Thinking about ridiculous translations of Sade, "Ah, my dear friend, I discharge!"

Hover around the end of the 18th C. quite a bit, there, WW I, 1968, etc. Spent some time tarrying with a sensibility far more Victorian than my own, sweetness & light (such a weirdly misunderstood phrase), 'prudish'. No age more prudish than our own.

Vulgar country squire on a promenade with his hunting dog, Coasters songs running through my head, each, in turn, an emblem of things in their totality. Run, Red, run.

Alvin Toffler, Orson Welles, good grief.