[continued from previous message]   
      
   >>>>>>>  is blasting my head clean too.   
   >>   
   >> "Too"?  Too implies that he'd already told us about something else that   
   >> the morning light was blasting clean.   
   >   
   > Why does his head need to be cleaned?  We thought that was what the   
   > Brillo hair was for?   
      
   Are you kidding?  Brillo picks up dust like nobody's business.   
      
      
   >> So... basically, the speaker had gotten drunk and/or stoned, passed out   
   >> either here or there, woke up contemplating whether he should return to   
   >> someone or something, rambled incoherently about how his life (or the   
   >> life of someone else) passed him by... until the morning lights dimmed,   
   >> blasting his head clean.   
   >>   
   >> Got it.  NOT!   
   >   
   > And fell down.   
      
   And fell down over there... at the floor... over here.   
      
   >>   
   >>>>>>>  Morning's clearer   
   >>>>>>>  I've been forgetting it.   
   >>   
   >> Donkey, Donkey, Donkey [shakes head], always with the pronouns.  The   
   >> speaker has been forgetting what?   
   >   
   > Forgot to put his pants on?   
      
   He had too much beer the night before and couldn't fit into them.   
      
      
   >>   
   >> And how can morning be "clearer" when it had never been described as   
   >> being "unclear"?   
   > He put his glasses on?   
   >   
   >>   
   >>>>>>>   
   >>>>>>>  Your thoughts seem to stream   
   >>>>>>>  like a highway   
   >>   
   >> Light streams.  Highways don't.   
   >   
   > He is rhyming "seem" and "stream."  So unexpected!   
      
   At least this time it wasn't a dream.   
      
      
   >>   
   >> Who is the speaker addressing?  Himself?  The morning?  The unidentified   
   >> person whose "uncaused" and "untraced" life had passed him by?   
   >   
   > "All or nothing at all."   
      
   Unclean heads never appealed to me.  If your head going to be dirt-ee,   
   then I'd rather have no head at all.   
      
   Two minutes later and the marbles were on the floor.   
      
   >>   
   >>   
   >>>>>>>  dimming lights seem to streak   
   >>>>>>>  like hitch-hikers.   
   >>   
   >> "Hitchhikers" is not hyphenated.   
   >>   
   >> Why would morning lights be dimming again?  Usually the ambient light   
   >> increases as the sun continues its ascent.   
   >   
   > The laws of physics work differently in Shadowville.   
      
   Ah! Hence the shadows.   
      
      
   >> And why are the hitchhikers streaking?  I realize this was written in   
   >> the 70s when streaking as still a thing, but I don't believe that the   
   >> two (hitchhiking and streaking) went together.   
   >   
   > "Sweet Hitchhiker   
   > We could make music at the Greasy King   
   > Sweet Hitchhiker,   
   > Won't you ride on my fast machine?" - Creedence Clearwater Revival   
      
   Ethel?  Is that you, Ethel?   
      
   >>   
   >> And even if there were dim streaks of light in your "here" (or,   
   >> possibly, "there"), how does dim light recall a hitchhiker (naked or   
   >> dressed)?   
   >   
   > "A thumb goes up, a car goes by   
   > It's nearly one A.M. And here am I   
   > Hitchin' a ride, hitchin' a ride" - Vanity Fare   
      
   I hitched a ride from a Richard Pryor looking guy   
   He didn't have a car, so we didn't get very far   
   Which is neither here nor there, though I'm sure we got somewhere.   
      
   From "Shambles."   
      
      
   >>   
   >>>>>>>  When does this dream end?   
   >>   
   >> WHEN DOES THIS GODAWFUL POEM END???   
   > It ends when it ends, and not a pile of seconds before.   
   >>   
   >> I'm not joking, Donkey.  A poem needs to grab, and hold, the reader's   
   >> interest. Since I have no idea what your poem is about (other than your   
   >> waking up still feeling the effects of the previous night's drugs), I   
   >> have *ZERO* interest in it.   
   >   
   > It should have been thrown "at" the floor in English class. Big f'n F   
   > grade.   
      
   It got published in the school paper -- with a color illustration of a   
   mouse... or a rat... or something.   
      
   >>   
   >> I don't know who is speaking.  I don't know who he's speaking to.  I   
   >> don't know what he's prattling on about.  Hell, I don't even know if   
   >> he's here or there.   
   >   
   > "But who knows where or when?"   
      
   The twaddle he is twaddling he was twaddling then.   
      
      
   >>   
   >> And, as a consequence, I cannot invest any interest (much less feelings)   
   >> into his (non-) story.   
   >   
   > The writing is beyond bad and not something anyone should be proud to   
   > show others.   
      
   Haven't you seen the reviews for his collected poetry book?  Stinky G   
   reviewed it twice, Danny Barfly reviewed it too.  And even Will Donkey   
   threw in his two cents.   
      
      
   >>   
   >>>>>>>  When do I get on up the road?   
   >>   
   >> "Get on up the road"?  That's not even decent backwoods slang.  When   
   >> speaking about reaching a destination (literal, spiritual, etc.), one   
   >> says "down" the road.  "Up" the road implies back to the start of your   
   >> journey.   
   >   
   > Unless one is lying by the side of the road, and the asphalt is quite   
   > thick.  Didn't the speaker fall down in previous stanzas?   
      
   He fell down up the rode over there   
   While lying here and wondering where   
   his life had passed him by   
   like a streaking hitchhiker on a streaming highway.   
      
      
   >>   
   >>>>>>>  The light sped out   
   >>>>>>>  like a fire-fly   
   >>   
   >> "firefly" is not hyphenated.   
   >>   
   >> So the dimming, streaking, hitchhiking light is now a hastily departing   
   >> firefly?   
   >   
   > Fireflies are very slow fliers.   
      
   Okay.  A relatively hasty firefly.   
      
   >>   
   >> Pick ONE metaphor and stick with it.   
   >   
   > That's like asking Mr. Dockery to stick with one pronoun.   
      
   Or to write three complete sentences in a row.   
      
      
   >>>>>>>  like gravestones   
   >>>>>>>  never noticed   
   >>>>>>>  never seen.   
   >>   
   >> OMFG!   
   >>   
   >> Now the dimming, streaking, hitchhiking, hastily departing firefly like   
   >> light has turned into unseen gravestones???   
   >   
   > And they are up on the road!   
      
   Gravestones! Gravestones everywhere!   
   Over here and over there   
   Up the road and at the floor   
   And here's some new ones coming through the door!   
      
   >>   
   >> I can't wait to discover what the morph into next.   
   >>   
   >>>>>>>  Like marbles   
   >>>>>>>  spilling from shattered minds.   
   >>   
   >> There it is!   
   >>   
   >> They went from dimming, to streaking, to hitchhiking, to hastily   
   >> departing fireflies, to unseen gravestone, to marbles spilling from   
   >> shattered minds.   
   >   
   > How many people can relate to marbles spilling out of minds?  Lost their   
   > marbles?  That's a literal interpretation that is typical of immature,   
   > cliched thinking.   
      
   Marbles spilling at my floor   
   I've no marbles anymore   
   I'd shoot for keepsies but I'm too poor   
   Got no marbles anymore.   
      
   >>   
   >> And this is the end of the poem?   
   >>   
   >> What was the topic?  The speaker lying in the "Here" or "There"?  The   
   >> unknown person he was addressing?  Someone's life having passed -- or   
   >> passed by?  Contemplating returning to... something?  Or the bizarre   
   >> transformation of the morning light?   
   >>   
   >> I would like to say that this is bad, even for you, but it's really just   
   >> par for the course as Donkey poems go: incoherent, incompetently   
   >> written, and terminally uninteresting.   
   >>   
   >   
   > Did you note the title of the poem, as shown in the Carverlite Crappage?   
   >  "SHATT, RD" - The title describes the writing perfectly!   
      
   I'd been wondering about that.   
      
   I think that Will's dazzling editor couldn't quite make out the title   
   and improvised.   
      
   Or maybe the "E" key on Will's typewriter was broken.   
      
   --   
      
   --- SoupGate-DOS v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)