thus the Spirit of Moccos spake to me,
his disembodied head upon the stake
the ghostly floating  and eerie voice spoke in a stout and sonorous
Depth, during my precocious youth, 
Moccos the World-Pig, Moccos the Boar,
Moccos the Swine-Steed-Faster-than-Lightning.
That messenger of his, an atom within a monadhood,
speeding downwards and backwards…
a grain of sand within a grain of dream spake to me:

"my crooked boy, dear truant.
waste no more time in trying to emulate a shepherd
while fancying in a spell-bound sleep,
becoming chaplain of man? Holding thy long and bent hook in place of hand;
Captain Cook, or Hook?
listen; Oiei. Listen, Io. Listen, Pan---
that boy Petros (Peter, "the Stone") was flying over the dreaming night-sky again,
holding a reed in place of a pipe; bird-singing, that was his dreaming.
darkly beyond human sky…
the boy who could fly.
Thou---Thou art the Man, truant.
and hold within thee but a mass bound by gravity… and lo.
time-sheep won't be beaten into submission with a baculum.
too eager were thee to denounce the joy of body
and pronounce all were foolish…Priest.
Soothsay…Foresee..----Fortune-teller
Why must thou fear the Pig?
Why must thou fear the Pig?
The Pig herding or hoarding a thousand illnesses.
The Pig who went to bed after school and homework in a muddy pile.
The Pig who ablutes his fang daily, with tainted yellow water
full of ticks.
full of flies.
full of boggy brine.
The Pig who could not fly…
The Pig who was fed leaves from books…to fatten him with whiter and plumper belly full of meat;
fit for slaughter in Labour and Marriage.
Why must?
Thou knowest not the virtue of the Pig yet, Saint.
For thou art poor, and by this I mean not only in garment.
Thou art tattered and beastly, look upon thy mien,
in the muddled water as if a mirror then, Holy Man.
Thine hair is a mess for the lice; they were not happy diners.
Thou art mud-ridden, that was a cloak stolen from
Dead men. Thou art a Tomb-defiler and dead-ravisher.
There were rings hidden in the mouth of the dead; thou
hast them stolen, those golden rings of sleep.
Thou art ill, look at thy pale and wan demeanour.
Thou drinkest pallid hard water, that was desparate drinking. 
And thou eatest either sand, emptiness or death.
He who "Bites the Dust".
You have never known yet, the taste of truffles.
Well-cooked, I think, like Frenchmen would cook it.
Although I had not the money to taste…but think…
before thou wouldst denounce all the evil in excessiveness and vices.
the truffles thou canst not taste, were dug up by the Pigs.
who bore with illnesses, follies, laziness. were kept for meat,
for the slaughterhouse that were the state and the chapterhouses.
but they were also the men who had learnt to dig.
though their Lords took truffles yet again away from them yet.
And growing thin and haggardly were they…but hey,
who is to tell from a hundred-years or so
 some bitter wars passed by, or some natural calamity, or another; crisis of every kind.
who the fattened and grew lazy would, or the thinned and grew hungry would,
become the pigs that dig truffles, or the swineherds that eat the pigs?
fanged pigs----flying fanged pigs, those boars in ancient Europe.
killed gods once before, you know? which in fear and vainglory they called it Boar Hunt.*2
the forgotten fanged-pigs that almost overthrew the Olympian west, which they still fear it,
and would always recite one or two cants about the glory of their city-states, kingdoms and republics to deprecate against, lest the immortal spiritus of the sleeping Universal Boar
(well he was almost completely eaten by people at the moment)
would stir in the air a little, and that little quake in the middle-earth would fluster and embarrass
them so they would quickly kneel down, prostrate or lie
and try to protect their prestigious heads with their petite Alexandrian crowns or liberty hats---
in fear of that undying Boar which is bigger than their Olympian mountain to topple
their naive-thinking and unreflecting Southern civilization altogether with some praeter-natural rage…
(rage of …well not of men!
not of gods!
before their existence…
the Universe laughs at thee.
those who fear the drunken Universal Pig!)
..the Pig who grew for himself Panacea,
with the wild berries, mushrooms and ancient mosses upon his Lordly form---
a dark-green regalia woven of the furzy scrolling textile
of that intoxicating eastern lotus-eaters' wildland.
Io! Pan! (the pigheaded man-herd with fangs!)
He rises in pride!
Oiei! Apollon! (the Holy Virgin!)
She retreats in modesty!
Who can stop the trembling of the transcendental Celestial Government,
Eager for the Twofold-Marriage,
When the stomping and tramping (Sub-)Terrestrial War-Pig starts to dig at its root;
when Up becomes Down…
Full of Humane heat and wonder?

*1 ラテン語でMoccus Moccus - Wikipedia

*2 Calydonian boar hunt - Wikipedia