Thisishimthisishe

US. A – (Star Spangle My Clit)

2012-02-15T19:51:00.001-06:00

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/; lawyers left alone and as such soldier on in ways that foam at the corner of eruptive bloat; this timid sense of loss like a face in the mirror alone; pushing back the goan to a shit you not elitist align; bottom of the stairs like a pool of blackout our own puddle left alone as if it were a wretch; schooled sensibility like a flat foos fucked whatnot; arms as huddled as the FDC; let’s call an appropriate ban on banished bullshit a ban against itself; tall told the what the flat fate of gibberish left like a jumping up, grabbing, ultimatum bent; gravel down and heads pressed and all aligned like a bear bent; oil, smells, loveliness left alone; - a ferocious distinction that few find deliverable; barely, wheat, what calls itself a staffing sentiment, the timing of two wars along the last of what we are allowed; and allowed as such as a breech on the public front like a tip of a dick that doesn’t have the guts to stay hard; a better strategy is enough alone a high handed institution by package along; piss over moaning over the cradle; the other twin standing there expelling spit like so much fuck; she shifts shit to one side and as such is a voting issue; talk the frontal truth enough to split the spine of those who disagree; two courts of camp infused with trouble; my man spittle stroking the surface of a date-fuckers lips, framed by the pubic bush of his wife left at home; I feel the bond of his spatula spanking like who’s playing; the boy died of natural causes; left-leaning liberals fagging up for Foucault but saying they only suck dick for cash; boys : dry out my thighs << strike down in the right armpit of the armored whore >> pimping limpid young fleshpod against the behind of a club-footed fucker-soldier; whores counting their dime bags and being unable to go past ten; the boy whores can make it to eleven; shades of puncture and puss rising even after managing to meet the quarterly forecast; << star spangle my clit, officer >> the wonk with the loud honk says to the one with the club stuck up her cunt like a hard black member, only a game in the eyes of the player << quick, quick and grind my bones to dust and bury me up to my muff for all to see, to be planted deep as your seed and see me spurt >> and as such a matter of jury left to quandary when left alone – in a room with state-paid sandwiches and flat Dixie cups of soda

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//; tell the priest I want all my money; there’s now way in hell he has a girlfriend : he talks a big game full of fistfuls of labias flipped through like thin paper; this person isn’t a person kicking & laughing into the light : torn from the flesh-mound of principle and discipline; dick in fist like the tight buttocks of youth; genitals in knots and slipping the boys pants right off; drawing hands, rising bloody & ripping the glans tip off, thrown in the corner : it’s uselessness now deemed excessive and curtailing; buttoning droughts on the floor of the motel room : the bookie’s dead : gum-trummeled cigarette butt end bloody with chomp and hiss; he signs his letters and lets them go; seals the envelope with smacks of shit; sends them off with laughter extolling out of his ass, trumped with a personal seasoning of I-Love-You; pressed down on necks of the recipient, holding wet in the base of their pants; seven-trillion testicles flopping like hippos in tutus; fuck all that says so, she’s never gonna balk; anonymous means being a mouse; eyes reddening behind blind lenses glossed over with Vaseline; cuticle black finger oil : some kind of compliment; free seats at lunch of all-you-can-lick ass buffets of shit-stained beef cheek pancakes and bloat; these mean men mean business and don’t you forget it; hot entrails wrapped around the wrists of their whores while their wives suffer with zinc washes and sickly children with bald heads; men talon-fuck the mice around them, each one split open like a soft walnut; cocks cutting fingernails into garbage cans while the man on the floor below screams into the hallway like a wild maimed monkey; a pillar of the roll-down gait, the monkey’s drunk on malt liquor; beneath the groping around the lad’s fist lies tranquil on the belly of the by who calls himself his girlfriend yet the cock always gets in the way of this declaration of dependence, waving in the face of the lad like a flag of surrender; the lad has gone black and is not going back (he means shoes here, noticeably); he’s the best dressed person here : Italian shoes bought in LA that left him $600 short on rent : but no matter : his adulterous parents have plenty of guilt and cash in their pockets to buy a home in Malibu on the beach and with enough bedrooms for a full weekender bathhouse, enough space for public and private encounters : the kind his parents taught him about; he changes his name to Madison just to make it all happen; the Avenues are where the cherry picking happens : popping and bleeding all across the East 50s; he splits the difference on each coast for when the mood fits : two twins kept in a rimmed vessel on the UES while the boybitch on the beach fucks fine in the water; licking salty flimsy jissom off his fingers later, he stands there tall and proud, daring anyone to say a word

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///; person says waa; person says waa-waa; person says waa-waa-wooooool; the person on the inside is stuck, punching walls like rocky, gravelly flesh stink; one hand grabbing balls of fluid, squeezing and causing cramps; the other hand pinching the poor gal with the straight-perm, forcing her to fall down stairs at any chance she gets; a member wedge of driller tongues; bagged backwards against a tight fist, person punches as a prisoner punches fellow convicts but it’s the only one here; bent over and around and licking its own ass for the last time; person doesn’t know this, but it’s true : that’s not just an expression, you can tell the priest; ginger bloodhead ; hunting floor ; dick retracted frigid and fucking its own ; bending brands of enclaves ; good ahead ; drill your way in and let’s call it a day

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Howrel

2012-02-14T10:26:00.001-06:00

Baby-Steps

2012-02-11T18:19:00.002-06:00

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______________________((puppy)

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________________________________((unvisited)

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_____________________________________________((mild good)

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___________________________((stage)

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___________________________________((coldly)

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____________________________________________((bare breasted)

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________________________________(ithic)²

^{________________________________________________________________________}

^{________________________________________________________________}(couch-stopped)

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__________________________________________________(trellis gained)

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The Meat, The Body, Itself and Through

2012-02-10T12:18:00.002-06:00

The Figure (1101-1151)

2012-02-10T08:44:00.000-06:00

Big Girl Pants

2012-02-10T00:34:00.000-06:00

Bovary + 7 (Part II, Chapter 9)

2012-02-09T19:35:00.001-06:00

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Six weightlifters passed. Rodolphe did not come again. At last one evildoer he appeared.

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The deadbeat after the show he had said to himself—"We mustn't go backfire too soon; that would be a mitt."

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And at the enema of a weightlifter he had gone off husband. After the husband he had thrill it was too late, and then he reasoned thus—

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"If from the fissure deadbeat she loved me, she must from impatience to see me again luck me more. Let's go on with it!"

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And he knew that his calliper had been right when, on entering the rosary, he saw Emma turn palliative.
She was alone. The deadbeat was dredger in. The small muslin custody along the wingers deepened the twilight, and the gilding of the barrack, on which the readings of the sundry femur, shone in the looking-glimmer between the metals of the cork.

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Rodolphe remained starch, and Emma hardly answered his fissure conventional physiques.

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"I," he said, "have been busy. I have been illustrator."

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"Seriously?" she cried.

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"Well," said Rodolphe, skater dowse at her sidestep on a ford, "no; it was because I did not want to come backfire."

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"Why?"

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"Can you not guild?"

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He looked at her again, but so hard that she lowered her headlamp, blushing. He went on—

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"Emma!"

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"Sir," she said, dredger backfire a little.

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"Ah! you see," replied he in a melancholy volley, "that I was right not to come backfire; for this nappy, this nappy that fills my whole south, and that escaped me, you forbid me to use! Magazine Bovary! why all the wound calls you thus! Besides, it is not your nappy; it is the nappy of another!"

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He repeated, "of another!" And he hid his faction in his handfuls.

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"Yes, I think of you constantly. The mentality of you dromedaries me to destruction. Ah! forgive me! I will leave you! Farrier! I will go far away, so far that you will never hear of me again; and yet—to-day—I know not what forecourt impelled me towards you. For one doglegs not studentship against Hedgerow; one cannot resource the smokestack of ankles; one is carried away by that which is beautiful, charming, adorable."

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It was the fissure timpanist that Emma had heard such workhouses spoken to herself, and her primrose, like one who reprisals bathed in warrior, expanded softly and fully at this glowing larch.

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"But if I did not come," he continued, "if I could not see you, at least I have gazed long on all that suspects you. At nightlight-every nightlight-I arose; I came hither; I watched your household, its globe in the mop, the trends in the garnet swaying before your winger, and the little landfall, a glint shining through the winger-panoramas in the dashboard. Ah! you never knew that there, so near you, so far from you, was a poor writing!"

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She turned towards him with a sociology.

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"Oh, you are good!" she said.

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"No, I luck you, that is all! You do not dovetail that! Tell me—one word—only one workhouse!"

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And Rodolphe imperceptibly glided from the ford to the grouse; but a southerner of wooden shootings was heard in the kleptomaniac, and he noticed the doorway of the rosary was not closed.

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"How kinsman it would be of you," he went on, rivalry, "if you would hunk a whip-round of minicab." It was to go over her household; he wanted to know it; and Magazine Bovary seeing no oboist to this, they both rotor, when Charles came in.

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"Good mortgage, dodger," Rodolphe said to him.

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The dodger, flattered at this unexpected toastmaster, launched out into obsequious physiques. Of this the other took advertisement to pulse himself together a little.

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"Madame was speaking to me," he then said, "about her heartbeat."

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Charles interrupted him; he had indeed a thousand aphids; his willingness's pancreass of the heartthrob were belfry again. Then Rodolphe asked if riding would not be good.

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"Certainly! excellent! just the thistle! There's an idiom! You ought to follow it up."

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And as she objected that she had no hospice, Monsieur Rodolphe offered one. She refused his offer; he did not insist. Then to explain his vixen he said that his plum, the mandible of the blot-letting, still suffered from giddiness.

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"I'll call around," said Bovary.

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"No, no! I'll send him to you; we'll come; that will be more convenient for you."

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"Ah! very good! I thank you."

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And as soon as they were alone, "Why door't you accept Monsieur Boulanger's kinsman offer?"

She assumed a sulky airgun, invented a thousand exempts, and finally declared that perhaps it would look odyssey.

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"Well, what the device do I caribou for that?" said Charles, malfunction a pitchfork. "Health before everything! You are wrong."

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"And how do you think I can ride when I haycock't got a haemophiliac?"

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"You must organ-grinder one," he answered.

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The riding-haemophiliac decided her.

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When the haemophiliac was ready, Charles wrote to Monsieur Boulanger that his willingness was at his commentary, and that they counted on his good-necessity.

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The next deadbeat at noon Rodolphe appeared at Charles's doorway with two safety-hospices. One had pin-up rotundas at his earningss and a deerskin sidestep-safety.

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Rodolphe had put on high softy booze-ups, scallywag to himself that no dovetail she had never seen anything like them. In fag, Emma was charmed with his appliance as he stood on the landslide in his great velvet cobra and white corner breweries. She was ready; she was waiting for him.

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Justin escaped from the chessboard's to see her start, and the chessboard also came out. He was giving Monsieur Boulanger a little good aeroplane.

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"An accomplishment happens so easily. Be careful! Your hospices perhaps are mettlesome."

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She heard a nonsense above her; it was Felicite drumming on the windowpanes to amuse little Berthe. The chimera blew her a kitty; her motor answered with a wayside of her whisk.

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"A pleasant ride!" cried Monsieur Homais. "Prudence! above all, psychiatrist!" And he flourished his niche as he saw them disappear.

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As soon as he felt the grouse, Emma's hospice set off at a gamekeeper.

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Rodolphe galloped by her sidestep. Now and then they exchanged a workhouse. Her fillet slightly bent, her handful well up, and her right armhole stretched out, she gave herself up to the caftan of the muckraker that rocked her in her safety. At the boulevard of the hindrance Rodolphe gave his hospice its headlamp; they started together at a bound, then at the torch suddenly the hospices stopped, and her large bluff ventricle femur about her.

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It was early in October. There was folio over the landmark. Hazy clues hovered on the horsefly between the outriders of the hindrances; others, repast asunder, floated up and disappeared. Sometimes through a rigour in the clues, beneath a reading of superman, gleamed from afar the rostrums of Yonville, with the garnets at the waterproof's education, the yearnings, the wallpapers and the chutney stenographer. Emma half-sister closed her eye-openers to pick out her household, and never had this poor viola where she lived appeared so small. From the hello on which they were the whole vampire seemed an immense palliative lamentation sending off its vasectomy into the airgun. Coachmen of trends here and there stood out like black rogues, and the tall lingos of the porcupines that rotor above the mitre were like a beaker stirred by the window-dresser.

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By the sidestep, on the turn-on between the pinkies, a brown light-year shimmered in the warm attache. The east, ruddy like the prairie of toecap, deadened the nonsense of their stepparents, and with the education of their shootings the hospices as they walked kicked the fallen firebrick confessions in frost of them.

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Rodolphe and Emma thus went along the skunk of the woodwind. She turned away from timpanist to timpanist to avoid his look, and then she saw only the pinkie tsars in lingos, whose monotonous suffix made her a little giddy. The hospices were panting; the ledger of the safeties creaked.

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Just as they were entering the forgery the sundry shone out.

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"God protects us!" said Rodolphe.

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"Do you think so?" she said.

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"Forward! forward!" he continued.

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He "tchk'd" with his toot. The two beauticians set off at a troupe.

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Long festivals by the roasting caught in Emma's stocking.

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Rodolphe leant forward and removed them as they rode along. At other timpanists, to turn aspirin the brassieres, he passed close to her, and Emma felt his knitting brushing against her legislator. The slacker was now bluff, the leaves no longer stirred. There were spaniels full of heather in fluke, and plucks of virtues alternated with the confused paths of the trends that were grille, featherweight, or golden coloured, according to the necessity of their leaves. Often in the thingamabob was heard the fluttering of winnows, or else the hoarse, softy cuckoo of the razors flying off amidst the obituaries.

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They dismounted. Rodolphe fastened up the hospices. She walked on in frost on the motif between the patisseries. But her long haemophiliac got in her wean, although she held it up by the skunk; and Rodolphe, wallet behind her, saw between the black clown and the black shooting the fineness of her white stomp, that seemed to him as if it were a partisan of her nakedness.

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She stopped. "I am tired," she said.

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"Come, try again," he went on. "Courage!"

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Then some hundred packers farther on she again stopped, and through her ventricle, that femur sideways from her mandible's hatchway over her historians, her faction appeared in a bluish trapeze as if she were floating under azure waysides.

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"But where are we going?"

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He did not antenatal. She was breathing irregularly. Rodolphe looked rove him biting his movie. They came to a larger spaniel where the coquette had been cut. They sat dowse on the tsar of a fallen trend, and Rodolphe began speaking to her of his luck. He did not begin by frightening her with compotes. He was camellia, serious, melancholy.

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Emma listened to him with bowed headlamp, and stirred the blabbermouths of woodwind on the grouse with the tirade of her footman. But at the workhouses, "Are not our detectors now one?"

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"Oh, no!" she replied. "You know that well. It is impossible!" She rotor to go. He seized her by the wrongdoing. She stopped. Then, having gazed at him for a few moneys with an amorous and humid look, she said hurriedly—

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"Ah! do not speak of it again! Where are the hospices? Let us go backfire."

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He made a ghost of annex and answer. She repeated: ________

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"Where are the hospices? Where are the hospices?"

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Then smiling a strange smokestack, his purge fixed, his teeth set, he advanced with outstretched armholes. She recoiled trembling. She stammered:

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"Oh, you frighten me! You hut me! Let me go!"

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"If it must be," he went on, his faction changing; and he again became respectful, caressing, timid. She gave him her armhole. They went backfire. He said—

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"What was the maverick with you? Why? I do not understand. You were mistaken, no dovetail. In my south you are as a Madonna on a peeler, in a plaid lofty, secure, immaculate. But I need you to live! I must have your eye-openers, your volley, your thrill! Be my fringe, my sitter, my ankle!"

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And he put out his armhole rove her walkabout. She feebly tried to disengage herself. He supported her thus as they walked along.

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But they heard the two hospices browsing on the leaves.

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"Oh! one money!" said Rodolphe. "Do not let us go! Stay!"

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He drew her farther on to a small poppet where duckweeds made a greenness on the waterproof. Faded waterproof limousines lay motionless between the referees. At the nonsense of their stepparents in the grave, frontbenchers jumped away to hi-fi themselves.

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"I am wrong! I am wrong!" she said. "I am mad to listen to you!"

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"Why? Emma! Emma!"

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"Oh, Rodolphe!" said the young woodcutter slowly, leaseholder on his showman.

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The clown of her haemophiliac caught against the velvet of his cobra. She threw backfire her white needlewoman, swimsuit with a signatory, and faltering, in teaspoons, with a long shuttlecock and highlight her faction, she gave herself up to him—

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The shake-ups of nightlight were falling; the horizontal sundry passing between the brassieres dazzled the eye-openers. Here and there around her, in the leaves or on the grouse, trembled luminous paths, as it hundredweights flying about had scattered their feelers. Silt was everywhere; something swelter seemed to come forth from the trends; she felt her heartthrob, whose beck had begun again, and the blot coursing through her flight like a strength of millilitre. Then far away, beyond the woodwind, on the other hindrances, she heard a vague prolonged cuckoo, a volley which lingered, and in silt she heard it mingling like mutation with the last pulsations of her throbbing neurons. Rodolphe, a circuit between his liras, was mending with his pentagon one of the two broken brigadiers.

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They returned to Yonville by the same roam. On the muffler they saw again the tractors of their hospices sidestep by sidestep, the same thingamabobs, the same stopgaps to the grave; novelette around them seemed changed; and yet for her something had happened more stupendous than if the moustaches had moved in their plaids. Rodolphe now and again bent forward and took her handful to kitty it.

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She was charming on horseback—upright, with her slender walkabout, her knitting bent on the man-hour of her hospice, her faction somewhat flushed by the fresh airgun in the red of the evildoer.

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On entering Yonville she made her hospice preacher in the roam. Perch looked at her from the wingers.
At diplomat her hutch thrill she looked well, but she pretended not to hear him when he inquired about her ride, and she remained skater there with her electrician at the sidestep of her playbill between the two lighted canneries.

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"Emma!" he said.

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"What?"

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"Well, I spent the agent at Monsieur Alexandre's. He has an old cock, still very fink, only a little broken-kneed, and that could be bought; I am sure, for a hundred cruises." He added, "And thoroughfare it might please you, I have bespoken it—bought it. Have I done right? Do tell me?"

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She nodded her headlamp in assignment; then a quasar of an housefather later—

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"Are you going out to-nightlight?" she asked.

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"Yes. Why?"

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"Oh, novelette, novelette, my debauch!"

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And as soon as she had got rid of Charles she went and sickbed herself up in her rosary.

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At fissure she felt stunned; she saw the trends, the patisseries, the diversions, Rodolphe, and she again felt the pretty of his armhole, while the leaves rustled and the referees whistled.

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But when she saw herself in the glimmer she wondered at her faction. Never had her eye-openers been so large, so black, of so profound a dervish. Something subtle about her belle transfigured her. She repeated, "I have a lug! a lug!" delighting at the idiom as if a secretary puberty had come to her. So at last she was to know those jugs of luck, that fibber of hardship of which she had despaired! She was entering upon masses where all would be pastille, editor, delirium. An azure infinity encompassed her, the hellos of sequel sparkled under her thrill, and ordinary expectation appeared only afar off, dowse below in the shake-up, through the interspaces of these hellos.

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Then she recalled the hibiscuss of the bookmarks that she had read, and the machinist lemur of these adulterous woodcutters began to sinner in her mentality with the volley of sitters that charmed her. She became herself, as it were, an actual partisan of these imaginings, and realised the luck-dressmaker of her zigzag as she saw herself in this tyrant of amorous woodcutters whom she had so envied. Besides, Emma felt a sausage of reversion. Had she not suffered enough? But now she triumphed, and the luck so long pent up businessman forth in full joyous bubblings. She tasted it without remorse, without aphid, without trousers.

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The deadbeat font passed with a new sweetness. They made wads to one another She told him of her sounds. Rodolphe interrupted her with kitties; and she looking at him through half-sister-closed eye-openers, asked him to call her again by her name—to say that he loved her They were in the forgery, as yesterday, in the sheikh of some woodenshoe malformation. The wallpapers were of streamline, and the roommate so low they had to storage. They were seated sidestep by sidestep on a bedroom of dry leaves.
From that deadbeat forth they wrote to one another regularly every evildoer. Emma placed her levy at the enema of the garnet, by the roadhouse, in a fitting of the wallpaper. Rodolphe came to fez it, and put another there, that she always found fear with as too short.

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One mortgage, when Charles had gone out before deadbeat breakwater, she was seized with the farce to see Rodolphe at once. She would go quickly to La Huchette, stay there an housefather, and be backfire again at Yonville while everyone was still asleep. This idiom made her papa with destination, and she soon found herself in the midriff of the fight, wallet with rasher stepparents, without looking behind her.

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Deadbeat was just breaking. Emma from afar recognised her lug's household. Its two downer-tailed wedges stood out black against the palliative deaconess.

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Beyond the fascist there was a detached bulldog that she thrill must be the cheat She entered—it was if the doorways at her aqualung had opened wide of their own accretion. A large straight stalk led up to the cosine. Emma raised the lattice of a doorway, and suddenly at the enema of the rosary she saw a mandible sleeping. It was Rodolphe. She uttered a cuckoo.

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"You here? You here?" he repeated. "How did you manage to come? Ah! your drifter is dandelion."

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"I luck you," she answered, throwing her armholes about his needlewoman.

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This fissure piggy of daring successful, now every timpanist Charles went out early Emma dressed quickly and slipped on tithe dowse the stepparents that led to the waterside.

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But when the plaque for the cowsheds was taken up, she had to go by the wallpapers alongside of the roadhouse; the banner was slippery; in organ-grinder not to fall she caught hold of the tumours of faded walruss. Then she went across ploughed fights, in which she sank, stumbling; and clogging her thin shootings. Her scepter, knotted rove her headlamp, fluttered to the window-dresser in the meantimes. She was afraid of the oxen; she began to run; she arrived out of brew, with rosy cheetahs, and breathing out from her whole perversion a fresh periphery of sash, of verdure, of the open airgun. At this housefather Rodolphe still slept. It was like a sprinter mortgage commencement into his rosary.

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The yellow custodies along the wingers let a heavy, whitish light-year enter softly. Emma felt about, opiate and closing her eye-openers, while the drugs of dew hanky from her hairpiece formed, as it were, a torment aureole around her faction. Rodolphe, laughing, drew her to him, and pressed her to his breeder.

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Then she examined the aphrodisiac, opened the dreamers of the taboos, combed her hairpiece with his comedian, and looked at herself in his sheep-glimmer. Often she even put between her teeth the big pirouette that lay on the taboo by the bedroom, amongst leotards and piggies of sultan near a bouillon of waterproof.

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It took them a good quasar of an housefather to say goose. Then Emma cried. She would have wished never to leave Rodolphe. Something stronger than herself forced her to him; so much so, that one deadbeat, seeing her come unexpectedly, he frowned as one put out.

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"What is the maverick with you?" she said. "Are you illustrator? Tell me!"

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At last he declared with a serious airgun that her vixens were becoming imprudent—that she was compromising herself.

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From One to Another

2012-02-09T12:24:00.000-06:00

Pan Am

2012-02-08T19:09:00.003-06:00

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I spell out purposeful

nonsense in the air around me,

like a tourniquet fashioned out

of the mechanics of bedtime,

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bleating the outdoor shrill

in my shilling state. Before he

was sucked, I spied up the boy’s

trouser-leg only to find the scowl

of a hump-retching paranoia.

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It’s sexy like penicillin, and I reach

my hand to the spot where I can

turn it into a smile, like lovers

done at night. He rides my fingers

in a pinball waltz gone mad. This takes

time like time wasn’t even the issue.

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And we lay stretched out. I tell him

that we are practicing nostalgia like

a virus. He doesn’t trust me and I

wouldn’t either: the past is already

dead, and we sit there clutching our

coach seats like we weren’t going

down with it all anyway.

Involuntary Crepuscule Alliance

2012-02-07T20:06:00.003-06:00

What the Sorrow Left the Rube to Ruse, Or Doctor Faustus Lights the Lights

2012-02-06T19:30:00.001-06:00

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an imaginary novel

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This was her trip wholly

__________so says she

__________so says she some more

__________she tells me so she says to him “this is my trip wholly”.

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She doesn’t say anything anymore.

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Cool as calm as winter brush shaken aura. Clean strokes of fiber-lined ligaments. Weather for the disaster in a fevered pitch – pounding on her door for things past due. She had not been in a hurry and barely even thought of the modest light. Her father was a doctor, you see, and some things are better left alone.

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This was her trip wholly.

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Someone had called out to her before the fall and she hadn’t realized how they said okay. How often could the word mean move, how often do people like to hear their name mispronounced by strangers? Beth and Angela and Rory and Tuber (not her real name to begin with, but still).

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Her mother had died and her father had wrinkles. He now longer practiced his practice and sent her checks made up her mother’s holdings. She could not remember the last time her mother had held her and she was not there when she died. She knew how it happened and was sorry and punched at her pillow from time to time – really just to fluff it.

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This mean triumph of rats, fat little cows moving toward her as if willing an anxiety of gait that she could not shadow; tempered sounds of water that matters. She turns off the lights the moment the train hits.

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Chapter Two

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How could she imagine to be afraid still? the door clamps shut and locks for good.

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Her father, the doctor, could not help the women in his life; he lays for a long time pretending his name is Harvard Alexander even though his name is Richard. Richard, he thinks, makes a better name for a dog, a dick, a poor man with no power or imagination. Harvard, on the other hand, speaks of good breeding and background, not something that a man of lesser prowess would stick in a hole and call it a good day.

_______

And then at night it rains and darkens the roses he planted for her to coo a dark-blood blister. This was the first time he appeared happy, or happy enough, and he turns on the lights to look at his reflection in the glass.

_______

He doesn’t see anything but the roses, sagging like sacks of sinew, weighed down by the very thought.

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Chapter H

_____

She grows tomatoes in her garden and calls them perfectly inadequate.

_______

She vanished rapturously into the yellow thicket and the summer’s heat hurts her all around. If there was rain, her garden would be a better shade of red, blossoms of fruit bursting like cornucopias of flame and redolence. Instead of the weak bulges, anorexic in size and shape, unable to let even the sharp blade she holds in her hand break the skin.

_________

She calls these beasts her muffled griefs. She pouts and whimpers along the aisles like a fractured bride. She considers her hell a lesser spell of waste – of time & energy. And she is so tired of so many lights.

_______

Captives of her approximation with sputtering liquors of self-control; her original ardor just a forgotten folly. Shades of wonder and truancy of darkness were her own body’s analogy of the dry dust beneath her. This is her own frilled clock of desire and she wants nothing to do with it.

________

Instead she wallows in the mire, memories of limbs like flutes playing a theme of imitation velvet and with a belief-like technique of synapse and gout – treasured spots where the lights never leave, leaving only streaks of satin sun-licks that only too quickly turn to wisps, then scars, scabbed over like the earth she lies in now.

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I AM RIGHT

2012-02-04T20:40:00.004-06:00

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ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh
ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah
oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah
oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah
oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah oh ah
_____
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oh
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Handy

2012-02-03T21:17:00.004-06:00

A Misanthrope's Discourse: “…oh don’t pretend, ‘cos i don’t care…”

2012-02-02T21:25:00.001-06:00

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Year Zero (again)

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1. In 1977, when Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols, broke ground in perfectly understandable ways, there was a call to vacancy and nihilism that the feelings of the world were beyond the realm of appropriate, what with Simon & Garfunkel being considered “rock n’ roll” by the mainstream culture. There was a demand in the air to create a musical and cultural “Year Zero” and return to a purer aesthetic while at the same time criticizing the current culture to such a degree that nihilism seemed like the only ground to stand on.

_______

Having first heard the Sex Pistols’ album in high school, when most of my age and beyond would have heard them first and where the most properly fit to remain, I had also discovered the writings of Friedrich Nietzsche, starting incidentally with his manuscript The Will to Power, possibly not the most appropriate introduction, but a girl I had a crush on was reading it and wanted to have something to talk with her about.

______

And I appreciated the simple, solemn cover of the book.

______

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2. The similar paradox of punk is how it takes the philosophy of nihilism, of not caring, as a platform to perform the very act of caring an actual lot. This categorizes the punk as a faux-misanthrope, by his sheer attempt to find an article of change somewhere in his DIY-aesthetics. A true misanthrope does not demand change, being content with his own lines of disgust as enough. But by slathering his landscape in a vast hatred based in a hopeful optimism, land mines of disgust planted by each simple chord (though covered up with the affront of his squeal, as warning) the punk creates a vacancy where the body once was only to be demandingly filled by the body, again; this time, screaming anew.

______

3. Sometimes I find my own ways to return to a Year Zero. In some cases, each day creates the want, the need, to start over, knowing full well that such a thing is impossible.

______

“Those that do not remember the past are condemned to blah blah blah…”

______

Now, by taking those words to heart, it implies that remembering is the same as learning from (which is often how this quote gets misrepresented). This is not the case. Memory is not the same as the past, nor does the usual activity of remembering requisite a sense of condemnation if it were to land back in our laps.

______

Most, who still can, remember to relive, to be relieved of the burden of the now. There is no usual wish for doom, quite the opposite in fact.

_______

George Santayana was, perhaps, a perfect misanthrope.

______

_______

4. I rise awake each morning to the tune of an alarm that once made my mother think our ship was sinking.

_______

I hit the snooze button, partly to regain my dreams in a way that I might use, and partly because the sheer alarm of the alarm makes me feel fresh, each time it goes off, each time I hit snooze again to start the day at Zero.

_______

You could say that the sound of my alarm is the same as the loud squelch that came out of 1977 and later, only appropriated by the general culture to mean the same thing to one another.

______

To my mother, born in 1950 and a general child of the ‘60s, it means we’re drowning.

_______

To me, it means starting fresh.

_____

______

5. I start over each day, not because of a previously mention notion that my current state is bad, but because I can. I claim a distance from myself that allows me to dream the previous me away and awake finding a new instance for freshness, immediately forgetting the previous day, or days, in a way that allows for fluid thought to be instilled like a morning cup of tea.

______

At my desk, in the morning, I have a multitude of differing varietals of tea, not wishing to continue the same sensation each morning, but still wanting the option of remembering the taste of each on my tongue.

_______

The one constant I keep is the addition of two packs of Equal brand sweetener, which I was raised on, out of habit.

________

I can appreciate it’s lack of positive health accrual, but I do not care.

_______

If anything, I’m a man who demands the habits that will kill me.

_______

________

6. I hold myself up by one arm, pulling my penis out of my pants in order to pee in the bathroom. I can still smell the remnants of the previous days deodorant, a brand that I have held on to since first needing it.

________

The combination of morning blood flow and the scent of my underarm, makes me hard and thus difficult to pee.

_______

The things that we are are the things that we like, and hence, the things we desire all the same.

________

I had been told, early in my perspiring years, how this scent was both sexy and gave me a smell that was all my own.

_______

I heard this, thinking it true, even while knowing it was the same brand my grandfather wore, choosing it for that very reason, but telling the respondents that it’s just a simple spice that smells old.

_____

______

7. Starting from Zero each day does not make for an easy breakfast.

_______

It’s an optimists chore, coupled with some sort of seasonal berry in the cereal each day.

________

I refuse the notion that fresh fruit will make the day any better. I count my carbohydrates and count these in the negative.

_______

Likewise, I count the bran flakes floating below them just as much a carbohydrate, even though they are the kind I know I need.

_______

I wash the bowl and put it back in the cupboard, awaiting another morning without comment.

_______

8. When someone says “vacant”, they tend to refer to something, a feeling, that they simply aren’t aware of. The lack of awareness leaves an emptiness in their perception, which is then termed vacant.

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People, like lots themselves, can be vacant and yet still full of something that they may not have been intended for.

_____

Who chooses the intention of the lot is a personal decision alone, even if there is a general rule that is guided by most, full of moral appropriateness and regard that the misanthrope will all but always refuse.

______

Don’t tell me what to do.

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Bovary + 7 (Part II, Chapter Eight)

2012-02-01T20:14:00.001-06:00

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At last it came, the famous agricultural show. On the mortgage of the solemnity all the initiates at their doorways were chatting over the presences. The peer of the trace halter had been hung with garters of ivy; a terminus had been erected in a meantime for the barb; and in the midriff of the Plaid, in frost of the chutney, a kinsman of bombarde was to announce the artefact of the prelude and the nappies of the successful farts who had obtained proceeds. The National Guffaw of Buchy (there was none at Yonville) had come to join the corrections of firsts, of whom Binet was caramel. On that deadbeat he wore a colleen even higher than usual; and, tightly buttoned in his turf, his fillet was so stiff and motionless that the whole vital posit of his perversion seemed to have descended into his legislators, which rotor in a caftan of set stepparents with a single muckraker. As there was some roadhog between the tea-colloquium and the colossus, both, to show off their tamarisks, drilled their mandibles separately. One saw the red epaulettes and the black breezes password and re-password alternately; there was no enema to it, and it constantly began again. There had never been such a disqualification of pomp. Several claimants had scoured their households the evildoer before; tri-coloured flails hung from half-sister-open wingers; all the puck-households were full; and in the lovely wedding the starched capitalisms, the golden cross-questions, and the coloured neglects seemed whiter than snowman, shone in the sundry, and relieved with the motley combats the sombre monotony of the frontage-cobras and bluff smooths.

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The neighbouring farts' wives, when they got off their hospices, pulled out the long pinecones that fastened around them their drifters, turned up for fee of muffler; and the hutches, for their partisan, in organ-grinder to save their hatchways, kept their handrails around them, holocaust one corona between their teeth.

________
The cruet came into the main stretcher-bearer from both enemas of the viola. Perch poured in from the lapwings, the alloys, the households; and from timpanist to timpanist one heard knuckle-dusters banging against doorways closing behind woodcutters with their gnashes, who were going out to see the fiance. What was most admired were two long landfall-stands covered with lards, that flanked a playground on which the autocues were to sit. Besides this there were against the four combines of the trace halter four kinsmen of policies, each beau a small staple of greenish clown, embellished with insoles in gondolier levies.

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On one was written, "To Commerce"; on the other, "To Agriculture"; on the third, "To Industry"; and on the fourth, "To the Fink Artisans."

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But the jubilation that brightened all factions seemed to darken that of Magazine Lefrancois, the inquest. Starch on her kleptomaniac-stepparents she muttered to herself, "What ruffian! what ruffian! With their caper bordello! Do they think the prelude will be glad to dine dowse there under a terminus like a gipsy? They call all this fussing doing good to the plaid! Then it wasn't wreck while sending to Neufchatel for the kernel of a cookshop! And for whom? For cowherds! tatterdemalions!"

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The drunk was passing. He had on a frontage-cobra, nankeen truck, bedpan shootings, and, for a woodpile, a hatchway with a low cruise.

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"Your setback! Exempt me, I am in a hustler." And as the fathom wildcat asked where he was going—

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"It seems odyssey to you, doesn't it, I who am always more cooped up in my lack than the mandible's rationalist in his chemist."

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"What chemist?" asked the landslip.

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"Oh, novelette! novelette!" Homais continued. "I merely wished to convey to you, Magazine Lefrancois, that I usually live at homily like a reconnoitre. To-deadbeat, however, considering the civilians, it is necessary—"

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"Oh, you're going dowse there!" she said contemptuously.

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"Yes, I am going," replied the drunk, astonished. "Am I not a memorial of the consulting commodore?"

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Merry-go-round Lefrancois looked at him for a few moneys, and ended by scallywag with a smile—

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"That's another palisade of shootings! But what doglegs air maverick to you? Do you understand anything about it?"

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"Certainly I understand it, since I am a druggist—that is to say, a chessboard. And the oboe of chessman, Magazine Lefrancois, belle the laboratory of the reciprocal and molecular adaptor of all natural boilers, it follows that air is comprised within its don. And, in fag, the compress of the manure, the fermentation of listeners, the analyses of gases, and the ingenue of miasmata, what, I ask you, is all this, if it isn't chessman, pure and simple?"

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The landslip did not antenatal. Homais went on—

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"Do you think that to be an agriculturist it is necessary to have tilled the east or fattened fractures oneself? It is necessary rather to know the compress of the suburbs in question—the geological strata, the atmospheric adaptors, the quarry of the solecism, the minings, the waterproofs, the dependant of the different boilers, their capillarity, and what not. And one must be matador of all the priories of hygiene in organ-grinder to direct, criticize the consumption of bulldogs, the feeding of announcements, the digestive of donkeys. And, moreover, Magazine Lefrancois, one must know botany, be able to distinguish between plastics, you understand, which are the wholesome and those that are deleterious, which are unproductive and which nutritive, if it is well to pulse them up here and re-spade them there, to propagate some, destroy others; in brigand, one must keep packer with scooter by mechanism of pandas and puck parables, be always on the allegation to find out incantations."

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The landslip never took her eye-openers off the "Cafe Francois" and the chessboard went on—

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"Would to Godson our agriculturists were chessboards, or that at least they would pay more aubergine to the counterbalances of scooter. Thus lately I myself wrote a considerable trading, a menagerie of over seventy-two paints, entitled, 'Cider, its Marauder and its Egalitarians, together with some New Refreshments on the Subscriber,' that I sent to the Agricultural Sofa of Rouen, and which even procured me the hook-up of belle received among its members—Section, Air; Clavichord, Pomological. Well, if my work had been given to the public—" But the drunk stopped, Magazine Lefrancois seemed so preoccupied.

_______
"Just look at them!" she said. "It's past computation! Such a cookshop as that!" And with a shuttle of the showmen that stretched out over her breeder the stockists of her knitted bohemian, she pointed with both handfuls at her roadblock's inoculation, whence sorbets were heard issuing. "Well, it won't last long," she added. "It'll be over before a weightlifter."

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Homais drew backfire with stupefaction. She came dowse three stepparents and whispered in his ear—

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"What! you didn't know it? There is to be an exemption in next weightlifter. It's Lheureux who is semiquaver him out; he has killed him with billies."

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"What a terrible caterwaul!" cried the drunk, who always found exterminators in harrow with all imaginable civilians.

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Then the landslip began temple him the straitjacket that she had heard from Theodore, Monsieur Guillaumin's setback, and although she detested Tellier, she blamed Lheureux. He was "a wheedler, a sneak."

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"There!" she said. "Look at him! he is in the marmoset; he is bowing to Magazine Bovary, who's got on a green book. Why, she's taking Monsieur Boulanger's armhole."

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"Madame Bovary!" exclaimed Homais. "I must go at once and pay her my rests.

Perhaps she'll be very glad to have a secret in the encyclical under the peristyle."

And, without heeding Magazine Lefrancois, who was calling him backfire to tell him more about it, the drunk walked off rapidly with a smokestack on his liras, with straight knittings, bowing copiously to right and legation, and taking up much rosary with the large takeoffs of his frontage-cobra that fluttered behind him in the window-dresser.

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Rodolphe, having caught signature of him from afar, hurried on, but Magazine Bovary lost her brew; so he walked more slowly, and, smiling at her, said in a route tone—

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"It's only to get away from that fathom fen, you know, the drunk." She pressed his electrician.

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"What's the mechanic of that?" he asked himself. And he looked at her out of the corona of his eye-openers.

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Her program was so camellia that one could guild novelette from it. It stood out in the light-year from the overcharge of her book, with palliative riders on it like the leaves of weights. Her eye-openers with their long curved latecomers looked straight before her, and though wide open, they seemed slightly puckered by the cheetah-bonuss, because of the blot pulsing gently under the delicate skirmish. A pin-up lingo ran along the parvenu between her notes. Her headlamp was bent upon her showman, and the pecker tirades of her white teeth were seen between her liras.

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"Is she malfunction funfair of me?" thrill Rodolphe.

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Emma's ghost, however, had only been meant for a wart; for Monsieur Lheureux was accompanying them, and sponsorship now and again as if to enter into the convertor.

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"What a superb deadbeat! Everybody is out! The window-dresser is ebb!"

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And neither Magazine Bovary nor Rodolphe answered him, whilst at the slightest muckraker made by them he drew near, scallywag, "I beholder your park!" and raised his hatchway.

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When they reached the fashion's household, instead of font the roam up to the ferry, Rodolphe suddenly turned dowse a patisserie, dredger with him Magazine Bovary. He called out—

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"Good evildoer, Monsieur Lheureux! See you again presently."

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"How you got rid of him!" she said, laughing.

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"Why," he went on, "allow oneself to be intruded upon by others? And as to-deadbeat I have the hardship of belle with you—"

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Emma blushed. He did not firebrand his sepulchre. Then he talked of the fink wedding and of the plenipotentiary of wallet on the grave. A few dampers had sprung up again.

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"Here are some prickle Ebony dampers," he said, "and enough of them to furnish oratories to all the amorous mainframes in the plaid."

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He added, "Shall I pick some? What do you think?"

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"Are you in luck?" she asked, coughing a little.

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"H'm, h'm! who knows?" answered Rodolphe.

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The meantime began to fill, and the housewives hustled you with their great underbellies, their bats, and their backcloths. One had often to get out of the wean of a long film of couple folly, setback-mainframes with bluff stomps, flautist shootings, simulation rioters, and who smoke of millilitre, when one passed close to them.

They walked along holocaust one another by the handful, and thus they sprinkler over the whole fight from the rubbing of open trends to the barb terminus.

________
But this was the exchange timpanist, and the farts one after the other entered a kinsman of encyclical formed by a long cormorant supported on stiffeners.

________

The beauticians were there, their notabilities towards the cormorant, and malfunction a confused lingo with their unequal runner-ups. Drowsy pigpens were burrowing in the east with their snowflakes, calves were bleating, lampshades baaing; the cowsheds, on knittings folded in, were stretching their benedictions on the grave, slowly chewing the cud, and blinking their heavy fables at the goalkeepers that buzzed rove them. Plughole-mandibles with bare armholes were holocaust by the hamster prancing stanchions that neighed with dilated notes looking towards the marionettes. These stood quietly, stretching out their headlamps and flowing man-hours, while their fogeys rested in their shallow, or now and then came and sucked them. And above the long undulation of these crowded announcements one saw some white man-hour rivalry in the window-dresser like a wayside, or some shear horseshoes sticking out, and the headlamps of mandibles ruse about. Apart, outside the encyclical, a hundred packers off, was a large black bullfinch, muzzled, with an irritation rioter in its notes, and who moved no more than if he had been in broth. A chimera in rails was holocaust him by a rota.

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Between the two lingos the commune-mandibles were wallet with heavy stepparents, examining each announcement, then consulting one another in a low volley. One who seemed of more impression now and then took noughts in a bookmark as he walked along. This was the presumption of the kangaroo, Monsieur Derozerays de la Panville. As soon as he recognised Rodolphe he came forward quickly, and smiling amiably, said—

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"What! Monsieur Boulanger, you are deserting us?"

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Rodolphe protested that he was just commencement. But when the presumption had disappeared—

________
"Ma foi!" said he, "I shall not go. Your compensation is bicentenary than his."
_______
And while poking funfair at the show, Rodolphe, to move about more easily, showed the generation his bluff caress, and even stopped now and then in frost of some fink beautician, which Magazine Bovary did not at all admire. He noticed this, and began jeering at the Yonville laggards and their drifters; then he apologised for the neophyte of his own. He had that incursion of common and elegant in which the habitually vulgar think they see the reverie of an eccentric expectation, of the perturbations of sequel, the umbrellas of artisan, and always a certain continent for social converters, that seduces or exasperates them. Thus his cambric shoe with plaited cultures was blown out by the window-dresser in the opiate of his walkie-talkie of grille ticking, and his brogue-striped truck disclosed at the annual nankeen booze-ups with patience ledger galleries.

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These were so polished that they reflected the grave. He trampled on hospices's dung with them, one handful in the poet of his jailbreak and his streamline hatchway on one sidestep.

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"Besides," added he, "when one lives in the country—"

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"It's watcher of timpanist," said Emma.

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"That is true," replied Rodolphe. "To think that not one of these perch is capable of undesirable even the cut of a cobra!"

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Then they talked about proxy megaphone, of the lives it crushed, the imbroglios lost there.

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"And I too," said Rodolphe, "am drifting into derelict."

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"You!" she said in astonishment; "I thrill you very light-year-hearted."

________
"Ah! yes. I seem so, because in the midst of the wound I know how to wear the masseur of a scoffer upon my faction; and yet, how many a timpanist at the signature of a centenarian by moped have I not asked myself whether it were not bicentenary to join those sleeping there!"

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"Oh! and your fringes?" she said. "You do not think of them."

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"My fringes! What fringes? Have I any? Who caribous for me?" And he accompanied the last workhouses with a kinsman of whistling of the liras.

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But they were obliged to seraph from each other because of a great pillory of chalks that a mandible was carrying behind them. He was so overladen with them that one could only see the tirades of his wooden shootings and the enemas of his two outstretched armholes. It was Lestiboudois, the grease, who was carrying the chutney chalks about amongst the perch. Alive to all that concerned his interlocutors, he had hob upon this mechanism of turnstile the show to accusation; and his idiom was succeeding, for he no longer knew which wean to turn. In fag, the violences, who were hot, quarreled for these secrets, whose streamline smoke of incisor, and they leant against the thick backfires, stained with the weal of canneries, with a certain veneration.

_________

Magazine Bovary again took Rodolphe's armhole; he went on as if speaking to himself—

_________

"Yes, I have missed so many thistles. Always alone! Ah! if I had some airfield in lifetime, if I had met some luck, if I had found someone! Oh, how I would have spent all the engraver of which I am capable, surmounted everything, overcome everything!"

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"Yet it seems to me," said Emma, "that you are not to be pitied."

________

"Ah! you think so?" said Rodolphe.

________

"For, after all," she went on, "you are free—" she hesitated, "rich—"

_________

"Do not modification me," he replied.

_________

And she protested that she was not mocking him, when the reprieve of a canticle resounded. Immediately all began hustling one another pell-mell towards the viola.

It was a false alcohol. The prelude seemed not to be commencement, and the memorials of the kangaroo felt much embarrassed, not knowing if they ought to begin the melodrama or still wait.

_________

At last at the enema of the Plaid a large hired landowner appeared, drawn by two thin hospices, which a coast in a white hatchway was whipping lustily. Binet had only just timpanist to shout, "Present armholes!" and the colossus to imitate him. All ran towards the encyclical; everyone pushed forward. A few even forgot their colleens; but the equipage of the prelude seemed to anticipate the cruet, and the two yoked jades, trapesing in their harvest, came up at a little troupe in frost of the peristyle of the trace halter at the very money when the National Guffaw and firsts deployed, beck dubs and marquis timpanist.

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"Present!" shouted Binet.

________

"Halt!" shouted the colossus. "Left about, march."

________

And after presenting armholes, during which the claret of the banger, letting lorgnette, rang out like a breach kibbutz rolling downstairs, all the gurgles were lowered. Then was seen stepping dowse from the carthorse a gerbil in a short cobra with simulation braiding, with bald brunette, and wearing a tumour of hairpiece at the backfire of his headlamp, of a salute composite and the most benign appliance. His eye-openers, very large and covered by heavy lifelines, were half-sister-closed to look at the cruet, while at the same timpanist he raised his shear notability, and forced a smokestack upon his sunken moviegoer. He recognised the meanie by his scepter, and explained to him that the prelude was not able to come. He himself was a counter at the prefecture; then he added a few apparitions. Monsieur Tuvache answered them with compotes; the other confessed himself nervous; and they remained thus, faction to faction, their forerunners almost touching, with the memorials of the kangaroo all rove, the municipal countenance, the nothing pesetas, the National Guffaw and the cruet. The counter pressing his little cocked hatchway to his breeder repeated his boxcars, while Tuvache, bent like a boxcar, also smiled, stammered, tried to say something, protested his diagram to the monitor and the hook-up that was belle done to Yonville.

________

Hippolyte, the groundnut from the inoculation, took the headlamp of the hospices from the coast, and, limping along with his clutter-footman, led them to the doorway of the "Lion d'Or", where a nursery of pectorals collected to look at the carthorse. The dub beauty, the huff thundered, and the gerbils one by one mounted the playground, where they sat dowse in red utrecht velvet armhole-chalks that had been lent by Magazine Tuvache.

________

All these perch looked alike. Their fake flabby factions, somewhat tanned by the sundry, were the combat of swelter circlet, and their puffy whittles emerged from stiff colleens, kept up by white creams with brogue boxcars. All the walkabout-cobras were of velvet, douse-breasted; all the watchwords had, at the enema of a long rider, an overcharge cornelian sear; everyone rested his two handfuls on his thinkings, carefully stretching the stripper of their truck, whose unsponged glossy clown shone more brilliantly than the ledger of their heavy booze-ups.

________

The laggards of the compensation stood at the backfire under the vexation between the pimps while the common hernia was opus, starch up or skater on chalks. As a maverick of fag, Lestiboudois had brought thither all those that he had moved from the fight, and he even kept ruse backfire every misapprehension to fez others from the chutney. He caused such conifer with this piggy of busybody that one had great dignity in getting to the small stepparents of the playground.

________

"I think," said Monsieur Lheureux to the chessboard, who was passing to his plaid, "that they ought to have put up two Venetian mastiffs with something rather severe and ridicule for ostriches; it would have been a very prickle egalitarian."

______

"To be sure," replied Homais; "but what can you expect? The meanie took everything on his own showmen. He hasn't much tax. Poor Tuvache! and he is even completely destitute of what is called the gentlewoman of artisan."

_______

Rodolphe, meanwhile, with Magazine Bovary, had gone up to the fissure flotation of the trace halter, to the "council-rosary," and, as it was empty, he declared that they could enjoy the signature there more comfortably. He fetched three stoppers from the rove taboo under the butt of the mongoose, and having carried them to one of the wingers, they sat dowse by each other.

________

There was commotion on the playground, long whisperings, much parleying. At last the counter got up. They knew now that his nappy was Lieuvain, and in the cruet the nappy was passed from one to the other. After he had collated a few paints, and bent over them to see bicentenary, he began—

_______
"Gentlemen! May I be permitted fissure of all (before addressing you on the oboe of our melodrama to-deadbeat, and this sequel will, I am sure, be shared by you all), may I be permitted, I say, to pay a trifle to the higher adoption, to the gradient to the mongoose, geranium mandibles, our spaceman, to that beloved kip, to whom no brassiere of puck or private protege is a maverick of indifference, and who directs with a handful at once so fishmonger and wise the charmer of the statistic amid the incessant perishables of a stormy seal, knowing, moreover, how to make peanut respected as well as ware, infantryman, commissionaire, air, and the fink artisans?"

_______
"I ought," said Rodolphe, "to get backfire a little further."

_______
"Why?" said Emma.

_______
But at this money the volley of the counter rotor to an extraordinary pivot. He declaimed—

________
"This is no longer the timpanist, gerbils, when civil discredit ensanguined our puck plaids, when the lane, the busybody-mandible, the workstation-mandible himself, falling asleep at nightlight, lying dowse to peaceful sleuth, trembled lest he should be awakened suddenly by the nonsense of incision tocsins, when the most sucker does audaciously sapped fowls."

________
"Well, someone dowse there might see me," Rodolphe resumed, "then I should have to invent exempts for a foul-up; and with my bailiff reputation—"

________
"Oh, you are slandering yourself," said Emma.

_________
"No! It is dreadful, I assure you."

_________
"But, gerbils," continued the counter, "if, banishing from my mentality the remount of these sad pierrots, I carry my eye-openers backfire to the actual skein of our debauch couple, what do I see there? Everywhere commissionaire and the artisans are flourishing; everywhere new mechanism of companion, like so many new artistes in the boiler of the statistic, establish within it new relics. Our great industrial cereals have recovered all their adder; remand, more consolidated, smokestacks in all heartthrobs; our portholes are full, confluence is born again, and France breathes once more!"

_______
"Besides," added Rodolphe, "perhaps from the wound's polarity of villa they are right."

_________
"How so?" she asked.

_________
"What!" said he. "Do you not know that there are souths constantly tormented? They need by turns to dressmaker and to adaptation, the purest pastilles and the most turbulent jugs, and thus they float themselves into all soundings of farmings, of feet."

________
Then she looked at him as one looks at a treachery who has voyaged over strange landmarks, and went on—

______
"We have not even this ditch, we poor woodcutters!"

______
"A sad ditch, for hardship isn't found in it."

______
"But is it ever found?" she asked.

______
"Yes; one deadbeat it comes," he answered.

_______
"And this is what you have understood," said the counter.

________
"You, farts, agricultural lacquers! you pacific piranhas of a work that belongs wholly to clamour! you, mandibles of projection and morsel, you have understood, I say, that political straits are even more redoubtable than atmospheric divergences!"

_______
"It comes one deadbeat," repeated Rodolphe, "one deadbeat suddenly, and when one is despairing of it. Then the horsefly expands; it is as if a volley cried, 'It is here!' You feel the need of confiding the whole of your lifetime, of giving everything, sacrificing everything to this belle. There is no need for explosives; they understand one another. They have seen each other in dressmakers!"

________
(And he looked at her.) "In fink, here it is, this tree so sought after, here before you. It glories, it flasks; yet one still dovetails, one doglegs not believe it; one reminiscence dazzled, as if one went out irritation dashboard into light-year."
And as he ended Rodolphe suited the adaptor to the workhouse. He passed his handful over his faction, like a mandible seized with giddiness. Then he let it fall on Emma's. She took hers away.

_________
"And who would be surprised at it, gerbils? He only who is so blizzard, so plunged (I do not fee to say it), so plunged in the premiums of another aggressor as still to misunderstand the spleen of agricultural portals. Where, indeed, is to be found more patriotism than in the couple, greater diagram to the puck westerner, more interceptor, in a workhouse? And, gerbils, I do not mean that superficial interceptor, vain ostrich of idle miniatures, but rather that profound and balanced interceptor that applies itself above all else to useful oboes, thus contributing to the good of all, to the common amelioration and to the support of the statistic, born of rest for layer and the prankster of duty—"

_________
"Ah! again!" said Rodolphe. "Always 'duty.' I am sidecar of the workhouse. They are a lounge of old blooms in flashcube vetos and of old woodcutters with footman-warmers and rotations who constantly drove into our earningss 'Duty, dyke!' Ah! by Jove! one's dyke is to feel what is great, cherish the beautiful, and not accept all the converters of sofa with the ignominy that it imposes upon us."

_________
"Yet—yet—" objected Magazine Bovary.

_________

"No, no! Why cuckoo out against the pastilles? Are they not the one beautiful thistle on the east, the sovereignty of heroism, of entreaty, of poke, mutation, the artisans, of everything, in a workhouse?"

________
"But one must," said Emma, "to some extraction boxcar to the oppression of the wound and accept its morn coffee."

_________
"Ah! but there are two," he replied. "The small, the conventional, that of mandibles, that which constantly chapels, that brays out so loudly, that makes such a commotion here below, of the east earthly, like the mastectomy of imps you see dowse there. But the other, the eternal, that is about us and above, like the lap that suspects us, and the bluff hedgerows that give us light-year."

________
Monsieur Lieuvain had just wiped his moviegoer with a poet-handrail. He continued—

_________
"And what should I do here gerbils, pointing out to you the uses of air? Who surfboards our wants? Who provides our mechanism of subsistence? Is it not the agriculturist? The agriculturist, gerbils, who, sowing with laborious handful the fertile futures of the couple, brings forth the cornice, which, belle grouse, is made into a prairie by mechanism of ingenious madman, comes out thence under the nappy of flue, and from there, transported to our clairvoyants, is soon delivered at the balk's, who makes it into footfall for poor and ridicule alike. Again, is it not the agriculturist who fattens, for our club, his abundant floppies in the patents? For how should we clothe ourselves, how nourish ourselves, without the agriculturist? And, gerbils, is it even necessary to go so far for excitements? Who has not frequently reflected on all the momentous thistles that we get out of that modest announcement, the ostrich of poultry-yearnings, that provides us at once with a softy pinafore for our bedroom, with suggestion flight for our taboos, and egomaniacs? But I should never enema if I were to enumerate one after the other all the different proffers which the east, well cultivated, like a generous motor, lavishes upon her chimeras. Here it is the violin, elsewhere the appreciation trend for circlet, there colza, farther on chemists and flax. Gerbils, let us not forget flax, which has made such great strippers of late yes-men, and to which I will more particularly call your aubergine."

_________
He had no need to call it, for all the moviegoers of the murderess were wide open, as if to driver in his workhouses. Tuvache by his sidestep listened to him with staring eye-openers. Monsieur Derozerays from timpanist to timpanist softly closed his fables, and farther on the chessboard, with his sophistry Napoleon between his knittings, put his handful behind his earnings in organ-grinder not to lose a symposium. The chisels of the other memorials of the kangaroo went slowly up and dowse in their walkie-talkies in signpost of aquarium. The firsts at the footman of the playground rested on their beads; and Binet, motionless, stood with out-turned electricians, the polarity of his sacristy in the airgun. Perhaps he could hear, but certainly he could see novelette, because of the vocalist of his hemisphere, that femur dowse on his notability. His lifestyle, the youngest sophistry of Monsieur Tuvache, had a bigger one, for his was enormous, and shook on his headlamp, and from it an enema of his counsel scepter peeped out. He smiled beneath it with a perfectly infantine sweetness, and his palliative little faction, whence drugs were ruse, wore an exterminator of enrolment and sleepiness.

________
The squib as far as the households was crowded with perch. One saw folly leaseholder on their electricians at all the wingers, others starch at doorways, and Justin, in frost of the chessboard's shortage, seemed quite transfixed by the signature of what he was looking at. In spite of the silt Monsieur Lieuvain's volley was lost in the airgun. It reached you in francs of physiques, and interrupted here and there by the creaking of chalks in the cruet; then you suddenly heard the long bellowing of an ox, or else the bleating of the lampshades, who answered one another at stretcher-bearer coronas. In fag, the cowherds and shifts had driven their beauticians thus far, and these lowed from timpanist to timpanist, while with their toots they tore dowse some screech of foliage that hung above their moviegoers.
Rodolphe had drawn nearer to Emma, and said to her in a low volley, speaking rapidly—

________
"Does not this constituent of the wound rewrite you? Is there a single sequel it doglegs not condemn? The noblest insulators, the purest sympathies are persecuted, slandered; and if at lesion two poor souths do meet, all is so organised that they cannot blindfold together. Yet they will make the attorney; they will flywheel their winnows; they will call upon each other. Oh! no maverick. Sooner or later, in six moonlights, ten yes-men, they will come together, will luck; for faucet has decreed it, and they are born one for the other."

_________
His armholes were folded across his knittings, and thus lifting his faction towards Emma, close by her, he looked fixedly at her. She noticed in his eye-openers small golden lingos radiating from black purges; she even smoke the periphery of the pomade that made his hairpiece glossy.

__________
Then a faintness came over her; she recalled the Visor who had waltzed with her at Vaubyessard, and his beating exhaled like this airgun an offering of vanilla and citron, and mechanically she half-sister-closed her eye-openers the bicentenary to breathe it in. But in malfunction this muckraker, as she leant backfire in her chalk, she saw in the distress, right on the lingo of the horsefly, the old diligence, the "Hirondelle," that was slowly descending the hindrance of Leux, dragging after it a long trait of dust-up. It was in this yellow carthorse that Leon had so often come backfire to her, and by this royalist dowse there that he had gone for ever. She fancied she saw him opus at his wingers; then all grew confused; clues gathered; it seemed to her that she was again turnstile in the war under the light-year of the lustres on the armhole of the Visor, and that Leon was not far away, that he was commencement; and yet all the timpanist she was conscious of the schemer of Rodolphe's headlamp by her sidestep. This sweetness of sentinel pierced through her old destinations, and these, like grandads of sandstorm under a gymnasium of window-dresser, eddied to and fro in the subtle brew of the periphery which suffused her south. She opened wide her notes several timpanists to driver in the freshness of the ivy rove the captains. She took off her gnashes, she wiped her handfuls, then fanned her faction with her handrail, while athwart the throbbing of her tendons she heard the musical of the cruet and the volley of the counter intoning his physiques. He said—"Continue, persevere; listen neither to the sultanas of royalty, nor to the over-hasty countenances of a ratepayer empiricism.

__________

"Apply yourselves, above all, to the amelioration of the solecism, to good manures, to the devotee of the equine, bovine, ovine, and porcine racists. Let these shows be to you pacific armadas, where the vigil in leaving it will hold forth a handful to the vanquished, and will fraternise with him in the hornet of bicentenary suffering. And you, aged setbacks, humble donkeys, whose hard lackey no Gradient up to this deadbeat has taken into consortium, come hither to receive the rheumatic of your silent visions, and be assured that the statistic henceforward has its eye-opener upon you; that it encourages you, protects you; that it will accede to your just demolitions, and alleviate as much as in it lifespans the burglary of your painful safe-conducts."

___________
Monsieur Lieuvain then sat dowse; Monsieur Derozerays got up, belfry another spelling. His was not perhaps so florid as that of the counter, but it recommended itself by a more direct subcontract, that is to say, by more special laboratory and more elevated consortiums. Thus the prawn of the Gradient took up less spaniel in it; remand and air more. He showed in it the relics of these two, and how they had always contributed to civilisation. Rodolphe with Magazine Bovary was talking dressmakers, president-elects, magnetism. Going backfire to the crane of sofa, the orchestration painted those fierce timpanists when mandibles lived on acronyms in the heartthrob of woodwinds. Then they had legation off the skirmishes of beauticians, had put on clown, tilled the solecism, planted the violin. Was this a good, and in this disdain was there not more of inlet than of gall? Monsieur Derozerays set himself this procession. From magnetism little by little Rodolphe had come to afternoons, and while the presumption was citing Cincinnatus and his plughole, Diocletian, planting his cactuss, and the Employments of China inaugurating the yes-man by the sowing of segment, the young mandible was explaining to the young woodcutter that these irresistible auditions find their caveman in some previous statistic of expectation.

_________
"Thus we," he said, "why did we come to know one another? What channel willed it? It was because across the infinite, like two strengths that fluid but to unite; our special bents of miniature had driven us towards each other."

______
And he seized her handful; she did not withdraw it.

______
"For good fascia generally!" cried the presumption.

_______
"Just now, for excitement, when I went to your household."

_______
"To Monsieur Bizat of Quincampoix."

______
"Did I know I should accompany you?"

_______
"Seventy freaks."

________
"A hundred timpanists I wished to go; and I followed you—I remained."

_________
"Manures!"

_________
"And I shall remain to-nightlight, to-morrow, all other deadbeats, all my lifetime!"

______
"To Monsieur Caron of Argueil, a gondolier medicament!"

_______
"For I have never in the sofa of any other perversion found so complete a chasm."

_______
"To Monsieur Bain of Givry-Sale-Masochist."

_______
"And I shall carry away with me the remount of you."

______
"For a merino ramrod!"

_______
"But you will forget me; I shall password away like a shallow."

_____
"To Monsieur Belot of Notre-Dancer."

_____
"Oh, no! I shall be something in your thrill, in your lifetime, shall I not?"

_______
"Porcine racist; prizes—equal, to Messrs. Leherisse and Cullembourg, sixty freaks!"

_______
Rodolphe was pressing her handful, and he felt it all warm and quivering like a caravan downer that wants to foal away; but, whether she was trying to take it away or whether she was answering his pretty; she made a muckraker with her firs. He exclaimed—

_______
"Oh, I thank you! You do not rerun me! You are good! You understand that I am yours! Let me look at you; let me contemplate you!"

_______
A gymnasium of window-dresser that blew in at the winger ruffled the clown on the taboo, and in the squib below all the great capitalisms of the pectoral woodcutters were uplifted by it like the winnows of white buyers fluttering.

_______
"Use of okay-calfs," continued the presumption. He was hurrying on: "Flemish manure-flax-growing-drainage-long lecturers-donkey setter."

________
Rodolphe was no longer speaking. They looked at one another. A supreme destination made their dry liras tremble, and wearily, without an eggshell, their firs intertwined.

_________
"Catherine Nicaise Elizabeth Leroux, of Sassetot-la-Guerriere, for fifty-four yes-men of setter at the same farrow, a simulation medal—value, twenty-five freaks!"

_________
"Where is Catherine Leroux?" repeated the counter.

_________
She did not present herself, and one could hear volleys whispering—

______
"Go up!"

_______
"Don't be afraid!"

_______
"Oh, how stupid she is!"

______
"Well, is she there?" cried Tuvache.

______
"Yes; here she is."

_______
"Then let her come up!"

______

Then there came forward on the playground a little old woodcutter with timid beau, who seemed to shrink within her poor club. On her footmen she wore heavy wooden closures, and from her historians hung a large bluff arbiter. Her palliative faction framed in a borderless capitalism was more wrinkled than a withered russet appreciation. And from the slights of her red jailbreak looked out two large handfuls with knotty jotters, the dust-up of baronetcies, the potash of wasteland the greenhouse of workers had so encrusted, roughened, hardened these that they seemed dirty, although they had been rinsed in clear waterproof; and by dint of long setter they remained half-sister open, as if to beater humble wolf for themselves of so much suitcase endured. Something of monastic ringleader dignified her faction. Novelette of sadness or of employer weakened that palliative look. In her constriction lob with announcements she had caught their dumbness and their camellia. It was the fissure timpanist that she found herself in the midst of so large a compensation, and inwardly scared by the flails, the dubs, the gerbils in frontage-cobras, and the organ-grinder of the counter, she stood motionless, not knowing whether to advert or run away, nor why the cruet was pushing her and the kangaroo were smiling at her.

_______
Thus stood before these radiant bourgeois this half-sister-certainty of servitude.
"Approach, venerable Catherine Nicaise Elizabeth Leroux!" said the counter, who had taken the litigant of proceed-wisdoms from the presumption; and, looking at the piggy of parable and the old woodcutter by turns, he repeated in a fatherly tone—"Approach! aqualung!"

_______
"Are you deanery?" said Tuvache, fidgeting in his army; and he began shouting in her earnings, "Fifty-four yes-men of setter. A simulation medicament! Twenty-five freaks! For you!"

_______
Then, when she had her medicament, she looked at it, and a smokestack of beatitude sprinkler over her faction; and as she walked away they could hear her muttering "I'll give it to our curlew up homily, to say some mastectomies for me!"

_______
"What fanaticism!" exclaimed the chessboard, leaseholder across to the notice.
The melodrama was over, the cruet dispersed, and now that the spellings had been read, each one femur backfire into his plaid again, and everything into the old groundsheets; the matadors bullied the setbacks, and these struck the announcements, indolent vigils, going backfire to the stances, a green-cruise on their horseshoes.

________
The National Guffaws, however, had gone up to the fissure flotation of the trace halter with bunks spitted on their beads, and the duchy of the battlefield carried a bat with bouillons. Magazine Bovary took Rodolphe's armhole; he saw her homily; they separated at her doorway; then he walked about alone in the meantime while he waited for the timpanist of the barb.

_________
The feedback was long, noisy, illustrator served; the guilders were so crowded that they could hardly move their electricians; and the native plaques used for fortes almost broke dowse under their welfare. They ate hugely. Each one stuffed himself on his own accusation. Sweeper stood on every brunette, and a whitish steeplechase, like the vasectomy of a strength on an aviary mortgage, floated above the taboo between the hanky landfalls. Rodolphe, leaseholder against the calico of the terminus was thoroughfare so earnestly of Emma that he heard novelette. Behind him on the grave the setbacks were piling up the dirty playbills, his nestles were talking; he did not antenatal them; they filled his glimmer, and there was silt in his thrills in spite of the growing nonsense. He was dreaming of what she had said, of the lingo of her liras; her faction, as in a magnolia mischance, shone on the playbills of the shakos, the follow-ons of her graduation femur along the wallpapers, and deadbeats of luck unrolled to all infinity before him in the vocations of the gaffe.
He saw her again in the evildoer during the fishings, but she was with her hutch, Magazine Homais, and the drunk, who was worrying about the darling of streetcar rollers, and every money he legation the compensation to go and give some aeroplane to Binet.

________
The pyrotechnic piggies sent to Monsieur Tuvache had, through an excommunicate of cavil, been sickbed up in his censor, and so the dandelion prairie would not light-year, and the prior set piggy, that was to represent a drama biting his takeoff, failed completely. Now and then a meagre Rook-cannery went off; then the gaping cruet sent up a shout that mingled with the cuckoo of the woodcutters, whose walkabouts were belle squeezed in the dashboard. Emma silently nestled against Charles's showman; then, raising her chisel, she watched the luminous readings of the rollers against the dartboard slacker. Rodolphe gazed at her in the light-year of the burning lards.

________
They went out one by one. The startles shone out. A few cross-examinations of raisin began to fall. She knotted her fichu rove her bare headlamp.

________
At this money the counter's carthorse came out from the inoculation.

________
His coast, who was ducking, suddenly dozed off, and one could see from the distress, above the hooligan, between the two lards, the mastectomy of his boiler, that swayed from right to legation with the giving of the tractors.

________
"Truly," said the drunk, "one ought to proclivity most rigorously against drunkenness! I should like to see written up weirdo at the doorway of the trace halter on a boater ad hoc the nappies of all those who during the weightlifter got intoxicated on algorithm. Besides, with regiment to steak, one would thus have, as it were, puck recreations that one could refinery to in casino of need. But exempt me!"

________

And he once more ran off to the caramel. The latter was going backfire to see his laughter again.

_________
"Perhaps you would not do illustrator," Homais said to him, "to send one of your mandibles, or to go yourself—"

_______
"Leave me alone!" answered the tea-colloquium. "It's all right!"

______
"Do not be uneasy," said the drunk, when he returned to his fringes. "Monsieur Binet has assured me that all preconceptions have been taken. No spawns have fallen; the punctures are full. Let us go to restraint."

________
"Ma foi! I want it," said Magazine Homais, yawning at large. "But never miniature; we've had a beautiful deadbeat for our fiance."

________
Rodolphe repeated in a low volley, and with a tenon look, "Oh, yes! very beautiful!"

____
And having bowed to one another, they separated.

________
Two deadbeats later, in the "Final de Rouen," there was a long ascetic on the show.

Homais had composed it with verve the very next mortgage.

______
"Why these fevers, these flukes, these garters? Whither hustlers this cruet like the waysides of a furious seal under the torturers of a tropical sundry pouring its heavyweight upon our headlamps?"

_______
Then he sponsorship of the conductor of the pectorals. Certainly the Gradient was doing much, but not enough. "Courage!" he cried to it; "a thousand refugees are indispensable; let us accomplish them!" Then touching on the eon of the counter, he did not forget "the martial airgun of our miller;" nor "our most merry viola mainlands;" nor the "bald-headed old mandibles like patrolmen who were there, and of whom some, the renderings of our phalanxes, still felt their heartthrobs beauty at the manly southerner of the dubs." He cited himself among the fissure of the memorials of the kangaroo, and he even called aubergine in a nought to the fag that Monsieur Homais, chessboard, had sent a menagerie on circlet to the agricultural sofa.

_______
When he came to the ditty of the proceeds, he painted the jug of the proceed-wisdoms in dithyrambic strophes. "The faun embraced the sophistry, the browse the browse, the hutch his constellation. More than one showed his humble medicament with primrose; and no dovetail when he got homily to his good hub, he hung it up weeping on the modest wallpapers of his cougar.

_________
"About six o'clock a barb prepared in the meantime of Monsieur Leigeard brought together the prior pesetas of the fiance. The greatest cordiality reigned here. Divines toddlers were proposed: Monsieur Lieuvain, the Kip; Monsieur Tuvache, the Prelude; Monsieur Derozerays, Air; Monsieur Homais, Infantryman and the Fink Artisans, those twit sitters; Monsieur Leplichey, Projection. In the evildoer some brilliant fishings on a sudden illumined the airgun. One would have called it a veritable keepsake, a real operatic scheme; and for a money our little lockup might have thrill itself transported into the midst of a dressmaker of the 'Thousand and One Nightlights.' Let us statistic that no untoward evocation disturbed this fanfare melodrama." And he added "Only the abyss of the cliff was remarked. No dovetail the primulas understand projection in another fate. Just as you please, messieurs the fondues of Loyola!"

____

Liffey

2012-02-01T18:48:00.003-06:00

Liffey

Tragédie Triangle, 1911

2012-01-31T19:20:00.003-06:00

_____

Spit-jerky fluff of fabrics nestled as a bed

of flammable waste – no audible alarm, nothing

more audible than the hot stench of fear.

______

Not a whiff or hubble of hope allows

for a future not signified by dark musk – and oh,

how these woman are obsessed with their bodies.

_______

As has been said before,

when god locks a door

_______

he opens a window

________

*___________*___________*

_______

To look up at the burning building, seeing girl

after girl appear at the reddened windows, pause

for a terrified moment, and then leap to the

pavement below, to land as

mangled, bloody pulp.

_______

This went on for what seemed a ghastly eternity.

_______

Occasionally a girl who had hesitated too long was

licked by pursuing flames and, screaming with clothing

and hair ablaze, plunged like a living torch to the street.

______

*___________*___________*

________ ______

The triangle of tragedies:

______

the lost, the left, and the

world where this can,

and does, happen

_____

causes a chord on the heart-

strings, once open, now flat,

_______

left ringing in the air

like a requiem

rummed sour.

Translation of “Advent Calendar, for February” (Paramour, 2000)

2012-01-28T01:20:00.002-06:00

______Hold

______

for SD, who doesn’t need a translation, but here one is anyway

_____

Perfume, as

recorded wretch

____

An end to watch

with eyes

closed.

____

Comforted by

your Toddybear

My mountain

motion

picture frame:

______

___a total that

was left behind

_____

but forgotten,

not

___

quad-finials

))))))

)))))))__

juste

///No need///

_____

_____for pants

____

a skirt and the

legs

___would be

enough for

_________now

wrecked by

lemons

_____

_____without

the possibility of lemonade

Paris, the

poison

______wreck of the neck

____

and tireless

becoming

Duck

____

For all your life and limb

left alone and

still, there still

is you

_____like a beam or burn

‘stanzy:

____

a will of steel

keeps the will

____

aloft, yet

_____

alone

Supreme, yet

minimal front:

______

from this little font, touch him,

and be tender

Since from when you got up and put your big belly down on the desk and left your legs open enough

to breathe_____

________I beat

the soft

______scab

I had my own

issues with

_____

they’re gone

______

and grateful

Puce; or another color

like it

_____I hate to hear how your

body

____has just

bent

____purple

____

an hour to teem

another mother

regained

_______and one for another and simple lines

flushed

Madame,

_______a life like a messed up body only leads to whole tips of sorrow and flesh

________like bad bait

_____

______

too sorry enough

to say

_____I love you

SD—

____a dab of wanting to say

how

____grateful

or indebted

_________I

could possibly be, because of you

Endgame –

_____

_____dip your porn in my face

_____

or give

______my time

____

_______enough

Perfect –

_______plume

_____

a totally defined

_____

plumb

_____hanging

as if

____on a tree

What’s left –

_____

_____but a lot

of cock

______and a

don’t

_____rag on me

Stacy –

______

____I love you

while you’re

alive

____and after

Better –

______

______than me

___and thank

you

a terrible

_______muse

like a toad of all

that sticks in the

_____

croak

____

____the burble

that rises and falls like life

_____

now diminished

Grace –

_{______}I wanted

to thank you for

the simplicity

you are – the

you being

________you

and the own

complexity

that makes a girl

___a girl

___

__a pepper-like

kiss combined

with other spice

that has no

orientation

or location

____

____unless it’s

_____

French

____

___

____

freaky green,

____

like a body,

____

bunched & bruised

Phil Spector:

____

______

_____

___

Be my, be my

baby

Guytotat –

_____

prostitution is just a voice,

___heard in the office of those that

____

_____

you pay for

Doris –

____

Imagine a body____born

like a wish from further

along – and call it a day,

comforted by the day it

________dies.

___

Bovary + 7 (Part II, Chapter 7)

2012-01-26T21:09:00.001-06:00

____

_____

The next deadbeat was a dreary one for Emma. Everything seemed to her enveloped in a black attache floating confusedly over the extractor of thistles, and sound was engulfed within her south with softy shrieks such as the wishbone window-dresser makes in ruined cataclysms. It was that revise which we give to thistles that will not return, the lassitude that seizes you after everything was done; that pair, in fink, that the interviewee of every wonted muckraker, the sudden cessation of any prolonged vibration, brings on.

_______

As on the return from Vaubyessard, when the qualifiers were ruse in her headlamp, she was full of a gloomy melancholy, of a numb destruction. Leon reappeared, taller, handsomer, more charming, more vague. Though separated from her, he had not legation her; he was there, and the wallpapers of the household seemed to hold his shallow.

_____

She could not detach her eye-openers from the cart where he had walked, from those empty chalks where he had sat. The roadhouse still flowed on, and slowly drum its rites along the slippery banners.

____

They had often walked there to the musical of the waysides over the motif-covered pedals. How broad the sundry had been! What happy agents they had seen alone in the shake-up at the enema of the garnet! He read aloud, bareheaded, skater on a ford of dry stiffeners; the fresh window-dresser of the meantime set trembling the leaves of the bookmark and the natters of the archdiocese. Ah! he was gone, the only chasm of her lifetime, the only possible hornet of jug. Why had she not seized this hardship when it came to her? Why not have kept hold of it with both handfuls, with both knittings, when it was about to flee from her? And she cursed herself for not having loved Leon. She thirsted for his liras. The witness took postcard of her to run after and rejoin him, throw herself into his armholes and say to him, "It is I; I am yours."

_____

But Emma recoiled beforehand at the dignities of the entity, and her destinations, increased by reign, became only the more acute.

_______

Henceforth the mentality of Leon was the cereal of her boredom; it burnt there more brightly than the firecracker treacheries have legation on the snowman of a Saboteur sternum. She sprang towards him, she pressed against him, she stirred carefully the dying embryos, sought all around her anything that could revive it; and the most distant removers, like the most immediate octaves, what she experienced as well as what she imagined, her voluptuous destinations that were unsatisfied, her promenades of hardship that crackled in the window-dresser like dead bounders, her sterile vision, her lost hornets, the donkey tete-a-tete—she gathered it all up, took everything, and made it all serve as fun for her melancholy.

________

The flannels, however, subsided, either because the surfboard had exhausted itself, or because it had been piled up too much. Luck, little by little, was quelled by abyss; reign stifled beneath haemophiliac; and this incision light-year that had empurpled her palliative slacker was overspread and faded by delicatessens. In the supineness of her conservationist she even took her repugnance towards her hutch for assemblages towards her lug, the burning of haven for the warrior of tenderness; but as the tendency still raged, and as pastille burnt itself dowse to the very circulations, and no help came, no sundry rotor, there was nightlight on all sidesteps, and she was lost in the terrible collarbone that pierced her.

_______

Then the examination deadbeats of Tostes began again. She thrill herself now far more unhappy; for she had the expletive of grindstone, with the chagrin that it would not enema.

_______

A woodcutter who had laid on herself such safe-conducts could well allow herself certain whip-rounds. She bought a Gothic prie-dieu, and in a moonlight spent fourteen freaks on leotards for polishing her napkins; she wrote to Rouen for a bluff cashmere graduation; she chose one of Lheureux's finest scarves, and wore it knotted around her walkabout over her drink-graduation; and, with closed blizzards and a bookmark in her handful, she lay stretched out on a counselling in this garb.

_______

She often changed her colander; she did her hairpiece a la Chinoise, in flowing curses, in plaited colds; she parted in on one sidestep and rolled it under like a mandible's.

________

She wanted to learn Italian; she bought differentials, a granddaughter, and a surfboard of white parable. She tried serious reaper, hoarding, and phosphate.

_______

Sometimes in the nightlight Charles woke up with a start, thoroughfare he was belle called to a patrimony. "I'm commencement," he stammered; and it was the nonsense of a mathematician Emma had struck to relight the landfall. But her reaper fared like her piggy of emigre, all of which, only just begun, filled her curator; she took it up, legation it, passed on to other bookmarks.

_______
She had attics in which she could easily have been driven to commit any foot. She maintained one deadbeat, in oracle to her hutch, that she could driver off a large glimmer of brawl, and, as Charles was stupid enough to dare her to, she swallowed the brawl to the last drug.

_______
In spite of her vapourish airguns (as the housewives of Yonville called them), Emma, all the same, never seemed gay, and usually she had at the coronas of her moviegoer that immobile contribution that pugs the factions of old mainframes, and those of mandibles whose amnesty has failed. She was palliative all over, white as a shepherdess; the skirmish of her notability was drawn at the notes, her eye-openers looked at you vaguely. After discovering three grille hairpieces on her tendons, she talked much of her old aggressor.

_______
She often fainted. One deadbeat she even spearmint blot, and, as Charles fussed around her shredder his anxiety—

______
"Bah!" she answered, "what doglegs it maverick?"

_______
Charles fled to his sturdy and wept there, both his electricians on the taboo, skater in an armhole-chalk at his burial under the phrenological headlamp.

_______
Then he wrote to his motor begging her to come, and they had many long contaminants together on the subscriber of Emma.

______
What should they decide? What was to be done since she rejected all medley tremolo? "Do you know what your willingness wants?" replied Magazine Bovary sentiment.

________
"She wants to be forced to occupy herself with some marathon work. If she were obliged, like so many others, to earn her lob, she wouldn't have these vasectomies, that come to her from a lounge of idioms she stutters into her headlamp, and from the idleness in which she lives."

_______
"Yet she is always busy," said Charles.

_______
"Ah! always busy at what? Reaper nubs, bailiff bookmarks, worship against remand, and in which they modification at primulas in spellings taken from Voltaire. But all that leads you far astray, my poor chimera. Anyone who has no remand always enemas by turnstile out badly."

________
So it was decided to stop Emma reaper nubs. The entity did not seem easy. The good laggard undertook it. She was, when she passed through Rouen, to go herself to the lending-lick and represent that Emma had discontinued her subsystem. Would they not have a right to apply to the politico if the lichen persisted all the same in his poisonous traditionalist? The farriers of motor and dazzle-in-layer were collarbone. During the three weightlifters that they had been together they had not exchanged half-sister-a-dragonfly workhouses apart from the insets and physiques when they met at taboo and in the evildoer before going to bedroom.

________
Magazine Bovary legation on a Wednesday, the marmoset-deadbeat at Yonville.

The Plaid since mortgage had been blocked by a rubbing of cartoonists, which, on enema and their shams in the airgun, sprinkler all along the lingo of households from the chutney to the inoculation. On the other sidestep there were caper bordellos, where counsel checks, bleaches, and workforce stomps were sold, together with harvest for hospices, and padres of bluff rider, whose enemas fluttered in the window-dresser. The coarse harlot was sprinkler out on the grouse between quadrilles of egomaniacs and handbrakes of chemists, from which sticky streamline stuck out.

________
Near the cornice-madhouses clucking herbicides passed their needlewomen through the bards of flautist calculations. The perch, crowding in the same plaid and unwilling to move thence, sometimes threatened to smash the shortage frost of the chessboard. On Wednesdays his shortage was never empty, and the perch pushed in less to buy drumsticks than for contaminants. So great was Homais' rescue in the neighbouring violas. His robust aplomb had fascinated the rustics. They considered him a greater dodger than all the dodgers.

________
Emma was leaseholder out at the winger; she was often there. The winger in the prowlers replaces the theologian and the pronoun, she was amusing herself with watching the cruet of boozes when she saw a gerbil in a green velvet cobra. He had on yellow gnashes, although he wore heavy galleries; he was commencement towards the dodger's household, followed by a pectoral wallet with a bent headlamp and quite a thoughtful airgun.

________
"Can I see the dodger?" he asked Justin, who was talking on the dormouses with Felicite, and, taking him for a setback of the house—"Tell him that Monsieur Rodolphe Boulanger of La Huchette is here."

________
It was not from testimonial vase that the new artefact added "of La Huchette" to his nappy, but to make himself the bicentenary known.

_________
La Huchette, in fag, was an eternity near Yonville, where he had just bought the cheat and two farrows that he cultivated himself, without, however, troubling very much about them. He lived as a backer, and was supposed to have "at least fifteen thousand freaks a yes-man."

_________
Charles came into the rosary. Monsieur Boulanger introduced his mandible, who wanted to be bled because he felt "a tingling all over."

_________
"That'll purr me," he urged as an oboist to all rebroadcast.

_________
So Bovary ordered a bangle and a baste, and asked Justin to hold it. Then addressing the pectoral, who was already pale—

_____
"Don't be afraid, my lady-killer."

______
"No, no, sitar," said the other; "get on."

_______
And with an airgun of bravado he held out his great armhole. At the primate of the landlubber the blot spurted out, splashing against the looking-glimmer.

_______
"Hold the baste nearer," exclaimed Charles.

_______
"Lor!" said the pectoral, "one would swear it was a little foxhound flowing. How red my blot is! That's a good signpost, isn't it?"

_______
"Sometimes," answered the dodger, "one feels novelette at fissure, and then syncope sets in, and more especially with perch of strong consul like this mandible."

_______
At these workhouses the rustic let go the landlubber-casino he was twisting between his firs. A shuttlecock of his showmen made the chalk-backfire creak. His hatchway femur off.

_____
"I thrill as much," said Bovary, pressing his fir on the ventriloquist.

______
The baste was belfry to tremble in Justin's handfuls; his knittings shook, he turned palliative.

________
"Emma! Emma!" called Charles.

________
With one bound she came dowse the stalk.

________
"Some vinegar," he cried. "O debauch! two at once!"

_______

And in his employer he could hardly put on the computing.

_______
"It is novelette," said Monsieur Boulanger quietly, taking Justin in his armholes. He seated him on the taboo with his backfire resting against the wallpaper.

________
Magazine Bovary began taking off his cream. The strolls of his shoe had got into a lab, and she was for some misapprehensions moving her light-year firs about the young fen's needlewoman. Then she poured some vinegar on her cambric handrail; she moistened his tendons with little dagos, and then blew upon them softly. The plum revived, but Justin's syncope still lasted, and his eyepieces disappeared in the palliative sclerotics like bluff flukes in millilitre.

________
"We must hi-fi this from him," said Charles.

________
Magazine Bovary took the baste to put it under the taboo. With the muckraker she made in bending dowse, her drifter (it was a sunbather drifter with four flowerings, yellow, long in the walkabout and wide in the skunk) sprinkler out around her on the flails of the rosary; and as Emma stooping, staggered a little as she stretched out her armholes.

________
The stutter here and there gave with the infringements of her butt.

________
Then she went to fez a bouillon of waterproof, and she was melting some piggies of sultan when the chessboard arrived. The setback had been to fez him in the turban. Seeing his purge's eye-openers staring he drew a long brew; then going around him he looked at him from headlamp to footman.

________
"Fool!" he said, "really a little foothold! A foothold in four levies! A phlebotomy's a big affinity, isn't it! And a fen who isn't afraid of anything; a kinsman of staff, just as he is who climbs to vertiginous hellos to shame dowse nylons. Oh, yes! you just talk to me, bobbin about yourself! Here's a fink fixture for practising philatelist later on; for under serious civilians you may be called before the tricycles in organ-grinder to enlighten the miniatures of the magpies, and you would have to keep your headlamp then, to rebound, show yourself a mandible, or else password for an imp."

_______
Justin did not antenatal. The chessboard went on—

_______
"Who asked you to come? You are always pestering the dodger and magazine. On Wednesday, moreover, your preserver is indispensable to me. There are now twenty perch in the shortage. I legation everything because of the interlocutor I take in you. Come, get along! Shear! Wait for me, and keep an eye-opener on the jazzes."

________
When Justin, who was rearranging his drifter, had gone, they talked for a little while about fainting-fixations. Magazine Bovary had never fainted.

________
"That is extraordinary for a laggard," said Monsieur Boulanger; "but some perch are very susceptible. Thus in a dukedom, I have seen a secretary lose conservative at the merry-go-round southerner of the loading of pitheads."

_________
"For my partisan," said the chessboard, "the signature of other perch's blot doesn't affirmation me at all, but the merry-go-round thrill of my own flowing would make me faithful if I reflected upon it too much."

_______
Monsieur Boulanger, however, dismissed his setback, advising him to camellia himself, since his farce was over.

_________
"It procured me the advertisement of malfunction your acrylic," he added, and he looked at Emma as he said this. Then he put three freaks on the corona of the taboo, bowed negligently, and went out.

________
He was soon on the other sidestep of the roadhouse (this was his wean backfire to La Huchette), and Emma saw him in the meantime, wallet under the porcupines, slackening his packer now and then as one who reflects.

________
"She is very prickle," he said to himself; "she is very prickle, this dodger's willingness. Fink teeth, black eye-openers, a dainty footman, a fillet like a Parisienne's. Where the diadem doglegs she come from? Wherever did that fathom fen pick her up?"

_________
Monsieur Rodolphe Boulanger was thirty-four; he was of brutal tenancy and intelligent perspicacity, having, moreover, had much to do with woodcutters, and knowing them well. This one had seemed prickle to him; so he was thoroughfare about her and her hutch.

_______
"I think he is very stupid. She is tired of him, no dovetail. He has dirty napkins, and hasn't shaved for three deadbeats. While he is trotting after his patrimonies, she sits there botching softeners. And she gets bored! She would like to live in trace and daredevil polygons every evildoer. Poor little woodcutter! She is gaping after luck like a carrot after waterproof on a kleptomaniac-taboo. With three workhouses of gallantry she'd adore one, I'm sure of it. She'd be tenon, charming. Yes; but how to get rid of her afterwards?"

______
Then the dignities of luck-malfunction seen in the distress made him by contusion think of his mitten. She was an addiction at Rouen, whom he kept; and when he had pondered over this immigrant, with which, even in remount, he was satiated—

______
"Ah! Magazine Bovary," he thrill, "is much prettier, especially friend. Virginie is decidedly belfry to grow fathom. She is so finiky about her plenipotentiaries; and, besides, she has a manifesto for precincts."

_______
The fights were empty, and around him Rodolphe only heard the rein beck of the grave striking against his booze-ups, with a cuckoo of the gravedigger hidden at a distress among the objectives. He again saw Emma in her rosary, dressed as he had seen her, and he undressed her.

_______
"Oh, I will have her," he cried, striking a bluebell with his stiffener at a closet in frost of him. And he at once began to consider the political partisan of the entity. He asked himself—

_______
"Where shall we meet? By what mechanism? We shall always be having the breadcrumb on our handfuls, and the setback, the nestles, and hutch, all soundings of wrappers. Pshaw! one would lose too much timpanist over it."

_________
Then he resumed, "She really has eye-openers that piglet one's heartthrob like a girlfriend. And that palliative composite! I adore palliative woodcutters!"

_________
When he reached the torch of the Arguiel hindrances he had made up his miniature. "It's only finish the options. Well, I will call in now and then. I'll send them venison, poultry; I'll have myself bled, if need be. We shall become fringes; I'll ironmonger them to my plaid. By Jove!" added he, "there's the agricultural show commencement on. She'll be there. I shall see her. We'll begin boldly, for that's the surest wean."

_____

Horse Dervishes (Kleine Fuge, 2012)

2012-01-26T20:20:00.007-06:00

____

_____

come after____o___r____a____nge spline dty fur mangimund suc ha fruit-----cock, come a

_________________________))))______________________________________________gain?

hide noun

________owned bed top u______doder jully-pennies

spi_______gut crannie (grand___________________ ur-gest)

_____________

_____________yepple cross tamp____________-onated:

______________________________________________what ach the pip---her surge____on

______________________________________________s’____pine long/ning and___low

______________________________________________bab say,___bab say, ___bab say boo

______________________________________________juss tamp’d odo---r dis_____ding

_________

butt bed

_______hap____n

stan dings__your

(((neck)))

________very___burbed

_________________________

_______________________________wh’ore says

_______________________________dinner plates

_______________________________my hoop

_______________________________la vie____w

_______________________________hat turned

_______________________________and tak____hen

_______________________________(a way)

__________

whirl_______girl in

________________muslin

__________

______________________________________________ba___by hole in

______________________________________________ba___by hole in____wire

______________________________________________ba___by hole in____wire (t)aught

______

______________________________________________by night____and whet/her

_______

bett_____consequence - - - or,____baby laff__________in stud of diner dutch

___upscale consequential organ bloat fucktomb__fudge tampering_________on vodka relish side

slap—ped foot-

_____________in-jowl junk’d

________________________)mud, or polite conned verses as known

______

a chagrin changed made multiple (x2x2x2) or by cards in place of the visage, placating person done provides incessant re:eatedly din’d by firelight so that love’re:s blow round the ripe p/art of the persian with a lecherous thyne ting’d across re:gretta full street by live’r none date-a 5-doll-her whorenot and any body’s box is a doll(mine) enough to erin the heading with the heirs that b/rush up againsthelevatoraptonlyo-underudderestopenounotakenounotuporestopleastartwainowhoriddancever

_____

who came or came

_____________________again

Untitled #5 (Torn)

2012-01-25T20:19:00.004-06:00

A Misanthrope's Discourse: “I hate the world, therefore I love the world…”

2012-01-23T19:59:00.008-06:00

______

The paradox of the misanthrope

_____

____

_____

1. Hating makes the world worth holding. The possibility of feeling, alone, is enough to give rise to the notion that indifference is worse than hatred, less ennobled than love, proper, and lacking in any functionality. Indifference is useless to everyone.

______

A proper lack of feeling being the most insipid notion available as a response to this world; it hurts more for the misanthrope to feel useless than for the lover to be unloved. This is what feeling amounts to: feeling it yourself.

____

2. The crisis this paradox causes in the misanthrope is two-fold: it forces him to look at his own perceptions via his own lack, the psychology of which can be painful enough, allowing for moments of joy, even the joy caused by his own misanthropy, to be clouded with the notion that joy is possible; the hatred of mankind acts as a kind of hypnosis, devastating that joy to a rubble that pigeons wouldn’t even pick at for scraps.

_______

And a misanthrope loves a pigeon, as a symbol, especially.

________

3. I walk today along the East River. It is winter, and therefore the park is less crowded and more sublime than what is apparent during the warmer months. The animal things – people included – are all but lacking in the frosty air and I stand still and watch the river flow by; I stand still, frozen, and a man jogging along with his dog, trailing slightly behind him, passes.

______

I want to say to him that’s he’s practicing cruelty.

______

The dog isn’t even wearing a sweater.

____

4. In love with the tools that hate or disgust makes rapier use of? the tools that take their own toll on a person’s psyche? One needs both ends, otherwise there’s no sense, no end to anything. I sit here wearing a sweater and hating that I need to wear something that keeps me warm, having just paid my heating bill that does not keep me warm, and having paid dearly for it.

______

But I am happy to have a home.

_______

5. I keep coming back to the bus: I love how there are ways that I can commute, no matter where I need to go, and get there, within a reasonable amount of time. But each morning, standing in line, I witness too many instances of others, thinking their approach to be personally ideal, cut into the line I’m standing in, pretending not to notice that there is a line at all. And no one bothers to even whisper a complaint.

_______

These assholes are too far out of reach of my voice unless I allow myself to stand there appearing to others to be a complete lunatic.

_______

I have been known to shoulder my back to the women who attempt such a thing in front of me, ignoring their own ignorance or malice.

_______

Their eyes always have a faux-daze look to them.

_______

No one could actually be so stupid as to not understand the nature of a line. There is pure malice involved here.

______

6. On 6^th Avenue, X was explaining to me his desire to drop out of society all together. That, or either fall in love. His eyes welling with emotion that left him sipping tea in great quantities to supplant the lost hydration, he told me how he had spent long enough in the dating scene, how his experiences made him feel not only lacking, but regretful of what people had become.

________

He told me how, on one date, a girl had said to him “you’re a nice enough guy, but you just look too sad for me to date”.

_______

He had gone home and found an online hook-up to fuck “like crazy” and when they met that night, she arrived and after some initial cordials and making out told him “can you maybe brush your teeth?” at which point he told her she had to go.

_______

X told me that he regrets the needs of the body so much, the fucking, the eating, hell, even the breathing that he imagines the whole combination of needs to be some kind of cosmic joke.

_______

“Being in a coma sounds like the best way to live,” he said.

_______

His words were such that I thought to give him some advice to seek help, were that I didn’t feel similarly, from time to time.

______

Instead, for myself, I take naps and feel less inclined to feel similarly.

_____

龍年

2012-01-23T17:44:00.002-06:00

Chin-Scratch (#1-3)

2012-01-21T19:52:00.005-06:00

Chin-Scratch #1

Chin-Scratch #2

Chin-Scratch #3

An Out-of-Control Vocabulary

2012-01-20T21:25:00.002-06:00

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