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I started seeing poetry from a strictly consumerist perspective as poets serving up beverages. Most, maybe like 97 percent or something, serve lemonade. You can consume their work and it will teach you nothing, and it will leave a sticky unpleasant feeling in your mouth and a slight nausea in your stomach. There are all kinds of home-made lemonades, milky lemonade, watery lemonade, some throw pepper in it or even puke in the lemonade, but its still lemonade, just a puky sort. Then there are a few that offer stronger drinks. Some say the secret is the cellar, but I think that's just a propaganda story. If you leave a bottle of lemonade in the cellar for 10 years it won't turn into wine. But some of these fools are doing exactly that. Stinky old lemonade full of dust. And then there's those that think the problem is the Lemonade isn't smooth enough and they start filtering it with a sieve, imagining to be gold-diggers or something. No no no, the secret isn't cellars. The secret is rather a sincere hate for lemonade. As long as you don't hate lemonade with every pore in your body, as long as a part of you accepts the lemonade, then forget about the cellars. But if your soul says 'Fuck the Lemonade' then it starts to search. You will find that a small percentage of poetry offered is like a strong beverage. Most then, again, are like cheap beer or wine. To find a wine that's actually good or even a decent whiskey you have to sift to tuns of poems, and then you find some. There are just a few people. Just a few. I dont know if the secret of the cellar applies here either. It might. It might not. I often suspect all these blokes with distilleries are fooling the hell out of everyone. Think about it. Twenty years on a barrel of whiskey and it will sell like gold. Anyone with a sense of business would want to speed that shit up. And yet they're all flaunting the secret of their cellars, I don't believe a word of it. There's simply too much whiskey in these world and too few cellars. So I sincerely believe that the road to great poetry is to say 'Fuck the Cellars' in your soul, and start to search. There's a minute speck of poems out there that are beverages, but of a different, narcotic kind. They are almost impossible to find or create. Poetry clubs and societies do their utter best to ignore it, ban it, destroy it. These are poems that by nature make the reader say 'Fuck Beverages!' in his soul. I wish i never used this shit. Fucking hell, whats wrong with the guy who made this? That's the sort of poetry I would call a honorable beverage. But you have to ditch Lemonade, Cellars, and Beverages to get there. And you can't do that because you have not enough thirst in your soul. That's what it all starts with: thirst. And the secret of thirst is very simple: it requires a desert in your heart. ↗
There's something about Marxism that brings out warts; the only kind of growth this economic system encourages. ↗
The Republican argument that raising the debt ceiling encourages additional future spending is logically irresponsible. The debt ceiling has to be raised to authorize spending already approved by Congress. Despite that fallacy, the GOP has been able to score political points with its argument. ↗
To the man of science, on his unassuming and laborious travels, which must often enough be journeys through the desert, there appear those glittering mirages called 'philosophical systems'; with bewitching deceptive power they show the solution of all enigmas and the freshest draught of the true water of life to be near at hand; his heart rejoices, and it seems to the weary traveller that his lips already touch the goal of all the perseverance and sorrows of the scientific life... Other natures again, may well grow exceedingly ill-humoured and curse the salty taste which these apparitions leave behind in the mouth and from which arises a raging thirst – without one having been brought so much as a step nearer to any kind of spring. ↗
