[continued from previous message]   
      
   >>> Won't you ride on my fast machine?" - Creedence Clearwater Revival   
   >>   
   >> Ethel?  Is that you, Ethel?   
   > Call her Mildred.   
   >   
   >>   
   >>>>   
   >>>> 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."   
   > That was written by Drive-By/Jim Senetto.   
   >>   
   >>   
   >>>>   
   >>>>>>>>>  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.   
   >   
   > That was awful too.  No one gave a rat's patootie about that   
   > publication. It was just to keep the kids (and the ones in their 20s)   
   > off the streets for a few hours.   
   >>   
   >>>>   
   >>>> 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.   
   > It's like he froze at a grade school level. It was the best of times.   
   >>   
   >>   
   >>>>   
   >>>> 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.   
   > We wonder if George Dance has tired of footing the bill for all the   
   > copies that Dockery gives away.   
   >>   
   >>   
   >>>>   
   >>>>>>>>>  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.   
   > Live stream, trout stream, urine stream.   
   >>   
   >>   
   >>>>   
   >>>>>>>>>  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.   
   > Mutants from the pollution in the Chattahoochee.   
   >>   
   >>>>   
   >>>> 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!   
   >   
   > That sounds like New Orleans, where the caskets float.   
   >>   
   >>>>   
   >>>> 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.   
   > They jumped ship.   
   >>   
   >>>>   
   >>>> 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.   
   >   
   > No, that "SHATT, RD" was Michael Ehrhart's joke on Will Dockery, whom he   
   > hated.  It means "Shit Road," "Shat in the Road," "Shat Turd" or even   
   > "[That] Shit Wrote."  We think it may have actually been Cujo in   
   > disguise as Ehrhart.   
   >   
   > --   
      
   I don't know what Mike Ehrhart was thinking on that title but needless   
   to say I didn't keep it in layer versions.   
      
   --- SoupGate-DOS v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)