This was the damned worm who pierces through the world. CERN, the European Organization for Nuclear Research, and its objectives are viewed through the vision of Satan given by Dante in Canto 34 of the Inferno. The climax of this descent into dark matter is foreseen, along with the extra dimensions, parallel universes, black holes to open doors to other space/time dimensions. CERN's stated purpose in France/Switzerland, where
the side on which he fell from heaven;
for fear of him, the land that once loomed here
made of the sea a veil and rose into
our hemisphere; and that land which appears
upon this side--perhaps to flee from him--
left here this hollow space, and hurried upward. (121-26)
We walk past monuments erected by our selves and pretend they are something else, as if, like the shag carpet Dante climbs down to pass through hell they are a foothold in the underneath, anything but what they are. It is the frozen visage of Satan down which he descends, climbing down Satan's shaggy sides and between the tangled hair and its ice crust past the point where the thigh begins. To land this way Satan must have been cast head first into the earth’s center and stuck there, a kind of jack knife in two dimensions but in three a somersault reversal of gravity, immobilized in ice, for his fall displaced all the land, pushed it into the northern hemisphere. In two dimensions a v and inverted v from entrance and exit collapsed together. They are collided to free the energy, in this case Satan, CERN's drunken purpose, prematurely we should say, as if that were possible, but actually before the fact of Satan's incarceration, since that comes later in earth's time, after most of these matters are resolved. Then he is not frozen, but chained, then released, then cast in a lake of fire.
Satan is a sort of structure (7) so towered from the ice, up from midchest (29) two wings spread out (46). Do you still believe you are north of the center (107), beneath the hemisphere opposing (112f)? Descended, down from tuft to tuft, / between the tangled hair and icy crusts (74-5). Do we really need to spell out the parallels with the worm who pierces through the world? When would you believe? No, "that soul up there [consumed head first in Satan's mouth] who has to suffer more...his head inside, he jerks his legs without" (61-3) is a perfect patsy of...fill in the blank. We could stop to look at it a while, except maybe we realize there are other frozen statues there and run.
Literature gives a much clearer view than science but is not believed. And if this is merely Dante being told by (the fictional) Virgil, truly one of the great foreknowings, it remains to divulge the ultimate vision of foretelling, which (the real) archangel Gabriel gives to Daniel, except this is mathematically precise. The 69 weeks from the beginning of the restoration of Jerusalem to the proclamation of the King, that Palm Sunday in Jerusalem, measure exactly, to the day, the time from March 14, 445 B.C.to April 6, 32 A.D. We are in the presence of something so much greater than Dante that it is well worth contemplation if you tire of the same old black hole, time breaking routine that brings the fierce countenance in. If so you can read Scotland Yard's Sir Robert Anderson's, The Coming Prince.
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Carlos wandered the grounds of the Stony Creek Rehab Center looking for unfinished cigarette butts in the smoking area ash trays before turning to me. He did this while pulling his shirt up to his neck and playing with his nipples, a nervous tic the counselors were trying to persuade him out of doing.
“Gimme your short,” he demanded, which was rehab lingo referring to the rest of the Marlboro I was smoking. A large swath of black smoke hovered over the mountains above us. A huge brush fire had ignited, ironically enough, from someone throwing a cigarette out of a car window. The power at the facility was out and there was a possibility of an evacuation to the suburbs below.
“Go away, Carlos,” I said, impatient. Carlos turned to the other patients who all shook their heads no. He had a long, pock marked face that resembled a deflated Michael Myers Halloween mask, accept with brown, Mexican skin
Poem of the Week
who have experienced
on a large
i tell raif
i think my
might be dead
haven't seen her
& her car hasn't moved
for two weeks.
you would smell it
passing me a plate
of triangular shaped bread
slathered in jam.
Story of the Week
DARLEEN SQUEELED into the empty spot as soon as the gleaming white Mercedes pulled out. "We got lucky," she told Montana. "Even on a Monday night, this lot is killer."
Montana rolled her big blue eyes. "Whatever."
The eleven year old had better things to do, like text her friends. Incessantly, as if she had a tic. The kid hadn't wanted to shop tonight, but Darleen insisted. This was their first Christmas without Paulie and the girls needed to stick together. Darleen's ex had been nasty lately and mediation had hit a cement wall. Montana wasn't aware how dangerously close they were to losing access to Paulie's vast and unreported wealth.
Montana sighed dramatically as she yanked open the door of the Porsche Cayenne and tumbled out. She didn't pause in her texting.
Darlene checked her face in the rearview mirror. The most recent fat transfer had been wildly successful. She loved her new lips. Grabbing her Gucci bag, she hopped out of the front seat.
Her daughter trailed her into the mall, thumbs flashing on her phone keypad.