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| author | Case Duckworth | 2015-03-10 23:17:06 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Case Duckworth | 2015-03-10 23:17:06 -0700 |
| commit | bec7c936d59e331500c8350b92e33f2b5c5eb0e0 (patch) | |
| tree | eb35d9c37efccc6eafa8dbca1538387dcf6c3ff4 /real-writer.html | |
| parent | Fix broken link in I think it's you (diff) | |
| download | autocento-bec7c936d59e331500c8350b92e33f2b5c5eb0e0.tar.gz autocento-bec7c936d59e331500c8350b92e33f2b5c5eb0e0.zip | |
Move dedication to before epigraph
Diffstat (limited to 'real-writer.html')
| -rw-r--r-- | real-writer.html | 29 |
1 files changed, 14 insertions, 15 deletions
| diff --git a/real-writer.html b/real-writer.html index fd60895..0c46f71 100644 --- a/real-writer.html +++ b/real-writer.html | |||
| @@ -1,5 +1,6 @@ | |||
| 1 | <!DOCTYPE html> | 1 | <!DOCTYPE html> |
| 2 | <!-- Template for compiled 'Autocento' documents --> | 2 | <!-- AUTOCENTO OF THE BREAKFAST TABLE --> |
| 3 | <!-- vim: fdm=indent --> | ||
| 3 | <html lang="en"> | 4 | <html lang="en"> |
| 4 | <head> | 5 | <head> |
| 5 | <meta charset="utf-8"> | 6 | <meta charset="utf-8"> |
| @@ -23,23 +24,21 @@ | |||
| 23 | <!-- <script src="js/external.js"> </script> --> | 24 | <!-- <script src="js/external.js"> </script> --> |
| 24 | </head> | 25 | </head> |
| 25 | <body> | 26 | <body> |
| 27 | |||
| 28 | <article id="container"> | ||
| 29 | <header> | ||
| 30 | <!-- title --> | ||
| 31 | <h1 class="title">A real writer</h1> | ||
| 32 | |||
| 26 | 33 | ||
| 27 | <article id="container"> | 34 | </header> |
| 28 | <header> | ||
| 29 | <!-- title --> | ||
| 30 | <h1 class="title">A real writer</h1> | ||
| 31 | |||
| 32 | |||
| 33 | |||
| 34 | </header> | ||
| 35 | |||
| 36 | <section class="content verse"> | ||
| 37 | <p>Sometimes I feel as though I am not a real writer.<br /><a href="cereal.html">I don’t smoke</a>. I don’t wake up early but I don’t sleep<br />all day either. I find myself increasingly interested<br />in dumb luck. Chance: I’ve found two dimes in as many<br />days. Does this mean I’ve found twenty lucky pennies?<br />I want you to participate. You the reader. You,<br />the probabilistic god of my dreams. I’ve been having<br /><a href="in-bed.html">strange dreams</a> lately. I don’t remember them but<br />they leave impressions. A bare foot. A tunnel<br />of hair from her face to mine. A boat stranded<br />in a living-room. Something warm. Something like the sun<br />through my eyelids. <a href="roughgloves.html">A hand, with all its dead symbology</a>.<br /><a href="no-nothing.html">My teeth have fallen out</a>. No, you pulled them out<br />with your hands, threw them over your left shoulder<br /><a href="i-am.html">like salt</a>, to wish away bad luck. I have something<br />to tell you: bad luck follows like a dog. It lets you<br />get ahead for a few days, a week, a year. You’ll see,<br />it’ll bite your sleeping face when you’re not looking.<br />I’ve been dreaming about the future, I know. In my dream<br />I am not a writer, <a href="riptide_memory.html">I live in a place with rain</a>. You<br />are sunning yourself as you read this, on a beach or<br />maybe a desert. Let me move in with you. I can cook<br /><a href="when-im-sorry-i.html">or clean</a> or take care of your dog while you’re out.<br />I’ll never have to write again. <a href="about-the-author.html">I’ll watch television</a>.<br />Do I want to become a writer? Tell me. Should I smoke?<br />I can sleep all day in your attic if you want, become<br /><a href="love-as-god.html">your god</a>, lose my own, settle to the bottom of the bed<br />like a boat in a river, dream about nothing but <a href="leaf.html">furniture</a>.</p> | ||
| 38 | </section> | ||
| 39 | </article> | ||
| 40 | 35 | ||
| 36 | <section class="content verse"> | ||
| 37 | <p>Sometimes I feel as though I am not a real writer.<br /><a href="cereal.html">I don’t smoke</a>. I don’t wake up early but I don’t sleep<br />all day either. I find myself increasingly interested<br />in dumb luck. Chance: I’ve found two dimes in as many<br />days. Does this mean I’ve found twenty lucky pennies?<br />I want you to participate. You the reader. You,<br />the probabilistic god of my dreams. I’ve been having<br /><a href="in-bed.html">strange dreams</a> lately. I don’t remember them but<br />they leave impressions. A bare foot. A tunnel<br />of hair from her face to mine. A boat stranded<br />in a living-room. Something warm. Something like the sun<br />through my eyelids. <a href="roughgloves.html">A hand, with all its dead symbology</a>.<br /><a href="no-nothing.html">My teeth have fallen out</a>. No, you pulled them out<br />with your hands, threw them over your left shoulder<br /><a href="i-am.html">like salt</a>, to wish away bad luck. I have something<br />to tell you: bad luck follows like a dog. It lets you<br />get ahead for a few days, a week, a year. You’ll see,<br />it’ll bite your sleeping face when you’re not looking.<br />I’ve been dreaming about the future, I know. In my dream<br />I am not a writer, <a href="riptide_memory.html">I live in a place with rain</a>. You<br />are sunning yourself as you read this, on a beach or<br />maybe a desert. Let me move in with you. I can cook<br /><a href="when-im-sorry-i.html">or clean</a> or take care of your dog while you’re out.<br />I’ll never have to write again. <a href="about-the-author.html">I’ll watch television</a>.<br />Do I want to become a writer? Tell me. Should I smoke?<br />I can sleep all day in your attic if you want, become<br /><a href="love-as-god.html">your god</a>, lose my own, settle to the bottom of the bed<br />like a boat in a river, dream about nothing but <a href="leaf.html">furniture</a>.</p> | ||
| 38 | </section> | ||
| 39 | </article> | ||
| 41 | <nav> | 40 | <nav> |
| 42 | <a href="#" id="lozenge" title="Random page"> ◊ </a> | 41 | <a href="#" id="lozenge" title="Random page"> ◊ </a> |
| 43 | </nav> | 42 | </nav> |
| 44 | </body> | 43 | </body> |
| 45 | </html> | 44 | </html> |