found this site in 03
enjoy
or not
http://www.jed
Secondhand Lions.
I thought it was going to be this mushy mushy ooey gooey family movie that would give me cavities.
I was wrong.
It was a genuinely wonderful and heartwarming movie.
if you like big fish then you'll like secondhand lions.
go
rent it
now!
ok.
saw the village last weekend...
dear god it sucked to high heaven
the concept was ok
the execution was mediocre
the editing could have used some work.
and the "surprise" twist ended..riiiiii
I spent the entire movie praying that it wasnt what I thought it was going to be(I guessed it from the trailers). I spent the entire moive hoping that M. Night could actually surprise me.
I think M needs to hang it up or try to make movies that have twists that would surprise intelligent people.
you have got see this artist. HE's digital but..my god..the work he does is extraordinary
http://www.dev
http://carlos-
Mark Knopfler-broth
These mist covered mountains
Are a home now for me
But my home is the lowlands
And always will be
Some day you'll return to
Your valleys and your farms
And you'll no longer burn
To be brothers in arms
Through these fields of destruction
Baptisms of fire
I've witnessed your suffering
As the battles raged higher
And though they did hurt me so bad
In the fear and alarm
You did not desert me
My brothers in arms
There's so many different worlds
So many different suns
And we have just one world
But we live in different ones
Now the sun's gone to hell
And the moon's riding high
Let me bid you farewell
Every man has to die
But it's written in the starlight
And every line on your palm
We're fools to make war
On our brothers in arms
As I wake from my slumber the moon shines brightly down upon me. I climb down from my roost in the cave I have slept in for the day. When I reach the ground I stretch my muscles and stare up at the hole that I will soon exit. My body hungers for nourishment and in an instant I transform and fly from my temporary sanctuary.
While flying I spot a secluded spot in a well-traveled road and I land and assume my ‘ human ‘ form and proceed to walk towards the lights of the nearby town. It wasn’t long before I came across two young people journeying home after a night of merriment. I stopped them just outside the city wall and tried to be as sociable to them as I could before my hunger overcame me.
I said a prayer for their souls, and mine, and apologized for what I was about to do; and then I lunged. I struck the man first since I knew he would be the more likely of the two to give me a fight and I was not about to give him that opportunity. I grabbed him before he could act and clutched his arms so that he could not move. I saw rage turn to fear in his eyes as I drove my fangs into his jugular, clamped down, and pulled a large piece of flesh away from his neck. He collapsed almost immediately and my hunger had overtaken me so fully that I had almost forgotten about his female companion. As I feasted on the fresh corpse she did not run. She did quite the opposite.
The young lady crept up to me while I was drinking the blood of her lover and drove her long, sharp hairpin into the base of my neck. I’m sure she thought this would surely kill me and put an end to her nightmare but it only enraged me more. I stood and faced her while I pulled her pin from my neck, the wound healing almost immediately, and stared at her with my mind fixed on nothing more than ripping her throat out and feasting on her heart.
Just before I was to free her spirit and drink of her life force I looked into her eyes. I had to take a moment to collect myself. The fear and loathing in her eyes was the same that I had seen in my own wife’s eyes so many years ago. My poor wife so loving and trusting, even in the end. I had betrayed her like I betray God every night I arise to feast.
I came back to my senses only partially. I said another prayer and kissed this young victim .I called her by my wife’s name before I took her life. It was over in an instant and she felt nothing. That’s the advantage of being undead as long as I have; you learn how to end lives quickly and painlessly.
With the night’s feasting at an end and the carnage over with I hide the bodies off the road in an abandoned well I had found prior to beginning my hunt. I start back to the cave that is my abode with a heavy heart. I will contemplate my plight like I have so many times before for so many centuries past.
The sun is rising and I almost wish that I had the courage to strand myself in the open so that I can end my miserable existence but my basic instinct for survival prohibits me from doing what I know would be the right thing so I weep for myself and all the lives I've taken and souls I've stolen . So is the life of a vampire. We are what we are and we can be nothing more. Please, have pity upon us.
ts a page I found to upload my music into.
I have gotten a msg or two about slipping away not working. is that is the case. let me know.
http://heretic
DON'T LOOK!!!!!!!!!!
hehehe
http://camelto
I wish I could show you, when you are lonely or in darkness, the astonishing Light of your own Being.
- Hafiz
more for the cheery mood
I stare down the length of my arm, tinted red by the adult movie theater sign next door. I start staring at my tattoos and scars and my mind drifts back to how and where I acquired each one.
The scars on my knuckles are from a night of rage. I shattered all the glass in my house in anger and cut my entire hand open. It took over two hundred stitches in my flesh and seventy in my tendons. It was almost two years before I could even make a fist.
A little further down the scar on my wrist reminds me of the time I spent eighteen months in a mental hospital after I tried to end my miserable existence. I was useless for them to try to save me because, after my wife died, I lost all will to continue with this joke of a life. I did what they wanted me to do; I took their pills and said what they wanted to hear but I didn’t mean anything I said. I just wanted to get out and it worked.
My eyes move further up my forearm and rest on the prison tattoo of a crying skull I got while serving time for aggravated assault and armed robbery. I got it for killing a guy in a yard fight. It was self defense, really, because he came at me from behind and stabbed me with an ice pick. I was bleeding everywhere when I snapped his neck and forced the life from him but, for some reason, I got a very satisfying feeling from doing that one act. It was a release and I reveled in the very thought that I had ended someone’s life. I thought that this must have been what the man who killed my wife felt like when he snuffed her life out like a candle.
I come back from the delusions of my past and into my harsh reality. I’d been homeless since I was paroled. My family disowned me because I didn’t meet their standards of behavior. I ended up begging for whatever I could get my hands on and I got hooked on alcohol but that lost its edge rather quickly and one of the guys from the shelter introduced me to heroin. It helped to ease the pain so I began stealing to get the money for my habit. That’s how I ended up here, with a rubber band tied to my bicep and a syringe hanging from my arm. I took enough cranks to kill a horse but I’m still here. I’m still suffering. I still miss my wife.
I feel sleepy coming. Slowly and deliberately working it’s way from my feet towards my knees and the rest of my body. Maybe it is death. Maybe it is the release I’ve been looking for. Maybe I’ll finally see my wife again. Maybe.
as if my night didnt suck enough
http://news.ya
He awoke in the morning as the sun peeked through the curtain less windows.
He wearily climbed out of his bed to do what he had done many times before: find his mommy.
The apartment had been cold for some time and the bugs had eaten all of the food that had been on the plates.
He didn't know how long his mommy had been gone but his diaper had been on him for so long that it stank badly and it was sticking to his skin.
He looked around the apartment again for her but couldn't find her so he climbed on his daddy's chest. He had tried to wake his dad several times but he would never open his eyes. He cried some more but it had been so long since he had food or something to drink that it hurt to even open his mouth.
He continued playing for a while and even tried opening the door but he wasn't big enough to turn the knob.
He eventually tired so he crawled back on his father's chest, said I love you daddy, and went to sleep.
That's how we found the two-year-old boy. He had died from hunger and the cold. The boy’s mother had killed his father a few days about four days earlier and left in the apartment.
The scene was one that I'll never forget. Even with the child's body being bloated from decay he still looked so thin. The boy's father had been stabbed with a kitchen knife and he fell onto the couch where he died. The boy had gone so long without a diaper change that when the coroner's tried to remove the diaper to, see what the sex of the child was, maggots fell out of the padding and a large part of the boy's skin came off as well.
The scene was so devastating to those of us with children that everyone that had been at the scene donated enough money to bury the boy and his father side by side in a perpetual care cemetery.
When I think of that poor sight all I can do is hold my children and let them know I care.
We eventually found the mother. She was living with her crack dealer and had no remorse about killing her husband. She said that he was trying to keep her from her drugs and she wouldn't stand for that. When we questioned her about the boy; she said that was one less problem she had to worry about.
She was found mentally unstable and sent to a drug rehab center where she will be out in eight months. Just in time, too, she found out at her sentencing that she was pregnant.
"Most people never run far enough on their first wind to find out they've got a second. Give your dreams all you've got and you'll be amazed at the energy that comes out of you."
- William James, American Philosophe
You know, its easy to spout the words:"I love you" they roll of the human tongue easier than any other phrase in any language.
But it's not in the telling of love that its proven. Its in the actions of one person to another. the spoken and unspoken understandings they have. the inside jokes, the good and bad things they share with each other.
It may be displayed with those words but it takes roots, grows, is nourished, and sometiems dies, based on actions and understanding.
We are born into the asylum of life.
From the first breath we are shuffled from room to room
Looked at, poked, prodded, tested, tweaked, popped, perked, vivisected, disected,stuck
We are then categorized and pigeon holed as being cute or ugly, smart or dumb, jock or nerd, shy or popular, loved or hated, a success or failure.
We are then labeled christian, pagan, jew, prep, punk, goth, rebel, geek, hick, outcast, or reject, comformist or misfit
In this asylum almost all have a labels and those that defy any form labels are put into soliarty confinement until the pressure becomes too much and the egg cracks, cooks and scrambles. Until the metal softens and bends and becomes maliable. Or the pressure is too much and they crumble back into the dust from which we came.
Rarely a gem is formed from the coal souls that are put into this solitary pressure. Hard, rough, but with an inner beauty that defies description and causes envy and jealousy in all that behold it.
still others transend their confines and fly from the padded cells of the asylum and away from the world that others know into the unknown..into the abyss that the orderlies fear and dread in their darkest dreams. They soar away , free from all confines and worries..into the morn
leaving the asylum and the inmates far below as they streak towards heaven
MST3K now available on 3 dvd set....*drool*
oh. almost forgot.
I am getting fresh inck on my right arm..nice sized tribal that with extent almost to me elbow and cover up one..maybe both of the tats already there.
pictures to follow
YOu must enter Yule Art for ULLR
or else
=p
I know its a week late but...merry christmas*evil laugh*
The Letter
One night around the beginning of the new-year and while walking my dog I found an old clay jar that had been shoved into the hollow of an old cypress tree. Naturally curious I carefully pulled it from it resting spot to examine the artifact.
The entire jar was large enough to fit in one of my hands. The body was about the size of a softball and covered with crude drawings of deer and children. The neck was roughly the diameter of my thumb and I could tell that it had been dipped in a red wax that, oddly, smelled of cinnamon and spice. The top had a cork shoved into it that the wax had concealed at one time but the extreme cold had flaked the wax from the top so I pulled my pocket knife from hiding and proceeded to dig the cork out. After a few minutes what remained of the cork finally fell from the neck to reveal the prize within the container.
Inside was a small rolled piece of paper. I turned the jar on its end and the parchment fell into my hand and unrolled. The writing was very childish and seemed to have been scribbled with a piece of charcoal but it was clear enough to read.
I could give you the general gist of the letter but I thought it would be more fun to transcribe it in its entirety to you. Here it is and I hope you enjoy reading it.
“ Help! I hope someone finds this letter. If anyone in this world still cares enough pay attention to these words. I almost don’t know where to start but I’ll try to start at the beginning. I can’t remember my name. I’ve been called Hey You for so long that I almost think that is my name. I do remember how I got here, though.
I remember living in a house with people that weren’t my parents but that took care of me because my parents didn’t want me. They were good people for the most part but they had five natural children and three other foster children aside from me. It went without saying that some children wouldn’t get a lot of attention but I felt that I never got any. I was ten years old and the youngest of the nine kids. I felt that I was just a way for these people to get a little more money from state. I was unhappy and, by the time I was eleven I was acting in ways that let everyone know that.
I was constantly getting into trouble to try to get my foster parents to send me back into the system but they refused. Maybe they really did love me but I never saw the proof.
Shortly before my twelfth birthday I started imagining a man that would come a rescue me from everything. He would take me to his home and he and his wife would love me forever. I wished with all my heart that this would happen. One night I finally got what I wished for. But, remember the old saying about getting what you wish for?
The night before my twelfth birthday I lay in my bed crying and wishing for something when it happened. The night seemed to get darker and it grew eerily silent. There was no movement outside at all. There were no winds, no birds or crickets; nothing seemed to move, except me.
I slowly crawled out of bed and started toward the window. I couldn’t resist; I seemed bewitched. Besides that, my curiosity had gotten the better of me. I reached the window and flung it open as hard as my eleven year old arms could. The windows should have banged against the side of the house and made a lot of noise but it was like watching a silent movie. No noise at all.
I looked around outside and saw him. The kindly old man that I had dreamed would take me away to paradise was outside my window smiling and beckoning me to join him. I didn’t hesitate one moment. In hindsight I wish I had thought it through first. I leapt from my window and into my future. The year was 1947.
Everyday I wish I had never followed that old, fat man. He took me away all right. He took me to his house to meet his wife and the others that were there and still are. His demeanor changed as soon as we reached his “shop”. He opened the door to show me what would become my prison, my hell, from then until I die. As I stood there looking at the place in astonishment he grabbed the back of my neck and shoved me into the shed. He told me to get to work as he shut the door.
It was, and is, no more than a sweatshop. There were hundreds of other kids in the warehouse all in different clothing from various times in history but all were working hard. None seemed to notice me but I saw an empty stool and seemed drawn to it for some reason. I set down and felt a compulsion to pick up the tools and start working.
It seemed like I worked for years before I became somewhat aware again. I was working on toys when the door opened and he threw another into the room. A thought flashed through my mind that there was no room at the table for this newcomer then I heard a horrific scream of pain from the farthest chair. The child there had burst into flames and disintegrated before my eyes. I was horrified! Was this what was to become of us all? Were we all that disposable? I tried to get up. I wanted to run but I couldn’t. My waist and legs seemed to be paralyzed somehow. A sense of fear ran through me that I had never felt in my life. Oh, how I wanted to be with my foster parents again.
The new child started for his stool the way I had gone for mine but I grabbed his arm as he passed by and he seemed to snap out of the trance he was in. I asked his name; how he got here; if he knew what year it was; if he had seen anything to give any indication as to where we were; and I pleaded with him not to sit in that stool.
He cocked his head back and laughed a little. He said that I must be slow to not know where I was. He asked where else does it snow all year round other than here? He said that the year was 1976 and that he couldn’t help but to sit in the seat it was an all-driving force. He answered my last question as he set in his stool.
He slowly set down and said very solemnly:’ Why, I’m here for the same reason you are; I was naughty. That’s why we’re all here. This is where the naughty kids go. We serve him until our time is done then he gets another one.’
All the information hit me like a freight train. 1976? How? I was still eleven. Was this some kind of magic, like the child bursting into flames? What was going on? The only place it snows all year long? We’re naught and that’s why we’re here? What was going on? Who was this guy? Who did he think he was? Then it hit me and I knew. I knew who my sadistic kidnapper was and I should have know from the moment I first saw him.
I soon discovered that the other children could talk they had just lost the will to try after being here for so long. After some time I pieced everything together about our abductor. He was a manic-depressi
We kept track of time by asking the year when a new person was tossed into the prison. 1984. 1992. 2001. 2010. The years flew by and my friend died to be replaced by more hapless souls. I almost welcomed my time but it was unnerving because there was no set interval of time between abductions. It was as if he just went out when the mood hit him. It got to be so much one day that I took the screwdriver I had and tried to stab my leg. I thought that, maybe, if I punctured a major vein in my numb legs then I could peacefully bleed to death. A split second before the tool would’ve hit my leg it hit something invisible and stabbed my stool knocking a large chunk from the seat. Then, the greatest thing in my life happened; I could feel the toes on my right foot!
I could feel my toes! This was great! It meant that there was a way out of the prison. I started chipping away and the more I chipped the more of my body I could feel become mine again. I was frantic to get lose. After hours, or years, I was able to chip enough away to stand! It was a glorious day! I could sneak out and find help. I could shut this psychopath down. The best part was my muscles had not become atrophied. The same spell that had preserved my body had kept my muscles from atrophying. This was great!
I snuck to the door and the thought flashed through my head that the door was probably locked from the outside. This was discouraging but I had to try. Slowly, quietly I reached for the ancient knob and I turned it hoping against hope. My hoping paid off. It was unlocked and I readied myself to open the door and find freedom.
I opened the door and took my first steps outside in over sixty years. I walked slowly at first then with more confidence as I got further from the shack that had housed me for so long. I was afraid that the snow would crunch and alert my oppressor but, like that night so long ago, there was no noise. This was probably put in place so he could sneak up on us to make sure we were still working but now I would use it to my advantage.
I crept behind his house and away from his prison. I would make my way to the nearest authority and alert them to this mad man’s whereabouts. I would free my friends and I would see the man hung. I would make my way through this snow. I would find someone.
I was about two hundred yards from his house when the snow and wind got so bad that I couldn’t see behind me or in front then it died and I found myself in the park where I am now writing this.
I have no idea where this man is but I feel that he will soon be after more children. I hope that someone finds the jar that I’ll put this note in and can piece together the location of the others though old myths and legends. I feel myself aging at an accelerated rate now so I may very well be dead before too long. Don’t worry about me because I am lost. Find the others and free them. He must be stopped. His evil must be put to an end and everyone must know the real dangers of this man.
He must be stopped. Please, for the sake of the others, stop Kringle”
I told you it was an interesting little story. The fact that someone would try to desecrate such an old holiday favorite like Santa Claus is revolting. Santa has always been such a sweet icon for a great time of the year.
Still…they did find the body of that old guy not far from where I found the letter and he was wearing children’s clothes from the forties and had an odd looking little screwdriver in his hand.
But it doesn’t matter because there really is no such thing as Santa Claus. Right?