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TreSwank -> Bad Online Poetry 2: The Saga Continues (10/1/2006 9:17:35 PM)
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I'll bet you boys and girls a shiny and well-polished buffalo nickel that it all started with a kind, but misplaced word of praise from Mrs. Sandrock in seventh-grade English. She probably skimmed through the shitty paper rather quickly, in that perfunctory, middle school teacher kind of way, repressing her well-trained gag reflex with every bland, sentimental, and downright embarrassing gush of emotional jibber-gabber. It must have taken a steadfast, George Patton-type resolve to keep down the stomach acids while reading through stanzas like THIS:
My life - a dark consummation of energies
My mercenary spirit quivers on the threshold of dark ecstasy.
You behold my scars, but look away
She was most definitely aware that you possessed some amateur-ish literary aspirations, but the ABSOLUTE worst thing that the wizened old bag could have done would be to ENCOURAGE you............which she did, probably against her better judgment.
I've always been of the mindset, that, had someone made a young Adolf Hitler privy to the fact that watercolors were not his strong suite - perhaps the young lad would have taken up a more profitable venture, like landscaping, or maybe even popular music. Given his penchant for Wagnerian opera, there's a chance that Hitler had some American Idol, Billboard Top 20 potential.
" Zees boot ver made for valking.
Un zat's just vut ze'll do."
Think about it for a minute or two, and let the good sense sink in. A moment of brutal honesty could have deterred young Adolf from the horrible, icky stigma of "failed artist", and simultaneously prevented the worst pogrom in history. I'm not saying that any of the amateur poets on this site are capable of genocide, but right there is a lesson to be learned.
Since childhood, I've had a very acute awareness of a deficiency in the realm of visual arts (I can't draw or paint worth a damn.) Accordingly, I steer away from anything that would involve drawing or painting, to avoid creating a great big load of dog shit, for folks with actual "skills" to attack derisively. Even if I picked up a brush right now, and donned a teeny-weeny black beret, my painting would still stink like a turd casserole, baked at 350. Then why, pray tell, does everyone with basic typing skills fancy themselves to be Mr./Mrs. Poet Laureate, full of profound insight and primal, creative energy?
I picked at this sore before...........but still, the quagmire of shitty online poetry persists, like breeding in low-income housing.
Paid for by "The Shitty Online Poetry Extermination Society"
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