I killed Abe Lincoln during my two hour nap. Intense dream.
Their dream: nothing less than the establishment of a colony from which an advance contingent of Aryans could forge a claim to the entire South American continent. But the continent had other plans.
A group of people have been reading a book together for thirty years. They have been reading it again and again, with each journey from the first to the last page taking eleven years. Once they arrive at the last word, a very enigmatic “the,” they begin again with the first word, “riverrun.” The text appears inexhaustible, its interpretation endless, the inconclusive nature of the reading exciting. The world seems to cease existing outside this reading room or, perhaps, it exists because of it.
An Israelite man traveling with his concubine refuses to lodge in a foreign city, “that is not of the children of Israel”; He heads instead to the next Israelite town, where the locals attempt to rape him, and do in fact rape and slaughter his concubine. In retaliation, the people of Israel massacre the entire tribe of Benjamin, leaving only a handful of survivors so that there will not be “one tribe lacking in Israel”.
“How will I recognize you?”
“That is of no importance.”
“How will you recognize me?”
“Because of the coin under your tongue.”
A woman feels all her objects are a heavy burden except for her copies of Joyce’s Ulysses. This, she realizes, is quite a decadent statement about the world.
A fisherman visits his younger brother in the city and feels uncomfortable waiting outside his office.