Prufrock's Song Reborn

(This post for nerds and eggheads only) Let us go, then, now and then, when online is spread out against the real world, like an image spread against the real world; Let us go, through certain half-forgotten shows; as images glow and bestow their memes. . . what dreams may come and go; we know not what images to stow. In the world-net people come and go, striving to remember Michelangelo, when history was like a painted show, as Mona’s smile What are the memes that grow? what ideas do flow out of this electronic stream? What screen-potato fate has come of us? Why do people drum up such fuss? The clickish fog that rubs its back upon our brightened screens licks its tongue into the corners of our dreams, and lingers upon the pools that stand inside our brains. And indeed there will be time, for the brightened bloat that shines upon our screens, rubbing its back upon the window panes of memory. And indeed there will be time, for the shallowy signal that slides along our stream; there will be time; there will be time to prepare a face to greet the faces that you meet. There will be time to ponder and create and time for all the works and days of Man, that click and drop a meme on your plate; just don’t fall into hate! Time for us and you and me. . . time for a hundred decisions, for a hundred visions and revisions, before the reaper takes you and me. . . and time for yet a hundred indecisions, and a hundred visions and revisions, and yet to come a few decisions. In the internet the people come and go, trying to recall Michelangelo. . .

when labor left a scene behind, to evaluate signs of our times. . . while still we do get old; we shall store our papers rolled . . . and bound upon a shelf, upon an altar of remembrance, when ink-pins scrolled and presses rolled. . . to evaluate the chronicles of time: that is the question; whether ’tis nobler to tolerate the crimes of our times, or by opposing end them! . . . Give me Liberty of give me death! When in the course of human events it becomes necessary to break the sacred bonds that have bound us together, and to take action against a string of abuses and end them: that is the question! We have lingered in the chambers of the web, past symbols cast in red or blue, till Eternal voices wake us and suddenly we end. . . in flames of regret. . . and yet. . . and yet it’s never too late. . . to grasp the the links of Calvary’s gate, and linger there in deep repose, until we see the brightness of eternal glory. . . far from grief, far from this fallen earthly story. Yet still the people come and go, trying to grok what Michelangelo was doing up there on the ceiling. The arts may come; the memes may grow trying to interpret Michelangelo.

King of Soul