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17-08-2010 10:58
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Kurt Vonnegut - Armageddon in Retrospect - Audiobook
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15-08-2010 12:59
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Confetti Print 17
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13-08-2010 19:30
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11-08-2010 19:37
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Interview from The Paris Review
verbava
09-08-2010 19:35
The Art of Fiction No. 64
Interviewed by David Hayman, David Michaelis, George Plimpton, Richard Rhodes
Issue 69, Spring 1977
The Paris Review
This interview with Kurt Vonnegut was originally a composite of four interviews done with the author over the past decade. The composite has gone through an extensive working over by the subject himself, who looks upon his own spoken words on the page with considerable misgivings . . . Indeed, what follows can be considered an interview conducted with himself, by himself.
The introduction to the first of the incorporated interviews (done in West Barnstable, Massachusetts, when Vonnegut was forty-four) reads: “He is a veteran and a family man, large-boned, loose-jointed, at ease. He camps in an armchair in a shaggy tweed jacket, Cambridge gray flannels, a blue Brooks Brothers shirt, slouched down, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He shells the interview with explosive coughs and sneezes, windages of an autumn cold and a lifetime of heavy cigarette smoking. His voice is a resonant baritone, Midwestern, wry in its inflections. From time to time he issues the open, alert smile of a man who has seen and reserved within himself almost everything: depression, war, the possibility of violent death, the inanities of corporate public relations, six children, an irregular income, long-delayed recognition.”
The last of the interviews that made up the composite was conducted during the summer of 1976, years after the first. The description of him at this time reads: “ . . . he moves with the low-keyed amiability of an old family dog. In general, his appearance is tousled: the long curly hair, mustache, and sympathetic smile suggest a man at once amused and saddened by the world around him. He has rented the Gerald Murphy house for the summer. He works in the little bedroom at the end of a hall where Murphy, artist, bon vivant, and friend to the artistic great, died in 1964. From his desk Vonnegut can look out onto the front lawn through a small window; behind him is a large, white canopy bed. On the desk next to the typewriter is a copy of Andy Warhol's Interview, Clancy Sigal's Zone of the Interior, and several discarded cigarette packs.
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Interviewed by David Hayman, David Michaelis, George Plimpton, Richard Rhodes
Issue 69, Spring 1977
The Paris Review
This interview with Kurt Vonnegut was originally a composite of four interviews done with the author over the past decade. The composite has gone through an extensive working over by the subject himself, who looks upon his own spoken words on the page with considerable misgivings . . . Indeed, what follows can be considered an interview conducted with himself, by himself.
The introduction to the first of the incorporated interviews (done in West Barnstable, Massachusetts, when Vonnegut was forty-four) reads: “He is a veteran and a family man, large-boned, loose-jointed, at ease. He camps in an armchair in a shaggy tweed jacket, Cambridge gray flannels, a blue Brooks Brothers shirt, slouched down, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He shells the interview with explosive coughs and sneezes, windages of an autumn cold and a lifetime of heavy cigarette smoking. His voice is a resonant baritone, Midwestern, wry in its inflections. From time to time he issues the open, alert smile of a man who has seen and reserved within himself almost everything: depression, war, the possibility of violent death, the inanities of corporate public relations, six children, an irregular income, long-delayed recognition.”
The last of the interviews that made up the composite was conducted during the summer of 1976, years after the first. The description of him at this time reads: “ . . . he moves with the low-keyed amiability of an old family dog. In general, his appearance is tousled: the long curly hair, mustache, and sympathetic smile suggest a man at once amused and saddened by the world around him. He has rented the Gerald Murphy house for the summer. He works in the little bedroom at the end of a hall where Murphy, artist, bon vivant, and friend to the artistic great, died in 1964. From his desk Vonnegut can look out onto the front lawn through a small window; behind him is a large, white canopy bed. On the desk next to the typewriter is a copy of Andy Warhol's Interview, Clancy Sigal's Zone of the Interior, and several discarded cigarette packs.
The story went like this
verbava
06-08-2010 11:57
contemplative electronica based on an early recording
of Kurt Vonnegut reading a section of "Slaughterhouse Five"
via archive.org
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of Kurt Vonnegut reading a section of "Slaughterhouse Five"
via archive.org
  |
Confido
verbava
05-08-2010 12:52
Confido
by Kurt Vonnegut (from Look at the Birdie)
The Summer had died peacefully in its sleep, and Autumn, as soft-spoken executrix, was locking life up safely until Spring came to claim it. At one with this sad, sweet allegory outside the kitchen window of her small home was Ellen Bowers, who, early in the morning, was preparing Tuesday breakfast for her husband, Henry. Henry was gasping and dancing and slapping himself in a cold shower on the other side of a thin wall.
Ellen was a fair and tiny woman, in her early thirties, plainly mercurial and bright, though dressed in a dowdy housecoat. In almost any event she would have loved life, but she loved it now with an overwhelming emotion that was like the throbbing amen of a church organ, for she could tell herself this morning that her husband, in addition to being good, would soon be rich and famous.
She hadn’t expected it, had seldom dreamed of it, had been content with inexpensive possessions and small adventures of the spirit, like thinking about autumn, that cost nothing at all. Henry was not a moneymaker. That had been the understanding.
He was an easily satisfied tinker, a maker and mender who had a touch close to magic with materials and machines. But his miracles had all been small ones as he went about his job as a laboratory assistant at the Accousti-gem Corporation, a manufacturer of hearing aids. Henry was valued by his employers, but the price they paid for him was not great. A high price, Ellen and Henry had agreed amiably, probably wasn’t called for, since being paid at all for puttering was an honor and a luxury of sorts. And that was that.
Or that had seemed to be that, Ellen reflected, for on the kitchen table lay a small tin box, a wire, and an earphone, like a hearing aid, a creation, in its own modern way, as marvelous as Niagara Falls or the Sphinx. Henry had made it in secret during his lunch hours, and had brought it home the night before. Just before bedtime, Ellen had been inspired to give the box a name, an appealing combination of confidant and household pet—Confido.
“What is it every person really wants, more than food almost?” Henry had asked coyly, showing her Confido for the first time. He was a tall, rustic man, ordinarily as shy as a woods creature. But something had changed him, made him fiery and loud. “What is it?”
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by Kurt Vonnegut (from Look at the Birdie)
The Summer had died peacefully in its sleep, and Autumn, as soft-spoken executrix, was locking life up safely until Spring came to claim it. At one with this sad, sweet allegory outside the kitchen window of her small home was Ellen Bowers, who, early in the morning, was preparing Tuesday breakfast for her husband, Henry. Henry was gasping and dancing and slapping himself in a cold shower on the other side of a thin wall.
Ellen was a fair and tiny woman, in her early thirties, plainly mercurial and bright, though dressed in a dowdy housecoat. In almost any event she would have loved life, but she loved it now with an overwhelming emotion that was like the throbbing amen of a church organ, for she could tell herself this morning that her husband, in addition to being good, would soon be rich and famous.
She hadn’t expected it, had seldom dreamed of it, had been content with inexpensive possessions and small adventures of the spirit, like thinking about autumn, that cost nothing at all. Henry was not a moneymaker. That had been the understanding.
He was an easily satisfied tinker, a maker and mender who had a touch close to magic with materials and machines. But his miracles had all been small ones as he went about his job as a laboratory assistant at the Accousti-gem Corporation, a manufacturer of hearing aids. Henry was valued by his employers, but the price they paid for him was not great. A high price, Ellen and Henry had agreed amiably, probably wasn’t called for, since being paid at all for puttering was an honor and a luxury of sorts. And that was that.
Or that had seemed to be that, Ellen reflected, for on the kitchen table lay a small tin box, a wire, and an earphone, like a hearing aid, a creation, in its own modern way, as marvelous as Niagara Falls or the Sphinx. Henry had made it in secret during his lunch hours, and had brought it home the night before. Just before bedtime, Ellen had been inspired to give the box a name, an appealing combination of confidant and household pet—Confido.
“What is it every person really wants, more than food almost?” Henry had asked coyly, showing her Confido for the first time. He was a tall, rustic man, ordinarily as shy as a woods creature. But something had changed him, made him fiery and loud. “What is it?”
Slaughterhouse-Five; or, The Children's Crusade: A Duty-Dance With Death ў перакладзе на беларускую мову
verbava
04-08-2010 12:27
“Бойня №5”: Праўдзівы рэпартаж Апакаліпсісу
Марыя Мартысевіч
Новы Час
Яшчэ адна адзнака сёлетняга 65-годдзя Вялікай Перамогі, шырока святкаванага ў Беларусі: днямі выходзіць даўно анансаваны раман амерыканскага пісьменніка Курта Вонегута “Бойня №5, або Крыжовы паход дзетак” у перакладзе на беларускую мову. Выданне здзейсніцца ў выдавецтве “Логвінаў” у серыі кніг “Біліятэка “Бацькаўшчыны”— Пераклады”. Пра тое, чым можа прыдацца кніга беларускаму чытачу, мы гутарым з яе перакладчыкам Паўлам Касцюкевічам.
“Вонегута я перакладаў заўсёды”
— Павел, ты вядомы як паспяховы перакладчык ізраільскай літаратуры. Калі і пры якіх абставінах ты зацікавіўся амерыканістыкай?
— Як мне цяпер здаецца, Вонегута я перакладаў заўсёды. Я жыў у Ізраілі і намерваўся распачаць кар’еру перакладчыка мастацкай літаратуры. Але літаратура на мове іўрыт па першым часе не здавалася мне прынадным аб’ектам для перакладу. Я не залічваў яе ў “гранд-літаратуры”. Іншая справа — французская, брытанская, нямецкая, польская… А тое, што я стаў перакладаць менавіта гэты раман менавіта гэтага аўтара, было шчаслівым выпадкам.
[300x446]У Ізраілі я працаваў ахоўнікам у ерусалімскім раёнчыку Нямецкая Калонія, дзе, паводле завядзёнкі, селіцца інтэлігенцыя. Культурны кантынгент — і сметнікі ў раёне культурныя. Мінаючы, заўсёды можна разжыцца якаснай кніжкай, якая ахайна ляжыць на ходніку перад кантэйнерамі. Было шмат англійскамоўнай літаратуры. У адну ноч я знайшоў “Сідхартху” Германа Гесэ па-англійску і наступнага дня сеў — нямецкі тэкст з англійскай мовы — перакладаць. Але вельмі хутка адступіўся ад гэтага намеру. І дзякуй Богу, бо сёння “Сідхартха” паспяхова абеларушаны германістам Арцёмам Арашонкам. А канкурэнцыя паміж перакладчыкамі, асабліва ў малой літаратуры, — гэта не жарты…
А адступіўся я ад “Сідхартхі” таму, што літаральна на наступны дзень адшукаў ля таго ж сметніку “Бойню №5” Вонегута. Я палічыў гэта шчаслівым знакам — і ўзяўся за пераклад менавіта гэтай кнігі.
— Гэта было тваё першае знаёмства з пісьменнікам?
— З пісьменнікам — не. Вядома ж, у дзяцінстве я, як, думаю, многія, чытаў выдатныя рускія пераклады Вонегута, якія належаць пяру Рыты Райт-Кавалёвай. Але тое былі культавыя ў СССР “Сірэны Тытана” ды “Калыска для коткі” — адзіныя, па-мойму, кнігі гэтага аўтара, прапушчаныя савецкай цэнзурай. Прапушчаныя таму, што ў іх не згадваецца Савецкі Саюз. “Бойня №5” — гэта твор, з дапамогай якога Вонегут спрабуе разабрацца з уласнай радзімай — і гэта як бы дае яму карт-бланш не цырымоніцца і з іншымі краінамі, уцягнутымі ў другую сусветную. Таму на рускую мову твор быў перакладзены толькі ў часы позняй Перабудовы. Між тым, у ЗША Вонегут зрабіўся шырока вядомым найперш дзякуючы гэтаму раману, які стаў класікай яшчэ пры жыцці аўтара, увайшоў у амерыканскую культуру і мову на ўзроўні цытатаў. Напрыклад, папулярная лаянка, якую я пераклаў як “каб ты ляцеў і пярдзеў праз дзірку бубліка”. Або з гэтага раману пайшла ў гутарковую мову фраза “So it goes” — у маім перакладзе — “Во як!”. Ну і, вядома ж, знакамітая малітва Курта Вонегута:
Божа! Дай мне лагоды
прыняць тое, што
я не магу змяніць,
мужнасці
змяніць тое, што магу,
і мудрасці —
заўсёды адрозніць першае ад другога.
Але ўсе гэтыя матывацыі — сусветная прызнанасць аўтара, неперакладзенасць на нашу мову, блізкасць закранутых ім тэмаў, — прыйшлі пазней, у працэсе працы над перакладам.
“Праўда мяне вельмі ўзрушыла”
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Марыя Мартысевіч
Новы Час
Яшчэ адна адзнака сёлетняга 65-годдзя Вялікай Перамогі, шырока святкаванага ў Беларусі: днямі выходзіць даўно анансаваны раман амерыканскага пісьменніка Курта Вонегута “Бойня №5, або Крыжовы паход дзетак” у перакладзе на беларускую мову. Выданне здзейсніцца ў выдавецтве “Логвінаў” у серыі кніг “Біліятэка “Бацькаўшчыны”— Пераклады”. Пра тое, чым можа прыдацца кніга беларускаму чытачу, мы гутарым з яе перакладчыкам Паўлам Касцюкевічам.
“Вонегута я перакладаў заўсёды”
— Павел, ты вядомы як паспяховы перакладчык ізраільскай літаратуры. Калі і пры якіх абставінах ты зацікавіўся амерыканістыкай?
— Як мне цяпер здаецца, Вонегута я перакладаў заўсёды. Я жыў у Ізраілі і намерваўся распачаць кар’еру перакладчыка мастацкай літаратуры. Але літаратура на мове іўрыт па першым часе не здавалася мне прынадным аб’ектам для перакладу. Я не залічваў яе ў “гранд-літаратуры”. Іншая справа — французская, брытанская, нямецкая, польская… А тое, што я стаў перакладаць менавіта гэты раман менавіта гэтага аўтара, было шчаслівым выпадкам.
[300x446]У Ізраілі я працаваў ахоўнікам у ерусалімскім раёнчыку Нямецкая Калонія, дзе, паводле завядзёнкі, селіцца інтэлігенцыя. Культурны кантынгент — і сметнікі ў раёне культурныя. Мінаючы, заўсёды можна разжыцца якаснай кніжкай, якая ахайна ляжыць на ходніку перад кантэйнерамі. Было шмат англійскамоўнай літаратуры. У адну ноч я знайшоў “Сідхартху” Германа Гесэ па-англійску і наступнага дня сеў — нямецкі тэкст з англійскай мовы — перакладаць. Але вельмі хутка адступіўся ад гэтага намеру. І дзякуй Богу, бо сёння “Сідхартха” паспяхова абеларушаны германістам Арцёмам Арашонкам. А канкурэнцыя паміж перакладчыкамі, асабліва ў малой літаратуры, — гэта не жарты… А адступіўся я ад “Сідхартхі” таму, што літаральна на наступны дзень адшукаў ля таго ж сметніку “Бойню №5” Вонегута. Я палічыў гэта шчаслівым знакам — і ўзяўся за пераклад менавіта гэтай кнігі.
— Гэта было тваё першае знаёмства з пісьменнікам?
— З пісьменнікам — не. Вядома ж, у дзяцінстве я, як, думаю, многія, чытаў выдатныя рускія пераклады Вонегута, якія належаць пяру Рыты Райт-Кавалёвай. Але тое былі культавыя ў СССР “Сірэны Тытана” ды “Калыска для коткі” — адзіныя, па-мойму, кнігі гэтага аўтара, прапушчаныя савецкай цэнзурай. Прапушчаныя таму, што ў іх не згадваецца Савецкі Саюз. “Бойня №5” — гэта твор, з дапамогай якога Вонегут спрабуе разабрацца з уласнай радзімай — і гэта як бы дае яму карт-бланш не цырымоніцца і з іншымі краінамі, уцягнутымі ў другую сусветную. Таму на рускую мову твор быў перакладзены толькі ў часы позняй Перабудовы. Між тым, у ЗША Вонегут зрабіўся шырока вядомым найперш дзякуючы гэтаму раману, які стаў класікай яшчэ пры жыцці аўтара, увайшоў у амерыканскую культуру і мову на ўзроўні цытатаў. Напрыклад, папулярная лаянка, якую я пераклаў як “каб ты ляцеў і пярдзеў праз дзірку бубліка”. Або з гэтага раману пайшла ў гутарковую мову фраза “So it goes” — у маім перакладзе — “Во як!”. Ну і, вядома ж, знакамітая малітва Курта Вонегута:
Божа! Дай мне лагоды
прыняць тое, што
я не магу змяніць,
мужнасці
змяніць тое, што магу,
і мудрасці —
заўсёды адрозніць першае ад другога.
Але ўсе гэтыя матывацыі — сусветная прызнанасць аўтара, неперакладзенасць на нашу мову, блізкасць закранутых ім тэмаў, — прыйшлі пазней, у працэсе працы над перакладам.
“Праўда мяне вельмі ўзрушыла”
Confetti Print 16
verbava
03-08-2010 12:21
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Leonard Mustazza - Forever Pursuing the Genesis - quotes
verbava
30-07-2010 11:00
Leonard Mustazza - Forever Pursuing the Genesis
Das Reich der Zwei - Mother Night
59
If we link the title's possible [mythic] meaning to the morals that Vonnegut does specify [about pretending, death and love], we are left with the question how are pretense, death, and love associated with the primeval mythic personag referred to in the title? The answer to that question will be the subject of this chapter.
62
The concept of mythic backward movements and miscreations that [classical authors] speak of can well be applied to Vonnegut's novel... For his entire life, Campbell has benn involved in nothing so much as attempting to create for himself a little universe, a limited sphere of operations in which he can enjoy order, beauty, light, and love.
63
Mother Night... is not concerned simply with the small, beguilling truths that one invents for oneself to survive happily. Rather, its main focus is the collision of one man's little world with those of potent others within the greater chaos; and in a more general and figurative sense, with the endless conflict between our own "supercilious lights" and the greater darkness.
65
Like his counterparts in other Vonnegut novels, Howard uses as a means of escape a mental construct that represents for him a re-creation of reality along familiar mythic lines. The particular creation myth to which he subscribes is... a well-known and conventional one that Vonnegut turns to again and again in his fiction: the story of Noah.
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Das Reich der Zwei - Mother Night
59
If we link the title's possible [mythic] meaning to the morals that Vonnegut does specify [about pretending, death and love], we are left with the question how are pretense, death, and love associated with the primeval mythic personag referred to in the title? The answer to that question will be the subject of this chapter.
62
The concept of mythic backward movements and miscreations that [classical authors] speak of can well be applied to Vonnegut's novel... For his entire life, Campbell has benn involved in nothing so much as attempting to create for himself a little universe, a limited sphere of operations in which he can enjoy order, beauty, light, and love.
63
Mother Night... is not concerned simply with the small, beguilling truths that one invents for oneself to survive happily. Rather, its main focus is the collision of one man's little world with those of potent others within the greater chaos; and in a more general and figurative sense, with the endless conflict between our own "supercilious lights" and the greater darkness.
65
Like his counterparts in other Vonnegut novels, Howard uses as a means of escape a mental construct that represents for him a re-creation of reality along familiar mythic lines. The particular creation myth to which he subscribes is... a well-known and conventional one that Vonnegut turns to again and again in his fiction: the story of Noah.
Kurt Vonnegut - A Man Without A Country - Audiobook
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29-07-2010 12:25
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***
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28-07-2010 12:24
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How to write with style
verbava
27-07-2010 11:31
How to write with style
By Kurt Vonnegut
via
Newspaper reporters and technical writers are trained to reveal almost nothing about themselves in their writings. This makes them freaks in the world of writers, since almost all of the other ink-stained wretches in that world reveal a lot about themselves to readers. We call these revelations, accidental and intentional, elements of style.
These revelations tell us as readers what sort of person it is with whom we are spending time. Does the writer sound ignorant or informed, stupid or bright, crooked or honest, humorless or playful--? And on and on.
Why should you examine your writing style with the idea of improving it? Do so as a mark of respect for your readers, whatever you're writing. If you scribble your thoughts any which way, your readers will surely feel that you care nothing about them. They will mark you down as an egomaniac or a chowderhead--or worse, they will stop reading you.
The most damning revelation you can make about yourself is that you do not know what is interesting and what is not. Don't you yourself like or dislike writers mainly for what they choose to show you or make you think about? Did you ever admire an empty-headed writer for his or her mastery of the language? No.
So your own winning style must begin with ideas in your head.
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By Kurt Vonnegut
via
Newspaper reporters and technical writers are trained to reveal almost nothing about themselves in their writings. This makes them freaks in the world of writers, since almost all of the other ink-stained wretches in that world reveal a lot about themselves to readers. We call these revelations, accidental and intentional, elements of style.
These revelations tell us as readers what sort of person it is with whom we are spending time. Does the writer sound ignorant or informed, stupid or bright, crooked or honest, humorless or playful--? And on and on.
Why should you examine your writing style with the idea of improving it? Do so as a mark of respect for your readers, whatever you're writing. If you scribble your thoughts any which way, your readers will surely feel that you care nothing about them. They will mark you down as an egomaniac or a chowderhead--or worse, they will stop reading you.
The most damning revelation you can make about yourself is that you do not know what is interesting and what is not. Don't you yourself like or dislike writers mainly for what they choose to show you or make you think about? Did you ever admire an empty-headed writer for his or her mastery of the language? No.
So your own winning style must begin with ideas in your head.
Delacorte Press
verbava
26-07-2010 19:50
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Uniformity and Deformity in "Harrison Bergeron"
verbava
22-07-2010 17:31
Uniformity and Deformity in "Harrison Bergeron"
An exploration of the main theme of "Harrison Bergeron"
Marek Vit
In this essay, I will attempt to explore what Kurt Vonnegut illustrated in his short story "Harrison Bergeron"--the fact that uniformity (of any kind) leads to the loss of individuality, and therefore to absolute deformity of humanness.
"The year was 2081, and everybody was finally equal," the story begins. "They weren't only equal before God and the law. They were equal in every which way." (Vonnegut 1968:7) In this haunting story, Vonnegut probably wanted to warn our society of similar kind of equality, equality that can be fatal for human race.
The theme of absolute equality has already appeared two years before "Harrison Bergeron" was published for the first time in Fantasy and Science-Fiction Magazine (1961). It was Vonnegut's novel The Sirens of Titan. However, in this work the theme is only a minor feature and is not really developed (see Vonnegut 1975:158). The idea probably intrigued Kurt Vonnegut and forced him to develop it into a short story. Those who are familiar with Kurt Vonnegut's writing will certainly recognize some other themes of this story. For example the fear of de-humanization of human beings, being stuck in amber (Harrisons inability to overthrow the system) and so forth.
In "Harrison Bergeron", Kurt Vonnegut presented a scary view of a future society, where everyone was equal. "Nobody was smarter than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger or quicker than anybody else." (Vonnegut 1988:7). It was the job of the agents of the United States Handicapper General to keep it this way. Beautiful people had to wear ugly masks. People not heavy enough had to wear handicap bags full of lead. Clever people had to wear a radio in their ear tuned to the government transmitter, which sent out sharp noises to keep people from taking advantage of their brains. It was a world where competition was the greatest of sins.
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An exploration of the main theme of "Harrison Bergeron"
Marek Vit
In this essay, I will attempt to explore what Kurt Vonnegut illustrated in his short story "Harrison Bergeron"--the fact that uniformity (of any kind) leads to the loss of individuality, and therefore to absolute deformity of humanness.
"The year was 2081, and everybody was finally equal," the story begins. "They weren't only equal before God and the law. They were equal in every which way." (Vonnegut 1968:7) In this haunting story, Vonnegut probably wanted to warn our society of similar kind of equality, equality that can be fatal for human race.
The theme of absolute equality has already appeared two years before "Harrison Bergeron" was published for the first time in Fantasy and Science-Fiction Magazine (1961). It was Vonnegut's novel The Sirens of Titan. However, in this work the theme is only a minor feature and is not really developed (see Vonnegut 1975:158). The idea probably intrigued Kurt Vonnegut and forced him to develop it into a short story. Those who are familiar with Kurt Vonnegut's writing will certainly recognize some other themes of this story. For example the fear of de-humanization of human beings, being stuck in amber (Harrisons inability to overthrow the system) and so forth.
In "Harrison Bergeron", Kurt Vonnegut presented a scary view of a future society, where everyone was equal. "Nobody was smarter than anybody else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger or quicker than anybody else." (Vonnegut 1988:7). It was the job of the agents of the United States Handicapper General to keep it this way. Beautiful people had to wear ugly masks. People not heavy enough had to wear handicap bags full of lead. Clever people had to wear a radio in their ear tuned to the government transmitter, which sent out sharp noises to keep people from taking advantage of their brains. It was a world where competition was the greatest of sins.
Confetti Print 15
verbava
20-07-2010 11:10
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Умберто Эко, «Как публично сквернословить» (из «Картонок Минервы»)
verbava
19-07-2010 18:34
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В новом романе Курта Воннегута «Фокус-покус» главный герой решает не сквернословить и ограничиваться выражениями вроде «вот кусок экскрементов!», «что за головка пениса!», «какой дом терпимости!». Очень уместная инициатива – когда цитируемые газетами политические мужи звучат как дворники, а на телеэкранах появляются почтенные синьоры, обсуждающие насущные проблемы при помощи выражений, эксплицитно относящихся к частям тела, обычно укрытым так называемым нижним бельем.
Быть родом со Среднего Запада
verbava
17-07-2010 13:31
Быть родом со Среднего Запада
Курт Воннегут
via vonnegut.ru
«Вот человек, давно душою мертв,
нам от него не суждено услышать слов:
"Здесь Родина моя, мой дом, мой кров"…»*
Если лишить эти знаменитые патриотические строки шотландца сэра Вальтера Скотта (1771-1832) национально-романтической окраски, то получится вот что: Люди, к счастью для них самих, рождаются на свет с таким же территориальным инстинктом, который есть у лесных волков и пчел. Еще недавно считалось, что удаляться слишком далеко от места рождения и от родственников для людей равноценно самоубийству.
Этот ужас перед пересечением четко определенных географических границ до сих пор имеет право на существование во многих частях света – например, в бывшей европейской стране Югославии, или в африканской стране Руанде. Однако сегодня этот ужас стал излишним подсознательным грузом на большей части территории Северной Америки – слава Богу, слава Богу. Он все еще жив в этой стране – как живы и многие другие устаревшие инстинкты выживания, как все еще живы многие чувства и повадки, которые в основном безвредны, а иногда даже забавны.
Поэтому я, а также миллионы мне подобных, говорим незнакомцам при встрече, что мы родом со Среднего Запада, словно нам полагается за это какая-нибудь медаль. В нашу защиту я могу сказать только, что уроженцам Техаса и Бруклина присуще еще более нелепое территориальное тщеславие.
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Курт Воннегут
via vonnegut.ru
«Вот человек, давно душою мертв,
нам от него не суждено услышать слов:
"Здесь Родина моя, мой дом, мой кров"…»*
Если лишить эти знаменитые патриотические строки шотландца сэра Вальтера Скотта (1771-1832) национально-романтической окраски, то получится вот что: Люди, к счастью для них самих, рождаются на свет с таким же территориальным инстинктом, который есть у лесных волков и пчел. Еще недавно считалось, что удаляться слишком далеко от места рождения и от родственников для людей равноценно самоубийству.
Этот ужас перед пересечением четко определенных географических границ до сих пор имеет право на существование во многих частях света – например, в бывшей европейской стране Югославии, или в африканской стране Руанде. Однако сегодня этот ужас стал излишним подсознательным грузом на большей части территории Северной Америки – слава Богу, слава Богу. Он все еще жив в этой стране – как живы и многие другие устаревшие инстинкты выживания, как все еще живы многие чувства и повадки, которые в основном безвредны, а иногда даже забавны.
Поэтому я, а также миллионы мне подобных, говорим незнакомцам при встрече, что мы родом со Среднего Запада, словно нам полагается за это какая-нибудь медаль. В нашу защиту я могу сказать только, что уроженцам Техаса и Бруклина присуще еще более нелепое территориальное тщеславие.
