Barroom Conversation

I said to Richard Hack in Specs last night:

I don't like going into bars.
People are drunk.
And, no one talks to me.
He agreed, but...

He said that was a non sequitor.
I said each of the statements was true.
He agreed, but...

I said one statement did not follow from the others.
I said it was not a syllogism.
He agreed, but...

He turned away and continued his drink.

I was thinking about Zen.
Then I was thinking about David Hume.

I was thinking: of course this is how I would speak.

What would you expect
from someone who doesn't believe
in cause and effect

at the moment?

Sounds like you might have been imbibing yourself there Peter. Maybe it has been too long since I spent time with drunks, or philosphers for that matter, but I don‘t get this one.

Bruce,

It's ok. It is filled with items that are not connected to each other in the way a logical argument is traditionally constructed.

btw, When I asked the drunk sax player to get me a drink at the bar, he forgot immediately. I think it was because I asked for a cranberry juice, which is all I drink in bars. I only drink in friends' houses...to honor them.

I confess to being a philosopher, so you are entitled to not understand what I say on that count.

Cheers,

Glad you're back on the Mule.

amo et avanti,

Peter

I've had lots of conversations in bars, most of them more primal than philosophical. Though I do recall asking of some bar patrons, where do you store all that beer?

Les

Thanks Peter. It has been 22 years now since I drank in a bar, or anywhere else for that matter and what I do recall was not a good time in my life. The conversations usually revolved around me telling friends that; no, 8 wouldn‘t buy them another round and two, telling strange men to bugger off and leave my female companions alone. Several times that came down to someone getting hurt who wasn‘t me.

It was a time in my life where I was moody, tempermental and very unphilosophical.

Glad that your bars experiences are better than mine were.

Ever notice how Bobby Service got credit for d'Arcy's verssion of Titus' pome 'bout a face on a barroom floor?

The Face On The Barroom Floor
Published by Webmaster on 2004/3/17 (55824 reads)
This poem is often wrongly thought to be by Robert W Service. It is published here to the memory of Hugh Antoine D'Arcy, it's rightful father.

The Face On The Barroom Floor

by Hugh Antoine D'Arcy

(Thanks go to Joe Offer for providing this poem and to John Lambert for the picture.)

'Twas a balmy summer evening and a goodly crowd was there
Which well-nigh filled Joe’s barroom on the corner of the square,
And as songs and witty stories came through the open door
A vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon the floor.

"Where did it come from?" Someone said. "The wind has blown it in."
"What does it want?" another cried, "Some whisky, rum or gin?"
"Here, Toby, seek him, if your stomach's equal to the work --
I wouldn't touch him with a fork, He's as filthy as a Turk."

This badinage the poor wretch took with stoical good grace;
In fact, he smiled as though he thought he’d struck the proper place.
"Come, boys, I know there's kindly hearts among so good a crowd --
To be in such good company would make a deacon proud."

"Give me a drink -- that's what I want -- I'm out of funds, you know;
When I had cash to treat the gang, this hand was never slow.
What? You laugh as if you thought this pocket never held a sou:
I once was fixed as well, my boys, as anyone of you."

"There, thanks; that's braced me nicely; God bless you one and all;
Next time I pass this good saloon, I'll make another call.
Give you a song? No, I can't do that, my singing days are past;
My voice is cracked, my throat's worn out, and my lungs are going fast.

"Say, Give me another whiskey ,and I'll tell you what I'll do --
I'll tell you a funny story, and a fact, I promise, too.
That I was ever a decent man, not one of you would think;
But, I was some four of five years back. Say, give me another drink.

"Fill her up, Joe, I want to put some life into my frame--
Such little drinks, to a bum like me, are miserably tame;
Five fingers --there, that's the scheme -- and corking whisky, too.
Well, here’s luck, boys; and, landlord, my best regards to you.

"You've treated me pretty kindly, and I'd like to tell you how
I came to be the dirty sot you see before you now.
As I told you, once I was a man, with muscle , frame, and health,
And, but for a blunder, ought to have made considerable wealth.

"I was a painter -- not one that daubed on bricks and wood
But an artist, and, for my age, was rated pretty good.
I worked hard at my canvas and was bidding fair to rise,
For gradually I saw the star of fame before my eyes.

"I made a picture, perhaps you've seen, 'tis called the 'Chase of Fame.'
It brought me fifteen hundred pounds and added to my name.
And then I met a woman -- now comes the funny part --
With eyes that petrified my brain, and sunk into my heart.

"Why don't you laugh? 'Tis funny that the vagabond you see
Could ever love a woman and expect her love for me;
But 'twas so, and for a month or two her smiles were freely given,
And when her loving lips met mine it carried me to heaven.

"Did you ever see a woman for whom your soul you'd give,
With a form like the Milo Venus, too beautiful to live;
With eyes that would beat the Koh-i-noor, and a wealth of chestnut hair?
If so, 'twas she, for there never was another half so fair.

"I was working on a portrait, one afternoon in May,
Of a fair-haired boy, a friend of mine, who lived across the way,
And Madeline admired it, and much to my surprise,
Said that she’d like to know the man that had such dreamy eyes.

"It didn't take long to know him, and before the month had flown
My friend had stolen my darling, and I was left alone;
And, ere a year of misery had passed above my head,
The jewel I had treasured so had tarnished, and was dead.

"That's why I took to drink, boys. Why, I never saw you smile,
I thought you'd be amused, and laughing all the while.
Why, what's the matter, friend? There's a teardrop in your eye,
Come, laugh like me; 'tis only babes and women that should cry.

"Say, boys, if you give me just another whiskey, I'll be glad,
And I'll draw right here a picture of the face that drove me mad.
Give me that piece of chalk with which you mark the baseball score --
And you shall see the lovely Madeline upon the barroom floor."

Another drink, and with chalk in hand the vagabond began
To sketch a face that well might buy the soul of any man.
Then, as he placed another lock upon the shapely head,
With a fearful shriek, he leaped and fell across the picture -- dead.



Someone at [www.robertwservice.com]\

--who is trying to set the record straight on that one, 210.

I don't know anyone who would do that.. but Actually d'Arcy plagurized it from Titus. Remember, if you steal ideas from one, it's plagurism. If you steal ideas from two or more, it's research.

me, I keep messing up what I thought I got from somebody else...they call that origianlity...huh, so much for ascription.

and I don't even drink...that's pretty origianal!

I can't recall which one it was, but I wrote a poem once thinking it was original. Then watching a Lee Marvin movie, he recited my title without even asking me. Of course he movie was made some time before the poem was written.

Oh it was 100 proff whiskey, 50 proof women and 14 carat gold.

goes to show
time don't necissarily
go in the dirrection
we might expect it too.

btw, I remember that piece, It think, at least I remember a good laugh