IRC-Galleria

outo olo. on ikävä. mutta samaan aikaan jotenkin onnellinen olo. ei pysty selittämään.

"en kadu ketään niistä joita syliini suljin, heitä sentään rakastin. Itken kaikkia niitä joiden ohitse kuljin, joita väistin ja pakenin"

kohta opintoretkelle mikkeliin.

Now come one come all to this tragic affair
Wipe off that makeup, what's in is despair
So throw on the black dress, mix in with the lot
You might wake up and notice you're someone you're not

If you look in the mirror and don't like what you see
You can find out firsthand what it's like to be me
So gather 'round piggies and kiss this goodbye
I'd encourage your smiles I'll expect you won't cry

Another contusion, my funeral jag
Here's my resignation, I'll serve it in drag
You've got front row seats to the penitence ball
When I grow up I want to be nothing at all!

I said yeah, yeah!
I said yeah, yeah!

C'mon C'mon C'mon I said
(Save me!) Get me the hell out of here
(Save me!) Too young to die and my dear
(You can't!) If you can hear me just walk away and
(Take me!)

---

menen lukemaan kokeisiin.

piupau.

Pysyvä ratkaisu tilapäiseen ongelmaan....
Wake me up when september ends...
wake me..
save me.

veljeni söi juuri hajuvettä.. yllättävän hauska kokemus...

He proposed in the dunes,
they were wed by the sea,
their nine-day-long honeymoon
was on the isle of Capri.

For their supper they had one spectacular dish -
a simmering stew of mollusks and fish.
And while he savored the broth,
her bride's heart made a wish.

That wish did come true - she gave birth to a baby.
But was this little one human?
Well,
maybe.

Ten fingers, ten toes,
he had plumbing and sight.
He could hear, he could feel,
but normal?
Not quite.
This unnatural birth, this canker, this blight,
was the start and the end and the sum of their plight.

She railed at the doctor:
"He cannot be mine.
He smells of the ocean, of seaweed and brine."

"You should count yourself lucky, for only last week,
I treated a girl with three ears and a beak.
That your son is half oyster
you cannot blame me.
... have you considered, by chance,
a small home by the sea?"

Now knowing what to name him,
they just called him Sam,
or, sometimes,
"that thing that looks like a clam."

Everyone wondered, but no one could tell,
When would young Oyster Boy come out of his shell?

When the Thompson quadruplets espied him one day,
they called him a bivalve and ran quickly away.

One spring afternoon,
Sam was left in the rain.
At the southwestern corner of Seaview and Main,
he watched the rain water as it swirled
down the drain.

His mom on the freeway
in the breakdown lane
was pounding the dashboard -
she couldn't contain
the ever-rising grief,
frustration,
and pain.

"Really, sweetheart," she said,
"I don't mean to make fun,
but something smells fishy
and I think it's our son.
I don't like to say this, but it must be said,
you're blaming our son for your problems in bed"

He tried salves, he tried ointments
that turned everything red.
He tried potions and lotions
and tincture of lead.
He ached and he itched and he twitched and he bled.

The doctor diagnosed,
"I can't be quite sure,
but the cause of the problem may also be the cure.
They say oysters improve your sexual powers.
Perhaps eating your son
would help you do it for hours!"

He came on tiptoe,
he came on the sly,
sweat on his forehead,
and on his lips - a lie.
"Son, are you happy? I don't mean to pry,
but do you dream of Heaven?
Have you wanted to die?"

Sam blinked his eyes twice,
but made no reply.
Dad fingered his knife and loosened his tie.

As he picked up his son,
Sam dripped on his coat.
With the shell to his lips,
Sam slipped down his throat.

They buried hin quickly in the sand by the sea
- sighed a prayer, wept a tear -
and were back home by three.

A cross of gray driftwood marked Oyster Boy's grave.
Words writ in the sand
promised Jesus would save.

But his memory was lost with one high-tide wave.

Back home safe in bed,
he kissed her and said,
"Let's give it a whirl."

"But this time," she whispered, "we'll wish for a girl."

by: Tim Burton, The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy & other stories

Katu täyttyy askelista,
elämä on kuolemista,
pane käsi käteen ollaan hiljaa....

R.I.P Juice

Stick Boy liked Match Girl,
he liked her a lot.
He liked her cute figure,
he thought she was hot.

But could a flame ever burn
for a mach and a stick?
It did quite literally;
he burned up pretty quick.

by: Tim Burton, The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy & other stories

There onece was a girl
who was made up of junk.
She looked really dirty,
and she smelled like a skunk.

She was always unhappy,
or in one of her slumps - perhaps 'cause she spent
so much time down in the dumps.

The only bright moment
was from a guy named Stan.
He was the neighborhood
garbage man.

He loved her a lot
and made a marriage proposal,
but she'd already thrown herself
down a garbage disposal.

by: Tim Burton, The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy & other stories

ttu mä vihaan noita tun spywareja.. prkle.