You like stuff to do. We’ve got stuff to do. We’re a match made in heaven.
It’s a strange beast, poetry. Generally the subject divides people into two camps: those – a tiny sliver – for whom it is life-sustaining expression, and the rest: those who think of it as elitist, self-indulgent, boring. Ironically, it’s that latter group that gave rise to the poetry slam, a modern performance twist that braids the written word, the spoken word, and sporting competition.
Not so long ago, if I ever found myself considering a can of beer, my mind settled on an image of an ice cold can of Coors Light. Not because it would be my beer of choice, but more so because of the simple fact that my brain had been penetrated by the mind-control media waves that their marketing engine was emitting. The win goes to Coors. And in fairness, good job.
Today is a different day.