A line about Moby-Dick; or, The Whale – just spitballing here

Put the Greek classics in the Bible, put that in Shakespeare, add Kant and Hobbes, stir in some stolen salts from old Araby, tenderize with the finest skrimshanders of the six drubbing dirt heaps and their paucity of civilized barbarity, dip the fine onion of it inside a creosote sarcophagus of timeless sea lore, and let it drift across the ocean a better part of a century, ’til its cook dies and leaves it to the world, mysteriously like a tree seduced by lightning, blackened and hollow, the wind through it moaning why, why, why will you often wonder would a will so unquiet, so malcontent and furious provide such an ample promise of emptiness for us all in its scorched breath, could beg you, would plead you cozen close to the blaze of fury that lurks within the mortal agony of suffering life, that you for a spell may reflect upon the beautiful filigree of prosody woven into the whip-cracks descending upon the long backs of each chapter, yarns woven with wily cunning through it, binding the failed quietus  that roasts this epic tale, to wit, gives you respite’s own ladle to pour the black ink of the deep sea upon your brow, some for yourself, all the while demanding you as a reader ask  this enigmatic Melville who burned  with glowing, low sullen passions so steadily from the crow’s nest of Western literature, so you may ask after you’ve poured it well upon your skull – lest you keep from scorching, pour carefully, while you brown nicely, your skin becoming a tough leather – you will bear this food for the uncaring gods, come to table unchaired, a hot cask of your own lardage, until the embers pull the last red spark from your eyes and your question from your blistered lips, how do we defy the end? Or you may ask, indeed, if it ends at all?

Hast seen the white whale?
Hast seen the white whale?

Kind of bland. Like eating a night rainbow. If you wanted a literary feast, beware, this tale starts with a black hole – you are going to tangle with a turduken you never dreamed possible. This is the one that gets away, and with you in the belly of it. Now with extra hapax legomenon.

Oh god, that was the longest sentence I ever wrote. Dear grammar, I’m sorry. Please don’t be so troubled.


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