The M00dy N00bs

1,000 Posts for the N00bs!
    

Edited by Atavachron - November 19 2006 at 03:43

The Whistler wrote: Atavachron wrote: 1,000 Posts for the N00bs!        Who're you?   Who're any of you?

    He's had too much to drink. *sigh*

Right fellas, I'm takin' off. Thick as a Brick is just ending (for the second time), my cup just emptied, and the rake is calling.

Philéas wrote: News: I didn't find any info on how a sitar, electric or otherwise, is tuned, so I tuned every string on my guitar a seventh over the previous one, because sevenths are Satan's work. Sounds very mean and dissonant, and very Prog. Unfortunately, I broke the high E string, so there are only five strings left. Anyway, now credit me as: Philéas: Bass, out of tune ukulele and random dissonant noises made with a five string satanistically tuned guitar.

    To make a guitar sound like a sitar, you can just play the d string open while sliding around on the g string at the same time.

tardis wrote: The band is still together?

    
It would seems so...

inpraiseoffolly wrote: With regards to Rock Operas, I have one completed (lyrically, of course) about a guy who blows up a gas station and goes to a utopian socialist heaven...

    Could you post it? It sounds really interesting.

inpraiseoffolly wrote: progismylife wrote: inpraiseoffolly wrote: With regards to Rock Operas, I have one completed (lyrically, of course) about a guy who blows up a gas station and goes to a utopian socialist heaven...     Could you post it? It sounds really interesting.      Yeah, unfortunately, there's this thing called religious schoool, so I'll be off for the next four hours (one hour of circumstances forcing me to get there early, one hour of driving, and two hours of actually doing stuff). When I get back, though, I'll put it up.

     See you later.

A Place Called Hell, Pt. 1
There is a place that we call Hell
And shiver at the mention of its name
A burning inferno of all time
For which the devil is to blame

Is that really what you thought
You poor old misguided fools
Why God let any but himself
Set any of the rules

No, this place called Hell
Is where you may sent along with the rest
Who were too smart and forceful
And who also failed the test

But if you are sent to the wrong place
By means of some reason oh so odd
You’ll receive a signature box of chocolates
And a personally signed note from God

The Man
There was once a man
Who visited this place called Hell
And lived to tell the tale

This sad old man
Took care on the desert sand
To ignore the much grander scale

Suffering the scattered hail
The falling of broken glass
The man breached, at last, the critics

The man achieved harmony
Not by the pamphleteer’s sway
But rather by old Fourier’s tricks

The Dog He Had When He Was a Kid
The dog he had when he was a kid
Got run over by a car
Leaving the man numb with shock
And permanently scarred
The mans eternal hopes and dreams
On that day were spoiled
By that case of hit and run
Powered by motor oil

Those That Can
A lonely old man
Living in the street
A cardboard roof above your head
A master of the press
So very nearly dead

When you chose your line of work
They told you to consider
Those that can, reform
Those that can’t, satire
Those that can, prosper
Those that can’t, retire

But you took no heed
And criticized away
Left yourself in your present state
Just a poor old man
Who could have had it made

And yet you were still man at life
That it had let you down
Just too weak to reform
And forced to satire
Head hung with the low ambitions
To which you aspired

Resigned to a life of satire
You sat right down to type
The oil speech that would come
To define your life

The Oil Speech
If there is a defining feature of humanity
It is our dogged pursuit of the belief
In a loving God, a peaceful God
There were crusades for the Moslems
And the Holocaust for the Jews
The brutal murder of their Messiah
For the Christians comes as news
Because a loving, peaceful God
Would never condone such acts
No, that god cannot be the same
As the one that wrote our holy tracts

Ignoring the harsh realities
That God has sent their way
They get down on one knee
And stoop themselves to pray
And as it turns out to be
They cannot be bothered
With atrocities committed
Against them and others

And for what
The belief in a loving God
And for who
For the sake of a peaceful God

Look all around you
And where do you see
Any signs of the God
In which you believe

But the moment oil runs low
Just you wait and there it goes
The idea of a loving, peaceful God

When with a problem we come face to face
That we cannot fix, we will then lose faith
In our loving God, our peaceful God

When God abandons us to fend on our own
In a situation that we haven’t known
In a couple hundred years
Then we will be long gone insane
On both the spiritual and temporal planes
That define our life here
There will be no names
That we can call to blame
For losing our sorry souls
This is one such case
That we don’t wish to face
Because the fault is all our own

We will not solve the oil crisis
We are much too indecisive
And not very well prepared
And that will spell our end
Because on oil we depend
To fix the deadly oil scare

Our own follies will leave us trapped
In a world we have made evil
When the last drop of oil
Has been squeezed from the earth
Then we will face God’s mirth

We will finally be forced to confront
The one thing we learned to evade
Since Sir Edison banished the dark
We will finally be forced to deal, you see
With cold, harsh, brutal, unforgiving reality

And as the typewriter emitted its last click
And to the page pressed its final letter
The man realized that in no way
Had he made the world any better

A Really Dumb Idea
If talking about oil
Wasn’t doing a damn bit of good
Well maybe it’s the case
That blowing up a gas station would
That would teach the people
That would show them all
That if in oil we rise
Then in oil we fall

4 Seconds of Happiness
The four seconds of happiness
That graced your gloomy life
Were the last you ever knew

When you first had the idea
And planned your grand flame out
You knew what you had to do

Did you see that gas station
Well it was me
Did you see
Did you see that big explosion
Well it was me
Did you see

And the four seconds of happiness
As you held the match in clammy hands
Afraid the sounds might never die down
That the people would never understand
Were the best four seconds you ever had

There went the street corner
And all the people on it, too
There went the paved road to life
Oil had collected its revenue
And the entire nation was sad

Did you see that gas station
Well it was me
Did you see
Did you see that big explosion
Well it was me
Did you see
Well it was me

The Face
The man wore a face
At the moment that he died
That he had never worn
When he had been alive

With furrowed eyebrows
And a half-smile over clenched teeth
The man wore a look
Of grim determination
And this could not be seen
Except by some unearthly means
Of artificial illumination
But with the ending of his mini-world
His eyebrows came partially unfurrowed
The half-smile over his clenched teeth
Was too loose to be taken seriously
And at the very moment that he died
He opened his eyes just a bit too wide

Yes he began to have some doubts
As to what his death had been all about

After the Explosion
After the explosion
As debris fell to the ground
You had the notion
That somehow peace would abound

Floating away on the winds of time
Listening to the season’s rhyme
You realize you never had a lousy dime
That you could claim you made
But now, as you make your way
To what is hopefully a better place
You remember God’s eternal grace
That never came to your aid

After the explosion
In the brief moments you were dead
They were thoughtfully chosen
The last words you never said

Sailing away to an unknown land
With no one to help you understand
You must manage the best you can
All on your own
The private journey of the heart
Perceives a certain type of art
They told you you were too smart
To make it all alone

After the explosion
Your solemn eyes were spied
And it became known
That you had lived a lie

As He Walked Along the Path
As he walked along the path
That led towards Heaven’s gates
The smooth old trees grew on three sides
Blocking any attempts at escape

The man had little choice
But to forge on ahead
And to follow the twisted path
Wherever it turns out it led

The man didn’t really wish
To travel anywhere
But he supposed that moving on
Was better than staying there

As he walked gloomily on
He passed some people who
Had also died in his final statement
And who, like him, had nothing better to do

And out of the man’s mouth
Came a pleasant tune
Telling tales of sad deeds
Of death and misfortune

The Peg Eye March
Yesterday you were a man in his prime
Today you’re old and grizzled
With one peg leg and another peg eye
And internal organs oh so fizzled

It’s your time to be stymied
Time to meet your sticky end
It’s time for you to be freed
From the hardships of working the land

I am just the Angel of Death
And you my last victim today
How would you like your last breath served
Have you any last words to say

It’s your time to be stymied
Time to meet your sticky end
But before I carry out the deed
Tell me we can still be friends

Riding on down to the underworld
With me for exquisite company
The scroll of your life came unfurled
Then sprang back how it used to be

It’s your time to be stymied
Time to meet your sticky end
We’re sailing down the river Styx
And Hell lies just around the bend

So you just take your peg leg
And also your one peg eye
Drink the last dregs from your flagon
And march right on off to die

The Sign
As the man forged along the path
Merrily going on his way
He saw a sign that said
Welcome to Heaven
Please enjoy your stay

Signed Charles Fourier
And the pamphleteer
And also by everyone
Who can proudly claim
To be enjoying their stay

Happiness
The man hoped to follow the sign
And he planned on being happy
But having been sad all his life
He knew naught but how to be gloomy

The Pamphleteer
The man upon entering Heaven
Saw a man wearing a shirt
Bearing the word pamphleteer
And of this pamphlet man
Our sad old man steered clear
Knowing it to be some religious scam
For which he didn’t give a damn
It’s Everyone’s Sack of Gold
The monument standing
In the center of the town
Is a giant sack of gold
That everyone crowds around

It’s everyone’s sack of gold
Everyone has an equal share
It won’t be growing old
So long as we leave it there
It’s everyone’s gold in the sack
And if you try and take some away
We’ll make you put it back

So don’t go buy a sandwich
With the gold we claim is yours
Or for your sake we’ll deplete
Our already limited gold stores

It’s everyone’s sack of gold
Everyone has an equal share
And it won’t be growing old
So long as we leave it there
Yes the gold is both yours and mine
But we’ve got to leave it alone
Lest the gold it should die

Only Sir Fourier and the pamphleteer
Are allowed to remove the gold
Fighting for the benefit of public opinion
As election votes are sold

It’s everyone’s sack of gold
Everyone has an equal share
And it won’t be growing old
So long as we leave it there
Don’t you worry it’s everyone’s cash
All heaped together in the center of the town
In one giant unusable stash

So you just leave the gold alone
And everything will be just as well
But disobey and you may see
That we’ll have to cart you off to Hell
The Gold are Dead
The gold are flowing to your head
Rattling against your skull
The gold are dead
Once again life is deadly dull

More is less, more or less
Once you start trying to impress
By hiding your gold in brass costumes
Sending them to untimely dooms

The gold are dead
They don’t work anymore
Since we piled them in a heap
In the middle of Town Square’s floor

The gold are dead
Bloodstained red
To death they bled
Fortified with lead
Lead-poisoned instead
The gold are dead

Gold are for buying
The stuff that you need
But the gold are dying
To death they bleed

By now you could paper
Your birdcage with shavings of gold
And little bits of dollar bills
The wealth in days of old

The gold are dead
Said the economic reporter
More is less is lessening
Gold’s reach is getting shorter

The gold are dead
Fortified with lead
Lead-poisoned instead
Off with gold’s head
The red queen said
The gold are dead
Gold are for buying
What you wish you had
But the gold are dying
Just like any other fad

At the end of the rainbow
What have you got
A full pot of gold
Worth little more than the empty pot

The gold are dead
Buying power’s down
Fourier, you ran that gold
Right into the ground

The old man said it seems to me
That if the gold we can’t spend
Is all the money that we have
Then the gold are truly dead

A Place Called Hell, Pt. 2
You didn’t listen
You naughty old man
You thought you were too good
To join our gold-sack clan

Two tough-looking guards
Took you by the shoulder
And led you to a place called Hell
To grow wiser and older

You stole from every man in Heaven
To buy your sweet confections
And now you’re faced with desert
Stretching out in all directions

A Full Moneybag
With a full moneybag tied to your belt
You know this is the best you ever felt
You saw a man with two moneybags
Appear from behind a sand dune
And send you to misfortune
Within an alley of tattered rags
The next thing you remembered was a pain
Plaguing your head and driving you insane
You weren’t too worried about your sorry state
After all, you were dead
What need you of Gold to spend
And anyway, it was much too late

A person in the street with some helpful advice
Sent you down an alley that didn’t look too nice
It didn’t give off too friendly an air
And lots of people without food, in their defense
Upon noticing your appearance
Did much more to you than you could bear

You ran right out of the city gates
To escape this sad fate
Running for what could be called your life
You ran without so much as a backward glance
Until the sight of Hell was past
And you ran right into another sign

Fourier’s Utopia
We hope you learned your lesson
We’re really very sad
But you know that you must learn
That it’s naughty to be bad
Signed Charles and of course
The stately pamphleteer

And from Charles alone
Was inscribed another poem
Should you be a butcher
If you like to kill
Come on over to my office
And sign up if you will

Revelation
Now at this point
The sad old man had had
A grand old revelation
On the wrongs of being bad
He determined to set out
And find this Charles lad
And humbly apologize
For making him so mad

And those looking for Charles
Should search behind the sack
For there Charles resides
In his measly little shack
On all of Heaven’s people
He has turned his back
But the man doesn’t care
For he’s gotten back on track

He pushed through a set of doors
To the corridor behind
And the man at the hall’s end
Another door did find
The man followed the course
Of this doorsy line
And with the last corridor
Ran into another sign

The Final Sign
Charles Fourier
Proud manager of gold
For the last fifteen years
Has been growing rather old
With no success at all
In his failing utopia
He needs some new members
Will you answer the call

Should you be a butcher
If you like to kill
Now that you’re at my office
You can sign up at will

The Office
The man entered the office
Surprised to find
The walls all plastered
With tests of every kind
Behind a desk in the room
Sat a lonely man
Wearing a polo shirt
And some khaki pants
Attached to the shirt was a pin
Gleaming in the light
It said my name is Charles
And I’m here to put things right
So the man watched Charles
As he did his stately things
And sat down to take the test
On just about everything

The Test
What was the cause of your death
Was it old age, disease, or maybe both
Was it through some spurt
Of unexpected mental growth
Was it suicide, or maybe homicide
How was it that you died
Did you go passively in your sleep
Or suddenly in the briny deep
Did you fight for your life
Or did you suffer the sad fate
Of those who try to alleviate strife
Who was at fault in your death
Was it you or your family
Or for sure it must have been nature
Perhaps it was other people
You know you can’t trust them
They don’t treat you well
And make you want to
Blow up a gas station

Ah, how wonderful, you are the very first
Male type three fifteen I’ve had today
Would you like to be a butcher
Would that be okay

Perfect Harmony
In the corner of a butcher shop
Chopping meat each and every day
Preparing sides of beef
For customers who never came

No longer wondering the meaning of his life
Far from the troubles plaguing mankind
The man has finally found the peace
That was needed to ease his mind

And when old Charles finished writing his tests
He hung them on the wall beside all the rest
He tried to announce the closure of his utopia
But the man was too occupied there
So when Fourier proclaimed the end of all his dreams
The man was much too happy to care

When the man woke up
From this hard day’s work
He was no longer a lonely misfit
And he found by his bedside
A personally signed note from God
And a signature box of Chocolates

And he calmly ate the sweets
On his way to a brand new day
Of chopping lots more meat

Liquidation
It’s closing time for one more store
The meat is half off for the next few days
The company lost more than it gained
So Wal-Mart came and bought out the space

The store is well on the road to ruin
Heading towards life as a series of records
Locked away in a filing cabinet
Where they will be forever stored

As it gets closer and closer to the closing
The people start flocking to the mart
Taking everything off the shelves
As they tear the place quite apart

And locked in the store waiting for the wrecking ball
In a place where profits were slower than the costs
Somewhere amid the broken shelves in that holy temple
Somewhere in there, one poor soul is lost













And that's my Rock Opera

WOW! That is so f**king amazing!
    Heres some more clapping for you.


Edited by progismylife - November 19 2006 at 15:45

And some more clapping.