Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Some Famous Poems as Rewritten by Death


















Hey, everybody. Death here. It's almost Halloween, which is my favorite time of year because I win all the costume contests. People always think I'm dressed as Skeletor. Heh. I have so many gift certificates to TGIFridays at this point, it's not even funny.

So, because the Mayor is out doing work-ish stuff today, I thought it might be a good time for me to read some of my awesome poetry. Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Death, poetry is for moody teenage girls and guys who wear turtlenecks. Not people like me who entertain themselves with YouTube videos of cats wearing sweaters and falling off tables." Well, in my opinion, you are all a bunch of cultureless asses. And I can say that because every day you live is one step closer to falling off the precipice of doom. And who is in charge of that precipice? Me.

So, why don't all of you just get comfortable? Pull up a piece of brimstone. Or the leather sofa I made out of Hitler. And let me read you some poetry.

"Because I Could Not Stop for Me"
Originally by Emily Dickinson
Rewritten by me, Death

Because I could not stop for me,
I kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just myself
And Immortality.
I slowly drove, I knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For my civility.

...

Are you paying attention or did you just click over to look at naked pictures of Megan Fox?

Anyway...back to the poem...ahem...

Are you on Facebook right now?

Okay, I get it. Dickinson isn't your thing. Would you rather I read you an excerpt from I Come to the Archbishop by Willa Cather and Death? How about Poe and Death's "Masque of the Red Me"?

Now, what are you doing? Tweeting "Death sucks"? Well...I see how it is. You think you're better than me because you sit at a computer all day wearing a suit and typing things. And I carry an obsolete farming instrument and wander around poking people with my finger until they die.

Just you wait, buddy. I've got a finger with your name on it.

14 comments:

Jen said...

Ha, when I saw the title of this post on my FB feed, I wondered if that was going to be one of the poems featured. I love Dickinson, and I appreciate Death's version as well.

Death said...

@Jen: Thank you very much. I am very flattered that you appreciated my work. Not many people understand the brilliance of Emily Dickinson and me.

Johnny P. Coaltrain said...

Yah Dickonson used play Sergeant Leann "Pepper" Anderson in the successful 1970s crime series Police Woman. A poet too, my my.

Death said...

@JPC: I'm so embarrassed for you right now.

Johnny P. Coaltrain said...

Yep and guess what else she had her legs insured for $1-million dollars through Lloyds of London...not many poets do that I bet.

wilsonbilson said...

Who's the coffee table made of?

Death said...

@JPC: Insurance. What a hilarious concept.

@WB: Francisco Franco. And you should see what I did with Mussolini.

wilsonbilson said...

Show me!

Death said...

@WB: Ahem...chandelier. I leave you to Google Mussolini yourself to see why that's funny.

Johnny P. Coaltrain said...

Chandelier!...that is so twisted, I like.

Death said...

@JPC: Benito was the twisted one. I'm just giving him what he deserves.

t.c. said...

Death, have you considered setting your poem to music? http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00122HKIK

Death said...

@t.c.: It wasn't depressing enough. It needs more organ.

Anonymous said...

I want to quote your post in my blog. It can?
And you et an account on Twitter?