“…whether he was cured of his madness or still suffered from it, and then begged leave to continue his journey; in short, they all separated and went their ways, leaving to themselves the curate and the barber.” (ibid) The carter yoked Catullus (who suffered with mono-onomastikos) to Cratylus, Dario and Argento bridled to the muleteer’s wagon. Giallo and Mulock swan the Guadix channel backwards, Yolande Rose and Joséphine Cardinale inflamed over a lost glove, pilfered, so they believed, by Sergio Ferzetti, who took off in a gallop on the back of his trusty Rocinante. ‘we have no time for this nonsense’ preached the Witness madly. ‘in times of strife and pestilence a man must find his cantor, not gallop off like a woebegone ass’. Awaking from his dreams the man in the hat found a summons pinned to his lean-to flap. The rector’s assistant requests your presence immediately . Please come quickly please. And thank you. Throwing the summons into the rainspout the man in the hat lay down and forced himself back to sleep, hoping and praying that he could revisit the dream he had awoken from a few minutes earlier.
(Author’s aside: I am a phenomenologist, per say… everything I see, feel, touch, etc. has gone through a reduction, even, per say, my own reduction).
They drank tic-tac under a black opium sky, Pelléas et Mélisande sucking him stiff as whiplash, her head making slapping noises against the footboard. Reduced to a mere shell of a man he took a pull of tic-tac, her lips making a smacking noise like wetness. Witnessing the Witness witnessing he saw a man deprived of common sense for whom the world and the people in it were objects for the taking, measly cunt that he was. Some days were better tempered than others, today being no different than the day that preceded it. The image of Pelléas et Mélisande sucking stiffened him, a picric of sugared apricots dancing in his thoughts; things he once coveted but were taken away from him, even in thought.
(Author’s aside: I am a phenomenologist, per say… everything I see, feel, touch, etc. has gone through a reduction, even, per say, my own reduction).
They drank tic-tac under a black opium sky, Pelléas et Mélisande sucking him stiff as whiplash, her head making slapping noises against the footboard. Reduced to a mere shell of a man he took a pull of tic-tac, her lips making a smacking noise like wetness. Witnessing the Witness witnessing he saw a man deprived of common sense for whom the world and the people in it were objects for the taking, measly cunt that he was. Some days were better tempered than others, today being no different than the day that preceded it. The image of Pelléas et Mélisande sucking stiffened him, a picric of sugared apricots dancing in his thoughts; things he once coveted but were taken away from him, even in thought.
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