Poem created from raw words, dated 1/30/2004

From: Diana Salimi
To: Paula DiTallo
Date: Wed, 4 Feb 2004 20:14:46-0800
Subject: Contacts: Editor's List

THE HONORARIUM

My loveable Samuelson,

You dear, impeccable, adorable egghead.

After a martini or two, in Durango, when you received the honorarium for best author on your impeccable work, and research, on the artistry of Japanese Calligraphy, and the history of the respectability of the Chinese concubine, and her resurgence into Western society.

I felt as though I was a blithe spirit in Fantasia, so happy and proud for you, so ecstatic was I, but can you believe, my dear Samuelson, that at the same time, my brain signaled – that it all bored me to tears.

My irascible fidelity is to you, my dear, adorable Samuelson.

Dear Samuelson, do you remember the high caliber of the restive Chaplin Henri, who expounded on the Apostle John, and the ascension of Christ.

It bored me to tears, dear Samuelson and drove you to another martini,

And his quoting on the biblical content of the major Arcana with his duopoly face.

Then, can you believe his acting as though he were a connoisseur, or maybe a buyer, of aerosol nair, evidenced by his scorched, irritated membrane of his upper lip, and lower jaw, not to mention behind his zipper.

Ha, ha, ha - and that oldster Dawson, with his carrot top toupee, babbling on about his mournful, inequitable escape, via, file and shiv, out of this dangerous prison, during his sojourn in the country of Azerbaijan.

My dear, dear Samuelson, it bored me all to tears.

Can you believe his disparagements and contempt for the phosphorescent seepage, of the cyst in his primary glands, and the influenza that he contracted at the boathouse in Cairn Ipso inland cafeteria that impaired and constricted his pancreas.

Afterwards, he claimed that the whole thing originated from a virus of the nucleoli of the native cowbird of Cairn Ispo.

Ha, ha, ha, my dear egghead, Samuelson, do you remember, and can you believe your friend, the judo fugitive Byrne, the archaic and foolhardy old hawk.

He became so passionate about the Hellenic period, and how Plato and Aristotle espoused and supported their philosophies of an ideal society.

Oh dear Samuelson, it bores me so to tears.

Oh, oh, Samuelson, your friend, the journalist, Hollingsworth, with his euphoric, mollycoddling journalese about the peak in amplifier sales, and his bombast indicting, on the customhouse headquarters, where they manufacture, full horseshoe, the great “Mercedes Benz”.

Not to mention the sedulous new tread Firestone tires and to extirpate their competitors. And mind you, in the absenteeism of the buyer.

Darling Samuelson, I’ve heard tell that they will raffled the Benz at the Brookhaven Chest Country Club, and it will be announced countrywide.

Oh dear, loveable Samuelson, your camaraderie with your friends, the foolhardy, clinging to sorority buzzwords, and the fraternity that ferments with age, as in a fine delicate wine, and way too expensive for everyday consummation, bores me absolutely to tears.

Dear, dear Samuelson, alas, another martini and cheers.

The End