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[33] CAthArSiS A portly man on tV says he’s eating jelly donuts since his doctor recommended more fruit. My head tucked beneath your chin, i feel you grin. A welcome joke — what Aristotle called catharsis: the comedy channel in bed. A piecemeal purging meant to clear our minds, a chance to graft, like patchwork, the wreckage of our lives onto a campy figure, cheer for him; love him for dancing when the gods single him out, pile on their twisted trials. As if — for a few moments — we are watching someone else’s life unfold. Pizza and beer, you my armchair, tucked in our sheets. As if — for a few moments — we have climbed up from some well to lounge on sun-baked stone, take in the Dionysian Mysteries: lore of the vine — seasons, grapes, wine. nothing ever truly dying. And us, tender initiates, laughing so hard we’re crying. See, sick at heart I drive my she-goats on. —Virgil, Eclogue I ...

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