I do not know if your indescribability is from good or bad things, but thinking about you makes me smile, and probably always will. Also, being crushed by a huge cheese would be an awesome way to go. Anything where you can imagine walking up to the Pearlies and St. Peter looking at you and saying "...Seriously?" is a good death.
And now, I will contribute a spleen poem that does not have cheese in it:
Spleen T. S. Eliot
Sunday: this satisfied procession Of definite Sunday faces; Bonnets, silk hats, and conscious graces In repetition that displaces Your mental self-possession By this unwarranted digression.
Evening, lights, and tea! Children and cats in the alley; Dejection unable to rally Against this dull conspiracy.
And Life, a little bald and gray, Languid, fastidious, and bland, Waits, hat and gloves in hand, Punctilious of tie and suit (Somewhat impatient of delay) On the doorstep of the Absolute.
Comments 6
Thankyouthankyoutankewe!
I must now illustrate this. It has to become a children's tale. I do not know how I've missed it for so long.
I adore that you've posted it.
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That is my decision.
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And now, I will contribute a spleen poem that does not have cheese in it:
Spleen
T. S. Eliot
Sunday: this satisfied procession
Of definite Sunday faces;
Bonnets, silk hats, and conscious graces
In repetition that displaces
Your mental self-possession
By this unwarranted digression.
Evening, lights, and tea!
Children and cats in the alley;
Dejection unable to rally
Against this dull conspiracy.
And Life, a little bald and gray,
Languid, fastidious, and bland,
Waits, hat and gloves in hand,
Punctilious of tie and suit
(Somewhat impatient of delay)
On the doorstep of the Absolute.
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