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From: Al g.
Date: 14 Mar 2004
Time: 04:23:40 -0600
Remote Name: 216.192.13.4
Al sirius (elliot) ness aside, my guess is that yEATs was right about the cyclic thing. He was just a head of his thyme. My second guess is that the whole poem is just a precognitive afterthought that doubles as a metaphor for life in Hollywood, which we all know revolves around its food service craft tables. The ice sculpted centerpieces just mealt and fall a part in the noon day sun (which, BTW, is the primary reason why they have moved much of the filming to Vancouver.) When they run out of imported bottled water, anarchy does rein until some 2nd assistant makes a run to the local Gelsons. And in the backrooms of Hollywood they still debait whether the lion refers to the MGM studios, the MTM (mary tyler moores) productions meow logo, or the Wizard of Oz. (Meyer takes the cake on that one.) If you have been dumped off the A list, your whole career falls apart and you no longer command center stage. Blank, pitiless gazes is all you get when you try to get your usual table at Chassens or Spago. The hot LA scene turns into a veritable desert where opportunities dry up like water holes in the Kalahari (no relation to mata hari). The beast is actually the cookie monster from Sesame Street. Oh, and the indignant dessert bird is really the poor stuffed black bird that used to hang from a fishing line suspended above Groucho Marxs head carrying the secret word. Of course I could be wrong about the thyme. Spock did say "if hours were like days" . . . and 2D thinking in a 3D world is no way to play with the Enterprise.