Random neuron firing, lame philosophy, literary pontificating, movies, sex, clothes & other femme stuff

Thursday, August 28, 2003

Hymn to Pseudo-Intellectual Beauty
Reading my blog Leigh got inspired to review her own legion of beautiful, crabbed journals, illuminated with drawings and pastings, like courtly books of hours. She insisted I post this meagre poem she found in one. Evidently, I wrote it one night when we got really drunk (that's not the unusual part) and somebody challenged somebody else to write a poem on the spot (that is). She was taking a course in Keats & Shelley. I was reminded of Keats v. Hunt on orthoptera.

The awful shadow of some unseen power
floats, though unseen, among us. We have had
too much to drink—our alcoholic haze
inebriated polysemousness
compels the recognition of the great
orgasmic all-consuming haze of life
in which we swim like mako shark or kelp
in which we undulate and deliquesce
and which we feel in every pore and vein.
This is our state. Take it who says it suits.

I post it only because, stupid though it be, it seems eerily on the topic of wishing to communicate a state in which the disappearance of all discrimination becomes the sensation urged on the discriminating palate . . . . And it also had in mind Byron's hock-and-sodawater fragment I allude to below.

OK. This blog is getting boring. From now on, no poetry, literature, speculation. Just pure sex.
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