlCpvV80ZFtr_3hVDT8HJSpO93da_2kOW1a3yyZxSYURy0u_Tt6ZscT_DQ0mqIrBSqbvwpOh12DiTBtGrwYM/s1600/memoir.gif" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" width = "360" height= "270"src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHLihkENuBk3cfwgNM2tXL5heXF3E5_IT3o84ewIkUVOUAm8oB2cw5chROlCpvV80ZFtr_3hVDT8HJSpO93da_2kOW1a3yyZxSYURy0u_Tt6ZscT_DQ0mqIrBSqbvwpOh12DiTBtGrwYM/s320/memoir.gif" /></a></div>
<br>
</td></tr></table></center>
<br>
</td></tr></table>timmyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03913219403302733490noreply@blogger.com0