Canadiens1131
ONE love, blood, life
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Varitek said:
Sounds like Bono wrote that on the plane yesterday.
Bill, Wyo. Superthread
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Sounds like Bono wrote that on the plane yesterday.
OP
OP
Varitek
Blue Crack Addict
Axver said:
ok now we are into it. now i am acually getting out of bed enough to get out my complete works.
Canadiens1131
ONE love, blood, life
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POETRY SLAM!!!!! 
Varitek said:
That's a complete mess. It has no literary merit.
Now this is poetry:
Dulce et Decorum Est
Wilfred Owen
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!–An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,–
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
coolian2
Blue Crack Supplier
It's like a fucking geek-off in here right now.
U2.
Poetry.
Ugh.
U2.
Poetry.
Ugh.
the tourist
Blue Crack Addict
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On-the-fly HTDAAB tracklisting:
City of Blinding Lights (mixed better, not neutered)
Native Son (a kick-ass finalized version)
All Because of You (with better lyrics and a stronger vocalization on the chorus)
Xanax and Wine (see Native Son notes)
Smile (with more backing vocals from Edge)
Yahweh (see City of Blinding Lights notes)
Love and Peace or Else (some better lyrics, more guitars, better solo, longer outro)
Electrical Storm (original, not William Orbit)
Miracle Drug (If God Will Send His Angels treatment to verses--especially the "freedom has a scent..." prechorus and the "luuuu-uhhh-uhhh-uhhh-uhhh-uhhh-uhhhv" part of the second prechorus)
Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own (stripped down instrumentation, better mixing)
Original of the Species (the single version)
One Step Closer (more sparse and ethereal).
City of Blinding Lights (mixed better, not neutered)
Native Son (a kick-ass finalized version)
All Because of You (with better lyrics and a stronger vocalization on the chorus)
Xanax and Wine (see Native Son notes)
Smile (with more backing vocals from Edge)
Yahweh (see City of Blinding Lights notes)
Love and Peace or Else (some better lyrics, more guitars, better solo, longer outro)
Electrical Storm (original, not William Orbit)
Miracle Drug (If God Will Send His Angels treatment to verses--especially the "freedom has a scent..." prechorus and the "luuuu-uhhh-uhhh-uhhh-uhhh-uhhh-uhhhv" part of the second prechorus)
Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own (stripped down instrumentation, better mixing)
Original of the Species (the single version)
One Step Closer (more sparse and ethereal).
The Sad Punk
Blue Crack Addict
If ee cummings is to blame for the popularity of writing entirely in lowercase in a pretentious and often elitist manner then I'm probably leaning over to Axxo's side a bit more.
OP
OP
Varitek
Blue Crack Addict
that's a nice, nice poem, but don't use it to excuse the fact that you don't udnerstand e e cummings
now air is air and thing is thing:no bliss
of heavenly earth beguiles our spirits,whose
miraculously disenchanted eyes
live the magnificent honesty of space.
Mountains are mountains now; skies now are skies---
and such a sharpening freedom lifts our blood
as if whole supreme this complete doubtless
universe we'd(and we alone had)made
---yes;or as if our souls, awakened from
summer's green trance, would not adventure soon
a deeper magic:that white sleep wherein
all human curiosity we'll spend
(gladly, as lovers must)immortal and
the courage to receive time's mightiest dream
now air is air and thing is thing:no bliss
of heavenly earth beguiles our spirits,whose
miraculously disenchanted eyes
live the magnificent honesty of space.
Mountains are mountains now; skies now are skies---
and such a sharpening freedom lifts our blood
as if whole supreme this complete doubtless
universe we'd(and we alone had)made
---yes;or as if our souls, awakened from
summer's green trance, would not adventure soon
a deeper magic:that white sleep wherein
all human curiosity we'll spend
(gladly, as lovers must)immortal and
the courage to receive time's mightiest dream
coolian2
Blue Crack Supplier
The Sad Punk said:
x2
blueeyedgirl
Rock n' Roll Doggie ALL ACCESS
Paul KellyAxver said:
Weddings Parties Anything/Mick Thomas
Sime Nugent
coolian2
Blue Crack Supplier
Axver said:
Add in U2 and i've no chance in the real world
coolian2
Blue Crack Supplier
Axver said:
SUPERWIN MIXED WITH MEGA-PWNAGE
OP
OP
Varitek
Blue Crack Addict
next to of course god america i
love you land of the pilgrims' and so forth oh
say can you see by the dawn's early my
country 'tis of centuries come and go
and are no more what of it we should worry
in every language even deafanddumb
thy sons acclaim your glorious name by gorry
by jingo by gee by gosh by gum
why talk of beauty what could be more beaut-
iful than these heroic happy dead
who rushed like lions to the roaring slaughter
they did not stop to think they died instead
then shall the voice of liberty be mute?"
He spoke. And drank rapidly a glass of water
love you land of the pilgrims' and so forth oh
say can you see by the dawn's early my
country 'tis of centuries come and go
and are no more what of it we should worry
in every language even deafanddumb
thy sons acclaim your glorious name by gorry
by jingo by gee by gosh by gum
why talk of beauty what could be more beaut-
iful than these heroic happy dead
who rushed like lions to the roaring slaughter
they did not stop to think they died instead
then shall the voice of liberty be mute?"
He spoke. And drank rapidly a glass of water
blueeyedgirl said:
Paul Kelly
Weddings Parties Anything/Mick Thomas
Sime Nugent
I know OF the first two. I'm sure I'd recognise Paul Kelly's stuff if you played it for me, though I'm having trouble recalling his songs off the top of my head.
the tourist
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No one likes my Bomb tracklist? 
OP
OP
Varitek
Blue Crack Addict
Listen, you morons great and small
to the tale of an intellectuall
(and if you don't profit by his career
don't ever say Hoover gave nobody beer).
'Tis frequently stated out where he was born
that a rose is as weak as its shortest thorn:
they spit like quarters and sleep in their boots
and anyone dies when somebody shoots
and the sheriff arrives after everyone's went;
which isn't,perhaps,an environment
where you would(and I should) expect to find
overwhelming devotion to things of the mind.
But when it rains chickens we'll all catch larks
-- to borrow a phrase from Karl the Marks.
As a child he was puny;shrank from noise
hated the girls and mistrusted the boise,
didn't like whisky,learned to spell
and generally seemed to be going to hell;
so his parents,encouraged by desperation,
gave him a classical education
(and went to sleep in their boots again
out in the land where women are main).
You know the rest:a critic of note,
a serious thinker,a lyrical pote,
lectured on Art from west to east
--did sass-seyeity fall for it? Cheast!
if a dowager balked at our hero's verse
he'd knock her cold with a page from Jerse;
why,he used to say to his friends, he used
"for getting a debutante gived me Prused"
and many's the heiress who's up and swooned
after one canto from Ezra Pooned
(or--to borrow a cadence from Karl the Marx--
a biting chipmunk never barx).
But every bathtub will have its gin
and one man's sister is another man's sin
and a hand in the bush is a stitch in time
and Aint It All a Bloody Shime
and he suffered a fate which is worse than death
and I don't allude to unpleasant breath.
Our blooming hero awoke,one day,
to find he had nothing whatever to say:
which I might interpret(just for fun)
as meaning the es of a be was dun
and I mightn't think(and you mightn't,too)
that a Five Year Plan's worth a Gay Pay Oo
and both of us might irretrievably pause
ere believing that Stalin is Santa Clause:
which happily proves that neither of us
is really an intellectual cus.
For what did our intellectual do,
when he found himself so empty and blo?
he pondered a while and he said,said he
"It's the social system,it isn't me!
Not I am a fake,but America's phoney!
Not I am no artist,but Art's bologney!
Or--briefly to paraphrase Karl the Marx--
'The first law of nature is,trees will be parx.'
Now all you morons of sundry classes
(who read the Times and who buy the Masses)
if you don't profit by his career
don't ever say Hoover gave nobody beer.
For whoso conniveth at Lenin his dream
shall dine upon bayonets,isn't and seam
and a miss is as good as a mile is best
for if you're not bourgeois you're Eddie Gest
and wastelands live and waistlines die,
which I very much hope it won't happen to eye;
or as comrade Shakespeare remarked of old
All that Glisters Is Mike Gold
(but a rolling snowball gathers no sparks
--and the same hold true of Karl the Marks).
to the tale of an intellectuall
(and if you don't profit by his career
don't ever say Hoover gave nobody beer).
'Tis frequently stated out where he was born
that a rose is as weak as its shortest thorn:
they spit like quarters and sleep in their boots
and anyone dies when somebody shoots
and the sheriff arrives after everyone's went;
which isn't,perhaps,an environment
where you would(and I should) expect to find
overwhelming devotion to things of the mind.
But when it rains chickens we'll all catch larks
-- to borrow a phrase from Karl the Marks.
As a child he was puny;shrank from noise
hated the girls and mistrusted the boise,
didn't like whisky,learned to spell
and generally seemed to be going to hell;
so his parents,encouraged by desperation,
gave him a classical education
(and went to sleep in their boots again
out in the land where women are main).
You know the rest:a critic of note,
a serious thinker,a lyrical pote,
lectured on Art from west to east
--did sass-seyeity fall for it? Cheast!
if a dowager balked at our hero's verse
he'd knock her cold with a page from Jerse;
why,he used to say to his friends, he used
"for getting a debutante gived me Prused"
and many's the heiress who's up and swooned
after one canto from Ezra Pooned
(or--to borrow a cadence from Karl the Marx--
a biting chipmunk never barx).
But every bathtub will have its gin
and one man's sister is another man's sin
and a hand in the bush is a stitch in time
and Aint It All a Bloody Shime
and he suffered a fate which is worse than death
and I don't allude to unpleasant breath.
Our blooming hero awoke,one day,
to find he had nothing whatever to say:
which I might interpret(just for fun)
as meaning the es of a be was dun
and I mightn't think(and you mightn't,too)
that a Five Year Plan's worth a Gay Pay Oo
and both of us might irretrievably pause
ere believing that Stalin is Santa Clause:
which happily proves that neither of us
is really an intellectual cus.
For what did our intellectual do,
when he found himself so empty and blo?
he pondered a while and he said,said he
"It's the social system,it isn't me!
Not I am a fake,but America's phoney!
Not I am no artist,but Art's bologney!
Or--briefly to paraphrase Karl the Marx--
'The first law of nature is,trees will be parx.'
Now all you morons of sundry classes
(who read the Times and who buy the Masses)
if you don't profit by his career
don't ever say Hoover gave nobody beer.
For whoso conniveth at Lenin his dream
shall dine upon bayonets,isn't and seam
and a miss is as good as a mile is best
for if you're not bourgeois you're Eddie Gest
and wastelands live and waistlines die,
which I very much hope it won't happen to eye;
or as comrade Shakespeare remarked of old
All that Glisters Is Mike Gold
(but a rolling snowball gathers no sparks
--and the same hold true of Karl the Marks).
coolian2
Blue Crack Supplier
the tourist said:
I like it.
the tourist
Blue Crack Addict
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Axver said:
Ehh. I thought people might throw a hissy fit if I ommited it. Consider it ommited. And it's a Native Son b-side.
Varitek said:
You don't seriously think that's good, do you? I mean, a baboon could've written that. In fact, a baboon probably did write that. It's not hard to rip random sentences and words out of a book and throw them together.
It was probably the same baboon responsible for U2 18's tracklist, coming to think of it.
OP
OP
Varitek
Blue Crack Addict
also his sonnets are the best play on the form of sonnet ever in the history of ever
coolian2
Blue Crack Supplier
the tourist said:
Much better.
the tourist
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Axver said:
coolian2
Blue Crack Supplier
Be nice to Varitek, she is drunk.
She'll regret it in the morning.
She'll regret it in the morning.
OP
OP
Varitek
Blue Crack Addict
:finger:
i excuse you tourist, but not ax. ax, this is inexcuseable. and i didnt remember from whatever other drunk time that you didn't like ee cummings so it's particularly egregious
i excuse you tourist, but not ax. ax, this is inexcuseable. and i didnt remember from whatever other drunk time that you didn't like ee cummings so it's particularly egregious
the tourist
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coolian2 said:
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