In my experience comments like that serve no other purpose
than to cause upset. They stoke the embers of old forgotten
flame wars, and they have nothing to do with poems.
But, ss {as?} anyone who knows me well will tell you, I love to masterbate.
It's clear from this that you have come here for no other purpose
than to cause agitation, and to rub in the wrong way the feelings
of one of our most sensitive members.
vern.silver wrote:
>I had asked Joe and Dick about you . . . describing you as being . . .
a feather pillow is the enemy of progression, and a compliment a piece of grit thrown down the back of creativity's wellington. i don't mind good luck barking as it passes me by, but must it stop and raise a leg? those two are not allowed to say this, vern. firstly i don't agree with it because it is far from true, secondly it intimidates people and makes me shrink like bacon being fried - and thirdly it blunts the scissors i use to cut holes in the polythene bag that laziness keeps pulling over my head.
You are right Geoffrey, I should not have mentioned those things and as I write this I am chastising myself for not having more consideration both to them and to you.
I look forward to a time that we might be able to lift a beer together and get to know each other on a level that this format does not allow.
Vern
"Clarence said a striking thing about rowing that I've always valued ... that he liked rowing because you were approaching life backward. You could clearly see the past, and you glanced quickly at the future over your shoulder.' Jim Harrison.
Joe Way wrote:
>All I can say to you about the version of American Indians that has been promulgated through the movies and popular culture is that it is important to remember that had the Nazi's won World War II, we would be celebrating the heroic bravery of their troops against the Jews.
And all I can say to you is that your words tell a great deal. They mean a lot to me. A person's vocabulary is their arsenal. But an even greater weapon of speech is silence. No, it isn't always as 'golden' as the proverb claims. You sometimes tell a story, Joe, and this time I am going to try to do the same. But perhaps in the end, as Vern might say: "it is just a twist of words from which neither you nor I can suck much juice."
A certain young native American lass was once very ill. Her desperate mother sought help from a white specialist doctor whom she believed could help. She went to an open-air meeting where he was holding a lecture and went up to him, pleaded with him. She told him of the terrible suffering of her daughter and pleaded with him to help them. Not a word did he answer, but ignored her completely. Because of their race, he had no respect or pity neither for her nor her sick child. The poor woman was there on her knees, in front of everyone. Any pride or integrity she may once have owned fell with her tears into the earth. She would have done absolutely anything to make her little girl well. The poor woman begged him one last time, and this time the response was one of verbal scorn. He looked angrily down at her and called her a bitch. She cried that he was right. She agreed she was indeed a dog, but added that even animals sometimes need urgent medical care. The doctor, now jubilant that he had made this brave native woman confess to being a dog, conceded to give assistance that would return the young girl back to a healthy state.
The 'doctor' was, of course, Jesus - the well-known story about the Canaanite woman from Matt 15: 22-28. No wonder the Jews refuse to accept him as Messiah! The Canaanites were the original people of Canaan. The Israelites came, murdered as many of them as possible, and called the land Israel. A perfect parallel, one might say, to the Christians who came and slaughtered the native Americans. Oh yes, Hitler was around for centuries before Poland fell, it's just that his coffin was always draped with different flags.
Geoffrey wrote:vern.silver wrote:
>I had asked Joe and Dick about you . . . describing you as being . . .
a feather pillow is the enemy of progression, and a compliment a piece of grit thrown down the back of creativity's wellington. i don't mind good luck barking as it passes me by, but must it stop and raise a leg? those two are not allowed to say this, vern. firstly i don't agree with it because it is far from true, secondly it intimidates people and makes me shrink like bacon being fried - and thirdly it blunts the scissors i use to cut holes in the polythene bag that laziness keeps pulling over my head.
My daughter would call you a "try-hard", Geoffrey.
