Salty
Ooh!
Talk nautical to me,
you nauty girl!
Dean
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Ooh!
Talk nautical to me,
you nauty girl!
Dean
Things you have said
can be salted and stored
in large casks, to be thrown overboard
in case of pursuit.
Make them palatable or further digestion
by soaking for hours ahead of use.
Be careful which hold you pack them in:
always put the heavier things
in the lower hold, in the stern,
so that you do not founder
in a making sea.
Pam
Experts on Things to Say
have been sadly negligent,
encouraging people to find tons of things
to say, providing long lists of sources
(Get Your Inspiration Here, CHEAP!),
along with eloquent persuasions
to say these things,
but have said little about such crucial issues as
what to do with all these things
once they've been said.
It is widely assumed that once you've said
what you have to say,
you are free of it,
a gross distortion.
IF what you say reaches its audience,
and IF that audience gets it and takes
possession of it, and IF you are aware
that this has occurred,
then you are free of it.
If, on the other hand,
you say things that others will not
or cannot or, in any case, do not receive,
you are stuck with them,
at which point you must begin to consider
storage, the drawbacks of somethings
going rancid or moldy, where to put
large bulky somethings, how to stow
conflicting somethings that might quarrel
among themselves (preferably not
in or near your head, all night long),
whether unused or unreceived somethings
can be returned and to whom,
costs of restocking, etc.
So there are drawbacks to having
something to say. I'd like to fill in this huge gap
in our literature, but I'm afraid
I have nothing else to say about it.
Dean
At the something shop
I shop for something to say.
Here's something:
"Picadilly Circus."
Someone over there
has just picked up a
used something.
But it's still bright
Oh, how I envy it.
I want one of my own.
But there's plenty left!
Pam
In order to say,
one must have something
to say.
Where does one get
something to say?
At the something shop?
And where does one store it
before it is said?
And after it is said,
does one still have it?
Can one have something
that is NOT to say?
Is what is said the something
or the saying of the something?
I suppose the saying is not the something,
but when one has nothing to say,
the not saying is, perhaps,
the same nothing as the nothing
that is not said.
But that's academic,
since most saying is said
by people who have nothing to say
and who say a great deal of nothing
and who, the more nothing they say,
have that much more nothing to say.
Some days, after browsing through poetry journals,
I feel I am drowning in nothing.
Well, nothing to speak of.
Dean
I have nothing to say
or perhaps,
becoming new,
this I
has nothing yet to say.
Pam
Some teenagers are different
from other teenagers.
For example, the teenagers
who desperately want to be
exactly the same as all the other teenagers
differ from the teenagers who desperately
want to be different from all the other teenagers.
As for all the other teenagers --
but there are no other teenagers.
Dean
Teenagers know
that their parents are Really Really dumb
and those parents do their best
to embarrass them.
Teenagers know
that they are really fully adult
and should be treated as adults.
And if one treats them like a child,
then they'll just have to act like one.
Teenagers know that they are
quite alone really, no one
has ever had these thoughts before.
Teenagers know
that all the problems of the world
could be easily solved
if they could just be cloned.
Pam
Teen-agers know
everything. At least
they know all the answers.
They'd score much higher on tests
if those who compose the tests
understood how to measure
their knowledge. For example,
if you ask a teen-ager, "Which president
entered World War I," you'd likely get
a blank stare, which would lead you
to underestimate intelligence.
What you SHOULD do is state,
"President Woodrow Wilson
led the United States into World War I,"
to which most teen-agers would give
a clear and cogent response; for example,
"Well DUHuh!"
Dean
When Mrs. Weaver, my English teacher,
called me in to discuss my poetry,
all I could think about was
how she messed up the carefully
painfully typed pages as she
made suggestions
and how she nearly wept
over one she thought
particularly nice
(how dumb,
how embarrassing).
Mrs. Weaver, how lonely
it must've been, being you
trying to communicate
with a lumpish teen.
Pam
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