JaK_Willie the Shake_5quat

[HTM|JaK_5quat]

This just kinda fell outta my head this afternoon -from Hamlet Act 3, Scene 1, I believe:

To shock, or not to shock: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The combos and headshots of outrageous ownage,
Or to take arms against a map of troubles,
And by fragging end them? To die: to spec;
No more; and by a respawing to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That health is heir to, 'tis a puck to be consumed
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to spec;
To spec: perchance to join: ay, there's the rub;
For in that specing of death what joining may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respawn
That makes boosting of so long life;
For who would bear the flaks and combos of overtime,
The biatch's wrong, the proud man's adrenelin is but full,
The alt-fire of despised love, the link's delay,
The insolence of shield-gun and the hitscans
That patient merit of the unworthy spam,
When he himself might his monsterkill make
With no shield? who would flak monkey bear,
To dodge and jump under a weary life,
But that the dread of respawn after death,
The undiscover'd spawn point from whose rebourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than snipe others that we know not of?
Thus camping does make cowards of us all;
And thus the bright skin of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of invisibility,
And enterprises of great pith and humiliating defeat
With this regard their killing sprees turn awry,
And lose the name of action. - Taunt now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy bots
Be all my kills remember'd.

JaK_Willy the Shake_5quat

[frogger]

that's awesome..:)

one problem though... no spam is unworthy..

[HTM|JaK_5quat]

For anyone interested, this is the way Shakespear wrote it:

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.

William Shakespear - Hamlet Act 3, Scene 1

[HTM~Par]

beautiful. now if someone could get Edgar Allen Poe's - The Raven to look like that...

[HTM|JaK_5quat]

OK, here's a start. Ever heard of a cat named Lord Buckley? He was a kind of "rapper" in the 50's and 60's, far ahead of his time. Very controversial at that time. He did what is called a "hipsemantic" version of The Raven that I transcribed in the '70's and used to reinact on Halloween to bars full of drunks and crackpots. One time the owner of this bar in Seattle became so upset that he sent the guitar player leader of the band up to take me down. I wish I had a film of that night. I pushed him away several times returning to the mic (almost James Brown style). Finally the soundman turned the mic off, which was not going to stop me - I continued from the stage projecting with no mic. The club had actually gotten silent for the performance. When I finished it brought the house down. We never played that club again, but i was fricking worth it. :-) I was a wildman, and I will always remember it as shining example of my mispent youth, as they say. hehheh

Here's the transcription, followed by Poe's original version:

Lord Buckley:

M'Lords and Ladies of the Royal Court,
Edgar, the swinging Edgar Allen Poe's
magnificent torch, "The Raven,"
as translated into the semantic of the hip.


Now, you see Poe didn't want that bird,
he didn't need the bird,
he didn't dig the bird,
he didn't send for the bird,
he didn't even know what aviary the bird came from.
If they'd a knocked the bird on him post paid
he wouldn't have dug it.
'Cause he was hung in front
for a chick by the name of Lenore,
who had already swooped the satellite.
But that didn't bug Eddie.
He's still knockin' that torch and coal on there,
say: "Can they see me in Flip City?"

But just like I say, so many times,
when you don't want the bird,
when you don't need the bird,
when you haven't got the first possible use for the bird,
vrrrrpppt, that's when you get it.
And that's what happened to Poe Eddie.

He say:

It was a real drug midnight
swoooooooooooooooah dreary
I... was goofing
Beat and weary
Over many a freakish volume of forgotten score
When suddenly there came a tapping
As if some cat were gently riffing
Knocking rhythm at my pad's door.

Ah, "'tis the landlady," I muttered
On her broom she flies the rounding
Sounding for her rent
WITCH only this and nothing more

Ehh, ooh, will I ever get out of this feeling?
Emmm, emmmm,

Ah, so solid I remember,
It was in that wrought December
And it's swingin', jumpin' ember
Blew it's phantom on the floor
Groovily I woo'd the morrow
Still hung I sought to borrow
From my book kicks
To knock the sorrow
Sorrow for my gone Lenore
For that sweet, square but swingin' maiden
Whom the fly chicks tagged Lenore
Nameless here forevermore

And the silky wierdly turning
Of each purple curtain
Moved me, hung me
With freakish flipples
Never dug before
So that now to cool the beating of my ticker
I stood repeating, "'Tis some strange midnight stud
That's sounding a money beat on my pad's door.
A deuce to cool the morrow
Or some juice to drown his sorrow
Some lightweight riff this
And nothing more.
Jack!" I said, "Or Jilly, if I've crossed you.
Ha ha. Don't jump sore
But the solid truth is
This cat was napping
And so cooooooool did you come tapping
And so light hip you came rapping
Rhythm at my pad's door
That I was scared sure I dug you!"
Here I opened wide the slammer, Jack.
Swoooosh, I dug the breeze
And nothing more.

Ooh, what are they trying to do to me? I'll show them - what do they think about - get my way out of this - why they - uuumm, what was that? Look out, look out, look out! Take it easy, take it easy, take it easy, take it easy!

STONED into the darkness peering
Long I stood there
I was hung there
Flipped and fearing
King spinning dreams
No mortal cat had ever rode before
But the gasser was unbroken
Diggin' so hard my wig was goin'
But nathin' shakin' nathin' showin'
Just one radar blip was goin'
The whispered word:
Swoo-Swooooh, Lenore
This I sounded and it sounded back
Swoo-Swooooh, Lenore.
This one sad lick and nothing more

Oooh, why don't they leave me alone,
why don't they leave me alone?

I backed into my pad
Still turning
All is jazz within me burning
And again I dug the tapping
A stronger beat then was before
"I'm solid hip," says, "I don't dig
what that is jumpin in my window lattice.
Let me get hip what the rat is
And this deep flip I will explore
Let my pounder stay cool the more
And this flip I will explore"
swoo-shoo, Jack, I drew a blank
And nothing more.

Swhhoooo - Who do they think they are to do this to me?!

Gone full out
I flung the shutter
When with many a flip and flutter
In there stomped a king sized bugbird, Jack
From way back days of yore
Not a minute tipped or hung he
Not a minute brought or down he
But with stance of king and queen
He swung above my sweet pad's door
Lit upon the bust of Pallas
Sat goofin' there and nothing more.

"I'm solid hip," said I, "That you're not craven
Gasser grim and beat up raven
Goofing for the night's Plutonian shore.
Swing hip me to what thy tag is
On the night's Plutonian shore."
Flip the bugbird, "Nothing more."

Solid wig me this bird to dig me
Though it copped out not upon the score
We cannot help it
Being that no single human being
Ever was so sent by seeing a wig like this
Above his pad's door
With such a tag as: Nevermore

Now you see this blasted bugbird kept bugging Edgar
and gave him such a dreadful time of it
that Poe now wants to divorce the bird.
He wants to expel the bird.
He doesn't care whether the bird knew Lenore,
Eleanor or any of these cats.
He wants to blow the bird.
So he -
I think the bird put one too many Nevermores on him.
I don't know how much they weigh
but it was just enough to flip that little Eisenglas
at the end of the fuse and vrrrpppppt,
blow the whole gig.
Poe is now flipping.
He looks at the bird and he says,

"By this lick you have flipped my meter
You nauseous gasser!
You endless repeater!
Screw before I blow my red hot stack!
Go back to your Plutonian shore
Leave no feather on my heather
Take your black jazz blown together,
Leave this pad my torch unbroken
Screw from the roost above my door!"
Flipped the bugbird, "Neezever Meezore."


Edgar Allen 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 named 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 mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness 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 blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above 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 will he 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 sad soul 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, 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 violet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has 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 named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of 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 lamp-light 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!

OK, maybe I'll work on UT version! ;-)

[HTM~Par]

haha, that other one is hilarious :lol:

[)o(Stormblade]

Jak, you never cease to amaze me :-D

[HTM|JaK_5quat]

Thx! Well, I DO love the play of words; the way they lap along the shoreline of life, so to speak. 8) The well timed joke; the poignant phrase; the light-hearted jab; the moving soliloquy. I guess I have a hard-on for anything well-said. hehe

[HTM|Lunch_Meat]

Wow, very nice Jak :)

[HTM|JaK_5quat]

Hey I just noticed my Shakespear adaptation on the front page! I'm honored! Thx Min!

[HTM|Minion]

:wink: