The Pope no longer smokes dope
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mccutcheon
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The Pope no longer smokes dope
He is dead. Who cares? Not me.
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TragicPixie
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Me - I think we should get the day off class (or maybe a week) cause it's a Catholic university ... and I didn't make it to class the majority of last week and don't think this week will be any different ... so I think they ought to be canceld in mourning.
... and I'm probalby totally going to hell... but that thought amuses me.
... and I'm probalby totally going to hell... but that thought amuses me.
Lie to me, it takes less time to drink you pretty.
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mccutcheon
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TragicPixie
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mccutcheon
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TragicPixie
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sara
I don't know who gets to go to heaven or hell for saying things, but I doubt your statement's going to damn you.
Afterall, the prince of pop said
you can be the president
i'd rather be the pope
you can see the side effects
i'd rather be the dope, the pope
or something similar to that
and if he's not going to heaven I really don't know that I'd want to be there.
Afterall, the prince of pop said
you can be the president
i'd rather be the pope
you can see the side effects
i'd rather be the dope, the pope
or something similar to that
and if he's not going to heaven I really don't know that I'd want to be there.
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mccutcheon
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George Michael had Faith.
If God doesn't exist than the Pope is a pretty good job. I mean I'm sure you at least get three meals a day and a nice bed to sleep in.
'The Pope he got the Nazis
to clean up their messes
in exchange for golden paintings
he gave them new addresses'
--SWR, Black Grape
'The Pope he got the Nazis
to clean up their messes
in exchange for golden paintings
he gave them new addresses'
--SWR, Black Grape
I read in the NME today that Shaun Ryder sings on the new Gorillaz.
By the way, I got broadband in my new Stockholm pad. It's been so long now I don't know what to do with it anymore so I'll just say: Tack so mycket.
In Sweden broadband costs just $15 per month, and all I had to do was just walk into a store, say I wanted it, and they took my address down and gave me a router. Then I took it home and plugged it into the cable slot and then my computer and presto... instant broadband.
Sweden is fucking awesome but I missed a party tonight because I am fucking sick. That's what happens when you go from Hawaii to Sweden in 24 hours. Its twelve time zones and 50 degrees different. the body just can't fucking take it.
By the way, I got broadband in my new Stockholm pad. It's been so long now I don't know what to do with it anymore so I'll just say: Tack so mycket.
In Sweden broadband costs just $15 per month, and all I had to do was just walk into a store, say I wanted it, and they took my address down and gave me a router. Then I took it home and plugged it into the cable slot and then my computer and presto... instant broadband.
Sweden is fucking awesome but I missed a party tonight because I am fucking sick. That's what happens when you go from Hawaii to Sweden in 24 hours. Its twelve time zones and 50 degrees different. the body just can't fucking take it.
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sara
So the pope died in April, making him another on the long list proving that TS Eliot was in fact correct in stating that April is a damn cruel month, or something to that effect.
Anyway, thank goodness for National Poetry Month, April.
so in honor of the pope, dope (sometimes called coke), and of course April (and Tommy's birthday, which I believe is coming up in three days, if he did in fact tell the truth about that last year) which in my opinion, is not the cruelest month:
The Difference Between Pepsi and Pope
By Denise Duhamel
I have this blind spot, a dark line, thin as a hair, that obliterates
A stroke of scenery on the right side of my field of vision
So that often I get whole words at the end of sentences wrong
Like when I first saw the title of David Lehman's poem
“The Difference Between Pepsi and Coke� and I misread
“Coke� for “Pope.� This blind spot makes me a terrible driver,
A bad judge of distances, a Ping-Pong player that inspires giggles
From the opposite team.
I knew a poet who dressed up as a cookie
And passed out a new brand in a crowded supermarket.
The next day he gave the Pepsi Challenge to passerby
In a mall.
I felt old-fashioned admitting to this poet that I prefer Coke,
That wavy hyphen that separates its full name Coca~Cola.
Like the bar let down in the limbo dance, the Spanish tilde comes down until
Not even a lowercase letter can squeeze under it.
I searched for that character recently, writing to David Lehman,
Telling him about an electronic magazine, the address of which
Had this ~ in it. I couldn't find it, although I stared
At my computer keyboard for more than a few minutes.
I only noticed it today in the upper left hand corner, above the tab,
The alternate of `, if you hit the shift key. I wonder if I also have a blind spot
In my left eye. I wonder if the poet who dressed as a cookie
Is happy in his new marriage. I wonder if you can still get a bottle of Tab
Anywhere, that awful soda my forever-dieting aunt used to drink,
With its pink logo, its “a� all swirls, looking like @.
Yesterday,
When my husband was waiting at an intersection, he said, Is anyone coming?
I looked from the passenger seat and said confidently, We can make it.
Then we were almost run off the road. I said
I'm sorry I'm sorry through the exchange of honks and fits
And couldn't believe when my husband forgave me so quickly
Not only that,
But I'm a bad proofreader, I thought to myself as I made a mental list
Of ways that I felt inadequate. One friend also recently noted that maybe I
Talk too much about myself, so I told her the Bette Milder joke,
Enough about me, what do YOU think of me? which doesn't really
Bring me back to David Lehman and his poem, but does make me realize
How far away I strayed from my original point
Which was that I thought his poem would be funny because of the title,
Not the real title, but my mistaken one. I started to guess his poem
In my head: Pepsi is bubbly and brown while the Pope
Is flat and white. Pepsi doesn't have a big white hat. The Pope
Can't get rid of fender rust. Pepsi is all for premarital sex.
The Pope won't stain your teeth.
But “The Difference
Between Pepsi and Coke� is a tender poem about a father
Whom the speaker reveres and I wonder if David Lehman's own father
Is alive or dead which is something I often do -- wonder
How much is true -- when I read a poem by someone I like
Which I know is not the right way to read a poem even though
Molly Peacock said at her reading that she is the “I�
In all of hers and doesn't use the word “speaker� anymore.
Still,
I feel like a Peeping Tom, although this is really about what I can't see,
My blind spots, and how easy it is for me to doubt my decisions,
How I relate to the father in Lehman's poem who “won't admit his dread
Of boredom� and panics and forgives. How easy it is to live for stretches at a time
In that skinny dark line, how easy it is to get so many things all wrong.
(so the difference between Pepsi and Pope -- is in our blind spots, the places where we get things wrong, the places that make us all very human, just in case you didn't read the whole poem)
Anyway, thank goodness for National Poetry Month, April.
so in honor of the pope, dope (sometimes called coke), and of course April (and Tommy's birthday, which I believe is coming up in three days, if he did in fact tell the truth about that last year) which in my opinion, is not the cruelest month:
The Difference Between Pepsi and Pope
By Denise Duhamel
I have this blind spot, a dark line, thin as a hair, that obliterates
A stroke of scenery on the right side of my field of vision
So that often I get whole words at the end of sentences wrong
Like when I first saw the title of David Lehman's poem
“The Difference Between Pepsi and Coke� and I misread
“Coke� for “Pope.� This blind spot makes me a terrible driver,
A bad judge of distances, a Ping-Pong player that inspires giggles
From the opposite team.
I knew a poet who dressed up as a cookie
And passed out a new brand in a crowded supermarket.
The next day he gave the Pepsi Challenge to passerby
In a mall.
I felt old-fashioned admitting to this poet that I prefer Coke,
That wavy hyphen that separates its full name Coca~Cola.
Like the bar let down in the limbo dance, the Spanish tilde comes down until
Not even a lowercase letter can squeeze under it.
I searched for that character recently, writing to David Lehman,
Telling him about an electronic magazine, the address of which
Had this ~ in it. I couldn't find it, although I stared
At my computer keyboard for more than a few minutes.
I only noticed it today in the upper left hand corner, above the tab,
The alternate of `, if you hit the shift key. I wonder if I also have a blind spot
In my left eye. I wonder if the poet who dressed as a cookie
Is happy in his new marriage. I wonder if you can still get a bottle of Tab
Anywhere, that awful soda my forever-dieting aunt used to drink,
With its pink logo, its “a� all swirls, looking like @.
Yesterday,
When my husband was waiting at an intersection, he said, Is anyone coming?
I looked from the passenger seat and said confidently, We can make it.
Then we were almost run off the road. I said
I'm sorry I'm sorry through the exchange of honks and fits
And couldn't believe when my husband forgave me so quickly
Not only that,
But I'm a bad proofreader, I thought to myself as I made a mental list
Of ways that I felt inadequate. One friend also recently noted that maybe I
Talk too much about myself, so I told her the Bette Milder joke,
Enough about me, what do YOU think of me? which doesn't really
Bring me back to David Lehman and his poem, but does make me realize
How far away I strayed from my original point
Which was that I thought his poem would be funny because of the title,
Not the real title, but my mistaken one. I started to guess his poem
In my head: Pepsi is bubbly and brown while the Pope
Is flat and white. Pepsi doesn't have a big white hat. The Pope
Can't get rid of fender rust. Pepsi is all for premarital sex.
The Pope won't stain your teeth.
But “The Difference
Between Pepsi and Coke� is a tender poem about a father
Whom the speaker reveres and I wonder if David Lehman's own father
Is alive or dead which is something I often do -- wonder
How much is true -- when I read a poem by someone I like
Which I know is not the right way to read a poem even though
Molly Peacock said at her reading that she is the “I�
In all of hers and doesn't use the word “speaker� anymore.
Still,
I feel like a Peeping Tom, although this is really about what I can't see,
My blind spots, and how easy it is for me to doubt my decisions,
How I relate to the father in Lehman's poem who “won't admit his dread
Of boredom� and panics and forgives. How easy it is to live for stretches at a time
In that skinny dark line, how easy it is to get so many things all wrong.
(so the difference between Pepsi and Pope -- is in our blind spots, the places where we get things wrong, the places that make us all very human, just in case you didn't read the whole poem)
It's hard to beat these three simple sentences as far as this topic goes.He is dead. Who cares? Not me.
Can they get Oprah to be the Pope? That would be kindof cool.
Sloth there is a guy in my class this quarter who kinda looks like you. Normally I wouldn't have mentioned it but it so happens that we had to put on these skits in front of the class with our group. And this guy who looks kinda like you ended up playing a role where he was hungover and having to listen to this business lady talk to him, only he wasn't listening at all and instead of having him talk just had him look pensively upwards while she talked and they got another guy to read off the hungover guy's thoughts...kinda like something you might see on David Letterman or something. It was a hilarious skit, got voted by the class as the best of all of them and there were about 10 or 11. And it just seemed strangely Slothian to me, the whole setup.