The only thing better than not doing
something well is not doing it at all
and the next best thing to that is screwing
it up completely so that it does not
come off as even a half-assed attempt
put forward by a half-wit or wing-nut
like when someone who, for instance, can't paint
sets out with best intent to sketch a scene
in oils but since Grandma Moses he ain't--
to employ slang--my pet orangutan
could do better; you get the picture, I
hope: it's embarrassing, though not the same
as what results from efforts of dabblers,
hobbyists, and amateurs who never
fail to miss the mark. These vain mishandlers
get it just a little bit wrong. So who
will tell them that a failure's a greater
failure to the extent it comes close
in the same way nearly great orators
are worse than verbose? Where's the pompous,
self-loathing, hectoring poetaster
who'll play the role of the disparager?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
1 comment:
Speaking of neighborhood art, I dreamed I was in a car with you and my former downstairs neighbor (a bearded poetess). She was driving the car in circles in front of a supermarket. I decided to get out, stating that I had nothing against driving in circles but that it was making me sick. I asked if either of you wanted anything from the store. She requested pasta. You, on the other hand, suddenly were wrestling a huge, cryovac-ed side of reindeer out of the back seat. You said you'd picked it up earlier in the day but had to go back in to pay for it--wanted me to take the cash in for you. I was astonished to learn that you live solely on reindeer during the winter. You pointed out that it's essentially caribou. And then...I woke up.
Post a Comment