News Soapbox Forums Downloads Links Saturday 28th January 2012 10:25 pm

Welcome to Juiko.net 2005-02-04 Juiko.net is currently under reconstruction. Cityrail apologises for any inconvenience caused. 2004-03-01 Welcome to the new-and-yet-the-same Juikonet. This site features New "grey on grey" design. Perfect for autumn rainy days. Slow loading graphics at the top Slow loading large photo on the main page. There will be a new photo every month. Hopefully. PHP driven pages. All the content has been loaded onto a database. Not sure whether this will result in faster loading pages or anything, but it makes it easier for me because I don't have to make a new page for every article. Login at the top showing how many PM you have and how many people are on the forum. The login for this is the forum login and password. 24/02/2004 Mountain ranges. Mourning red bay at the bridges. Stab up at the coming blue horizon. Grey slides loosely off rooftops Lands on the incandescent ground and dies A flock of little men touch down on the surface of the porchlight Bronze fist soldiers return To watch the twilight across the faces Skylights ignite and explode Scattering shards of april around the room No one even lives here We're too busy crashing our cars every morning at the same house Paving the same roads Unwilling to walk them And even when we extend ourselves, its only to be included In a world that's standing still And so often we don't struggle to improve conditions We struggle for the right to say "we improve conditions" And so often we form communities Only to use them as exclusionary devices And we forget that somewhere man is beside himself with grief And somewhere people are calling for teachers And no one's answering Somwhere a man stands, walks across the room, and breaks his nose on the door And somewhere these people are keeping records And writing a book For now we can call it "The Book About the Basic Flaw Or "The Book About the Letter "N" Or "Any Title That a Book About a Man That No One Cares About Might Have" And as we turn the pages we call out the sounds of nothing The sounds of a vanishing alphabet Standing here waiting