| Starpoet Newsletter Vol. VIII, No. VII |
|
|
|
| News - Newsletters | |
| Written by Lisa Jain Thompson | |
| Sunday, 11 February 2007 | |
|
The
Starpoet
Newsletter
Vol. VIII, No. VII
__/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ <><><><><> The chill seems colder
Than the weather might wish Wind blows from all directions
Ripping blood from bone Sticking eyes in place Until ears, nose, and fingers Are well frozen
When you arrive
You will warm me
And I will forget
The angry winter
Now trying to devour me Lisa Jain Thompson c. 2007 C.E.
 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ from a busy weekend to a busy weekend. I may need to put my body in stasis to relax.
Sucking Cold outside.
__/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ You gotta love Americans
Lisa and the N A S A
 Let me tell you of the story
Of an astronaut named Nowak On that tragic and fateful day, She put a diaper on her bottom, Got in her automobile,
And drove off to Eff El Ay. Lisa put a wig upon her head,
And Sun glasses on her features, Thinking she was disguised, Then she took off for the woman Who loved the man she wanted To confront her about her guy. Well did she ever return,
No she'll never return To fly the shuttle again, Her days in outer space, Up in the orbiting station, Have come to a very abrupt end Well she's charged with attempting
Murder and kidnapping, Armed with a BB gun, No telling what she wanted With her knife and rubber tubing, Or the pepper spray they found in the trunk. As the law men gathered around her And the handcuffs went on her Lisa looked around and sighed, "Well, I'm surely sore and disgusted And I'm absolutely busted; I guess this is my last long ride." Well did she ever return,
No she'll never return To fly the shuttle again, Her days in outer space, Up in the orbiting station, Have come to a very abrupt end Now you citizens of America,
Don't you think it's a scandal, That Astronauts would carry on, How dare they all be human, Acting just like men and women, Being jealous and chasing love. Well did she ever return,
No she'll never return To fly the shuttle again, Her days in outer space, Up in the orbiting station, Have come to a very abrupt end. She's the astronaut who never returned.
Lisa Jain Thompson
February 2007 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ PCs are the ramshackle computers of the people.
You can build your own from scratch, then customise it into oblivion. Sometimes you have to slap it to make it work properly, just like the Tardis (Doctor Who, incidentally, would definitely use a PC). PCs have charm; Macs ooze pretension. -- Charles Cooper __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ back to the cold
The Pentagon at Zero
Freezing on the Metro
Standing on the stop Exposed to breeze and weather Twenty feet up
Counting down the minutes
Eon by eon by eon
Hoping the car before me Will have turned its heat on
Monday morning to the Pentagon
In the first harsh chill of winter
February's turned colder than New Year's
No one wants to be here Money calls, people follow
Even in the dead zero before sunrise Lisa Jain Thompson
February 2007
__/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ Macs are glorified Fisher-Price activity centres for adults;
computers for scaredy cats too nervous to learn how proper computers work; computers for people who earnestly believe in feng shui. -- Charles Cooper
__/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ Victorian Synonyms for Underwear
Inexpressables
Unutterables
Unmentionables
Unwhisperables
Sit upons
Trousers
Nether garments
Inexplicables
Indescribables
Don't--name--'ems
Mustn't mention 'ems
Untalkables
Femorals
Innominables __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ Mac owners often sneer that kind of defence back at you
when you mock their silly, posturing contraptions, because in doing so, you have inadvertently put your finger on the dark fear haunting their feeble, quivering soul - that in some sense, they are a superficial semi-person assembled from packaging; an infinitely sad, second-rate replicant who doesn't really know what they are doing here, but feels vaguely significant and creative each time they gaze at their sleek designer machine. -- Charles Cooper
__/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ collateral damage
North of Here
You fasten the triggers
For the others to fire Then you set back and watch When the death count gets higher -- Bob Dylan Masters of War  A landlocked country,
A short stretch of coast on the gulf,
The only outlet to the sea; Mountains to the north, Desert to the south, A fertile lowland between The Tigris and Euphrates. I was here by direction,
Flying a Warthog, Searching out the enemy, Killing him before he kills me. Now, years later, inside my head,
The transcript loops round and round, Never ending, never changing, The moment when it all went wrong. The voice of my controller --
“Can you confirm those vehicles?” -- that starts the chain of unbeing. I answer Affirm Sir.
I’ve got multiple vehicles 800 meters north of your arty; Can you switch fire, shift fire And get some arty rounds on those? “Roger, standby,” the controller understands,
“Let me sure they’re not on another mission.” They are.
Hey, I’ve got a four ship,
Orange panels on the top, Do you know if we have friendlies in the area? Do you know if they are ours or theirs? “I understand you’re 800 meters north,”
Air control checking our position. I ask. I ask. I ask again.
Confirm 800 meters. Confirm there are no friendlies. Confirm there is no one this far north. Confirm. Confirm. He tells me it is ok. That was an affirm:
“You are well clear of the friendlies.” Well clear, well clear, Well clear of the friendlies. He says that we were all well clear. I see multiple vehicles, flatbed trucks,
Some green vehicles I can’t quit identify. “Roger. That matches our intel.”
I hear him clear over my radio: “Roger that matches our intel.” I still hear him, “Roger that matches our intel.” I got a four ship of vehicles
Spaced along a road going north Up along the canal, Coming up south of the village. My wing speaks up
They have orange panels on He told me, they told me, There’s nobody north of here. Ask again
Multiple riveted vehicles, Flatbed trucks, Are those your targets control? “That’s affirm.”
“That’s affirm.” And we need to think about getting home, Before our fuel runs too low. My wing comes off west, I roll in, It looks like they are what we’re talking about. We’ve got a visual.
Get that first one Before he gets to town. Get him – Get him!
My wing urging me on. Again, Get it! I put my A-10 into a dive,
Strafing the column, Destroying two vehicles. I hear my guns, My wing confirms Good hits. Gotcha.
As the vehicles sprint south
I dive once more More gunfire more explosions Then a voice, a controller, Who the fuck are you? “Roger, be advised,
You have friendly armor, In your area, friendly armor, Be advised.” Ah shit ...
“Abort your mission,
We’re blue on blue.” …Fuck. God bless it.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. The controller,
“Did you copy?” “We have friendlies, Did you copy?” I did, I did. I did.
Confirm those are friendlies On that side of the canal. Shit.
“Standby.”
God dammit. Shit.
Were those friendlies? “On the berm up there,
That is where we have our friendlies.” God dammit.
Let me know how those friendlies are. Let me know. Fuck. Fuel running low. Fuck. We got to go home, Me and my wing, Fuck,fuck We’re fucked. Control, let me know what’s happening!
“We’re getting that information, standby.”
We’re getting that information, standby.
Fuck, fuck, double flying fuck. “One killed, one wounded.”
“One killed, one wounded.” “One killed, one wounded.” “Over.” “Over.” Never.
I’m going to be sick.
Ah fuck. My wing asks,
Did you hear? Did you hear? Yeah, yeah, this sucks,
We’re in jail, dude. AAAAHHHH Another controller
-- Where is he so distantly observing -- “The A-10s are running against friendlies. “Tell them to abort!” Mine: “Abort! Abort! Abort!”
Abort. Fuck. God fucking shit.
Dammit. Fucking damn it.
God dammit. Fuck me dead. I taste my tears,
My wing hears me weeping. You with me? Yeah Are you with me? They did say there were no friendlies. A moment later,
Your tape still on? Yeah.
Mine is end of tape.
Inside my head,
The only place that counts, The tape runs always And the transcript never ends. God dammit. Fuck me dead.
Have six pretty maidens to sing me along, Take me to the valley, and lay the sod o'er me, For I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong. -- Streets of Laredo This is the transcript of the death of Lance Corporal Matty Hull.
The pilots of the A-10s were a Lieutenant Colonel and a Major, Both new in theater from the National Guard. They are joined by Marine Corps forward air controllers, And an AWAC jet in charge of the battle space. Still not enough to stop a death from friendly fire. If anyone was at fault, it was the commanders of the war, And their ill designed rules of engagement, Not the green pilots who killed young Matty Hull. Lisa Jain Thompson
February 2007 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ The only way to have fun with a Mac
is to poke its insufferable owner in the eye. -- Charles Cooper
__/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ looking back
The Cheaper Alternative
Say what you will,
But when the mob
-- The family -- Was everything,
The garbage was picked up, The schools taught students,
And drive by shootings Were targeted, not random. Irish or Italian,
The world worked, And there was none of this Bullshit nonsense That elected officials Should be left in charge. Lisa Jain Thompson
February 2007
__/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ more traditional
Night as Such
Night, as such,
Covers us with sleep: Let us pretend We are young again And all our troubles Our parents will mend. Morning too soon Finds us always Beginning to remember What we so briefly forgot. Lisa Jain Thompson
February 2007 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ Scottish joke
Tony Blair is visiting a hospital.
"How are you today?" he asks the old man in the first bed.
"Wee sleekit cow'rin' tim'rous beastie," screams the man at him, so he moves on.
"And how are you?" he asks the second patient.
"Some hae meat but cannae eat!" yells this one.
"Hmm," says Tony to the doctor. "Is this the psychiatric unit?"
"Naw - it's the Serious Burns Unit."
<rim shot>
Please Pass The Haggis
__/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ Off the newswire
Dannielynn
O' to die famous and rich,
Like Anna Nicole Smith, That cream of American publicity And icon of elegant white trash; She was a marilyn worthy of the times A sassy trim spokesperson For drunken weight watchers everywhere Who escaped small town Texas For the topless world Of uneducated young women In search of their next buck. Tell her daughter no lies, No camelot touch-ups of her life: She is no more than she was, No better or worse Than ten thousand other girls Badly raised to be grown-up. Lisa Jain Thompson
February 2007 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ English Joke
Never ask a foreigner where he is from.
If he is not English he will tell you within a few minutes, and if he is English, why embarrass him? <exeunt pantomine horse>
__/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ more newswire
The Price of Righteous Arrogance
Today was the arms and legs brigade,
Fresh from Iraq via Walter Reed hospital; One of the kids looked 14 in his wheel chair, Sixteen at most with his mechanical arm; The drape of his pants suggested that his leg Was missing some muscle if not entirely gone And replaced by steel and silcon and medals. These are the casualties of our eagerness to follow The President's faulty intelligence headlong into war. Lisa Jain Thompson
February 2007 __/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ If you truly believe you need to pick a mobile phone
that "says something" about your personality, don't bother. You don't have a personality. -- Charles Cooper
__/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ PEACE
__/\/\/\/\__
^^\/\/\/\/^^ Copyright © Lisa Jain Thompson 1995-2007. Further distribution of this newsletter in its entirety is authorized. Email your letters and postcards or visit her contact page at the Starpoet website. |
|
| Last Updated ( Saturday, 10 February 2007 ) | |
| < Prev | Next > |
|---|