-
Content Count
270 -
Joined
-
Last visited
-
Days Won
2
Posts posted by Azrael
-
-
Oooooold-school ACer? I don't recognize this one, I'm afraid.
But ah, welcome back.
-
From what little I've read, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T. S. Eliot would be my favorite.
S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,
Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[but in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
-
-
You are KAKASHI!
Mature. Balanced. Quirky. You're not what people would call a "black sheep" but at the same time, you aren't quite normal. With a subtle sense of humor and a slightly less than subtle way of teaching people a lesson, one thing is for sure: no one can wait to see your whole face.
-
Thirteen episodes. It's about a new kind of person with really nifty ethereal arms showing up in the world, and a guy who unwittingly accepts one into his home.
There's more, of course, but I can't really decide what to put in spoiler tags and what not to...and it's late, so I'll leave it to Strider to give a more detailed description if he wants.
-
Tough break.
-
I laughed at a married mom, because my heart is two sizes too small.
This is actually the case.
-
-
Because apparently I've got to "spread some around" first.
-
past episode 80Hell is repetition
This deserves a trophy for niftiness...or at least rep...but I can give you neither, so I shall simply give you a complement.
Nice sig.
-
Okay, thanks.
The problem, more specifically, was that I dreamed I was trying to analyze some old German poem...and then I wrote something down later and a part of that poem fit pretty well, but it completely doesn't make sense to be in another language unless you knew it was a reference to something else...which it really isn't, since that "something else" doesn't exist. I didn't want to put it in English though, because it doesn't really stand apart like I want it to then...so, yeah. Maybe a better question would be, is it in poor taste to switch languages like that in a poem if you're not making reference to a pre-existing work?
-
Is it alright to make reference to your dreams in them, or is that sort of considered tacky/amateurish?
-
X'D A couple of the Hellsing ones, and that OLS/Star Trek thing were probably my favorites.
-
*ants in pants to know when he shows up*
Heh, I know what you mean.. My character will probably end up a bad guy that dies the first time they are shownNah...yours sounds like a good guy name, or at worst a neutral name.
-
Action: Everything in Megaman X...probably the penguin a little more than the others.
RPG: Mephisto from Diablo II, easily. I'm not sure exactly how many times I killed him, but it was definitely in the hundreds...maybe even thousands.
-
Does Metropolis count? That looked more like a cartoon than an anime...
If not, Family Guy and ATHF come to mind.
-
Get over it. Monkeys are tiny to begin with; could you really picture one holding its own in a fight against a bunch of humanoid panthers? -
characters
in Room 4
If you stop writing the story, your characters are just as dead anyway. >.>
-
It might also be newbies...
-
Why, toast of course!
-
X'D Godgrave as a villain, huh...
-
Yeah, I knew the whole legion thing, and I knew he used those initials in a bunch of places...I was just wondering if there was a reason for RF in particular. Like, why not JM, or AH?
-
Question...what's the significance of the initials RF? Has he ever spelled that out anywhere?
-
The plot itself is a little difficult to understand, but what I'm still having trouble with is the meaning...does anyone have any idea as far as that goes? >.>
Bush
in Music
Posted · Report reply
Yeah, I'm down with Bush. 40 Miles from the Sun is probably my favorite by them.