I tend to *become* emotionally disturbed (well, mildly disgruntled or
disorientated) through the act of writing poetry. You look at what
you've written afterwards and you think, gosh, I didn't know I had it
in me - well, perhaps you didn't, until that point at least.
Reminds me of the joke about the drunk who throws up in the street
just as a cat happens to be crossing his path. He looks down at the
poor bespattered moggy in amazement - "Wha?! I don't remember eating
that!"
A better joke about drunks: this guy staggers out of the pub after
drinking 13 pints, starts fumbling with his flies, trying to unzip
himself. A passing couple look on aghast; eventually she says, "excuse
me! You can't do that here!". The drunk says, "Oh don't worry, madam -
I'm not going to go here! I'm going to go WAAAAAAAAAAAAY over there!"
Dominic
|