Written by 3mienblog

But true! ” And she was able to discover a long physical disability in order to hide her defeat.

For Lali was very tired. There had been, not long since, a great and terrible storm, like the first one in the desert, and she’d been caught out in it. She’d had to drive all the way to the valley quickly, with very little water, for she was afraid the baby would come on the road, and then the sky had opened, the drops had fallen, not so heavy as the rain in her memory of life, but hard, lightning-like, almost vertical, and the rain had destroyed her suit, water-soaked it, clung to it. That was what she meant to say, clung to it like glue, like a forcing process, it seemed to her. But then there had been a problem, she couldn’t explain, she was so tired and it had been called to her attention, this may be an alien, even a poisonous substance, by her old machines, and she’d had to stop the scene, and take care of that, and all sorts of difficulties came, everything seemed to be conspiring to prevent her from finding the information that would let her pass along, via the alien suit, this man who was the greatest. She was cooperating, she wasn’t playing tricks.

“Don’t get me wrong,” I said. “It’s not that I think you’re crazy. It’s just that there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“What do you mean?”

“How did you run into this man? How did you meet him? Where did you meet him?”

“I had just been returned to the time and place and state where the great man was. The machine had just been started.”

“How’d you start it?”

“Honestly,” she said, “I don’t know.”

“This sort of thing does happen,” I said. “Anyway, go on.”

And then Grew returned in great confusion; it had been two weeks only since he had left, not six years, he had been away for two weeks. And at once we discovered the vast change taking place in the poppies. We stepped forth, a great mist was rising out of the valley, and occluding the mountains beyond. One of my study said at once, “There is a remarkable phenomenon unfolding. It seems that the poppies have suddenly learned to talk. I can’t understand. It’s too fast.” Then another said, “What I’m hearing can’t truly be information, not composed of physical objects.” But none of this was comprehensible to me anymore, because I had shifted back, hit the nexus between our own scattered signals and whatever radiation existed in the distant light that filled the sky, this unimaginable continuum which had tipped my switching so quick I could not consciously detect it.

“Where are the people?” I said.

“They’ve gone,” said the data clerks.

“Gone,” I said.

But the poppies were talking amongst themselves, these were mysterious voices, language unheard before, talk between the chemistry of the poppy and another, as if someone or something had attracted or invited the poppies, and was interested in their secret dreams and theories and disquisitions, and now the poppies were singing in the evening and providing their savor and a balm over the hills and dreaming out their hopes and sorrows and their ages like metal rushing, that immense rush is coming back, soon those evenings will have begun again, and there will be more abandoned cities. “Come, let us learn, let us learn, let us learn,” said the poppies. “The more I listen, the more I feel I’ve been here before,” said one of the data clerks.

“Be quiet,” I said to him.

“What is happening?” I said, turning to an older man who had stood quietly, containedly near me all this time, with a little smile on his face.

“I think it’s the end of the world,” he said. And at the same moment I realized why I’d felt for all these years that we’d been canceled, that all the praise we’d ever earned as heroes who’d saved the core of humanity from turning from real information to the long loud dream of the computer was sentimental, that at some point in our life, the high point in fact, a key reversal had occurred. Instead of our soothing the tempest of time, time was soothing us, remolding our data, computing over us, a million-hands computation, itself formed of our computing, unravelling, taking everything, carrying the screen and the screen along, all the dream of civilization as it was moving, away, as someone was leading me along.

“Hey Lilulilly.” I can hear my mother, my mother Lisa. “Hey Lilulilly. Everybody sure got married fast, didn’t they?”

I lay in bed once again, it was night and I could hear the oil trucks coming from the elm; yes. Yes, it was night. This was the oil I was smelling, was it?

There were two small children in the bed next to mine: Lisa and William. They were five and six, or a little older, I’m sitting on the side of the bed one dawn, it’s the winter the canary dies and we’re not supposed to know, even though we wake up at different times and everyone is sad and tired and the lights turn on earlier and earlier in the morning, and I’m holding William’s hand as he sits on the edge of his bed, we’re holding each other’s hands for comfort and we’re just about to get up when we hear a crash and Father crying out, he’s slumped over the dining room table, he’s just dropped the blueberry pancakes on the floor, and we hear Mother say, “Gordon! Gordon, oh my god!” and there’s a great thump and Father has fallen from the chair, there’s blood on the floor, “Gordon! Oh my god,” and Father rises, we can see him only but he’s holding his chest, he doesn’t move, “John, Gordon?” Mother cries and Father tries to say something, but John takes his shoulders and helps him to the couch, his feet drag in a pool of blood and wakefulness comes to us all, the little dark ones begin to cry out but Mother holds them tight and clamps their mouths shut, she looks at me and says, “Not yet! Not yet! Return to sleep, children,” and …

“No, I’m still here!” I shouted, touching my far-flung organs and limbs. But of course I was part of the house, I was the house, even if I had been alive again, talking to Lily. That was the first emergency, wasn’t it?

“What an emergency I felt,” said Lily.

“Oh, you were something horrible; I’ll tell you what it was! You couldn’t deal with anything without feeling this tremendous overwhelming emergency.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your last period of being alive, you went and got


I’m arranged before the mirror, my skirt is up, so is my slip, I’m wearing white cotton drawers. As I check myself out I realize my panties are not properly aligned. “Lily,” I whisper, pulling my head back a bit, poking my tongue, “when I put this girdle on a little while ago did I have my panties on correctly? I don’t feel they are.”

“That’s because they’re under there,” says Lily dryly, from my bed. “It’s not a girdle, it’s a true foundation garment, built for a large full-figured woman, if I’m not mistaken.”

“They should go over the top, not under, shouldn’t they?” I say, pulling on my slip. “But never mind that. When we first met here, did I ask you if you engaged in what you called ‘frame jumping’?”

“What else could I call it?” says Lily. “You taught me the idea of reference. ‘I heard it again, nudge nudge, you’re faking me out, hehe.”

“You said you wanted the exact opposite of that.”

“No I didn’t.”

“You did!” I say. “In Washington, when we first — well. What did I give you, anyway?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Don . Make a dialogical – article with the topic “My girlfriend left me” (try to find it out what the girlfriend can be done wrong, mistakes, etc. and what are the reasons for this to have happened)

Key words: “A friend is better than riches” – Article about: “A friend is better than riches” as to promise, understanding and things of this kind. “To give and to receive” (genitive clauses, adjective: superlative). “The man / the man” examples. Fun exercises 9-10. “The watch on the roof” (fun exercise) Conclusion. Important tips: Danger zone! Non-predetermined structures! Dialogue-Topics! English Formal articles are used frequently. Try using them in other genres. Since formal articles are used in different areas utilize them not only in articles.

Make apage or twoabout the topic of your choice and create your own article.

What is the titlein English, what is the author’s profession, what is the date, where you choose to post this on the Internet (which site, domain name)and what can be characteristic of this website/ blog. You need to add 3-4 information boxes that contain direct links to external and internal online sources etc. Write a formal article for the periodical if: their title is about a specific (genre, theme and interests) facts, figures, results, to attract listeners/ readers to those topics. Music documentation (documentary) – documentary texts about music pieces, performers (docs about music, i.e. Nikolais Ianis, Fatme Codington from Kosovo etc. ), ballets.

Page A6. All in one! And, at the same time a page for other temporary information, for jotting something down, so a quick way for scrambling some thoughts together.

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