Could there possibly be a more alliterative apocalyptic poem than "The Second Coming" by William Butler Yeats?
It's a rich mine of metaphors of pointless destruction at the hands of a reckless humanity. "The widening gyre." "The center cannot hold." "The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity." "A gaze blank and pitiless as the Sun."
As we spiral toward fascism, the poem is more relevant today than when it was written a century ago during World War I. Can anything save us this time?
The last line is the most terrifying of all. "What rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?" <shudder>
Specifically the word "slouching" has taken on new relevance, as I've seen it used to connote horror (without reference to the poem) in several recent think-pieces about AI. Wrong target. The correct target is wealth and power (that might use AI to further tighten their grip). But that's off limits because the rich are righteous, doncha know? <cough> "They worked hard for what they have, you lazy bum!"
What is it about a "slouching" beast that is so terrifying? Well, it's not just a predator. That we could deal with, if we worked together. But the "rough beast," with its "slow thighs" emerging from the "Spiritus Mundi?"
It's us, and we are powerless to stop ourselves. That would mean we'd all have to admit our self-deceptions--that we've led ourselves here--and ain't nobody got time for THAT.
"Slouching." "Whatever." "Chill out, man, lighten up." "That's just like, your opinion, man."
Our doom is all because we can't be bothered to care, to sit up straight. To see ourselves and our defaults. To hold ourselves accountable. We're so overfed and intoxicated and surfeited with utter nonsense, we can't move an inch to get out of our own way. Invalid wireheads on life-support, paralyzed in the headlights of a runaway train. Everyone sees it coming, but we look away. We're still slouching, can't move, collapsed of our own weight. So heavy with denial, our own bones have broken.
"The best lack all conviction." ("Both sides.") "The worst are full of passionate intensity." ("MAGA").
As Neil Peart said, "The slackjaw gaze of true profanity, feels more like surrender than defeat."
A rough beast, indeed.
#yeats #fascism #maga #slouching #bothsides #roughbeast