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Sometimes it is so unavoidable, the size of him or her, so unbecoming, a rather stupid looking head and face perched on the very top (no neck) of massive layers of porcine lard. They wabble, sideways through the widest door available, and huff and puff in an attempt to gather oxygen to feed the cells of their cognition box which, a sheer misnomer, does not need much of those molecules of life. They spend their lives in quiet desperation by fretting constantly and spitting air of foul and rancid character into the world. The very sadness, if you think about it, of trying to convince the masses when, -though not for lack of trying- one has not even a smidgen of a chance to be successful in deceiving one's own self. You'll recognise them by their pads, fastened to sagging shoulders to make a statement of equality, sadly, in vain.
Herbert Nehrlich
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| Comments about this poem (PseudoCognitive Lardies by Herbert Nehrlich) |
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Herbert Nehrlich (7/28/2005 2:39:00 AM)
A hearty thanks to the seven lardies.
H |
Herbert Nehrlich (7/28/2005 2:07:00 AM)
So do I Mary. This is talking about the person whose massive obesity was caused by mental deficit (which we can also feel sorry for) , not mental illness as such but suboptimal IQ. Often these people overeat to satisfy a perceived incompleteness, it's as if they were eating satisfaction and knowledge simultaneously as that is what they crave. They use shoulder pads (women and men) to appear more formidable and they learn 'big words' in the hope to impress others.Eventually they are found out and go into depression, substance abuse or, if lucky, just massive compulsive overeating.
I wanted to dedicate this but thought it would ruffle feathers.
Best wishes
H |
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