Ironywaves
2003-11-16 08:51:09 UTC
Lemon Stir.
Cones buckets and fog
daylight breezing in with
clouds right on the ground
deep *blue* fog.
Grape stems and seeds
into the night
tossed out the window
while dog watching.
Chunky guitar ringover
green sound drifting
small clicks from behind
a thicket.
Standing near some trees
solid stone
a stairway
table pictures.
Nine times
the picture manifested
in the woodgrain.
Ice coffee and smoke
sunshine and street.
Brightness of God
electric and speaking.
Got a headache
lonesome whistle moan pain.
She has a reptile soul
baby blue brain.
She drives and drives
and sometimes flies.
-Will Dockery (c)2003
and scratching his maggot-infested beard. Poor little Dockery was born
with a brain the size of a speck of dust. The doctors warned him never
to attempt a thought -- NEVER! -- that even a simple thought would be
enough to short and fry his neural circuit. But the thing with Dockery
is that he never listens. You can tell him a thousand times not to
cross-post five hundred messages every week to irrelevant newsgroups,
but he won't listen. So, obviously the Dockery disregarded the doctors'
orders, and ... well, the results were too ugly to describe. Poor guy
spent the eighties and most of the nineties in a coma (not much
different from his previous state, you'll notice, except that he even
lost the ability to scratch his maggot-infested beard at will). Finally
science and technology had developed enough by the late nineties for the
doctors to attempt an extraordinary experiment: they planted and
wired-up a potato inside his head! It was an amazing success; for soon
enough the Dockery was not only scratching his beard, but prancing and
singing around the streets of Shadowville. And why not, right? He had
just acquired for himself the previously umimaginable intellectual
sophistication of a potato! Bang up he went like a step function, all
delirious and happy with new and grand possibilities. 'I'm a poet,' he
wrote, and keeps on writing to this day. To himself, mostly.
As an aside: in the last few years the doctors have conducted with
similar success a handful of other Dockery-style transplants on people
with various vegetables (radishes, tomatoes, celery, etc). And it's
pretty easy to spot these people, especially on Usenet. They're the ones
who think there's any worth in anything that Dockery writes.
heh!
"huh!"
http://www.amber-kaye.com/forum/viewthread.php?action=attachment&tid=199&pid=781
Cones buckets and fog
daylight breezing in with
clouds right on the ground
deep *blue* fog.
Grape stems and seeds
into the night
tossed out the window
while dog watching.
Chunky guitar ringover
green sound drifting
small clicks from behind
a thicket.
Standing near some trees
solid stone
a stairway
table pictures.
Nine times
the picture manifested
in the woodgrain.
Ice coffee and smoke
sunshine and street.
Brightness of God
electric and speaking.
Got a headache
lonesome whistle moan pain.
She has a reptile soul
baby blue brain.
She drives and drives
and sometimes flies.
-Will Dockery (c)2003
Will, what is it with you lemons and women?
up until a few years ago his life was pretty much limited to breathingand scratching his maggot-infested beard. Poor little Dockery was born
with a brain the size of a speck of dust. The doctors warned him never
to attempt a thought -- NEVER! -- that even a simple thought would be
enough to short and fry his neural circuit. But the thing with Dockery
is that he never listens. You can tell him a thousand times not to
cross-post five hundred messages every week to irrelevant newsgroups,
but he won't listen. So, obviously the Dockery disregarded the doctors'
orders, and ... well, the results were too ugly to describe. Poor guy
spent the eighties and most of the nineties in a coma (not much
different from his previous state, you'll notice, except that he even
lost the ability to scratch his maggot-infested beard at will). Finally
science and technology had developed enough by the late nineties for the
doctors to attempt an extraordinary experiment: they planted and
wired-up a potato inside his head! It was an amazing success; for soon
enough the Dockery was not only scratching his beard, but prancing and
singing around the streets of Shadowville. And why not, right? He had
just acquired for himself the previously umimaginable intellectual
sophistication of a potato! Bang up he went like a step function, all
delirious and happy with new and grand possibilities. 'I'm a poet,' he
wrote, and keeps on writing to this day. To himself, mostly.
As an aside: in the last few years the doctors have conducted with
similar success a handful of other Dockery-style transplants on people
with various vegetables (radishes, tomatoes, celery, etc). And it's
pretty easy to spot these people, especially on Usenet. They're the ones
who think there's any worth in anything that Dockery writes.
"huh!"
http://www.amber-kaye.com/forum/viewthread.php?action=attachment&tid=199&pid=781