Thanks for your definition of Disneyphilia!
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It should appear on this page in the next few days:
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Disneyphilia
Urban Dictionary
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Disneyphilia
The phenomenon in which healthy adults with no pedophiliac tendencies whatsoever find themselves suddenly whacking it to cute young stars of either sex on the Disney Channel.
"I think your father may be a Disneyphiliac. I just walked in on him, his hand and Selena Gomez."
"David Henrie is a gifted comic actor and the beloved of Disneyphiliacs everywhere."
"The Annie Liebowitz photographs of Bille Ray and Miley Cyrus being 'too intimate' provide clear proof that even Disney actors can themselves become Disneyphiliacs."
I know I'm not the first person to use it.
Not by a long shot.
I know becasue I Googled it, and because the odds would have astronomically against someone else not coming up with it.
Most of them use it, I see, simply to mean "a lover of Disney."
In the wholesome way.
I didn't see any who defined it my way, but I'm sure there were some.
Tried to post this to you this morning, but I guess it didn't take.
ReplyDeleteBill's Valentine
Was it his cash karma
he was scanning in
bankrupt short sale to
the lord of lies
only out of an aesthetic
conscience can come
a moral conflagration
my Granada tree
who’s forty-five today
told me yesterday
matter’s not conserved
when it dissolves back
into pure potential
but is transformed
artistically reassembled
into re-enlivened residue
by the thrift store brain
one artifact knows
it takes another.
Hi Peter.
ReplyDeleteNo, I didn't get it from this morning.
I saw it in my feed, though.
Thanks.
I hope "thrift store brain" is meant in a nice way.
I didn't comment on the poem because I didn't know how to take it.
It's not one of my favorite poems by you. The scatteration here doesn't work for me.
But I've liked much of the others you've been writing lately.
Hope you're keeping cool.
That's my obligatory "weather close" which is what I use when I have no idea what to say.
Just like everbody else, I suppose.
xo
Thanks, Bill. I don't think it works too well either. I was thinking of the way your thrift store 'finds' salvage beautiful lost objects/images as a kind of moral activity in that it's a recovery of the good that's been unrecognized or pushed to the side, or something like that. I love your stories of discovering those things and see it as a way of regathering/reclaiming parts of the world/oneself, too soon discarded or neglected.
ReplyDeleteBut then a poem should try not to think too much.
Actually, it's more the activities of a squirrel, Peter.
ReplyDeleteMy thrift store finds.
There is a part of me that is like those obsessive compulsive hoarders on that one reality show.
But the difference between them and me is that I WANT to have Lee get rid of these things and sell them.
But my buying goes faster than his listing (or luck selling) can, so I end up with stores of these things. Which was not my intention.
But the good thing about this is, as I get older, I forget a lot more. So I can actually go shopping in certain rooms in my own house and feel the joy of serendipitous surprise.
I imagine one day down the line I will realize my house has become a thrift store and just spend all my time talking about things I found while "shopping."
I suppose I will get confused when there's no one at the checkout counter. And no checkout counter.
But someone could hire someone to play the part.
I caught Macleish in your closing sentence.
It's fun to think of other endings for his famous dictum.
A poem should not mean but bitch?
A poem should not mean but whine?
A poem should not mean but attack?
One could go on all day.
It wouldn't be as good as his line, but it's still fun.
Pop Rocks or something.
If It Means Something It's Not Poetry Valentine
ReplyDeletefor Bill
Two bitches diverge
on the narrow road
that leads to self-regarding
there’s a yellow sign there
but all your come to
is a sea a sea you must
cross but cannot cross
gold waves of waste
either way
how could this
possibly be researched
how could dreaming
about it alter the process
when so much reality
keeps trying to recapture
its first self as if
there was another.
Heh heh.
ReplyDeleteI like this one much better.
Best deformation of what was actually the first poem that blew my mind. I was twelve and I can still see the exact place I was sitting, where the chair was in the classroom, etc.
Frost is one of those poets you love early (Yeats is another) then look down your nose at for decades.
And then finally reread and realize.
My God. I was smarter when I was twelve.
lol
xo
I think a typo...your for you?
ReplyDeletewhen so much reality
ReplyDeletekeeps trying to recapture
its first self as if
there was another.
Those lines are very Bronk.
I have to dig out my Bronk soon.
I've been missing him.
But didn't realize til I read those lines.
Yes, typo, thanks Bill. Way behind in reading your posts, got to catch up.
ReplyDelete