|I as a swallow river must know not a thing on the going; my life has a beginning and an end. My father was a wasting drunk and brothers wasting sisters. I swear their got more chances to see my, but i cant understand how this faith is theirs. The whisky i drink warms my soul but the more i push away the further i go.|
|When the ocean opens as if to swallow my pain, there is an ending. There is no family to take the brunt of scorn, only the salty water. I wait, the surf speaks but I don't comprehend and I become enraged to learn that it makes no difference. The sand takes more abuse than I can fathom.|
|And your point is ??|
|I have no clue what boi's point was. Mine was basically mocking his post. Childish, perhaps, but that kind of behaviour happens once in a while. Perhaps it was the beer talking.|
Oh good, it sure sounded like you were committing suicide by walking into the ocean after the destruction of your family. Now that I think about it, that'd be a good ending to a (whatever you call that genre) book, actually.
(Damn AP English Lit making me try to analyze everything....)
|Actually the first post there could be a spam bot - they're getting quite clever, and some take selections of well-known quotes and mash them together like that. It was also it's first post. Maybe he's going to go on to advertise spiritual self-help tapes?|
|You mean, I have now to distinguish myself, which of those 15 different writings for VIAGRA is the real true offer|
|I wandered lonely as a cloud, who rides up high o'er hills and dales,|
i shall arise and go now, and go to innisfree, and 9 beanpoles will i have there, a hide for the honey bee, and live alone in the bee-loud glade.
(note, whilst you're reading this, i've just modified your user.txt to credit me with all your work units, muhahahahahhahah)
Life is but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and is heard no more. It is a tale, told by a bush, full of WMD's and terrorists, signifying megalomania
|MY BROTHER WAS A SAUCEPAN AND IN THE MORNING HE OWED ME SOME BUSES. I FALL OVER THE BENCH IN THE BIG CONCRETE AVIARY AND LOSE MY BRIEFCASE. PLEASE HELP MY FRIEND WHO IS DEAD TODAY AND THE RUSTY PELICANS LIVING INSIDE THE WINDOWS. MY LETTERBOX GETS FURTHER AWAY WITH THE PHASES OF THE MOON INSIDE MY MIND.|
I mean, Topic moved to Marmite-Flavoured Mallards.
ktetch (2005-Oct-08 18:00:14): awww, you removed the thread
|ok, 'moved' then|
|Heh this one was a real person too - look at the parrots question in his profile. Again, seems to have a filmsy grasp of English and/or parrots.|