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From: | Stephanie Carlton |
Subject: | [smc-devel] notion convulsion |
Date: | Thu, 21 Sep 2006 11:53:03 +0900 |
![]() At the time I didnot grasp that this was because
there were no weapons to be had.
Nothing that comes down with all itsfeet on the
floor. Except for a smallnumber of women and foreigners there were no well-dressed
people at all.
I went on strike and demanded a drinking-cup assoon
as I saw a porron in use.
Here onmy brow is the blow I got when Percival
fell. It was impossible even to get them to stand in line. Then under the dullness
someone walks with a green light. I have been talking of Bernard, Neville, Jinny,
Susan, Rhoda andLouis. The bars deepen themselves between the waves. Tuesdayfollows
Monday: Wednesday, Tuesday. I have seenso many different things, have made so many
different sentences.
Human beings were tryingto behave as human beings
and not as cogs in the capitalist machine. Queer, the affection you can feel for a
stranger! To-night he has been feasted on quails, salad, andsweetbread. Queer, the
affection you can feel for a stranger!
Here we are among thebreadcrumbs and the stained
napkins again. It is true, he washes his hands before dinner, but they arestill
hairy. Thekinds of cap were about as numerous as their wearers. Iam the swathed
figure in the hairdressers shop taking up only somuch space.
He now holds a glass of fine old brandy in his paw.
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