Comments for Only Dragons

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Comment on The Washington Post’s Comments on Go Go Hamsters by bad credit loans

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Comment on Forever Young by Linda

Linda — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 01:36:44 +0000

My crazy Dude. You always amaze me at the philosophical side of you. What is existence? Is it life, death, a body, soul, life after death? That is the real question.

What is the real definition of young? Is it young at heart, in body, soul, mind, pr something we mere humans cannot grasp?

The answers are as individual as each human is . It is all based on the way the individual perceives themselves as humans. Humans are unique but uniqueness is the way we each see ourselves within , time-space, the world we can touch/feel, the world of our imagination, the universe, our beliefs whether taught or experienced..

Being young is what you define young as. We can read all the books on medical, psychological or philosophy we want. It all boils down on how we perceive ourselves.

Comment on Forever Young by pjfbncyl

pjfbncyl — Sun, 20 Dec 2009 22:33:21 +0000

Mick Says:
A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

Comment on The Sick Bed of Cuchulainn By Shane MacGowan (1985) ~~~ McCormack and Richard Tauber are singing by the bed There’s a glass of punch below your feet and an angel at your head There’s devils on each side of you with bottles in their hands You need one more drop of poison and you’ll dream of foreign lands When you pissed yourself in Frankfurt and got syph down in Cologne And you heard the rattling death trains as you lay there all alone Frank Ryan brought you whiskey in a brothel in Madrid And you decked some fucking blackshirt who was curing all the Yids At the sick bed of Cuchulainn we’ll kneel and say a prayer And the ghosts are rattling at the door and the devil’s in the chair And in the Euston Tavern you screamed it was your shout But they wouldn’t give you service so you kicked the windows out They took you out into the street and kicked you in the brains So you walked back in through a bolted door and did it all again At the sick bed of Cuchulainn we’ll kneel and say a prayer And the ghosts are rattling at the door and the devil’s in the chair You remember that foul evening when you heard the banshees howl There was lousy drunken bastards singing Billy is in the bowl They took you up to midnight mass and left you in the lurch So you dropped a button in the plate and spewed up in the church Now you’ll sing a song of liberty for blacks and paks and jocks And they’ll take you from this dump you’re in and stick you in a box Then they’ll take you to Cloughprior and shove you in the ground But you’ll stick your head back out and shout “we’ll have another round” At the graveside of Cuchulainn we’ll kneel around and pray And God is in His heaven, and Billy’s down by the bay by DudeStarship

DudeStarship — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 05:34:44 +0000

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Philip

Comment on The Sick Bed of Cuchulainn By Shane MacGowan (1985) ~~~ McCormack and Richard Tauber are singing by the bed There’s a glass of punch below your feet and an angel at your head There’s devils on each side of you with bottles in their hands You need one more drop of poison and you’ll dream of foreign lands When you pissed yourself in Frankfurt and got syph down in Cologne And you heard the rattling death trains as you lay there all alone Frank Ryan brought you whiskey in a brothel in Madrid And you decked some fucking blackshirt who was curing all the Yids At the sick bed of Cuchulainn we’ll kneel and say a prayer And the ghosts are rattling at the door and the devil’s in the chair And in the Euston Tavern you screamed it was your shout But they wouldn’t give you service so you kicked the windows out They took you out into the street and kicked you in the brains So you walked back in through a bolted door and did it all again At the sick bed of Cuchulainn we’ll kneel and say a prayer And the ghosts are rattling at the door and the devil’s in the chair You remember that foul evening when you heard the banshees howl There was lousy drunken bastards singing Billy is in the bowl They took you up to midnight mass and left you in the lurch So you dropped a button in the plate and spewed up in the church Now you’ll sing a song of liberty for blacks and paks and jocks And they’ll take you from this dump you’re in and stick you in a box Then they’ll take you to Cloughprior and shove you in the ground But you’ll stick your head back out and shout “we’ll have another round” At the graveside of Cuchulainn we’ll kneel around and pray And God is in His heaven, and Billy’s down by the bay by Pisquassesk

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Comment on Blue Mars ~ A Teleporting Story by DudeStarship

DudeStarship — Wed, 25 Nov 2009 11:24:59 +0000

O Dear, Talking To Myself Again! Are people shy? Everybody has something to say. My God, down the pub you all have opinions. And you tell me, you tell everyone, sometimes you sout. Yet the on-line community, supposedly the most vociferous ever in Human History….o well, must be me..do you think? Is it?