FATAL KRONE

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MARILYN MANSON

Shakespeare is basically accepted as a central icon to intellectualism, drama, performance art, social unrest, fairy tales and visions of class separation. And Hamlet is the quintessential Shakespeare...

In Hamlet, every time things get really loud, really emotional, and really show a human reaction to devastation... the next line you see after the storm is, "Exit Ophelia"

You are not chained to this world, so there is no reason to hold back... Say your piece with exactly the same vigor and madness that the world uses to address you... give the rant, and walk away.

In short... think... feel... and then... Scream baby.

O Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

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 despis'd 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 these 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 naught 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.

FILL THE GOBLET AGAIN

A Song

By
Lord Byron

Fill the goblet again ! for I never before

Felt the glow which now gladdens my heart to its core;

Let us drink ! --- who would not ? --- since, through life's varied round,

In the goblet alone no deception is found.

I have tried in its turn all that life can supply;

I have bask'd in the beam of a dark rolling eye;

I have loved ! --- who has not ? --- but what heart can declare

That pleasure existed while passion was there?

In the days of my youth, when the heart's in its spring,

And dreams that affection can never take wing,

I had friends ! --- who has not ? --- but what tongue will avow,

That friends, rosy wine! Are so faithful as thou?

The heart of a mistress some boy may estrange,

Friendship shifts with the sunbeam --- thou never canst change;

Thou grow'st old --- who does not ? --- but on earth what appears,

Whose virtues, like thine, still increase with its years?

Yet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow,

Should a rival bow down to our idol below,

We are jealous ! --- who's not ? --- thou hast no such alloy;

For the more that enjoy thee, the more we enjoy.

Then the season of youth and its vanities past,

For refuge we fly to the goblet at last;

There we find --- do we not ? --- in the flow of the soul,

That truth, as of yore, is confined to the bowl.

When the box of Pandora was opened on earth,

And Misery's triumph commenced over Mirth,

Hope was left, --- was she not ? --- but the goblet we kiss,

And care not for Hope, who are certain of bliss.

Long life to the grape! for when summer is flown.

The age of our nectar shall gladden our own:

We must die --- who shall not ? --- May our sins be forgiven,

And Hebe shall never be idle in heaven.

No longer mourn for me 
when I am dead
Then you shall hear the 
surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world 
that I am fled
From this vile world, with 
vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this 
line, remember not
The hand that writ it; 
for I love you so
That I in your sweet thoughts 
would be forgot
If thinking on me then 
should make you woe.
O, if, I say, you look 
upon this verse
When I perhaps compounded
am with clay,
Do not so much as my
 poor name rehearse.
But let your love even with
 my life decay,
Lest the wise world should 
look into your moan
And mock you with me 
after I am gone