At the bottom of the throat is the stomach,  entrée  to which  vue  is signaled by this supermarket  signe , made of boxes so small and fine that they must be made by the same porcelain manufacturer responsible for the china ballerina on the bureau of the bedroom at my grandparent's  maison  (who, too, are  perdu  or missing in the  sombre  now, years later). That dancer never moved either so well or so mechanically as these spinning boxes, whose invisible mechanism for movement is a marvel  perdu  to makers in the ordinary worlds.     Cet après-midi là, des machines sombres, un de ces morts du futur est arrivé.