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Originally Posted by Blaze She wants to travel to Rome to do it on the dome. She is going to call St. Peter, St. Peter Then he is going to eat 'er The pope will go ballistic. When the Eagle lands. Oh Michael Michael, the poor pope says Lord have mercy ole Michael is dead. Then then she is going to the dome. Lord Lord the papal guards There with the rapier penetrated. Into the lung to take the breath away. Blood on the dome Lord come home. Oberst Ordered. Pull your baton bludgeon him! Bludgeon him! As they drown in the holy see. It was always meant to be. There is no nature here. Mother Mary, Mother Mary. Oh where was Oh where was Come with me, my love. Let us swim in the deep Holy See It is our destiny. To this man she doth honor To this man she doth honor
Come with me to our reverie Close your eyes and pursue the beckon Alone and warm, all burrowed in bed You enter my core. Heady, hard, and cold In our 2 dimensional play we have everything but sensation. Pinch yourself in this place of free will, Everything is as you make it, except, except If we are in God’s realm, Give me hell with you. I want your flesh. I want to feel the heat of your breath when you suckle my breast. I want to throb from your touch. Give me hell with you and leave our spirits to another time I want, you want, let us wanton Despoiling our core with the sensation of us Till we never want to leave this dominion of conscious Feel the throb of your flesh against mine Let your sweat drip to my thigh. Where is this in God’s realm? Lock your stare to my groon oogen Till you pierce my soul and I cast my glance away. Oh dear God, I beg for our mercy. Pity the corruption of our soul from your reward.
To love the rain I will sleep well tonight With the tumble of raindrops. My lost soul is still not found But the raindrops comfort me. The rhythm of chaos reminds me My human form is real My lost anger and fear of the death brigade Tumbles with each discordant rhythm I would add music, but I have not figured out how to to do that yet. Neither with sound nor written cord.
Updated 01-01-2011 at 08:32 PM by Oolith
I dreamed of you last night We were reclined and loosely entwined with my head upon your chest and your leg snug in my crotch. I glanced up when you chest reverberated a command and a laughter to those around us. I was mesmerized; it was like looking at me with a soul. Your eyes full of warm charm, not a glacier bolt demise. Your skin had a pink glow of aspiration, not the insipid gnash of pale fate. A recitalist came by and I was on the hunt; one more beating, one more run, just one little runt. Then your voice came from mine, a command; The command for her to remove her dowel from me. The sound of flesh closing in on a lesion echoed. I grabbed it from her hand and destroyed it with a stare. We reclined you placed your thigh snuggly in my crotch. The cast and crew changed. You smiled and I followed suit.
Updated 01-01-2011 at 08:30 PM by Oolith
One of the most offensive things about the industry is the fraudulent ways that are standard operating procedures (SOP). One of those SOP is the misinformation when giving written form to recited music. Such practices damage the public. It discourages the basic concept of reading and writing. We (err, rather, those of us who partake) have all been to a music store and picked up a catalog of songs and plainly saw (or was told by honest store associates) that the music written is not the songs as we know them to be recited. This discourages learning to read and write. Moreover, that discouragement is heartrending and wrong. I words are not enough to express the condemnation I have for the act. It is a fraudulent act. It is harmful to the public. It is shameful. It shunning it is not enough. Naysayers justify the act by saying, “It teaches people to know their instrument”. This is a fallacy. It only limits the dissemination of music. Enough on that, I think I have made it clear that the practice is one of the horrible atrocities of the industry. The notation presented today is the first music recitation I have written in 13 years. When I first sat to the piano after the medical event, I remembered it was a dear and close attendant moreover, I closely associated with it. However, I did not recall the nuances of the relation in which way I had used it to communicate to others what I could not say thoroughly enough in words. Though, I knew it well, it was foreign to me. I cried with the deepest sorrow for that small part of my soul, which was stricken from me. I am appreciative to the Dean for giving me the keys to the recital rooms as a professional courtesy. Though he never saw me again, he plucked from my bleeding brain one shard of my shattered mirrored memories. I bled profusely and since then, I have healed well. ...
Updated 12-11-2010 at 05:50 PM by Oolith (Replaced attachment)