23 March 2011

reflections of my life

Appropos of nothing that I care to explain here, so apologies and all that kind of necessary stuff that is necessary when you make comments like that, I had cause to retrieve a book from the bookcase the other day. It was a book of high school poetry (*sort of - more soon) in which something I had written had appeared.

This was all a long, long, long, quite long, time ago.

*What I wrote was barely English, let alone poetry, but it was chock-a-block with teen angst and accordingly had been unkindly but accurately stereotyped into the part of the book headed "barely English, let alone poetry, but these people need their hormones relieved soon or there will be serious repercussions."

You get the picture, unwholesome though it may be.

Anyway, and this is where the story really begins (#), I was leafing (did you like that verb? very redolent of...I dunno, trees or something, and almost poetic) through the book and I saw a name that looked familiar.

It was the name of the person who lives

Who woulda thunk it, as they say. Even though the world was smaller then, it's actually smaller now. Gives one pause for thought, doth it not?

#For any Goons fans who may be reading this.


Ann O'Dyne said...

I do sincerely hope you can be bothered to transcribe the catly contribution.
Is it angsty and high schooly too?
(these are not bad things, unless one is no longer at highschool, and obviously yours and catsy's would not have been published unless they were good and angsty.)

phil said...

I should point out that the catly person's contibution appeared in the section of the book devoted to "younger people who get it and actually have a future in he world of the written world."

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