Then, brothers, it came. Oh, bliss, bliss and heaven. I lay all nagoy to the ceiling, my gulliver on my rookers to the pillow, glazzies closed, rot open in bliss, slooshying the sluice of lovely sounds. Oh, it was gorgeousness and gorgeosity made flesh. The trombones crunched redgold under my bed, and behind my gulliver the trumpets three-wise silverflamed, and there by the door the timps rolling through my guts and out again crucnched like candy thunder. Oh, it was wonder of wonders. And then, a bird of like rarest spun heavenmetal, or like silvery wine flowing in a spaceship, gravity all nonsense now, came the violin solo above all the other strings, and those strings were like a cage of silk round my head. Then flute and oboe bored, like worms of like platinum, into the thick, thing toffee gold and silver. I was in such bliss, my brothers. Pee and em in their bedroom next door had learnt now not to knock on the wall with complaints of what they called noise. I had taught them. Now they would take sleep-pills. Perhaps, knowing the joy I had in my night music, they had already taken them. As I slooshied, my glazzies tight shut to shut in the bliss that was better than any synthemesc Bog or God, I knew such lovely pictures. There were vecks and ptitsas, both young and starry, lying lying on the ground screaming for mercy, and I was smecking all over my rot and grinding my boot in their litsos. And there were devotchkas ripped and creeching against walls and I was plunging like a shlaga into them, and indeed when the music, which was one movement only, rose to the top of its big highest tower, then, lying there on my bed with glazzies tight shut and rookers befind my gulliver, I broke and spattered and cried aaaaaah with the bliss of it. And so the lovely music glided to its glowing close.
More icon questions, this time from suitboyskin:
Among the many aspects of Batman Begins that I enjoyed was the way in which various elements of the mythos have been reverse engineered. Gary Oldman's extremely unflashy portrayal of Jim Gordon was among them. I use this icon sometimes in reference to feeling like the lone voice of reason in a twisted world.
I relate to Gromit. I'm not sure why.
No, I'm not very much like Buck Turgidson, but I love George C. Scott's blustery performance in the role (there isn't much about Dr. Strangelove I don't love). With respect to this particular icon, I especially like his disbelieving expression, which is most often what I use the icon for.
Varlyn Stroud (John Carroll Lynch). from Carnivàle, is just so 'can do' about the horrific, evil things he does. Moreover, he is also one of the few characters on that show that never has to shatter an image he had of himself. Usually used in comments, but from time to time it'll be on a post that I have a strange headspace during the composition of.
jailnurse's daughter says that he is Mister Incredible (jailnurse's wife would wish that their daughter wouldn't encourage him). According to her, I am Frozone. Between that and Samuel L. Jackson's uproarious commentary for the faux "living lips" short on the DVD ("They... they made me white!"), this icon was a shoo-in.