He ventured along a path, following a field of cane whose leaves shook softly with the noise of a crushed newspaper. In an end he could make out several triangular cabins. Near these primitive houses, a dying bonfire sent winks by its embers.
“Haitians!” thought Menegildo. “They must be completely drunk…
I’m going to do a quick and dirty update to 1.5 this afternoon, so things may look weird for a while (or longer). Update: think it all works. Please tell me if you get any weird stuff.
When I was poor, I wrote pastiche in considerable quantities (and even did a few sit-down-and-sweat exams) for music students who could afford not to fulfill their harmony and counterpoint requirements personally. I figured that if institutions issuing degrees were too lazy, stupid or corrupt to investigate a sudden improvement in a student’s grades or,…
In a surreal exchange, mediated by Carlos Ferrero Martín and Margaret Marks, and with the usual machine googleation, “in declarations conducted in Majorca days ago, our minister of Culture, Bald Carmen, pronounced the following phrase: ‘Before cook I was fraila’.” Whereupon the journalist said, ‘Bis bald, Carmen,’ but was severely beaten by the Balearic pun…
Not so much flogging as snogging a dead horse, here is an excerpt from Rafael Miralles Bravo’s Memorias de un comandante rojo (1975), quoted by Fernando Díaz-Plaja in Anecdotario De La Guerra Civil Española (previous post), dealing with the brief civil war within a civil war in May 1937: The 4th passed without incidents other…