Kuppner - Arioflotga : being a revised index of first lines of The Great Anthology

A,b,c,d and so on. Wheres the problem? A beautiful dead girl drew the blinds aside; A beautiful garden, with someone to talk to attached to it, A beloved land is that central land, Oblivia with its marvels; Abortion among the star-studs! Rape too! Ah, how rapturously About failure on such a scale there is almost something heroic. Above all else, God likes us to lie about dozing in the morning; Above all else, the desire to be Oblivian.

Abraham a completely imaginary figure A brave literary academic? Are you serious? Absolute shit? Whenever I hear the phrase, Absorbed as I was by a volume of Heraclitus in Sanskrit, According to Mark, one of the brothers of Jesus was called Judas; A clerical assistant, who hailed from distant San Ignacio, A contradiction in terms with delusions of grandeur A cry of, Deaf, inconsiderate oaf! woke me up again. Actually, I understand women perfectly. Actually, it doesnt smell too bad now. Actually, its pomegranate juice. Quite nice, no? Adamson! I had supposed you were my friend. A devout Christian alcoholic? Is that even possible? Adios! The Gods are simply too expensive.

A disembodied voice whispering Fk off! A dog barked, and the whole thing completely fell to pieces. A few thousand more corpses were washed ashore that evening; A few years ago, I was half a potato when, suddenly A flair for falling asleep in all the great temple sites A flock of vicua leisurely passing by A friend of yours once told me you worship my stupidity. (Do you?) After a fall in his home at the age of ten months After a few shrill screams, the Stepson of God After a second fall in his home at the age of ninety-one, After a while, one simply packs it in and dies. After God made your mole, Madam, I suspect He, quite justifiably, After having had seven, or maybe eight, children or maybe nine After I have ceased to exist, I just know I will still exist. After joking for several years about having a heart problem, After my last bowel operation, I said to myself: Ithuriel, After our disastrous first meeting, After sitting with one of her feet in my lap for most of the morning, After sitting with one of her hands on my head for most of the evening, After the brightest point of the day, something even brighter After the proud traditional cry of, It lacketh testicles! After the sudden delightful shower on Busch Avenue A gay shadow pissing through the doors at evening A great religious leader will soon come out of Alexandria A group of water-drinking North American homosexuals A half-decent pair of headlights quietly at work in a kitchen Ah! Here it is at last! You know, I was almost beginning Ah, yes! The old dream of absolute non-contingency! A hymn of joy is rising again from the clean bathroom; A ladder taller than the tree it was leaning against A lady journalist from Thailand with utterly charming toes A large, weathered shape at the back, which may be Jesus Christ, Alas! Considered as a possible haven, Alas, I am far too intelligent for my own good. Alas, I have been quite unable to achieve satisfaction Alas, I must rise and go now, and try my nightly couch; Alas, I overlooked the fact that I too would grow old.

Alas, it is already clear to me that my son is a venomous little turd. Alas, it seems they are merely a religious phenomenon Alas, my dear mother seems to have gone somewhat insane again. Alas, not a single word of all that utterly marvellous teaching Alas, the angel next door no longer flashes her wings at me. Alas, the arrival of a younger ponce in a bigger car A law-abiding citizen once found a hand-grenade Alcohol? Surely alcohol is for sexual failures? Alexander von Humboldt! Huh. We all know why A lift climbs slowly in the hollow of my eyes A little less melodrama, if you please, Penelope. Allah does not like hearing the word Allah.

Allah leads into error whomsoever he pleases All art is a dulled nostalgia for our childhood toys; All a writer can do today is fart uncontrollably. All day in this retreat I hear the sound of bad men laughing; All jewellery is a homage to the privatest of parts All joys, all passions, all finer thoughts of Oblivia, All languages compare badly even with your suppressed sneezing. All life bar the physical life is conceptual or imaginary. All living religions are a form of betrayal All my life I have been a martyr to acute hearing. All my life I have been struggling with my back teeth. All my uncles were intellectuals in unfashionable cities.

All night I writhed about in agony yet again; All one needs to know about God is that He is never in fact there. Allow me, if I may, to take advantage of this crude instrument Allow me, Lord, to do good if that is what you have already chosen for me. Allow me, love, to insist upon the impossible. Allow me to tell you precisely what I tell Almighty God about you. All poets fail. That is, perhaps, what poetry is.

All right, said God. Thats enough charming, voluble Celts. All right; we are the opposite of an island again. So what? All Scripture is more or less fantasy, more or less All striking features will have stories attached to them; All talk of lovers perfections is so much impercipience. All talk of superhuman meaning is, in the end, fraud. All that happened before I returned to the Church All that has to do with alcohol is unbearably tedious.

All these erections which the Lord God hides behind All these guides are, it seems to me, essentially liars. All these wits, all these truly fantastic characters, All the thinkers I have ever met were arrogant, ignorant, shits. All this acute discussion of highly advanced farting noises All this insane machinery for posthumous benefit! All those people listening intently to unintentional silences! All those people who think they can predict the States future All those who have been bitten by a blind man (or woman) All those who have greatly entertained themselves inside a church at dawn All will be well, and all will be stone dead too; All will be well in perhaps a rather special sense of well. Almighty God does not need to grope any angelic buttocks; Almighty God, swinging upon a non-existent rope, Almighty God, swinging upon a thin, dangerous chain, Almighty God, you surely must have some idea what you are doing? Almost everybody is sinking on the wrong boat. Almost every day that fall, I took a small tart to the attic Almost nothing gets said. And even less gets translated.

A lot of really great cutlery is being made in Scotland these days! A lot of this Jewish stuff is actually Greek, you know? Although, as I write this, I am still laughing uncontrollably, Although I am perhaps almost frighteningly intelligent, Rae, Although I did not ask to be made Oblivian, Although no-one is more sceptical in such matters than myself, Although our forefathers (Bless them!) may have failed again and again Although she died forty years ago, I still have one of her baps Although the atheist is not necessarily a foul, imperceptive turd, Although the likes of you would never be able to offend God, Although we had sex daily for several decades back to back, Always these interesting trains going in the opposite direction; A man may smile and smile and not be a violinist at all; A mans life is never quite over until A mans life is not over until A mere fifty years later, what he had said was written down. Am I alone in detecting here a reference A million million million very very narrow avoidances Am I not then to be allowed to say anything about the Jews? Am I still too young to die, I ask myself; Am I the only person who finds the universe rather unconvincing? A moment of hope passed; returned; then passed again; A monk from Santa Cruz, with his large, badly tuned pipes, A monotheistic religion with three Gods is, certainly, A mother of five who was gazing, amazed, at her only child An appalling pain shatters me whenever I have to lift An awful lot more seems to have changed during the night. An awful lot seems to have changed back during the night; And Death shall start to fart uncontrollably. And did those balls And Eve said to Adam: Have you still not finished yet? And God said: Let there be language! And here is the story of Belshazzars Fast, a comparatively little-known tale: And he said in a most solemn voice: This is my bap. And is this really the same skirt which, several decades ago, And now, in addition, Im falling to bits too. And now I seem to be losing the power in my legs.