One of the strange scientific truths of the American college experience is that each of you will be forced to read T. S. Eliot’s poem The Wasteland at least three times in your four years at the University of Southern California.  Even if you are a Physics major, the poem will somehow work its way into your curriculum while you are fulfilling your Humanities requirements, and Lord, help you if you are an English major.  Why must we all read this ridiculous poem?  Actually, I have no idea – but I’ll throw my four best guesses out there.

#1) Reading The Wasteland is a rite of passage.  In Japan, on the second Monday in January (National Coming of Age Day), all 20-year-old women wear a pair of zori slippers for the first time and go dancing as a part Seijin Shiki.  In the United States, we make our undergraduates read a poem written in 7 different languages that includes a rape, a sex-changing fortune-teller, and a guy with a pocket full of currants.

#2) T. S. Eliot is the only person since the late 18^th century collapse of the Tory party to be somehow both British and American at the same time.  The two branches of the English Department wrestle over the rights to his work like it’s Vicky Cristina Barcelona, and this crafty foresight on Eliot’s part doubles his opportunity to be listed on 21st-century syllabi.

#3) For some reason, scholars agree that this is the most important poem ever written, even though…

#4) No one has a clue what the fuck it is about.  I’m serious.  I was forced to read this poem at least a combined fifteen times as an undergraduate and graduate student, and (really more out of habit than anything – because it’s just what you are supposed to do), I have now taught the poem half a dozen times.  Despite this advanced study, I’ll reiterate the point that I really don’t have a clue what the fuck it is about.  I think we keep assigning it in hopes that someday one of our students will magically figure it out for us, and then we can stop assigning it.  But it’s never going to happen.

Still, there is one part of The Wasteland that I like – the ten lines that make up Book IV – and these ten lines are going to form the basis of what may ultimately be the most sentimental piece of advice that Dr. Wizard will ever give you.  Here they are:

Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,

Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep seas swell,

And the profit and loss.

                                    A current under sea

Picked his bones in whispers.  As he rose and fell

He passed the stages of his age and youth

Entering the Whirlpool.

                                    Gentile or Jew

O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,

Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.

So, here we are at Lesson #16: you should Consider Phlebas.  And what do I mean by that?  Well, until geneticists figure out a way to stop our telomeres from deteriorating, each one of us, from the time we turn the corner into adulthood (which is what college is all about) until the time we find ourselves being spoon-fed applesauce in the retirement home, are on a fast track towards death.  Our youth, and our strength, is fleeting.  Six days ago, my plan for this upcoming weekend was to fly to Minneapolis to run the Twin Cities Marathon.  Now, I’m waiting for the hole where my appendix used to be to heal so I can have the doctor’s clearance to spend five minutes on the elliptical machine.  Six years ago, two of my good friends from college died in a car accident.  While one of these surprises is relatively minor, and one was catastrophic, the point is that we have no idea how long we will enjoy the gifts of life that we have been given.  Considering Phlebas means…

…being considerate to others (who were once handsome and tall as you).  It means listening when your grandfather tells you the story about how he and Lurch McGee hitch-hiked to California the summer they turned 18 to work as orange-pickers (because someday you’ll want someone to listen to you).  It means turning down your stereo when your neighbor asks you to do so because he has to work the next morning, even though the new Raconteurs album is fucking awesome, and sounds so much better cranked to eleven (because someday you’ll have to be at work at 6am).  And Considering Phlebas means…

…capitalizing on the gifts of youth.  It means going outside on the weekends instead of drawing the shades and playing Xbox 360 for 48 consecutive hours.  It means asking that guy who’s in your Latin reading group out on a date (see Lesson #15).  It means rolling your car windows down, taking a road trip, and cranking the new Raconteurs album to eleven on your car stereo (where there is no neighbor who has to be at work the next morning).  CONSIDER PHLEBAS!!! WHO WAS ONCE HANDSOME AND TALL AS YOU!!!

And now that Phlebas has been considered, let’s close today’s dead-poet-inspired lesson by stealing a line from the great movie Dead Poets Society.  When Robin Williams’ character brings his class to look at a picture of some of the school’s long forgotten alumni, he whispers:

“They're not that different from you, are they? Same haircuts. Full of hormones, just like you. Invincible, just like you feel. The world is their oyster. They believe they're destined for great things, just like many of you, their eyes are full of hope, just like you. Did they wait until it was too late to make from their lives even one iota of what they were capable? Because, you see gentlemen, these boys are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it? - - Carpe - - hear it? - - Carpe, carpe diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary.”  Make your lives extraordinary…

…or, at least, go buy the new Raconteurs album.  

But one day in November 2006, Jon Roland told me about a friend of his who needed some help.  She needed to find out if she had inherited anything from her mother, who had died 10 years earlier.  I told Jon it was almost inconceivable that she would inherit anything now, or could claim anything now, after so long, but Jon asked me to talk to this dear and long-time friend of his, knowing that I had practiced quite a lot of probate & trust law back when I was a semi-normal attorney in private practice, before civil rights and the reaction to my efforts in that department changed my life forever. 

To make a long story short, I found that Shelley Sue Thomson, then living in an incredibly depressed slum in Albuquerque, New Mexico, had indeed been the victim of one of the most bald-faced cases of probate theft and conversion I had ever seen.  Shelley Sue Thomson couldn't afford to hire a licensed attorney, and she asked me to back up Jon Drew Roland as her Trustee, as Jon would act merely for free.  Shelly Sue Thomson promised me 1/3 of whatever estate she could recover in exchange for my efforts---actually she promised even more than that---she promised me that, since she had no children of her own, she would leave her mother's house to my son Charlie if she could live in it for the rest of her life. 

As it turned out, victory was swift, coming by May 1, 2007: after merely filing two state and two federal lawsuits, Shelley's old, greedy, and evil stepfather simply gave up and vanished, deeding everything to her, with his large team of high-paid attorneys trumpeting his generosity. 

Shelley could not even believe it had all happened so fast, but my loyal assistant Peyton Yates Freiman and I, at Shelley's initial invitation and Jon Roland's enthusiastic backing and support, met in Albuquerque.  I came from Santa Monica, California, where I had been celebrating another commercial litigation victory [actually a post-Katrina insurance victory in New Orleans Federal Court].  I was specifically in Santa Monica for a birthday party---a certain California TV actress friend's 30th birthday, while Peyton came from Austin, where he left his only recently acquired new girlfriend Mercedes behind out of sheer loyalty and devotion to the causes of justice). 

In the midst of all this euphoria, something went wrong.  I had talked with Shelley for hours and hours but never actually met her.  Jon Roland and I had done all the actual work (as a matter of fact, Jon Roland, ironically enough, was under investigation and injunction for UPL as a result of his litigation activities on Shelley's behalf).  All I can say is, apparently, Shelley hated me on sight and everything went downhill from there, but Peyton and I ran around Albuquerque renting trucks, hiring a moving crew, loading up Shelley's cat ridden house (I'm allergic to cats....of all kinds) and even finding a way to move Shelley's immense private safe....yes that wasy fun.  After a few tense days and one extremely pleasant farewell dinner, Peyton and I moved all of Shelley's worldly possessions to her mother's sumptuous suburban (not-quite-palatial but extremely nice) residence on Windsor Drive in a Western Suburb of New Braunfels, Texas.  Shelley does not, at first glance, fit the Disney image of Cinderella, but her rags to riches transformation in less than six months was, to put it mildly, very dramatic and not at all dependent upon fairy Godmothers or glass slippers, but on about 2000 hours of work between Peyton and me put together---Jon Roland had advanced most of the costs of litigation, Peyton had advanced the costs of moving Shelley, Peyton and I had "done our time" and Shelley was now ready to commit a crime: she wanted to stiff us. 

Well, I don't take it well when people want to stiff me.  I especially don't take it well when I haven't had any money down, no retainer, no cash up front, NOTHING, and yet I pull off a major victory within less than six months and can truthfully say that the result is the complete transformation of someone's life from near homeless pauperism to near Texas-Hill Country Royal living. 

I accordingly have NO apologies whatsoever for the fact that Peyton and I slapped first one and then an amended lien on Shelley's property.  Jon Drew Roland had been directly responsible for the amended lien.  He knew that Peyton's parents were respectively a Deacon and a Sunday School teacher at a major Baptist Church in Austin, and that Peyton could often be found with them there on Sundays.  So, one Sunday in August 2007 (it was almost exactly one year ago as I write this, maybe one year and two weeks ago), Jon Roland went over to Great Hills Baptist Church and cornered Lennie and Claudia Freiman and told them that their son (Peyton) was going to jail for having filed the lien against Shelley on behalf of my Tierra Limpia Trust fund.  Peyton was there and tried to set him right, but anyone who knows Jon Roland knows him to be one big talker---very forceful and almost impossible to shut up (it was a large part of why I liked him so much....honestly).  Jon Roland said that the Notice of Claim of Lien Peyton had filed was improper (1) because I hadn't signed it and (2) the Lien didn't mention him (Jon Roland) as Trustee for Shelley Sue Thomson.  Well, I was by this time in Montana visiting Senator Jerry O'Neil, and so I prepared an amended Notice of Claim of Lien which I signed and included reference to Jon Roland as Trustee for Shelley Sue Thomson.  

Well, I suppose that was when Jon Roland decided to slander me, to accuse me of filing a false lien against Shelley Sue Thomson on his website.  I was totally disgusted and suppose I will eventually have to sue Jon Roland for defamation and libel---and I guess I can sue him anywhere since people from Florida to Russia have now read about how I take advantage of poor people by filing liens on their property without moral or legal justification. 

It was Jon Roland who had originally told me about how easy it is to resolve legal disputes without litigation through liens.  It was a very successful Texas mortgage broker (who hopes to stay OUT of the line of fire in this and who shall accordingly remain anonymous) who suggested to me that I just slap a lien on Shelley's property if she didn't want to settle up with me--because after all, my services (and Peyton's) were in fact the equivalent of the "Purchase Money" of Shelley's house---Shelley had never seen her mother's will, never been aware that she was the intended beneficiary of a VERY large trust fund, or that her step father had embezzled 100% of the trust fund for himself and kept the house on top of that.  I am very proud of my work for Shelley Sue Thomson and frankly I enjoyed all our time on the telephone talking between November 2006 and end of April 2007.  

I was so enthusiastic about the work I did for her that I actually LEFT THE HOTEL CALIFORNIA for Shelley (and no, I'm not kidding---I was actually staying at a place called THE HOTEL CALIFORNIA on the beach in Santa Monica, and yes, I really DIDN'T want to leave at all---I had a beautiful suite, room 19, less than five minutes from both the beach, third street, and the Santa Monica Pier, and I wouldn't have left that place for anybody except someone I imagined would be a lifetime friend---I had just made several new friends in California that trip, and spent a huge amount of time with them at the Getty Villa in Malibu, the Getty Center on the 405, and LACMA Art Museum by the La Brea Tar Pits---the LACMA Art Museum having been the place I first became interested in archaeology, sitting and copying the cuneiform inscriptions of Asurbanipal on weekends when I was in High School with the Assyrian Primer my mother had brought me from the British Museum). 

Now, as it happens, Shelley Sue Thomson later enlisted the pro-bono services of another friend and supporter of mine---a lawyer with whom I had a temporary falling out over yet more civil rights litigation, namely David A. Sibley of Corpus Christi, against me.  David definitely should NEVER have taken this job---it was not quite ethical since he was representing me the whole time I was working for Shelley---but I forgive David because of what he wrote about Shelley in his April 30, 2008, Motion to Withdraw as her attorney in Thomson's suit against me and Peyton (No. 2008-119-C in the 274th District Court of Comal County, Texas) after Sibley finally had his own nearly fatal falling out with her.  What follows are only four excerpted paragraphs from David A. Sibley's nine Page Single-Spaced Motion to Withdraw---possibly the most devastating Motion to Withdraw I have ever seen---no lawyer has ever felt this oppressed by has client to need to "nuke" her this way before---but if anyone ever deserved it, it would be Shelley Sue Thomson) TO WIT: 

"4. Thomson sends repetitive emails (now probably numbering in the hundreds). She asks the same questions over and over and over and over again. Sibley has answered these questions over and over and over and over again. She will repeatedly threaten grievances among other things stating that Sibley has not answered her questions when he has answered them many times (and for other spurious reasons). She makes the same arguments over and over and over again even after Sibley has refuted her arguments over and over and over again (or expressed disagreement). Some of her arguments reflect profound misunderstandings of the law and she expects Sibley to answer endless questions about the law. More often than not, when Sibley explains the law, she disagrees or continues to ask questions about the same issue of law (or ignores his answer). She has recently taken to mixing her comments in her emails with previous emails so it is almost impossible without great effort to determine her new comments making her emails extremely burdensome (undoubtedly in the hope of Sibley missing one of her comments so she can argue that Sibley has not answered one of her questions -- she doesn’t set her comments out by bold face, underline, or otherwise). Sibley has repeatedly asked her to identify questions he supposedly hasn’t answered and she never has. She just continues her endless repetitions, etc.

5. Thomson has suggested that Sibley and Peyton are having some kind of affair. She has stated to [a mutual friend & colleague Attorney Andrea S.] Atalay that Israel should be wiped off the face of the planet (Atalay is Jewish). She also told Atalay that Hitler should have killed all the Jews. Also, she told Atalay that she was putting witchcraft spells on Sibley (she claims to have various psychic abilities including “remote viewing” and believes in numerous para--normal things, for example she believes Lincoln is possessed by an Aztec “deity”). She has tried to sow dissension between Sibley and Atalay by telling inconsistent things to each and trying to turn each against the other. She repeatedly harasses Sibley with comments suggesting that Sibley wants to steal her house (or is in a conspiracy with other lawyers to steal her house), he is stupid, he is unethical, etc. Also, she has suggested that Sibley may be in conspiracy with Lincoln and/or Peyton. When Sibley planned to travel over 100 miles by airplane to a hearing, she refused to pick him up at the airport. She has never paid Sibley a penny and never offered to even reimburse any out of pocket expense. In fact, she mocks the out of pocket expenses incurred (suggesting they are trivial – the amounts are not trivial to Sibley – she has no appreciation whatsoever for Sibley’s efforts). Sibley has never demanded payment of a penny but he expects basic courtesies like being picked up at the airport (how far can the airport be out of her way in New Braunsfel – she said “you can take a cab!”). She clearly does not respect Sibley’s advice or strategies (or him). As a result, Sibley is unable to act as an attorney in this case. Sibley finds some of Thomson’s behaviors highly offensive.

******

8. The attorney client relationship is completely destroyed. Atalay has been suffering even more from Thomson’s abuse than Sibley. Atalay has called Sibley on numerous occasions passed the point of tears (literally crying). The most extreme example was when Thomson made offensive comments including that Israel should be wiped off the face of the planet and Hitler should have killed all the Jews, etc. Thomson has repeatedly insulted Atalay including her abilities as a lawyer, her communication abilities, etc. Atalay called the Comal County District Attorney (or one of his representatives) and Thomson went ballistic (Thomson had been discussing this case with the District Attorney). Thomson and Roland clearly want to control everything (including all information). Thomson and Roland clearly want to handle this case themselves and just want a lawyer as a puppet. Sibley does not trust Thomson (neither does Atalay). It is believed Thomson may have been misrepresenting her conversations with the District Attorney and this is why she went ballistic when Atalay called the District Attorney. Thomson is an endless nightmare.

9. Atalay has been in the hospital for several days and it is not clear when she will get well. She has an extremely high fever (over 104 degrees at one point). She shows evidence of stress and exhaustion. It is entirely possible that her condition results from Thomson’s endless abuses, insults, etc. Her condition certainly hasn’t been helped by Thomson’s endless abuses. This situation has just got to stop. It has gotten way, way out of hand. Thomson is an abusive personality. She seems to enjoy harassing, annoying and abusing Sibley and Atalay. Thomson has had plenty of time and many second chances to end her abusive behaviors but she refuses.  She received an additional “chance” as recently as last week and responded with the same endless nonsense. A specific very reasonable plan was proposed for resolving the liens on her house and she rejected the plan and continued her endless pattern of abuse (endless insults, threats, etc.). It has to be done her way and no other way. Her way involves refusing settlements that involve exactly what the objective supposedly was (partial resolution of this case). She wants Sibley and Atalay to endless dance to her tune. She is not a lawyer and not only does her demands waste time and money they are likely to embarrass two lawyers severely."

It is really hard to imagine why Sibley would find any of Shelley's conduct offensive---I for my part feel rather flattered and intrigued by Shelley's observations (of which she had informed me personally) that she believed I was either possessed by or even the reincarnation of one of the Aztec Gods, either Huitzil Opochtli (Hummingbird of the left, the Chief Aztec God & God of War) or his pair Tezcatl Ipoca (Smoking Mirror, a much older God in Mesoamerica, patron of kings).  Well, I could have warned Sibley that Shelley really does believe herself to be the original "Witchy Woman" (I have to confess she never revealed her virulent hatred of Jews & Israel to me).  But in any event---when people "Google" my name they too often find and go to Jon Drew Roland's hateful defamation & slanderous comments on www.constitution.org.  Peyton and I did a lot of work, and shed a lot of "blood, toil, sweat, & tears" for Shelley, and she is just the consummate ingrate, and Jon Drew Roland is nothing but a treacherous Judas who stabbed his best friend in the back.  In the words of Paul Harvey, you now know "the rest of the story."

While, as of late, I seriously cringe at any mention of the word "random" (since it has become one of those extremely overused words teenagers cling to. In fact, paired with the word "hypocrite" it's like high school all over again...) I find it to be effective here. Especially because I'm morally against the word "potpourri" in any somewhat serious usage.

I find WordPress and LiveJournal very accommodating in my surfing. I have effectively caught up with several of my favorite writers, some friends, acquaintances and many a complete stranger. My current favorite right now is a mother of three, who is a freelance writer and quite witty. Anytime I feel like peeking into someone else's life, I can and will. I think reading people's blogs is an interesting way of getting to know someone as they are getting to know themselves.

Slightly off topic, but I'm happy to report that I was able to kick my soap opera habit without a patch or any unpleasant withdrawal symptoms. In fact, the storyline simply switched over to another set of people I didn't recognize and/or care about, and I suddenly regained all motor functioning ability and switch the damn thing off.

I did do a terrible thing within the past three hours though. I will blame living at home and my subconscious for giving me a horribly realistic dream featuring all the players of my old life. Remembering now that we've all graduated I had a terrible itch to know what had become of them. Or in particular, my ex. I Googled him, I hate to admit, but all pathetic acts of the wasteland should be carefully recorded and monitored.

I didn't find much, but I got the answer to my question. I suppose Google is for answers. Though, is it possible to have an identity crisis surrounding the fact that when you Google yourself and no one that is you pops up? I can hardly seek comfort in knowing there is now officially a rapper going by the name Mc Silver.

Eventually, I will be Google-able. I suppose I should add that on to my Life To Do List, that hasn't seen any fresh entries for awhile.

In fact, the next person that says something reminiscent of these sentiments to me, I will happily seize my fist and make it destined towards their face.

I mean, these are words of encouragement (along with that winner: "Well, that's just how it goes...") are reserved for the occasions that you least want to hear them. Such as, after you graduate. "You can do anything" is a sore, slightly biting reminder to me that since I didn't go to business school or med school and decided to get a lovely liberal arts degree, there's a lot I can't actually do.

In honor of this time period of my life, which I have heard referred to as "the wasteland" as well as "the early twenties" (clearly synonymous), I have started a new blog. This is a new beginning with the intention of commenting more on current events and my observations of the world as we know it, as opposed to a mind-numbing recitation of everything wrong with my life.

See?

Life really is what I make it! *eye roll*

I feel like that's true.

I often like to read multiple books at once, alternating chapters of the books. I'm still reading in order (if you don't know what that means, that'll have to wait for another post when I explain how I read systematically) so I just make sure I finish the right book first.

Anyway, at the moment I'm still working on Crime and Punishment and The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana. I'm pretty proud of myself because the first chapter in Mysterious Flame is titled "Cruelest Month," and I immediately thought of T.S. Eliot's The Wasteland...and it turns out the allusion in my mind was correct!

Mysterious Flame is another novel by the illustrious Umberto Eco. And by illustrious, I'm being literal because there are illustrations randomly throughout the book. I really like the concept. It's about an old rare-book dealer in Milan who has suffered a loss of memory. But no worries, it bears no resemblance to Korean soap operas which also feature loss of memory quite frequently. No, the main character, can't remember personal details of his life but he still has all his faculties and remembers every plot of every book he's ever read and every line of poetry.

Lots of allusions in this book, obviously. But not in an annoying way.

This present moment, a tightrope, kept taught with stress and anxiety. To one side of it, the past falls away, not to some safe net but spikes, swords on which to fall. Each a could have been, a what if, a if only. To the other side....: Dare not to look down.

Future stakes being sharpened, passing under the thinning wire. It is hard not to expect more of the same. What can change it? Why should it alter? The only way is to blank it out, deny that it is there beneath me, below me, behind and ahead of me and just the fatigue from concentrating on the rope beneath my aching, lost feet.

And so, slowly, tire, of balancing on the wire.

Wit and Wendy is of course a reference to Wendy Cope, whose poem "I am a poet and I like bananas" is one of my favourites http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/859.html

I was going to write a hommage entitled "I am a poet but I am dyslexic" which went like this:

I am a poet but I am dyslexic

I am dyslexic but am I a poet?

a tepot am I: but a dyslexic?

...and so on, with ever more bizarre convolutions of the available letters.  I thought it had legs, but I never got it off the ground (ha ha).

Wendy Cope's finest hour in my view is her parody of The Wasteland.  I have long suspected that TS Eliot is overrated: now I'm convinced.  www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/859

The last line never fails to make me laugh.  For my money, she is worth ten of Eliot.

That's enough lit. crit. for one day, my little culture vultures!

I must away....

]]> http://japonesespreferembonecas.wordpress.com/?p=68 Thu, 08 May 2008 05:20:09 +0000 a.a.m. http://japonesespreferembonecas.pt-br.wordpress.com/2008/05/08/os-dois-lados-dizem-%e2%80%9calo%e2%80%9d-la-para-afinar-o-violao/

London Bridge is falling down,
Falling down, falling down.
London Bridge is falling down,
My fair lady.

Take a key and lock her up,
Lock her up, lock her up.
Take a key and lock her up,
My fair lady.

How will we build it up,
Build it up, build it up,
How will we build it up,
My fair lady?

“É melhor ler a previsão do tempo antes de rezar por chuva”.
Mark Twain.

“O inferno é para onde os covardes enviaram os heróis”.
Lemuel K. Washburn, no livro “Vale A Pena Ler A Bíblia E Outros Ensaios”.

“E Deus fez o macaco, a sua imagem e semelhança”.
Dr. Zaius, no filme “O Planeta dos Macacos”.

[cortesia de a.a.m.]

That feeling of being on the outside
As though you are all on the inside feeling
The glow and warmth of the fire of companionship
And I am tapping on the window
Wiping off my breath with a tattered glove
And huddling into my scarf knowing
That you do not hear the rapping
Even if you wanted to

And in this winterland are two ghosts of choices
Each guarding a path
One of which must be chosen
I can break the window letting out some of that warmth
Or I can walk away leaving that window light of warmth
Behind me
Hoping someone will look out and call me back
And knowing they probably will not.

(except I did not learn it, did I?)

April, though, is full of terrible anniversaries. Take this week alone, April 13-19. On the 14th, Abraham Lincoln was assassinated and the Titanic hit the iceberg. The ship sank on the 15th, which is also the date Lincoln called out Union troops in response to Fort Sumter and the American Civil War began.

Today, the 16th, is the first anniversary of the Virginia Tech massacre. April 18 marks the great earthquake in San Francisco, with massive destruction and loss of life. April 19 is a doubly dark day, with anniversaries of Waco and the Oklahoma City bombing.

I consider April 20 part of this disaster-prone period, too, because of Columbine. Then, history evens out for awhile. What on earth is it about these eight days of April? Of course, I know part of that answer. Waco, Oklahoma City, Columbine, and Virginia Tech are connected, directly and indirectly, one tragedy building on another (and inspiring further atrocities). I think it's modern history that makes me fear this week of April. It's becoming some kind of sick tradition, and it's profoundly disturbing. I get nervous during this period, worried what kind of violent event will rip the wounds open again and inflict more agony and grief.

Have good things happened during these eight days of April? Of course. The Civil War ended as well as started during this period. Apollo 13 returned safely to earth. Read one of those "on this day in history" timelines for any day in this stretch and you'll find heartening stories and good news.

Maybe I'd feel better if more of those disasters were far, far in the past -- worthy of commemoration, but not still draining like an open gash. Maybe then I'd turn on the television with cheerful expectancy, rather than dreading what nightmare will be screaming from the screen.

From The Wasteland by T. S. Eliot

maryt

And for my money March is even worse

A global warmed winter left us slushy

mixed rich media strewn 'cross the dead land

stirring blogger roots with dull prose

posting, linking, sharing, tagging

the wasteland memetic has gone viral

I have seen the face of an Angel
All covered in sorrowful tears.

(Read Part 1, Part 2, or Part 3)

"The Wasteland", by T. S. Eliot, is considered by many to be the most famous modernist work ever published.  Within the chaotic lines of this poem Eliot seeks to portray the sense of decadence, decline, and despair that characterizes the post-war West.  This work was highly influential, and it injected its nihilistic themes into the cultural bloodstream.  "The Wasteland" would come to influence many subsequent works of literature; including the two novels which have already been addressed.

With his description of London as the "unreal city" (Line 60) whose population has been undone by death, Eliot clearly portrays the despair experienced by the British after the war.  The city is not only inhabited by the clotted river of sighing masses which flows through its fog-covered streets, but by the ghostly memories of soldiers like "Stetson" who lost their lives during the war.  What happened to the corpse planted in Stetson's garden (the millions who died in the war)?  What ghastly fruit will come of it?  From his vantage point, Eliot saw Western culture crumbling into "a heap of broken images" (Line 22), yet within the fractured and fragmented lines of The Waste Land, Eliot at times seems to hint at an answer.

Similar to The Sound and the Fury, "The Wasteland" attempts to convey the nihilism of its day through its very form and style.  By its disjointed lines and multiple obscure references, the poem presents an age in which spiritual and existential certainty has been replaced by "a handful of dust" (Line 30).  I must confess that the first time I read this "The Wasteland" I was quite baffled and a bit annoyed by the sheer amount of references.  However, each time I read the poem the more I discovered that the references themselves convey one of this work's most powerful messages.  

Nearly all of the quotes and allusions are derived from renowned Western literature.  Shakespeare, Dante, St. Augustine, and the Bible all make appearances, along with many other famous works.  It is as though Eliot was seeking to gather the ruins of Western civilization and piece them back together again (however disfigured the finished product may be).  The numerous references of "The Wasteland" reinforce Eliot's message that the modern age has lost its soul, and that the only redemption for it will be found in a return to the eternal truths to which these references adhere.

Standing in the background of this poem is the Fisher King, a mythical figure from Arthurian legend.  His impotence (see Jake above) represents the sterility of the age, and his only hope is that someone will ask him what it is that ails him.  In "The Wasteland", Eliot is emphasizing the fact that the problem for modern man is not to be found in the lack of abundant answers, but in the lack of the proper questions.  The age that produced World War I could not fix its own problems; only a return to the wisdom that had preceded it offered any hope.

All of these works communicate a powerful truth: that in his rise to power and scientific prowess, mankind lost his way.  Confusion reigns and his tower is left to crumble.  This is nihilism: the disintegration of all value; the fatal mistake of forgetting that the most precious things that a man possesses are not those things which can be stuffed in a pantry, stored in a bank account, or measured in a test tube.  Yet, as Eliot perceived, there is hope: escape from the maze of meaninglessness is not found by pressing forward into the darkness, but by following the breadcrumbs of antiquity back to the entrance...and to escape.

Lady in White has been an ongoing adventure. Its first chapters were penned during my junior year in high school, a full manuscript appeared by my senior year, and the following few years were devoted to editing. My last edit shaved off a full 30,000 words, so I hope the manuscript is, finally, airtight.

The story itself centers around a fantasized interpretation of "The Wasteland" by T.S. Eliot. This passage from Eliot's masterpiece, in particular, resonates throughout Lady in White:

Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock

Those words have always impressed me. I think that anyone born during the past fifty years can, sadly, empathize with the poet's depiction of spiritual dryness. Although a degree of secularism, in any poly-cultural society, is essential for government stability, I think that, too often, we overlook the fact that humans are inherently spiritual. Something deep within the human soul points ever-skyward.

We thirst for spirituality.

Then we are stone
Held fast in self made nets
Tearing at a mind that frays.
Living a fraction of the measure
With which we rule our days.

Then we are gone.

8-8-2006.

...My friend cites the fact that, of the 6,000 high school students he estimates he's taught over the span of his career, only a small fraction now make it to his grade with a functioning understanding of written English. They do not know how to form a sentence. They cannot write an intelligible paragraph. Recently, after giving an assignment that required drawing lines, he realized that not a single student actually knew how to use a ruler.

It is, in short, nothing less than a tidal wave of dumb, with once-passionate, increasingly exasperated teachers like my friend nearly powerless to stop it. ...

Interesting, infuriating, and (undoubtedly) intentionally scary essay. He does offer a small ray of hope.

With that in mind, I figure that in the future, T.S. Eliot's The Wasteland will read like this. Unfortunately, as with most parodies, I suspect only those who appreciate the original will get the most humor out of it---which may further reinforce Morford's point.

As long as we're parodying poetry, consider Meowl! (Unspecified prize to whomever identifies the connection between the two poetic parodies.)