beantownbubba wrote: ↑Tue Dec 15, 2020 9:58 am
John A Arkansawyer wrote: ↑Tue Dec 15, 2020 4:17 am
So anyone looking for me should look here rather than Facebook. I expressed an opinion which makes me a no-good piece of shit, for which I have apologized and deleted my account there. It was an educational experience I plan not to repeat.
Sorry I missed it. If you wouldn't mind, what was the subject and nature of the objections?
I never mind and that seems to be the problem.
It's a rare day I don't want to talk about myself and my fucked-up life, but this was a deeply unpleasant experience that has left me wondering exactly how many motherfuckers I don't ever want to speak to again and how many more I don't know there are who I should feel that way about.
It did leave me with one worthwhile realization which had been bubbling up in me for a while: The main reason Red America hates Blue America is that Blue America hates Red America. Bless their hearts, which will never grow any sizes any day.
The one bright side is that after I'd purged myself and relaxed*, a poem fairy** dropped by and offered me some wonderfully scabrous material linking Bill Clinton's craven draft-dodging letter, his segregationist mentor J. William Fulbright, and Monica Lewinski's dress. I'd been almost abandoned by the poem fairy after a three-week period of gates wide open this summer. I'm pretty sure it was Calliope, because the main work was an epic poem. I think she started blowing me off after she whispered some juicy dialog for one of my protagonists and I didn't phase out of job mode to write it down (as that often leads to more writing right goddam then). Can't blame her, really, for reacting to my bad priorities. I was holding out for a little while--got a couple of snippets not on the epic path but didn't write them down, because a boy has his pride, and I wanted the real deal from her, like the guy in Zip City, not the sweet stuff from her sister Euterpe--but then today, after the purge, as I got images that made me laugh, I realized that if I kicked Thalia out of my mind for playing Cracker instead of Camper, I'd regret it. I've always prided my ability to take a joke. So maybe there's a dance in the old dame yet.
Does that answer the question, counselor?
*The only person I know who enjoyed the worst concert experience of my life, the Grateful Dead on Jerry's 40th birthday, was my friend Johnnie who also uses the correct seven-letter spelling. As several of us were comparing the hellish experience after the fact, he chimed in with his not-so-terrible-horrible-not-that-bad day. He was having a really bad time at the show, too. About halfway through, he went to the portapotty and took "a big greasy crap". After that, he had a good time. Apparently that's a good method of self-improvement for seven-letter Johnnies.
**I keep vacillating between the poem fairy and a poem fairy. It seems like all the same girl to me, and yet they bring their own gifts. I suppose when you come down to it, all the muses just spring from memory and power. I'd best get mine on while I still have the prerequisites, fading though they may be.
The sooner we put those assholes in the grave&piss on the dirt above it, the better off we'll be