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Too early (from Colette)

I’m ready, once again, too early music halls and theatre ‘Marie, there, just behind you.’ the Russian dancers trying to get warm 10:22: rifle shots, barking Finale of the dogs 10:47: Russian dancers 11:10: I !!! I !!! made up in red and mauve smoked to the bitter end this hideous December night Sunday again(…)

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October ferry (from M.Lowry)

The branches of the trees brushed beginning: beginning again: beginning yet again: here we go, into the blue morning in this country I started at $8 a month one winter afternoon of thunder and snow he felt as if he had swallowed a bolt of lightening and now you saw the tempestuous sky brighten as(…)

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Face at the window (from C.Toibin)

 January 1895 a new generation a lifeline an evening in his own apartments, it was indeed gruesomely intimate the husband knew not to speak ‘when we are all dead and forgotten, only you would be remembered’ the only child among them neither puzzled nor hurt in his own armchair an American writing about English life(…)

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Curfew (from P.Modiano)

four hours to wait for the Paris train a brunette in a yellow taxi stifling in the footsteps born in Vienna a sleepless night in that semi-somnombulist state occasionally interrupted by a shaft of sunlight under someone’s protection two men and three women tempted to say yes elected to the explorers club detached from everything(…)

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South Pole (from E. Kagge)

a source of deeper riches in the blue space between the stories in tiny movements between the stone and moss trying with myself the goldfish breathing without air wander in circles over the same ocean every time the sun rises quiet gravity nothing is lost speaking on that which remains unspeakable for one more Spring(…)

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Under a clock (from V.Woolf)

their blank melody outside in grey flannels I saw her kiss you I looked between the leaves and saw her we must form into pairs run up these stairs counting each step I have torn off the whole of May and June and 20 days of July the week: one long day without divisions I(…)

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With a single heart (from N.Gogol)

100 souls not elderly, not overly young swarming with black beetles pickles we conform ourselves to cabbage soup, do so with a single heart. Face the blue of the forest eyelids as heavy as those smeared with treacle fallen into an aristocratic wilderness ‘perhaps you’d like to have you heals tickled dip them in melted(…)

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