Passage Through Ennui

35 years ago
it was another
long bitter Summer
that dark humid July 1985.

I was working
the graveyard shift
operating one of the service elevators
at Shadowville Spinning Mill.

Galatea and I
had split up again
earlier in the year
after our explosive reunion
in 1983.

It ended quickly
after a huge fight
with her brother
over an old score
usually forgotten.

I won the fight
but actually lost.
Tracy gave up
and Galatea left with him.

The year
it all came apart
seemingly permanent.
Two years of good times
ended in a moonshine rage. .

All I could see was
a shut down gloom.
The only laughter I heard
was down in the break room.

The brown haze of factory air
angry faced people
and the music
of metal machines.

Working all night
sleeping all day.
Sipping coffee
to chase the road aspirins.

Sitting on the steps
over by a giant fan.
keeping up with my workers
usually five ladies
at the machines.

If one of the ladies
needed anything
they'd just look my way
and wave.

Several times a night
I'd make a buy and fly
bringing back coffee for them
on makeshift cardboard trays.

Jotting down notes
doodling narratives
creating reality
building Shadowville
from the ground up.

Riding my elevator
up and down
creating samizdat
in the smoking booth.

Down to the Reel room
my elevator filled
with empty racks
to bring up the full ones
for the ladies upstairs.

All night
keeping it rolling
making it smooth
for the ladies
to make production.

Finally to clock out
as the sad whistle would blow
we would stumble out the gate
into the grey dawn.

Some headed for breakfast
and a beer
while always I headed home
for sleep
as quickly as possible.

Living at Mockingbird Court
where I had shared a trailer
with my friend Bob Whitman
an Army vet turned factory worker.

Bob worked downstairs
at the Autoclave
the machine that steamed chemicals
into the yarn.

Bob's sidekick Jim Berg
ran the huge Dryers
a super hot
chemical steam bath area.

Jim married
my childhood friend Pamela
and passed away too soon
from a heart attack

I'm not sure how workers
down there
survived the heat
and harsh smell.

Actually
I noticed not so well
as years went by
several old friends
still haunt me.

There was a guy named Bill
from Chicago
found in the Dryer room
coughing up blood from TB.

Chip, another Autoclave man
was found
giggling in the warehouse
up in the bales of fiber
one line of meth too many.

Little Rosell
on the Reels downstairs
hot little femme fatale
who I would know better later.

An unteresting lady
in her Daisy Duke shorts
and "Flashdance" shirt
she was the supervisors' choice.

Pipe smoking old Mr. Green
found in a hallway
died there of old age.

The list goes on
many who did not survive
until the shut down day
another poem for another day.

At that time of the night
with machines all running right
many of us could wander
have some coffee
and get some fresh air.

Bob was a good friend
at the job
quick with a joke
or pass his pipe for a toke.

Many smokers and drinkers
would hang out
on the porch
outside the Autoclave room.

When he heard
of my latest domestic disaster
Bob offered
to rent me a room.

In a rented room
in Bob's trailer
like a scene from The Odd Couple
without the laughs.

The bottom fell out
we didn't get along
outside of the job
so I moved out
to North Highland.

I moved in
next door to the Holt family
old school mill folk
in the former mill village.

Don, Walter and Karen Holden
all worked at
Shadowville Spinning Mill
like their family before them.

Karen worked in the supply room
Walter ran the Autoclave in Plant One
Don covered my job
during the say shift.

For some reason
it was important to them
that they tell Mr. Newberry
that I was their cousin.

I never did figure that out
but it was cool with me.
I liked them all
they were down to Earth folks.

The day I moved in
I had my music playing loud
outside my window
was the river
and then Alabama.

I would never have imagined
how that area would look now
with the row of houses demolished
and with the Riverwalk below.

I was two floors up
but I still felt
like a mole
like a subterranean.

Wake up
it was Monday
I could hear Billy Teakson
blowing his horn in his pickup truck
down below.

Billy was an old school
Card and Blending room man
never late
sick or well he was on the job.

Slither down the stairs
so far so good
jump in and ride on
the the alternate universe
the factory.

He never failed
to have a spare Budweiser
and a smoke
for the short ride to
Shadowville Spinning Mill.

We'd get there in time
to stand around the parking lot
and catch a few words
with the crew.

Then the whistle would blow
and it was on your mark
sail through 12 hours of dream
in another land.

Grabbed a cup of rotgut
mill coffee
and then
in a determined stroll.

Up to the Bobbin Winders
and the upstairs Reels
to catch everything up quick
get the game going right.

Then down the elevator
to the Spinning room
sweat shop
a dozen ladies
smoking and yelling conversations.

Loud roaring
antique seeming machinery
all all points
no escape from
the chaos and thunder.

Get it all caught up
then down to the sub basement
to pick up the prize left for me
by Don
my first shift doppelganger.

Any time Don
skipped out early
and left everything
off the mark, it was no problem.

He'd leave me a joint
at a certain spot
in the sub basement.

The basement was
creepy enough
but the sub basement
seemed right out
of a horror movie.

Needless to say
I'd keep my head down
and would try to get out
of the sub basement quickly.

I had been distributing
my broadsheets
among my co-worker friends
news of the day
with a twist.

They were entertained
by my poetry
and comic strips
looking for themselves
in the lines on paper.

Pat, the personnel director
called me in her office
and put the kibosh
on my broadsheet.

My poetry and art zine
had violated the strict
"No Distribution" policy
that no outside reading
was permitted inside the mill gates.

Since I had not been
aware of this policy
I apologized
and kept the broadsides
outside the gates from then on.

Absolutely
no foreknowledge
of what was coming next
taking one minute at a time.

Getting from one minute
to the next
always in a hurry
caught up in the time
flashing by.

Not even giving a damn
or so I told myself
by that point in time
hoping for a speedy turnabout.

I never could have foreseen
twenty years later in 2005
standing in a crowd
watching the old mill in flames

I was living
in the worn out townhouse
at 3226 River Avenue
once part of a mill village.

First week of the month
was always annoying
so much noise
as I tried to sleep.

All day hearing Mr. Newberry
beating on the sides
of the houses with his cane
trying to collect his rent money.

Alone
in my upstairs office
writing my manifesto
in poetry and comic strips.

Right side duplex
next door to the Holden family.
Two stories overlooking
the dark green Chattahoochee.

If I had the foresight
I would know sitting and waiting
was wasting precious time
the cruelty of moments.

Time can't be saved
like in a bank.
I thought I was biding my time
while I was losing everything.

As the North Highland
sun blazed down.
And as the cool white moon
seemed to watch over it all.

The big rooms
and empty house
suited my mood
my lonesome and blue.

Looking out my upstairs window
dabbling on a canvas
not a clue
what was to come.

Walked down to Forte's Pharmacy
for a beer and some smokes
the place is long gone now
35 years later.

Back then it was
the general store
where the locals stood around
shooting the breeze.

Although relatively close
the walk was winding
to get around
the far side of the factory.

Found a girl named Margo
she lived
a few doors down
from my place.

She said she liked my music
but had thought Bob Dylan's song
was The Clash
but I found her naivete charming.

Took her out and played the game
but my heart
just wasn't in it
I never saw Margo again
after that night.

At that time all seemed lost
just goes to show
I'm not much of a fortune teller
but kept hope alive.

Many nights seemed like others
so I trudged
through the days
wrote poetry
through the night.

On Tuesday, April 11, 2023 at 6:21:00 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
>
> Passage Through Ennui
>
> 35 years ago
> it was another
> long bitter Summer
> that dark humid July 1985.
>
> I was working
> the graveyard shift
> operating one of the service elevators
> at Shadowville Spinning Mill.
>
> Galatea and I
> had split up again
> earlier in the year
> after our explosive reunion
> in 1983.
>
> It ended quickly
> after a huge fight
> with her brother
> over an old score
> usually forgotten.
>
> I won the fight
> but actually lost.
> Tracy gave up
> and Galatea left with him.
>
> The year
> it all came apart
> seemingly permanent.
> Two years of good times
> ended in a moonshine rage. .
>
> All I could see was
> a shut down gloom.
> The only laughter I heard
> was down in the break room.
>
> The brown haze of factory air
> angry faced people
> and the music
> of metal machines.
>
> Working all night
> sleeping all day.
> Sipping coffee
> to chase the road aspirins.
>
> Sitting on the steps
> over by a giant fan.
> keeping up with my workers
> usually five ladies
> at the machines.
>
> If one of the ladies
> needed anything
> they'd just look my way
> and wave.
>
> Several times a night
> I'd make a buy and fly
> bringing back coffee for them
> on makeshift cardboard trays.
>
> Jotting down notes
> doodling narratives
> creating reality
> building Shadowville
> from the ground up.
>
> Riding my elevator
> up and down
> creating samizdat
> in the smoking booth.
>
> Down to the Reel room
> my elevator filled
> with empty racks
> to bring up the full ones
> for the ladies upstairs.
>
> All night
> keeping it rolling
> making it smooth
> for the ladies
> to make production.
>
> Finally to clock out
> as the sad whistle would blow
> we would stumble out the gate
> into the grey dawn.
>
> Some headed for breakfast
> and a beer
> while always I headed home
> for sleep
> as quickly as possible.
>
> Living at Mockingbird Court
> where I had shared a trailer
> with my friend Bob Whitman
> an Army vet turned factory worker.
>
> Bob worked downstairs
> at the Autoclave
> the machine that steamed chemicals
> into the yarn.
>
> Bob's sidekick Jim Berg
> ran the huge Dryers
> a super hot
> chemical steam bath area.
>
> Jim married
> my childhood friend Pamela
> and passed away too soon
> from a heart attack
>
> I'm not sure how workers
> down there
> survived the heat
> and harsh smell.
>
> Actually
> I noticed not so well
> as years went by
> several old friends
> still haunt me.
>
> There was a guy named Bill
> from Chicago
> found in the Dryer room
> coughing up blood from TB.
>
> Chip, another Autoclave man
> was found
> giggling in the warehouse
> up in the bales of fiber
> one line of meth too many.
>
> Little Rosell
> on the Reels downstairs
> hot little femme fatale
> who I would know better later.
>
> An unteresting lady
> in her Daisy Duke shorts
> and "Flashdance" shirt
> she was the supervisors' choice.
>
> Pipe smoking old Mr. Green
> found in a hallway
> died there of old age.
>
> The list goes on
> many who did not survive
> until the shut down day
> another poem for another day.
>
> At that time of the night
> with machines all running right
> many of us could wander
> have some coffee
> and get some fresh air.
>
> Bob was a good friend
> at the job
> quick with a joke
> or pass his pipe for a toke.
>
> Many smokers and drinkers
> would hang out
> on the porch
> outside the Autoclave room.
>
> When he heard
> of my latest domestic disaster
> Bob offered
> to rent me a room.
>
> In a rented room
> in Bob's trailer
> like a scene from The Odd Couple
> without the laughs.
>
> The bottom fell out
> we didn't get along
> outside of the job
> so I moved out
> to North Highland.
>
> I moved in
> next door to the Holt family
> old school mill folk
> in the former mill village.
>
> Don, Walter and Karen Holden
> all worked at
> Shadowville Spinning Mill
> like their family before them.
>
> Karen worked in the supply room
> Walter ran the Autoclave in Plant One
> Don covered my job
> during the say shift.
>
> For some reason
> it was important to them
> that they tell Mr. Newberry
> that I was their cousin.
>
> I never did figure that out
> but it was cool with me.
> I liked them all
> they were down to Earth folks.
>
> The day I moved in
> I had my music playing loud
> outside my window
> was the river
> and then Alabama.
>
> I would never have imagined
> how that area would look now
> with the row of houses demolished
> and with the Riverwalk below.
>
> I was two floors up
> but I still felt
> like a mole
> like a subterranean.
>
> Wake up
> it was Monday
> I could hear Billy Teakson
> blowing his horn in his pickup truck
> down below.
>
> Billy was an old school
> Card and Blending room man
> never late
> sick or well he was on the job.
>
> Slither down the stairs
> so far so good
> jump in and ride on
> the the alternate universe
> the factory.
>
> He never failed
> to have a spare Budweiser
> and a smoke
> for the short ride to
> Shadowville Spinning Mill.
>
> We'd get there in time
> to stand around the parking lot
> and catch a few words
> with the crew.
>
> Then the whistle would blow
> and it was on your mark
> sail through 12 hours of dream
> in another land.
>
> Grabbed a cup of rotgut
> mill coffee
> and then
> in a determined stroll.
>
> Up to the Bobbin Winders
> and the upstairs Reels
> to catch everything up quick
> get the game going right.
>
> Then down the elevator
> to the Spinning room
> sweat shop
> a dozen ladies
> smoking and yelling conversations.
>
> Loud roaring
> antique seeming machinery
> all all points
> no escape from
> the chaos and thunder.
>
> Get it all caught up
> then down to the sub basement
> to pick up the prize left for me
> by Don
> my first shift doppelganger.
>
> Any time Don
> skipped out early
> and left everything
> off the mark, it was no problem.
>
> He'd leave me a joint
> at a certain spot
> in the sub basement.
>
> The basement was
> creepy enough
> but the sub basement
> seemed right out
> of a horror movie.
>
> Needless to say
> I'd keep my head down
> and would try to get out
> of the sub basement quickly.
>
> I had been distributing
> my broadsheets
> among my co-worker friends
> news of the day
> with a twist.
>
> They were entertained
> by my poetry
> and comic strips
> looking for themselves
> in the lines on paper.
>
> Pat, the personnel director
> called me in her office
> and put the kibosh
> on my broadsheet.
>
> My poetry and art zine
> had violated the strict
> "No Distribution" policy
> that no outside reading
> was permitted inside the mill gates.
>
> Since I had not been
> aware of this policy
> I apologized
> and kept the broadsides
> outside the gates from then on.
>
> Absolutely
> no foreknowledge
> of what was coming next
> taking one minute at a time.
>
> Getting from one minute
> to the next
> always in a hurry
> caught up in the time
> flashing by.
>
> Not even giving a damn
> or so I told myself
> by that point in time
> hoping for a speedy turnabout.
>
> I never could have foreseen
> twenty years later in 2005
> standing in a crowd
> watching the old mill in flames
>
> I was living
> in the worn out townhouse
> at 3226 River Avenue
> once part of a mill village.
>
> First week of the month
> was always annoying
> so much noise
> as I tried to sleep.
>
> All day hearing Mr. Newberry
> beating on the sides
> of the houses with his cane
> trying to collect his rent money.
>
> Alone
> in my upstairs office
> writing my manifesto
> in poetry and comic strips.
>
> Right side duplex
> next door to the Holden family.
> Two stories overlooking
> the dark green Chattahoochee.
>
> If I had the foresight
> I would know sitting and waiting
> was wasting precious time
> the cruelty of moments.
>
> Time can't be saved
> like in a bank.
> I thought I was biding my time
> while I was losing everything.
>
> As the North Highland
> sun blazed down.
> And as the cool white moon
> seemed to watch over it all.
>
> The big rooms
> and empty house
> suited my mood
> my lonesome and blue.
>
> Looking out my upstairs window
> dabbling on a canvas
> not a clue
> what was to come.
>
> Walked down to Forte's Pharmacy
> for a beer and some smokes
> the place is long gone now
> 35 years later.
>
> Back then it was
> the general store
> where the locals stood around
> shooting the breeze.
>
> Although relatively close
> the walk was winding
> to get around
> the far side of the factory.
>
> Found a girl named Margo
> she lived
> a few doors down
> from my place.
>
> She said she liked my music
> but had thought Bob Dylan's song
> was The Clash
> but I found her naivete charming.
>
> Took her out and played the game
> but my heart
> just wasn't in it
> I never saw Margo again
> after that night.
>
> At that time all seemed lost
> just goes to show
> I'm not much of a fortune teller
> but kept hope alive.
>
> Many nights seemed like others
> so I trudged
> through the days
> wrote poetry
> through the night.
>
> Crossed my heart
> and looked forward
> to good luck
> and happy days again.
>
> No happy ending
> was expected
> in the foreseeable future
> just more of the same.
>
> -Will Dockery
>
> ------------------------------
> From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
> https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
>
> --

On Tuesday, April 11, 2023 at 6:21:00 PM UTC-4, W.Dockery wrote:
> Passage Through Ennui

"Passage Through" implies that one actually passes through (and, therefore, beyond) something. The speaker of this (cough!) poem ends trapped "in [a] foreseeable future
[that is] just more of the same" (which would constitute a state of ennui). IOW: the poem is not about a passage through a state of ennui, but a passage into an unending state of the same.

However, since this colossal piece of grammatical incompetence was penned by a man who has been proclaimed the single worst poet who ever lived, such idiocies are to be expected.

> 35 years ago
> it was another
> long bitter Summer
> that dark humid July 1985.

Cold is bitter. Humidity is not.

Nor, for that matter, would a humid July be dark.

The doubling of adjectives ("long bitter" and "dark humid") is the earmark of an amateur.

The doubling of atrociously inappropriate adjectives is the signature of an illiterate moron.

> I was working
> the graveyard shift
> operating one of the service elevators
> at Shadowville Spinning Mill.
>
> Galatea and I

One doubts that any resident of Gooberville was named "Galatea." If there's one thing worse than a dumbassed hillbilly, it's a dumbassed hillbilly waxing pretentious.

> had split up again
> earlier in the year
> after our explosive reunion
> in 1983.

What a torturously belabored sentence!

And, reunions are not explosive -- unless they're reunions between the Hatfields and McCoys. An explosion is destructive, and tends to blast two people apart -- which is why it is generally used to described breakups. But, as we're all too well aware, our resident Donkey has difficulty with multi-syllabic words.
> It ended quickly
> after a huge fight
> with her brother
> over an old score
> usually forgotten.

WTF is the above snatch of gibberish supposed to mean?

Who know? Who cares? And who in their right mind would ever want to subject themselves to any more of the Donkey's sub-moronic spew?

On Wednesday, April 12, 2023 at 5:11:30 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
> On Tuesday, April 11, 2023 at 6:21:00 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
> >
> > Passage Through Ennui
> >
> > 35 years ago
> > it was another
> > long bitter Summer
> > that dark humid July 1985.
> >
> > I was working
> > the graveyard shift
> > operating one of the service elevators
> > at Shadowville Spinning Mill.
> >
> > Galatea and I
> > had split up again
> > earlier in the year
> > after our explosive reunion
> > in 1983.
> >
> > It ended quickly
> > after a huge fight
> > with her brother
> > over an old score
> > usually forgotten.
> >
> > I won the fight
> > but actually lost.
> > Tracy gave up
> > and Galatea left with him.
> >
> > The year
> > it all came apart
> > seemingly permanent.
> > Two years of good times
> > ended in a moonshine rage. .
> >
> > All I could see was
> > a shut down gloom.
> > The only laughter I heard
> > was down in the break room.
> >
> > The brown haze of factory air
> > angry faced people
> > and the music
> > of metal machines.
> >
> > Working all night
> > sleeping all day.
> > Sipping coffee
> > to chase the road aspirins.
> >
> > Sitting on the steps
> > over by a giant fan.
> > keeping up with my workers
> > usually five ladies
> > at the machines.
> >
> > If one of the ladies
> > needed anything
> > they'd just look my way
> > and wave.
> >
> > Several times a night
> > I'd make a buy and fly
> > bringing back coffee for them
> > on makeshift cardboard trays.
> >
> > Jotting down notes
> > doodling narratives
> > creating reality
> > building Shadowville
> > from the ground up.
> >
> > Riding my elevator
> > up and down
> > creating samizdat
> > in the smoking booth.
> >
> > Down to the Reel room
> > my elevator filled
> > with empty racks
> > to bring up the full ones
> > for the ladies upstairs.
> >
> > All night
> > keeping it rolling
> > making it smooth
> > for the ladies
> > to make production.
> >
> > Finally to clock out
> > as the sad whistle would blow
> > we would stumble out the gate
> > into the grey dawn.
> >
> > Some headed for breakfast
> > and a beer
> > while always I headed home
> > for sleep
> > as quickly as possible.
> >
> > Living at Mockingbird Court
> > where I had shared a trailer
> > with my friend Bob Whitman
> > an Army vet turned factory worker.
> >
> > Bob worked downstairs
> > at the Autoclave
> > the machine that steamed chemicals
> > into the yarn.
> >
> > Bob's sidekick Jim Berg
> > ran the huge Dryers
> > a super hot
> > chemical steam bath area.
> >
> > Jim married
> > my childhood friend Pamela
> > and passed away too soon
> > from a heart attack
> >
> > I'm not sure how workers
> > down there
> > survived the heat
> > and harsh smell.
> >
> > Actually
> > I noticed not so well
> > as years went by
> > several old friends
> > still haunt me.
> >
> > There was a guy named Bill
> > from Chicago
> > found in the Dryer room
> > coughing up blood from TB.
> >
> > Chip, another Autoclave man
> > was found
> > giggling in the warehouse
> > up in the bales of fiber
> > one line of meth too many.
> >
> > Little Rosell
> > on the Reels downstairs
> > hot little femme fatale
> > who I would know better later.
> >
> > An unteresting lady
> > in her Daisy Duke shorts
> > and "Flashdance" shirt
> > she was the supervisors' choice.
> >
> > Pipe smoking old Mr. Green
> > found in a hallway
> > died there of old age.
> >
> > The list goes on
> > many who did not survive
> > until the shut down day
> > another poem for another day.
> >
> > At that time of the night
> > with machines all running right
> > many of us could wander
> > have some coffee
> > and get some fresh air.
> >
> > Bob was a good friend
> > at the job
> > quick with a joke
> > or pass his pipe for a toke.
> >
> > Many smokers and drinkers
> > would hang out
> > on the porch
> > outside the Autoclave room.
> >
> > When he heard
> > of my latest domestic disaster
> > Bob offered
> > to rent me a room.
> >
> > In a rented room
> > in Bob's trailer
> > like a scene from The Odd Couple
> > without the laughs.
> >
> > The bottom fell out
> > we didn't get along
> > outside of the job
> > so I moved out
> > to North Highland.
> >
> > I moved in
> > next door to the Holt family
> > old school mill folk
> > in the former mill village.
> >
> > Don, Walter and Karen Holden
> > all worked at
> > Shadowville Spinning Mill
> > like their family before them.
> >
> > Karen worked in the supply room
> > Walter ran the Autoclave in Plant One
> > Don covered my job
> > during the say shift.
> >
> > For some reason
> > it was important to them
> > that they tell Mr. Newberry
> > that I was their cousin.
> >
> > I never did figure that out
> > but it was cool with me.
> > I liked them all
> > they were down to Earth folks.
> >
> > The day I moved in
> > I had my music playing loud
> > outside my window
> > was the river
> > and then Alabama.
> >
> > I would never have imagined
> > how that area would look now
> > with the row of houses demolished
> > and with the Riverwalk below.
> >
> > I was two floors up
> > but I still felt
> > like a mole
> > like a subterranean.
> >
> > Wake up
> > it was Monday
> > I could hear Billy Teakson
> > blowing his horn in his pickup truck
> > down below.
> >
> > Billy was an old school
> > Card and Blending room man
> > never late
> > sick or well he was on the job.
> >
> > Slither down the stairs
> > so far so good
> > jump in and ride on
> > the the alternate universe
> > the factory.
> >
> > He never failed
> > to have a spare Budweiser
> > and a smoke
> > for the short ride to
> > Shadowville Spinning Mill.
> >
> > We'd get there in time
> > to stand around the parking lot
> > and catch a few words
> > with the crew.
> >
> > Then the whistle would blow
> > and it was on your mark
> > sail through 12 hours of dream
> > in another land.
> >
> > Grabbed a cup of rotgut
> > mill coffee
> > and then
> > in a determined stroll.
> >
> > Up to the Bobbin Winders
> > and the upstairs Reels
> > to catch everything up quick
> > get the game going right.
> >
> > Then down the elevator
> > to the Spinning room
> > sweat shop
> > a dozen ladies
> > smoking and yelling conversations.
> >
> > Loud roaring
> > antique seeming machinery
> > all all points
> > no escape from
> > the chaos and thunder.
> >
> > Get it all caught up
> > then down to the sub basement
> > to pick up the prize left for me
> > by Don
> > my first shift doppelganger.
> >
> > Any time Don
> > skipped out early
> > and left everything
> > off the mark, it was no problem.
> >
> > He'd leave me a joint
> > at a certain spot
> > in the sub basement.
> >
> > The basement was
> > creepy enough
> > but the sub basement
> > seemed right out
> > of a horror movie.
> >
> > Needless to say
> > I'd keep my head down
> > and would try to get out
> > of the sub basement quickly.
> >
> > I had been distributing
> > my broadsheets
> > among my co-worker friends
> > news of the day
> > with a twist.
> >
> > They were entertained
> > by my poetry
> > and comic strips
> > looking for themselves
> > in the lines on paper.
> >
> > Pat, the personnel director
> > called me in her office
> > and put the kibosh
> > on my broadsheet.
> >
> > My poetry and art zine
> > had violated the strict
> > "No Distribution" policy
> > that no outside reading
> > was permitted inside the mill gates.
> >
> > Since I had not been
> > aware of this policy
> > I apologized
> > and kept the broadsides
> > outside the gates from then on.
> >
> > Absolutely
> > no foreknowledge
> > of what was coming next
> > taking one minute at a time.
> >
> > Getting from one minute
> > to the next
> > always in a hurry
> > caught up in the time
> > flashing by.
> >
> > Not even giving a damn
> > or so I told myself
> > by that point in time
> > hoping for a speedy turnabout.
> >
> > I never could have foreseen
> > twenty years later in 2005
> > standing in a crowd
> > watching the old mill in flames
> >
> > I was living
> > in the worn out townhouse
> > at 3226 River Avenue
> > once part of a mill village.
> >
> > First week of the month
> > was always annoying
> > so much noise
> > as I tried to sleep.
> >
> > All day hearing Mr. Newberry
> > beating on the sides
> > of the houses with his cane
> > trying to collect his rent money.
> >
> > Alone
> > in my upstairs office
> > writing my manifesto
> > in poetry and comic strips.
> >
> > Right side duplex
> > next door to the Holden family.
> > Two stories overlooking
> > the dark green Chattahoochee.
> >
> > If I had the foresight
> > I would know sitting and waiting
> > was wasting precious time
> > the cruelty of moments.
> >
> > Time can't be saved
> > like in a bank.
> > I thought I was biding my time
> > while I was losing everything.
> >
> > As the North Highland
> > sun blazed down.
> > And as the cool white moon
> > seemed to watch over it all.
> >
> > The big rooms
> > and empty house
> > suited my mood
> > my lonesome and blue.
> >
> > Looking out my upstairs window
> > dabbling on a canvas
> > not a clue
> > what was to come.
> >
> > Walked down to Forte's Pharmacy
> > for a beer and some smokes
> > the place is long gone now
> > 35 years later.
> >
> > Back then it was
> > the general store
> > where the locals stood around
> > shooting the breeze.
> >
> > Although relatively close
> > the walk was winding
> > to get around
> > the far side of the factory.
> >
> > Found a girl named Margo
> > she lived
> > a few doors down
> > from my place.
> >
> > She said she liked my music
> > but had thought Bob Dylan's song
> > was The Clash
> > but I found her naivete charming.
> >
> > Took her out and played the game
> > but my heart
> > just wasn't in it
> > I never saw Margo again
> > after that night.
> >
> > At that time all seemed lost
> > just goes to show
> > I'm not much of a fortune teller
> > but kept hope alive.
> >
> > Many nights seemed like others
> > so I trudged
> > through the days
> > wrote poetry
> > through the night.
> >
> > Crossed my heart
> > and looked forward
> > to good luck
> > and happy days again.
> >
> > No happy ending
> > was expected
> > in the foreseeable future
> > just more of the same.
> >
> > -Will Dockery
> >
> > ------------------------------
> > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
> > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
> >
> > --
> Another old school fave from Mr. Doc....!

On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 12:24:35 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> On Tuesday, April 11, 2023 at 6:21:00 PM UTC-4, W.Dockery wrote:
>
> > Passage Through Ennui

------------------------------
From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html

--
>
> "Passage Through" implies thatxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hush up, ya motherfucking troll... ha ha.

On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 4:40:48 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
> On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 12:24:35 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > On Tuesday, April 11, 2023 at 6:21:00 PM UTC-4, W.Dockery wrote:
> >
> > > Passage Through Ennui
> ------------------------------
> From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
> https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
>
> --
> >
> > "Passage Through" implies thatxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
> xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
>
> Hush up, ya motherfucking troll... ha ha.

How is offering a partial critique of Will's poem an act of trollery, Stink?

Will should be grateful that I have taken the time to point out the inappropriateness of his title, thereby allowing him to avoid further embarrassment by retitling it accordingly. "Journey Into Ennui," for example.

In a perfect world, he might even correct the grammatical abominations of his poem's text.

In that same "perfect world," someone who, like yourself, disagrees with my assessment of Will's poem would seize the opportunity of using this thread as a forum in which to argue in its defense.

That you are either incapable of doing so, or unwilling to, speaks volumes.

On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 4:40:48 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
> On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 12:24:35 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > On Tuesday, April 11, 2023 at 6:21:00 PM UTC-4, W.Dockery wrote:
> >
> > > Passage Through Ennui
> ------------------------------
> From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
> https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
>
> --
> >
> > "Passage Through" implies thatxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
> xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
>
> Hush up, ya motherfucking troll... ha ha.

You know the ignorant, delusional and obsessive fuckwit Michael Pendragon will never shut up.

🙂

On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 9:44:46 AM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
> On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 4:40:48 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
> > On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 12:24:35 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > > On Tuesday, April 11, 2023 at 6:21:00 PM UTC-4, W.Dockery wrote:
> > >
> > > > Passage Through Ennui
> > ------------------------------
> > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
> > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
> >
> > --
> > >
> > > "Passage Through" implies thatxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
> > xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
> >
> > Hush up, ya motherfucking troll... ha ha.
> You know the ignorant, delusional and obsessive fuckwit Michael Pendragon will never shut up.

Sounds like my critique struck a never, illiterate Donkey.

You can always take some free English courses online.

Michael Pendragon wrote:

> On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 9:44:46 AM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
>> On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 4:40:48 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
>> > On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 12:24:35 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
>> > > On Tuesday, April 11, 2023 at 6:21:00 PM UTC-4, W.Dockery wrote:
>> > >
>> > > > Passage Through Ennui
>> > ------------------------------
>> > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
>> > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
>> >
>> > --
>> > >
>> > > "Passage Through" implies thatxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
>> > xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
>> >
>> > Hush up, ya motherfucking troll... ha ha.
>> You know the ignorant, delusional and obsessive fuckwit Michael Pendragon will never shut up.

> Sounds like my critique struck a never

I'm still laughing at the delusional idiot who thinks he's a better poet than T.S. Eliot.

🙂

On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:15:18 PM UTC-4, W-Dockery wrote:
> Michael Pendragon wrote:
>
> > On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 9:44:46 AM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
> >> On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 4:40:48 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
> >> > On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 12:24:35 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> >> > > On Tuesday, April 11, 2023 at 6:21:00 PM UTC-4, W.Dockery wrote:
> >> > >
> >> > > > Passage Through Ennui
> >> > ------------------------------
> >> > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
> >> > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
> >> >
> >> > --
> >> > >
> >> > > "Passage Through" implies thatxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
> >> > xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
> >> >
> >> > Hush up, ya motherfucking troll... ha ha.
> >> You know the ignorant, delusional and obsessive fuckwit Michael Pendragon will never shut up.
>
> > Sounds like my critique struck a never
> I'm still laughing at the delusional idiot who thinks he's a better poet than T.S. Eliot.

Have you attempted to read "The Waste Land?"

Try it, then tell me what you think of Eliot's verse.

On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:24:41 PM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:15:18 PM UTC-4, W-Dockery wrote:
> > Michael Pendragon wrote:
> >
> > > On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 9:44:46 AM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
> > >> On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 4:40:48 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
> > >> > On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 12:24:35 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > >> > > On Tuesday, April 11, 2023 at 6:21:00 PM UTC-4, W.Dockery wrote:
> > >> > >
> > >> > > > Passage Through Ennui
> > >> > ------------------------------
> > >> > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
> > >> > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
> > >> >
> > >> > --
> > >> > >
> > >> > > "Passage Through" implies thatxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
> > >> > xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
> > >> >
> > >> > Hush up, ya motherfucking troll... ha ha.
> > >> You know the ignorant, delusional and obsessive fuckwit Michael Pendragon will never shut up.
> >
> > > Sounds like my critique struck a never
> > I'm still laughing at the delusional idiot who thinks he's a better poet than T.S. Eliot.
> Have you attempted to read "The Waste Land?"

Yes, and I've read your dreary sing-song rhymes also, you delusional fuckwit.

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/jan/10/from-tom-to-ts-eliot-world-poet

"TS Eliot ... became the most celebrated poet of the 20th century – a world poet, who changed the way we think. ...
> TS Eliot died in London ... the incarnation of his art form. He was not just the most famous poet alive, but regarded (as many still regard him) as the finest poet of the 20th century...." -Robert Crawford

And so it goes.

On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:50:47 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
> On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:24:41 PM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:15:18 PM UTC-4, W-Dockery wrote:
> > > Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > >
> > > > On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 9:44:46 AM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
> > > >> On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 4:40:48 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
> > > >> > On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 12:24:35 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > > >> > > On Tuesday, April 11, 2023 at 6:21:00 PM UTC-4, W.Dockery wrote:
> > > >> > >
> > > >> > > > Passage Through Ennui
> > > >> > ------------------------------
> > > >> > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
> > > >> > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
> > > >> >
> > > >> > --
> > > >> > >
> > > >> > > "Passage Through" implies thatxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
> > > >> > xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
> > > >> >
> > > >> > Hush up, ya motherfucking troll... ha ha.
> > > >> You know the ignorant, delusional and obsessive fuckwit Michael Pendragon will never shut up.
> > >
> > > > Sounds like my critique struck a never
> > > I'm still laughing at the delusional idiot who thinks he's a better poet than T.S. Eliot.
> > Have you attempted to read "The Waste Land?"
> Yes, and I've read your dreary sing-song rhymes also, you delusional fuckwit.
>
> https://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/jan/10/from-tom-to-ts-eliot-world-poet
>
> "TS Eliot ... became the most celebrated poet of the 20th century – a world poet, who changed the way we think. ...
> > TS Eliot died in London ... the incarnation of his art form. He was not just the most famous poet alive, but regarded (as many still regard him) as the finest poet of the 20th century...." -Robert Crawford
>
> And so it goes.

If you've read "The Waste Land," please be so good as to explain it to me -- in your own words, of course. I've already read about it on Wikipedia.

Michael Pendragon wrote:

> On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:50:47 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
>> On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:24:41 PM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
>> > On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:15:18 PM UTC-4, W-Dockery wrote:
>> > > Michael Pendragon wrote:
>> > >
>> > > > On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 9:44:46 AM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
>> > > >> On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 4:40:48 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
>> > > >> > On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 12:24:35 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
>> > > >> > > On Tuesday, April 11, 2023 at 6:21:00 PM UTC-4, W.Dockery wrote:
>> > > >> > >
>> > > >> > > > Passage Through Ennui
>> > > >> > ------------------------------
>> > > >> > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
>> > > >> > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
>> > > >> >
>> > > >> > --
>> > > >> > >
>> > > >> > > "Passage Through" implies thatxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
>> > > >> > xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
>> > > >> >
>> > > >> > Hush up, ya motherfucking troll... ha ha.
>> > > >> You know the ignorant, delusional and obsessive fuckwit Michael Pendragon will never shut up.
>> > >
>> > > > Sounds like my critique struck a never
>> > > I'm still laughing at the delusional idiot who thinks he's a better poet than T.S. Eliot.
>> > Have you attempted to read "The Waste Land?"
>> Yes, and I've read your dreary sing-song rhymes also, you delusional fuckwit.
>>
>> https://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/jan/10/from-tom-to-ts-eliot-world-poet
>>
>> "TS Eliot ... became the most celebrated poet of the 20th century – a world poet, who changed the way we think. ...
>> > TS Eliot died in London ... the incarnation of his art form. He was not just the most famous poet alive, but regarded (as many still regard him) as the finest poet of the 20th century...." -Robert Crawford
>>
>> And so it goes.

> If you've read "The Waste Land," please be so good as to explain it to me -- in your own words, of course. I've already read about it on Wikipedia.

You never read the poem but you fancy yourself a better poet than T.S. Eliot, Voodoo Boy...?

You are one absurd little motherfucking Penhead... ha ha.

On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 5:45:44 PM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 4:40:48 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
> > On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 12:24:35 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > > On Tuesday, April 11, 2023 at 6:21:00 PM UTC-4, W.Dockery wrote:
> > >
> > > > Passage Through Ennui
> > ------------------------------
> > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
> > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
> >
> > --
> > >
> > > "Passage Through" implies thatxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
> > xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
> >
> > Hush up, ya motherfucking troll... ha ha.
> How is offering a partial critique of Will's poem an act of trollery

Because you are a troll from the get go, Penhead... now STFU... ha ha.

Zod wrote:

> On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 5:45:44 PM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
>> On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 4:40:48 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
>> > On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 12:24:35 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
>> > > On Tuesday, April 11, 2023 at 6:21:00 PM UTC-4, W.Dockery wrote:
>> > >
>> > > > Passage Through Ennui
>> > ------------------------------
>> > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
>> > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
>> >
>> > --
>> > >
>> > > "Passage Through" implies thatxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
>> > xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
>> >
>> > Hush up, ya motherfucking troll... ha ha.
>> How is offering a partial critique of Will's poem an act of trollery

> Because you are a troll from the get go, Penhead... now STFU... ha ha.

This is Usenet, as you know, trolls come with the territory.

General-Zod wrote:

> Michael Pendragon wrote:

>> On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:50:47 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
>>> On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:24:41 PM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
>>> > On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:15:18 PM UTC-4, W-Dockery wrote:
>>> > > Michael Pendragon wrote:
>>> > >
>>> > > > On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 9:44:46 AM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
>>> > > >> On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 4:40:48 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
>>> > > >> > On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 12:24:35 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
>>> > > >> > > On Tuesday, April 11, 2023 at 6:21:00 PM UTC-4, W.Dockery wrote:
>>> > > >> > >
>>> > > >> > > > Passage Through Ennui
>>> > > >> > ------------------------------
>>> > > >> > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
>>> > > >> > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
>>> > > >> >
>>> > > >> > --
>>> > > >> > >
>>> > > >> > > "Passage Through" implies thatxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
>>> > > >> > xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
>>> > > >> >
>>> > > >> > Hush up, ya motherfucking troll... ha ha.
>>> > > >> You know the ignorant, delusional and obsessive fuckwit Michael Pendragon will never shut up.
>>> > >
>>> > > > Sounds like my critique struck a never
>>> > > I'm still laughing at the delusional idiot who thinks he's a better poet than T.S. Eliot.
>>> > Have you attempted to read "The Waste Land?"
>>> Yes, and I've read your dreary sing-song rhymes also, you delusional fuckwit.
>>>
>>> https://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/jan/10/from-tom-to-ts-eliot-world-poet
>>>
>>> "TS Eliot ... became the most celebrated poet of the 20th century – a world poet, who changed the way we think. ...
>>> > TS Eliot died in London ... the incarnation of his art form. He was not just the most famous poet alive, but regarded (as many still regard him) as the finest poet of the 20th century...." -Robert Crawford
>>>
>>> And so it goes.

>> If you've read "The Waste Land," please be so good as to explain it to me -- in your own words, of course. I've already read about it on Wikipedia.

> You never read the poem but you fancy yourself a better poet than T.S. Eliot

Probably not, since he's obviously clueless about it.

HTH and HAND.

General-Zod wrote:

> Michael Pendragon wrote:

>> On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:50:47 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
>>> On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:24:41 PM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
>>> > On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:15:18 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
>
>>> > > >> > > > Passage Through Ennui
>>> > > >> > ------------------------------
>>> > > >> > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
>>> > > >> > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
>>> > > >> >
>>> > > >> > --
>>> > > >> > >
>>> > > >> > > "Passage Through" implies thatxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
>>> > > >> > xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
>>> > > >> >
>>> > > >> > Hush up, ya motherfucking troll... ha ha.
>>> > > >> You know the ignorant, delusional and obsessive fuckwit Michael Pendragon will never shut up.
>>> > >
>>> > > > Sounds like my critique struck a never
>>> > > I'm still laughing at the delusional idiot who thinks he's a better poet than T.S. Eliot.
>>> > Have you attempted to read "The Waste Land?"
>>> Yes, and I've read your dreary sing-song rhymes also, you delusional fuckwit.
>>>
>>> https://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/jan/10/from-tom-to-ts-eliot-world-poet
>>>
>>> "TS Eliot ... became the most celebrated poet of the 20th century – a world poet, who changed the way we think. ...
>>> > TS Eliot died in London ... the incarnation of his art form. He was not just the most famous poet alive, but regarded (as many still regard him) as the finest poet of the 20th century...." -Robert Crawford
>>>
>>> And so it goes.

>> If you've read "The Waste Land," please be so good as to explain it to me -- in your own words, of course. I've already read about it on Wikipedia.

> You never read the poem but you fancy yourself a better poet than T.S. Eliot, Voodoo Boy...?

> You are one absurd little motherfucking Penhead... ha ha.

Michael Pendragon seems to be so easily confused.

On Thursday, April 20, 2023 at 8:25:14 AM UTC-4, W-Dockery wrote:
> General-Zod wrote:
>
> > Michael Pendragon wrote:
>
> >> On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:50:47 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
> >>> On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:24:41 PM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> >>> > On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:15:18 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
> >
> >>> > > >> > > > Passage Through Ennui
> >>> > > >> > ------------------------------
> >>> > > >> > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
> >>> > > >> > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
> >>> > > >> >
> >>> > > >> > --
> >>> > > >> > >
> >>> > > >> > > "Passage Through" implies thatxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
> >>> > > >> > xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
> >>> > > >> >
> >>> > > >> > Hush up, ya motherfucking troll... ha ha.
> >>> > > >> You know the ignorant, delusional and obsessive fuckwit Michael Pendragon will never shut up.
> >>> > >
> >>> > > > Sounds like my critique struck a never
> >>> > > I'm still laughing at the delusional idiot who thinks he's a better poet than T.S. Eliot.
> >>> > Have you attempted to read "The Waste Land?"
> >>> Yes, and I've read your dreary sing-song rhymes also, you delusional fuckwit.
> >>>
> >>> https://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/jan/10/from-tom-to-ts-eliot-world-poet
> >>>
> >>> "TS Eliot ... became the most celebrated poet of the 20th century – a world poet, who changed the way we think. ...
> >>> > TS Eliot died in London ... the incarnation of his art form. He was not just the most famous poet alive, but regarded (as many still regard him) as the finest poet of the 20th century...." -Robert Crawford
> >>>
> >>> And so it goes.
>
> >> If you've read "The Waste Land," please be so good as to explain it to me -- in your own words, of course. I've already read about it on Wikipedia.
>
> > You never read the poem but you fancy yourself a better poet than T.S. Eliot, Voodoo Boy...?

Learn to read, Stinkpot. I've read "The Wasteland & Other Poems." I've read about it (among other places), in the books extensive notes, and on Wikipedia.

I'm asking your Donkey to explain "The Wasteland" in his own words -- not with his usual copy/paste from Wikipedia.

> > You are one absurd little motherfucking Penhead... ha ha.
> Michael Pendragon seems to be so easily confused.

Michael Pendragon wrote:

> On Thursday, April 20, 2023 at 8:25:14 AM UTC-4, W-Dockery wrote:
>> General-Zod wrote:
>>
>> > Michael Pendragon wrote:
>>
>> >> On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:50:47 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
>> >>> On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:24:41 PM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
>> >>> > On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:15:18 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
>> >
>> >>> > > >> > > > Passage Through Ennui
>> >>> > > >> > ------------------------------
>> >>> > > >> > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
>> >>> > > >> > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
>> >>> > > >> >
>> >>> > > >> > --
>> >>> > > >> > >
>> >>> > > >> > > "Passage Through" implies thatxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
>> >>> > > >> > xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
>> >>> > > >> >
>> >>> > > >> > Hush up, ya motherfucking troll... ha ha.
>> >>> > > >> You know the ignorant, delusional and obsessive fuckwit Michael Pendragon will never shut up.
>> >>> > >
>> >>> > > > Sounds like my critique struck a never
>> >>> > > I'm still laughing at the delusional idiot who thinks he's a better poet than T.S. Eliot.
>> >>> > Have you attempted to read "The Waste Land?"
>> >>> Yes, and I've read your dreary sing-song rhymes also, you delusional fuckwit.
>> >>>
>> >>> https://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/jan/10/from-tom-to-ts-eliot-world-poet
>> >>>
>> >>> "TS Eliot ... became the most celebrated poet of the 20th century – a world poet, who changed the way we think. ...
>> >>> > TS Eliot died in London ... the incarnation of his art form. He was not just the most famous poet alive, but regarded (as many still regard him) as the finest poet of the 20th century...." -Robert Crawford
>> >>>
>> >>> And so it goes.
>>
>> >> If you've read "The Waste Land," please be so good as to explain it to me -- in your own words, of course. I've already read about it on Wikipedia.
>>
>> > You never read the poem but you fancy yourself a better poet than T.S. Eliot, Voodoo Boy...?

> I've read "The Wasteland & Other Poems."

Yet you're still having the delusional fantasy that you're a better poet than T.S. Eliot.

That's pretty ignorant.

>> > You are one absurd little motherfucking Penhead... ha ha.
>> Michael Pendragon seems to be so easily confused.

By "modern poetry," obviously.

🙂

On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 3:55:29 PM UTC-4, General-Zod wrote:
> Michael Pendragon wrote:
>
> > On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:50:47 PM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
> >> On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:24:41 PM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> >> > On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 1:15:18 PM UTC-4, W-Dockery wrote:
> >> > > Michael Pendragon wrote:
> >> > >
> >> > > > On Friday, April 14, 2023 at 9:44:46 AM UTC-4, Will Dockery wrote:
> >> > > >> On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 4:40:48 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
> >> > > >> > On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 12:24:35 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> >> > > >> > > On Tuesday, April 11, 2023 at 6:21:00 PM UTC-4, W.Dockery wrote:
> >> > > >> > >
> >> > > >> > > > Passage Through Ennui
> >> > > >> > ------------------------------
> >> > > >> > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
> >> > > >> > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
> >> > > >> >
> >> > > >> > --
> >> > > >> > >
> >> > > >> > > "Passage Through" implies thatxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
> >> > > >> > xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
> >> > > >> >
> >> > > >> > Hush up, ya motherfucking troll... ha ha.
> >> > > >> You know the ignorant, delusional and obsessive fuckwit Michael Pendragon will never shut up.
> >> > >
> >> > > > Sounds like my critique struck a never
> >> > > I'm still laughing at the delusional idiot who thinks he's a better poet than T.S. Eliot.
> >> > Have you attempted to read "The Waste Land?"
> >> Yes, and I've read your dreary sing-song rhymes also, you delusional fuckwit.
> >>
> >> https://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/jan/10/from-tom-to-ts-eliot-world-poet
> >>
> >> "TS Eliot ... became the most celebrated poet of the 20th century – a world poet, who changed the way we think. ...
> >> > TS Eliot died in London ... the incarnation of his art form. He was not just the most famous poet alive, but regarded (as many still regard him) as the finest poet of the 20th century...." -Robert Crawford
> >>
> >> And so it goes.
>
> > If you've read "The Waste Land," please be so good as to explain it to me -- in your own words, of course. I've already read about it on Wikipedia..
> You never read the poem but you fancy yourself a better poet than T.S. Eliot, Voodoo Boy...?
>
> You are one absurd little motherfucking Penhead... ha ha.

Agreed.

:)

Michael Pendragon wrote:

> On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 4:40:48 PM UTC-4, Zod wrote:
>> On Thursday, April 13, 2023 at 12:24:35 AM UTC-4, Michael Pendragon wrote:
>> > On Tuesday, April 11, 2023 at 6:21:00 PM UTC-4, W.Dockery wrote:
>> >
>> > > Passage Through Ennui
>> ------------------------------
>> From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
>> https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
>>
>> --
>> >
>> > "Passage Through" implies thatxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
>> xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
>>
>> Hush up, ya motherfucking troll... ha ha.

> How is offering

What worth is an offering from a lying delusional fuckwit monkey like you, Pendragon?

Little to none.

HTH and HAND.

Zod wrote:

> Will Dockery wrote:
>
>> Passage Through Ennui
>>
>> 35 years ago
>> it was another
>> long bitter Summer
>> that dark humid July 1985.
>>
>> I was working
>> the graveyard shift
>> operating one of the service elevators
>> at Shadowville Spinning Mill.
>>
>> Galatea and I
>> had split up again
>> earlier in the year
>> after our explosive reunion
>> in 1983.
>>
>> It ended quickly
>> after a huge fight
>> with her brother
>> over an old score
>> usually forgotten.
>>
>> I won the fight
>> but actually lost.
>> Tracy gave up
>> and Galatea left with him.
>>
>> The year
>> it all came apart
>> seemingly permanent.
>> Two years of good times
>> ended in a moonshine rage. .
>>
>> All I could see was
>> a shut down gloom.
>> The only laughter I heard
>> was down in the break room.
>>
>> The brown haze of factory air
>> angry faced people
>> and the music
>> of metal machines.
>>
>> Working all night
>> sleeping all day.
>> Sipping coffee
>> to chase the road aspirins.
>>
>> Sitting on the steps
>> over by a giant fan.
>> keeping up with my workers
>> usually five ladies
>> at the machines.
>>
>> If one of the ladies
>> needed anything
>> they'd just look my way
>> and wave.
>>
>> Several times a night
>> I'd make a buy and fly
>> bringing back coffee for them
>> on makeshift cardboard trays.
>>
>> Jotting down notes
>> doodling narratives
>> creating reality
>> building Shadowville
>> from the ground up.
>>
>> Riding my elevator
>> up and down
>> creating samizdat
>> in the smoking booth.
>>
>> Down to the Reel room
>> my elevator filled
>> with empty racks
>> to bring up the full ones
>> for the ladies upstairs.
>>
>> All night
>> keeping it rolling
>> making it smooth
>> for the ladies
>> to make production.
>>
>> Finally to clock out
>> as the sad whistle would blow
>> we would stumble out the gate
>> into the grey dawn.
>>
>> Some headed for breakfast
>> and a beer
>> while always I headed home
>> for sleep
>> as quickly as possible.
>>
>> Living at Mockingbird Court
>> where I had shared a trailer
>> with my friend Bob Whitman
>> an Army vet turned factory worker.
>>
>> Bob worked downstairs
>> at the Autoclave
>> the machine that steamed chemicals
>> into the yarn.
>>
>> Bob's sidekick Jim Berg
>> ran the huge Dryers
>> a super hot
>> chemical steam bath area.
>>
>> Jim married
>> my childhood friend Pamela
>> and passed away too soon
>> from a heart attack
>>
>> I'm not sure how workers
>> down there
>> survived the heat
>> and harsh smell.
>>
>> Actually
>> I noticed not so well
>> as years went by
>> several old friends
>> still haunt me.
>>
>> There was a guy named Bill
>> from Chicago
>> found in the Dryer room
>> coughing up blood from TB.
>>
>> Chip, another Autoclave man
>> was found
>> giggling in the warehouse
>> up in the bales of fiber
>> one line of meth too many.
>>
>> Little Rosell
>> on the Reels downstairs
>> hot little femme fatale
>> who I would know better later.
>>
>> An unteresting lady
>> in her Daisy Duke shorts
>> and "Flashdance" shirt
>> she was the supervisors' choice.
>>
>> Pipe smoking old Mr. Green
>> found in a hallway
>> died there of old age.
>>
>> The list goes on
>> many who did not survive
>> until the shut down day
>> another poem for another day.
>>
>> At that time of the night
>> with machines all running right
>> many of us could wander
>> have some coffee
>> and get some fresh air.
>>
>> Bob was a good friend
>> at the job
>> quick with a joke
>> or pass his pipe for a toke.
>>
>> Many smokers and drinkers
>> would hang out
>> on the porch
>> outside the Autoclave room.
>>
>> When he heard
>> of my latest domestic disaster
>> Bob offered
>> to rent me a room.
>>
>> In a rented room
>> in Bob's trailer
>> like a scene from The Odd Couple
>> without the laughs.
>>
>> The bottom fell out
>> we didn't get along
>> outside of the job
>> so I moved out
>> to North Highland.
>>
>> I moved in
>> next door to the Holt family
>> old school mill folk
>> in the former mill village.
>>
>> Don, Walter and Karen Holden
>> all worked at
>> Shadowville Spinning Mill
>> like their family before them.
>>
>> Karen worked in the supply room
>> Walter ran the Autoclave in Plant One
>> Don covered my job
>> during the say shift.
>>
>> For some reason
>> it was important to them
>> that they tell Mr. Newberry
>> that I was their cousin.
>>
>> I never did figure that out
>> but it was cool with me.
>> I liked them all
>> they were down to Earth folks.
>>
>> The day I moved in
>> I had my music playing loud
>> outside my window
>> was the river
>> and then Alabama.
>>
>> I would never have imagined
>> how that area would look now
>> with the row of houses demolished
>> and with the Riverwalk below.
>>
>> I was two floors up
>> but I still felt
>> like a mole
>> like a subterranean.
>>
>> Wake up
>> it was Monday
>> I could hear Billy Teakson
>> blowing his horn in his pickup truck
>> down below.
>>
>> Billy was an old school
>> Card and Blending room man
>> never late
>> sick or well he was on the job.
>>
>> Slither down the stairs
>> so far so good
>> jump in and ride on
>> the the alternate universe
>> the factory.
>>
>> He never failed
>> to have a spare Budweiser
>> and a smoke
>> for the short ride to
>> Shadowville Spinning Mill.
>>
>> We'd get there in time
>> to stand around the parking lot
>> and catch a few words
>> with the crew.
>>
>> Then the whistle would blow
>> and it was on your mark
>> sail through 12 hours of dream
>> in another land.
>>
>> Grabbed a cup of rotgut
>> mill coffee
>> and then
>> in a determined stroll.
>>
>> Up to the Bobbin Winders
>> and the upstairs Reels
>> to catch everything up quick
>> get the game going right.
>>
>> Then down the elevator
>> to the Spinning room
>> sweat shop
>> a dozen ladies
>> smoking and yelling conversations.
>>
>> Loud roaring
>> antique seeming machinery
>> all all points
>> no escape from
>> the chaos and thunder.
>>
>> Get it all caught up
>> then down to the sub basement
>> to pick up the prize left for me
>> by Don
>> my first shift doppelganger.
>>
>> Any time Don
>> skipped out early
>> and left everything
>> off the mark, it was no problem.
>>
>> He'd leave me a joint
>> at a certain spot
>> in the sub basement.
>>
>> The basement was
>> creepy enough
>> but the sub basement
>> seemed right out
>> of a horror movie.
>>
>> Needless to say
>> I'd keep my head down
>> and would try to get out
>> of the sub basement quickly.
>>
>> I had been distributing
>> my broadsheets
>> among my co-worker friends
>> news of the day
>> with a twist.
>>
>> They were entertained
>> by my poetry
>> and comic strips
>> looking for themselves
>> in the lines on paper.
>>
>> Pat, the personnel director
>> called me in her office
>> and put the kibosh
>> on my broadsheet.
>>
>> My poetry and art zine
>> had violated the strict
>> "No Distribution" policy
>> that no outside reading
>> was permitted inside the mill gates.
>>
>> Since I had not been
>> aware of this policy
>> I apologized
>> and kept the broadsides
>> outside the gates from then on.
>>
>> Absolutely
>> no foreknowledge
>> of what was coming next
>> taking one minute at a time.
>>
>> Getting from one minute
>> to the next
>> always in a hurry
>> caught up in the time
>> flashing by.
>>
>> Not even giving a damn
>> or so I told myself
>> by that point in time
>> hoping for a speedy turnabout.
>>
>> I never could have foreseen
>> twenty years later in 2005
>> standing in a crowd
>> watching the old mill in flames
>>
>> I was living
>> in the worn out townhouse
>> at 3226 River Avenue
>> once part of a mill village.
>>
>> First week of the month
>> was always annoying
>> so much noise
>> as I tried to sleep.
>>
>> All day hearing Mr. Newberry
>> beating on the sides
>> of the houses with his cane
>> trying to collect his rent money.
>>
>> Alone
>> in my upstairs office
>> writing my manifesto
>> in poetry and comic strips.
>>
>> Right side duplex
>> next door to the Holden family.
>> Two stories overlooking
>> the dark green Chattahoochee.
>>
>> If I had the foresight
>> I would know sitting and waiting
>> was wasting precious time
>> the cruelty of moments.
>>
>> Time can't be saved
>> like in a bank.
>> I thought I was biding my time
>> while I was losing everything.
>>
>> As the North Highland
>> sun blazed down.
>> And as the cool white moon
>> seemed to watch over it all.
>>
>> The big rooms
>> and empty house
>> suited my mood
>> my lonesome and blue.
>>
>> Looking out my upstairs window
>> dabbling on a canvas
>> not a clue
>> what was to come.
>>
>> Walked down to Forte's Pharmacy
>> for a beer and some smokes
>> the place is long gone now
>> 35 years later.
>>
>> Back then it was
>> the general store
>> where the locals stood around
>> shooting the breeze.
>>
>> Although relatively close
>> the walk was winding
>> to get around
>> the far side of the factory.
>>
>> Found a girl named Margo
>> she lived
>> a few doors down
>> from my place.
>>
>> She said she liked my music
>> but had thought Bob Dylan's song
>> was The Clash
>> but I found her naivete charming.
>>
>> Took her out and played the game
>> but my heart
>> just wasn't in it
>> I never saw Margo again
>> after that night.
>>
>> At that time all seemed lost
>> just goes to show
>> I'm not much of a fortune teller
>> but kept hope alive.
>>
>> Many nights seemed like others
>> so I trudged
>> through the days
>> wrote poetry
>> through the night.
>>
>> Crossed my heart
>> and looked forward
>> to good luck
>> and happy days again.
>>
>> No happy ending
>> was expected
>> in the foreseeable future
>> just more of the same.
>>
>> -Will Dockery
>>
>> ------------------------------
>> From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
>> https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
>>
>> --

Will Dockery wrote:
> Zod wrote:
> > Will Dockery wrote:
> > >
> > > Passage Through Ennui
> > >
> > > 35 years ago
> > > it was another
> > > long bitter Summer
> > > that dark humid July 1985.
> > >
> > > I was working
> > > the graveyard shift
> > > operating one of the service elevators
> > > at Shadowville Spinning Mill.
> > >
> > > Galatea and I
> > > had split up again
> > > earlier in the year
> > > after our explosive reunion
> > > in 1983.
> > >
> > > It ended quickly
> > > after a huge fight
> > > with her brother
> > > over an old score
> > > usually forgotten.
> > >
> > > I won the fight
> > > but actually lost.
> > > Tracy gave up
> > > and Galatea left with him.
> > >
> > > The year
> > > it all came apart
> > > seemingly permanent.
> > > Two years of good times
> > > ended in a moonshine rage. .
> > >
> > > All I could see was
> > > a shut down gloom.
> > > The only laughter I heard
> > > was down in the break room.
> > >
> > > The brown haze of factory air
> > > angry faced people
> > > and the music
> > > of metal machines.
> > >
> > > Working all night
> > > sleeping all day.
> > > Sipping coffee
> > > to chase the road aspirins.
> > >
> > > Sitting on the steps
> > > over by a giant fan.
> > > keeping up with my workers
> > > usually five ladies
> > > at the machines.
> > >
> > > If one of the ladies
> > > needed anything
> > > they'd just look my way
> > > and wave.
> > >
> > > Several times a night
> > > I'd make a buy and fly
> > > bringing back coffee for them
> > > on makeshift cardboard trays.
> > >
> > > Jotting down notes
> > > doodling narratives
> > > creating reality
> > > building Shadowville
> > > from the ground up.
> > >
> > > Riding my elevator
> > > up and down
> > > creating samizdat
> > > in the smoking booth.
> > >
> > > Down to the Reel room
> > > my elevator filled
> > > with empty racks
> > > to bring up the full ones
> > > for the ladies upstairs.
> > >
> > > All night
> > > keeping it rolling
> > > making it smooth
> > > for the ladies
> > > to make production.
> > >
> > > Finally to clock out
> > > as the sad whistle would blow
> > > we would stumble out the gate
> > > into the grey dawn.
> > >
> > > Some headed for breakfast
> > > and a beer
> > > while always I headed home
> > > for sleep
> > > as quickly as possible.
> > >
> > > Living at Mockingbird Court
> > > where I had shared a trailer
> > > with my friend Bob Whitman
> > > an Army vet turned factory worker.
> > >
> > > Bob worked downstairs
> > > at the Autoclave
> > > the machine that steamed chemicals
> > > into the yarn.
> > >
> > > Bob's sidekick Jim Berg
> > > ran the huge Dryers
> > > a super hot
> > > chemical steam bath area.
> > >
> > > Jim married
> > > my childhood friend Pamela
> > > and passed away too soon
> > > from a heart attack
> > >
> > > I'm not sure how workers
> > > down there
> > > survived the heat
> > > and harsh smell.
> > >
> > > Actually
> > > I noticed not so well
> > > as years went by
> > > several old friends
> > > still haunt me.
> > >
> > > There was a guy named Bill
> > > from Chicago
> > > found in the Dryer room
> > > coughing up blood from TB.
> > >
> > > Chip, another Autoclave man
> > > was found
> > > giggling in the warehouse
> > > up in the bales of fiber
> > > one line of meth too many.
> > >
> > > Little Rosell
> > > on the Reels downstairs
> > > hot little femme fatale
> > > who I would know better later.
> > >
> > > An unteresting lady
> > > in her Daisy Duke shorts
> > > and "Flashdance" shirt
> > > she was the supervisors' choice.
> > >
> > > Pipe smoking old Mr. Green
> > > found in a hallway
> > > died there of old age.
> > >
> > > The list goes on
> > > many who did not survive
> > > until the shut down day
> > > another poem for another day.
> > >
> > > At that time of the night
> > > with machines all running right
> > > many of us could wander
> > > have some coffee
> > > and get some fresh air.
> > >
> > > Bob was a good friend
> > > at the job
> > > quick with a joke
> > > or pass his pipe for a toke.
> > >
> > > Many smokers and drinkers
> > > would hang out
> > > on the porch
> > > outside the Autoclave room.
> > >
> > > When he heard
> > > of my latest domestic disaster
> > > Bob offered
> > > to rent me a room.
> > >
> > > In a rented room
> > > in Bob's trailer
> > > like a scene from The Odd Couple
> > > without the laughs.
> > >
> > > The bottom fell out
> > > we didn't get along
> > > outside of the job
> > > so I moved out
> > > to North Highland.
> > >
> > > I moved in
> > > next door to the Holt family
> > > old school mill folk
> > > in the former mill village.
> > >
> > > Don, Walter and Karen Holden
> > > all worked at
> > > Shadowville Spinning Mill
> > > like their family before them.
> > >
> > > Karen worked in the supply room
> > > Walter ran the Autoclave in Plant One
> > > Don covered my job
> > > during the say shift.
> > >
> > > For some reason
> > > it was important to them
> > > that they tell Mr. Newberry
> > > that I was their cousin.
> > >
> > > I never did figure that out
> > > but it was cool with me.
> > > I liked them all
> > > they were down to Earth folks.
> > >
> > > The day I moved in
> > > I had my music playing loud
> > > outside my window
> > > was the river
> > > and then Alabama.
> > >
> > > I would never have imagined
> > > how that area would look now
> > > with the row of houses demolished
> > > and with the Riverwalk below.
> > >
> > > I was two floors up
> > > but I still felt
> > > like a mole
> > > like a subterranean.
> > >
> > > Wake up
> > > it was Monday
> > > I could hear Billy Teakson
> > > blowing his horn in his pickup truck
> > > down below.
> > >
> > > Billy was an old school
> > > Card and Blending room man
> > > never late
> > > sick or well he was on the job.
> > >
> > > Slither down the stairs
> > > so far so good
> > > jump in and ride on
> > > the the alternate universe
> > > the factory.
> > >
> > > He never failed
> > > to have a spare Budweiser
> > > and a smoke
> > > for the short ride to
> > > Shadowville Spinning Mill.
> > >
> > > We'd get there in time
> > > to stand around the parking lot
> > > and catch a few words
> > > with the crew.
> > >
> > > Then the whistle would blow
> > > and it was on your mark
> > > sail through 12 hours of dream
> > > in another land.
> > >
> > > Grabbed a cup of rotgut
> > > mill coffee
> > > and then
> > > in a determined stroll.
> > >
> > > Up to the Bobbin Winders
> > > and the upstairs Reels
> > > to catch everything up quick
> > > get the game going right.
> > >
> > > Then down the elevator
> > > to the Spinning room
> > > sweat shop
> > > a dozen ladies
> > > smoking and yelling conversations.
> > >
> > > Loud roaring
> > > antique seeming machinery
> > > all all points
> > > no escape from
> > > the chaos and thunder.
> > >
> > > Get it all caught up
> > > then down to the sub basement
> > > to pick up the prize left for me
> > > by Don
> > > my first shift doppelganger.
> > >
> > > Any time Don
> > > skipped out early
> > > and left everything
> > > off the mark, it was no problem.
> > >
> > > He'd leave me a joint
> > > at a certain spot
> > > in the sub basement.
> > >
> > > The basement was
> > > creepy enough
> > > but the sub basement
> > > seemed right out
> > > of a horror movie.
> > >
> > > Needless to say
> > > I'd keep my head down
> > > and would try to get out
> > > of the sub basement quickly.
> > >
> > > I had been distributing
> > > my broadsheets
> > > among my co-worker friends
> > > news of the day
> > > with a twist.
> > >
> > > They were entertained
> > > by my poetry
> > > and comic strips
> > > looking for themselves
> > > in the lines on paper.
> > >
> > > Pat, the personnel director
> > > called me in her office
> > > and put the kibosh
> > > on my broadsheet.
> > >
> > > My poetry and art zine
> > > had violated the strict
> > > "No Distribution" policy
> > > that no outside reading
> > > was permitted inside the mill gates.
> > >
> > > Since I had not been
> > > aware of this policy
> > > I apologized
> > > and kept the broadsides
> > > outside the gates from then on.
> > >
> > > Absolutely
> > > no foreknowledge
> > > of what was coming next
> > > taking one minute at a time.
> > >
> > > Getting from one minute
> > > to the next
> > > always in a hurry
> > > caught up in the time
> > > flashing by.
> > >
> > > Not even giving a damn
> > > or so I told myself
> > > by that point in time
> > > hoping for a speedy turnabout.
> > >
> > > I never could have foreseen
> > > twenty years later in 2005
> > > standing in a crowd
> > > watching the old mill in flames
> > >
> > > I was living
> > > in the worn out townhouse
> > > at 3226 River Avenue
> > > once part of a mill village.
> > >
> > > First week of the month
> > > was always annoying
> > > so much noise
> > > as I tried to sleep.
> > >
> > > All day hearing Mr. Newberry
> > > beating on the sides
> > > of the houses with his cane
> > > trying to collect his rent money.
> > >
> > > Alone
> > > in my upstairs office
> > > writing my manifesto
> > > in poetry and comic strips.
> > >
> > > Right side duplex
> > > next door to the Holden family.
> > > Two stories overlooking
> > > the dark green Chattahoochee.
> > >
> > > If I had the foresight
> > > I would know sitting and waiting
> > > was wasting precious time
> > > the cruelty of moments.
> > >
> > > Time can't be saved
> > > like in a bank.
> > > I thought I was biding my time
> > > while I was losing everything.
> > >
> > > As the North Highland
> > > sun blazed down.
> > > And as the cool white moon
> > > seemed to watch over it all.
> > >
> > > The big rooms
> > > and empty house
> > > suited my mood
> > > my lonesome and blue.
> > >
> > > Looking out my upstairs window
> > > dabbling on a canvas
> > > not a clue
> > > what was to come.
> > >
> > > Walked down to Forte's Pharmacy
> > > for a beer and some smokes
> > > the place is long gone now
> > > 35 years later.
> > >
> > > Back then it was
> > > the general store
> > > where the locals stood around
> > > shooting the breeze.
> > >
> > > Although relatively close
> > > the walk was winding
> > > to get around
> > > the far side of the factory.
> > >
> > > Found a girl named Margo
> > > she lived
> > > a few doors down
> > > from my place.
> > >
> > > She said she liked my music
> > > but had thought Bob Dylan's song
> > > was The Clash
> > > but I found her naivete charming.
> > >
> > > Took her out and played the game
> > > but my heart
> > > just wasn't in it
> > > I never saw Margo again
> > > after that night.
> > >
> > > At that time all seemed lost
> > > just goes to show
> > > I'm not much of a fortune teller
> > > but kept hope alive.
> > >
> > > Many nights seemed like others
> > > so I trudged
> > > through the days
> > > wrote poetry
> > > through the night.
> > >
> > > Crossed my heart
> > > and looked forward
> > > to good luck
> > > and happy days again.
> > >
> > > No happy ending
> > > was expected
> > > in the foreseeable future
> > > just more of the same.
> > >
> > > -Will Dockery
> > >
> > > ------------------------------
> > > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
> > > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
> > >
> > > --
> > Another old school fave from Mr. Doc....!
> Thanks again for reading and commenting, Zod.

Faraway Star wrote:

> Will Dockery wrote:
>> Zod wrote:
>> > Will Dockery wrote:
>> > >
>> > > Passage Through Ennui
>> > >
>> > > 35 years ago
>> > > it was another
>> > > long bitter Summer
>> > > that dark humid July 1985.
>> > >
>> > > I was working
>> > > the graveyard shift
>> > > operating one of the service elevators
>> > > at Shadowville Spinning Mill.
>> > >
>> > > Galatea and I
>> > > had split up again
>> > > earlier in the year
>> > > after our explosive reunion
>> > > in 1983.
>> > >
>> > > It ended quickly
>> > > after a huge fight
>> > > with her brother
>> > > over an old score
>> > > usually forgotten.
>> > >
>> > > I won the fight
>> > > but actually lost.
>> > > Tracy gave up
>> > > and Galatea left with him.
>> > >
>> > > The year
>> > > it all came apart
>> > > seemingly permanent.
>> > > Two years of good times
>> > > ended in a moonshine rage. .
>> > >
>> > > All I could see was
>> > > a shut down gloom.
>> > > The only laughter I heard
>> > > was down in the break room.
>> > >
>> > > The brown haze of factory air
>> > > angry faced people
>> > > and the music
>> > > of metal machines.
>> > >
>> > > Working all night
>> > > sleeping all day.
>> > > Sipping coffee
>> > > to chase the road aspirins.
>> > >
>> > > Sitting on the steps
>> > > over by a giant fan.
>> > > keeping up with my workers
>> > > usually five ladies
>> > > at the machines.
>> > >
>> > > If one of the ladies
>> > > needed anything
>> > > they'd just look my way
>> > > and wave.
>> > >
>> > > Several times a night
>> > > I'd make a buy and fly
>> > > bringing back coffee for them
>> > > on makeshift cardboard trays.
>> > >
>> > > Jotting down notes
>> > > doodling narratives
>> > > creating reality
>> > > building Shadowville
>> > > from the ground up.
>> > >
>> > > Riding my elevator
>> > > up and down
>> > > creating samizdat
>> > > in the smoking booth.
>> > >
>> > > Down to the Reel room
>> > > my elevator filled
>> > > with empty racks
>> > > to bring up the full ones
>> > > for the ladies upstairs.
>> > >
>> > > All night
>> > > keeping it rolling
>> > > making it smooth
>> > > for the ladies
>> > > to make production.
>> > >
>> > > Finally to clock out
>> > > as the sad whistle would blow
>> > > we would stumble out the gate
>> > > into the grey dawn.
>> > >
>> > > Some headed for breakfast
>> > > and a beer
>> > > while always I headed home
>> > > for sleep
>> > > as quickly as possible.
>> > >
>> > > Living at Mockingbird Court
>> > > where I had shared a trailer
>> > > with my friend Bob Whitman
>> > > an Army vet turned factory worker.
>> > >
>> > > Bob worked downstairs
>> > > at the Autoclave
>> > > the machine that steamed chemicals
>> > > into the yarn.
>> > >
>> > > Bob's sidekick Jim Berg
>> > > ran the huge Dryers
>> > > a super hot
>> > > chemical steam bath area.
>> > >
>> > > Jim married
>> > > my childhood friend Pamela
>> > > and passed away too soon
>> > > from a heart attack
>> > >
>> > > I'm not sure how workers
>> > > down there
>> > > survived the heat
>> > > and harsh smell.
>> > >
>> > > Actually
>> > > I noticed not so well
>> > > as years went by
>> > > several old friends
>> > > still haunt me.
>> > >
>> > > There was a guy named Bill
>> > > from Chicago
>> > > found in the Dryer room
>> > > coughing up blood from TB.
>> > >
>> > > Chip, another Autoclave man
>> > > was found
>> > > giggling in the warehouse
>> > > up in the bales of fiber
>> > > one line of meth too many.
>> > >
>> > > Little Rosell
>> > > on the Reels downstairs
>> > > hot little femme fatale
>> > > who I would know better later.
>> > >
>> > > An unteresting lady
>> > > in her Daisy Duke shorts
>> > > and "Flashdance" shirt
>> > > she was the supervisors' choice.
>> > >
>> > > Pipe smoking old Mr. Green
>> > > found in a hallway
>> > > died there of old age.
>> > >
>> > > The list goes on
>> > > many who did not survive
>> > > until the shut down day
>> > > another poem for another day.
>> > >
>> > > At that time of the night
>> > > with machines all running right
>> > > many of us could wander
>> > > have some coffee
>> > > and get some fresh air.
>> > >
>> > > Bob was a good friend
>> > > at the job
>> > > quick with a joke
>> > > or pass his pipe for a toke.
>> > >
>> > > Many smokers and drinkers
>> > > would hang out
>> > > on the porch
>> > > outside the Autoclave room.
>> > >
>> > > When he heard
>> > > of my latest domestic disaster
>> > > Bob offered
>> > > to rent me a room.
>> > >
>> > > In a rented room
>> > > in Bob's trailer
>> > > like a scene from The Odd Couple
>> > > without the laughs.
>> > >
>> > > The bottom fell out
>> > > we didn't get along
>> > > outside of the job
>> > > so I moved out
>> > > to North Highland.
>> > >
>> > > I moved in
>> > > next door to the Holt family
>> > > old school mill folk
>> > > in the former mill village.
>> > >
>> > > Don, Walter and Karen Holden
>> > > all worked at
>> > > Shadowville Spinning Mill
>> > > like their family before them.
>> > >
>> > > Karen worked in the supply room
>> > > Walter ran the Autoclave in Plant One
>> > > Don covered my job
>> > > during the say shift.
>> > >
>> > > For some reason
>> > > it was important to them
>> > > that they tell Mr. Newberry
>> > > that I was their cousin.
>> > >
>> > > I never did figure that out
>> > > but it was cool with me.
>> > > I liked them all
>> > > they were down to Earth folks.
>> > >
>> > > The day I moved in
>> > > I had my music playing loud
>> > > outside my window
>> > > was the river
>> > > and then Alabama.
>> > >
>> > > I would never have imagined
>> > > how that area would look now
>> > > with the row of houses demolished
>> > > and with the Riverwalk below.
>> > >
>> > > I was two floors up
>> > > but I still felt
>> > > like a mole
>> > > like a subterranean.
>> > >
>> > > Wake up
>> > > it was Monday
>> > > I could hear Billy Teakson
>> > > blowing his horn in his pickup truck
>> > > down below.
>> > >
>> > > Billy was an old school
>> > > Card and Blending room man
>> > > never late
>> > > sick or well he was on the job.
>> > >
>> > > Slither down the stairs
>> > > so far so good
>> > > jump in and ride on
>> > > the the alternate universe
>> > > the factory.
>> > >
>> > > He never failed
>> > > to have a spare Budweiser
>> > > and a smoke
>> > > for the short ride to
>> > > Shadowville Spinning Mill.
>> > >
>> > > We'd get there in time
>> > > to stand around the parking lot
>> > > and catch a few words
>> > > with the crew.
>> > >
>> > > Then the whistle would blow
>> > > and it was on your mark
>> > > sail through 12 hours of dream
>> > > in another land.
>> > >
>> > > Grabbed a cup of rotgut
>> > > mill coffee
>> > > and then
>> > > in a determined stroll.
>> > >
>> > > Up to the Bobbin Winders
>> > > and the upstairs Reels
>> > > to catch everything up quick
>> > > get the game going right.
>> > >
>> > > Then down the elevator
>> > > to the Spinning room
>> > > sweat shop
>> > > a dozen ladies
>> > > smoking and yelling conversations.
>> > >
>> > > Loud roaring
>> > > antique seeming machinery
>> > > all all points
>> > > no escape from
>> > > the chaos and thunder.
>> > >
>> > > Get it all caught up
>> > > then down to the sub basement
>> > > to pick up the prize left for me
>> > > by Don
>> > > my first shift doppelganger.
>> > >
>> > > Any time Don
>> > > skipped out early
>> > > and left everything
>> > > off the mark, it was no problem.
>> > >
>> > > He'd leave me a joint
>> > > at a certain spot
>> > > in the sub basement.
>> > >
>> > > The basement was
>> > > creepy enough
>> > > but the sub basement
>> > > seemed right out
>> > > of a horror movie.
>> > >
>> > > Needless to say
>> > > I'd keep my head down
>> > > and would try to get out
>> > > of the sub basement quickly.
>> > >
>> > > I had been distributing
>> > > my broadsheets
>> > > among my co-worker friends
>> > > news of the day
>> > > with a twist.
>> > >
>> > > They were entertained
>> > > by my poetry
>> > > and comic strips
>> > > looking for themselves
>> > > in the lines on paper.
>> > >
>> > > Pat, the personnel director
>> > > called me in her office
>> > > and put the kibosh
>> > > on my broadsheet.
>> > >
>> > > My poetry and art zine
>> > > had violated the strict
>> > > "No Distribution" policy
>> > > that no outside reading
>> > > was permitted inside the mill gates.
>> > >
>> > > Since I had not been
>> > > aware of this policy
>> > > I apologized
>> > > and kept the broadsides
>> > > outside the gates from then on.
>> > >
>> > > Absolutely
>> > > no foreknowledge
>> > > of what was coming next
>> > > taking one minute at a time.
>> > >
>> > > Getting from one minute
>> > > to the next
>> > > always in a hurry
>> > > caught up in the time
>> > > flashing by.
>> > >
>> > > Not even giving a damn
>> > > or so I told myself
>> > > by that point in time
>> > > hoping for a speedy turnabout.
>> > >
>> > > I never could have foreseen
>> > > twenty years later in 2005
>> > > standing in a crowd
>> > > watching the old mill in flames
>> > >
>> > > I was living
>> > > in the worn out townhouse
>> > > at 3226 River Avenue
>> > > once part of a mill village.
>> > >
>> > > First week of the month
>> > > was always annoying
>> > > so much noise
>> > > as I tried to sleep.
>> > >
>> > > All day hearing Mr. Newberry
>> > > beating on the sides
>> > > of the houses with his cane
>> > > trying to collect his rent money.
>> > >
>> > > Alone
>> > > in my upstairs office
>> > > writing my manifesto
>> > > in poetry and comic strips.
>> > >
>> > > Right side duplex
>> > > next door to the Holden family.
>> > > Two stories overlooking
>> > > the dark green Chattahoochee.
>> > >
>> > > If I had the foresight
>> > > I would know sitting and waiting
>> > > was wasting precious time
>> > > the cruelty of moments.
>> > >
>> > > Time can't be saved
>> > > like in a bank.
>> > > I thought I was biding my time
>> > > while I was losing everything.
>> > >
>> > > As the North Highland
>> > > sun blazed down.
>> > > And as the cool white moon
>> > > seemed to watch over it all.
>> > >
>> > > The big rooms
>> > > and empty house
>> > > suited my mood
>> > > my lonesome and blue.
>> > >
>> > > Looking out my upstairs window
>> > > dabbling on a canvas
>> > > not a clue
>> > > what was to come.
>> > >
>> > > Walked down to Forte's Pharmacy
>> > > for a beer and some smokes
>> > > the place is long gone now
>> > > 35 years later.
>> > >
>> > > Back then it was
>> > > the general store
>> > > where the locals stood around
>> > > shooting the breeze.
>> > >
>> > > Although relatively close
>> > > the walk was winding
>> > > to get around
>> > > the far side of the factory.
>> > >
>> > > Found a girl named Margo
>> > > she lived
>> > > a few doors down
>> > > from my place.
>> > >
>> > > She said she liked my music
>> > > but had thought Bob Dylan's song
>> > > was The Clash
>> > > but I found her naivete charming.
>> > >
>> > > Took her out and played the game
>> > > but my heart
>> > > just wasn't in it
>> > > I never saw Margo again
>> > > after that night.
>> > >
>> > > At that time all seemed lost
>> > > just goes to show
>> > > I'm not much of a fortune teller
>> > > but kept hope alive.
>> > >
>> > > Many nights seemed like others
>> > > so I trudged
>> > > through the days
>> > > wrote poetry
>> > > through the night.
>> > >
>> > > Crossed my heart
>> > > and looked forward
>> > > to good luck
>> > > and happy days again.
>> > >
>> > > No happy ending
>> > > was expected
>> > > in the foreseeable future
>> > > just more of the same.
>> > >
>> > > -Will Dockery
>> > >
>> > > ------------------------------
>> > > From the Shadowville Mythos poetry blog:
>> > > https://shadowville-mythos.blogspot.com/2021/04/passage-through-ennui.html
>> > >
>> > > --
>> > Another old school fave from Mr. Doc....!
>> Thanks again for reading and commenting, Zod.

Will Dockery wrote:
>
> Passage Through Ennui

> 35 years ago
> it was another
> long bitter Summer
> that dark humid July 1985.

> I was working
> the graveyard shift
> operating one of the service elevators
> at Shadowville Spinning Mill.

> Galatea and I
> had split up again
> earlier in the year
> after our explosive reunion
> in 1983.

> It ended quickly
> after a huge fight
> with her brother
> over an old score
> usually forgotten.

> I won the fight
> but actually lost.
> Tracy gave up
> and Galatea left with him.

> The year
> it all came apart
> seemingly permanent.
> Two years of good times
> ended in a moonshine rage. .

> All I could see was
> a shut down gloom.
> The only laughter I heard
> was down in the break room.

> The brown haze of factory air
> angry faced people
> and the music
> of metal machines.

> Working all night
> sleeping all day.
> Sipping coffee
> to chase the road aspirins.

> Sitting on the steps
> over by a giant fan.
> keeping up with my workers
> usually five ladies
> at the machines.

> If one of the ladies
> needed anything
> they'd just look my way
> and wave.

> Several times a night
> I'd make a buy and fly
> bringing back coffee for them
> on makeshift cardboard trays.

> Jotting down notes
> doodling narratives
> creating reality
> building Shadowville
> from the ground up.

> Riding my elevator
> up and down
> creating samizdat
> in the smoking booth.

> Down to the Reel room
> my elevator filled
> with empty racks
> to bring up the full ones
> for the ladies upstairs.

> All night
> keeping it rolling
> making it smooth
> for the ladies
> to make production.

> Finally to clock out
> as the sad whistle would blow
> we would stumble out the gate
> into the grey dawn.

> Some headed for breakfast
> and a beer
> while always I headed home
> for sleep
> as quickly as possible.

> Living at Mockingbird Court
> where I had shared a trailer
> with my friend Bob Whitman
> an Army vet turned factory worker.

> Bob worked downstairs
> at the Autoclave
> the machine that steamed chemicals
> into the yarn.

> Bob's sidekick Jim Berg
> ran the huge Dryers
> a super hot
> chemical steam bath area.

> Jim married
> my childhood friend Pamela
> and passed away too soon
> from a heart attack

> I'm not sure how workers
> down there
> survived the heat
> and harsh smell.

> Actually
> I noticed not so well
> as years went by
> several old friends
> still haunt me.

> There was a guy named Bill
> from Chicago
> found in the Dryer room
> coughing up blood from TB.

> Chip, another Autoclave man
> was found
> giggling in the warehouse
> up in the bales of fiber
> one line of meth too many.

> Little Rosell
> on the Reels downstairs
> hot little femme fatale
> who I would know better later.

> An unteresting lady
> in her Daisy Duke shorts
> and "Flashdance" shirt
> she was the supervisors' choice.

> Pipe smoking old Mr. Green
> found in a hallway
> died there of old age.

> The list goes on
> many who did not survive
> until the shut down day
> another poem for another day.

> At that time of the night
> with machines all running right
> many of us could wander
> have some coffee
> and get some fresh air.

> Bob was a good friend
> at the job
> quick with a joke
> or pass his pipe for a toke.

> Many smokers and drinkers
> would hang out
> on the porch
> outside the Autoclave room.

> When he heard
> of my latest domestic disaster
> Bob offered
> to rent me a room.

> In a rented room
> in Bob's trailer
> like a scene from The Odd Couple
> without the laughs.

> The bottom fell out
> we didn't get along
> outside of the job
> so I moved out
> to North Highland.

> I moved in
> next door to the Holt family
> old school mill folk
> in the former mill village.

> Don, Walter and Karen Holden
> all worked at
> Shadowville Spinning Mill
> like their family before them.

> Karen worked in the supply room
> Walter ran the Autoclave in Plant One
> Don covered my job
> during the say shift.

> For some reason
> it was important to them
> that they tell Mr. Newberry
> that I was their cousin.

> I never did figure that out
> but it was cool with me.
> I liked them all
> they were down to Earth folks.

> The day I moved in
> I had my music playing loud
> outside my window
> was the river
> and then Alabama.

> I would never have imagined
> how that area would look now
> with the row of houses demolished
> and with the Riverwalk below.

> I was two floors up
> but I still felt
> like a mole
> like a subterranean.

> Wake up
> it was Monday
> I could hear Billy Teakson
> blowing his horn in his pickup truck
> down below.

> Billy was an old school
> Card and Blending room man
> never late
> sick or well he was on the job.

> Slither down the stairs
> so far so good
> jump in and ride on
> the the alternate universe
> the factory.

> He never failed
> to have a spare Budweiser
> and a smoke
> for the short ride to
> Shadowville Spinning Mill.

> We'd get there in time
> to stand around the parking lot
> and catch a few words
> with the crew.

> Then the whistle would blow
> and it was on your mark
> sail through 12 hours of dream
> in another land.

> Grabbed a cup of rotgut
> mill coffee
> and then
> in a determined stroll.

> Up to the Bobbin Winders
> and the upstairs Reels
> to catch everything up quick
> get the game going right.

> Then down the elevator
> to the Spinning room
> sweat shop
> a dozen ladies
> smoking and yelling conversations.

> Loud roaring
> antique seeming machinery
> all all points
> no escape from
> the chaos and thunder.

> Get it all caught up
> then down to the sub basement
> to pick up the prize left for me
> by Don
> my first shift doppelganger.

> Any time Don
> skipped out early
> and left everything
> off the mark, it was no problem.

> He'd leave me a joint
> at a certain spot
> in the sub basement.

> The basement was
> creepy enough
> but the sub basement
> seemed right out
> of a horror movie.

> Needless to say
> I'd keep my head down
> and would try to get out
> of the sub basement quickly.

> I had been distributing
> my broadsheets
> among my co-worker friends
> news of the day
> with a twist.

> They were entertained
> by my poetry
> and comic strips
> looking for themselves
> in the lines on paper.

> Pat, the personnel director
> called me in her office
> and put the kibosh
> on my broadsheet.

> My poetry and art zine
> had violated the strict
> "No Distribution" policy
> that no outside reading
> was permitted inside the mill gates.

> Since I had not been
> aware of this policy
> I apologized
> and kept the broadsides
> outside the gates from then on.

> Absolutely
> no foreknowledge
> of what was coming next
> taking one minute at a time.

> Getting from one minute
> to the next
> always in a hurry
> caught up in the time
> flashing by.

> Not even giving a damn
> or so I told myself
> by that point in time
> hoping for a speedy turnabout.

> I never could have foreseen
> twenty years later in 2005
> standing in a crowd
> watching the old mill in flames

> I was living
> in the worn out townhouse
> at 3226 River Avenue
> once part of a mill village.

> First week of the month
> was always annoying
> so much noise
> as I tried to sleep.

> All day hearing Mr. Newberry
> beating on the sides
> of the houses with his cane
> trying to collect his rent money.

> Alone
> in my upstairs office
> writing my manifesto
> in poetry and comic strips.