Rival Suns

Started by BikerDude, May 23, 2017, 05:07:21 PM

Previous topic - Next topic

0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.

BikerDude

Not too many newish band rock me but these guys do
Of course they are pure retro

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=XMe9MJB71xw


Out here we are all his children


gomezpeter

Can anyone suggest best carrier options after post graduation except spending time on  :D :o 8) this dudism :-X

BikerDude

#2
I would suggest putting your education in the correct context.
Your degree is not a golden ticket.
It is a guarantee by the University that you have expertise in a given area.
That you can do stuff.
Truth is it shouldn't matter if you graduated kindergarten if you've got skills.
Unfortunately the world is full of people who's only discernable skill seems to be fellacio.
The rod or johnson in the parlance of our times.
Don't be one of those recent graduates who bring so little to the table that the four years at school amounts to training for the fellacio gig.
Skills!
Get a job sir!

Wait..
What the fucks a carrier?


Out here we are all his children


gomezpeter

I think you are right BikerDude .Thanks for reminding me about this. :)

DigitalBuddha

Quote from: gomezpeter on May 30, 2017, 01:33:14 AM
Can anyone suggest best carrier options after post graduation except spending time on  :D :o 8) this dudism :-X

Bowling.......and beer.

BikerDude

#5
Right and wrong is an illusion.
A dance cycle.
The appeal of bowling (and what have you) is that pin falls or it doesn't.
(**Sometimes somebodies toe slips over the line though. There are rules.)
The rest is a wrestling match.
Crips vs Bloods. Jets vs Sharks. Shirts vs Skins. Angels vs Mongols.
Very exhausting. Without resolution. Or meaning. Just sound and fury.
Not that that's a bad thing. It's just not right or wrong.
But fuck those that plug that hole with bullshit. They are dead.
The answer to meaninglessness is to not require meaning.
Not to use bullshit and call it meaningful.

Quote
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,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Lost my train of thought.


Out here we are all his children