um not much really. i play sports, play piano, work at the bay and go to school. talk about boring. i have many nicknames including mickey mouse, mouse, mousey-baby, k to the e, k-double-d, k-diggity, TJ, tits mckee. oh and by the way i'm not concieted enough to call myself a foxey lady. i think it's time some of you watched Wayne's World cause it's playing during Garth's awesome foxey lady dance.
"We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of blotter acid, a salt shaker half-full of cocaine and a whole galaxy full of multicoloured uppers, downers, screamers, laughers.... Also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether, and two dozen amyls.... not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can. The only thing that really worried me was the ether. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge, and I knew we'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon." - Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
"Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. " - John Donne
"Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.
We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labour, and my leisure too,
For his civility.
We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.
We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.
Since then 'tis centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity." - Emily Dickenson
"Dig down deep, make a muddy hole;
There she sleeps in a body bowl.
Now she wakes and climbs out in glory
To tell us of her tragic story.
She was known for her written plays,
Producing a new one almost every day.
Locked herself in her cottage by the sea;
Talked to no one, not even me.
When she thought she could produce no more,
The scenery she would explore.
Down a winding path through the trees,
She would faintly stop to smell the daisies.
Along the path ran a babbling brook,
And here is where we find the crook.
Sitting in the brush waiting,
With the pistol he was wielding.
Here is where I choose to stop,
The silence broken by a shot.
It doesn't matter how she died,
Or even that the bastard lied.
So dig on down, dig real deep,
Down to where the creatures creep,
To find her soul that eternally weeps." - Me!! (psst it's an epitaph, and fake!)
PS i'm totally not into death and all that (like that poem in theatre ack!! blood is the colour red?? no shit!) i just love classic poetry and these two stuck out for me in Lit 12





)