Star Energy Share Discussion Threads

[scuba doo] 15/5/2006 23:25

Will you remove the death star ?

Surely you won't leave it embeded in me for the police to find ?


I can see we're going tohave to plan an ambush, that way you won't have time to throw the star or cut the poor old Rabbit's head off .

Yep, that's what we'll do ... we'll set an ambush for you.

[mad4it] 15/5/2006 23:19

Why do I need to do anything with them ?

Ahh, bless! You're really kind of an innocent, aintcha! LOL!

You know, if you carry on talking like that you'll start to make me feel all guilty about depriving the fat slags of Hull their 'little chicken'.

No! Really! It's a good ploy. I'm starting to feel like I'm kicking a puppy.

[scuba doo] 15/5/2006 23:15

No , I'm just wondering what the hell you're gonna do with all the dead bodies?

[mad4it] 15/5/2006 23:13

LOL!

Actually, I doubt you'll know much about it, which is a shame...from my point of view, obviously you'll probably feel differently about it.

You know, call me CRAZY, but I'm starting to think you may doubt my veracity ?!

OOOH! 180!

[scuba doo] 15/5/2006 23:11

We've had our bl00dy monies worth out of you today Madness !

[scuba doo] 15/5/2006 23:10

I suppose on the plus side you won't be difficult to spot -

[iorek byrnison] 15/5/2006 23:07

LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[iorek byrnison] 15/5/2006 22:59

LOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[scuba doo] 15/5/2006 22:48

And another thing, this head that you're gonna cut off, what do you then intend to do with it ?

You can't just leave it kicking about Victoria Station , there's already enough rubbish kicking about surely ?



Perhaps you've not really thought it through properly eh !

[mad4it] 15/5/2006 22:44

What I love about my new thread, is I can be self indulgent with no fear of complaint.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo
Questa fiamma staria sensa piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero
Sensa tema d'infamia ti rispondo.


Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question . . .
Oh, do not ask, 'What is it?'
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, 'Do I dare?' and, 'Do I dare?'
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair-
[They will say: 'How his hair is growing thin!']
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin-
[They will say: 'But how his arms and legs are thin!']
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all-
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all-
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all-
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

. . . . .


Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

. . . . .


And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter
I am no prophet-and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: 'I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all'-
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: 'That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.'

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor-
And this, and so much more?-
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
'That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant at all.'

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous-
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

[scuba doo] 15/5/2006 22:42

I suppose we shouldn't expect any better , after all you thought nothing of trashing Croc's tribute thread .


Just how low can you go ,mad4IT ?

[mad4it] 15/5/2006 22:42

How do you like my new thread, scuba ? Of course, it'll be more classy, as soon as I've seen you plebs off, back to the HTD thread.

[scuba doo] 15/5/2006 22:36

You've croseed the line this time Mad4IT , really you have .


Fingers crossed for your sake that I don't catch up with you !

[mad4it] 15/5/2006 22:33

You just don't get it, boy!

I OWN YOU now.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference

[scuba doo] 15/5/2006 22:30

Why don't you just 'say' you're sorry (ie bark like a bl00dy dog) and maybe, just maybe I'll back off .


I dunno , I must be going soft in my old age !

[mad4it] 15/5/2006 22:28

I like the way my new thread is taking shape...the old thread content is already in the dim and distant past. Wouldn't you agree, scuba ?

[mad4it] 15/5/2006 22:24

I have a hand held Cycle, perfect.

Although I will be bringing a variety of weapons.

[mad4it] 15/5/2006 22:23

ps: I don't read any of your posts at all, beyond a line or two. I just post what I feel like, knowing it'll wind you up anyway.

LOL!

Psyche!