I am Nin-jirsu. No country can bear my fierce stare, nobody escapes my outstretched arms.
Futurist poets, painters, sculptors, and musicians of Italy! As long as the war lasts let us set aside our verse, our brushes, scapels, and orchestras! The red holidays of genius have begun!
In the midst of Umma Entemena overthrew Urlumma and killed him. He left behind 60 soldiers of his force dead on the bank of the canal.
The armistice has just been rejected, so the war will carry on worse than before - I've often regretted sending you away from Paris, but now I'm glad I did. I'm joining the artillery and will be stationed at the Porte de Saint-Ouen...
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