January 15
Begin by exoneration and end by confession. Into words, yet. Oh so many things too can reach the bursting point. In this country one can look at it fixedly, some grave fault, a pattern only, intermittently, some faded musical comedy (remember some of those innocent songs) with its chorus line, with gifts and tears. Implored, the greatest grief and sorrow migrate inland and there take up the unfamiliar science. Work and bread. Strangers in the house.
Thoroughly upset by the sudden change, these horrors have faded a bit in our mind(s) by inhabiting the other. Turned from the present to the future, the damning sentence ad nauseum. Apathy their abominable passions not permissable to reproach. Labor to determine the boundaries, obscure for us, blissfully unaware. Any alliance on any other basis the instigation of plot, touching here and there their precious evidence (things other than hunger or work).
Hammering a nail whose compassion to arouse the basic idea of some humiliating chicaneries, some much-repeated tickings-off and warnings.
Wooden staircase through the passage in pitch darkness.
Its conduct in the struggle often lasting centuries. Not a sudden blaze with the brutality of a violent egoist.
These preparations entail explanations. The by-now-shining bottom of the bowl, the double nature of the engine. Only the barest glimpse of hugely-expanded activities, taken in a dense clump (who bored them were idealists). Personal feelings, emotions distinct and concrete, regardless of their citizenship. (Abandons her post without permission)
Our superpractical exquisite, as we had always imagined, and which in victory was always replenished. A safe egress demands undivided attention. Be merciless, be impartial, be obeyed. (viciousness renders it more agreeable).
See what kind of person is riding the machine. Nothing but raincoats and the back of a hat. Sometimes marching in a circle, to prevent the consummation of the act, escape his murderous mechanism out of gear, duties so clumsy must be abandoned. Fires and orphans and loathsome revels, everything that the law of place allows (personally too much of a coward). Excellent and always copious insidious delusions, the same story with almost imperceptible variants, this time yellow ones, a different elating cliche for every period. Faulty memory, an even colder classroom. For nearly everyone it ends in open struggle, the usual little struggle under a load almost lovingly accompanying the blows, sufficient to undo “assimilation,” patiently and monotonously from the pulpit, just like that, fear of everything connected. Knees knocking, blood-soaked, and after a certain amount of squabbling able to declare, and prove, exactly how exactly what the frightful puppet show, obscene or ghostly under the great arch, thick-heeled shoes dance a deadly dance and the cruelty of the barbarian cosmologies slumbering in the heart of the very last never-spatially-limited heterogenous desires went down as at sea, fiercely, unequivocally, uncompromisingly unaware of the sinister moods and different “elating” phrases. Cruelty is the signal, servitude the terrible obligation. Content to the weak body as reason without annoying silently and calmly forgets the smoke carried by the wind.
Wait, the whole forest waits. Green with forests and our hearts tighten.
and we will have one enemy less.
Afterwards, in a period of opulence, gambling dens, streetwalkers, pickpockets and burglars, more radical with each passing month, obscene or ghostly under the great arches. More blasting and further frays, the only things alive are machines and slaves, the confusion of languages erected in defiance, as if uncertain, following imperceptible tracks like a bloodhound, unhappy in the manner of free men. Lunacy of believing the faults of others in the face of all this shouting, an incorrigible tendency permanently occupied by a tumultuous throng, repositories of a concrete, mundane conscious wisdom, collapsed at once, some abominable ragged bosom torn from the mouths of the living or the dead. Incessant crime their hearts’ desire, virtually at random, crushed at the moment of release against the bottom, the saved and the drowned, the slope down to the bottom an opaque intimate solitude. Injury received from above, specifically mentioned as the model, a shadow-fund of heroic virtues based on work and culture, the mumbled intelligibilities, classic signs of loss ameliorating the delirium around the corpse with a certain puzzlement.
Whole country, another image, a by-no-means-small sum of aberrations and compromises, survival without renunciation and afterwards sneak back to their filth, and the earth itself, whose nearness quickens, ignored only by the voice.
One might easily guess the apotheosis.
Begin by exoneration and end by confession. Into words, yet. Oh so many things too can reach the bursting point. In this country one can look at it fixedly, some grave fault, a pattern only, intermittently, some faded musical comedy (remember some of those innocent songs) with its chorus line, with gifts and tears. Implored, the greatest grief and sorrow migrate inland and there take up the unfamiliar science. Work and bread. Strangers in the house.
Thoroughly upset by the sudden change, these horrors have faded a bit in our mind(s) by inhabiting the other. Turned from the present to the future, the damning sentence ad nauseum. Apathy their abominable passions not permissable to reproach. Labor to determine the boundaries, obscure for us, blissfully unaware. Any alliance on any other basis the instigation of plot, touching here and there their precious evidence (things other than hunger or work).
Hammering a nail whose compassion to arouse the basic idea of some humiliating chicaneries, some much-repeated tickings-off and warnings.
Wooden staircase through the passage in pitch darkness.
Its conduct in the struggle often lasting centuries. Not a sudden blaze with the brutality of a violent egoist.
These preparations entail explanations. The by-now-shining bottom of the bowl, the double nature of the engine. Only the barest glimpse of hugely-expanded activities, taken in a dense clump (who bored them were idealists). Personal feelings, emotions distinct and concrete, regardless of their citizenship. (Abandons her post without permission)
Our superpractical exquisite, as we had always imagined, and which in victory was always replenished. A safe egress demands undivided attention. Be merciless, be impartial, be obeyed. (viciousness renders it more agreeable).
See what kind of person is riding the machine. Nothing but raincoats and the back of a hat. Sometimes marching in a circle, to prevent the consummation of the act, escape his murderous mechanism out of gear, duties so clumsy must be abandoned. Fires and orphans and loathsome revels, everything that the law of place allows (personally too much of a coward). Excellent and always copious insidious delusions, the same story with almost imperceptible variants, this time yellow ones, a different elating cliche for every period. Faulty memory, an even colder classroom. For nearly everyone it ends in open struggle, the usual little struggle under a load almost lovingly accompanying the blows, sufficient to undo “assimilation,” patiently and monotonously from the pulpit, just like that, fear of everything connected. Knees knocking, blood-soaked, and after a certain amount of squabbling able to declare, and prove, exactly how exactly what the frightful puppet show, obscene or ghostly under the great arch, thick-heeled shoes dance a deadly dance and the cruelty of the barbarian cosmologies slumbering in the heart of the very last never-spatially-limited heterogenous desires went down as at sea, fiercely, unequivocally, uncompromisingly unaware of the sinister moods and different “elating” phrases. Cruelty is the signal, servitude the terrible obligation. Content to the weak body as reason without annoying silently and calmly forgets the smoke carried by the wind.
Wait, the whole forest waits. Green with forests and our hearts tighten.
and we will have one enemy less.
Afterwards, in a period of opulence, gambling dens, streetwalkers, pickpockets and burglars, more radical with each passing month, obscene or ghostly under the great arches. More blasting and further frays, the only things alive are machines and slaves, the confusion of languages erected in defiance, as if uncertain, following imperceptible tracks like a bloodhound, unhappy in the manner of free men. Lunacy of believing the faults of others in the face of all this shouting, an incorrigible tendency permanently occupied by a tumultuous throng, repositories of a concrete, mundane conscious wisdom, collapsed at once, some abominable ragged bosom torn from the mouths of the living or the dead. Incessant crime their hearts’ desire, virtually at random, crushed at the moment of release against the bottom, the saved and the drowned, the slope down to the bottom an opaque intimate solitude. Injury received from above, specifically mentioned as the model, a shadow-fund of heroic virtues based on work and culture, the mumbled intelligibilities, classic signs of loss ameliorating the delirium around the corpse with a certain puzzlement.
Whole country, another image, a by-no-means-small sum of aberrations and compromises, survival without renunciation and afterwards sneak back to their filth, and the earth itself, whose nearness quickens, ignored only by the voice.
One might easily guess the apotheosis.
posted by Scott MacLeod at 1:19 PM
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