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authorCase Duckworth2015-03-09 12:39:38 -0700
committerCase Duckworth2015-03-09 12:39:38 -0700
commit0bc764f003a763a30f3030b4de233a512a016881 (patch)
treef9734e3708fa3eb6449ac1dab05ea62d3da318ce /epigraph.html
parentRe write .thing into #container > .content (diff)
downloadautocento-0bc764f003a763a30f3030b4de233a512a016881.tar.gz
autocento-0bc764f003a763a30f3030b4de233a512a016881.zip
HTML compile 2015-03-09
Diffstat (limited to 'epigraph.html')
-rw-r--r--epigraph.html6
1 files changed, 4 insertions, 2 deletions
diff --git a/epigraph.html b/epigraph.html index 18eb27b..95ba25b 100644 --- a/epigraph.html +++ b/epigraph.html
@@ -24,6 +24,7 @@
24 </head> 24 </head>
25<body> 25<body>
26 26
27<article id="header">
27 <header> 28 <header>
28 <!-- title --> 29 <!-- title -->
29 <h1 class="title">epigraph</h1> 30 <h1 class="title">epigraph</h1>
@@ -32,9 +33,10 @@
32 33
33 </header> 34 </header>
34 35
35 <section class="thing prose"> 36 <section class="content prose">
36 <p>I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of <a href="spittle.html">other lovers</a> and queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to <a href="deathstrumpet.html">death</a>, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.</p> 37 <p>I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of <a href="spittle.html">other lovers</a> and queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to <a href="deathstrumpet.html">death</a>, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.</p>
37 </section> 38 </section>
39</article>
38 40
39 <nav> 41 <nav>
40 <a href="#" id="lozenge" title="Random page"> &loz; </a> 42 <a href="#" id="lozenge" title="Random page"> &loz; </a>