feedback drench

Emory Fitzpatrick xjz at
Sat Sep 9 23:54:28 PDT 2006

I wondered, as I mounted thestairs, what was their relationship? I do not say mylessons by any means at the stated hour.
We rose and walked together down theavenue. What is to be done about India, Ireland or Morocco?
Tuesdayfollows Monday; then comes Wednesday.
Neville, for example, satwith me on the turf. Yet that weekremains a solid stone in the welter of unrecorded sensation. When the lock whitened on her forehead she twisted it fearlesslyamong the rest.
The birth of children made it highly desirable that he shouldaugment his income.
The trees,scattered, put on order; the thick green of the leaves thinneditself to a dancing light. A trickle of water in some gutter where, burbling, itdies away? Look at a room before shecomes and after. Neville, for example, satwith me on the turf. The willow as she saw it grew on the verge of a greydesert where no bird sang.
Nevertheless, life is pleasant, life is tolerable. Sitting up late at night it seems strange not tohave more control.
One finds oneself surprisingly supplied withinformation. My boots became worna little on the left side. Was this, then, this streaming away mixed with Susan, Jinny,Neville, Rhoda, Louis, a sort of death? But ifthere are no stories, what end can there be, or what beginning? So I thought that night in early autumn when we came together anddined once more at Hampton Court. So little flames zigzag over the cracks in the dryearth.
Yet some doubt remained, some note of interrogation. Neville, for example, satwith me on the turf. The hairdresser began to move his scissors to and fro.
And I, too, am dim to my friends and unknown; a phantom,sometimes seen, often not. Theyhad been educated on the east coast or on the south coast.
Our flame, thewill-o-the-wisp that dances in a few eyes, is soon to be blown outand all will fade. She leads one into a private alcove and admits one to the honour ofher intimacy. I was like oneadmitted behind the scenes: like one shown how the effects areproduced.
Without illusions, hard and clear as crystal, she rodeat the day with her breast bared. His grimand caustic tongue reproved my indolence. Andnow what other discovery will there be?
Men with withered hands, women with pearl pagodas hangingfrom their ears, came in and went out. So the sincerity of the moment passed; so it became symbolical;and that I could not stand. One finds oneself surprisingly supplied withinformation. 
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