(bottom right-hand side of picture)

(Thanks to Kaida for capturing the screen-shot and sending it to me)
Mistah Kurtz—he dead.
A penny for the Old Guy
I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.
Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—
Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom
III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.
Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.
IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.
V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
May sand fleas infest your underwear drawer.
May your favorite professional sports team get caught in an orgy with the team you most hates.
May your bicycle get stolen by a ten year old girl, who comes by daily to taunt you over it, and regularly kicks your ass just to maintain her dominance.
May a video of you and a goat (a literal goat) surface on You Tube.
May the goat be unattractive.
May you be raped by pit bulls.
My incontrovertible video evidence show that the pit-bull love was consensual. May this evidence show up on You Tube.
May the pit bulls be unattractive.
May you find romance online with a younger woman, who actually “gets” you, and may you eventually meet her and fall in love with her and leave your family for a shot at true happiness.
May your new love be nine months pregnant and in the hospital ready to deliver, and may you meet her mother for the first time, and realize she’s someone you hooked up with in college, the girl who’d just dropped out one day and nobody knew why, but there were rumors she was pregnant, and I think you know where I’m going with this…..
DON’T F**K WITH WORDNERD, ’cause I can make all this happen.
“Until you make peace with who you are, you'll never be content with what you have.”
I'm writing this message for Hyperion. He says that he is away from a computer until 8:30 p.m. Eastern, but he just remembered that tomorrow is the Julianne Moore post, so he wanted to remind you that, in case you had other plans like going out whoring (his words, not mine!).
Come now, Darkest Angel;
Return through the smoke, and the haze, on
Wings tipped crimson, now carmine, in the fading light.
Come now, Darkest Angel;
Return their slings, and arrows dipped in embers with
Moulten Fury from Eyes of Ice, and Breath of Obsidian Fire.
Yours is the magic of Kings, and Queens, and
Lions of the Desert, who never forgot where they came from, and
Never forgot they were Lions.
Yours is the magic of Avalon, and Mag Mell, and
Moura Encantada, who guarded the Secret, and the Treasure, and
Never broke the Spell.