HST Digest: 5/10/18
4/29: Poetry by John D Robinson
5/1: Poetry by Ben Newell
5/2: Poetry by Gwil James Thomas
5/5: Poetry by Scott Simmons
5/7: Poetry by Ben John Smith
5/8: Poetry by Josh Dale
5/10: Poetry by Casey Renee Kiser
See also:
HST Digest: 4/28/18
HST Digest: 4/19/18
HST Digest: 4/9/18
HST Digest: 3/27/18
HST Digest: 3/15/18
HST Digest: 3/4/18
HST Digest: 2/16/18
HST Digest: 2/7/18
HST Digest: 1/27/18
HST Digest: 1/17/18
HST Digest: 1/1/18
HST Digest: 12/7/17
HST Digest: 11/20/17
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Rodney Gardner is impressive in his unstated credentials and no discernably obvious play for a leg up. Perhaps this will come later. In the meantime, here's one from a man with a legitimate excuse for depression; that being a move from California to Texas.
P.S. I have a question. I'm approaching 69 years of age. My head hair is white; but that on my nuts retains its original brown. IDK. Is this weird or is this guy like 95?
Gray Hairs
The gray hairs on my nutsack do not seem to be attached so well
One little pull is all it takes
I have decided I will continue to get rid of them
My mother and grandmother used to say that for each one you pull out
Many more will take its place
Sounds like a typical wive’s tale to me
What the fuck do they know about scrotum hair anyway?
I can confidently say two things:
Childhood impressions last way too long
The hairs of the darker persuasion will remain for the time being
P.S. I have a question. I'm approaching 69 years of age. My head hair is white; but that on my nuts retains its original brown. IDK. Is this weird or is this guy like 95?
Gray Hairs
The gray hairs on my nutsack do not seem to be attached so well
One little pull is all it takes
I have decided I will continue to get rid of them
My mother and grandmother used to say that for each one you pull out
Many more will take its place
Sounds like a typical wive’s tale to me
What the fuck do they know about scrotum hair anyway?
I can confidently say two things:
Childhood impressions last way too long
The hairs of the darker persuasion will remain for the time being
Conceptually contrapunted connubial comportment controverted by christening considerations connive to confuse compatriots in the chord of "C," consistent with the cacophonous condition "coincidentally" contrived by cock constricted consortiums concommitantly concerned with charismatic Cuban concubinage conscripted to a coterie kiss. Crap.
Doowakkadoo wrote: "The song is pretty awful, but has a funny title.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DElRq..."
Dead Kennedys: better than "Too Intoxicated to Fornicate".
"For we felt too much inside." Kind of dreary, but it's as close to an explanation as you'll ever get.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ywnH5...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ywnH5...
From the same album, which BTW is the only good one they ever did, a return to "normality." "You keep your mouth shut or you'll get cut." Ja, mon.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pMhjB...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pMhjB...
Ian wrote: "This was from a pretty good album as well:
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=A5UHI1P..."
Yeah, shows more versatility than I thought Mott had. Well, they did know Bowie to some extent. I'm wondering if it is possible to do a bad version of "Sweet Jane."
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=A5UHI1P..."
Yeah, shows more versatility than I thought Mott had. Well, they did know Bowie to some extent. I'm wondering if it is possible to do a bad version of "Sweet Jane."
Another from my favorite. I think this one almost got popular attention. Borderline, at least. "You look like a star, when you're really out on parole."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ubBpu...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ubBpu...
Jeremy M Tolbert, Severely impressed. He's either prose or poetry, but that's a matter to be discussed by the dead. My only question, is "Were you there?" The answer seems obvious, but I do have to say that eavesdropping is rather rude.
Here's Jeremy chronicling that terrible time which mercifully continues to fade.
“The Last Night”
tabling this fight because of bad luck and a still life. we found our teeth the last night we were seen. my skin crawls and your jaw clicks, about the desire to hold you. yet, the end result turned a key. having left out the door the moment our tears dried up. believing it was the right thing to do, assisting you to breath new air beneath cleaner sheets. the day was coming; it was only a matter of time until i would be staring at the moonlit sky and drinking alone. i could not agree with you when you told me what had gone wrong; at the time and in the moment. yet, after serious thought, you were completely right. even though i had spilled enough blood to revive a man, that day i watched you walk away cut me to the bone which I haven’t recovered from. i just had nothing left. i was spent. that is probably what i feared, the moment you spoke more than two words, i would become a mute.
Here's Jeremy chronicling that terrible time which mercifully continues to fade.
“The Last Night”
tabling this fight because of bad luck and a still life. we found our teeth the last night we were seen. my skin crawls and your jaw clicks, about the desire to hold you. yet, the end result turned a key. having left out the door the moment our tears dried up. believing it was the right thing to do, assisting you to breath new air beneath cleaner sheets. the day was coming; it was only a matter of time until i would be staring at the moonlit sky and drinking alone. i could not agree with you when you told me what had gone wrong; at the time and in the moment. yet, after serious thought, you were completely right. even though i had spilled enough blood to revive a man, that day i watched you walk away cut me to the bone which I haven’t recovered from. i just had nothing left. i was spent. that is probably what i feared, the moment you spoke more than two words, i would become a mute.
"I waited for you on the running boards." In and of itself that one line merits a Nobel.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w8Dyl...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w8Dyl...
Believe it or not, I'd prefer not to be an "eye" in the sense used here, in some seeming detriment and ambiguity. You should really know that explanations never suffice, and even if listened to always beg further explanation. I guess my question is; "Why do you not think that I can almost understand you and would like to?"
It's easibly dismissable as vainglorious despite it's most commonly attributed intent, but I mean it as an entreaty; an imperfect entreaty; THERE IS NO OTHER KIND ON TERRA OR ANTI-TERRA; dammit,
There is no reason for you to believe that. You are completely correct in considering that my pleas and actions can be calculated as that which will produce the effect I want most of the time. You can do the same, but mostly do not.
Does the understanding you continually add to make that a problem? I do lie, but never to you. ..................... I guess past and continuing seemingly harmless contrivances make you reconsider "harmless"?
I may understand. But on those bad nights with hopeful dreams can't help but first wonder if you do and then don't want to wake up.
It's easibly dismissable as vainglorious despite it's most commonly attributed intent, but I mean it as an entreaty; an imperfect entreaty; THERE IS NO OTHER KIND ON TERRA OR ANTI-TERRA; dammit,
There is no reason for you to believe that. You are completely correct in considering that my pleas and actions can be calculated as that which will produce the effect I want most of the time. You can do the same, but mostly do not.
Does the understanding you continually add to make that a problem? I do lie, but never to you. ..................... I guess past and continuing seemingly harmless contrivances make you reconsider "harmless"?
I may understand. But on those bad nights with hopeful dreams can't help but first wonder if you do and then don't want to wake up.
The foregoing was considered sufficiently pathetic as not to have been picked up by low paying PBS; predictable to a vet. "Aaaaghhh bop bop bop bop yeah. Etc. etc. artistically improvised."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jXZcJ...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jXZcJ...
"You'll never never never reach the sky." Guess many of us ignored the warning,
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WOs3u...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WOs3u...
It'll be ok I said; I know,
She wavered, and while I thought that perfectly understandable under the circumstances, both meta and derivations thereof, was also hurt to the point of considering self immolation; abortive of that consideration which negates.
I said "I'd gladly die before I hurt you," Though I thought that I meant it, she had heard it about 10,009 times previously, and acted as one would under those circumstances.
Death seemed a viable alternative for me, and I felt encouraged to pursue right in the fucking face of the Devil's paltry attempts at doubt instillation,
.
She probably understood where I was at, right or wrong, and her body, in a sort of deference which really isn't a dference at all connublially conjured up a feeling of warmth she found reminiscent of her earliest days of wonder. ..................
My momentary personal happiness was not one I insisted upon. It rather seemed a necessity induced by her evaluation of her personalized nurture and attractive stuff, of which she was understandably reluctant to speak. Words, words, words belie that it was quite fine.
I could go on, but suppose that you've already recognized that the good intents intended by both sides are most likely either a Dr. Phil type prescription for a disaster intended or not. Stupid hope prevents any way to avoid the tragedy; a sleep with a dream an ostensible blessing to the most adamant of Shakespearian advocates.
The over-explanation ultimately made you say that you didn't feel the same way that breezy winter morning I was tempted to stay away, I pretended that I was still hopeful, which you did not seem to like.
As time dictates, I gradually aged and died, the order debatable,
The preceding bullshit was concocted over a period of ten years, with the intent of making the writer seem somewhat palatable to overly sympathetic females, with the intent of using their silly feelings as an entrée into making them amenable to any degradation imaginable.
She wavered, and while I thought that perfectly understandable under the circumstances, both meta and derivations thereof, was also hurt to the point of considering self immolation; abortive of that consideration which negates.
I said "I'd gladly die before I hurt you," Though I thought that I meant it, she had heard it about 10,009 times previously, and acted as one would under those circumstances.
Death seemed a viable alternative for me, and I felt encouraged to pursue right in the fucking face of the Devil's paltry attempts at doubt instillation,
.
She probably understood where I was at, right or wrong, and her body, in a sort of deference which really isn't a dference at all connublially conjured up a feeling of warmth she found reminiscent of her earliest days of wonder. ..................
My momentary personal happiness was not one I insisted upon. It rather seemed a necessity induced by her evaluation of her personalized nurture and attractive stuff, of which she was understandably reluctant to speak. Words, words, words belie that it was quite fine.
I could go on, but suppose that you've already recognized that the good intents intended by both sides are most likely either a Dr. Phil type prescription for a disaster intended or not. Stupid hope prevents any way to avoid the tragedy; a sleep with a dream an ostensible blessing to the most adamant of Shakespearian advocates.
The over-explanation ultimately made you say that you didn't feel the same way that breezy winter morning I was tempted to stay away, I pretended that I was still hopeful, which you did not seem to like.
As time dictates, I gradually aged and died, the order debatable,
The preceding bullshit was concocted over a period of ten years, with the intent of making the writer seem somewhat palatable to overly sympathetic females, with the intent of using their silly feelings as an entrée into making them amenable to any degradation imaginable.
Hey, Steve Kilbey said so and who the fuck can argue with Steve Kilbey? He won't even talk to paying interviewers when he considers them to be assholes.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H1BOr...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H1BOr...
"As our procession lurches on as if we had recovered," Maybe my favorite Church. Most any reasonable disagreement verbally agreed to.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nidAG...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nidAG...
Does this thing like indicate an extra view if there are two pages or something? That would reward long ass threads, No?
We need quality; not quantity.
I'm not debating that Arthur; and I don't give three, purple, pants-washing-semi-liquid-consistency-necessitating raspberries over what you don't think.
JUST WASH YOUR PANTS. ALL RIGHT?
We need quality; not quantity.
I'm not debating that Arthur; and I don't give three, purple, pants-washing-semi-liquid-consistency-necessitating raspberries over what you don't think.
JUST WASH YOUR PANTS. ALL RIGHT?
An adjustment will soon be required. I'm nearing the end of HST writers and others with a pretense to artistic endeavors. I will soon be reduced to evaluating slut pictures, But today is fine as I read some El Bastardo. Before I even started I strongly suspected that this boy was pissed. I mean, right from the get go, what kind of parents name their kid this? I can just imagine all the poor "jokes" El must have had to sit through in school; assuming he went.
I found this "poem" intriguing, which presented a difficulty in where I'd cut off for GR purposes. I totally relate. Over the years, El has converted cold hatred to hot sarcasm. No wonder all the bitches want to fuck him. I'm really impressed as personally I was never enough to get anywhere with them, excepting those Ivy League hornies who equate "literary" with "porn for educated females." ................ Just stop it!!!! All right? I'll be with you as soon as I write this important review for my pal, AG. Jeez, I hope the hell that the thing fills up before I'm through here. Otherwise ................. Never mind.
Following is either El Bastardo's description of himself or AG's description of him. Whatever. These lies are required by literary norms.
El Bastardo is a humorist and Lucia Libre wrestling legend who has never met a tequila or senorita he did not love.
He is never seen without his mask and is more elusive than bigfoot but far more sexy with far better hygiene.
Olé amigos.
Here's part of his poem, but I may have fucked up and put all of it, though that seems unlikely, and I'm not going back to check. Fucker should be happy I noticed at all.
The Donkey Show Family Fun Hour
I remember the days when I was young.
The days seemed to last forever and I was a young Bastardo and the world was run by real men like El Presidente Bill Clinton. A man who can blow his own horn is a man who stands apart from many.
The economy was good and the senoritas truly understood how to appreciate good sexual harassment, unlike these closet lesbians of today.
My nipples tingle at the thought of wrestling Harvey Weinstein into submission; what a sexy woman he truly is. If I was in the cinema you wouldn’t hear me complain over sitting on the casting couch.
Now the world is run by spoiled orange hair grandpas who compliment their own daughters’ tits. Of course, even Satan himself has some good qualities.
It is a strange world, much like the pussy fart; it is a humorous mystery that can often make you lose your hardito.
But enough with the foreplay, gringos.
I remember the good old days when the donkeys ran free and the senoritas were nervous. The party was fueled by good cocaine and men were celebrated for being the natural bastards we truly are.
I think there's more, but you'll have to click on one of the HST thingies to find out.
I found this "poem" intriguing, which presented a difficulty in where I'd cut off for GR purposes. I totally relate. Over the years, El has converted cold hatred to hot sarcasm. No wonder all the bitches want to fuck him. I'm really impressed as personally I was never enough to get anywhere with them, excepting those Ivy League hornies who equate "literary" with "porn for educated females." ................ Just stop it!!!! All right? I'll be with you as soon as I write this important review for my pal, AG. Jeez, I hope the hell that the thing fills up before I'm through here. Otherwise ................. Never mind.
Following is either El Bastardo's description of himself or AG's description of him. Whatever. These lies are required by literary norms.
El Bastardo is a humorist and Lucia Libre wrestling legend who has never met a tequila or senorita he did not love.
He is never seen without his mask and is more elusive than bigfoot but far more sexy with far better hygiene.
Olé amigos.
Here's part of his poem, but I may have fucked up and put all of it, though that seems unlikely, and I'm not going back to check. Fucker should be happy I noticed at all.
The Donkey Show Family Fun Hour
I remember the days when I was young.
The days seemed to last forever and I was a young Bastardo and the world was run by real men like El Presidente Bill Clinton. A man who can blow his own horn is a man who stands apart from many.
The economy was good and the senoritas truly understood how to appreciate good sexual harassment, unlike these closet lesbians of today.
My nipples tingle at the thought of wrestling Harvey Weinstein into submission; what a sexy woman he truly is. If I was in the cinema you wouldn’t hear me complain over sitting on the casting couch.
Now the world is run by spoiled orange hair grandpas who compliment their own daughters’ tits. Of course, even Satan himself has some good qualities.
It is a strange world, much like the pussy fart; it is a humorous mystery that can often make you lose your hardito.
But enough with the foreplay, gringos.
I remember the good old days when the donkeys ran free and the senoritas were nervous. The party was fueled by good cocaine and men were celebrated for being the natural bastards we truly are.
I think there's more, but you'll have to click on one of the HST thingies to find out.
SlimeFakeFake wrote: "I'm nearing the end of HST writers and others with a pretense to artistic endeavors. I will soon be reduced to evaluating slut pictures"There's no way you've been through all eight years' worth of poetry already, but I'm sure the world would love to hear more of your musings and deep insights re: our many "sluts" featured as well.
Well, not every poem. But, probably 85% of the writers. It's hard to tell as I don't save any of my GR horseshit, and as previously mentioned and disregarded, that list of contributors is so willy-nilly that I often wind up going back to something already seen and deftly scrutinized.
Slut musing is not going to be easy for me. First of all it seems that this very notion is backward. Musing sluts are supposed to provide the material. At least Blake said so. Secondly, I think that they all have interesting and attractive features; leaving me only an option of describing rather than any notion of evaluation; i.e. this one has an ostensibly dragon tat, done in a faded blue mixed with a twinge of red on her recently shaven twatty.
IDK. I hate to show biased favoritism, but I'll always have a warm spot in my heart for the one who went to graduate school to learn that her favorite thing was being photographed while sucking the old wazoo. For once we may agree on something, as I think that you put her on the cover of an HST Quarterly; at least its alternative issue.
Slut musing is not going to be easy for me. First of all it seems that this very notion is backward. Musing sluts are supposed to provide the material. At least Blake said so. Secondly, I think that they all have interesting and attractive features; leaving me only an option of describing rather than any notion of evaluation; i.e. this one has an ostensibly dragon tat, done in a faded blue mixed with a twinge of red on her recently shaven twatty.
IDK. I hate to show biased favoritism, but I'll always have a warm spot in my heart for the one who went to graduate school to learn that her favorite thing was being photographed while sucking the old wazoo. For once we may agree on something, as I think that you put her on the cover of an HST Quarterly; at least its alternative issue.
Morose Reflections Upon an Otherwise Sanguine Day
Awakening today was routine in a sense as I then recalled the happy dreams of the evening. You guessed it; sex stuff. It lasted through coffee and then disappeared somewhere between the bath tub and the toilet bowl. I can't remember and absolutely am frightened about the possibility that I have turned Japanese; worse the Murakami format of Jap.
Now, I'm sort of OK, and sort of not OK. There's nothing I have to complain about which cannot be dwarved by a typical HST unrequited deviant; but it is also true that I can't help but consider the thought that my GR addiction has reached the point of requiring professional help.
I'm sure that Hal Incandenza could have related; but just look at what happened to him.
Awakening today was routine in a sense as I then recalled the happy dreams of the evening. You guessed it; sex stuff. It lasted through coffee and then disappeared somewhere between the bath tub and the toilet bowl. I can't remember and absolutely am frightened about the possibility that I have turned Japanese; worse the Murakami format of Jap.
Now, I'm sort of OK, and sort of not OK. There's nothing I have to complain about which cannot be dwarved by a typical HST unrequited deviant; but it is also true that I can't help but consider the thought that my GR addiction has reached the point of requiring professional help.
I'm sure that Hal Incandenza could have related; but just look at what happened to him.
SlimeFakeFake wrote: "Slut musing is not going to be easy for me. First of all it seems that this very notion is backward. Musing sluts are supposed to provide the material. At least Blake said so."Well put! Personally I've risen above this quaint compulsion toward holding women responsible for my artistic inspiration and output, unless of course we've just recently broken up, but it's alway been convenient for us artsy-fartsy types to conflate our objects of desire with our desire for expression.
Still, not a bad old poem at all:
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem...
SlimeFakeFake wrote: "this one has an ostensibly dragon tat, done in a faded blue mixed with a twinge of red on her recently shaven twatty."For once, purple prose done right!
SlimeFakeFake wrote: "I'll always have a warm spot in my heart for the one who went to graduate school to learn that her favorite thing was being photographed while sucking the old wazoo."How do you know that wasn't what she majored in?
Arthur wrote: "SlimeFakeFake wrote: "Slut musing is not going to be easy for me. First of all it seems that this very notion is backward. Musing sluts are supposed to provide the material. At least Blake said so...."
Thanks chief. Now I will proceed to cry away another paltry day.
Thanks chief. Now I will proceed to cry away another paltry day.
Arthur wrote: "SlimeFakeFake wrote: "this one has an ostensibly dragon tat, done in a faded blue mixed with a twinge of red on her recently shaven twatty."
For once, purple prose done right!"
Who said "purple?" I said blue and red. It was you who chose to mix them.
For once, purple prose done right!"
Who said "purple?" I said blue and red. It was you who chose to mix them.
Arthur wrote; "How do you know that wasn't what she majored in?"
Not 100% sure, but think she specified something irrelevant. Anyway, my possibly incorrect instincts say that I'll betcha a whole buck.
You really might learn something if once in a while you gave these ladies an opportunity to unobstructedly speak.
Not 100% sure, but think she specified something irrelevant. Anyway, my possibly incorrect instincts say that I'll betcha a whole buck.
You really might learn something if once in a while you gave these ladies an opportunity to unobstructedly speak.
Random and Personally Biased Expoundings
Hal was as close to DFW surrogate as you will ever see. Yet, the depiction of Hal was purposely not totally accurate; why I will never know. Hal occasionally says things which are not things that Hal would say; but rather are thing that Hal thinks that you would say. It can be quite confusing; as it's willful and therefore contrived inconsistency precludes any logical analysis; maybe DFW's ultimate point or lack thereof.
Outside of what was put in books, consider that DFW said; "I was wondering whether to get my masters in philosophy or math, when someone gave me a book, attributed to a "prodigy." I read it an said that I can do better than that, at which point he decided to be a writer, Now, juxtapose that with statements made by others which say that he majored in math and English at an undergraduate level. I suppose that the "facts" could be resolved with a search, but don't really think that's the issue here.
More important seems to me to be how DFW saw himself, while also stating that he is or was what others thought of him; indicative of an identity crisis of a magnitude sufficient to make Mark Leyner resort to bumper sticker slogans.
Though he never spoke of it willingly (and this make me speculate to no satisfactory conclusion) he said that in high school he was a jock; both playing the tennis with which he continued as well as football. In college he came to the conclusion that he was fairly smart; while also having a tennis ranking, which he always played down, sufficient to induce some to turn pro, if only on the lesser tour.
One quote of his people seem to like is; "You're this nerd kid who goes to the library a lot, then you start writing and realize that you're saying 'Look at me, look at me, look at me." I believe that this is a good example of him saying what others might say, as through his own sports endeavors, he was always looked at, the very nature of the pursuit inviting that.
LOST THE POINT. But fear not. There will undoubtedly be future harangues.
Hal was as close to DFW surrogate as you will ever see. Yet, the depiction of Hal was purposely not totally accurate; why I will never know. Hal occasionally says things which are not things that Hal would say; but rather are thing that Hal thinks that you would say. It can be quite confusing; as it's willful and therefore contrived inconsistency precludes any logical analysis; maybe DFW's ultimate point or lack thereof.
Outside of what was put in books, consider that DFW said; "I was wondering whether to get my masters in philosophy or math, when someone gave me a book, attributed to a "prodigy." I read it an said that I can do better than that, at which point he decided to be a writer, Now, juxtapose that with statements made by others which say that he majored in math and English at an undergraduate level. I suppose that the "facts" could be resolved with a search, but don't really think that's the issue here.
More important seems to me to be how DFW saw himself, while also stating that he is or was what others thought of him; indicative of an identity crisis of a magnitude sufficient to make Mark Leyner resort to bumper sticker slogans.
Though he never spoke of it willingly (and this make me speculate to no satisfactory conclusion) he said that in high school he was a jock; both playing the tennis with which he continued as well as football. In college he came to the conclusion that he was fairly smart; while also having a tennis ranking, which he always played down, sufficient to induce some to turn pro, if only on the lesser tour.
One quote of his people seem to like is; "You're this nerd kid who goes to the library a lot, then you start writing and realize that you're saying 'Look at me, look at me, look at me." I believe that this is a good example of him saying what others might say, as through his own sports endeavors, he was always looked at, the very nature of the pursuit inviting that.
LOST THE POINT. But fear not. There will undoubtedly be future harangues.
OK. I guess. Back on Terra, Anti-Terra or a reasonable depiction of either. Dammit. Forgot her name. Sorry, if that matters to her. ....... Apologies for the poor humor attempt. Sure, it is and I'll go right back to check as soon as we finish here. Vicki something I think; PINK FISHNET STOCKINGS for sure. Some memories understandably fade; the precise degree sometimes an unresolvable issue. The quizzical look on her face is more most memorable, and also difficult for me to characterize. IDK. Maybe she knows or thinks that she's the first; a fearless first; or maybe she's been there and is now more curious about me than she is about herself. Doesn't really matter either way to me, but in deference to writerly concepts of completion and/or failure .......
Can't imagine how anything could turn out bad, until I remember how much I cry when they always find a reason to move on.
Checked. Kinda right. Miss Vain Vicki. ............. Guess I was warned. Also guess that she intended no harm. After all her stuff, how could she possibly know that I really wanted to know her correct name.
Can't imagine how anything could turn out bad, until I remember how much I cry when they always find a reason to move on.
Checked. Kinda right. Miss Vain Vicki. ............. Guess I was warned. Also guess that she intended no harm. After all her stuff, how could she possibly know that I really wanted to know her correct name.
Disconcerting is the viewership. Its paltry display is consistent with that which one might infer from the attendance at an out-of-the- way theatre playing "Cinema Paradiso" for America's suburban prizes.
It is to cry if it weren't so goddam funny.
It is to cry if it weren't so goddam funny.
Arthur wrote: "SlimeFakeFake wrote: "I'll always have a warm spot in my heart for the one who went to graduate school to learn that her favorite thing was being photographed while sucking the old wazoo."How do you know that wasn't what she majored in?"
This cracked me up (; lol
Another to-be-rejected poetry attempt, humbly, deficiently, and laughingly submitted by inept, delusional, and paltry yeztruly.
Deaf Falcons
With the support of 49 chumps
Donald Trump did promise some dumps
Right in the center of Old Glory Highway
“It will be huge” he said
Stormy is in Stormy’s bed
Cohen just got a case of OZ’s
The people did scream
White Knight Mueller did seem
To sincerely mean
That the drunks should forget
It was he who buried the Hillary hatchet.
The lesson, you see
Is that when the rulers must pee
high klan has immunity
When they say “wee”
The consistency
is their guaranty
that it’s always on thee.
So sharp the knight’s sword
It always defaults to the chord
Whose one note makes one as bored
As they who know they’ve been peckered
And this may well go on their permanent record.
But, likely not.
Deaf Falcons
With the support of 49 chumps
Donald Trump did promise some dumps
Right in the center of Old Glory Highway
“It will be huge” he said
Stormy is in Stormy’s bed
Cohen just got a case of OZ’s
The people did scream
White Knight Mueller did seem
To sincerely mean
That the drunks should forget
It was he who buried the Hillary hatchet.
The lesson, you see
Is that when the rulers must pee
high klan has immunity
When they say “wee”
The consistency
is their guaranty
that it’s always on thee.
So sharp the knight’s sword
It always defaults to the chord
Whose one note makes one as bored
As they who know they’ve been peckered
And this may well go on their permanent record.
But, likely not.
John D Robinson is hilarious, possibly because he is almost as old as me, and that he seems to have a penchant to step on toes which have grown too big for their shoes. I mean, like just imagine his central character in the following poem; a 64 year old transvestite who has just "come out" and is concerned about his mother's reaction; and his mother actually finds the whole thing amusing, her comment focusing on a technicality; his beard.
John's been published all over the place, and that is likely a result of his not being invited back to the place where he upset the fuck out of the regular patrons. Increased level of kudos to AG and HST, for not being pussy.
MISUNDERSTOOOD
‘My mother doesn’t understand me
and it’s upsetting me that she
doesn’t understand’ she said to me:
a 64 year old squat, bald, toothless
guy who had recently and
superficially, changed his gender:
he was no longer Colin but
Julie and wore a huge and
hideous oversized blonde wig, a
dazzling orange dress, cosmetics
smeared and clumsy, a pair of
bright red flat shoes: she told
me that when she first visited
mother in the Care Home as
Julie, her mother laughed,
for the first time in years,
she laughed thinking it was a joke
and it took a while before he could
explain to her that he’d had
these feelings all his life and now
was the time to let-free his
inner-self and mother said that
she would never be able to bring
herself to call ‘him’ Julie and
that he’d always be her son Colin
and that it was probably just a
phase he was going through
and that he would out-grow it:
‘Maybe she needs time’ I suggested:
‘She hasn’t got a lot of time left,
she’s 96’ he replied:
‘Maybe shaving the beard would
help some’ I offered:
‘I’ve been thinking about that’
said Julie.
John's been published all over the place, and that is likely a result of his not being invited back to the place where he upset the fuck out of the regular patrons. Increased level of kudos to AG and HST, for not being pussy.
MISUNDERSTOOOD
‘My mother doesn’t understand me
and it’s upsetting me that she
doesn’t understand’ she said to me:
a 64 year old squat, bald, toothless
guy who had recently and
superficially, changed his gender:
he was no longer Colin but
Julie and wore a huge and
hideous oversized blonde wig, a
dazzling orange dress, cosmetics
smeared and clumsy, a pair of
bright red flat shoes: she told
me that when she first visited
mother in the Care Home as
Julie, her mother laughed,
for the first time in years,
she laughed thinking it was a joke
and it took a while before he could
explain to her that he’d had
these feelings all his life and now
was the time to let-free his
inner-self and mother said that
she would never be able to bring
herself to call ‘him’ Julie and
that he’d always be her son Colin
and that it was probably just a
phase he was going through
and that he would out-grow it:
‘Maybe she needs time’ I suggested:
‘She hasn’t got a lot of time left,
she’s 96’ he replied:
‘Maybe shaving the beard would
help some’ I offered:
‘I’ve been thinking about that’
said Julie.
Hey, ma. Just wanted you to know that I used to put on your clothes when you and dad went out.
I knew, as they were never put back the way I left them.
You never said anything'
You'd just have denied it, and your father, rest his soul, would have had an anuyrism. He was so traditional that sometimes I'd have liked to strap on and make him moan.
IDK. Now, at the age of 64, I want to display my repressed female side, but I'm troubled by the possibility of your lack of acceptance as well as being seen as a ridiculous "codger fruit" almost the magnitude of Caitlin Jenner. At least he-she could say that he-she was angling for the endorsements customarily attendant to the put upon radical LGBT+Q insurgent wolf pack. Please see, that for me this is real.
Do not worry, my son; as I am not shocked into a fatal heart attack. I took hints from your rejection, with vague reasons, of that enormously titted Margie at 30, and your friendship with that mentally deficient Ronnie with the protrusive schwantz at age 40.
Tears duly attendant, Sonny said; "It's not as though we had any choice. despite books, despite movies, despite TV, those veiny protuberances are prominent on the mind.
I understand, my son.
I knew, as they were never put back the way I left them.
You never said anything'
You'd just have denied it, and your father, rest his soul, would have had an anuyrism. He was so traditional that sometimes I'd have liked to strap on and make him moan.
IDK. Now, at the age of 64, I want to display my repressed female side, but I'm troubled by the possibility of your lack of acceptance as well as being seen as a ridiculous "codger fruit" almost the magnitude of Caitlin Jenner. At least he-she could say that he-she was angling for the endorsements customarily attendant to the put upon radical LGBT+Q insurgent wolf pack. Please see, that for me this is real.
Do not worry, my son; as I am not shocked into a fatal heart attack. I took hints from your rejection, with vague reasons, of that enormously titted Margie at 30, and your friendship with that mentally deficient Ronnie with the protrusive schwantz at age 40.
Tears duly attendant, Sonny said; "It's not as though we had any choice. despite books, despite movies, despite TV, those veiny protuberances are prominent on the mind.
I understand, my son.
Hmmnnn. I'm in a quandary. With the optimistic thought that someone may have read my previous badinage, herein posted, I am at a complete loss as to having any hope of following that with some bullshit to which you might approve. I mean truly, if it was only up to me I'd segue back into the humor which might be approved of by sweet India, while attempting to combine that, perhaps un-necessarily with the rationale preferred by that HST chick with the stated preference for the marriage of photography with protuberance swallowing.
One thing is certain. I am sure that I have failed everyone. Believe it or not, that has a negative effect upon my beauty sleep, except insofar as it may have had an effect on that bald head Hackle.
One thing is certain. I am sure that I have failed everyone. Believe it or not, that has a negative effect upon my beauty sleep, except insofar as it may have had an effect on that bald head Hackle.
Sorry. Regret the four minute departure from my well loved cyber icons. Your well managed and phony excursions into my life are a constant source of good tidings. Lord knows that my well being would drastically suffer without such subterfuge. Thanks to you, or you, or you, et al, the rope is held in abeyance.
Many thanks, possibly emanating from the mouth of Mark Leyner's mom.
Please excuse me again. The cheery tears make the letters on the keyboard look like the merest, necessarily humble, anf inadequate displays of abject artisanal bullshit.
Many thanks, possibly emanating from the mouth of Mark Leyner's mom.
Please excuse me again. The cheery tears make the letters on the keyboard look like the merest, necessarily humble, anf inadequate displays of abject artisanal bullshit.
Will the pain never cease? I am without mercy. The cosmic lightning enters my brain without any apology or suitably, bland, toddy time non-sequiters, inviting polite smiles, I so wish that I could so partake, if not in exactly that then maybe a meeting with a female toddy unable to hold up her draws.
I dream and don't want to wake up.
Laugh, you mean-spirited seekers of fame. I'm used to it.
I dream and don't want to wake up.
Laugh, you mean-spirited seekers of fame. I'm used to it.
No accolades? My wished for HST teammates leave me crestfallen. I am again not wanted. What else can I think? Everyone else gets the five star, carpet rolled out treatment; even those as numnutz as Konrath and Sands.
You cannot all be wrong. It is me, the wiring askew and without hope of fix. You cannot understand how much I suffer, in my paltry hope for just one kind hand.
You cannot all be wrong. It is me, the wiring askew and without hope of fix. You cannot understand how much I suffer, in my paltry hope for just one kind hand.
SlimeFakeFake wrote: "protuberance swallowing"Only you could make BJs unsexy.
You have to admit that that's not easy; and is indicative of artisanal bullshit of the highest order.
Within that constraint I think it is safe to say that you'll find much interest and eroticism in what JA has on HST. If you have been sufficiently cursed to have entertained the possibility of the hidden gains inherent in seemingly direct offerings from those capable of misdirection, your attraction may be more of a curiosity installed by Beelzebub, or something out of Baron Sacher, though not obviously so.
You might do well to ignore my tertiary irrelevences, and read the below poem written by a lady very alive. It is likely my fault and deficiency to sometimes think too much so.
Natural Enemy
I started having affairs in my second marriage.
I could think of all sorts of ways to justify them,
one reason being he was always so spent
from looking at internet porn, but no matter.
Point is, I fucked around,
and I liked it.
I especially liked married men,
so sex-starved and disillusioned…
they were always hungry.
And I got to be the thing
they looked forward to the most.
It was great for the ego, theirs as well as mine.
They did shit with me
their wives would never do.
I would, not for them, but for me.
But my biggest excuse
was the role each wife played
in sending their husbands my way.
She withheld sex, bartered, manipulated.
And plus, she’d let herself go—
safely married, she no longer worried
about being attractive, interesting, or dynamic.
She’d reject his advances because he didn’t compliment
her new fucking earrings
or some shit.
The story was always the same.
So, in a way,
I was their
comeuppance.
I was their punishment for their gratuitous arrogance;
taking their husbands for granted; holding them hostage
with their dry, uninviting cunts.
And the shitty bait ‘n’ switch
they’d pulled at the altar
the moment
they said
I do.
I’m not saying it was right
and I don’t do it anymore,
but I was
that woman,
once.
The one all housewives
whispered about
when their husbands
were finally caught
cheating.
I was a golem, the succulent succubus
of their serene suburban nightmares:
A terrible justice,
sucking on their
husband’s cocks.