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(Tenured Radical)

Thursday, June 23, 2005

A nice bit of poetry
from today's New York Times

"The Carpet Coming."

[In honor of tonight's premiere of "War of the Worlds,"
which we were not invited to attend.]

Turning and turning in the widening gyre,
The actor cannot hear the publicist;
Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;
Mere Scientology is loosed upon the world,
The squirting microphone is loosed, and everywhere
The memory of BRAD and ANGELINA is drowned;
The press lacks all conviction, while TOM CRUISE
Is full of passionate intensity,
Really, really passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely there is a movie they have to promote.
'The War of the Batmans' or something! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of 'Dianetics'
Troubles my sight: somewhere near the Eiffel Tower
A shape with KATIE HOLMES's body and the head of Mr. Cruise,
A gaze blank and jovial as the sun,
Is holding a press conference, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant Star reporters.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That two months of interminable news coverage
Were vexed to nightmare by a publicist's confirmation,
And what vapid interview, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards the Ziegfeld to be born?