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San Diego
Swinger

508 Posts

Posted - 07/15/2011 :  13:06:46  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The Metropolitan Transit Authority and Cal Trans is demoing and rebuilding the south side of the Mulholland Drive Bridge, "widening it 10 feet and designing it to meet latest seismic standards. The bridge spans the 12 lane 405 Freeway which carries hundreds of thousands of vehicles each day. The 405 will close this evening at 7pm through Monday the 18th at 6am. Severe traffic conditions are predicted. The time allowed for the billion dollar project is 53 hours. Workers on top (80 feet high) are strapped into fall-protection gear, and concrete pieces raining down on the 405 should be no larger than basketballs." Chief engineer, Mike Barbour, who rebuilt the roads in Iraq says, "This is like performing heart surgery on a patient who is running a marathon." Mike has some other concerns; are the gas lines safe, will it cause a landslide, and... where will they put all the traffic? Los Angeles Mayor, Antonio Villaraigosa has a suggestion, "Go on vacation." Can't wait for the sequel next year when they demo and rebuild the north side.

(Quotes are from LA Times.)

Jet Blue Airlines offered a special which sold out in minutes. If you can get to Burbank Airport they'll fly you over the construction sight, a flight of approximately 6 minutes. The cost, 405. Four dollars and five cents. Back to you, Blaine.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 07/15/2011 :  13:13:25  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Reverend B-
"Kneeling on the road he asked
For another try at a second chance."

Canter's... Not the Stage, but not bad.

Rodeo-
Do you have posts from the original Old Blue Board?
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Becka
Sitter

95 Posts

Posted - 07/15/2011 :  13:38:47  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Rev....
Best verse =
Truth be told, a battered heart
Can leave the ground and fly
The moment it leaves the hole it's in
Is the moment it hits the sky.
There's magic weaved into every day
A hero's role is in each of us
It's in the choices that we make.

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rodeo
Swinger

USA
733 Posts

Posted - 07/15/2011 :  15:32:20  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
quote:
Originally posted by Ailinn

Reverend B-
"Kneeling on the road he asked
For another try at a second chance."

Canter's... Not the Stage, but not bad.

Rodeo-
Do you have posts from the original Old Blue Board?


I don't.
I think Mr. Beve may be the best/only source of any of those...
I never found out to what extent.

Mikey!?!? you out there, man?
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 07/15/2011 :  17:26:35  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Thank you, Rodeo. I'm looking for the old Prodigy stuff and posts before October '99.
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Jonmark
Windchimer

USA
1791 Posts

Posted - 07/16/2011 :  13:10:31  Show Profile  Visit Jonmark's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
According to the Beve, these are all that were saved:
http://www.jonmarkstone.com/bb/index.html
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 07/16/2011 :  16:22:20  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Thank you, Jonmark. I didn't get a computer until October '99. Smooth sailin' then. Three bells.

Post of Mick's on Old Blue Board:

FRONT PORCH
From ~*~
COMMENTS

Once a long while ago the world was all blue and gold. In the still of the night...they came...stealing the blue and the gold, leaving only the coldest of grey. It was that way for a very very long time; grey, so long the "Porchers" lost their memory of the wonderful porch. All but one....the WEBMASTER...who quietly went about to recover the light. He worked both night and day crunching the numbers in his solitary room while outside his window his friends all ran up and down the beach playing in the blue......you see...it was not their...or...even his blue that had disappeared....no....only the blue from the Porch. So why did he care...why did it matter to him. The "Porchers" seemed content to stare into their grey dull windows...day after day after day.. No one cared....they had not seen blue and gold for so long, they lost their appreciation for its beauty. All but One. ~*~

(posted the way he wrote it right down to the last...dot.)
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 07/16/2011 :  18:22:50  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The Stage. Man at the door been there 50 years,watched his hair recede over the years into the bad rug that sits there now. Pastrami with melted swiss on rye.... and two plates. Cole slaw and onion rings that don't get eaten. A jar of mustard to go. Back out into the sunshine and madness of midtown glory and pain.
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Grania
Rocker

110 Posts

Posted - 07/16/2011 :  19:50:16  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Carbonated blood in that city.
A privilege to dance with you.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 07/17/2011 :  18:09:49  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
There are a very few times,
between your birth and your death,
when a bright light shines into
the darkest corners of your soul
and you see everything clearly for a second,
like an illuminated black and white photo
of a crime scene.

Then the light goes black
and you spend the rest of your life trying
to remember what you saw.
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Becka
Sitter

95 Posts

Posted - 07/18/2011 :  09:18:43  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
quote:
Originally posted by Jonmark

According to the Beve, these are all that were saved:
http://www.jonmarkstone.com/bb/index.html




Jonmark..... a treasure.....
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rodeo
Swinger

USA
733 Posts

Posted - 07/18/2011 :  13:56:06  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
quote:
Originally posted by Becka

quote:
Originally posted by Jonmark

According to the Beve, these are all that were saved:
http://www.jonmarkstone.com/bb/index.html




Jonmark..... a treasure.....



If matter is neither created nor destroyed,
mustn't there be more somewhere out there in that vast
splattershpere?
Come, OhBeveOneKenoBee; let us reason together.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 07/18/2011 :  15:47:39  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Re: Goodnight Sweet Prince

From: Mick
Email:
Remote Name: 12.225.134.3
Date: 09-Aug-2002
Time: 01:41 AM
Comments

It's been a sweet summer my brother.Call me.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 07/20/2011 :  20:05:13  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Murmers turn into whispers
Whispers turn into cries.
A scream heads for forever
In the valley of darkning skies.
Summer's oven blows full blast
The sound is now a shout
Hazy hot and humid
You're heading for a drought.

It's not the age that matters
It's the mileage on your soul
It's making all the pieces fit
That make the damn thing whole.
Did you lose him in a snowstorm?
Did you lose her in the rain?
Did you lose him to the laughter?
Did you lose her to the pain?

Did you share in her last sorrow?
Did you heal another's grief?
Some mornings brings you mercy
Some midnites bring a thief.
They have no clock they keep for you
To tell you when you'll heal
Some mornings find you dancing
Some nights you have to kneel.

It's not the age the matters
It's the mileage on your soul
It's making all the pieces fit
That make the damn thing whole.

Every river you've run so far
Has brought you to this place
The days and nights you've struggled
Full of folly, full of grace.
Redemption has a taste to it
It's like honey on your tongue
The musky smell of romance
When all the bells have rung

Murmers turn into whispers
Whispers turn into cries.
A scream heads for forever
In the valley of darkning skies.

Hank Beukema revbuckmanmusic 2011
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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts

Posted - 07/20/2011 :  20:31:50  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Who honors those we love for the very life we live?
Who sends monsters to kill us...
And at the same time sings that we'll never die?
Who teaches us what's real...
And how to laugh at lies?
Who decides why we live and what we'll die to defend?
Who chains us...
And who holds the key that can set us free?

It's you.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 07/24/2011 :  17:41:01  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
To hear Albert tell it, August was to blame for everything.

If he could make it through August
he'd have it licked.
Albert felt that a few Augusts
had treated him despicably and
probably had changed everything.

Like,
August of '67, still a kid,
when he found that by drinking the
foul amber liquid the fear was gone.
Yes, it was only for awhile but awhile
was better than every waking moment.

August of '91 when Albert was so boxed in
by darkness that he punched a hole through
it and came out into a deeper darkness
than he ever imagined existed,
while the only light he had known faded
back into a long mountain tunnel.

August of '92 and the boy and the road.

At that point Albert would usually say,
I rest my case and tip the Jameson's back.

Yeah, it must have been August that was to blame....

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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 07/24/2011 :  19:15:10  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He's on his knees. Cold nights at his shoulders. A sea window to comfort him. A candle burning on the fog-damp sill. Salt-encrusted finials on their high iron bed. His storm-smudged eyes, journey-driven.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 07/25/2011 :  13:36:17  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
WHERE OH WHERE

I climb out of the basement suite
Say hello to the day
Boot heels on the old concrete
Head to the old cafe
Where Macleod would kick my ass
With that Indian defense
A friendship bartered over chess
Ain't touched the pieces since

Where oh where are my old friends now?
Where oh where have those smiling faces gone?
You know, I think about them
It's lonely here without them
By their love and light I carry on

Grain bread from the bakery
Coffee down at Joe's
He plays that Spider John cd
Can't help but tap my toes
The women are so young now
Barely out of school
I have to bite my tongue now
As I watch them shootin' pool

chorus

The neighbourhood's not mine now
I come down anyway
Stare out the steamy window
Rememberin' the day
When Willie P and I first met
A bookstore on the Drive
Friends, the older that you get
There's fewer left alive

chorus

DL
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2174 Posts

Posted - 07/25/2011 :  17:12:18  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Eve, sheathed in red satin glistens. Adam reaches to light her long cigarette. Blue neon sizzles. Just the way he likes it.

Mass at 5. Heels up on the kneeler. The floor is drafty and cold. Perpetual November. Breakfast and refectory duties. Legions of kettles. Crusted pots on the stove. A multitude of chipped dishes. The vast floor that has to be polished. Laundry out on the lines by 9. A town too far-off to walk to. A future that doesn't look hopeful.

He dreams the winged woman into being. They're poking about the past. Soon the candles flare. He so loves their light. When he closes his eyes the blue of his lids alarm her. The shadows that move there. Unearthly curiosity. "The clouds are here," he says, "...and that last magic..." Smoke from the chimney is making its circular climb. "...blue sorrow...save it all," he says, "...for you...and for me."
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2820 Posts

Posted - 07/26/2011 :  19:42:09  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Albert was reckless, selfish, crazy and
about half full of **** most of his adult life.

He'd crossed the country five times hitchhiking
in three years because he couldn't make a decision.
Sometimes he thinks he's still that way,
but he can't make up his mind.

When he was younger, Albert spent every day
like it was gonna be the last and every night like
the house was on fire, which it occasionally was.

But, he notices sometimes,
late at night, alone,
no pills, no whiskey, no wife;
that the longer he hangs around,
the more he thinks he might want to.

But, he can't make up his mind.


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