Stolen from leopardprints... Fnord!

You scored as Discordian. You are a Discordian! That makes you a real oddball, and this is a fact in which you take great pride! Everything is funny, and really, who cares anyway? Synchronicity is the Great Cosmic Comedy, and meaning is where you find it! Have you hugged your paradigm today? </td> Discordian 95% Aimless Eclectic 65% True Alternative 60% Magician 60% White Lighter 55% Mystic 30% Otherkin 25% Spiritualist 25% What Subversive Alternative Paradigm Are You? created with QuizFarm.com

Question of the Day

What's the meaning of life?

Meter and rhyme... Seeing as I haven't rhymed in a while...

Welcome to the city of my mind
Where many oddments you will find
As you tread these varied streets
There may be surprises to be seen

Pick a road to suit your mood
And walk along it in my shoes
From pristine towers of faith and love
To the filth that will no doubt disgust

Every one of my thoughts are visible
Even those that are contemptible
For from myself how do I hide
The darkest thoughts that lurk inside

And yet I still invite you to see
All that is inside of me
For I wear my heart upon my sleeve
For in doing so, I am free

O Captain! My Captain!

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather'd 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 ribbon'd wreaths - for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Hear Captain! dear father!
The arm beneath your head!
It is some dream 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 anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shore, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O me! O life!

O me! O life! of the questions of these recurring.
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill'd with the foolish.
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew'd.
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring -- What good amid these, O me, O life?
Answer That you are here--that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
~ Walt Whitman (1819-1892)