okay so. :)
if anyone is familiar with the poetic works of T.S Eliot, an early 20th century poet, you would most likely be familiar with his work "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"
For those who aren't familiar with it, I'll have it quoted in a following post. :)
The contest is basically going to be drawing J. Alfred Prufrock.
if you aren't quite familiar with poetry, I'll also include an interpretation of what I imagine him to be like and you can modify it in any way you'd like.
Prizes will consist of:
3k Pure Gold
Dove headwings
June CI Set
may CI set
2x september '08 sets
july '08 + april '08 set
golden claddagh belt
silver claddagh belt

and I believe I have some other items, but I'd have to check. =P
the top three that are entered, will receive a prize. :)
If I really like your entry and you win, I'll most likely give a big tipping bonus. Also, these are due THIS SUNDAY. At 6PM central time.
Sorry for the short notice. xD;
There aren't really any specifications on the type of art, sketch, colored, chibi, waist up, full body, I'm open to anything on this.
If you have any questions, please PM me or post here. The same can be said for entries.

This is the poem. ;D

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, `` What is it? ''
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening.
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains.
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys.
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me.
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, ``Do I dare?'' and, ``Do I dare?''
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair--
[They will say: ``How his hair is growing thin!'']
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin--
[They will say: ``But how his arms and legs are thin!'']
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all--
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all--
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep. . . tired . . . or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet--and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: `` I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all''--
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: ``That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.''

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor--
And this, and so much more?--
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow, or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
``That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.''
. . . . .
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.


I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

So a quick interpretation:
This man is a very vain man, older with balding hair. He's going to this party where he's going to be judged and talked about by all the people there. He's very afraid and the poem is basically a depressed kind of mood. He's going to this party to meet the women he loves, and he doesn't think she is going to return the love even though he's been courting her for a long time. I see this man as a balding man with spectacles and with one of those coats you'd see a professor wear, with elbow pads? xD;
That's what I see atleast, so that's kind of along the line of what I want. 8D
Again, this doesn't have to be too detailed or anything, or it can be. it's whatever you'd like. Just have fun with it. 8D

-licks-
O 3O

-is thinking-

-luffs-
enterrrr.
I think I have more stuff to put on the prize list too.
but I'm lazy.
XD;
bunny plushie~
maybe a chickie? I can't remember what I have. 8D

AMG CHICKY.
soo cute. <3
-pets-

this is a long poem....
O_e
i don't think i can read it today....
-is sleepy-

>___>
You couldn't make it a girl??

I like drawing girls than old guys!! XD

Hatkiti~
I suppose you could draw the mermaids?
XD
or maybe the woman he is in love with? D:

Azn~
yeah it's a pretty hard poem to read. @_@;

mmm contesty

::molest::

:O Contest....

*looks at self; shakes head* Lazy....

Um.

Good luck with getting entries?

*will enter if she remembers*

GAH?
Now you tell me?

Err...

*goes off to throw the WIP*

I'm thinking of drawing this J. Alfred Prufrock person... I don't know if it will turn out well, though. I've never drawn a balding man before... :sweat:

GAh, that's what I came up with. I personally like bald heads than the unsightly slightly balding head...

hey mah hina o: you had a second claddagh belt set??

and i've heard of Elliot poet xD i think.. isn't he the guy where there are mysterious flowers at his grave on his birthday?

o_o? I don't kitkat.
and dunno.
xD;

THANKS HATAKITI. 8D
Although he isn't technically fully bald, incase anyone thinks he's fully bald. xD

-encourages everyone to join-
>D

I'm finished with my drawing. :) All I need to do is scan and then post it. I hope you'll like it. XD

Originally Posted by hina

o_o? I don't kitkat.
and dunno.
xD;

it says in the prize list?

I wanna enter o3o..

Can it be a stick man? =D

8'D
OMG.
This sounds like fun.
I have like this whole picture idea.
D:
I just hope I can draw it how I see it.

Um, um, here you go! *throws drawing toward Hina and runs far away* XD

<3 Cool drawing!

R-really? You think so? T-thank you! :)

o3o
WHen does the contest end?
TODAY?
Or this sunday as in oct 5th...

D8
DONT END SOON.
I wanna enterrr.

At 6pm CST today. At least, that's what Hina said on her first post...

D8
YEAH.
I just saw
And just editted my post.
;3;

Maybe she'll extend the time?? =3