More Than True, A journal of. Published under the auspices of the HiSky* Trust, founded 1957 to promote disorder. (*Hiss-Key)
HiSky Trust ReviewAnd thus Mr. Doutry
Read all of us present
His sparkling poetry
Which he’d been composing
Four years.
And thus Mr. Doutry
Read all of us present
His sparkling poetry
And brought that whole room
Two tears.
Due to his station
they’d’ve given an ovation
But they’re awfully fond of
Sitting on their rears.
But it was a lovely reading
And now the evening is receding
And as they leave
They uncover their ears.
Cheers. Cheers.
The curious desire to beat people up for making a mistake online.
The Curious Angriness Of People Who Know Better Than You
The convergence of porn in programming is right on the cusp. Right on the edge. Leaving people just… Wanting. For instance I was watching, turns out, a commercial for a cooking show. And I kept waiting for the announcer to remove their shirt. Then I realized it was a cooking promo. Then the announcer removed the shirt.
Do you think we have it bad now? Do you understand that rooms used to be commonly gaslit? Rooms. Rooms. After dark your sitting room didn’t know whether it was coming or going.
Now that no one has a sitting room anymore every room is standing room only.
Whither the vestibule?
The economy is so diverse it includes the little piggy who goes to market AND the little piggy who has none, who is there to make the piggies in the middle “f-uncomfortable.”
The little piggy who goes to market blames it all on government pork, of course.
The swine.
The radical little piggy front has been infiltrated by the pigs.
Jimmy Dean is people.
Man is only the measure of all things because people developed a measuring system. But there are competing systems, and they are incompatible.
A song of the fascist insurgents
Who flow in like a stream
They ransacked the capital
Living that wild dream
Happy they are
Happy they be
What’s in the future?
Who can foresee?
In defense of lawn order
With jockey statuary to match
They got all tore up
In that dang briar patch!
Just like that bluebird of happiness
A purchase in the tree
Who sings that catchy song
Called “Woe is me! Woe is me!“
They sing like canaries
Trapped in a coal mine, it’s a living
And the stool pigeons back it
Because those bird brains there
Haven’t figured out it’s all a racket.
Please enjoy this festive jingle, a little song set to the music of that other song about the feast of Stephen’s. And have a lovely new year.
— DavidRaffin.com —
John Wayne Gacy Was a clown
Who had a love of Chil-dren
What he charged For sir-vices
Was well within his Rea-son.
Considering his efforts great
He put forth every Sea-son
Morning, noon, and eS-pec’lly night
But Sundays off for grie-ving.
Hmm.
To keep your act Fresh These holi-days
Use citrus fresh de-greaser
In powder, li-quid or handy wipe
For any Gosh Darn rea-son.
Hmm.
Soren Kierkegaard was a great Dane. Once one knows this, philosophy can never be quite the same. It is true platonic philosophy never runs against the grain. However, wherever Heidegger lifted his leg he always left a nasty stain.
Friedrich Nietzsche cocked his head, as many mammals do, smiled and said, “That’s quite a refrain, I have written many good books too.” Jean Paul Sartre wandered out to ponder upon the city zoo. He was also interested, very, in what was what and whether or not it any of it was true.
“Who’s to say?” cried Ludwig Wittgenstein, “And-further who can know? The experience which each one gets when each does stub thine own toe?”
My experience with old Lao-Tze has more meaning than you could ever know. I sometimes cite his poetry whilst pissing in the snow.
David Raffin
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