Ah, it's geeks to the left of me, geeks to the right--and I alone manning
the watchtower "now that Papa's gone A way (A way).
Off to sell my hair on Thursday, which used to be known as "queer day" when
I was in grade school and had to wear the hideous GS disguise every week on
that selfsame day. Made me more than a little bent, obviously--
I gotta GO.
on 8/20/02 9:10 PM, Robin Hamilton at [log in to unmask] wrote:
> Gimme a stringbeen, am a hungry man ...
> Coincidence, honeychile, coincidence ...
> Jus' got bak meesel, and caught this.
> (Sorry, Gabe, not gettin at yoo, tho it wood be nice to run Drapier -- went
> on holiday once with Clarissa, and accidentally happened on the Letters.
> Swift is +so+ much better.
> Gutwrenchingly so.
> (As to odi ay amo -- call me sparrow --
> Hey, you know this one?
> (Duncan McCrea
> Poor little burdy, poor little thing,
> Got no feathers, got no wing,
> Got no mudder, got no fadder --
> TEAR ITS BLEEDING HEAD OFF!!!
> (Sorry -- Glasgow humour.)
> ----- Original Message -----
> From: "Gabriel Gudding" <[log in to unmask]>
> To: <[log in to unmask]>
> Sent: Tuesday, August 20, 2002 11:05 PM
> Subject: Re: abusadore
>> HI Robin. Listen, kin I ask why my name is at the bottom of this thread? I
>> don't mind the association of my name with Swift's here but it kind of
>> bothers me that here I am returning from months away from keyboardom to
>> find my name lying in the gravel of an odi-et-amo thread, subject heading
>> "abusadore," what gives?guh
>> At 09:29 PM 8/20/2002 +0100, you wrote:
>>>> OK, Randolph. But I guess we have very different definitions of
>>>> "abuse". I, for one, do not see my little Minnepean pictures as
>>>> abuse of any sort.
>>> Oh dear. Oh fucking dear.
>>> Are you +serious+ about this?
>>> [I'm sure you'll be a better man when you get tenure track. Velly sorry,
>>> love ...
>>> Kent -- an, honest, I say this in all seriousness, try to read Swift's
>>> "Drapier's Letters".
>>> Where you're at, where he woz.
>>>> It was jsut a little bit of good-natured tickling. Us
>>>> overly protocoled poets of these overly protocoled times should
>>>> take a lesson from those now rotted Romans and tickle each other
>>>> more often. Without warning and hard. With a stylus. In the armpit
>>>> and in the groin. Poetry comes in different ways, and that's just
>>>> another way that poetry can come.
>>>> Give it to me, I say. Attack me, lustily. Honor me with stylish bile.
>>>> Make me remembered when I am rotting.
>>>> Hey, where's Gabriel Gudding, incidentally?