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Hollow Men Explication

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Hollow Men Explication

We are the hollow men

We are the stuffed men" Empty and full. Considering the speaker of

this fraternity of contradictions is a singular being (it can be a

human, or even a rock) representing the many of its kind, it resembles

the likes of a scarecrow or perhaps a mannequin along the lines of

those seen on CNN representing a Bush with a monstrously big nose put

on flames. A scare crow with straw. Stuffed to the brims. A substance

lacking substantiality. The straw is the substance, but each

individual straw is hollow, light, one nuance of color yet together

they make a purpose one of either being a mockery of what the U.N.

puts in its record books of the only super power in the beginning of

the 21st century or scaring crows away. There is a purpose amongst

hollow grounds, a purpose for the straw to be compacted together. And

alas, that purpose is accomplished when a "we" is achieved not an "I."

"Leaning together Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!"

This reconfirms my suspicions of flitting together to achieve a

statute of social approval, of a status that determines the purpose to

be one of those flirting with the positive. And all they have to do is

lean their heads, even the heads that are full of straw, in a

virtually neuron encapsulated skull. Lean over, and take a toast to

their drinks a mere tink of the tumblers even scotch couldn't have a

more satisfying "alas" signaling a finality of finite relief.

"Our dried voices, when

We whisper together

Are quiet and meaningless

As wind in dry grass

Or rats' feet over broken glass

In our dry cellar" Hollow voices, minus the dew of moisture. Yet this

phrase is a complete antithesis of my hastily drawn theory within the

time frame of how long my eye lids can venture off as those determined

jackasses to avoid flitting down (yes Mr. Little, my very own

testament of 2 o' clock wanderings into "Hallow Men" turn over some

hollow stones themselves, but I'm not complaining, enjoy). Quite

literally, as I'm taking this metaphor minus the allusions I strongly

suspect this poem to have (perhaps even borrowed???), convening among

themselves produces no rate of success, for the meeting bears no vital

result. But whom is to claim that it is a vital result which implies a

success, is what out scarecrow is trying to vouch after? Elliot

brushes out a downcast mood on canvas, seemingly a sketch of shadows

as a precursor to more feet sliding across shards of glass. As for the

result of a conference, it can also point to the non-existence of
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