This Tourette's center sent me a package that was like 900 hundred pages.
quote by Robin Tunney
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The Gift
(reed, cale, morrison, tucker)
Waldo jeffers had reached his limit. it was now mid-august which meant that he had been separated from marsha for more than two months. two months, and all he had to show was three dog-eared let
And two very expensive long-distance phone calls. true, when school had ended and shed returned to wisconsin, and he to locust, pennsylvania. she had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity, she w
Date occasionally, but merely as amusement. she would remain faithful.
But lately waldo had begun to worry. he had trouble sleeping at night and when he did, he had horrible dreams. he lay awake at night, tossing and turning underneath his pleated quilt protector,
Welling in his eyes. as he pictured marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor and the smooth soothing of some neanderthal, finally submitting to the final caresses of sexual oblivion. it was mo
An the human mind could bear.
Visions of marshas faithlessness haunted him. daytime fantasies of sexual abandon permeated his thoughts. and the thing was they wouldnt understand how she really was. he, waldo, alone, unders
This. he had intuitively grasped every nook and cranny of her psyche. he had made her smile, and she needed him, and he wasnt there (aaahh..). the idea came to him on the thursday before the mu
Parade was scheduled to appear. he had just finished mowing and etching the edelsons lawn for a dollar fifty and had checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a word from marsha. there w
Thing more than a circular form the amalgamated aluminum company of america inquiring into his awing needs. at least they cared enough to write.
It was a new york company. you could go anywhere in the mail. then it struck him, he didnt have enough money to go to wisconsin in the accepted fashion, true, but why not mail himself? it was a
Ly simple. he would ship himself parcel post special delivery. the next day waldo went to the supermarket to purchase the necessary equipment. he bought masking tape, a staple gun and a medium s
Cardboard box, just right for a person of his built. he judged that with a minimum of jostling he could ride quite comfortably. a few airholes, some water, perhaps some midnight snacks and it wo
Robably be as good as going tourist.
By friday afternoon, waldo was set. he was packed and the post office had agreed to pick him up at three oclock. hed marked the package fragile, and as he sat curled up inside, res
The foam rubber cushioning hed thoughtfully included, he tried to picture the look of awe and happiness on marshas face as she opened the door, saw the package, tipped the deliverer, and then o
It to see her waldo finally there in person. she would kiss him, then, maybe they could see a movie. if hed only thought of this before. suddenly rough hands gripped his package and he felt hi
Barne up. he landed with a thud in a truck and then he was off.
Marsha bronson had just finished setting her hair. it had been a very rough weekend. she had to remember not to drink like that. bill had been nice about it though. after it was over hed said t
E still respected her and, after all, it was certainly the way of nature, and even though, no he didnt love her, he did feel an affection for her. and, after all, they were grown adults. oh, wh
Lly could teach waldo - but that seemed like years ago. sheila klein, her very, very best friend walked in through the porch screen door and into the kitchen. oh, its absolutely maudlin o
E. ach, I know what you mean, I feel all icky! marsha tightened her cotton robe with the silk outer edge. sheila ran her finger over some salt grains on the kitchen table, lick
R fingers and made a face. Im supposed to take these salt pills, but she wrinkled her nose, they make me feel like throwing up. marsha started to pat herself under the c
An exercise shed seen on television. g-d, dont even talk about tha
T. she got up from the table and went to the sink where she picked up a bottle of pink and blue vitamins. want one? supposed to be better than steak. and attempted to touch her
S. I dont think Ill ever touch a daiquiri again. she gave up and sat down, this time nearer the table that supported the telephone. maybe hell call. she said to sheila
Ance. sheila nibbled on a cuticle. after last night, I thought maybe youd be through with him. I know what you mean, my g-d, he was like an octopus. hands all over the place.&
She gestured, raising her arms upwards in defense. the thing is after a while, you get tired of fighting with him, you know, and after all he didnt really do anything friday and saturday
Kind of owed it to him, you know what I mean. she started to scratch. sheila was giggling with her hand over her mouth. Ill tell you, I feel the same way, and even after a while,&q
Here she bend forward in a whisper, wanted to, and now she was laughing very loudly.
It was at this point that mr. jameison of the clarence darrow post office rang the door bell of the large colored stucco frame house. when marsha bronson opened the door, he helped her carry the
Age in. he had his yellow and green slips of paper signed and left with a fifteen cent tip that marsha had gotten out of her mothers small beige pocket book in the den. what do you think i
Sheila asked. marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back. she stared at the brown cardboard carton that sat in the middle of the living room: I dont know.
Inside the package waldo quivered with excitement as he listened to the muffled voices. sheila ran her fingernail over the masking tape that ran down the center of the carton. why dont yo
K at the return address and see who it is from? waldo felt his heart beating. he could feel the vibrating footsteps. it would be soon.
Marsha walked around the carton and read the ink-scratched label. its from waldo. that schmuck! said sheila. waldo trembled with expecta- tion. you might as well o
T, said sheila. both of them tried to flip the stable flap. ah, said marsha groaning. he must have nailed it shut. they tagged at the flap again. my god, you
A power drill to get this thing opened. they pulled again. you cant get a grip! they both stood still, breathing heavily. why dont you get the scissors, said shei
Arsha ran into the kitchen, but all she could find was a little sewing scissors. then she remembered that her father kept a collection of tools in the basement. she ran downstairs and when she c
Ack, she had a large metal cutter in her hand. this is the best I could find. she was out of breath. here, you do it. Im gonna die. she sank into a large fluffy couch an
Aled noisily. sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape and the end of the cardboard, but the blade was too big and th
Ere was not enough room. g-ddamn this thing! she said feeling very exaspe- rated. then smiling I got an idea. what? said marsha. just watch, said
A touching her finger to her head.
Inside the package, waldo was transfixed with excitement that he could hardly breathe. his skin felt prickly from the heat and he could feel his heart beating in his throat. it would be soon. sh
Stood upright and walked around to the other side of the package. then she sank down to her knees, grasped the cutter by both hands, took a deep breath and plunged the long blade through the mid
F the package, through the middle of the masking tape, through the card- board through the cushioning and (thud) right through the center of waldo jeffers head, which split slightly and caused l
Rhythmic arcs of red to pulsate gently in the morning sun...
song performed by Velvet Underground
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Gift
(reed, cale, morrison, tucker)
Waldo jeffers had reached his limit. it was now mid-august which meant that he had been separated from marsha for more than two months. two months, and all he had to show was three dog-eared let
And two very expensive long-distance phone calls. true, when school had ended and shed returned to wisconsin, and he to locust, pennsylvania. she had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity, she w
Date occasionally, but merely as amusement. she would remain faithful.
But lately waldo had begun to worry. he had trouble sleeping at night and when he did, he had horrible dreams. he lay awake at night, tossing and turning underneath his pleated quilt protector,
Welling in his eyes. as he pictured marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor and the smooth soothing of some neanderthal, finally submitting to the final caresses of sexual oblivion. it was mo
An the human mind could bear.
Visions of marshas faithlessness haunted him. daytime fantasies of sexual abandon permeated his thoughts. and the thing was they wouldnt understand how she really was. he, waldo, alone, unders
This. he had intuitively grasped every nook and cranny of her psyche. he had made her smile, and she needed him, and he wasnt there (aaahh..). the idea came to him on the thursday before the mu
Parade was scheduled to appear. he had just finished mowing and etching the edelsons lawn for a dollar fifty and had checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a word from marsha. there w
Thing more than a circular form the amalgamated aluminum company of america inquiring into his awing needs. at least they cared enough to write.
It was a new york company. you could go anywhere in the mail. then it struck him, he didnt have enough money to go to wisconsin in the accepted fashion, true, but why not mail himself? it was a
Ly simple. he would ship himself parcel post special delivery. the next day waldo went to the supermarket to purchase the necessary equipment. he bought masking tape, a staple gun and a medium s
Cardboard box, just right for a person of his built. he judged that with a minimum of jostling he could ride quite comfortably. a few airholes, some water, perhaps some midnight snacks and it wo
Robably be as good as going tourist.
By friday afternoon, waldo was set. he was packed and the post office had agreed to pick him up at three oclock. hed marked the package fragile, and as he sat curled up inside, res
The foam rubber cushioning hed thoughtfully included, he tried to picture the look of awe and happiness on marshas face as she opened the door, saw the package, tipped the deliverer, and then o
It to see her waldo finally there in person. she would kiss him, then, maybe they could see a movie. if hed only thought of this before. suddenly rough hands gripped his package and he felt hi
Barne up. he landed with a thud in a truck and then he was off.
Marsha bronson had just finished setting her hair. it had been a very rough weekend. she had to remember not to drink like that. bill had been nice about it though. after it was over hed said t
E still respected her and, after all, it was certainly the way of nature, and even though, no he didnt love her, he did feel an affection for her. and, after all, they were grown adults. oh, wh
Lly could teach waldo - but that seemed like years ago. sheila klein, her very, very best friend walked in through the porch screen door and into the kitchen. oh, its absolutely maudlin o
E. ach, I know what you mean, I feel all icky! marsha tightened her cotton robe with the silk outer edge. sheila ran her finger over some salt grains on the kitchen table, lick
R fingers and made a face. Im supposed to take these salt pills, but she wrinkled her nose, they make me feel like throwing up. marsha started to pat herself under the c
An exercise shed seen on television. g-d, dont even talk about tha
T. she got up from the table and went to the sink where she picked up a bottle of pink and blue vitamins. want one? supposed to be better than steak. and attempted to touch her
S. I dont think Ill ever touch a daiquiri again. she gave up and sat down, this time nearer the table that supported the telephone. maybe hell call. she said to sheila
Ance. sheila nibbled on a cuticle. after last night, I thought maybe youd be through with him. I know what you mean, my g-d, he was like an octopus. hands all over the place.&
She gestured, raising her arms upwards in defense. the thing is after a while, you get tired of fighting with him, you know, and after all he didnt really do anything friday and saturday
Kind of owed it to him, you know what I mean. she started to scratch. sheila was giggling with her hand over her mouth. Ill tell you, I feel the same way, and even after a while,&q
Here she bend forward in a whisper, wanted to, and now she was laughing very loudly.
It was at this point that mr. jameison of the clarence darrow post office rang the door bell of the large colored stucco frame house. when marsha bronson opened the door, he helped her carry the
Age in. he had his yellow and green slips of paper signed and left with a fifteen cent tip that marsha had gotten out of her mothers small beige pocket book in the den. what do you think i
Sheila asked. marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back. she stared at the brown cardboard carton that sat in the middle of the living room: I dont know.
Inside the package waldo quivered with excitement as he listened to the muffled voices. sheila ran her fingernail over the masking tape that ran down the center of the carton. why dont yo
K at the return address and see who it is from? waldo felt his heart beating. he could feel the vibrating footsteps. it would be soon.
Marsha walked around the carton and read the ink-scratched label. its from waldo. that schmuck! said sheila. waldo trembled with expecta- tion. you might as well o
T, said sheila. both of them tried to flip the stable flap. ah, said marsha groaning. he must have nailed it shut. they tagged at the flap again. my god, you
A power drill to get this thing opened. they pulled again. you cant get a grip! they both stood still, breathing heavily. why dont you get the scissors, said shei
Arsha ran into the kitchen, but all she could find was a little sewing scissors. then she remembered that her father kept a collection of tools in the basement. she ran downstairs and when she c
Ack, she had a large metal cutter in her hand. this is the best I could find. she was out of breath. here, you do it. Im gonna die. she sank into a large fluffy couch an
Aled noisily. sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape and the end of the cardboard, but the blade was too big and th
Ere was not enough room. g-ddamn this thing! she said feeling very exaspe- rated. then smiling I got an idea. what? said marsha. just watch, said
A touching her finger to her head.
Inside the package, waldo was transfixed with excitement that he could hardly breathe. his skin felt prickly from the heat and he could feel his heart beating in his throat. it would be soon. sh
Stood upright and walked around to the other side of the package. then she sank down to her knees, grasped the cutter by both hands, took a deep breath and plunged the long blade through the mid
F the package, through the middle of the masking tape, through the card- board through the cushioning and (thud) right through the center of waldo jeffers head, which split slightly and caused l
Rhythmic arcs of red to pulsate gently in the morning sun...
song performed by Velvet Underground
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Commerciality
Fire sign, indicate luminous pornography
Heliograph and morse photography
Signal ad, signal ad, signal ad
Commerciality, commerciality, commerciality
Coherent, match and blazing cuneiform wide open
Sales pitch, high pitch, noise
Brakes too soft to burn, envisage this
Signal ad, signal ad, signal ad
Commerciality, commerciality, commerciality
Package, carton, package and carton, sell and package and carton
Sell and package and carton, sell and package and carton
Sell, package and sell, package
Just revitalize, revitalize, revitalize, whats this now?
Commerciality, commerciality, commerciality, commerciality
Sell and revitali-, vitalize and home pride
From tractors to tea-bags, from here to eternity, oh god, help me
Commerciality, commerciality, commerciality, commerciality, commerciality
Commerciality, commerciality, commerciality, commerciality, commerciality
Signal ad, signal ad, signal ad
Commerciality, commerciality, commerciality
song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 9
WHILE these affairs in distant places pass’d,
The various Iris Juno sends with haste,
To find bold Turnus, who, with anxious thought,
The secret shade of his great grandsire sought.
Retir’d alone she found the daring man, 5
And op’d her rosy lips, and thus began:
“What none of all the gods could grant thy vows,
That, Turnus, this auspicious day bestows.
Æneas, gone to seek th’ Arcadian prince,
Has left the Trojan camp without defense; 10
And, short of succors there, employs his pains
In parts remote to raise the Tuscan swains.
Now snatch an hour that favors thy designs;
Unite thy forces, and attack their lines.”
This said, on equal wings she pois’d her weight, 15
And form’d a radiant rainbow in her flight.
The Daunian hero lifts his hands and eyes,
And thus invokes the goddess as she flies:
“Iris, the grace of heav’n, what pow’r divine
Has sent thee down, thro’ dusky clouds to shine? 20
See, they divide; immortal day appears,
And glitt’ring planets dancing in their spheres!
With joy, these happy omens I obey,
And follow to the war the god that leads the way.”
Thus having said, as by the brook he stood, 25
He scoop’d the water from the crystal flood;
Then with his hands the drops to heav’n he throws,
And loads the pow’rs above with offer’d vows.
Now march the bold confed’rates thro’ the plain,
Well hors’d, well clad; a rich and shining train. 30
Messapus leads the van; and, in the rear,
The sons of Tyrrheus in bright arms appear.
In the main battle, with his flaming crest,
The mighty Turnus tow’rs above the rest.
Silent they move, majestically slow, 35
Like ebbing Nile, or Ganges in his flow.
The Trojans view the dusty cloud from far,
And the dark menace of the distant war.
Caicus from the rampire saw it rise,
Black’ning the fields, and thick’ning thro’ the skies. 40
Then to his fellows thus aloud he calls:
“What rolling clouds, my friends, approach the walls?
Arm! arm! and man the works! prepare your spears
And pointed darts! the Latian host appears.”
Thus warn’d, they shut their gates; with shouts ascend 45
The bulwarks, and, secure, their foes attend:
For their wise gen’ral, with foreseeing care,
Had charg’d them not to tempt the doubtful war,
Nor, tho’ provok’d, in open fields advance,
But close within their lines attend their chance. 50
[...] Read more
poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 10
THE GATES of heav’n unfold: Jove summons all
The gods to council in the common hall.
Sublimely seated, he surveys from far
The fields, the camp, the fortune of the war,
And all th’ inferior world. From first to last, 5
The sov’reign senate in degrees are plac’d.
Then thus th’ almighty sire began: “Ye gods,
Natives or denizens of blest abodes,
From whence these murmurs, and this change of mind,
This backward fate from what was first design’d? 10
Why this protracted war, when my commands
Pronounc’d a peace, and gave the Latian lands?
What fear or hope on either part divides
Our heav’ns, and arms our powers on diff’rent sides?
A lawful time of war at length will come, 15
(Nor need your haste anticipate the doom),
When Carthage shall contend the world with Rome,
Shall force the rigid rocks and Alpine chains,
And, like a flood, come pouring on the plains.
Then is your time for faction and debate, 20
For partial favor, and permitted hate.
Let now your immature dissension cease;
Sit quiet, and compose your souls to peace.”
Thus Jupiter in few unfolds the charge;
But lovely Venus thus replies at large: 25
“O pow’r immense, eternal energy,
(For to what else protection can we fly?)
Seest thou the proud Rutulians, how they dare
In fields, unpunish’d, and insult my care?
How lofty Turnus vaunts amidst his train, 30
In shining arms, triumphant on the plain?
Ev’n in their lines and trenches they contend,
And scarce their walls the Trojan troops defend:
The town is fill’d with slaughter, and o’erfloats,
With a red deluge, their increasing moats. 35
Æneas, ignorant, and far from thence,
Has left a camp expos’d, without defense.
This endless outrage shall they still sustain?
Shall Troy renew’d be forc’d and fir’d again?
A second siege my banish’d issue fears, 40
And a new Diomede in arms appears.
One more audacious mortal will be found;
And I, thy daughter, wait another wound.
Yet, if with fates averse, without thy leave,
The Latian lands my progeny receive, 45
Bear they the pains of violated law,
And thy protection from their aid withdraw.
But, if the gods their sure success foretell;
If those of heav’n consent with those of hell,
To promise Italy; who dare debate 50
[...] Read more
poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
Added by Poetry Lover
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Written In Blood And Love
In pages written in blood, in pages written love.
Stories are told of you grow old together.
Live to dieing forever.
Scarred by the pain of misery.
Scarred by the imperfections the have created so many rejections.
Give me the antidote to the poison that I have slipped in my own drink.
Let me breath the life in again.
Drowned out all the cowardliness of my angel who holding me up.
Such a beautiful crutch.
Still in the pages written in blood, in the pages written love.
We are just one of millions.
Every story is the same.
All that's changed is the names, places, and faces.
Erase it all.
Rewrite the entire fall.
Let the wind take me.
Let the lightning strike me here and now.
For i will not let it cloud my judgement.
No matter the storm that's brought on.
In the pages written in blood, in the pages written in love
Hate me for the right reasons
Hate me because I am what you wanted me to be.
In all the irony.
I didn't change for you.
It was done way before you came along and sang your song.
All the pages have been written, in blood and love.
The Shakespeare play Romeo and Juliet to the fullest.
Its the cruelest games in tragedy strikes without a ounce of leniency.
No mercy to those who are jumping without a life line.
Protection against the evil of an accident so quick.
A slip becomes a fall.
Next your trying to stall buy a little time.
But its in vain.
Nothing can be changed.
Its sink or swim till you reach shore.
So long off stripped of everything you thought was important.
Values so mixed up in these pages written in blood, in the pages written in love.
We have killed another pair of doves.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Added by Poetry Lover
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T-t-p
Oh, oh, oh, t-t-p
Oh, oh, oh, t-t-p
Somebody tell me
Why do people stay in situations thatll never work
Thinkin bout you wanna leave and
You cant wait to get even
When deep inside it really hurts
I never should have gotten in the mix
You never understand till you go through it
All the rights things you say
Wrong things to do
While youre out tryna pick and choose
You should be lookin for a ttp
Now that I know the difference
Thats all Im tryna be with
Somebody that keeps it all in together now
Im living better
Since I found my total package
You should be lookin for a ttp
Now that I know the difference
Thats all Im tryna be with
Somebody that keeps it all in together now
Im living better
Since I found my total package
I used to be young and dumb
And always wanted to run in the streets
Cause I thought that was where it was at
But it wasnt all it did was leave a brother in the cold
With nowhere to go
I caught myself slippin
Thinkin I was the lick, I was trippin
Tried to jump dip to dip
I thought it was a way to be happy
Until somebody took time to tell me
You should be lookin for a ttp
Now that I know the difference
Thats all Im tryna be with
Somebody that keeps it all in together now
Im living better
Since I found my total package
You should be lookin for a ttp
Now that I know the difference
Thats all Im tryna be with
Somebody that keeps it all in together now
Im living better
Since I found my total package
So many people think
They got it - but they dont have a clue
You gotta have more than just a body
For me to be talkin about you oh
[...] Read more
song performed by Usher
Added by Lucian Velea
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Heaven Sent
Your eyes are like deep wells of desire
Once in your arms Im on fire
You were sent girl so perfectly true
Changing my life
Now Im a survivor
Heaven sent
Thats what I call you
Heaven sent
Thats what I call you
Late at night when the evening fire has died
Theres a look in your eye
Seductive images fly
Heaven sent
Thats what I call you
Heaven sent
Thats what I call you
One day youll see what angels can see
Dressed in black if she comes back
I think Ill lose my mind
Tuesday she works
In the library uptown
Some useful knowledge
Can always be found
Dont burn the library
Till youve read all the books
Sometimes in life
You get a second look
Heaven sent
Thats what I call you
Heaven sent
Thats what I call you
Heaven sent
Thats what I call you
Heaven sent
Thats what I call you
Heaven sent
Heaven sent
Heaven sent
Heaven sent
Heaven sent
song performed by INXS
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Iliad (bk I)
Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans. Many a brave soul did it send hurrying down to Hades, and many a hero did it yield a prey to dogs and vultures, for so were the counsels of Jove fulfilled from the day on which the son of Atreus, king of men, and great Achilles, first fell out with one another.
And which of the gods was it that set them on to quarrel? It was the son of Jove and Leto; for he was angry with the king and sent a pestilence upon the host to plague the people, because the son of Atreus had dishonoured Chryses his priest. Now Chryses had come to the ships of the Achaeans to free his daughter, and had brought with him a great ransom: moreover he bore in his hand the sceptre of Apollo wreathed with a suppliant's wreath and he besought the Achaeans, but most of all the two sons of Atreus, who were their chiefs.
"Sons of Atreus," he cried, "and all other Achaeans, may the gods who dwell in Olympus grant you to sack the city of Priam, and to reach your homes in safety; but free my daughter, and accept a ransom for her, in reverence to Apollo, son of Jove."
On this the rest of the Achaeans with one voice were for respecting the priest and taking the ransom that he offered; but not so Agamemnon, who spoke fiercely to him and sent him roughly away. "Old man," said he, "let me not find you tarrying about our ships, nor yet coming hereafter. Your sceptre of the god and your wreath shall profit you nothing. I will not free her. She shall grow old in my house at Argos far from her own home, busying herself with her loom and visiting my couch; so go, and do not provoke me or it shall be the worse for you."
The old man feared him and obeyed. Not a word he spoke, but went by the shore of the sounding sea and prayed apart to King Apollo whom lovely Leto had borne. "Hear me," he cried, "O god of the silver bow, that protectest Chryse and holy Cilla and rulest Tenedos with thy might, hear me oh thou of Sminthe. If I have ever decked your temple with garlands, or burned your thigh-bones in fat of bulls or goats, grant my prayer, and let your arrows avenge these my tears upon the Danaans."
Thus did he pray, and Apollo heard his prayer. He came down furious from the summits of Olympus, with his bow and his quiver upon his shoulder, and the arrows rattled on his back with the rage that trembled within him. He sat himself down away from the ships with a face as dark as night, and his silver bow rang death as he shot his arrow in the midst of them. First he smote their mules and their hounds, but presently he aimed his shafts at the people themselves, and all day long the pyres of the dead were burning.
For nine whole days he shot his arrows among the people, but upon the tenth day Achilles called them in assembly- moved thereto by Juno, who saw the Achaeans in their death-throes and had compassion upon them. Then, when they were got together, he rose and spoke among them.
"Son of Atreus," said he, "I deem that we should now turn roving home if we would escape destruction, for we are being cut down by war and pestilence at once. Let us ask some priest or prophet, or some reader of dreams (for dreams, too, are of Jove) who can tell us why Phoebus Apollo is so angry, and say whether it is for some vow that we have broken, or hecatomb that we have not offered, and whether he will accept the savour of lambs and goats without blemish, so as to take away the plague from us."
With these words he sat down, and Calchas son of Thestor, wisest of augurs, who knew things past present and to come, rose to speak. He it was who had guided the Achaeans with their fleet to Ilius, through the prophesyings with which Phoebus Apollo had inspired him. With all sincerity and goodwill he addressed them thus:-
"Achilles, loved of heaven, you bid me tell you about the anger of King Apollo, I will therefore do so; but consider first and swear that you will stand by me heartily in word and deed, for I know that I shall offend one who rules the Argives with might, to whom all the Achaeans are in subjection. A plain man cannot stand against the anger of a king, who if he swallow his displeasure now, will yet nurse revenge till he has wreaked it. Consider, therefore, whether or no you will protect me."
And Achilles answered, "Fear not, but speak as it is borne in upon you from heaven, for by Apollo, Calchas, to whom you pray, and whose oracles you reveal to us, not a Danaan at our ships shall lay his hand upon you, while I yet live to look upon the face of the earth- no, not though you name Agamemnon himself, who is by far the foremost of the Achaeans."
Thereon the seer spoke boldly. "The god," he said, "is angry neither about vow nor hecatomb, but for his priest's sake, whom Agamemnon has dishonoured, in that he would not free his daughter nor take a ransom for her; therefore has he sent these evils upon us, and will yet send others. He will not deliver the Danaans from this pestilence till Agamemnon has restored the girl without fee or ransom to her father, and has sent a holy hecatomb to Chryse. Thus we may perhaps appease him."
With these words he sat down, and Agamemnon rose in anger. His heart was black with rage, and his eyes flashed fire as he scowled on Calchas and said, "Seer of evil, you never yet prophesied smooth things concerning me, but have ever loved to foretell that which was evil. You have brought me neither comfort nor performance; and now you come seeing among Danaans, and saying that Apollo has plagued us because I would not take a ransom for this girl, the daughter of Chryses. I have set my heart on keeping her in my own house, for I love her better even than my own wife Clytemnestra, whose peer she is alike in form and feature, in understanding and accomplishments. Still I will give her up if I must, for I would have the people live, not die; but you must find me a prize instead, or I alone among the Argives shall be without one. This is not well; for you behold, all of you, that my prize is to go elsewhither."
And Achilles answered, "Most noble son of Atreus, covetous beyond all mankind, how shall the Achaeans find you another prize? We have no common store from which to take one. Those we took from the cities have been awarded; we cannot disallow the awards that have been made already. Give this girl, therefore, to the god, and if ever Jove grants us to sack the city of Troy we will requite you three and fourfold."
Then Agamemnon said, "Achilles, valiant though you be, you shall not thus outwit me. You shall not overreach and you shall not persuade me. Are you to keep your own prize, while I sit tamely under my loss and give up the girl at your bidding? Let the Achaeans find me a prize in fair exchange to my liking, or I will come and take your own, or that of Ajax or of Ulysses; and he to whomsoever I may come shall rue my coming. But of this we will take thought hereafter; for the present, let us draw a ship into the sea, and find a crew for her expressly; let us put a hecatomb on board, and let us send Chryseis also; further, let some chief man among us be in command, either Ajax, or Idomeneus, or yourself, son of Peleus, mighty warrior that you are, that we may offer sacrifice and appease the the anger of the god."
Achilles scowled at him and answered, "You are steeped in insolence and lust of gain. With what heart can any of the Achaeans do your bidding, either on foray or in open fighting? I came not warring here for any ill the Trojans had done me. I have no quarrel with them. They have not raided my cattle nor my horses, nor cut down my harvests on the rich plains of Phthia; for between me and them there is a great space, both mountain and sounding sea. We have followed you, Sir Insolence! for your pleasure, not ours- to gain satisfaction from the Trojans for your shameless self and for Menelaus. You forget this, and threaten to rob me of the prize for which I have toiled, and which the sons of the Achaeans have given me. Never when the Achaeans sack any rich city of the Trojans do I receive so good a prize as you do, though it is my hands that do the better part of the fighting. When the sharing comes, your share is far the largest, and I, forsooth, must go back to my ships, take what I can get and be thankful, when my labour of fighting is done. Now, therefore, I shall go back to Phthia; it will be much better for me to return home with my ships, for I will not stay here dishonoured to gather gold and substance for you."
And Agamemnon answered, "Fly if you will, I shall make you no prayers to stay you. I have others here who will do me honour, and above all Jove, the lord of counsel. There is no king here so hateful to me as you are, for you are ever quarrelsome and ill affected. What though you be brave? Was it not heaven that made you so? Go home, then, with your ships and comrades to lord it over the Myrmidons. I care neither for you nor for your anger; and thus will I do: since Phoebus Apollo is taking Chryseis from me, I shall send her with my ship and my followers, but I shall come to your tent and take your own prize Briseis, that you may learn how much stronger I am than you are, and that another may fear to set himself up as equal or comparable with me."
The son of Peleus was furious, and his heart within his shaggy breast was divided whether to draw his sword, push the others aside, and kill the son of Atreus, or to restrain himself and check his anger. While he was thus in two minds, and was drawing his mighty sword from its scabbard, Minerva came down from heaven (for Juno had sent her in the love she bore to them both), and seized the son of Peleus by his yellow hair, visible to him alone, for of the others no man could see her. Achilles turned in amaze, and by the fire that flashed from her eyes at once knew that she was Minerva. "Why are you here," said he, "daughter of aegis-bearing Jove? To see the pride of Agamemnon, son of Atreus? Let me tell you- and it shall surely be- he shall pay for this insolence with his life."
And Minerva said, "I come from heaven, if you will hear me, to bid you stay your anger. Juno has sent me, who cares for both of you alike. Cease, then, this brawling, and do not draw your sword; rail at him if you will, and your railing will not be vain, for I tell you- and it shall surely be- that you shall hereafter receive gifts three times as splendid by reason of this present insult. Hold, therefore, and obey."
"Goddess," answered Achilles, "however angry a man may be, he must do as you two command him. This will be best, for the gods ever hear the prayers of him who has obeyed them."
He stayed his hand on the silver hilt of his sword, and thrust it back into the scabbard as Minerva bade him. Then she went back to Olympus among the other gods, and to the house of aegis-bearing Jove.
But the son of Peleus again began railing at the son of Atreus, for he was still in a rage. "Wine-bibber," he cried, "with the face of a dog and the heart of a hind, you never dare to go out with the host in fight, nor yet with our chosen men in ambuscade. You shun this as you do death itself. You had rather go round and rob his prizes from any man who contradicts you. You devour your people, for you are king over a feeble folk; otherwise, son of Atreus, henceforward you would insult no man. Therefore I say, and swear it with a great oath- nay, by this my sceptre which shalt sprout neither leaf nor shoot, nor bud anew from the day on which it left its parent stem upon the mountains- for the axe stripped it of leaf and bark, and now the sons of the Achaeans bear it as judges and guardians of the decrees of heaven- so surely and solemnly do I swear that hereafter they shall look fondly for Achilles and shall not find him. In the day of your distress, when your men fall dying by the murderous hand of Hector, you shall not know how to help them, and shall rend your heart with rage for the hour when you offered insult to the bravest of the Achaeans."
With this the son of Peleus dashed his gold-bestudded sceptre on the ground and took his seat, while the son of Atreus was beginning fiercely from his place upon the other side. Then uprose smooth-tongued Nestor, the facile speaker of the Pylians, and the words fell from his lips sweeter than honey. Two generations of men born and bred in Pylos had passed away under his rule, and he was now reigning over the third. With all sincerity and goodwill, therefore, he addressed them thus:-
"Of a truth," he said, "a great sorrow has befallen the Achaean land. Surely Priam with his sons would rejoice, and the Trojans be glad at heart if they could hear this quarrel between you two, who are so excellent in fight and counsel. I am older than either of you; therefore be guided by me. Moreover I have been the familiar friend of men even greater than you are, and they did not disregard my counsels. Never again can I behold such men as Pirithous and Dryas shepherd of his people, or as Caeneus, Exadius, godlike Polyphemus, and Theseus son of Aegeus, peer of the immortals. These were the mightiest men ever born upon this earth: mightiest were they, and when they fought the fiercest tribes of mountain savages they utterly overthrew them. I came from distant Pylos, and went about among them, for they would have me come, and I fought as it was in me to do. Not a man now living could withstand them, but they heard my words, and were persuaded by them. So be it also with yourselves, for this is the more excellent way. Therefore, Agamemnon, though you be strong, take not this girl away, for the sons of the Achaeans have already given her to Achilles; and you, Achilles, strive not further with the king, for no man who by the grace of Jove wields a sceptre has like honour with Agamemnon. You are strong, and have a goddess for your mother; but Agamemnon is stronger than you, for he has more people under him. Son of Atreus, check your anger, I implore you; end this quarrel with Achilles, who in the day of battle is a tower of strength to the Achaeans."
And Agamemnon answered, "Sir, all that you have said is true, but this fellow must needs become our lord and master: he must be lord of all, king of all, and captain of all, and this shall hardly be. Granted that the gods have made him a great warrior, have they also given him the right to speak with railing?"
[...] Read more
The Iliad: Book 1
Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that brought
countless ills upon the Achaeans. Many a brave soul did it send
hurrying down to Hades, and many a hero did it yield a prey to dogs
and vultures, for so were the counsels of Jove fulfilled from the
day on which the son of Atreus, king of men, and great Achilles, first
fell out with one another.
And which of the gods was it that set them on to quarrel? It was the
son of Jove and Leto; for he was angry with the king and sent a
pestilence upon the host to plague the people, because the son of
Atreus had dishonoured Chryses his priest. Now Chryses had come to the
ships of the Achaeans to free his daughter, and had brought with him a
great ransom: moreover he bore in his hand the sceptre of Apollo
wreathed with a suppliant's wreath and he besought the Achaeans, but
most of all the two sons of Atreus, who were their chiefs.
"Sons of Atreus," he cried, "and all other Achaeans, may the gods
who dwell in Olympus grant you to sack the city of Priam, and to reach
your homes in safety; but free my daughter, and accept a ransom for
her, in reverence to Apollo, son of Jove."
On this the rest of the Achaeans with one voice were for
respecting the priest and taking the ransom that he offered; but not
so Agamemnon, who spoke fiercely to him and sent him roughly away.
"Old man," said he, "let me not find you tarrying about our ships, nor
yet coming hereafter. Your sceptre of the god and your wreath shall
profit you nothing. I will not free her. She shall grow old in my
house at Argos far from her own home, busying herself with her loom
and visiting my couch; so go, and do not provoke me or it shall be the
worse for you."
The old man feared him and obeyed. Not a word he spoke, but went
by the shore of the sounding sea and prayed apart to King Apollo
whom lovely Leto had borne. "Hear me," he cried, "O god of the
silver bow, that protectest Chryse and holy Cilla and rulest Tenedos
with thy might, hear me oh thou of Sminthe. If I have ever decked your
temple with garlands, or burned your thigh-bones in fat of bulls or
goats, grant my prayer, and let your arrows avenge these my tears upon
the Danaans."
Thus did he pray, and Apollo heard his prayer. He came down
furious from the summits of Olympus, with his bow and his quiver
upon his shoulder, and the arrows rattled on his back with the rage
that trembled within him. He sat himself down away from the ships with
a face as dark as night, and his silver bow rang death as he shot
his arrow in the midst of them. First he smote their mules and their
hounds, but presently he aimed his shafts at the people themselves,
and all day long the pyres of the dead were burning.
For nine whole days he shot his arrows among the people, but upon
the tenth day Achilles called them in assembly- moved thereto by Juno,
who saw the Achaeans in their death-throes and had compassion upon
them. Then, when they were got together, he rose and spoke among them.
"Son of Atreus," said he, "I deem that we should now turn roving
home if we would escape destruction, for we are being cut down by
war and pestilence at once. Let us ask some priest or prophet, or some
[...] Read more
poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 11
SCARCE had the rosy Morning rais’d her head
Above the waves, and left her wat’ry bed;
The pious chief, whom double cares attend
For his unburied soldiers and his friend,
Yet first to Heav’n perform’d a victor’s vows: 5
He bar’d an ancient oak of all her boughs;
Then on a rising ground the trunk he plac’d,
Which with the spoils of his dead foe he grac’d.
The coat of arms by proud Mezentius worn,
Now on a naked snag in triumph borne, 10
Was hung on high, and glitter’d from afar,
A trophy sacred to the God of War.
Above his arms, fix’d on the leafless wood,
Appear’d his plumy crest, besmear’d with blood:
His brazen buckler on the left was seen; 15
Truncheons of shiver’d lances hung between;
And on the right was placed his corslet, bor’d;
And to the neck was tied his unavailing sword.
A crowd of chiefs inclose the godlike man,
Who thus, conspicuous in the midst, began: 20
“Our toils, my friends, are crown’d with sure success;
The greater part perform’d, achieve the less.
Now follow cheerful to the trembling town;
Press but an entrance, and presume it won.
Fear is no more, for fierce Mezentius lies, 25
As the first fruits of war, a sacrifice.
Turnus shall fall extended on the plain,
And, in this omen, is already slain.
Prepar’d in arms, pursue your happy chance;
That none unwarn’d may plead his ignorance, 30
And I, at Heav’n’s appointed hour, may find
Your warlike ensigns waving in the wind.
Meantime the rites and fun’ral pomps prepare,
Due to your dead companions of the war:
The last respect the living can bestow, 35
To shield their shadows from contempt below.
That conquer’d earth be theirs, for which they fought,
And which for us with their own blood they bought;
But first the corpse of our unhappy friend
To the sad city of Evander send, 40
Who, not inglorious, in his age’s bloom,
Was hurried hence by too severe a doom.”
Thus, weeping while he spoke, he took his way,
Where, new in death, lamented Pallas lay.
Acoetes watch’d the corpse; whose youth deserv’d 45
The father’s trust; and now the son he serv’d
With equal faith, but less auspicious care.
Th’ attendants of the slain his sorrow share.
A troop of Trojans mix’d with these appear,
And mourning matrons with dishevel’d hair. 50
[...] Read more
poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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Books
The universe (which others call the library). . .
-Jorge Luis Borges
Books which are stitched up the center with coarse white thread
Books on the beach with sunglass-colored pages
Books about food with pictures of weeping grapefruits
Books about baking bread with browned corners
Books about long-haired Frenchmen with uncut pages
Books of erotic engravings with pages that stick
Books about inns whose stars have sputtered out
Books of illuminations surrounded by darkness
Books with blank pages & printed margins
Books with fanatical footnotes in no-point type
Books with book lice
Books with rice-paper pastings
Books with book fungus blooming over their pages
Books with pages of skin with flesh-colored bindings
Books by men in love with the letter O
Books which smell of earth whose pages turn
poem by Erica Jong
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The Barricades Of Heaven
Running down around the towns along the shore
When I was sixteen and on my own
No, I couldnt tell you what the hell those brakes were for
I was just trying to hear my song
Jimmy found his own sweet sound and won that free guitar
Wed all get in the van and play
Life became the paradox, the bear, the rouge et noir
And the stretch of road running to l.a.
Pages turning
Pages we were years from learning
Straight into the night our hearts were flung
Better bring your own redemption when you come
To the barricades of heaven where Im from
All the world was shining from those hills
The stars above and the lights below
Among those there to test their fortunes and their wills
I lost track of the score long ago
Pages turning
Pages we were years from learning
Straight into the night our hearts were flung
Better bring your own redemption when you come
To the barricades of heaven where Im from
Childhood comes for me at night
Voices of my friends
Your face bathing me in light
Hope that never ends
Pages turning
Pages torn and pages burning
Faded pages, open in the sun
Better bring your own redemption when you come
To the barricades of heaven where Im from.
Better bring your own redemption when you come
To the barricades of heaven where Im from.
song performed by Jackson Browne
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 12
WHEN Turnus saw the Latins leave the field,
Their armies broken, and their courage quell’d,
Himself become the mark of public spite,
His honor question’d for the promis’d fight;
The more he was with vulgar hate oppress’d, 5
The more his fury boil’d within his breast:
He rous’d his vigor for the last debate,
And rais’d his haughty soul to meet his fate.
As, when the swains the Libyan lion chase,
He makes a sour retreat, nor mends his pace; 10
But, if the pointed jav’lin pierce his side,
The lordly beast returns with double pride:
He wrenches out the steel, he roars for pain;
His sides he lashes, and erects his mane:
So Turnus fares; his eyeballs flash with fire, 15
Thro’ his wide nostrils clouds of smoke expire.
Trembling with rage, around the court he ran,
At length approach’d the king, and thus began:
“No more excuses or delays: I stand
In arms prepar’d to combat, hand to hand, 20
This base deserter of his native land.
The Trojan, by his word, is bound to take
The same conditions which himself did make.
Renew the truce; the solemn rites prepare,
And to my single virtue trust the war. 25
The Latians unconcern’d shall see the fight;
This arm unaided shall assert your right:
Then, if my prostrate body press the plain,
To him the crown and beauteous bride remain.”
To whom the king sedately thus replied: 30
“Brave youth, the more your valor has been tried,
The more becomes it us, with due respect,
To weigh the chance of war, which you neglect.
You want not wealth, or a successive throne,
Or cities which your arms have made your own: 35
My towns and treasures are at your command,
And stor’d with blooming beauties is my land;
Laurentum more than one Lavinia sees,
Unmarried, fair, of noble families.
Now let me speak, and you with patience hear, 40
Things which perhaps may grate a lover’s ear,
But sound advice, proceeding from a heart
Sincerely yours, and free from fraudful art.
The gods, by signs, have manifestly shown,
No prince Italian born should heir my throne: 45
Oft have our augurs, in prediction skill’d,
And oft our priests, a foreign son reveal’d.
Yet, won by worth that cannot be withstood,
Brib’d by my kindness to my kindred blood,
Urg’d by my wife, who would not be denied, 50
[...] Read more
poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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The Centre Of The Heart
What am I gonna do when I get a little excited a little in vain? Tell me,
What am I gonna say when I find the center of the heart is the suburb to the brain?
You wear them so well, those innocent eyes
You're putting on a wonderful disguise.
I want you so bad, I'm pushing my luck
It feels like beeing hit by a truck.
This is no place special, don't know why I came
If someone has a minute, won't you explain?
What am I gonna do when I get a little excited a little in vain? Tell me,
What am I gonna say when I find the center of my heart is the suburb to the brain?
Singing: "Na na na na na na, Na na na na na na"
Beeing with you, dealing with fire
Oh, won't you come around (come out) come out (today) and play
I want you so bad, answer my calls
Let's spend the night within these walls
This is no place special, nothing for the same (nothing for the same)
If someone's got a minute, do please explain!
What am I gonna do when I get a little excited a little in vain? Tell me,
What am I gonna say when I find the center of my heart is the suburb to the brain?
Singing: "Na na na na na na, Na na na na na na"
What am I gonna do when I get a little excited a little in vain? Tell me...
(tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me)
What am I gonna do when I get a little excited a little in vain? Tell me,
What am I gonna say when I find the center of my heart is the suburb to the brain?
Singing: "Na na na na na na, Na na na na na na"
What am I gonna do now?
What am I gonna do when I get a little excited a little in vain?
The center of my heart... yeah, yeah, yeah!
What am I gonna say when I find the center of my heart is the suburb to the brain?
C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon hoooooooo!
Na na na na na na
What am I gonna do now?
What am I gonna say when I find the center of my heart is the suburb to the brain?
song performed by Roxette
Added by Lucian Velea
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My Song
I wrote a song
It's called 'my life'
I tried my best to make it a good one
I'd never written a song
Twas indeed my first
I had an eraser
I couldn't clean my mistakes though
It turned out to be a long song
A hundred and twenty pages worth
A page a year
I made a mess of it
Blue pen made a mark
As depression took a quarter of it
Yellow pen made an entrance
I decided it was better than blue
Red pen tried to hurt me
As all anger was kept inside
Green pen whispered a note
I wished I had my neighbour's song
So many colours on just one song
Twenty-five pages were dark
I knew not which way to go
I tried to turn a page but couldn't
I basked in pages gone
Hence left several pages blank
Twenty-five pages were wet
As tears serenaded my heart, it did the pages
Too much pain in one song
Tried to change the words
The things I thought all made the song
On a scale of good to bad, bad stole the day
I searched and found other songs titled 'my life'
I wrote my song the way they had
My song was like a painting
One in utter disharmony
One drawn by a clueless artist
But an artist whose passion burned his painting
I set my heart on fire on page 35
There had to be more
And more I had
On page 120, my eyes were dim and hands tired
Since pages couldn't be turned
My mind sat, and looked back
What had I done?
I'd been mountain high
I'd been valley low
I'd been good
I'd been bad
I'd been....
I lay my head on my song
[...] Read more
poem by Jenim Dibie
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 7
AND thou, O matron of immortal fame,
Here dying, to the shore hast left thy name;
Cajeta still the place is call’d from thee,
The nurse of great Æneas’ infancy.
Here rest thy bones in rich Hesperia’s plains; 5
Thy name (’t is all a ghost can have) remains.
Now, when the prince her fun’ral rites had paid,
He plow’d the Tyrrhene seas with sails display’d.
From land a gentle breeze arose by night,
Serenely shone the stars, the moon was bright, 10
And the sea trembled with her silver light.
Now near the shelves of Circe’s shores they run,
(Circe the rich, the daughter of the Sun,)
A dang’rous coast: the goddess wastes her days
In joyous songs; the rocks resound her lays: 15
In spinning, or the loom, she spends the night,
And cedar brands supply her father’s light.
From hence were heard, rebellowing to the main,
The roars of lions that refuse the chain,
The grunts of bristled boars, and groans of bears, 20
And herds of howling wolves that stun the sailors’ ears.
These from their caverns, at the close of night,
Fill the sad isle with horror and affright.
Darkling they mourn their fate, whom Circe’s pow’r,
(That watch’d the moon and planetary hour,) 25
With words and wicked herbs from humankind
Had alter’d, and in brutal shapes confin’d.
Which monsters lest the Trojans’ pious host
Should bear, or touch upon th’ inchanted coast,
Propitious Neptune steer’d their course by night 30
With rising gales that sped their happy flight.
Supplied with these, they skim the sounding shore,
And hear the swelling surges vainly roar.
Now, when the rosy morn began to rise,
And wav’d her saffron streamer thro’ the skies; 35
When Thetis blush’d in purple not her own,
And from her face the breathing winds were blown,
A sudden silence sate upon the sea,
And sweeping oars, with struggling, urge their way.
The Trojan, from the main, beheld a wood, 40
Which thick with shades and a brown horror stood:
Betwixt the trees the Tiber took his course,
With whirlpools dimpled; and with downward force,
That drove the sand along, he took his way,
And roll’d his yellow billows to the sea. 45
About him, and above, and round the wood,
The birds that haunt the borders of his flood,
That bath’d within, or basked upon his side,
To tuneful songs their narrow throats applied.
The captain gives command; the joyful train 50
[...] Read more
poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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From The End Of The World
Oh you, youre so hard to get to
Oh you, you dont wanna play
You were no better before
I sent a letter before
I sent a dream to last night
From the end of the world.
Oh you, you keep me hanging round & round & round & round
Oh you, look at the trouble Ive found
You were no better before
I sent a letter before
I sent a dream to you last night
From the end of the world.
I saw you last night, but you couldnt answer
You were a lonely little sidewalk dancer
When I woke up I could not stand it
You were gone, but I got to hand it to you.
Dream to you last night
From the end of the world.
Oh please, if this is a game I wish someone would win
Please, just let her fly to be upon the wind
You were no better before
I sent a letter before
I sent a dream to you baby last night
From the end of the world.
You were no better before
I sent a letter before
I sent a dream to you baby last night
From the end of the world.
I sent a dream to you baby, last night
From the end of the world
I sent a dream to you, babe
From the end of the world.
I sent a dream...
To you baby...
From the end of the world.
song performed by Electric Light Orchestra
Added by Lucian Velea
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Journey 2 The Center Of Your Heart
I know U've been hurt before
I can see it in your eyes
And if U just close the door
I would not be surprised
Even though I know U've heard it
These words I'm tryin' 2 say
I think the others only flirted
With the true meaning of always
U can say what U wanna
But I ain't gonna stop this journey 2 the center of your heart
No, no
Heart (Heart)
I see the candle through your window
Burns there every night
The shadow leaves an innuendo
Of no one holding U tight
Many nights I've dreamt U near me
But awaken 2 U gone (Gone)
I know one day U'll hear me
I don't care how long
U can say what U wanna
But I ain't gonna stop this journey 2 the center of your heart
Oh yeah
(Journey center of your heart)
Journey 2 the center of your heart
Heart
I've waited a lifetime, baby
Just 2 know your name
We've done everything in our minds
Let's stop the game (Let's stop it)
Even though I know U've heard
These words I'm tryin' 2 say
Somehow I think these others, they only flirted
With the true meaning of always
(U can say what U wanna)
Oh, U can say what U wanna
(But I ain't gonna stop this journey 2)
But I ain't gonna stop this journey 2 the center ... (Heart)
(U can say what U wanna)
(But I ain't gonna stop this journey 2 the center of your heart)
Heart, heart
(Heart) {repeat in BG}
Your heart {x3
song performed by Prince
Added by Lucian Velea
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My Cueen
In my crusade in the callus sands;
Coasting in the desserts of Africa
Below the crystal coating of Casablanca;
I came across an oasis;
In the center of Chad
A dwindling lake;
Cancer of the cells;
Blood that is......
Carnivorous, cultured, cultivated;
In her creaky corps;
In her caliphate;
On the curvy shores of Lake Chad;
Lay my curvy 'chantress;
My queen, my cueen;
My charming caliph;
There she lies my sylph my cylph;
Her creamy colored cuticle;
Touching the crux;
Of my tachy'cardic center.
My nu'cleus in cacophony;
As the center of me erupted;
Like the craters of Cotapaxi.
My queen, my cueen;
Catering to my heart's center's sheen;
Cradled between chambers of muscle's coir;
Rapturous for her.....
My sylph, my cylph;
Even if this lifetime evades us;
I will cee you in a crimson carnival;
In the center of Valhalla;
The city where pavements are candy;
And lake craters are flavored cordial;
I will cee you again my love
My cinderella;
In the center of the earth;
For I am diving to the craters;
Of Cotapaxi;
With my own cancer;
As the numbness of my psyche;
Capitulates my corroding existence;
Cee you in the corridors;
Of Canaan.....heaven that is;
Over the cumbersome clouds;
One day the cenile me will look at the ceiling;
As I kiss your lips;
For a s'cinitillating eternity;
You cee..........
In our cea of love;
Caeser and Cleopatra;
In Cismet's celebrity!
poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
Added by Poetry Lover
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