Jow:
och I'm fairly faux an' a' . . . (let me know if anything specific really
jars . . .)
Well, I'm still running a book on 20:80 it's a pastiche.
Faux, or faux naive? Or simply fu?
I mean, not that I mind, just that I'd like to know.
See, I have this rather pathetic lust for certainty. Like tae know where I
am, but.
maar ek het (net) 'n bietjie Afrikaans . . . :)
Well, that doesn't impress me much (Shania Twain) -- anyone who trailed a
Kalashnikov in the Glasgow Language Wars of the sixties can play that sort
of linguistic game.
<<
> <<
> O Miorbhail gràis, nach breagh'an ceòl.
> When I'm lying there in your arms.
> >>
>
> That's cheating
'O Miorbhail gràis, nach breagh'an ceòl', ha, I nicked it, 'Amazing Grace,
how sweet the sound.' 'When I'm lying there in your arms': Canadian
pop-rocker Bryan Adams, I think, though the lass in this poem heard it first
in the remix.
love,
Jow
>>
Oh, whatever, whoever you are, welcome to the monkey house.
poetryetc isn't the worst place to be.
First approximation is you're early twenties middle-class Glasgow. ROUGH
approximation.
Or giving a bloody good imitation thereof.
EEEP!! I didn't say that, did I? Way past time I returned to the teapot.
Robin
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