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Listen, my friends, we are punished by the heavens, exiled by time. It is true, we were cast from heaven to earth the day that the stars plucked us from Jahanabad and threw us down in the wilds of Baran where the lights burned from a distance of twelve miles.
They fight in cars—in his Volvo or in her Volvo, in the backseats of cabs. It’s been like this since the beginning of them. They used to do it in her old pickup, in his father’s borrowed hatchback. When they were young it was dangerous. They’d swerve in anger, shove past speed limits without noticing.
Once upon a time, when I looked at the sky, I saw will. Today, the sky is the disappointments of my ancestors, as many lives as they had, as far as the eye can see.
It started when I met Robert on the subway. Our life took place mostly indoors, occasionally in restaurants, especially in the beginning.
Waseem marched between Safdar and Gul Khan, their trade unionist friend, in the second row of the demonstration. Behind them, heads stretched into the distance, a dark bobbing mass, scoured here and there into a colourless shimmer by the sun. The smell of asphalt, the occasional whirl of sand, the slightly rank musk of surging bodies rose in a heavy fug above the crowd.
Sheep curves to the will of time, to the will of binocular vision. Do not underestimate. The eyes of the creator manifest movement.
Sure, we all know about universal background checks, the gun show loophole, and assault weapons, but here are some gun control facts you might not have heard about!
T. Motley is serializing "Highlights from the Life of Raymond Roussel" in the Brooklyn Rail, helped by a grant from the Spillway Fund, spillwayfund.org Text translated from the French by Mark Ford, John Harmon, John Ashbery, and Mark Polizzotti.