Tuesday, April 13, 2010

[...] full of nuts [...]



Part two

12 comments:

  1. Oooh something to enjoy at my leisure.. Excellent!

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  2. Hahaha! He was mad, y'know! But smart enough not to go to the Nobel Prize Ceremony.

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  3. Jams,
    enjoy!

    Claudia,
    well, one might say strange he was, but mad?

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  4. From Waiting for Godot: "We all are born mad. Some remain so."

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  5. Claudia,
    quite.
    The more I am sure you will agree that someone putting such words into a protagonist's mouth, hardly's a mad man.

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  6. As we often do, in our (so-called fiction) writing, I believe that Beckett, very often, in the mouth of his protagonists, described himself to a tee. The poor man....

    As he said: "Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness."

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  7. Claudia,
    I have written and am writing similar sentences, myself, and ... I'd not for a second think I am a poor man.

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  8. If you think that life is a disease, you're a poor man, Sean. It's hard, it's tough, more on some than others. It's a challenge but I would never think:

    Sleep till death
    healeth
    come ease
    this life disease.


    unless I would be sick in my mind, or in my body.

    I never said, once, he wasn't a good writer. For a man who didn't value words, he sure wrote a great numbers of them!!!! He was also a generous man. Giving the Nobel Prize money to poor writers. But he was the gloomiest, unpassionate fellow I ever read in my 20s. I pitied his wife...

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  9. The word which dominates his writing is nullity.

    That's why I tell him: Buzz off, Sammy! Fous le camp, Sammy!

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  10. Nullity and Nothingness. Which translated in: Empty world worth nothing. If he would have said it only once, I would forgive him. But he repeated it ad infinitum. It gave him fame and money. Allow me to say that he knew that!

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  11. Claudia,
    You do not see me not amused, at all.
    I am delighted. So you do know who values words, and who doesn't? Congratulations!

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  12. Thank you, dear Sean. So good to be appreciated. You make me feel alive. When I listen to Beckett, I feel I was dying when I was born.

    Birth is the death of him. (Monologues)

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