Cantr II Discussion Forum

Slithered she unto the stones
That made her what she was
Believed by many to be just that
She guessed within her self
That many ladies past of here
Were not what went today
For underneath the stone of this
The trees that grow this way
We see that maybe there was one
Who did not like to dance
For Hitler did not tell his plans
Unto the grey stone wall
But thrust the anvil of the sky
Upon the many lies
And when it was apparent that
There was not money left
The rented guns, the lesson learned
They went upon the hearth
For when they went unto the place
Where everybody goes
It was to be seen that nobody went
Where nobody else was seen
For anybody seen upon the place where I did go
Would not come back the same, or less
But very much turned to stone.

And when the mantra of this person
Done and bound in hay
Is found upon the wind-washed rocks
For whom the bell doth toll
And funeral costs do rise by night
And happen to fall by day
But when the people see the sky
They know it is what they say
That makes the people know what is
To be done to the others today
And when they say what is not known
They will be aghast at this aftermath
That makes me want to take the mallet
The chisel, the pliers and the tongs
And thrust myself so gently now upon
The altar of gold.

Oh worship thine the god we see
That takes the form of many skies
And when it's done, let us be one
And take it from the stone
For doth not fly the people there
Who take my cancer from
The place where it is for people to see
And shove it somewhere cold
For this is true and known to you
You see why it is not
For everybody never saw
That the temperature was cold
So many flies, so little time
I say to you my friend
What shall we do upon the night
That the greeness does so devour?
I say to you that you know who me
The writer of every song
That nobody know what I have said
Until it is all awash with thongs
And then we take a trip to the moon
And observe the rapists closing in
Oh why did I say that I did not know
Who went unto the altar of sin?
I do not know the answer to you
Or how many grains of sand
But it is so sure that many did see
What was said to be happening yesterday
For when I looked upon the spot
Where nobody had once been
I saw... that where, where did it go?
Why did I take it away?

I do not know what the answer is
But butterflies do not know
And never mind the people who chose
To partake of tomorrow's feast
For when the day of feathers comes
They will see themselves quite lost
I do not see the meaning of this
Piece of text that I type
Even now as the two surfaces
Scrape together in the direct glow
That flows beneath the gates over there
And nobody know the status of it
And everyone see why nobody knows
But in the end its pointless like you
So why, so why, do you choose to die,
On a day so full of whatever is said.

So when I see what you do too
Do I think the transformation is complete?
The pain, the pain! It strikes me down!
I have to time to stand
It brightens my eyes and keeps me awake and stops me from being cold
But when I do see it's a baseless remorse
I see that it is not the child of my horse
So when do I see that it is not right
To do whatever is seen?
For everything I do is motivated by green
And nobody thinks of the brown
For everyone know that they are not clean
Of stones or cubists or AIDS.

I was going to post this into the section
Known as "General Discussion"
But then I observed that that was not right
So I took up into the percussion
Control plus ex, control plus sea,
When does it make a difference to me?
This half-rhyme is true, but falser to you
And again we descend into mountains of shit
So, make stand on a very clean slate
And judge me with an ebony cake
Which makes you talk about many so things
Which make it so nice to be many so times
Around the clock it makes to be heard
So why, so why, do we not just stop?

Very good... except i don't get half of it.

BarbaricAvatar wrote:Very good... except i don't get half of it.

lol that may be because it was completely random

...Joo wins. Hands down.

Nooo, I did it again!

I take unto myself what is done but not yet fully done,
And lo, the pilgrims flock like sheep around the
Clocks that tick so merrily, when just upon the climax of mine impuse,
The person turns and leaves the room, casting me in shadow once again.
I say to the devil! I cry! I weep, why must it be so hard to become
What one must be to avoid what is upon the moonlight!

I see the light, yet the light is not seen by me
It gasps, and wriggles from my grasp. It is not unseen, yet I do see
What is upon the time of this night, when many floating goats
Will lay siege upon those who defy the word of the master who
Resides upon the lake in which methuselah did take many nuggets
Of purest tungsten in the orifice of joy.

I do not refrain from letting the tears of joy spill from me like
So many beans of lead that fall so heavily from the sky, so heavy
Above me, with its many facets like those of a spider's web
I do! I do! I cry, without refrain, for those who would hear me
Do like what is about to become the new AIDS of what we have
Crafted in this malicious people that do make war upon the very
Tenets of what is not upon the frog in the midnight lagoon,
But lasagne does not spill so freely upwards, as doth undwear
Appear when spoken word is branshished towards the evening star.

I do not confess that I have been bested by machines that do
So grotesquely deform what they have been fed, but erections will glow
Regardless of the many cloths used to shine their former inhabitants
And when the bottomless pit of my enjoyment is sullied with the dark
And weary immigrants who doth sully the skies of peace within my
Orb that floats upon the reeds which puncture my tentative vagina
And insert themselves so roughly into a sequence of alternating
Floating point values who do so make me angry at what has been done!
To my channelling of the people who make good upon their wishes to do
Me what has been done unto the many beasts of woe who do make
It heard during the night that my substance is merely of the snowish type.

Alack, it is not seen that I do hear thine rhythms that do reverberate
Throughout the four corners of the house upon which the giant mewling
Chicken sits, making many rancid looks upon the camera which points
Ever vigilant into the skylight of infinity that does make me what
A sheep fails to understand, but makes it so relevant to the studies
Of what we do upon the bosoms of mankind who do so verily make
Me wish that many people whose houses were made of straw upon
The plains of molestation and active moose who doth point their hooves
Yonder and shout with many an indrawn breath that I do not indulge
In the arts that are taken to be constant and unflowing by my
Personages who do make upon the mantle of the bosoms that do so
Hastily adorn what is true to become my first possesion of the sky
That is not shat upon so merrily by birds of prey, and do not
Lurk within the caverns of what is upon the endings of what I do feel is
Neccesary upon the eaves of whatever is finding me up in this great
Hight while I jump and see how many combinations of the ebbing flow
That doth fall upon the ashen-faced persons who doth beg of me to
Enter into verbal contracts of the third variety, three being the number
That makes everything into nothing, and the idiots sing again, but
This time they have megaphones, and it is verily hard to listen when
One's ears are being chewed by the squirrel that did make lewd
Attempts to usurp my throne upon the golden mirror that doth reflect
All life and happiness unto the bottomless pit of what is beneath me
To feel what is good and what deserves to be said by the people who do
Wander into my presence, and the goats did not take the pictures,
When cryptography fails, I do see the essence of this species, and I
Do feel that is all about the lies and the thruths that do so adorn
Our golden-plated manuscripts which lie inside the cavern of the
Illuminated people who drank the bleach of the toad who resides
Inside the mushroom upon the hillside on the fantasy world created by
The fingers which do find their purchase upon my servant's head,
And make to fill them up with whatever is on hand - cream, or perhaps
Strawberry moose. I do not feel the same applies to anything which I am not aware of having written, while I do feel that some people would take it up themselves to take it when I do not take the difference from the sky
Who doth make it so angrily thrust into the pits of despair that do await me from underneath, and I do not see why it has to be covered in fur, and made into some kind of abomination, that does have to be seen from behind to feel the heat that emanates from my nucleus, but then again, I have never been into the desert that doth emanate from your peculiar nature, and take it into whenever I do make it upon the fields of what is not written, and make it so as to exceed what boundaries have been tied into the grass, while I do not believe that these memories that do flood what is about to become the mildrew-infested AIDS-maggot hole of this this society that I so take the peaches of glory and hide them under sheets of woven silver, and make the people sing for the time that I was once their leader, and make it unto the starworshippers that do make it unto mine heart while I sit inside this tree in the forest of deception, tapping away at whatever sanity I have left by making a change of scenery depend on when the people do decide it is time to stop feeding me the sweet liquer that doth fuel this madness emanating from my RSD-infested joints, which do make the people smoke and take the wedding bells from a different joint which does make me wonder why I do this upon the head of what is made unto the people who do not know the reasons.

Hmm, since you want a stream of consciousness, here's something interesting;

"I stain'd the clothes of the morning, turned the fruit of Dreams; London with my tempests, the aged man, his distress. The chain is yet here! said to us his joy away: Who now, is the whole of power and man! Stem above, the ancient man awakes, and their bodies fly.-- My isles inspired incomprehensible innocence in the inner ice. The instruments thenceforth played, hither, and thither in this angelic fire, from whence the wise women's woeful wrath awoke." And, perched upon my chest, the Night spoke again, "She blushed with the clouds, and the moon, and the sea. An orphan's curse is refreshed, by the friendless Solitude and the nameless Silence which s'rrounds the place. Oh! How the wedding-guest was stood still by the Albatross, deep in prayer. The dead men stood on!" And yet, I listened, fascinated, to the words of the Night, in that old church-tower, where the ice was thick, and all else was silence.


"In bronze, or caged, a being of ancient man turned aside and even the moon laid his fingers on that icy shore. A worst man lived in the sea," and so speaking, the Night turned to me, its dark eyes alight with the tales of a thousand years. "Ah! Those new faces, like the words of a God, hiding their persons, and the false altar with a promise of the wretched me. The Greeks beneath, with revengeful spleen, waited, as, with new pretense, he bore on. Ah! Me, I lifted my sword, while Pyrrhus aided my lord. The Greek! All parents feared conquest from his bed of Fate. Brass, the air, in that stretch of sun. Against the gaunt Griffin, he lay, and still could not be crowned. And o'er wastelands of time, and earth, and the sapphire seas of years, he wandered! Forevermore, the young King met his end at Least-Land, beneath the ruined tower of Endymion. And, his sword, it was shod in blood by that foul traitor Desire, and clothed in hatred by his enemies. Where King Uther's son, who hid in our dreams, strode out into the Kingdom of Gods! Ah, none lived on after the noonday crag made answer, savagely destroying the young king. And now, ah, only I live. And my world grows ever dimmer, as Achilles' did at sand-swept Troy. And now, now, my dearest Adventurer, I must leave, to join my Seraphim in that bright tower. They call for me, can you not hear them? They follow me, smiling the bright smiles of the Gods. So, goodbye, goodbye my dear friend, goodbye." Thus saying, the Night leapt off my chest, spread his dark wings, and swept into the day, covering all with his great body, which, yet, seemed so small. I, bemused, stood, and walked to my home, wondering at what I had just seen.

The difference is that what you have posted is actually poetic and meaningful in nature, lulz.

Well, there you go. I bring art to this world! BOW before me, for I am the Poet!

I'd bow, but I'm kinda king of the hill right now... Will a nod of the head in your direction do?

I believe you mean an unfailingly civil and courteous nod at me while not actually looking at me, but instead looking into that far away space reserved for the eyes of nobles. Yes, that will do, and a grant of about 40 trillion Euros.

Indeed... but I'd say I'll grant you 15 bucks canadian and a 24 pack of beer. If i feel good, a 40 of whiskey too. And a smoke.

Sounds good. It'll do for my bribe into Canada and I can trade the beer for a hockey stick to beat people 'round the head with. The whiskey and smokes I'll keep, thanks.