Seminal, like semen.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Then shout louder.
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
Insufficient respect for anarchy
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
The worst are always full of passionate intensity. that is what makes them so very shit.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
Yes, surely. You, alone, of all of the billions of people who have always, throughout time, thought the world was about to end, are right. How very prescient of you. And now, a meagre century later, you have been proven so very right, haven't you? Twunt.
The Second Coming!
Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
Fucking livid they were.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Not confined by your own historical context are we, Yeats? 'Sleeping' is definitely what the world did for two millennia after Jesus . Buy a fucking history book.
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
Look, what with it's body of a lizard and head of a man, and our knowledge of it's general direction of travel, this beast seems rather easy to identify and stop. Particularly as it's method of ambulation is 'slouching' one of the less graceful and efficient forms of movement. Quit whining and fucking sort it you pretentious twat.
That's it. sorry.