Mitch

[size=1] This one's for Tony. Pixies, "I've Been Tired." Or maybe it isn't. I'm just not a love-song person...eh. :twitch: I would choose some sick, masochistical song. Something like a masturbation song or something, just to show my conceptions of a great love song. It has to be something raw and sick and...yeah. lol.[/size]

[size=1] Just tell some authority figure. It isn't too hard. It isn't hard at all. If you want it to get more ugly than it is, then be ignorant and don't listen to what people--especially Charles--have said. We're only trying to help. Excuses never helped anyone, and doubt never helped anyone either. Just get it over with. You'll be glad you did. Trust me.[/size]

I tears are always crying tears are always crying the cry of the planet the cry of the planet tears are always crying the cry of the planet tears are always crying an introspective view of slaughter in the niceities of the open air offers me a nice view of the sky's carrion and cadaver's care. the planet is moaning the planet groans. dead men wander in the fields of corn. children of the corn and children of the planet. they all groan together they all moan. tears are always crying tears are always crying the cry of the planet the cry of the planet tears are always crying the cry of the planet tears are always crying trying to bury what's been destroyed in ashes too dead and too devoid of emotions. the insipid taste offers me a nice skull full of leeches that call and maggots eating it all. tears are streams in a mountain and tears are dreams in their hearts. burying it all in its substance and part. water is devoid of form an escaper of death with its wet breath. tears are always crying tears are always crying the cry of the planet the cry of the planet tears are always crying the cry of the planet tears are always crying. II the sky is always full and open and hued gold. rich in value. the sky has teeth that aren't even there clouds the prickle skin and little hair. one day it will blacken with smog. one day it will gouge you with sticks. it's sharper every day eating. feasting on nausea. asphyxia. the taste is good to its mouth. and as it blisters and as it pusses one day its mouth will shut. the sky is always full but not forever. and not never. let us breathe the open air as we can. III urbanity is in the hospital as a car changes lanes. the mechanic wizard of its age. i see its metal heart in its chest. that engine the sputters like all the rest. mechanical beetles that scurry the bones on narrows and straights. this is the world alive. this is the world died. gasoline like lice crawling in veins the ribs that need punching for getting more and more depraved. the price for a gallon inflates like a balloon smushed hard and cradled in a cocoon. the greenness of the money like the hair of trees. it is growing but crashing. when it shall end it shall end. IV a grave in the woods where children play. the place where death played a game. russian roulette with no gun nor bang. but with god's name. jesus some said, and christ even as well. the martyr of hell. V what is left to cry and why? for such a fickle thing as life has its own eyes. the cry of the planet? the sputtering beetles? the greenness of money? a grave in the woods? the sky is always full of woe. water is always flowing in our veins. and sometimes we sweat and sometimes we bleed. but other times we cry what weeds. to die or live is not the question but rather, it is to escape death with our machinity. build forth?build grand? let us breathe as we can. for there is a grave in the woods of us all? that place where our hearts shall always lie and always beat. and let our hearts be strong where we belong. let us know that life is short. [center]...[/center] blood on the tracks that falls on the steel and is ugly, and beauty and so free. blood on the tracks that melts from my hands and is full of sweat, and moist and so smooth. blood on the tracks staining all them away like rabbits, running away, through their fields and scampering. expose destroyed and dead. limb by limb and two by two we all go to the tracks and slit our wrists. in the host of hands as the train runs by they put their hands out in bleed. in the host of hands as the train runs by on all its steam there isn't anything but passing. and dreams will rape you and dreams will hug you. and rope will bind you and rope will hug you. but that steel is still there and the tracks still dripping and the hands still slitting. the blood on the tracks that bob dylan knew. and the blood on the tracks which is you and i and all. wll you come through? will you be cut too? the train shall keep going. and the tracks shall keep there. and what happens will stain our eyes.

[size=1]Radiohead- No Surprises Radiohead- Bones Radiohead- Lucky Radiohead- You and Whose Army? Radiohead- The Bends Radiohead- The Tourist Radiohead- Black Star Radiohead- Street Spirit (Fade Out) Pink Floyd- Comfortably Numb And that is enough. Radiohead is an amazing band. I think they are now my favorite band. Whenever I feel that I have nothing left to listen to, I always come to them, and they always exceed what I think of them every single time. I don't know what it is about them, but they are great. I added the Pink Floyd song just to have it there. Pink Floyd is also one of my very favorite bands. They are amazing as well, but I am not always in the mood for them. With Radiohead, I am.[/size]

[size=1] I don't believe in anything of this sort lol. As far as I see it, she can be the whore of Jesus. Makes it more fun to me. So many things can be disputed in the bible. So many things can be disputed about religion in general. And this is label as one of the most mysterious things? My opinion on this is that, obviously, I do not care who this Magdalene person was...[/size]

[size=1] Not sure how much I'll get into this RPG. But let's make it good. Heh.[/size] [b]Name:[/b] Mitchell "Beater" Grant Smith [b]Goes by:[/b] Beater; Itch; MG Smith. [b]Affiliation:[/b] Desperados. [b]Age:[/b] 24 [b]Appearance:[/b] About 6' tall, never wears a hat, has blonde hair. The texan look, basically. He has vivid green eyes, as round as stones and smooth as pebbles. [b]Personality:[/b] A smooth-talking ladies' man. He is sneaky, sometimes sarcastic. He knows how to get what he wants, and knows how to play mind games. [b]Biography: [/b]He was born from a hooker who had gotten drunk and had been impregnated from her client. His mother's name was Veloria. Mitch doesn't remember her too well. She abandoned him when he was young and gave him to a close friend of hers, Nancy. Nancy took care of Mitch until he was in his 20s, when he finally left his town of birth for good. With a burning heart, he then joined the Desparados, and he's been a higher-ranking member ever since. He enjoys writing as well as nature. He has often written poems, and has a nice collection of his verses. He is often respected, egotistical, and candid and blunt. He says things like they are, and sometimes overreacts when things are pushed at him from all directions. All of these feelings come from how little attention he was paid when he was younger. Not even remembering his mom, and not raised with too much attention from Nancy, he is the person that he stands as today.

[quote]Our world is a cleansing world, when you look at it, Mitch. Look at how many people are suffering from evil things they did. I'd say that's "expiating" for our sins (crimes). Would you disagree? [/quote] [size=1] I'd say it goes both ways. In the sense of sins...I don't see why they are so harped on in religion. A person will sin, it's human nature to sin. Plus there's the whole line of what's good and bad...which I've brought up many times. (Such as what's bad to one person may be good to another, so really there are no concrete things which are most certainly bad or good when you look at it.) As far as I see it...in what I believe, that is, I don't care if there is a god, or isn't. So thus I don't believe in that sense one..."expiates" their sins. On another hand...doing good deeds could be considered expiating one's sins. It definitely goes both ways, really. I'd say people do more bad things than good when you really think about it, though. So I think we do more bad than good...so I suppose I disagree lightly. I agree that being jailed for wrong is expiating one's sins...but does this make up with murder to God? This is one of the worst things, supposedly, to have done. I've often wondered if people that have killed in war are at this discretion heh.[/size] [quote]You've said that as soon as we're born, we're dead (or dying), so why now say that we're actually living?[/quote] [size=1] To live one must die, to die one must live. I don't see where in my post I said that as soon as we are born we die...I suppose you are just pulling this from elsewhere. It doesn't really apply here exactly. Yes, as soon as you are born you do begin the long journey which eventually will end in your death in some point of time...it is what mortality's gift is, isn't it? And it is one thing that defines being human. Anyways, I don't see how this exactly pertains to my first post lol...but hey, I'm just answering some words you put in my mouth from elsewhere. [/size] [quote]Now, as we are born, we're immediately on the road to death, correct? I mean, that's what we're heading to as soon as we...begin. You just said you don't believe in Original Sin, so you must not believe that we are all born guilty, correct? So then...you believe that most of us are born with Grace, as you don't believe in birth with Original Sin. And, since birth is essentially death, we have all died with Grace and are now expiating our sins, which is the very definition of Purgatory, correct?[/quote] [size=1] I think you're misinterpreting my post. I'll get to this, but first:[/size] [quote]EDIT: "All of us are not born nor die in grace...I mean, we are born with original sin if you believe in the Christain faith. Which I don't...but that is also where my beliefs rely." Am I the only one who notices a slight contradiction here? [/quote] [size=1]Here, let me run down my post quote-by quote and explain it better. [quote]Also note it says for those who have died in "grace." This further kills your idea somewhat. All of us are not born nor die in grace...I mean, we are born with original sin if you believe in the Christain faith. [i]Which I don't...but that is also where my beliefs rely.[/i] [/quote][/size] [size=1] What is in italics, I am saying that I don't believe in [i]the Christian[/i] faith, and that I do believe in original sin...."but that is also where my beliefs rely [in original sin]." I'm sorry for how vague this post was lol. I was short for time. [/size] [quote]Now, as we are born, we're immediately on the road to death, correct? I mean, that's what we're heading to as soon as we...begin. You just said you don't believe in Original Sin, so you must not believe that we are all born guilty, correct? So then...you believe that most of us are born with Grace, as you don't believe in birth with Original Sin. And, since birth is essentially death, we have all died with Grace and are now expiating our sins, which is the very definition of Purgatory, correct?[/quote] [size=1] I didn't say a thing about original sin until the end of my post. Again, it seems you're putting words into my mouth lol. Firstly, let me explain why I believe in original sin. This further goes to the point that good and bad are only what people make them. When someone is born, I believe their very natures make them have both good natures as well as bad ones. As I've said, good and bad are so mistrued and conceptionally melded by what we've been taught and grown around...society especially. Saying this, I really think that any thing one does has its pros and cons--its wrongs and rights. Now just think about it...it is human to "sin," well, at least in what "sin" is by God's eyes. Simply said, here is what I have to say, what's good is bad and what's bad is good; what's foul is fair and what's fair is foul. All things, if you are open-minded enough, have some relevancy...and could be considered, looking and crawling around in their skins, both good and bad at differing views. So really...sin is only a thing defined by God, often. If you look past this...sins are like the words of God. I don't think that's what sins are. I think sins are nature--intuitional. This is why I believe in original sin. It's a differing concept to it than what the Puritans believed most certainly, but that is why it is my opinion heh. Now what I've said is as soon as you are born you are dying as well as sinning--it's all born with you, all held together in one package. That's the basics of what I've said. This is why I don't see why I should expiate my sins. Just tossing something aside and saying since I've realized it was bad that it's not a mistake any longer is...absurd to me. I want to keep my mistakes with me, remember them and feel how bad they were. Not just throw them off by just saying I am "forgiven" by some God that as far as I know may not be real. I've gone off topic...but when it comes down to it, in its most explicit intentions, living in reality's plane of existence is not a purgatory to me. I don't even believe in purgatory in the first place...nor heaven and hell. If you were notioning to that I was being contradicting in saying that well...yes, living is like a purgatory, but on another hand isn't...well, this is what I do. I see all sides to something..or try to. I was simply further delving to your point and seeing your side which is rightfully yours.[/size]

[size=1] I thought it was a mostly average movie...the only thing that made it good was its main arc was on that of poetry. The suicide was stupid...and felt contrived and unneeded--you could just see it coming, and when it happened, you just ended up feeling stupid that the kid had taken his life. [spoiler]I do think that his Father did drive him to suicide...but it didn't fit into his character. It also just didn't mean as much as anything...because that just didn't feel like his character. I also think his father was not the one mainly that drove him to suicide. It was himself. No one else. He was the one that overreacted and killed himself over something utterly not worth it. So in the end...his suicide was just really drawn out and a useless aspect of the movie to me.[/spoiler] It was cute in parts...but Robin Williams was the only plus factor for this movie. Otherwise it was mostly just average...maybe a little above. It was nothing that I hadn't seen, and none of its lackluster, linear story appealed to me at all. It was definitely a nice ride, but it ended as soon as it began...and just doesn't measure up to movies that should and are considered great.[/size]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by PoisonTongue [/i] [B]Just a quick thought. I'm not religious in the least, but...Purgatory is essentially the world right in the middle, not quite Heaven, not quite Hell, a place in which we exist for a good while and basically live out an average existence. Sounds a lot like the world today. I say we're in Purgatory. [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1] Not exactly..it comes from the latin verb [i]purgat[/i], which means to clean. And getting a straight definition from the dictionary, one finds this: [i]Roman Catholic Church. A state in which the souls of those who have died in grace must expiate their sins[/i] You are right that it is a plane between heaven and hell...but it's also a place where people make up for their sins. I also see how one could say that one living now is in a purgatory. But we aren't "expiating" our sins. We are making more sins every day, if you think in accordance to religion. Also note it says for those who have died in "grace." This further kills your idea somewhat. All of us are not born nor die in grace...I mean, we are born with original sin if you believe in the Christain faith. Which I don't...but that is also where my beliefs rely.[/size]

[b]weeds in a rose[/b] the morning was born young, and yesterday had died like an alabaster wall. the day was fresh and lucent like the clear father sun; and the linoleum stared me in the face. i felt i was chasing rabbits and all animals inane. and gently i felt tired from waking to the day. i wished sleep, and things like death, and sleep as needed. but it was time for the day. the school bell chimed; a new bell, it had recently been changed. it now sounds more like a church bell than rattling insane. and here i sit so patiently in my desk on time with a pencil in my hand like the clock on the wall. i take out my book of history and soon am reading the mundane text that tells of World War. names are all over weeds in a rose. they are blooming all over the stuff of my mind. a man named archduke ferdinand shot in his car with shiny spinning wheels is shot and bleeds and dies. and his wife is shot. and dies. faded flowers breed long sighs. in the mundane text i am told that the war began a battle to own land. to own pieces of something on a map that never were planned. that never were there ever but on paper. my feeling is of a creative flair burn it all. burn the papers. no countries. no despair. but reality is a monster with longest claws that is guised in metallic hell. sitting, knick-knacking the war bell. cling cling clang clang cling cling clang clang it is deaths' voice. he owns the land. and europe has become a no-man's land. cling clang clang cling cling cling clang clang the reverberations of an artillery fire and a tank's howl. and millions of eyes and millions of hearts and millions of hands all lined up ready to fight. ready to die. ready to own pieces of something on a map that aren't even there. the men are pierced to the heart breathing mustard in their eyes. coughing and sputtering spider eyes. a dead man's die. i read names in the mundane text and they mean nothing to what i can't see. woodrow wilson is a name that is bold. i think of heavy eyebrows when i think of his name. and if this is wrong to view, or name i do not know. but his first name reminds me of eyebrows. piercing, atrocious eyebrows that are long seen. the lusitania singing out at sea. a catalyst in a cocoon made of caterpillar's hands; the weak mice touring the land. and german, that monster a large tarantula walking on the sea setting vehemence in its bite. poison seeping, and death's night? the cocoon opened, the mice that crawl, diseased and dead and born. and once born dead. sputtered over to woodrow wilson's eyebrows and heavy to his head. the anger like a tree bearing new peaches, rotten peaches to eat. insipid as love; bitten nationalism bittering word. like skulls, all wide and open but not seeing the reasons. but still entering too late, and too out of reason. and of you, i have eaten and tasted blood. also i have tasted bones, white as snow, and as black as tar. the goo that goes too far. the rotten peaches that scar. sussex pledge more like a plunger stuck in america's head. a thorn that was hidden well. "that infernal skunk in the White House," the roughrider man said. does he stink? does he crawl in your skin? make you shake, make you cold as the wind? and his eyebrows; atrocious as then, and his wide eyes; sought and grim. "my message today was a message of death for our young men. how strange it seems to applaud that." yet clap they did; and enter they did. and soon the draft began. so somber, wilson, so you. and the victories; and the losses; and the costs of war. shall there be evermore. croix de guerre the cross of war. a smothering cross to crucify human proclivities; the endless natures of hostility. christ would smile. he died on a cross to feel more loss. go to november 11th 1918. early in the morning a paper was inscribed. peace at least. peace at last. the armistice like a lovely rose. just blooming. weeds in a rose. 8 million and more dead; their skulls empty holes, maggots that were almost flies in their heads. but reality is a monster with longest claws that is guised in metallic hell. sitting, knick-knacking the war bell. it is deaths' tongue. that clang clang cling cling. hands all crying, all hugging, all rejoicing. for its ding had end. a useless silence that only articulated the beauty. no more blazing guns; no more machine guns; no more death. only life. the great war at last had ended. the great war at last had ended. but not the last; nor not the end. for, in man there be certain crutches which bleed the most. and in man there be certain things that are the stuffs they breathe. all of the seasons and all of the rain. and all of the snow and all the flowers in the shade. and all of the skulls and all the forgotten names written in this textbook too mundane to let me feel what i wished i was alive for. tears have fell from eyes that only cry. and i am not one.

Angel with wings flew to me. i was only a maggot. only a maggot feeding. [i]may i tell you a story of everything and all that be? may i tell you a story of everything that is and shall?[/i] my maggots' love is like a proclivity i tie it around me and in the mirror i see a face that is noosed. get down to me get down to me get down to me kiss me. angels just say hello. and see your heads. all like holes. wings aren't real. i've cut the scissors' blades and seen through the maze that is the perplexity of authenticity. and truthful knives of divinity. steel-eyed steel-teethed steel-deceited i'll crush my hair. to disrepair and discare. until nothing will be there.

[size=1] This thing still isn't done...but once I get going on it again, it'll get done.[/size] I came to the place by just wandering there. Yes, I did. It was a tucked in a little corner, hidden by the tall mouthes of many trees that concealed it like clothes on some haggard man. The place even smelled like some haggard man; it wore its cheap after shave, even smelled as sweaty and lipid; it had this strange semblance to it, it was too calm and smelt too strong of nothing. It felt bizarre in a not so bizarre way, but more in a kind of distant, lingering way. I felt curious at the sight of the little shack. Thought it might be some love shack where people had gotten hitched. Maybe even some kind of special outpost, supplying many needed necessities to any approaching stranger. This was all well in guessing, and since I'm such a curious cat myself, I stood a long time outside of it, just examining every little mundane aspect of the place. It was one of the most fun things to do, you know?just stand there, try to guess what I'd find inside. Yes, just really fun. Like playing spin the bottle and kissing someone's lips; ?it was just a game, and even as risky as it might be inside, or lucrative as it might be in there, or even as perilous, I did not care. You know, curious cats like me don't care. Instead, we play with something. Play with it till we have to scratch to get away. The little shack looked pretty tight from the outside. Most of it was in shadows because of the trees cutting off the sun. It kind of gave the shack an uneven, hidden feeling, that sun painting it only in little dots and sheets. Certainly wasn't lucid enough to catch every little detail, but still. By moving even closer to the shack, looking at its wood and all, I was able to see it wasn't in too bad condition, like it'd been furnished by some pretty high-end construction man. My guesses were all now in the stars, mostly. I didn't have a clue. It was like just looking at some block of text in some verbose story, or something, you know?you couldn't really see if it was great or anything by seeing all those long, detailed words. First you actually have to go inside the sentences, through the entire thing, before you really know what 's good. Just seeing the bare outside really showed me nothing. Still being the curious cat, I stood there a while longer, my hand on my skinny chin, just wondering what in bejesus I'd find in there. Yet my guess was as good as any, and I knew this. So, with slow, fastidious steps, I set my way to finally going into the shack, my mind not set on any certain thing. The door into the shack itself was interesting. It seemed to have some claw marks of some kind on it, and was somewhat heavy to open to my surprise. But curious cats are tricksy, and I got my way in easy enough by my own provincial methods. Inside, the place's lights were off, except for a window sitting in the corner of the small room I came in to. The light of this window was mostly effaced and servile due to the trees, with their open mouthes, eating away at most of the light. When I first stepped in, I sort of braced myself. I don't really want to admit it, but yeah, I was scared. But not really scared, either. More like timid, or timorous, whatever's to your liking. Me, I'm a curious cat; we don't do like that, instead we keep playing till we have to scratch to get away, like I said earlier. So I was scared...but timid more than anything. Come on, it was dark in there. Wouldn't you be scared? Well, anyway, after feeling about in the place for a bit, just clawing for the light switch, my finger finally flicked it on on its own a I ran my hand by it due to luck. The place lit up, and my eyes almost fell out of their sockets just trying to adjust. They had some really bright lights in there, way too bright. I don't know if it's true or not, but I think the longer you use a light bulb, as it gets older and older, it gets dimmer and dimmer. So I think the reason the lights were so bright is because they hadn't been used much for whatever reason. But you know, whatever. They might have just had them wired some "special" way, who knows really. All that mattered was I'd finally gotten the accursed lights on, and I could finally see around the little room I was in. It was a kitchen. There were shiny pots and pans dotted around, an oven that looked pretty old and used often, a fridge, a table, some other things. You know, the usual. Nothing really looked too out of place or anything. Regular kitchen for all I could see. Then I finally looked closer at the table, though. Saw what was on it. Pouage. I couldn't believe it, either. Three bowls. Three of em, sitting there just steaming and irascible and be-a-u-tiful. Yeah, I was really hungry. I'd been walking for about four hours in the woods for no reason, you know, it's something I just liked to do. Really made me in touch with nature, so to say. Not to mention it was good on my figure. This stuff?pourage?wasn't bad for your figure at all, unlike fries or anything fried. This was pourage. You might say, "What about the Atkins Diet," but I say that's completely a waste of time, as well as space. Carbs are what make a curious cat have the energy to be curious, and without that, there'd be no curious cat. So as I said, I was hungry as a pig. Not that I am one or anything, you know, but I was just that hungry. In fact, I have a really hot body, even have a girlfriend. She says I have nice love handles, too. And nice abs. Guess walking gives you that. But man, that pourage just looked prime then. P-R-I-M-E. Prime. I almost couldn't even stop myself from eating it; but being the curious cat I am, I took my time. I checked out some of the rest of the shack, made sure there weren't any people eloping or anything, so that I wouldn't perturb them. Rather than waste my time going into each and every room (even though I suppose the shack was rather small, but hey, I was a hungry man), I just stuck my ear to the walls where there were other rooms in. Listened for anything funny, and didn't find it, of course. It was kind of too bad not finding anything, but that disturbance didn't hit me because right then I was hungry. I ran back, and there was the steaming heaping breakfast o' champions sitting there for my delight and mine only. But just then, a really important thought hit me smack dab in the face. Slapped me so hard that I put down the spoon I'd taken from the table in a throw. The three bears, that totally banal story. Wasn't this sort of like it in some way, or something? Yeah, it was. I mean, just look at it. Since when did people just leave their little shack open, leaving some beauties like the pourage here sitting all fancy free? Never, of course, or next to never. If you think about it, I suppose in the 1930's they'd done stuff like this, but that was the dirty 30's, this is in a shack, in the woods, in the middle of nowhere. Doesn't quite match up, right? No, it doesn't. Plus there was those claw marks on the door as I came in...and how hard it'd been to open the door. It all matched up. And I didn't want to end up like little goldilocks, all stuck with three bears that were total spazzes. I didn't at all. As I stood there, all this rushing to my head like a rush of blood to the head, my stomach then began to grumble. Great timing, too, wasn't it? Here I was, just realizing that probably some total goon had set me up and had almost got me, and here I am, starving to death, needing some food. And what does the goon put in my face? The one thing I want above all else. Man, I started to get really scared, like maybe this goon, or whoever he was, actually knew me or something. A scary thought that was. But then again, it could have been someone pulling a prank on me, of all people. I mean, it was October, the supposed "month of creepiness." I was shooting mostly at stars I suppose. But, it was with something like a shotgun, all fragmented and uncertain. It didn't feel good in my stomach at all. It felt empty. I didn't have a clue what to do. Well, I did have a clue, just like that game, but I didn't know which way to go. Who would do this to me? Why? I didn't have any idea why or who at all. And I couldn't focus, really, either. My stomach just kept on grumbling at me, and it wouldn't stop, either. You know that feeling of total emptiness, where you just feel like you're going to faint from lack of food? That's how I felt. And I just ended up being to where I couldn't stand it anymore at all. The pourage looked so good and great and filling, and I just couldn't stand it anymore. I needed it to live; it was like life or death. I grabbed another spoon on the table, and I just banged my spoon right into one of the bowls of pourage?it was the biggest one of the three, I think. It felt warm instantly, and as the small wisps of steam touched my hand, it felt great. It felt like some beautiful gal was breathing on me, and it tickled my skin. I was somewhere in an ecstasy then, my mouth just moved back and forth in some kind of extreme pleasure. I moved the spoon closer and closer to my face, inch by inch, little spot by little spot, until it was almost right on my lips, kissing me, ready to go into my stomach and kill this emptiness. But then I paused, just had to. I was having second thoughts, yeah. There was this feeling in my chest that said to me sure that this stuff was poisoned or something. Maybe with alcohol? Maybe even something worse, like a date rape drug? I couldn't have been sure...it was kind of absurd to think it then, but my mind was making one last stand against me, one last try to show me what came first, the chicken or the scrambled eggs. It ended up being the scrambled eggs, of all things. It's quite a disgrace, really. Here I am calling myself a "curious cat." A cat, to me, is something very deceptive, devious, flexible, understanding. They don't just rush into things, and they enjoy playing with something before just saying, "Ah, hell, what the fudge, I'ma just gonna kick ur ass," as some other frustrated individual might say or resolute to. But no, I've said I'm a cat. A curious cat. Something that does what it does in the right way without overlooking anything. Yet here I was. Eating the pourage, it almost coming to my lips, my brain making this one last plea, this one last amity of relation and auxiliary fight. Showing me which came first, the chicken or the scrambled eggs, telling me it was wrong. And boy, my mind must've been pretty scrambled eggs, you know. Usually I am a chicken about most things?not to disgrace my cat felinities?and I don't do them just because. But being hungry, it's just like some different egg. It scrambles all up your brain when it's cracked, and oozes all over until it's cooked your brain into all yellowy, splattered chunks. It's the ultimate fallacy, and the proof is right here. I totally disgraced everything I stand for, and ate the pourage right then and there with all reason?except hunger?not to. Yeah, there I was. Hungry, starving. And I just couldn't control myself. You know, it's people's necessities that just somehow fudge up everything else and just scramble everything to chunky chunks. And I just couldn't help myself. I mean, it wasn't like I was going to become some skeleton and just die from not eating food or anything. I just couldn't help myself, I guess. That's what it was. When it came to my lips, everything else in my mind went away like weeds being plucked in a garden. Not that the thoughts in my mind were weeds or anything, you know, but I just couldn't concentrate on anything else but eating my pourage. Oh, it was so good, you know. Not good, but good good, that kind of good that just says, "Good," out loud as you stand there and all, telling you how good good can be. It's a good feeling to say the least. I ended up eating that entire first bowl that was the biggest so fast it was gone as soon as I started. And I didn't feel like a pig or an oinker or anything, either. My stomach had this feeling that it had only eaten a small piece of something, and it screamed for more. Well, not screamed, but you know, it just told me it needed more, and then, at the time, it was all I could think of. All I could see in my head and from my eyes were those two bowls just sitting there, the steam rising up from them in beautiful smoke signals, telling me, "Eat me! Eat me!" in wonderful, warm voices. The curious cat part of me was gone I tell you, gone. And I didn't miss it then, either. All I wanted was more food, it was so good. I could tell that whoever had made this pourage must've been some master chef. The stuff was perfect. I mean, just looking at it, not even eating it, I could tell it was pr-ime. It wasn't just regular crappy pourage. No, this stuff was made by someone that knew what they were doing. I could almost imagine what they looked like, too. Maybe it was someone I knew, you know, or some girl that really liked me and wanted to trap me here, so she'd made me this good pourage. All I knew was the stuff was great. I ate all three bowls of it in quick fashion, not even stopping to let myself think let alone digest. All I tasted was pourage and all I knew was pourage then, you know. When I was done, I patted my belly. It felt so fat and large. That was when I felt like a pig, I tell you. I was so full; and, man, I absolutely hate the feeling of being so full. And then that's when all my thoughts started even hitting back at me, and then I felt stupid. The curious cat side of me, the one I'd disgraced and tucked away and not listened to came back, only this time it was a curious fat cat, drunk off of all the food he'd eaten. That was me then; I was a fat curious cat, not just a curious cat anymore. And I didn't like how I was beginning to feel?I was starting to feel tired, drowsy, like I could just drop off to sleep. Wasn't this just how that goldilocks gal had gone into those bears' clutches? It was sure as Richard Simmons would be assassinated for his radical ways with weight loss. Or maybe it wasn't, since maybe he isn't even considered radical. Who knows, but whatever the case, I was feeling deathly tired. And it wasn't some usual sleepiness, either. It was just like I said, "Deathly." I just knew it was from the pourage, had to be. And it was spiraling in my mind as I tried to think of what goon would do this to me. Or even if it was what I hoped it would be?some girl doing it. Maybe it was even someone else I knew playing a trick on me. I just didn't know. All I knew was I was really tired. That was when I started stumbling around the kitchen in a stupor and my eyes caught onto the fridge. I swear to this day, there was some kind of note written there. It was on that bright, yellow stick it note paper stuff, that kind that just seems deemed as sticky notes, and seems to prevail over everything else in its class. And I struggled to read it, my eyes were just giving out on me, they wouldn't focus. It was like there was rain in my eyes non-stop, and it wouldn't stop blurring my vision at all. But, squinting, I was able to make it out, sort of. I say sort of, because I'm not even sure if the note actually was there at all. I mean, it easily could have been the pourage and what it was doing to me for all I knew. What I saw there was really strange, to say the least. Every time I go over it with myself, I almost just stop and go, "What the hell?" but I suppose anyone would. Really, I think I was just really feeling some affects from that pourage stuff when I read it. I even laughed dreamily at it when I read it, too. The words themselves on the note were written in some thin cursive scrawl that seemed written pretty fast. Yeah, it was pretty sloppy, but not so much that I couldn't read it.

[quote]"A game sequel is a simple solution, but that might be too easy." [size=1]--FFVII Producer Yoshinori Kitase[/size][/quote] [size=1] Too easy? lol. This guy just makes me mad. A sequel, to me, is infinitely more replayable and better than some 60-minute blabbastic blabber. Ah well.[/size]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Zanarkand Abes [/i] [B]That was the best of the three in my oppinion, but it pissed me off that they [spoiler]killed both Trinity and Neo, I thought that really sucked. The end was kinda of cheao also, but I think they left it open for a forth movie, even though this was supposed to be the last one.[/spoiler] [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1] Well, that's the way it went lol. I think it was a needed thing. Just think. The first movie just introduced you to it. The second was about rebirth. And the second was about death. Something like a scurvy religionistic gander. I think it was the worst of the three, personally. Yes, some scenes were amazing...such as when Smith and Neo were fighting, and it went into super-de-duper slow-mo and you could see Neo's hand brushing away rain drops, and Smith's face just imploding in slo-mo bliss. The fight scenes were good....the fighting against the machines was good. But it didn't make you think at all nearly...it started off pretty good, then just groaned to a death at its stupid, predictable ending. It was pretty predictable as well. The new actor that played The Oracle was lackluster in comparison to the other one. She just wasn't The Oracle..I don't know what else to say. As I said, the reason for Neo's use of his powers outside of The Matrix was stupid. It didn't make you think of anything at all..and bleh. I thought most of the movie was good...but it did not live up to anything I had wanted it to be. The ending just made the whole movie taste insipid. It's worth seeing just to see...I suppose. But if it wasn't The Matrix, then I'd say the movie was just average. It wasn't anything mind-blowingly, assiduously amazing.[/size]

Julian Bradbury stood [b]anxiously[/b] [color=red] I'd try to limit your adjective usage as much as you possibly can. This isn't bad where it's at at all..but if you can think of a better way to say he's anxious than the way it is, do it. I can't really think of one...but you know, I'm just trying to say that the use of adjectives redundantly can really make a piece feel..contrived in some ways. I'm sure you knew all of this already, heh.[/color] at the crossroads, looking to the horizon, scanning for the yellow dragon that would soon scoop him up and transport him to a [b][strike]world he, until today, had never known[/strike][/b] world until today he hadn't known[color=red] I personally don't like the interuption the comma makes. I think it weakens the flow you had first off.[/color]. He fidgeted with his cap. It was too tight; his guardian had fastened the straps [b]wide of[/b] [color=red] Odd phrasing. Just say "far from" or some other thing. It's a small thing...but hey, I'm just trying to help.[/color] the marked slot. The straps choked him slightly. Perhaps Julian Bradbury felt the straps were to blame for the mild limit of oxygen, or perhaps Julian was just a little scared of what he was about to face. The wind blew against his face. It was a crisp wind, [color=red] mildly[/color]biting his face [b][strike]mildly[/b][/strike][color=red] Again...the adjectives. I cannot really think of a better way to do this sentence, so I'm just going to change the syntax a bit to make it not so cumbersome. The way you had it stuck it out like a sore thumb...and ended the sentence not as good as you could have.[/color]. Julian felt a chill run down his body, and held his coat closer [strike]to his person[/strike] [color=red] It's unneeded and sounds contriving. If he's holding his coat closer...I think it's easy enough to understand it's to himself.[/color]. [b][strike] He glanced back at his dwelling. He so wished to run back there, to the warmth of familiarity.[/strike] [/b][color=red] He glanced back at his dwelling, wishing he could run back to the warmth. [Just getting rid of the repetitous "He" in this part. Putting two thoughts and stringing them as one][/color] He felt safe there[color=red].[/color] [strike][b]and already felt longing for it[/b][/strike] [color=red] It was his home[/color]. But he was at the age of journey, and his guardian would not hear of any fear or [b][strike]trepidation[/b][/strike] [color=red] Replace with a less cumbersome word. The way you've narrated this so far has not had a word as long as this. It just stands out of place and doesn't feel right where it is. Just say what you're trying to in less letters--it makes it feel more realistic and flows better as well.[/color]. Julian was of proper age to venture out of the quarters and could no longer stay there all day. He was to journey now, and the yellow dragon was to begin his journey with him. Julian looked up at the sky. Gray clouds hung overhead; the sun was not shining. A few winged creatures circled ahead. Vultures, Julian thought. He hoped those birds weren?t circling for him, [strike]for[/strike] he was young, [strike]and[/strike] only starting his journey. But his time to cease was not here, and would not be here for [strike]a[/strike] [color=red]the[/color] longest time. Even with the knowledge of his youth, Julian still found himself leery of those birds. The idea of the vultures picking at his eyes sent piercing and paralyzing fear through him. Julian quickly looked back to the crossroads, back to the distance, hoping to catch sight of the yellow dragon. He wished it would arrive now, as the birds still circled. Julian patted his satchel, making sure his scribing materials were present. It would not be favorable if his scribing books were missing on the first day of his journey, as it is certain he would find things to write about and make record of. As he looked up from his satchel, he caught sight of a monstrous yellow dragon on the horizon. The yellow dragon approached at a speed Julian had never witnessed before, gliding to a gentle stop at Julian?s side. The dragon rider smiled at Julian, extending his hand and bidding him aboard. Julian stood still for a moment, unsure of his readiness for such a step, but the dragon rider smiled and motioned pleasantly for him to step up onto the yellow dragon. Julian?s apprehension melted away. The yellow dragon started off again, Julian riding comfortably up front. What[color=red] a[/color] strange but wondrous journey this will be. [size=1] It was pretty good. But I think you didn't explain things clearly enough. Explain more the relevancy of the yellow dragon. Show more what your character feels. Give me more of an image of what the dragon rider looks like. The writing just feels so small for how much you have to say. It's like you're just motioning at something...but you aren't making much move. You kept an even narration about the entirety of this piece, except for some hiccups and some unneccesary things. Otherwise it's decent...but as I said, it just feels lacking. It doesn't interest me too much. And when it gets going is only at the end...when you finally start showing more what your character feels. The ending of it was definitely better. The last small paragraph is essentially affective to the entire feel of the piece. That's about all I have to say. Ah. Ray Bradbury is a great author lol.[/size]

[size=1] It was a major disappointment. The explaination for how Neo could use his powers outside the matrix was stupid. The movie as a whole was too predictable. And what was the worst? I [i]hated[/i] the ending.[/size]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Charles [/i] [B][size=1]Excuse me, OtakuBoards Administrator over here.[/size] Yes, my all-seeing eyes have found this thread and the quarrel within. Mitch, next time you should elaborate on your opinions instead of posting what is essentially spam. That's the source of this bickering. A thought is only relevant if it's supported--and yours initially was not. So, of course confusion was likely. Everyone isn?t automatically going to understand what you?re trying to get across when you?re posting briefly and ambiguously. That?s why [I]none[/I] of our members should do that. We're having discussions here--not dropping in and providing quips. Now, all off-topic discussion and squabbling will cease or I'm likely to have an aneurysm. That is, if FirePheonix727 doesn't have one first. O.o;; [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1] Agree with you completely, Char. The thing was...I was listening to Bob Dylan as I posted and was in some Dylan-induced haze lol. I did think it was stupid to be so obtuse later. Well, I apologized to Asuka and such so that's all squared out. And for the record, my opinion on this topic is that I do like The Beatles, but I like Bob Dylan more.[/size]

[b]grimmer-grammaring[/b] the brain is more powerful than you will ever know. my bones flew to the sky. they cracked like fire. it was beautiful. angela's ashes indeed. ashes look like flowers to me. like dead roses. and dead dreams. the brain is more powerful than you will ever know. words are ashes. indeed. little thistle made up of thorns that webs together. these are words. why love love when it's only a word and why live life when it's absurd. because it's beautiful. that's why. all a-crickly and a-crack and i will scream my yawp all over the world. just like old saint walt. and no one else. civil-disobedience take me away to the pond a game of where's waldo. i know where he is. in the ashes of words. in the dirt with the worms. and thoreau is gone in them. ashes is a word that just seems to mean what it means. just like rain pitter-pattering or bats grimmer-grammaring. ("no no no, a verb has to be.") it sounds like something that sucks life. what a vacuum of space. i won't waste my time? i don't have it to waste. just go to college. get erased become a pencil and write in graphite and grey. and up in the sky i'll look at me from my flubby skin wondering who would win? the bleeding hearts, or the snobs. something like insanity. and doorknobs. each opens a door for another and bleeds open to another. the snobs and the bleeding hearts, the queen of spades. or maybe, if the schoolteachers feel gay, the king of queens, with a smirk that says, "i know what you want, babe." and so do i. you want ashes. dust to ashes and hashes. exclamation points with commas for heads from being cut open wide and dead. a trail mix of legs, things that are only for walking but nothing gained. those are what the grimmer-grammaring bats want to do. and i'm just as brainwashed as a cup of stew. all full of rotten vegetables and yellow blue. sick with fact, and sick in fact, i'll sail away. go to providence. my home away from home. my brain. the brain is more powerful than you will ever know. and my hand? it is a tendon of my brain. and my leg? it is a crutch for me in vain. and me? i am a slave.

[b]Pink Floyd-The Trial[/b] Good morning, the worm, your honour, The crown will plainly show, The prisoner who now stands before you, Was caught red-handed showing feelings. Showing feelings of an almost human nature. This will not do. Call the schoolmaster! I always said he?d come to no good, In the end, your honour. If they?d let me have my way, I could have flayed him into shape. But my hands were tied. The bleeding hearts and artists, Let him get away with murder. Let me hammer him today. Crazy. Toys in the attic, I am crazy. Truly gone fishing. They must have taken my marbles away. (crazy. toys in the attic, he is crazy.) You little shit, you?re in it now. I hope they throw away the key. You should?ve talked to me more often than you did. But no! you had to go your own way. Have you broken any homes up lately? Just five minutes, worm, your honour, Him and me alone. Baaaaaabe! Come to mother, baby. Let me hold you in my arms. M?lord, I never meant for him to get in any trouble. Why?d he ever have to leave me? Worm, your honour, let me take him home. Crazy. Over the rainbow, I am crazy. Bars in the window. There must have been a door there in the wall. For when I came in. . . (crazy. over the rainbow, he is crazy.) The evidence before the court is incontravertible. There?s no need for the jury to retire. In all my years of judging I have never heard before, Of someone more deserving of the full penalty of the law. The way you made them suffer, Your exquisite wife and mother, Fills me with the urge to deficate! -- no, judge, the jury! Since, my friend, you have revealed your deepest fear, I sentence you to be exposed before your peers. Tear down the wall! It appears to be a trial. "The bleeding hearts and the artists" is a phrase seen in [i]The Wall[/i] often. It basically goes to say those that are in love and are creative. At least this is my perception of it. The wall is often mentioned often in this concept album. One thinks that it might be about the Berlin wall...but I don't tie into that. I think its intended meaning is fans misunderstanding a band...since they don't actually see what they are like. But my personal connection is that creativity itself creates a wall...and some people just don't understand it. This song sounds really satirical to me. And the way it's sang is also pointing me in this direction. It seems to me to be about creativity...and how people are constantly not allowed to use it. [quote]Good morning, the worm, your honour, The crown will plainly show, The prisoner who now stands before you, Was caught red-handed showing feelings. Showing feelings of an almost human nature. This will not do.[/quote] Feelings of an almost human nature...this is what creativity is. It's one's self expression. [quote]I always said he?d come to no good, In the end, your honour. If they?d let me have my way, I could have flayed him into shape. But my hands were tied. The bleeding hearts and artists, Let him get away with murder. Let me hammer him today.[/quote] Let him get away with murder. Taking it literally, perhaps whomever is on trial committed murder. But the song goes to say that the "bleeding hearts and artists" allowed him to get away with murder. Meaning they allowed him to create, perhaps. Or perhaps the way I am thinking is totally off. Who knows. That's why it's called an opinion lol. [quote]Crazy. Toys in the attic, I am crazy. Truly gone fishing. They must have taken my marbles away. (crazy. toys in the attic, he is crazy.)[/quote] One of my favorite parts of the song. The person who is on trial admits they think they are crazy. [quote]The evidence before the court is incontravertible. There?s no need for the jury to retire. In all my years of judging I have never heard before, Of someone more deserving of the full penalty of the law. The way you made them suffer, Your exquisite wife and mother, Fills me with the urge to deficate! -- no, judge, the jury! Since, my friend, you have revealed your deepest fear, I sentence you to be exposed before your peers. Tear down the wall![/quote] The judge decides his decision saying it makes him feel like "deficating"--moving his bowels. If this isn't sarcastic and satrical, I don't know what is lol. It ends with the nice imagery and nice little phrase of "tear down the wall." The song itself comes off as funny...the way the lines are read, they sound like their parts. The judge's voice is loud and boomy...and such. The Judge is also addressed as "worm your honor." A worm is something crawling, something small, something that is blind, and something that can't possibly know what it's like to be human. This is my interpretation of what the judge symbolizes. As for the tearing down of the wall...well, meaning the end of this man's creativity if you're going with what I think. Or perhaps the end of racial descrimination by destroying prejudices rather than having them there. Hm. This song is quite interesting to say the least.

[size=1] Well, if you actually took some moments to understand something...I obviously think Bob Dylan is better than the Beatles from my post. I was only giving what you gave me back, Asuka. And yes, Bob Dylan was just as much influenced as well. This was my point...I just didn't make that as obvious.[/size]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Queen Asuka [/i] [B][color=hotpink][size=1]He's just being a smart ***, as usual. Don't mind him. He's just trying to say that Bob Dylan is rock legend. And true he is, but this is a thread about the Beatles. And posts like that are spam as well. But whatever. And yes, Sgt. Pepper's is a great album. I am very satisfied with it. My only gripe is that it is so short. You go through it so quickly...but the songs are magnificent![/color][/size] [/B][/QUOTE] [size=1] If you actually knew anything, you'd know that Bob Dylan was one of the very very MAIN influences on to The Beatles. He is what made them what they eventually became. But you don't know that now, do you? I guess not. Who's the smartass here?[/size] [quote]"[The Beatles] were doing things that nobody was doing. Their chords were outrageous, just outrageous, and their harmonies made it all valid. You could only do that with other musicians. Even if you're playing your own chords you had to have other people playing with you. That was obvious. And it started me thinking about other people." In May of 1964, Bob Dylan toured England and was blown away by what was happening there with rock and roll. Working class Englishmen like Keith Richards and Mick Jagger, Eric Clapton and Eric Burdon, John Lennon and Paul McCartney, Pete Townsend and Roger Daltrey had all picked up records by Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Howliní Wolf, Muddy Waters, Robert Johnson, Elvis Presley and many others. They were driven by those records to make their own style of rock and roll and ended up reinventing it and revitalizing it. When Dylan hit London, the major bands of the British Invasion including the Rolling Stones, The Animals and, of course, The Beatles, went to see him and they were influenced once again to take their music to a higher level with more meaningful lyrics and subject matter in their songs. The Brits werenít the only ones who were influenced. While in England, Bob Dylan spent some time with The Beatles and ended up getting them high for the first time on marijuana. Bob Dylan didnít come away from that time with just blood-shot eyes and a grin. Upon his return to America, he began thinking of ways to bring his folk music into a new aural medium. What came out of his head were two albums released in 1965: "Bringing It All Back Home" and "Highway 61 Revisited". [/quote]

[b]Bob Dylan-Idiot Wind[/b] Someone's got it in for me, they're planting stories in the press Whoever it is I wish they'd cut it out but when they will I can only guess. They say I shot a man named Gray and took his wife to Italy, She inherited a million bucks and when she died it came to me. I can't help it if I'm lucky. People see me all the time and they just can't remember how to act Their minds are filled with big ideas, images and distorted facts. Even you, yesterday you had to ask me where it was at, I couldn't believe after all these years, you didn't know me better than that Sweet lady. Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your mouth, Blowing down the backroads headin' south. Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth, You're an idiot, babe. It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe. I ran into the fortune-teller, who said beware of lightning that might strike I haven't known peace and quiet for so long I can't remember what it's like. There's a lone soldier on the cross, smoke pourin' out of a boxcar door, You didn't know it, you didn't think it could be done, in the final end he won the wars After losin' every battle. I woke up on the roadside, daydreamin' 'bout the way things sometimes are Visions of your chestnut mare shoot through my head and are makin' me see stars. You hurt the ones that I love best and cover up the truth with lies. One day you'll be in the ditch, flies buzzin' around your eyes, Blood on your saddle. Idiot wind, blowing through the flowers on your tomb, Blowing through the curtains in your room. Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth, You're an idiot, babe. It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe. It was gravity which pulled us down and destiny which broke us apart You tamed the lion in my cage but it just wasn't enough to change my heart. Now everything's a little upside down, as a matter of fact the wheels have stopped, What's good is bad, what's bad is good, you'll find out when you reach the top You're on the bottom. I noticed at the ceremony, your corrupt ways had finally made you blind I can't remember your face anymore, your mouth has changed, your eyes don't look into mine. The priest wore black on the seventh day and sat stone-faced while the building burned. I waited for you on the running boards, near the cypress trees, while the springtime turned Slowly into autumn. Idiot wind, blowing like a circle around my skull, From the Grand Coulee Dam to the Capitol. Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth, You're an idiot, babe. It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe. I can't feel you anymore, I can't even touch the books you've read Every time I crawl past your door, I been wishin' I was somebody else instead. Down the highway, down the tracks, down the road to ecstasy, I followed you beneath the stars, hounded by your memory And all your ragin' glory. I been double-crossed now for the very last time and now I'm finally free, I kissed goodbye the howling beast on the borderline which separated you from me. You'll never know the hurt I suffered nor the pain I rise above, And I'll never know the same about you, your holiness or your kind of love, And it makes me feel so sorry. Idiot wind, blowing through the buttons of our coats, Blowing through the letters that we wrote. Idiot wind, blowing through the dust upon our shelves, We're idiots, babe. It's a wonder we can even feed ourselves. [i]Amazing[/i] song.

[size=1] Well, the censor is no longer used in this forum...but swearing blatantly and without purpose isn't heh. I'm sorry...I didn't notice that he'd deleted his post, and I hadn't noticed your post was probably before the censor was removed.[/size]

[QUOTE]Let's take the longest way through the hallways of your mind. Upon your knees, the phantom breeze of a shipwreck lost in time. Your envy mirror, the kelly fear adorns the walls in slime.[/quote] The Kelly Fear? Well,I'm guessing Kelly may be a name of a girl? So the fear of a girl? Envy mirror...something you want to be like? Wanting to be like a girl...that doesn't make sense, though. It starts off asking, "Well, let's take a walk in your mind. See what we find." It says you find something that's old--"a shipwreck lost in time"--meaning it's been there a long, long time. [quote]Figure it out, just like you used to. In the absense of proud, that's when you're cursed to prove.[/quote] Reexamination, baby; going over something again, look at it as fresh again. That's what the first line says. In the absence of the proud...hm. In the absence of those who see your achievments. Those that see all you've done. Without their enthusiasm and help, that's when you're shown to prove what you really are. [quote]And as the perfect wings'll glide, cleansed are men of all the mice. Past the pain, we tend to strive, or that's how it seems to beginners. Accept awards throughout our lives, to make young lovers intertwine. Perhaps the end'll come tonight, so hooray for the Winners.[/quote] Perfect people will excel, and they'll shower out all the "mice"--the weaker, not as good people. The song then goes to say that these people are something of beginners. They don't know the true pain of being swept down by people that are better. And past this pain, they have a chance to strive. The accepting awards to make young lovers intertwine line doesn't make perfect sense to me though. It goes to say perhaps they'll die tonight. Is it saying that these are the winners? The ones that die? That's what I see. [quote]A vast abyss, where lie dismissed ideas of yours and mine. But brought to kneel by the Grecian Seal, we join the family line.[/quote] Don't know what a "Grecian Seal" is. I looked it up. It's a greek seal? What the hell? It doesn't make sense to me. The first line makes perfect sense...it says that people far too often don't think for themselves. And they...look to the past and follow others. Perhaps that's what the second line is saying. [quote]Figure it out, just like you used to. In the absense of proud, that's when you're cursed to prove And as the perfect wings'll glide, cleansed are men of all the mice. Past the pain, we tend to strive, or that's how it seems to beginners. Accept awards throughout our lives, to make young lovers intertwine. Perhaps the end'll come tonight, so hooray for the Winners.[/quote] Already explained. [quote]You'll never thrill the bold divisions in the sky, of whom predestined you to always be the last in line.[/quote] Simply, you'll never be better than you were made to be, by God, this says. [quote]Accept awards throughout our lives To make young lovers intertwine Perhaps the end will come tonight Past the pain we tend to strive Because the Winner's young and bright. Let the heavens make it right. A warm and gentle breeze at night. Bereft, you are of plans to gain no misery, you're no surprise we're born to fight, suck the marrow of life The Winners forever preside.[/quote] "Suck the marrow of life." Thoreau's words changed a bit--a transcendentalist that once wrote one must "suck all the marrow out of life." The last part basically says The Winners are the young people, I suppose. It says they are nothing special. They'll end up fighting the perfect people and better people. And they'll continue to do so. Time for some lyrics from me. I'll just do a random Radiohead song.. [b]Radiohead- My Iron Lung[/b] Faith.. you?re driving me away You do it everyday You don?t mean it but it hurts like hell. My brain.. says I?m recieving pain A lack of oxygen from my life support My iron lung. We?re.. too young to fall asleep Too cynical to speak We are loosing it, can?t you tell? We scratch.. our eternal itch Out 20th century bitch And we are grateful of our Iron lung. Suck.. suck your teenage thumb Toilet trained and dumb When the power runs out, we?ll just hum. This.. is our new song Just like the last one A total waste of time. My iron lung (the headshrinkers they want everything) (my uncle bill, my belisha beacon) And if you?re frightened, you can be frightened You can be x ok!! Anf if you?re frightened, you can be frightened You can be x-ok!! (the headshrinkers they want everything) (my uncle bill, my belisha beacon) The song was written about "Creep." It can obviously be seen in these lines in particular... [quote]Suck.. suck your teenage thumb Toilet trained and dumb When the power runs out, we?ll just hum. This.. is our new song Just like the last one A total waste of time. My iron lung [/quote] I also take its meaning in religion as well. An iron lung. [b]Radiohead-Lucky[/b] I'm on a roll I'm on a roll This time I feel my luck could change. Kill my Sarah Kill me again With love. It's gonna be a glorius day. Pull me out of your crash Pull me out of the wake Because I'm your super hero We are standing on the edge. The head of state Has called for me by name. And I don't have Time for him. It's gonna be a glorius day. I feel my luck could change. Pull me out of your crash. Pull me out of the wake. Because I'm your superhero. We are standing on the edge. We are standing on the edge. I can't even begin to explain how amazing this song is. Thom Yorke is just amazing. This whole song just goes beyond words...the way he sings it. If you haven't heard it, hear it. These lyrics sound stale as to how the song sounds with his voice. The song is about his girlfriend, Sarah. It talks about how he feels he's too lucky to have her-- [quote] I'm on a roll I'm on a roll This time I feel my luck could change[/quote] He then goes to say he saves Sarah from things, he's her "superhero." And he asks her to kill him again with love. It's a simple song...but so amazing.

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by PoisonTongue [/i] [B]Got an issue? Here's a tissue. Life is teh suck. Get a helmet, buck. Mitch, stop being a little *****. (Hey, that rhymes! You must hate it because of that!) ;) Seriously, I ignore your pointless and inane posts (and there have been a few lately), why not ignore my (supposedly) pointless and (supposedly) inane signature? There are more important things than getting pissy over a sig, Mitch, including becoming an actual writer and not just being someone who thinks of themself as a writer (