1 minute ago, RockHardNYC said:

I don't view what is written here as literature.

How you could possibly construe I meant in the above that 'what we write here is literature' is quite beyond me.

4 minutes ago, AdamSmith said:

is quite beyond

I seem to recall some of your flatulence posts as being quite poetic, if a bit foul scented.

On 8/22/2018 at 5:29 PM, Latbear4blk said:

America, the country where Trump was elected president and where Cohen and Omarosa may become heroes. 

I just realize that perhaps Stormy also becomes an heroine. Hers is a profession I respect so much more than lawyers and reality show stars. America may have my respect back.

On 8/23/2018 at 10:39 PM, RockHardNYC said:

I seem to recall some of your flatulence posts as being quite poetic, if a bit foul scented.

You know there is elsewhere here an entire crapulousness thread. 

I am in no wise Mencken, but just possibly a little bit Benchley-esque.

On 8/23/2018 at 10:39 PM, RockHardNYC said:

I seem to recall some of your flatulence posts as being quite poetic, if a bit foul scented.

repost 

The Geography of the House

(for Christopher Isherwood)

Seated after breakfast
In this white-tiled cabin
Arabs call the House where
Everybody goes,
Even melancholics
Raise a cheer to Mrs.
Nature for the primal
Pleasure She bestows.

Sex is but a dream to
Seventy-and-over,
But a joy proposed un-
-til we start to shave:
Mouth-delight depends on
Virtue in the cook, but
This She guarantees from
Cradle unto grave.

Lifted off the potty,
Infants from their mothers
Hear their first impartial
Words of worldly praise:
Hence, to start the morning
With a satisfactory
Dump is a good omen
All our adult days.

Revelation came to
Luther in a privy
(Crosswords have been solved there)
Rodin was no fool
When he cast his Thinker,
Cogitating deeply,
Crouched in the position
Of a man at stool.

All the arts derive from
This ur-act of making,
Private to the artist:
Makers' lives are spent
Striving in their chosen
Medium to produce a
De-narcissus-ized en-
During excrement.

Freud did not invent the
Constipated miser:
Banks have letter boxes
Built in their façade
Marked For Night Deposits,
Stocks are firm or liquid,
Currencies of nations
Either soft or hard.

Global Mother, keep our
Bowels of compassion
Open through our lifetime,
Purge our minds as well:
Grant us a king ending,
Not a second childhood,
Petulant, weak-sphinctered,
In a cheap hotel.

Keep us in our station:
When we get pound-notish,
When we seem about to
Take up Higher Thought,
Send us some deflating
Image like the pained ex-
-pression on a Major
Prophet taken short.

(Orthodoxy ought to
Bless our modern plumbing:
Swift and St. Augustine
Lived in centuries
When a stench of sewage
Made a strong debating
Point for Manichees.)

Mind and Body run on
Different timetables:
Not until our morning
Visit here can we
Leave the dead concerns of
Yesterday behind us,
Face with all our courage
What is now to be. 

WH Auden

https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-geography-of-the-house/