That's interesting, Frederick, although I'd definitely reject your change of
title. The loss of the parodying of the title Alex Comfort's book would be
too great. 'Virtue' is too null a word to work. It's only something just
written, I put drafts out here, just to gauge reactions, and get, ugh, that
horrible word, 'feedback'.
Best
Dave
David Bircumshaw
Leicester, England
Home Page
A Chide's Alphabet
Painting Without Numbers
http://homepage.ntlworld.com/david.bircumshaw/index.htm
----- Original Message -----
From: "Frederick Pollack" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Thursday, April 03, 2003 7:20 PM
Subject: Re: The Joys of Shit
"david.bircumshaw" wrote:
>
> It's like giving birth: the contractions and expansions, but usually not
so
> long ( I heard of a man once, but that's another story)
> What comes out though
>
> might be alike, might not
>
> (not might) but it is safe to say it cannot be cuddled. The anus
>
> breathes
>
> as it disposes, like a patient on a machine, as if waste were new life.
The
> bombs fall, darkly, like an argument in Glasgow, onto
>
> some hapless microbes. Those innocent bobblers
>
> in the undifferentiated water. Whom the smudge smothers. The bum rises
> slowly from the seat,
> like a B52, and wipes itself, with paper, with the necessary hand, on a
> blank tissue of words,
>
> as if guilt could be cleaned
>
> by the air.
>
> Best (!)
>
> Dave
>
> David Bircumshaw
>
>
My editorial instincts were roused by DB's latest.
THE JOYS OF VIRTUE
It's like giving birth: the contractions and expansions, but usually not
so long ( I heard of a man once, but that's another story)
What comes out though
might be alike, might not
(not might) but it is safe to say it cannot be cuddled. The anus
breathes
as it disposes, like a patient on a machine, as if waste were new life.
The bromides fall, darkly, like an argument in Glasgow, and
are welcomed: those innocent bobblers
in undifferentiated water. Whom the smudge smothers. The bum rises
slowly from the seat,
like a torturer, and wipes itself, with paper, with the necessary hand,
on a
blank tissue of words,
as if guilt could be cleaned
by the air.
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