tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35177057457642666572012-02-16T01:51:55.740ZI don't know why I do this. For you? For myself? For the content that lies within? For the artists championed in the prose? I don't know why I would do this. I don't know why I do.Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.comBlogger521100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-48193381096366761722011-12-13T17:55:00.002Z2011-12-13T17:57:11.775Z<p>Between arrogance and paranoia<br />This paragon lies.<br />Every glimpse like an electric shock<br />This doesn't subside.<br />History repeats like a broken heart<br />Refusing to die.<br />And from different spots we watch the clock<br />Refusing to die.</p> <p>A decade indentured to your senses<br />Then slowly drowned.<br />In dreams began responsibility<br />This Cathedral Town.<br />Chased by tigers and labradors alike<br />This facsimile.<br />And our brave new hopes fade like a facsimile<br />- Of a facsimile<br />-- Of a facsimile<br />--- Of a facsimile<br />---- Of a facsimile</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-4819338109636676172?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-40109832840488989662011-12-11T17:05:00.001Z2011-12-11T17:07:06.352ZMust stretch my legs - <div>Too long moving and too long still -</div><div>Recipe for cramp.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-4010983284048898966?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-30708882736738980862011-11-02T23:49:00.004Z2011-11-03T12:07:51.773ZDestined is just the end,<div>The point at which you cease to bend.</div><div><br /></div><div>With certainty I can speak</div><div>Of yourself as one who likes to seek...</div><div><br /></div><div>... The End...</div><div><br /></div><div>But really breaking points have long since passed</div><div>And tolerance levels long since surpassed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Footprints fit to amend,</div><div>Maybe the end has met its end?</div><div><br /></div><div>... The End... Of The End...</div><div><br /></div><div>Deformed, contorted, peek over the side</div><div>To the depths where you alone can confide.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dipping so low for the line</div><div>Like some sprinter running out of time.</div><div><br /></div><div>... At The End... Of The End... Of The End...</div><div><br /></div><div>The righteous and the famous,</div><div>Destined to be less than us, strangers.</div><div><br /></div><div>Destined is just The End,</div><div>The point at which you cease to bend.</div><div><br /></div><div>The End... Of The End... Of The End... Of The End.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-3070888273673898086?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-9529641013482823652011-08-29T23:22:00.003+01:002011-08-29T23:25:23.267+01:00Tried to sell my soul,<div>Nobody wanted to buy.<div>Recycling then?</div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-952964101348282365?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-43799269341444122102011-04-10T13:48:00.007+01:002011-04-10T14:19:57.297+01:00Another devil dies a sainted death,<div>Mothers, lovers, renamed regret,</div><div>Worship the words that undermined.</div><div>Undercover sins, repentance reminds. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>There is no good, no bad, just ugly.</i></div><div><i>And you're getting uglier weekly.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>The earthly memories remain, fainting</div><div>And your corpse will be your oil painting.</div><div>And all you were will be replaced</div><div>by a benevolent close-up of your face.</div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Revered relief in innocent exits</i></div><div><i>Then pillaged away 'til life forgets it.</i></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-4379926934144412210?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-34178816953883464072011-04-07T20:13:00.003+01:002011-04-07T20:23:38.142+01:00A condom, calculator, <div>Paperback, box-set and Lynx bodyspray</div><div>All took a trip to a barren landscape</div><div>Devoid of colour or contrast,</div><div>Lacking in intrigue, despite the implied intricacies.</div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div>All the girls wanted to fuck it anyway. </div><div><div> </div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-3417881695388346407?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-55341014305294405942011-04-06T00:01:00.004+01:002011-04-06T00:19:11.902+01:00What a person is begins to betray itself when his talent declines.<div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Can<div>What a person is begins to betray itself when his talent declines.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>You</div><div>What a person is begins to betray itself when his talent declines.</div><div><div><div><div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Tell</div><div>What a person is begins to betray itself when his talent declines.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>What</div><div>What a person is begins to betray itself when his talent declines.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>It</div><div>What a person is begins to betray itself when his talent declines.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Is</div><div>What a person is begins to betray itself when his talent declines.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Yet</div><div>What a person is begins to betray itself when his talent declines.</div></div></div></div></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>?</div></div><div>What a person is begins to betray itself when his talent declines.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I</div><div>What a person is begins to betray itself when his talent declines.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Suspect</div><div>What a person is begins to betray itself when his talent declines.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Nothing.</div><div>What a person is begins to betray itself when his talent declines.</div><div><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-5534101430529440594?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-67554423672693686542011-04-03T23:47:00.010+01:002011-04-04T13:48:24.223+01:00Behind the panes of this great glass demonstrator<div>Lies the trek between ten foot walls, adorned</div><div>with self-designed salad for the eyes- </div><div>so deluded and so unhealthy,</div><div>Yet so apparently necessary,</div><div>On the trek deserving all my scorn. </div><div><br /></div><div>I pass a pompous welcome sign,</div><div>proudly displaying governmental credentials:</div><div>"This was taken, and all this granted.</div><div>And all you see that's residential </div><div>Comments on your existence"</div><div>Yet as my feet chase each other between the walls,</div><div>All I see in every instance,</div><div>Are rows and rows of pretty pictures-</div><div>Each the work of a pornographer,</div><div>Each with a prostrate philistine lost in adulation.</div><div><br /></div><div>Just pictures:</div><div>Barren countryside, </div><div>Coppices, barns, strictures,</div><div>Barren women,</div><div>With breasts overflowing from the nothingness of how they were justified.</div><div>"Another Beautiful Dud."</div><div>(c. some irrelevant time) </div><div>Oil and thoughtlessness on canvas, surrounded by wood.</div><div>If this were art then the medium would be blood. </div><div><br /></div><div>Further along come flashes of disembodied colour,</div><div>"Man, this lad must've suffered."</div><div>- Being paid for a botched white wash? </div><div>But still a prayer from a philistine, </div><div>As he worships at this voiceless shrine...</div><div>I pass on, approaching a rabid rush. </div><div><br /></div><div>As I come to a brooding face, </div><div>I'm caught with the stare </div><div>of a long-cold monarch.</div><div>The colour of his flesh has faded toward blackness.</div><div>Immortality, I assume, was the reason,</div><div>Yet the atmosphere has committed treason,</div><div>The last of his legacy evaporated to the air.</div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div>"Vision" </div><div>(c. Now) my imagination on mental illness.</div><div>With half closed eyes -</div><div>The kings face becomes mine -</div><div>The colour bleeds from my cheeks -</div><div>And the corridor reeks -</div><div>Of nothing at all.</div><div>Here comes the fall. </div><div><br /></div><div>My blood pools on the ground,</div><div>And seeps up the walls. </div><div>The beige and glass become my scarlet surrounds.</div><div>Fervently my paw dives into my pocket,</div><div>The content mauled,</div><div>Before it re-emerges, with incendiary intention,</div><div>And I become the mains socket.</div><div><br /></div><div>From my fingers- come a flame,</div><div>From the flame- comes ablaze,</div><div>As all my blood just fuels a fire</div><div>And the ascendant time to expire,</div><div>With my flesh melting into the ground where I belong, </div><div>The breasts of the women boil their farewell song,</div><div>And the coppice burns as it surely must,</div><div>I find my only useful form:</div><div>As dust. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-6755442367269368654?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-13005130608821502622011-04-03T00:56:00.017+01:002011-04-03T12:59:46.015+01:00<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; ">Apropos of nothing, the heroes get their parade<br />Whilst the dead are met by the grave.<div style="line-height: 20px; ">Ticked off and forgot, </div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">With flecks of tape,</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">The final fatalities fall to the parting shots,</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">Marked by the failure to finish, and a failure to escape,</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">With anything but dignity.</div><div style="line-height: 20px; "><br /></div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">Yet the victors malinger a sense of pride</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">and a philious rebirth-</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">From nothing it was magnified, </div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">And precisely nothing is what it's worth.</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">Without grace,</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">Without awareness,</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">Arrogance infests success's resting place.</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">The moment of greatness has already flickered,</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">By the moment their face has even snickered.</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">When the marathon has been run </div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">And the lap of honour has begun:</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">Every step is disconnected,</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">Every breath is disconnected,</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">and no achievement should be respected. </div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">It's all recorded in this broken tape.</div><div style="line-height: 20px; "><br /></div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">Those cheers of the billion,</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">They drown the sorrows of the million</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">That are left to the shade</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">Of a foreign pavilion</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">With their rusted crusade </div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">And a single consolation: That there still might be time.</div><div style="line-height: 20px; "><br /></div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">And indeed there will be time. </div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">There will be time. There will be time.</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">But will there be <i style="line-height: 20px; font-style: italic; "><b style="line-height: 20px; font-weight: bold; ">my</b> </i>time?</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">Haste to haste with attending lords,</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">After the cups and the gatorade,</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">After the trophies, the crossed swords,</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">After every story is dressed as pre-ordained,</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">Will it be worth the suffering?</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">When the firework's flicker was pre-ordained?</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">And despite the fight, will it be worth the struggling</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">When my ashes are pre-ordained?</div><div style="line-height: 20px; "><br /></div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">There's no choice but to button up the hatches,</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">And hide the flesh,</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">In funeral dress,</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">And march towards a certain demise,</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">As this triumphant moment and this triumphant memory is certain to die.</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">We'll endeavour to be better</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">For no reason whatsoever,</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">Since exertion is all that's left to give</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">And all this blood just wants to live</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">And find a distant cousin's covering it's owner's hands.</div><div style="line-height: 20px; "><br /></div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">My angle may be obtuse</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">Or may be acute,</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">But the shape I trace is still an oval.</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">The shape I trace is still an ellipse...</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">And the conditions of my boundary will always be fixed...</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">The champions' triumph is always over.</div><div style="line-height: 20px; ">And the conditions of my boundary were always fixed...</div><div style="line-height: 20px; "><br /></div><div style="line-height: 20px; "><i style="line-height: 20px; font-style: italic; ">Always falling short. </i></div></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-1300513060882150262?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-65817781914689975672011-02-20T18:08:00.008Z2011-02-20T20:23:37.312ZA man approaches dressed in the finest thousand pound Saville Row suit crafted from the finest detritus from the floor of a sheep's hair-dressers. <div><br /></div><div>He asks me in a cut glass faux middle class accent of accessibility, focus grouped and demographically treated to maximise polling station returns: "So, what do you do?" </div><div><br /></div><div>I utter a response typed in a dis-charmingly understated A<i>pethetica S</i><i>ans Surprise </i>font to the nada.</div><div><br /></div><div>The cunt in sheep's clothing's demeanour transforms from bland and platitudinous to malevolent and sincere loathing. "Are you actively seeking work?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Unless you work for the job centre, no." His cheeks redden to the colour of rage tinted with chronic alcohol and chemical peel dependence.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Why not?" he asks with a photogenic degree of finishing school of contempt emanating from his fat-coated larynx and press-officer.</div><div><br /></div><div>I survey the landscape and am overwhelmed by a nameless dread to be elaborated upon as I see every man, woman and youth thoughtlessly career hysterically towards a better day and their graves.</div><div><br /></div><div>I see the finest minds working 9 to 5 in the neon contrived-light of an open-plan, close-minded office, nameless, line-by-line, staring at blank screens plotting their comfortable deaths. </div><div><br /></div><div>And I see politicians and Prime Ministers wearing suits like the suit in my path, with money and power outnumbering the price of their sense but not with a quantity surpassing their degree in bullshit and hereditary privilege from Oxbridge. </div><div><br /></div><div>And I see CEO's with time ten-thousand times more valuable per second than the people who clean their shit from their Ivory toilet seat and their inboxes, but with breaths as much a waste of nothing oxide.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I see accusations printed in size sixty million, fit for the front of the Daily Mail, divide and rule- captioned with hate, baseless, labelling minnows of being leeches in a world where success is through the exploitation of another and inducing their loss; And where all currency was bought as it should be sold; And where savers are only saving themselves as they self-righteously sit on their stagnant sixty-k somewhere off the shore.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I see those willing to do a job that would employ my mind in a chronic state of degradation, with their faces etched in desperation eclipsing mine with a fine line between them and profound deprivation. </div><div><br /></div><div>And I elaborate, with biblical petulance and reciprocal contempt:</div><div><br /></div><div>"You aren't the boss of me, who's the boss of you? The one with the brown-nosed extra added value per hour at the cost of his own self worth, respect and competency.</div><div><br /></div><div>"The one who society and a cosmic dice-roll have decreed as having a life worth more than yours and mine, as is written in ink on a terminally bound, blood-signed contract: Your superior?</div><div><br /></div><div>"The one who accused the fraudulent beneficiary of 60 pounds a week a thief; The beneficiary of a tax-free, soft-play, gratitudinous kick back from the City of London?</div><div><br /></div><div>"The one who's stole his self satisfied legacy, that he will have to decay to see, from us- as he encourages us all, whilst dying, to craft a better future to enjoy with a corpse in grade-C1 socially-conditioned servitude?</div><div><br /></div><div>"The one who orders us all, through the prodigious skill of white wash, to give our lives for a job we would not die for?</div><div><br /></div><div>"The one who, with a dramatic puff of illogic whilst smoking a cigarette bought from a Phillipino duty-free, and with completely unconvincing conviction; calls himself 'right'?"</div><div><br /></div><div>The cunt in sheep's clothing responds, after a pause to wheeze in a lung full of air, by parroting the party line, with a voice befitting his dress. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-6581778191468997567?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-29073310121963033412010-12-31T16:30:00.008Z2010-12-31T17:45:52.384ZThis tried detested medication,<div>So close to discontention.</div><div>I'm rubbish to ape some refuse human. </div><div>This, simply what nature selects;</div><div>How tragic are these deaths?</div><div>Considered gifts to evolution.</div><div>Recycled like every revolution.</div><div>Silence-suicide-sterility.</div><div>Choose pills, choose chat. No choice: not to choose. </div><div>All the symptoms smell the same.</div><div>Decomposure- In company, in pain,</div><div>As I deserve to be,</div><div>Beginning to end. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-2907331012196303341?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-25293766739437448582010-12-31T16:22:00.005Z2010-12-31T16:36:35.645ZThis tried and tested intervention; <div>the close of this contention.</div><div>I refuse to ape some rubbish human.</div><div>Simply what nature selects,</div><div>How tragic are these breaths?</div><div>Considered gifts of evolution,</div><div>Recycled like every revolution.</div><div>Silence - Solitude - Sterility,</div><div>Choose pills, choose life, no choice not to choose,</div><div>All the symptoms smell the same,</div><div>The composure, in company, in pain.</div><div>As I deserve to be,</div><div>Beginning to end. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-2529376673943744858?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-37529098968347319612010-11-17T15:47:00.005Z2010-11-17T16:00:47.324ZKidney clutching fetid fetus,<div>Pitied in disdain, takes the piss.</div><div>Please Take the Piss.</div><div>Internal ache. I gathered corone corvus.</div><div>Livid and libidinous - Chokes - Resist.</div><div>Please don't resist. </div><div>Sex infects as a latrine nauseates, suffocates.</div><div>Insitigates a usual tension. Another glandular crush.</div><div>Please don't crush.</div><div>The spreading sores, eager to please, irritates. </div><div>Writhe the time away in faint ignorance. Don't Worry. Just flush.</div><div>Please just flush.</div><div><br /></div><div>But you never wanted anybody sadder than yourself and pleased everyone but you so you could fulfill your own egotistical urge to be held in esteem rather than be held at all and the organs burn as they play a tune of their own accord whilst slumped with no backbone you purposelessly press all the wrong keys and hit the wrong button and yourself up the bracket and up the arse-end of empathy and generosity is giving yourself away because you don't want to give yourself away but you must be seen to give yourself away and that's generosity that's yours insincerely,</div><div><br /></div><div>Your bladder,</div><div>Your spleen, </div><div>Your back (stabbed),</div><div>Your kidney (stoned),</div><div>Your cock,</div><div>Your disappointment.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-3752909896834731961?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-49427066667453186382010-09-12T19:51:00.012+01:002010-09-13T14:45:04.382+01:00<div>GP Self-centred trinity:</div><div>The father, the son, the holy ghost.</div><div>They say 'practice makes perfect,'</div><div>Prefects perfect generality.</div><div>The wounded wolf who cried out sheep,</div><div>Warded by shards of elusive sleep,</div><div>Shivering, de-furred, veins exposed -</div><div>Petty self-portrait, selfish composed.</div><div><div><br /></div><div>Salvation is submission,</div><div>To a god I don't understand.</div><div>The bruises remain on battered hands,</div><div>Prescription reeks of crucifixion.</div></div><div><br /></div><div><div>Love parasites plague liberty: </div><div>The cure, the ally of the ailment.</div><div>They say 'it's how to save a life,'</div><div>Lusting a twisted nobility.</div><div>The alpha and the omega-3,</div><div>Base dyscalclia stained livery.</div><div>Post-doctorate salvation,</div><div>Twelve step Asimov assimilation.</div></div><div><div><br /></div><div>Some say I'm as well:</div><div>I'm a 'physician' too,</div><div>Symptomatic deep-thinking, </div><div>Yet Bruises on hands still remain,</div><div>Morning: the death of another day.</div><div>Resurrecting obliterates meaning.</div><div>Wronging rites the force-fed death-bed conversion,</div><div>And the man in the wheelchair's the arrogant one?</div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-4942706666745318638?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-18422088746750906362010-09-01T16:09:00.004+01:002010-09-01T23:51:45.337+01:00A life and mind reduced to dramatic lines,<div>And a heart of black camouflaged in the backdrop.</div><div>A thirst for freedom.</div><div>A thirst for forever. </div><div>A thirst for love. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-1842208874675090636?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-15775820165549084642010-08-22T19:09:00.007+01:002010-08-22T19:36:33.650+01:00Let the army approach-<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span></span></span></span>I’ll stand alone.<br />They clutch their bastard swords,<br />Bound to their Baron’s throne,<br />But I have my axe and wulfen clothes,<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span></span></span></span>And I have my cause.<br /><br />Blinded by delusion –<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span></span></span></span>Keeps me alive.<br />Alone I face the hordes,<br />And swing my axe and scythe,<br />To stall for reform before the fight,<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span></span></span></span>With no dream of reward.<br /><br />Fuelled by feudal angst –<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span></span></span></span>Compassioned hate.<div>Beyond the sick-house wards,<div><div>Bring the blood, clean their slate,<br />The only cure: To eviscerate,<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span></span></span></span>These slaves to ‘evil lords.<br /><br />My fate lies here, I know-<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span></span></span>On this bridge, slain.<br />Holding a lonely ford,<br />I’m mortally insane,<br />The solo soldier armed with disdain,<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></span></span></span>And hope of hope restored.<div><br /></div></div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-1577582016554908464?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-66518114333097395092010-08-20T00:00:00.010+01:002010-08-20T17:17:12.333+01:00Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? <div>Thou art more sticky and more desperate.</div><div>Violent winds shake the acrid smell of hay,</div><div>And summer's o'er-stayed by the second date.</div><div>My eyes have to squint to behold your face,</div><div>And its not the shine divine of your span;</div><div>Nor a simple stare to liven the chase,</div><div>I'm just scared of the glare from your fake-tan. </div><div>Summer must pass swifter than all seasons,</div><div>Or parch each tree to a sterile splinter.</div><div>In you swing with no escape, no reason, </div><div>With more death than spring, more pain than winter.</div><div>So long as you cling, clam, suffocate me,</div><div>So long the drought extends because of thee. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-6651811433309739509?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-2172007191627316182010-08-16T23:12:00.008+01:002010-08-22T23:51:36.813+01:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">All </span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">precious</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> tones don't have to glitter, </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">But those pixels mix a pretty picture. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Close my eyes and count to twenty-three, </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Dark deafens screams of an artist empty. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Escape from this fools gold fantasy,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Faithful, disappointing, drowning belief. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Twenty-one, Twenty-two, Twenty-hurry.</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-217200719162731618?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-63646387410810205232010-08-10T01:28:00.005+01:002010-08-10T02:04:12.054+01:00A brush with death, so the devil's lies sold.<div>Close? Too far? The demon's in the distance.</div><div>As my blood abandons this sinking ship,</div><div>Over razor rocks stood like broken teeth, </div><div>This vessels soul owner ceases to be me-</div><div><br /></div><div>The sails are snapped and skeleton shorn, </div><div>In the end the Wood belongs to the sea. </div><div>Hot air shakes me at the death of the storm,</div><div>And a bitter taste remains, laced with pain.</div><div>Freedom's flown, leaving me and me alone,</div><div>A slave to fortune, to you, to the sea.</div><div>Setting out sanguine and ending the same,</div><div>Each journey's made with intrepidation.</div><div>This mortal toil is path independent,</div><div>Whatever your route, same destination.</div><div>An inch is a mile when life is apart, </div><div>Each heartbeat drops at destiny's mercy.</div><div>Everyday's another dance with decay,</div><div>And each scrape is just another embrace.</div><div>So 'A brush with death?' flap my limey gums.</div><div>'I'm dead in the end, was dead all along.'</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-6364638741081020523?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-50179602821894905622010-07-27T01:15:00.012+01:002010-07-27T13:15:03.839+01:00First they came for the culture,<div>Unelected, blue feathered vultures,</div><div>Condeming us to dock and dole,</div><div>Keen on the regime of reversing roles. </div><div><br /></div><div>Third person Tory genocide, </div><div>Hypocritic oath - How rich?! - They decide:</div><div>"It's tough times for everybody</div><div>(Save the caviar please Jeeves, more classic hegemony)"</div><div><br /></div><div>Castrating the few avenues,</div><div>Of complaint, we're left with no truth to choose,</div><div>Now where do I get radicalised?</div><div>Down beneath the 'Big Society' sign?</div><div><br /></div><div>Exceptions reverse the rules, or try,</div><div>Mowed down by tanks towing the party line.</div><div>Now disaffection's the plague, the flood,</div><div>Above all, beside all, there will be blood.</div><div><br /></div><div>Third person Tory genocide,</div><div>Ignored by the ignorant, patronised.</div><div>Only power exists to prolong itself, to protect those few.</div><div>Now the poor have come for you.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-5017960282189490562?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-33158129860970599182010-03-06T13:37:00.006Z2010-03-10T13:36:11.972ZSex injects like local anaesthetic.<br />Moans and screams become my new aesthetic.<br />Intimate? More mutal masturbation.<br />Co-operotic asphyxiation.<br /><br />After every binge are the same remains:<br />Empty vessels, bad taste, dead cells and stains.<br />All thought is burnt in the flames of desire.<br />Indulgent guilt the ashes of the fire.<br /><br />Like orgasmic organic opiates,<br />Addiction-cum-withdrawl post-infiltrate.<br />The deception was the touch of lips.<br />My lap weren't empty 'til filled with your hips.<br /><br />The only cold turkey is probably me,<br />To retire restraint even just for a week.<br />Not hard to 'have not' what you never had.<br />To win to know you'll lose is fucking mad.<br /><br />Now, my cravings sing for sterility.<br />The absence of interaction for me.<br />Inmate? There's a vacancy in my place.<br />And I prune all expression from my face.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(Now all that remains is anger and hate...)</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-3315812986097059918?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-69587994739322207542010-01-28T04:27:00.005Z2010-01-28T04:46:18.620ZHe picks up a bone,<br />Brings it to the bars.<br />And the ape looks up,<br />Longing to the stars.<br />The steel rings out one,<br />A division bell.<br />And the bars now change,<br />To the gates of hell.<br /><br />But he has his suit,<br />And he has his tie.<br />And a guarantee,<br />He'll naturally die.<br />No more struggling,<br />Even less is strife.<br />And now he can wank,<br />Or can fuck his wife.<br /><br />Captive conception,<br />The cage now demands.<br />And all else is sin,<br />With such time at hand.<br />So he drops his bone,<br />Knocks up missus ape.<br />And nine months pass,<br />She's behind white drapes.<br /><br />Then wailing screaming,<br />A desperate act.<br />And a tiny shape,<br />Emerges intact.<br />"You put me back in!",<br />The baby ape cries.<br />And adds,<br />"I do not, want to be alive!"<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-6958799473932220754?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-31135950756245317212010-01-23T15:43:00.004Z2010-01-23T15:55:23.617Z<span style="font-style: italic;">It's...</span><br /><br />Hidden. The beast sleeps,<br />Beneath the covers,<br />Lips pressed to cheeks.<br /><br />Frozen. Like stone idols,<br />Stifling their faces,<br />Homicidal.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">He's...</span><br /><br />Broken. His escape,<br />Is shaped by 'lovers',<br />Trade fact for fake.<br /><br />Woken. A desperate sap,<br />Dragged to his doom,<br />Led by his lap.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-3113595075624531721?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-37411205058521006352010-01-08T18:08:00.005Z2010-01-08T22:39:30.026ZEvery persons a patient.<br />Choke, choke, choke, till the croak.<br />Cadaver clean-up aisle Four:<br />Cosmetics, meds, no cures.<br />This is your life,<br />Ending one cell a time.<br /><br />EST by CRT.<br />How free range is a sheep?<br />A hypodermic syringe,<br />An alcohol-free binge.<br />"Trapped" ain't the right word,<br />But it's first to mind.<br /><br />These pretty prison palaces,<br />Furnished like old folks homes,<br />With zombies talking in tongues,<br />Everyday a re-run.<br />Living my life,<br />On the Broca Divide.<br /><br />Surrender sin salvation.<br />Give your mind, receive sanity.<br />Open eyes never awake,<br />Wash cold sweat from your face.<br />Another morning,<br />Again, It's baptism time...<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-3741120505852100635?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-38829974091428557972010-01-05T22:55:00.004Z2010-01-05T23:04:10.867ZSelf absorbed in self hate.<br />Vanity taught by life's little games.<br />Self obsessed by my flaws.<br />Distracting me from all of yours.<br />Self controlled. Self detonate.<br />Living a habit I wanna break.<br />Self destruct a third party plan.<br />Finishing off what they began.<br /><br />No time for love.<br />No room for you.<br />I dont trust me.<br />So why trust you.<br /><br />Self avoid, and self project.<br />Demonised to Deamonette.<br />Self deceived, too confused.<br />All my views belong to you.<br />Self realise then self restraint.<br />Love was just adolescent hate.<br />Self prescribed, standard shame.<br />In the end, No one won the game.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-3882997409142855797?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-60065271689180131742009-12-28T20:02:00.004Z2009-12-28T20:27:30.068ZScreaming,<br />We're Born,<br />Or've already died.<br />At age nine, we learn,<br />To turn screams to sighs.<br /><br />Kissing,<br />We miss,<br />We even exist.<br />At ten and six, Desire,<br />Too cheap to resist.<br /><br />Fucking,<br />We fall,<br />Forget we're alive.<br />At ten plus nine, we're dead,<br />Just passing the time.<br /><br />Crying,<br />We kiss,<br />Arts cold blue lips.<br />At twenty-one, we mourn,<br />The dreaming now gone.<br /><br />Nothing,<br />We slip,<br />Into a shallow grave.<br />At an early age, we merge,<br />With the world we should've changed.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-6006527168918013174?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-49014499504950843482009-12-27T11:20:00.010Z2009-12-27T12:24:33.025ZKnocked back,<br />Another liquid lobotomy.<br />Boring holes in boring thoughts.<br />Slurring speech.<br />Madcap laughs to Madcap screams.<br />To the blank silence.<br />The sound of drums:<br /><br />Insanity.<br /><br />Insanity.<br /><br />Insanity.<br /><br />Is this Insanity?<br />Or just making sense?<br />Was this happiness?<br />Or forgetting regret?<br /><br />Dancing up the ire escape.<br />Drums silenced by surgical tape.<br /><br />Then:<br />The barren fill,<br />Before the breakdown.<br />The rumble of thunder,<br />Before it pours down.<br />A pint of paraffin,<br />With white wine head.<br />A shock of lightning -<br />Not ready for bed.<br /><br />Send away the tigers.<br /><br />Pat the black dog on my shoulder.<br /><br />I could be Hancock, Hicks or Reznor,<br />Or Reed. Or Shirley.<br />But no, I'm just not fucking real!<br />(Then maybe that's how I want to feel?)<br /><br />This is no problem 'cause it is my problem.<br />And it's just fucking sad!<br /><br /><span class="status-body"><span class="entry-content">General anaesthetic,<br />Asinine, anodyne,<br />Aberrative</span></span> and alveolate.<br /><br />The vacant visage,<br />Of victory over image.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Voraciously:</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Down another whiskey!</span><br /><br />And the horror film fades to yesterday,<br />Yet remains non-fiction,<br />This was Cinéma vérité.<br /><br />Ready to reprise with the next sunrise:<br /><br />Knocked back,<br />Another liquid lobotomy.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Only sex... and sadness... should have a sequel. </span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-4901449950495084348?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-71575528546650246702009-12-21T17:03:00.004Z2009-12-21T17:33:55.725ZIn the dying snow,<br />One can only surely step,<br />Where no one else has.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-7157552854665024670?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-91469868056387544252009-12-20T05:08:00.008Z2009-12-20T06:43:00.334ZSo should I pretend:<br />Shall we just play clowns,<br />Paint our faces red,<br />Smiles just made up frowns?<br /><br />Swallow what you sell:<br />This forced smile I see,<br />An existential,<br />Pompous piety?<br /><br />In any weather:<br />Wave my arms in time,<br />Hands tied together,<br />Matter over mind?<br /><br />Dangle from the sky:<br />Chilly dungeon chains,<br />Laugh like getting by,<br />Red-shifting the pain?<br /><br />In the laugh forget:<br />Man dressed as boy?<br />This just leaves regret,<br />My life lost in joy.<br /><br />I can't just believe:<br />This what I've never seen,<br />Smiling faith is not me,<br />Only sadness is real.<br /><br />I know you fake it sweetie:<br />Lying is when your lips lift.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-9146986805638754425?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-49900421732155733252009-12-19T15:17:00.004Z2009-12-19T15:36:21.621ZEyes glazed open by fragments of sleep,<br />Caught under nails, clawing out of reach.<br />When my lashes lock I can't help but see,<br />You watching me in the periphery.<br />We could flash and flame like feu d'artifice,<br />Fiery subterfuge the words I resist.<br /><br />Love conquers only what's left of your soul.<br />Love is when you die before you get old.<br /><br />Sadness sewn from crastinaphobia,<br />And the fear of freedom being over.<br />The umbilical cord needs to be cut,<br />Like the love song once wrote for luck.<br />A lion in a cage is just a cat,<br />And a life alone is a life intact.<br />To deprive of me is retribution,<br />Solitude is the only solution.<br /><br />Love conquers only what's left of your soul.<br />Love is when you die before you get old.<br />Love is obsession, envy, loneliness.<br />Love is a state to which we regress.<br /><br />I don't need someone else to die for my sins.<br />I don't need a hand to hold as I pull the pin.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-4990042173215573325?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-67354623090982778562009-12-18T01:07:00.006Z2009-12-18T01:34:48.041ZAs the snow covers the leaves long shed,<br />By skeletal statues of trees undead,<br />Gaia hides the death and the decay,<br />Whilst laughing children come out to play.<br /><br />The slender divide, pristine purity,<br />An inch thick between a foot and the shite.<br />A million unique kisses heaven sent,<br />A half day distraction from endless blight.<br /><br />To draw breath is to draw pain, to suffer,<br />To live, to survive, and decidedly die.<br />And kisses hang like snow covered corpses,<br />immaculate imitations of blissful life.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-6735462309098277856?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-85809395097788192342009-12-17T00:58:00.002Z2009-12-17T01:02:48.504Z<span style="font-style: italic;">"I wonder who you think you are. You must damn well think you're god or summat. God gives life. God taketh it away. Not you. I think you are the Devil hiself"</span><br /><br />Forget not forgive.<br />Death and let live.<br />Turn the other eye.<br />Don't photograph their cheeks.<br /><br />Your Yorkshire Ripper,<br />Yorkshire Terrier.<br />Just a misbehaving dog.<br />An attention seeking hog.<br /><br />It's just Immoral Panic.<br />Just Illogical thought.<br />Five Immortal words,<br />'Save the judgement for court.'<br /><br />Bloodlust breeds blood.<br />Bodycounts add up.<br />Hindley's Huntley's mum.<br />Shipman Sutcliffe's son.<br /><br />So see no evil.<br />So hear no evil.<br />So speak no evil.<br />Then another fucked up soul.<br />Won't kill to live forever.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> "Not punish less, rise the pain</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> Sterilise rapists, all I preach is extinction</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> <span style="font-weight: bold;">Give them the respect they deserve</span>"</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-8580939509778819234?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-68819513537376247732009-12-14T15:45:00.005Z2009-12-14T16:13:21.290ZWatch me as I fail then.<br />Do you really think I give a shit,<br />You jumped up spineless cunt faced dick!?<br />Everyone fails...<br /><br />Survival is a lifetime's goal,<br />every body dies, every soul.<br />I submit myself to decay,<br />you're too late, this was yesterday.<br /><br />Bend our broken necks back and laugh,<br />a vapid vision of men who're half.<br />You can't win when I wanna lose,<br />You cant win when you just fucking lost!<br /><br />Do you really think I give a shit?<br />Do you recall the point of all this?<br /><br />The words echo from time forlorn,<br />The day when this star was reborn:<br />"Laugh at me, go on laugh at me...<br />Be my sycophantasy?"<br /><br />Welcome to your own personal hell...<br /><br />Do you recall the point of all this?<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">You dont like me. You are my bitch.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-6881951353737624773?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-57446546289721344932009-12-14T05:56:00.007Z2009-12-14T06:48:27.626ZA Table, a Ladder, a Chair, Oh my,<br />such tender loving care to fly,<br />to break oak tables with my back,<br />to reel as red is rendered black.<br /><br />I'll place my palm in gravity's<br />and leap from lifes complexities,<br />and everything just disappears,<br />misguided hopes fade as fears.<br /><br />A man can roll right out the way,<br />or launch me from my ladder stay.<br />Helpless is my title belt,<br />Control to be just what I felt.<br /><br />Just all the pain, in the past,<br />As from the ladder I am cast,<br />Or the kiss of steel upon my face,<br />consciousness by chairs is chased.<br /><br />My dream is for it all to clear,<br />Vulnerable as the earth grows near,<br />nowt but gasps and dark-screen applause,<br />then white light of the hospital ward.<br /><br />A Table, a Ladder, a Chair, Oh my,<br />such tender loving care to fly,<br />to let control be what I lack,<br />to reel as red is rendered black.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-5744654628972134493?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-900038184373089642009-12-12T18:46:00.003Z2009-12-12T18:50:11.703ZThis morning, he woke up to see her face. In that moment of regained consciousness, he chastised himself for daring to close his eyes for even a second and missing any possible glimpse of her, his Nala. His girlfriend. But as his eyes fell upon her waking gaze, he knew she was ok. A stiff smile overcame his Lion jaws... He pressed his lion smile, his lion lips, against her lion cheek then gruffly whispered "I love you Nala" below his lion breath.<br /><br />Even the coldest of killers can do cute... With the right mate...<br />Even the strongest of lions can be brought to his knees... by the right lioness...<br />And this one was his weakness.<br /><br />The night previous they'd watched a film. With paws wrapped firm around their sides on his side, he thought it would explain him better to her. But in his lionheart, he knew she already knew. She already knew him. It felt like love. Speaking in sighs, talking through their eyes.<br /><br />If lions had a wavelength... theirs would be the same.<br />Their wavelength.<br /><br />Paw in paw, later that morn. The couple strode to the college campus to watch the Ducks. Roary dreaming of a bowl, filled with roses: Red tipped white roses ot be exact. Flowers. He'd love to give her flowers. Flowers and flesh. With all the majesty and power he felt in his muscles, he still had the urge to give flowers to the lioness he loved.<br /><br />She was his princess. One day he could be king.<br /><br />The pair returned to their pride and there they barely uttered a word all day. They didnt need to, they knew all that was needed to know. That he loved her, and she loved him, and that they could be together forever. Roary, was afraid of chasing her love away though, he would speak when spoken to in the hope that she'd never stop speaking to him. It's what she required of him, he'd try his best to stay strong, and speak in sighs. Because he knew that's what she needed.<br /><br />However, he knew he couldnt stay strong for long.<br />Even though thats what she needs.<br />Because this lioness brings him to his knees.<br />The second his lioness caves, he will too.<br />The second her lion caves, she might do too.<br />And two lions will cave together.<br /><br />He would blurt out everything that was crossing his mind, the second she so much as twitched like she were opening her mouth.<br /><br />"Im so glad you chose me to be yours. Im the luckiest lion alive. Now I remember what its like to be happy, and it's all because of you. Nala. Im happy because of you. And I promise I'll make you happy too."<br /><br />---<br /><br />This is old. Written to cheer me up a few weeks ago... <a href="http://dailybooth.com/Snoops/1839995">here</a>... And to cheer me up, well that's why I read it now.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-90003818437308964?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-6450705686018594372009-12-11T16:29:00.003Z2009-12-11T16:40:47.539ZBehind the house, our neighbourhood star falls,<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Fusion powered fusion, linking us all,</span><br />A fall to rise, to burn, tomorrow once more.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">the dusk for you is another man's dawn.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-645070568601859437?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-29542481896792913302009-12-10T19:37:00.010Z2009-12-11T04:29:55.155ZI travel in a single line, and drift like light that shifts through time, whilst casting shade on what's behind, and keeping what's in front in mind, and it never stops never sleeps, as a pause alone is for the weak, and like a wolf dressed as a sheep, a boy who's tears are his peak, as joy is pain just unrefined, and to calm the storm is just a sign, I travel in a single line...<br />Until I lose what I can't re-find.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">... "Forwards ever, Backwards never."</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-2954248189679291330?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-29638053207768511222009-12-09T15:52:00.003Z2009-12-09T16:06:48.737ZThis could be my tombstone,<br />Digital ash in a digital urn.<br />Just charred scraps of a life force burnt,<br />In the flames of all lifes hurt.<br /><br />A brittle brand at the top,<br />cheap counterfeit content in the middle,<br />And at the bottom:<br />Only me.<br /><br />It's only me.<br /><br />Cheap fertiliser,<br />ground in Yorkshire,<br />from shit and broken battlefield bones.<br />My skull shall be my legacy.<br />As my soul takes flight to be free.<br /><br />This could be my tombstone.<br />This could be my legacy.<br />And if one day I cease to be,<br />All that will be left of me,<br />Will be my skull.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-2963805320776851122?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-76950540588693272442009-12-08T19:11:00.004Z2009-12-08T19:26:31.749Z<span>Owen Groves<br />Nouse Feature</span><br />Muse Supplement<br />8th December 2009<br /><p>Look around you. The list of things that might kill you is getting awfully long.If it’s not the MMR vaccine, it’ll be the HPV vaccine. If it’s not the HPV vaccine, it’ll be swine flu. If it’s not swine flu, it’ll be getting sucked into a black hole created by CERN. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.nouse.co.uk/wp-content/article_images/body/2009/12/cern-5-july.jpg-300"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 272px;" src="http://www.nouse.co.uk/wp-content/article_images/body/2009/12/cern-5-july.jpg-300" alt="" border="0" /></a>If you dodge the Swiss black hole of oblivion, a nuclear power plant will probably be exploding just down the road. And, if you are fortunate enough to avoid all of these various demises, global warming will probably get you. Ironically, many of the threats seem to be rearing their ugly heads fast and frequently from that bastion of progress: science itself. The advances intended to save and improve our lives seemingly do the opposite, or so the increasingly intense media scare-storms may lead you to believe. Is the furore necessary? Is it for valid public information on new and risky scientific endeavours? Or is coverage crossing the line into irresponsible hyperbole?</p> <p>The media is invaluable for getting information out to the masses. Their stories have an enormous effect on public opinion. Nowhere is this more prevalent than in health matters. Unfortunately, there have been a number of media misfires in recent years.</p> <p>The greatest health scandal of the last decade surrounded the combined measles, mumps and rubella (MMR) vaccine and its alleged link to autism, which broke as a story in 2001. The medical paper that originally purported the link was published by Dr. Andrew Wakefield a full three years before the story gathered full momentum. Precious few of the pieces mentioned the overwhelming evidence against a link. They also neglected to take into account the fact that Dr. Wakefield’s study was simply an anecdotal discussion of just 12 children; a tiny fraction of the millions of children vaccinated and the two people per 1000 of the population with autism.</p> <p>A single study with a sample so small is not capable of proving a link between two occurrences this common. However, the media put its full power behind the study, and in a stunning display of selective deafness, they began finding anti-vaccination lobbyists to support their new thesis. Coverage degenerated into a slew of sob stories, as mother after mother was ‘betrayed’ by science. Uptake of the vaccine fell by 20%, causing several epidemics and five reported deaths from an easily prevented disease.</p> <p>In 2006, coverage turned. A powerful study found no link between measles RNA (similar to DNA) in children with regressive autism and the MMR vaccination. The vaccine was re-branded as safe and Dr. Wakefield was vilified for destroying its reputation and endangering a generation. The media’s hero became the villain. But the irresponsible reporting was the real enemy, having used one man to cause an eight-year scandal.</p> <p>This year, history threatened to repeat itself with the cervical cancer jab (HPV). In September, a schoolgirl died shortly after receiving the inoculation, triggering a cascade of stories questioning its safety. Three days later, it was revealed that the girl’s tragic death was a coincidence, caused by underlying health problems. HPV was safe once more. However, when Googling “HPV vaccine” two months later, the top result (behind the NHS website and Wikipedia page) was The Guardian’s story, “Schoolgirl dies after cervical cancer vaccination”.</p> <p>Dangers remain in the public consciousness for a long time. The media cannot be blamed for this. Despite sometimes overreacting, it has a duty to warn the public over possible dangers. But newspapers can be blamed for the lasting impact of the stories. One Daily Express front page exclaimed “JAB ‘AS DEADLY AS THE CANCER’”. However, when Dr. Ben Goldacre questioned the quoted Dr. Diane Harper for his Bad Science column in The Guardian, she claimed, “I did not say that Cervarix was as deadly as cervical cancer.” The entire story was based on a misquote.</p> <p>Whilst the media rashly jumped to spurious conclusions on both occasions, they can be easily forgiven for how they initially reacted. It could be a matter of life and death. But once situations have been clarified, they struggle to release their views as fast as they should, turning to a mixture of misquotes and select-the-source-to-suit-the-conclusion-syndrome. The irresponsibility of media coverage in itself has become a matter of public health.</p> <p>It’s not just health that can become a matter of mortality when viewed through the prism of the press. In recent years the world of physics has become a world of Armageddons, with the European Centre for Nuclear Research (CERN)’s newest toy, the Large Hadron Collider (LHC), centre-stage.</p> <p>The LHC is a particle accelerator that aims to smash protons together at higher energies than ever before achieved on Earth. Replicating conditions present during the Big Bang, it aims to search for the Higgs boson, which would help to explain the origin of mass in the universe. Safety concerns began to surface when three men – two non-physicists and one adversary of particle accelerators – attempted to halt its initiation. They believed that the collisions might create micro-black holes that would rapidly grow and consume the Earth. However, two safety reviews had already deemed the LHC safe. Any black holes formed would evaporate away through Hawking radiation. In any case, thousands of higher energy collisions occur above us in the atmosphere every day. No black hole apocalypse has yet occurred.</p> <p>Nevertheless, as ‘Big Bang Day’ approached, slight statements of standard scientific uncertainty were taken as an admission of apocalypse. The Daily Mail managed to print headlines like “Are We All Going to Die Next Wednesday?” and many major news sources followed suit. This culminated in the suicide of a 16-year old girl. When the LHC broke down just before its first collision, the relief was palpable.</p> <p>Whilst not immediately as dangerous to public health as worries over vaccinations, the frenzy surrounding CERN still provoked strong feelings. Scientists received death threats, whilst the ‘rock star’ physicist Brian Cox said “anyone who thinks the LHC will destroy the world is a twat.” But still people asked, “why take the risk?”<br />This point of view could be dangerous and unhealthy for human endeavour. Why shouldn’t we support scientific endeavour if due care is taken? Science is about ploughing the furrows of knowledge in the name of advancement. We cannot be certain of what we will discover in the darkness of ignorance. We theorise, but we can’t know unless we venture there. To constrain ourselves in this way could limit humanity’s future advancement. No new drugs or vaccines would get tested; every good idea would be just an idea. Part of humanity’s success is in its inquisitiveness.</p> <p>Professor Cox’s comment is more than just a display of bravado. The science community functions through intensive systems of peer review. It’s how and why it works. When journals receive scientific papers, they undergo thorough checks for consistency before they are published. The same goes for large experiments. Before they receive funding they must apply to a panel, where scientific merit and safety is analysed.</p> <p>As a community, scientists know what they are doing. This is uncomfortable for some people. Our society is one where everybody has a right to an opinion but this results in the belief that all opinions deserve to be heard on an equal level, despite lack of expertise. This does not hold in science. This is evident in the reporting of the planned new wave of nuclear fission power stations. Whilst concerns about waste management are perfectly valid, at the very mention of the word ‘nuclear’, mushroom clouds seem to form next door to every ‘nuclear’ family in Britain. But there is a massive difference between our reactors and Chernobyl-type death traps. Newer and safer reactors favour passive safety systems with control rods held out of the reactor by electromagnets and considerably reinforced containment building walls. In the loss of power, the control rods simply drop down and this stamps out the nuclear reaction.</p> <p>Another previous hazard was due to bubbles forming in the coolant. Bubbles accelerated the nuclear reactions, causing heating. This caused more bubbles to create a positive feed back loop that lets the reaction run out of control. British Magnox reactors use carbon dioxide gas as a coolant, eliminating positive feedback. These precautions ensure meltdowns are averted, and even if they aren’t, they would be confined inside the plant itself.</p> <p>In a recent report on ‘The One Show’, the increased safety was discussed by a white coat clad expert. Seconds later, we were told by a man, “well, he would say that”. Of course he would: it’s true. It is unsettling when an expert, with all his training, can be dismissed in this way. It can confuse public opinion, cloud facts and reinforce the ‘not in my backyard’ fear of nuclear power.</p> <p>Herein lies the essence of the problem. In the media, any opinion can be presented as having equal weight to those of an expert. Such a level of incongruity makes it difficult to decipher science fact from fear. Panic rules. There is a need for more discerning and considered reporting from journalists and public alike.</p> <p>It also should be noted that previous errors lead to further work in order to prevent repeat occurrences, and to enhance safety now. Science is always improving and learning from itself, but in the news and public eye, it’s a struggle to repair a reputation once damaged. Safety needs to be the focus rather than the danger.</p> <p>The mainstream reporting on the cutting edge of science advances leaves a lot to be desired. The new vaccines and large scale experiments are not as scary as they are made out to be. In fact, all the scandals and scare stories should almost be indicative of their safety. With so many people searching for the next big threat, when something truly is worth worrying about we should know about it. Science is not as scary as it seems when the fear itself is more of a reason to worry.</p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-style: italic;">This article is also available on the Nouse Website http://www.nouse.co.uk/2009/12/08/the-truth-behind-the-tabloids/</span><br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-7695054058869327244?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-7331298877342975502009-12-08T02:41:00.006Z2009-12-08T04:15:37.499ZOut of nothing... Out of nowhere... He appeared.<br /><br />With no ether hidden in the expanses of space for him to exist previously, surely he couldn't be real. He couldn't have just dropped out out of thin air into being. Maybe it was imagination: A flight of fancy, shed its feathers and wings to reveal a single quivering comfortingly vulnerable young man, crouched prone and unclothed on the floor of the girls dorm room. Or maybe it was belief, or longing, something real. Something can't be created out of nothing. Maybe, like photons that take flight to give a home to light, her longing for a prince to come wrest away her loneliness, in a moment, left her. It left, launched by her heart into the air, and once it plummeted to meet the ground, the figure was all that there was to be found. It doesn't matter anyway. He was there, he was now, and as real as the perfectly chiselled Renaissance statue he resembled.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The girl was startled from her slumber, as if she had sensed the sudden change in composition of the shadows surrounding her as she slept. With a dreamy eye, she cast her gaze over him as he stooped there, one knee bent against the cheap carpet, for a while. It felt like a lifetime before he even seemed to breathe. Then all at once he took a deep breath and turned his head towards her, the dark brown eyes as deep as black holes connecting with her delicate features. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">If it was anybody else, she would scream, but there was something about the piercing look that vacuumed up every last shard of her heart and soul... and her voice... and for once, she felt whole. She could do nothing but look back. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">In a swift motion, the mysterious man rose to his full height and strongly, yet gracefully strode towards the girl in her bed. There was no terror or fear of him, the unknown knight, in the girls mind as she found him suddenly standing above her. He extended his smooth, tender palm towards her and it was almost on instinct that she placed her hand in his. Equally, when he guided her to take to her feet beside the bed, she complied. It was as if, this completely illogical occurrence was meant to be. To struggle against him, was to struggle against herself, her destiny, everything she ever desired.</p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Now standing face to face, with right hand resting in left hand, the pair looked into each others eyes. There was a certain symmetry between them, but at the same time, a contrast that led only to harmony. His brown eyes stared into her bright green eyes, his broad shoulders obscured her slender feminine frame and his strong cheekbones were nothing like her soft adorable full, blushing cheeks. </p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Eventually, with his free hand, the mysterious man reached his arm around her back, pulling her closer into his embrace. Without a sound, she wrapped her arms around him, tracing out the contours of his muscular back with her finger tips.<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Time stood still and raced past all at once. Days could fly by as equal as micro seconds as all that mattered was the moment. This moment. With one last dreamy look into each others eyes, they simultaneously closed them, tilting their heads at opposite angles.<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">With pursed lips, their faces approached one another's. As that first contact grew ever nearer time ground ever closer to a halt.<br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">Finally, ecstatically, after what felt like an eternity, their lips touched. A kiss. A brilliant flash of light erupted, that seemed to emanate from the couple themselves. The beam left the window bleeding into the surrounding world. Illuminating it. Yet obscuring the stars themselves with their glow.<br /></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">The blast lasted all too short-a-time. A second that felt like a forever, yet too many forevers too few. That meeting of mouths, always too breif. As the light faded and the girls room was returned to the half light, she, and the man, were no more. </p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-733129887734297550?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-20599076192165817242009-12-07T15:03:00.004Z2009-12-07T15:14:58.452ZIn a closed system. All things tend to Entropy.<br />Our Universe is a closed system.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Every neighbourhood atom will soon move apart.<br />Every partnership forms doomed from the start.</span><br /><br />Because entropy is a measure of disorder.<br />The universe tends to disorder.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Each destined to not leave a mark.<br />Each destined to dance alone in the dark.</span><br /><br />Because entropy is a measure of disorder.<br />The universe tends to disorder.<br />The ultimate disorder consists of everything. <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Everything</span>.<br />Becoming a homogenous smear of energy across the universe.<br />Like perfectly buttered toast.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">All the stars that formed consume themselves</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">All the matter returned to the shelves.</span><br /><br />As every'thing' is slowly converted to pure heat energy<br />Perfectly distributed across the universe.<br />No work can be done. No heat to be had.<br />Just cold. Dark. Dead...<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">This is no unjust law abhorrent</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">This is yours and mines death warrant.</span><br /><br />In a closed system. All things tend to Entropy.<br />Disorder.<br />Chaos.<br />Darkness.<br />Death.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">... Or so some say anyway...</span><br /><br />Just objects, floating in space.<br />So...<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Here I am...</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-2059907619216581724?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-83103765743768891682009-12-06T20:02:00.005Z2009-12-07T01:41:22.146ZToo many sounds,<br />Too little to hear.<br />Happiness a 3 part disharmony.<br />My road will be the low,<br />stepping slowly in soft tones.<br /><br />Too many sounds,<br />Too thoughtful to hear.<br />The World is static buzzing about me. <br />My spectrum will be known,<br />a life lived in baritone. <br /><br />Too many sounds,<br />Too fickle to hear.<br />Raging against human homogony.<br />My intention is to clone,<br />reap myself from what I've sown.<br /><br />Too many sounds,<br />Too brittle to hear.<br />Competing as the crucial contrary.<br />My heart and soul laid out prone,<br />unlike any you've ever known.<br /><br />So many sounds,<br />too fickle to hear.<br />Can I get a little quiet please?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-8310376574376889168?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-84398014888586374382009-12-05T14:36:00.007Z2009-12-06T02:25:20.722ZDon't think I can't see you, <br />sitting on the rocks,<br />stringing me along with your Siren song. <br />A promise of clear blue skies. <br />The promise of my demise. <br />Desire, the devil, the angel, <br />the ponies tied to each arm.<br /><br />It's like I can feel you,<br />pointing to your docks,<br />looping like lassoos that feel owt but wrong.<br />A dream of clamour 'tween your thighs.<br />The dream of love in disguise?<br />Desire, the hopeless, less the hope,<br />the noose tied around my throat.<br /><br />It's like I can hear you,<br />thinking of our clocks,<br />ticking us along urging us to stay strong.<br />A game of play ends exchanging sighs.<br />The game of love lost the lies.<br />Desire, the destroyer, creator,<br />the handcuffs round our wrists.<br /><br />Don't think I can't see you, <br />sitting on the rocks,<br />stringing us along with your Siren song. <br />A promise of clear blue skies. <br />The promise of our demise. <br />Desire, the devil, the angel, <br />the ponies guide me from harm.<br /><br />Once more, unto the breach.<br />Dear deer.<br />Once more.<br />I will fill your heart with my English head.<br />As modest stillness and humility.<br />I will imitate the action of the tiger.<br />A lion.<br />Float on.<br />You and me, on we will float.<br />You and me, we're in the same boat.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-8439801488858637438?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-90444225520922153972009-12-05T04:18:00.002Z2009-12-05T04:21:30.562ZThis makeshift city will comsume your life,<br />for five sweet sunsets of 'good fucking times'.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">...Go out. Get drunk. Find a guilt-free fumble...<br /></span><br />This makeshift city will consume your soul,<br />sold for sex, drugs, rock and roll.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">... Go back. Get home. Then in you can stumble...</span><br /><br />This makeshift city now consumed by fire,<br />and turned to ash by ragin' desire.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">... Get up. Go work. "What a night" you can mumble...</span><br /><br />This makeshift city will consume itself.<br />This makeshift city will consume yourself.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">...Then you've give me the reason to never feel humble...</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-9044422552092215397?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-66175136204750780362009-12-04T03:42:00.003Z2009-12-04T04:00:59.436ZI am strong...<br />Because I know I'm weak.<br /><br />I am a man...<br />Because I know I'm a boy.<br /><br />I am scared...<br />Because I know I'm fearless.<br /><br />I am hopeful...<br />Because I know I'm gonna lose it all.<br /><br />I am human...<br />Because I know I'm a monster.<br /><br />I am lost...<br />Because I know I've been found.<br /><br />I am cool...<br />Because I know I'm a loser.<br /><br />I am cruel...<br />Because I know I'm kind.<br /><br />I am happy...<br />Because I know I'm sad.<br /><br />I am calm...<br />Because I know I'm mad.<br /><br />I am scientific...<br />Because I know I'm confused.<br /><br />I understand...<br />Because I don't comprehend<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-6617513620475078036?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-15657400840123518822009-12-03T07:04:00.007Z2009-12-03T22:46:14.435Z<span style="font-weight:bold;">Look around you</span>, the list of things that might kill, or at least severely damage your health is getting awfully long. If it wasn't the MMR vaccine that killed you, it'll be the HPV vaccine. If it's not the HPV vaccine, it'll be Swine Flu. If it's not Swine Flu, it'll be getting sucked into a CERN created black hole. If you dodge the Swiss-black-hole-of-oblivion, a Nuclear power plant will probably be exploding just down the road. And, if you are fortunate enough to avoid all of these various demises, global warming will probably get you. Ironically, many of the threats seem to be rearing their ugly heads thick and frequently, from that bastion of progress: Science itself. The advances intended to save and improve our lives seemingly do the opposite, or so the increasingly intense mainstream media science scare-storms may lead you to believe. Is the furore for real, warranted public information on new, risky scientific endeavours. Or is coverage crossing the line into irresponsible hyperboles?<br /><br />The media is invaluable for getting information out to the masses. The stories they publish have an enormous effect on public opinion and decisions. This is most prevalent than in health matters. Unfortunately, there has been a number of media misfires in recent years.<br /><br />The greatest health scandal of the last decade surrounded the combined Measles, Mumps and Rubella (MMR) vaccine and an alleged link to Autism, which broke as a story in 2001. The medical paper that originally purported the link was published by Dr. Andrew Wakefield a full 3 years before the story gathered full momentum. Precious few of the pieces mentioned the overwhelming evidence against a link. They also neglected to take into account the fact that Dr. Wakefield's study was simply an anecdotal discussions of just 12 children picked out who had received the MMR vaccine and developed autism. A tiny fraction of the millions of children vaccinated and the 2 people per 1000 of the population with autism. <br /><br />A single study with a sample so small is by no means capable of proving much of anything, let alone a link between two occurrences this common. The media put its full power behind the study however, and in a stunning and near pioneering display of world-class scientific selective deafness, they began finding anti-vaccination lobbyists to support their new thesis. Coverage degenerated from science into a slew of public interest sob stories, as mother after mother was 'betrayed' by science. Uptake of the vaccine fell by 20%, causing several epidemics and 5 reported deaths from an easily repelled disease. <br /><br />In 2006 coverage turned when a powerful study looking for measles RNA in children with regressive autism after the MMR vaccination found no link. The vaccine was re-branded as safe and Dr. Wakefield was vilified for destroying its reputation, endangering a generation. The media's hero became the villain. However, the hyperbolic, incendiary and irresponsible reporting was really the enemy, using one man to cause an Eight-year scandal.<br /><br />This year history threatened to repeat itself with the Cervical cancer jab (HPV). In September a schoolgirl died shortly after receiving the inoculation, triggering a slew of stories questioning it's safety. Three days later it was revealed that the schoolgirl's tragic death was, coincidence, caused by underlying health problems. HPV was safe once more. However, indicative of the way the humanity works, two months later googling “HPV vaccine,” the top result (behind the NHS and wikipedia page) is the Guardians story “Schoolgirl dies after cervical cancer vaccination." <br /><br />Dangers remain in the public consciousness for a long time. The media cannot be blamed for this, despite slightly overreacting, it has a duty to warn the public over possible dangers. The newspapers however, can be blamed for the continuing stories. One Express front page exclaimed “JAB 'AS DEADLY AS THE CANCER.'” When Dr. Ben Goldacre questioned the quoted Dr. Diane Harper for his Guardian Bad Science column, she claimed “I did not say that Cervarix was as deadly as cervical cancer.” The entire story was based on a misquote.<br /><br />Whilst the media rashly jumped to spurious conclusions on both occasions, they can be easily forgiven for reacting. It's a matter of life and death after-all. But once entrenched, they struggle to release their views as fast as they should, turning to a mixture of misquotes, select-the-source-to-suit-the-conclusion-syndrome. The irresponsibility of media coverage in itself became a matter of public health.<br /><br />It's not just health that can become a matter of mortality viewed through the prism of the press. In recent years the world of Physics has become a world of Armageddons, with the European Centre for Nuclear Research (CERN)'s newest toy, the Large Hadron Collider (LHC), centre-stage. <br /><br />The LHC is a particle accelerator that aims to smash protons together at higher energies than ever before achieved on Earth, replicating conditions present during the Big Bang, searching for the Higgs boson. Safety concerns began to surface when three men, two non-physicists and an adversary of particle accelerators attempted to halt its initiation. They believed that the collisions may create micro-black holes that would rapidly grow and consume the earth. This was in disagreement with two safety reviews on the subject that had already deemed the LHC safe. Black holes formed would in-fact evaporate away through Hawking Radiation, and thousands of higher energy collisions also occur above us in the atmosphere every day. No Black Hole apocalypse has occurred.<br /><br />Nevertheless as 'Big Bang Day' approached, slight statements of standard scientific uncertainty were taken as an admission of apocalypse. The Daily Mail managed to find headline's like “Are We All Going to Die Next Wednesday” and many major news-sources followed suit, primally chanting the phrase 'gobble up the Earth' in a runaway display of doom-mongering. This culminated in the suicide of a 16-year old girl and the relief of the LHC breaking down just before its first collision.<br /><br />The fear frenzied by the media surrounding CERN, whilst not as dangerous to public health still provoked strong feelings. CERN scientists received death threats, whilst thinking man's Noel Gallagher and 'rock star' physicist Brian Cox was quoted as saying “anyone who thinks the LHC will destroy the world is a twat.” A phrase repeated last week on his Twitter feed as the LHC reopened. People asked “Why take the risk?”<br /><br />This point of view could be dangerous and unhealthy for human endeavour. Why shouldn't we? if due care is taken. Science is about ploughing the furrows of knowledge headlong into the unknown in the name of advancement. We cannot be certain of what we will discover in the darkness of ignorance. We theorise, but we can't know unless we venture there. To constrain ourselves in this way could limit humanity's future advancement. No new drugs would get tested, no new vaccines, every good idea would be just an idea. Part of humanity's success is in its inquisitiveness. <br /><br />Professor Cox's comment is more than just a display of a big pair of rock-star-Physicist-bravados. The Science community functions through intensive systems of peer review. It's how it works. Why it works. When journals receive scientific papers they undergo thorough checks for consistency before publishing. The same goes for large experiments, which before they receive funding they must apply to a panel, where scientific merit and safety is analysed. <br /><br />As a community, scientists know what they are doing. This is uncomfortable for some people, where in society, everybody has a right to an opinion and it deserves to be heard on the same level, despite lack of knowledge. This does not hold in science. This is evident in the reporting of the new wave of Nuclear Fission power stations being planned. <br />Whilst concerns about waste management are perfectly valid at the very mention of the word 'Nuclear' mushroom clouds seem to form next door to every 'nuclear' family in Britain. This is despite the massive differences between our reactors and Chernobyl-type death traps. Newer, safer, reactors favour passive safety systems with control rods held out of the reactor by electromagnets and considerably reinforced containment building walls. In the loss of power the control rods simply drop down, stamping out the nuclear reaction. <br /><br />Another previous hazard was due to bubbles forming in the coolant. Bubbles accelerated the nuclear reactions, causing heating, which caused more bubbles, in a positive feed back loop that let the reaction run out of control. British Magnox reactors use carbon-dioxide gas as a coolant eliminating positive feedback. These precautions ensure meltdowns are averted, and if there are not they will be confined inside the plant itself.<br /><br />In a recent report on The One Show the increased safety was discussed by a white coat clad expert, seconds later, we were told by a man “Well he would say that.” Of course he would, it's true. It is unsettling when an expert, with all his experience and training, can be dismissed in this way. It can confuse public opinion, cloud facts, and reinforce the 'not in my backyard' fear of nuclear power.<br /><br />Here lies the essence of the problem. In the media, any opinion can be presented to give it equal weight as those held by an expert. With that level of incongruity it becomes difficult to decipher science fact from fear. Panic rules. This calls for more discerning and considered reporting from journalists and public alike.<br /><br />It also should be noted previous errors lead to further work to prevent repeat occurrences and enhance safety now. Science is always improving and learning from itself but in the news and public eye, once a reputation is damaged it's a struggle to repair it. Safety needs to be the focus rather than the danger.<br /><br />The mainstream reporting at the cutting edge of science advances leaves a lot to be desired. The new vaccines and large scale experiments are not as scary as they are made out to be. In fact, all the scandals and scare stories should almost be indicative of their safety. With so many people searching for the next big threat, when something truly is worth worrying about, we should know about it. Science is not as scary as it seems, when the fear itself could be more of a reason to worry.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-1565740084012351882?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-65896240838405664932009-12-02T09:32:00.006Z2009-12-02T09:49:18.474ZIt's special.<br />It's relativity.<br /><br />Only light can travel at the speed of light, <br />and only that its speed of flight.<br />The mediums change but in air the same,<br />and nothing else, no matter it's name.<br />Everything... Everything...<br /><br /><br />Come the realisation, come the shame,<br />that all of this were empty games.<br />Movement together at the speed of light,<br />movement apart at our first sight.<br />Dreams aren't real so they live forever,<br />on becoming true they're doomed to weather.<br /><br />The nightmare of inevitability.<br />That this happiness won't always be.<br /><br /><br />Only light can travels at the speed of light.<br />As only dreams can last forever.<br /><br />Nothing but dreams can.<br /><br />Only dreams can never end.<br />As bliss can only slip away.<br /><br />Everything... Everything... Ends.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-6589624083840566493?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-42561960024402803832009-12-01T11:31:00.006Z2009-12-01T11:50:21.639ZPity me.<br />Go on.<br /><br />Pity me 'cause i am pitiful,<br />Oh so twisted and oh so sick.<br />With a heart that is so self-hateful,<br />Safely sealed behind a wall of brick.<br /><br />At least king kong could fall in love.<br />Even that virtue has been lost.<br />This monster has no place above.<br />Self destruct at collateral cost.<br /><br />Tease, torture, kid, give 'em hell.<br />But your torment you trespass yourself.<br />Bitch, Belittle, welcome to hell.<br />This your torment you trespassed yourself.<br /><br />Some see in colours, some see in shades.<br />My technicolour is all red and black.<br />Disorder - Insight - New Dawn Fades.<br />Then I'll steam my train right off the track.<br /><br />I exist to send myself supernova...<br /><br />...All I hope is...<br /><br />... there's something beautiful left over...<br /><br />Envy me.<br />Go on.<br /><br />You wish you could do the same.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-4256196002440280383?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-68769735659863170942009-11-30T17:18:00.000Z2009-11-30T17:56:52.324ZTell your king.<br />The dirty rascal is in his castle.<br />And <span style="font-weight: bold;">you</span> let <span style="font-weight: bold;">me</span> in,<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">you</span> let <span style="font-weight: bold;">me</span> win.<br /><br />Tell your king.<br />His sticks and stones may break my bones,<br />but my words will always hurt him.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This is the way you wish his voice sounds.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />Handsome.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Smart.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">From a lionheart.</span><br /><br />Tell your King.<br />Any bird can sing.<br />Only I can roar,<br />and leave you gasping for more.<br /><br />Tell your King.<br />He's mouthing along to words I wrote.<br />Such sweet impersonations.<br />Playing. Not feeling.<br /><br />Tell your King.<br />This lions going to take his pride,<br />and rip him limb from limb,<br />have you by my side.<br /><br />Tell your King.<br />The dirty rascal is in his castle...<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />... And you let me in.</span>..<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >... But then you cut me out...</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-6876973565986317094?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-9941218819731946922009-11-30T10:55:00.000Z2009-11-30T11:13:10.152Z<span style="font-style: italic;">Ella hace doler mi corazón.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> Pero por lo menos, ahora sé que tengo uno.</span><br /><br />Transfixed by pictures.<br />Features of fantasy.<br />A vision of vicissity.<br />Pining for prosperity.<br />Sighing sweet somethings.<br />From the soul of sincerity.<br />While wrestling restlessly.<br />With disparate histories.<br /><br />We suffocate ourselves.<br />In embracing the victory.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Algún día será amado. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> ¿Dónde está?</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-994121881973194692?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-86874073655769260852009-11-30T01:21:00.000Z2009-11-30T01:25:54.462ZOut of sight is not out of mind,<br />when she's printed on every thought you find.<br /><br />Out of reach, close enough to touch.<br />This is the day that you'll care too much.<br /><br />Out of hope, left with despairity,<br />as your soul whispers of it's duplicities.<br /><br />Out of time, before it's begun.<br />Cut out your heart and feed it to anyone.<br /><br />Drowning in photographs, pictures of trickery.<br />Stains on the carpet.<br />Stains on the memory.<br />Both of us know... that's how the ending will be.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-8687407365576926085?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3517705745764266657.post-91503299933304756242009-07-16T14:58:00.000+01:002009-07-16T16:22:44.697+01:00<span style="font-style: italic;">Someone take these dreams away </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> That point me to another day </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> A duel of personalities </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> That stretch all true realities</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> That keep calling me</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> They keep calling me </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><a href="http://open.spotify.com/track/2IlvUTcSB39zXkrD387OWG"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Dead Souls - Joy Divsion </span></a><br /></span><br />I've always held a bit of a fascination with those tragic figures in music, I think everybody does. Recently, augmented by a indulgence of early era Manic Street Preachers, the death of Michael Jackson and the 20th anniversary of Unknown Pleasures (Joy Divsion's debut album), I've been thinking about death in music alot.<br /><br />It feels almost romantic sometimes, the reverance that is held for those music heroes after an untimely demise. A Romantic tragedy. Somehow they become martyrs of music and, almost invariably, this post-humous reverance was nowhere near as comparable to that they received in their lifes. Infact, intrusions into private lives, disrepectful comments, and sometimes complete derision is these days the norm.<br /><br />Take Richey (James) Edwards out of Manic Street Preachers. Since he pulled a Reggie Perrin in 1995, abandoning his Vauxhall Cavalier near the Severn bridge, there have been countless documentaries, mainstream obituaries championing him as a great poet and voice of a disenfranchised despairing nation. However, when alive, had to put up with Rhona Cameron sardonically asking <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DsMuRaT9zjg">"what do you hate about your life the most." </a><br /><br />Richey was all too aware of the Burn out > Fade away hypothesis of Neil Young's <a href="http://open.spotify.com/track/4DFMZUoz6TBh8JVqmw6Drv">My My, Hey Hey</a> cited in Kurt Cobain's suicide note just weeks before. On top of this, Journal For Plague Lovers, the Manic's first album to post-humously use Edwards' lyrics for 15 years, features the song <a href="http://open.spotify.com/track/6LC8T7kclOSebn8j0Ejics">Marlon J.D.</a> It is thought by many to be about Marlon Brando and James Dean. They were almost mirror images of eachother in the 50's but not for long. Dean burnt out, Brando faded away becoming a grotesque parody of himself in the process, former glories eclipsed. James Dean's... for eternity... intact. A legend.<br /><br />It almost seems that a factor in Edward's 'suicide' may have been a belief that it's almost better to commit suicide, before youre character is assasinated.<br /><br />You cant discount the manic depression and the bulimia and the general being a poor old tortured genius. (I would have loved Richey alive, if I wasnt only 6 when he disappeared) But you also can't discount the role of reputations in these things.<br /><br />Michael Jackson's death, coming when it did, will undoubtedly shape public perceptions of him in the future. Compare the tabloid character assasinations; the thing with the baby dangling, the thing with the kiddy fiddling, the Wacko Jacko moniker... with the reverence, the hyperbolic blanket declarations of his genius and the branding of him as a gift from god to humanity. Compare how it would have been if, instead, there'd been a guilty verdict... or he'd dropped his baby... Or if he'd lived on to be shit at the O2.<br /><br />There's always a tipping point for the media and therefore general public opinion. Somebody is good, until they go too far, then theyre bad. For Hitler it was 6 million jews, for Richard Nixon it was watergate and for Cliff Richard... it was... well.. everything (What? He's still alive!?). Past the tipping point, everything good you've ever done will be forgotten.<br /><br />It seems to me the only way to truly be appreciated (in the mainstream) for what you've done and what you've achieved in youre life is to die before that point. Before that point where you're forgotten, or before that point where you get old and do something silly.<br /><br />In Islam... in martyrdom... a man who dies doing god's work goes to paradise, and finds his place with the lord... Well there's something in that I tell you<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3517705745764266657-9150329993330475624?l=toomanysounds.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Snoopthesnoophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09137252682517754209noreply@blogger.com0