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Holding Hands

Dag always seems like a place out of nowhere; a spot that has its own heartbeat, its own rhythm. There's a drummer over there, a guitar in the corner and a weird symphony that you can't shake loose once you hear it.  But it doesn't really exist.  Then again it does ... every time you look away there's a ghost swaying slowly ... making you move with the violin as the flute confuses you because it's not the jazz you expected at all.  It's Dag.

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What If ...

Google has informed me that this is a unsecured site and that I should not provide personal information of any kind. While I note that the copyright is 2018 and that the format is a bit jiggly, I am still quite disappointed that I can't give Michael my credit card and banking information. I only hope that he understands (the fact that he never wanted any of it is beside the point). 

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Once Upon A Time

 

Mister Smith taught me:

Play with your words; let them sing -

Just don't let them go.

 

So I guess I won't. 

Even when I don't know what

The melody is.

 

But I know the song,

Because he sang it to me

With his deepest breath.

 

Somehow, the notes meshed ...

Friday's orchestra of one

Heard by everything. 

 

I dared sing along

Because he invited me

No punctuation

 

When I think of him,

I'm led to thoughts of others

barefooted's picture

Question

One man slaps another man on live television.

One man slaps another man on the street corner.

What's the difference?

Tell me, if you can.

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Notice

I'm hiccuping at the moment,  so don't mind me.  

 

Okay, anyway ... fuck!  Holding breath.  WTH.  It's not working.  Breathe.  Almost there ... shit.

 

Let's start again.

 

Did you notice?

 

 

barefooted's picture

Sigh

It feels like Dag is gone. I pop in, now and then, hoping that I'll be happily surprised and then ... I'm not. Four or more people talking to each other about the news of the day ... I can read/see that anywhere. I know you don't care what I think or what vibe I get from Dagblog. I'm not even sure that I care, and that's the point. Does anyone actually give a shit? I've decided that I do. One way or the other.
barefooted's picture

Why?

Just trying to say hello is almost impossible.  Why? 

It isn't just me.

  

barefooted's picture

Smile

Hi, guys.  Nice to see you.

I was looking at my last letters to you, and after wondering why I waded there, I teared up. 

The news is omnipresent, the battle seems impossible.

But it is not.  Honestly, we can do this.

Smile behind your mask.

 

barefooted's picture

We

You're dirty crying

Letting the tears wash you like

Sympathetic soap.

 

I'm just standing by

Like I have nothing to say

While my knees wrinkle.

 

What are we doing

As we dance between ourselves

Among the others.

 

What are we doing

As we find that the others

Are our very selves.

 

 

 

barefooted's picture

You Make Us Proud To Be Daggers, Mr. Day (Corrected)

Dick's last blog was about Tiger Woods, in October.  There was one before that, and this one before that:

http://dagblog.com/reader-blogs/quadruple-29058

I can only think we've lost him ... but I'm sure he knew how much we always loved him.  Here, there and everywhere in between.  Wonder how they count reads and comments wherever he is now?

I know this is probably silly.  But I had to say goodbye somehow.

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Favorite Quotes

Never believe that a few caring people can't change the world. For, indeed, that's all who ever have.

~Margaret Mead

I can't breathe.

~Eric Garner

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