The literary ranter

What part to give?

The part that is unwanted?

Elude the want!



Hell, do not ask me what the above words are, I found them in my paper napkin -- I think. I am sure they were a revelation of some kind, yet today, as I read them, they mean nothing but a preface for your future meanings.



I will never find another like you.



Not that I am looking or anything . . .



Hell! Hell! Hell!



I had such a humiliating evening in class. A horrible class mate gave the most outraging perfect presentation. I am damned.



She did it.



But.



But I did not let her get away with here display of structure and power.



So when she said the magic words "any questions?" I reacted like the snake I am. And so totally confused her with my confusing but "brilliant" questions, she was puzzled!



You know how serious I can appear at playing school, how intense, on the verge of beating somebody out for a word. Oh.



She deserved it.



All my viciousness.



Her name is Annie, by the way.



She's a scientist of the worst kind.



She was so drunk with the power of her knowing from the lectern, that we were left silent, speechless, in awe, overwhelmed, terrorized, there went out hopes for A's.



So I had to do it!



She is such an anal person, so centered in gossip instead of literature. All they care about is the historic-bibliographical approach.



Get a life better than mine, I say!



Why so much emphasis on what other people say about writers?



Who flicking cares?



May do, yet many also do not.



So when she went on to analyze Dryden with the security of a physician with a scalpel, with only one aim -- hers -- I had to do something.



I defended the stupid Dryden -- a writer nevertheless -- and told her off.



Many forms and shapes of new hungers

will high step

into your kitchen,

in silent rebellion

while washing knives of sterling silver.