Friday, December 21, 2007

Critics

Meredith read the hunky-dory thing and said it was well written but too bad it was a rant.
She has a very low tolerance for my depression fueled humor.
The thing is, I thought it was funny over the top absurd wailing that no one could take seriously.
Referring to Hitler, George Bush, Gerard Schwarz, and maybe even Napoleon all because my feelings were hurt by a couple work-stressed SSO employees.
But, some people take stuff like that seriously.

Her cheeriness at this time of the year is annoying, mainly because I just don't feel it and it is a strain to pretend.
Getting kicked when I fall off that narrow trail does not make me feel any better.

But it's not about me feeling better, it's about other people feeling better, so maybe I should take acting lessons and pretend to be in love with this deadliest season.
I can't say from any personal perspective that that would help anyone.
This is the time of the year when people whose endorphins are working to shove it in the face of those who can't find the appropriate sentiments.
So I am a bad guy, a Grinch.
Or whatever role Meredith, Meighan, Ginny, and Jesus have decided I'm a failure at.

Good king Pencilstub looks out, spots a poor man and sends his lawyer out to sue the sorry bastard for failing to have the proper attitude about this time of love and joy.
Then passes a law making it illegal to be cold and hungry.

Has this one run out yet?

I got something to say about what is or is not poetry.
I may post it soon
It involves someone else's writing style.
I am honor bound to say no more at this point in time.

Make a poem out of that, Buttkus!

Labels:

3 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Non curo. Si metrum non habet, non est poema.
...............Seneca

9:11 PM  
Blogger butch said...

Piece of cake, sir:

Scribe's Sorrow

I have something
to say
about what is
or is not
poetry.
I may
post it
soon.

It involves
someone
else's writing
style.

I am honor bound
to say
no more
at this point
in time.

Make a poem
out of that,
Buttkus!

Doug Palmer 2007

You see, sir, despite your churlish nature, and your Grinch's attitude about Hallmark moments and programed responses, you do have a poetic soul; and that's why Emily digs you, and that is one of the reasons that I dig you. No, not in that way!


Oh, I found another gem in your rant.

Good King Pencilstub

Good King Pencilstub
looks out,
spots a poor man,
and send his lawyer
out to sue the sorry bastard
for failing
to have the proper
attitude
about this time
of love
and joy;
then passes a law
making it illegal
to be cold
and hungry.

Doug Palmer Christmas 2007


So, yes, uh-huh, to the affirmative, many of us dumkopfs out here to understand and fully appreciate your "humor", as dark, and caustic as it can be, sprinkled with sentimentality and good will for all the rest of us out here suffering as well. So I really kind of liked the duplicity involved in THE BALLAD OF HUNKY DORY, for all kinds of reasons. So you do not think of yourself as a poet, or a playwright, or a novelist, or a short story writer, and yet you do, and have done all those things admirably. So maybe it just takes another crazy bastard out there, out here, to help appreciate and shape the poetry that hides in your prose, in your mind, and in your heart.

I wonder if Meredith would like Ginsberg's HOWL? Probably not, for it is after all the supreme rant.She needs to remember that a rant is an emotional response, and it is your emotions that set up the procreation of creativity and fantasy, that whelps your music and your writing, and your wicked wicked and wonderfully spry sense of humor; that shred of levity that keeps the keel to the crest,
and the sail to the wind, that assists you in steering the vessel that IS you, or is becoming you, or is recapturing you.

I have to agree with some of your sentiments regarding Christmas, the spirit fueled by Madison Avenue, and the bullshit we all buy into this one time of the year. But for some it is geniune, their one moment each year when the pettiness is set aside, and the triple locked door to their heart and emotions is pryed open, and their smiles are for real, and so are their tears as they look at the sadness that surrounds them the other 50 weeks a year. So do not be the wife who fakes an orgasm in order not to hurt the feelings of the clueless spouse. You spit it out, sir, all that vitreolic absolutely stinging and bang on unsentimental sentiment, your incredibly caring non-caring, your incorrigible views, all capped with the syrup, the dark honey of your humor.

Melva called and she is still blissfully being a grandma in Baltimore. Wish I was there. But --sniff--I carry on regardless. I am invited to the Shier's for a scrumptious Christmas breakfast on Christmas morning, and to the Gilmour's for the unconventional salmon bake Christmas dinner, along with a Christmas movie. I do suffer for my art and my soul.

I sit, I stand, and I crouch in anticipation of your treatise on
"someone else's writing style". I am sure it will be instructive, insightful, and invigorating.

Glenn

11:32 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Hallo, Lane!
Yes, this IS a season that tends to make depressive people more so and spur raging people into even stronger rages!
--
Anonomann

5:23 AM  

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