I consider myself to be, at least, an average swearer; that is, I can curse and swear in several languages, besides English of course. Hitchhiking down to Rome in 1971 and totally bereft of Italian – I had earlier turned down a lift to “Firenze” because I wanted to go to Florence – a truck driver educated me, along with graphic hand gestures, all the more terrifying as we both slugged down miniature bottle of Campari as we barreled down the autostrada. 400 more words
Tags » SWEARING
It was National Poetry Day today. I don’t have anything to contribute, sadly, not this year anyway.
‘Output Gaps’, my epic, Beowulf-influenced verse covering New Zealand’s post-World War Two economic travails and search for meaning, is still at a very adumbral phase of development. 627 more words
So I was flinging about on the DWIL forum last night, and in a fit of oppressive over-stimulation, I read someone’s advice to an original poster. 539 more words