Observe, as you lounge in one place,
At some busy café—you, too, will be disgusted by the human race.

The picky ordering, customers unsatisfied;
The nerdy college couple who kiss each other’s hands with loud smacks;
The slovenly old, with old-person smell that attacks;
Severe young men whose severity is impossible to hide
By expensive haircuts. Women have more skill in appearing

Tolerable to judgment’s discerning;
Nature wants to breed, the female needs to appeal
And that appeal is always a step ahead of learning;
Still, one can see the insanity that creeps
Through young women’s brains
Who must navigate the rot of fruit and meat and grains.

A cute dog is tied up outside,
This changes nothing about the colored hair and beer-bellies inside.
The weak chins, the wide jeans, the postures indicating ruthless wills,
The faces, unpleasant, resembling various animals.

The only exception to the hideous parade
Are children, who good people, in an act of goodness, made.

These dear ones make me rise above the place
To admire the city, the world, my face.

You, with the muscles and tattoos, if only you knew how ugly you look—
I suggest you throw away your Harley and read a book.







  1. noochinator said,

    October 14, 2015 at 9:03 am

    I know this response is rather feeble,
    But I try not to look at other people—
    And try my best not to wear my glasses
    So’s t’avoid the ugliness as it passes.

  2. noochinator said,

    October 17, 2015 at 9:46 pm

    “The only exception to the hideous parade
    Are children, who good people, in an act of goodness, made.”

    Although the below passage illustrates why some shouldn’t breed, and others shouldn’t adopt:

    “Just so a man once
    reared in his home an infant lion,
    fond of the nipple but deprived of its milk,
    in its undeveloped time of life
    tame, well loved by children
    and a delight to the old:
    it was much in his arms
    like a young suckling baby,
    gazing bright-eyed at his hand
    and fawning when hunger pressed it.

    But in time it displayed the character
    inherited from its parents; it returned
    thanks to its nurturers
    by making, with destructive slaughter of sheep,
    a feast, unbidden.
    The house was steeped in blood,
    an uncontrollable grief to the household,
    a great calamity with much killing.
    What a god had caused to be reared as an inmate of the house
    was a priest of Ruin.”

    — Aeschylus, from Agamemnon, edited by Jeffrey Henderson

    In the spirit of this passage (a real humdinger),
    I toast the left’s lionizing of Ms. Margaret “Singer”!

  3. noochinator said,

    December 23, 2015 at 11:31 pm

    Build yourself a city,
    Found yourself a state—
    Do not cry for pity,
    Grab and master fate—
    Grab the swamp and drain it,
    Cut the log and plane it—
    Make the hill the valley field
    And on the man-made plain
    breathe your last complaint—
    Slay your shame,
    Forget your name,
    Do not cry for pity—
    Build yourself a city.

    Author unknown to me

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: