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Tihmmnmmish's Cuddle-Friendly Fireside Threadcast

Well now, the way you do it, n shit, works, n shit. You did it so you made me laugh n shit. And... fuckinay, check this out, n shit: being thrust into that momentary torture, n shit, left an effect n shit, and when I remembered it this morning n shit, it started to piss me off again, n shit. So, y'know, maybe a way to get it fuckin off my fuckin back n shit, maybe write a ramble n shit. And that's fuckin what I fuckin did n shit. And felt better n shit. Now you, you see gold n shit and have been able to help me see that even going through linguistically-influenced-pain n shit is sometimes just the fuckin ticket n shit to, y'know... do shit, n shit.

So thanks a fuckin lot, n shit.

P.S.

your removal of the apostrophe between the n and the s of n shit... that helped it. I wasn't sure of the best way to write it. But you nailed it.

Cool.
 
*laughing, applauding*

Well done!

I have actually liked the way that phrase is occasionally used on line; there is such a fascinating language of internet interaction that is different from spoken dialogue, and I like to look at it closely, pick it apart with my fingernails.

I mean. I'm a linguist, and a poet, after all. *all elitist n shit*
 
well yes, internet-speak... allows you breathing space. Can from an easy chair or an armchair or even a beanbag bemusedly appreciate these linguistic sideshows. But this was real. A real human did this. Did it and didn't care. Had obviously picked it up from elsewhere, a large city or some native from a large city, or from a perverted television show, so then he became perverted, and brought his perversion to this gem of a nestled community, practiced his perversion so many days on end he forgot he was even doing, so he forgot he was even perverting anything, and causing anguish to a fellow human who happened to enter that humble store for no such perverse intentions but to purchase the one little item of habit... you know...

Oh and let this very unperverted threadcast host verbosely voice a word of gratitude to that kinky blue thing who chose to broadcast great enjoyment of a poetic piece I put up called Dead Meat. To soothe this kinky thing's no doubt fretful tender mind, yes, that end line was intentionally done that way. For effect. Abruptness. It created doubt in my mind too, which, I am slowly beginning to learn, can sometimes be a clue one might be going in the right direction. Because if it creates a doubtful abruptness for me... you see? The opening line was so done similarly. It bugged me for a few minutes that it might come to the poor unwary listener a bit chopped and sharp and hard. But because of that very questionable effect, I decided to leave it that way, and kept the period instead of inserting a comma or inserting nothing. So the kinky blue thing's perceptions are almost unsettlingly fine.

Oh and a funny thing happened somewhat shortly after that Dead Meat poetic piece's submission into the little white Lit box. I won't go into it now. But it involved two small chicks and one rambunctious cat. They weren't just ordinary chicks either. They were on the fancy side. Exotics I think you call them. It looked like miniature pom-poms had landed and got stuck on their heads. Anyway, the neighbor saw that I had stepped outside and called to me, asking if we'd gotten ourselves chickens. I replied that we had not. Then he pointed towards the ground. There were the two fancy chicks. What he wanted to most know was where them two fancy chicks may have come from. I told him I claimed no authority to say from where these two fancy chicks may have hailed. But then I suddenly remembered something, and I divulged to the neighbor the memory. That, I recalled a nearby fenced yard where I'd see larger versions of similar chicks. I openly surmised whether those chicks had made these chicks. The gaps in that nearby fence were not so wide, but wide enough that a pair of fancy chicks as these two who pecked at the neighbor's grass, might just be able to fit through.

Anyway, I was able to keep the old doggy buddy from giving harassment to those chicks, because dogs will sometimes listen and obey, because they love others besides themselves and so long to please. But later on I came out and the fancy chicks were still in the yard, except now the cat had appeared on the scene and did sheweth evidence of personal interest in those two fancy chicks. Well, cats do not follow orders like dogs do, so it was useless to say, "please, Romeo (that's the cat's name), do not molest those lost little chicks." So I attempted to take hold of the cat, which, under the circumstances became a slight difficulty because the cat knew tactics and found places beneath the neighbor's Jeep that were just beyond my reach, and would scamper to another place beneath the neighbor's Jeep just when my hands got too close.

Meanwhile, a guest had joined the neighbor in his house, and the guest stepped out and asked about the chicks, to which I replied what I replied to the neighbor on the neighbor's initial query. He then said something like, "they (meaning the chicks) were not causing any problems hanging around as they were."

I said, "but they are in danger."

Point being: the Dead Meat piece sketched a vulture/buzzard who calmly flew around high up in the sky, while aware of and fantasizing on, a mammal on the ground who, if something tragic would happen to that mammal, would give the vulture a very swell supper.

Hope those two chicks made it through the night okay.
 
Now see I don't swear very often and rarely in public it's a different generation thing I think. However I do hold my hands up and admit to tellling an Italian gentleman selling olives to Fuck off and shocking my older sister. Aha you may say she doesn't stick to her principles but he started it by refusing to give me a taster of his fine olives then berating me because said sister didn't want to buy his wares. True two wrongs don't make a right but if he's going to sling Italian expletives in my direction he can rightly expect Anglo Saxon ones slung back ... it's only fair after all I wouldn't want him to feel excluded
 
yes, in your case it was the timing, not overdone, which made it all the more effective. Some people, along their career paths in profanity learn this and others, sadly, do not. Also, I should probably temper what I do not mean to sound elitist, and should not wield these harsh criticisms too sharply. Because I do enjoy an advantage, having the privilege of The Master of Profanity embodied in the person of my dear old granddad. No one can touch him in that creative field. He employed variety and had an amazingly intuitive certainty of placement and timing and whether to use a Fuck or Motherfuck. Or no fuck at all. Sure, the man had his flaws. His was no pretty personality. But he was the Profanity Master. So my apologies if I've come across so fucking snooty about these matters, and I'll offer a forgiving prayer to the motherfucker who so tortured my delicate ears the other night. Amen babe.
 
I did once swear very explicitly and loudly when Ron drove the wrong way around a Spanish roundabout with his ex wife and son in the back (don't ask!) but I don't think there's any poetry in that
 
Well it's been a great three weeks. Didn't exactly submerge into word and notes as the fantasy so painted prior to the temporary return to bachelorhood, but, did a little bit. Enjoyed the mobility. That's the word, mobility. Not the best word. But a pretty good word. Go here, go there, do a little this, dabble that, sometimes nothing, or what would appear to most observations as nothing; yet in those moments of doing apparently nothing, several significant insights appeared, some of which I shared here, much I am still feeling out. Don't want to forget or lose them, but there is danger, while figuring out what to do next, happily so, of setting them aside, and forgetting, to my definite detriment, meaning a quick return to the more accustomed frustrations. It's easy to see and consider and even practice these things when you're alone and have the world to yourself. Another matter when another mind enters who might not see it your way. We'll see.

Didn't get to the KLIT idea. Started a couple times. Set it aside. It's still on the list. Decided go grab all the poetry and prose I ever had here and put them back and leave them, and just add variations as they come. Sort of started on that but didn't pursue it with the blind fervor the idea inspired. But, it felt pretty good, and still feels pretty good, so may continue it. Seems to be a good thing to do. Let what happens happen. It's there if someone wants it, and if nobody wants it, that's their right. I have to learn to allow them that freedom, to reject myself and my work, and not let that rejection get embedded in thought processes. That was probably one of the bigger insights. I guess everyone must have a demon. That's mine. Or one of them. Probably got a lot. But this one is the bugger. It's so habitual. Doing it without thinking about it. If I can kick that one, or at least get it under control, or at the very least recognize when I reach for it. Because it infects all other actions and writings. Actually once in a while the occasional wanderer seems to stumble onto something. they're in the right mood, and that one voice of acceptance has been all the more valuable because of its rarity. So it's good. All good. Might as well be.

There was more. Forgot it. Maybe later.
 
Damn! what did i miss?
KLIT idea??? oh, you know I need an explanation for that one!

As far as the talk about swearing, I had a friend in college who told me about a friend of hers in high school who swore but didn't know how to swear. She would say things like, "I ripped my jeans fuck," with no emphasis on the "fuck." It was hilarious to hear her tell those stories.. though you may have to be drunk or high or both to fully appreciate them.
 
hah! yes i know what you need. By gum... afraid I cannot divulge just what the significance of KLIT exactly entails. Been fuckin with riffs; might be a couple worthy presentations, except for the words. How's everything? Me? I'm gettin fucked up on wine. Been three months. Used to be frequent, gettin fucked up, but now, once in a while, like when missus hmmnmm gets back home and shit.
 
also trying to fight off the annual astrology jag. The rational side tells me it is completely profitless, while another side remains incurably curious. Tempted to inquire here, but this is a literary site/forum. It's the fucking ascendant question. If I go by the time of birth on my birth certificate, it's one thing; but if I account for the possibility of daylight savings observance, it comes out something else. I begin to be tempted to think that these desriptions are worded so that you could pick one at random and find enough that bespoke enough accuracy that you would not question they were just making up shit. But, even knowing this, it still bugs me. Not that it matters, because it doesn't matter, because I'm drunk on pretty good wine. But it bugs... those fuckers.
 
Had worse hangovers. Cranial pain does not promenade as it certainly could if it so chose to so flaunt itself. But its kin, the less painful Lethargy, does promenade so, though somewhat slowly, sorta shuffles. Sometimes a big fat messy orgasm can work wonders, do the trick, miracle restoration. Hard to see just how life could get any better. Fuck yeah.
 
Please bear with me I am breaking in a new mouse, actually the second new mouse I have had in a week. The first new mouse had no manners and didn't like taking orders it was an anarchist mouse. There's nothing more disconcerting when playing a game than the cursor shooting off in the opposite direction to your aim. The new 'new' mouse has it's idiosincracies too and I can't get a hang of the centre wheel which isn't a wheel at all and only seems to scroll downwards. It's washable though not that I've ever felt the need to wash a mouse not being given to throwing cups of coffee over it but I suppose there could be a first time and it must be more hygienic. I shall have to go try it on games which by the way is how I break in a new pair of varifocals, by the time I have finished concentrating I can see through them.
 
anarchist mouse

Now that's good. Like that. Not because it couldn't appreciate being given orders at annie's hand, but the phrase. It reaches. It lives. Might snatch it from you. Actually already did.

I'm gravitating back towards sounds/audio/etceteras. Probably my favorite field to work in, but the vocalizing is dang tricky. The whole thing is a case of high pleasure levels but very low confidence levels. Deficits appear more clear and glaringly contrast against an ideal, deficits in tools, actual usage ability of those tools... on the other hand it's a hoot to try to work with them anyway, see what one can hammer out within the limitations one has at hand.
 
Our mice are anarchists. And performance artists. and they clearly understand irony. They once filled the toe of one of my boots with cat food.

Does a mouse understand that cat food attracts cats? Are mice inherently suicidal, or are they just a lost generation, living dangerously, like characters in Easy Rider?
 
Probably as many mice who don't as do. Probably some oldtimer mice who try to tell the younger whippersnapper mice about the dangers of playing with cat food, but the young rebel mice stomp as best a scurrying creature can stomp, and shout "fuck you! N shit! Don't tell me what the fuck to do, n shit!" And they run off to experiment with cat food, and some come home and some... well some don't. Some end up in tubs or worse. Maybe.
 
hmmnmm said:
Probably as many mice who don't as do. Probably some oldtimer mice who try to tell the younger whippersnapper mice about the dangers of playing with cat food, but the young rebel mice stomp as best a scurrying creature can stomp, and shout "fuck you! N shit! Don't tell me what the fuck to do, n shit!" And they run off to experiment with cat food, and some come home and some... well some don't. Some end up in tubs or worse. Maybe.
Click to expand...

Rodent Without a Cause.

The motorcycle helmets would have to have big cutouts for the ears. Wild mouse youth, running amok, their tiny paws raised in defiance against the Man.

"What are you rebelling against?"

"Whaddya got?"
 
Purr is a universal, and very beautiful, language.

And man, I'll be the first to praise the virtues and perks (okay, maybe not the first, maybe the twentieth) of matrimonial partnership. But sometimes... I wonder if some of us were really wired for a long and happy life of bachelorhood. Nah. Certainly not. Nah.
 
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