Monday, April 16, 2012
columbiannian whoregate
man. staff soliciting hookers and then not paying, or tipping, booze, prescription pill abuse? add a burlap bag of blow, scarface and a carton of viagra and this pickle trap could be rush limbaugh's spring-fuckin'-break. meanwhile clinton's doing jello shots at the vargara sports bar threatening off the record but on the mic that if her wetback counterparts don't get their shit together she will personally come to their homes in the middle of the night and punch them to death? i love my secretary of state.
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11 comments:
Same ole, same ole -- politics as perishable.
What has no sell-by date is your delivery.
Give Jesus the Lunch Power
well he has been known to characterize the w years as an out-of-control swarm of anal raping sodomy demons.
john, i've been meaning to ask you about something i may have heard on npr about a year ago. it concerned dylan thomas and how he died. the legend was that he drank something like 32 shots of whiskey after which he was rushed to the hospital where he was told that he had done 32 shots of whiskey, to which he responded, "i believe that to be my knew personal record." then he died a week later in the hospital. note: i was very drunk when i allegedly heard that, but it made me gravely sad.
Yeah, he took his own counsel and did not go gently, but what a waste, and loss.
wow. i said "knew" for "new". what does that mean? also, he really liked his dad, and he was a young man. waste doesn't seem to do it justice.
I used to think Richard Burton rendered Thomas best until I heard Thomas himself recite. Burton rushes through Under Milk Wood, [the actor's showy prerogative, I guess], but Thomas knew the precise measure. It's hard to think of The Beats without him, especially Corso, but by the time his voice faded in Ginsberg's gob it became little more than empty, sonorous noise, mere declamation for its own sake, and no substance.
You are correct, 'waste' is the wrong word. I don't believe there was any way to save Thomas from himself, the path was chosen. He never matured as a poet, and that's the greatest loss. Plus, he probably didn't really heed his own counsel either.
man. do you know why he drank? and why he drank so much?
oh, and i hate to admit it, but dicky burt for me has always been kind of a Chewin McScenery type. even, or especially, in the Albee plays.
you know, john, something just occurred to me that i'd never thought about with regard to poets reading their own poems. it's this, if you can follow me: when copeland conducted his own music, it was almost without exception not as good as we all would've hoped, if you know what i mean; but when lenny conducted his own music, it was as if you were afraid to move for fear of breaking some kind of musical spell.
I have no idea. Maybe his self-image gave him the right. It seems transgressive or subversive of an ungovernable self -- his only way of coming to grips with his genius. Hart Crane, the better poet in every regard, had the same self-destructive streak, if you add in a violent temperament. I'm entitled because it's me and I'm the best: Babe Ruth, Georgie Best, John Belushi, etc.
Re Copeland/Bernstein, one sees a similar dichotomy between, say, Eliot and Yeats, or Heaney & Plath: the latter poets always cast the spell, while Eliot and Heaney never do.
Best line I read all week: The Secret Service is going to be on Ted Nugent like a cheap Colombian hooker.
It was alcohol, imo, that took down the SS in Cartagena. If the agent hadn't been so drunk, perhaps he would have sought out an interpreter. Or simply paid his bill. I can imagine his hangover.
This guy, http://eindpunt.blogspot.com/2012/04/colombia-conspiracy-of-whores.html , has some insight.
I don't know much about poets. I know a little about alcohol and the ism that goes with it.
I drank because I am addicted to alcohol. I love that shit. At least I convinced myself I did. do. wutevr~
Four years, a few months, and some days now. Who'da thunk it.
Yay, We!
Writing poetry. Hmmm...
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