An Onion headline, no article attached:
Smooth Jazz Musician Forced To ListenIf there’s a hell, smooth jazz is its soundtrack.
To His Own Song Over And Over While
On Hold With Time Warner Cable
[“Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell”: John Milton, Paradise Lost.]
comments: 2
One dark night,
my Tudor Ford climbed the hill's skull;
I watched for love-cars. Lights turned down,
they lay together, hull to hull,
where the graveyard shelves on the town. . . .
My mind's not right.
A car radio bleats,
"Love, O careless Love. . . ." I hear
my ill-spirit sob in each blood cell,
as if my hand were at its throat. . . .
I myself am hell;
nobody's here--
Robert Lowell, "Skunk Hour"
Yes! I’m not sure what it says about me, but I thought of Lowell (misremembered as “there’s no one here”) before I thought of Milton.
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