The red hand of the waiter pouring the Chartreuse, green like a stormy sunset, into small glasses before them broke into the vivid imaginings that had been unfolding in their talk through dinner. No, they had been saying, it could not go on; some day amid the rending crash of shells and the whine of shrapnel fragments, people everywhere, in all uniforms, in trenches, packed in camions, in stretchers, in hospitals, crowded behind guns, involved in telephone apparatus, generals at their dinner-tables, colonels sipping liqueurs, majors developing photographs, would jump to their feet and burst out laughing at the solemn inanity, at the stupid, vicious pomposity of what they were doing. Laughter would untune the sky. It would be a new progress of Bacchus. Drunk with laughter at the sudden vision of the silliness of the world, officers and soldiers, prisoners working on the roads, deserters being driven towards the trenches would throw down their guns and their spades and their heavy packs, and start marching, or driving in artillery waggons or in camions, staff cars, private trains, towards their capitals, where they would laugh the deputies, the senators, the congressmen, the M.P.’s out of their chairs, laugh the presidents and the prime ministers, and kaisers and dictators out of their plush-carpeted offices; the sun would wear a broad grin and would whisper the joke to the moon, who would giggle and ripple with it all night long…. The red hand of the waiter, with thick nails and work-swollen knuckles, poured Chartreuse into the small glasses before them.
Zeitgeist 2011: Year In Review (by Google)
Years too late, he’d remember that it was the SUV’s excessive tinting that was responsible for the crash
Sometimes I feel in weights and think in volumes
Assign possibility to others, not use
I was wrong to have confronted her on her inability to make eye contact.
I was wrong to raise my voice in retaliation.
I was wrong to have not made the scene a comedic one.
This is my art. And it is dangerous.
And four or five years slipped away…
Why you so stanky, Miss Emmylou Sankey? I’ve pondered on it quite a bit And the reason I’ve found - If you’ll let me expound - Is you never gon’ clean up yo shit!
Can you make static electricity in the absence of modern materials?
secret lessons of the life learn'ed