Comments by "Nono Yorbusness" (@nonoyorbusness) on "m o d e r n i t y"
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Our revels now are ended.
Those craft that rode the thin cold sky,
All our creations, and achievements
As I foretold you, were all illusions, and
Are melted into air,
And like the baseless fabric of our mathematics,
The cloud soaring machines, the technological marvels,
Our civilisation, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which our children should inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like an insubstantial pageant fade,
Leave not a rack behind.
We were such stuff
As dreams were made on;
Now our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
Prospero.
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This usurped throne of kings, this decieved isle,
This earth of møßquēs, this seat of hijabs,
This other Arabia, this demi-ßhi+hølé,
This ruined fortress, betrayed by narcissists for their gain.
Infested and on the brink of war,
This unhappy breed of men, this little world,
This defiled stone set in a fishless sea,
Which once served it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Exposed by treason to the malice of less happy lands,
This blighted plot, this earth, this blairite ruin, this England.
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