Date:    Sat, 19 Jul 2003 18:09 EST   From:    "adam henson" <adamhenson72@hotmail.com>   To:    horus8j@netscape.net « Previous  |  Next »   "horus, the messages have been deleted from the poem i wrote as i went to reply to your last one and accidentaly wiped it, so i wiped the other comments of to, so you would have less to bitch about. seriously man, you need to chill out or take some sort of anti stress pill, in a barrage of some really big and clever 4 letter words you say that to many peoples poems are to self centered, in saying that you are implying that people should write more poetry like yours, and if thats not egotistical then what is? the poem is not just about me, it is about many people, and is for many people. I'm not about to open up and tell you about my own past as you dont seem the sort of person that i would trust, maybe you are, i dont know, but i do know that you have no idea about some of the things I've been through, and at a guess would say you are probably to insensitive and judgemental to understand some of the things that have happened in my life, yet you portraid yourself as bein Oh so rightious banging on about women and kids getting blown up,  what difference will a poem make to any of that? not much i'd say. but poem can help the writer of it make sense of there own feelings, and in doing that, help others of a like mind make sense out of there own. i dont expect any of what i have written here will get through to you, it may do, but if you really are as full of shit as it comes across in your posts then you aint got a chance." Let's take a moment to recapitulate Adam, shall we? 1. I've never said write poetry like mine to anyone, you are hallucinating, and if i did, show me, grab that quote, from wherever you read it, and prove me wrong. I said write about something people can "understand", not involving the way you observe yourself, what the fuck does the way you feel about yourself have to do with the rest of the planet you diluted twit? Hmmmm? Not a fucking thing. 2. Learn how to spell, that way we can take you seriously. Just read your fucking Email. It's barely legible. Your grammar is shit, you act as if your onto some sort of enlightenment, and you can't even fucking communicate in a basic email without sounded like a ten year old with a mouth full of jello. 3. I'm about as stressed as a cat in a patch of sunlight after a nice fat mouse sandwich. Don't do surgery on yourself and convince yourself of such stupid notions. We are on the web, kid, not a Roman Colosseum. 4. The power of poetry and words can make a bigger difference than any peace plan or dollar amount my friend. "What difference will a poem make to any of that? not much i'd say." This statement alone is proof that you're an idiot, because, if that's the case smart ass? Why'd you write yours then? Oh... In the hopes that it wouldn't? That people wouldn't give a shit? Adam, I just burned you alive with your own words, you my friend are everything that's wrong with this world, and your self- absorbed perception of it. Whether you think I'm crazy, rude, a nigger, a clansman, or the devil, you my friend are still unfortunately, brain washing yourself with what makes you feel comfortable, not challenging yourself through trial and error, or cause and effect, you are guessing, and it shows, big time buddy. 5. You are not about to open up about your past to me? What the fuck do you think posting this poem on the web was? Opening up a can of taco sauce. Maybe that's Elmo's past up there, and you just borrowed it. Oh, please Adam, open up to me, that's what I really want. You to confide in me your troubled development issues. That would only work if your past was indeed as graphic and painful as a burning fucking monk, but no, your past is a fucking family ties episode probably the one where Kirk Cameron finds out that pot is bad, and honesty is good... Let's all pray shall we. "Dear lord, let's help Adam here realise that he's so fucking full of shit he'd make a maggot puke". 6. Well, adam, that concludes your lashing for today. Tomorrow maybe we can go to the circus, and forget about it all over again. But guess what? You're a waste of excuses, mother's milk and oatmeal cookies son. Another video game casualty. Good bye Adam, and as you can see. I have no room for you in my mailbox, so in the future email yourself, and save me the trouble of making you look like an idiot, thanks son. Love, horus8 a delicious break from potatos.