The news that the 500th Simpsons episode is done and dusted should be a time of global lament, not joy. The Simpsons was once one of the smartest, sassiest, and yes, most post-modern, TV shows of all time - indeed, it will always be noteworthy for its first few brilliant seasons. However, it has long become a tedious rehash, cheapening its satire of media and society by becoming that worst sort of bore - the hanger-on at the party with the lampshade on, who doesn't know when to go home. 23 seasons is enough. The thought of two more is just groan-inducing. Someone should get a big yellow rubber (eraser) out, and start cutting back...
A poem for my mother, July 15 When she was dying And I was in a different country I dreamt I was there with her Flying over the ocean very quickly, And arriving in the room like a dream And I was a dream, but the meaning was more Than a dream has – it was a moving over time And land, over water, to get love across Fast enough, to be there, before she died, To lean over the small, huddled figure, In the dark, and without bothering her Even with apologies, and be a kiss in the air, A dream of a kiss, or even less, the thought of one, And when I woke, none of this had happened, She was still far distant, and we had not spoken.
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