And barely five minutes later in the church, with the blessing of Pastor Dreschhoff, while I was crowned with names, all around me, the little wiseguy, in densely circling, snircling, closing orbit, yes so be it, the Liedtkes, the Tiedtkes, the Ziedtkes, the Zorns, the Hebestreits, and the Haberkorns, the Kluwes, the Struwes, the Druwes, the Brodiens, the Scharfenbergs and the Lewertiens, the Kuhnkes, the Gruhnkes, the Ruhnkes, the Rieks, the Tuleweits, and the Papendieks, in short, in full array, dignified and elegant, each by rank and degree, most of the upper bourgeoisie, I suddenly cried out and moaned, and consequently groaned, not because I was feeling my oats but rather being stuck by a very sharp Faber pencil with the ... imprint
Number One!
(excerto do poema phantasus, em 3 vol's, 1898-1899, considerado um dos antecedentes da poesia concreta - lembremo-nos de que Un Coup de Dés, outra referência, é escrito em 1897)
