I see it starts with Fryatt the bruiser doing her usual and lashing into poor old Arthur with her usual trick of feinting praise:
The bland prose intensifies the uncanny stillness and emptiness of Drooker’s imagesShe's very gifted at this caper i've noted, and as i scrolled down, saw a lost of Ireland's finest thinkers and being hinest Dave, skim read most, as i was only looking to measure their prose.
Same as last night at the Church in Stephan's Green, spending 15 euro for a good cause and simultaneously getting to grips with the prose MO of a few new names in: The Watchful Heart A New Generation of Irish Poets - Poems and Essays.
Your fellow stablemate, Alan Gillis was the one who impressed me most (apart from yourself of course), as he had the banter going on, not taking himself too seriously. Boran of course, did not bore me, and his poems impressed, nature stuff in floral metaphor of flowers folding out into knowing and the deepest secrets of the universe lightly worn by the Portlaoise pretender to the throne of Ard Ollamh.
I left the book behind the bar in Cassidy's, after listening to Ballyfermot's finest Brian Brody, who lashes it out 25 hours a week and whose voice is whip chord roary phwoar.
It was the prose i was interested in and ran through everyone in an hour or so. Your piece i had already read, but Gillis, he was the only one to get the jealous gene twittering.
Having now crossed over into the real;m of theatre, my public performances at Poetry gatherings are severely limited to the minimal, nip in near the end and purchase the book, pretend i am the most important person in the room, whilst simultaneously pretending i cannot see anyone else, as they act at the same gig, pretending thay cannot see me.
I have learnt, best to dole out the halloos on a strict basis of whim and what one feels like in the moment, and as soon as contact is made, amek sure to dominate and take total possession of it. Don't give the other bore a chance, just drill one's own gas, gas, gas and take down the big names.
1 comment:
I see it starts with Fryatt the bruiser doing her usual and lashing into poor old Arthur with her usual trick of feinting praise:
The bland prose intensifies the uncanny stillness and emptiness of Drooker’s imagesShe's very gifted at this caper i've noted, and as i scrolled down, saw a lost of Ireland's finest thinkers and being hinest Dave, skim read most, as i was only looking to measure their prose.
Same as last night at the Church in Stephan's Green, spending 15 euro for a good cause and simultaneously getting to grips with the prose MO of a few new names in: The Watchful Heart
A New Generation of Irish Poets - Poems and Essays.
Your fellow stablemate, Alan Gillis was the one who impressed me most (apart from yourself of course), as he had the banter going on, not taking himself too seriously. Boran of course, did not bore me, and his poems impressed, nature stuff in floral metaphor of flowers folding out into knowing and the deepest secrets of the universe lightly worn by the Portlaoise pretender to the throne of Ard Ollamh.
I left the book behind the bar in Cassidy's, after listening to Ballyfermot's finest Brian Brody, who lashes it out 25 hours a week and whose voice is whip chord roary phwoar.
It was the prose i was interested in and ran through everyone in an hour or so. Your piece i had already read, but Gillis, he was the only one to get the jealous gene twittering.
Having now crossed over into the real;m of theatre, my public performances at Poetry gatherings are severely limited to the minimal, nip in near the end and purchase the book, pretend i am the most important person in the room, whilst simultaneously pretending i cannot see anyone else, as they act at the same gig, pretending thay cannot see me.
I have learnt, best to dole out the halloos on a strict basis of whim and what one feels like in the moment, and as soon as contact is made, amek sure to dominate and take total possession of it. Don't give the other bore a chance, just drill one's own gas, gas, gas and take down the big names.
heanso - word ver
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