SHANTISHANTISHANTISHANTISHANTISHANTI

Click to SHANTI

Welcome to Wasted Lands. This is a reinterpretation of T.S. Eliot's 'The Waste Land' meant to bring new meaning to the original text. If you're ever confused, hover over an image like this to get some additional information about what the heck is going on

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シビラあなたは何をしたいですか？私はしたくないです。
シビラあなたは何をしたいですか？私はしたくないです
シビラあなたは何をしたいですか？私はしたくないで
シビラあなたは何をしたいですか？私はしたくない
シビラあなたは何をしたいですか？私はしたくな
シビラあなたは何をしたいですか？私はしたく
シビラあなたは何をしたいですか？私はした
シビラあなたは何をしたいですか？私はし
シビラあなたは何をしたいですか？私は
シビラあなたは何をしたいですか？私
シビラあなたは何をしたいですか？
シビラあなたは何をしたいですか
シビラあなたは何をしたいです
シビラあなたは何をしたいで
シビラあなたは何をしたい
シビラあなたは何をした
シビラあなたは何をし
シビラあなたは何を
シビラあなたは何
シビラあなたは
シビラあなた
シビラあな
シビラあ
シビラ
シビ
;)

Pour Mr. Pibb on your ankles.

Pour Mountain Dew on your heels.

Pour Dr. Pepper on your soles.

Pour Royal Crown on your toes.

Wash your feet with soda.

In reference to those washing their feet with acidic soda in Unreal City. while the literal interpretation might be off, I found it humorous to imagine corporate shilling for something as dangerous and degenerate as bathing completely in carbonated beverages. While UC isn't exactly a dystopia, this kind of imagery wouldn't be too uncommon in the depressing landscape within

In reference to those washing their feet with acidic soda in Unreal City. while the literal interpretation might be off, I found it humorous to imagine corporate shilling for something as dangerous and degenerate as bathing completely in carbonated beverages. While UC isn't exactly a dystopia, this kind of imagery wouldn't be too uncommon in the depressing landscape within

"Bəli, həqiqətən, Mən özüm mənim ilə boys dedi Mən bir şüşə, gördüm və"
في بعض الأحيان أتمنى لو كنت ميتًا
- Garfield The Cat, 1622

I like Ezra Pound. At the same time he told Eliot to be less weird, his notes to the writer seem to champion a more abstract weirdness in works. Ezra Pound is probably more noteworthy to the modernist literary movement than Eliot just because of the implications of stuff like imagism.

"Nnot ggonna llie, Eezra, yyou wwacky AaF"

This passage ties in to line 35 onward in TWL, and the hyacinth girl and her incapacitated lover. When I read this, it seemed to me like a deconstruction of romance settings, and how so many of them are based on this stereotype of a flower-picking young traditional woman and her emasculated male partner, forever indebted to her in spite of the common idea that men control the aspects of a relationship. Also, switching feign with faint was intentional to highlight the fake nature of this relationship. I tried to employ some changing perspective in a similar manner to Eliot, as well.

Imagine if you were walking in a field with your stupid girlfriend who is only there to show some pity for your sorry ass, and she's acting all cute and picking you flowers since you don't even understand the concept of bending down and ripping some green stem out from the ground with your dumb neanderthal hands. She picks it up and you feign this stupid smile and you're all like "Oh wow, I love lilacs," except they're hyacinths, you uncultured swine. I'm looking at you telling me about these hyacinths being lilacs and it's hot and sweaty but still she smiles I mean I smile and I'm all giggling and it's dumb but you know what that's just how it be so I look at you but then you I notice I'm not what you think I am so it I'm not myself not myself it's all Unreal God Help Us He Is What He Made Life Doth Giveth Unto. I dropped my flowers as you feignted, and watched you tumble down the abyss. Your eyes were magnets, shavings coming off the metal surface of our glossy earth and turning you into a buzzing, pathetic, polarized mess.

One thing I like about TWL is that there's this brooding sense that someone is to blame for this city being so awful. Then again, its residents are more than happy to wallow in their own filth and misery, rather than looking towards the future to see what can be changed or improved upon. It's this self-destructive introspective malignance that I feel is at the core of most of Eliot's work

My hand freaking burns.
My hand is freaking dust and it's all your fault.
I've been a heap of ash now for the past ten seconds and it's all your fault.
I'm legitimately shaking right now.

These are edited lyrics from a System Of A Down song meant to sum up the imagery of the beginning of Part II of TWL. Something about it when I was reading all this information about perfumes and jewels and 'jug jug' didn't sit right with me one bit

Wake up (Wake up)

Grab a neck and crack yours

Hide your head to mask away the odor

(Hide me to fade away the)

Why'd you leave the limbs upon the others?

Here you go, create another Oblivion

(Todd, why?)

Talking about Madame Sosostris, the clairvoyant in UC, I think she was too sick to see into her cards just how terrible her city was, and how its people were all miserable. Even though she was ill, I think she was one of the few characters in the poem that seemed to have some sense of purpose or reason. I found it interesting how she brings up Phlebas long before his late appearance. Reading up on this first part of the poem, its evident many others felt the same way.

Oh here I go sneezin' again!
Achoo!
Uh oh, looks like sick ol' me gots the sniffles again! Can I get a "Gezundheit" please?
Achoo!
Achoo!

Mrs. Otamatone is my wife. I squeeze her chubby cheeks and she goes "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" and "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" and I love it so. Squeal for me, Mrs. Otamatone, let them hear your song. "UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH OOOOOOOOOOOOOO" yes, Mrs. Otamatone, let the people understand our plight. I hate you, Mrs. Otamatone.

The way women are spoken of in TWL is very unsettling, with much of their imagery and speech being stilted and otherworldly in nature, as if they themselves were not of this Earth. Were a person an Otamatone, their sole purpose in life would be to squeak out a variety of choked high-pitched notes. Similarly, the women (and some men, as well) in TWL only appear to exist to drive home the more disastrous parts of the city and Eliot's views on bad cultural practices. Decadence and lies are two of these themes

April sucks like catalyst denier fist clench harmony
Lilac bust destruction flesh worm realization gin
You(')r(e) ro(o)t(s) is/are(n't) show(ing)
I spent my Kindergarten in the Hofgarten, blissfully unaware of my impotence
SHUT UP JERKOFF

To warm up with this project I made these lines as representations of what I felt were the core ideas presented in Eliot's The Waste Land. Of course, we all know April sucks, but mostly because its beauty is often denied to us in spite of how much we give to the Earth...or think we do. Flowers turn into rotting flesh worms, just like how beauty destroys itself when given free reign. This constant need to subvert our expectations and switch voices and whatnot was what most captured me with Eliot's writing. The last line in this segment, suggesting the difference between 'you and me' is in refernece to a Whitehouse song called 'Why You Never Became a Dancer' which has a similar melancholic view on the world and the people in it

Said the man living under a rock,
"I'm like blood, you're right. I'm scissor pastry."
H34RT R4T3 = 200BPM (((WE NEED A MEDIC FOR THIS ONE)))
Yes, that's the difference between you and me! Can I suggest you...get {REDACTED}

This is more or less an extended metaphor in relation to the fortune teller from the beginning. 'Shanti' is a word I'll never look at the same way again after reading into TWL. The word itself says so much by itself by combining eastern philosophy with societal self-destruction. London Bridge falls in this instance at the same time the Hanged Man decides to have his noose prepared.

The One-Eyed Merchant stood next to the Two-Eyed Merchant and looked with a solemn glare at the Three-Eyed Merchant, who rubbed his hands together with a toothy grin as yet another man came to his shop with rope in hand, the noose prepared. The One-Eyed Merchant coughed a horoscope up and handed it to the Two-Eyed Merchant, who would then reveal his true identity as the Second One-Eyed Merchant after taking his false eye and placing it upon this horoscope. "Shantae Shantae Shantae" it read, and at once London Bridge fell. There goes the neighborhood. Always wear a headscarf.

Look at me. what?

Look at you? what?

Look at me? what?

Look at you. what?

Oh, were you looking at me?

This passage was one of my favorites to write, and is a lead-in to the sex scene around line 250. I wanted to write of a physical transformation where someone's body endures searing pain before they are thrust into the body of someone else, someone false and unwitting to their current situation. Many of the commentary I read about the sex scene in TWL suggests that it is one of the most important segments in the story, and I am inclined to agree. More on that later below

Look at you. ooooooo

Hey, quit that, I was only kidding.
Look at you. eeeeeeeeee

9:00PM Exactly. He looked at me. I felt my nails dig into my spine like columns of the Pantheon and caress the annals of my ribcage. The bones of what I believe corroded into a heap of illegible cuneiform dolls, their wires pulled in simultaneity, but only a shrill shriek emitting from their combined gasps as they bulged out of my transculent form once more. The dolls look at me, and I look in them. My corpse is in harvest season again. Don't let the dog see us right now, I'm in heat.

HIPPOCRATES
HIPPOCAMPUS
HYPOCRITE
HUEHUEHUEHUEHUEHUEHUEHUE

On a more cynical note, however, I can't help but find it hilarious how most of Eliot's work is based on putting random noises and allusions alongside legitimately good writing. You'll have so much time spent to presenting the bleakest image of England possible, then ruin by going all 'weilalalala' and 'shanti shanti' while talking about historical figures like you know them personally. It's endearing how well he sticks to the Dante's Inferno timeline, but at the same time I can't help but feel there's a bit of disingenuous being thrown around every time one of these allusions or abstract segments is brought up. Most of the passages here follow that same concept, but I wanted to ascribe my own personal narrative at the same time that I feel could capture how I felt about this story

My bed is cold at night.

Bed = comfort = sleep = night = death = peace, basically. Tim is a placeholder for everything preventing us from this short, peaceful death, with his desire to castrate our sleeping practices with his AC preferences. This passage also asks what the importance of time preference is, as time and its unending motion is a theme explored in much of Eliot's body of work. Do you grin and bear the cold and sleep as best you can, or do you fight the natural order of the universe and risk stirring Tim?

Tim doesn't like the warm, so he makes it cold. I stay under three layers to keep warm. I have my big fluffy comforter on top, with my sheets under next, and finally I wrap my body up in a blanket from home. But somehow, the cold keeps me up and I want to scream and kick and make the room warm again but that would require me to stir Tim, and Lord knows Tim hates a good old fashioned stir, am I right?

Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake Fake

I really like the beginning of Part II in this story. It has a cogent and concise view of decadence that would bring The Great Gatsby to shame, in how easily it puts down those who love material possessions and rich food and jewels. This visual of two people playing chess and looking in between turns at their elegant, flamboyant surroundings and taking it all in, it almost approaches a horrific mood

Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Plastic Cheap IT'S FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE

Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap Cheap

TAKE A HAMMER TO ME RIGHT NOW. OH GOD IM STUCK IN THIS FORM. MEDUSA, WHY HAVE I ANGERED THEE? ALAS, FOR ALL MY LIFE I HAVE REMAINED A LAUGHABLE PILE OF CARVED ROCK, MEANT TO LOOK DOWN ON THE NOBILITY AS THEY "PRAISE" AND "COMMENT" ON MY FALSE WINGS AND LACK OF FUNCTIONAL PURPOSE. WHY OH WHY, LULLAY LULLAY LULLAY

And that's the thing, imagine being some religious or mythological being stuck in the form of a statue having to watch insolent humans go about their days in these fortresses of time and money wasted. We joke about how we let out ancestors down, but what about the gods and deities past civilizations worshipped. Sure, a cherub looking down from a ceiling might not be comporable to an oracle or The Bible, but i feel it has the same power

"Pearl Necklace 2: Electric Boogaloo"

Kraftwerk's Autobahn is a personal favorite album of mine. Nothing really happens in it, but it stays happy. It's a sterile record, just like the sterile people in UC. Okay, that was a stretch, but you get what I mean. I think of this segment as involving a new reader trying to understand Eliot, and being hit with a metaphorical truck as they are forced to take every little word into account. It was daunting when I first read this poem. While others in my class had long-form simple narratives that told their themes to the reader, I had a bunch of word vomit (and I say that in the most loving way possible, considering most of this page is word vomit.)

You're sitting in your large automobile when suddenly a truck full of big expensive jewels comes crashing through your front windshield sending your lifeless mass of lost humanity hurtling through a flurry of crystalline shards and cubic zirconia. Or was it rhinestones? You ask the first angel you see in Heaven, and they tell you that's the first thing everybody says when they get here. Your large automobile is still going to this day. It is lonely.

Hey open a window,
I just

well

got greasy ;)))

and

you

yes you

you're right next to me

so open a window or else

;) ;) ;) ;)))

Candle's out again.
I can't imagine being stuck in Unreal City. How long are the days there? Is the weather always overcast? Will my body be transplanted into some corpse or myth figure before I check out? I'd definitely have a breakdown were I stationed in Eliot's vision of England. It seems so familiar, but so, well, Unreal

I can't imagine being stuck in Unreal City. How long are the days there? Is the weather always overcast? Will my body be transplanted into some corpse or myth figure before I check out? I'd definitely have a breakdown were I stationed in Eliot's vision of England. It seems so familiar, but so, well, Unreal

She's always in the dark, and then she starts talking to the walls. "I'm not crazy," or maybe "I'm just nervous" or something or other. You know what it's like, don't you? Paintings are a thousand words with no mouth and I must scream SCREAM SCREAM

I slide my fingers across the piano keys ;;;)))
it feels so good ;;;)))
Don't you wanna slide your fingers with me ;;;)))
c'mon try it out ;)
Just take your little index finger ;)
And slide it on to the end ;))))
Now look what you did ;))
Finger's all covered in piano grease ;)

I greased up my piano just for you and now you're all greasy like me ;)

The first instance of shifting narration that really shoves the reader into a state of mind where they are thinking about who is speaking next. Eliot, I feel, is the speaker here, realizing that the woman speaking in these lines (around 139) is just stating the obvious. He comes into his own work to slap the character he created and call her out on her ignorance, in an unsettling show of the power meta-narration can hold. Self-awareness can be very satisfying in a story when done right, and this is certainly one of those moments. The phrase appears a few more times in this part to show the frivolity of many of the conversations we have, and how the opinions and views of others are often so irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, yet we continue to hear them out and allow others to impose their beliefs upon us. it's a paradox where you want to be a part of society, but at the same time so much of it is devoted to hopeless antiquated ideas of connection that nothing seems to get done or be interesting anymore

HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP 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TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME

and before I go...HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIMEHURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME

Oftentimes look out
sonnet of lullaby
Greek fire belch
mighty of and also
without my sex lung transplant
renowned gyno milk
shoddy roofing job
ten tips to make her look your way
but how would if not but also

They like to joke in sitcoms by making a large family all say good night to each other, like it's some kind of silly game. But imagine being in a household of 10+ members and having intercoms in each room to facilitate a conversation of this magnitude. Imagine cowering under the smooth allure of your sheets hoping to pass out in blind ecstasy, only for a muffled voice with noise filtering to come out over your abode's personal intercom. "Goodnight, X" your youngest brother says. "Goodnight, Onii-Chan" you say, voice hoarse from the last 23 permutations of good night thrusting mallet spears upon your vocal chords. It's like pain and this is also like this pain also every night. Goodnight goodnight sleep tight don't let the headhumpers catch you oh wait there they are again. I said nothing the following night, only listened. When I woke I was dead in a ditch. I knew too much. Good night.

Goodnight...no, you goodnight! Why do we wish each other goodnight, anyways? We all know our dreams are gonna be great and we'll dread the morning, but yet we continue to adhere ourselves to this promise of having a good night in the first place. Now that that's out of the way, this scene is actually a reference to a line of dialog from Ophelia in Hamlet. Upon further inspection, this allusion connects the imagery of drowning to other parts of the story. I wanted to include my rambling to tie together my own views on the story, before diving into how it ties itself together

On the note of Hamlet, there's a lot of Shakespearean works refernces in Eliot's work, particularly this one. I've got my own nutjob conspiracy theory surrounding Shakespeare, but that's for another day. What I can't understand is why so many allude to Shakespeare's insightful, deep body of work only to help bring creedence to admittedly base ideas that the text says much better?

What if Shakespeare really wasn't just one guy? Everyone loves his work. You're discounting the possibility that many more facets of Renaissance-era publication were simply farcical in nature to push specific agendas of forgotten class in the common folk. Yeah but it's not like it matters in the long run. We're not in Medieval Times anymore. That show's fake anyways. I've never been. Wanna go? Yeah sure, let's go. (Thames take me)

(Thames take me) Water is gross against the flesh. It rots and spoils us like rotten fruit. I want to be in water but I can't go in it any more. Not after that one time. I won't tell you, though, because you'll just laugh at me and call me the water hater because you think water is nice. Well, joke's on you, I like water and think it's cool. (Tim take me)

Beep beep beep
Boop boop boop
Rek rek kek tek mek
jug jig jag jeg jeg jug
Weialala lalala lalala
mama say mama sah mama soo sah
Shlurp Shlorp, Blip Blorp
Unreal City Beatboxing classes, now available

Think of this as a 13 commandments, if you will, on why Part III of TWL is the most important of the five, for how it turns a simple hook-up into the most depressing and soul-crushing experience imaginable. It's times like these where premarital sex is presented as being disgusting and immoral in its truest light that I really appreciate. One can look at passages like these and make assumptions about the author, but there is no denying the weight lines like 'She turns and looks a moment in the glass, / Hardly aware of her departed lover / Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass: /'Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.' It almost makes you feel bad for them

I. Young couple sexual escapade
II. Impotence and anger, arrival of third party
III. Quick to judge or quick to fudge?
IV. "You're not even my type but sure, put it in."
V. Imagine it like this:
VI. Walking down bed of flames, you are Virgo incarnate
VII. Or was it vertigo? Fall...Fall...
VIII. I always knew I liked the heavier ones, but this?
X. Taxi phallus metaphor yadda yadda
XI. Oil Ocean Zone, Act 2 *gags on liquid asphalt*
XII. (Thebes Take Me)
XIII. What if they had Tinder in 1922?

Said a chant, I'll recant
you'll repent, you're an ant
Dead soldier mist red
River Styx well-fed
Head shaped like a slant
This is just an excerpt from some musings I made on Monday while thinking about how to re-reinterpret my text. I'm regretting not getting on the mic and recording these lines. Maybe some other time

This is just an excerpt from some musings I made on Monday while thinking about how to re-reinterpret my text. I'm regretting not getting on the mic and recording these lines. Maybe some other time

Been waiting too damn long
Chess game like King Kong
Call me up leave to drown
You're never around
My interpretation's always wrong

I talked to the Thunder and I heard it say my name.
The clouds parted that night and between their cleavage descended a pillow of knives.
I ate the feathers inside, ignoring the knives,
but got hungry and decided to eat the knives too.
Knives feel good in my tummy.

THIS PAGE IS DEDICATED TO PHLEBAS, PRESS F ON UR KEYBOARD 2 PAY RESPEX

Phlebas is my favorite character in maybe all of 20th century literature, and he's not even alive! His image is used to show all classes, rich or poor, popular or alone, WHO could they be. There is no judgment, no hate, yet still no love. A dead body of a sailor represents the hold of death, the final frontier of human experience, and not even you are safe from reaching the same fate as poor Phlebas. RIP in Peace

What's the point of writing about loving nature if your whole world hates it? Even if you did escape to nature, the societal constraints binding us permanently to technological accelerationism forever hold us in an inescapable coil-like grasp. Not to sound like a luddite, but the Industrial Revolution was a mistake when you think about it, at least in some ways

Embracing
Pastoral
Imagery
Won't
Detract
From
The
Fact
That
You
Are
Useless
In
The
Grand
Scheme
Because
Of
Your
Consistent
Reliance
On
Degeneracy
And
Hedonistic
Pleasur
You
Waste
Of
Resources
Just
You
Wait
You'll
Reach
That
Dream
Of
Getting
Your
Special
Home
In
The
Woods
And
Then
You'll
Want
Your
Computer
And
Car
And
Air
Conditioned
TV
Dinners
And
You'll
Cry
And
Cry
And
Cry
Sterile
Bad
All
Else
Good
Me
Big
Caveman
Ooga
Booga

Who's that next to us? What's that up there on the hill? How did we end up with this other person? Where are we three even heading now anyways? Why do we keep walking when we know they're leading us? When did your face turn into a portal into ancient Jerusalem?

No, seriously, who was that in line 359? My guess is death, or maybe some hermit. If it is death, then this portion of the poem indicates how all humanity walks along a white road of life to the end with death leading us the whole way. We ask each other why we walk this road, despite knowing the answer. The picture here is of Shinji Ikari, a depressed child from a show about deconstructing the action hero archetype. The latter part below here is meant to show the selfish other side to this archetype, and how their heroic deeds fall flat when faced with their introspective and material desires.

The Great Flood of 192X swept away my decaying mantlepiece and all my prized wares and my rug and my Fine China and my armoire and my daughter and my chandelier and my candelabra and my deck of cards and my nice shoes and my not-so-nice shoes and I want it back please not my daughter just the material goods I want to touch them they feel nice against my skin I want to get splinters when I rub my Co co rico lo co roco

Wyvern's call, daily. I'm a lust of forgotten entrails vomited up on Missing Persons granular like mesh of molten rock and languish. Exhaust my onion garterbelt rank, officer! Nullify! Mortal! Reality! You will Solemn! I will wreck your person into a prince of Princes, a master of Lords, a gainer of Losers worldwide! You will be redeemed, unresolved, like twine thrown asunder by a clumsy granny. Stupid dumb idiot. Stupid dumb idiot. London Bridge has already fallen and you're still standing in the empty space. Go on. Fall with it. Unless you're too chicken? The boat's under, waiting for you, and I'm at the wheel. I'll drive you to get some scotch, maybe a little sparkling cider, maybe a little DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT YOU DOLLS and if you're lucky I'll throw in something extra on the side crush my innards grind me to a pulp put your fist through my face hope it comes out the other side as my dimension forces itself inward imploding with your gaping knuckles.
The wyvern, an imposing, yet beautiful beast, is Eliot, whipping the reader into shape in an unorthodox method. Did it work? You be the judge.

The wyvern, an imposing, yet beautiful beast, is Eliot, whipping the reader into shape in an unorthodox method. Did it work? You be the judge.

Oh, You're Home? Hi Home, I'm Home. We're Home.

An Irishman once told me that the rivers in this town run red with blood in the darkest hours. I didn't think he'd be right. We swam til our own blood boiled, every muscle sore. It had to have been fifty feet high. Worse yet, you couldn't dive down into the sea of blood, because you'd either get some weird venereal disease once it enters your naughty bits (we weren't wearing clothes, since they were soaked in more blood) or worse, you'd just get more blood all over you. We don't know whose blood this was, but there was a lot of it. Red windows, red cars, red fire hydrants, redrum, red sky. I drowned in blood just like the soldiers in Elysium. Or was it Babylon? Wars of hellish variety stream around my consciousness [This Segment Brought To You By Netflix TM] and I want to whisk my thoughts away and put them in the oven and bake some delicious cookies or brownies; would you believe me if I told you I found His body next to my drowned soul when I came up? Would you believe me if he looked at me with disdain, knowing that I was his own brother? He drowned in vain, but he drowned for himself. I watched them all drown, and did nothing. I'm reaching out, but my body is too buoyant. The storms crack above, blood tainting my soul as I rise. Current becomes a zone as we glide. You're gliding off my back into a ball pit of your own dead ambition. Have fun, sucker. I'm over here laughing at you. I hope we drown in blood. RVIDERCLVN OVT!

I included this last to relate to my personal experience in relation this text, and because this passage I wrote is my favorite. RVIDERCLVN was a body of psuedo-experimental adolescent rappers whose community and work was focused on trying to stand out from the crowd out of a self-fulfilling prophecy of 'I am different, and will always be different.' Eliot has this same viewpoint. After all he wrote a poem about some sad old guy when he was just around my age.