Alright my friend,
What is it that you understand
And I do not?
Surely underneath your German madness,
A father that shot himself, is more than gladness.

Granted that you can put the dot over the i
In proper perspective.
Granted that you can trace an idea from whence it came,
But so can I (if I chose the anal way).

I know you seek the Judge,
At least to judge your works,
And I know you would feel it an honor to be upon
This panel of Judges.
To judge. For you love to judge.
To judge another's verbiage,
Entertainment qualities,
Over simplicities.
But who can throw back these projections upon you?
You shrug your shoulders
Show me your notes,
Your enormous cataloguing system.
Impressed with your blueprints
I realize that your diamonds are safely hidden.
"Oh, my boy, when will you realize that Moby Dick
Is more than a story of whales?"
So you would have me read the whole book
Rather than say in a few words:
"He who captains a ship ought not to be mad."