Vulgar and disgusting. Awful

Erk, sorry about going quiet on chat all of a sudden...it slowed down all of a sudden and refused to post. I think my internet in general seized up though. In response to your question, no I'm not like them. I'm a happy kind of chap with the compulsory occasional emo moments ;-)

The Irish are the most overrated bunch of cunts in the whole world. The U.S. has two causes as far as I can see the Jews and the Irish. Both are a bunch of selfish fuckwits with a persecution complex. Both are money grabbing but the Irish have the differentiator of being alcoholic pikeys who make their money by building road whilst the Jews are better at building walls. I absolutely detest any lionisation of a romantic Ireland that quite honestly doesn't exist. The Irish are a bloated bunch of uncultured pisshead estate agents trying to turn Ireland into a gigantic mass of concrete. If James Joyce were in Dublin today he would not recognise it as the Irish try, in a distinctly pikey manner, to instil a class system and copy the Yuppie habits of their more successful, talented neighbours the Welsh.

From the title I thought this was some bizarre poem about Beastiality . Unfortunately it wasn't. As a result I have lowered my vote from 10 to 0.

Love that lovejam refrence.

Your preaentation of the poem is cool. I like the comparisons and the theme, and also the third verse.

Very amusing indeed. Certainly doesn't deserve its low ratings! Here's a 10 4 U.

I like the idea, but it needs more. Such a spare poem, too, can't really support repetition of words unless it serves a purpose (i.e., "skipping"). Expand this--bring us along with you.

You've got some interesting lines ("more words to spill than ashes . . . "; the old curtains filtering, etc.). You keep it simple and don't overexplain things and let the details carry the meaning rather than pointing everything out (which never fails to bore the crap out of me when people do it--either we get it or we don't; if you have to endlessly explain, the poem isn't getting it done. This gets it done.) Good ending. Good poem.

It's nicely done, Ranger. You have a deft gothic touch, both in the poem and in the (self-)quoted passage. Too bad Gothics are not popular anymore--you really get the eerie tone and imagery down. You should submit this--someplace like The Harrow (or maybe Kaolin's issue of the new GUD venture) that looks for dark-fantasy kinds of subs. What are you reading? This smacks of 19th century "horrid novels"--in a good way.

Not bad. I think the second verse is stronger as a beginning if you could work in the "daddy" bit elsewhere (title or otherwise). Also, and probably because it makes me think of Roethke's "My Papa's Waltz," I wish the rhythm was more, er, rhythmic, to suggest the dance. Here's how Roethke does it (mostly because I adore Theodore Roethke and will take any chance to quote him). In his version, it's all about rhythm, suggesting the waltz, and his choice of detail: The whiskey on your breath Could make a small boy dizzy; But I hung on like death: Such waltzing was not easy. We romped until the pans Slid from the kitchen shelf; My mother's countenance Could not unfrown itself. The hand that held my wrist Was battered on one knuckle; At every step you missed My right ear scraped a buckle. You beat time on my head With a palm caked hard by dirt, Then waltzed me off to bed Still clinging to your shirt.

Ah, Kinsale, of Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe, a hill town with narrow streets beside a harbor. It’s mostly pubs, restaurants and tourists today, but it was the last outpost for ships about to attempt the dangerous Atlantic crossings during the potato famine. And to sit there in a pub with tipper tipping against a bodran, singing Red-head Mary, Guinness in hand, yes, it makes the world go away. You’ve captured it well.

You can't possibly be Irish.

I much, much, much prefer the work of Orchestral Manouveres in the Dark.

Nice end the rest is awful. The imagery of some early Edwardian poet. Like the poetry of Siegfried Sassoon before he went to war.

wow..

I like this a lot--an electronic age bacchanal. The title's a deliberate play on "nothing ventured, nothing gained"? This is probably my favorite line: "And so many naked bodies twisted up circuitry Signals flying everywhere and nowhere." The ending is good too. One thing threw me though: " We are the living truth. The inability of History to subjugate the human race and The inevitable victory of intellect." It comes out of nowhere, this god-voice exposition and really throws off the narrative, IMO. You don't really need it; it's all there in the rest of it.

I really love the image you've created with this one. So dark and eerie, which happens to be my favorite scene. I don't know how you do it, but you do it again and again. I'd like to read that short story if you ever do write it.

I can’t get much into this. Not because it’s badly written, (it's not) only because I’ve heard versions of it so many times. Isn’t it the way of clichés – they were mostly clever once, til “time stood still” on their cleverness, yet another cliché.

realizing some highness likely accompanied the writing of this, I'll go easy. "Falling with the devastation of a snowflake on the ocean." is a good line, but it's not a sentence, and I don't see how it ties in. And the "sentence" above it needs a comma or something, unless my highness equals yours.