similarminds.com

[ysoyoung]

The Gift Lyrics
Artist:Velvet Underground

Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit. It was now Mid-August which meant he had been separated from Marsha for more than two months. Two
months, and all he had to show was three dog-eared letters and two very expensive long-distance phone calls. True, when school had ended and she'd returned to Wisconsin, and he to Locust, Pennsylvania, she had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity. She would date occasionally, but merely as amusement. She would remain faithful.

But lately Waldo had begun to worry. He had trouble sleeping at night and when he did, he had horrible dreams. He lay awake at night, tossing and turning underneath his pleated quilt protector, tears welling in his eyes as he pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor and the smooth soothing of some neanderthal, finally submitting to the final caresses of sexual oblivion. It was more than the human mind could bear.

Visions of Marsha's faithlessness haunted him. Daytime fantasies of sexual
abandon permeated his thoughts. And the thing was, they wouldn't understand how she really was. He, Waldo, alone understood this. He had intuitively grasped every nook and cranny of her psyche. He had made her smile. She needed him, and
he wasn't there (Awww...).

The idea came to him on the Thursday before the Mummers' Parade was scheduled to appear. He'd just finished mowing and etching the Edelsons lawn for a dollar fifty and had checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a word from Marsha. There was nothing but a circular from the Amalgamated Aluminum Company of America inquiring into his awing needs. At least they cared enough to write.

It was a New York company. You could go anywhere in the mails. Then it struck him. He didn't have enough money to go to Wisconsin in the accepted fashion, true, but why not mail himself? It was absurdly simple. He would ship himself parcel post, special delivery. The next day Waldo went to the supermarket to purchase the necessary equipment. He bought masking tape, a staple gun and a medium sized cardboard box just right for a person of his build. He judged that with a minimum of jostling he could ride quite comfortably. A few airholes, some water, perhaps some midnight snacks, and it would probably be as good as
going tourist.

By Friday afternoon, Waldo was set. He was thoroughly packed and the post office had agreed to pick him up at three o'clock. He'd marked the package "Fragile", and as he sat curled up inside, resting on the foam rubber cushioning he'd thoughtfully included, he tried to picture the look of awe and happiness on Marshas face as she opened her door, saw the package, tipped the deliverer, and then opened it to see her Waldo finally there in person. She would kiss him, and then maybe they could see a movie. If he'd only thought of this before. Suddenly rough hands gripped his package and he felt himself borne up. He landed with a thud in a truck and was off.

Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair. It had been a very rough weekend. She had to remember not to drink like that. Bill had been nice about it though. After it was over he'd said he still respected her and, after all, it was certainly the way of nature, and even though, no he didn't love her, he did feel an affection for her. And after all, they were grown adults. Oh, what Bill could teach Waldo - but that seemed many years ago.

Sheila Klein, her very, very best friend, walked in through the porch screen door and into the kitchen. "Oh gawd, it's absolutely maudlin outside." "Ach, I know what you mean, I feel all icky!" Marsha tightened the belt on her cotton robe with the silk outer edge. Sheila ran her finger over some salt grains on the kitchen table, licked her finger and made a face. "I'm supposed to be taking these salt pills, but," she wrinkled her nose, "they make me feel like throwing up." Marsha started to pat herself under the chin, an exercise she'd seen on television. "God, don't even talk about that." She got up from the table and went to the sink where she picked up a bottle of pink and blue vitamins. "Want one? Supposed to be better than steak," and then attempted to touch her knees. "I don't think I'll ever touch a daiquiri again."

She gave up and sat down, this time nearer the small table that supported
the telephone. "Maybe Bill'll call," she said to Sheila's glance. Sheila nibbled on a cuticle. "After last night, I thought maybe you'd be through with him." "I know what you mean. My God, he was like an octopus. Hands all over the place." She gestured, raising her arms upwards in defense. "The thing is, after a while, you get tired of fighting with him, you know, and after all I didn't really do anything Friday and Saturday so I kind of owed it to him. You know what I mean." She started to scratch. Sheila was giggling with her hand over her mouth. "I'll tell you, I felt the same way, and even after a while," here she bent forward in a whisper, "I wanted to!" Now she was laughing very loudly.

It was at this point that Mr. Jameson of the Clarence Darrow Post Office rang the doorbell of the large stucco colored frame house. When Marsha Bronson opened the door, he helped her carry the package in. He had his yellow and his green slips of paper signed and left with a fifteen cent tip that Marsha had gotten out of her mother's small beige pocketbook in the den. "What do you think it is?" Sheila asked. Marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back. She stared at the brown cardboard carton that sat in the middle of the living room. "I dunno."

Inside the package, Waldo quivered with excitement as he listened to the
muffled voices. Sheila ran her fingernail over the masking tape that ran down the center of the carton. "Why don't you look at the return address and see who it's from?" Waldo felt his heart beating. He could feel the
vibrating footsteps. It would be soon.

Marsha walked around the carton and read the ink-scratched label. "Ah, god, it's from Waldo!" "That schmuck!" said Sheila. Waldo trembled with expectation. "Well, you might as well open it," said Sheila. Both of them tried to lift the staple flap. "Ah sst," said Marsha, groaning, "he must have nailed it shut." They tugged on the flap again. "My God, you need a power drill to get this thing open!" They pulled again. "You can't get a grip." They both stood still, breathing heavily.

"Why don't you get a scissor," said Sheila. Marsha ran into the kitchen, but
all she could find was a little sewing scissor. Then she remembered that her father kept a collection of tools in the basement. She ran downstairs, and when she came back up, she had a large sheet metal cutter
in her hand. "This is the best I could find." She was very out of breath.
"Here, you do it. I-I'm gonna die." She sank into a large fluffy couch and
exhaled noisily. Sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape and the end of the cardboard flap, but the blade was too big and there wasn't enough room. "God damn this thing!" she said feeling very exasperated. Then smiling, "I got an idea." "What?" said Marsha. "Just watch," said Sheila, touching her finger to her head.

Inside the package, Waldo was so transfixed with excitement that he could
barely breathe. His skin felt prickly from the heat, and he could feel his
heart beating in his throat. It would be soon. Sheila stood quite upright and walked around to the other side of the package. Then she sank down to her knees, grasped the cutter by both handles, took a deep breath, and plunged the long blade through the middle of the package, through the masking tape, through the cardboard, through the cushioning and (thud) right through the center of Waldo Jeffers head, which split slightly and caused little rhythmic arcs of red to pulsate gently in the morning sun.
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p t N I

[Rocky]

^^^ those don't look like lyrics to me
_________________
tu fui ego eris


I've Stolen The Pain

[ysoyoung]

theres music in the background so I count them as lyrics.
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p t N I

[Rocky]

So, that's a spoken word thing?

No offense, but that doesn't count as lyrics. :/ It has to have some sort of form or structure to be classified as a lyric. Otherwise, it's just talking on top of music.
_________________
tu fui ego eris


I've Stolen The Pain

[julianameless]

[allisfulloflove]

[allisfulloflove]

Look at earth from outer space,
Everyone must find their place,
Give me time and give me space,
Give me real don't give me fake,
Give me strength and self control,
Give me heart and give me soul,
Give me time give us a kiss,
Tell me your own politik.

Open up your eyes.

Give me one, cause one is best,
You confuse your confidence,
Give me peace of mind to trust,
Don't forget the rest of us,
Give me strength reserve control,
Give me heart and give me soul,
Wounds to heal and cracks to fix,
Tell me your own politik.

Open up your eyes,
Just open up your eyes.

But give me love over,
Love over, love over this.

-coldplay. "politik."
_________________
real & fictional ISFP's:
me. paul mccartney. mozart. harry potter. homer simpson.

[AvereX]

An excerpt from Ani DiFranco's " Evolve "

gunnin for high score in the land of dreams
morbid bluish-white consumers ogling luminous screens
on the trail of forgetting
cruising without a care
the jet set won't abide by that pesky jet lag
and our lives boil down to an hour or two
when someone pulls a camera out of a bag

and i am trying to evolve
i'm just trying to evolve

so i walk like i'm on a mission
cuz that's the way i groove
i got more and more to do
i got less and less to prove
it took me too long to realize
that i don't take good pictures
cuz i have the kind of beauty
that moves
_________________
Karma Police

[Lenka]

Fitter, happier, more productive,
comfortable,
not drinking too much,
regular exercise at the gym
(3 days a week),
getting on better with your associate employee contemporaries ,
at ease,
eating well
(no more microwave dinners and saturated fats),
a patient better driver,
a safer car
(baby smiling in back seat),
sleeping well
(no bad dreams),
no paranoia,
careful to all animals
(never washing spiders down the plughole),
keep in contact with old friends
(enjoy a drink now and then),
will frequently check credit at
(moral) bank (hole in the wall),
favors for favors,
fond but not in love,
charity standing orders,
on Sundays ring road supermarket
(no killing moths or putting boiling water on the ants),
car wash
(also on Sundays),
no longer afraid of the dark or midday shadows
nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate,
nothing so childish - at a better pace,
slower and more calculated,
no chance of escape,
now self-employed,
concerned (but powerless),
an empowered and informed member of society
(pragmatism not idealism),
will not cry in public,
less chance of illness,
tires that grip in the wet
(shot of baby strapped in back seat),
a good memory,
still cries at a good film,
still kisses with saliva,
no longer empty and frantic
like a cat
tied to a stick,
that's driven into
frozen winter shit
(the ability to laugh at weakness),
calm,
fitter,
healthier and more productive
a pig
in a cage
on antibiotics.

(you guys talking aboput thing spoken over music made me think of this piece of awesomeness.)

http://youtube.com/watch?v=8EoukRWQ-ec
_________________
Mercy, INFP, RLUEI, INFj.... Aries and Dragon.... and such stuff.

[allisfulloflove]

[lordofthefood1]

Stucco Obelisks Labeled as Trees

out with the old. this is the new. the minor details have been overlooked. plastic people making plastic trees grow out of concrete, this landscape lacks intellectual quality. emergency.

Well I'll Be A Monkey's Uncle

dad, sister is on fire. shut up and get the marshmallows. dad, i don't like little brother. shut up and eat what i give you. let's go. this damn dollar has got to get me two. dad i'm tired of running in circles. shut up or i'll nail your other foot to the floor.

Kill Roger Hedgecock

most things go unnoticed with your eyes gouged out. they can only twist your arm so much.

--

A Plateful Of Our Dead

Don't ever ask us to define our morals
Sometimes when fundamentals meet teenage heartbreak
Some of us are all of us; half-selves that love whole hopes
And hara-kiri heartbreak

There's almost nothing worse than never being real
Strained voices crying wolf when nobody can hear
If I had a gun I'd pump your ethics full of lead
If I believed in meat I'd eat a plateful of our dead

There's merit in construction when it's done with your own hands
There's beauty in destruction, resurrection, another chance
There's a you and I in union but just an I in our beliefs
There's a crashing plane with a banner that reads everyone's naïve

The only proof that I have that we shot and killed this horse
Is the sounds of whips on flesh and a bleeding heart remorse
When I'm In this state of reflection and you hand me whips
And two by fours I could never bring them down and beat the same horse as before

I'd rather kill a stupid flower and spread its seeds
Until a garden with our bullet-laden morals will be found

[embers]

Okay Rocky, you'll like this.


- What's your name?

- Champagne, what's your game?

- Cocaine

- Stripper, stripper

[Rocky]

[lordofthefood1]

[Odinffs]

Menomena - Evil Bee

I took a walk with an invisible friend
And on that walk, I gave my hand

O, to be a machine
O, to be wanted
to be useful

With this ring that I wear today
My whole world is your property

O, to be a machine
O, to be wanted
to be useful

I took a walk with an invisible friend
And on that walk, I gave my hand

I really like these lyrics for some reason, awesome song too.