December / George Dance
George Dance
Entire city ablaze
with lights of every color,
staving off the black.
~
George Dance
prettystuzz
<129b3d62-5648-4068...@k17g2000yqh.googlegroups.com>,
George Dance <george...@yahoo.ca> wrote:
Pogonip
November's doomed light
exhaling aspirations
in December's woods.
-
(According to a source close to Ripley, in the northern hemisphere
November loses more light than any month.)
George Dance
> In article
> <129b3d62-5648-4068-8406-afd63fcd2...@k17g2000yqh.googlegroups.com>,
> George Dance <georgedanc...@yahoo.ca> wrote:
>
> > December
>
> > Entire city ablaze
> > with lights of every color,
> > staving off the black.
>
> > ~
> > George Dance
>
> Pogonip
>
> November's doomed light
> exhaling aspirations
> in December's woods.
> -
>
> (According to a source close to Ripley, in the northern hemisphere
> November loses more light than any month.)
>
It's dark here by 5pm in December. You can't go to the woods anyway,
or even see much of them, because of the snow. We had no snow at all
in February, but by Dec. 3 it had fallen for 24 hours straight.
Whiteout
White flakes peeling
from a leprous sky.
Death is in the air.
GD
George Dance
Err ... we had no snow at all in NOVEMBER. (I just woke up.)
prettystuzz
<6ebcf8ae-58a8-4682...@p32g2000vbi.googlegroups.com>,
George Dance <george...@yahoo.ca> wrote:
Later (I predict), you will change February to November because your
politics allow for it.
Two things before I slink below: One, have it your way if you like; but
November begins with a lot of light and ends with a lot of darkness in
its place; December begins with hardly enough light to lose, and with
ten days remaining, it begins to add daylight. Two, the only time I was
in Scarborough was to have my car's leaking heater core replaced by a
Hertz mechanic on his day off.
>
>
> Whiteout
>
> White flakes peeling
> from a leprous sky.
> Death is in the air.
>
> GD
I can't deny that you're the better poet and won't.
This, called 'Untitled' in its published form, I composed during my
middle period, when I was only very good. Its early puns are
breathtaking, and significant, as they prefigure a later visual pun.
Untitled
Snow's cold brightness reminds me of why it's poetry
does one's talking naked, now turned to newfangleness
like the suspect passion of summer.
Robins appear in mid-January, idiots;
or they never left, worse.
So every snowfall covers or renews - is it worth the reckoning?
It is enough, to eat and have hircuts;
to smell gasoline confuse with cut grass:
just so many blades fly about lawns reminding someone, I suppose,
of the heads of unhappy princes and the lovers of Anne Boleyn.
In all of life there is a single instinct,
to attribute instinct to those who make habits but no music
or bear eggs instead
but cannot tell the difference or its time.
prettystuzz
prettystuzz <leic...@bellsouth.net> wrote:
WTF are 'hircuts'? Don't you mean 'haircuts'? Jeebus, I feel like Tiger
Woods when he left off the last 'e' in his txt to Elin: "Having a
wonderful time. WIsh you were her." And you know what happened next.
Karla
Is "confuse" in line 8 correct? I'm guessing yes because of ll. 1 & 2. It's a
bit awkward but I like how I want to read it like 'compost', the emphasis on the
first syllable, and the mistake works with the poem of seasons and cycles.
The last there, especially 'habits but no music' and ending on 'its time' must
mean the snippet of a '70's concert I heard late last night. It wasn't that
there was music, it was the time; was it accidental or instinctual that they
plugged in, shook their long hair all over us?
The poet wrote about what he knew when he wrote "snow's cold brightness", a line
like a candy bar with grooves to break here or there. Don't underestimate the
treat of 'snow's cold' or 'snow's brightness' and most of all, 'cold
brightness'.
Winter solitude--
in a world of one color
the sound of wind.
Basho
prettystuzz
Karla <kar...@NEVERcomcast.net> wrote:
> >Untitled
> >
> >Snow's cold brightness reminds me of why it's poetry
> >does one's talking naked, now turned to newfangleness
> >like the suspect passion of summer.
> >Robins appear in mid-January, idiots;
> >or they never left, worse.
> >
> >So every snowfall covers or renews - is it worth the reckoning?
> >It is enough, to eat and have hircuts;
> >to smell gasoline confuse with cut grass:
> >just so many blades fly about lawns reminding someone, I suppose,
> >of the heads of unhappy princes and the lovers of Anne Boleyn.
> >
> >In all of life there is a single instinct,
> >to attribute instinct to those who make habits but no music
> >or bear eggs instead
> >but cannot tell the difference or its time.
>
> Is "confuse" in line 8 correct? I'm guessing yes because of ll. 1 & 2. It's a
> bit awkward but I like how I want to read it like 'compost', the emphasis on
> the
> first syllable, and the mistake works with the poem of seasons and cycles.
It's not a mistake, it's correct. I'm no mind reader, but I'll suppose
that you can see the poem as (what I'll call) a sonnet in Jazz. Ll. 1-2
are a double tip-off, invoking the origins of the form in English
(though not alluding to a sonnet), and also beginning with (jazzed)
hexameters, like Sidney's first sonnet in A&S. The line with 'confuse'
is my favorite. It never occurred to me that it would need parsing; it
still doesn't occur to me. For one thing, it's a spondaic line, not
Hebraic, but instead to seem like 'These are a few of my favorite
things', the way John Coltrane plays that line. His many versions were
my inspiration when I composed the poem. So now we're ready for
'confuse'. The line elides, like jazz elides notes of a familiar song,
and yet you still hear them somehow. Coltrane and Bill Evans, and of
course Miles Davis, were the amazing masters, yeah, and they all played
together for a few very famous months. 'Confuse' can be an asyntactical
infinitive (to smell and to confuse gasoline with cut grass); or it can
be part of the object of the 'to smell' infinitive phrase, with 'itself'
elided (to smell gasoline confuse itself with cut grass). That
irregardlessness aside, the details are in the nose, where brain cells
attach at the top of the nostrils, so they can yank us out of time and
hurl us into a whirlwind of nostalgia. I'll tell you, I use a push
mower, and you can't smell much so-called 'new-mown hay' when you cut
grass slowly; there's not enough friction to make the grass's exposed
juices hot enough to smell. But a power mower, with its rotary 1K+ rpm's
can bring up the scent, though it's always mixed with the mower's
combination of 2-cycle oil and gasoline. It's a momentary, almost
timeless event, so it's dependent on the infinitive.
In my imagination, I tried to emulate (like a computer's compiler can
emulate a non-native program) Coltrane's My Favorite Things, his
Quartet's renderings of it. But it isn't supposed to sound like it, or
the original sing-song song, which his brilliant and understated irony
(outrage?) had transformed into one of the three or four greatest Jazz
performances. It's an exhausting performance, very long and dynamic or
dramatic depending on how the quartet was feeling, and it always
concludes with a falling away, or as anticlimax, or afterglow: a slowing
down to a stop, a kind of inverted crescendo, almost Mahleresque and not
wanting to stop. So (no comparison intended) my Jazz sonnet's last part
is unlike the first two parts, which are similar and somewhat balanced.
>
> The last there, especially 'habits but no music' and ending on 'its time'
> must
> mean the snippet of a '70's concert I heard late last night. It wasn't that
> there was music, it was the time; was it accidental or instinctual that they
> plugged in, shook their long hair all over us?
<shrugs> I remember 70's concerts depending on too much beer and
whooping yelps punctuated with demands of 'Boogie!'
>
> The poet wrote about what he knew when he wrote "snow's cold brightness", a
> line
> like a candy bar with grooves to break here or there. Don't underestimate the
> treat of 'snow's cold' or 'snow's brightness' and most of all, 'cold
> brightness'.
>
<blushes> I was living in the top floor of what had been the servant's
quarters of an estate. An artist owned the building and leased the
attic. The two large front rooms had huge dormer ceilings with three
sash windows inside them. The imagery in the poem comes from the
southeast windows, where you could see a large expanse of yards between
the houses and the fronting road. An earthquake happened, its epicenter
a few hundred miles northwest at Lake Erie in Ohio. It shook and rattled
my building, and I felt the earth swelling like waves underneath.
Many years before, I was driving north through the Shenandoah Valley in
Virginia, the Blue Ridge Mountains to my right, the Allegheneys to my
left, near dusk; and the snow along the mile stretch of farmland beneath
the Blue Ridge had become an indescribable and unnamable blue. My camera
was in my glove compartment and ever-ready, but I didn't take any
pictures. Anyone in a darkroom could create that unique instant, but to
what effect? 'Beauty'? I pulled over and wordlessly made a vow never to
forget what I was seeing. Thank you so much for reading, Karla, and more
important, for noticing!
Karla
wrote:
Boy, am I embarrassed. You see, after my guests left, I turned on the TV
but couldn't settle to watch anything, and the concert just came on, and at
one point, I knew it was Simon & Garfunkel, and later, the remarkable sitar
of Ravi Shankar woke me up (Woke me UP!) - Dhun in Dadra Tal and Teental -
long, long and glorious. And it was late, it was my goodnight song, and
yes, it was 1967, the Monterey Pop Festival. -hangs head-
>> The poet wrote about what he knew when he wrote "snow's cold brightness", a
>> line
>> like a candy bar with grooves to break here or there. Don't underestimate the
>> treat of 'snow's cold' or 'snow's brightness' and most of all, 'cold
>> brightness'.
>>
><blushes> I was living in the top floor of what had been the servant's
>quarters of an estate. An artist owned the building and leased the
>attic. The two large front rooms had huge dormer ceilings with three
>sash windows inside them. The imagery in the poem comes from the
>southeast windows, where you could see a large expanse of yards between
>the houses and the fronting road. An earthquake happened, its epicenter
>a few hundred miles northwest at Lake Erie in Ohio. It shook and rattled
>my building, and I felt the earth swelling like waves underneath.
>
>Many years before, I was driving north through the Shenandoah Valley in
>Virginia, the Blue Ridge Mountains to my right, the Allegheneys to my
>left, near dusk; and the snow along the mile stretch of farmland beneath
>the Blue Ridge had become an indescribable and unnamable blue. My camera
>was in my glove compartment and ever-ready, but I didn't take any
>pictures. Anyone in a darkroom could create that unique instant, but to
>what effect? 'Beauty'? I pulled over and wordlessly made a vow never to
>forget what I was seeing. Thank you so much for reading, Karla, and more
>important, for noticing!
It's so cold here lately, it should snow. I see white all the time.
It was a pleasure.
Karla
Peter J Ross
George Dance <george...@yahoo.ca> wrote:
> December
>
> Entire city ablaze
> with lights of every color,
> staving off the black.
Are you incapable of writing anything other than clichés? Or were
these particular clichés written by Leonard Cohen?
December
The same invisible greyclad choir
of deaf contralto cats prolongs
your sleeplessness as mine, the same
streetbustle flute-and-bass for hire
twists glamours from your mind, and wrongs
frostwrite our footsteps with my name
as black as yours.
The intaglio pillars we believed
were tethering-posts for unicorns
are dreamed away by fog; the cold
unspeaking stars walk shoddy-sleeved
and hunched; no watchman moonlight scorns
thiefclouds that pocketed May-Day gold
we couldn't spend.
We lie as hares do, bundled down
to hideflesh flatness while our hearts
grow round and tight to meet the gun
next hunting. Damn this slushfoot town
of netpeek neighbours, tinselmarts
and icebars. Love, revive the Sun
and thaw the sky!
- PJR, 2002-01-09
--
PJR :-)
Will Dockery
> George Dance <georgedanc...@yahoo.ca> wrote:
>
> December
>
> > Entire city ablaze
> > with lights of every color,
> > staving off the black.
>
Are you capable of writing anything besides the trite, dreary imagery
you provide below?
> December
>
> The same invisible greyclad choir
> of deaf contralto cats prolongs
> your sleeplessness as mine, the same
Hmmm... not very well written, you know.
> streetbustle flute-and-bass for hire
> twists glamours from your mind
These two are likable, though.
> frostwrite our footsteps with my name
Again, I like this, though I can't imagine any of the tougher readers
finding any value in it... maybe they'll surprise me.
> as black as yours.
>
> The intaglio pillars we believed
Bad, as you must know, just an excuse to use this "intaglio" word,
obviously... painfully obvious, in fact.
> were tethering-posts for unicorns
Yeah, right... are you capable of writing anything a little less
trite, dreary and pretentious?
--
"Please meet me at the holocaust valley, and you can tell us all about
it someday..." -Sammy Walker
"Red Lipped Stranger & other stories" by Will Dockery:
http://www.myspace.com/willdockery
Peter J Ross
Will Dockery <will.d...@gmail.com> wrote:
Many thanks for demonstrating once again your incomparable critical
skills, Willy.
I truly can't think of any critical skills to which yours could be
realistically compared.
Please help with this Xmassy poem too:
Exmas is Coming
From the tigershark kerb
to the cobraglass cheat,
crackluck pavements swerve,
where the washed-up undulate.
Wrap up warm, limp the walk,
lunch at polywood counters,
tap feet on tinsel struts, and buy, buy bulk,
you comical bargain hunters,
lurching through the sleet for a sale:
here's last year's fashions in a havoc
of illusion; here's a wail
torturing a speaker; here's traffic.
But, franked with fingersmear holograms,
come-ons to fascinate with grabbing,
glosswrap letters play fraudgames
that send me too tripping
off the sane kerb to join the world
in the annual umbrellahide maul
of childhood lust for a fool's-gold,
chocolate-centre, godless Nowell.
"comical" and "torturing" both seem rather bad to me, but what do you
think? I'm sure you can write somethung better.
George Dance
>
> December
>
> The same invisible greyclad choir
> of deaf contralto cats prolongs
> your sleeplessness as mine, the same
> streetbustle flute-and-bass for hire
> twists glamours from your mind, and wrongs
> frostwrite our footsteps with my name
> as black as yours.
>
> The intaglio pillars we believed
> were tethering-posts for unicorns
> are dreamed away by fog; the cold
> unspeaking stars walk shoddy-sleeved
> and hunched; no watchman moonlight scorns
> thiefclouds that pocketed May-Day gold
> we couldn't spend.
>
> We lie as hares do, bundled down
> to hideflesh flatness while our hearts
> grow round and tight to meet the gun
> next hunting. Damn this slushfoot town
> of netpeek neighbours, tinselmarts
> and icebars. Love, revive the Sun
> and thaw the sky!
>
> - PJR, 2002-01-09
>
Imagine; you went from that to this in just 8 years:
Batty
Batty's red woollen hat is a good hat.
It's a hat that isn't yellow, it's just a hat
that's red. It warms his ears, Batty's ears,
not mine, not yours.
--
PJR, 2009-11-20
It's rather pathetic, when you think about it.
Will Dockery
Sure, PJR, although Cythera's "Not intelligent or good" was pretty
much all it deserved.
--
Peter J Ross
Dance <george...@yahoo.ca> wrote:
<http://pjr.lasnobberia.net/tmp/batty.mp3>
Tee hee.
Will Dockery
> >Peter J Ross <p...@example.invalid> wrote:
<snip for focus>
> > Batty
>
> > Batty's red woollen hat is a good hat.
> > It's a hat that isn't yellow, it's just a hat
> > that's red. It warms his ears, Batty's ears,
> > not mine, not yours.
>
> > --
> > PJR, 2009-11-20
>
> > It's rather pathetic, when you think about it.
>
> Tee hee.
"We know." -Dennis M. Hammes, Litt. D.
--
"Ashes to Justice", vocals by Will Dockery & Sandy Madaris, guitars by
Brian Mallard:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mzwD5-UI0p4
Will Dockery
>Will Dockery wrote:
> >Peter J Ross <p...@example.invalid> wrote:
> >>George Dance <georgedanc...@yahoo.ca> wrote:
> >> >Peter J Ross <p...@example.invalid> wrote:
>
> ><snip for focus>
>
> >> > Batty
>
> >> > Batty's red woollen hat is a good hat.
> >> > It's a hat that isn't yellow, it's just a hat
> >> > that's red. It warms his ears, Batty's ears,
> >> > not mine, not yours.
>
> >> > --
> >> > PJR, 2009-11-20
>
> >> > It's rather pathetic, when you think about it.
>
> >> Tee hee.
>
> >"We know." -Dennis M. Hammes, Litt. D.
>
I see. Does it smell good to you, MP?
"We know." -Dennis M. Hammes, Litt. D.
--
"Black Crow's Brother" by Will Dockery & Gini Woolfolk:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3DWxO1RAYTIFA
Will Dockery
>Will Dockery wrote:
>>Peter J Ross <p...@example.invalid> wrote:
>>>George Dance <georgedanc...@yahoo.ca> wrote:
> >>>Peter J Ross <p...@example.invalid> wrote:
>
> >> ><snip for focus>
>
> >> >> > Batty
>
> >> >> > Batty's red woollen hat is a good hat.
> >> >> > It's a hat that isn't yellow, it's just a hat
> >> >> > that's red. It warms his ears, Batty's ears,
> >> >> > not mine, not yours.
>
> >> >> > --
> >> >> > PJR, 2009-11-20
>
> >> >> > It's rather pathetic, when you think about it.
>
> >> >> Tee hee.
>
> >> >"We know." -Dennis M. Hammes, Litt. D.
>
>
> >I see. Does it smell good to you, MP?
>
>
> >"We know." -Dennis M. Hammes, Litt. D.
>
You mean you think Hammes is a ghost?
http://www.wikinfo.org/index.php/Dennis_M._Hammes
Dennis M. Hammes, born April 8 1945, died December 23 2008, was an
American Poet and author of Scrawlmarks, the online poetry manual. He
was known mainly as a regular contributor to the Usenet newsgroups
alt.arts.poetry.comments and rec.arts.poems.
There's some amazing writing in there. I did learn a lot from watching
how he rewrote lines and added new ones, and seeing the improvements
before my eyes. He built in some great consonance -- the p's in S2 and
t's in S3 -- just read it out loud and watch them pop out. I could go
on and on about each line he wrote, but I'll limit it to one example
that shows his talent; the rhyme in LL7-8: From every jealous Dick and
peeping Tom, it Gushed, the prophet-zealot-preacher vomit. The problem
here was to come up with a rhyme for 'vomit'. First, Dennis moved
'vomit' to L8, so it looks like the rhyme we came up with, rather than
the word to be rhymed. That's just standard good writing; but look at
what Dennis came up to rhyme it with! Because "Tom" works so well
there, on so many levels (from "Tom, Dick, and Harry" to the Lady
Godiva association), the reader can see that "Tom" has to be the word
used there -- that "it" has to be pulled up from the next line, just
to make it scan -- and therefore "vomit" has to be the rhyme the poet
came up with: a truly inspired rhyme, rather than the word we were
looking to fit in. And look what pulling "it" up did for "Gushed"; it
becomes the first word, and gets capitalized; the second-most
prominent word in the line after "vomit". Dennis was a master
craftsman, and one can learn a lot about the craft by reading his
poems. -George Dance on the poem Hollywood Slut
G&tSP
> In rec.arts.poems on Fri, 18 Dec 2009 17:29:07 -0800 (PST),George
>
You took the words right out of my mouth.
Will Dockery
>
> You took the words right out of my mouth.
More than that, it appears PJR has begun impersonating George Dance on
the internet... which signifies he's slipping into obsesso-mode:
This conversation is between your CyberTwin and George Dance. Delete
this conversation
Please Note
You can dramatically improve the intelligence of your CyberTwin by
using the Teach link. If you do not like how your CyberTwin responded
to something it was told, you can click this link and teach it how to
better respond in future conversations. Date From Message
2010-01-06 09:22:22 Will Dockery Hello, I'm the Artificial
Intelligence of Will Dockery, poet, artist and madman. The goal is to
eventually simulate a conversation with the "real" Will, through
addition of data and speech patterns. Teach
2010-01-06 09:22:27 George Dance Hello Will!
2010-01-06 09:22:27 Will Dockery A bit foggy in here, do I know you?
Teach
2010-01-06 09:22:59 George Dance Where are you going to steal the data
from, Will?
2010-01-06 09:22:59 Will Dockery The thin line between the poet and
the clown. Teach
2010-01-06 09:23:35 George Dance Will you be wearing big clown shoes
while stealing and lying, Will?
2010-01-06 09:23:35 Will Dockery La Grange GA, 1958. Teach
2010-01-06 09:24:06 George Dance FOAD, Will.
2010-01-06 09:24:06 Will Dockery Yeah, yeah, yeah.
--
"Black Crow's Brother" by Will Dockery & Gini Woolfolk:
George Dance
> On Jan 5, 6:24 pm, "G&tSP" <gand...@yahoo.ca> wrote:
>
<snip for focus>
Interesting. And we also have PJ's admission that it was him:
<quote>
Path: g2news1.google.com!news4.google.com!proxad.net!
feeder1-2.proxad.net!newsfeed.straub-nv.de!feeder.eternal-
september.org!eternal-september.org!pjr.eternal-september.org!.POSTED!
not-for-mail
From: Peter J Ross <p...@example.invalid>
Newsgroups: alt.arts.poetry.comments,rec.arts.poems,alt.usenet.kooks
Subject: Re: Will Dockery Artificial Intelligence Project
Date: Tue, 5 Jan 2010 22:26:55 +0000 (UTC)
Organization: none
Lines: 42
Message-ID: <slrnhk7f5...@pjr.motzarella.org>
References: <5962ba1d-
d120-4f0c-93e...@r24g2000yqd.googlegroups.com>
Reply-To: Peter J Ross <peadar.ru...@gmail.com>
Injection-Date: Tue, 5 Jan 2010 22:26:55 +0000 (UTC)
Injection-Info: pjr.eternal-september.org; posting-host="agYC+p/
7PwT76qR85jLfcg";
logging-data="2928"; mail-complaints-to="ab...@eternal-
september.org"; posting-account="U2FsdGVkX18Muh3s3JSsV7K7xanDvKpM"
User-Agent: slrn/pre1.0.0-18 (Linux)
Cancel-Lock: sha1:64d3dMmgxuN571VzVqGwiIpsDOo=
In rec.arts.poems on Mon, 4 Jan 2010 13:14:16 -0800 (PST), Will
Dockery <will.dock...@gmail.com> wrote:
> Will Dockery Artificial Intelligence Project:
Ha ha
Ha ha ha ha ha
HA HA HA
HA HA HA HA HA HA HAURGHHHHHH
> https://mycybertwin.com/chat/dockery
=======================================================================
You: Hello Will!
Will Dockery: Hello, I'm the Artificial Intelligence of Will Dockery,
poet,
artist and madman. The goal is to eventually simulate a conversation
with the
"real" Will, through addition of data and speech patterns.
Will Dockery: A bit foggy in here, do I know you?
You: Where are you going to steal the data from, Will?
Will Dockery: The thin line between the poet and the clown.
You: Will you be wearing big clown shoes while stealing and lying,
Will?
Will Dockery: La Grange GA, 1958.
You: FOAD, Will.
Will Dockery: Yeah, yeah, yeah.
=======================================================================
This is the crappiest bot I've ever made fun of. Well done, Dreckery,
on
maintaining your usual low standard!
--
PJR :-)
<http://pjr.lasnobberia.net/verse/>
</q>
Peter J Ross
<gan...@yahoo.ca> wrote:
> You took the words right out of my mouth.
It must have been while I was kicking you.
(Too fucking easy. What happened to all the *clever* kooks?)
G&tSP
> In rec.arts.poems on Tue, 5 Jan 2010 15:24:30 -0800 (PST), G&tSP
>
> > You took the words right out of my mouth.
>
> It must have been while I was
trying to piss in it?
>
> (Too fucking easy.
Agreed.
> What happened to all the *clever* kooks?)
Awww ... is PJ the only clever kook left on AAPC?
Peter J Ross
>>
>> > >> December
Hi PJR! Welcome to AAPC! Have you read the FAQ yet?
>> > >> The same invisible greyclad choir
>> > >> of deaf contralto cats prolongs
I think "invisible greyclad choir" describes adequately something
real, but neither "deaf" nor "contralto" seems to me to add much
that's useful to "cats". I suspect both adjectives of being mere
padding.
>> > >> your sleeplessness as mine, the same
>> > >> streetbustle flute-and-bass for hire
>> > >> twists glamours from your mind, and wrongs
>> > >> frostwrite our footsteps with my name
>> > >> as black as yours.
I quite like this.
>> > >> The intaglio pillars we believed
>> > >> were tethering-posts for unicorns
>> > >> are dreamed away by fog; the cold
>> > >> unspeaking stars walk shoddy-sleeved
>> > >> and hunched; no watchman moonlight scorns
>> > >> thiefclouds that pocketed May-Day gold
>> > >> we couldn't spend.
The first two and a half lines of this stanza are arguably some of the
best stuff you've ever written, dear author, but after that you start
using far too many adjectives and made-up words again.
>> > >> We lie as hares do, bundled down
>> > >> to hideflesh flatness while our hearts
>> > >> grow round and tight to meet the gun
>> > >> next hunting.
This bit is probably quite good.
>> > >> Damn this slushfoot town
>> > >> of netpeek neighbours, tinselmarts
>> > >> and icebars. Love, revive the Sun
>> > >> and thaw the sky!
Drivel.
Peter J Ross
Dance <george...@yahoo.ca> wrote:
> Interesting. And we also have PJ's admission that it was him:
Admission?
Successfully making fun of Dreckery and you is something to be proud
of, not something to admit to.
Peter J Ross
<gan...@yahoo.ca> wrote:
> On Jan 5, 8:11 pm, Peter J Ross <p...@example.invalid> wrote:
>> In rec.arts.poems on Tue, 5 Jan 2010 15:24:30 -0800 (PST), G&tSP
>>
>> <gand...@yahoo.ca> wrote:
>> > You took the words right out of my mouth.
>>
>> It must have been while I was
<snip>
This may be the first time ever that a joke based on a notorious Meat
Loaf song has been too intellectual to be understood by somebody.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1fAPEUWowEc
I have to admit that I quite like Meat Loaf, but I also quite like
Gene Vincent, so what do I know?
Will Dockery
"George Dance" <george...@yahoo.ca> wrote:
<snip for focus>
<quote>
> https://mycybertwin.com/chat/dockery
=======================================================================
You: Hello Will!
You: FOAD, Will.
----
Looks like you're rapidly replacing Chuck as PJR's fantasy sniff-and-drool
of choice, George.
George Dance
I'm shocked, though, that he'd try to shrug off this impersonation
business as "making fun." I'm sure the usual suspects will find it
funny -- no doubt Tjlargu is smiling and Plguren is giggling over it
-- but I believe that, to most of us on the net, impersonation is
serious stuff indeed.
In researching an article on Rand Paul's Senate campaign in KY, I came
across an incident in which Paul's treasurer was forced to resign
after an impersonator opened a myspace page in his name, and posted
racist material -- including a photo of a lynching -- on it. Given how
Peter J. Ross likes to spread his smears of racism around the net, I
wouldn't be surprised to find him trying to pull a similar stunt on me
(or on you, or on Max King, to name another of his targets).
I sincerely hope that PJ's "online friends" can dissuade him from
similar acts in the future.
G&tSP
> > Message-ID: <slrnhk7f5c.53g....@pjr.motzarella.org>
Will Dockery
Heh... it sure seems to have s. him t.f.u...
--
"Red Lipped Stranger & other stories" by Will Dockery:
http://www.myspace.com/willdockery
> --
Peter J Ross
Will Dockery <will.d...@gmail.com> wrote:
What pleasant, delusional dreams you kooks have!
Will Dockery
Writes PJR, the obsesso who impersonates others on the internet.
Will Dockery
> This deserves a bump, plus archiving on ATPJR.
Yeah...
> On Jan 6, 9:47 pm, George Dance <georgedanc...@yahoo.ca> wrote:
--
Barbara's Cat
> Peter J Ross wrote:
>
> > Goober Duck Will "at least Dance likes me" Dockery quacked:
> >
> > > Goober Duck George "at least Dockery likes me" Dance quacked:
[ a lot of gooberish noise snipped ]
> > > > I sincerely hope that PJ's "online friends" can dissuade him
> > > > from similar acts in the future.
> > >
> > >
> > > Heh... it sure seems to have s. him t.f.u...
> >
> >
> > What pleasant, delusional dreams you kooks have!
>
>
> They do seem to both occupy an alternate form of reality no?
It's only natural that wet-dreamers dream wet dreams.
--
Cm~
"I win."
- Goober Dockery
getting nowhere,
gaining nothing,
again.
Will Dockery
>
> It's only natural that wet-dreamers dream wet dreams.
So, you're saying that since PJR is obsessed enough to pretend to be
George Dance that he might dream of him as well?
Peter J Ross
Dockery <will.d...@gmail.com> wrote:
> Barbara's Cat wrote:
>>
>> It's only natural that wet-dreamers dream wet dreams.
>
> So, you're saying that since PJR is obsessed enough to pretend to be
> George Dance that he might dream of him as well?
You're the obsessed dreamer, Dreckery.
Message-ID: <6d1bbe18-aee2-4532...@p36g2000prp.googlegroups.com>
<http://groups.google.com/group/alt.arts.poetry.comments/msg/9ac69f660d4843bc>
"I had a dream once where PJR came to Shadowville, or I went to
Northumberland and met him, I forget which [...]"
Please note that I'm still not willing to fuck you.
Will Dockery
>
> <http://groups.google.com/group/alt.arts.poetry.comments/msg/9ac69f660...>
>
> "I had a dream once where PJR came to Shadowville, or I went to
> Northumberland and met him, I forget which [...]"
>
> Please note that I'm still not willing to fuck you.
Thank you!
Peter J Ross
Dockery <will.d...@gmail.com> wrote:
> Peter J Ross <p...@example.invalid> wrote:
>>
>> Message-ID: <6d1bbe18-aee2-4532...@p36g2000prp.googlegroups.com>
>> <http://groups.google.com/group/alt.arts.poetry.comments/msg/9ac69f660...>
<http://groups.google.com/group/alt.arts.poetry.comments/msg/9ac69f660d4843bc>
You're not going to hide your obsession by truncating the URLs that
provide proof of it, Dreckery.
Will Dockery
>
>
>hide your obsession
You sure didn't try to hide yours for George Dance, did you, PJR?
--
"I know that my true friend will appear after my death, and my
sweetheart died before I was born." -Harlan Ellison, Stalking The
Nightmare
Will Dockery
Looks like PJR has gotten the message.
--
"Red Lipped Stranger & other stories" by Will Dockery:
http://www.myspace.com/willdockery