WEBSITE: http://www.youtube....
LOCATION: Charleston, SC
RECORDS: 87
LATEST RECORD: almost 2 years ago
JOINED: January 30, 2010
LOCATION: Charleston, SC
RECORDS: 87
LATEST RECORD: almost 2 years ago
JOINED: January 30, 2010
TheBizzar1's RECommendations
Audio
- requiem for a girl
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Lyrics:
She shoots the gun to swell her veins
then all reality it slips away
she craves and yearns
for another taste
it was the ghost of a girl led astray
in this living world of lost souls
her face is obscured by the men that she knows
and though she may try to push me away
oh no, baby, don't, don't push me away
it doesn't matter how we got here
it only matters how we get out
it doesn't matter how we got here
it only matters how we get out
so take my hand, i'll lead the way
you can close your eyes if you get too afraid
i never sleep when i'm by your side
i stay awake and you wonder why
you push me, oh no, don't push me away
oh no baby, don't push me away
it doesn't matter how we got here
it only matters how we get out
it doesn't matter how we got here, oh no
it only matters how we get out
it only matters how we get out
it only matters how we get out
She shoots the gun to swell her veins
then all reality it slips away
she craves and yearns
for another taste
it was the ghost of a girl led astray
in this living world of lost souls
her face is obscured by the men that she knows
and though she may try to push me away
oh no, baby, don't, don't push me away
it doesn't matter how we got here
it only matters how we get out
it doesn't matter how we got here
it only matters how we get out
so take my hand, i'll lead the way
you can close your eyes if you get too afraid
i never sleep when i'm by your side
i stay awake and you wonder why
you push me, oh no, don't push me away
oh no baby, don't push me away
it doesn't matter how we got here
it only matters how we get out
it doesn't matter how we got here, oh no
it only matters how we get out
it only matters how we get out
it only matters how we get out
Right then, here 'tis! Lexy, Chan and I had a ball doing this the other night. I just finished the cut last night. Hope it does justice to Metaphorest's fantastic tale!
It's certainly a much more ambitious story to tell than the first installment of Morgan M. Morgansen. So this version is less complete than the "white walls" version of that last episode. We got a lot of work ahead of us with this one!
Time to get to work on the visuals. Lawrie Brewster, this one has a hell of a lot more settings than the last one. I'm hoping the hitRECord contingent of graphic artists can rally round and pull together on this one.
I want to do another pass on the voice over. There's the characters' gibberish to add, sound effects. And of course, music!
This is the closest I could come to a file that would fit within our video player's 500MB limit. But I'm gonna upload another higher-res file as well for those of you (and there better be a lot!) who want to download it and start adding to it.
<3
It's certainly a much more ambitious story to tell than the first installment of Morgan M. Morgansen. So this version is less complete than the "white walls" version of that last episode. We got a lot of work ahead of us with this one!
Time to get to work on the visuals. Lawrie Brewster, this one has a hell of a lot more settings than the last one. I'm hoping the hitRECord contingent of graphic artists can rally round and pull together on this one.
I want to do another pass on the voice over. There's the characters' gibberish to add, sound effects. And of course, music!
This is the closest I could come to a file that would fit within our video player's 500MB limit. But I'm gonna upload another higher-res file as well for those of you (and there better be a lot!) who want to download it and start adding to it.
<3
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The Man in the Herringbone Hat by Rian Johnson Well the tales have been told of the gaberdine rogue and his surgical skill with the knife. Many ballads been writ bout the two-toned-shoe kid, his short tragic podia-cal life But these songs beat to drum take an air of ho-hum (and the air from a yawning at that) when set side aside to my midnight train ride with the man in the herringbone hat. • I lived high on the hog for a summer in Prague, the fall found me well for myself having made quite a name in a riverboat game splitting aces and spitting top shelf. Hence the wintertime's chill proved a sugary pill sipping wine in an alpine chateau till a man of low means I'd once grifted in Queens bid me take it a quick heel-and-toe. And so that's how I found myself riding by rail through the Northern Carpathian pass, late of hour new year's eve, dozing off cheek-to-sleeve in a rich private cabin, first class. I awoke some time on to a deep moonless dark and the mountainous chill in my bones. 'Gainst the black and the damp I set fire to the lamp… and discovered I was not alone. He sat with his legs folded primly and thin, his slender hands clasped at the knee. By rights, thus surprised, I'd have reached for my colt, but his eyes twinkled disarmingly. "Is this cabin reserved?" "It is." "Oh how rude then, I'm terribly sorry for that." And he reddened, although he made no move to go, but tipped lightly his titular hat. I found myself staring a moment too long at its fine woven pattern of wool. Mathematic and tight though I knew it to be, in this light it swarmed, random and cruel. Where had I seen it? That zig-zag of lines that smeared to a patternless gray? It tickled my senses and teased at my mind. For the life of me, I couldn't say. "We've some time till the station." his voice broke my spell. He leaned close to me, flexing his hands. "And I find myself wondering, on this Auld Lang Syne, if you sir are a gambling man?" I reached for my cards just a little too quick. He grinned. "Oh we might pass the time by playing some gin at a penny a point, but that's not quite what I had in mind. "No my wager is this." He uncorked a flask and poured us each out a wee dram. "A lifetime of wealth against one of regret, if you can just name what I am." "What you are?" "What I am. Guess as much as you like, till we get to the end of the line." So with less brains than brashness I lifted my glass, thus accepting his wager. "Sounds fine." "A hat maker?" "Hardly." He dealt out the gin. "An oil man?" "O, would that I were." "A tinker, a tailor? A candlestick maker?" His smile was amused but demure. I threw out vocations both highborn and low, from tycoon down to carnival man. And then realized, after an hour of "no's," he hadn't yet lost at a hand. "A gambler." I spat. He smiled and said "No." Then called "Gin!" and scooped over his haul. "When I work a table, one hardly is able to call the game 'gambling' at all." In a rush of remembrance, this man's odd visage leapt to mind from its fragmented shards. Yes of course I did know it - I'd seen it each time I had suffered a great loss at cards! At faro in Denver! At poker in Spain! Montecristo! Havana! New York! At each fateful hand and at each cursed game this devil had well been at work! He'd not sat at the table nor played at the hand, I'd have known the thief right off the bat, but I see it now - standing behind all my foes was a shadowy man in that hat! I leapt to my feet. "O I've won your damn bet, now I'll tell you sir just what you are! You're a cheat!" His eyes flashed, and he reached in his coat. But that slender hand didn't get far. One shot to the heart and he fell to the floor. I knelt by his side, and he stirred. "You've lost, sir." he said, and he pulled from his pocket a calling card bearing one word. And then, just like smoke, the thin man disappeared and the air took a tremulous chill. I picked up his card and my heart turned to stone as I realized what I had killed. • In the twenty years since, I've not won at a game be it gin, blackjack, poker, roulette. And my sad golden years I spend soaking in beers, pushing broomsticks and nursing regret. Learn the lesson well told from the gaberdine rogue, and the limited range of a knife. Take your moral well writ from the two-tone-shoed kid, how one's sole is not worth wealth in life. But these valuable tales, if all set on the scales would be tipped (maybe toppled, at that) by the one piece of truth every gambler should know, that is: Luck wears a herringbone hat. |
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My attempt at my first re-record (or at least I think that's the term). :-)
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Silly schmaltzy rhymey... Take me with you in your pocket Be my plug, I’ll be your socket You’re the captain of my rocket I’m your kooky jabberwocket Even though your tea is herbal And I’m troubled by your gerbil Though you’re far more verb than verbal What I feel for you’s eternal Even though I’m sometimes wary Even though the future’s scary I’m your bear if you can bare me You’re my little tree-top fairy I’m your cast and you’re my plaster My brain’s fast but yours is faster Though we both know life’s a bastard Our loveshack outlasts disasters |
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thom & his hat dance to 'dance dance repetition' at new frontier.
