Air
Alice In Chains
Anthrax
A Perfect Circle
Apollo 440
Babybird
Brujeria
Butthole Surfers
Chris Cornell
Cult, The
Danzig
David Bowie
Death In Vegas
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Doors, The
Faith No More
Fantômas
Foo Fighters
Genialistid
Godsmack
Green Jelly
Jane's Addiction
Massive Attack
Metallica
Moloko
Mr. Bungle
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
Nirvana
Pearl Jam
Perry Farrell
Placebo
Porno For Pyros
Primus
Radiohead
Rammstein
Red Hot Chili Peppers
Riho Sibul
Secret Chiefs 3
Smoke City
Soundgarden
Sparks
Stiltskin
Stone Temple Pilots
Sugartooth
Therapy?
Tomahawk
Tool
U2
Ultima Thule
Underworld
Vast
Verve
Yello
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RagdenDesign
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Virgin
Suicides
- Playground Love
- Clouds Up
- Bathroom Girl
- Cemetery Party
- Dark Messages
- The Word 'Hurricane'
- Dirty Trip
- Highschool Lover
- Afternoon Sister
- Ghost Song
- Empty House
- Dead Bodies
- Suicides Underground
Playground
Love
I'm a high school lover, and you're my favorite
flavor.
Love is all, all my soul.
You're my Playground Love.
Yet my hands are shaking.
I feel my body [remain tense?], no matter, I'm on fire.
On the playground, love.
You're the piece of gold the flushes all my soul.
Extra time, on the ground.
You're my Playground Love.
Anytime, anyway,
You're my Playground Love.
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The
Word "Hurricane"
The word 'Hurricane' is the name given to
nature's strongest storm. A
hurricane occurs when high pressure and low pressure masses of air come in
contact with one another.
There is often a significant difference in temperature between the two
masses. One mass is warm, while the other is cold. The warmer air rises,
and the cooler air falls. Likewise, the low pressure area slides down the
sides of the high pressure area.
They swirl in and around one another, creating the beginnings of the
storm.
Top
Suicides
Underground
Everyone dated the demise of our neighborhood
from the suicide of the Lisbon girls. People saw their clairvoyance in the
wiped-out elms and harsh sunlight. Some thought the torture tearing the
Lisbon girls pointed to a simple refusal to accept the world as it was
handed down to them: so full of flaws. But the only thing we are certain
of after all these years is the insufficiency of explanations.
"Obviously doctor, you've never been a thirteen year-old girl."
The Lisbon girls were 13, Cecile, 14, Lux, 15, Bonnie, 16, Mary, and 17,
Therese. No one could understand how Mrs. Lisbon and Mr. Lisbon, a math
teacher, had produced such beautiful creatures.
From that time one, the Lisbon house began to change. Almost every day,
and even when she wasn't keeping an eye on Cecilia, Lux would suntan on
her towel wearing a swimsuit that caused the knife-sharpener to give her a
15-minute demonstration for free.
The only reliable boy who got to know Lux was Trip Fontaine, for only 18
months before the suicides had emerged from baby fat, to the delight of
girls and mothers alike.
But few anticipated it would be so drastic. The girls were pulled out of
school, and Mrs. Lisbon shut the house for maximum security isolation. The
girls' only contact to the outside world was through the catalogs they
ordered that started to fill the Lisbon's mailbox with pictures of
high-end fashions and brochures for exotic vacations. Unable to go
anywhere, the girls traveled in their imaginations: to gold-tipped Siamese
temples or past an old man, the leaf broom tidying the [Maw's] carpeted
[speck] of Japan (???). And Cecelia hadn't died. She was a bride in
Calcutta.
Collecting everything we could of theirs, we
couldn't get the Lisbon girls out of our minds, but they were slipping
away. The colors of their eyes were fading, along with exact locations of
moles and dimples. From five, they had become four, and they were all (the
living and the dead), become shadows. We would have lost them completely
if the girls hadn't contacted us.
Lux was the last to go. Fleeing from the house, we forgot to stop at the
garage. After the suicide free-for-all, Mr. and Mrs. Lisbon gave up any
attempt to lead a normal life. They had Mr. Henry pack up the house,
selling what furniture he could at a garage sale. Everyone went just to
look. Our parents did not buy used furniture, and they certainly didn't
buy furniture tainted by death. We of course took the family photos that
were put out with the trash. Mr. Lisbon put the house on the market, and
it was sold to a young couple from Boston.
It didn't matter in the end how old they had been, or that they were
girls, but only that we had loved them, and that they hadn't heard us
call; still did not hear us, calling out of those rooms where they went to
be alone for all time, alone in suicide, which is deeper than death, and
where we will never find the pieced to put them back together.
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