#with the monocle?? GIRL H E L P

[mistbornthief]

finding out tan jianci was cast as gu yun in a live action sha po lang and that it was filmed but its never gonna air has singlehandedly ruined my life i cannot stop thinking about it girl HELP

[mystacoceti]

WE HAVE ALL MISUNDERSTOOD BILLY THE KID

I was speaking to Amelia. “Not self-slaughter in the crude sense. Rather the construction of surrogates. Think of it as a transplant.” “Daumier,” she said, “you are not making me happy.” “The false selves in their clatter and bolster and youthful brio will slay and bother and push out and put to all types of trouble the original, authentic self, which is a dirty great villain, as can be testified and sworn to by anyone who has ever been awake.” “The self also dances,” she said, “sometimes.” “Yes,” I said, “I have noticed that, but one pays dear for the occasional schottische. Now, here is the point about the self. It is insatiable. It is always, always hankering. It is what you might call rapacious to a fault. The great flaming mouth to the thing is never in this world going to be stuffed full. I need only adduce the names of Alexander, Bonaparte, Messalina, and Billy the Kid.” “You have misunderstood Billy the Kid,” she murmured. “Whereas the surrogate, the construct, is in principle satiable. We design for satiability.” “Have you taken action?” she asked. “Or is all this just the usual?” “I have one out now,” I said, “a Daumier, on the plains and pampas of consciousness, and he is doing very well, I can tell you that. He has an important post in a large organization. I get regular reports.” “What type of fellow is he?” “A good true fellow, I said, “and knows his limits. He doesn’t overstep. Desire has been reduced in him to a minimum. Just enough left to make him go. Loved and respected by all.” “Tosh,” she said. “Tosh and bosh.” “You will want one,” I said, “when you see what they are like.” “We have all misunderstood Billy the Kid,” she said in parting.

A LONG SENTENCE IN WHICH THE MIRACLE OF SURROGATION IS PERFORMED BEFORE YOUR EYES

Now in his mind’s eye which was open for business at all times even during the hours of sleep and dream and which was the blue of bedcovers and which twinkled and which was traced with blood a trifle at all times and which was covered at all times with a monocle of good quality, the same being attached by long thin black streamy ribands to mind’s neck, now in this useful eye Daumier saw a situation.

MR. BELLOWS, MR. HAWKINS, THE TRAFFIC, CHILIDOGS

Two men in horse-riding clothes stood upon a plain, their attitudes indicating close acquaintance or colleagueship. The plain presented in its foreground a heavy yellow oblong salt lick rendered sculptural by the attentions over a period of time of sheep or other salt-loving animals. Two horses in the situation’s upper lefthand corner watched the men with nervous horse-gaze. Mr. Bellows spoke to his horse. “Stand still, horse.” Mr. Hawkins sat down atop the salt lick and filled a short brass pipe Oriental in character. “Are they quiet now?” “Quiet as the grave,” Mr. Bellows said. “Although I don’t know what we’ll be doin’ for quiet when the grass gives out.” “That’ll be a while yet.” “And Daumier?” “Scoutin’ the trail ahead,” said Mr. Hawkins. “He has his problems you must admit.” “Self-created in my opinion.” Mr. Hawkins took a deep draw upon his pipelet. “The herd,” he said. “And the queen.” “And the necklace.” “And the cardinal.” “It’s the old story,” Mr. Hawkins stated. “One word from the queen and he’s off tearing about the countryside and let business go hand.” “There’s such a thing as tending to business, all right,” said Mr. Bellows. “Some people never learned it.” “And him the third generation in the Traffic,” Mr. Hawkins added. Then, after a moment: “Lovely blue flowers there a while back. I don’t suppose you noticed.” “I noticed,” said Mr. Bellows. “I picked a bunch.” “Did you, now. Where are they at?” “I give um to someone,” Mr. Bellows said. “Someone. What someone?” There was a silence. “You are acquainted with the Rules, I believe,” Mr. Hawkins said. “Nothing in the Rules about bestowal of bluebonnets. I believe,” Mr. Bellows replied. “Bluebonnets, were they? Now, that’s nice. That’s very nice.” “Bluebonnets or indeed flowers of any kind are not mentioned in the Rules.” “We are promised to get this here shipment—” “I have not interfered with the shipment.” “We are promised to get this here herd of au-pair girls to the railhead intact in both mind and body,” Mr. Hawkins stated. “And I say that bestowal of bluebonnets is interferin’ with a girl’s mind and there’s no two ways about it.” “She was looking very down-in-the-mouth.” “Not your affair. Not your affair.” Mr. Bellows moved to change the subject. “Is Daumier likely to be back for chow do you think?” “What is for chow?” “Chilidogs.” “He’ll be back. Daumier does love his chilidog.”

RÉSUMÉ OF THE PLOT OR ARGUMENT

Ignatius Loyola XVIII, with a band of hard-riding fanatical Jesuits under his command, has sworn to capture the herd and release the girls from the toils so-called of the Traffic, in which Daumier, Mr. Hawkins, and Mr. Bellows are prominent executives of long standing. Daumier meanwhile has been distracted from his proper business by a threat to the queen, the matter of the necklace (see Dumas, The Queen’s Necklace, pp 76-105).

from “Daumier”, Donald Barthelme