new old kid on the blog,
with an occasional
old or new poem written off
the old writer's block
I worry sometimes that I suffer from this affliction, running off at the mouth. I hope not, but worse still is to run off at the keyboard.
I love logs.
Elisabeth--Some people are a pleasure to listen to--I wouldn't worry if I were you (familiar?).Peter--OK--you roll my log and I'll roll yours till we both run off the end--log on, man!
"Sinking in deep shit..."Sharp jolt of tangential recognition.The plot of Terry Southern's The magic Christian: a diabolical pseudo-philanthropist, Guy Le Grand, in order to prove for all time the corrupting influence of money, has a gigantic tub filled to the brim with human feces, then has a great pile of hundred-dollar bills poured in, and stirred well; and enjoys the sight of passers-by plunging into and flailing wildly around in that roiling tub of shit.Even slipperier than log-rolling.Could they all have been writers, in the parable?(By the by, furtherly tangential, it was Peter Sellers' favourite book, he played the part of Guy Le Grand in the film, and worked on Stanley Kubrick to get Terry Southern hired-on as a writer on Doctor Strangelove.)
Talk about getting me off my log and on a tangent--I remember both movies with pleasure--had me rolling in the proverbial aisle!