November 16, 2010

Ghost writing for fun and profit. via I'm a hired gun, a doctor of everything, an academic mercenary. My customers are your students. I promise you that.
  • Pretty amazing. I can't help but think his is a wasted talent. And that there's something wrong with the system.
  • Wrong? Why, we takes your money and ignores your mind, Preciousss. What could possssibly be wrong with that?
  • I doubt he wrote that article himself. Most likely had an unemployed newspaper columnist write it for him, for a small fee.
  • TT, have you RED any newpaper's latly? Journalism's dying, and editing's dead.
  • Times change - there's more information now online than any one person could possibly read in two or twelve lifetimes. The internets are fascinating. There's a Frontier/Wild West quality to 'em. Con men and riverboat gamblers flock to the internets along with the rest of us. As ever, the Gullible need to beware.
  • Bees, that idea demands a pom!
  • Alas, only doggerel and jingles seem to appear on demand. Poems usually arrive unsought, courtesy of the Muses.
  • No sweet bees, I asked for a pom! So doggerel along and jingle away. I'll fill in the gap before your Gullible pom arrives with something to amuse us. Riding the Thundering Horse Raymond Souster To be told in print at age sixty-three because what you write aren't poems, isn't the help it might have been at, say, twenty-three. Then perhaps you might have shaken the habit, tried booze or more sex to compensate, come out fairly unshaken. Now, unfortunately, it's much too late, for better or for worse you're hooked, must ride the thundering horse hanging on any way you can: not the most graceful way to go, but even to be allowed to touch those great white flanks is a privilege and pleasure, which the little man with the quivering pen could never, never comprehend.
  • Don't let that horse Don't let that horse eat that violin cried Chagall's mother But he kept right on painting And became famous And kept on painting The Horse With Violin In Mouth And when he finally finished it he jumped up upon the horse and rode away waving the violin And then with a low bow gave it to the first naked nude he ran across And there were no strings attached --Lawrence Ferlinghetti