Monthly Archives: January 2013

“Steven” released by Alice Cooper

I don’t want to see you go
I don’t even want to be there
I will cover up my eyes
And pray it goes away

You’ve only lived a minute of your life
I must be dreaming, please stop screaming

I don’t like to hear you cry
You just don’t know how deep that cuts me
So I will cover up my eyes
And it will go away

You’ve only lived a minute of your life
I must be dreaming, please stop screaming

Steven, Steven, I hear my name
Steven, is someone calling me?
I hear my name! Steven
That icy breath that whispers screams of pain

I don’t want to feel you die
But if that’s the way that God has planned you
I’ll put pennies on your eyes
And it will go away, see?

You’ve only lived a minute of your life
I must be dreaming

Is someone calling me? No
I think I hear a voice, it’s outside the door

Steven, I hear my name
Steven, is someone calling me?
I hear my name

Steven, what do you want?
Steven, what do you want?
What do you want? What do you want?
What do you want?

Steven, Steven, Steven
I hear my name 



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Excerpt from “Les Misérables” by Victor Hugo ~~The Coat~~

picture-LesMiserables_Coat“Monsieur le Baron, on the 6th of June, 1832, about a year ago, on the day of the insurrection, a man was in the Grand Sewer of Paris, at the point where the sewer enters the Seine, between the Pont des Invalides and the Pont de Jena.”
Marius abruptly drew his chair closer to that of Thenardier. Thenardier noticed this movement and continued with the deliberation of an orator who holds his interlocutor and who feels his adversary palpitating under his words:
“This man, forced to conceal himself, and for reasons, moreover, which are foreign to politics, had adopted the sewer as his domicile and had a key to it. It was, I repeat, on the 6th of June; it might have been eight o’clock in the evening. The man hears a noise in the sewer. Greatly surprised, he hides himself and lies in wait. It was the sound of footsteps, some one was walking in the dark, and coming in his direction.
Strange to say, there was another man in the sewer besides himself. The grating of the outlet from the sewer was not far off. A little light which fell through it permitted him to recognize the newcomer, and to see that the man was carrying something on his back. He was walking in a bent attitude. The man who was walking in a bent attitude was an ex-convict, and what he was dragging on his shoulders was a corpse. Assassination caught in the very act, if ever there was such a thing. As for the theft, that is understood; one does not kill a man gratis. This convict was on his way to fling the body into the river. One fact is to be noticed, that before reaching the exit grating, this convict, who had come a long distance in the sewer, must, necessarily, have encountered a frightful quagmire where it seems as though he might have left the body, but the sewermen would have found the assassinated man the very next day, while at work on the quagmire, and that did not suit the assassin’s plans. He had preferred to traverse that quagmire with his burden, and his exertions must have been terrible, for it is impossible to risk one’s life more completely; I don’t understand how he could have come out of that alive.”
Marius’ chair approached still nearer. Thenardier took advantage of this to draw a long breath. He went on:
“Monsieur le Baron, a sewer is not the Champ de Mars. One lacks everything there, even room. When two men are there, they must meet. That is what happened. The man domiciled there and the passer-by were forced to bid each other good-day, greatly to the regret of both. The passer-by said to the inhabitant:—”You see what I have on my back, I must get out, you have the key, give it to me.” That convict was a man of terrible strength. There was no way of refusing. Nevertheless, the man who had the key parleyed, simply to gain time. He examined the dead man, but he could see nothing, except that the latter was young, well dressed, with the air of being rich, and all disfigured with blood. While talking, the man contrived to tear and pull off behind, without the assassin perceiving it, a bit of the assassinated man’s coat. A document for conviction, you understand; a means of recovering the trace of things and of bringing home the crime to the criminal. He put this document for conviction in his pocket. After which he opened the grating, made the man go out with his embarrassment on his back, closed the grating again, and ran off, not caring to be mixed up with the remainder of the adventure and above all, not wishing to be present when the assassin threw the assassinated man into the river. Now you comprehend. The man who was carrying the corpse was Jean Valjean; the one who had the key is speaking to you at this moment; and the piece of the coat . . .”
Thenardier completed his phrase by drawing from his pocket, and holding, on a level with his eyes, nipped between his two thumbs and his two forefingers, a strip of torn black cloth, all covered with dark spots.
Marius had sprung to his feet, pale, hardly able to draw his breath, with his eyes riveted on the fragment of black cloth, and, without uttering a word, without taking his eyes from that fragment, he retreated to the wall and fumbled with his right hand along the wall for a key which was in the lock of a cupboard near the chimney.
He found the key, opened the cupboard, plunged his arm into it without looking, and without his frightened gaze quitting the rag which Thenardier still held outspread.
But Thenardier continued:
“Monsieur le Baron, I have the strongest of reasons for believing that the assassinated young man was an opulent stranger lured into a trap by Jean Valjean, and the bearer of an enormous sum of money.”
“The young man was myself, and here is the coat!” cried Marius, and he flung upon the floor an old black coat all covered with blood.
Then, snatching the fragment from the hands of Thenardier, he crouched down over the coat, and laid the torn morsel against the tattered skirt. The rent fitted exactly, and the strip completed the coat.
Thenardier was petrified.
This is what he thought: “I’m struck all of a heap.”
Marius rose to his feet trembling, despairing, radiant.
He fumbled in his pocket and stalked furiously to Thenardier, presenting to him and almost thrusting in his face his fist filled with bank-notes for five hundred and a thousand francs.”
“You are an infamous wretch! you are a liar, a calumniator, a villain. You came to accuse that man, you have only justified him; you wanted to ruin him, you have only succeeded in glorifying him. And it is you who are the thief! …”

Another Excerpt from Les Misérables ~~Silver~~
Another Excerpt from Les Misérables ~~Cosette~~
Another Excerpt from Les Misérables ~~Court~~
Another Excerpt from Les Misérables ~~Grave~~
Another Excerpt from Les Misérables ~~Smitten~~
Another Excerpt from Les Misérables ~~Sewer~~
Another Excerpt from Les Misérables ~~Three~~

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Dialogue from The Big Bang Theory ~~Lizard-Spock~~

Excerpt from Series 2 Episode 8 – The Lizard-Spock Expansion

Sheldon:            Oh look, Saturn 3 is on.

Raj:                      I don’t want to watch Saturn 3. Deep Space Nine is better.

Sheldon:            How is Deep Space Nine better than Saturn 3?

Raj:                      Simple subtraction will tell you it’s six better.

Leonard:            Compromise. Watch Babylon 5.

Sheldon:            In what sense is that a compromise?

Leonard:            Well, five is partway between three… Never mind.

Raj:                      I’ll tell you what, how about we go rock-paper-scissors?

Sheldon:            Ooh, I don’t think so.

No, anecdotal evidence suggests that in the game of rock-paper-scissors, players familiar with each other will tie 75 to 80% of the time due to the limited number of outcomes. I suggest rock-paper-scissors-lizard-Spock.

Raj:                      What?

Sheldon:            It’s very simple.

Look, scissors cuts paper. Paper covers rock. Rock crushes lizard. Lizard poisons Spock. Spock smashes scissors. Scissors decapitates lizard. Lizard eats paper. Paper disproves Spock. Spock vaporizes rock. And as it always has, rock crushes scissors.

Raj:                      Okay, I think I got it. (They prepare)

Together:          Rock-paper-scissors-lizard-Spock!

(Both hold up the symbol for Spock) Oh!


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“Melting Pot” released by Blue Mink

Take a pinch of white man
Wrap it up in black skin
Add a touch of blue blood
And a little bitty-bit of red Indian boy

Mm, curly latin kinkies
Mixed with yellow Chinkees
If you lump it all together
Well, you’ve got a recipe for a get-along scene
Oh, what a beautiful dream
If it could only come true
You know, you know

What we need is a great big melting pot
Big enough to take the world and all it’s got
Keep it stirring for a hundred years or more
And turn out coffee-coloured people by the score
Yeah, Lord

Rabbis and the Friars
Bishops and the Gurus
You got the Beatles or the Sun God – it’s true
Well, it really doesn’t matter
What religion you choose
No no no – ooh

Mick and Lady Faithfull
Lord and Mrs. Graceful
You know the living could be tasteful
Oh, we should all get together in a lovin’ machine
I’d better call up the Queen
It’s only fair that she knows
You know, you know

What we need is a great big melting pot
Big enough to take the world and all it’s got
Keep it stirring for a hundred years or more
And turn out coffee-coloured people by the score

Yeah, what we need
What we need is a great big melting pot
Big enough to take the world and all it’s got
Keep it stirring for a hundred years or more
And turn out coffee-coloured people by the score

Yeah, yeah, yeah
What we need is a great big melting pot ….



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Excerpt from “New Guinea Recollections” by C.A.W. Monckton ~~Surprise Attack~~

picture-NewGuineaRecollections-CAWMoncktonThe Governor came to my tent.

“Monckton,” he said, “I have just seen a man, and my servant has seen him as well by a sudden flare of the fire. I have told the Commandant, but he thinks I am mistaken, as his sentries have reported nothing?”

“I am not surprised at that,” I replied. “Bruce is a soldier, new to the country, and has got his sentries posted in as plain view as those outside BuckinghamPalace. These people we are among are night fighters. Bruce’s sentries and men are all from the Western Division and unaccustomed to night fighting.”

“Do you think there is any danger?” he asked.

“I don’t know. If you really saw a man, which is highly probable, he is quite likely one of several scouts from a large body locating our position; in which case we may expect an attack shortly before dawn.”

“Why just before dawn?” queried Robinson.

“Men sleep heaviest then, and also it gives the attacker light to pursue any who might escape in the dark.”

Robinson went back to Bruce; then Bruce came to me.

“Why have you been putting the wind up His Excellency, and talking about my sentries?”

“I only replied to his questions, and I don’t like the position of your sentries,” I said.

“You know more about it than I do,” sneered Bruce, fresh from the South African War.

“Yes, I do,” I replied.

Barigi came. The Norther-Eastern detachment of my men were lying under flys, close to my tent.

“Bia went out with ten Kaili Kaili with tomahawks just after dark,” he said, “and before these bushmen would have had time to creep up and see them. He told us to fire in any direction from which a Kaili Kaili alarm came, but to aim very low. The Kaili Kaili and Bia will be safe enough, but ask the Commandant, in the event of an alarm, to order his men not to fire, but only to fall in.”

I went to the Governor, and found him sitting up talking to his private secretary, Manning; both were uneasy.

“All right,” said Robinson, when I made my request. “It shall be as you say, I am still convinced I saw that man, and Manning fancies he saw one too, but is not certain. That flickering light was puzzling to the eye.”

It rained early in the night, but about half an hour before dawn it cleared. Then we heard a bird calling, which was answered by another, and then a third.

“Those were Kaili Kaili,” whispered Barigi; “the bushmen are coming from three directions. When they mass, Bia will call to my men. Fall in kneeling and make no noise; make ready to fire low in the direction from which a Kaili Kaili calls.”

We waited; and just as the very first peep of dawn broke, there came a roar from Bia no sound from the Kaili Kaili; Bia yelled:

“Here now at the foot of the big tree!”

Then came the crack of Bia’s rifle and yells from the Kaili Kaili. Crash went a volley. Then came howls and the sound of men rushing through the jungle and forest in headlong flight. Bruce’s voice came like a bellowing bull ordering his men to fall in; his sentries in the meantime had fallen back in bewilderment into camp.

“What does it all mean?” asked the Governor.

“What it all means, sir, is this,” I said. “The man you and your servant thought you saw was a real man, also the man Manning saw. They were studying our camp. I was quite certain, so was Barigi, that these people were planning a night attack. Now the essence of a night attack is surprise, and also to suddenly throw a solid body of men on to the victims of the surprise, so they are slaughtered and struck down before they are half awake. Isolated attacks from several quarters, when some men come into action before others, are useless. The defence of the camp was left to Bia. Bruce, his force and sentries, were not taken into consideration. Bia took out the Kaili Kaili after dusk, and planted them up trees. The Kaili Kaili are mighty snarers of birds of paradise, and know their calls. Bia located the spot at which the concentration of a night attack would most probably take place, and there climbed a tree. An attacking night force does not come in a body, but assembles by twos and threes and little groups at one place. Bia’s Kaili Kaili scouts by bird calls notified the arrival of the night raiders, and when they were grouped under Bia’s tree, my men fired. The surprise party were therefore themselves surprised, and fled. None of them were killed, but some wounded, how many I don’t know.”

“Clever,” said the Governor.

“Yes.” I said. “Bia and his ten Kaili Kaili are wise men. They did it all. The only fear we had was lest the Commandant and his men might kill some of my Kaili Kaili. Hence the reason for my asking that they be forbidden to fire.”

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Excerpt from “The Jerilderie Letter” by Ned Kelly

picture-NedKellyAfter leaving this man, he went to the house and asked was Dan in. Dan came out. I hear previous to this Fitzpatrick had some conversation with Williamson on the hill. He asked Dan to come to Greta with him, as he had a warrant for him for stealing Whitty’s horses. Dan said “Allwright”, and they both went inside. Dan was having something to eat. His mother asked Fitzpatrick what he wanted Dan for. The trooper said he had a warrant for him. Dan then asked him to produce it. He said it was only a telegram sent from Chiltern, but Sergeant Whelan ordered him to relieve Steele at Greta, and call and arrest Dan and take him in to Wangaratta next morning and get him remanded. Dan’s mother said Dan need not go without a warrant unless he liked, and that the trooper had no business on her premises without some authority besides his own word.
The trooper pulled out his revolver and said he would blow her brains out if she interfered in the arrest. She told him it was a good job for him Ned was not there, or he would ram his revolver down his throat. Dan looked out and said, “Ned is coming now.” The trooper being off his guard, looked out and when Dan got his attention drawn, he dropped the knife and fork, which showed he had no murderous intent, and slapped Heenan’s Hug on him, took his revolver and kept him there until Skillion and Ryan came with horses which Dan sold that night.
The trooper left and invented some scheme to say that he got shot, which any man can see is false. He told Dan to clear out, that Sergeant Steele and Detective Brown and Strachan would be there before morning. Strachan had been over the Murray trying to get up a case against him, and they would convict him if they caught him as the Stock Society offered an enticement for witnesses to swear anything and the Germans over the Murray would swear to the wrong man as well as the right.
Next day Williamson and my mother was arrested, and Skillion the day after, who was not there at all at the time of the row, which can be proved by 8 or 9 witnesses. The police got great credit and praise in the papers for arresting the mother of 12 children, one an infant on her breast, and those two quiet, hard working innocent men who would not know the difference between a revolver and a saucepan handle, kept them six months awaiting trial and then convicted them on the evidence of the meanest article that ever the sun shone on. It seems that the jury was well chosen by the Police as there was a discharged Sergeant amongst them, which is contrary to law. They thought it impossible for a Policeman to swear a lie, but I can assure them that it was by that means and hiring cads they got promoted. I have heard from a trooper that he never knew Fitzpatrick to be one night sober, and that he sold his sister to a chinaman, but he looks a young, strapping rather genteel man, more fit to be a starcher to a laundress than a policeman for to the keen observer he has the wrong appearance for a manly heart. The deceit and cowardice is too plain to be seen in the puny cabbage-hearted looking face.
I heard nothing of this transaction until very close on the trial, I being then over 400 miles from Greta. I heard I was outlawed and a hundred pound reward for me for shooting a trooper in Victoria and a hundred pound for any man that could prove a conviction of horse-stealing against me, so I came back to Victoria. I knew I would get no justice if I gave myself up. I enquired after my brother Dan and found him digging on Bullock Creek. I heard how the Police used to be blowing that they would not ask me to stand; they would shoot me first and then cry surrender. And how they used to rush into the house and upset all the milk dishes, break tins of eggs, empty the flour out of the bags onto the ground, and even the meat out of the cask and destroy all the provisions and shove the girls in front of them into the rooms like dogs, so as if anyone was there they would shoot the girls first. But they knew well I was not there, or I would have scattered their blood and brains like rain. I would manure the Eleven Mile with their bloated carcases, and yet remember there is not one drop of murderous blood in my veins.
Superintendent Smith used to say to my sisters, “See all the men I have out today? I will have as many more tomorrow and we will blow him into pieces as small as the paper that is in our guns.” Detective Ward and Constable Hayes took out their revolvers and threatened to shoot the girls and children in Mrs. Skillion’s absence. The greatest ruffians and murderers, no matter how depraved would not be guilt of such a cowardly action. This sort of cruelty and disgraceful and cowardly conduct to my brothers and sisters who had no protection, coupled with the conviction of my mother and those men certainly made my blood boil. I don’t think there is a man born could have the patience to suffer it as long as I did, or ever allow his blood to get cold while such insults as these were unavenged. Yet in every paper that is printed I am called the blackest and coldest-blooded murderer ever on record. But if I hear any more of it I will not exactly show them what cold blooded murder is, but wholesale and retail slaughter – something different to shooting three troopers in self defence and robbing a bank.


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“Café Terrace At Night” by Vincent Van Gogh















“Café Terrace At Night” was painted in 1888 depicting a scene outside a café on the Place du Forum in Arles, France.

The painting is on display at the Kröller-Müller Museum in Otterlo, Netherlands. The museum was founded by Helene Kröller-Müller, an avid art collector. In 1935, she donated her whole collection to the state of the Netherlands.

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