an immediate liking feel for a stranger war-stricken towns or blue overalls bread queue’s horse piss and quavering bugle calls pull the pin out more or less coated excrement everywhere without a handkerchief
Male applause (pressed from Evelyn Waugh)
his watch, unwound largely spent buckling about two windblown girls not related to night and day not hot water at once forgot him gray pills sound of sobbing as Mrs. Scarfield brandy and Créme de Menthe mixed silent with shame our of his deep chair Dutch perhaps they it was duty to spread alarm(…)
Softy, softly, softly (pressed from George Orwell)
newly drenched orchards risen without help great beef-faced men bribes from both sides every tinkle, a prayer news stolen the right beginning ‘softly, softly, softly is my way and feared with lime-washed walls one heal in the loop of the rope an old black-clad sneak shaved twice in one day that smelly native crowd(…)
Dear forever (pressed from Patricia Hempl)
the father of genius in this indolence it must be 1953 history, it turns out been dead forever
Among soldiers (pressed from Jean-Vincent Blanchard)
like a citadel outside the walls of Fez an outpost a new name, if you like a borrowed name leftover fighters not a mere patchwork learned, pious herds seized among soldiers later the telephone lines so called Queen Hill not men there was a citadel
Proud shame (pressed from Thomas Mann)
an extended walk the waning day strikingly snub-nosed it was wanderlust by his ego the writer’s mother bearing stamps his Frederic the Great more infinity in proud shame the outcast was cast out moral and immoral raggle-taggle rustics as vacant pearls the size of cherries shrunken almost German children with French nurses(…)
Open veldt (pressed from Irma Joubert)
he would get cold orange peal on the grey stones oranges and tangerines two tangerines open veldt six slept in front room Irene’s sharp tongue something between her teeth Gerbrand came home under the waterfall was a pool spat on her fingertips not papa on the wireless all weekend it wasn’t his bigness or his(…)
Lick the wild (pressed from V.S.Naipaul)
most bored man cards in seven lines the thing without a name reading the cricket scores the same without you he leave she a little too late give the woman lick like wild
A boy is a man (pressed from Kate Atkinson)
the lark temporarily forgotten no idea why not meant baggy things inconvenient table of figures once more veiled from view was deplorably honest a boy is a man
Looking busy (pressed from Stendhal)
clumps of hardy chestnuts twenty heavy hammers looking busy a better bargain ‘I like shade’ even the workhouse for fear of the steak
