arthus's blog

This piece was written for a school assignment and was heavily inspired by T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land. The original is here.

Look, God, I know you care more about tough love than a cop from a seat-belt commercial. But seriously... eternal damnation? That's, like, a long time. Not as big as infinity, but still really long!

We have some pretty harsh punishments here on Earth. But North of the Mason-Dixon line about the worst you're going to get is life in prison. And that's a hell of a lot shorter than an eternity in hell. (Did you catch that antanaclasis there, my friend?)

If we really want to give someone hell we turn him over to you.

I originally wrote this as the bio for my personal site, but I'm posting it here since these pages were looking sadly empty. Under no circumstances is it to be taken seriously. In fact, under no circumstances am I to ever be taken seriously.

We are wise to fear Unknown.

We do not know who he is,
or if he isn't she.

But we do know his names,
which cloak him like the cape he fondly wears.
He is Fear.
He is Sleep.
He is Death.
Some call him God;
others, Satan.

The only thing we have to fear is Fear himself;
But he is quite fearsome after all.

Forgive the excessive triteness of this, for I wrote it at 4am when trying to avoid the grasp of sleep. I've always had an affinity for the unknown, marred only by my crippling fear of it. I think it started when I dressed up as a question mark for Halloween; I was quite the philosophical kid. In fact, the pragmatic concerns of the world have driven me far closer to philistinism than I was then.

Hello, world.
Welcome to this brain.
Welcome to these thoughts.
Say anything.
besides goodbye.
Hello, hello.

About Me

I normally write editorial prose, as evidenced by my blog. I was dragged onto this poetic shore by gradster1, in hopes of letting my right brain out a little.

Perfect in their imperfection,

    with plaster they cover the cracks.

"What cracks?"

A smile hides a frown,

    on the outside.

"What angst?"

He works in the city,

    she stays at home, for the children,

    and She works in the city.

"What client?"

She ignores the signs,

    and drives off the cliff.

"What cliff?"

He works late,

    but not at work.

"What woman?"

He weaves a quilt of lies,

    and drapes it over her.

"What time?"

She tells the kids,

    and herself,

    everything is fine.

"What fight?"

Everything is good,

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of visiting the Vermont State House on the invitation of Bill Lippert, our local representative. This was a remarkable opportunity. By sitting in on various committees and meeting politicians, I gained a new appreciation for Vermont’s transparent and open political style.