Cut and Paste game.

[Dragonlily]

Barry Strauss ~ The Trojan War: A New History. Strauss compares the events and personalities found in the epic Iliad to today's most recent research by archaeologists, historians, and linguists on the Bronze Age in the greater Mediterranean area and on the Greeks and the Hittites in particular. It is now thought that the Mycenean Greeks of that era were pretty much a people we would consider to be warlike barbarian pirates. Troy was a large and wealthy city which was the capital of a kingdom called Wilusa (in Greek Wilion = Illium) which was a Hittite vassal state. Many references have now been found of Troy in the Imperial Hittite archives. The war (and the experts do confirm that there was a war which ended with the destruction of Troy), was most likely over the control of trade routes. Many of the events of the Iliad are like other events in the records of the Hittites and of Egpyt of the Bronze Age, such as the duels of champions and the mutilation of the bodies of kings and/or princes killed by other kings/princes, just as Achilles is said to have mutilated the body of Hector.

[sgt.null]

My makeup is dry and it clags on my chin
Im drowning my sorrows in whisky and gin
The lion tamers whip doesnt crack anymore
The lions they wont fight and the tigers wont roar

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
So lets all drink to the death of a clown
Wont someone help me to break up this crown
Lets all drink to the death of a clown
Lets all drink to the death of a clown

The old fortune teller lies dead on the floor
Nobody needs fortunes told anymore
The trainer of insects is crouched on his knees
And frantically looking for runaway fleas

La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
Lets all drink to the death of a clown
So wont someone help me to break up this crown
Lets all drink to the death of a clown
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
Lets all drink to the death of a clown
La-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la

[Dragonlily]

Kay is reading: LATRO IN THE MIST by Gene Wolfe
A wonderful story about an injured soldier set in ancient Greece.

[Wyldewode]

You Make Me Smile

there's some kind of light… at the end
when touching the edge of her skin

once so hard to speak
now so easy to play around catching that eye you know
that eye that slaps you in the face
and calls you a puppy
well how do you say "i was hypnotized... hypnotized"

my words they pour
like children to the playground
children to the playground
you make me smile

there's some kind of light at the end
stoned , forgetful, unthin
i’m drinking what used to be sin and touching the edge of her skin
could you be the one that’s not afraid to look me in the eye?
i swear i would collapse if i would tell how i think you fell......from the sky

my words, they pour
like children to the playground
children to the playground
you make me smile

there's some kind of light at the end
stoned, forgetful, unthin
i’m drinking what used to be sin and touching the edge of her skin

it's the feeling i get
my palms would sweat
like some kind of day dream i’ll never forget
i’m stuck in this spin
where does it begin?
by touching the edge of her skin

[sgt.null]

About the song
McCartney was inspired to write the song after reading a newspaper review of The Who's latest single, most likely "I Can See For Miles". The review described the single as the loudest, wildest song ever recorded, with distorted guitars, reverb, and screaming. McCartney took this as a challenge to write something louder and "Helter Skelter" was the result. Some historians of popular music believe that this song was a key influence on the development of heavy metal.

An Apple Records promotional radio show, released for broadcast at the time of the 1997 Anthology release, has Paul McCartney stating that he spoke with Pete Townshend regarding his new song, and Townshend described it as above, which resulted in McCartney's desire to create a new song in the spirit of "doing it one better". [citation needed]

The song opens abruptly with a loud, repeated, distorted guitar double stop. McCartney then screams the introductory lyric and the full band joins in as the refrain is introduced. A distinctive descending, seven note riff is played during the choruses. The tone of the song is aggressive and frightening and the music seems ready to turn into meaningless noise at any moment.

The lyrics of the song are a hallucinogenic evocation of using a helter-skelter in a fairground, ironically contrasting the aggression and volume of the music. Although never acknowledged by McCartney, some of the lyrics bear a marked similarity to lines in "The Lobster Quadrille", a chapter of Lewis Carroll's (Charles Dodgson's) Alice's Adventures in Wonderland: "Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you, won't you join the dance?".

In March 2005, Q magazine placed "Helter Skelter" at number 5 in its list of the 100 Greatest Guitar Tracks.

[balon!]

Chisi La'Roo

[Wyldewode]

J00 |\/||_|$7 ph3^|2 \/\/a])])le¥'s |\/|a]) 5k|1Z! \/\/a])])le¥ 0WnZ J00!!

[sgt.null]

Kate Spencer, like Mark Shaw, is a lawyer, but instead works as a prosecutor. Outraged by the ability of super criminals to escape justice, Spencer assembled a costume from a variety of devices left over from various heroes and villains. A Darkstars costume and Azrael's Batman gloves give Spencer enhanced strength, agility, and resistance to injury, while Mark Shaw's power staff allows her to fire bolts of energy. Spencer has taken on several minor league supervillains including Copperhead and the Shadow-Thief. Recently Spencer fought her father, a minor league super villain who claims to be the son of Al Pratt - the Golden Age Atom. Most recently Kate Spencer, in her heroic identity as Manhunter, began working with the US government's Department of Extranormal Operations, headed by the former criminal Mister Bones. The new Manhunter series in which she appears began in 2004. This current series has featured appearances by Dan Richards, Mark Shaw, Chase Lawler, and Kirk DePaul.

Manhunter was initially slated to be cancelled due to low sales. However, a massive and organized fan campaign, along with support from the upper ranks of DC's management, allowed for another five-issue arc to be commissioned.

[Wyldewode]

HARRISON BERGERON
by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

THE YEAR WAS 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They weren't only equal before God and the law. They were equal every which way. Nobody was smarter than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger or quicker than anybody else. All this equality was due to the 211th, 212th, and 213th Amendments to the Constitution, and to the unceasing vigilance of agents of the United States Handicapper General.

Some things about living still weren't quite right, though. April for instance, still drove people crazy by not being springtime. And it was in that clammy month that the H-G men took George and Hazel Bergeron's fourteen-year-old son, Harrison, away.

It was tragic, all right, but George and Hazel couldn't think about it very hard. Hazel had a perfectly average intelligence, which meant she couldn't think about anything except in short bursts. And George, while his intelligence was way above normal, had a little mental handicap radio in his ear. He was required by law to wear it at all times. It was tuned to a government transmitter. Every twenty seconds or so, the transmitter would send out some sharp noise to keep people like George from taking unfair advantage of their brains.

George and Hazel were watching television. There were tears on Hazel's cheeks, but she'd forgotten for the moment what they were about.

On the television screen were ballerinas.

A buzzer sounded in George's head. His thoughts fled in panic, like bandits from a burglar alarm.

"That was a real pretty dance, that dance they just did," said Hazel.

"Huh" said George.

"That dance-it was nice," said Hazel.

"Yup," said George. He tried to think a little about the ballerinas. They weren't really very good-no better than anybody else would have been, anyway. They were burdened with sashweights and bags of birdshot, and their faces were masked, so that no one, seeing a free and graceful gesture or a pretty face, would feel like something the cat drug in. George was toying with the vague notion that maybe dancers shouldn't be handicapped. But he didn't get very far with it before another noise in his ear radio scattered his thoughts.

George winced. So did two out of the eight ballerinas.

Hazel saw him wince. Having no mental handicap herself, she had to ask George what the latest sound had been.

"Sounded like somebody hitting a milk bottle with a ball peen hammer," said George.

"I'd think it would be real interesting, hearing all the different sounds," said Hazel a little envious. "All the things they think up."

"Um," said George.

"Only, if I was Handicapper General, you know what I would do?" said Hazel. Hazel, as a matter of fact, bore a strong resemblance to the Handicapper General, a woman named Diana Moon Glampers. "If I was Diana Moon Glampers," said Hazel, "I'd have chimes on Sunday-just chimes. Kind of in honor of religion."

"I could think, if it was just chimes," said George.

"Well-maybe make 'em real loud," said Hazel. "I think I'd make a good Handicapper General."

"Good as anybody else," said George.

"Who knows better then I do what normal is?" said Hazel.

"Right," said George. He began to think glimmeringly about his abnormal son who was now in jail, about Harrison, but a twenty-one-gun salute in his head stopped that.

"Boy!" said Hazel, "that was a doozy, wasn't it?"

It was such a doozy that George was white and trembling, and tears stood on the rims of his red eyes. Two of of the eight ballerinas had collapsed to the studio floor, were holding their temples.

"All of a sudden you look so tired," said Hazel. "Why don't you stretch out on the sofa, so's you can rest your handicap bag on the pillows, honeybunch." She was referring to the forty-seven pounds of birdshot in a canvas bag, which was padlocked around George's neck. "Go on and rest the bag for a little while," she said. "I don't care if you're not equal to me for a while."

George weighed the bag with his hands. "I don't mind it," he said. "I don't notice it any more. It's just a part of me."

"You been so tired lately-kind of wore out," said Hazel. "If there was just some way we could make a little hole in the bottom of the bag, and just take out a few of them lead balls. Just a few."

"Two years in prison and two thousand dollars fine for every ball I took out," said George. "I don't call that a bargain."

"If you could just take a few out when you came home from work," said Hazel. "I mean-you don't compete with anybody around here. You just set around."

"If I tried to get away with it," said George, "then other people'd get away with it-and pretty soon we'd be right back to the dark ages again, with everybody competing against everybody else. You wouldn't like that, would you?"

"I'd hate it," said Hazel.

"There you are," said George. The minute people start cheating on laws, what do you think happens to society?"

If Hazel hadn't been able to come up with an answer to this question, George couldn't have supplied one. A siren was going off in his head.

"Reckon it'd fall all apart," said Hazel.

"What would?" said George blankly.

"Society," said Hazel uncertainly. "Wasn't that what you just said?

"Who knows?" said George.

The television program was suddenly interrupted for a news bulletin. It wasn't clear at first as to what the bulletin was about, since the announcer, like all announcers, had a serious speech impediment. For about half a minute, and in a state of high excitement, the announcer tried to say, "Ladies and Gentlemen."

He finally gave up, handed the bulletin to a ballerina to read.

"That's all right-" Hazel said of the announcer, "he tried. That's the big thing. He tried to do the best he could with what God gave him. He should get a nice raise for trying so hard."

"Ladies and Gentlemen," said the ballerina, reading the bulletin. She must have been extraordinarily beautiful, because the mask she wore was hideous. And it was easy to see that she was the strongest and most graceful of all the dancers, for her handicap bags were as big as those worn by two-hundred pound men.

And she had to apologize at once for her voice, which was a very unfair voice for a woman to use. Her voice was a warm, luminous, timeless melody. "Excuse me-" she said, and she began again, making her voice absolutely uncompetitive.

"Harrison Bergeron, age fourteen," she said in a grackle squawk, "has just escaped from jail, where he was held on suspicion of plotting to overthrow the government. He is a genius and an athlete, is under-handicapped, and should be regarded as extremely dangerous."

A police photograph of Harrison Bergeron was flashed on the screen-upside down, then sideways, upside down again, then right side up. The picture showed the full length of Harrison against a background calibrated in feet and inches. He was exactly seven feet tall.

The rest of Harrison's appearance was Halloween and hardware. Nobody had ever born heavier handicaps. He had outgrown hindrances faster than the H-G men could think them up. Instead of a little ear radio for a mental handicap, he wore a tremendous pair of earphones, and spectacles with thick wavy lenses. The spectacles were intended to make him not only half blind, but to give him whanging headaches besides.

Scrap metal was hung all over him. Ordinarily, there was a certain symmetry, a military neatness to the handicaps issued to strong people, but Harrison looked like a walking junkyard. In the race of life, Harrison carried three hundred pounds.

And to offset his good looks, the H-G men required that he wear at all times a red rubber ball for a nose, keep his eyebrows shaved off, and cover his even white teeth with black caps at snaggle-tooth random.

"If you see this boy," said the ballerina, "do not - I repeat, do not - try to reason with him."

There was the shriek of a door being torn from its hinges.

Screams and barking cries of consternation came from the television set. The photograph of Harrison Bergeron on the screen jumped again and again, as though dancing to the tune of an earthquake.

George Bergeron correctly identified the earthquake, and well he might have - for many was the time his own home had danced to the same crashing tune. "My God-" said George, "that must be Harrison!"

The realization was blasted from his mind instantly by the sound of an automobile collision in his head.

When George could open his eyes again, the photograph of Harrison was gone. A living, breathing Harrison filled the screen.

Clanking, clownish, and huge, Harrison stood - in the center of the studio. The knob of the uprooted studio door was still in his hand. Ballerinas, technicians, musicians, and announcers cowered on their knees before him, expecting to die.

"I am the Emperor!" cried Harrison. "Do you hear? I am the Emperor! Everybody must do what I say at once!" He stamped his foot and the studio shook.

"Even as I stand here" he bellowed, "crippled, hobbled, sickened - I am a greater ruler than any man who ever lived! Now watch me become what I can become!"

Harrison tore the straps of his handicap harness like wet tissue paper, tore straps guaranteed to support five thousand pounds.

Harrison's scrap-iron handicaps crashed to the floor.

Harrison thrust his thumbs under the bar of the padlock that secured his head harness. The bar snapped like celery. Harrison smashed his headphones and spectacles against the wall.

He flung away his rubber-ball nose, revealed a man that would have awed Thor, the god of thunder.

"I shall now select my Empress!" he said, looking down on the cowering people. "Let the first woman who dares rise to her feet claim her mate and her throne!"

A moment passed, and then a ballerina arose, swaying like a willow.

Harrison plucked the mental handicap from her ear, snapped off her physical handicaps with marvelous delicacy. Last of all he removed her mask.

She was blindingly beautiful.

"Now-" said Harrison, taking her hand, "shall we show the people the meaning of the word dance? Music!" he commanded.

The musicians scrambled back into their chairs, and Harrison stripped them of their handicaps, too. "Play your best," he told them, "and I'll make you barons and dukes and earls."

The music began. It was normal at first-cheap, silly, false. But Harrison snatched two musicians from their chairs, waved them like batons as he sang the music as he wanted it played. He slammed them back into their chairs.

The music began again and was much improved.

Harrison and his Empress merely listened to the music for a while-listened gravely, as though synchronizing their heartbeats with it.

They shifted their weights to their toes.

Harrison placed his big hands on the girls tiny waist, letting her sense the weightlessness that would soon be hers.

And then, in an explosion of joy and grace, into the air they sprang!

Not only were the laws of the land abandoned, but the law of gravity and the laws of motion as well.

They reeled, whirled, swiveled, flounced, capered, gamboled, and spun.

They leaped like deer on the moon.

The studio ceiling was thirty feet high, but each leap brought the dancers nearer to it.

It became their obvious intention to kiss the ceiling. They kissed it.

And then, neutraling gravity with love and pure will, they remained suspended in air inches below the ceiling, and they kissed each other for a long, long time.

It was then that Diana Moon Glampers, the Handicapper General, came into the studio with a double-barreled ten-gauge shotgun. She fired twice, and the Emperor and the Empress were dead before they hit the floor.

Diana Moon Glampers loaded the gun again. She aimed it at the musicians and told them they had ten seconds to get their handicaps back on.

It was then that the Bergerons' television tube burned out.

Hazel turned to comment about the blackout to George. But George had gone out into the kitchen for a can of beer.

George came back in with the beer, paused while a handicap signal shook him up. And then he sat down again. "You been crying" he said to Hazel.

"Yup," she said.

"What about?" he said.

"I forget," she said. "Something real sad on television."

"What was it?" he said.

"It's all kind of mixed up in my mind," said Hazel.

"Forget sad things," said George.

"I always do," said Hazel.

"That's my girl," said George. He winced. There was the sound of a rivetting gun in his head.

"Gee - I could tell that one was a doozy," said Hazel.

"You can say that again," said George.

"Gee-" said Hazel, "I could tell that one was a doozy."

[sgt.null]

Don't take the following too seriously. It's a trying-not-to-be-biased review that fails miserably, but I don't care. Because first and foremost, this album proves conclusively, to my mind at least, that David Gilmour was, and always will be, Pink Floyd. He's the heart, the soul, the liver, the pancreas and whatever else Roger is calling himself these days. So let me indulge myself if nothing else.


Take the tracks one at a time, and perhaps you'll see what I mean.


'Castellorizon' is trademark Gilmour. An intelligent, thoughtful instrumental with notes being bent to such extremities, one wonders if it's even allowed. It's the perfect starter.


The title track is gorgeous. David's voice sounds like melted chocolate, even showing up the renowned vocalists David Crosby and Graham Nash. I go one step further. It's melted chocolate with more melted chocolate being poured on top. We're talking seriously gorgeous here. This could be a Pink Floyd classic lifted straight from Meddle or Wish You Were Here. It has all the elements of classic Floyd.


'The Blue' is sumptuous and dreamy. You could be on water, bobbing gently on the waves. I don't recall hearing a song with such atmosphere in a long time. Thank God I don't take drugs, because I think this album could have the same effect on those stoners who played Dark Side of the Moon in darkened rooms whilst under the influence. I wonder if you can synchronise it with the film Bedknobs and Broomsticks...


'Take a Breath' is my possibly my favourite track. The vocal is powerful, the energy pulsating and contagious. And what lyrics! So true. This is the part where lots of chocolate chips come crashing down on that perfect chocolate sundae. Imagine that.


Seriously though, four tracks into the album and David has already demonstrated how incredibly versatile he is as a musician and how he incorporate different genres into his work. He even plays saxophone on 'Red Sky At Night', which is a beautiful track which sounds like an obvious extension of The Division Bell.


'This Heaven' wouldn't sound out of place on David's first solo album or any of the Floyd's soundtrack albums, for that matter. The words are divine, the bluesy tone gets your head nodding. When he sings "Life is much more than money buys, When I see the faith in my children's eyes" you know that he's right and that all your worries are really quite petty in the grand scheme of things.


'Then I Close My Eyes' could be part of 'Alan's Psychedelic Breakfast' from 1970's Atom Heart Mother. It's a lush piece of music.


'Smile' we all know, but this version is exquisite. It really is river music. It's nature, it's beauty, it's love, it's contentment. It's far better than anything Roger has given us on any of his solo albums, put it that way.


And just imagine what 'A Pocket Full of Stones' could have done to The Wall. This is such a sad one because it makes me think of Michael Kamen. It could almost be him lightly tapping the piano keys or conducting the orchestra. As he figures in the liner notes, I wonder if this is a homage to him.


If you care about David, then his personal happiness simply oozes out of this album, so that should be enough for you. Yet David isn't ramming it down our throats. It's not cheesy. He's not rubbing anyone's nose in it. It's an example to us all, although no doubt one set unintentionally. Never is this more apparent than the final track, 'Where We Start', written for Polly as a birthday present. If you're not blessing him by this point (even though he says he needs no blessings, I still say we should bless him on a regular basis), then what's the matter with you?


This album is honest, meaningful and melodious. When an artist reveals so much of themselves in their art, you just have to applaud. As biased as I clearly am, this album deserves great recognition, acclaim and success. I think it's a truly beautiful piece of work and one that offers more than many a Pink Floyd album.


Hats off to you, David. If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times: You are Pink Floyd's true Creative Genius. I salute you.

[sgt.null]

201688.1

So, Francona is going to manage the Japanese ASG--and Daisuke Matsuzaka is one of the pitchers. Could this be a reason why the Sox are eager to have Tito do this? To perhaps get a better look and inside scoop on this pitcher? If he is what everyone claims he is, it would be 100% sweet to pick him up.

[drew]

The solar system and voyager hurtling through it and a stray alien craft trying to decide if it will destroy the earth and the mar's lunar probe and the little martian from the bugs bunny cartoons!

[sgt.null]

what recent media reports and blog posts are saying is true, Scarlett Johansson’s intended debut album will be a match made in husky-voiced heaven.

As first reported by FoxNews, the actress has plans to make a foray into the music industry—but, in typical Johansson style, her debut will feature anything but the requisite Hollywood-starlet-gone-songbird fare.

Instead, Johansson is rumored to be currently in the studio recording an entire album of Tom Waits songs, with a release date speculated for late winter or early spring. The 22-year-old actress has reportedly signed with Rhino Records’ Atco label.

[Dragonlily]

Alec Baldwin

[sgt.null]

www.carrottop.com/newcarrot/images/Carr ... %20033.jpg

[aTOMiC]

N.E. 1/4 of the N. 1/2 of Lot 8 & that part of Lot 7 described as follows:
Begin at the S.E. corner of Lot 7 thence West, a distance of 633.7 feet, thence



PINELLAS GROVES NE 1/4, N 1/2 OF LOT 8 & THAT PT OF LOT 7 DESC AS BEG SE COR OF LOT 7 TH W 633.7FT TO RD TH N 8FT TH E'LY TO PT ON E LOT LN 3.5 FT N OF SE COR TH S 3.5FT TO POB

[Dragonlily]

I enjoyed it very much. It stuck with me during the times I had to put it down. However, in a kids’ book we can’t have the bad guy burning himself to death in his bed as karmic retribution for small-time bullying and extortion. That’s extreme.

Was there more that says to you it’s not appropriate for children? I’ve never had kids myself…

If we published it, it looks to me like we would have two basic options:
1. Ask the author to change the punishment. Settle things by having him arrested or something. For kids, that’s enough. Then the battered wife could stand up for herself and get rid of him.
2. Publish it as an adult book: “Coming of age story for anyone who is ready to expand their lives.” Something like that.

What do you think?

I was thinking in terms of a minor sort of standardization of CB’s covers. But if the “by” doesn’t bother you it’ll be fine with me.

I sent the author of THIEF an encouraging rejection letter and asked for the full of ADOLPH. IMMACULATE DECEPTION has been hovering near the top of my “read” list for a while, but other things keep coming along. Have you come to any conclusions about it? I know what you mean about the formatting – weird to read but easy to repair. Did either of the others strike you?

[aTOMiC]

46TH AVENUE NORTH

[drew]

A hydrogen atom walked upon by a Who from Whoville who carried a who sized spinglesnotzer in his googlaphoog that a snapdoodler slept in and was covered in a fine film of who goo.

[Dragonlily]

@ Star Wars IV: A New Hope LD