"The Slaying of the Jabberwock, By W.B. Yeats.
This is a violent land, avid of breath;
Here borogroves are clinging, wave to wave,
Gyre on gyre, whirling on toward death
In breathless fire while the toves outgrabe.
My paper-pasted Jabberwock’s on show
Beware, and shun that whole outrageous batch,
The pale-green jub-jub bird that cannot crow,
The slyly parasitic bandersnatch.
O stand in uffish thought that you may watch
This land, these burbling monsters, put to play.
The Jabberwock will set his jaw a notch
And vaguely chew Cuchulain for a day.
Observe me slay these animals; my hand
Is sanguined with confetti from their wounds.
Though I have brought no peace to Ireland
This rite will transubstantiate its grounds.“
–Jack Spicer (in Jacket 37)
Building a ship inside a Klein bottle: leave me alone, i’m trying to not finish.
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