From: Jim Mortellaro <Jsmortell@aol.com> Date: Sat, 9 Oct 1999 18:06:32 EDT Fwd Date: Sun, 10 Oct 1999 10:54:01 -0400 Subject: Re: Alfred's Odd Ode #320 >Date: Sat, 09 Oct 1999 08:11:10 -0500 >From: Alfred Lehmberg <Lehmberg@snowhill.com> >To: UFO UpDates - Toronto <firstname.lastname@example.org> >Subject: Alfred's Odd Ode #320 >Apology to MW #320 (For October 9, 1999) <snip> >No, we hang by threads. At the complete whim of the arbitrary, >we are song and danced by a cloying appeal to tradition and >ceremony. These traditions of Aristotle, and these ceremonies of >elitist convenience do nothing but beg the inevitable question; >however, a question largely unanswered but for a smirking retort >that maintains a status quo leading to an increasingly >exclusionary and suicidal dead end. >Somebody knows. >UFOs are, by definition, change, and point to worlds with much >more breadth and scope -- potential and expansiveness. It gets >no easier to maintain a fašade of normalcy for the smirking >denial of these few, so fearlessly -- ask your own questions >though the answers (or the suggestions of answers) offend you, >shock you, or shame you. There is joy beyond the shame, >satisfaction beyond the shock, and fellowship beyond the >offense. >And it's real. Dear Errol, List and Al, especially you, Al... I am positive certain I shall be castrated... uh, castigated, (sorry, I have been imbibing on the elixer of joy and am presently in my cups, as Tiny Tim's daddy was that fate filled Christmas Day, oolong ago - no - twasn't tea, twas a Dickens).... uh, where the hell was I? Oh, I remember now. Lehmberg's a lot (to me anyway) like a new Dylan song, when Docca Zimmy was maken' 'em new all the time. At first you got this feeling that the words had a ring of truth, but you saw only the exterior. You had to listen to it again and again in order to force the truth from the words. And what was the truth in them? Easy boy, this is gonna be a bitch to bite. The truth was not the truth ... that is, the ultimate truth, the truth was what it meant to you. How it's Rimbaudian inagery affected and effected you. That is the proof of great poetry. The meaning, the truth, it contains for you, personally. But in addition, there is also some kernel of absolute truth therein. But Rimbaud had nuttin on you Lemme. I vote for Lemme as Poet Lauriate of the United States. I seriously doubt if the "I never inhaled" and the "I never nailed her" president would even consider such, but he should. It's probably the only truth we'll see from this most pubicly indulgent president this nation has ever seen. Al, you are one in a million. That makes you an ascended master to us and dangerous to them. If they come take our weapons, you can come live with Rosie and me in the north woods, where we have a good view of the surrounding area. An easily defended home with an arsenal of powerful and dangerous words.... yours. They'll never even THINK of invading us with you there. Even if they take my guns. All I want is Lemme and just my one ten inch mortar and the 50 calibre machine gun. Maybe the rocket launcher, you know, for 4th of July celebrations. Thank you sir. If anyone is soaring, it's you. By the way, I liked the bovine part a lot.... tee hee. Jim Mortellaro "I soar, I cleave. But damned if I can land all that good."
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