Amidst the spread of these pages, we are lost in the gutter but shall look to the stars …
We are drawing the pictures of the pictures of the drawing …
We are reading the poem of violent death reduced to errant nonsense …
We are tyrannized by the nostalgic gigantism of the nursery room …
We are traveling steerage in a well-snark’d ship of fools …
We are the intralapsarians buoyed by the avuncular patter in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral of the very model of a modern Major-General …
In sum, we are hunting a snark … lest a snark hunt us.
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NB. A propos of all things Snark, we must take note of the United States Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia Circuit, whose recent opinion regarding the judicial status and disposal of Guantanamo Bay detainees was a stern rebuke to the Clochetic Rule of Three. Whilst the chattering classes harrumph-harrumph and golly-gee-whiz over the audacity of this sudden effloresence of symbolic logic (and invariably describe the Bellman as a madman or worse), the more pensive amongst us will think how it must feel to have one's legal and corporeal fate rest upon the mercy of powerful, humorless men who have just been publicly ridiculed by a well-read, Carrolliphile jurist.
We hunt the Snark for sport lest the Boojum drive us mad in earnest …
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