Writtings

Darias Speech at the cafe: Where the future takes us 

 As students standing at the dawn of a brand new century, we face certain choices. How do
 we prepare for the future? 
                                  
  Melody Powers knew how she was going to prepare, as she checked the fit on her tooled
   leather shoulder holster. She thought about all the communists she would be taking out
  tonight. Melody harboured no illusions about unilaterally stemming the resurging red tide,
 but, she reflected with a grim smile, what special agent could resist the opportunity to fill a
 few Bolshevik cemeteries 
                                 
      As Melody sun-bathed on the Rio beach she looked back over the last few days with a
 certain quiet satisfaction.  Twelve dead Russians; five dead Chinese, and three or four dead
   Cubans. The world was once again safe for democracy she reflected, while watching
  Tonio's exquisite chest rise and fall with his light snoring. Safe for democracy, or almost
  safe. 
                                  
   Melody brushed some errant grains of sand from her fingers, tied her top back on and
   reached into her beach bag, Tonio heard nothing ,and that was a pity, because he would
  never hear anything again. So long Tonio, she thought as she calmly stood up. I could have
     loved you if you weren't as red as the blood stain now spreading across the sand. 
                                
  Melody walked calmly away to the hotel.  There would be a message there from HQ, no
                    doubt. She hoped she had time to shower. 




                          The Daria Theme Song 

                             la la la la la 
                             This is my stop 
                             Got to get off 
                              I may go pop 
                                Excuse me 
                                Excuse me 

                           I've got to be direct 
                                la la la  
                       If I'm off, please correct 
                                la la la 
                       You're standing on my neck 
                                la la la 
                       You're standing on my neck 
                                la la la 
                       You're standing on my neck 
                   la la la la la, la la la la la, la la la la la


  
                                      Mystic Spiral's songs                               
                              
                                          Ice-box Woman
                           

                        You're an angel in black,
                         you sure have the knack,
                           of putting my heart
                        on the shelf in the back.
                           I'm waiting my turn
                          Oh! when will I learn?
                              My poor heart,
                     you're giving it freezer-burn! 

                                  Yah! 

                           Behind My Eyelids 
                            As lashes close 
                             I see my woes 
                     Spread out like a carpet of bugs 
                           In absence of light 
                          Pass visions of night 
                   And shallow graves left halfway dug 


                           Behind my eyelids 
                        Is a world you cannot see 
                       A place that's just for me 
                           Behind my eyelids 


                           You watch a tear 
                          It trickles clear 
                       And glistens on my skin 
                           My liquid pain 
                          Oh, would profane 
                       Please baby, let me in. 


                             Repeat chorus 



From the Futon

There's no place to hide things 
Under the bed 
And nowhere to hide from what's true 
Down here by the floor 
My soul calls out "More!" 
But knows that its cry won't get through 


From the futon 
From the futon 
Everthing, always so low 
From the futon 
From the futon 
I'm in limbo - how low can I go? 


I don't have a headboard 
Or boxspring of wire 
My spirit's hit low altitude 
The mattress is thin 
It's itching my skin 
And that isn't helping my mood 


From the futon 
From the futon 
Everthing, always so low 
From the futon 
From the futon 
I'm in limbo - how low can I go? 

Hansel and Gretel: Daria Version 

So, the witch tore Hansel's arm off, popped it in her mouth, said "Hey, pretty good!", and
within minutes had devoured the rest of his body, leaving only the small intestine for fear of
bacteria. Gretel she decided to hold on to for a little while, so she crammed her into the
freezer as best she could. 

Academic Imprisonment  

No light shines through these four brick walls. For the school is my prison, and its teachers
my imprisoners. Like a hamster on one of those wheel things, school runs us around and
around until we yearn for the food pellet. But only more homework awaits. 

Do we not have lives of our own to lead, with vital decisions we must make every day
concerning hair, clothes, socks, shoes... and the list goes on! And with all the decisions we
have to make on these topics that I list, so then have our brains been cruelly crowded with
such things as the square root of some stupid adverb. This is one stress too much. Does the
torture never stop? Until home, anyway. 

So go ahead, lock me up with your homework and your tests! Rob my freedom with your
reading and your thinking! As far as I'm concerned, the only difference between school and
prison is the wardrobe. Or do you want to take away my outfits, too? 

                          The End. 







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