Date: Sun, 29 Sep 1996 06:06:46 -0400 From: "Thomas J. Schmid" Subject: Fill, INTRO:If you can read this If you can read this, my finger must have slipped. I've been lurking out here for about a week now, reading some of the subs you folks have posted and I'm in awe. I don't read poetry, but there have been some pieces I read here that slammed me in the gut! Yes! That's right! Slammed my guts! Isn't that the purpose of the form? To effect the reader and impart the intended emotion? Listen, years ago I took about a month to make it through The Grapes of Wrath. It depressed me so much I spread it out between other reading and almost gave up on the whole thing. The fact that a book can be found in the classics section at Crown means nothing to me if it sucks. So when I finally arrived at the last page, I know everyone here has read it, I was... Look, how did you feel when you read it? I wanted to jump up and tell the rest of the world about it! Tell them that it existed and that they absolutely had to read it! They were not really getting the most bang for thier buck in this life if they missed it! Hell, they might die before they read the thing! It'll slam your guts! Isn't that great! That's the closest I can get to describing how some of your poems have hit me. Steinbeck took thousands of words to finally put the ball out of the park, and it was a grand slam, no doubt, but some of the subs here have done the same thing in a few lines! Poetry! Who knew? Thank you! I hope that in my own writing I can use that same spare, less is more style of expressing myself. Okay, here's the introduction... I dropped out of high school to be a guitar hero, taught music, cooked burgers, cooked my brain, parked cars, was a lighting technician for concerts and tv, put on roofs and painted houses. I brokered loans and did time in sales, toiled for others and had my own business. I lived on my sailboat in a very nice little yacht harbour on San Francisco Bay, slept on not so nice park benches (the sprinklers at 4:30am make do just fine in place of a fancy wake up call) and in my car. I dealt and used, aquired habits and kicked them, drank enough tequila and beer to race for The America's Cup on. Kept the wrong women and left the right ones way too many times, made some good friends, fought my way back from insanity reluctantly, slip back occasionally (however I seem to know the differnce now and can just lay back and enjoy the ride!) I've partied with millionaires and Tijuana whores (I can't really afford to hang out with either,) I may break out into air guitar at the slightest provocation. I can't sing and sing all the time. I'm divorced, but that story is so strange even to me that it doesn't count. Besides, it was a long time ago and it only lasted a few months. I'm not that person anymore. I'm a father and there is nothing else you can create in your life that compares to creating life. You will never feel as good from giving as you will from giving to your own child. It's fun and easy to order, but please allow nine months for delivery. No C.O.D.'s. And remember, the MOTHER will always be there. I work at being a father, and it feels more like play. I've always told myself that I would start writing at forty, and I'm thirty-seven just now. This is the first time I've ever done anything ahead of schedule, but I can't help it. There is a place in my head that tells me to tell others about the whole damn universe as I see it, and how incredible life is, and that all feelings have a purpose if you use them the right way. Don't miss any of them, because that's how you lose. That's the only rule, avoid all the pain you can, take in all the rest, or you lose. You'll die not knowing! You wasted your one and only shot. Plus, if I don't write my head will surely conspire against me, maybe create another personality to do the deed and then sign a pen name! Ahhhh! I just can't have that. Could you? Besides, if I get published, I can tell my mom that the last twenty years were all research. She'll finally get some sleep. If you're still here, thanks for indulging me. I hope to be judged by a jury of my peers, I have read your work and I hope I am worthy, and I hope I have found a very critical jury. Maybe I"ll start to learn from my mistakes, finally. I need to be knocked down now and them and I can take it. And I really need the help. Thank you. My address is Tom347S@aol.com. If you can read this, my finger must have slipped. I've been lurking out here for about a week now, reading some of the subs you folks have posted and I'm in awe. I don't read poetry, but there have been some pieces I read here that slammed me in the gut! Yes! That's right! Slammed my guts! Isn't that the purpose of the form? To effect the reader and impart the intended emotion? Listen, years ago I took about a month to make it through The Grapes of Wrath. It depressed me so much I spread it out between other reading and almost gave up on the whole thing. The fact that a book can be found in the classics section at Crown means nothing to me if it sucks. So when I finally arrived at the last page, I know everyone here has read it, I was... Look, how did you feel when you read it? I wanted to jump up and tell the rest of the world about it! Tell them that it existed and that they absolutely had to read it! They were not really getting the most bang for thier buck in this life if they missed it! Hell, they might die before they read the thing! It'll slam your guts! Isn't that great! That's the closest I can get to describing how some of your poems have hit me. Steinbeck took thousands of words to finally put the ball out of the park, and it was a grand slam, no doubt, but some of the subs here have done the same thing in a few lines! Poetry! Who knew? Thank you! I hope that in my own writing I can use that same spare, less is more style of expressing myself. Okay, here's the introduction... I dropped out of high school to be a guitar hero, taught music, cooked burgers, cooked my brain, parked cars, was a lighting technician for concerts and tv, put on roofs and painted houses. I brokered loans and did time in sales, toiled for others and had my own business. I lived on my sailboat in a very nice little yacht harbour on San Francisco Bay, slept on not so nice park benches (the sprinklers at 4:30am make do just fine in place of a fancy wake up call) and in my car. I dealt and used, aquired habits and kicked them, drank enough tequila and beer to race for The America's Cup on. Kept the wrong women and left the right ones way too many times, made some good friends, fought my way back from insanity reluctantly, slip back occasionally (however I seem to know the differnce now and can just lay back and enjoy the ride!) I've partied with millionaires and Tijuana whores (I can't really afford to hang out with either,) I may break out into air guitar at the slightest provocation. I can't sing and sing all the time. I'm divorced, but that story is so strange even to me that it doesn't count. Besides, it was a long time ago and it only lasted a few months. I'm not that person anymore. I'm a father and there is nothing else you can create in your life that compares to creating life. You will never feel as good from giving as you will from giving to your own child. It's fun and easy to order, but please allow nine months for delivery. No C.O.D.'s. And remember, the MOTHER will always be there. I work at being a father, and it feels more like play. I've always told myself that I would start writing at forty, and I'm thirty-seven just now. This is the first time I've ever done anything ahead of schedule, but I can't help it. There is a place in my head that tells me to tell others about the whole damn universe as I see it, and how incredible life is, and that all feelings have a purpose if you use them the right way. Don't miss any of them, because that's how you lose. That's the only rule, avoid all the pain you can, take in all the rest, or you lose. You'll die not knowing! You wasted your one and only shot. Plus, if I don't write my head will surely conspire against me, maybe create another personality to do the deed and then sign a pen name! Ahhhh! I just can't have that. Could you? Besides, if I get published, I can tell my mom that the last twenty years were all research. She'll finally get some sleep. If you're still here, thanks for indulging me. I hope to be judged by a jury of my peers, I have read your work and I hope I am worthy, and I hope I have found a very critical jury. Maybe I"ll start to learn from my mistakes, finally. I need to be knocked down now and them and I can take it. And I really need the help. Thank you. My address is Tom347S@aol.com. San Jose, CA, USA