French Lesson - m/s 3. Indefinant, Negative pronouns, or, Lot's wife.

Negative pronouns negate, refuse, or cast doubt
on the existence of the noun that they replace.

It’s an awful position to be in, he said,
the constant negating.
-It’s all people see in you.
It’s the unending plombe gray cloud that accompanies you - toujours les plaints.

Personne ne me connaît ici.
No one knows me here.
(PERSONNE/nobody is the subject)

Je ne vends aucun des livres.
I'm not selling any of the books.
(AUCUN/none is the direct object)

Elle ne pense à rien.
She's not thinking about anything.
(RIEN/nothing is the indirect object)

It comes from everywhere. It wears humans down, the lead filled skies, always heavy and threatening.

But whatever-
If you can’t change the weather, you just have to get out of it.
It even seems senseless to say fuck you. Negative pronouns like, she, must already know what people think.

But still - nobody, none, nothing...
For a noun, even a pronoun like, him,
it makes a dis-engaging atmo-sphere.

Selah - ms/2

The rain had been constant. They were both hurrying to finish clearing the field.
-They are reeking havoc.
-Yes, yes that’s true, but look at them.
He cocked his head upwards, it shook slightly.
- Look what we can do.
In the distance, like four spinning points on a compass, a group of jets traced a great circle 2000 feet above the ground. In the distance they were pure grace, and their sound was simply power.

Henri glanced down at his boots, they were caked with mud. He shifted his regard, Paul’s were worse. As he looked back up, each point of the compass spun out of the circle taking a straight line. One would be over them in the time it took to bend back down into their work.
- we’ve got to hurry

High in the sky, a finger exerted an infinitesimal force. The roar of the jets rendered each screaming round silent as it sped earthward at 3500 miles per hour. Each unknowing, on it’s own individual trajectory.

Paul bent down. Henri paused, raising his hands as the plane sped over them. He could see the helmeted pilot turn his head briefly, and he was gone. Henri quickly turned and stooped back down to work. He saw Paul's boots were still muddy. It was a moment later Henri realized his fate. The rest of Paul was strewn about the field.

smack - ms/1

He turned to her.
“is it true”.
She looked at him.
The long silence that ensued ended with the small cracking sound of tension breaking. The saliva sticking to the roof of her mouth broke free from her tongue with a sharp click that signaled the end of his ignorance. She began to form a word. He had a sharp twisting sensation in his belly.

Fields and Streets

The vacation is over. It was a good time.
It started over there and ended here.

I drove ten thousand miles on chicago city streets, now I ready to attack ten thousand souche on the Larzac rise. In the meantime, among other delicious things, I’ve eaten carne asada and fois gras both made with grandmother hands. I’ve woken on snowy days and hot mornings. I haven’t been out of sight of friends or family or other loving beings for 16 straight days. The good times are wearing me down.

I like waking up to find my dream has finally changed, consequently I’m happy to be going back into the vines. I’ve forgotten, or at least misplaced for the moment, the fact that the vines are brutal. Like a party that doesn’t end, they wear you down until you are broken with fatigue, and longing the finish. But that’s at the end of the dream, and tomorrow is just the beginning.

Early morning sunrises with the view to the sea on the rise to Larzac Plateau. The sky and it’s weather in myriad flowing patterns. The order and potential of freshly tailled fields. Lunchtime naps in a car warmed with the sun. Yes it’s all good in the beginning.

Happy new year.