The Snark on Alchemy Podcast "Love Unscripted | Love’s Quiet Desperation… Prufrock’s Struggle with Desire"
- The Snark
- May 1
- 4 min read
How to Ruin Romance with T.S. Eliot (and a Self-Licking Ice Cream Cone)
Welcome to the Alchemy Podcast’s latest episode in the "Love Unscripted" series, where Tim and LeeAnna prove that nothing says “timeless romance” quite like a balding, insecure man spiraling into existential despair. Move over Hallmark cards - Prufrock is in town, and he brought regret, self-loathing, and a side order of cultural collapse.
Today's cheery little episode is titled: "Love’s Quiet Desperation… Prufrock’s Struggle with Desire." Because apparently, “Love and Rainbows” was already taken by someone who hasn’t read Eliot. Tim warns us early: if you’ve ever wanted to listen to a man talk himself out of love and into a full-blown existential crisis, you're in the right place. Don’t worry - they’ll probably make sense of it. Probably.
But first... distractions!
First, a Dead Pope and a Leaflet-Based Bible Scandal
Before getting anywhere near poor Prufrock, LeeAnna mourns the death of the Pope, while Tim wonders aloud whether downloads of The Conclave movie will skyrocket. (Nothing says reverence like betting on iTunes spikes.)
Then LeeAnna, trying desperately to preserve some dignity, reminds us that the Catholic Church advised its faithful not to watch The Conclave, which, if you know anything about human nature, basically guarantees everyone will now stream it.
But wait - it gets better!
Tim dusts off a memory from English class about a Bible printed long ago that accidentally included "problematic" passages. The Church, being brilliant at PR, inserted leaflets at the front instructing readers which verses to avoid.
Because what better way to drive human curiosity than telling people, “Definitely don't look at that”? Honestly, Gutenberg’s ghost probably laughed himself to death.
Enter: The Self-Licking Ice Cream Cone of Doom
If you thought that was the weirdest detour, think again. Tim launches into a full DC-grade rant about how the podcast world will eventually collapse like a “self-licking ice cream cone” - that is, a self-perpetuating system that has no purpose other than to sustain itself. That the podcast world will eventually only have advertisements to listeners begging them to listen to other podcasts. A grim prophecy… or just Tuesday? Hard to say.
Somewhere, Prufrock is nodding grimly, measuring out his life with coffee spoons and canceled ad revenue.
At Long Last: Our Sad, Balding Hero Enters the Chat
Finally - finally - we get to The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. LeeAnna prepares herself for "beautiful imagery and depressing undertones," which is Eliot-speak for “abandon hope, all ye who enter here.”
Tim offers the background: the poem is now 110 years old, published when Eliot was a mere 26-year-old graduate student who apparently decided, "You know what this world needs? More men who are terrified of peaches."
Fun fact: Eliot wrote it, shoved it in a drawer (where it probably belonged at first), and only thanks to Ezra Pound’s literary cattle prod did Prufrock see the light of day. Pound, in a typical fit of drama, declared it the best American poem he’d ever seen - and practically begged Harriet Monroe to publish it before Eliot died of melancholy or fashionable, emo-laden despair.
Dante, Gummi Bears, and a Holy Father Audition
Tim, never one to miss an opportunity for performance art, read the epigraph to the poem, taken from Dante’s Inferno - but in a suspiciously Pope-like voice, though accidentally pronouncing “giammai” as “gummi.”(Yes, we now have canonical evidence that Dante’s vision of hell involves fruit snacks.)
Tim’s personal translation? Darker than a solar eclipse:
"Now I am in hell I can tell the truth, as it will never make it back to the living."
Just the mood you want for a podcast about love.
Prufrock: Patron Saint of Overthinking Everything
Tim reads the full poem - yes, the entire poem - leaning into every sigh, every squirm, every moment of Prufrock shrinking away from love like a Victorian moth from a flame.
Quick hits:
Isolation: Check.
Self-loathing: Check.
Fear of peaches: Double check.
Lingering in the chambers of the sea until you drown: Honestly, who among us hasn’t.
LeeAnna picks up on the larger cultural collapse going on: the world sliding out of Victorian spirituality and into modern disillusionment. Tim agrees - and notes that, just like now, great confusion often produces great writing. (See also: our collective dumpster fire of the 21st century.)
Critical Reception: "What The Holy Hell Even Is This?"
At the time of publication, people thought Prufrock was weird. Stream of consciousness, Biblical and Shakespearean references, Dante, Greek sirens, regrets, indecision, and balding - this was supposed to be poetry?
Turns out, yes. It just took everyone a few decades to realize they were living in Prufrock’s world all along: second-guessing themselves into oblivion while sipping lukewarm tea.
Tim’s Favorite Sadboy Lines
Tim (with full emotional investment) shares his favorite lines:
"I have measured out my life in coffee spoons." (The ultimate millennial vibe.)
"Do I dare to eat a peach?" (Hint: it’s not about the peach.)
"I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each / I do not think that they will sing to me." (Crying yet? No? Keep reading.)
"We have lingered in the chambers of the sea... Till human voices wake us, and we drown." (Love, death, aging, and failure - aka Prufrock Bingo.)
Advice for Writers: Let Them Wrestle
Tim and LeeAnna wrap with serious advice for writers - let your characters grapple with inexpressible feelings, avoid "on the nose" writing. And open the internal monologue, but let it be messy, indirect, and painfully human.
Because love - and writing about love - is a paradox. You can’t define it. You can only fumble toward it, the way Prufrock fumbles toward meaning and ends up standing in a dark room, too scared to take his pants off.
The Grand Finale: Drinks, Lent, and Future Despair
After all this emotional carnage, Tim says he needs a drink. LeeAnna says she needs two (thankfully, Lent is over). They promise another cheery love poem review soon - this time, Tithonus by Tennyson. (Prepare for more tragedy and more Kleenex.)
LeeAnna signs off with the most backhanded compliment of the day to Tim: "You’re so good with this disillusionment thing."
And honestly? After an hour in Prufrock’s drowning mind, same.
The Snark
Official podcast name: "Alchemy... from Effigy Press" (don't forget the ellipsis, folks)
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