Around a glowing red pillar of iron, high as heaven, stuck with razors and sharp shards of glass, I am swung, up and down, slowly, upon invisible chains. Slowly, jerkingly, thoroly. I groan, sigh, gurgle, bellow: Hosannah! In seven times seventy eternities, when the shards are shattered and the knives worn out, the pillars will be black; below in the round, stinking puddle about them, my brains, my liver, my blood, the whole mash, will lie, coagulated, and I, "refined", a clarified, glorified jar of Liebig extract, sobbing, with my last, remaining little knuckle, will knock at the door of Paradise! |