Forums | Chat | News | Contact Us | Register | PSU Social |
PSU: Pardon me. What did I eat today?
Forums | Chat | News | Contact Us | Register | PSU Social |
Home | Forum | Chat | Wiki | Social | AGN | PS2 Stats |
|
|
|
Thread Tools | Search this Thread | Display Modes |
2004-04-11, 01:25 PM | [Ignore Me] #1 | ||
Colonel
|
I just got in a bet with some emo kid back in Michigan over who could find the most emo, sad, depressing song possible. I figured the friendly folks here at PSU could help.
Requirements: Must like a LOT of different types of music. Must listen to shit no one else does (*stares at Flak/1024*) Disqualifications: If you are an MTV child, or if your favorite band begins with "L" and ends with "inkin Park" then you should GTFO. Also, if youre dumb, go away. Heres a starter as to what Im looking for. Serial Killer By VNV Nation In a face A view Through eyes this world collides. I am voiceless in my angst And nothing can take us back To innocence. Short, sharp, bloodlust reality. In despair I reach for night, in water purity reigns to be resolute. As a land we clean our minds, reap our belongings, sow our angers and our strengths. All to obsessed by weakness we have brought ourselves to meaninglesness. So easy to control, bring to harm. A gathering of fools unjustified, on a mountain. I collect my thoughts and I rise above all that despises me. Comprehend the ways of man and under a flag we salute or burn there is blood on both shores. With hardened mind I traveled, with hardened heart I conquered A freedom so ironic, so despicable, so hipocritical. There is anger resolute. Rears its familiar head on the TV screen. In a dozen bags a life was placed. In a breath he smiled and waved. Five minutes at a time the power held true. Without consternation our laws are lost. Lost to butchers, lost to child killers, lost to narcotic ritual. Another tag, another headline. Another smiling face shall stay 10 winters long forever. And where are the angels to guard? Where is the God of men and children? He is stalking the minds of dark poor souls. I know it's right and I know it's time for freedom: to kill another and to kill another child of the flag 'till there are none left... to kill another and to kill another Gaze in horror at what you've become and take a look at what you've done. You'll repent for what you've done; raping my daughter, raping my son. Savvy? /brit
__________________
|
||
|
2004-04-11, 05:35 PM | [Ignore Me] #6 | ||
Lightbulb Collector
|
I don't listen to emo music.
__________________
The gun katas. Through analysis of thousands of recorded gunfights, the Cleric has determined that the geometric distribution of antagonists in any gun battle is a statistically predictable element. The gun kata treats the gun as a total weapon, each fluid position representing a maximum kill zone, inflicting maximum damage on the maximum number of opponents while keeping the defender clear of the statistically traditional trajectories of return fire. By the rote mastery of this art, your firing efficiency will rise by no less than 120%. The difference of a 63% increase to lethal proficiency makes the master of the gun katas an adversary not to be taken lightly. |
||
|
2004-04-11, 08:35 PM | [Ignore Me] #11 | ||
Contributor First Lieutenant
|
got 2 by Thursday
three chalk outlines sleep in the dirty street and in our beds, under the sheets, they're the halo of guilt hanging around your neck, next to the rosary you count, falling asleep and we're praying to treat the symptoms of letting go of all our hope. since we can't compete with martyred saints, we'll douse ourselves in gasoline and hang our bodies from the lampposts so that our shadows turn into bright lights 'white light, white heat' we'll make as we're blacking out in the center lane, we swerve to the beat, spill all the ink No revisions Do you hear the church bells ringing? wake up!! wake up in an outline and try to speak with the shattered voice of the lives we lead... have we slept too long between the bullet holes in a stained-glass window state? when we repent, we fall on the page (read, in the margins) we are the symptoms of letting go of all our hope. someday we'll be complete like modern saints, baptize our kids in gasoline and hang our doubts up in cathedrals so that they turn to faith in the colored sunlight. 'red rain, red rain' we'll make as we're blacking out in the center lane... do you hear the church bells ringing? they ring for you. we woke up this morning to a street filled with a thousand burning crosses and what we thought was the sunrise, just passing headlights still the choir girls sing, 'oh lord, can you save us? oh lord, sing hallelujah' they are the symptoms of letting go of all our hope... we're falling asleep with open eyes falling asleep inside the chapel falling asleep in chalk outlines falling asleep as the headlights pass us by... and The stage is set to rip the wings from a butterfly, the stage is set, don't forget to breathe, between lines if the whole world dies, then it's safe to take the stage, these graves will stretch like landing on strips - hospitals: all the dead museums, we won't have to be afraid anymore. The crowd is growing silent with the gathering storm. When the curtain falls and you're caught on the other side (just trying to keep up the act), we'll lie in the back of black cars, with the windows rolled up, joining the precession of emptiness, if we say these words, it will be too late to take them back. So we hold our breathe and fold our hands, like paper planes (and we're going to crash) We don't have to be alone ever again. There's a riot in the theatre. Someone's standing the aisle, yelling that the murderers are everywhere and they're lining up, carving M in your side. Pull the curtains back. Kill all the house lights. Pin the dress lotus flowers. The silk is spinning around and around, with the ceiling fan. I'm disappearing into the spotlight. I'm on display, with the butterfly and the scare crow, with smiles like picket fences, you tie us all up and leave us outside. "That voice is silent now and the boat has sunk..." We're on our own but we're not going to run |
||
|
2004-04-11, 10:38 PM | [Ignore Me] #13 | ||
Lightbulb Collector
|
I don't listen to shitty music.
__________________
The gun katas. Through analysis of thousands of recorded gunfights, the Cleric has determined that the geometric distribution of antagonists in any gun battle is a statistically predictable element. The gun kata treats the gun as a total weapon, each fluid position representing a maximum kill zone, inflicting maximum damage on the maximum number of opponents while keeping the defender clear of the statistically traditional trajectories of return fire. By the rote mastery of this art, your firing efficiency will rise by no less than 120%. The difference of a 63% increase to lethal proficiency makes the master of the gun katas an adversary not to be taken lightly. |
||
|
2004-04-11, 11:05 PM | [Ignore Me] #14 | ||
Lieutenant Colonel
|
stupid people call me an emo kid because of how i look..hair and glasses...which ive had for a while before emo was popular and i dont even care for [the music] much.
"emo" puts good music in the same category as crap. the whole label pisses me off. |
||
|
2004-04-12, 03:36 AM | [Ignore Me] #15 | |||
i listen to probably the exact opposite of emo, too. |
||||
|
|
Bookmarks |
|
|