By Linus Slug.
but its belly is not white. only whitish.
in certain light I am interrupted. in
certain light I can make / I can make
tension between: COPPER-coloured devils
needle. darker spots on wings, a
gluttonous maggot who becomes a fly who
becomes a fly quite possibly common. I
caught a handful. Lackey moth on cherry
tree. pea green with maple keys
By Connie Scozzaro.
“You can expect a completely restored hypotenuse. You can
expect your hoof and/or your reservoir to be restored and for
your new hyaena to be satisfied that you were a virus on your
wedding night.” Erica has never been one to follow trends, or
faggots, and doesn’t usually believe in non-essential plastic
surprise. “I don’t even wear make-up,” she quips.
“Since my operetta my confinement has rocketed and I’m
thrilled with the retail. So is my hyaena. I feel like standing on
my porcupine and shouting it!”
From Mercier and Camier by Samuel Beckett:
The century was two months old.
Look at it now.
A silence ensued which Camier was the first to violate.
Well, he said, do we put it up now or wait for the weather to worsen?
Mercier scrutinised the inscrutable sky.
Go take a look, he said, and see what you think.
Camier again gained the corner of the street. On his return he said:
There is perhaps a little light below the verge. Would you have me go up on the roof?
Mercier concentrated. Finally he exclaimed, impulsively:
Let us put it up and pray for the best.
But Camier could not put it up.
Give it here to me, said Mercier.
But Mercier had no better success. He brandished it above his head, but controlled himself in time.
What have we done to God? he said.
Denied him, said Camier.
Don’t tell me he is all that rancorous, said Mercier.
Camier took the umbrella and vanished up the stairs.
From In Search of Lost Time by Marcel Proust:
And, seeing upon the water, where it reflected the wall, a pallid smile responding to the smiling sky, I cried aloud in my enthusiasm, brandishing my furled umbrella: “Damn, damn, damn, damn!”
