Thursday, April 29, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
Therefore, I thought tonight I'd just have to set the very link, but alas:
By doing so I had to realise: I am almost one month behind the time to answer some comments.
Not that this would not happen now and then. It does.
And as I am at it: Mostly it's not due to the attribute I am (often) coquetting with (my laziness), but my (felt) inability to quickly/spontaneously express my thoughts. In this very case it's due to something else.
Ah, it's such a pity: to read an interesting comment/thought, and (feeling to) not having the words, (to) not having the time to answer properly and then - to forget about it.
Well, my problem. Why did I start blogging in English, instead of sticking to the language I sucked from my mother's breast?!
End of the beforegoing.
[...] and after having cancelled lots of further rubbish [...].
For those who did not follow above given link: Certain people do (the rest of their contempories wish to) think today - April 23rd - is 'The Day of the Book'.
These people are idiots; and not just in the classical sense.
What about an Orwellian Hate Week?
Coming to think of it. One week of hate would mean: there'd be 51 weeks of no hate at all. What a relief, hm?!
Analogue, there'd be 364 Days of no Book.
[Yes, yes! And 365 days in leap years.]
Take your choice.
Postscriptum for those who'd find difficult to understand: It's not as difficult as you think; it's much more complex.
Finally, my commendation for the next Day of the Book:
They're easily read within 24 hours.
And re the other few authors worth being read: In case you're able to read immediately after your birth, and assuming you're going to live 100 years, there'll be 100 Days of the Book. Now that's a big heap of time, hm?
And good luck with the other 36,400 (bookless) days.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Saturday, April 17, 2010
- You look like I was again causing you nightmares.
No response. No smile. No eye sparkling.
- Did I again offer you tea all night until you were fed up with me?
- Hm, do you think you are ready to fly into my arms?
- Alright then. ... Ready?
- You know that you will never ever fall when the strongest of all sons-in-law's with you?
- Good. So let's do it, Mylady. One ... two ... three! Done.
A little scream. Her head leaning against his left shoulder; he feels her shivering.
- Did it hurt?
- You say when you are ready for the marathon?
- I am ready.
- Good. So give me your hands, Mylady.
Slowly, step by step, they cover the three metres to the bedroom door, its threshold.
- And now we are climbing Mt. Everest. ... Good.
Minutes later. The old woman sitting on the toilet, he sitting on the rim of the bath tub.
- Don't you feel well?
- Any pain?
- So, w...
- I'll tell you when I've the teeth in my mouth.
- So be it.
He smiles. Their eyes meet. She does not smile.
Half an hour later, having another marathon behind her, with climbing Nanga Parbat and Popocatepetl, surviving a breakfast containing of three tiny bits of bread - one with egg and fleurs de sel, one with walnut cheese, one with chaumes -, a cup of tea and three pills, she says:
- It was so horrible! Wearing white runners, on arriving with my bicycle at the grocer's suddenly there was a sandheap. I fell. While getting up, fortunately Mickey appeared. Mickey, I said, could you please pick up my bike? He did, and I asked him: Mickey, would you now, please, be so kind and slap me? - But, why should I slap you, Eireen? he asked. Oh Mickey, I said, Diarmuid's told me by no means to get up without him. I could call him at any time of the day and the night, and now I am here. He will ... In the next moment I awoke ... ah ... and so relieved I felt to be in my bed. Still, I was shivering with horror.
- White runners? Did you ever wear white runners?
- Did you really ask Mickey to slap you?
And he laughed and laughed and ... both they laughed.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
why not merely the despaired of
is it not better abort than be barren
the hours after you are gone are so leaden
they will always start dragging too soon
the grapples clawing blindly the bed of want
bringing up the bones the old loves
sockets filled once with eyes like yours
all always is it better too soon than never
the black want splashing their faces
saying again nine days never floated the loved
nor nine months
nor nine lives
if you do not teach me I shall not learn
saying again there is a last
even of last times
last times of begging
last times of loving
of knowing not knowing pretending
a last even of last times of saying
if you do not love me I shall not be loved
if I do not love you I shall not love
the churn of stale words in the heart again
love love love thud of the old plunger
pestling the unalterable
whey of words
of not loving
of loving and not you
of being loved and not by you
of knowing not knowing pretending
I and all the others that will love you
if they love you
unless they love you
Samuel Beckett, *April 13th, 1906
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
Don't know when, though, as I am trying to help a dear person to get better - or at least - yes, although we do not want to, we do have to face this possibility - to die without pain ... peacefully and with a little smile on her lips.
Why would I mention this?
I think it's a fitting counterpoint to what you can see and hear in the following videos full stop
The peace of the night.
The following video is a short version. For the original 38 minutes video released by wikileaks.org please visit their special project website www.collateralmurder.com.