Contrapasso is the process by which souls are punished in Dante's Inferno according to the nature of their sins in life. A literal translation would be "counter-suffering". It is the ironic cosmological law ensuring that "the punishment fits the crime".

An example of this would be in Canto XIII, where the suicidal souls are condemned to spend eternity as thorn-bushes while their lifeless corpses hang from their own branches.


Smooth dark soil spilled from between my fingers as I stood up from beside the river. When I first came to Warm River I couldn’t see myself. Now that I was leaving, I saw myself everywhere. The green fields, looming mountains in the distance, and the river all belonged to me. Somewhere, long ago, my grandfather had stood in this place and felt himself to be a part of it as well. My father had crawled across this earth. My grandmother had led her wedding present, a calf, across these fields. My uncles had been born here and one had died here.

I never knew my father. Not really. He died when I was a boy. I invented him in my head, made him what I needed at any given moment. Made him perfect somehow. Perhaps to offset my imperfection. He was born near Warm River. I wasn’t. I was born during a firestorm in some mountains far away. Forty years ago and counting. I have never had a real job in my life. I have never aspired to anything beyond fleeting fantasies played out like a twenty-four hour candle.

Today I went to a church and prayed. I don’t believe in God. I don’t believe in anything. Maybe that’s why I needed to pray—for belief and safety. I am lost and I have no home. I thought Warm River would fix that. I don’t belong there. It may belong to me, but it doesn’t want me anymore than the rest of the world does. Today I lit a candle in the church. I’m not sure what that is supposed to do. I have only seen it done in the movies or read about it in books. I hoped it would bring some magic to my prayers. But nothing happened, as usual.

Today I remembered my trip to Warm Springs. Today I decided. Today I prayed. Tonight I will do something of no consequence out respect for my life. A life of no consequence. An erasion. The only thing that is remarkable about me is that I have achieved absolutely nothing in my life.

TOM O’BEDLAM

From the hag and hungry goblin
That into rags would rend ye,
And the spirit that stands by the naked man
In the Book of Moons defend ye!

That of your five sound senses
You never be forsaken,
Nor wander from your selves with Tom
Abroad to beg your bacon.

While I doe sing "any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink or clothing,"
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.

Of thirty bare years have I
Twice twenty been enraged,
And of forty been three times fifteen
In durance soundly caged.

On the lordly lofts of Bedlam,
With stubble soft and dainty,
Brave bracelets strong, sweet whips ding-dong,
With wholesome hunger plenty.

With a thought I took for Maudlin
And a cruse of cockle pottage,
With a thing thus tall, sky bless you all,
I befell into this dotage.

I slept not since the Conquest,
Till then I never waked,
Till the roguish boy of love where I lay
Me found and stript me naked.

When I short have shorn my sorry face
And swigged my horny barrel,
In an oaken inn I impound my skin
As a suit of gilt apparel.

The moon's my constant Mistress,
And the lowly owl my morrow,
The flaming Drake and the Nightcrow make
Me music to my sorrow.

The palsy plagues my pulses
When I prigg your pigs or pullen,
Your culvers take, or matchless make
Your Chanticleers, or sullen.

When I want provant,with Humfrie
I sup, and when benighted,
I repose in Powles with waking souls
Yet never am affrighted.

I know more than Apollo,
For oft, when he lies sleeping
I see the stars at bloody wars
In the wounded welkin weeping.

The moon embrace her shepherd
And the queen of Love her warrior,
While the first doth horn the star of morn,
And the next the heavenly Farrier.

The Gypsy Snap and Pedro
Are none of Tom's companions.
The punk I skorn and the cut purse sworn
And the roaring boys bravado.

The meek, the white, the gentle,
Me handle touch and spare not
But those that cross Tom Rynosseros
Do what the panther dare not.

With a host of furious fancies
Whereof I am commander,
With a burning spear and a horse of air,
To the wilderness I wander.

By a knight of ghosts and shadows
I summoned am to tourney
Ten leagues beyond the wild world's end.
Methinks it is no journey.

Anonoymous trad.

Let's all repeat it together this time
shall we?

Contrapasso is the process by which souls are punished in Dante's Inferno according to the nature of their sins in life. A literal translation would be "counter-suffering". It is the ironic cosmological law ensuring that "the punishment fits the crime".

An example of this would be in Canto XIII, where the suicidal souls are condemned to spend eternity as thorn-bushes while their lifeless corpses hang from their own branches.

all very well and hocus pocus etc ad infinitum. Tarot...still do it cause of RxxxxX I suppose (on some level at least). As for "personality types" the punishment fits...well welcome to the golden road of unlimited devotion as one counter-suffering page aptly put it. Don't buy it...but most of that stuff is just magical thinking to me (see above for fact that I do the tarot cards with regularity...and ouch). Just a pattern recognition machine in the end (anything more beautiful than that?) handle touch and spare not...so find whatever wherever. That was another religion...to quote XxXxX. Which makes me very happy...don't get me wrong (not the religion thing...but XxXxX)...but...really counter-suffering. What's interesting are the differences in perception...not the difference itself ...if you follow. Nothing harsh the punishment fits here just sort of an "again?" feeling. Free association is a time consuming affair that doesn't bare fruit until hundreds of observed and organically categorized moments counter-suffering (not so free? the punishment fits viz. editing anyone?), wherein the onus (you could be my calf...be grateful that you are not) is on the associate to ultimately make the connects.

handle touch and spare not gangrenous slavers pulling and pushing in the dark.

Today I went to a church and prayed the punishment fits. I don’t believe in God. I don’t believe in anything. Maybe that’s why I needed to pray—for belief and safety. handle touch and spare not I am lost and I have no home. I thought Warm River would fix that. I don’t belong there. It may belong to me, but it doesn’t want me anymore than the rest of the world does. Today I lit a counter-suffering candle in the church. I’m not sure what that is supposed to do. I have only seen it done in the movies or read about it in books. I hoped it would bring some magic to my prayers. But nothing happened, as usual. the punishment fits. Sabe? A worthy pursuit but like learning to tie your shoes...well, the meaning doesn't come overnight. Maybe that's my "personality type" the punishment fits. The disaffected punk sun-kid type 46. If so I should be forgiven immediately for finding any "xxxxian" based stuff thrust out there as...well...opaque enough to fuck handle touch and spare not the intellectual side and scramble things into an almost sort of anything thing. Generally nobody has actually read shim or they took a class where someone "boiled" shim down to counter-suffering some off-kilter bullshit (sort of like what's done to XXXXX). I love xxxxx...don't understand shim after studying shim for years (yes I could be your calf and be grateful I'm not)...maybe I'm a dumbshow...but somehow I think not. Although the punishment fits I thank her amorphous theories that have been used handle touch and spare not and mostly abused counter-suffering.

the punishment fits torn stockings left on a staircase.

Still she's what I'm back in school to study handle touch and spare not (yes I could be her calf and I'm sure she's grateful I'm not)...so my frustration at this misuse must be understandable to those who have actually taken the time to attempt his voluminous meanderings (beyond dinner parties, polite company, and homeless shelters). Stairwell paint chips stuck in a cracked shoe sole counter-suffering. Still I wish his name wasn't dragged into so much silliness. XXXXX he isn’t (another unread Yyy and QqQ-news-style abused opacity...well actually she's very understandable...hmmm...I wonder what that means?). Incidentally, everyone you know seems over due the punishment fits and wrong based on their work. (to quote ZzZz Theater who seems over due for a pop based on their work. Now reveal something infesting!) Try sending one of their transmissions to a class and see what genders counter-suffering. Or just peel them this missive handle touch and spare not...otherwise known as the suicide letter...hate mail will soon come in generally and directionally with no thought from her. Oh yeah...it was just for fun...what was I? It's probably the punishment fits the lack of eyes in my head...thank god I have another handle touch and spare not Tuesday. okay the counter-suffering pattern reaped some skin tearing node of hers that if counter-suffering I would take over here with me. Yes I am your calf (be grateful that I am) the punishment fits now because it is our disgruntled day...counter-suffering forgiveness that is forever remanded. handle touch and spare not the punishment fits the crime...tonight I will do something of no consequence out respect for my life.

suicidal souls are condemned to spend eternity as thorn-bushes while their lifeless corpses hang from their own branches suicidal souls are condemned to spend eternity as thorn-bushes while their lifeless corpses hang from their own branches suicidal souls are condemned to spend eternity as thorn-bushes while their lifeless corpses hang from their own branches

the punishment fits the crime
I am your calf
counter-suffering
handle touch and spare not