1.
We are the hammers
and chisels in the hands of would be sculptors, battering the spirit of
the sleeping mountain. We are the chips and sand, the fragments of fragments
that fly like arrows from the heart of the rock. We are the silences that
speak from stone. We are the despised rendered voiceless, stripped of
car, radio, camera and every means of communication, a trainload of eyes
covered with mud and spittle. We are the man in the Gospel of John, born
into the world for the sake of the light. We are sent to Siloam, the pool
called ¡§Sent¡¨. We are sent to the sending, that we may bring sight. ...We
are the scholarly and the illiterate, the envied and the ugly, the fierce
and the docile. We are those pioneers who cleared the bush and the forest
with our hands, the gardeners tending and attending the soil with our
tenderness, the fishermen who are flung from the sea to flounder in the
dust of the prairies..
We are the Issei and the Nisei and the Sansei, the Japanese Canadians.
We disappear into the future undemanding as dew.
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2.
He used to
tell his story to every stranger that arrived at Mr. Doolittle's hotel.
He was observed, at first, to vary on some points every time he told
it, which was, doubtless, owing to his having so recently awaked. It
at last settled down precisely to the tale I have related, ...
NOTE
The foregoing Tale, one would suspect, had been suggested to Mr.
Knickerbocker by a little German superstition about the Emperor Frederick
der Rothbart, and the Kypphauser mountain: the subjoined note, however,
which he had appended to the tale, shows that it is an absolute fact,
...
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3.
'Shake hands, Peachey,'
says he. 'I'm going now.' Out he goes, looking neither right nor left,
and when he was plumb in the middle of those dizzy dancing ropes, 'Cut
you beggars,' he shouts; and they cut, and old Dan fell, turning round
and round and round, twenty thousand miles, for he took half an hour
to fall till he struck the water, and I could see his body caught on
a rock with the gold crown close beside.
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4.
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I know a man who made an antiwar movie. A good one. When
it was shown in his hometown, army enlistment went up 600 percent. I'm
trying to convince the world with my movie, there is a reasonable and
better way of getting home for Thanksgiving. |
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click on the images to see the
enlarged versions. |
7. Two endings of the two Hiroshima stories:
1)...After looking
for three days and nights at so many charred bodies, dead and living,
N at last went back to the burned site of his wife's school.
2) ...The dazzling
rays of the summer morning sun poured through the grove of trees surrounding
the shrine. It was as though a huge zebra were bending its head and
peering in at the shrine. Under the trees a scattering of people still
lay sleeping quietly.
The funeral fires
of the night before had gone out, and I could see that all that remained
was white smoke and white ashes--human ashes.
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8. And I press up
close to dance with Bovanne who blind and I'm hummin and he hummin,
chest to chest like talkin. Not jammin my breasts into the man. Wasn't
bout tits. Was bout vibrations. ...
But right away Joe
Lee come up on us and frown for dancin so close to the man. My own son
who knows what kind of warm I am about; and don't grown men call me
long distance and in the middle of the night for a little Mama comfort?
But he frown. Which ain't right since Bovanne can't see and defend himself.
Just a nice old man who fixes toasters and busted irons and bicycles
and things and changes the lock on my door when my men friends get messy.
Nice man. Which is not why they invited him. Grass roots you see.
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