From 643d9ceb308c206a6e572c7c555168ff0ca60bc1 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Case Duckworth Date: Fri, 27 Mar 2015 15:40:42 -0700 Subject: Fix #5: Verse typesetting Thanks to the pandoc-discussion thread at , line breaks in verse have been converted to s, which enables the CSS to style them with hanging indents, given a too-small viewport. This commit also includes a makefile edit to reflect this change, and the Haskell source and executable of the pandoc filter. --- no-nothing.html | 4 ++-- 1 file changed, 2 insertions(+), 2 deletions(-) (limited to 'no-nothing.html') diff --git a/no-nothing.html b/no-nothing.html index fc148d3..e2d519f 100644 --- a/no-nothing.html +++ b/no-nothing.html @@ -36,8 +36,8 @@
-

While swimming in the river
I saw underneath it a river
of stars. Only there was no
river: it was noon. You can
say the sun is a river; you
can argue the stars back it
like shirts behind a closet
door; you can say the earth
holds us up with its weight
or that it means well or it
means anything.
                There is no
closet, nor door; there are
no shirts hanging anywhere.
There is no false wall that
leads deep into the earth’s
bowels, growing warmer with
each step. Warmth as a con-
cept has ceased to make any
sense. In contraposition to
cold, it might, but cold as
well stepped out last night
and hasn’t returned.
                     Last I
heard, it went out swimming
and might’ve drowned. Trees
were the pallbearers at the
funeral, the train was long
and wailful, there was much
wailing and gnashing of all
teeth–though there were no
teeth, no train, no funeral
or prayer or trees at all–
nor a river underneath any-
thing. There was nothing to
be underneath anymore.
                       Look
around, and tell me you see
something. Look around, and
tell me something that I do
not know. I know, more than
anything, that the world is
always ending. Behind that,
there is nothing, save that
there is no nothing either.

-

Nothing somehow still turns
and flows past us, past all
time and beyond it, a river
returning, to its forgotten
origins deep within itself.

+

While swimming in the riverI saw underneath it a riverof stars. Only there was noriver: it was noon. You cansay the sun is a river; youcan argue the stars back itlike shirts behind a closetdoor; you can say the earthholds us up with its weightor that it means well or itmeans anything.                There is nocloset, nor door; there areno shirts hanging anywhere.There is no false wall thatleads deep into the earth’sbowels, growing warmer witheach step. Warmth as a con-cept has ceased to make anysense. In contraposition tocold, it might, but cold aswell stepped out last nightand hasn’t returned.                     Last Iheard, it went out swimmingand might’ve drowned. Treeswere the pallbearers at thefuneral, the train was longand wailful, there was muchwailing and gnashing of allteeth–though there were noteeth, no train, no funeralor prayer or trees at all–nor a river underneath any-thing. There was nothing tobe underneath anymore.                       Lookaround, and tell me you seesomething. Look around, andtell me something that I donot know. I know, more thananything, that the world isalways ending. Behind that,there is nothing, save thatthere is no nothing either.

+

Nothing somehow still turnsand flows past us, past alltime and beyond it, a riverreturning, to its forgottenorigins deep within itself.