[The Story: Our Poet, after declining to hitch a ride on the back of the Beast of Logic and having failed to secure either Juvenal or Rabelais as his guide, resigns himself to the company of the Xenophobic Poet, Virgil, and the Blind Carnival Attraction, Tiresias. Before the Poet descends, Forcas, the Demon who presides over this Region of Hell, instructs him in the proper attire for negotiating the sheer cliff face leading to the Bowge reserved for the Cognitive Sciences. But the Poet is duped by a soul lodged in the cliff face, igniting a colorful series of events that transpire as the Poet plummets to the base of the next ring of Hell.]
Tiresias shaped this thought, "Now is not the time to rely
On Reason's charter. As Herr Hebbel once said, If language had been
The creation, not of poetry, but of logic, we should have only one.
My intuition tells me, though arduous, we must rappel this cliff face
Into Hell. Besides, it's not without lithic and vegetative anomalies."
And leaning over the Edge I saw what appeared to be Outcroppings
Of Rock and Branches jutting from the Sheer Wall; branches seemingly
Blown by the din because the Air was Dead and the Musty Heat
Spurred no Wind. "Look closely," Tiresias advised, "Those are
The Limbs and Members of the Damned locked in the Scalded
Rock below. Their Suffering will guide our Descent." "Hold up,"
Sounded Virgil, "Here comes Forcas." And up swaggered a Devil
Of Hormonal Dimensions, as square as a Bauhaus church. And on his
Shoulder he carried, like a Rodent's Casket, a Boom Box;
The source of the cacophony that iterated among these rocks.
And Tiresias interfaced, "TURN THAT FUCKIN' THING DOWN!!
You wax such a Din that the Sinners can't hear the Prayers arriving
for them; an Irony for certain because that Infernal Machine's
Inventors suffer here, while the Living become reluctant Supplicants,
Confronted with its Evil in every public sphere." At this Forcas frowned
And popped the tape, and the White Noise of Distant Shrieks & Cries
Was restored. "You goin' down to my orbit?" asked the fiend.
"Indeed," answered Virgil, "This Lad is keen to confirm
His suspicions about the Ultimate Consequences of Cognitive Science."
And Forcas squared to look at me, "So you're going to navigate
My Partisans for a Negative Proof? The Anti-Truth which outlasts
Any set of Reductions. I'll call you Cockroach then. Be careful,
They're a Cunning Lot. Metis, that's what the Greeks called
What they got. From Greeks to Geeks. And before they'll surrender
Any of their Dooming Beliefs, they'll cut you as soon as not."
"Point taken," snapped Virgil, "Now we'd like to begin our Descent."
"Wait, I want you to wear these," Announced Forcas. "Golf Shoes?"
I thought. For the Soles of the Footwear were studded with Spikes,
With Needles embedded Toe to Heel. And Forcas said, "You'll get
Better traction on a Head, or Leg or Ass of the Dead." "I didn't
Sign on to torture," I rebuked. "Look," countered Forcas,
"Their extremities are slimy from the heat and slippery under foot."
"Do it!" yelled Tiresias, "These are Positivists, Programmers,
Game Theorists. To them pain is naught but ones and zeroes.
Besides in good time you will pass through the house of the Torturers
Of Flesh, many your former countrymen, and you'll want to test the Spike
On their Rationales. This revolving Plain of Reason is the necessary
Prologue and the Foundation for what transpires in those Lower Regions."
"Yeah, you Little Dick," Added Forcas. "And wear these gloves.
The Fingers end in grappling Hooks and the Palms are sewn
With Razor Blades. They'll improve your grip. Otherwise you
Might take a Nasty Fall and that would be just too Fuckin' Bad."
So we put on the Gear and made for the nearest arm or leg,
Whatever Appendage promised the shortest path. And as I
Climbed my spikes came to rest upon the head of one
Of the dead encased in stone from the Neck on down.
I recognized the wail of Willard van Orman Quine, "Aaaaiiiieee!
Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! What Class of Ass is standing On my face?
What Race of Leaden Souls? If I didn't know better I'd say
You count yourself among the living." My Spikes had driven
Into both His Eyes and my Heel ground down his Mouth.
"I'm living, Sir. Here to witness your torment." And Quine moaned,
"There's a Difference between witness and impose. This isn't the
Quantum Predicament." "No," gathering to self-righteousness I glowed,
"One could say the same about Mathematical Logic when applied to
Flesh like mine. Or Systems Analysis, Operations Research, Game Theory,
Scientific Management and Artificial Intelligence to name a Few Tortures
Visited upon mankind that I rush to assess in these lower reaches of Hell."
"Take off the Spikes, boy, and we can talk. You know me,
As far as education and class allow, I agree with you.
When you were a young punk, you read me on Ontology
Twice to get my Drift. And besides wasn't it I who fomented
The Schism in Logical Positivism? Cease your torment and
Let me tell you what I have learned from Hell. That slob, Forcas,
Is just doing his job. But you?…" "Okay," I said, "Just don't whine."
And staring down, I swooned from Pity at the Bloody Soup
That was Quine's Face and removing my cleats, I said,
"Go ahead, Willard. Give me your Spiel." When I felt his Mangled Maw
Clamp deep into my heel. "Aaaaiiiieeee!! Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!" I cried.
Wheeled and leapt to an outcropping of Soul; the Naked Form folded,
Ass protruding from the rock and set skyward so that the Cheeks and Crack
Formed a platform and the ball sack lay upon the belly like a rumpled Fool's
Cap. My Trajectory was perfect. And as I stood, Forcas flew up to my Perch
And hovering like a hummingbird said, "Hey, you Stinkin' Vermin."
I gestured with my finger, "Who me?" "Yeah you, Fool.
Quite a Rookery you've nuzzled into there. You're standing
Knee deep in a pool of George Boole's Stool. His Head is
Fused in the rock. So whataya gonna do, talk to his Tool?"
And sure enough the ass I had leapt to was smeared with Shit.
Forcas said, "Consider this. The Cumulative Force of Scientific
Discourse on earth produces Himalayas of Waste. Old theories
Form Excremental Lava Flows that in time engulf the souls
Pinned in the side of this Hole. A Drift of Ideational Guano
And Philosophical Trash where the Analytical Digestive Systems
That shat the Thought are consigned to Rest. Descartes and Leibnitz are
Completely submerged in Stone: Bolzano and Mill are
Somewhere in this Hill." Forcas droned, "And there: Austin
and Ayer with only their tongues like dried husks protruding. And
Gregory and Eccles with but Four Pale Wafers of exposed Bum
To sample Eternity's Aethers. And that's Frege's finger like a
Solitary Shoot sprouting from the stone tapping out in code
The Fundamental Injustice of the Creator's Analysis. And
There's Peano's Nose sucking like a landed fish the foul atmosphere.
My sobriquet is Thermodynamics. I heat the lime to remind
Them of their paralysis where the space to writhe would seem
An Immeasurable Joy. Not that I have anything against these souls
Or their Calculus and Logic. In fact, God has assessed me the larva they
Spawn---Engineers; whose calculations are designed to kill
If only because Quantification is always in real and therefore Emotional
Arrears, sniffing about the Shanks of its Exponential Anomalies.
These Buzzing Legions are the shades of technicians
From Krupp, I.G. Farben, Du Pont, General Electric,
Westinghouse, IBM, Lockheed-Martin, Microsoft.
See! More than damned, they perch on the arse of
Charles Peirce; and at your feet, Swarming like flies,
They surge toward the dung." And the Engineers, sporting
Delicate, Translucent Insect Wings, encrusted the Mathematician's
Beshitted Trough. And with Long Bovine Tongues they licked
The length of the Crack and their Crusted Mandibles shut with a smack.
"But," I objected, "They eat Shit with such relish. What Punishment
Is this?" And Forcas retorted, "What, Poet? You've been a Fly?"
And they so menaced my bare and bloody heel that I wheeled
And leapt toward a Megatherian Mass. Virgil called to blind
Tiresias, "The kid's made it to Herman Kahn's Ass."
A Scrubbed, Pink Plateau albeit with that Stink of Intestines
That rarely stir. And a Ravine so deep, dark and wide
That with my legs stretched full, I could barely plant my feet
Across the divide. Tiresias cried, "Do not be fooled by that
Luxurious ride. Quick! Resume your descent." And no sooner
Did I receive this counsel than the Jellied Plateau below
Me began to rumble, and with a lurch and a big bang,
A Plug of Filth the size of a Church shot passed my eyes
And the Huge Thighs spasmed And the hole came home
Like Creation relieving itself , launching Heavenward
All Manner of Foul Things: the Enigma Machine: a U-2:
A Neutron Shower: Graceland: an Air Force Crash Dummy
In effigy of Gary Powers: Jornada del Muerte Party Hats:
A Print of D.W.Griffith's hardcore epic, The Destiny of
Hydrocarbon Man, starring a sultry John D. Rockefeller:
An Advertising Jingle for the Admiral Rickover Spent Fuel Rod
Jungle Gym: the Pat Robertson ATM or Automatic Tithing Machine:
an photograph of Lucien Conein Sitting on a Mountain Of Burmese
Raw Opium marked School Supplies: an interview with Bob Dornan
In which he suggests listening to recordings of the Inkspots
Backwards for Hidden Satanic Messages as a Sure Fire Method
For getting elected in Orange County: an unpaid invoice to the
Rios Montt Body Parts Boutique for Fawn Hall's Septum Replacement:
The Hairdryers and Hot Wax Machines from the Roberto D'Aubuisson
School of Beauty: Jerry Falwell's copy of Mein Kampf annotated
With Parallel Passages from the Bible: Four Billion copies of T.V. Guide
With library stamps reading Gunsmoke Elementary School:
Werner Von Braun's Mickey Mouse ears: Walter Annenburg's Veterinary
Prophylactics: the Undigested Parts of Readers Digest: an 8 X 10 glossy
Of Hale Boggs and John Tower signing National Security Directive 44-B
Authorizing the override of Routine commercial airline safety inspections
For Reasons of National Security: Alberto Fujimori's copy of Mein Kampf
Inscribed To My Little Doggy, What Success We Have Wrought—Vladimiro
Montesinos: a MIG 15: an entry form for the Archer, Daniels Midland
Rub Ed Meese and Win a Pig Contest: Bikini Atoll: a geyser of goose down:
The ENIAC: the Univac: and the Brainiac: the Theoretical Single
Bullet in Red, White and Blue Suppository Form: a Photogravure of
James Watt Exposed and Humiliated shaking his fist at a Giant Red Wood:
A nuclear warhead full of Shrimp Creole: a complete set of Bob Gates'
instructional tapes, How to Pistol Whip a Puppy: Sixty thousand copies of
Charles Krauthammer's Motivational Best Seller, Hate the Victim, Blame
The Victim Therapy and its Sequel Kill the Victim, Bill the Victim Therapy:
The U.S.S. Saratoga: a Polaris sub: Enrico Fermi's Chrysler: William Colby's
Spectacles impaled on Zia ul-Haq's Riding Crop: Bill Casey's X-rays
And a platinum edition of his country and western hit, "I Don't Have a Brain Tumor,
They Just Want Me Dead So I Won't Talk:" Henry Kissinger's copy of Mein Kampf
Inscribed To Hanky, The Barzani Family IS Dumber than It Looks---Saddam:
A video tape of Strom Thurmond eating Linguini: Lucky Luciano's
Bullet proof cod-piece with Wild Bill Donovan's DNA on it: a C-130
Transport shrouded in a Bermuda Triangle-Like Mist of Cocaine:
Hans Bethe's Special Barbecue Sauce: Lewis Strauss' Dagger collection:
Robert Oppenheimer's matching Victim's Tie and Assassin's Socks:
A Family Bible inscribed From the Grand Wizard to my faithful
Water Hod, Gunga Dinesh: the Wire Tap used on Leo Szilard:
Charles Babbage with a Vacuum Tube shoved up his ass:
Everyman with a Vacuum Tube shoved down his Throat:
A Silicon Chip looking for all the world like an aerial photo of Bergen-Belsen:
Luis Alvarez' Radioactive Pajamas: two billion dollars and a newsreel
Of Jimmy Byrnes glad handing Executives from General Electric
As well as distinguished Members Of the Senate Armed Services Committee:
Ronald Reagan's soiled Presidential Diapers embroidered with the Great Seal:
Frank Carlucci's Garotte: Castillo Armas' Bull Horn: a copy of Augusto
Pinochet's photo-album of Raped And Tortured Women inscribed
With Warmest Regards to My Dear Friends Milton Friedman and Jeffrey Sachs:
Allen Dulles' collection of Shrunken Heads: A Tape Loop featuring
The Late-Great Dictator, Ferdinand Marcos, doing Deep Knee Bends
Before the ghost of William Randolph Hearst: a file cabinet full of
Adlai Stevenson's Victory Speeches: a bundle of Plain White
Envelopes with For Governor Agnew scrawled on them:
the Audited Tax Returns of hundreds of Nattering Nabobs
Of Negativism: a copy of J. Edgar Hoover's Scholarly monograph,
Enemas For Equestrians: Elliott Abrams' Tongue curled up against
The cold bone between Jean Kirkpatrick's Dugs: an affidavit sworn
By Albert Hakim that Oliver North was never his Bitch: Lifetime
Warranties stating that Ten Thousand Car Batteries used by Savak
To burn the Testicles of university students Proudly displayed
The label, Made In The USA: A wire recording of Pat Boone
Covering the Blues Classic, "I'm Up In Yo' Puddin' Mess,"
Accompanied by Legendary Slide guitarist Stump Hogarth,
And then turning around and shooting dead the black musician:
Mark Hanna's Opera Glasses: Frederick Funston's Baedekers:
Lawrence of Arabia's Snow Chains: John Connally's Cowboy Hat
That Lyndon Johnson used to take a Shit in: Lee Harvey Oswald's
Signed confession witnessed by Frank Sturgis and E. Howard Hunt:
Gerald Ford's Super Bowl Ring: invoices from Vang Pao's Olive Oil business:
An Evidence Locker full of Air America's In Flight Menus: Hitler's
Watercolor of Churchill, Truman and Stalin at Potsdam: a monograph
On Edward Teller's eyebrows entitled Wolfmen and the Problem of the "SUPER:"
A Coroner's Report stating that Richard Feynman suffered from Terminal Neoteny:
Nine Million orders of Pork Low Mein: Eugene Wigner's wig: eight miles of
Santa Monica Freeway: Hugo Banzer's Parking Space at the CIA;
Klaus Barbie's Parking Space at the CIA; George Lardner's Parking Space at the CIA;
Ricky Morales' Parking Space at the CIA; Orlando Bosch's Parking Space at the CIA;
John Hull's Locker at the CIA; Katherine Graham's Motel Room at the CIA;
Pablo Escobar's Christmas Club Account at the CIA Credit Union;
Jorge Ochoa's Lunch Wagon at the CIA; Walter Pincus' CIA Mop and Pail:
A Top Secret Document that reveals that Adolfo Calero can hold
Thirty Gallons of Gatorade in the Pock Marks on his face:
A classified ONI report that the mole on Marilyn Monroe's right cheek
Was in reality a microdot with a Relief Map detailing U.S. worldwide
ICBM Deployment as well as the Religious Affiliations and
Habits of Personal Hygiene of every member of the Strategic Air Command
And the Salary Requirements And Investment Potential for
Each member of the PBCFIA in the event of a Land Invasion
Of South-East Asia; a top-secret DIA report detailing Operation Macula
Whereby actor Elliott Reid would be drugged and an Operative
Who had undergone Reconstructive Surgery would bite the
Microdot off Miss Monroe's face during rehearsals for
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes; a Falsified Medical Report that
Stated that Reid was a "real" (and not just a "reel") spy
And had shown severe signs of Post-Communist Party Membership
Depression and had On Numerous Occasions Expressed his Desire
To destroy everything beautiful in the name of the International Proletariat:
A plaster mold of Don Dixon's Hoof Prints: the Chicago School:
A Tapestry depicting Jesse Helms dancing in a field of Mujaheddin
Poppy while firing an AK-47 at Nicaraguan Schoolgirls:
The Concrete Anagram called Jimmy Hoffa: the Last Ounce of Potable Water
In Vietnam circa 1973: the Golden Triangle with its Angles of Intersection
At Langley, Tel Aviv and Taipei: a tee-shirt which reads I've Done Kahn's Can:
Ted Koppel's Spare Heads: a cartouche showing Robert McNamara personally
Counting All the Beans at Bien Hoa: every Chicken Head
William F. Buckley has ever bitten off: the Sandra Day O'Connor Ball Gown
That Robert Bork wears in the I Am Nourished by the Urine of the Wrongly
Accused Skit performed annually at the Bohemian Groves:
A copy of the Consensual Sex Agreement between McGeorge Bundy
And the Republic of Vietnam: a Backhoe used to scratch
Robert Moses' back: Sopsaisana's Luggage: Ramon Milan Rodriguez's
Brief Cases: a documentary film that alleges that after the Watergate Story
Broke, Richard Nixon's Five O'Clock Shadow followed E. Howard Hunt
Around Northern Virginia for months: Manuel Noriega's Freezer
With his Diploma from the School of the Americas folded into his
Copy of Paul Linebarger's Psychological Warfare hidden among
500 kilos of Tamale Powder: Linebarger's lifesize Wax Dummy
Of Attila the Hun: the New York Times' and Washington Post's
Reporting on the Gulf of Tonkin incident repackaged as a
Commercially available Venereal Disease: Grenada:
An Advertising Campaign For the National Reconnaissance Office:
A polaroid of Richard Helms wiring his jaw shut just prior to beginning
His morning drive to CIA headquarters from his Georgetown townhouse:
Civil Defense Plans that show that in the case of Severe Drought
The Pentagon can be converted into a Giant Cistern: Body Bags for Robots:
A 16mm Dream Sequence of a Claymore Mine mowing off the heads
Of the Joint Chiefs of Staff: Michael Milkem's (sic) unpublished
Manuscript, Criminal Philanthropy: Its History and Practice or
The Wages of Sin Are Pretty Fuckin' Good Even After Criminal
Penalties Have Been Assessed
: a David Duke Victory Doll sculpted from
Two liters of ossified Louisiana Chawin' Sputum: a video tape of Newt Gingrich
Choking himself: a copy of The Haberdasher's First Book of Nuclear Fission by
Harry S. Truman and J. Robert Oppenheimer: Michael Hand's Beeper
With Paul Helliwell's Number still on it: Ed Landsdale's recipe for Instant
Magsaysay with White Rice in Vietnamese: A Richard Daley autographed
Nightstick: the Reinhard Gehlen Credit Card -- "Don't Leave
The Homeland Without It!:" John Wayne Gacy's Request for Clemency
Written in his Own Semen: an Out Take that demonstrates that
The compact Honda Accord could comfortably seat the Keating Five:
A complete set of Lyndon Larouche Presidential Paranoia Packets
With Decoder Rings and little wax images of the candidate filled
With Monkey's Blood: Pat Buchanan's copy of the Protocols
Of the Elders of Zion: a plug of flesh carved from John Foster
Dulles' Right Buttock micro-tattooed in beryllium with NSC 68:
An Automatic Coffee maker in the shape of an Oil Derrick
Used in the serial killings of Latin American nationalists:
A microfiche detailing the undergarment selection for every day
Of every single NSA employee since the agency's inception:
The manuscript of Herman K. Beebe's thirty volume autobiography,
It's Not Who You Know, It's Knowing in What State of Decomposition
They're In
, previously thought to be bricked up behind a wall
In the Nixon Library: two thousand macraméd Rat Skins
From a Miami Holiday Inn embossed with Carlos Marcello's
Positivist Philosophy, "Three can keep a secret if two are dead:"
The print-out that Marvin Minsky presented as grant material
To the Board of Trustees of the University of Shakedown at Palo Alto,
Where, beginning on page 427,196,666,892, one million Howler Monkeys
Using Microsoft Word typed out Shakespeare's Hamlet missing only a comma
In the third act and substituting Hamlet's father's name with the words,
"Dried Banana:" a secret document that details how Jorge Mas Canosa
Intends to rule the New Cuba disguised as Ava Gardner: a Cato Institute
Report that demonstrates to a Statistical Certainty that the
Reverend Sun Myung Moon IS the Reincarnation of Our Lord
Jesus Christ and should hereafter be known as Sloppy Seconds:
A group photograph taken of the Varsity Mendacity and
Oil Futures Club at the small but elite Calouste Gulbenkian Prep School
For Genetically Criminal Boys in Azerbaijan which includes youthful shots
Of future National Security Advisors, Brent Scowcroft and
Zbigniew Brzezinski; future White House Chief of Staff John Sununu;
Defense Secretary Richard Cheney and Secretary of State James A. Baker III;
And future Treasury Secretary Lloyd Bentsen; seven billion frames of rushes
From a never released Oliver Stone film, entitled Achnacarry IV,
That alleges that the photograph reveals a conspiracy to defraud
The World on behalf of Transnational Corporations; a legal brief
Presented on behalf of the Transnational Corporations requesting
An injunction against the release of Stone's film on the grounds
That it implies that their agents are Whores and that this
Violates Federal Equal Opportunity Laws by giving the occupation
Of Whore a bad name; a suit filed by COYOTE stating that being
Compared to former or current White House officials is prima facie
Demeaning and Slanderous and is a violation of their membership's
Civil Rights; a disclaimer at the end of Stone's film that states
That any comparison between men and women who sell their bodies
For a living and the Obscene Pandering and Wanton Murder on the part
Of the former Azerbaijani-American Officials and their Transnational
Handlers depicted in his Film is purely coincidental and that
He in no way intended to slander by metaphorical association
Or otherwise the profession of Prostitution: Vehement Denunciations
Of Stone's film by both The New York Times and The Washington Post
Although Stone's film has never been released; transcripts from
Several Joint Subcommittees of Congress looking into the matter of
Sex and Violence in Unreleased Hollywood films: the Discarded Shotgun
Cartridges from a march sponsored by the Christian Coalition
Calling for a ban on sex unless it is accompanied by violence
Or the potential for violence: a series of pieces in The Washington Post
That purr that the Violence of White Men in Three-Piece Suits
Is Sexy, and because it is so far greater in its destructive magnitude,
It is in no way comparable to other less prestigious
Forms of violence and therefore should not be considered Violence at all;
The Glossies from the Playgirl centerfold spread called "White House
Officials---Armed and Dangerous;" a George Will op-ed piece on
The Redemptive Nature Of a Life of Violence devoid of Sex;
A Brent Scowcroft Fast-Track Key Ring free with Every
Purchase of Caspian Sea Gasoline: Court T.V. Testimony in which
Charleton Heston swears to the Historical Accuracy of his film, The Ten Commandments:
Fulgencio Batista's Bathrobe and a Hatbox full of Forged End User
Certificates purchased at John McCone's estate sale: A rejected manuscript
By a lap dancer named Randy about the personal Exploits of
Herman Kahn entitled Herman the Kahn Man: Big Daddy and the Bomb,
In which Ms. Randy claims that she and her Fellow Strippers once
Performed Stravinsky's ballet, Petrushka, on the Great Kahn's lap
While he composed chapters of his Magnum Opus, On Thermonuclear War,
In saliva on her inner thigh: a Three Mile Island Raincoat and a T-shirt
That read I Survived the Cold War and All I got Was This Damned T-shirt:
And finally a Titan 4B that lodged in the great Kahn's immense cranny until the
Pressures building below launched the projectile from his Great Fanny,
Tearing the Tender Tissues about the Lips; a Reprise of all the Crap
That had passed through his Missile Gap. And from between the Obese
And Bloodied Analytical Hips John von Neumann's Fetid Torso birthed.
And hugging me close about the Neck the Mathematician cried,
"You must be Roach. As you well know, I abhor the living.
To satisfy my Most Elegant Equations its better that mankind be vitiated.
Your kind doesn't have a Prayer. I can fester for eternity in this Fat Man's
Bowels until my predictions of Self-Reproducing Automata are satisfied.
Besides, my Loathing of Humanity has already advanced
On so many fronts: PCs, Game Theory, Behavior Modification,
Computer Animation, Systems Analysis, Cell Phones, Operations
Research, Cloning, Artificial Intelligence, Robotics, ATMs,
Gene Splicing, Cost-Benefit Analysis." And forcing my Cheek
To his, "But you, Little Ver-Man, resist my advances; its Democratic
Veneer, talk of ‘Rigid Members,' and Consumer Trances ."
And with Johnny's speech, the gasses built. And the Geyser slipped
Me from his grip and propulsed von Neumann's Soul some leagues
From Kahn's volcanic hole, and the force toppled me
From the outcrop. Blinded in this World of Shit, I plunged,
Catching a Flank mid-fall; a skinny affair; and unable to secure
A grip, my hand slipped until it found a Fleshy Root
Surrounded by Short, Coarse Grass. As I hung there by one arm
Forcas reappeared and hovering close to my face asked: "Hey, Spike.
Why have you got Robert Lovett's glands in your hands?" "Oh yeah,"
I weakly rejoined, "And why are benign souls like George Boole
And Charles Peirce down in this Hole?" And Forcas replied, "As with
Nelchael's region you fail to recognize it was you who sentenced them
To Hell and for what seems little more than this Peevish Rhyme.
But in this, My Piddle, you do not Err. Though, as Columbus discovered,
When sailing from the puerile to immortality, one does not always know how
One got there." And with this Cryptic Remark he leaned in his Foul
And Horny Head and bit down and tore free Lovett's willie. And
As I hurdled toward a lower world Forcas yelled, "Remember, Roach.
Your Cunning didn't get you here." And I came crashing flat on my back
Upon the cinders below. Virgil and Tiresias scampered down the rock.
And hovering over their blackened charge Tiresias said,
"Even in the realm of the living, the ancient dead are more agile and
Fleet afoot. Son, do you believe that the language games of science
Remain related to the metalanguage presented in the Mother
Tongue?" "I do," I said. "Good. No matter what you see and suffer
In the Inferno of the Rational Sciences, be assured you will advance
To deeper hells." And Forcas, with Lovett's meat still in his Jowls, joined
The heads floating above the Poet---Polyps in a Wet, Black Bowel.
