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Josh Lyford's blog
...or one mans flannel (denim?) journey
on wolfback (moped-back?) from hell to the green van (green pickup?)
then back again...
Marvel!
...at the miraculous wit and wordplay (still questionable?)
Shiver!
...with terror at the +8 axe (could be a dagger) of rpg power
Gasp!
...at the hill bombs on a brakeless 20" (continues to be relevant)
Wink!
...at the zombies and thinly veiled sexual references (also still relevant?)
Gaze on dear reader...

twitter.com/joshachusetts
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foxfires.bigcartel.com
facebook.com/foxfiresma

Jan 17
thatfilmduderyan:

Tour Bros - Germany - 2009

awwww

thatfilmduderyan:

Tour Bros - Germany - 2009

awwww

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Reblogged via, thatfilmduderyan

Jan 09

“Dirty hit by a dirty player”, right Vigneault? 

“Dirty hit by a dirty player”, right Vigneault? 

(Source: bosstownsports)

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Reblogged via, erikzaiatz

I don’t know why but this picture cracks me up. The combination of the nonchalant dick-grab, the joyless facial expression and the overzealous pro sports enthusiasm proves to be too much. Sorry Rich.

I don’t know why but this picture cracks me up. The combination of the nonchalant dick-grab, the joyless facial expression and the overzealous pro sports enthusiasm proves to be too much. Sorry Rich.

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Dec 22
Tonight I will be reading some of my short fiction at “Friends with Pens” at The Spillway in Clinton, Massachusetts. Come out to see me stumble drunkenly over words I wrote myself. Hope to see some friends! 

Tonight I will be reading some of my short fiction at “Friends with Pens” at The Spillway in Clinton, Massachusetts. Come out to see me stumble drunkenly over words I wrote myself. Hope to see some friends! 

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Dec 21

Dear god it’s coming.

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Dec 14

Life Inferno and Dogma live at The Raven in Worcester, MA a few months back. Thanks to Local Music Live. Patrick Murphy behind the kit since Conor was in Indonesia.

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Dec 12

Prepare to have your heart warmed.

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Dec 09
Best birthday ever. Best girlfriend ever. Right on the ice at the Bruins game with my girlfriend, my dad and my brother. Doesn’t get much better than that. Lucky guy right here.

Best birthday ever. Best girlfriend ever. Right on the ice at the Bruins game with my girlfriend, my dad and my brother. Doesn’t get much better than that. Lucky guy right here.

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Dec 06
I have been in an awful funk lately. 

I have been in an awful funk lately. 

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This is amazing. I wish I could force everyone in the world to watch this right now.

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Nov 24
We just put up some new photos and a Bandcamp tab on our Facebook, so now you can stream them right in FB. Woohoo! 

We just put up some new photos and a Bandcamp tab on our Facebook, so now you can stream them right in FB. Woohoo! 

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Nov 22

We were born with mountains

We were born with mountains and I was born with rivers, with transient minds, equal parts knowing and solidly rooted, thrashing through ferocious teeth against an unrealistic old fence.

Believing to belong behind a pale blue and antique Royal typewriter, a smoky room and a glass of whiskey fueling ideas and thoughts, turning them, through every single slowly pounding click-clack of beautifully stylized lettered keys, into words as powerful as the force behind that thundering hammering ink.

Dreams maintains a lucid coolness. Only ever pausing for a breath when the earth herself wills it so.

The Royal typewriter changes its identity and stays in its own bizarre world of the present from time to time, but it still click-clacks, click-clacks, click-clacks.

The same fuel fires the same engine, the same expulsion of breath heats the same rushed words that weren’t given a fair shake, the same stupid recklessness takes heed of the same stupid atlas. The same damned bull-headed steadfastness grips a helm so weatherworn and wise, that sometimes,

But only ever sometimes,

And only when he has decided that he must run into the purples and crimsons that keep the night from attaining any true blackness,

I grow tired of his stubbornly sage advice and must ask him to spit it back into the sea.

Even crooked crawling fingers, so unwavering in their wild meandering, still flex and crack sickeningly and extend. They work just enough to pulse life through painful creaking bones to warm those same ancient keys, the same ones that could never stop their click-clack, click-clack, click-clack.

Those beautiful black and gold keys never stopped, not for one solitary spiteful second, believing in a vividness that could never exist here with you and I.

There was still life in those keys.

There was still a story to tell.

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