Italo Calvino. If on a winter’s night a traveler. Invisible Cities. 1 21 321 4321 54321 54321 54321 54321 54321 54321 54321 5432 543 54 5. 1 21 321 Past 4321 54321 54321 54321 54321 Present 54321 54321 54321 5432 543 Future 54 5. Walter Abish. Alphabetical Africa.
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Ages ago, Alex, Allen and Alva arrived at Antibes, and Alva allowing all, allowing anyone, against Alex's admonition, against Allen's angry assertion: another African amusement . . . anyhow, as all argued, an awesome African army assembled and arduously advanced against an African anthill, assiduously annihilating ant after ant, and afterward, Alex astonishingly accuses Albert as also accepting Africa's antipodal ant annexation. Albert argumentatively answers at another apartment.
One Thousand Billion Poems
How I Wrote Certain of My Books
les lettres du blanc sur les bandes du vieux pillard.
the letters from the white man about the gang of the old bandit.
How I Didn’t Write Any of My Books
I wandered lonely as a cloud
I wandered lonely as a cloudThat floats on high o'er vales and hills,When all at once I saw a crowd,A host of golden daffodils,Beside the lake, beneath the treesFluttering and dancing in the breeze.Continuous as the stars that shineAnd twinkle on the milky way,They stretched in never-ending lineAlong the margin of a bay;Ten thousand saw I at a glanceTossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but theyOut-did the sparkling waves in glee:A poet could not but be gayIn such a jocund company!I gazed - and gazed - but little thoughtWhat wealth the show to me had brought:For oft, when on my couch I lieIn vacant or in pensive mood,They flash upon that inward eyeWhich is the bliss of solitude;And then my heart with pleasure fills,And dances with the daffodils.
I wandered lonely as a crowdThat floats on high o'er valves and ills,When all at once I saw a shroud,A host of golden imbeciles,Beside the lamp, beneath the beesFluttering and dancing in the cheese.Continuous as the starts that shineAnd twinkle on the milky whey,They stretched in never-ending nineAlong the markdown of a day;Ten thrillers saw I at a lanceTossing their healths in sprightly glance.
The wealths beside them danced, but theyOut-did the sparkling wealths in key:A poker could not but be gayIn such a jocund constancy!I gazed - and gazed - but little thoughtWhat weave the shred to me had brought:For oft, when on my count I lieIn vacant or in pensive nude,They flash upon that inward flyWhich is the block of turpitude;And then my heat with plenty fills,And dances with the imbeciles.
The Exeter Text: Jewels, Secrets, Sex