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The whole thing had been strange and lonely, until it was approached by Grin, who had made no secret of the fact that he had two eggs of the finest steel in his sack when it came to gruesomely beautiful women. But somehow it wasn’t even about her subjective identification when she waited for the flashes and the apparent non sequiturs that revealed more than just cold, hip, technical abstraction. For example, Gian Lorenzo Bernini’s 240-second motionless shot from below

“The ecstasy of St. Theresa,” which – yes, the dramatic development of the marriage contract … brought it to an annoying standstill that a fifteen to thirty second statue would have produced just as well; but on the fifth or sixth watch, Joelle realized that the four-minute long still image accentuated an absence: the whole film took the POV308 of the alcohol-addicted snack bag seller, and this – or his head – could be seen in every shot, even on the split screen the titanic sky marathon seven-card study game with tarot cards – the rolled eyes, the temple dents and the rosary made of beads of sweat on the upper lip could be seen continuously on the screen and the screen … except for the four narrative minutes in which the alcohol-addicted snack bag seller in the Vittoria in front of which Bernini stood and the climactic statue filled the canvas and pushed itself to all four edges. The statue, the sensual presence of the sculpture, let the alcohol-addicted snack bag seller escape himself, his annoying, omnipresent, complicated head, she realized, that was the point. The four-minute freeze might not have been at all

The four-minute still image was perhaps not a meaningful artistic gesture or an anti-public wrong track. Freedom from one’s own head, from the inescapable subject, Joelle gradually recognized an emotional thrust, indirect to the point of invisibility, because the mediated transcendence of the self was exactly what the apparently decadent statue of the orgasmic nun claimed for itself as a subject. After a serious (and admittedly rather boring) examination, an unironical, almost moral thesis of the abstract, sarcastic camp cartridge emerged: the stasis of the climactic statue of the film presented its theoretical subject as an emotional effect – a self-forgetfulness like that of the Grail – , and she presented – in a hidden gesture that had something almost moralistic about it, Joelle, who was coked and looked at the brightly lit screen with her mouth twitching while cleaning – found the self-forgetfulness in alcohol to be subordinate to that in religion / art (because bourbon consumption left that The head of the salesman swell terribly until its dimensions at the end of the film the frame

and he had terrible and humiliating trouble to maneuver him through the main entrance of the Vittoria into the open). But somehow it didn’t matter much once she got to know the whole family. The work and its analyzes were just a premonition – which usually came over her under small, controllable amounts of coke, which allowed her to see deeper and more clearly, and therefore those notions were not inherent in the objective work itself – a feeling out of the hollow belly that the punter’s deeply injured attitude toward his father was limited, self-conscious, and perhaps unreal.

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– Sent back used tunnels, where a sizable pile of bags is already piling up fragrant. A confirmed wild hamster sighting could also be confirmed, as Chu, Gopnik and »S. TP «Peterson agrees to keep the rectors’ office from the post-eschaton reprisals against the big buddies Pemulis, Incandenza and Axford, which the eschatonist faction of the association does not necessarily want to see repressed, although the consensus is that nobody would object to the infamous Ann Kittenplan would be taught the flute tones. Hamster incursions could also be blamed for the occult appearance of large and unsuitable E. 1.A. objects in the most unsuitable places, which started in August when thousands of exercise balls were found scattered all over the blue foyer carpet, which is in the middle September continued with the carefully stacked pyramid found on Court 6 during morning practice

The carefully stacked pyramid of AminoPal energy bars found and what has since gained a dynamic that could remain stolen from everyone – wild hamsters are notorious grinders and regroupers of objects that they cannot eat, but with which they still have to play around compulsively – and so on reduce the collective near-hysteria which is equally widespread among the indigenous auxiliary staff and the U16s of the E. 1. A. After all, it is foreseeable that it would turn the boys from the tunnel club into heroes. They move through the tunnel, the rays of their mercury lamps cross and separate, forming jagged and slightly pink colored angles. But even a confirmed rat would be a coup. Dean of Studies Mrs Inc has a wild phobia about pests, garbage, insects and general plant hygiene, and Orkin men with beer bellies and playing cards with naked women in high-heeled shoes on the backs (McKenna claims) spray the whole E twice a semester 1. A. until it stops with pesticides. None of the

little E. 1. A. boys – for the pests are just as much a fetish of the post-latency phase as underground abodes and exclusive clubs have each seen or even caught a rat, a cockroach or even a lousy silverfish. The unspoken consensus is that a wild hamster would be optimal, but a rat would not be to be despised either. A single lousy rat would give the club a real reason, an explainable reason for the underground gatherings – they all have a bad feeling that they cannot really explain to themselves why they like to meet underground so much. “Sleeps, do you mean you can get this up and carried away?” “Chu, man, I wouldn’t stand next to it, let alone touch it.

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I wanted to say: “Yes, that’s nothing new. Besides, it’s six-thirty in the morning! ”“ It’s war in New York, ”she went on. That didn’t make any sense either, after all in New York you always have the feeling that you are at war. “Turn on the television,” she said. I did that. I woke my wife and the first thing we saw on the screen was the two burning towers of the World Trade Center. We tried to call our daughter in New York but couldn’t get through, then we tried our friend Joanne (who works near the World Trade Center), but that didn’t work either, and we were stunned in bed. We stayed in bed and in front of the television until 5 p.m., only then did we find out that nothing had happened to our daughter and Joanne. But something had happened to Bill Weems, a unit manager we worked with recently. When the transmitters ran a tape on the edge of the screen with the names of the aircraft passengers, we saw Bill’s names. My last memory of him is the two of us joking around in a morgue while we were doing a satire on the -15-

Tobacco industry turned. Match two black humor guys with some funeral directors and you’re practically in seventh heaven. Three months later he was dead and – as the saying goes – “life as we knew it has changed forever.” Indeed? Does it have? How has it changed? Are we already far enough from this tragic day that we can ask this question and give an intelligent answer? Life has certainly changed for Bill’s wife and seven-year-old daughter. That is the terrible thing about the child’s father being taken away from him so early. And for the other relatives of the 3,000 victims too, life has changed. You will carry this grief around with you for life. They are told that life must go on. Where to go next? Anyone who has lost someone (and I guess pretty much everyone will do it at some point) knows that life goes on, of course, but the pain in the stomach and the heartache will never go away. Precisely for this reason one must find a way to accept the pain and use it for oneself and the other living. Somehow we all muddle through our personal losses, get up the next morning and the morning after next and make breakfast for the children, stuff the laundry in the washing machine, pay the bills and … Life has also changed in Washington, which is far away.

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And he feels worst because he stomped out of the bedroom in only jeans and walked over to the dim living room, where Fackelmann was wet and with his mouth smeared in the corner next to a mountain of 10 mg Dilaudids, his mixing bowl distilled water, the piping kit and the Sterna stove that he so automatically stomped out to Fackelmann and told himself – told himself, that was the worst – that he told himself he just wanted to check on poor old Fackelmann and maybe try to persuade him to act, to go to Sorkin in repentance or to flee to other realms, at least not just to hide in the corner, the brain idling, the chin on the chest and one getting longer

developing stalactites from chocolate drool on the lower lip. Because he knew exactly when Gately P.H.-J. The first thing Fackelmann would do was look in his GoreTex syringe kit for a new syringe in its original packaging and invite Gately to crouch next to him and make his peace with the planet. I.e. to consume something from the Dilaudid mountain and to keep Fackelmann company. Whatever Gately, to his shame, had done, and Fackelmann’s devil’s kitchen and the need for action hadn’t been mentioned, they were so eager for the sleepy hum of the blues, which faded everything out while Pamela Hoffman-Jeep lay wrapped up in the next room dreamed of damsels and battlements – Gately remembers vividly that Torchman gave them both a decent shot, and that he had convinced himself that he was doing it to keep Torchman company, how to sit down with a sick friend, and (what maybe the worst was) that had also believed.

Small unreactions from feverish dreams interrupt the memories and the, so to speak, waking state. He dreams that he is going north in a bus the same color as its own exhaust fumes, he keeps coming across the same robbed houses and billowing seas and cries. The dream does not stop at all, there is no solution or arrival, and it cries and sweats while lying there and stuck. Gately jerks to himself when he feels a sharp, rough tongue on his forehead – a bit like the groping tongue of Nimitz, the cuddly kitten from the MP when he still had his kitten, before the puzzling time when the kitten disappeared and the garbage chute did not work for days and the M.

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After five seconds or so, the Dilaudid had overcome the barrier and did his

Effect, and the sky stopped breathing and turned blue. In the Dilaudid nap, Gately was mute and sweaty for three hours. Fackelmann turned down oral anesthetics not only because of the maddening itch in his eye sockets, but also because he claimed he would get dreadful cravings for sugar that his great slumped weight should not yield. Since he would not have given off a large church light even in the smallest chapel, he was resistant to Gately’s suggestion that Dilaudid also gave him terrible cravings for sugar and everything else too. The plain truth was, the fax man just really loved his Dilaudid. Then good ol ‘Trent Kite from Salem State got the administrative kick in the butt and was assured he would never work in the industry again, Gately brought him on to the team, Kite stirred up a little team opening ceremony just like a couple of quo used to do Vadisse together, Fackelmann introduced Kite to pharmaceutically pure Dilaudid, and Kite had found a new friend for life, as he said; then

Soon Kite and Fackelmann quickly evaluated their identity card, proof of income and furnished luxury apartment fraud, in which Gately participated almost exclusively as a hobby at the time, because he preferred the bold night-time dusting of the goods to fraud, because with fraud you learned them Know people you steal from, and Gately found that slimy and kind of embarrassing. Gately lies on the trauma department in excruciating inflammatory pain, trying to linger between the cravings for redemption, reminding himself of a blinding white afternoon shortly after Christmas when Torchman and Kite went to sell furniture from the furnished apartment, and Gately Killing time in the apartment, laminating fake Massachusetts driver’s licenses, a rush job from rich youths from the Philips Andover Academy371 for what turned out to be the last New Year’s Eve of the pre-sponsorship period. He was standing at the ironing board in the now fairly unfurnished apartment, ironing laminates on the fake driver’s licenses and chasing the first on the clunky InterLace-HDB hanging on the bare wall

Generation – the high-definition screen was always the last luxury item to sell now – like good old Boston Univ. played in the Ken-L-Ration-Magnavox-KemperInsurance- Forsythia Bowl against Clemson. The winter daylight falling in through the penthouse windows dazzled, fell on the large flat screen, bleached the players and gave them something eerie. In the distance behind the windows lay the Atlantic Ocean, gray and salty. The B. U-Punter even came from Boston, an exceptional talent, as the commentators repeatedly emphasized, who had managed to get a place on the team without an official professional contract.

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“Shaman? My dear? ”When there was no response again, she clapped her hands loudly. Five faces turned to her, but one didn’t.

In the other room the musicians played the Mozart duo that they played best together and in which they shone as artists. Rob was very surprised when Lillian suddenly stood in front of him and stopped his bow in the middle of a passage that he especially loved. “Your son,” she said, “the little one. He doesn’t hear anything. “

During his lifelong struggle to alleviate the ailments associated with physical and mental defects, Rob J. wondered again and again how deeply it affected him when the patient was someone he loved. He had sympathy for everyone he treated, including those who had been made evil by the disease, and even for those who had been evil before their disease, for in seeking his help they in a way became his . As a young doctor in Scotland, he had seen his mother grow weaker and weaker and closer to death, and that had made it painful to see how powerless he was as a doctor. He was deeply pained now by what had happened to this strong, stocky boy who had sprung from his seed and soul. Shaman just lay dazed while his father clapped his hands, dropped heavy books on the floor, and yelled at him. “Can … you … hear … something … son?”

Rob yelled, pointing to his own ears, but the little boy just stared at him in confusion. Shaman had become completely deaf. “Will it go away again?” Sarah asked her husband. “Maybe,” said Rob, but he worried even more than she did because he knew more and had seen tragedies she could hardly imagine.

“You’ll see to it that it goes away.” She had absolute confidence in him. Just as he had once saved her, he would heal her child too.

Rob J. didn’t know how to go about it, but he tried. He poured warm oil into Shaman’s ears.

He bathed him hot, put on compresses. Sarah prayed to Jesus. The Geigers prayed to Yahweh. Makwa-ikwa beat her water drum and sang to her manitus and spirits. Neither God nor Spirit seemed to care. Neither God nor the Spirit answered the supplication.

At first Shaman was too baffled to be afraid. But just a few hours later he began to whimper and scream. He shook his head and grabbed his ears. Sarah

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“It is difficult for me to talk while riding. I have to see your mouth, because I’m deaf. “

“But my wife hears very well,” Shaman said, grinning, and the man grinned back and turned to Rachel and tapped his hat. They exchanged a few words, but mostly the three rode side by side in silence.

When they came to a pond, they stopped to let the horses drink and eat and to stretch their legs. Only now did they properly introduce themselves. The man shook hands with them and said his name was Charles P. Keyser.

“No, I have a farm eight miles from here. I was born in Potawatomi but raised by whites because my parents died of a fever. I hardly understand this Indian chatter either, apart from a few words in Kickapoo. I married a woman who was half Kickapoo, half French. “

He said he went to Tama every few years to spend a few days there. “Don’t really know why.” He shrugged and laughed. “Probably the red skin is drawn to the red skin.”

“O yes. We don’t want it to tear them apart, do we? ”Keyser replied and the two of them mounted and rode on.

They reached Tama in the morning. Long before they got to the huts standing in a large circle, brown-eyed children and barking dogs ran after them.

Soon after, Keyser raised his hand and they paused to dismount. “I’ll let the chief know we’re here,” Keyser said, and went to a nearby cabin. When he returned with a broad-shouldered, middle-aged Indian, a small group had already gathered around the horses.

The stocky man said something Shaman couldn’t read on his lips. It wasn’t English, but the man took Shaman’s hand when he held it out to him. “I’m Dr. Robert J. Cole from Holden’s Crossing, Illinois. And this is my wife, Rachel Cole. “

“Dr. Cole? ”A young man stepped out of the crowd and eyed Shaman. “No. You are too young. “

The man looked at him searchingly. “Are you the deaf boy? … Is that you, Shaman?”

Shaman was delighted when they shook hands, he still remembered how they played together as children. The stocky man said something.

“This is Medi-ke, Snapping Turtle, Chief of the City of Tama,” said Little Dog.

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The list of things, some of which consisted of oil and its by-products, was endless: aspirin, cameras, golf balls, car batteries, carpets, fertilizers, glasses, shampoo, glue, computers, cosmetics, detergents, telephones, food preservatives, footballs, Insecticides, suitcases, nail polish, toilet seats, tights, toothpaste, pillows, soft contact lenses, tires, pens, CDs, sneakers – anything you want and somehow it turned out to be -127-

or made using petroleum. Boy, boy, were we addicted to that stuff. We drank something from a plastic bottle and threw it away. We were able to move a liter of gasoline to buy a liter of milk, and even that was still in a plastic bottle. Your grandmother received presents every Christmas, most of which were made of plastic and lay under a plastic Christmas tree made to look like a real one. And yes, you’re right, we even packed our trash in plastic before throwing it away. Anne Coulter Moore: How did people get the idea of ​​BURNING oil in the first place? Why burn something that you only have a little of? Did people burn diamonds back then? Michael Moore: No, they didn’t burn diamonds. Diamonds were considered valuable. Oil was also considered valuable, but no one cared. We just turned it into gasoline, put electricity on a spark plug, and burned the stuff wherever we got the chance! Anne Coulter Moore: What was it like when you couldn’t breathe anymore because the air was so dirty from burning gasoline? Didn’t that show you that nothing that comes from oil is meant to be burned? Perhaps nature wanted to tell you with the stench: “Don’t burn me!” Michael Moore: Oh, oh, that stench. It was nature’s attempt to tell us something was wrong. What did we think Anne Coulter Moore: Yes what? -128-

Michael Moore: Nothing, nothing at all. Anne Coulter Moore: But it poisoned you. And you didn’t have breathing stations like we do today. So what did you do? Michael Moore: People just had to swallow it and breathe the dirt. Millions of people got sick and died from it. Since no one would admit that it was air pollution from burning fossil fuels that was making it difficult to breathe, doctors said we had asthma or allergies. For you, a ride in an automobile is something you do in a museum, but back then most people “commuted” twenty, thirty, or even fifty kilometers to work every day.

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It was claimed that the French were only against the war because they benefited economically from Saddam Hussein’s regime. In fact, however, it was the Americans who made a huge cut. In 2001 the US was Iraq’s leading trading partner. They consumed over 40 percent of his oil exports and their trade with the Iraqi dictator was worth $ 6 billion. By contrast, in 2001 only 8 percent of Iraqi oil exports went to France. Fox News led the way by associating Chirac with Saddam. It showed old footage with a joint appearance by the two men. It didn’t matter that the meeting had taken place in the 1970s. In contrast, the media did not show (ad nauseam) how to give Saddam the keys to the city of Detroit or how Donald Rumsfeld had visited Baghdad in the early 1980s when he was talking to Saddam about the course of the Iran-Iraqi war. This video of Rumsfeld hugging Saddam was obviously not worth looping on. It -104-

did not come once. Yes, okay, it was shown once, on the Oprah Winfrey talk show. In the studio there was an audible murmur through the audience as Rumsfeld teased Saddam. The common man was shocked that the devil was really our devil. Thanks Oprah! How quickly did we forget that the French of all people got the UN Security Council to condemn the attacks and to demand justice for the victims on the day after September 11th. Jacques Chirac was the first foreign head of state to travel to the United States after the attacks and offer us his condolences and pledge his support. One of the hallmarks of true friendship is that your friend dares to warn you if you want to screw up. That’s the kind of friend you should want. And that kind of friend has been France – until we whistled our best friend and bit into the whopper while freedom was fried. No. 6: The combo whopper with an extra salad: “The US is not invading Iraq alone, but with a coalition of the willing!” This is my favorite whopper because I always have to laugh when I think of it. To make it appear as if the international community greeted our invasion of Iraq with a benevolent smile, Bush said we were not the only ones who believed that military action against Saddam was the right thing to do take action against the threat to peace. A broad coalition is now being formed to meet the just demands of the -105-

Enforce the world.

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“(B) APPLICABLE AMENDMENT – Section 2703 (d) of Article 18, United States Code, is amended to delete” Described in Section 3127 (2) (A) “. Do you get it? For this reason, people in the Justice Department tug their hair every time someone wants to know exactly what this all means, and they regularly recommend that citizens “read the law for themselves” for clarity – one In view of the stipulated language of the law, a recommendation verging on mockery. On October 11th, just a month after September 11th, the Senate approved a version of the law that civil rights experts found even less acceptable than -150-

the version presented to the House of Representatives to be voted on the next day. The Bush administration disliked the restrictions in the House of Representatives bill, and the Department of Justice worked with the House Speaker all night to remove any civil protection clauses attached to the bill by the House committees. The final version was submitted on October 12th at 3:45 am. When the representatives went to vote on the law in Congress a few hours later, they thought the bill that they had agreed on the previous day would now be put to the vote. Instead, they voted on a bill that Justice Secretary John Ashcroft had pulled the last civil rights teeth out of overnight. According to the American Civil Liberties Union, hardly any congressman actually read the final version of the law before the vote – the most egregious and irresponsible act in the history of the American Congress. What does the law do? It allows the American government to “intercept and track” all of the countless emails you believed to be confidential. If this continues, you can safely delete the word “CONFIDENTIAL” from your spelling program. Also released for review: bank records, school archives, the list of books that you and your children have borrowed from the city library this year (or how often you have logged into the library in the Internet) and your private purchases. Do you think I’m exaggerating? The next time you’re in your doctor’s waiting room or standing in line at the bank, be sure to read the new confidentiality rules. Somewhere in the legal gibberish you will come across a new warning that your right to the -151-

Protection of your data is regulated according to the Big Brother provisions of our new Patriot Act. And that’s not all. Thanks to the special “snooping and informing” regulations of the Patriot Act, federal agents can search your houses and apartments without – just imagine – ever having to tell you they were there! One of the most important articles of the American Bill of Rights is the 4th