I like the poetry of WB Yeats as much as the next person, but if I read or hear one more person invoking The Second Coming I think I might lose it. How many times, I wonder, can apocalyptic schadenfreude be expressed through the gnomic assertion that things fall apart? (Are falling apart? Will fall apart? Have fallen apart? The tense of these citations is not consistent.)

I’ll grant you, the past few years have seen some rough beasts slouching towards Bethlehem to be born — or towards Washington, Wuhan or London, as the case may be — but if you’re into Yeatsian paradigms there are plenty of others to apply. ..

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