The Crucial Similarity between Myself and Geoffrey
Posted: Sun Jan 24, 2021 1:06 am
Geoffrey routinely calls his great works "sketches", or the like
and then describes them as little, small, poor, or (one of his great favourites) "rushed".
I go to a different school.
I brag how quickly I write.
I know it's true and all I am doing is trying to win an imaginary speed contest with anyone else who doesn't write.
Geoffrey's spiel is a great big act. It might be endearing but I am not sure.
What a relief if he ever introduced a piece by saying he was very happy with it, or the like.
I wish we had an approval button for his drawings, Press for, "The Approval", or depress for "The Like".
I have a book in me. Can you imagine how uncomfortable that feels? I want to turn over a new page but I'm not a doctor. Meanwhile, back here on Earth, I won't make the effort. Because I am not Joseph Heller (dead) nor Bernard Malamud (dead). I am not stupid, I can see a pattern emerging.
What a con-trick. Neither were saved by their genius. There is a real danger that if I complete my book, I too could, one day, die.
Meticulously Timed, I present a piece I just wrote in 22 minutes, (22 minutes, 43 seconds). During this time Barnet could have conceded 5 goals and Geoffrey could have drawn 8 sketches, and only 9 of them would be of Leonard Cohen.
I can not be bothered to spend more time on my Pome,
1 because I don't care and
Won because I came first in the important Memorial Speed Doggerel and Catfish Contest
The prize is a sketch of me and Leonard Cohen at dinner. I just don't know anyone who can draw that.
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"Outer beauty is ultimately ephemeral"
He said in the practiced tone of a so reasonable, so pompous, git
Fooling no-one, (he didn’t get it)
not himself, (the one who didn’t want to split)
nor her, who split his heart (into a million whingy bits).
He has photographic proof
that she blossomed in his company
and in the Designer Rags he gave her,
and the long memories engraved there
(on his heart, not the damn gear).
Please don’t be silly.
He wouldn’t mess with costumes,
which she had already collected,(dining together over, she thought they were take-away)
On the way out (of his house, and Life),
(shhh, let’s call it “life” now)
No u, no Upper Cases any more,
Except for her last clothes in the Luis Vuitton trolly, for her
(and his last meal with Gluey Wanton for him).
Nothing in common
Not a fucking thing.
He was an hilarious clown – who secretly specialised in secretly being down
She left with garments
and he was left with remnants
he had acted like a designer
but She stole the show and acted like a give-up resigner
from their "Eternity Together Plan".
"Man Up" and be a Man
Goodbye Useless, Stupid", (She said) "you’re joking, ain'tcha?" (he wanted to reply)
and why, and why and why?
Outer beauty means nothing to me and that is the explanation for the lack of poetry devoted to the subject
Michael (your Devoted Subject)
and then describes them as little, small, poor, or (one of his great favourites) "rushed".
I go to a different school.
I brag how quickly I write.
I know it's true and all I am doing is trying to win an imaginary speed contest with anyone else who doesn't write.
Geoffrey's spiel is a great big act. It might be endearing but I am not sure.
What a relief if he ever introduced a piece by saying he was very happy with it, or the like.
I wish we had an approval button for his drawings, Press for, "The Approval", or depress for "The Like".
I have a book in me. Can you imagine how uncomfortable that feels? I want to turn over a new page but I'm not a doctor. Meanwhile, back here on Earth, I won't make the effort. Because I am not Joseph Heller (dead) nor Bernard Malamud (dead). I am not stupid, I can see a pattern emerging.
What a con-trick. Neither were saved by their genius. There is a real danger that if I complete my book, I too could, one day, die.
Meticulously Timed, I present a piece I just wrote in 22 minutes, (22 minutes, 43 seconds). During this time Barnet could have conceded 5 goals and Geoffrey could have drawn 8 sketches, and only 9 of them would be of Leonard Cohen.
I can not be bothered to spend more time on my Pome,
1 because I don't care and
Won because I came first in the important Memorial Speed Doggerel and Catfish Contest
The prize is a sketch of me and Leonard Cohen at dinner. I just don't know anyone who can draw that.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Outer beauty is ultimately ephemeral"
He said in the practiced tone of a so reasonable, so pompous, git
Fooling no-one, (he didn’t get it)
not himself, (the one who didn’t want to split)
nor her, who split his heart (into a million whingy bits).
He has photographic proof
that she blossomed in his company
and in the Designer Rags he gave her,
and the long memories engraved there
(on his heart, not the damn gear).
Please don’t be silly.
He wouldn’t mess with costumes,
which she had already collected,(dining together over, she thought they were take-away)
On the way out (of his house, and Life),
(shhh, let’s call it “life” now)
No u, no Upper Cases any more,
Except for her last clothes in the Luis Vuitton trolly, for her
(and his last meal with Gluey Wanton for him).
Nothing in common
Not a fucking thing.
He was an hilarious clown – who secretly specialised in secretly being down
She left with garments
and he was left with remnants
he had acted like a designer
but She stole the show and acted like a give-up resigner
from their "Eternity Together Plan".
"Man Up" and be a Man
Goodbye Useless, Stupid", (She said) "you’re joking, ain'tcha?" (he wanted to reply)
and why, and why and why?
Outer beauty means nothing to me and that is the explanation for the lack of poetry devoted to the subject
Michael (your Devoted Subject)