The Answer

The Answer by Robinson Jeffers
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Then what is the answer?- Not to be deluded by dreams.
To know that great civilizations have broken down into violence,
and their tyrants come, many times before.
When open violence appears, to avoid it with honor or choose
the least ugly faction; these evils are essential.
To keep one’s own integrity, be merciful and uncorrupted
and not wish for evil; and not be duped
By dreams of universal justice or happiness. These dreams will
not be fulfilled.
To know this, and know that however ugly the parts appear
the whole remains beautiful. A severed hand
Is an ugly thing and man dissevered from the earth and stars
and his history… for contemplation or in fact…
Often appears atrociously ugly. Integrity is wholeness,
the greatest beauty is
Organic wholeness, the wholeness of life and things, the divine beauty
of the universe. Love that, not man
Apart from that, or else you will share man’s pitiful confusions,
or drown in despair when his days darken.

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Semicolons; Do I Use Them Correctly?

I’ve never thought about that (okay that’s a lie) but after reading this I do wonder more
From the New York Tims City Room blog

Guess what I saw in the subway the other day? It was nearly hidden on a New York City Transit public service placard exhorting riders not to leave their newspaper behind when they get off the train. “Please put it in a trash can,” readers are reminded.

After which an erudite writer in the New York City Transit’s marketing and service information department inserted a semicolon. The rest of the sentence reads: “that’s good news for everyone.” A semicolon? All right, go ahead, ask. What’s the big deal?

Semicolon sightings in the city are unusual, because they signal something New Yorkers rarely do.

Frank McCourt, the author and former English teacher at Stuyvesant High School, describes the semicolon as the yellow traffic light of a New York sentence. In response, most New Yorkers accelerate; they don’t pause to contemplate.

In literature and journalism, much less advertising, the semicolon has been largely jettisoned as a pretentious anachronism.

Today, we prefer shorter sentences without, as the style books advise, that distinct division between statements that are closely related but require a separation more prolonged than a conjunction and more emphatic than a comma.

One respondent to a Financial Times essay on punctuation not long ago went so far as to suggest that the semicolon was anti-American. Why? Because it “presumes that the reader has no more immediately satisfying option than allowing the writer to finish his thought.”

“When Hemingway killed himself he put a period at the end of his life,” Kurt Vonnegut once said. “Old age is more like a semicolon.”

New York City public schools are supposed to introduce semicolons in the third grade. Neil Neches, a 55-year-old writer for New York City Transit, the man who inserted the semicolon, attended public school in Brooklyn and majored in English at Brooklyn College. But, let’s be frank: Some people don’t use semicolons because they never learned how.

One of the school system’s most notorious graduates, David Berkowitz, the Son of Sam serial killer who taunted police and the press with rambling handwritten notes, was, the columnist Jimmy Breslin wrote, the only murderer he ever encountered who could wield a semicolon just as well as a revolver. (Berkowitz, by the way, is now serving an even longer sentence.)

But the rules of grammar are routinely violated on both sides of the law.

People have lost fortunes, even been put to death, because of imprecise punctuation involving semicolons in legal papers. Just a couple of years ago, a court rejected a conservative group’s challenge to a statute allowing gay marriage, because the operative phrases were separated incorrectly by a semicolon instead of by the proper conjunction.

Some writers complain that semicolons are subversively ambiguous, that they vaguely imply a connection between two statements without having to specify what that connection is.

A New York writer scolded The Financial Times: “I submit to you that we care more about New Orleans, Iraq and what backpack our kids need for school” than about semicolons. “What do you think we are?” the writer asked. “Editors?”

Or linguists? Speaking of which, Louis Menand, the Harvard English professor, pronounced the subway poster’s use of the semicolon to be “impeccable.”

Blogging about “grace notes from underground,” Geoffrey Nunberg praised the “burgeoning of punctuational literacy in unlikely places.”

Noam Chomsky sniffed, “I suppose Bush would claim it’s the effect of No Child Left Behind.”

New York City Transit’s uplifting agenda notwithstanding, e-mails, text messaging and computer games may jeopardize the last vestiges of semicolons. They still live on, though, in emoticons, those graphic emblems of our grins, grimaces and other facial expressions.

What does the semicolon symbolize? A wink.

Oh, I get it ;)

(image from noahbrier.com)

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The Origin of Love

As sung by Hedwig and the Angry Inch

The Origin of Love [download mp3]
Rufus Wainwright- The Origin of Love [download]
inspired by Aristophanes’ speech in Plato’s Symposium

Aristophanes professed to open another vein of discourse; he had a mind to praise Love in another way, unlike that of either Pausanias or Eryximachus. Mankind, he said, judging by their neglect of him, have never, as I think, at all understood the power of Love. For if they had understood him they would surely have built noble temples and altars, and offered solemn sacrifices in his honour; but this is not done, and most certainly ought to be done: since of all the gods he is the best friend of men, the helper and the healer of the ills which are the great impediment to the happiness of the race. I will try to describe his power to you, and you shall teach the rest of the world what I am teaching you.

In the first place, let me treat of the nature of man and what has happened to it. The original human nature was not like the present, but different. The sexes were not two as they are now, but originally three in number; there was man, woman, and the union of the two, of which the name survives but nothing else. Once it was a distinct kind, with a bodily shape and a name of its own, constituted by the union of the male and the female: but now only the word 'androgynous' is preserved, and that as a term of reproach.

In the second place, the primeval man was round, his back and sides forming a circle; and he had four hands and the same number of feet, one head with two faces, looking opposite ways, set on a round neck and precisely alike; also four ears, two privy members, and the remainder to correspond. He could walk upright as men now do, backwards or forwards as he pleased, and he could also roll over and over at a great pace, turning on his four hands and four feet, eight in all, like tumblers going over and over with their legs in the air; this was when he wanted to run fast.

Now the sexes were three, and such as I have described them; because the sun, moon, and earth are three; and the man was originally the child of the sun, the woman of the earth, and the man-woman of the moon, which is made up of sun and earth, and they were all round and moved round and round because they resembled their parents. Terrible was their might and strength, and the thoughts of their hearts were great, and they made an attack upon the gods; of them is told the tale of Otys and Ephialtes who, as Homer says, attempted to scale heaven, and would have laid hands upon the gods.

Doubt reigned in the celestial councils. Should they kill them and annihilate the race with thunderbolts, as they had done the giants, then there would be an end of the sacrifices and worship which men offered to them; but, on the other hand, the gods could not suffer their insolence to be unrestrained. At last, after a good deal of reflection, Zeus discovered a way.

He said: 'Methinks I have a plan which will enfeeble their strength and so extinguish their turbulence; men shall continue to exist, but I will cut them in two and then they will be diminished in strength and increased in numbers; this will have the advantage of making them more profitable to us. They shall walk upright on two legs, and if they continue insolent and will not be quiet, I will split them again and they shall hop about on a single leg.'

He spoke and cut men in two, like a sorb-apple which is halved for pickling, or as you might divide an egg with a hair; and as he cut them one after another, he bade Apollo give the face and the half of the neck a turn in order that man might contemplate the section of himself: he would thus learn a lesson of humility. Apollo was also bidden to heal their wounds and compose their forms. So he gave a turn to the face and pulled the skin from the sides all over that which in our language is called the belly, like the purses which draw tight, and he made one mouth at the centre, which he fastened in a knot (the same which is called the navel); he also moulded the breast and took out most of the wrinkles, much as a shoemaker might smooth leather upon a last; he left a few, however, in the region of the belly and navel, as a memorial of the primeval state.

After the division the two parts of man, each desiring his other half, came together, and throwing their arms about one another, entwined in mutual embraces, longing to grow into one, they began to die from hunger and self-neglect, because they did not like to do anything apart; and when one of the halves died and the other survived, the survivor sought another mate, man or woman as we call them,--being the sections of entire men or women,--and clung to that.

Thus they were being destroyed, when Zeus in pity invented a new plan: he turned the parts of generation round to the front, for this had not been always their position, and they sowed the seed no longer as hitherto like grasshoppers in the ground, but in one another; and after the transposition the male generated in the female in order that by the mutual embraces of man and woman they might breed, and the race might continue; or if man came to man they might be satisfied, and rest, and go their ways to the business of life. So ancient is the desire of one another which is implanted in us, reuniting our original nature, seeking to make one of two, and to heal the state of man.

Each of us when separated, having one side only, like a flat fish, is but the tally-half of a man, and he is always looking for his other half. Men who are a section of that double nature which was once called androgynous are lovers of women; adulterers are generally of this breed, and also adulterous women who lust after men. The women who are a section of the woman do not care for men, but have female attachments; the female companions are of this sort. But they who are a section of the male follow the male, and while they are young, being slices of the original man, they have affection for men and embrace them, and these are the best of boys and youths, because they have the most manly nature.

Some indeed assert that they are shameless, but this is not true; for they do not act thus from any want of shame, but because they are valiant and manly, and have a manly countenance, and they embrace that which is like them. And these when they grow up become our statesmen, and these only, which is a great proof of the truth of what I am saying. When they reach manhood they are lovers of youth, and are not naturally inclined to marry or beget children,--if at all, they do so only in obedience to custom; but they are satisfied if they may be allowed to live with one another unwedded;

And such a nature is prone to love and ready to return love, always embracing that which is akin to him. And when one of them meets with his other half, the actual half of himself, whether he be a lover of youth or a lover of another sort, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and one will not be out of the other's sight, as I may say, even for a moment: these are the people who pass their whole lives together, and yet they could not explain what they desire of one another. For the intense yearning which each of them has towards the other does not appear to be the desire of lover's intercourse, but of something else which the soul of either evidently desires and cannot tell, and of which she has only a dark and doubtful presentiment.

Suppose Hephaestus, with his instruments, to come to the pair who are lying side by side and to say to them, 'What do you mortals want of one another?'

They would be unable to explain. And suppose further, that when he saw their perplexity he said: 'Do you desire to be wholly one; always day and night in one another's company? for if this is what you desire, I am ready to melt and fuse you together, so that being two you shall become one, and while you live live a common life as if you were a single man, and after your death in the world below still be one departed soul, instead of two--I ask whether this is what you lovingly desire and whether you are satisfied to attain this?'--

There is not a man of them who when he heard the proposal would deny or would not acknowledge that this meeting and melting into one another, this becoming one instead of two, was the very expression of his ancient need.

And the reason is that human nature was originally one and we were a whole, and the desire and pursuit of the whole is called love. There was a time, I say, when we were one, but now because of the wickedness of mankind God has dispersed us, as the Arcadians were dispersed into villages by the Lacedaemonians. And if we are not obedient to the gods, there is a danger that we shall be split up again and go about in basso-relievo, like the profile figures showing only one half the nose which are sculptured on monuments, and that we shall be like tallies. Wherefore let us exhort all men to piety in all things, that we may avoid evil and obtain the good, taking Love for our leader and commander.

Let no one oppose him--he is the enemy of the gods who opposes him. For if we are friends of God and at peace with him we shall find our own true loves, which rarely happens in this world at present. I am serious, and therefore I must beg Eryximachus not to make fun or to find any allusion in what I am saying to Pausanias and Agathon, who, as I suspect, are both of the manly nature, and belong to the class which I have been describing. But my words have a wider application--they include men and women everywhere; and I believe that if our loves were perfectly accomplished, and each one returning to his primeval nature had his original true love, then our race would be happy. And if this would be best of all, the best in the next degree must in present circumstances be the nearest approach to such a union; and that will be the attainment of a congenial love.

Wherefore, if we would praise him who has given to us the benefit, we must praise the god Love, who is our greatest benefactor, both leading us in this life back to our own nature, and giving us high hopes for the future, for he promises that if we are pious, he will restore us to our original state, and heal us and make us happy and blessed.

This, Eryximachus, is my discourse of love, which, although different to yours, I must beg you to leave unassailed by the shafts of your ridicule, in order that each may have his turn; each, or rather either, for Agathon and Socrates are the only ones left.

à la française

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Eros and Psyche

EROS--the Greek god of love; son of Aphrodite. His Roman cognate is CUPID.
APHRODITE--the Greek goddess of love. Her Roman cognate is VENUS.
PSYCHE--a mortal princess whose beauty aroused the jealous wrath of Aphrodite, but who was chosen by Eros to be his bride.
Despite evident differences in the two stories, the popular fairytale "Beauty and the Beast" is actually a late folk version of a Greek myth, the story of Eros and Psyche.

Aphrodite, the goddess of love, was jealous and angry because a mortal princess named Psyche had become so famous for her beauty that mere mortals were beginning to say that she was even more lovely than Aphrodite herself.

Aphrodite sent her son Eros, the god of love, to shoot Psyche with one of his arrows, to make her fall in love with the most hideous monster he could find. But the girl's exquisite beauty so enchanted him that he could not bring himself to carry out his mother's command.

Meanwhile, the oracle of Apollo at Delphi had warned Psyche's father that she would never be the bride of an ordinary man, but rather would marry a being who flies through the night like a winged serpent, one whose power was so great that even Zeus, the king of the gods, could not withstand it. The king was told to take his daughter to the mountaintop and leave her there, and the wind would transport her to the abode of her husband.

The next morning, Psyche, her father and mother, and her two sisters made their way sadly to the top of the mountain. Tearfully they bade each other farewell, and then her family returned to the palace, leaving the frightened girl alone on the mountaintop.

As soon as she was quite alone, Psyche felt herself lifted by a gentle breeze, which carried her far away to a beautiful palace built of marble and richly decorated with gold, silver, and precious gems. When she went inside, she found that an elaborate wedding feast had been prepared, but she saw no guests. Invisible servants began to wait on her, and in soft voices they assured her that she was mistress of the palace, and that everything in it was hers.

That night her new husband came to her, but the palace was so completely dark that she could not see him. Still, he was kind and gentle, and his words were loving and sweet. She soon fell in love with him. He promised that he would give her anything she wanted, but warned her that she must never try to see his face. If ever she should look upon his face, they would have to part, and she would then live in loneliness and misery.

For many months Psyche was content to live with the husband she had come to love so dearly, but she never stopped missing her sisters. She began to plead with him to bring them to visit her. He warned her that

they would cause trouble, but in the end he could not refuse his bride's request.

The next day, when Psyche's sisters went to the mountaintop, as they did every day, to weep over their lost sister, the wind lifted them and carried them to Psyche's new home. When they were set down before the gorgeous palace, the sisters felt amazed at such wealth. They were even more astonished when their lost sister ran out of the palace to greet them. She explained that the palace belonged to her new husband--and now, of course, to her as well.

Psyche's sisters could not help feeling jealous of Psyche's good fortune. They began to pry and probe, and to ask questions about her husband. Although she did not want to admit that she had never seen her husband's face, Psyche became confused and flustered under their relentless interrogation. In response to one question, she described him as having golden hair, as bright as the sun, but an hour later, she mentioned that his hair was as dark as night. These and other contradictory answers aroused her sisters' suspicion. They pounced on her errors, crying out, "Why, you have never even seen him, have you?"

When she finally admitted the truth, her sisters reminded her of Apollo's prophecy. It didn't take long for them to persuade the confused girl that her husband must be a terrible monster who would kill her as soon as he tired of her. They concocted a plan. Handing her an oil lamp and a dagger, they told her to wait until he was asleep, and then to light the lamp and steal a look at him. If he was, as they assumed, a terrible monster, then she would have to take the dagger and kill him.

That night, Psyche took the dagger from beneath her pillow and approached her sleeping husband. She lit the lamp and gazed for the first time on her husband's face, the face of the god of love! Instead of obeying his mother's command and making Psyche fall in love with a hideous monster, Eros had secretly taken her for his own bride. When she beheld the glory of Eros, Psyche was so startled that she allowed a drop of hot oil to land on his shoulder.

Awakened by the drop of oil on his shoulder, the god said sadly, "Where there is no trust there can be no love." Then he arose and left the palace.

Aphrodite soon learned that Eros had disobeyed her. She sought out his abandoned bride, determined to make her suffer. As soon as she found her, Aphrodite dumped a great pile of tiny seeds on the ground in front of the unhappy girl and ordered her to separate them--and to finish the job by sundown!

Looking at the enormous pile of seeds, Psyche knew that the task was impossible. It would take a hundred years to sort and separate so many seeds. But a large colony of ants, beguiled by the girl's beauty, decided to help her. Scurrying back and forth, they soon had the seeds sorted into separate piles. When Aphrodite returned and saw that the task had been completed, she became enraged and promised Psyche that her next task would be even harder.

She commanded Psyche to collect some wool from a herd of fierce man-eating sheep who lived in a thicket of thornbushes near the river. Psyche knew it was certain death to approach the sheep, but as she drew near to the bushes where they lived, a voice told her to wait until evening, when the sheep would leave the thicket. Then she could collect the wool that had stuck to the thorns. Psyche did this, and once again Aphrodite was angry that Psyche had successfully completed a task that was meant to be impossible.

Aphrodite continued to set impossible tasks for Psyche, but somehow the girl kept managing to complete them. What neither Psyche nor Aphrodite realized was that Eros was still watching over Psyche, sending her help when she needed it.

Zeus was well aware of these events. Finally he decided that enough was enough. He decreed that Eros had proved his love for Psyche, and Psyche had proved her devotion, patience, and obedience. He said that since Eros had chosen as his bride a mortal, who could not reside with him on Mt. Olympus, there was only one course of action. Zeus would have to grant her immortality. Once Psyche had drunk the ambrosial nectar of the gods from the cup of immortality she ceased to be mortal. Aphrodite no longer felt jealous of her, for she had only resented the girl because she felt that mortals had no right to rival the gods. At last she bestowed her blessing on the union between her son and the beautiful princess who had become one of the immortals.

Ode To Psyche by John Keats.

O Goddess! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung
By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear,
And pardon that thy secrets should be sung
Even into thine own soft-conched ear:
Surely I dreamt to-day, or did I see
The winged Psyche with awaken'd eyes?
I wander'd in a forest thoughtlessly,
And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise,
Saw two fair creatures, couched side by side
In deepest grass, beneath the whisp'ring roof
Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran
A brooklet, scarce espied:

Mid hush'd, cool-rooted flowers, fragrant-eyed,
Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian,
They lay calm-breathing, on the bedded grass;
Their arms embraced, and their pinions too;
Their lips touch'd not, but had not bade adieu,
As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber,
And ready still past kisses to outnumber
At tender eye-dawn of aurorean love:
The winged boy I knew;
But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove?
His Psyche true!

O latest born and loveliest vision far
Of all Olympus' faded hierarchy!
Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire-region'd star,
Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky;
Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none,
Nor altar heap'd with flowers;
Nor virgin-choir to make delicious moan
Upon the midnight hours;
No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet
From chain-swung censer teeming;
No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat
Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming.

O brightest! though too late for antique vows,
Too, too late for the fond believing lyre,
When holy were the haunted forest boughs,
Holy the air, the water, and the fire;
Yet even in these days so far retir'd
From happy pieties, thy lucent fans,
Fluttering among the faint Olympians,
I see, and sing, by my own eyes inspir'd.
So let me be thy choir, and make a moan
Upon the midnight hours;
Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet
From swinged censer teeming;
Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat
Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming.

Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane
In some untrodden region of my mind,
Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain,
Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind:
Far, far around shall those dark-cluster'd trees
Fledge the wild-ridged mountains steep by steep;
And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees,
The moss-lain Dryads shall be lull'd to sleep;
And in the midst of this wide quietness
A rosy sanctuary will I dress
With the wreath'd trellis of a working brain,
With buds, and bells, and stars without a name,
With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign,
Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same:
And there shall be for thee all soft delight
That shadowy thought can win,
A bright torch, and a casement ope at night,
To let the warm Love in!

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Two Minutes Hate

Remember that pro Barack anti Hillary big Brother ad from sooo long ago? Well if you don’t

(ps- January 14th? Must not have heard about the moved up primary dates)

But now doesn’t it seem like Barack would be the one whose face would be on the screen? At the end of the two minutes after [Goldstein] morphs, finally, into the face of Big Brother at the end of the two minutes. At the end, the mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted viewers chant "BB" over and over again, ritualistically.
Who seems to be cultivating a cult of personality with his acolytes and zealots all staring reverently and rushing to protect him against any slight or criticism (which they term “the old politics” or “racism” as they indulge in their daily dose of Two Minutes Hope (like the Daily Hate but all warm and fuzzy and hopeful and bs. ) Or in the following clip Hillary’s face on screen as the Barackians vent and spew their venom in their Two Miute Hate

And isn’t a lot of the appeal with Barack because he seems like a really cool friend or for his younger supporters a really cool… big brother?

It's not that I'm so horribly pro Hillary it's just that I'm intensely anti-Barack and...this scenario makes me...who would be who?

The horrible thing about the Two Minutes Hate was not that one was obliged to act a part, but, on the contrary, that it was impossible to avoid joining in. Within thirty seconds any pretence was always unnecessary. A hideous ecstasy of fear and vindictiveness, ... And yet the rage that one felt was an abstract, undirected emotion which could be switched from one object to another like the flame of a blowlamp. Thus, at one moment Winston's hatred was not turned against Goldstein at all, but, on the contrary, against Big Brother, the Party, and the Thought Police; and at such moments his heart went out to the lonely, derided heretic on the screen, sole guardian of truth and sanity in a world of lies.

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Morte accidentale di un anarchico

Accidental Death of an Anarchist is perhaps the best-known play by the Nobel Prize winner Dario Fo.

The play is based on events involving a real person, Giuseppe Pinelli, who fell - or was thrown - from the fourth floor window of a Milan police station in 1969. He was accused of bombing a bank (the Piazza Fontana bombing) as part of the Italian Far Right's strategy of tension.
The play opens with Inspector Bertozzo interrogating The Maniac, a histrionic character. The Maniac, however, constantly outsmarts the dim-witted Bertozzo and, when Bertozzo leaves the room, intercepts a phone call from Inspector Pissani.

My Fair Heathen Production's performance at Northeastern University Sept 13th - 15th 2007
Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

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Famous Authors Predict The Winner of Super Bowl XLII

by Shane Ryan of McSweeney's

Cormac McCarthy

Overhead, the sun is a wrathful god. It is made to ravage a dying land.

The boy stands in a dry gulch. He tilts his hat to the sting of the wind.

These men are patriots, says The Coach.

I reckon.

Do you know their soul?

Reckon not.

A hoarse laugh echoes through the heat. It singes the cragged escarpments of the red canyon.

You won't be the first, says The Coach.

I ain't scared of you.

Tengo otros cuerpos. Quiero el tuyo.

The Coach wears a bone around his neck. It is hung from dead sinew. Other bones he has ground by pestle and mortar. In the ancient caves he swallowed white dust.

I am here to erase you.

The boy squints at the arroyo bed. The earth is scorched in jagged lines.

It ain't no kind of life, he says.

Overhead, the sun is a wrathful god. It will bake the world.

Prediction: Patriots 27, Giants 6

Raymond Carver

I really admire what the Giants have done this season. It isn't often you see a team struggle early, eke out a series of road wins, and still manage to peak at the perfect moment. It's a rare occurrence, I'll say that much.

On the other side, you've got football's version of Goliath. Experts tell me the Patriots are the strongest team in NFL history. From the moment they beat the Colts, they've been earmarked as Super Bowl Champions. It's tough to pick against an undefeated record.

All that being said, I've been so impressed with Eli Manning's development these last four weeks that I'm willing to take the underdog. What can I say? I believe in the New York Giants.

Prediction: Giants 31, Patriots 28

Raymond Carver, edited by Gordon Lish

It isn't a thing you see often, I'll say that much.

They tell me this is Goliath.

I believe in Giants.

Prediction: G.

Ayn Rand

When he saw Bill Belichick in the hallway before the press conference, Tom Coughlin's face contorted into a whine. "It isn't fair!" he shrieked. "You have all the best players!" he whimpered. "What happened to helping your fellow man?!" he mewled. "You ... all you care about is winning!" he sniveled.

The muscular coach set his prominent jaw, and his hard, handsome eyes glistened. "Why, Tom," he asked with a smile, "isn't winning what the NFL is all about?"

Coughlin's face turned bright red as he flapped his effeminate hands in hysterical gestures. By this time, a large crowd of reporters had gathered. "But, but ... your players are the best in the league! Your offense is unstoppable! How am I supposed to go on the field with my weak players or my simple, predictable playcalling?? We'll be destroyed! I tell you it isn't fair! We deserve to be helped! This is social treason!"

Belichick squared his broad shoulders as he stared Coughlin in the eye. The smaller man cowed and threw his hands to his face in a pathetic flail. "Tom," said Belichick, "I bet nobody has been honest with you in your entire life, so let me be the first. I was taught in the ways of strength. Yes, my men will win today. But it's because we've had the courage to act on our judgment, and the fortitude to trust our decisions. Long ago, we were faced with a choice—the same choice you faced. We chose conviction. You chose impotence. And now, today, you ask me not only to cut my wrists and bleed on your behalf ... oh no. You would also have me fund, design, and build the knife. You accuse me of social treason, and yet you beg me to betray myself." The beautiful man laughed a throaty, attractive laugh. "You are a coward, Tom, and a coward in this world deserves nothing."

With a great cheer, the reporters stood in unison and applauded.

Prediction: Patriots 326, Giants –27

Jack Kerouac

Like BAM-skip-a-tap young Eli shouts down the line and oh me oh my it's a beautiful thing to behold out in rusty Arizona twilight where American ghosts have come to die and be born again in a land of ten thousandzilliontrillion dry summers nursing the prickles on a cactus's back. Don't sing to me about patriots, old man, because iftheretrulyis agoddamnflagatall it was wrought from what we did not what we said and young Eli knows it without knowing and says it without speaking down on that dusky field all brown and bright green with blueclad muscled lineboys gone berserk and fierce A-FWOP-youaintseennothinyetoldman-CRACK-POP.

Watch while those hard-raised salt-of-this-or-any-other-earth calloused hands uphold what became more than a youngman's idea. Watch them put down those others, oh America, those slinkingshirking fallen boys who for sixty true minutes (may the Blue God bless you one and all) are no kind of patriot I'd ever dream.

Would a man be baptized in all that?

You're goddamn right.

Prediction: Giants35 and a dance in goldendusk

Jane Austen

Hyacinth and amethyst adorned the landscape of her heart, betrothed to fragrant oakmoss and blazing scarlet within the amorous lovestrokes of an incandescent horizon. In the shade of the gray branches, she put pen to paper. "I love you, Tom Brady," it began. "Though others call you wicked."

Prediction: Handsome Tom 46, Stern Aunt Louisa 9

James Joyce

Thusly and thricely slaked he uptrod the spiral staircase and fancied for himself only a briny frieze.

— Give out, Jesuit, or forever in peace may you lie.

Sardonic, sardonic was the smile then adopted. It can twist forever (if the vicars will allow, if the oxen pull the plow).

— Dearly beloved, he quipped through shut mouth, did not Rapunzel cry from on high?

She skipped with a slow whistle to the first stone slab. As at Young Colin's, on the eve of Fata Morgana, all rose quietly. How could it be remiss?

Thanatopsis. Requiescat In Pace.

Prediction: Unclear

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The Mysterious Stranger

That ONN video today about a “mysterious traveler” reminded me of the Mark Twain story about a Mysterious Stranger and this really bizarre and creepy and disturbing claymation adaptation of it by Will Vinton so…

I guess that was the third version or "No. 44, The Mysterious Stranger, returns to Middle Age Austria and tells of No. 44's mysterious appearance at the door of a print shop and his use of heavenly powers to expose the futility of mankind's existence. This version also introduces an idea Twain was toying with at the end of his life involving a duality of the "self", one being the "Waking Self" and the other being the "Dream Self". Twain explores these ideas through the use of "Duplicates", copies of the print shop workers made by No. 44. This version contains an actual ending, however the version is not considered as complete as Twain would have intended."

Yeah hopefully he would've made one that made me less terrified and happier with humanity.

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A Thousand and One Posts

When it was the Thousand and First Night,

Dunyazad said to her sister, “Do thou finish for us the History of Ma’aruf!” She replied, “With love and goodly gree, an my lord deign permit me recount it.” Quoth the King, “I permit thee; for that I am fain of hearing it.” So she said:--It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that Ma’aruf would have naught to do with his wife by way of conjugal duty. Now when she saw that he held aloof from her bed and occupied himself with other women, she hated him and jealousy gat the mastery of her and Iblis prompted her to take the seal-ring from him and slay him and make herself Queen in his stead. So she went forth one night from her pavilion, intending for that in which was her husband King Ma’aruf; and it chanced by decree of the Decreer and His written destiny, that Ma’aruf lay that night with one of his concubines; a damsel endowed with beauty and loveliness, symmetry and a stature all grace. And it was his wont, of the excellence of his piety, that, when he was minded to have to lie with a woman, he would doff the enchanted seal-ring from his finger, in reverence to the Holy Names graven thereon, and lay it on the Pillow, nor would he don it again till he had purified himself by the Ghusl-ablution. Moreover, when he had lain with a woman, he was used to order her go forth from him before daybreak, of his fear for the seal-ring; and when he went to the Hammam he locked the door of the pavilion till his return, when he put on the ring, and after this, all were free to enter according to custom. His wife Fatimah the Dung knew of all this and went not forth from her place till she had certified herself of the case. So she sallied out, when the night was dark, purposing to go in to him, whilst he was drowned in sleep, and steal the ring, unseen of him. Now it chanced at this time that the King’s son had gone out, without light, to the Chapel of Ease for an occasion, and sat down over the marble slab of the jakes in the dark, leaving the door open. Presently, he saw Fatimah come forth of her pavilion and make stealthily for that of his father and said in himself, “What aileth this witch to leave her lodging in the dead of the night and make for my father’s pavilion? Needs must there be some reason for this:” so he went out after her and followed in her steps unseen of her. Now he had a short sword of watered steel, which he held so dear that he went not to his father’s Divan, except he were girt therewith; and his father used to laugh at him and exclaim, “Mahallah! [FN#104] This is a mighty fine sword of thine, O my son! But thou hast not gone down with it to battle nor cut off a head therewith.” Whereupon the boy would reply, “I will not fail to cut off with it some head which deserveth cutting.” And Ma’aruf would laugh at his words. Now when treading in her track, he drew the sword from its sheath and he followed her till she came to his father’s pavilion and entered, whilst he stood and watched her from the door. He saw her searching about and heard her say to herself, “Where hath he laid the seal-ring?”; whereby he knew that she was looking for the ring and he waited till she found it and said, “Here it is.” Then she picked it up and turned to go out; but he hid behind the door. As she came forth, she looked at the ring and turned it about in her grasp. But when she was about to rub it, he raised his hand with the sword and smote her on the neck; and she cried a single cry and fell down dead. With this Ma’aruf awoke and seeing his wife strown on the ground, with her blood flowing, and his son standing with the drawn sword in his hand, said to him, “What is this, O my son?” He replied, “O my father, how often hast thou said to me, Thou hast a mighty fine sword; but thou hast not gone down with it to battle nor cut off a head. And I have answered thee, saying, I will not fail to cut off with it a head which deserveth cutting. And now, behold, I have therewith cut off for thee a head well worth the cutting!” And he told him what had passed. Ma’aruf sought for the seal-ring, but found it not; so he searched the dead woman’s body till he saw her hand closed upon it; whereupon he took it from her grasp and said to the boy, “Thou art indeed my very son, without doubt or dispute; Allah ease thee in this world and the next, even as thou hast eased me of this vile woman! Her attempt led only to her own destruction, and Allah-gifted is he who said:--

When forwards Allah’s aid a man’s intent, * His wish in every case shall find consent:
But an that aid of Allah be refused, * His first attempt shall do him damagement.”

Then King Ma’aruf called aloud to some of his attendants, who came in haste, and he told them what his wife Fatimah the Dung had done and bade them to take her and lay her in a place till the morning. They did his bidding, and next day he gave her in charge to a number of eunuchs, who washed her and shrouded her and made her a tomb and buried her. Thus her coming from Cairo was but to her grave, and Allah-gifted is he who said --

We trod the steps appointed for us: and he whose steps are appointed must tread them.
He whose death is decreed to take place in our land shall not die in any land but that.

And how excellent is the saying of the poet:--

I wot not, whenas to a land I fare, * Good luck pursuing, what my lot shall be.
Whether the fortune I perforce pursue * Or the misfortune which pursueth me.

After this, King Ma’aruf sent for the husbandman, whose guest he had been, when he was a fugitive, and made him his Wazir of the Right and his Chief Counsellor. Then, learning that he had a daughter of passing beauty and loveliness, of qualities nature-ennobled at birth and exalted of worth, he took her to wife; and in due time he married his son. So they abode awhile in all solace of life and its delight and their days were serene and their joys untroubled, till there came to them the Destroyer of delights and the Sunderer of societies, the Depopulator of populous places and the Orphaner of sons and daughters. And glory be to the Living who dieth not and in whose hand are the Keys of the Seen and the Unseen!”

[Wikipedia]

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Dinanzi A Me Non Fuor Cose Create

SE NON ETTERNE, E IO ETTERNO DURO.
LASCIATE OGNE SPERANZA, VOI CH'INTRATE

The final part of our journey into the depths of Hell

Cantos XXV-XXXIV

Canto XXV

While I was staring down at the three sinners
I saw a serpent with six feet, from in front
Leap up on one and entirely grip him.

It wrapped his stomach with its middle feet
And with its forefeet pinned him by the arms;
Then sank its teeth in one cheek, then the other.

It spread its hind feet down about his thighs
And thrust the tail out between his legs
And at his back pulled it up straight again.

Never did ivy cling to any tree
So tightly as that horrendous beast
Twined its limbs around and through the sinner’s.

Then the two stuck together as if made
Of hot wax and mixed their colors so
Neither one nor other seemed what once they were:

Just as, in front of the flame, a brown color
Advances on the burning paper, so that
It is not yet black but the white dies away.

The other two glared at one another, each
Crying out, "O Agnello, how you change!
Look! already you are neither two nor one."

The two heads by now had become one
When we saw the two features fuse together
Into one face in which they both were lost.

Two arms took shape out of the four remnants;
The thighs with the legs, belly, and chest,
Changed into members never before seen.

Then every former likeness was blotted out:
That perverse image seemed both two and neither,
And, such, at a slow pace, it moved away

Canto XXVI

In this way each flame moved through the throat
Of that deep ditch, none showing what it stole,
Though every flame secreted its own sinner.

I stood straight, then leaned out on the bridge
To look — had I not grabbed a jutting rock
I would have toppled off without a push!

And my guide, seeing me so attentive,
Said, "Within those fires there are souls,
Each one swathed in its self-scorching torment

Canto XXVIII

Even a cask with bottom or sides knocked out
Never cracked so wide as one soul I saw
Burst open from the chin to where one farts.

His guts were hanging out between his legs;
His pluck gaped forth and that disgusting sack
Which turns to shit what throats have gobbled down.

While I was all agog with gazing at him,
He stared at me and, as his two hands pulled
His chest apart, cried, "Look how I rip myself!

"Look at how mangled is Mohammed here!
In front of me, Ali treks onward, weeping,
His face cleft from his chin to his forelock.

"And all the others whom you see down here
Were sowers of scandal and schism while
They lived, and for this they are rent in two


I saw for sure — and still I seem to see it —
A body without a head that walked along
Just as the others in that sad herd were walking,

But it held the severed head by the hair,
Swinging it like a lantern in its hand,
And the head stared at us and said, "Ah me!"

Itself had made a lamp of its own self,
And they were two in one and one in two:
How can that be? He knows who so ordains it.

When it was right at the base of the bridge,
It raised up full length the arm with the head
To carry closer to us words, which were:

"Now you see the galling punishment,
You there, breathing, come visiting the dead:
See if you find pain heavier than this!

"And so that you may bring back news of me,
Know that I am Bertran de Born, the one
Who offered the young king corrupt advice.

"I made the son and father rebel foes.
Achitophel with his pernicious promptings
Did no worse harm to Absalom and David.

"Because I severed persons bound so closely,
I carry my brain separate (what grief!)
From its life-source which is within this trunk.

"So see in me the counterstroke of justice."

Canto XXIX

The swarms of people and the sweep of wounds
Had left my eyes so blind drunk with their tears
That still they ached to linger on and weep.

But Virgil said to me, "Why do you stare?
Why does your vision wallow down there yet
Among those dismal, mutilated shadows?

"At the other pockets you did not do so:
Consider, if you could count all of them,
Twenty-two miles the valley loops around.

"The moon already is beneath our feet:
The time that’s now allotted us is short
And you have more to see than you see here."

Canto XXXI

To this he answered, "Near here you shall see
Antaeus, who can talk and goes unfettered:
He’ll place us on the bottom pit of sin.
We left him to continue on our way,
And came to Antaeus, who rose five ells,
Not reckoning his head, above the rockbed.

[snip]
and in haste the giant
Stretched out his hands, whose tremendous grip
Hercules once felt, and clasped my guide.

Virgil, when he felt hands grasping him,
Called to me, "Come here, so I can hold you!"
And then he made himself and me one bundle.

As the Garisenda tower appears to look
From under its leaning side when clouds pass over
On the opposite direction it hangs in,

So Antaeus looked to me while I watched
Him bending over, and at such a moment
I wished that I had gone some other way.

But gently at that bottom which swallows
Lucifer with Judas, he put us down
And did not stay bent over us for long

Canto XXXII

At that I turned around and saw before me
And underneath my feet a lake of ice
So frozen that it looked like glass, not water.

Neither the Danube in Austria nor the Don,
Far-off under the cold sky, ever fashioned
So thick a veil in winter for its current

As was here: for if the peaks of Tambernic
Or Pietrapana had fallen down on it,
Not even at its edge would it have creaked.

The way frogs sit to croak with muzzles out
Of water, in the season when the peasant girl
Often dreams about her harvesting,

So these mournful shadows were sealed in ice,
Livid to where they blush their cheek with shame,
Teeth chattering with the clatter of a stork.

Each held his face bowed down before the ice,
Witnessing to the cold by their mouths,
Witnessing to the heartache with their eyes.
We left them, and soon afterward I saw
Two souls frozen in one hole so close
That one’s head served as the other’s hood.

Just as a hungry man chews on bread crusts,
So did the one on top sink his teeth into
The other’s nape at the base of the brain.

Tydeus gnawed the head of Menalippus
With no more fury than this sinner showed
In gnawing on the skull of skin and bone.

Canto XXXIV

The emperor of the kingdom of despair
Rose up from mid-chest out of the sheer ice;
And I come closer to a giant’s height

Than giants match the size of his huge arms:
See now how large the whole of him must be
If it’s proportionate to that one part!

Were he once as beautiful as now he’s ugly
(And yet he raised his fist against his Maker!)
Well may all our grief come down from him!

Oh how much wonder was it for me when
I saw that on his head he had three faces:
One in front — and it was fiery red —

And two others, which joined onto this one
Above the center of his shoulder blades,
And all three came together at his crown.

The right face seemed halfway white and yellow
While the left one looked the color of the race
That lives close to the source of the Nile.

Beneath each face there sprouted two large wings,
Suitably massive for such a bird of prey:
I never sighted sails so broad at sea.

They had no feathers but looked just like a bat’s,
And he kept flapping these wings up and down
So that three winds moved out from in around him:

This was the cause Cocytus was all iced.
With six eyes he wept, and from his three chins
Dripped down the teardrops and a bloody froth.

In each mouth he mashed up a separate sinner
With his sharp teeth, as if they were a grinder,
And in this way he put the three through torture

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Giustizia Mosse Il Mio Alto Fattore

FECEMI LA DIVINA PODESTATE,
LA SOMMA SAPIENZA E 'L PRIMO AMORE

Here's the 2nd part of our little mini trip through Dante's Inferno (because I forgot to do it yesterday.) Here's part 1 Cantos I-XIII if you missed


Canto XIV-XXIV

I saw myriad flocks of naked souls,
All weeping wretchedly, and it appeared
That separate sentences were meted to them.

Flat on their backs, some spread out on the ground;
Some squatted down, all hunched up in a crouch;
And others walked about interminably.

More numerous were those who roamed around;
Fewer were those stretched out for the torture,
But looser were their tongues to tell their hurt.

Over all the sand, large flakes of flame,
Falling slowly, came floating down, wafted
Like snow without a wind up in the mountains.

Just like the flames which Alexander saw
In the torrid regions of India
Swarming to the ground upon his legions,

So that he had his troops tramp down the soil,
The better to put out the flaming flakes
And to prevent them spreading other fires,

So descended the everlasting blaze
By which the sand enkindled, just like tinder
Under sparks from flint — doubling the pain.

Restlessly the dance of wretched hands
Went on and on, on this side and on that,
Beating off the freshly falling flames.

Eyed in this manner by that brotherhood,
I there was recognized by one who grasped me
By the hem — and cried, "How wonderful!"
And I, when he stretched out his arm to me,
So fixed my eyes upon his burnt-out features
Even his crusted face did not prevent me

From apprehending him in my mind’s eye,
And bending down my face to be with his

Canto XVII

And that repugnant picture of pure fraud
Came on, landing his head and his chest first,
But darting his tail out beyond the bank.

His face was the face of a saintly person,
So placid was the surface of the skin,
But his whole trunk was the shape of a snake.

He had two paws, with hair up to his armpits;
His back and breasts and both of his flanks
Were painted gaudily with knots and loops.

Tartars or Turks never wove a cloth
With more colors in background and design,
Nor did Arachne ever loom such webs.
[snip]
He called, "Now, Geryon, get up! Be sure
To make your circles wide and move down slowly:
Remember the strange weight that you now carry."

Just as a rowboat pulls out from its berth
Backwards, backwards, so that beast pushed off,
And when he felt himself all free in space,

There where his chest had been he turned his tail,
Stretching it out and waving it like an eel,
While with his paws he gathered in the air.

After this my teacher said to me,
"Stretch your head forward a little farther
So that your eyes may clearly catch the face

"Of that slatternly and smutty slut
Who scratches herself with shit-blackened nails,
Now squatting and now staggering to her feet.

"She is Thais the whore, who when her lover
Asked, ‘Are you very grateful to me?' answered,
‘Very! Why, extravagantly so!’

"But now our sight has had enough of this."

Up from the mouth of each hole there stuck out
A sinner’s feet and legs up to the calf,
The rest of him remained stuffed down inside.

The soles of both feet blazed all on fire;
The leg-joints wriggled uncontrollably:
They would have snapped any rope or tether.

Just as a flame on anything that’s oily
Spreads only on the object’s outer surface,
So did this fire move from heel to toe.

Canto XXI

With just the same rage and roaring of dogs
When they rush out on some poor passing beggar
Who stops dead in his tracks and starts to beg,

So these devils, from beneath the bridge
Shot out with all their prongs aimed at my guide,
But he shouted, "Stop being savages!

"Before you would impale me with your forks,
One of you step forward to hear me out
And then resolve to grapple me or not."

Alichino could not restrain himself
And, counter to the rest, said, "If you jump,
I wouldn’t come galloping after you;
"Instead, I’ll flap my wings above the pitch-pot!
We’ll leave this ridge and make the bank a shield
To see if all alone you can outsmart us!"

O reader, listen to the latest sport!
Each turned his eyes toward the other shore —
The first one was the fiend who most resisted!

The Navarrese picked his time perfectly,
Fixed both feet on the ground and in a flash
Leaped out and broke free of the fiend-in-charge!

Below that point we found a painted people
Who walked in circles with the slowest steps,
Weeping and worn in looks and overwhelmed.

The cloaks they wore had cowls drawn down low
Over their eyes, made in a similar style
As those that are made for monks in Cluny.

These are so gilded outside that they dazzle,
But inside, solid lead, and so heavy that,
Compared to them, Frederick’s capes were straw.
O mantle of unending weariness!
Once again we turned to the left hand,
Along with those souls rapt in their sad tears.

But with their weights the tired people trod
So slowly that we had fresh company
With every step we took along the way.
Then they said to me, "O Tuscan, you come
To this chapter of the sorry hypocrites:
Do not scorn to tell us who you are."

And there within I saw a repulsive mass
Of serpents in such a horrifying state
That still my blood runs cold when I recall them.

No more need Libya boast about the sands
Where chelydri, jaculi, phareae,
And cenchres with amphisbaena breed:

She could not show — with all Ethiopia
Nor the lands that lie surrounding the Red Sea —
So rampant and pestiferous a plague.

Among this cruel and miserable swarm
Were people running stripped and terrified,
With no hope of hiding-hole or heliotrope.

They had hands tied behind their backs by snakes
That thrust out head and tail through their loins
And that coiled then in knots around the front.

And look! A serpent sprang up at one sinner
Upon our strand and it transfixed him there
Where neck and shoulders knotted at the nape.

No o or i was ever written faster
Than that sinner flared up and burst in flames
And, falling down, completely turned to ashes.

And then, as he lay scattered on the ground,
The ashy dust collected by itself
And suddenly returned to its first shape.

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Per Me Si Va Ne La Città Dolente

PER ME SI VA NE L'ETTERNO DOLORE, PER ME SI VA TRA LA PERDUTA GENTE

Yesterday when I first saw this article in the New York Observer about "Life in Knicks Hell", the illustration reminded me of Dante and his Commedia. Well, that and I was thinking about what circle of hell I would end up in (btw, besides the killers and tyrants in the 1st ring, the 2nd and 3rd rings of the Seventh Circle are going to be amazing- just think of how many cool sodomites and suicides there've been.)

Anyway I came across the engraving for the text from Gustave Doré, whose work I've always loved a lot(though I did not know he was so late) and decided to share them with you in a mini series on Sundays. Because what day is more appropriate to, in the words of Jim Morrison,"think about our eventual ends." This'll probably be a failed experiment but...
Here are Canto I-XIII from Inferno (and the image above is Botticelli's view of Dante's hell)

Halfway through the journey we are living
I found myself deep in a darkened forest,
For I had lost all trace of the straight path.

Ah how hard it is to tell what it was like,
How wild the forest was, how dense and rugged!
To think of it still fills my mind with panic

But not so when — to add now to my fears —
In front of me I caught sight of a lion!

He appeared to be coming straight at me
With head held high and furious for hunger,
So that the air itself seemed to be shaking.

Day was now fading, and the dusky air
Released the creatures dwelling here on earth
From tiring tasks, while I, the only one,

Readied myself to endure the battle
Both of the journey and the pathos,
Which flawless memory shall here record.

The demon Charon, with burning-ember eyes,
Gave a signal and gathered all on board,
Smacking lagging stragglers with his oar.

So I saw that brilliant schola meeting
Under the master of sublimest song
Who above all others soars like an eagle.

After conversing for some time together,
They turned to me with a cordial greeting:
With that, my master broke into a smile.
And then they showed me a still greater honor,
For they included me within their group,
So that I was the sixth among those minds.

This way we walked together toward the light,
Speaking of things as well unmentioned here
As there it was as well to speak of them

Just as the doves when homing instinct calls them
To their sweet nest, on steadily lifted wings
Glide through the air, guided by their longing,
So those souls left the covey where Dido lies,
Moving toward us through the malignant air,
So strong was the loving-kindness in my cry.

"O mortal man, gracious and tenderhearted,
Who through the somber air come to visit
The two of us who stained the earth with blood,

"If the King of the universe were our friend,
We would then pray to him to bring you peace,
Since you show pity for our wretched plight.

"Whatever you please to hear and speak about
We will hear and speak about with you
While the wind, as it is now, is silent.

And I, standing there to stare intently,
Saw in that morass people smeared with mud,
All naked, their faces lined with rage.

They beat each other not just with their hands
But even with their heads and chest and feet
And with their teeth ripped each other to pieces.

My own good master said, "Son, now you see
The souls of those whom anger overpowered.
I also want you to accept for certain

"That under the water there are people sighing
Who make the surface of the water bubble,
As your eye tells you whichever way it turns."

Mired in slime, they moan, "We were morose
In the sweet air made cheerful by the sun;
We bore within ourselves the torpid vapors:

"Now morbid we are made in this black mud."

My guide then stepped down into the boat,
And next he made me enter after him:
Only when I was in did it seem weighted.

As soon as my guide and I embarked,
The ancient prow pushed off, ploughing down
Water more deeply than it does with others.

Here at one spot there straightaway stood up
Three infernal Furies stained with blood,
Their bodies and behavior that of women.

Their waists were cinctured with green hydras;
For hair they had horned snakes and poison adders
With which their savage temples were enwreathed.

And clearly recognizing the handmaidens
Of the Queen of unending mournfulness,
He said to me, "Look at the fierce Erinyes:

"That one there on the left is Megaera,
And on the right is Alecto, wailing;
Tisiphone is in the middle." He ceased.

With her nails each one tore at her own breasts,
Thrashed with her hands, and shouted out so loud
That in dread I drew closer to the poet.

"Look here at Farinata straightening up!
From waist high you will see the whole of him."

I had already fixed my eyes on his
While he emerged with his forehead and chest,
Looking as though he held hell in contempt

And at the brink over the broken chasm
There lay outspread the infamy of Crete

That was conceived within the bogus cow;
And when he saw us, he bit into himself,
Like someone whom wrath tears up from inside

Inside here nest the repugnant Harpies
Who chased the Trojans from the Strophades
With foul prophecies of coming losses.

They have wide wings, human necks and faces,
Feet with claws, and big feathered bellies;
They shriek laments from up in the strange trees.

I heard deep wailings rising from all sides,
Without discerning anyone who made them,
So that, completely baffled, I stopped short.

I think he thought that I was thinking that
All of the voices from among the trunks
Rose up from people who were hiding from us.
...
"The answer I give you shall be concise.

"Whenever the violent soul forsakes the flesh
From which it tore itself by its own roots,
Minos assigns it to the seventh pit.

"It plummets to the wood — no place is picked —
But wherever fortune happens to have hurled it,
There it sprouts up like a grain of spelt;

"It springs into a sapling and wild tree;
The harpies, feeding on its foliage,
Cause pain and then an outlet for the pain.

"Like others we shall go to our shed bodies,
But not to dress ourselves in them once more,
For it is wrong to own what you tossed off.

"Here shall we haul them, and throughout the sad
Wood forevermore shall our bodies hang,
Each from the thornbush of its tortured shade."

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