Mitch

[size=1]P.R.E.P. stands for [b][u]P[/b][/u]repubescent [b][u]R[/b][/u]ectal [b][u]E[/b][/u]motionary [b][u]P[/b][/u]sychosis. It involves a feeble understanding of the implications contained from ununderstanding of free thinking and its implications. These people are banalties which are self-serving anals. They simply fluctuate with whatever seems right, conformists to labels which have no reason to be stapled and given. They are usually ignorant, and have an obssession with the anus. They like its beauty. They look at it, not knowing that it is actually putrid and ugly. Not knowing that it's actually society.[/size]

[size=1] I still think Tool is better. But I haven't heard their first CD, only their second. I think it was a decent CD over all. But I find that it really didn't keep my attention as much as some other stuff. It just didn't grow on me as much either, and nearly all good music does that. I prefer Tool over them. So yes. That's about all I have to say.[/size]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by James [/i] [B][color=#707875][b]I[/b] deleted your post. I deleted it because I considered it to be spam. It was kinda like that Kanojo guy who keeps responding to things with poetry. The reason why it was removed [i]should[/i] be plainly obvious; it was a piece of poetry, not a comment/discussion. We can get all technical about that, but you know what I mean. In any case, at least you've included a little comment before it this time. I guess that's something to be happy about.[/color] [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1] Well James, I kind of get tired of sounding like everyone else, and just saying, "Yeah, I think it doesn't cause cancer. And if it does, why even worry? You're going to die anyways?" I like to be more obtuse. I like to have more fun with something. It puts a smile on my face and makes me happy, and I'm sure it makes others laugh as well. I don't see how it's hard to [i]not[/i] see the humor that was in my poem, but ah well. A poem is as much a discussion as anything else. As you know, writing is one of the things that matters to me the most. So of course I am not going to like that he deleted something heh. I totally agree I should put a little sketch of what the poem is about before I post it. I guess I just wasn't thinking the first time. Well, I at least thought that it was obvious enough that I was making fun of people saying that diet coke causes cancer. But I guess some people cannot read between the lines, and nor will they enjoy my post. Ah well. It's your site and it's your choice. So I stand by your first choice; I totally agree, I guess I should have put in a sketch of what the poem was about, at the very least. Sorry this is so off-topic lol.[/size]

Whoever deleted my last post is not in good demeanor with me. My post was very appropriate. Can't anyone see humor when it hits them square in the face? I guess not. This is why I refuse to have my post deleted, and I shall revise it. If you don't know, this poem was basically making fun of diet cola and how people seem to even care if it causes cancer. But I guess people can't see this. I'm guessing it was TN that deleted it lol. Now if this gets deleted, then I don't see the purpose of even posting in here and being genius lol. die it caff eine free so da die it caff eine free so da do da da da and malig nant. they drink the drink and they die it. and they drink the drink and they die it. all round me are cans stacked in graves and pushed aside no expression, no expression. no express ion. all faces covered by cans all faces covered by cans. they are all die it. they all die it. all die it. happy. and they get can cer. and they die it. and choke. it's in their lungs iron. it's in their throats croacked. i find it kind of funny i find it kind of sad. i find it hard to tell you i find it hard to make you know. that i drink die it. and it kills me more each day. went to the doctor all the same, all the same. he told me i'm die it. told me i'm dying. dadda went to the doctor with me we're all dying from die it. die it so da die it so da. oh my so da. so da. so so so so so da. die it so da. [It is lacking its genius.]

[b]So like Sound[/b] what does this sound like in my ears? it sounds like a feather-- all falling and all bones; a rib falling toward ground to crack and groan. it feels alone and left in the rain to sulk. in my ears this euphonous thing that can sing but has no voice. and this wail that speaks but does not. within a sound there is a painter who works all night and day crayoning in his heart. within a sound there is a lover french kissing deeply with his tongue. and it makes me so sad to hear something such as this and makes it seem so terrible. the heart is never complete just as a rose never seems to last long as it should. and the deeply penetrating tongue loses all its taste as it kisses too hard and chokes the throat. the sound in my ear is clittering emotion; but so much more. it destroys as it creates and deletes as it becomes there. and that is the beauty and that is the tear. and i do think the most beautiful images find me here.

[size=1] Almost any holiday is pointless to me. Christmas? It is about something I never have believed in. Easter? Same as above. Halloween? It is the only holiday I actually think I look forward to at all. And that is only because I love fall and I love feeling creepy. Thanksgiving? Who cares that back in the day indians and white men sat down together and gave thanks? I don't. I am thankful for things at least every day...it is kind of pointless to have a holiday around it. Valentine's Day? A reason to have sex...lol. Perhaps not, but anyways, this holiday's premise is pretty pointless to me. If you are romantic with someone, or in love, I'm sure you already express that enough. What else is there left? The 4th of July? It is about America's freedom from Britain. I guess it matters to me [i]to an extent[/i], but it's not like I love my country so much that I want to light off fireworks for it. I light them off because fire is cool...lol. And what is left? Not much. Most holidays have some religous connotation...and that makes them even more pointless to me. Holidays in general really mean nothing more than another reason to be selfish to me.[/size]

[b][size=1]Uh said the lady to the man she adored And the whores like a choir All night and everything She's tired This is the sound that your mother makes when the baby breaks We're chained we're chained we're chained we're chained[/b] I love The Pixies.. Anyways, I am not part of a choir or anything, but when I am alone and listening to music, I sing quite often. I also hope to be a singer-songwriter when I grow up, if that happens. It's doubtful...but you never know heh. Singing is fun.[/size]

[size=1] rttocs77, double posting isn't allowed. Just copy your double post, edit your older post by clicking the "edit" button that is next to your first post, and add your copied text into it and there you go. As for the movie, I shall be seeing it someday, I suppose. I do want to see it, just don't have the money.[/size]

The old man laughs. [i]Hahahahah[/i] His long beard falls on his face, all white as bone. As white as snow. "It has been snowin' for all dese days 'cause I made it. Hahahaha." He puts his hand on my shoulder. "Ya knows...lets me lets you in on a t'ing. Snow ain't so bad, me boy. It's only as bad as ya make 'er. So I want you to go out there with yer hands all in a no'dle, an' I want ya to make a snow angle in teh snow. Make 'im a be'tiful li'l t'ing too. Even give 'em real feat'ers fer wings and real eyes." It's been two days in a row now. It's snowed off and on endlessly, the demure white coming down in its little drivels, like tears crystallized from some cloud's eye. Like a confetti parade for the devil. I go outside. The snow is pouring down in its little lazy way, a sloth too sloppy to know any better. I can see Santa outside the window, and I can hear him shouting at me, his ripe, wrinkled cheeks held against the window, making it look like his face is all squeezed. All I can hear of what he's saying is a going on and on mumble mumble, mumble mumble. I stare at him for a while, then it's off to work. I fall into the snow, the cold white grasping all around my body like a coat. I move my hands back and forth, back and forth. The snow bends to my will, and it is scraped off in the arcs my hands create. Moving my legs, I make the bottom arcs which serve as legs. The feeling of being in control of the snow, of making whatever I want of it is there. I've made an angel. A beautiful little scapegoat, as white as wool. [i]The flesh of fallen angels[/i] Something frail, something white, something faded. I look at it, and images of the clang of a church bell ding in my head. Images of a cross. Images of a candle burning, like a soul skinned to the bone. It's just like the weather to me. Just like snow. It melts. It changes. It's based on faith. Based on something I don't believe exists. It's just like the snow angel I've made. It is only there, but it means nothing to me. All these countless hours of sitting in a church. All these countless hours of learning and knowing and caring and getting to understand. And even through it, all I can see is time trickling in its rivulets, like a river that's slowly drying up. When someone dies, they are gone. Just like this angel I've made. Just like faith dying. Just like anything dying. Everything dies. [i]Everything dies[/i] It's the universal thought that springs into my head each and every day, a mad psycho with an even madder knife. And all I have is the pure things. Well, the pure things I haven't turned my back on. I can see Santa Clause looking at me through a window in some room of my mind. Some mish and mash of memories. I can also see this snow angel. And the premise both of these bring up means necessarily the same thing to me. I remember being a kid, everyone remembers being a kid. There used to be a Santa Clause. There used to be a man I'd leave cookies out for. He was a man that was pure and great, just like Jesus was shown to me to be. He gave me presents for being good and giving to others. And he ate my cookies, and he had reindeer. [i]On Dasher, on Vixen, on Prancer, on Nazarene the red-nosed reindeer...[/i] But he's all dead in my heart. And so is Jesus, like he's always been. [i]just because you feel it doesn't mean it's there Nazarene just because you feel it doesn't mean it's there[/i] Snow is up to my face. Santa's still staring out his window at me. And in his eyes, I can see something. I get up from my snow angel, walking to the window, looking eye-to-eye at Santa, the thin glass the only thing between him and me. [i]Upside-down cross[/i] The cross dances on my face like a swastika, but doesn't have the same feel. It feels more beautiful than that. It feels something like a fairy tale. I could almost sigh, or laugh, or wonder. But Santa's pupil only stares me on, a dark hole like a key-hole, and in it standing the cross. Soon, as I stare, the cross begins to fade. Five letters begin bouncing around like balls, spelling out SANTA in one of Santa's eyes, and in the other, SATAN. I recognize the anagram?that if you switch the letters of SANTA around, you can get SATAN. The irony hits me like a blearing bell, and I begin backing away from Santa, more sure of anything than before. I walk in the snow, coming back to the snow angel and stare at it in its twinkled slosh, just frozen there. My feet crunch as I approach, a rhythmical little sound that reminds me of so many other things. Of leaves cracking, of silence being unsilenced, of things that seem not to matter. And then I come to an abrupt stop. [i]The angel stares me in the eye and all over her body there is blood have you felt it in yourself and just froze?[/i] My eyes are given over to blood that has now appeared upon the angel's snow-impressed form. [i]And when it die, it bareth forth much fruit.[/i] The fruition of faith is staring me in the eyes; this bloody angel, once white, once standing for something with the eyes of other's on me, is now nothing. And nor was it ever anything. Faith does not exist; it merely believes. And for it to believe, it must have not fact, but must be cataract, which taken, serves like an eye that cannot see reality. [i]My brain says I'm receiving pain a lack of oxygen from my life support my iron lung[/i] Suddenly the sun shines above me; it begins to melt the snow, the already congealed blood is left where it was. [i]The angel was never even there[/i] As the angel leaves, it leaves a large machine, made of iron, and I can hear it hissing. It sounds like breathing, but is mechanized. It sounds like the breathing of a dying man. Faith never existed. It never was, never is, never has been. In my implications, one can only truly do, be, know, have, need, clutch, touch something if it is a reality. If it is factually real. As Santa fades like a fine-lined eyelash flickering away, and the blood of the angel is washed away in the rain, all that's left behind is what it is to be human and what it is to live. Those actualities and banalities that death is a truth, and that life is to be lived are never to have exemptions. They are the finite rules that the physicalities of our existence create. To expect more than what is here is to be selfish. And if there is a Heaven, and there is a Hell, then so be it. I will go to Hell even though that in my death I'd rather just cease to exist and I have been a good person. Sitting here on the ground a while, just watching the snow as it turns into water, I finally get up and walk on. The end is not near at all, but the beginning has begun long ago. And faith, the phony thing I'll never need, will hiss its breaths on, the helpless iron lung that it is. And some will kiss it and breathe through it. But something never proved and as artificial is not meant to last. Something that great is not meant to be. If it is, it will not matter. I shall still die and I shall still live the same. [i]And I find it kind of funny I find it kind of sad The dreams in which I'm dying Are the best I've ever had[/i]

[size=1] I feel a sense of deja vu, or something. Haven't you posted a thread named something close to this in the past? Not sure. I have never cutted or anything, so yeah...that is about all I can give to this thread, really. EDIT: I was right. It's strange how much I remember things. [url]http://www.otakuboards.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=18402&highlight=cutting[/url] Heh.[/size]

[size=1] Obviously your teacher is racially inclined, as most are. But he seems arced even stranger since you said he was from...Uganda? Wherever that is. It's really fishy. I'd talk to your school conselors...otherwise just not do it altogether. I wouldn't write something like that. That's like playing Devil's advocate on a [i]whole[/i] different level.[/size]

Otakuratzi was all over the Shy and Mitch marriage, and it is still said that they are possibly still dating! So to foothold upon this wonderful toil of soul and flesh, there is a special-edition [i]SHY AND MITCH[/i] action figure! The action figure of Mitch is a fully preserved, well-adapted version of a monkey with big ears, and big, obtuse glasses which make Mitch look like a nerd. The Shy version is Cookie Shy, mixed with chocolate chips and RAM chips. Cookie Shy is edible, and tastes something like a rose, and melts in your mouth. This is because of the uber-sensitive perfumes added into the plastical architecture of the Cookie Shy doll. You can even pull one of Cookie Shy's hands, for he has hands, something like those insane raisins of yesteryear. This will emanate a bleating Shy cajoling, "EATS A COOKIE!" loudly, and then is followed by the internet-savvy beep of an AIM instant message in all its digital banalities. Other versions of Mitch include a special, limited edtition AL Mitch action figure, which shows Mitch as a fat, rabid fan boy of an action figure. It comes complete with a computer chair seat, Mitch wearing Lain from Serial Experiments: Lain upon his shirt, and many moldy pieces of photato chips which can be put into Fat Rabid AL Mitch's mouth, causing him to barf in elation on the floor (the barf is made of a water base, with acrylic paint that is non-toxic and is formulated not to leave stains) at the wonderful taste of old moldy photato chips. Rabid AL Mitch even comes with a dunce cap, which says on it, "AnImER L0VeR 4 EvEr!" It is sure to make any idioctic imbicil crying to tears in its pristine beauties. Another limited edition action figure is PTed Mitch, wearing an angry halo on his head, and wearing the costume of that of a fallen angel. His halo is made of cracked wood, making it appear broken and teathered. His wings are also broken, and on them are painted small maggots crawling about, feasting on the dead tissues of his wings. PTed Mitch comes with Stoner Richard Simmons PoisonTongue, who says such egoed things as, "Mitch shouldn't be a mod," and, "I sold my soul to weight loss." Mitch also has a pull-string in the back of his back, which causes him to exclaim, "I am a failure of a moderator for breaking the rules," and, "I am at Charles' charm," as well as egoed things such as, "Most consider me the best poster on OB," and other such totally lewd and punch-deserving phrases. A set corollary to this set is Friendly PTed Mitch and Friendly PoisonTongue Smurf. In this set, Mitch is symbolized by wearing a Robin costume, only it isn't Robin, but Mitch with L's placed about him, and an L made by his finger touching on his forehead. He also is wearing all yellow, and is wearing a cape that says on the back of it, [color=yellow]"I'm yellow as piss :)."[/color] PT is represented by a blue smurf, fully showing what Mitch and PT would look like without their dastardly and perditional egoes. PT and Mitch even talk to one another if you set them by one another, talking such conversations as, "I was just mad I didn't eat the banana," or, "I haven't seen Charles around OB's Uranus much." All-in-all, this corollary set goes well with the other one, showing what good time and good discipline can do to two egotistical morons. Specially marketed, Mitch's newest action figure craze is called BACON IS THE NEW APPLES. It contains Mitch, standing upon a bleeding pig, which bleeds real blood obtained in laboratories. The Mitch standing upon the dead pig stands on the pig's eye, and in his hand he holds an apple which is rotten and decayed, and in his other he is heaving pieces of bacon into his mouth profusely, as if possessed to eat bacon like no tomorrow. The Mitch is made of a rubber alloy, and is able to expand as he eats more and more bacon with the touch of a button. If you push another button on his back, he says, "This is friggerously fluent. Holy yellow fat bean." --And that is all now from [i]Mitchtoria's Secret[/i]. There is more to come within a few days!

[size=1] I have only read the first part, since I am short of time...and I mostly just skimmed that as well; but it looks great thus far, Solo. And you know I mean that.[/size]

[size=1] So this is why you are pregnant with [i]my[/i] baby...! Heh. It is a good poem, as always. Simple is as complex as any brain. That is about all I have to say, really. It is good you do no longer self-mutilate yourself.[/size]

[b]egg of dream[/b] dream of a dream egg and a dream's shore in the gallows. a yolk's yellow in the carnation of an eye; the most beauties and the least dyed. i have a dream and a dream's shore in the gallows where paradise is a land. and i dream of a dream egg that squashed like guts. imagine a bug now imagine a slug and the trails that we make and the slowest to born and slowest to need. but the fastest to die. dream held eggs squashing on the shores it is dream's shore in the gallows. the dream's shore in the gallows and the chains that bind and the mute kind. and the primordial slime. and the murderer is smiling because he is me. because he will one day die too. just as my dream, an egg was squashed like guts. i see its yellow yolk like cotton candy gone sour. i see its shell like pale death. i see its white. like sandy snow. and it be all rotten and it be chained. chained and broken. a dream egg. dream's shore in the gallows locked away the dream's shore in the gallows squashing on the shores. and the murderer is smiling. the murderer was smiling. blood yawps on the shore and that was a dream. an egg almost nourished laps away. [b]depresseder[/b] depresseder may i have your acquaintance please shut up for a moment and let me speak. i have much to say and in little time to say it. intellect is like an inflection and i have this tinged insemination to impregnate your heart for you are cold to make me so smart. if i could have your strings, and other such binding things, then i would control my world. and if i was not held to physical hurtles i would most certainly be my own boss. now?depresseder?get lost i don't have any more tissues left for you. sometimes red is as sad as blue and you've got your grip on my throat don't you? let go?relax?let me speak for once. i have come here to say my thoughts down. it comes to one thing and buries the rest and this one thing, is quite impressed. it comes to nothing, and numbs the rest and this nothing, is quite impressed. nothingless, somethingless, and as i crawl indifferent. you see, depresseder, i don't care about so much any longer. i have come to the point where i don't even think i have opinions. i crawl around in other's skins, see every idea for its reality, and still i find each side has been dastardly and each side has been right. and therefore, i can't seem to find which side is right. i see you coming to my throat? and i'm starting to cough and smoke. don't hold back i've got my life to live. we'll keep each other company i suppose. and we'll be ragdolls lost and lone. i can't divorce you though depresseder. you're so sweetly blown. and i swear you take drugs when you're sedentarily alone. we shall take over the world with our uncaring drones. and ride in a car that uses stones for gas. we will weight each other all alone. and one last thing there is to say and it is that i think you are the dearest bitch i've ever known you itch me all over till i'm stone. [b]the RIP[/b] i have been waiting for too long and the milk is old and rotten on the counter's side. everything taste bitter like half-half heaves. life ajar on its hinges. midgets and ghouls to haunt me the fool. i'm the fooliest fool you'll ever know and i bought my life in a jar. not that you'd know but i hold a jar. and it be clear as the sky; but there is no blue. nor white. nor grey. only nothing that nihilistic dredge. i have been waiting for too long and the bread is moldy and green just like my brain. fruition is taciturn as it wears its tie and goes on its processions. i am left to stare at the stars and contemplate my life. i'm the fooliest fool i've ever known RIP love you die alone. i am the stonehedge weed. therein a jar full of coins and flipping them all one-by-one i find my fortue in a shrill of coughs. picked some fruit but i was in my jar something wasn't right and that's what's far; adam and eve's magic drug can't give me away from this slug. crawling around and crawling away. something else moved today. and i almost broke my jar and set it back where it was. the destructors in my head were hotlinking a literal to my bed and singing something about scars. those hotdead bars. but i carried on as i always do in my jar licking the glass getting all that taste of a fake world so alive. tasty like taste. and fruition is taciturn as it wears its tie and goes on its processions in the grave. RIP love you die alone i'm still flipping coins in my jar and doing fine. sinking draining drowing bleeding dead sleeping kissing flying falling bled. eat me chew me spit me out instead. all life is to me is a jar. i am left to stare at the stars and contemplate my life. all life is to me is a jar and i feel covered inside and outside is heavy hard. didn't you leave me where you are didn't you leave me where you are. i'm waiting for the worms. not for you. you're too slimy and i'm too glass. the worms come out in the rain and just air. and from the sky water has wings. give me those wings give me those wings. breaking ajar to be born afar maggots' hearts and flies' eyes i'm in my jar and doing fine. [b]spin-spin circle[/b] you spin me till i'm stone hit me till i'm ice and bite me till i'm lice. happy smiles are happy men maggots born from flies that need cradles all crawling full of dead. a liver here, a heart here, and a beating brain there. organs of despair. you spin me till i'm stone hit me till i'm pulp and eat me till i'm scrap. the lovers have a stare that is worth all the miscarriaging care. and so a circle is given hands and arches and arcs and feet. and the womb of nature that always wins. naturity in leaves like bugs as well as in release. easing the lives to repeat. a child be born a child be dead a child be living and learning his dead. a child be maturing a child be learning a child be making the circle all right. the spinning circle of stone the spinning circle of hands the spinning circle of nature. and i won't have my ways in that and i won't have my life for that. but i'll still be spinning till i'm stone still be spinning till i'm grown. [b]whimper[/b] the folded newspaper falls down on the porch and soon a man takes it and reads it. "CHRIST IS REBORN," the page says as it eyes in his face and a picture of a man is gape. he eyes it with atrocious stares and tenacious, he climbs up his stairs to his bedroom where his wife sleeps. soon they are talking about it in the morning's sun as it shines from the window. and what a glorious day and what a wonderous thing. he will not put it down and his wife will not hear it now she is trying to sleep. "But Darla?" but Darla but Darla jesus heals, god is great all is grand and good and abate. for jesus comes on the seventh day of the seventh hour of the seventh death. and in the world there rages apocalyptic eyes. Darla will not hear of him and puts the pillow betwixt her ears. and soon she is back asleep and dreaming of what she fears. the world will not breathe but spasm and cough and gutter a tear. and in the end eliot will have his earn and a whimper, great, will be heard. jesus came on the seventh day of the seventh hour to save the world. for its seventh death. but too late is too late. "?and Darla that simple twist of fate." so jesus still stands for what he says; suffer for us and bled. and the world will die on its own cross and decrepit and nailed it will spin and spin and spin as it exhales. and with its final breath and its last heave Darla, her husband, all that breathes will look at last away from religion as all recedes. a long desert will take reprieve and many skies all over the world will blacken in black eyes. the whimper will bone all hollow and hallowed and lone. and the last human of the last earth will die crutching a bible to his breast proclaiming that jesus saves like all the rest. and pieces will crumb and screams were never there just a whimper, and it's to god. to suffering on. the end will not squeal nor breathe a sigh nor congeal of blood but it shall drip of whimpers as the world dies on its cross. and in the death a new world will be born. where all eyes are on their own.

[size=1] Improve your posting quality lol. No offense...I see you are extremely new. But read the rules and such, and it'll all become apparent. And if you don't, well, you know what happens then. Don't you? Or don't we? Or such. Yes yes. We do. And so do I. It's as PTed as can be. As pertinental tainted as can be, I mean. Heh.[/size]

[size=1] I suck at drawing lol...but today, I bring you my latest creation in all its enamored glory. Okay, okay...so it isn't much. It's just this thing I drew on my hand when I was bored in school...and I'm guessing it's pretty blurry because my digital camera sucks,..but it's something. Probably the first piece of "art" I've posted in this dwellinghome. To make this more fun, I'd like to ask people what they would name it...and what they think it is. This is probably the main reason I'm posting it anyways lol. So be sure to say that. Oh. And be sure to tell me how horrid it is, or such heh. If you want to. I just drew it on my hand when I was bored, really, so heavily-weighed crit is fine. Yeah. Tell me what you think, and also don't forget to to tell me what you'd call it, and what you think it resembles. And try to be creative in saying what it resembles...try to have something different than anyone else has said heh. Me? I think it looks like a spider web, made of spider bones.[/size]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by PoisonTongue [/i] [B] Nice work, Jenn. I get a strange feeling that a buddy icon somewhere out there has lost its little man. You didn't kidnap them again, did you? DID YOU? :naughty: [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1] This was hilarious for some reason. Must be because it is so late. I found the little thing to be interesting to say the least. I just can't understand why the little dude would perpetually hurt himself. Is he masochistic? Does he like to cut his legs and numb his pains? What is the incentive? I am guessing this shall all be explained...in.. THE OW THING PT. II. Sounds like it could be a movie, really. Wow, this is random. The first time I have posted in this forum in a long time.[/size]

[b]Radiohead-Street Spirit (Fade Out)[/b] Rows of houses all bearing down on me I can feel their blue hands touching me All these things in all positions All these things we'll one day swallow whole And fade out again And fade out This machine will Will not communicate These thoughts And the strain i am under Be a world child form a circle before we all Go under And fade out again And fade out again Cracked eggs, dead birds Scream as they fight for life I can feel death, can see its beady eyes All these things into frution All these things we'll one day swallow whole And fade out again And fade out again Immerse your soul in love Immerse your soul in love I positively love this song. It's quite depressing, melancholy. It basically consists of this same guitar melody played over and over again, taking prominence over all things except Thom Yorke's (the main singer of Radiohead) voice. And again, Thom Yorke excels in this song. It just gives me chills...the emotion is there. Add to that that the lyrics are wonderful, and you have an amazing song. You really just have to hear it to know it all coming together. And the way it comes together is really beautiful. It's like a hard-ribbed sigh. Something forced...yet not. [quote]Rows of houses all bearing down on me I can feel their blue hands touching me All these things in all positions All these things we'll one day swallow whole And fade out again And fade out [/quote] The world seems so organized as it is. Rows. Everything is put into rows. Houses are just backdrops, they are just there. They are blue, devoid of anything but wood and the things which give them their material. When I hear this line, I can just see rows of houses, rows of houses like hands. All blue and bearing down. The remaining lines say this: look at everything. Look at it from all positions, all ways, all forms. They are all things we'll one day swallow whole. Things one day that will be gone. That will fade into obscurity. [quote]This machine will Will not communicate These thoughts And the strain i am under Be a world child form a circle before we all Go under And fade out again And fade out again [/quote] Society could be the machine. God could be the machine. The human intellect could be the machine. The entirety of what it is to be human could be the machine. Whatever it is, take your pick. All the things tie into each other. "Be a world child form a circle before We all go under." Live on to carry our lives on as we die and fade out. Carry on the torch. Live to continue the lives of others and give life to others. Be a circle. Be something held together. Be something that spins forever in perpetual bliss and keeps going over where it's gone over and over again, fading out again and again. [quote]Cracked eggs, dead birds Scream as they fight for life I can feel death, can see its beady eyes All these things into frution All these things we'll one day swallow whole And fade out again And fade out again [/quote] Broken eggs. Scrambled eggs. Cracked eggs. Isn't that the stuff of dreams? They always seem to die. Things that once flew, that were once birds. Things that even though they seemed like birds were only eggs, broken eggs being broken and scrambled. Dead and dying birds; dreams no long winded, dreams no longer felt. Fading out. All these things swallowed whole. All these things lived for. And to what purpose? What purpose other than to fade out again and again? And you can see death. Can see its beady eyes, long, beady eyes that haven't come yet, that are so very far away. But you can feel it. It's breathing on you right now. [quote]Immerse your soul in love Immerse your soul in love [/quote] Love is the only thing to live for. As everything fades, it's the only thing that can be held onto. It is the only hope that can give you enough footholding to keep you going on and on in the circle that is life. It is the only thing that can keep you going as you fade out again and again, dimmer and dimmer and dimmer. The only way to numb the pain is through another. To hug and kiss and caress another, to make them feel your emotions in your touch and the way you smile and the way you sigh and the way you move. It is the only thing that makes death's coming worth it all. I really love this song..

[size=1] I'd have to say that society and religion define what's wrong and right so much now that there really is not gray area. It's more like you go with it or against it. I have never been in a serious relationship, so I can't say much there. But I can tell you I am attracted to almost any girl I see; whether it be physical or for the way they act, or the simple gestures they make. Any woman is attractive if you give it enough time...even as ugly as you might predefine them. I don't go as far as to say I want to have sex with every woman I see. Most of the time I'm not even wanting of sex...mostly I just want affection, and to perhaps hold and cuddle. Sex is not something that defines how much I would go out with this person or whatever. While it is a part of it, it's a small sliver. Of course I imagine sex and such...but that is only when I am feeling sexual. Which is very random, I must say. Humans are animals as much as a dolphin is an animal as well as a mammal. There's no over-looking this fact. Just because we are superior to other animals doesn't somehow destroy this fact. We have instinct too. We sometimes act purely on our natures and desires. But with our logical intellects and what society, parents, and religion has told us, it is obvioulsy deemed wrong to cheat or have thoughts of having sexual or otherwise relations with someone else while we are binded to another. As I've said before, if we did not have our intellect, and were degraded to the intelligence of what most animals have, then stuff like this wouldn't matter. There would be no right and wrong. We'd basically have sex when we had the urge, and in definition "rape" others. There would be no right and wrong. Only instinct would be a right and wrong. Only impulses. But obviously this is not so. We are far more intelligent than a lot of animals. So of course it's wrong from what I've been told my whole life to cheat. It hurts more than it helps, and it makes you look bad. Now thinking it is an entirely different thing. That is fine, as long as there is not action. There it is. Cut and dried.[/size]

[size=1] Slapping him isn't really going to help lol. Then he'll get physical on you as well. Ah well. At least you've told someone.[/size]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Shroom [/i] [B][spoiler]I beg to differ. The Matrix is tied into the bible almost directly, I could point out the similarities here for hours. Neo is Jesus. Neo died, he was in the same position as Jesus when he was crucified. He is dead, but will possibly be revived. I know I can't completely shoot down you arguement, but it ties right into the bible. They wouldn't have all the similarities and then completely change the ending.[/spoiler] [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1] I would have to disagree heh. [spoiler] At the end, I clearly remember Neo's body being taken off on that flat Machine's back. I remember this clearly...and I have just seen the movie again. And as this happened, I clearly remember Neo's "Neo-vision" sweeping in. He is alive, thus. Not to mention The Oracle also said that "I speculate we will see him again someday."[/size][/spoiler]

[size=1] You posting could be much, much better. Please improve your posting quality, it goes a very long way. Trust me. You are really new here...so I won't close this thread, and I'll give you this exception. But please, improve the quality or else I shall close/warn/etc anything else you say or post or make heh. I much rather enjoy reading than TV. Tv itself is so mindless...and most of the shows just aren't worth it to watch, whereas I think reading is a much more personal form of entertainment, as well as a much more selective form of entertainment. So yeah. That's what I think.[/size]

[size=1] I feel that this story really has a good premise and a good chance to become something good, PT. It'd be cool to see you keep it going. While it didn't make me laugh or anything, I thought the entire take on an angel and religion as such to be a nice job at poking fun. It's so short though lol. But yes. I feel it's a very good idea for a story... Write more of it. Heh.[/size]

[size=1] This thread is seriously spammy. Either post only when you actually have something to say or I'll close it if it continues on the course it is on. It's all up to you. EDIT: I'd also like to point out, Marik_Duelist, that inanely posting in a thread to bring it back from its month-ago death is not the way to handle things. You could have at least made a meaningful post other than some two-word blab at nothing. If you continue doing this I will be sending you a warning, and then if you do not improve your posting quality by then, I will have you banned. So it'd be best to improve your quality now, as to avert most things that would happen.[/size]