J. Alfred, I'm sick of your whining -- get off your **** and do something! Yes, I know life is meaningless. I know you've got a lot of time on your hands. Of course, tea parties can be boring. But let me just ask here: "Is someone making you do this? Is someone making you hang out with these cold, scornful women?" Surely a guy like you could find someone to relate to. It's not that hard.
No, you're not Prince Hamlet -- and you're not an attendant lord either. You're J. Alfred Prufrock! Eat a peach, for-God's-sake! Talk to the mermaids! Just do it!
<Note: It's useful to think of Whoopi Goldberg as the speaker.>
Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem: humanist-art.org/old-site/audio/SoF_039_prufrock.MP3 . This poem is part of the Scraps of Faith collection of poems ( https://humanist-art.org/scrapsoffaith.htm )
Hello Alfred where ya bin? Cruising aisles of memories tinned, a good deal thinner when you last checked in. Back slapped worn, born of songs between your ears, evenings out are scrims on which you show your friends what is what and what they fear. Oh you pickled miscreant. I dare you. Eat me. All up.
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock entices me. Shout out to Eliot and inspiration.
I am Emma Bovary I am Prufrock I am the Underground Man I am Gretta
I'm trapped in my mind, wondering why I am in this situation... I'm unsure of myself and my feelings... I needed to dominate but now I realize what I got isn't what I want... I'm judged by my past and still wanting to re-live my glory days...
I too am Baumer... I'm fighting but it's time to rest Oh Dorian! why am I so perfect?
Tomorrow, I'll be at breakfast and won't see the girl who made me feel this way, I'll give up hope and continue lying saying "I'll elope"
Besides, she'll think I'm ugly and I'll feel alone and ashamed
Am Decaying on The Inside
"She was eaten up with desires, with rage, with hate. The rigid folds of her dress covered a tormented heart of which her chaste lips never spoke"
I said The Raven Am The Raven Of Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
And I said The Raven Am The Raven Of Edgar Allan Poe.
Apparently there's a rave on - Shall we go?
Yes - let us go then you and I As the evening is spread out Against the sky.
But not like a patient Etherised upon a table.
Let us like Thunderbirds Not gentle go into this dark night.
So dressed in sable White gloves And whistles They went on their way - Not looking forward To conversations about Michelangelo at all.
For as we all know Old age should rave and burn At close of day. And not just fizzle out.
More big shout...........................................
And rave until you fall.
Both Edgar Allan Poe and Samuel Taylor Coleridge did both write poems called The Raven. The latter's is one of the most dispiriting and disconcerting pieces of vindictive revenge in the English language.T S Eliot and Dylan Thomas did write poems called The Love Song of J Alfred Purfrock and Do Not Gentle Go Into That Good Night respectively and lines from both poems appear here in various guises. If you know niether both would make most anthologies of 20th century poetry.
And honestly white gloves and whistles were common on the rave scene in the early days.