Athriller

'Over the Mountains Of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow, Ride, boldly ride,' The shade replied,— 'If you seek for Eldorado!'

I...fucking...love you guys. Had me in a fit of laughter, good show.

Fuck yeah, holmes!

Thanks for the comments guys and dolls, it's appreciated. Heh, you know, I never looked at it that way. It was an upbeat kind of moralistic poem. Although pessimistic, it's not meant to be emotional or depressing or yadda yadda. Dictionary definition: 1. Excessive love or admiration of oneself. . 2. A psychological condition characterized by self-preoccupation, lack of empathy, and unconscious deficits in self-esteem. 3. Erotic pleasure derived from contemplation or admiration of one's own body or self, especially as a fixation on or a regression to an infantile stage of development. 4. The attribute of the human psyche charactized by admiration of oneself but within normal limits. Hehe, kinda... It was written with anyone in mind. The narcissist doesn't actually die, just metaphorically. Time pretty much kills of physical beauty, so those who are in love with their looks essentially die... if you see how it works. I hate summing up poems, but to put it simply, 'You're physical beauty is going to die, so stop living for it. But remember, there's more to beauty than just appearances, and the fact that you forgot that is why you've lost yourself.' I typed up another, but this one has no title, any suggestions? Untitled! There's a girl who fears every waking moment, Her cynicism is her most prominent component. She feels her life is nothing more than a mundane ritual, Her body no longer urges for all feats physical, She’s lost sight of all creations that were once visual, And she feels her life is nothing more than abysmal. And she’s scared of embracing yet another tomorrow, Another battle with pain, another conquest for sorrow, She watches her life play out like a tragic horror show, Just wishing she could be a character in the tales of Heratio. And she looks to the skies, and ask the stars ‘why?’ And she questions what ever happened to variety and range, And hopes to the highest order that life will change, ‘Oh, will life ever change?’ A man can never step into the same river twice, As neither remain to ever be the same, So take upon some kindred advice, It’s all down to how you play the game. And may I suggest that you try to abstain, From excessive questioning and over thinking, Or you may find yourself easing the pain, By bringing a reckoning and nights of drinking, Yourself into a stupor, And your mind will be tried at the courts of Jupiter, Where you’ll plead for sense from Hades and Lucifer, As your faith yet again flees with the morning star, And you’ve hurt yourself on a harmless juniper, Just trying to make sense of nothing and all, Wondering if the dry leaves of change will ever fall. There’s a girl who questions ever opportunity she takes, Believing that there’s no significance to each choice she makes. She takes a step back to hear the pseudo intellects warring, And sighs at the malignant yet again attention whoring, And she finds the prospect of eternal escape to be most alluring, But she’s stuck in a life that she deems to be forever boring. And yet again she’s sunk into an ever lasting depression, Falling even faster and further into an infinite regression, Finding life pointless with all of its timeless digressions, Wondering if existence stands for anything more than just enduring successions. And she looks to the skies, and ask the stars ‘why?’ And she questions what ever happened to variety and range, And hopes to the highest order that life will change, ‘Oh, will life ever change?’ A man can never step into the same river twice, As neither remain to ever be the same, So take upon some kindred advice, There’s more to life than you hope to claim. And may I suggest that you try to look down with disdain, On your indulgence in hopeless situations, Because the fined tuned nature of your ‘self’, Was never meant for vengeance and all the self induced deprivations, That you feed into your thought machine, And one day you will watch your life on a silver screen, Noting all the great times that could have been, Had you realised that sorrow is nothing more than a break in-between All the great joy and happiness that embodied the serene, As you could never make sense of nothing and all, As the dry leaves of change only heed to the dreamer’call. There's a girl who understands that doubt is trivial, That the greatest of joys are the epitome of simple.

I have a scrap book of poems, many of which I've entered into various competitions and some have made it in the books! If ever you see Atif Ishaq, it's me baby. Anyway, I brought one out of the scrap books, I call it: A Savage Kind Of Beauty The narcissist will never cease to die young, A bullet made of age from the barrel of time's gun, Eternity spent behind mirrors can never be undone, The dreams of youth were eclipsed by the undying sun. A savage kind of beauty, an unrelentless duty, All for a momentary bootie, A selfish service, A perfect shaped cervix, An ideal shattered by the nervous. Fear of being rejected, Innocence infected, And so obsession is erected, Hopeless to every degree, getting rid of acne, A body fit for a hackney. War with one's self, fufillment on the shelf, In result of Lust, love or else, Slave to society, destroyed by anxiety, Demoted by the mind's hierarchy. Want of another, need for a lover, Creation of an immaterial cover, All to be accepted, a life intercepted, By a logic unexpected. A hollow projection, a false pretense of affection, A psychological dissection, A shallow indulgence, an insecure emergence, A communial coherence The narcissist will never cease to live old, A tale of misery - one to be consoled, Bought by cosmetics and to disregard sold, An unfortunate demise that could never be controlled. When all could have been prevented, with out your self augmented, Had you not resented, all you represented, And come to terms and defended, whilst you timidly circumvented, What you should have contented - the realisation that you're misrepresented ...A beauty that's now lamented. Hope you enjoyed it.

Yeah, I've had my rounds. I do feel they've lost their charm, though. Scenes and Images remain to be my favourite albums. Bar In The Name Of God, I thought Train of Thought was poor. And Octavarium... forgettable.

Not a copy and paste, but the encylopedia did come handy.

1. The rule of the moon for the next half year and often symbolises the death of the an old God.

He took it real good!

Enough with the whining already.

5/10. I've seen the evil monkey sig a few times round, but the name doesn't ring a bell. I should pay attention more.

It's true. We're all also townies, because we all go to town!

I can see it as a laugh... I just don't find it funny.

I don't particularly like it, but I'm not prepared to go to war for it.

Compared to Xsorbit's numerous exploits, these boards are a hell of a lot better.

Mmm... James Dean. So close... yet so far.

Athough our points aren't connected, this statement remains true. Even if Sony do ship late, I can't forsee them in a one legged, uphill struggle. Nintendo launched late and didn't fare well because their idea of attracting consumers was to throw purple cubes in their faces and get Perrin kaplan to talk about Nintendo's almight prophecy of foreboding messiahs destined to save them that took the form of a number of franchised games, that masses couldn't really give a shit about. Sony on the hand can act as opium to the masses. They can get them romanticised and high with relative ease.

Ice skating. Bowling. Zoo. And paintballing, if she's a rough one.

As soon as I opened it, I knew what was going to happen. You don't make untitled documents with a singular celebrity nekky picture for a laugh.

The problem isn't the "n00bs", but those that are too insecure to accept them.

This thread suddeny burst into a no holds barred, hell in a cell wrestling match. I'M SPECIAL GUEST REFEREE. Haver's on the ropes! What will he do next?!

As Big Red said, don't do it over MSN. The anonymous veil allows for her to be creatively fiendish. I say ask for her number, but don't make a big deal out of it. Just say , 'Hey, got a new phone, what's your number?".

Oh God, these are genius. Great work lads.

He's just peeved that he's fat.

Brilliant, I salute your efforts. I'm 5 foot 11", 9 stones. I like erm... games, books (poetry especially), music, SEX!!!, movies. Yeah, same old shit. HERE ARE TWO RETARDED IMAGES TO USE (Sorry, best I could do).