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Hermit
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Re:Hermitish Poetry
« Reply #15 on: 2007-08-13 09:01:53 »
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Realization

The fetid reek of your breath
Comes over me in waves
As you condemn
the lesbian, gay and transsexual.

Maybe you are right
And your morals* truly are
Superior to theirs
But I,
I would rather be kissing them.

Envoi

The moral to this story lies beneath
If you seek to be pure
And "moral", to be sure
Please don't forget to brush your teeth.


*Morals are, of course, nothing more (or less) than the collected prejudicis we learned as we lapped at our mothers' dugs and so take without thought as the only possible way to live correctly.
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With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion. - Steven Weinberg, 1999
Blunderov
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Re:Hermitish Poetry
« Reply #16 on: 2007-08-13 12:32:34 »
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[Blunderov] I can sympathise with the general sentiment but cannot help but wonder what in particular precipitated this sonnet?
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Re:Hermitish Poetry
« Reply #17 on: 2007-08-15 13:38:45 »
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Nothing peculiarly dramatic.

Having been put in the unfortunate position of having to listen to a nauseating outpouring of bigotry from somebody far too inept to recognise my sarcasm for what it was, infused by halitosis as nasty as the purveyor's intolerance, before I went to sleep; combined in my head in a dream that had me waking myself up angry about it all over again.

So annoyed was I that rose and attempted to convetrt my feelings into poetry instead of prose, poetry having the twin virtues of being shorter, and requiring a lot more thought.

While, by the time I'd finished playing with it, I was no longer as annoyed as I had been, I was sufficiently pleased with the result to post it.

Kindest Regards

Hermit

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With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion. - Steven Weinberg, 1999
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Re:Hermitish Poetry
« Reply #18 on: 2007-10-07 11:42:55 »
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I was looking for something else entirely, when I came across this piece, lurking hoof in mouth, in our archives ( [ Church of Virus BBS, General, Creative Endeavors, A poem for the U.S. servicemen/women, Bass, 2006-11-18 ] ). It is poetry, a sonnet, and it is by Hermit, so it probably belongs here. It is also nasty. Though not, perhaps, nearly as nasty as our illegal war and ongoing genocide in Iraq. I'll let the original caveats and the work speak for themselves.


Caveat. The following poem is meant to be as disgusting and offensive as I found the original (http://www.snopes.com/holidays/christmas/glurge/different.asp) in the context of what Our Dear Misleader's US has done to the people of Iraq. Neocons are strongly disinvited to read it.

Kindest Regards

Hermit.

Scroll down only if you have a strong stomach and do not mind being offended.













Sgt Drippy's Song of the Relief of Fallujah

The embers of Fallujah glowed and in their pale phosphorescent light
I gazed round the room, and my trousers stretched tight
For there was a dead "insurgent", who had now found rest,
And the blast that had killed her had blown off her dress.

Outside there was blood, guts, pools of shite
But her thirteen year body, just promised delight
I ripped off my trousers, swapped rifle for gun
Even before I got into her, I'd started to cum

The sparkling cumdrops on her near hairless snatch
Were achingly pretty, my breath started to catch
My balls were quite heavy, my dick went in deep
Ripping tissues aside, satisfaction came cheap

And leaving the bitch in a pool of my cream
Pulled my trousers back on and returned to my team.

(C) Hermit 2006 - All Rights Reserved


I did warn you. Bear in mind that the reality is apparently often worse. At least this fictional girl was already dead.
« Last Edit: 2007-10-07 22:03:38 by Hermit » Report to moderator   Logged

With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion. - Steven Weinberg, 1999
Hermit
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Re:Hermitish Poetry
« Reply #19 on: 2007-11-27 09:24:34 »
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A Song of Restoration

Shrunken windows, tilted floors.
Broken banisters, lopsided doors
All were once a part of me,
But just look at me now.
All were once a part of me,
now they lie anyhow.

Forgotten kisses, ancient history
My heart is aching, for more
Lost memories, its a mystery
Who was I before.
Who I am, that's easy
I am just me, nothing more
But who I was, that is teasing me
And I'm no longer sure.

This house has an echo,
As I cross its floor
While it is now sadder,
I've been here before.
And I am now madder,
Of that I am sure.

Sadly dilapidated, Age has touched the house and I
I see my reflection and I wish I could cry
The hairs on my head are now faded and gray
And the echo of laughter has faded away.
So I sit on the stairs,
And I think of the strife
That has ruined this house,
That has taken my life

Forgotten kisses, ancient history
My heart is aching, for more
Lost memories, its a mystery
Who was I before.
Who I am, that's easy
I am just me, nothing more
But who I was, that is teasing me
And I'm no longer sure.

And I see in the past,
Through the veil of years
An end to all sorrow,
An end to the tears
Once again in my mind,
The house will stand tall
Restored and renewed,
And that is not all.

Forgotten kisses, ancient history
My heart is aching, for more
Lost memories, its a mystery
Who was I before.
Who I am, that's easy
I am just me, nothing more
But who I was, that is teasing me
And I'm no longer sure.

As I grasped for the pieces
To build it again
I found I shed the years
And unnecessary pain.
For the house is inside,
It is still part of me
And as I rebuilt it,
It quite restored me.

Who I am, that's easy
I am just me, nothing more
And I am indisputably
The child of who I was before.

Copyright Hermit November 2007. All rights reserved.
First published on the BBS of the church of virus at http://www.churchofvirus.org/bbs
Reproduction is permitted so long as this copyright notice is maintained in full.



Why?

[22:43]  A Friend: shrunken windows....
[22:44]  A Friend: oh
[22:44]  You: I should write a song about that.
[22:44]  A Friend: i did that when i dragged it
[22:44]  A Friend: lol
[22:44]  You: It begs for it.
[22:44]  A Friend: do it

So I did.
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With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion. - Steven Weinberg, 1999
Hermit
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Re:Hermitish Poetry
« Reply #20 on: 2008-02-27 15:47:35 »
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Dees Cyst, In Sane Mantis

Deluded thundershowers of man piss,
Like the Mississippi, which just keeps rolling on,
Dees/Salamantis bitch, just weeps, trolling on;
The first task is to divide it all,
Before we shoot, provide a wall.
Israel can be relied upon to escalate any situation,
America to practice escalatio on Middle Eastern or Asian,
Meanwhile, one country at a time,
We know the evil monkey commits crime.
And Dees again portrays with warp'd scene
Yet the sun's rays pith his vapid skein
His tale's all told
Technique too old
The torrid floods from Salamantis/Dees
Florid turds dispatched upon sand fleas
From rabid right wing writers who
Make assertions real war fighters poo
Evicted with minor bother and no fuss
Deflected brother, through the hand of us.

(C) Hermit 2006.

This seems to be the order of the day.

(BTW Blunderov, which hubristic link was supposed to arise from your  suggestion to which this tribute with variations in a minor key plays? I don't think I found what you intended, but verse.)

For your reading pleasure:

Like a spigot plunged into a cask of fine wine,
The most horrid puns of the title of mine,
Are clearly intended to fork the first line,
So forming yet another hubristic couplet,
Unclothed even with singlet,
Never mind with a doublet,
Whilst the torrid floods of florid turds,
Were intended as spoon-eristic words,
To take the pith out of the knife. (knave)
And now I hope, 'tis plain to see,
You have a full hand of cutlery
Which is better by far than our least favorite retard
Who's returned still missing a full deck of cards.)

(C) Hermit 2006.



Found at Mailing List,Virus 2006,Re:Target Tehran, Reply #30, Hermit, 2006-09-28 while looking for something else entirely.
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With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion. - Steven Weinberg, 1999
Blunderov
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Re:Hermitish Poetry
« Reply #21 on: 2008-02-27 23:10:46 »
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[Blunderov]<quoting from recent troll scats>

"Most of the material shown to Iran by the IAEA on alleged attempts to make nuclear arms came from Washington*, though some was provided by U.S. allies**"

"The assumption is this was not something that was being thought about or talked about, but the assumption is it was being practically worked on," Smith told reporters"

[Bl.] I suppose Smith is entitled to any "assumptions" that he cares to entertain - it's his mind and he has to live with it. Which is not to say that anybody else needs to take his obvious stoogery at all seriously. Two words: "yellow cake". Four more; "don't waste our time".

*Gosh. From Washington. It must be true then. Woo. So credible. (935 lies that led to the Gulf War 2 was it?)

** Gosh. From Washington's allies. That confirms it then.



« Last Edit: 2008-02-27 23:25:58 by Blunderov » Report to moderator   Logged
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Re:Hermitish Poetry
« Reply #22 on: 2008-06-08 12:28:12 »
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"Protigonish"

Last night upon the stair,
I met a girl who didn't care.
She didn't care again today,
I love it when they get that way.

When I came home,last night at three,
The girl came right along with me!
Our cries resounded in the hall,
My neighbor thumping on the wall!
Still we banged on four hours or more;
A marathon till my rubber tore.

The girl said again she did not care
But still I'm pulling out my hair.
The girl looked swollen up today,
I fear she's in the family way.


Copyright Hermit 2008


Inspiration :

"Antigonish"

Yesterday upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn't there.
He wasn't there again today,
Oh how I wish he'd go away.

When I came home last night at three
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall
I couldn't see him there at all!
Go away, go away, don't you come back any more!
Go away, go away, and please don't slam the door... (slam!)

Yesterday upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn't there.
He wasn't there again today,
Oh how I wish he'd go away.


William Hughes Mearns, 1899


Inspiration and parody first posted on thread at Church of Virus BBS, General, Science & Technology, Air Force Demonstrates 'Ghost Imaging', Blunderov, 2008-06-03

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Re:Hermitish Poetry
« Reply #23 on: 2008-06-08 15:12:30 »
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Quote from: Hermit on 2008-06-08 12:28:12   

"Protigonish"

Last night upon the stair,
I met a girl who didn't care.
She didn't care again today,
I love it when they get that way.

When I came home,last night at three,
The girl came right along with me!
Our cries resounded in the hall,
My neighbor thumping on the wall!
Still we banged on four hours or more;
A marathon till my rubber tore.

The girl said again she did not care
But still I'm pulling out my hair.
The girl looked swollen up today,
I fear she's in the family way.


Copyright Hermit 2008


[Blunderov] I very much enjoyed this somewhat Rabelaisian verse. A fine effort.

(Puts me in mind of a favourite song by 'James'
http://www.sing365.com/music/lyric.nsf/Laid-lyrics-James/211C01639F80592848256A8C002FAC37

Laid Lyrics
Artist(Band):James

This bed is on fire
With passion and love
The neighbors complain about the noises above
But she only comes when she's on top

My therapist said not to see you no more
She said you're like a disease without any cure
She said I'm so obsessed that I'm becoming a bore, oh no
Ah, you think you're so pretty

Caught your hand inside the till
Slammed your fingers in the door
Fought with kitchen knives and skewers
Dressed me up in women's clothes
Messed around with gender roles
Dye my eyes and call me pretty

Moved out of the house, so you moved next door
I locked you out, you cut a hole in the wall
I found you sleeping next to me, I thought I was alone
You're driving me crazy, when are you coming home

Laid~
Laid~~)

[Blunderov] Somebody's been reading my mail it seems....

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« Reply #24 on: 2008-07-27 18:22:25 »
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When I was back there in seminary school

Drowning in Oceans of Semen from the school
Which was maybe why they called it a Semen-ary
It seemed to be a general rule
That priests would punish them with pricks quite scary
Thrusting, puffing, swollen bellies squashing boys across the bed
Their victims soon  learned to give head
And smearing butter across their bums
would grease the way for the priests and their chums
It was better that way, somebody said
And better by far than wishing to be dead
When seated on the throne desperately trying
To shit through torn and bloody anus while crying
Softly wishing to find some comfort in the long nights
Surrounded by churchmen demanding their rights

Now the boy that you saw has grown into a man
And writes strange lyrics as only those can
Who have suffered abuse
Or maybe more
And who still can remember the cold of the floor
And the feeling of terror that rises inside
When a priest approaches a child to bestride
And the child is alone with nowhere to hide
And the fat of those prelates jiggles with mirth
As they pull out their codgers like cows giving birth
And the boy on the floor pees himself in alarm
While from their habits pasty white arms
Squeezed the mottled purple pricks until drowned by their alms
And covered in semen, oozing bukaki charms
From every orifice their cum still drips
These defenders of morals these most Christian pricks
Doing in truth a great deal less harm
Than their bibles and beliefs
Their certain crowd pleasers
Their bullshit, their morals, their sexual diseases
And the worst of it all their faith in "Jesus"
The offspring of a child murdering father god
You'd think that to call this "loving" is odd
But its perversions like these that these child stiffing cunts
Have used to convert much of mankind into mindless runts

Envoi

So why should we care 'bout a child or two
Whose backside is bleeding, or yellow or blue
When these mind fucking arseholes are working to screw
All of mankind which includes me and you?


Copyright Hermit 2008, Creative Commons, Attribution, Non-profit, share alike.

PS Perhaps I should note that I never was in a seminary school and my annoyance is much more inspired by the issues raised in the last stanza, particularly in the light of Church of Virus BBS, General, Philosophy & Religion, The Pope vs. the Pill, Walter Watts, 2007-07-27 and the not entirely unrelated Church of Virus BBS, General,Science & Technology,Parameter left to constrain and reduce is Population,Fritz,2008-02-25


The inspiration:

The Soft Parade

When I was back there in seminary school, there was a person there
Who put forth the proposition, that you can petition the lord with prayer
Petition the lord with prayer, petition the lord with prayer
You cannot petition the lord with prayer!
Can you give me sanctuary, I must find a place to hide, a place for me to hide
Can you find me soft asylum, I cant make it anymore, the man is at the door
Peppermint, miniskirts, chocolate candy, champion sax and a girl named sandy
Theres only four ways to get unraveled, one is to sleep and the other is travel, da da
One is a bandit up in the hills, one is to love your neighbor till
His wife gets home
Catacombs, nursery bones, winter women, growing stones
Carrying babies, to the river
Streets and shoes, avenues, leather riders
Selling news, the monk bought lunch
Ha ha, he bought a little, yes, he did, woo!
This is the best part of the trip, this is the trip, the best part
I really like, whatd he say? , yeah!, yeah, right!
Pretty good, huh, huh!, yeah, Im proud to be a part of this number
Successful hills are here to stay, everything must be this way
Gentle streets where people play, welcome to the soft parade
All our lives we sweat and save, building for a shallow grave
Must be something else we say, somehow to defend this place
Everything must be this way, everything must be this way, yeah
The soft parade has now begun, listen to the engines hum
People out to have some fun, a cobra on my left
Leopard on my right, yeah
The deer woman in a silk dress, girls with beads around their necks
Kiss the hunter of the green vest, who has wrestled before
With lions in the night
Out of sight!, the lights are getting brighter
The radio is moaning, calling to the dogs
There are still a few animals, left out in the yard
But its getting harder, to describe sailors, to the underfed
Tropic corridor, tropic treasure
What got us this far, to this mild equator?
We need someone or something new
Something else to get us through, yeah, cmon
Callin on the dogs, callin on the dogs
Oh, its gettin harder, callin on the dogs
Callin in the dogs, callin all the dogs, callin on the gods
You gotta meet me, too late, baby
Slay a few animals, at the crossroads, too late
All in the yard, but its gettin harder, by the crossroads
You gotta meet me, oh, were goin, were goin great
At the edge of town, tropic corridor, tropic treasure
Havin a good time, got to come along, what got us this far
To this mild equator? , outskirts of the city, you and i
We need someone new, somethin new, somethin else to get us through
Better bring your gun, better bring your gun
Tropic corridor, tropic treasure, were gonna ride and have some fun
When all else fails, we can whip the horses eyes
And make them sleep, and cry


Jim Morrison, The Doors.
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Hermit
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Re:Hermitish Poetry
« Reply #25 on: 2009-04-07 15:43:17 »
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Chimpzilla, a Tribute

In the shit spattered oval office of Bush
A monkey sat on his blue-bottomed tush
Clinton just got his dick twirled,
I've fucked the whole world
Whaddya mean that I'm here through a putsch

When putsch comes to shove I'm a brat
I haz always known just where it's at
You may think its peculiar
When I say nuculear
But I are still the Prez and all that

And you can't get me out of this chair
Even if you notice that I'm covered in hair
See my fine cowboy hat
Brokeback Mountain, what's that
There's no monkey business but mine here

Don't think we will ever come clean
I am owned by the party machine
Which is why no-one will see
That like a chimpanzee
I'm not just stoopid, I'm mean

So I'll do what I like when I want
If you try to stop me you can't
Who needs elocution
When the constitution's
No match for jingoist cant

Don't tell me you are still agog
The tail is still wagging the dog
The recipe's easy
Play stupid, act sleazy
and no-one will see through the fog

Copyright: Creative Commons, Share-Alike, Not for Profit, For Attribution "Hermit, Church of Virus, http://www.churchofvirus.org/bbs, 2006."
Dated: 2006-09-05


Inspiration
On the Bush scam, I think it is spoiled by the fact that the English is far too good for Our Dear Misleadertm. He is 'kleerly DeesKumBombBoozeLatered*' by words more complex than common or garden monosyllables or grunts**. In any case, this letter is not, in my opinion, particularly funny simply because it comes far too close to the mark. Bush's scam mastery is completely invisible to most Americans, not because it is hidden, it is not, but simply because it takes the ability to count on one's fingers to recognize the far from hidden cost of soaring importation of daily necessities ,with no balancing exports to pay for them; at the same time as Our Dear Misleadertm promises on behalf of our great grandchildren (if any of our descendents survive that long - a probability which his actions seem almost designed to avoid) to make future payments. This has permitted the borrowing and transfer of vast amounts of  money to the Bush Buddies today, effectively repeating the "future theft" of the Republicans in the 1980s (when the same players as are currently at the helm looted Social Security for the first time), ensuring that the current insanely high (real rate of around 9%) and poorly concealed inflation (which is how payments are being extracted) persists even as the likelihood of anything else doing so is minimized. Visualize the impact of simultaneous rampant inflation and a massive recession (stagflation). Or how to make  Zimbabwe look good.

Kind Regards

Hermit

*discombobulated
**In the real world, this is recognized as symptomatic of pathological brain damage often caused by cocaine abuse, refer e.g. http://www.nida.nih.gov/NIDA_notes/NNVol13N3/Cocaine.html.
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With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion. - Steven Weinberg, 1999
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