Samuel Scoville: I want to be President of US

Sunday, January 22, 2012

I want to be President of US

A Vote for ME is a Vote for You 2

A.D.H.D. Affluent
I want.
Lack. Need.
Deficient Desire
Can’t get no
Satisfaction.

(Just describing here.
Not a complaint.
It’s the denial &
cover-up that
generates my
bozone layer.)

Not Even A Sort of A Poem:
Curiosity Kills. I don't care what I
pretend to care for but I care about
pretending to care for practical
correct & political reasons.
This makes good sense.

My Guilt

Not from doing something wrong,
though how could I not: moving
violation & rip-off artist, but in not
caring where and when I ought &
owe where others care I couldn’t
care less & I feel guilty. Fake care
don’t count, but I do care that I
don’t care & that counts if not
COUNT counts. ..

I’m a Douchebag.

‎"All Cretans are liars," says Epimenides, the Cretan.
"All Cretans are hypocrites," says Epimenides, the Cretan.
"All Cretans are douchebags," says Epimenides, the Cretan.
"All Cretans are greedy, thieving, liars, " says Epimenides, the Cretan

‎"Welcome to my Inn, says Procrustes, hosting hospitably.
"I've got just the right bed for you. "

xxxooo, Presbyter

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Auto Bio

I choose, as a determining POINT in my life, to acknowledge a bullet fired into the armpit of my grandfather, Samuel Scoville, Jr. by a thief in the night sometime in the late 19^thc.

The thief escaped, my grandfather having pulled his own pistol from beneath the pillow, squeezing off a couple of rounds and sending the burglar scurrying into the Connecticut night...

For reasons of family notoriety, the incident was reported in both New York and Philadelphia papers. A former roommate in Philly called up Young Goodman Sam, inviting him down for a weekend gala: The Yale-Penn Football game. “You can take my sister Katherine, and chaperone me and my fiancé, he said.

In those days couples were not advised to be alone. Unaccompanied.

Sam took a steam-driven locomotive train down to Philadelphia, escorted Katherine to the leather-helmet contest, fell in love, asked her to marry him. She did & they lived more or less HAP-ily ever after, generating a tribe of offspring who like wise generated in kind so that if it hadn’t of been for that bullet, well, it’s impossible to begin to consider how unimaginably different life-as-we-know-it would have been. No one can say.

For one thing: YOU, dear Reader, wouldn’t be reading THIS HERE right now, resurrecting these words to walk around in your skull-haus this very be-here-now moment. So even you are impacted forever by that bullet.

(I could drive up to Connecticut right now, retrieve the small bite of lead, drop it in your hand and remind you how co-incidental our life is—how inexplicable, how arbitrary & selective our accounts, how much we omit which is also absolutely necessary, how inadequate our because & affects.)

The bullet is a NECESSARY but INSUFFICIENT cause of who-I-am, without which any explanation would be incomplete. Sam Scoville

Samuel Scoville