[92043] in Discussion of MIT-community interests
Massive Holiday discounts on Popular iPad Case & Keyboard
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Touchfire)
Wed Nov 16 05:45:18 2016
Date: Wed, 16 Nov 2016 05:41:21 -0500
To: mit-talk-mtg@charon.mit.edu
From: Touchfire <touchfire@eiyesterday.bid>
Reply-to: Touchfire <touchfire@eiyesterday.bid>
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New Invention: every iPad accessory rolled Into One
obscene word, scrawled by some boy with a piece of brick, stood out clearly in the moonlight, and I erased it, drawing my shoe raspingly
along the stone. Then I wandered down to the beach and sprawled out on the sand. Most of the big shore places were closed now and there
were hardly any lights except the shadowy, moving glow of a ferryboat across the Sound. And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I
became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors’ eyes — a fresh, green rest of the new world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way
for Gatsby’s house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the
presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something
commensurate to his capacity for wonder. And as I sat there brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of Gatsby’s wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy’s
dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him,
somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night. Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future
that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter — to-morrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning ——
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past. There was a large, brilliant evening star in the early
twilight, and underfoot the earth was half frozen. It was Christmas Eve. Also the War was over, and there was a sense of relief that was almost a new menace. A man felt the
violence of the nightmare released now into thegeneral air. Also there had been another wrangle among themen on the pit- bank that evening.
Aaron Sisson was the last man on the little black railway-line climbing the hill home from work. He was late because he had attended a meeting
of the men on the bank. He was secretary to the Miners Union for his colliery, and had heard a good deal of silly wrangling that left him nettled.
He strode over a stile, crossed two fields, strode another stile, and was in the long road of colliers’ dwellings. Just across was his own
house: he had built it himself. He went through the little gate, up past the side of the house to the back. There he hung a moment, glancing down the dark, wintry garden.
“My father — my father’s come!” cried a child’s excited voice, and two little girls in white pinafores ran out in front of his legs.
“Father, shall you set the Christmas Tree?” they cried. “We’ve got one!” “Afore I have my dinner?” he answered amiably. .
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<BR />
<p align="right">obscene word, scrawled by some boy with a piece of brick, stood out clearly in the moonlight, and I erased it, drawing my shoe raspingly </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px; color: #ffffff;"></span>
<p>
along the stone. Then I wandered down to the beach and sprawled out on the sand. Most of the big shore places were closed now and there </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, Courier New, Times New Roman, Arial;"></span>
<p>
were hardly any lights except the shadowy, moving glow of a ferryboat across the Sound. And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="center" style="font: 15px;">
became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors’ eyes — a fresh, green rest of the new world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="right" style="font: 9px;">
for Gatsby’s house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p>
presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he <i> neither understood nor desired, face to face for </i>the last time in history with something </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p></p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 8px;"></span>
<p align="right" style="font: 10px;">commensurate to his capacity for wonder. And as I sat there brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of Gatsby’s wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy’s </p>
<BR />
<p align="right" style="font: 16px;">
dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="left" style="font: 10px;"></p>
<BR /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; color: #ffffff;"></span>
<p align="left">somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night. Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, Courier New, Times New Roman, Arial;"></span>
<p align="left">
that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter — to-morrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning —— </p>
<BR /><span style="font-family: sans-serif, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 9px;"></span>
<p align="right"></p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px;"></span>
<p>
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past. There was a large, brilliant evening star in the early </p>
<BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 9px;"></span>
<p align="left">
twilight, and underfoot the earth was half frozen. It was Christmas Eve. Also the War was over, and there was a sense of relief that was almost a new menace. A man felt the </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span>
<p align="right">
violence of the nightmare released now into the<b>general air. Also there had been another wrangle among the</b>men on the pit- bank that evening. </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 7px;"></span>
<p>
Aaron Sisson was the last man on <U>the little black railway-line climbing the hill home from work. He was late because he </U>had attended a meeting </p>
<BR />
<p>
of the men on the bank. He was secretary to the Miners Union for his colliery, and had heard a good deal of silly wrangling that left him nettled. </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif, Times New Roman, Arial; font-size: 10px; color: #ffffff;"></span>
<p align="center">
He strode over a stile, crossed two fields, strode another stile, and was in the long road of colliers’ dwellings. Just across was his own </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif, Times New Roman, Arial;"></span>
<p>
house: he had built it himself. He went through the little gate, up past the side of the house to the back. There he hung a moment, glancing down the dark, wintry garden. </p>
<BR /><BR /><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif, Times New Roman, Arial;"></span>
<p align="right" style="font: 12px;">
“My father — my father’s come!” cried a child’s excited voice, and two little girls in white pinafores ran out in front of his legs. </p>
<BR /><BR />
<p align="left" style="font: 9px;">
“Father, shall you set the Christmas Tree?” they cried. “We’ve got one!” “Afore I have my dinner?” he answered amiably. .</p>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
</span>
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