Xanga is like a feather falling from a cliff… it is made up of a rather fluffy substance that retains little to no weight, it is manipulated and tossed by the subtlest of winds…and its inevitable unavoidable demise is the rocky parched surface below…

 

Do you agree or disagree and tell me why?  [maybe this will get me more than one flipping comment]… you darn hobos

 

–Creating the winds of change not drifting with them… “ouuu” –Eric 

Everybody throw up your hands…get on the floor…and shake it….rejoice with with maa….For, it has officially been a year since my very first xanga post… hip hip horaaa…..yippiee ppiipppee zippeee… 

moving out of rookie ball…im in the Big Leagues…’me and Nelly’ batter up batter up… Eric

Chunks of vermin escape the living… I am a vagabond in my own country… I like to be with the animals of fate…in the prison of piety…as we listen to the eloquence of death reach an ever ending climax…shadowed by the apple tree of love…sitting on the dock of shame…and looking through the photo album of innocence… driving down the road of guilt…crashing into the wall of compassion…and then it hits me…I’ve been presiding under the bridge of grace…

 

 

–Perishing in the land of the living…-eric

 

P.S. this has no intended meaning…I just realized that I haven’t posted in like forever…so I sat down and started typing…hope you like it… thanks…