Wednesday, 22 January 2014

Drawing parrallels between Lisa Simpson and Sylvia Plath; the pointlessness of it all.

Sylvia Plath - Ennui

Tea leaves thwart those who court catastrophe,
designing futures where nothing will occur:
cross the gypsy’s palm and yawning she
will still predict no perils left to conquer.
Jeopardy is jejune now: naïve knight
finds ogres out-of-date and dragons unheard
of, while blasé princesses indict
tilts at terror as downright absurd.
The beast in Jamesian grove will never jump,
compelling hero’s dull career to crisis;
and when insouciant angels play God’s trump,
while bored arena crowds for once look eager,
hoping toward havoc, neither pleas nor prizes
shall coax from doom’s blank door lady or tiger."

Lisa Simpson - Meditations on turning Eight

"I had a cat named snowball, she died, she died.
Mom said she was sleeping, she lied, she lied.
Why oh why is my cat dead? 
Couldn't that Chrysler have hit me instead?"

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