This recent bit..... say, perhaps, January 9-12.

What choice words could one select to describe the intervening days?  

A seemingly random hodge-podge of things, a kind of collage diorama of so many things, that one, in existential confusion, could point back, without having distilled a clear meaning, calling the passing days nothing more substantial or inglorious than "life."

There were actual clear points, I suppose, and one can extract meaning, if one felt an unction, a burning little tittle in his gulliver to push his fingers through the lining of the bag, or one could instead orient toward the coming days, that promised obscurity that shall wash over us all.

There were readings, recitations, along the lyceum, the thoroughfare, haranguing the characters in my head with what I felt were important sentences, good sense, of the old stripe of philosophy, the "love of knowledge", not the scientific granular pursuit of truth, not since the fog of relativism came to the fore, something more distinct, that love of learning: ontology.

.....Anse Bundren, needing a new set of teeth, that to procure a new wife...... Cash's leg didn't heel good with the cement poltice on hit, and Dewey Dell was growing great with child.  The boy was hopelessly insane, having a mental condition, "my mother is a fish" and such, and he put an unclothed fish in the cupboard.  Darl would meet Benjy Compson in the nervous hospital, Darl smiling, and Benjy buggering people to no end until he was castrated then heavily dosed.......