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PostPosted: Thu Mar 25, 2010 9:10 pm 
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Let's use this thread to capture lyrical references for Polly's songs.

The first one that comes to mind is Polly's Rid Of Me and Beefheart's Dirty Blue Gene (from Doc At The Radar Station):

The shiny beast of thought
If you got ears
You gotta listen
Old woman sweat
Young girls glisten
The extract you thought
is the extract you got

Pop in a thought
Ex-extract
D'you hear me?

Hope these are hard[?] drops
Grooves you away
Drop by drop
Light by bright
Night by light
There ain't no good
'n' there ain't no blame
Not hip
Ain't no aim
You make the fault
You cause the blame
Devil the same
Pop in a thought
Ex-extract
Shiny beast of thought
You hang up
Now you're caught
If you got ears
You gotta listen
Old woman sweat
Young girls glisten
There's more than what you thought
Pop in a thought
The shiny beast of thought

Stand there bubblin' like an open cola in the sun
Back is achin'
Work is never done
She's swinging a sponge on the end of a string
Right on the brink
She spills the ink down the sink
She's not bad
She's just genetically mean
She's not bad
She's just genetically mean
Don't you wish you never met her? [x3]
Dirty Blue Gene

She's swinging a sponge on the end of a string
Don't you wish you never met her? [x4]
She's not bad
She's just genetically mean
(fuck)
Dirty Blue Gene
Dirty [x3]
Dirty Blue Gene
She's
Not
Bad

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Last edited by DrDark on Fri Mar 26, 2010 6:09 am, edited 1 time in total.

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PostPosted: Thu Mar 25, 2010 10:10 pm 
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Meet Ze Monsta and Beefheart's Tropical Hot Dog Night (from Shiny Beast):

Tropical Hot Dog Night
Like two flamingoes in a fruit fight
Ev’ry colour of day
Whirlin’ around at night
I’m playin’ this music
So the young girls will come out
To meet the monster tonight
Tropical Hot Dog Night

Like two flamingoes in a fruit fight
I don’t wanna know ‘bout wrong or right
I don’t want to know
- I’m anywhere tonight

Tropical Hot Dog Night
Like two flamingoes in a fruit fight
Like steppin’ out of a triangle
Into striped light
Striped light, striped light
Tropical Hot Dog Night
- Everything’s wrong, at the same time it’s right

The truth has no patterns for me tonight
I’m playing this music so the young girls will come out
To meet the monster tonight
Meet the monster tonight


What do all you women do
When the men get Tropical Hot Dog payday?
What do you do on Tropical Hot Dog day day?
Yay; Yay

Step out of a triangle into striped light
Turn around and step back into striped light
Tropical Hot Dog Night

I’m playin’ this song
For all the young girls to come out to meet the monster tonight
Meet the monster tonight
How would you like to be the lucky girl,
The lucky one?
- To be the monster tonight
Ow, to be the monster tonight
Oh, everything’s wrong, at the same time it’s white!

You get to be - you get to be - with me
And also to be the monster tonight


There's also a musical connection with the opening riff of Tropical Hot Dog Night and Polly's Heaven.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6kUQWa3DrDU

Tropical Hot Dog Night is at 3:50. It appears that you can't upload single WMG songs to YT or their music recognition software will take them down.

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Last edited by DrDark on Fri Mar 26, 2010 10:08 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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PostPosted: Thu Mar 25, 2010 11:08 pm 
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To Bring You My Love (I was born in the desert...) and Beefheart's Sure Nuff and Yes I Do (from Safe As Milk):

Well I was born in the desert came on up from New Orleans
Came up on a tornado sunlight in the sky
I went around all day with the moon sticking in my eye

Hey hey hey all you young girls wherever you're at
I got a brand new Cadillac I got a Ferrari too
Sure 'nuff baby sure 'nuff 'n yes I do

Got the time to teach ya' now, bet you'll learn some too
Got the time to teach ya' now, bet you'll learn some too
Sure 'nuff baby sure 'nuff 'n yes I do

Hey hey hey all you young girls whatever you do
Hey hey hey all you young girls whatever you do
Well come on by and see me I'll make it worth it to you

.....with me and I'll ..with me and you
Sleep with me and I'll sleep with me and you
Stick with me and I'll stick with me and you

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PostPosted: Sat Mar 27, 2010 6:44 pm 
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Thanks for making this!

Angelene (Is This Desire?) and "Pretty Mouth and Green My Eyes" by J. D. Salinger (Nine Stories.)


The phone rings. A “gray-haired man” asks the girl he is with if she’d rather he not answer it. She is unsure, and asks him what he thinks. Resolving that it won’t make too much difference, the man picks up. His name is Lee.
“Lee?” comes the voice on the other end. “I wake you?”
“Who’s that?” Lee asks. “Arthur?” The caller answers that it is, and then asks Lee if he noticed when “Joanie” – Arthur’s wife – left. Lee looks at the girl, and certain things become clear. The girl is Joanie, and Lee has taken her to his place after a party. He and Arthur work at the same law firm. Arthur is worried about Joanie, who apparently has a tendency to behave rashly and who he suspects of sleeping around. Lee, for his part, consoles his friend but does not let on to the truth.
“Did you happen to notice if she left with the Ellenbogens, by any chance?” Arthur asks. “No, I didn’t Arthur,” comes the reply. “Didn’t she leave with you?” Lee asks if Arthur has tried calling the Ellenbogens. “In the first place,” he adds, “if I know the Ellenbogens, they probably all hopped in a cab and went down to the Village for a couple of hours.” Arthur has a feeling Joanie “went to work on some bastard in the kitchen.”
Lee advises his friend to calm down and try to take a “nightcap” and get some sleep. Arthur, however, continues to vent his frustration, poring out his paranoia and jealousy, explaining that every night he returns home from work he half-expects to find his place crawling with men. Lee argues back that Arthur goes out of his way to “torture” himself, and that he’s “bloody lucky” Joanie is such “a wonderful kid.” Arthur, incensed, snaps back that Joanie is an “animal.” He then proceeds to mock her, noting that she “thinks she’s a goddamn intellectual.”
After it comes out that Arthur just lost a major case for the firm, he betrays his true feelings for Joanie, noting that he will often get vivid memories lodged in his mind of a poem he wrote her years ago – “Rose my color is and white, Pretty mouth and green my eyes” – or the first time he and she “drove up to New Haven for the Princeton game.” “She bought me a suit once,” he adds. “With her own money. […] I mean she has some goddamn nice traits.”
Arthur then asks if he can come over to Lee’s place. Lee is obliged to say yes, but advises that he does not think it a good idea. “I honestly think you should just sit tight and relax till Joanie waltzes in,” he says. “Yeah,” Arthur responds. “I don’t know. I swear to God, I don’t know.”
Moments later, the conversation ends and the girl asks Lee what Arthur said. “You were wonderful,” she exclaims. “God, I feel like a dog!”
The phone rings again. Lee answers. It’s Arthur. He tells his friend that Joanie just “barged in.” He thanks Arthur for all his help, tells a long story to explain Joanie’s tardiness – “apparently Leona got stinking and then had a goddamn crying jag, and Bob wanted Joanie to go out and grab a drink with them somewhere and iron the thing out” – and says that maybe he and Joanie will “get ourselves a little place in Connecticut.”


Angelene:
My first name Angelene
Prettiest mess you've ever seen
Love for money is my sin
Any man calls I'll let him in

Rose is my colour and white
Pretty mouth, and green my eyes


I see men come and go
But there'll be one who will collect my soul
And come to me

Two thousand miles away
He walks upon the coast
Two thousand miles away
It lays open like a road

Dear God, life ain't kind
People gettin born then dying
But I've heard there's joy untold
Lays open like a road in front of me

Two thousand miles away
He walks upon the coast
Two thousand miles away
Lays open like a road

It seems so far away
I see men come and go
Two thousand miles until I reach that open road

My first name's angelene

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PostPosted: Sat Mar 27, 2010 7:08 pm 
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"A Perfect Day Elise" (Is This Desire) JD Salinger's "A Perfect Day For Bananafish" (Nine Stories).

There were ninety-seven New York advertising men in the hotel, and, the way they were monopolizing the long-distance lines, the girl in 507 had to wait from noon till almost two-thirty to get her call through. She used the time, though. She read an article in a women's pocket-size magazine, called "Sex is Fun--or Hell." She washed her comb and brush. She took the spot out of the skirt of her beige suit. She moved the button on her Saks blouse. She tweezed out two freshly surfaced hairs in her mole. When the operator finally rang her room, she was sitting on the window seat and had almost finished putting lacquer on the nails of her left hand.

She was a girl who for a ringing phone dropped exactly nothing. She looked as if her phone had been ringing continually ever since she had reached puberty.

With her little lacquer brush, while the phone was ringing, she went over the nail of her little finger, accentuating the line of the moon. She then replaced the cap on the bottle of lacquer and, standing up, passed her left--the wet--hand back and forth through the air. With her dry hand, she picked up a congested ashtray from the window seat and carried it with her over to the night table, on which the phone stood. She sat down on one of the made-up twin beds and--it was the fifth or sixth ring--picked up the phone.

"Hello," she said, keeping the fingers of her left hand outstretched and away from her white silk dressing gown, which was all that she was wearing, except mules--her rings were in the bathroom.

"I have your call to New York now, Mrs. Glass," the operator said.

"Thank you," said the girl, and made room on the night table for the ashtray.

A woman's voice came through. "Muriel? Is that you?"

The girl turned the receiver slightly away from her ear. "Yes, Mother, How are you?" she said.

"I've been worried to death about you. Why haven't you phoned? Are you all right?"

"I tried to get you last night and the night before. The phone here's been--"

"Are you all right, Muriel?"

The girl increased the angle between the receiver and her ear. "I'm fine, I'm hot. This is the hottest day they've had in Florida in--"

"Why haven't you called me? I've been worried to--"

"Mother, darling, don't yell at me. I can hear you beautifully," said the girl. "I called you twice last night. Once just after--"

"I told your father you'd probably call last night. But, no, he had to--Are you all right, Muriel? Tell me the truth."

"I'm fine. Stop asking me that, please."

"When did you get there?"

"I don't know. Wednesday morning, early."

"Who drove?"

"He did," said the girl. "And don't get excited. He drove very nicely. I was amazed."

"He drove? Muriel, you gave me your word of--"

"Mother," the girl interrupted, "I just told you. He drove very nicely. Under fifty the whole way, as a matter of fact."

"Did he try any of that funny business with the trees?"

"I said he drove very nicely, Mother. Now, please. I asked him to stay close to the white line, and all, and he knew what I meant, and he did. He was even trying not to look at the trees--you could tell. Did Daddy get the car fixed, incidentally?

"Not yet. They want four hundred dollars, just to--"

"Mother, Seymour told daddy that he'd pay for it. There's no reason for--"

"Well, we'll see. How did he behave--in the car and all?"

"All right," said the girl.

"Did he keep calling you that awful--"

"No. He has something new now."

"What?"

"Oh, what's the difference, Mother?"

"Muriel, I want to know. Your father--"

"All right, all right. He calls me Miss Spiritual Tramp of 1948," the girl said, and giggled.

"It isn't funny, Muriel. It isn't funny at all. It's horrible. It's sad, actually. When I think how--"

"Mother," the girl interrupted, "listen to me. You remember that book he sent me from Germany? You know--those German poems. What'd I do with it? I've been racking my--"

"You have it."

"Are you sure?" said the girl.

"Certainly. That is, I have it. It's in Freddy's room. You left it here and I didn't have room for it in the--Why? Does he want it?

"No. Only, he asked me about it, when we were driving down. He wanted to know if I'd read it."

"It was in German!"

"Yes, dear. That doesn't make any difference," said the girl, crossing her legs. "He said that the poems happen to be written by the only great poet of the century. He said I should've bought a translation or something. Or learned the language, if you please."

"Awful. Awful. It's sad, actually, is what it is. Your father said last night--"

"Just a second, Mother," the girl said. She went over to the window seat for her cigarettes, lit one, and returned to her seat on the bed. "Mother?" she said, exhaling the smoke.

"Muriel. Now listen to me."

"I'm listening."

"Your father talked to Dr. Sivetski."

"Oh?" said the girl.

"He told him everything. At least, he said he did--you know your father. The trees. That business with the window. Those horrible things he said to Granny about her plans for passing away. What he did with all those lovely pictures from Bermuda--everything.

"Well?" said the girl.

"Well, in the first place, he said it was a perfect crime the Army released him from the hospital--my word of honor. He very definitely told your father there's a chance--a very great chance, he said--that Seymour may completely lose control of himself. My word of honor."

"There's a psychiatrist here at the hotel," said the girl.

"Who? What's his name?"

"I don't know. Rieser or something. He's supposed to be very good."

"Never heard of him."

"Well, he's supposed to be very good, anyway."

"Muriel, don't be fresh, please. We're very worried about you. Your father wanted to wire you last night to come home, as a matter of f--"

"I'm not coming home right now, Mother. So relax."

"Muriel. My word of honor. Dr. Sivetski said Seymour may completely lose contr--"

"I just got here, Mother. This is the first vacation I've had in years, and I'm not going to just pack everything and come home," said the girl. "I couldn't travel now anyway. I'm so sunburned I can hardly move."

"You're badly sunburned? Didn't you use that jar of Bronze I put in your bag? I put it right--"

"I used it. I'm burned anyway."

"That's terrible. Where are you burned?"

"All over, dear, all over."

"That's terrible."

"I'll live."

"Tell me, did you talk to this psychiatrist?"

"Well, sort of," said the girl.

"What'd he say? Where was Seymour when you talked to him?"

"In the Ocean Room, playing the piano. He's played the piano both nights we've been here."

"Well, what'd he say?"

"Oh, nothing much. He spoke to me first. I was sitting next to him at Bingo last night, and he asked me if that wasn't my husband playing the piano in the other room. I said yes, it was, and he asked me if Seymour's been sick or something. So I said--"

"Why'd he ask that?"

"I don't know, Mother. I guess because he's so pale and all," said the girl. "Anyway, after Bingo he and his wife asked me if I wouldn't like to join them for a drink. So I did. His wife was horrible. You remember that awful dinner dress we saw in Bonwit's window? The one you said you'd have to have a tiny, tiny--"

"The green?"

"She had it on. And all hips. She kept asking me if Seymour's related to that Suzanne Glass that has that place on Madison Avenue--the millinery."

"What'd he say, though? The doctor."

"Oh. Well, nothing much, really. I mean we were in the bar and all. It was terribly noisy."

"Yes, but did--did you tell him what he tried to do with Granny's chair?

"No, mother. I didn't go into details very much," said the girl. "I'll probably get a chance to talk to him again. He's in the bar all day long."

"Did he say he thought there was a chance he might get--you know--funny or anything? Do something to you!"

"Not exactly," said the girl. "He had to have more facts, Mother. They have to know about your childhood--all that stuff. I told you, we could hardly talk, it was so noisy in there."

"Well. How's your blue coat?"

"All right. I had some of the padding taken out."

"How are the clothes this year?"

"Terrible. But out of this world. You see sequins--everything," said the girl.

"How'd your room?"

"All right. Just all right, though. We couldn't get the room we had before the war," said the girl. "The people are awful this year. You should see what sits next to us in the dining room. At the next table, they look as if they drove down in a truck."

"Well, it's that way all over. How's your ballerina?"

"It's too long. I told you it was too long."

"Muriel, I'm only going to ask you once more--are you really all right?"

"Yes, Mother," said the girl. "For the ninetieth time."

"And you don't want to come home?"

"No, Mother."

"Your father said last night that he'd be more than willing to pay for it if you'd go away someplace by yourself and think things over. You could take a lovely cruise. We both thought--"

"No, thanks," said the girl and uncrossed her legs. "Mother, this call is costing a for--"

"When I think of how you waited for that boy all through the war--I mean when you think of all those crazy little wives who--"

"Mother," said the girl, "we'd better hang up. Seymour may come in any minute."

"Where is he?"

"On the beach."

"On the beach? By himself? Does he behave himself on the beach?

"Mother," said the girl, "you talk about him as though he were a raving maniac--"

"I said nothing of the kind, Muriel."

"Well, you sound that way. I mean all he does is lie there. He won't take his bathrobe off."

"He won't take his bathrobe off? Why not?"

"I don't know. I guess because he' so pale."

"My goodness, he needs the sun. Can't you make him?"

"You know Seymour," said the girl, and crossed her legs again. "He says he doesn't want a lot of fools looking at his tattoo."

"He doesn't have any tattoo! Did he get one in the Army?"

"No, Mother. No, dear," said the girl, and stood up. "Listen, I'll call you tomorrow, maybe."

"Muriel. Now, listen to me."

"Yes, Mother," said the girl, putting her weight on her right leg.

"Call me the instant he does, or says, anything at all funny--you know what I mean. Do you hear me?"

"Mother, I'm not afraid of Seymour."

"Muriel, I want you to promise me."

"All right, I promise. Goodbye, Mother," said the girl. "My love to Daddy." She hung up.


"See more glass," said Sybil Carpenter, who was staying at the hotel with her mother. "Did you see more glass?"

"Pussycat, stop saying that. It's driving Mommy absolutely crazy. Hold still, please."

"Mrs. Carpenter was putting sun-tan oil on Sybil's shoulders, spreading it down over the delicate, wing-like blades over her back. Sybil was sitting insecurely on a huge, inflated beach ball, facing the ocean. She was wearing a canary-yellow two-piece bathing suit, one piece of which she would not actually be needing for another nine or ten years.

"It was really just an ordinary silk handkerchief--you could see when you got up close," said the woman in the beach chair beside Mrs. Carpenter's. "I wish I knew how she tied it. It was really darling."

"It sounds darling," Mrs. Carpenter agreed. "Sybil, hold still, pussy."

"Did you see more glass?" said Sybil.

Mrs. Carpenter sighed. "All right," she said. She replaced the cap on the sun-tan oil bottle. "Now run and play, pussy. Mommy's going up to the hotel and have a Martini with Mrs. Hubbel. I'll bring you the olive."

Set loose, Sybil immediately ran down to the flat part of the beach and began to walk in the direction of Fisherman's Pavilion. Stopping only to sink a foot in the soggy, collapsed castle, she was soon out of the area reserved for guests of the hotel.

She walked for about a quarter of a mile and then suddenly broke into an oblique run up the soft part of the beach. She stopped short when she reached the place where a young man was lying on his back.

"Are you going in the water, see more glass?" she said.

The young man started, his right hand going to the lapels of his terry-cloth robe. He turned over on his stomach, letting a sausaged towel fall away from his eyes, and squinted up at Sybil.

"Hey. Hello, Sybil."

"Are you going in the water?"

"I was waiting for you," said the young man. "What's new?"

"What?" said Sybil.

"What's new? What's on the program?"

"My daddy's coming tomorrow on a nairplane," Sybil said, kicking sand.

"Not in my face, baby," the young man said, putting his hand on Sybil's ankle. "Well, it's about time he got here, your daddy. I've been expecting him hourly. Hourly."

"Where's the lady?" Sybil said.

"The lady?" the young man brushed some sand out of his thin hair. "That's hard to say, Sybil. She may be in any one of a thousand places. At the hair-dresser's. Having her hair dyed mink. Or making dolls for poor children, in her room." Lying prone now, he made two fists, set one on top of the other, and rested his chin on the top one. "Ask me something else, Sybil," he said. "that's a fine bathing suit you have on. If there's one thing I like, it's a blue bathing suit."

Sybil stared at him, then looked down at her protruding stomach. "This is a yellow," she said. "This is a yellow."

"It is? Come a little closer."

Sybil took a step forward.

"You're absolutely right. What a fool I am."

"Are you going in the water?" Sybil said.

"I'm seriously considering it. I"m giving it plenty of thought, Sybil, you'll be glad to know."

Sybil prodded the rubber float that the young man sometimes used as a head-rest. "It needs air," she said.

"You're right. It needs more air than I'm willing to admit." He took away his fists and let his chin rest on the sand. "Sybil," he said, "you're looking fine. It's good to see you. Tell me about yourself." He reached in front of him and took both of Sybil's ankles in his hands. "I'm Capricorn," he said. "What are you?"

"Sharon Lipschutz said you let her sit on the piano seat with you," Sybil said.

"Sharon Lipschutz said that?"

Sybil nodded vigorously.

He let go of her ankles, drew in his hands, and laid the side of his face on his right forearm. "Well," he said, "You know how those things happen, Sybil. I was sitting there, playing. And you were nowhere in sight. And Sharon Lipschutz came over and sat down next to me. I couldn't push her off, could I?"

"Yes."

"Oh, no. No. I couldn't do that," said the young man. "I'll tell you what I did do, though."

"What?"

"I pretended she was you."

Sybil immediately stopped and began to dig in the sand. "Let's go in the water," she said.

"All right," said the young man. "I think I can work it in."

"Next time, push her off," Sybil said.

"Push who off?"

"Sharon Lipschutz."

"Ah, Sharon Lipschutz," said the young man. "How that name comes up. Mixing memory and desire." He suddenly got to his feet. He looked at the ocean. "Sybil," he said, "I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll see if we can catch a bananafish."

"A what?"

"A bananafish," he said, and undid the belt of his robe. He took off his robe. His shoulders were white and narrow, and his trunks were royal blue. He folded the robe, first lengthwise, then in thirds. He unrolled the towel he had used over his eyes, spread it out on the sand, and then laid the folded robe on top of it. He bent over, picked up the float, and secured it under his right arm. Then, with his left hand, he took Sybil's hand.

The two started to walk down to the ocean.

"I imagine you've seen quite a few bananafish in your day," the young man said.

Sybil shook her head.

"You haven't? Where do you live, anyway?"

"I don't know," said Sybil.

"Sure you know. You must know. Sharon Lipschutz knows where she lives and she's only three and a half."

Sybil stopped walking and yanked her hand away from him. She picked up an ordinary beach shell and looked at it with elaborate interest. She threw it down. "Whirly Wood, Connecticut," she said, and resumed walking, stomach foremost.

"Whirly Wood, Connecticut," said the young man." Is that anywhere near Whirly Wood, Connecticut, by any chance?"

Sybil looked at him. "That's where I live," she said, impatiently. "I live in Whirly Wood, Connecticut." She ran a few steps ahead of him, caught up her left foot in her left hand, and hopped two or three times.

"You have no idea how clear that makes everything," the young man said.

Sybil released her foot. "Did you read 'Little Black Sambo'?" she said.

"It's very funny you ask me that," he said. "It so happens I just finished reading it last night." He reached down and took back Sybil's hand. "What did you think of it?" he asked her.

"Did the tigers run all around that tree?"

"I thought they'd never stopped. I never saw so many tigers."

"There were only six," Sybil said.

"Only six!" said the young man. Do you call that only?"

"Do you like wax?" Sybil asked.

"Do I like what?" asked the young man.

"Wax."

"Very much. Don't you?"

Sybil nodded. "Do you like olives?" she asked.

"Olives--yes. Olives and wax. I never go anyplace without 'em."

"Do you like Sharon Lipschutz?" Sybil asked.

"Yes. Yes, I do," said the young man. "What I like particularly about her is that she never does anything mean to little dogs in the lobby of the hotel. That little toy bull that belongs to that lady from Canada, some little girls like to poke that little dog with balloon sticks. Sharon doesn't. She's never mean or unkind. That's why I like her so much."

Sybil was silent.

"I like to chew candles," she said finally.

"Who doesn't?" said the young man, getting his feet wet. "Wow! It's cold." He dropped the rubber float on its back. "No, wait just a second, Sybil. Wait'll we get out a little bit."

They waded out till the water was up to Sybil's waist. Then the young man picked her up and laid her down on her stomach on the float.

"Don't you ever wear a bathing cap or anything?" he asked.

"Don't let go," Sybil ordered. "You hold me, now."

"Miss Carpenter. Please. I know my business," the young man said. "You just keep your eyes open for ay bananafish. This is a perfect day for bananfish."

"I don't see any," Sybil said.

"That's understandable. Their habits are very peculiar." He kept pushing the float. The water was not quite up to his chest. "They lead a very tragic life," he said. "You know what they do, Sybil?"

She shook her head.

"Well, they swim into a hole where there's a lot of bananas. They're very ordinary-looking fish when they swim in. But once they get in, they behave like pigs. Why, I've known some bananafish to swim into a banana hole and eat as many as seventy-eight bananas." He edged the float and its passenger a foot closer to the horizon. "Naturally, after that they're so fat they can't get out of the hole again. Can't fit through the door."

"Not too far out," Sybil said. "What happens to them?"

"What happens to who?"

"The bananafish."

"Oh, you mean after they eat so many bananas they can't get out of the banana hole?"

"Yes," said Sybil.

"Well, I hate to tell you, Sybil. They die."

"Why?" asked Sybil.

"Well, they get banana fever. It's a terrible disease.

"Here comes a wave," Sybil said nervously.

"We'll ignore it. We'll snub it," said the young man. "Two snobs." He took Sybil's ankles in his hands and pressed down and forward. The float nosed over the top of the wave. The water soaked Sybil's blond hair, but her scream was full of pleasure.

With her hand, when the float was level again, she wiped away a flat, wet band of hair from her eyes, and reported, "I just saw one."

"Saw what, my love?"

"A bananafish."

"My God, no!" said the young man. "Did he have bananas in his mouth?

"Yes," said Sybil. "Six."

The young man suddenly picked up one of Sybil's wet feet, which were drooping over the end of the float, and kissed the arch.

"Hey!" said the owner of the foot, turning around.

"Hey, yourself! We're going in now. You had enough?"

"No!"

"Sorry," he said, and pushed the float toward shore until Sybil got off it. He carried it the rest of the way.

"Goodbye," said Sybil, and ran without regret in the direction of the hotel.


The young man put on his robe, closed the lapels tight, and jammed his towel into his pocket. He picked up the slimy wet, cumbersome float and put it under his arm. He plodded alone through the soft, hot sand toward the hotel.

On the sub-main floor of the hotel, which the management directed bathers to use, a woman with zinc salve on her nose got into the elevator with the young man.

"I see you're looking at my feet," he said to her when the car was in motion.

"I beg your pardon?" said the woman.

"I said I see you're looking at my feet."

"I beg your pardon. I happened to be looking at the floor," said the woman, and faced the doors of the car.

"If you want to look at my feet, say so," said the young man. "But don't be a God-damned sneak about it."

"Let me out here, please," the woman said quickly to the girl operating the car.

The car doors opened and the woman got out without looking back.

"I have two normal feet and I can't see the slightest God-damned reason why anybody should stare at them," said the young man. "Five, please." He took his room key out of his robe pocket.

He got off at the fifth floor, walked down the hall, and let himself into 507. The room smelled of new calfskin luggage and nail-lacquer remover.

He glanced at the girl lying asleep on one of the twin beds. Then he went over to one of the pieces of luggage, opened it, and from under a pile of shorts and undershirts he took out an Ortgies calibre 7.65 automatic. He released the magazine, looked at it, then reinserted it. He cocked the piece. Then he went over and sat down on the unoccupied twin bed, looked at the girl, aimed the pistol, and fired a bullet through his right temple.

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PostPosted: Mon Apr 05, 2010 1:06 pm 
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This is fun. Here's some Nick Cave/PJ Harvey...

1. Into My Arms/Bows and Arrows

Into My Arms...

And I don't believe in the existence of angels
But looking at you I wonder if that's true
But if I did I would summon them together
And ask them to watch over you

To each burn a candle for you
To make bright and clear your path
And to walk, like Christ, in grace and love
And guide you into my arms

Bows and Arrows...

Bows and arrows
Tipped with poison
Make tenderness please
Stand by my pillow
I see evil
Everytime I dream
I see earth's poison
I hear violence sing
Even your touch
Once so pure
Comes fates cold hand
On my locked door
Won't you send those angels to watch over me?
I can't catch the bow
That this planet has thrown
I can't catch this bow
On my own
In come the arrows
Like a needle
You pierce my heart
And I taste poison
You pierce my soul
With bows and arrows
Won't you send those angels to watch over me?

2. Green Eyes/Stone

Kiss me again, rekiss me and kiss me
Slip your frigid hands beneath my shirt
This useless old fucker with his twinkling cunt
Doesn't care if he gets hurt

Stone ...

I don't wanna kiss you
I've already kissed you
And you said 'kiss me again'

And all the hills were rolling
And all the clouds unravelled
Looked down upon our shadows
Looked down upon our history
And then you came towards me

3. I Do, Dear, I Do/Losing Ground

I miss your manic scratches
and your howling at the moon.
Ten steps behind me,
with your dust pan and your broom.

Losing Ground...

Yeah I found my voice
Yeah I got nothing to say
The whole thing started
Cause my mind has gone away
I used to get high
Now I just get lost
I used to bark at the moon
The first one I came across

4. Mercy/The Whore's Hustle

Thrown into a dungeon
Bread and water was my portion
Faith - my only weapon
To rest the devil's legion
The speak-hole would slide open
A viper's voice would plead
Thick with innuendo
Syphilis and Greed

The Whore's Hustle...

Speak to me
Of heroin and speed
Genocide and suicide
Of syphilis and greed
Speak to me
The language of love
The language of violence
The language of the heart

5. The Sorrowful Wife/Uh Huh Her

I married my wife on the day of the eclipse
Our friends awarded her courage with gifts

Uh Huh Her...

Re-...
Rejection
Don't marry uh huh her
Don't marry uh huh huh her
The family is crying
Don't ask me
Why he's grieving
Don't marry uh huh her
Don't marry uh huh huh her
I fill the sea
All with my tears
I drown the fields
You will remember, remember me

6. Love Letter/The Letter

I hold this letter in my hand
A plea, a petition, a kind of prayer
I hope it does as I have planned
Losing her again is more than I can bear
I kiss the cold, white envelope
I press my lips against her name

Two hundred words. We live in hope
The sky hangs heavy with rain

The Letter...

Put the pen
To the paper
Press the envelope
With my scent

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PostPosted: Wed Apr 28, 2010 5:30 am 
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PJ and Dylan:

Dance:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rhZ_tt1Pca4


Wedding night, blade knife
Shining under orange light
See him running, caught under headlight
Don't care anyway
This scar has seen better days
Get it out of my way
That's where music playing

I'll get dancing
I'm here dancing
I'm here dancing
I'm here dancing

Maggie comes fleet foot, face full of black soot
Talking that the heat put plants in the bed but
Married on Wednesday, written on Thursday
Trial on Friday, hung herself on Saturday

I'm here dancing
I'm here dancing
I'm here dancing

oh, oh, oh, oh, oh...

Time and time
I know time trickle by
Hung herself on washing line
This girl's drip dry

I'm here dancing
I'm here dancing
I'm here dancing
I'm here dancing


The bolded line above is lifted straight from Dylan's Subterranean Homesick Blues:
http://www.bobdylan.com/#/songs/subterr ... sick-blues

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PostPosted: Sun Jul 04, 2010 3:41 am 
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PJ's Down By The Water and Leadbelly's Salty Dog as detailed here:
viewtopic.php?f=7&t=578

(should've added it here in this thread instead of making a new thread for it).

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PostPosted: Mon Jul 05, 2010 9:45 pm 
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The Nick & PJ connections are insane, and a bit sad.

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PostPosted: Mon Jul 19, 2010 6:44 am 
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Shadowboxer wrote:
The Nick & PJ connections are insane, and a bit sad.


Slightly off-topic, but have you heard the version of West Country Girl where Nick sings "and meows 'he loves you, Polly Jean'" at the end of the song?

If not, and you would like to, just send me PM and I'll upload it somewhere...

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PostPosted: Mon Jul 19, 2010 7:24 am 
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^ yes please! :) xo

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PostPosted: Tue Jul 20, 2010 4:21 am 
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pink_and_chipped wrote:
Shadowboxer wrote:
The Nick & PJ connections are insane, and a bit sad.


Slightly off-topic, but have you heard the version of West Country Girl where Nick sings "and meows 'he loves you, Polly Jean'" at the end of the song?

If not, and you would like to, just send me PM and I'll upload it somewhere...
:O No. I've actually never really listened to his music. What album should I start with?

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PostPosted: Tue Jul 20, 2010 6:10 am 
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Shadowboxer wrote:
:O No. I've actually never really listened to his music. What album should I start with?


The Polly one -- The Boatman's Call. :) In an interview that you can listen to on YouTube, she said that listening to the Boatman's Call "opens her right up".

Other than that his albums, musically, are very different from one another, so it's hard to recommend one over the other without knowing more about your tastes.

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PostPosted: Tue Jul 20, 2010 11:17 pm 
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Thanks, I'll definitely check it out!

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PostPosted: Sat Jul 31, 2010 7:05 pm 
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wow these connections between nick cave and pJ are really sad...maybe that´s their way of communicating and letting each other know they still think of what they once felt for each other...very interesting, thanks for this :)


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