Sunday, March 1, 2009

My Supposition of mr. cummings Take on CPAC


I've been reading wrap ups of the CPAC conference, listening to clips of presentations from Ann Coulter, Rush Limbaugh, Jon Bolton, Michael Steele and my favorite space-cadet, Michele Bachmann. Yes, it's true, I've felt particularly masochistic all weekend. Fortunately my review of the conference provided more than enough pain to meet my needs.

I am not sure putting this many people with this level of imbecilic genius in the same room is safe. It's certainly not sane.

For some reason, as I read and viewed the lowlights of the event, an e.e. cummings poem kept popping into my head. I wouldn't say I love this poem. But I've always been drawn to some of the imagery, especially the last line. I've just never really known what to do with it, a fact that if mr. cummings were still alive, would surely keep him up nights. It spoke to me the first time I read it. I just never knew what it was saying until now. I think he has perfectly described the lunacy of this gathering in a few short lines. (I am apologizing in advance, not to the participants at CPAC, but to any serious student of mr. cummings who my amateurish interpretation of his work offends.)

the boys i mean are not refined

the boys i mean are not refined
they go with girls who buck and bite
they do not give a fuck for luck
they hump them thirteen times a night

one hangs a hat upon her tit
one carves a cross on her behind
they do not give a shit for wit
the boys i mean are not refined

they come with girls who bite and buck
who cannot read and cannot write
who laugh like they would fall apart
and masturbate with dynamite

the boys i mean are not refined
they cannot chat of that and this
they do not give a fart for art
they kill like you would take a piss

they speak whatever's on their mind
they do whatever's in their pants
the boys i mean are not refined
they shake the mountains when they dance

e.e. cummings

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