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Beppo
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« Reply #4740 on: March 06, 2010, 04:42:02 PM » |
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Why don't I really care who Shakespeare was? As for Homer, isn't that kind of old news that he was a fiction, a composite for all the old stories and such? IIRC, even my high school English teacher, over 30 years ago, suggested that Homer wasn't an actual individual.
Oh, several reasons. It depends how much into Marlowe you is. Onesit you acknowledge how well he would have fit into The Wire, seein' his character was not really trustworthy, you might want to "revise" the plays wit a moh moden twist. You know he's goin to end up badly anyway. You heard about that didn't you? Ask Whiskey. Besides, Shakespeare was a product for a different generation on the go-back machine . Think about Hamlet, he's really twisted, a product of our times. I mean Andy Warhol was trying to emulate Ham and went too fa. It just doesn't figure somehow; you get it? I mean, I know he was shoving dames off and all but not from an aversion to dames; you got ta figure, he got some interesting action around the corner somewhere that he is keeping quiet. Just because he doesn't want his mom to be talked about as a slut doesn't mean he hates women. No, not totally. He has dese very mixed amotions about not having inherited his father's trip, manning an operation out of Jersey or somethin. Isle of Jersey, you know what I mean? Romie and Juliet is right here, now. Nothin has changed, teenagers think they in love, always end up in some shit. Never changed. You end up dead of something. For instance, Midsummer Night's Dream is some party, trippin', that went wrong. The rest of it is always all about gangsters, your main man. They always act like noboda knows they from Kings. Corey a line us. Know what I mean? An' then, Lear, who cornered the concession on makes and sells jets. How about that? The Queens are all fahked, like Hamlet's motha. What's this, with the Queen whose hands they cut off? Hey, somebody here bring me an-other sub an' a diet-Pepsi ! [Somebody in the next booth asks: "What about Homer, somebody wanted to know about Homer. What you gotta say about that?" Homer? That's way cool. Just so you got Henry Winkler for the part. Nobody else. man. Nobody can touch him. The influence of Marlowe on Shakespeare, according to Greenblatt, should ne'er be underestimated.
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whiskeypriest
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« Reply #4741 on: March 06, 2010, 04:46:42 PM » |
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Yes. Click on it everyone before it goes away!
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Look. The teeth, we don't know. A sign from Hashem? Don't know. Helping others? Couldn't hurt.
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appaloosabeach
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« Reply #4742 on: March 06, 2010, 08:17:23 PM » |
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64 degrees on the oregon coast today, you might be able to hear the plants growing in the greenhouse, if you don't speak, don't move, don't think. All of the above, I'm more than qualified.
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appaloosabeach
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« Reply #4743 on: March 06, 2010, 08:53:27 PM » |
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64 degrees, no wind, perturbed surf, blue jays, juncos, robins, chicadees, white crowned sparrows, all the birds fighting and flapping and looking for mates, blue herons, bald eagles overhead, sharp shinned hawks screeching, romeo, romeo, where the hell are you? Five mares in heat, the stallion wants to tear his pen down, but he respects the hot wire. Daffodils everywhere, plum and cherry trees doing a full bloom pink, a few honey bees. Lady bugs searching out left over aphids, pansys, petunias, my huckleberry bushes are blooming. Daphne. I have a hundred year old wisteria in the front yard, counting down. The lawn mower won't start, guess I'll sit on the deck.
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appaloosabeach
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« Reply #4744 on: March 06, 2010, 11:22:26 PM » |
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sitting on the deck, the deck was added to a hundred year old torn down house, we're ten feet from and ten feet above Allen Creek, a legendary stream down here on the south coast, murders, salmon runs, sea lions breaking down doors, trout and mud puppies, crawdads by the dozen, meth labs and automatic rifles just a quarter mile or so up the road, dead end of course, Forest Service land, no swat teams out here in the unemployed northwest coast, meth puts money back in the economy, buys gas from the Saudis, fertilizer from China, lumber from Canada, TURBO TAX, only nineteen bucks from the USA, you want me to take a census questionaire up that road?
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appaloosabeach
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« Reply #4745 on: March 06, 2010, 11:47:04 PM » |
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A census questionaire, you want me to ask questions about grampa and grama up there on Allen Creek. Grampa hasn't been seen since the 2001 district wrestling tournament, his grandson lost. So the old boy took a taxi home, fifty four miles, one way. He still runs the dairy, sits in an electric wheelchair, an electric wheel chair, God bless America, tells the Mexicans what cows to milk and what hay to feed and what time to hit the bushes, boys, the INS be heading this way. Grampa keeps a twelve guage next to the front door, loaded, he can recognise my whistle, so I'm safe. "Some day," he says, "all this will be yours."
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bosox18d
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« Reply #4746 on: March 07, 2010, 11:18:12 PM » |
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"Aye,ye speak like a poet but ye fight like one too" Groundskeeper Willie
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barton
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« Reply #4747 on: March 08, 2010, 10:23:47 AM » |
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Now there's a mental image that...well, let's just say that if Tarantino wrote this as a scene into his next movie, I would be so there.
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appaloosabeach
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« Reply #4748 on: March 09, 2010, 02:19:50 AM » |
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Took two mares to the beach today, Nozomi, a twelve year old appaloosa mare, a spotted horse Joseph would have been proud of, and Beamer, half sister to Zoe, a pretty palomino girl, blonde mane and tail, blonde almost silver, ten years old, a sweet, kind, would you rub my forehead horse, a Rose Parade palomino, she raised hell in the barn when she thought she wasn't going, calm down, I say, there's room for one more. Doing the saddles, cold like dead steel, wind from the northwest, 35, maybe 40, scrunchy hail, happy I have gloves, happy I have a warm horse.
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kitinkaboodle
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« Reply #4749 on: March 09, 2010, 07:51:39 AM » |
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Riding on the beach ~~ any beach ~~ how I do envy you, appy!
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Don't dance on a volcano...
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appaloosabeach
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« Reply #4751 on: March 10, 2010, 09:09:11 PM » |
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rode from the barn today, half a mile or so up the road we turn left, ignore the no tresspassing signs, walk lightly thru the front yard of an abandoned house, then down a narrow, nearly overgrown, sandy dirt packed road, country road, not the James Taylor country road, we move through forest and ferns and lime green moss. Broken tree tops block the path, the horses seem to enjoy the detours, up into the trees, dodging branches, moving sideways, no birds, no people, hooves on sand make a squeaky noise, shadows slide by, back on the road, road turns to sand, bright blue sky, bright blue sky.
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carol polk
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« Reply #4752 on: March 11, 2010, 12:38:10 AM » |
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It sounds to me like you're ready to start a magazine and cooking show on PBS in competition with the dude, Christopher something, who writesand videos so soulfully in Vermont. He could use some competition, if you ask me.
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appaloosabeach
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« Reply #4753 on: March 11, 2010, 08:18:21 PM » |
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A cold, cold ton of rain today. Dark, mostly blue, some black, lumbering clouds bump into the sides of the coastal hills, too heavy to pass over, they obscure everything green. Stalled, they bend sunlight into gloomy watercolor apparitions, greenish gray, blue gray, almost white gray. The heavy rain makes a noise when it hits the ground, hard to describe. All thirteen horses in the barn, warm and dry. They stand for hours, listening, waiting.
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appaloosabeach
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« Reply #4754 on: March 13, 2010, 09:11:45 PM » |
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Sping break in Oregon, welcome to nasty weather, cold and wet and hail and thunderboomers. Slippery rain running down their faces, the touristas don't want, no, can't spend money when they feel neglected, neglected by the weather Gods. The tourists can't spend rain, thinking they should have gone south to Texas. You walk down our beaches, surf runing about eight foot high, breaking right to left, left to right, the swells are a good twenty-five feet high. God bless the ocean, God bless the swells, like Cochise said a few years back, "the only good tourist is a dead tourist." The county won't pay for scalps, not like the good old days, however, there is a room tax.
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