[continued from previous message]   
      
   >> There are shadows there day and night.  They don't need no sun.   
   >>>   
   >>>   
   >>>>> 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?   
   >> Call her Mildred.   
   >   
   > Say it isn't so, Mildred!  You put your clothes on!   
   >   
   >>   
   >>>   
   >>>>>   
   >>>>> 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.   
   >   
   > The original, yes.  I was quoting from the version that Will   
   > plagiarized.   
   >   
   >>>>>>>>>>  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.   
   >   
   > It's always good to list a school paper when having your school budget   
   > approved.   
   >   
   >>>>> 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.   
   >   
   > He reached his maximum potential at the age of 10.  And it's been   
   > downhill ever since.   
   >   
   >>>>> 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.   
   >   
   > He's probably itching to publish something else. Perhaps "Portrait of a   
   > Stink Bum as an Old Man: The Collected Poetry of Stinky G."   
   >   
   >>>>>>>>>>  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   
      
   >>> I'd been wondering about that.   
   >   
   >> No, that "SHATT, RD" was Michael Ehrhart's joke on Will Dockery   
      
   It might have been, it it was another mistake.   
      
   --- SoupGate-DOS v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)