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Murmuring Beast

Felonies!

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I'm not surprised that Corso is buried next to Percy Shelley. Pretentious fucks.

 

Corso's epitaph:

 

"Spirit

is Life

It flows thru

the death of me

endlessly

like a river

unafraid

of becoming

the sea "

 

...interesting, but highly overrated.

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Guest Felonies!
I have a folder here with a whole bunch of book excerpts of which I am particularly fond. Gravity's Rainbow:

 

"They busted her for witchery and she got death. Another of Slothrop's crazy kinfolks. When she was mentioned aloud at all it was with a shrug, too far away really to be a Family Disgrace—more of a curiosity. Slothrop grew up not quite knowing what to think about her. Witches were certainly not getting a fair shake in the thirties. They were depicted as hags who called you dearie, not exactly a wholesome lot. The movies had not prepared him for this Teutonic version here. Your kraut witch, for example, has six toes on each foot and no hair at all on her cunt. That is how witches look, anyhow, in the stairway murals inside the one-time Nazi transmitter tower up on the Brocken here, and government murals are hardly places to go looking for irresponsible fantasty, right?"

I remember that being in your sig. There was some other one I liked.

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Inc, how do you feel about Jim from The Office (forgot his real name, oops!) making a film version of Brief Interviews With Hideous Men?

I can't imagine how it'd work, unless he only did the interviews themselves. I dunno.

 

I met this guy, once. This was about five years ago; I was visiting a friend of mine who went to Brown—this was at the same time Jim Whathisface was there—and me, my Brown-attending friend and the other friend who came up with me to visit were walking around campus one day, when we happened across the future Office guy. He was wearing a pink feather boa, and was introduced to me as someone who was about to spend his impending summer break interning at Late Night with Conan O'Brien. A couple of months later, I saw Office Jim on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, College Edition, wearing that same feather boa.

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Since I can't put my feelings on this thread into words I will use the following visual aids to express to you all my deepest and most intimate of emotions. Hopefully, you will find something of a catharsis for yourself when viewing.

 

da-finger.gif

 

blowme.jpg

 

girly_fun.gif

 

view.jpg

 

372513571_l.gif

 

rs019.jpg

 

coochycoo.gif

 

285116762_l.gif

 

11319695086952qg.gifYourMom.gif

 

RockHollySixTimeChampion.jpg

 

492816847_l.gif

 

enflicted.gif

 

quentin.jpg

 

There now... I feel much better.

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Itis just like a real party. You and Czech are in one corner talking about Thomas Pynchon and his bananas or some other bullshit, vivalaultra and I are discussing Greg Corso elsewhere. Viva is already starting to slur his words, fucking lightweight.

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I don't "do" poems. I just know what I like and what I dislike. I also don't really "do" pomo, but I'm more competent talking about it than poetry. I wish I wasn't the only person who read Garcia Marquez. Uh...Thomas Pynchon's middle name is Ruggles. I do know that.

 

Edit: Eye ainslurrin'nuthinjewfuckinsombishdurtyfuckencokksukker...

 

I feel like Hemmingway...or Faulkner. Why can't we do Southern Lit? Flannery O'Connor, anyone? When do we break out the Derrida?

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Guest Felonies!

Poetry has always been tough for me. I appreciate all the assonance and alliteration* and all that stuff, but it just seems more effective to communicate through prose. To me, at least. Spending so much time in AP English just getting literary devices drummed into my head has soured me on poetry, I guess.

 

 

*Totally aware of what I did here.

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Poetry has agreed with me alot more since I decided to ignore everything that every English teacher/professor told me. Alot of English faculty seems to be ridiculously pretentious considering how little most have ever/will ever actually accomplish.

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Poetry has always been tough for me. I appreciate all the assonance and alliteration* and all that stuff, but it just seems more effective to communicate through prose. To me, at least. Spending so much time in AP English just getting literary devices drummed into my head has soured me on poetry, I guess.

 

 

*Totally aware of what I did here.

I was soured on poetry after the guy that basically served as my mentor—a published poet himself—admitted that you can call anything you like poetry. All it takes is to publish a few poems in one of the accepted formats and then you can put out a thirty paragraph prose piece and say "hey, this is my new poem" and it would be viewed as such.

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Guest Felonies!

Poetry has always been tough for me. I appreciate all the assonance and alliteration* and all that stuff, but it just seems more effective to communicate through prose. To me, at least. Spending so much time in AP English just getting literary devices drummed into my head has soured me on poetry, I guess.

 

 

*Totally aware of what I did here.

I was soured on poetry after the guy that basically served as my mentor—a published poet himself—admitted that you can call anything you like poetry. All it takes is to publish a few poems in one of the accepted formats and then you can put out a thirty paragraph prose piece and say "hey, this is my new poem" and it would be viewed as such.

Yeah. Like any depressive teen, I've messed around with poetry, but it's always been more of a problem-solving exercise--working within the constraints of meter and form and all that jazz--rather than any means of expression.

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A new Tim Sandlin novel, Jimi Hendrix Turns 80, comes out in January. I like his stuff. Not really a pretentious fellow.

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Guest Felonies!

New Tom Waits next month, too.

Not "new" new, but close enough. Looking at the track list for the box, I haven't heard three-quarters of it.

I just downloaded the sample from Pitchfork the other day. Good, but I don't know if I like him being topical. I assume that was a Real Gone outtake? I'll buy this anyway.

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I like hanging out with educated people that drink their malt liqour in glasses. For some reason I took a Creative Writing class in my Sophmore year of college. Never again...I hate people. Oh, here's my favorite section of a poem ever. It's by Matthew Arnold and it's from his poem "Dover Beach (1867)":

 

"Ah, love, let us be true

To one another! for the world, which seems

To lie before us like a land of dreams,

So various, so beautiful, so new,

Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,

 

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;

And we are here as on a darkling plain

Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,

Where ignorant armies clash by night. "

 

I love that. Outside of that poem, some other English Romantics and the usual "English major fare", I am completely unable to discuss poems. And I don't really care for Charles Bukowski.

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Poetry has always been tough for me. I appreciate all the assonance and alliteration* and all that stuff, but it just seems more effective to communicate through prose. To me, at least. Spending so much time in AP English just getting literary devices drummed into my head has soured me on poetry, I guess.

 

 

*Totally aware of what I did here.

I was soured on poetry after the guy that basically served as my mentor—a published poet himself—admitted that you can call anything you like poetry. All it takes is to publish a few poems in one of the accepted formats and then you can put out a thirty paragraph prose piece and say "hey, this is my new poem" and it would be viewed as such.

Yeah. Like any depressive teen, I've messed around with poetry, but it's always been more of a problem-solving exercise--working within the constraints of meter and form and all that jazz--rather than any means of expression.

Poetry has its place, is a viable artform, etc. but I've long since accepted it's just not for me. And, to repeat something I've already said in this thread, I'm fine with that. Let the kids have it.

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Guest Felonies!

I can't take creative writing courses; the people who take classes like those are even more insufferable than I am. I bail out by the first day we have to sit in a circle and talk about ourselves. I'll just set up an independent study.

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New Tom Waits next month, too.

Not "new" new, but close enough. Looking at the track list for the box, I haven't heard three-quarters of it.

I just downloaded the sample from Pitchfork the other day. Good, but I don't know if I like him being topical. I assume that was a Real Gone outtake? I'll buy this anyway.

I don't know where or what it stems from—does this set have a few brand new songs on it?—but I agree with your assessment. The lyrics are unusually direct for him; he's done politics before—"Day After Tomorrow" from Real Gone, for instance—but never in so straightforward a manner.

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Guest Felonies!

New Tom Waits next month, too.

Not "new" new, but close enough. Looking at the track list for the box, I haven't heard three-quarters of it.

I just downloaded the sample from Pitchfork the other day. Good, but I don't know if I like him being topical. I assume that was a Real Gone outtake? I'll buy this anyway.

I don't know where or what it stems from—does this set have a few brand new songs on it?—but I agree with your assessment. The lyrics are unusually direct for him; he's done politics before—"Day After Tomorrow" from Real Gone, for instance—but never in so straightforward a manner.

That's what it was called. I was trying to remember the name of that song and didn't feel like checking. I figured that this song was in the same burst of creativity as that one, or what have you.

 

Hey, how do you get those dashes on here? I've been slumming it with double-hyphens.

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Oh, it wasn't just a Creative Writing course. It was a Creative Writing course at a Community College. They had this one girl in there that tried to rhyme the word "bereft" with "gift". ...dumbass.

And they had a bunch of people who like...liked to hang out in coffee shops and they tried to be all dark and stuff...and they rhymed "love" with "above" and talked about crimson moons. And they had this one guy who wrote a one-man play called "God and Satan Converse Over a Cup of Coffee" and he proceeded to act out the play...in character. Every day I wanted to explode everyone.

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Oh, it wasn't just a Creative Writing course. It was a Creative Writing course at a Community College. They had this one girl in there that tried to rhyme the word "bereft" with "gift". ...dumbass.

And they had a bunch of people who like...liked to hang out in coffee shops and they tried to be all dark and stuff...and they rhymed "love" with "above" and talked about crimson moons. And they had this one guy who wrote a one-man play called "God and Satan Converse Over a Cup of Coffee" and he proceeded to act out the play...in character. Every day I wanted to explode everyone.

The world is a terrible place. I'm dead in two years.

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Failing at being pretentious must be one of the most crushing failures in the world, barring things like being responsible for another man's death. Where do these people end up in life? Do they give up the act and sell insurance, their spirits forever crushed? What's going to happen to me? I've wasted my life. My fucking life. I started in gifted school, ended up in state college. I blame a lot of it on the system, naturally, to deflect guilt from myself and tack it to some faceless institution, but if I had a better support system in terms of teachers, friends, not becoming obsessed with fucking professional wrestling for like seven years of my life, maybe I would've made something of myself.

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It's likely that I'm going to delete all this by 8 a.m. tomorrow, so get your laughs in while you can.

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I know I'm partly responsible for my downfall, but Lake Geneva's public schools were and likely still are ridiculously bad. My first day of 4th grade in Lake Geneva, right as I walk in the classroom, we are lectured about how we set new lows on state writing tests and would now have to practice writing in every class, including gym. Boy, what a kick in the pre-pubescent balls that was.

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