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#curmudgeon
I've become a lazy reader, dismissive and curmudgeony too. Magazines or books? Not magazines-- Magazine readers are a different species. So books it is. Let me take inventory: Nonfiction. Sorry, just the occasional science book. General fiction lost the war for my attention-- Do real people really have so many feelings? So often and so detailed? So I read genre fiction. But bang, bang adventure has become tiresome-- after all how many times and ways can you shoot/stab/blow up/car chase? Likewise, there are books that seem spend pages and pages describing clothes. Even though Chaucer also spent many words describing clothes, his best lines were about bare ***** hanging out a window. All my favorite characters are now old, Harry Bosch, George Smiley. To my regret, the Wall falling and the Cold War ending almost wiped out the thoughtful spy story. Science fiction, a previous favorite, took a goofy turn awhile ago, and I’m done with it. Let's see: fantasy now seems written for teenage vampire-witch wannabes. Just flutter away. What's left? I think it's only Detective stories and Poetry. I'm pulling for Harry Bosch and Billy Collins at 90, and, God bless him, John Le Carre.
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Nov 28, 2019
Nov 28, 2019 at 6:33 AM UTC
I've become a lazy reader....
Acolytes of yon ole Stanstead Told him he's been mislead Well tough, ya old curmudgeon See ya never, has-been's has-been
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Jul 18, 2019
Jul 18, 2019 at 8:40 AM UTC
freestyle blabber #3
1. Learn forgiveness.  Then withhold it from everyone. 2. Avoid making enemies. Leave it to your friends to find you insufferable. 3. There is good in everyone. The trick is not to let it out. 4. Expect the worst. You’ll be right. 5. Never hurt anyone’s feelings.  Unintentionally. 6. Command an audience.  Then who cares if you loathe mankind? 7. Self-sacrifice ennobles the spirit.  But someone still has to clean up the blood. 8. Don’t dance.  Then no one will watch. 9. Don’t envy others’ success.  Intervene more forcefully to prevent it. 10. Life is short, but otherwise lousy.
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Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 8:44 PM UTC
The Curmudgeon's List of Daily Negations
Cranky gramps next door’s not well Unwilling to listen, to mow his grass Rumination’s ruination’s curb appeal from hell Miserly, unfriendly, cussing and crass Unwavering, a prejudiced old goat, jack *** Doltish Scrooge with no family left Graying graveside his home unkempt Eaves and chimneys and curtains closed, yet Openly racist with his dragon’s breath. Needs a bit of love to soften such deaths.
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Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 4:45 PM UTC
CURMUDGEON (acrostic)
2016 wasn't that bad in my opinion but this year is **** so far a lot like 2015 was maybe odd years aren't for me i was born on an odd year can't quite remember how that one turned out though, i'm guessing ****** (in diapers for sure) and that picture doesn't look like you maybe that's why you like it but it's why i don't.
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Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 7:40 AM UTC
odd years
i wanted to say beautiful things but they got stuck in my throat so I choked them back down like ***** in your mouth and I forgot them just like that- fuzzy memories of better days and better ways, but we'll always have tomorrow to waste, like today, next year, maybe where we're going, where we've been doesn't matter because the fish aren't biting like they used to but the beer is still going down smooth and that's beauty in itself.
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Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 8:10 PM UTC
sunk lake
You are that person everyone knows Who ******* almost constantly About everything that ever goes Away from how you think it should be. You have it worked out in your head Who should get what and when And how much is right or wrong And exactly what kind of men Should have luck and who should Suffer a miserable fate. And which people are no good And which race is truly great. Why do you take such joy In making folks around you cry? So much so that the best thing They hear you say is goodbye. Why do you choose hurtful way To get yourself some attention? Isn’t there something you can say, Something nice you can mention That will make people smile And not run so quickly away Then stay with you a little while; Enjoy some of the things you say? When did all this all nastiness start? Is it something from your childhood Made you take pleasure breaking hearts Every single chance you could; And if people are having fun Makes you jump in and stop The frivolity and joyousness Like some kind of buzzkill cop. Life might change for the better If you returned the smiles you get. You’re a big grump now, for sure Be nice and people will soon forget.
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Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 7:35 PM UTC
GROUCH ON A COUCH
The old man groans as he gets up, Rising from the chair is a job. He notices now he is getting older His head is developing a bob. Not quite Katharine Hepburn, Not a nod as much as a bounce. It’s not a palsy, more of a tic. It’s not really that pronounced. And stairs seem to be an enemy They don’t match the cadence. Between the risers and his feet There just too much distance. Or other times, they are too short And rise up as an ugly surprise Not coinciding with what he sees With his own aging naked eyes. The man complains about TV How they are mumbling too much. They seem to be whispering Or using foreign words and such. And when he turns the sound up The action scenes hurt his ears. A ***** trick to play on people Who are a bit advanced in years. The old man gets disgruntled When people outside make noise Like they are some kind of teenagers; But they’re adults, not girls and boys. Here it is ten o’clock at night When decent people are asleep. What kind of schedule is this For decent people to have to keep? What is he to make of the music These young people like to play? It has to be some kind of abuse To use a guitar in that way. In his day there was melody And words you could understand. The noise they make is like a collision Between a dump truck and a sedan. The old man grumbles in frustration That things have not stayed the same. He would write a letter to the President If he could figure out who to blame. But one thing sure, he always insists, It didn’t use to be this way before. Now a kind of anarchy seems to exist.
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Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 2:58 AM UTC
THE OLD MAN
The old man groans as he gets up, Rising from the chair is a job. He notices now he is getting older His head is developing a bob. Not quite Katharine Hepburn, Not a nod as much as a bounce. It’s not a palsy, more of a tic. It’s not really that pronounced. And stairs seem to be an enemy They don’t match the cadence. Between the risers and his feet There just too much distance. Or other times, they are too short And rise up as an ugly surprise Not coinciding with what he sees With his own aging naked eyes. The man complains about TV How they are mumbling too much. They seem to be whispering Or using foreign words and such. And when he turns the sound up The action scenes hurt his ears. A ***** trick to play on people Who are a bit advanced in years. The old man gets disgruntled When people outside make noise Like they are some kind of teenagers; But they’re adults, not girls and boys. Here it is ten o’clock at night When decent people are asleep. What kind of schedule is this For decent people to have to keep? What is he to make of the music These young people like to play? It has to be some kind of abuse To use a guitar in that way. In his day there was melody And words you could understand. The noise they make is like a collision Between a dump truck and a sedan. The old man grumbles in frustration That things have not stayed the same. He would write a letter to the President If he could figure out who to blame. But one thing sure, he always insists, It didn’t use to be this way before. Now a kind of anarchy seems to exist.
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