SS Edmund Fitzgerald

The SS Edmund Fitzgerald was owned by the Northwestern Mutual Life Insurance Company and was registerd in the Port of Milwaukee. She first launched in 1958, built by Great Lakes Engineering Works.

She was a lake freighter 729 feet in length, 75 feet wide, and carried taconite ore pellets from mines near Duluth, Minnesota to ports in Detroit, Toledo and others. She was the largest ship to haul iron ore on the Great Lakes.

On her final voyage the Edmund Fitzgerald left Superior, Wisconsin (Nov 9, 1975) with a full load (25,400 tons). With a seasoned crew and Captain (Ernest M. McSorley) on board, they were joined by a second freighter, SS Arthur M. Anderson. The weather turned bad the next day.

The Arthur M. Anderson received two messages from the Edmund Fitzgerald. The first  “I have a bad list, lost both radars. And am taking heavy seas over the deck. One of the worst seas I’ve ever been in.” and the second, and last, was “We are holding our own.”

Only two empty lifeboats were found and no crew. A U.S. Navy Lockheed P-3 Orion aircraft found the sunken ship 4 days later. The Edmund Fitzgerald was broken in half and some have recently speculated that the front was on a giant wave and the rear on another tearing the hull in half.

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Wolf’s-bane

Aconitum (/ˌækəˈnaɪtəm/), also known as aconite, monkshood, wolf’s-bane, leopard’s bane, mousebane, women’s bane, devil’s helmet, queen of poisons, or blue rocket.

Aconitum is a perennial, genus of over 250 species, that grows in the mountainous parts of the northern hemisphere in the mountain meadows. Most species are poisonous, causing diarrhea, convulsions, ventricular arrhythmia and death. The major antidote is Atropine but must be administered quickly as death will occur in 2-6 hours.

In mythology the goddess Hecate was said to have invented aconite, which Athena used to transform Arachne into a spider. Medea attempted to poison Theseus with a cup of wine containing wolf’s-bane.

In the monster movies Van Helsing places a sprig of wolf’s-bane around Mina’s neck in the 1931 Dracula with Bela Lugosi. In the 1941 film Wolfman, with Lon Chaney Jr., this poem is heard:

Even a man who pure at heart,
and says his prayers by night,
May become a wolf when the Wolf’s-bane blooms,
and the autumn moon is bright.

Old Gypsy Poem

Read more about Aconitum on Wikipedia, the Mythology on theoi.com and the werewolves at Universal Monsters Universe

I’m Not Gonna Let It Bother Me Tonight

Writers: Buddy Buie, Robert Nix, Dean Daughtry

I picked up the paper this morning
And read all the daily blues
The world is one big tragedy
I wonder what I can do

About all the pain and injustice
About all of the sorrow
We’re living in a danger zone
The world could end tomorrow

But I’m not gonna let it bother me tonight
I’m not gonna let it bother me tonight
Tomorrow I might go as far as suicide
But I won’t let it bother me tonight

Life on the street is a jungle
A struggle to keep up the pace
I just can’t beat that old dog eat dog
The rats keep winnin’ the rat race

But I’m not gonna let it bother me tonight
I’m not gonna let it bother me tonight
The world is in an uproar and I see no end in sight
But I won’t let it bother me tonight

I’m not gonna let it bother me tonight
Tomorrow I might go as far as suicide
But I won’t let it bother me tonight

Lord, Lord, Lord
We got nothing but trouble
I’ve done all I can do today
So bartender pour me a double, right now

But I’m not gonna let it bother me tonight
I’m not gonna let it bother me tonight
The world is in an uproar and I see no end in sight
But I won’t let it bother me tonight

I’m not gonna let it bother me tonight
No I’m not gonna let it bother me tonight
Tomorrow I might go as far as suicide
But I will not let it bother me tonight

The Raven

Edgar Allen Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, 
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. 
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow 
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore- 
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore- 
Nameless here for evermore. 

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain 
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; 
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, 
“‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door- 
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;- 

This it is, and nothing more.” 
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, 
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; 
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, 
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, 
That I scarce was sure I heard you”- here I opened wide the door;- 
Darkness there, and nothing more. 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, 
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; 
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, 
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore!” 
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”- 
Merely this, and nothing more. 

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, 
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. 
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice: 
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore- 
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;- 
‘Tis the wind and nothing more.” 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, 
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore; 
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; 
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door- 
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door- 
Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, 
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore. 
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven, 
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore- 
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!” 
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” 

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore; 
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being 
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door- 
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, 
With such name as “Nevermore.” 

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only 
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. 
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered- 
Till I scarcely more than muttered, “other friends have flown before- 
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.” 
Then the bird said, “Nevermore.” 

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store, 
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster 
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore- 
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore 
Of ‘Never- nevermore’.” 

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, 
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; 
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore- 
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore 
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.” 

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core; 
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o’er, 
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o’er, 
She shall press, ah, nevermore! 

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer 
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. 
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee 
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore! 
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!” 
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” 

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or devil!- 
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, 
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted- 
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore- 
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!” 
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” 

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or devil! 
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore- 
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, 
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore- 
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.” 
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” 

“Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend,” I shrieked, upstarting- 
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore! 
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! 
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door! 
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!” 
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” 

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; 
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming, 
And the lamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; 
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor 
Shall be lifted- nevermore!

Depressed?

Doyle Tatum

Why is the sky so dark?
Why is everything so black?
What is the answer to the question undefined?
Why should I live, why should I die?

What is the meaning to that song?
What is the meaning to anything I do?
Why should I live?
Why should I die?

Why am I sad?
Why am I depressed?
Who cares?
Why should I care?

Why is the sky red, the water green?
Is it the same thing that makes me so blue?
What did she say, what did she mean?
Was I listening?

Does it come from within, does it come from without?
Will anyone remember me, will I remember them?
Will they be sad, will they cry, will I cry?
Will I care?

“Late Lament”

Graeme Edge

Breathe deep the gathering gloom,
Watch lights fade from every room.
Bedsitter people look back and lament,
Another day’s useless energy spent.
Impassioned lovers wrestle as one,
Lonely man cries for love and has none.
New mother picks up and suckles her son,
Senior citizens wish they were young.
Cold hearted orb that rules the night,
Removes the colours from our sight.
Red is grey and yellow white.
But we decide which is right.
And which is an illusion?