Wednesday, August 17, 2005

   WHOA!!
HEY LOOKY!! SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"S BACK!
For the LONGEST time they wouldn't let me log in so i almost gave up.. BUT HERE I AM!! HAHA!!
Don't know just HOW active I'll be but yea.. I'm here right? WELL i'm gonna go hang out for a while. JA! ^^
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Thursday, January 27, 2005

   guuuuuuuuuuuuues whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?
I gotta a new journal. go visit if you want!
www.livejournal.com/users/nazo-inu
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Tuesday, January 25, 2005

   Songs that'll never end part one
Ay, iyaiyai,
Ay, iyaiyai
A-a-a iyaiyai,
Where's my samurai

I've been searching for a man
All across Japan
Just to find, to find my samurai
Someone who is strong
But still a little shy
Yes I need, I need my samurai

Ay, ay, ay,
I'm your little butterfly
Green, black and blue,
Make the colours in the sky
Ay, ay, ay, I'm your little butterfly
Green, black and blue,
Make the colours in the sky

I've been searching in the woods
And high upon the hills
Just to find, to find my samurai
Someone who won't regret
To keep me in his net
Yes I need, I need my samurai

Ay, ay, ay,
I'm your little butterfly
Green, black and blue,
Make the colours in the sky
Ay, ay, ay, I'm your little butterfly
Green, black and blue,
Make the colours in the sky

Ay, iyaiyai,
Ay, iyaiyai
A-a-a iyaiyai,
Where's my samurai
I have this song stuck in my head
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Friday, January 7, 2005

   I feel like crying
I didn't mean to do it... I really didn't...... :( I made a friend mad and now he hates me.... T_T I'M A ****** IDIOT NOW!!!!!!!
I'm going to go wallow in despair and drink too much rootbeer and maybe even prehaps die... Only leaving my evil *SCREW THE DANG WORLD* side. (sigh)

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   Nuther poem... This time it's a dada poem The Street Lamp Said
My mom wrote this and it's based off of Rhapsody on a Windy Night by T.S. Elliot

Hard and curled and ready to snap
a broken spring in a factory yard
Slipped out and pocketed a toy that running along the quay
She smoothes the hair of the grass
and through the spaces of the dark
so the hand of the child automatic
the lamp muttered
"Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter
Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left
the bed is open; the tooth brush hangs on the wall
Who hesitates toward you in the light of of the door
That cross and cross across her brain"
whispering lunar incantations
Put you shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life
A washed out smallpox cracks her face
The moon has lost her memory
smells of chestnuts in the streets
and female smells in shuttered rooms
a twisted branch upon the beach
the memory throws up high and dry
as a madman shakes a dead geranium
trying to peer through lighted shutters
the street lamp said "Regard that woman
which opens on her like a grin
an old crab with barnacles on his back
her hand twists a paper rose
and devours a morsel of rancid butter
I could see nothing behind that child's eye
I have seen eyes in the street
gripped the end of a stick which i held him
and a crab one afternoon in a pool
and all its clear relations
the smells of dust and ean de Cologne
twists like a crooked pin"
She winks a feeble eye
held in a lunar synthesis
is torn and stained with sand
the street lamp sputtered
a crowd of twisted things
and you see the corner of her eye
the street lamp muttered
the little lamp spreads a ring on the stair
dissolve the floors of memory
you see the border of her dress
with all the old nocturnal smells
and cocktail smells in bars
the reminiscence comes
beats like a fatalistic drum
its divisions and precisions
here is the number on the door
the lamp sputtered
as if the world gave up
she is alone
along the reaches of the street
"regard the moon
Memory!
eaten smooth and polished
and cigarettes in corridors
half-past two
the last twist of the knife
every street lamp that I pass
of sunless dry geraniums
The secret of its skeleton
mount
Half-past on
and dust in crevices
La lune ne gaide a ucune rancune
Midnight shakes the memory
Stiff and white
she smiles into corners
half-past three
the lamp hummed slips out its tongue
TWELVE O' CLOCK
the lamp said
four o' clock
you have the key
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Wednesday, January 5, 2005

   my fav. poem, Highway Man (sang by Loreena Meckinett)
The wind was a torrent of darkness
among the gusty trees
the moon was a ghostly galleon
tossed upon the cloudy seas
The road was ribbon of moonlight
over the purple moor
And the Highwayman comes riding, riding, riding, The Highwayman comes riding
up to the old inn door.

He'd a french cock hat on his forehead
a bunch of lace at his chin
A coat of scarlet velvet
and breeches of brown doe skin
the fit him with never a wrinkle
his boots were up to the thigh
And he rode a jeweled twinkle
his pistol butts a twinkle
his rapier hilt a twinkle
under neath the Jeweled sky

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed
in the dark inn yard
and he tapped his whip at the shutters
but all was locked an barred
but he whistled a tune to the window
and who should be waiting there
but the landlord's black eyed daughter,
Bess the landlord's daughter
and he plaited a dark red love knot
into her long black hair.

One kiss my bonny sweetheart
I'm after a prize tonight
but I shall be back with the yellow gold
before the morning light
but if they shall press me sharply
and harry me through the day
then look for me by the moonlight
watch for me by the moonlight
I'll come to thee by the moonlight
though hell shall bar the way

He rose upright in the stirrups
he scarce could reach her hand
but she loosened her hair in the casement
his face burnt like a brand
as the black cascades of the perfume
came tumbling over his breast
and he kissed it's waves in the moonlight
oh sweet waves in the moonlight
and he tugged at his reigns in the moonlight
and galloped away to the west.

He did not come at the dawning
he did not come at noon
and out of the tawny sunset
before the rise of the moon
The road was a gypsies ribbon
looping the purple moor.
A red coat troop came marching, marching, marching
King George's men came marching up to the old inn door.

They said no word to the landlord but drank his ale instead.
But they gagged his daughter and bound her
to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them kneeled in the casement
with muskets at the side
there was death at every window
hell at one dark window
and bess could see through the casement
the road that he would ride.

They had her tied her up to attention
many a snickering jest
They had a musket beside her
a barrel beneath her breast
Now keep good watch and they kissed her
she heard the dead man say
Look for me by the moonlight
watch for me by the moonlight
I'll come to the by the moonlight
though Hell should bar the way

She writhed her hands behind her
but all the knots held good
She writhed her hands till her fingers
were wet with sweat or blood
They stretched and strained in the darkness
and the hours crawled on by like years
Till now on the stroke of midnight
Cold on the stroke of midnight
The tip of her finger touched touched it
the trigger at least was hers

Tlot-Tlot had they heard it?
THe horses-hoofs were ringing clear
Tlot-tlot in the distance,
were they deaf they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moon light
over the brow of the hill
The Highwayman came riding, riding, riding
the red coat troops looked to their priming!
She stood up straight and still
Tlot in the forsty silence
Tlot in echoy night
Nearer he came and nearer
Her face was like a light.
Her eyes grew wide for a moment
she drew her last deep breath.
Then her finger moved in the moonlight
her musket shattered in moonlight
shattered her breast in the moonlight
and warned him with her death

He turned he spurred to the west
He did not know she stood
Bowed with her head o'er the musket drenched with her own red blood
Not till the dawn he heard it
his face grew grey to hear
How Bess the landlord's daughter
The landlord's black eyed daughter
had watched for her love in the moonlight
and died in the darkness there.

And back he spurred like a mad man
shrieking a curse to the sky
with the white road smoking behind him
his rapier brandished high
Blood red were his spurs i' the golden noon
whine red was his velvet coat
when they shot him down on the highway
down like a dog on the highway
and he lay in his blood on the highway
the bunch of lace at his throat.

Still of a winter's night they say
when the wind is in the trees
the moon is a ghostly galleon
tossed upon the cloudy seas
the road is a ribbon of moonlight
over the purple moor
A highwayman comes riding, riding riding
A highwayman comes riding,
up to the old inn door.
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