Poets and writers drink more intensely. Smoke more intensely. Worship God more intensely. Poets and writers fuck more intensely. Poets and writers give more willingly-- spilling the alphabetical marrow of their souls out into the albino sonogram of hope that is the page, hoping some stranger whom he or she has never before met turns to his crafted syllables in time of dire need and somehow finds solace, finds laughter finds a friend.
Monday, August 26, 2013
...sounds ike something my dear high school english teacher Larry Reents woud say....
..was cruising down past the seven figure mansions of antiquity dotting the cusp of Grandview drive last night with my dear high school English teacher when he turned to me and oh-so poetically posited, "Look David, Those are the houses where all the writers' who don't use run-on sentences live."
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...house where I crashed on HIGH STREET at the time of my father's death circa 2001-2002.....love you Dave Thompson (and Larry as well)....
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