Get it out
- Thread starter Mick Moss
- Start date
Allan
New Metal Member
Dhatura said:
Sure hope is painful. If a person/the world turns out not to meassure up to your hopes/expectations, does that make your hope false? But it's certainly painful.
Dhatura
New Metal Member
Bambi
Villain of the piece
dont youse lot speak de queens engerlish or wha??
bleedin furriners
mehdi is correct also, youse all need to get down something shocking ffs
bleedin furriners
mehdi is correct also, youse all need to get down something shocking ffs
Dhatura
New Metal Member
Strangelight
steak(knife) no more
Dhatura
New Metal Member
Dhatura
New Metal Member
Now I get it out, fuck you all! I'm just too angry tonight cause nobody listens, "Hey Marta do you care about the Iraqi beatdown?", no I don't fucking care about the fucking Iraqi beatdown, I fucking care about my fucking stinking feet right now, "Hey Marta here's another Madder Mortem mp3 accept it again cause I was just disconnected", no I don't want to fucking accept it, "Hey Marta why don't ya?", no I don't fucking want it, fuck the Internet, nothing is fucking serious, I'm fucking off.
(No, it's actually a fucking good King Krimson song, and it's fucking sad and good, perfect.)
(No, it's actually a fucking good King Krimson song, and it's fucking sad and good, perfect.)
Dhatura
New Metal Member
Le se tudom írni ezt a kurva kibaszott King Crimson nevet, mostmár tényleg dögöljek meg aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarggggh. Bazmeg.
Strangelight
steak(knife) no more
Allan
New Metal Member
"...I took the blame, Directionless, so plain to see- a loaded gun won't set you free, so you say... It was me, waiting for me, hoping for something more, me, seeing me this time, hoping for something else"
from "New dawn fades" Joy Division.
And my attempt to translate Danish poet Michael Strunge's poem about Ian Curtis after his death, which ends with the quotation of these very lines:
Elegy for Ian Curtis
So was your voice:
Smoke-filled nights and overwhelming childhood,
Unhealed wounds behind the skin's glassshield.
Plasters which are torn off eternally slow
so the wound is felt like a wound.
Your depression was pure and free of worldfear.
You were able to see your own cancerous* ulcer
and wouldn't cut it off,
you knew
that when the cancer* is at its strongest
death is nearest and lives inside.
Then rather choose death's naked honesty
than this feign life,
where pain was a sign of life
but life became a sign of pain.
Skinlessness as the highest nakedness and death.
You were angry in the song too.
A bit of contempt
-suddenly interrupted by tender helplessness
demanding people to be responsible for eachother.
This was your voice
and I only heard it months later.
As a reminder of the purity of depression
beyond the commonness of surfaces.
You pointed at my own wound
which bursted open and bled,
cleansed warmly, inside of me.
A depression is worst when it's admitted
but even worse when it's repressed and bandaged.
It's easy for the thoughtless,
but such you were not, you saw the ulcers
your own and others',
and your songs were messages from the cool darkness
in the no mans land between death and life,
where the smoke stuck to the curtains
and things, things, things were shattered,
in lovedemands and opennesswishes.
Open your damned, scabby wounds and speak!
*Cancer and power are two words very simular in Danish (Kræft/Kraft).
The words of two manic depressives who both killed themselves. But how alive they were.
from "New dawn fades" Joy Division.
And my attempt to translate Danish poet Michael Strunge's poem about Ian Curtis after his death, which ends with the quotation of these very lines:
Elegy for Ian Curtis
So was your voice:
Smoke-filled nights and overwhelming childhood,
Unhealed wounds behind the skin's glassshield.
Plasters which are torn off eternally slow
so the wound is felt like a wound.
Your depression was pure and free of worldfear.
You were able to see your own cancerous* ulcer
and wouldn't cut it off,
you knew
that when the cancer* is at its strongest
death is nearest and lives inside.
Then rather choose death's naked honesty
than this feign life,
where pain was a sign of life
but life became a sign of pain.
Skinlessness as the highest nakedness and death.
You were angry in the song too.
A bit of contempt
-suddenly interrupted by tender helplessness
demanding people to be responsible for eachother.
This was your voice
and I only heard it months later.
As a reminder of the purity of depression
beyond the commonness of surfaces.
You pointed at my own wound
which bursted open and bled,
cleansed warmly, inside of me.
A depression is worst when it's admitted
but even worse when it's repressed and bandaged.
It's easy for the thoughtless,
but such you were not, you saw the ulcers
your own and others',
and your songs were messages from the cool darkness
in the no mans land between death and life,
where the smoke stuck to the curtains
and things, things, things were shattered,
in lovedemands and opennesswishes.
Open your damned, scabby wounds and speak!
*Cancer and power are two words very simular in Danish (Kræft/Kraft).
The words of two manic depressives who both killed themselves. But how alive they were.
Don Corleone
Emre
mehdi.i.e.e.e
New Metal Member
- Feb 28, 2002
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bah allan, get down on it. what youre gonna do? tell me? dance, come on! get your back up off the wall!
Dhatura
New Metal Member
Dhatura
New Metal Member
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honeydew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honeydew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
Don Corleone
Emre
Don Corleone
Emre
Dhatura
New Metal Member
Don Corleone said:though i have to say "omerta" would be cooler...very sicilian...hmmm yes like my nickname.
Ó Merta, sounds Irishish
