SUNDAY SUNDRIES
12/1/2024 the revelation experiments continue
They Rioted -- Didn’t They? Con/Jur/d, 12/1/2024 A month in 1857, Gustave still scandalous ransack the libraries, however remotely, Threw himself upon a work proofs of Salammbô,grudgingly mad Sent to Bovary Camp, we were to be housed by the author's sacrifices, their mutilated story rumors printers of the tale upon the charge of outraging public Took steps to prevent the bar and their judicial tradition, hearing from or earning a strange distinguished throngs, Sence of the world's literary masterpieces, "Art that is without,”declaimed in his peroration, "is no longer art, ” for man who has single rules garments. To impose is not to the principles we profess, there scientiously defend - ard sat down; the suave M. demolishment of the ses and all the k - blished them, sage Justice anne PART 2: for his Saint was in a box Justice good sense; GoWncision of no Morn of rAy secreted in it Gustave Flaubert marched out! irritated, man. might now parade her folly, between Lévy, (BLUSH) ians had be prors, of his first at Croisset, determined to tentation (lessons from sleepaway camp) de saint Antoine for visiting Paris, that he might be present at the Guilhet's play: M THE CHA 2.he had been close to re: he had stopeces alat his might embroil him wnal work" on sendearing him,e "long-robed" Jesuits, (and their lectronics) both, loquet, viewed him with irritatation by his metaphors, the latter being former man, vandalized by his frankness. (not his anness, to be clear) There was no doubt about it: ‘porarily, at least, the only place for his Saint was in a box.
LURCH Con/Jur/d, 12/1/2024 privilege is not being reminded you’re bound TO A BODY subject to the lies of community 6 AM, out the window, see them bundled, DOGLESS jeRK, JErk, jerkinging LURCHING, at velocity, down our dogleg by the little park, it's cold the single tier of baseball stadium seating, aluminum crusted CRYSTALLINE SNOW they perambulate stochastically stumbling, not shuffling, forward and upright. Drunkenness? Madness? A bad foot? PATTERNED RECOGNITION the wrongness of OTHER makes it about US first, the one who would have opened the door and called out, YOU OK? then the older, smaller, more vicious us frozen in fear, in the dark kitchen WATER DRIPS, SHADOWS MARK /// US A HAND, highlighted by the streetlights shining through the high window, we’re crouched (need to clean) floor, when the FACELESS bundled, lurcher pounds on THE BACK PORCH DOOR and the absence that should be a mouth yells, I SEE YOU .i am you .peering .out A WHOLE UNIVERSE .being born.being born.being born. by the time we get down the stairs look out, THEY ARE GONE snow falls thru STREETLAMP LUMINESCENCE they had walked.
Look for a bonus post later today — get in on the experiment
Much love,
Con/Jur/d, 12/1/2024