Turning with robotic stiffness (that many years under the occasionally muddy  poussière , and your bones stick to each other... when your  dent  clatter, you feel it too well down in your  pieds , and when you try to write on a rough  papier , your backbone feels every little woodpulp ridge), to  visage  the enemy who has excavated, and so accidentally activated, this evil  écriture  scribe, buried here for bad words so long ago.     Quand j'ai eu cette pensée, j'ai vu des images. J'ai vu un homme que je n'avais jamais rencontré.