[stylist] Poem - "True Romance"

Tue Mar 18 22:51:50 UTC 2014

No one wants to hear anything other than positive comments about their
writing, but I learned from a school of thought that seeks constructive
criticism, so you can better your writing, find ways in which to
strengthen and build. Personally, I want something to work on. Plus,
readers have a tendancy to interpret material they way they want or see
it completely different than the author, so it's always good to hear
from your audience.

In another lifetime, Before writing, I was a dancer, vocalist and actor,
so I choose paths that include critique and criticism, grin. Which is
funny because I don't always have great confidence, especially about my
work. Most artist are like this for some reason. We are sensitive yet
seek out fields where our sensitivity and vulnerability are constantly
under attack, smile.

Bridgit

-----Original Message-----
From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of William L
Houts
Sent: Tuesday, March 18, 2014 3:15 PM
To: stylist at nfbnet.org
Subject: Re: [stylist] Poem - "True Romance"

HI Bridgit,

Thank you dearly, as always.  I know this one is a hard read for various

reasons, and not to everyone's taste.  However that might be, I 
appreciate the comments from you and Chris:  astute readers both, even 
(or especially) when the criticism pinches a little.  I am an egg, LOL.

--Bill

On 3/18/2014 12:35 PM, Bridgit Pollpeter wrote:
> Bill,
>
> I like your use of diction, and how you describe setting and people.
>
> Bridgit
>
> -----Original Message-----
> From: stylist [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On Behalf Of William

> L Houts
> Sent: Tuesday, March 18, 2014 8:34 AM
> To: Writer's Division Mailing List
> Subject: [stylist] Poem - "True Romance"
>
>
>
>
> Hey Fellow Blinksters,
>
> I'm posting here one of my favorites. But I must tell you that it has 
> some naughty language in it.  If naughty language upsets you, do not 
> read this post, you'll cough and spill your tea.  Then you'll come to 
> me
>
> all mad and tea-soaked and I'll have to pay for dry cleaning and take 
> you out for martinis to get you settled again, and I don't like 
> martinis
>
> very much, so then we'll be equal.  Just remember:  you've been 
> warned!
>
>
>
> ---
>
>
> Dennis Hopper in TRUE ROMANCE
>
> "Do you know who I am, Mr. Whorley?I'm the Antichrist."--from True 
> Romance
>
> The devil spoke of pantomimes,
>
> then smashed your nose:
>
> the fist came down like truth
>
> the ex-cop thinks how
>
> many times have I done that myself,
>
> fucked some bastard up for shitting me?
>
> The Sicilian is talking, the guys
>
> behind him are restless as wings,
>
> the fist comes down
>
> and it doesn't matter
>
> you're off the force for years
>
> alone someplace with your stupid dog.
>
> you knew someday he would come,
>
> the man with the fist, a mouth
>
> full of death.He says your boy
>
> has done some shit but it's you he means:
>
> (that raid, you shot that whore in the eye)
>
> You weren't so clear in your head
>
> those days, you sloshed
>
> like a bucket of spunk and rage; like the world
>
> was always kicking your face you spilled
>
> on your wife, that whore, the guys
>
> you fucked up alone in a chair.
>
> The floor of your heart was cold
>
> with piss and sterile light.
>
> Where is the boy? he asks.
>
> Your face all noble and stupid
>
> against him, he opens a mouth in your hand
>
> more eager for talk:he'll open others,
>
> one of them screaming a name, an L.A. address
>
> and your son will inherit this chair from you.
>
> You bum a smoke.The Sicilian is gracious,
>
> he thinks you'll talk; if you lie,
>
> he'll whittle you down to betrayal.
>
> When the cigarette's done, you tell
>
> the truth about the devil.
>
> It comes to you easy, like a paper
>
> and coffee from God, and your enemy's eyes
>
> burn wrath like oil when you read the news:
>
> How the Sicilian's a slave to history,
>
> the craven son of an ancient rape.
>
> You call him a nigger, fruitof Moorish pillage,
>
> glittering, dark and impotent.You call him an eggplant.
>
> Then your aria's over.
>
> The Sicilian can only kill you once.
>
> All laughing rage, he turns to load his gun.
>
> The coffee of God has gone
>
> through your guts and your son rides away.
>
> He came for information; you gave him
>
> another day to be something more
>
> than a drunk, some fucked up violent
>
> schmuck with a gun, a mouth full of death.
>
> The coffee of God is gone:
>
> and there's nothing for you
>
> but terror, a scared ex-cop,
>
> a hot seat cold with piss.
>
> You think of that girl your boy brought,
>
> how she kissed you goodbye.
>
> She wasn't a whore; she was nice.
>
> Maybe they'll make it together.
>
> Bound and enthroned, you wonder when
>
> did I ever serve and protect until now?
>
> When the devil's kiss opens
>
> your brain to the last page
>
> you read there:
>
> this is what it meansto be a king.
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>

-- 
"Let's drink a toast now to who we really are."

           --Jane Siberry

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