Stuff Version Might Like
Clinamenic
Binary & Tweed
What do you suppose is happening in that photo? Is the big guy being scolded for not having a gun?
mixed_biscuits
_________________________
vershy versh
Well-known member
I think that's the same press conference where he goes off on Kazan and calls him a traitor, a disgrace, and a brilliant filmmaker.
vershy versh
Well-known member
Day 12. The Coffee Bean.
Corpsey
bandz ahoy
I was reading this earlier and thought wouldn't this be perfect to be recited by an old fat Orson Welles stuck in a room with a mozzie?
www.poetryfoundation.org
The Mosquito
I heard a woman call you the Winged Victory In sluggish Venice. Queer, how you stalk and prowl the air In circles and evasions, enveloping me, Ghoul on wings Winged Victory. You don't know that I exist, and I don't know that you exist. It is your trump It is your hateful little trump You pointed…
www.poetryfoundation.org
When did you start your tricks
Monsieur?
What do you stand on such high legs for?
Why this length of shredded shank
You exaltation?
Is it so that you shall lift your centre of gravity upwards
And weigh no more than air as you alight upon me,
Stand upon me weightless, you phantom?
I heard a woman call you the Winged Victory
In sluggish Venice.
You turn your head towards your tail, and smile.
How can you put so much devilry
Into that translucent phantom shred
Of a frail corpus?
Queer, with your thin wings and your streaming legs
How you sail like a heron, or a dull clot of air,
A nothingness.
Yet what an aura surrounds you;
Your evil little aura, prowling, and casting a numbness on my mind.
That is your trick, your bit of filthy magic:
Invisibility, and the anæsthetic power
To deaden my attention in your direction.
But I know your game now, streaky sorcerer.
Monsieur?
What do you stand on such high legs for?
Why this length of shredded shank
You exaltation?
Is it so that you shall lift your centre of gravity upwards
And weigh no more than air as you alight upon me,
Stand upon me weightless, you phantom?
I heard a woman call you the Winged Victory
In sluggish Venice.
You turn your head towards your tail, and smile.
How can you put so much devilry
Into that translucent phantom shred
Of a frail corpus?
Queer, with your thin wings and your streaming legs
How you sail like a heron, or a dull clot of air,
A nothingness.
Yet what an aura surrounds you;
Your evil little aura, prowling, and casting a numbness on my mind.
That is your trick, your bit of filthy magic:
Invisibility, and the anæsthetic power
To deaden my attention in your direction.
But I know your game now, streaky sorcerer.
mixed_biscuits
_________________________
See, they're just like you and me
