I have decided to start writing in this blog on a regular basis. Today I am hungover. I have not watched the News yet so I really don't know what is happening in the world, but I will take a wild guess and say murder, war and health care.
Anywhoo I don't have much to say but soon enough I am sure I will have entirely too much to say.

Tejun

It's been a long time.

Laptop Steering Wheel Desk
http://www.amazon.com/Mobile-Office-WM-01-Laptop-Steering/dp/B000IZGIA8/...

It was very funny to me.
This Customer Reviews seem to be available for language study.

And I am looking forward to read "Ganeration A" book review carefully^2.

Thanks!

See you later

I was captivated by the beat I've heard in Ghana. I read it in numerous custom essays months ago, but I would never thought that knowing it is different from hearing it.

My brother and I visited this African country because we wanted to explore our roots; our father grew up in this land. Both of us are also aware of the custom research papers that mention Ghana as a departure point for African slaves centuries ago. However, during our recent visit, my brother and I learned that music is part of the Ghanians' lives.

It's been a while since I've written in this book of mine
got no reason to shine, not today, not now, with the sky grey.
The liquor I consume just goes through my blood like turpentine
got a morning hang over worthy of martyrdom.
Please, I ask the morning light, for a piece of knowledge,
some way of knowing if you are ok in your new world you live in.
oh how I remember the days where we just held each other,
in arms locked tight around each others, oh my, how much love we had.

Before I knew what had happened, I'd turned into that man
that I swore I'd never be, my love, but that inner monster ate
away at my best intentions; it took a month for me to see the fail
I had invested as a daily routine, even the foggy mirror
couldn't justify a reason to me for waking up any longer
not now, not with you gone more than a foot from me.

I heard from a friend of a friend, through the grape vine
that you had bought a ticket for a plane to travel

http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/eng/itay_talgam_lead_like_the_great_conduc...

Let us just say there was a luge at the party.

A big slab of ice, carved into, to make a path for the slaloming-flavored-alcohols.

And I woke up and had a premonition that I knew what I had done before I did it but didn’t

know what I had done after I did it.

So my girlfriend watched me wake slowly and it felt like I was in the hospital, with that same

sympathetic concern seen in her eyes.

But right on the eight-hundred dollar rug was a piece of waxy shit every three feet for eight

times.

There was two chunks on the front steps and on my clothes.

My good sweatshirt, my good shirt, my only black pants.

My other grey ones were already shitted to death.

And I knew these pills I have been taking are fucking up my shitting pattern.

Hence, waxy, irregular shit.

The ice cream scooper in the peanut butter jar.

Filled with water because of the shit scare.

And soaking on the counter.

well, here goes.

i don't think i will do very well on this site because i do not want to sound like Chuck. i remain quite determined not to remove/add something from my work if the only reason people give for doing so is because Chuck said that's how it's done.

now, the last twenty or so years of my life, i have received public criticism ---sometimes in a roomful of people---for acting and writing. some good; some tore me to shreds, so i can deal with someone not liking my work. (i have done some terrible acting and writing.) furthermore, i belong to Zoetrope, which is the writer's workshop founded by Francis Ford Coppola, so i am used to online crits, too. i understand and appreciate valid criticism.