Sunday, November 06, 2005

Untitled

And this is the way Marching Band ends. Not with a bang but a whimper.

My apologies to Mr. T.S. Eliot.

Seven years of marching band. Wow. I could get all nostalgic, but I won't. It's been a ride. Quite the ride. My Senior year included.

And now it's finished.

I think I'll take a cue from William Blake on this one.

He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity's sun rise.


Good night, all. Namaste.

2 comments:

Barx Atthemoon, Warden of Tunare said...

Personally, I like Macbaeth...

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time; and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player who struts and frets his hour upon the stage and is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Anonymous said...

Yes! Now you get to not suck on Saturdays. To celebrate, I have a proposition for you. How about we go to deh Franklin Institute on Tuesday. That is, unless you have something better to do. So far Lenny is going, but I want to ask Brian too. We'll probably go with Lenny because he has a bigger car, no offence or anything.