I still haven’t ridden the bus with rosie o’donnell. Anyone want to ride the m5 with me?
i’m trying to come up with an interesting item to give people on the bus to garner some sort of response. A ribbon? maybe i’ll go the forrest gump route and sit there with a box of chocolates.
this assignment reminds me of the cbs special “riding the bus with my sister”. check out this link if you missed it.
response poem to Heather Greer’s presentation
Would you call me Pinocchio
if I told a lie to hear your truth?
Maybe you’d get aggressive,
shove me into a phone booth.
I’d pay the quarter to call you,
to tell you what I know.
The truth is full of shadows
And fiction is what you’re watching on that fox news show. (02.Sonic pic)
In the F-word Joe Pace was a fake DJ,
While Revered Billy was bona fide, (03.reverend billy pic)
But weren’t both men characters?
Preaching from the same side?
I know we all tell stories,
But don’t we all tell lies? (04.Las Vegas)
Doesn’t it add some flavor?
Excitement to our lives?
When Chris told his sob story
And you wanted to cry,
Were your feelings made less valid (05.Chris)
When the truth passed by?
Is it our experiences or
what elicits them that matters? (06. feelings)
Should a lie dispensed to grab a truth
really cause such chatter?
And does a lie become non fiction
When it uncovers a truth to boot (07.truth picture)
Has fiction become non-fiction
Or is the difference moot.
Fiction and non-fiction,
one and the same? (08.Twins)
The differences seem subtle
Or maybe I’ve gone insane.
I took my question to the library
Where fiction and non-fiction fight for space
I spoke with a librarian (09.librarian)
To help me find my place.
She showed me Dewey’s system
and this is what I found:
novels and short stories are filed under fiction (10.fairies)
While their cousins, Fairy tales and myths are non-fiction bound.
I opened up a volume of parables (11.parabola)
from the ages past
I read a poem which I share with you now
By John Godfrey Saxe.
American poet John Godfrey Saxe (1816-1887) based the following poem on
a fable which was told in India many years ago.
It was six men of Indostan
To learning much inclined,
Who went to see the Elephant
(Though all of them were blind),
That each by observation
Might satisfy his mind
The First approached the Elephant,
And happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,
At once began to bawl:
“God bless me! but the Elephant
Is very like a wall!”
The Second, feeling of the tusk,
Cried, “Ho! what have we here
So very round and smooth and sharp?
To me ’tis mighty clear
This wonder of an Elephant
Is very like a spear!”
The Third approached the animal,
And happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands,
Thus boldly up and spake:
“I see,” quoth he, “the Elephant
Is very like a snake!”
The Fourth reached out an eager hand,
And felt about the knee.
“What most this wondrous beast is like
Is mighty plain,” quoth he;
” ‘Tis clear enough the Elephant
Is very like a tree!”
The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear,
Said: “E’en the blindest man
Can tell what this resembles most;
Deny the fact who can
This marvel of an Elephant
Is very like a fan!”
The Sixth no sooner had begun
About the beast to grope,
Than, seizing on the swinging tail
That fell within his scope,
“I see,” quoth he, “the Elephant
Is very like a rope!”
And so these men of Indostan
Disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion
Exceeding stiff and strong,
Though each was partly in the right, 12.elephant
And all were in the wrong!