TE16 Turkish Delight

Mario Levi afternoon or some such thing, yes, something like afternoon, for the depiction of unwritten passions and unlived lovemaking and intoxications. I reach this manuscript now as a new exile, as the protagonist of a story who hasn’t found where he belongs despite all his explorations and attempts. And to be perfectly honest, for the life of me I can’t understand what manuscript this is, or what game. Our estrangement continues, proliferates on its own terms. With bittersweet joy I set out once more toward sentences I’ll try in new configurations in every story, rather tentatively withdrawing into that obscure sense of deficiency. He was no stranger to this story, naturally, but there were countless benefits to be had from revealing the truth and repeating it incessantly for the sake of prolonging the story in some way. It wouldn’t be his first time, for instance, falling prey to various deceptions on his voyage to passion; it wasn’t his idea to suddenly renew his hopes or let himself be enraptured by a lover in hopes of a new life, whereas the longing to lure a lover, through words alone, to a life and a passion could only be credited to the depiction of an ancient and oft-incarnated desperation. He knew this story, he’ d lived it. What was it then that he so sorely hoped would be expressed, shared, spun into a story? Words? The words that had their own special history and implications in each and every person? The search for a rhetoric itself, or its unfussy coming into being? Resentment at the continued failure to make 48 19 You Were Prisoners to Deception

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