#1232018

Look, you and Jacob. There is no me and Jacob, Aaron, I don’t know why you’re saying that! I dunno I just didn’t know if things had changed for ya. I would have told you if they had.

“Dear Sir,”

The letter reads

“While I appreciate your ideas

And understand your poem has worth

It’s just not my style

Confusing images and tumbling plots

All over the place from line to line

Beautifully written

Yet terribly enigmatic

So many languages jumbled together

No transitions to guide the way

Just the reader’s wit and headache-inducing study

Attempting to wring some meaning

From the carefully organized disorganization

Planned spontaneity

So many words, so little understanding

Though it may be a classic

Nobody knows quite why

Because nobody knows what it means

As in the poem, life turns to death

Young students’ dreams turn to dust

So all I really have to say is

Fuck you, T.S. Eliot

Sincerely