Shawnee, Shawnee... the way I do things pretty much
makes me better than you presently are. That's just how it is, as your mini-rants of the last thirty minutes' posting go to demonstrate. Learn how to spell sycophant, and unlearn sneering, for fear of lacking virtue. I have a bigger and a better ego than you do.
Perhaps Ezra Pound may sing from the grave to Obama the following:
Quote:
O CHANSONS foregoing
You were a seven days' wonder.
When you came out in the magazines
You created considerable stir in Chicago,
And now you are stale and worn out,
You're a very depleted fashion,
A hoop-skirt, a calash,
An homely, transient antiquity.
Only emotion remains.
Your emotions?
Are those of a maitre-de-cafe.
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Come, my songs, let us speak of perfection --
We shall get ourselves rather disliked.