Last one to post wins the internets (archived)

[manker]

orite.
I had to stop listening after a very short space of time but kept it running so I'd see the terribly majestic thing which never appeared.

[Snee]

I think that means I win.

[Snee]

No more Newsom, tho. The line must be drawn heah.

[manker]

I came back to the thread to see what you said and my computer over-heated and crashed for no discernible reason.
It's entirely possible that it recoiled in terror.

[Snee]

youtube comment:

At first you're like, can she even sing? And then you realize that even though the sounds she makes are totally weird they're also like totally on key.

So those are still dumb, then.

[manker]

Have some 8 year olds playing cricket instead.
They were slightly more proficient at their chosen discipline than Ms. Newsome.



Only slightly, mind.

[Snee]

ffs, you hardly left any clues for dave this time.

How will he know what parents to phone?

[manker]

[manker]

My niece asked me to help her revise for her A-Levels. I was all; 'Ok'. So she is staying at my house. Chemistry and Biology - she is breezing thro' the work I'm giving her. Now comes Welsh. I don't speak a word of it. However, I did a different language at A-Level so how different can the revision methods be, rite.

Basically the Welsh paper is centred on one of seven poems that you have to learn by heart. You then have to critically evaluate the poem and remark upon how ... idfk ... but it's all about poetry. The entire paper. I'm so pissed off with it that I've come to my office and my missus is helping her instead.

I simply can't understand how poetry has survived as a literary device for so long. That's not hyperbole. I honestly don't understand. Fuck poetry.

[Artemis]

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

- Dylan Thomas

Just to help you with your ceaseless struggle with the poetic form.