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For Summerisle

Submitted by stevenl on Tue, 01/23/2007 - 12:22am.

Another Tommy reference-- from the early 1980s. Morty the Dog with his creator:

stevenl's blog
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Tommy? You sly dog, you...

Submitted by Summerisle on Tue, 01/23/2007 - 3:57am.

I'm sure that Mr. Thomas Stearns Eliot would not be flattered by such familiarity on your part!

Anyways, the reference was good. It reminded me, in a funny way, of the scenes in "Blazing Saddles" where the doctor who is up on things going on in Europe makes off handed remarks like "You know, Nietzsche says that from chaos comes order", to the wild west people, who are drinking at the bar and are oblivious to what he's saying. There's a certain dramatic tension in Eliot which makes it easy to parody, and really fun. I recently altered the first part of "The Waste Land" to reflect a pro-choice position for a blog that wanted comments with pro-choice poetry mocking the anti-choice poetry of a pro-life site. You folks might not think it's really all that funny, it's just an amusing little thing. Here it is:

"I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. Summer surprised us, with zygotes, coming over the Starnbergersee, with a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, took a dose of Plan B, and went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, And drank coffee, and talked for an hour."

i don't think you look that

Submitted by eelcozy on Tue, 01/23/2007 - 2:50pm.

i don't think you look that much like einstein.

I'm no Einstein

Submitted by stevenl on Wed, 01/24/2007 - 8:47pm.

That self-port was from ca. 1983 when I had hair like Einstein and a mustache like Nietzsche. But today I just look tired.

turning again

Submitted by enpen on Tue, 01/23/2007 - 3:15pm.

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
   I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless cries,
   And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
   Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
   With what I most enjoy contented least:
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
   Haply I think on thee,--and then my state
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
   From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
   That then I scorn to change my state with kings'.

"Anybody who doesn't know that politics is crime has got a few screws loose."

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