Michael's Texas Embrace

For some reason, I am compelled to take pictures of telephone poles and powerlines. My dream is to assemble and entire wall of telephone poles and powerlines in different landscapes, lighting, and general weather conditions. Who here among you would not delight in seeing hundreds of pictures of poles and lines? I dare say not a one of you could resist. It is man's drive to build lines and poles that compels us, moves us inexorably forward toward some line-filled, pole-hoisted future perfect, where puppies and kittens rise like helium balloons, silhouetted against the sky with the poles and line they have befriended. Just like in this picture, which I took (while driving, no less. Risky? I dare say so, but surely a good picture of powerlines is worth it!)

Um...the bottom line (line, heh) is that I haven't posted in awhile, and have nothing interesting to say, so I share now this strange and secret hobby: pictures of electric lines. Man.

As a certified dino-troubadour, I knew it was my duty to sing a song about stormy dinosaur love affairs involving humans. There was Moofy, the dinosaur; there was his lady and there was me. This is our moving story, set to music. I am sorry it is so long, but that makes it better.

THIS SONG IS GONE DUE TO SPACE.

Moofy the Dinosaur's Lady

So Austin is the live music capitol of the world and every september they have the Austin City Limits Music festival at this big park an easy two mile walk from my apartment. They just announced this year's line-up here and it's a pretty hot-looking ticket with a truck load of frothy spicy bands(Wilco, Arcade Fire, Death Cab for Cutie, Spoon, Built to Spill, The Decemberists, The Fiery Furnaces and more so much more!!) If anyone wants to get themselves three-day passes, they's welcome to sleep at my place and drink tons of beer, and rock. Cause that's what we'll be doing anyway. Drinking and rocking I mean. And sleeping. At my place. Bonk!

I knew this guy who went to work, and there he met a squirrel, who was a worker, too. For real. Being a true troubadour of the human spirit, of the first rank, highest order, and of utmost esteemed classiness, I wrote a moving ballad based on the life of this man, Sir Winslow J. Workmansquirrelenshire, being of great renown in his land for both work and squirrels, as he would pass his days both on and off of the country side, in peach orchards, in long tunnels, a-bounding 'cross the grassiest main and tousling the hair of child and animal alike, all before a mug of ale and a hearty round of tales at the pub before a small audience of fine, like-minded gentlemen of work.

By popular request, though so many in this our great land have heard and, yes, even sang themselves (in hushed voices in the night, to the squirrels wheeling about in the trees above, or to children), I present for those who know it not, the song of the man having been mentioned above, of squirrels and working. This is his song, and a song, I think, for all of us: a song for our time.

THE SONG IS GONE. Not much space. Sorry. Just imagine how cool it was if you didn't hear it.


Work Squirrel