give me his hide

By the way you know that hope'll make you strange...

All i'm sayin' is don't listen to angry music. trace back your self to were it first came into your life, think about it, and then transcend the opposites.

"pardon me doug, is this a picture of Oddis Retting? Yes yes, taken just before he died! won't you give me his hide?"

Words do not begin to convey what has been conveyed to me in simple moments gazing with my whole being at an old picture of Dad, brooks, and me in a baby backpack over his shoulder at a national park. Brooks is on the fence looking over, and Dad's holding his hand because he know he wants to look and that's ok, he just doesn't what him to ever fall, and that's why he's eternally holding your hand but letting you walk on the edge. it seems overcast in the background. Dad is clearly very happy, you're inquisitive, and i'm the one looking at the camera and chewing my finger.