JUST MEIN GLÜCK.....
..FRAULEIN GYPSY HAS RESURFACED FOR ALECIA...OK, RANG DOC THIS MORNING..JUST TO CLARIFY IF THE DIAGNOSIS WAS SPASTIC OR PLASTIC? ...SADLY IT WAS SPASTIC..ALL THIS TIME IVE BEEN DROOLING OUT OF THE RIGHT HAND SIDE OF MY MOUTH... I THOUGHT IT WAS THE ILLICIT THOUGHTS I WAS HAVING AT HELMUTS 'SS' BOOTS...DAMN!..
posted by gypsy noir at 10/22/2006
24 Comments:
There we go with the boots again! Where's that profile pic with your comandants hat?
Dur houst est modeh... only German I know - Translation: The dog is running.
What is Just Mein Gluck?
Just my luck? See anybody can learn German!
Spastic or plastic... keep on dreaming!
...out of whichever side of your mouth you want.
see what you have done alecia das fraulein gypsy came at your call..she is trouble..lol dale i do...
Heffeweizen! Not bad in black, I'm quaking, being of the more gypsy persuasion ... I'm packing my tarot cards and catching the next train to London!
das fraulein est makun mei lauf meist asstoff!
awe string you dont have to flee..this fraulein loves gypsys unless they are of the noir type..lol alecia..Lachen mein esel off!..
I left my politically incorrect carved ivory cigarette holder in Sedona - however, my crystal ball is sitting on the desk, oh who's that I see, why it's papa lazarou - ! I'm saved!
anyone seen dave..your my wife now!!...
fluttering by once more...
i have a crystal ball..i looked in to it to see my future and the words..'bleak' flashed up..needless to say i took it back to the shop..alecia i felt the beat of your wings..
Oh so that's why the one I have has papa in it, it was yours first! Can I use yer toilet?
I had no idea A could fly!
string..az ub de lama..krui krui, reeona dupunie klat frit zuitz...
papa told me to say that..
you callin my dad a pikey?
the black and white minstrel of pikeys...
The Raven
by Edgar Allan Poe
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door--
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore--
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door--
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;--
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"--here I opened wide the door;--
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"--
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore--
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore--
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door--
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered--not a feather then he fluttered--
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before--
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never--nevermore'."
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust, and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore--
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee,--by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite,--respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!--
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore--
Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil--prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!--quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted--nevermore!
Spastic Fantastic! I can't keep up with you and your prolific posting Gypsy - do you never sleep, Wonderwoman?
I give sloth lessons free of charge to approved clients ...
good evening margie..no i dont go to bed i sleep on the wire...its the way forward dont ya know...
You mean upside down on the wire? I said sloth, not bat. Somehow you have to admire any creature which moves so slowly it actually grows a sort of mouldy moss on its coat.
Is green a good colour for you?
no! i hate green..although they who ever they are ..say genius's pick green..its to pc..im a bat no! a cat..chucks a nod at croakay..
Kookaburra sits on the electric wire,
Jumping up and down with his pants on fire,
Ouch, Kookaburra, ouch, kookaburra,
Hot your tail must be.
Ach du liebe, what an outfit, what a post, don't you ever sleep, Gypsy?
gypsy someday im going to accidentally inhale the tea i keep spitting all over my monitor reading some hilarity of yours..
~Lace~
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