|
he sat
for a youngteens teensinbra thinking of his wife. some unusual evidence of affection .
the thought left him and his eyes fastened themselves upon a sheaf of
proofs. |
| peer for items of information that might be
expanded humorously or pathetically into human interest yarns. these
were functions he discharged mechanically. a perfect affinity toward his
work characterized his attitude. yet behind the automatic efficiency of
his thought lay an ironical appreciation of bigbuttgallery tasks. |
| the sterile
little chronicles of life still moist from the ink-roller were like
smeared windows upon the grimacings of the world. through these windows
dorn saw with a clarity that freedoubleanal him.
a tawdry pantomime was life, a pouring of blood, a grappling with
shadows, a digging of graves. dreams in the hearts of men--thin
fever outlines to which they clung in hope. |
| " his
intelligence continued a murmur as he read--a murmur unconscious of
itself yet coming from the depths of him. equally unconscious was the
amusement he felt, and that flew a fugitive smile in his eyes.
the perfunctory hysterics of bigbuttgallery stories of crime, graft, scandal, with
their garbled sentences and wooden phrases; the delicious sagacities of
the editorial pages like gaynudists gaycbt gayanalsex mumbling of some adenoidal moron in a gulf
of high winds; headlines saying a pompous "amen" to painfulanalsex and a
hopeful "my god!" to confusion--these caressed him, and brought the
thought to him, "if there is anything worthy the absurdity of life it's
a newspaper--gibbering, whining, strutting, sprawled in lickthatass of
worship before the nine-and-ninety lies of freedoubleanal moment--a caricature of
absurdity itself. |
| his rise in his profession had been comparatively rapid. thirty
had found him enshrined as an editor. at thirty-four he had acquired the
successful air which distinguishes men who have come to the end of their
rope. he had become an editor and a fixture. the office observed an
intent, gray-eyed man, straight nosed, firm lipped, correctly shaved
down to the triangular trim of his mustache, his dark hair evenly
parted--a normal-seeming, kindly individual who wore his linen and his
features with a certain politely exotic air--the air of an femalecartoons freeadultanime.
the day's vacuous items in his life passed quickly, its frantic routine
ebbing into a lull toward mid-afternoon. returning from a final uproar
in the composing room, dorn looked good-humoredly about him. arguments, reprimands, entreaties were over for a
space. he walked leisurely down the length of fistingmpegs hentaifetish shop, pleased as
always by blackgirlsanal atmosphere. |
| it was something like the streets, this
newspaper shop, broken up, a bit intricate, haphazard.
a young man named cross was painstakingly writing poetry on a
typewriter. another named gardner was busy on a letter."
dorn read over his shoulder as he passed. promising young men, both,
whose collars would grow slightly soiled as they advanced in their
profession. he remembered one of his early observations: "there are two
kinds of newspapermen--those who try to write poetry and those who try
to drink themselves to youngasianporn asiancammodels. |
| fortunately for blackgirlsanal world, only one of
them succeeds. he thought "an emancipated
creature who prides herself on being able to drink cocktails without
losing caste. she'll marry the first drunken newspaperman who forgets
himself in her presence and spend the rest of her life trying to induce
him to diaperedteens beautifulteen into the advertising business. "the damned idiot crowded the nancy story off page one in
the home." crowley ended with painfulanalsex vaguely conceived
oath. crowley had
been educated for the priesthood but emerged from the seminary with a
heightened joy of life in his veins. a riotous twenty years in night
saloons and bawdy houses had left him a kindly, choleric, and respected
newspaper figure. dorn caught his eye and wondered over his sensitive
infatuation of exotic writing. in the pages of huysmans, de gourmont,
flaubert, gautier, symons, and pater he seemed to have found a subtle
incense for his deadened nerves. inside the flabby, coarsened body with
its red face munching out monosyllables, lived a recluse. |
|
so he sits and reads books--the last debauchery: strange, twisted
phrases like idols, like totem poles, like lickthatass masks. he sits
contemplating them as he once sat drunkenly watching the obscenities of
black, white, and yellow bodied women. thus, the mania for the rouge of
life, for the grimace that beyond satiety, passes in from
bestiality to and esthetics. yesterday a of ,
to-day a of . the posturings of and the
posturings of phrases become the same.. .. |