Thursday, October 30, 2003

Fun thing.

http://y.20q.net:8095/btest
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The ecstasies will kiss your kneck/wrap round the rope you have/and you will be a smiling face, yellow as piss.

Mood: Apathetically bored.
Music: Pink Floyd-Shine on You Crazy Diamond (Part II)

Newspaper is such a useless, boring class. Erg.

I just want it to be over already. I just want school to over already for that fact, and for it to be the weekend.
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Wednesday, October 29, 2003

Nice convo.

Dilapoid: Karmel.
Karmi55: jes?
Dilapoid: Jesus? Jester? Jerry? Jessy?
Karmi55: yes.
Karmi55: jes =yes
Dilapoid: jokahy.
Dilapoid: jats jreally jool.
Karmi55: lol
Karmi55: XD
Dilapoid: jlol
Dilapoid: jXD
Karmi55: okay, enough
Dilapoid: :p
Dilapoid: Just teasing.
Karmi55: okay, i'm on trillian, so at this point i don't know who you are
Karmi55: because i can't see you're email
Karmi55: do you have a name?
Dilapoid: I write poetry. My name, in full, means the one like god how is a blacksmith.
Dilapoid: I am an OBer.
Karmi55: ooooh
Dilapoid: I moderate a poetry forum.
Dilapoid: I am a guy.
Dilapoid: hm..
Karmi55: mitch?
Dilapoid: What else.
Dilapoid: Yes.
Dilapoid: lol
Karmi55: yea
Karmi55: go me
Karmi55: XD
Dilapoid: Indeed.
Karmi55: Well, hello mitch. nice to meet you.
Karmi55: =)
Dilapoid: Nice to meet thou too.
Karmi55: lol
Dilapoid: Thou art accosted as a king to his queen.
Karmi55: I am?
Dilapoid: Ita vero.
Karmi55: * stare *
Dilapoid: [Latin for yes]
Karmi55: oooh.
Karmi55: okay
Dilapoid: Yes. Add it to your vocabulary. :p
Karmi55: yes lord mitch
Karmi55: * bows *
Dilapoid: I am a lord?
Dilapoid: Hm.
Karmi55: yes
Dilapoid: This thought entertains me.
Karmi55: glad I could entertain you.
Karmi55: ^-~
Dilapoid: And what makes a lord a lord?
Karmi55: greatness or wealth.
Dilapoid: Hm.
Dilapoid: And what makes someone great?
Karmi55: or power.
Karmi55: hmmm...
Dilapoid: "To be great is to be misunderstood," Emerson once said.
Karmi55: amen.
Dilapoid: Someonthing-or-other Waldo Emerson.
Karmi55: Ralph
Karmi55: ^-^
Dilapoid: Ralph is a revy name.
Karmi55: it is?
Dilapoid: Yes. Because I said so.
Karmi55: yes Lord Mitch
Dilapoid: lol
Dilapoid: Yes queen melday.
Dilapoid: *melady
Dilapoid: Melday? *-8
Karmi55: melday would be a neat name
Karmi55: or Meleday
Dilapoid: Okay.
Karmi55: pick a color
Dilapoid: If I marry you we can have a child of this name.
Dilapoid: Black as tar, black as death.
Karmi55: sounds good
Karmi55: and now give me another color that contrasts black
Dilapoid: White as bone, white as ribs.
Karmi55: now a shape
Dilapoid: A mangled hand.
Karmi55: intresting....
Dilapoid: lol
Karmi55: and a language
Dilapoid: Metaphor
Karmi55: I'm trying to figure out what to paint on my walls.
Dilapoid: Paint me.
Dilapoid: :p
Karmi55: no, i'll just put you on my desktop ^-~
Karmi55: and underneath it shall say "Lord Mitch"
Dilapoid: lol
Dilapoid: Okay, okay.
Dilapoid: I dost not have a picture of thou.
Dilapoid: Withal I amst not able to place thou on my desktop.
Dilapoid: And put "Queen of Mitch."
Karmi55: lol
Karmi55: I have a pic somewhere.
Karmi55: But I am entirely too lazy to search for it.
Dilapoid: Eheu.
Karmi55: schade.
Karmi55: schade is better.
Karmi55: =P
Dilapoid: Eheu.
Dilapoid: Eheu is better.
Dilapoid: It is latin for "Alas."
Dilapoid: It is so fun to say too.
Dilapoid: Eheu.
Karmi55: schade is german for 'too bad'
Dilapoid: Like sneezing, so notwithstanding and so dastardly.
Dilapoid: Nine.
Karmi55: nein
Dilapoid: :p
Karmi55: =P
Dilapoid: That concludes Mitch's knowing of German.
Karmi55: yes it does.
Dilapoid: Eugepae!
Karmi55: I must concede though, Latin is better than German.
Karmi55: And dare I ask what that means?
Dilapoid: Nevar!
Dilapoid: Nevar to the first.
Dilapoid: And it means "Hooray!:
Karmi55: heheh
Karmi55: do actions truly speak louder than words?
Dilapoid: But words speak for actions and actions speak for words.
Karmi55: so what would be louder? an action or a word?
Dilapoid: Both are louder.
Karmi55: or would they be equal?
Karmi55: louder than what
Karmi55: ?
Dilapoid: Louder than each other.
Dilapoid: I'd say they're equal.
Karmi55: yes, we have come to a consensus!
Karmi55: ^-~
Karmi55: ever stayed in a closet all day?
Dilapoid: No. I'm not gay. I do not have to worry..
Dilapoid: Stupid society and homosexuals.
Dilapoid: I scoff.
Karmi55: you know, you're the 5th person who's taken that the wrong way today.
Karmi55: and that rhymed. wow.
Karmi55: I stayed in a closet all day. It was very boring.
Karmi55: and cramped.
Dilapoid: Woo hoo shoopey doo lookie it's dirty too and me and you and him and i chew on the burger's hue and eat the glue and suck blue and we're sad as true.
Dilapoid: It rhymes!
Dilapoid: :p
Karmi55: yes but it makes no sense.
Karmi55: if you can rhyme AND make sense, you're gifted.
Karmi55: ^-~
Dilapoid: I can.
Dilapoid: I was just driveling there lol.
Karmi55: Yes I know.
Karmi55: you're so gifted.
Karmi55: * bows *
Dilapoid: I am flattered.
Dilapoid: Let's get married. :p
Karmi55: okay
Karmi55: ^-~
Karmi55: my cats will be jealous.
Karmi55: they think they're the only ones entitled to my attention.
Dilapoid: Cats are felines and women are feminities. They both scratch and claw, their little hands so beautiful and calm.
Karmi55: Yes, but a woman won't leave hair all over your bed unless she's really nasty
Dilapoid: I feel poetic.
Karmi55: really? then exercise your poetic licesnce.
Dilapoid: http://www.otakuboards.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=33196
Dilapoid: A juniorclassman committed suicide two days ago.
Karmi55: did you know him?
Dilapoid: No.
Dilapoid: That is what that piece is in memory of.
Karmi55: is suicide an act of cowardice or bravery?
Dilapoid: Both.
Karmi55: is it possible to be both?
Dilapoid: Well, on one hand it takes bravery to do it. It takes guts.
Karmi55: but it's also running away from your problems.
Karmi55: from life.
Karmi55: suicide is a paradox.
Dilapoid: And what is death? Death is forced as well. Only it isn't a choice.
Karmi55: death is forced by the passage of time.
Dilapoid: Yes.
Karmi55: is time circular or linear?
Dilapoid: It is also forced because it is.
Karmi55: true.
Dilapoid: Well, if one looks at it as numbers and daylight and beads in an hourglass..
Dilapoid: Indeed.
Karmi55: eastern philosphy views it as circular, but westerners view it as linear.
Dilapoid: Circular and linear would be nearly the same things, though...
Dilapoid: Linear means it follows a certain pattern.
Dilapoid: That it ends in a certain fashoin.
Dilapoid: And a circle goes round.
Dilapoid: It begins and ends and begins and ends.
Karmi55: fashion*
Dilapoid: Yes.
Dilapoid: Thanks.
Karmi55: you're welcome.
Dilapoid: A circle is linear too..
Dilapoid: It is a certain area with a certain way it looks with a certain way it is.
Karmi55: but a line goes on and on forever, always creating new things, never repeating itself the exact same way.
Dilapoid: Yes.
Karmi55: a circle goes back and relives itself.
Karmi55: it's different.
Dilapoid: But in a faint comparison, they are almost the same.
Karmi55: I know.
Dilapoid: Time must be linear then.
Dilapoid: It goes on even when all else is gone.
Karmi55: does it?
Dilapoid: I am assume.
Dilapoid: *assuming
Dilapoid: I cannot know.
Karmi55: true.
Dilapoid: Like I cannot know that God is real, or Jesus is real.
Dilapoid: I cannot know.
Karmi55: ick, God.
Dilapoid: Yes.
Dilapoid: I label myself as an apatheist.
Karmi55: Yes I know.
Dilapoid: I do not care if there is a god or isn't.
Dilapoid: *nod*
Karmi55: I don't understand why people should fear ceasing to exist.
Dilapoid: Yes.
Dilapoid: I know.
Dilapoid: If you lasted forever..
Dilapoid: It's just not comprehendable.
Karmi55: No it's not.
Karmi55: Like time.
Karmi55: Neither is heaven.
Karmi55: How can a place without suffering exist? In order for that to be, we would not have our memories. True, we wouldn't know what we are missing, but I find the idea highly unsettling. I'd rather be condemned to nothingness.
Dilapoid: Exactly what I think.
Karmi55: Or eternal suffering. Whichever suits your fancy.
Dilapoid: Even purity suffers.
Karmi55: Yes. Always staring at sin. Wondering what it would be like.
Dilapoid: It's a sin to be pure. It's outdoing what's human. It's outgoing what's nature.
Dilapoid: I don't see sin as such a big deal.
Dilapoid: It is nature.
Dilapoid: It is going to happen.
Karmi55: True.
Karmi55: So anything pure is sinful? That's quite an oxymoron.
Dilapoid: It is.
Dilapoid: But think about it...
Dilapoid: Even as pure as something is..
Dilapoid: It has to have some bad in its nature.
Dilapoid: It has to have some sin.
Dilapoid: And to be pure is unreachable...it's something that would be a sin. Something that would be a sin human-wuse.
Dilapoid: *wise
Karmi55: You're talking about humanity then. Of course. To be pure is to be inhuman.
Dilapoid: Yes.
Karmi55: But how does it become a sin?
Dilapoid: A sin is something bad, right? Something that labeled by god is wrong.
Dilapoid: Think about this.
Dilapoid: What's the difference between right and wrong?
Dilapoid: Is there any set lines other than what others tell you?
Dilapoid: Really, what's good to someone else..
Dilapoid: Can be bad to someone else.
Dilapoid: Take a murderer for example.
Dilapoid: He kills.
Dilapoid: He must think it is right on some accord.
Karmi55: yes mitch, i read your thread.
Dilapoid: He does it because he likes it, because he doesn't see it as wrong.
Dilapoid: This is what I mean.
Dilapoid: Don't look at what god labels as sin.
Karmi55: Yes, so being pure is impossible, because you can't act in a manner that EVERYONE deems as pure.
Dilapoid: Exactly.
Karmi55: Okay, I see what you mean.
Karmi55: what were we talking about before?
Dilapoid: I don't know lol.
Karmi55: oh yea. suicide.
Karmi55: which lead to sin, etc.
Dilapoid: Suicide is only bad to those who see it bad, again.
Dilapoid: I love how good and bad...my thinking of it...applies to so many things.
Karmi55: yes it does.
Dilapoid: One who commits suicide sees at as right.
Dilapoid: Sees at as pure..
Dilapoid: As a golden gate to end suffering.
Dilapoid: *it
Dilapoid: You know..
Dilapoid: The romans saw suicide as a noble thing.
Dilapoid: See how things change? See how today it's looked as something bad?
Karmi55: It can be noble. It can also be beautiful.
Dilapoid: Exactly.
Dilapoid: I believe, then...that all things are both good and bad.
Dilapoid: It's the only way to say it.
Karmi55: Regecting the system. Choosing to end your own life, spite death.
Karmi55: Of course. All things have inherent good and bad traits.
Dilapoid: So saying this...
Dilapoid: What's the point of good and bad?
Dilapoid: It's contradicting of one another..
Dilapoid: It's something that when looked at closer...there is no need for it.
Karmi55: This is true.
Karmi55: yes, but sometimes it's easier to just say good or bad.
Dilapoid: But again..
Karmi55: rather than get into a big long discussion likethis ^-~
Karmi55: like this *
Dilapoid: This is because one thinks SOMETHING is more good or bad.
Karmi55: yes. candy is not all good, but it's more good than bad (to me), so it becomes good in my eyes.
Dilapoid: Good and bad are only words...
Dilapoid: Look at them as such.
Dilapoid: They only mean what they mean.
Dilapoid: They only notion some emotional feeling.
Karmi55: So what? Transcend words?
Dilapoid: Words transced themselves, truthfully..
Dilapoid: And indeed...words can also be both good and bad.
Dilapoid: At the same time.
Karmi55: Yes, they can.
Dilapoid: Just don't look at words as so absolute.
Dilapoid: All they are is words that paint a picture or some thing for someone to see.
Dilapoid: *all words are
Dilapoid: Hm..
Karmi55: Words hold many different meanings, so a word to one person can mean an entirely different thing to another.
Karmi55: of course they are not absolute.
Dilapoid: Yeah.
Karmi55: nor are they good or bad.
Dilapoid: But some words are so much stronger than others.
Dilapoid: Mangled.
Dilapoid: What a great word.
Dilapoid: Banal;.
Dilapoid: What a great word.
Dilapoid: And so on and so forth.
Karmi55: Yes.
Dilapoid: Writing is art as painting is as drawing is.
Dilapoid: As singing is as anything that's expression is.
Karmi55: of course.
Dilapoid: They all go beyond what they say.
Dilapoid: Of course heh.
Karmi55: anything can be art as long as they is passion and thought.
Dilapoid: I'm just more embedding.
Dilapoid: Hm.
Karmi55: there*
Dilapoid: It's nice to talk to you heh.
Karmi55: =) you too.
Dilapoid: Deep conversations are what I love.
Karmi55: Yes, unfortunatly many people are too afraid or close-minded to have them.
Dilapoid: People look at things so stupidly and one-dimensonally.
Dilapoid: *dimensionally
Dilapoid: You have to look past what people give you.
Dilapoid: You can't just believe to believe.
Dilapoid: You have to have a reason...you have to see something.
Karmi55: Amen.
Karmi55: Hold nothing on faith.
Dilapoid: I'd say religion really annoys me.
Karmi55: Faith is a liar and a cheat.
Dilapoid: Especially organized religion.
Dilapoid: Well..
Dilapoid: you need faith every now and then.
Dilapoid: To love is to have faith.
Dilapoid: Love isn't a certain thing.
Karmi55: Once in a blue moon.
Dilapoid: What love is to another is love to another.
Dilapoid: And at other times isn't.
Dilapoid: It goes again into good and bad.
Dilapoid: Sort of..
Dilapoid: It isn't defined.
Karmi55: Love is one of those words that if one was to truly put it's meaning in the dictionary, the dictionary might use up all the trees in the Amazon rainforest.
Dilapoid: lol
Dilapoid: Indeed.
Dilapoid: Hm. Anyways, I should be going.
Dilapoid: I will definitely talk to you again.
Comments (1) | Permalink

Nice convo.


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In memorium.

Mood: Cold.
Music: REM-Half a World Away

The darkness is all around. It envelops like a closing fist.

His eyes are closed tightly, coiled on his head in thick concetration.

Mosquitoes come, suck your blood
whispers
like love.
Mosquitoes come
suck your blood

He is a murderer. His leather seats dash his car like a cozy sofa. The dashboard is litten up in a neon fizz.

And he is a murderer.

He sits with his head going nowhere, his thoughts reoccuring to flashes and sparks, all litten up but just there, like his dashboard. Like his entire life.

Inside his mind the metal messenger of death is ringing. And he picks it up. A little clang and a little clatter.

Hello...

Little deathbirds whisper in his head, the hollowed-out skulls of memories.

In his mind he can see the messenger of death in his hands, he can see himself speaking to it, telling it all he wants. All he loves. All he hates. And the messenger smiles, he can see it as he hears it. A small uplift of small cheeks, a big grin, a qauvering grin, like a beating heart.

In his mind he can see the wound seeping into him, like acid poison, like crumbling, skipping stairs, falling one by one in an endless depth. He can see it taint and bleed and spasm and kill. He can taste the smell of gunpowdered wishes, like snow falling endlessly and helplessly and scentlessly in its dead, flittering white. He can see white covering him, like a coat, and blackness right on his eyes, his beady, empty eyes. He can feel splattering, mangling wishes and dreams and brainmatter strewn about, a murderer's art, a picture only blood could paint and blood could finger.

Bang

He can hear the bang in his mind. He can hear little voices, a small choir of whores, telling him to stop, to end, to resist, to cease. To not give up. The whores were empty hearts, red bloodholes in his mind, faded kisses that nourished nothing, only cold skin. They were white as paper, thin as ribs. Little bases that gave his face a head. Little cements that glooped in an endless loop, so frantically, so quickly. And they were all drying, all melting, and all tears as they stood around and moped and sulked by a now filled piece of Earth. By a murder's rug, and his stone home.

The hate that rises through the pavements. The little cats that are as feline as love. The little slips of paper of a torn up test grade, buried forever in a trash can. A bottle of soda smeared with fingerprints, small, tedious fingerprints. A little boy with a little heart and a little life doing handstands in the rain, his hands wet with enthusiasm. A bigger boy, tall as the moon, short as the ground. But gravity always wins.

But gravity always wins...

Between his eyes I see his brain, a silent tape in the open breeze. Spinning like a pinball in a machine fed too many quarters and too little love. Spinning like a twirling, spasming girl kissing and wooing with endless amority. I see a tape unraveling like a red carpet on a short stair that ends as soon as it begins. I see a tape playing with its sound dying, its wheels overused, overknown, overneeded.

I hear a man in the classroom singing, "Lalalalalala listen to yourself, go on and on as if you spoke to someone else." I see flashes, endless lightbulbs burning out and preparing to be dead and gone forever and ever. I see metal in the cold night, dancing on his closed eyes, dancing with his brain in a slow dance that never ends only when it stops.

He thinks of all the people in life. He looks at them like knives, too sharp and growing too dull, one day to be broken forever. Tears touch his mind like a lost ocean, but he pushes them back, he pushes them back in a wave of water, a wave that will cover everything in its hands.

He grabs the messenger of death for real this time. He winces in anguish, in some last plea, in some last wish, some last dream, some last could have been. He pauses for a moment longer, like a sloth, slowly, coldly. Movies are playing in his head, movies just as powerful and moving as any other. Memories face him and touch him and grasp him like an old man too dead to know what he's doing.

And then he puts the metal messenger to his head. He places his finger over the trigger like a teacher first grabbing chalk, first teaching. His finger lays on the little slab of the trigger, uncertain and capable of its potentials. Uncertain and capable potentials that will kill other uncertain and capable potentials. Like a sigh that turns to a scream, bloodcurdling and cold as hell.

With a twitch of his brain his muscles move the trigger back forcefully with his finger. Little shadows dance and recede. Little memories breathe one last breath then cough and die. Hands move and wiggle for the last time. A face moves and licks and breathes for the last moments and fades to just another rag doll, just another doll that was stuffed and nothing and dead.

Bang

The bang is sudden. Sudden like a wrenching, decayed ghost appearing and showing its face. The red is all over the car, the bullet a cannibal to its own end. The murderer a murderer to his own end. The blood is all over; it is all over his face, all over his hands, all over the ground. A spaghetti of brain matter paints the leather seats, brain matter that once was. That once had a being. That once danced like a neon sign.

He squirms for a while longer. Then there is nothing. Nothing but a lone car in a lone road with its litten dashboard, just sitting.

A few days later, snow fell, a confetti parade for the devil. A purgatorial white that scattered and clawed in a gnawing cold, cutting the air with a dead breeze. It fell like one last sneeze, showering the world in the white of bone, in the purging color of white.

The snow ate at us all, chewing and munching on us. All of us food that hasn't died. All of us paralyzed.
Comments (2) | Permalink

This is from one of my sort-of-friends' journals...

His name is Tyler. He was a better friend with Brandon.

"Well this has been about one of the worst days of my life.. found out brandon killed himself last night.. i just didnt beleive it at first...soem people were so non chalant about it and were just all "o yeah didnt you here? yeah he dided last night" and thats all they would say.. i just wouldnt beleive it...i got to art and was kinda moping around wondering if this was all real then i sat down and mr leis pulled out a sheet of paper,,,, he was told to annouce to all the student that brandon was dead and after that my ears just became deaf to the world... my hart dropped into the darkest hole that would never be found... i just couldnt beleive it...

i sat there in shock for most of art class... no one talked to me.. i think they all knew why... i was not feeling good ro abd... i was just in shock... by the time i got to math i was almost hestericle... i just couldnt take it... to know that he wasnt there anymore.. to know what happened and what he did... i just broke down into tears... my whoe body was shaking and i had my head piled into my books so no one could see... mrs. grey came up to me and nduged me on the shoulder and asked if i had the asignment... i didnt move... i think she heard my silent sobs and knew what was wrong... she made me take my head out of my books revealing my tear filled eyes to the whole calss asking me if i was ok.... i said no... she sent me away... sent me home for the day and to greive... i walked one of the hardest walk ive ever had to out of that class today... im looked at as a tuff guy and stell willed... i left that class whole body shaking.. kness weak bearly able to walk... balling my eyes out... it was one of the hardest thins ive ever had to do... enduring all there stairs as i left...

i slowly made my wy to the commens where i tried to call home... no one was home.. i sat in the commens and tried to get a ride home from most of my freinds i saw pass by... most disreguarded me and kept walking... i sat there thinking so much.... a saw mindy come out of the couselors office crying with her freinds around her and i just looked around... wondering where my freinds were in my time of greif... none were to be found... i wanted to go give mindy the biggest tearfull hug ever but i jsut sat there in a dilusional coma...

i tried to console in just about every one i saw but i came to no finding... i tried once more and couldnt get home and ryan came over and saw how i was feeling and offered a ride home... me and him talked a little too but it just wasnt what i needed.... i got home and went straight into my room and looked at the ceilig for a good half hour.. i got called from his gf when i got home... she said that last night she had a dream that he came in her window last night and kissed her good bye and it wasnt a dream he realy did it... he was found on river road dead.. with the gun in his lap... and i just sat there listening to her.. listening to her screams... her crys.. i could have done anything to stop this frm happening... anything... even if i was with him last light.. he asked me if i wanted to hang out yesterday.. i said i had to much home work.. and now hes dead... and its my fault... if i had just been with him yesterday i could hae stopped this... stopped all of this greif... i just cant handle myself anymore... i dont know what to do... now i feel like dying just cuz i wasnt there to help...i got online and consoled in freinds... jess one of the rarest ones i consoled in and it surprised me she even listened to meafter what a case i am... i talked to allysa, jess, kat just everyone and they made me feel a little better but as i sit here i think to myself...this is all my fault... i am a fucking killer and deserve to die as well... "
Comments (0) | Permalink

Suicide.

Two days ago a memeber of my junior class committed suicide. Brandon Bergun[I spelled his last name wrong, I am sure]] was his name.

It has not been disclosed how he died or under what circumstances.

So today in Newspaper we were discussing what to do about it, since two articles in the paper pertained suicide within them. Most thought it would annoy close friends of Brandon's, or it would hurt them, or look like we don't care.

The first article is a column by a girl of the name of Lisa Horner. She is a co-editor of the paper along with Mike Mullen.

Anyways, her column shows her as a sophomore, and how she had had 3 boyfriends, how she doesn't like being touched.

Then it hit on her 16th birthday.

That day she took a noosed rope as she sat in her bathroom crying and put it around her neck, pushed it tighter and tighter until it made her gape and choke.

She said in the column that it felt like control.

Lisa's columns have been like this this year. Her first one told of how she doesn't care about her parents, and that her parents constantly ask her what is wrong, ask her how her day was, and such.

It ended with her mom saying, "I love you," and Lisa not saying anything back.

Everyone has felt like these two columns say before. Few just have the guts to say it, or go through with it, or remember it.

Anyways, getting off topic.

They discussed this all period. We ended up deciding to do an editor's note.

All this morning I felt very morose and apathetical. It beat down on me like a bloodred hammer.

I didn't care that Brandon had killed himself. That's his own problem. And this is how I really feel.

Suicides happen every single day. What is the deal?

In our society it's seen as such a horrid thing. It is on one hand.

I've lost my entire focus for this post.

I feel really apathetical a lot of the time in the morning until I get food.

That is about all I have to say.

Target has not called, there goes that job. I am so sick of looking for one too.
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Tuesday, October 28, 2003

I LOVE Radiohead.

Again, I love this band so much.

Street Spirit (Fade Out)
Rows of houses all bearing down on me
I can feel their blue hands touching me
All these things into position
All these things we'll one day swallow whole
And fade out again and fade out

This machine will not communicate
These thoughts and the strain I am under
Be a world child, form a circle
Before we all go under
And fade out again and fade out again

Cracked eggs, dead birds
Scream as they fight for life
I can feel death, can see its beady eyes
All these things into position
All these things we'll one day swallow whole
And fade out again and fade out again

Immerse your soul in love
Immerse your soul in love.

Lucky
I'm on a roll,
I'm on a roll this time
I feel my luck could change.

Kill me Sarah,
kill me again with love,
it's gonna be a glorious day.

Pull me out of the aircrash,
Pull me out of the lake,
I'm your superhero,
we are standing on the edge.

The head of state has called for me by name
but I don't have time for him.
It's gonna be a glorious day!
I feel my luck could change.

Pull me out of the aircrash,
Pull me out of the lake,
I'm your superhero,
we are standing on the edge.
We are standing on the edge.

The Tourist
barks at no-one else but me,
like it's seen a ghost.
I guess it's seen the sparks a-flowin,
no-one else would know.

Hey man, slow down, slow down,
idiot, slow down, slow down.

Sometimes I get overcharged,
that's when you see sparks.
They ask me where the hell I'm going?
At a 1000 feet per second,

hey man, slow down, slow down,
idiot, slow down, slow down.

Hey man, slow down, slow down,
idiot, slow down, slow down.
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Some Max Payne Pictures.



A clip of the comic-narration I talked about. It's a little blurry, but you get the idea. Max reads it...as well as teh other characters voice their lines.



Realy small image...bleh.

The case for the PS2 Game.



Another comic-narration thing. This is one of the first ones....nothing too interesting is going on in it.



Big wallpaper-ness.



Another comic-narration thingie. This is also from the very beginning of the game. It is Max clutching his wife's dead body.



An interesting picture indeed.



The opening game screen.

And I think that's about enough.

I love this game...and I still haven't beaten it. I'm getting closer, though.










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This was a revealing test.

http://www.liquidgeneration.com/sabotage/hand-eye_sabotage.asp

I got about 80% proficiency. Not too bad. It seems sitting online for hours actually is doing something for me.

Please post your proficiencies in the comment box of this entry or else I shall be a mango.
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