The Rescue

Kant: So, what's with you and feces, Dasein-Toni?
Dasein-Toni: Uhh... What?
K: Feces. According to my dictionary, feces means "The matter that is discharged from the bowel during defecation; excrement."
DT: I know what feces are! But what's your point?
K: Well, it is just that you used "poop" or "pooping" five times in your last entry.
DT: So?
K: You don't think that's weird?
DT: Why would I? It was just something that sprang into my mind.
K: You are wading through the endless maze that is the Being and Time trying to find the answer to the arcane question of Being, all the while witnessing unspeakable horrors and overpowering mental onslaught, and the first thing that comes into your mind is "poop"? Don't say there is nothing odd there!
DT: Well, perhaps I had to poop, so it came to my mind.
K: Yeah, right. It just happened to be so that in both consecutive days the first thing that sprang into your mind was "poop".
DT: Okay, so I have to poop often, big deal. What's with you anyway?
K: Fine. If you don't want to admit that you have a problem, that's all right.
DT: I don't have a problem with poop, ok!
K: Fool the other one.
DT: Don't make me smack you.
K: You wouldn't get so upset if I hadn't hit the nerve.
DT: Now that's just a load of crap.
K: Ahh, "crap", eh? Just the first thing that sprang into your mind, was it now?
DT: Gahh... you are so aggravating!
K: Just trying to help, that's all.
DT: Right. Why don't you say something helpful for a change then?
K: OK: You are a dumbass.
DT: WHAT?! How on Earth is that helpful you... you... man with a funny nose!
K: There is NOTHING funny in my nose. And you are pretty stupid really. Wonder if Wittgenstein, who happened to disappear before two doors that lead to torturing chambers would perhaps be in one of those chambers, hmm? Did it cross your feeble mind to check that, dumbass, did it? Huh?
DT: Gosh.
K: Gosh?
DT: You might actually be right! Damn. I really must go and take a look. I can't allow for the possibility that he is there, enduring horrendous agony in the hands of the infernal beasts of Citadel BAT! On to the rescue!
K: Hold on a sec.
DT: What is it now?
K: I just wanted to talk to you about your unhealthy interest in wombats.
DT: What the...?! Wittgenstein might be experiencing excruciating pain and you want to talk about my unhealthy interest in wombats?
K: So you admit it?
DT: Huh? No! No I don't admit to anything of the sort. I just happen to like wombats, that's all. Really.
K: Like feces?
DT: Oh, fuck you! I've had enough of this. I'm going to save Wittgenstein and you can drag your sorry ass behind me if you will, see if I care!

And so we rushed in urgent haste to the doors leading to the torturing chambers, Kant immersed deeply in ponderings about the true relationship between Dasein-Toni and feces. Was he forced to eat shit when he was a child? Did he poop in his pants in elementary school so that everyone pointed their evil fingers at him and laughed? Was he, perchance, called by names like "Poop-Toni" or "FecesBoy" in his early years, or later in adulthood by his abusive friends? Or perhaps he just has a really bad constipation or diarrhea... Most probably we will never know.

I reach the door to the torturing chamber number §10, reserved specifically for Anthropology, Psychology and Biology. The door is unlocked and opens with a reluctant squeal. All is silent within, and as I once before left it: the special sciences are still caged in the room, huddling in miserable silence. Yet there are fresh stains of blood. The smell in the room is overwhelming and I gag - I grieve that they must suffer this indignity of being forced to lie in their own waste. Wittgenstein is nowhere in sight. There is nothing but agony here, I think to myself, as I close the door and retreat back to the corridor.

Lump in my throat, I push open the second door, number 11. The iron maiden is still there in the corner, I note, as I scan the room for Wittgenstein, blood racing through my veins. And there he is! A ragged figure in the corner near what seems to me to be Ethnology, but it is hard to tell from all the dried blood. As I cry out "Witty!" I become face to face with my carelessness. A terrible fiend of the Citadel BAT steps forward to face me, nostrils flaring and red eyes glimmering with sadistic anticipation. Its figure is immense, towering at least three meters. Its skin is red with blotches of black as if burned. It resembles what we have come to know as a minotaur - perhaps it was here in the Citadel BAT that the minotaur of Minos was born among its kind. As the creature lungs at me, there is but a moment to act.

I draw out my copy of Kritik der reinen Vernunft and take a page at random. On it a text is written in glowing red letters. I draw a deep breath and start the incantation:

Man versuche es daher einmal,
ob wir nicht in den Aufgaben der Metaphysik damit besser fortkommen,

The creature halts in bewilderment, its face distorting before these Demonisch words. Encouraged, I speak the rest of the words more confidently in a commanding tone.

daß wir annehmen,
die Gegenstände müssen sich nach unserem Erkenntnis richten,
welches so schon besser mit der verlangten Möglichkeit
einer Erkenntnis derselben a priori zusammenstimmt,
die über Gegenstände,
ehe sie uns gegeben werden,
etwas festsetzen soll.
Es ist hiemit eben so,
als mit den ersten Gedanken des K o p e r n i k u s bewandt!

As the last words fill the air, the creature howls in pain and is sent into a horribly unnatural spin that lifts its huge body into air like it was but a leaf in an autumn storm. It strikes the opposite wall of the chamber with a deafening crash, sending bricks and dust flying in the room. And then, all is still.

The Copernican Revolution has spoken.

I rush to Wittgenstein who seems to be barely alive. His head hangs limply as I take him to my arms. "It is me, Dasein-Toni, you will be allright", I whisper to him softly and soothingly. He responds with a small smile and then tries to say something that ends in violent spasms and coughing. I give him some water, and he drinks eagerly, spilling the water.

Just as I am about to carry him out of the wretched place, he whispers: "Dasein... Toni... Take him... with you." He points weakly to a pile of rags beside him. At first I am confused, but then I recognize it as not a pile of rags, but a horribly abused human being. I bow to see his face and gasp, for he is not just an ordinary trespasser of Citadel BAT. "Levinas," I mutter in awe - will this place never cease to amaze me?

Weary yet content that I have found my friend Wittgenstein and, indeed, a new friend as well, I carry them out of the torturing chamber. I give them some more water, close the door and keep watch as they sleep.