ALSO!

Everybody get the fuck on Foss Hill right now, especially if you are still somehow using a computer and checking this blog!!!

[EDIT, early the next morning]
That was one of the most incredible nights I’ve ever experienced at Wesleyan, feel free to send in photos if you took any.

(Visited 14 times, 1 visits today)

18 thoughts on “ALSO!”

  3. Anonymous

    I wish I was a Wesleyan to!But being by the White House in such Historic night and day… I think I will be fine

  4. Anonymous

    I wish I was a Wesleyan to!
    But being by the White House in such Historic night and day… I think I will be fine

  7. Anonymous

    oh geez, the terribly wrong-for-me beauties that stalk! But solutions come easy today, tonight, a winning night. The second Chicago Christ, his throngs, mad parties on the hill with banging pots and barebreasted cowboy whoops and shirtslingers, community streakers and that jaw bone honest good feeling. Lincoln, Kennedy, Christ! The river’s bed, the river’s grain always shows. A vessel always current. Sign after sign for people to see that there is sign after sign. The river flows and the smooth rock lays, always knew and lets it go.How unlit yet, and now his beaming grand wife, the city slums, knowing death, and too it comes will let it go. The people though: he must already know- sign after sign is the sign itself, but then you know that’s history. Mythic. Used to take years. What now, o blogosphere?So many signs, the sign of signs.Is it Jesus, is it John, who writes the sign of signs?

  8. Anonymous

    oh geez, the terribly wrong-for-me beauties that stalk! But solutions come easy today, tonight, a winning night. The second Chicago Christ, his throngs, mad parties on the hill with banging pots and barebreasted cowboy whoops and shirtslingers, community streakers and that jaw bone honest good feeling. Lincoln, Kennedy, Christ! The river’s bed, the river’s grain always shows. A vessel always current. Sign after sign for people to see that there is sign after sign. The river flows and the smooth rock lays, always knew and lets it go.
    How unlit yet, and now his beaming grand wife, the city slums, knowing death, and too it comes will let it go. The people though: he must already know-
    sign after sign is the sign itself, but then you know that’s history. Mythic. Used to take years. What now, o blogosphere?
    So many signs, the sign of signs.

    Is it Jesus, is it John, who writes the sign of signs?

Comments are closed.