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12 Years a Slave

Cast: Brad Pitt, Michael Fassbender, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Benedict Cumberbatch, Paul Dano, Paul Giamatti, Scoot McNairy, Taran Killam

trailer for 12 Years a Slave, directed by Steve McQueen, screenplay by John Ridley, inspired by Solomon Northup (2013)
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Give Your Heart To The Hawks

1 he apples hung until a wind at the equinox,

That heaped the beach with black weed, filled the dry grass

Under the old trees with rosy fruit.

In the morning Fayne Fraser gathered the sound ones into a

basket,

The bruised ones into a pan. One place they lay so thickly
She knelt to reach them.

Her husband's brother passing
Along the broken fence of the stubble-field,
His quick brown eyes took in one moving glance
A little gopher-snake at his feet flowing through the stubble
To gain the fence, and Fayne crouched after apples
With her mop of red hair like a glowing coal
Against the shadow in the garden. The small shapely reptile
Flowed into a thicket of dead thistle-stalks
Around a fence-post, but its tail was not hidden.
The young man drew it all out, and as the coil
Whipped over his wrist, smiled at it; he stepped carefully
Across the sag of the wire. When Fayne looked up
His hand was hidden; she looked over her shoulder
And twitched her sunburnt lips from small white teeth
To answer the spark of malice in his eyes, but turned
To the apples, intent again. Michael looked down
At her white neck, rarely touched by the sun,
But now the cinnabar-colored hair fell off from it;
And her shoulders in the light-blue shirt, and long legs like a boy's
Bare-ankled in blue-jean trousers, the country wear;
He stooped quietly and slipped the small cool snake
Up the blue-denim leg. Fayne screamed and writhed,
Clutching her thigh. 'Michael, you beast.' She stood up
And stroked her leg, with little sharp cries, the slender invader
Fell down her ankle.

Fayne snatched for it and missed;

Michael stood by rejoicing, his rather small

Finely cut features in a dance of delight;

Fayne with one sweep flung at his face

All the bruised and half-spoiled apples in the pan,

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
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This Friendly World

R.E.M., Andy, Tony---This Friendly World
ANDY: Hi, Michael.
MICHAEL: Hi, Andy. Thanks for joining us. Do you
wanna ... you wanna sing a song together?
ANDY: Sure! Is it a sweet song?
MICHAEL: Yeah, it's real sweet.
ANDY: O.K.!
[They laugh.]
MICHAEL:
In this friendly, friendly world
With each day so full of joy
Why should any heart be lonely?
ANDY: My turn!
In this friendly, friendly world
With each night so full of dreams
Why should any heart be afraid?
The world is ...
MICHAEL ANDY:
... such a wonderful place
To wander through
When you've got someone you love
MICHAEL:
To wander along with you
ANDY: O.K., now take every second word! With ...
MICHAEL: ... the ...
ANDY: ... sky ...
MICHAEL: ... so ...
ANDY: ... full ...
MICHAEL: ... of ...
ANDY: ... stars
MICHAEL: And ...
ANDY: ... the ...
MICHAEL: ... river ...
ANDY: ... so ...
MICHAEL: ... full ...
ANDY: ... of ...
MICHAEL: ... song, Every ...
ANDY: ... heart ...
MICHAEL: ... should ...
ANDY: ... be ...
MICHAEL: ... so ...
ANDY: ... thankful
It's a friendly world! Don't you think so, Michael?
MICHAEL: Yup!
TONY: Oh yeah?! What's so friendly about it?!!
This is Tony Clifton, and, and I demand a part in
this song! I'm just as big a part of the movie as
these guys are! And, and I will not sit back while
some sought-after Colonel Kurtz wanna-be, uh, uh
has his day in the sun! I think he's enough

[...] Read more

song performed by REM
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The Vision of Judgment

I

Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate:
His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull,
So little trouble had been given of late;
Not that the place by any means was full,
But since the Gallic era 'eight-eight'
The devils had ta'en a longer, stronger pull,
And 'a pull altogether,' as they say
At sea — which drew most souls another way.

II

The angels all were singing out of tune,
And hoarse with having little else to do,
Excepting to wind up the sun and moon,
Or curb a runaway young star or two,
Or wild colt of a comet, which too soon
Broke out of bounds o'er th' ethereal blue,
Splitting some planet with its playful tail,
As boats are sometimes by a wanton whale.

III

The guardian seraphs had retired on high,
Finding their charges past all care below;
Terrestrial business fill'd nought in the sky
Save the recording angel's black bureau;
Who found, indeed, the facts to multiply
With such rapidity of vice and woe,
That he had stripp'd off both his wings in quills,
And yet was in arrear of human ills.

IV

His business so augmented of late years,
That he was forced, against his will no doubt,
(Just like those cherubs, earthly ministers,)
For some resource to turn himself about,
And claim the help of his celestial peers,
To aid him ere he should be quite worn out
By the increased demand for his remarks:
Six angels and twelve saints were named his clerks.

V

This was a handsome board — at least for heaven;
And yet they had even then enough to do,
So many conqueror's cars were daily driven,
So many kingdoms fitted up anew;

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
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Vision of Judgment, The

I

Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate:
His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull,
So little trouble had been given of late;
Not that the place by any means was full,
But since the Gallic era 'eight-eight'
The devils had ta'en a longer, stronger pull,
And 'a pull altogether,' as they say
At sea — which drew most souls another way.

II

The angels all were singing out of tune,
And hoarse with having little else to do,
Excepting to wind up the sun and moon,
Or curb a runaway young star or two,
Or wild colt of a comet, which too soon
Broke out of bounds o'er th' ethereal blue,
Splitting some planet with its playful tail,
As boats are sometimes by a wanton whale.

III

The guardian seraphs had retired on high,
Finding their charges past all care below;
Terrestrial business fill'd nought in the sky
Save the recording angel's black bureau;
Who found, indeed, the facts to multiply
With such rapidity of vice and woe,
That he had stripp'd off both his wings in quills,
And yet was in arrear of human ills.

IV

His business so augmented of late years,
That he was forced, against his will no doubt,
(Just like those cherubs, earthly ministers,)
For some resource to turn himself about,
And claim the help of his celestial peers,
To aid him ere he should be quite worn out
By the increased demand for his remarks:
Six angels and twelve saints were named his clerks.

V

This was a handsome board — at least for heaven;
And yet they had even then enough to do,
So many conqueror's cars were daily driven,
So many kingdoms fitted up anew;

[...] Read more

poem by George Gordon Byron
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How the Boy Stole Christmas

Based on 'How the Grinch Stole Christmas', by Dr. Seuss.
Done for a school project=)

Once, upon a falling snowflake,
In a land far, far away,
There lived all the Whats,
Preparing for Christmas day.

There was one What that stuck out,
The richest What of them all,
He had light brown hair, and big brown eyes
His given name was Paul.

Paul was a greedy boy,
His best friend was Ebenezer Scrooge
And anytime Paul lied,
His little nose turned huge!

Paul was the only What in Whattown,
That really hated this time of the year,
He ruined all the children’s fun,
His pranks were in full gear.

Paul thought Christmas was just trouble,
He only thought of himself,
He thought that Santa Claus was stupid,
And hurt the feelings of every single elf.

He hated everybody that liked Christmas,
There was only one exception of his,
A beautiful What named Rachel,
Whom he never wanted to diss.

Now every story has a problem,
And this one’s is pretty big,
Paul crushed on the Christmas-lover Rachel,
But Rachel thought Paul was a pig.

You see, Rachel was an EXTREME Christmas fanatic,
Loving every aspect of it,
She volunteered everywhere that she could,
And her money? Donated every bit.

She helped out at school and Church,
Sang carols at the old folks’ home,
Baked cookies with younger children,
Made ornaments out of foam.

Rachel hated anybody that hated Christmas,
She was like a packaged deal,

[...] Read more

poem by Selina Marie
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To St. Michael in Time of Peace

Michael, Michael: Michael of the Morning,
Michael of the Army of the Lord,
Stiffen thou the hand upon the still sword, Michael,
Folded and shut upon the sheathed sword, Michael,
Under the fullness of the white robes falling,
Gird us with the secret of the sword.

When the world cracked because of a sneer in heaven,
Leaving out for all time a scar upon the sky,
Thou didst rise up against the Horror in the highest,
Dragging down the highest that looked down on the Most High:
Rending from the seventh heaven the hell of exaltation
Down the seven heavens till the dark seas burn:
Thou that in thunder threwest down the Dragon
Knowest in what silence the Serpent can return.

Down through the universe the vast night falling
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the Morning!)
Far down the universe the deep calms calling
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the Sword!)
Bid us not forget in the baths of all forgetfulness,
In the sigh long drawn from the frenzy and the fretfulness
In the huge holy sempiternal silence
In the beginning was the Word.

When from the deeps of dying God astounded
Angels and devils who do all but die
Seeing Him fallen where thou couldst not follow,
Seeing Him mounted where thou couldst not fly,
Hand on the hilt, thou hast halted all thy legions
Waiting the Tetelestai and the acclaim,
Swords that salute Him dead and everlasting
God beyond God and greater than His Name.

Round us and over us the cold thoughts creeping
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the battle-cry!)
Round us and under us the thronged world sleeping
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the Charge!)
Guard us the Word; the trysting and the trusting
Edge upon the honour and the blade unrusting
Fine as the hair and tauter than the harpstring
Ready as when it rang upon the targe.

He that giveth peace unto us; not as the world giveth:
He that giveth law unto us; not as the scribes:
Shall he be softened for the softening of the cities
Patient in usury; delicate in bribes?
They that come to quiet us, saying the sword is broken,
Break man with famine, fetter them with gold,
Sell them as sheep; and He shall know the selling

[...] Read more

poem by G.K. Chesterton
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To St. Micheal in Time of Peace

Michael, Michael: Michael of the Morning,
Michael of the Army of the Lord,
Stiffen thou the hand upon the still sword, Michael,
Folded and shut upon the sheathed sword, Michael,
Under the fullness of the white robes falling,
Gird us with the secret of the sword.

When the world cracked because of a sneer in heaven,
Leaving out for all time a scar upon the sky,
Thou didst rise up against the Horror in the highest,
Dragging down the highest that looked down on the Most High:
Rending from the seventh heaven the hell of exaltation
Down the seven heavens till the dark seas burn:
Thou that in thunder threwest down the Dragon
Knowest in what silence the Serpent can return.

Down through the universe the vast night falling
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the Morning!)
Far down the universe the deep calms calling
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the Sword!)
Bid us not forget in the baths of all forgetfulness,
In the sigh long drawn from the frenzy and the fretfulness
In the huge holy sempiternal silence
In the beginning was the Word.

When from the deeps of dying God astounded
Angels and devils who do all but die
Seeing Him fallen where thou couldst not follow,
Seeing Him mounted where thou couldst not fly,
Hand on the hilt, thou hast halted all thy legions
Waiting the Tetelestai and the acclaim,
Swords that salute Him dead and everlasting
God beyond God and greater than His Name.

Round us and over us the cold thoughts creeping
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the battle-cry!)
Round us and under us the thronged world sleeping
(Michael, Michael: Michael of the Charge!)
Guard us the Word; the trysting and the trusting
Edge upon the honour and the blade unrusting
Fine as the hair and tauter than the harpstring
Ready as when it rang upon the targe.

He that giveth peace unto us; not as the world giveth:
He that giveth law unto us; not as the scribes:

[...] Read more

poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Ballad: Pope Benedict XVI in US,2008

The Apostle of peace had come:
Pope Benedict by name;
To US, where he was welcome,
With missionary aim.

‘Let faith in earthly life, God find;
Christ is the only hope,
For modern world, and all mankind, ’
Said Benedict, the Pope.

In doldrums lies, world of today;
Man’s faith in God is weak;
Most think that science has final say;
So, God, most men don’t seek.

‘Let faith in earthly life, God find;
Christ is the only hope,
For modern world, and all mankind, ’
Said Benedict, the Pope.

The family in danger lies;
Now love does not prevail;
As virtues are replaced by vice;
And freedom blows like gale.

‘Let faith in earthly life, God find;
Christ is the only hope,
For modern world, and all mankind, ’
Said Benedict, the Pope.

The quest for God is dying fast;
Rely men in own toil;
‘The mole is mound’- all sins of past!
Man’s soul is on the spoil.

‘Let faith in earthly life, God find;
Christ is the only hope,
For modern world, and all mankind, ’
Said Benedict, the Pope.

With fervent prayers, send your pleas,
To God who is above;
The caring God will surely ease
Your problems, with great love.

‘Let faith in earthly life, God find;
Christ is the only hope,
For modern world, and all mankind, ’
Said Benedict, the Pope.

[...] Read more

poem by John Celes
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The Shadow

Paul Jannes was working very late,
For this watch must be done by eight
To-morrow or the Cardinal
Would certainly be vexed. Of all
His customers the old prelate
Was the most important, for his state
Descended to his watches and rings,
And he gave his mistresses many things
To make them forget his age and smile
When he paid visits, and they could while
The time away with a diamond locket
Exceedingly well. So they picked his pocket,
And he paid in jewels for his slobbering kisses.
This watch was made to buy him blisses
From an Austrian countess on her way
Home, and she meant to start next day.

Paul worked by the pointed, tulip-flame
Of a tallow candle, and became
So absorbed, that his old clock made him wince
Striking the hour a moment since.
Its echo, only half apprehended,
Lingered about the room. He ended
Screwing the little rubies in,
Setting the wheels to lock and spin,
Curling the infinitesimal springs,
Fixing the filigree hands. Chippings
Of precious stones lay strewn about.
The table before him was a rout
Of splashes and sparks of coloured light.
There was yellow gold in sheets, and quite
A heap of emeralds, and steel.
Here was a gem, there was a wheel.
And glasses lay like limpid lakes
Shining and still, and there were flakes
Of silver, and shavings of pearl,
And little wires all awhirl
With the light of the candle. He took the watch
And wound its hands about to match
The time, then glanced up to take the hour
From the hanging clock.
Good, Merciful Power!
How came that shadow on the wall,
No woman was in the room! His tall
Chiffonier stood gaunt behind
His chair. His old cloak, rabbit-lined,
Hung from a peg. The door was closed.
Just for a moment he must have dozed.
He looked again, and saw it plain.

[...] Read more

poem by Amy Lowell
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Dear Michael

She wrote dear michael
Youll probably never get this letter
Michael, I wrote you a hundred times before
Knowing how I feel
Ill write a hundred more
Dear michael, every time your records on
(michael michael)
Michael, I close my eyes and sing along
Dreaming youre singing to me.
(ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh)
And then she wrote:
(ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh)
Michael, I love you
I held the tears back long as I can
(ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh)
Im sealing my feelings in this envelope
(ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh)
cause I wanna be more than just your number one fan
Im gonna answer your letter
(michael michael)
Ill start beginning with the abcs of loving you
(I love ya)
(she wrote)
(michael michael)
(I love ya)
Your letter really touched my heart
(she wrote)
Ive been dreaming of meeting the picture
That you send along, signed with all your love
(michael michael)
(I wrote ya)
(she wrote)
Im gonna write you back, ouuh, I promess you that
(wont you write me back? , please write me back)
Girl, I think I love you
(michael michael)
Hurry, hurry mister postman, take my letter, tell her I love her
(she wrote)
(wont you write me back, please write me back)
(michael michael)
(she wrote)
Hurry, hurry mister postman, take my letter tell her I love her
(wont you write me back, please write me back)
(michael michael)
Yeah,
(I wrote you)
(she wrote)
Im gonna write you back
I promess you that...

song performed by Michael Jackson
Added by Lucian Velea
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Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,--
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pre.

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.

PART THE FIRST

I

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pre
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to the eastward,
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks without number.
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with labor incessant,
Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons the flood-gates
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o'er the meadows.
West and south there were fields of flax, and orchards and cornfields
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; and away to the northward
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the mountains
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty Atlantic
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their station descended
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian village.
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of hemlock,
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign of the Henries.
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows; and gables projecting
Over the basement below protected and shaded the doorway.
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when brightly the sunset
Lighted the village street and gilded the vanes on the chimneys,
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and in kirtles
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning the golden
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within doors

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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12 Years a Slave [Welcome to Washington]

Cast: Chiwetel Ejiofor, Scoot McNairy, Taran Killam

clip from 12 Years a Slave, directed by Steve McQueen, screenplay by John Ridley, inspired by Solomon Northup (2013)
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Gimme The Light Remix,

[Intro]
[Busta Rhymes:] Ay yo Sean Paul!!!
[Sean Paul:] Yo yo
[Busta Rhymes:] A Busta Rhymes this yuh know
[Sean Paul:] Wah gwaan
[Busta Rhymes]
Pass me the blow torch let me light up this big head nigga
[Sean Paul:] No doubt
[Busta Rhymes:] Bring dat come rudebwoy
[Sean Paul:] A Dutty Yeah!!!
[Busta Rhymes:] Flipmode check it!!!
[Chorus (Busta Rhymes):]
Just gimme the light and pass the dro! Buss anotha bokkle a moe
(Huh huh huh huh huh come on)
Gal dem inna mi sight and I got to know (Yeah, yeah)
Which one is gonna catch my flow (Busta Bus now)
Cause I'm inna di vibe and I got my dough! (Yeah, Sean Paul now)
Buss anotha bokkle a moe
(Remix, remix, remix) Gal dem lookin hype and I got to know!!!
[Verse 1: Busta Rhymes]
Yeah yeah check it, clap oonu hand oonu fi clap oonu hand
Busta Bus inna di place oonu fi clap oonu hand
Seh mi and Sean Paul link up come fi create a plan
To go a dancehall buss it up and mek couple grand
Run the streets you never move without the rest of the clan
With a nine in the door panel in the side of the van
Despite the hate that be always comin for you and your man
It's Flipmode and Sean Paul nigga, understand
[Sean Paul]
Tell dem nuh ready fi di level weh di Dutty deh pon
Turn up di bass and di treble music a di weopen
Gal a whine up dem waist like a phenomenom
All over di world oonu fi sing this a song yo
[Chorus]
Just gimme the light and pass the dro! Buss anotha bottle a moe
Gal dem inna mi sight and I got to know (Yo, yo, yo yo yo)
Which one is gonna catch my flow
Cause mi inna di vibe and I got my dough! (Flipmode baby!!!)
Buss anotha bottle a moe (Come on, Sean Paul baby!!!)
Gal dem lookin hype and I got to know!!!
(Come on, yeah, yeah, Busta Bus now!!!)
[Verse 2: Busta Rhymes]
We be blazin cellular phones in wire or cingular
And still gotta connect to smoke a piece of the rizla
See if you could in a philly or a chalice I'm givin you
The chance to smoke up until a ugly chick look like Vivica Fox
Clap oonu hand oonu fi clap oonu hand
Busta Bus inna di place oonu fi clap oonu hand
Seh mi and Sean Paul link up come fi create a plan
To go a dancehall buss it up and mek couple grand

[...] Read more

song performed by Sean Paul
Added by Lucian Velea
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Elijah's Mantle

A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF THE RIGHT HON. WILLIAM PITT.
When, by th' Almighty's dread command
Elijah, call'd from Israel's land,
Rose in the sacred flame,
His Mantle good Elisha caught,
And, with the Prophet's spirit fraught,
Her second hope became.

In Pitt our Israel saw combined
The Patriot's heart--the Prophet's mind,
Elijah's spirit here:
Now, sad reverse!--that spirit reft,
No confidence, no hope is left;
For no Elijah's near.

Is there, among the greedy band
Who've seized on power, with harpy hand,
And Patriot, worth assume,
One on whom public faith can rest--
One fit to wear Elijah's vest,
And cheer a Nation's gloom?

Grenville!--to aid thy Treasury fame,
A portion of Pitt's Mantle claim,
His gen'rous ardour feel;
Resolve, 'bove sordid self, to soar,
Amidst Exchequer gold be poor!
Thy wealth--the public weal.

Fox!--if on thee some remnant fall,
The shred may to thy mind recall,
Those hours of loud debate,
When thy unhallow'd lips be-praised
"The glorious fabric" traitors raised
An Bourbon's fallen state.

Thy soul let Pitt's example fire,
With patriot zeal thy tongue inspire,
Spite of thy Gallic leaven;
And teach thee in thy latest day,
His form of prayer, (if thou canst pray)
"O save my country, Heaven!

Windham,--if e'er thy sorrows flow

[...] Read more

poem by George Canning
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Rockafeller Skank

Intro
DJ: WBCN who's this?
Brad: Hey this is Brad (this is Brad this is)
DJ: Now uh who's your favorite artist, who
do you want to hear?
Brad: Well m my favorite artist right now is
Fatboy Slim, that guy kicks ass.
DJ: How tremendous is Fatboy Slim?
Brad: The band of the 90's, if you want to call
it a band because it's a one man name.
DJ: Wow...fatboy, and you want to hear that
new fatboy song?
Brad: Absolutely.
DJ: Which one?
Brad: The um funk soul brother check it out.
DJ: Sing it, I don't know which one.
Brad: Right about now, the funk soul brother
check it out now, the funk soul brother.
Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now
'bout now
'bout now
'bout now
Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother
Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother
Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now

[...] Read more

song performed by Fatboy Slim
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The Rockafeller Skank

Intro
Dj: wbcn whos this?
Brad: hey this is brad (this is brad this is)
Dj: now uh whos your favorite artist, who
Do you want to hear?
Brad: well m my favorite artist right now is
Fatboy slim, that guy kicks ass.
Dj: how tremendous is fatboy slim?
Brad: the band of the 90s, if you want to call
It a band because its a one man name.
Dj: wow...fatboy, and you want to hear that
New fatboy song?
Brad: absolutely.
Dj: which one?
Brad: the um funk soul brother check it out.
Dj: sing it, I dont know which one.
Brad: right about now, the funk soul brother
Check it out now, the funk soul brother.
Right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother, right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother, right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother, right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother, right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother, right about now
The funk soul brother, right about now
bout now
bout now
bout now
Right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother, right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother, right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother, right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother
Right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother, right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother
Right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother, right about now

[...] Read more

song performed by Fatboy Slim
Added by Lucian Velea
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Paradise Lost: Book X

Thus they in lowliest plight repentant stood
Praying, for from the Mercie-seat above
Prevenient Grace descending had remov'd
The stonie from thir hearts, and made new flesh
Regenerat grow instead, that sighs now breath'd
Unutterable, which the Spirit of prayer
Inspir'd, and wing'd for Heav'n with speedier flight
Then loudest Oratorie: yet thir port
Not of mean suiters, nor important less
Seem'd thir Petition, then when th' ancient Pair
In Fables old, less ancient yet then these,
Deucalion and chaste Pyrrha to restore
The Race of Mankind drownd, before the Shrine
Of Themis stood devout. To Heav'n thir prayers
Flew up, nor missed the way, by envious windes
Blow'n vagabond or frustrate: in they passd
Dimentionless through Heav'nly dores; then clad
With incense, where the Golden Altar fum'd,
By thir great Intercessor, came in sight
Before the Fathers Throne: Them the glad Son
Presenting, thus to intercede began.
See Father, what first fruits on Earth are sprung
From thy implanted Grace in Man, these Sighs
And Prayers, which in this Golden Censer, mixt
With Incense, I thy Priest before thee bring,
Fruits of more pleasing savour from thy seed
Sow'n with contrition in his heart, then those
Which his own hand manuring all the Trees
Of Paradise could have produc't, ere fall'n
From innocence. Now therefore bend thine eare
To supplication, heare his sighs though mute;
Unskilful with what words to pray, let mee
Interpret for him, mee his Advocate
And propitiation, all his works on mee
Good or not good ingraft, my Merit those
Shall perfet, and for these my Death shall pay.
Accept me, and in mee from these receave
The smell of peace toward Mankinde, let him live
Before thee reconcil'd, at least his days
Numberd, though sad, till Death, his doom (which I
To mitigate thus plead, not to reverse)
To better life shall yeeld him, where with mee
All my redeemd may dwell in joy and bliss,
Made one with me as I with thee am one.
To whom the Father, without Cloud, serene.
All thy request for Man, accepted Son,
Obtain, all thy request was my Decree:
But longer in that Paradise to dwell,
The Law I gave to Nature him forbids:
Those pure immortal Elements that know

[...] Read more

poem by John Milton
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Cuckhold

Two unsuspecting gentlemen were sitting in a room, conspicuous for its opulence and comfortable because of its color. John was reading a newspaper, contemplating the morbid style of journalistic writing, while Michael was staring intensely, as if he was in a trance, like one stares at a fire. The silence of the room gave John a potent feeling of loneliness, so he broke the quietude.

John: The problem with life is that it is so lifeless. Can't we just live? Or must we always live under the tyranny of compulsion.

Michael gave a furtive glance and proceeded to look mesmerized and emotionless.

John: What is this dreadful look? Clearly you have found a cure for the world's economic disease and have lost it?

Michael was displeased with the topic of politics and John knew this. Michael was forced to talk, to change the subject, he confessed.

Michael: I am in love! Just last month or was it longer ago? I met a woman, who I swear to the sweet Virgin Mary, whose heart beats the scarlet blood of Juliet directly into her voluptuous lips. Her brown eyes remind me of a hidden cave, containing a treasure of passion and an amulet of life. Her dainty little hands have the purity of a child's but the sensuality of a woman's. Her walk is so delicate, not even the tender blades of grass bend under her feet. Her mind is so elevated; it's as if the wings of an angel carry it. Her breasts are as fruitful as watermelons and her voice as sincere as this confession.
My only wish is to kiss her lips, caress her cheeks, and smell her long ebony colored hair. I wish to brush my nose against her nose, bury my soul into the grave of her soul, live by her not with her and even die next to her.

John: Certainly you're on to something. Women have a remarkable quality of bringing out the worst in good men. You are so moral Michael, it's charming to hear you utter words of one of life's most mortal sins; lust.

Tears came down Michael's face at hearing such detestable language.

Michael: It isn't lust! It's love. My heart melts into sweet wine and I feel drunk at every coy gesture she makes. My soul skips like a child on a summer day every time she laughs. She is nature. Nature is she. She is art expressed through the body and a body expressed by the soul, she is complete, marvelous, magnificent, delicate, fragile, and strong; she is beauty.

Michael's countenance revealed a soul drunk with dreams, no rational man would believe a word he said, but a child, with its curious mind, would stop and be enchanted with his incantations, even though a child might not understand what he was saying.

Michael: Her beauty makes Cleopatra conscious of her imperfections, her rosette cheeks make a garden of roses shrivel with jealousy, the gleam in her eyes pierce harder than the rays of the sun, her smile makes the moon feel loved, her spirit causes quarrels between all the Saints, her melancholy robs sentimentalist of their tears. She is the river of life, the ocean of life and all its force!

John: Michael you're committing the common sin of blasphemy, so common even Jesus fell to its error. Who is this demi-god you speak so reverently about?

Michael: She is mystery clothed in a brown body. She is the symbol of all mysticism, she is the sorrow painted on the Madonna's face, she is the love contained in the beatitudes of Christ, she is the obsession in Shakespeare's sonnets, she is the Beatrice of Dante's Divine Comedy; she is the blue of the ocean, the green in emeralds, the purity of pearls, the fire of the sun, the power of mother nature… O! She is so beautiful!

John: Ok! Who is she?

Michael: A married woman

At this utterance Michael's body collapsed in to the sofa he was sitting in, as if he had just been exorcised. John gave an incredulous look and grinned. He reveled in other people's misery; it was the source of his happiness. He loved seeing morality whiter away… it gave him a keens sense of reality.

Ding Dong! A doorbell rang and protruded into John's thought.

John: We aren't expecting any guests?

With avidity, John quickly fled to answer the door expecting an uninvited guest, while Michael laid listlessly dwelling. John opened the door, let out a quiet "O my Lord, " and fainted. Michael's face metamorphosed from a pallid listlessness to a fiery smile; he transformed from a Christian to a Pagan; he grew Cuckold horns…

poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Doctor Strange

Cast: Rachel McAdams, Benedict Cumberbatch, Tilda Swinton, Mads Mikkelsen, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Scott Adkins, Michael Stuhlbarg, Benedict Wong, Amy Landecker

trailer for Doctor Strange, directed by Scott Derrickson, screenplay, inspired by Steve Ditko (2016)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Doctor Strange [trailer 2]

Cast: Rachel McAdams, Benedict Cumberbatch, Tilda Swinton, Mads Mikkelsen, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Scott Adkins, Michael Stuhlbarg, Benedict Wong, Amy Landecker

trailer for Doctor Strange, directed by Scott Derrickson, screenplay, inspired by Steve Ditko (2016)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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