The cult for this practice persists on the strength of substantial disinformation - indeed, as a matter of taste- ful avoidance. How wittily this practice clothes, com- ports, and compartmentalises itself, to gain the favours of the nursery's unquestion- ing ornamentation. An envir- onment beyond decoration im- parts a gaiety unsustainable. What darlinger enchantment, than Christian soldiers, on- ward?
Once the fighting was over, civilians in Bourcy
and Noville emerged from their cellars to the
sight of destruction all around, and the smell
of damp smoke, carbonised masonry, burned iron
and the seared flesh of farm animals killed in
the bombardments. But even the comparative re-
lief that the shelling had stopped was short
lived. They found themselves rounded up by one
of the SS security service groups from the Sich-
erheitsdienst. Brutal interrogations began, in
an attempt to identify members of the Belgian
Resistance and those who had welcomed the Amer-
icans in September. The SD officials had news-
paper photographs with them of the event. One
man in Bourcy, after a savage beating, was tak-
en outside and killed with hammers. They had
found a home-made American flag in his cellar.
The group moved on to Noville where they mur-
dered seven men, including the priest, Father
Delvaux, and the village schoolmaster.
How has Texas so failed us
in her censorships, as to
permit Shakespeare anywhere
near the schools? How has her diligence for carnage flopped so shabbily, on the mattress of prestige? Is it
And may God speed her journey, need we beg, for some gushings of her sustenance? No. The very appropriate reflex against this metaphor is rather shopworn in the instance of two infinitely thirsty craviours of big money - sniff it, cash - we knew in the previous century, back now to assert progressiv- ism's rightful claims. I think the Democratic Party, of Jefferson and Roosevelt, must be able to come up with one viable chalice of progress less anguished by a personal thirst. We don't expect eleg- ance of Clintonism's duet, but a slight deference to decorum is seldom unreasonably amiss. The vessel, after all, gives. It doesn't imbibe for itself. Even then, what progress is it, to put the Female Face of that fetish, forward? Is it congenial, to that end- lessly deferred incarnation of liberation's dreams, to put forth a co-dependent of unregulated slush? I beg your pardon, to lack a picture to do justice to the matter. Who could have supposed such professional beneficiaries had crept a- board the Ark, much less a pair from our own species?
Set of data that describes and gives meaning to other data. We were born to a world in which the presumptions of this neologism would have been deemed untrustworthy, on their face. There is no algorithm capable of that penetration.
A hypothesis, you say. So was the soccer moms' argu- ment for barring time. Power must always dread, one day its claimants will, themselves, repudi- ate it: mature, reclaim risk. Apostasy, peres- troika, dreaming aloud, the testimony of shells, the cry of shore birds, always come at low tide. But they're there.