More people have said that and been killed than there are thorium decay products.
can't fall asleep because I'm still on a messed up schedule for an antidepressant I want to stop taking and whenever I try to fall asleep I just get upset or frustrated thinking about something
More people have said that and been killed than there are thorium decay products.
I conclude that there are two kinds of doctors a trans-person can meet: a "yes" doctor or a "no" doctor. The doctor will have their answer to the question "do you really deserve professional help in your decision to change your body" before they ever meet you: either the doctor is trans-negative or trans-positive. Seeking out a trans-positive doctor is sometimes difficult or impossible, and that is why trans-people self-medicate and accidentally give themselves cancer. NICE GOING, DR. COCKBLOCK.
More people have said that and been killed than there are thorium decay products.
I would say "I should kill myself" but not really because I will very soon be in an internet anime couple just like Justice4243 and King_Friday, making us "Heapers married couple number 2" :o and also it's gay marriage so SUCK ON THAT, WORLD
I would say "I should kill myself" but not really because I will very soon be in an internet anime couple just like Justice4243 and King_Friday, making us "Heapers married couple number 2" :o and also it's gay marriage so SUCK ON THAT, WORLD
to be honest I envy you
I've been with Centie for two and a half years and we haven't moved in together yet
Lyrics only seem to matter to young white people. Because they need an excuse to like hip-hop, without seeming 'weird' to their slightly racist peers.
i was thinking about this and it occurred to me that there is zero hip-hop i listen to 'for the lyrics'. even if i do not listen to much hip-hop
in fact there is very little i listen to 'for the lyrics'. nick cave i guess, pj harvey, and the odd individual song has lyrics i really love, but mostly i think that intelligible lyrics detract from music rather than adding to it
alcohol is good, but in moderation, and beer is the least good alcohol, unless it's belgian witbier or lambic
weed is better than alcohol but its effects vary a lot depending on person and you may just flat out not like it. my boyfriend, for instance, small amounts have no effect on him at all, but if he smokes enough for it to affect him he just starts throwing up. theres no in between
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
we're just J2 (or 2J?) (and our dads have the same name. and our mums have the same middle name. and the name of the street that my grandma lives on is the same as his surname. algebra that)
You are the end result of a “would you push the button” prompt where the prompt was “you have unlimited godlike powers but you appear to all and sundry to be an impetuous child” – Zero, 2022
So tempted to start referring to my smartphone as a "Royal Instrument of Summoning"
Lyrics only seem to matter to young white people. Because they need an excuse to like hip-hop, without seeming 'weird' to their slightly racist peers.
No? No. I don't know where this is from, but it's pretty dumb, or at least is pretty dumb out of context, unless you're using a very narrow definition of "lyricism".
This strikes me as part of the whole "lyrics don't matter" circlejerk that started springing up on internet forums (mind that rap forums are mostly populated by white people, despite what common sense might tell you) around the time that Waka Flocka Flame started getting popular, and I'm pretty sure it's mostly a backlash against bad retro 90s-aping acts, which is understandable, because those acts (people like Esoteric, and more recently Joey Bada$$) are, well, bad.
But when you throw out lyrics you've thrown out half the reason Nas, Wu-Tang, Big L, and a bunch of other golden age acts were popular, and anyone who thinks that's acceptable doesn't strike me as much of a rap fan, not to pull the whole "no true Scotsman" act, but that's just an odd thing to say.
Plus, when you take out lyrics entirely when dealing with this demographic, you end up with a bunch of white kids who like Three Six Mafia because they need something to "bump in the whip", without knowing what a whip is.
But I'm white, so maybe I just don't know what I'm talking about.
We discussed Nas's "Life's a Bitch" last week in "African-American History and Music" class. Part of the discussion was about how Nas's rhymes relied on some of the same stuff that you see when analyzing poetry, putting emphasis on phrases based on whether they fit with the meter or not and whatnot.
So it's the lyrics but not necessarily the meaning behind the words, not that that can't be important.
We discussed Nas's "Life's a Bitch" last week in "African-American History and Music" class. Part of the discussion was about how Nas's rhymes relied on some of the same stuff that you see when analyzing poetry, putting emphasis on phrases based on whether they fit with the meter or not and whatnot.
tbh I've never really liked the whole "hip-hop as written poetry" thing, but whatever gets people to listen I guess.
that might just be my reaction to endless forum posts on the subject though.
So it's the lyrics but not necessarily the meaning behind the words, not that that can't be important.
Well yeah, but that's what I meant with a narrow definition of lyricism.
Like for example, despite what he might claim, Waka Flocka Flame himself is a really good lyricist when he wants to be (see his verse on "Tolerated"), even if the actual subject matter is mostly hype talk.
re: rap lyrics thing specifically, and i guess all lyrics
i think if you focus too much on the lyrics without focusing on the sound (or the flow, or.. whatever you wanna call it. the delivery of the vocals.) you will sound self indulgent, unless you're a genius or bob dylan or someone. and why arent you writing poetry anyway?
at the same time if you focus on sound but write a load of rubbish for the lyrics (and you can hear the lyrics) it will detract from the song. them's the breaks.
therefore you gotta have a good balance. lyrics are, in fact, important, if you want people to understand what you're saying.
though as i said before my preference is just to make everything into a big unintelligible mush of voice. that's good. and you cant go far wrong so long as the music is good. (lyrics can go wrong very, very easily.)
also i am white and listen to not enough hip hop so i almost certainly do not know what i am talking about.
Should the chan-ges of life, like the tide's ebb and flow, Be cease-less and var-ied in form, And the frail bark of life, in a mo-ment fore-go, Its reck'ning a-midst the dark storm,
Stand firm to the helm and close furl each sail, While the tem-pest sweeps o-ver the main: There is hope in the wind, tho' de-struc-tive the gale, 'Twill calm and we'll try it a-gain, a-gain 'Twill calm and we'll try it a-gain
There was nev-er a valley but hill-tops ap-pear--Nor storm that's not spent to a calm; Nor a pain with-out pleas-ure, a hope with-out fear, Nor wound but has al-ways a balm!
When Clouds of ad-ver-si-ty gath-er a-round, And our friends turn their backs in dis-dain, Tho' the world shoudl con-spire all our hopes to con-found, Let's up and go try it a-gain, a-gain! Let's up and go try it a-gain.
All the fears of sad part-ing, the pangs of re-gret, The sighs of fond hope or dull care, Are but feel-ings im-plant-ed to make us re-spect The death-sting of hope-less de-spair!
The tear-drop of sor-row may dark-en the eye, Like the sun-beam ob-scured by the rain, But the clouds will dis-perse o-ver hope's gloom-y sky, And cheer up our prospects a-gain, a-gain! And cheer up our prospects a-gain!
re: rap lyrics thing specifically, and i guess all lyrics
i think if you focus too much on the lyrics without focusing on the sound (or the flow, or.. whatever you wanna call it. the delivery of the vocals.) you will sound self indulgent, unless you're a genius or bob dylan or someone. and why arent you writing poetry anyway?
at the same time if you focus on sound but write a load of rubbish for the lyrics (and you can hear the lyrics) it will detract from the song. them's the breaks.
therefore you gotta have a good balance. lyrics are, in fact, important, if you want people to understand what you're saying.
though as i said before my preference is just to make everything into a big unintelligible mush of voice. that's good. and you cant go far wrong so long as the music is good. (lyrics can go wrong very, very easily.)
also i am white and listen to not enough hip hop so i almost certainly do not know what i am talking about.
I used to know someone on twitter who said they hated all poetry because it was all clearly supposed to be read aloud goddamnit.
I travelled through a land of men, A land of men and women too, And heard and saw such dreadful things As cold earth wanderers never knew.
For there the babe is born in joy That was begotten in dire woe, Just as we reap in joy the fruit Which we in bitter tears did sow;
And if the babe is born a boy He’s given to a woman old, Who nails him down upon a rock, Catches his shrieks in cups of gold.
She binds iron thorns around his head, And pierces both his hands and feet, And cuts his heart out of his side To make it feel both cold & heat.
Her fingers number every nerve Just as a miser counts his gold; She lives upon his shrieks and cries— And she grows young as he grows old,
Till he becomes a bleeding youth And she becomes a virgin bright; Then he rends up his manacles And pins her down for his delight.
He plants himself in all her nerves Just as a husbandman his mould, And she bcomes his dwelling-place And garden, frutiful seventyfold.
An aged shadow soon he fades, Wandering round and earthly cot, Full filled all with gems and gold Which he by industry had got.
And these are the gems of the human soul: The rubies and pearls of a lovesick eye, The countless gold of an aching heart, The martyr’s groan, and the lover’s sigh.
They are his meat, they are his drink: He feeds the beggar and the poor And the wayfaring traveller; For ever open is his door.
His grief is their eternal joy, They make the roofs and walls to ring— Till from the fire on the hearth Alittle female babe does spring!
And she is all of solid fire And gems and gold, that none his hand Dares stretch to touch her baby form, Or wrap her in his swaddling-band.
But she comes to the man she loves, If young or old, or rich or poor; They soon drive out the aged host, A beggar at another’s door.
He wanders weeping far away Until some other take him in; Oft blind and age-bent, sore distressed, Until he can a maiden win.
And to allay his freezing age The poor man takes her in his arms: The cottage fades before his sight, The garden and its lovely charms;
The guests are scattered through the land (For the eye altering, alters all); The senses roll themselves in fear, And the flat earth becomes a ball,
The stars, sun, moon, all shrink away— A desert vast without a bound, And nothing left to eat or drink And a dark desert all around.
The honey of her infant lips, The bread and wine of her sweet smile, The wild game of her roving eye Does him to infancy beguile.
For as he eats and drinks he grows Younger and younger every day; And on the desert wild they both Wander in terror and dismay.
Like the wild stag she flees away; Her fear plants many a thicket wild, While he pursues her night and day, By various arts of love beguiled.
By various arts of love and hate, Till the wide desert planted o’er With labyrinths of wayward love, Where roams the lion, wolf and boar,
Till he becomes a wayward babe And she a weeping woman old. Then many a lover wanders here, The sun and stars are nearer rolled,
The trees bring forth sweet ecstasy To all who in the desert roam, Till many a city there is built, And many a pleasant shepherd’s home.
But when they find the frowning babe Terror strikes through the region wide; They cry, ‘The Babe! the Babe is born!’ And flee away on every side.
For who dare touch the frowning form His arm is withered to its root, Lions, boars, wolves, all howling flee And every tree does shed its fruit;
And none can touch that frowning form, Except it be a woman old; She nails him down upon the rock, And all is done as I have told.
More people have said that and been killed than there are thorium decay products.
Embodiment of Scarlet Devil, Perfect Cherry Blossom, and Imperishable Night are the most essential of all, followed by Mountain of Faith, Subterranean Animism, and Undefined Fantastic Object. :)
Comments
大學的年同性戀毛皮
aaaaa
大學的年同性戀毛皮
aaaaa
line of sight lost
chronometer mismatch emergency reset in two plus or minus one point six seconds
in fact there is very little i listen to 'for the lyrics'. nick cave i guess, pj harvey, and the odd individual song has lyrics i really love, but mostly i think that intelligible lyrics detract from music rather than adding to it alcohol is good, but in moderation, and beer is the least good alcohol, unless it's belgian witbier or lambic
weed is better than alcohol but its effects vary a lot depending on person and you may just flat out not like it. my boyfriend, for instance, small amounts have no effect on him at all, but if he smokes enough for it to affect him he just starts throwing up. theres no in between
Or that we can't currently get married in either of our home states?
There are a lot of factors, really...
AU + CA = A(U + C)
It's just basic algebra
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
we're just J2 (or 2J?)
(and our dads have the same name. and our mums have the same middle name. and the name of the street that my grandma lives on is the same as his surname. algebra that)
Princess Nautilus is awesome
This strikes me as part of the whole "lyrics don't matter" circlejerk that started springing up on internet forums (mind that rap forums are mostly populated by white people, despite what common sense might tell you) around the time that Waka Flocka Flame started getting popular, and I'm pretty sure it's mostly a backlash against bad retro 90s-aping acts, which is understandable, because those acts (people like Esoteric, and more recently Joey Bada$$) are, well, bad.
But when you throw out lyrics you've thrown out half the reason Nas, Wu-Tang, Big L, and a bunch of other golden age acts were popular, and anyone who thinks that's acceptable doesn't strike me as much of a rap fan, not to pull the whole "no true Scotsman" act, but that's just an odd thing to say.
Plus, when you take out lyrics entirely when dealing with this demographic, you end up with a bunch of white kids who like Three Six Mafia because they need something to "bump in the whip", without knowing what a whip is.
But I'm white, so maybe I just don't know what I'm talking about.
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
that might just be my reaction to endless forum posts on the subject though. Well yeah, but that's what I meant with a narrow definition of lyricism.
Like for example, despite what he might claim, Waka Flocka Flame himself is a really good lyricist when he wants to be (see his verse on "Tolerated"), even if the actual subject matter is mostly hype talk.
or lyrics as written poetry
it's very different (although it's very true that lyrics of all sorts borrow a shitload of techniques from poetry, with varying degrees of success)
jam unrelated
i think if you focus too much on the lyrics without focusing on the sound (or the flow, or.. whatever you wanna call it. the delivery of the vocals.) you will sound self indulgent, unless you're a genius or bob dylan or someone. and why arent you writing poetry anyway?
at the same time if you focus on sound but write a load of rubbish for the lyrics (and you can hear the lyrics) it will detract from the song. them's the breaks.
therefore you gotta have a good balance. lyrics are, in fact, important, if you want people to understand what you're saying.
though as i said before my preference is just to make everything into a big unintelligible mush of voice. that's good. and you cant go far wrong so long as the music is good. (lyrics can go wrong very, very easily.)
also i am white and listen to not enough hip hop so i almost certainly do not know what i am talking about.
And the frail bark of life, in a mo-ment fore-go, Its reck'ning a-midst the dark storm,
Stand firm to the helm and close furl each sail, While the tem-pest sweeps o-ver the main:
There is hope in the wind, tho' de-struc-tive the gale, 'Twill calm and we'll try it a-gain, a-gain
'Twill calm and we'll try it a-gain
There was nev-er a valley but hill-tops ap-pear--Nor storm that's not spent to a calm;
Nor a pain with-out pleas-ure, a hope with-out fear, Nor wound but has al-ways a balm!
When Clouds of ad-ver-si-ty gath-er a-round, And our friends turn their backs in dis-dain,
Tho' the world shoudl con-spire all our hopes to con-found, Let's up and go try it a-gain, a-gain!
Let's up and go try it a-gain.
All the fears of sad part-ing, the pangs of re-gret, The sighs of fond hope or dull care,
Are but feel-ings im-plant-ed to make us re-spect The death-sting of hope-less de-spair!
The tear-drop of sor-row may dark-en the eye, Like the sun-beam ob-scured by the rain,
But the clouds will dis-perse o-ver hope's gloom-y sky, And cheer up our prospects a-gain, a-gain!
And cheer up our prospects a-gain!
THis works both as lyrics and as poetry.
remember when one of PSY's friends did a song with Missy Elliott
Phonocentrism.
A land of men and women too,
And heard and saw such dreadful things
As cold earth wanderers never knew.
For there the babe is born in joy
That was begotten in dire woe,
Just as we reap in joy the fruit
Which we in bitter tears did sow;
And if the babe is born a boy
He’s given to a woman old,
Who nails him down upon a rock,
Catches his shrieks in cups of gold.
She binds iron thorns around his head,
And pierces both his hands and feet,
And cuts his heart out of his side
To make it feel both cold & heat.
Her fingers number every nerve
Just as a miser counts his gold;
She lives upon his shrieks and cries—
And she grows young as he grows old,
Till he becomes a bleeding youth
And she becomes a virgin bright;
Then he rends up his manacles
And pins her down for his delight.
He plants himself in all her nerves
Just as a husbandman his mould,
And she bcomes his dwelling-place
And garden, frutiful seventyfold.
An aged shadow soon he fades,
Wandering round and earthly cot,
Full filled all with gems and gold
Which he by industry had got.
And these are the gems of the human soul:
The rubies and pearls of a lovesick eye,
The countless gold of an aching heart,
The martyr’s groan, and the lover’s sigh.
They are his meat, they are his drink:
He feeds the beggar and the poor
And the wayfaring traveller;
For ever open is his door.
His grief is their eternal joy,
They make the roofs and walls to ring—
Till from the fire on the hearth
Alittle female babe does spring!
And she is all of solid fire
And gems and gold, that none his hand
Dares stretch to touch her baby form,
Or wrap her in his swaddling-band.
But she comes to the man she loves,
If young or old, or rich or poor;
They soon drive out the aged host,
A beggar at another’s door.
He wanders weeping far away
Until some other take him in;
Oft blind and age-bent, sore distressed,
Until he can a maiden win.
And to allay his freezing age
The poor man takes her in his arms:
The cottage fades before his sight,
The garden and its lovely charms;
The guests are scattered through the land
(For the eye altering, alters all);
The senses roll themselves in fear,
And the flat earth becomes a ball,
The stars, sun, moon, all shrink away—
A desert vast without a bound,
And nothing left to eat or drink
And a dark desert all around.
The honey of her infant lips,
The bread and wine of her sweet smile,
The wild game of her roving eye
Does him to infancy beguile.
For as he eats and drinks he grows
Younger and younger every day;
And on the desert wild they both
Wander in terror and dismay.
Like the wild stag she flees away;
Her fear plants many a thicket wild,
While he pursues her night and day,
By various arts of love beguiled.
By various arts of love and hate,
Till the wide desert planted o’er
With labyrinths of wayward love,
Where roams the lion, wolf and boar,
Till he becomes a wayward babe
And she a weeping woman old.
Then many a lover wanders here,
The sun and stars are nearer rolled,
The trees bring forth sweet ecstasy
To all who in the desert roam,
Till many a city there is built,
And many a pleasant shepherd’s home.
But when they find the frowning babe
Terror strikes through the region wide;
They cry, ‘The Babe! the Babe is born!’
And flee away on every side.
For who dare touch the frowning form
His arm is withered to its root,
Lions, boars, wolves, all howling flee
And every tree does shed its fruit;
And none can touch that frowning form,
Except it be a woman old;
She nails him down upon the rock,
And all is done as I have told.
ooh, Mr. Odradek! *swoon*