All things on earth point home in old October sailors to sea travellers to walls and fences hunters to field and hollow and the long voice of the hounds the lover to the love he has forsaken.
People who don't like me talk about it as though I'm trash because I have tattoos. I find that insane because it's 2008 not the 1950s. Tattoos aren't limited to sailors. It's a form of art I find beautiful. I love it.
The Cold War isn't thawing it is burning with a deadly heat. Communism isn't sleeping it is as always plotting scheming working fighting.