Oh, that's why I knew it. It's Yeats. Who, um, I've read less of than Keats, but. Yeah.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
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.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
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.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
The center is hollow. [/Utena reference]
OMG, classic Trek is the best thing ever. But the fact that EVERY woman gets the Soft Lens effect drives us bonkers.
Spock has especially good green makeup on today. Or maybe it's just that I'm sitting closer to the TV than normal.
Stop snogging that woman, Spock! It's just the magic spores!
Also, you know you're tired when you look in the mirror and think, "Wait, is my thumb on the right side?"