Let's have some fun with industrial music BOYS AND GGGGGGGGGUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRLLLLLLLLSS SSSSSSSSSS.

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SUGGEST MORE INDUSTRIAL SHIT AND I WILL UPLOAD IT TO THIS FUCKING PAGE OKAY?!

If you're into instrumental music at all, then I'd recommend the Silent Hill 2 Soundtrack. Playing the game is not essential at all and the music is nice to listen to anyway. It has a variation of moods from metal (Angel's Thanatos) to piano (Theme Of Laura (Reprise)) and everything in between. Unlike most video-game soundtracks, it does not contain shitty quality that is associated with retro-gaming, nor does it have dance/techno/electronic/etc music. If you like only one type of genre, then you'll find one or two songs you'll like but it's only if you appreciate a variation of music that you'll fully appreciate it. Especially considering there's 30 songs on the single CD.

Which clearly makes it the best video-game soundtrack (not to mention that it's the deepest game you'll find).

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Edit: Hahaha, haha.

Go get it.

It's a free album you can download but it gives you the option to buy the actual disc for a set amount. While the album doesn't hold the best songs by Nine Inch Nails, it holds some very good songs like Echoplex, 999,999 and Lights In The Sky. It has a varying of moods/genres such as Echoplex is industrial while 999,999 is ambience and Lights In The Sky is piano. The album always seems to roll along like one song like a relaxing journey, with small gaps. No song seems "sudden" or out of it's pace. It's worth buying but if you're cheap and unsure, then go download it free.

The Slip, personally, may act as a "tour" of how Nine Inch Nails may achieve all the different genres I personally feel it does (although "all the different genres" seem to be ambience, piano and industrial). It holds about one or two songs that are very good but doesn't seem to quite reach some of the, personally, better songs by Nine Inch Nails like The Perfect Drug and Capital G.

Link to website.

The songs mentioned on the album is below.

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Because why the fuck should I waste energy typing stories when I'm lucky to get 5 fucking non-spam replies in two week? That's excluding the fact that the majority aren't about the story but rather just spam I don't want to delete mostly because it's spam I don't give a flying fuck about. For the past year or two, I've written stories on two websites. On both websites I've struggled for attention. I have to fucking ask people (on my MSN) to view the stories and share their views and even then, last time not one fucking person I asked could be bothered despite advertisements (two forum posts about a story collection, a submission to a story collection "blog/account" and a signature about my short stories).

Once upon a time, people who I respected at the time posted on my user-page. Mechabloby to name one. Now, he can't even be bothered to leave spam on my user-page. That's really how fucking bad it is. Words can't simply express how fucking angry it really does make me when talentless shite like Tramps writes mediocre stories (at best), obtains a lot of replies and even a topic mentioning about how good he really is in comparison to earfettish (which I will admit, is one of the best writers I know) meanwhile my stories are lucky to get a few replies and I've yet to hear someone speak out about how "talented" I may or may not be. I will admit my stories may not be okay or good, but it has gotten to the point where as much as I enjoy writing out of personal enjoyment, there really is little to no point in wasting my time writing for an audience such as yourself only to be ignored.

Oh, and just for your information, White Larynx is officially fucking dead (Reality is also very fucking dead but the chances any of you talentless illiterate idiots read that is the same chance that I'll actually be nice to any of you). The reason is mostly about of the lack of views, the lack of enthusiasm on your part. Granted, some of it is my fault because I really can't be fucked and I can't think of any more ideas but mostly, it really is your fault. It's also your fault that I wouldn't be writing anything of any kind (that is posted either in my blog, Fourth Perspective or on the BBS) in the near future because there is a significant lack of interest.

There's also a few things I feel tempted to yell about but they hold no relevance to this point. So really, fuck you.

Jonathan decided to take a day or two off out of working in the office. He worked at a local newspaper company called The Five Star News editing articles. He'd occasionally make an article where he debated an event such as a gay protest against an insurance company that charged more against homosexuals due to their risk of dying being higher than heterosexual people. Of course, the insurance company paid him a few thousand and the company about ten or twenty thousand if he argued in favour of the insurance company, of course he had to drop a few things against the insurance company to make it more believable but ended it in the insurance company favour that they were a private business and if the gay men didn't like it then they can go else where.

Of course, there was a little uproar but it was quickly dismissed as he spoke to them and told them "it was his opinion which if they don't like, they can go elsewhere". The manager was a little edgy at the time but the extra money in his pocket helped him to be more comfortable. Of course, the manager sometimes stepped in to stop certain stories that may hurt "certain people". Why it was, he never spoke but he often took the person creating the story into his office to talk about it. All Jonathan heard after one of his friends tried to publish a story about how a man abused his daughter and is now in court was that it was "the story or his job", he can either not publish it or lose his job. Obviously, the article was scrapped.

The wheels spun wildly every so often under the loose small rocks as he drove towards the car-park of the forest. He drove carefully and slowly after he once tried to drive over the rocks about fifteen years ago which ended up one of the rocks being flicked up and hitting another car's windscreen. One thing lead to another and he was in jail that night which ended up him paying for a new windscreen not to mention there was a few other damages such as his nose. There wasn't a car in sight, but he still felt paranoid about hitting a car with a loose stone. He finally reached the empty car park and parked up. He knew he wouldn't have a problem with his car since it was Wednesday while everyone is working or at school and everyone else...Well...He highly doubted his car would be vandalised.

He unlocked the boot of the car shoved his tent, his sleeping bag, pillow and a cover under his arm, barely, and slammed the boot shut. His clicked the button on his keys to lock it, another time to put the alarm on. He shoved the keys sloppily into his pocket as he juggled with his stuff and ended up dropping it all. With a sigh, Jonathan collected his sleeping gear again into his arms and walked off into the forest. He walked until a clearly of land reached him. He walked to what he could only guess was the centre and dropped the gear. He could see it was getting darker so he quickly tried to set up the gear as fast as he could. Now, this was a problem since not two hours ago he had purchased the one man tent so he had no idea what he was doing. Before he realised it, it was pitch black. "FUCKING HELL" Jonathan yelled as he grabbed the torch and twisted the switch so he could see what he was doing.

Just as he connected, what he could only presume, was two pipes that was meant to be the bottom left ground wire, he felt weird. He felt light everywhere, especially in his head. He felt like a cow with a train racing towards it as he finally noticed what was weird. His feet wasn't on the floor. He looked up at the sky just to see the black clouds and the moon shining. His camp sight went smaller, and smaller, and smaller until he could barely see the light that was where he was meant to be sleeping. Then, he felt a sharp shock which didn't hurt in the back of his head and he blacked out.

When Jonathan woke up, he was strapped onto what felt like a cold hard metal table but...Something was different...He would look down but his head was strapped to face up. He could only see the roof which was of a metallic design but...The material didn't seem metallic at the same time. Something was off. One of the strapped unwound it's self which allowed his head to be free. He looked around his surroundings but still with a feeling of acceptance as though he didn't care. The table he was strapped on was semi-see-through and purple...And...Floating?! It was odd and he knew he'd usually panic but something prevented him from caring too much. Jonathan's chamber seemed to remind him of a normal hospital room besides the bed and with weird instruments that he could not comprehend. Two beings, covered by a black cloak that seemed to be a normal cloth that covered them and was facing down to prevent their faces from being looked at, seemed to hover into the chamber. Them came next to him and then looked at him dead in the face together. They wore masks that can only be compared to gas-masks. With dark blue bug-eyes too tinted for him to look in, a very dark black material that seemed metallic covering everywhere else and with a pipe that came out where a mouth would normally be heading into the cloak. The head shape seemed narrow and they seemed a lot more thinner and taller generally than a normal being. The left one extended a glove, which was leather and seemed like a human hand, over Jonathan's head which a voice that seem angelic spoke saying "do not worry, it wouldn't hurt, we've tried to make it as normal to your human surroundings so you do not feel alarmed". The glove then went closer to Jonathan's eyes which suddenly made him sleepier and sleepier...

I made multiple endings, pick whatever you please.

Ending 1:

Jonathan never woke up after that although do not worry, he was found. His head and eyes was bloated, his arms and legs thinned, his body shape while normal lacked quite a few things such as genitalia. He was dumped deep within the forest where he was originally picked up a cream colour and naked. He was picked up by police which then the FBI came to study the corpse. It was similar to all the other corpses they had picked up which were aliens that seemed to be symmetrical to the stereotypical image of an alien and thus no one heard of the real image much much longer.

Ending 2:

Jonathan woke up, standing...Well...Crouching over his camp. His new spine meant that he was smaller in size, the muscle instead of skin meant his was stronger, his new ears meant he could hear better, his new nose meant he could smell better and his new blade instead of a left hand, claws on feet and right hand and fangs for teeth meant he was now more deadly than ever. His entire body bared no resemblance to his old body but who was he to care? His name wasn't Jonathan any more, his name was Fal'gulth and he was now programmed to bring the mankind to submission by any means necessary. This may of been the end of the story of Jonathan, the poor innocent office worker but this was now a new story of Fal'gulth, the meanest and deadliest weapon mankind has ever faced. A weapon that aimed to bring the planet Earth and everyone on it to it's knees.

I opened my eyes as soon my mind felt touched with reality, my only view was the roof of my bed. My left hand reached out upon the air next to my bedside as though there was a doctor who required my wrist to count my heart beat. Instead, I reached for my cane. It was a four and a half foot wooden cane with a strange design at the top carved into it. It was as though the wood circled around each other like a duel and finally dived in at the top, inside was a large diamond, big enough to fit tightly against the wood as though to beg for freedom and mercy from prison. I had it made to fit my hand if I was to hold it at the top or hold it around the diamond cage so it feels comfortable when beating Reginald without any sign of any slippage. I had decided against following the store keeper home and beating him for my money back on the account of the splendid job he did. I was really impressed.

Today, I received a letter from Sir Montgomery Baron asking for I, Vincent Asworth, to attend a meeting discussing the usual problems caused by the peasants that we, noble men, must solve with our superior intellect and power. Usually, I tell the folks a list of excuses of why I can not attend but this time, I had to attend as I had a problem I felt it was quite important to bring up. Recently, there was a certain...Incident regarding one ship breaking upon the rocks. It's cargo was very valuable as it was certain types of liquor that I enjoy consuming and other private goods. One of which belonged to me. While I felt it would be best not to release information regarding what it was, it was something that I had ordered which I knew would be hard to collect otherwise. I knew the retailer would not compensate me on the boat ending up full of holes so I was expecting to be able to shove the bill to the counsel or at least someone else because there was no chance I was paying for what isn't in my hands.

Later that day, when dressed in my usual black shoes, my formal trousers, white collar shirt with grey tint, a black waist coast, a black formal jacket and a black plain top hat, I attended. The usual men was there. Christian Montomy in his classic black coat, crimson waist jacket and black trousers. He always never wore a hat and was the only man in the hall without a hat on his lap. He had white comb-over hair and white lamb-chop sideburns which loops around to a handle-bars moustache, thick enough to hide his lips. Christian is the owner of an oil company I work at, I help present the company to people and represent them if Christian is away. To help sell the oil, I sometimes am required to do small presentations of how our oil is apparently better than others with hollow promises such as reliability and stability of it. Jonathan Ronswell was a tacky man wearing cheap trousers and coat (always all in that cheap black which is really charcoal) and was barely able to be classed as one of us to everyone else and not able to be classed as even on the same level as the rest of us to me. His mother and father was one of those peasant scum and he only scrounged his way out because some fool felt sorry for him. He now manages money for some business and there-fore gets a fair slice. Why they consider him worthy enough to be here is beyond me. As always, stubble facial hair and blonde mushroom hair cut too scruffy to be genetically superior like the rest of us. His cheap tacky bowler hat sat on his lap.

Those two were the only real people I cared about today. Christian because he's my boss and Jonathan because I wanted to open his skull open and throw his brains at his boss for his boss's stupidity. As always, Mr M Baron rose to the stand and made a mild introduction. With no surprise, Jonathan complained about how thieves were cutting a SHOCKING TWENTY PENCE OUT OF HIS POCKET A YEAR. Pfffttt, twenty pence is NOTHING. He whined how the roads needed better security and, with a lack of surprise, his idea was shot down since it would cost five times how much they'd save if they sent out guards to look over the countrysides and if his view was to be taken seriously, he would need some proof and some major backing. He sat down in a huff, nincompoop.

I then rose and raised the fact that a boat crashed and we demanded some form on compensation off the baron or the fools in charge of the boat. While Mr Baron was going to quickly shoot me down, a Mr Rinsdale rose to back my view and so did about four others. It was obvious Mr Baron could not quickly just dismiss my problem so he told us that we'd have compensation for our goods if he submit how much we paid for our goods, what they were and he'll get as much as he can out of the ship's crew. There were other things but they didn't regard me.

I think I heard Mr Ronswell yell after me as I left the meeting but I did not care to talk to a man with artificial intelligence as him. It was as I reflected on the meeting over the consumption of whiskey as my delicate fingers played the piano that I realised truly how much I hated Mr Ronswell. It was my hate for him that truly protected him as everyone knows, the killer is usually going to gain financially or quelling some hatred for the man. So by killing him, I'd be giving myself a prison sentence. I ended up only having about three glasses of whiskey that night as I pondered about life it's self. I of course kissed mother and father that night but I didn't beat Reginald since he was in his room which was filthied up by his black hands (which is why I always make him wear white gloves outside his room, always). If he's stolen anything and hid it in his room, I will find out and I will beat him to an inch of his life.

That night, I got an early night and went straight to bed no later than at twelve 'o clock. Here is a piece of music I heard a young lady play on a piano that plucked upon my heart strings a little. I must remember to find out the name of this fine little track so I may purchase some of the sheet music. It simply is delightful, do you not agree gentlemen?

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Ever done something that makes your heart stop in it's tracks? The only thing that'll start it again is some action that you hold dear to you? Let it be a shot of whiskey, the recoil of your favourite gun or the feel of that sexy girl back at home.

I was twenty five with a nice life. My girlfriend was a part time waitress, taking time off due to pregnancy. I was busy working at one of those sleazy bars. One with strippers, bikers, pool and guys who would start a bar fight over anything. The pay was good but was constantly cut back because of guys wrecking the place about once a month which cut off about 25% of my pay-check on the week it happens. Even though the owner knows it's really not my fault, he's got to pay for it some how. Just my pay-check was one of the first things to take a dip out of. Although me and him go back before the bar and knows I'm expecting a kid soon so he doesn't bother taking too much off.

I went to work on the sixteenth of May with jeans and a black t-shirt. I also wore black boots which rain up my leg under the jeans. The reason for my attire was more because I knew the drinkers wouldn't be angry at me for my dress sense instead of personal taste. I arrived by car in the parking lot, I saw a man leaning against the bar wall. While this was not unusual because plenty of men have waited outside the bar for it to open in the past, this man wore a suit (complete with tie) which was abnormal. His hair was short and brown. He was clean shaved. His facial features were normal mostly. His mouth and eyes were average, so was the shape of his head. His nose appeared larger than average. That's all I remember about him.

He walked towards me, speaking in a clean voice "excuse me sir, can I-". He cut short as he pulled one hand out of his pocket (that he must of slipped in during his sentence) and pulled out a pen-knife. Usually, I am on my guard against people being violent but due to how early in the morning it was and it was a guy who looked as clean and official as he did, I was surprised when I felt a sharp pain in my stomach area. He removed the knife and I grabbed him by his neck. Choking him as he stabbed more, and more, and more. I finally fell to the floor, looking at the clear blue sky. I saw it brighten, a young child glided down on wings, took my hand and made my vision go all white.

At the gate, I saw a man dressed in a white robe. The child led me by my hand to the old man. It was a man with wispy white hair and no facial hair. Unlike the child, he had no white wings. Just a white robe that covered him. Not even any footwear. He greeted me "welcome Micheal, I am Angel Rion. I will be your chessiears...I think you mortals have something similar called...Policemen? Judges? Magistrate? I'm not sure. Sorry Micheal, I'm new to the job".

Before a word could be muttered by me or the child, Rion closed his hand into a prayer and opened them side-ways, bringing out a book. As though it was always there, He pulled down glasses from his hair over his eyes and looked through. "Hhhhhmmmm, Micheal...". I finally choked out "Ye-...Yes ?". "Well Micheal, you're a Christian alright but...Well...You've not done much bad, but you have assisted in mass gluttony. Look, it'll be on your record but you don't deserve the third circle of hell. You didn't actually commit it and you've done too much damage to get into heaven...Look, best I can do is Limbo. Is that fine?" "Well...I-...Uh..." was all I could splatter out until the vision faded out like a black out. When I opened my eyes, I was resting next to a tree. I felt my head, god it was like a bad hangover. It was like a giant field with a large brick wall circling it. One end you could see a small glow. The other end, you couldn't see anything out of. The bricks were large and grey like a stereotypical castle brick work, complete with wooden large gates blocking it. The glowing one had shining brass hinges while the other one had solid dull steel ones. There was many men trying to escape by any means by was being shot down by arrows and bullets, all what looked like a mixture of eras. Why it was, I could only presume by how the men looked, was that the men died in the certain era. Like one man wearing white robes and sandles while a woman with modern dress sense was being shot down with what was likely a rifle.

"God, what now" was the only thing I could think of.

May be carried on, watch the space.

I looked into the darkness, the only sign of light was a small ray of moonlight looking in from the outside. Using this moonlight, half a face appeared. It was a face I recognised but I don't know how. It's eye was average size but there was bag under it's eyes. It's nose almost large and his mouth appeared average. The only key features was a badly grown moustache. Half grown as though it belonged to someone who was barely into puberty but the face structured appeared too aged to be that. He had a beard that reached from his hair, around his head and onto his chin. More facial hair sat around his neck. It smiled and said "smile; smile like you mean it".

For some reason, I smiled. Almost with laughter as though the man told a humorous comment. The face then disappeared, the light grew over the entire room to show me that I was not in a room but rather on a rooftop. There was a black shadow on a nearby rooftop. It turned to reveal a little of his face. It was the man! He then started jumping building to building like as though he knew this route like the back of his hand. My god, so am I! I'm jumping heights that would usually leave me clinging onto an object in sheer fear. From roof-top to roof-top, the shadow's cloak waving at me in the wind as I follow. Finally, he drops.

I reach the roof top he dropped off, I jump down, grabbing a pole that came from the wall and then letting go. I land with a heavily into the street, the cloaked man disappearing into a black alleyway. The moon-light now drained through the gaps in the street tops. I ran after him, my feet landing lightly upon the dirt floor. I slid slightly as I turned into the ally, just in time for him to disappear into a house hold. Straight after I sprinted, running into the house to see no sign of him. It was a normal house to me with a heap on the floor I called bed, a wooden wardrobe, a stone sink and a table with a few wooden chairs with it. It was basic to me. I walked to the sink, placed the plug in and ran the cold water. After a while, I cupped the collected water and splashed it upon my face. Looking into the reflection as water dripped down, I saw the face sat upon a black cloak. I then felt a sharp pain. I fell back which he cradled me as I fell. He opened my black cloak to expose a leather sleeveless shirt. Grabbing my small blade, he threw it away. Then I saw it, it was a replica of my blade except his was coated with blood. My blood. He cradled my head and I looked at him. It was only now I realised who it was. It was me. Now, I smiled. Now, I meant it. At that moment, he jammed the dagger deep into my throat and darkness quickly swallowed me.

Good evening gentleman. Lately, I've been in quite the fuss over a dear dear lass I've been in such woe over, so much so I decided to explore the depths of society. OUT from the high class houses where my mother and father (god bless their souls) lie in their soil that is filled with the sign of feet in my house. While the first year offered a terrible stench per person but afterwards, it was so very worth it because their skeletons still lie in such a perfect position that I offer kisses not of love but of sheer jealousy due to the woe I've been through the past few weeks.

The first thing I noticed about you scuffy working class is all your houses are black. While back within the streets of chums and I, our houses are scrubbed yearly and are a perfect white colour, yours are pitch black. I place my white gloved hand onto a wall and remove it quickly, checking my delicate fingers only to realise they too had become black. What was this harsh black dust choking the colours out of the bricks of the houses?! I felt it would be important to find out how and why these houses were turning the same colour as my dear Reginald's skin. My butler whom lives off bread and water. Although I am often warned to keep him chained up at his posts, I trust him to walk freely around my house doing his chores. This is partly due to a right thumping I gave him and the slashing I gave his wife and dear children after last time he tried to run away. He was quickly caught and he was quickly dealt with.

I came upon a young boy, resting his dear heart again the black. His clothes were torn but yet his spirit looked strong as he rested with bread in his dark hands. I knelt down, clutching the hilt of my staff and asked him "young child, was be your name?". He lifted his head from his dry food and squinted at me. He finally commented "Thomas sire, my name be Thomas". His eyes were thick with darkness. It was obvious this child wasn't part of the slavery family but rather dark with dirt. I pitied him but yet knew it be his own fault for not being born into royalty and getting a real job. He then cleared his throat and dried it. I knew what was to come and I was ready. I got back onto my feet and placed my left hand into my coat pocket. My right hand remained on the staff's hilt. He finally blurted out "please sir, may you spare me some coin? My family is starving and we just lost our jobs".

I was ready.

I swung the staff against his cheek and he fell down crying. I then started to beat and bruise his torso. He coughed out tears harder and harder and this excited me more and more. But, I stopped. I knew this wasn't the time to excite myself with these ideas and actions of glory. "Get a real job you ignorant child" I told him as I left. He would most likely die slowly and painfully and this made me grin to myself. However, I then imagined him tucked up in bed with his family stroking his head trying to hold onto his soul as strongly as could and I was filled with enough disgust to want to kick a stray dog. I then noticed something on my cane. A bit of child's blood? I removed my handkerchief and wiped it off. Realising it would be forever ruined with the taint of working class scum, I threw it away. I was sure out of the corner of my eye, some children fought over the handkerchief and ended up ripping it.

I returned back to my state home where upon I had to have a glass of whiskey to cool my nerves. This was not a terrible or good day, but rather a fun and interesting one that added as a reminder to something my dear old father once told me "I don't understand the term "working class". We do all the work and all they do is beg and plead for food, water or money. Being pathetic will not help them but rather push them further into problems, begging for short term solutions like food and water and are not willing to try for the further long term solutions like getting a good education and bloody good job". I spent the rest of my day getting horribly drunk, hit Reginald once or twice, kissed mother and father and then tucked up in bed reading this great ghost story called Red Room or something mighty similar. It is simply splendid how short yet descriptive it is. The verbs flow like a river carrying likely one of those scum's heads. A river of pure darken blood of the working class.

That'll teach them.

So she dumped me and today told me she's got a new boyfriend. Found out when she bugged me on MSN to check my WoW mail. On it, she said she got a new boyfriend and her and him just "clicked". It was the guy I was very paranoid anyway about losing her to. Although I lacked surprise too much to care.

So I went out and managed to pick a webcam with 4 megapixels for £19. Came back and talked to her about her getting a new boyfriend. Apparently, I couldn't give her confidence but didn't want me to change for her because that's apparently shallow. Even though I must of said about twenty times over the course of a week "I can change" and "I'll fix it" and so much more. It ended her wanting to just be friends (although I suspect it's her way of having no guilt).

EDIT: I talked to her last night about the whole thing. Apparently, she actually never loved me. She cared about me, but not loved me. So it was really all out of pity and she broke it off for her own good (as though I'm meant to shake her hand and call it the mature thing to do). My entire thoughts can be summed up with the last three paragraphs I told her:

"One part of me makes me want to rip you apart in every single managable way possible. To torture you in ways you could not imagine and to make you feel pain longer and more than you could imagine for going out with me not out of love but out of sheer pity. How you ripped my heart from my chest and stomped all over it as though you felt you were doing good. In reality, you weren't.

You were grabbing my hopes, lifting them up to soaring heights and slamming them down as hard as possible. As though to snub out any springing hope in humanity. Another part of me says "good on you, you did what you felt was right and maybe you were a tad confused. Shame about him being hurt in the process of your confusion".

But know this, you are not forgiven. I do not hate you or despise you but I hope that you are forever left with at least a little guilt ripping your brain apart over what you have caused over the past month because there is nothing much worse than lifting someone's hopes and slamming them down hard and proving someone's paranoia true."

So this time, three videos. One funny one I found which takes the piss out of an anti-drug advert and two songs by Radiohead.

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Oh, and two versions of a Placebo song: Song To Say Goodbye.

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Sorry about the cut off at the end of the acoustic live one.