
Left public for reproduction in the other place. Still thanks to sea_of_flame_ for this piece of joy. My personal favourite being, "Wicced Godsylla waeld on his asse."
Meanehwael, baccat meaddehaele, monstaer lurccen; Fulle few too many drincce, hie luccen for fyht. Ðen Hreorfneorhtðhwr, son of Hrwaerowþheororthwl, Æsccen aewful jeork to steop outsyd. þhud! Bashe! Crasch! Beoom! Ðe bigge gye Eallum his bon brak, byt his nose offe; Wicced Godsylla waeld on his asse. Monstaer moppe fleor wyþ eallum men in haelle. Beowulf in bacceroome fonecall bemaccen waes; Hearen sond of ruccus saed, "Hwaet ðe helle?" Graben sheold strang ond swich-blaed scharp Sond feorth to fyht ðe grimlic foe. "Me," Godsylla saed, "mac ðe minsemete." Heoro cwyc geten heold wiþ faemed half-nelson Ond flyng him lic frisbe bac to fen. Beowulf belly up to meaddehaele bar, Saed, "Ne foe beaten mie faersom cung-fu." Eorderen cocca-colha yce-coeld, ðe reol þyng.
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| 2009-09-22 00:37 |
| Pain |
| Public |
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There is a conceit to games, to characters, to living, the idea of forgetting. You never forget, you just bury it and then you recall. You recall when you're drunk or tired or weak or angry or something else. The thing is you never forget and then you realise what you wanted to forget is the same as everyone else, we all forget and we all choose to forget. We all push things away and we all feel it, it is the same to all of us, pain has only a personal value. Nocioception is personal and only definable by the reactions of chemicals, pain is the suffering of the being, of the person of the soul. Pain is what suffering is about and it has nothing to do with the body it is purely an effect or affect of the mind. You never forget, you just push it away, the summer of '95.
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Dug this out following several quizzical looks from peoplelast night, all I can say is I find it funny...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lqUp5StXomI
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So come Friday, and as many leave the city, who is left? Beer, yatter and fond farewells?
Hope to see some, somewhere in town, I'm guessing a duck, a beer and a few hacks.
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So Master Izzard has the opening piece at The Secret Policeman's Ball.
He mocks ID.
I don't care.
The World is good.
The World is lovely.
Just now, just right about now I'll meet any literalist Bible reader and grin, give 'em a big hug and walk on by whistling quietly to myself.
2 minutes of absolute sarcastic genius and I'm good, damn him:)
Tomorrow though, die you bunch of paltry read, unimaginative, misconceived, painfully relevant bits o'dross.
Now though life still WONDERFUL.
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And just in case anyone missed it (i was using a not entirely update email address list). This went out a couple of days ago to all and sundry...
( Read more... )
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If anyone wants anything related to this thing I'll be in the College Arms from around 4 tomorrow in my now penurous state. Queries, quibbles and uncertainties probably unravelled and of course more confusion sown.
Cut price lordships and regencies a speciality, kingdoms, armies and evils slain. Forget Lloyd George I'm cheaper and have less morals, also I'm not that Welsh and certainly didn't know most of your mothers:)
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I have no idea why two cuts there... Answers on a pint pot please.
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I'm guessing my train home will be screwed, apparently Charing Cross was on fire earlier today and I'm certain that by 6'ish when I get to evaporate today the lines will be buckled and people wil be snarly. As such Anyone wanting a mild beverage this fine evening contact at this address, anywhere near Chancery Lane, Fleet Street, actually anywhere near London will do. Am open to thoughts.
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Swiped from queenortart

Warrior, general, poet and song writer. How can we truly describe this man of "Green eyes, black hair, dressed in black and silver," wearing a silver rose as his symbol and the famous sword Grayswandir? He fathered Merlin and drew his own version of the Pattern when he thought the original was destroyed. At the end of The Courts of Chaos by Roger Zelazny, Corwin says of himself, "And what about the man dress in black and silver with a silver rose upon him? He would like to think that he has learned something of trust, that he has washed his eyes in some clear spring, that he has polished an ideal or two. Never mind. He may still be only a smart-mouth meddler, skilled mainly in the minor art of survival, blind as ever the dungeons knew him to a finer shade of irony. Never mind, let it go, let it be. I may never be pleased with him."
Which Amberite are you? this quiz was made by Mysti
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Coffee levels almost at operating limits, may actually have to have a shower and do something practical like, erm, erm. Yeah, I think I'll go for more coffee and bimble for a bit. HW is reading a very suspicious book, entitled NECROPOLIS, really there are days I have my concerns. Delia Smith of all people is twittering in the back drop and teh cat has gone full kitten.
So I'm off to make another pot of coffee before scooting into town to wish Lexx a happy b-day and then, well, still not sure. Can't face bowling, might walk along the South bank or something similar.
Either ways catch you all at some point.
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Swiped from Mr. Reynolds blog - one of the best out there BTW "Random acts of reality" and LJ grabbable, follow my page to snarf it.
Pachabel redone, many thanks to Mr Reynolds, from Dr. Harris (either you know or you don't:))
http://isnichwahr.de/redirect11648.html
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