In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

53 odysseus on the g Which one of you garbage-picking motherfuckers is Odysseus? Which one of you is taking notes and will rip off your funk like a garment and ascend? Which one of you is the son of pain? Which one has Athena standing over your shoulder, holding a cloak of mist, telling you when to duck from nightsticks? Which one has a wife somewhere wrist-deep in tapestry? Which one answers to the name of Nobody and rammed an olive pole into the iris of the one-eyed beast? Which one is building a Trojan horse in your mind? Which one remembers the smell of split juniper in the hair of Calypso? Which one refused to stuff beeswax in your ears as you floated past the Siren and still didn’t plunge face-first into the quicksand of her song? I know there’s more than you’re showing me, know that under that blizzard of whiskers there’s a face, that inside those black bags there’s a pair of eyes ready to roll out like dice. Come out of that broken-down Trojan horse you call a body. You’ve swallowed the last of Neptune’s liquid hurdles. Just climb out of that plastic throne, rip off your funk like a garment, and ascend. ...

Share