Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a laptop, put in sleep mode on a table
Let us go through certain half-deserted streets
The blinking-light retreats
Of restless nights in free-wifi cafes
And public libraries with internet
Streets that follow like messageboard argument
of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming blog post
Oh, do not ask, "What, yaoi?"
Let us go and post an entry.
Entry duly posted.
Oh, oh yes, it does go on faithfully mimicking Prufrock in its entirety.
h/t Obsidian Wings and Andrew Sullivan
2 comments:
Love. It.
Reminds me of a submission to "Leaflets," the arts and letters journal of the Eastman School of Music, whose author had cleverly parodied Prufrock to suit her own graduate school circumstances. Must go back and look that up!
The piece of her pastiche that has always stayed with me:
"In the room the women come and go/speaking of Guillaume de Machaut."
Meant to add that I'm surprised you didn't decide to post about this part of the poem towards the end, which somehow seems particularly appropriate given what you've had to say about the masters of mayhem who inhabit your kitchen:
I have seen cats talking in capslock on the web,
All up in ur fridge, eatin' ur food
When my laptop lights the darkness white and black.
:)
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