the longue purée

In presenting itself, it becomes effaced; in being sounded, it dies away…

No spinsterlollypop for me—yes—we have  No bananas—I got lusting palate—I Always eat them ———————  They have dandy celluloid tubes—all sizes— Tinted diabolically as a baboon’s hind complexion.  A man’s a—  Piffle! Will o’ th’ whisp! What is the dread  Matter with the up-to-date-American-  Home-comforts? Bum insufficient for the  Should-be well groomed upsy.  That’s the leading question.  There’s the vibrator—— —  Coy flappertoy! I am adult citizen with  Vote—I demand my unstinted share  In roofeden—witchsabbath of our Baby-  Lonian obelisk.  What’s radio for—if you please?  “Eve’s dart pricks snookums upon  Wirefence”  An apple a day—— —    It’ll come————  Ha! When? I am no tongueswallowing yogi.  Progress is ravishing— It doesn’t me— Nudge it— Kick it— Prod it— Push it— Broadcast———— That’s the lightning idea!  S.O.S. national shortage of— —   What?  How are we going to put it befitting  Lifted upsys?  Psh! Any sissypoet has sufficient freezing  Chemicals in his Freudian icechest to snuff all  Cockiness. We’ll hire one.  Hell! Not that! That’s the trouble— —    Cockcrow silly!   Oh—fine!   They’re in France—the air on the line—  The Poles— — — — — —  Have them send waves—like candy—  Valentines— — — —  “Say it with— — —   Bolts!   Oh thunder!   Serpentine aircurrents— — —  Hhhhhphssssssss! The very word penetrates!   I feel whoozy!  I like that. I don’t hanker after Billy boys—but I am entitled  To be deeply shocked.  So are we—but you fill the hiatus. Dear — I ain’t queer — I need it straight — — A dozen cocktails — please — — — — Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven

Michel de Montaigne, “Of Repentance”

Vachel Lindsay, The Art of the Moving Picture (1922 edition)