Deleuze, Guattari and I staring at a goat's arse

Gilles, Felix and I have just passed from the segmented tribe into the imperial city. We've entered the gates of the city, passed by the temple with the priests engaged in debate over the interpretation of an interpretation, and stepped into the palace of the despot, with whom we wish to come face to face.

It's Solomon we seek, but what do we see? We're standing between 'a goat's arse and the face of the god' - between scapegoat and despot, sorcerer and priest. One wants to decorate us, curse us