Inevitable Dissipation

More completely:  The Inevitable (and Unavoidable) Dissipation of Your Run-of-the-Mill, Everyday, Wannabe, Modern Rennaissance Man.  This, I suspect, would be an appropriate title of my, as yet unwritten, autobiography or, more likely, the epitaph on my tombstone.

Thanks to our M. Ragazzo, a recent gathering offered an opportunity to consider the poet’s view of our world.  Had I been properly engaged in the challenge, I would have offered this Yeats classic:

THE SECOND COMING
 
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: a waste of desert sand;
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
Wind 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?
 
 
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