- Dr. Gerli 2006-08-28 03:38:23 http://www.animemusicvideos.org/phpBB/viewtopic.php?p=895233
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Want to join a MEP? Is horror your favorite genre? Then join the Doom Project!
2006-08-23 15:29:14
Thread here: http://www.animemusicvideos.org/phpBB/viewtopic.php?t=68614
Elinkautinen
http://www.animemusicvideos.org/members/members_videoinfo.php?v=63234
**Unfortunately this beautiful video is no longer hosted, and the creator for some bizarre reason never uploaded it. Anyone who wants it, contact me.**
Every night I suffer my life sentence in this body, from something I did not do
in this enforcement/execution the guard is me, not one went through the court of
I'm fishing words from a dead river,)
No one will release a prisoner whose door is unlocked
Every night in this body it's testified, what no one has seen
in this courtroom the prosecutor is me, jury has sold their conscience
caravan of fears delay the morning/dawn
no one defends a prisoner whose door is unlocked
Every morning in this body is tortured the prisoner, who hadn't known his crime
I wait in terror for the sound of (gun) shots
No one pardons a prisoner, whose door is unlocked
Joka yö tässä ruumissa istun elinkautista, siitä mitä en ole tehnyt.
Tässä täytäntöönpanossa vartija on minussa, kukaan ei oikeutta käynyt.
Kalastan sanoja kuolleesta virrasta,
kukaan ei vapauta sellaista vankia jonka ovi ei ole lukossa.
Joka yö tässä ruumissa todistetaan valalla siitä,mitä kukaan ei nähnyt
Tässä istuntosalissa syyttäjä on minussa,valamies omatuntonsa myynyt.
pelkojen kolonna viivyttää aamua,
kukaan ei puolusta sellaista vankia jonka ovi ei ole lukossa
Joka aamu tässä ruumissa kidutetaan vankia, joka rikostaan ei ole tiennyt.
Tässä rangaistusmuodossa tuomari on minussa, ulkopuolelle oikeus jäänyt.
Odotan kauhulla laukausten kaikua,
kukaan ei armahda sellaista vankia jonka ovi ei ole lukossa.
- 2006-07-30 22:48:10 "MySpace is an online sexual orgy where adults and kids sleep together in some kind of culty illicit community. "
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We need 5 editors for the Doom Project. Join damn you.
2006-07-23 14:36:49
It is Sunday afternoon, preferably before the war. The wife is already
asleep in the armchair, and the children have been sent out for a nice
long walk. You put your feet up on the sofa, settle your spectacles on
your nose, and open the NEWS OF THE WORLD. Roast beef and Yorkshire, or
roast pork and apple sauce, followed up by suet pudding and driven home,
as it were, by a cup of mahogany-brown tea, have put you in just the
right mood. Your pipe is drawing sweetly, the sofa cushions are soft
underneath you, the fire is well alight, the air is warm and stagnant. In
these blissful circumstances, what is it that you want to read about?
Naturally, about a murder. But what kind of murder? If one examines the
murders which have given the greatest amount of pleasure to the British
public, the murders whose story is known in its general outline to almost
everyone and which have been made into novels and re-hashed over and over
again by the Sunday papers, one finds a fairly strong family resemblance
running through the greater number of them. Our great period in murder,
our Elizabethan period, so to speak, seems to have been between roughly
1850 and 1925, and the murderers whose reputation has stood the test of
time are the following: Dr. Palmer of Rugely, Jack the Ripper, Neill
Cream, Mrs. Maybrick, Dr. Crippen, Seddon, Joseph Smith, Armstrong, and
Bywaters and Thompson. In addition, in 1919 or thereabouts, there was
another very celebrated case which fits into the general pattern but
which I had better not mention by name, because the accused man was
acquitted.
Of the above-mentioned nine cases, at least four have had successful
novels based on them, one has been made into a popular melodrama, and the
amount of literature surrounding them, in the form of newspaper
write-ups, criminological treatises and reminiscences by lawyers and
police officers, would make a considerable library. It is difficult to
believe that any recent English crime will be remembered so long and so
intimately, and not only because the violence of external events has made
murder seem unimportant, but because the prevalent type of crime seems to
be changing. The principal CAUSE CÉLÈBRE of the war years was the
so-called Cleft Chin Murder, which has now been written up in a popular
booklet; the verbatim account of the trial was published
some time last year by Messrs. Jarrolds with an introduction by
Mr. Bechhofer Roberts. Before returning to this pitiful and sordid case,
which is only interesting from a sociological and perhaps a legal point of
view, let me try to define what it is that the readers of Sunday papers
mean when they say fretfully that "you never seem to get a good murder
nowadays".
In considering the nine murders I named above, one can start by excluding
the Jack the Ripper case, which is in a class by itself. Of the other
eight, six were poisoning cases, and eight of the ten criminals belonged
to the middle class. In one way or another, sex was a powerful motive in
all but two cases, and in at least four cases respectability--the desire
to gain a secure position in life, or not to forfeit one's social
position by some scandal such as a divorce--was one of the main reasons
for committing murder. In more than half the cases, the object was to get
hold of a certain known sum of money such as a legacy or an insurance
policy, but the amount involved was nearly always small. In most of the
cases the crime only came to light slowly, as the result of careful
investigations which started off with the suspicions of neighbours or
relatives; and in nearly every case there was some dramatic coincidence,
in which the finger of Providence could be clearly seen, or one of those
episodes that no novelist would dare to make up, such as Crippen's flight
across the Atlantic with his mistress dressed as a boy, or Joseph Smith
playing "Nearer, my God, to Thee" on the harmonium while one of his wives
was drowning in the next room. The background of all these crimes, except
Neill Cream's, was essentially domestic; of twelve victims, seven were
either wife or husband of the murderer.
With all this in mind one can construct what would be, from a NEWS OF THE
WORLD reader's point of view, the "perfect" murder. The murderer should
be a little man of the professional class--a dentist or a solicitor, say
--living an intensely respectable life somewhere in the suburbs, and
preferably in a semi-detached house, which will allow the neighbours to
hear suspicious sounds through the wall. He should be either chairman of
the local Conservative Party branch, or a leading Nonconformist and
strong Temperance advocate. He should go astray through cherishing a
guilty passion for his secretary or the wife of a rival professional man,
and should only bring himself to the point of murder after long and
terrible wrestles with his conscience. Having decided on murder, he
should plan it all with the utmost cunning, and only slip up over some
tiny unforeseeable detail. The means chosen should, of course, be poison.
In the last analysis he should commit murder because this seems to him
less disgraceful, and less damaging to his career, than being detected in
adultery. With this kind of background, a crime can have dramatic and
even tragic qualities which make it memorable and excite pity for both
victim and murderer. Most of the crimes mentioned above have a touch of
this atmosphere, and in three cases, including the one I referred to but
did not name, the story approximates to the one I have outlined.
Now compare the Cleft Chin Murder. There is no depth of feeling in it. It
was almost chance that the two people concerned committed that particular
murder, and it was only by good luck that they did not commit several
others. The background was not domesticity, but the anonymous life of the
dance-halls and the false values of the American film. The two culprits
were an eighteen-year-old ex-waitress named Elizabeth Jones, and an
American army deserter, posing as an officer, named Karl Hulten. They
were only together for six days, and it seems doubtful whether, until
they were arrested, they even learned one another's true names. They met
casually in a teashop, and that night went out for a ride in a stolen
army truck. Jones described herself as a strip-tease artist, which was
not strictly true (she had given one unsuccessful performance in this
line); and declared that she wanted to do something dangerous, "like
being a gun-moll." Hulten described himself as a big-time Chicago
gangster, which was also untrue. They met a girl bicycling along the
road, and to show how tough he was Hulten ran over her with his truck,
after which the pair robbed her of the few shillings that were on her. On
another occasion they knocked out a girl to whom they had offered a lift,
took her coat and handbag and threw her into a river. Finally, in the
most wanton way, they murdered a taxi-driver who happened to have £8 in
his pocket. Soon afterwards they parted. Hulten was caught because he had
foolishly kept the dead man's car, and Jones made spontaneous confessions
to the police. In court each prisoner incriminated the other. In between
crimes, both of them seem to have behaved with the utmost callousness:
they spent the dead taxi-driver's £8 at the dog races.
Judging from her letters, the girl's case has a certain amount of
psychological interest, but this murder probably captured the headlines
because it provided distraction amid the doodle-bugs and the anxieties of
the Battle of France. Jones and Hulten committed their murder to the tune
of V1, and were convicted to the tune of V2. There was also considerable
excitement because--as has become usual in England--the man was
sentenced to death and the girl to imprisonment. According to Mr.
Raymond, the reprieving of Jones caused widespread indignation and
streams of telegrams to the Home Secretary: in her native town, "SHE
SHOULD HANG" was chalked on the walls beside pictures of a figure
dangling from a gallows. Considering that only ten women have been hanged
in Britain this century, and that the practice has gone out largely
because of popular feeling against it, it is difficult not to feel that
this clamour to hang an eighteen-year-old girl was due partly to the
brutalizing effects of war. Indeed, the whole meaningless story, with its
atmosphere of dance-halls, movie-palaces, cheap perfume, false names and
stolen cars, belongs essentially to a war period.
Perhaps it is significant that the most talked-of English murder of
recent years should have been committed by an American and an English
girl who had become partly Americanized. But it is difficult to believe
that this case will be so long remembered as the old domestic poisoning
dramas, product of a stable society where the all-prevailing hypocrisy
did at least ensure that crimes as serious as murder should have strong
emotions behind them. -
2 more members needed for the Doom Project
2006-06-27 01:39:19
Akvarium - 500
500 songs, and nothing to sing
The sky turns into a closed cage
The same old words in a new font
That comic verse for those falling in elevators
Dry wind blows through provincial streets
My homeland, like a pig, eats its children
With super-sonic relentlessness
Two hands in gloves rock the cradle
The candles are lit up on both ends
The corpses bury their dead
The corpses bury their dead...
---
Hey, does anyone remember who's the guy on the cross?
The righteous brothers are tripping out like the mob on acid
Every time they tell me that you're still together
I remember that you can make the best money with a cargo of 200
In the yellow submarine, mummies in hand
The wheel of laughter discovers the properties of a meat-mincer
Patriotism means - just kill the infidels
This fracture goes right through my heart
In the foggy water, you can't see the end
The corpses bury their dead
The corpses bury their dead...
---
I feel like a negative in the light,
Dry rage, the taste of iron in my mouth
Our happiness is produced in Hong Kong and Poland
No other name suits us better
In every flower bud, there's a time mechanism
We walk down the ladder that leads down
A tied-up bird cannot be a songbird
For those falling in elevators, it becomes easier with every second
The dogs have choked on howling
They didn't teach us how to live, they taught us to die standing
You know, this game can be played by two
This game can be played by two
This game can be played by two
This game can be played by two...
nurotic257: HAHAHAHA
Otohiko AMV: ?
nurotic257: I walked out for a minute to put a little pizza in the microwave, and on the news they had this blip about how a woman was talking on her cellphone, and when the bars at the train crossing came down she just walked around them and got hit
Otohiko AMV: uh
Otohiko AMV: hah
nurotic257: I suppose its not funny if you look at it humanely, but.... c'mon, the bars came down and she just walked around them
Otohiko AMV: yea, well
Otohiko AMV: she was asking for it
JOURNAL: Orwell (Aaron )
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