Il ne faut pas continuer à manger, to bear the weight of a breakfast-tray with the empty coffee-cup the breadcrumbs the jammed plate the gold and silver butter paper il faut enlever le plateau from the loins a tingle underneath the sheet despite the distant brain way up on a higher level of disbelief disparagement despair. Car je vous vois aussi entourée d’admirateurs, pas seule du tout, n’ayant besoin de rien et de personne, ici et là dans toutes ces capitales que je connais, que je hais, ah, pardonnez-moi cette vilaine jalousie. Je n’ai jamais aimé comme ça. So that despite the fact that il ne faut pas continuer he continues the interrupted erotica of self-indulgent words that caress up and down in and out and all over dans vos bras. Jour et nuit the body lies in relish of a long lost language that finds itself delicious and winds its way up through centuries into the vessel of conception vieille poire ouvre les jambes unless perhaps into no more than the distant brain way up to tickle a mere thought or two such as why not play a little further at a mere correspondence of love in French la douce inoubliable dame leading by six games to five in the second set. Par à quelle aile? J’vois pas d’aile moi. With the left hand fingering the medal of St. Christopher between the breasts just where the brown stops and the white begins, touching a little brushstroke size over the skin soft still between the breasts and round under the right cupping it caressing it just a little on the nipple that swells under the fingers brushstroke size as the language winds its way through eyes ears mouthpiece hands and more than the five senses.
It doesn’t mean a thing.
Akóma thélo tria kilá sapúni, éna kiló wútiro: I want also 3 kilos of soap, 2 kilo Butter. Give me 2 tins of Milk, half kilo Tea and an envelope of Coffee. I wanted a kilo meat beef. I want also a lamb. As I really love you I want to make you my wife. Do you agree? As we love between each other do you want to create our own home? I want it double-breasted. When shall I come for the rehearsal? In six days I go away.
The road from Kennedy Airport runs past Jewish cemeteries with tall rectangular tombstones standing close together in miniature forewarning of ford foundations wall streets madison avenues united nations where Feind hört mit that we shall continue to honour our obligations towards the underdeveloped areas and appoint a sub-committee to inquire into the way we can stop the war in the Far East from dangerously escalating up the downward path. My government wishes to emphasise that it had not a single warship aircraft-carrier or plane within the area nor sufficient forces to exercise influence one way or the other. But Israel must learn, Egypt must learn that between America and Europe the six hours lost watching a film of love on the return flight cause the sky to darken at the speed of sight at midday as if on Good Friday over the clay-like sea that divides into two distinct unmerging patterns one plucked one undulating from two different winds and suddenly the red bar of sunset slices the navy sky like a horizontal hot poker because le ciel a ses hauteurs tu sais. Or else inside the whale perhaps where the body lies in the foetus position devoured by a long-lost language that breeds plants or parts of plants growing inside you gently wildly obsessively, stifling your strength with their octopus legs undetachable for the vacuum they form under each protein cell, clamping each neurone of your processes in a death-kiss with a half-visualised old man well fifty-nine and plus descending from the distant brain way up the downward path to another level in a circular dance of simulation vital lies and other frustrations to the true end of imagination. Oh I see, the imagination. How fascinating. Nothing deserves a flow of rash enthusiasm my sweet.
The decorative metal locks on each door of the cupboard shine in the shaft of light. They have Napoleonic hats and look like Civil Guards. A spot of bright light further up the cupboard imitates the sun. Beyond the wooden shutters and way down below the layered storeys of stunned consciousnesses the murmur of the talking delegates as they wait in rows like a giant class gets picked up by the microphones in the glass booth filling the theatre with tumultuous applause. A quartet of jazz fixated on the forties followed by a saxophone solo represent Catalan culture at a Catalan evening only just permitted by the government as a concession with police lining the space between the columns and the red velvet curtains marked SALIDA in green lights. A female choir in ill-fitting white dresses sings Swing Low Sweet Chariot and I gotta Robe in Catalan. A little girl harmonises behind a smaller little boy cutely Dreaming of a White Christmas in Catalan. Until at last the boy-star with his guitar appears and sobs Com un déu caigut and La Nit, llarga la Nit and Cantarem la vida de poble que no vol morir full of Catalan passion down into the microphone and out in simultaneous passion. Diguem-no! Diguem-no! the bulging theatre demands amid the tumultuous applause but the boy-star stretches out the palm of his left hand and his guitar in the right with a no-puc gesture half indicating the police that lines the theatre. Instead he repeats La Nit, llarga la Nit with Catalan passion down into the microphone and out in simultaneous passion to the tumultuous applause. The members of the congress dutifully don their listening caps and the murmur still continuing now comes through the earphones in the glass booth, picked up by the microphones the engineer has just switched on. The eyes close the thumbs touch the fingers join as communication begins. With whom? Du Witzling. Meine Damen und Herren. Mesdames messieurs. Air France vous souhaite la bienvenue à bord de cet énorme problème devant lequel cependant le langage of a long-lost code flows into the ear and comes out into the mouthpiece over waves and on into the ears of the multitudes or so in simultaneous German such as ich lieb’ dich mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt which doesn’t sound at all the same. To the right of the vast metal wing the sun that had almost set before take-off has leapt quite high again above the mountains. It has some way to go before it sets once more.
The black arrow in the white circle goes up, the red goes down or vice versa in the wide street turning right from the big dual carriage-way lined with tall rectangular buildings the Palace of Culture on the left. You will now see the old eighteenth century Warsaw rebuilt stone by stone from the rubble. Bardzo piękne. Ah pani mówi po polsku? No, no, really, only a few phrases, from a phrase-book. Nie, ale bardzo dobrze! What does that mean? Very well, very good. Je tiens à remercier monsieur le président de ses éloges que je n’ai pas conscience de mériter. What has semantics to do with literature? Rien, niente, nikts, notting. Vous voyez! Le langage speaks for itself in the red pamphlet with the white eagle on it which inside states that the recorded history of Poland goes back 1000 years. But archeological finds tell a way of life more than twice as old. Vous vous intéressez à la Pologne madame? Oui naturellement. Important events include: 960—Mieszko I, Piast dynasty, first ruler of Poland. 966—Mieszko I converted to Christianity through the offices of Bohemia. 973—Victory of Mieszko I over Germany. 1109—Polish victory over Germany at Psie Pole. 1331—Polish victory over the Teutonic Knights near Plowce. You enjoy the congress madame? Well of course. 1466 Pomerania recovered after victorious war with Teutonic Knights. 1525—The Prussian Duke Albrecht von Hohenzollern takes oath of allegiance to the King of Poland. But as we always say here in Warsaw, the statue of Sigismund up there still faces West. Like the eagle you know, though they took away his crown, you know he looks almost undressed without it. Do you remember old Warsaw monsieur, er, czy pamięta? Pamiętam. Tak. Pamiętam.
It would leave a trace. Wejście. Wyjście. Poczta. Pchnąć. Tirez? Poussez? Telefon — Znaczki pocztowe — Poste-Restante. Nie ma pani with a shake of the head for no. POSTAMT. Eintritt. Drücken. Telegrammannahme. Briefmarke. Poste-Restante. Leider haben wir keine.