replying on Adibe's Song (third-time's-the-charm revision, less Spanish) by zodiac
4 Jun 2005, 6:43 AM
Thanks.
replying on Snow by lil_evil_boi
4 Jun 2005, 6:41 AM
re: "u cant actually smell the sweetness of the snow" - Yes, of course you can. And snow does smell sweet, like wet mittens. And even if it didn't you could still smell its sweetness.
And how many users are you? I count three.
And how many users are you? I count three.
replying on Adibe's Song (third-time's-the-charm revision, less Spanish) by zodiac
4 Jun 2005, 6:16 AM
Hope it's better now. I've written about ten times more of this than I've posted. Shamefully.
replying on Adibe's Song (third-time's-the-charm revision, less Spanish) by zodiac
4 Jun 2005, 6:12 AM
1) The bars were closed. True story.
2) I hope so. No, I know so. I have a hard time thinking of good Spanish names. When I need one, I think of someone I met in Mexico whose name never made it in an Enrique Iglesias song.
3) I dunno. Spanish speakers don't capitalize it.
4) No. The hacienda's where the big boss lives, the residencia's where exchange students and bored Mexico City kids live.
5) In that earlier version, Heaven (Cielita) was a girl who lived at a black magic store. True story. Incidentally, the main work of the staff at the black magic store I knew was carving Jesuses with enormous phalluses. I dropped all that from the poem though. For the better.
6) They're revolutionaries.
7) I hope it's better now.
2) I hope so. No, I know so. I have a hard time thinking of good Spanish names. When I need one, I think of someone I met in Mexico whose name never made it in an Enrique Iglesias song.
3) I dunno. Spanish speakers don't capitalize it.
4) No. The hacienda's where the big boss lives, the residencia's where exchange students and bored Mexico City kids live.
5) In that earlier version, Heaven (Cielita) was a girl who lived at a black magic store. True story. Incidentally, the main work of the staff at the black magic store I knew was carving Jesuses with enormous phalluses. I dropped all that from the poem though. For the better.
6) They're revolutionaries.
7) I hope it's better now.
replying on Applicative-Order Fixed-Point Operator by -=Dark_Angel=-, P.I.
3 Jun 2005, 5:47 AM
Can I ask you a question?
I have a square-bottomed container resting on its bottom, which is square. The bottom is 1 foot by 1 foot. How much beer would just cover the bottom? What if you were using a superfine atomiser-sprayer capable of spraying a layer of beer 1 molecule thick?
I have a square-bottomed container resting on its bottom, which is square. The bottom is 1 foot by 1 foot. How much beer would just cover the bottom? What if you were using a superfine atomiser-sprayer capable of spraying a layer of beer 1 molecule thick?
replying on Life and Love by windyone
3 Jun 2005, 5:45 AM
10 and 9.
replying on Life and Love by windyone
3 Jun 2005, 5:36 AM
I don't think it makes any sense without the pleasure of analyzing included.
on Heaven or Hell by lil_evil_boi
2 Jun 2005, 3:55 AM
The best part was where you described heaven as "heavenly" and hell as "hellish".
replying on Slowing - or, A Love Poem with Eggs and Short Lines by zodiac
1 Jun 2005, 10:07 PM
Well, the ending is her talking, the rest is the guy. Does that help? Or - I meant the part beginning with the second "My love" to be a different day.
For my part, yes, there was a change of heart. Right around the dress-doffing and kissing part.
For my part, yes, there was a change of heart. Right around the dress-doffing and kissing part.
replying on Applicative-Order Fixed-Point Operator by -=Dark_Angel=-, P.I.
1 Jun 2005, 10:03 PM
What an astonishingly ladylike question you've picked for a rebuttal, though! "Just cover the bottom"? What the fuck does that mean?
replying on Applicative-Order Fixed-Point Operator by -=Dark_Angel=-, P.I.
1 Jun 2005, 10:02 PM
In a frictionless world, zero.
replying on Acrylic French Nails by Dovina
1 Jun 2005, 9:59 PM
PS-"complemented" is clever as it is, but are you sure you didn't mean "complimented"?
replying on Acrylic French Nails by Dovina
1 Jun 2005, 9:58 PM
Oh.
Just out of curiosity, why didn't you have this experience when you were, like, 10?
Just out of curiosity, why didn't you have this experience when you were, like, 10?
replying on Nesting Instinct of Women by Dovina
1 Jun 2005, 9:53 PM
I probably said that, actually. I was in a hurry typing.
replying on Life and Love by windyone
1 Jun 2005, 9:51 PM
Would you take the above a step farther and agree that, on average, the analyzing person leads a less pleasurable life than the non-analyzing person? Would you consider testing that notion?
***ZODIAC'S SIMPLE TEST***
1) On a scale of 1-10, 1 being 'never' and 10 being 'constantly', how much of the time would you say you analyze things?
2) On a scale of 1-10, 1 being 'not at all pleasurable' and 10 being 'extremely pleasurable', how pleasurable would you say your life is?
For my part, I promise to answer fairly.
***ZODIAC'S SIMPLE TEST***
1) On a scale of 1-10, 1 being 'never' and 10 being 'constantly', how much of the time would you say you analyze things?
2) On a scale of 1-10, 1 being 'not at all pleasurable' and 10 being 'extremely pleasurable', how pleasurable would you say your life is?
For my part, I promise to answer fairly.
replying on Even the score by Miggy
31 May 2005, 5:48 AM
Trying to imagine Miggy as a voluptuous blonde with blue&black lipstick and lots of tattoos just caused me to "expend myself".
on Nesting Instinct of Women by Dovina
31 May 2005, 5:47 AM
"Virtue"
- Cynthia Huntington
All the houses are white;
all the yards have yellow flowers
attended by bees.
If you must be born female
try coming as an insect -
they have the edge. Bees
spoil their little brothers just
so long and then they're through.
The queen has a hundred lovers,
her daughters, none. A nation of sisters
lives forever: wasps and ants.
Here in New England
you'll come across old family plots
- farmers with two or three wives
set down in a row; prayers and faint praise
for the good woman, wife, mother:
modest and weary, homely as a shoe.
How she stirred and kneaded,
baked, sewed, scrubbed, and bore down.
I let the ants come in my kitchen
and carry off bread crumbs.
Girl soldiers, all discipline and grit.
Flies buzz the heads of stupefied cows,
up to their knees in yarrow,
hissing: "wake up, wake up!"
Their teats swell, heavy with milk,
long after their done
being anyone's mother.
In the corner of the garage
a spider devours her mate,
wraps up what she can't finish
and hangs it to dry. Mosquitos
murmur for blood in the high grasses.
A car door slams down the street.
Milk and honey, butter and jam,
what virtue in living as a slave?
In the kitchen I unpack groceries:
sweet peas, cider, wild honey, pears
burst from the flowering branch.
(copied without permission from Poetry Daily, www.poems.com)
- Cynthia Huntington
All the houses are white;
all the yards have yellow flowers
attended by bees.
If you must be born female
try coming as an insect -
they have the edge. Bees
spoil their little brothers just
so long and then they're through.
The queen has a hundred lovers,
her daughters, none. A nation of sisters
lives forever: wasps and ants.
Here in New England
you'll come across old family plots
- farmers with two or three wives
set down in a row; prayers and faint praise
for the good woman, wife, mother:
modest and weary, homely as a shoe.
How she stirred and kneaded,
baked, sewed, scrubbed, and bore down.
I let the ants come in my kitchen
and carry off bread crumbs.
Girl soldiers, all discipline and grit.
Flies buzz the heads of stupefied cows,
up to their knees in yarrow,
hissing: "wake up, wake up!"
Their teats swell, heavy with milk,
long after their done
being anyone's mother.
In the corner of the garage
a spider devours her mate,
wraps up what she can't finish
and hangs it to dry. Mosquitos
murmur for blood in the high grasses.
A car door slams down the street.
Milk and honey, butter and jam,
what virtue in living as a slave?
In the kitchen I unpack groceries:
sweet peas, cider, wild honey, pears
burst from the flowering branch.
(copied without permission from Poetry Daily, www.poems.com)
replying on Nesting Instinct of Women by Dovina
31 May 2005, 5:41 AM
Misguided doesn't mean "not guided", it means "guided in the wrong way". So I didn't say you were "not guided"; you did. And maybe I meant a "a thoroughly misguided pen, guided wrongly by you".
If it doesn't make any more sense that way it's because I was really trying not to insult you or your writing. I was speaking hypothetically; and notice I said "someone", not "I".
If it doesn't make any more sense that way it's because I was really trying not to insult you or your writing. I was speaking hypothetically; and notice I said "someone", not "I".
on Acrylic French Nails by Dovina
31 May 2005, 5:36 AM
I have to admit, it was a bit of a letdown getting to the end only to find the meaning was "she employs devices to look different". Well, I mean, duh. For one, everyone employs devices all the time to look different from how they'd look nude. For another thing, I imagine if she wanted to look different without employing devices, she'd have to (a) practice holding some really distinctive facial expression or posture all the time (which is a device when you get down to it) or (b) accept that she just looks different enough as she is, unless she's an identical twin or something (which we both know is kind of crap.) And would I be totally wrong if I guessed you really meant "she employs devices to look ugly or different from me"?
replying on A soldiers life by closeup
31 May 2005, 5:26 AM
An advice: Don't write poems in which you're a dead soldier. You're about the tenth poemranker user to do that this month.