Back when this blog was an anonymous experiment in posting snippets of execrably bad automatic writing, I wrote these lines, which I've subsequently tried to fit into a couple of different manuscripts as a sort of free-floating quotation or footnote or something that's not quite up to a poem, but which don't seem to fit anywhere:

Climates facilitate ennui.

Here and here and herer.

Which is a shame, because I really like these lines. My writing is often referred to as Steinian, and that's not always true, but I think these lines are definitely Steinian. There's some fascinating grammatical thing going on, that I don't want to explicate because that would be a step down the sad road of being one's own literary critic, and that can't lead anywhere comforting. But I wanted to at least re-post them, if only to validate the time I've spent staring at something I wrote four years ago as somehow productive.