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THere's a difference between a comfort zone, which is something you're IN and a signature, which is something you HAVE. I also had a hunch that #2 was one of yours. Not because it's a specific genre or style, but because you put your own mark on it. A certain pace, type of phrasing, and choice of topics that gives it identity. And that's definitely not a bad thing.
The most interresting artist makes different genres fit THEIR style. Even if it chafes.
The least interresting artist is the competent chameleon who blends in with the white noise.
THere's a difference between a comfort zone, which is something you're IN and a signature, which is something you HAVE. I also had a hunch that #2 was one of yours. Not because it's a specific genre or style, but because you put your own mark on it. A certain pace, type of phrasing, and choice of topics that gives it identity. And that's definitely not a bad thing.
The most interresting artist makes different genres fit THEIR style. Even if it chafes.
The least interresting artist is the competent chameleon who blends in with the white noise.
Quality poem, remec. Hey, do you know what ever happened to AverageGina?
Oh god, I had just about managed to suppress my memories of the 80's...Compa Compa Compa Compa Compa-chameleon, you come and go, you come and go-oh-oh!
Oh god, I had just about managed to suppress my memories of the 80's...
Oh god, I had just about managed to suppress my memories of the 80's...
However an old fogie it makes me sound the 60s had the best music leading into the Glam Rock of the 70s but when punk rock came along that's when I bailed out
I haven't forgotten this challenge, but life does what it does. I don't think the challenge is done for me either. This is just one thought, and it goes as it goes.
For the record, this is an observation, not something that is actually happening to me. Nor is it an assessment of anyone that takes part in this thread. And no dead animals were flogged in the creation of this blurt.
For the record, I do have the ancient correspondence bound by dissicated rubber bands. I wonder what happened to her? But that is part of another blurt. Maybe.
Blame it on my age.
rubber bands so old
they break when I ponder words
sent so many years ago.
Somehow we managed
to maintain love,
even from a distance,
with so few words
Written on a page
by hand.
We took the time to think
and write about how we felt,
what we did,
where we were,
what our plans were
once we got back together.
Then we sent those pages,
knowing it might be weeks
before we received a reply,
a wait that seemed at times, intolerable.
But letters are no more,
with emails and text messages.
Instant gratification
with no real need to ponder a reply.
So now I know that we are the rubber band,
snapped when strained.
So ironic that the first letter I received from you in years
came as a cover for a legal document.