Showing posts with label Books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Books. Show all posts

Friday, March 29, 2019

Factotum


“If you're going to try, go all the way. 
Otherwise, don't even start. 
This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even your mind. 
It could mean not eating for three or four days. 
It could mean freezing on a park bench.
 It could mean jail. 
It could mean derision.
It could mean mockery--isolation. 
Isolation is the gift. 
All the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it.
 And, you'll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds. 
And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. 
If you're going to try, go all the way. 
There is no other feeling like that. 
You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire.
 You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. 
It's the only good fight there is.”

Charles Bukowski, Factotum

Fahrenheit 451


451 grade Fahrenheit 
este temperatura la care arde hârtia sau echivalentul a 233 grade Celsius. 451 grade F înseamnă temperatura la care arde, poate, gândirea noastră, identitatea intrapersonală sau chiar pulsaţia vieţii. 
A trăi viaţa înseamnă să ştii cine eşti, în primul rând. 
François Truffaut este cel care a regizat acest film, după romanul eponim al lui Ray Bradbury. Filmul prezintă, în manieră realistă, 
cu tente uşor utopice (dar acest lucru nu înseamnă că nu se va întâmpla)  
extincţia cognitiv-societală, nici mai mult, nici mai puţin, decât prin arderea cărţilor.
Filmul vine ca o placă turnantă situaţiei societăţii actuale, 
o societate devenită de câteva decenii  frivolă, aseptică, dezumanizată chiar. 
Poate că va fi tragedia timpurilor viitoare care prea departe de noi, cei de acum, nu sunt.
Dar, să ne întoarcem la cărţi. 
Sub deviza „cărţile îi fac pe oameni nefericiţi”, oamenii  încep să ardă cărţile. 
Pompierii sunt plătiţi de către stat să ardă toate cărţile. 
Cărţile sunt adunate în saci şi cărate într-un câmp deschis pentru a lua drumul spre metamorfozarea lor în... cenuşă. 
Incendierea cărţilor le provoacă oamenilor din acest viitor o deosebită plăcere. 
Este însă o plăcere la fel de frivolă ca şi preocupările lor pasive. În viziunea lor, cărţile poartă vinovăţia nefericirii. Omul este nefericit, nu?
 De la tragedia greacă încoace, conştiinţa nefericirii este universal valabilă, este un datum vital pe care trebuie să îl trăim fiecare în parte pentru a câştiga experienţă.  
Oamenii viitorului îşi distrug cărţile în speranţa că vor fi fericiţi. Bun, să vedem cum va fi fericirea în viitor, fără cărţi.


Dincolo de linia ferată a acestui topos, la marginea pădurii, trăiesc oamenii-Cărţi; 
sunt acei puţini supravieţuitori care mai ştiu a citi sau care mai recunosc esteticul
 sui generis printre esteticul-Monstru promovat de marketingul globalizării. 
Dincolo de linia ferată, aceşti oameni-Cărţi, 
de frică să nu le ardă cineva locuinţele ticsite cu cărţi,
iau expresia „hrană spirituală” ad-litteram
ei îşi mănâncă propriile cărţi sau, în mod şi mai tragic, 
refuză să-şi părăsească locuinţele-biblioteci şi acceptă să fie arşi de vii împreună cu „hrana spirituală”.
Şi mai încredibil, este faptul că aceşti oameni nu au renunţat la identitatea lor umană în favoarea unei  identităţi vide trasată mecanic la fel, la toţi ceilalţi oameni, amnemonice
Aceşti oameni citiţi preiau identitatea unei cărţi, a cărţii preferate pe care o ştiu recita cap-coadă acelora care doresc să cunoască. 
Ei sunt în ochii celorlalţi „vagabonzi”, în realitate „biblioteci” şi se recomandă călduros oricui – „Eu sunt Jurnalul lui Henri Brulard de Stendhal”.
Parcă nu întâmplător se spune că un om intuitiv poate „citi” gândurile altuia. 
Neştiind a mai citi cărţi, oamenii nu vor mai şti a se citi ei între ei, iar riscul să ne îndreptăm vertiginos spre un deconstructivism auto-identitar-umanist nu îl mai putem evita.
 Cărţile nu ne ajută să devenim fericiţi (cum toţi ne dorim), dar ne ajută măcar să evităm prăpastia pasivismului indiferent faţă de viaţa însăşi şi faţă de ceilalţi.



Fahrenheit 451 is a dystopian novel by American writer Ray Bradbury, 
first published in 1953. It is regarded as one of his best works.
The novel presents a future American society where books are outlawed and "firemen" burn any that are found. The book's tagline explains the title: "Fahrenheit 451 – the temperature at which book paper catches fire, and burns..." The lead character, Guy Montag, is a fireman who becomes disillusioned with his role of censoring literature and destroying knowledge, eventually quitting his job and committing himself to the preservation of literary and cultural writings.

Sunday, November 16, 2014

The Interrogation / J. M. G. Le Clézio











No shepherd and one herd! Everybody wants the same, everybody is the same: whoever feels different goes voluntarily into a madhouse.
—Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra (W. Kaufmann, Trans.)

"So far as I’m concerned the earth has turned into a sort of chaos… I’m afraid the hill may turn into a kind of volcano… Or that the polar ice may melt, which would raise the level of the sea and swallow me. I’m afraid of the people on the beach, BELOW. The sand is changing into quicksands, the sun into a spider and the children into shrimps."
His searching gaze penetrated the smallest concavities, the folds of skin or plumage, the scales, the fluffy hairs that sheltered the visibly ignoble slumbers of balls of black hair, masses of flabby cartilage, dusty membranes, red annulations, skin that was cracked and split like a square of earth. He stripped the gardens of their grass, dived head-first into mud, devoured humus voraciously, crawled along burrows at a depth of twelve yards, pawed a new, kindred body borne from the putrefied corpse of a field-mouse. With his mouth drawn down between his shoulders he pushed forward his eyes, his two big, round eyes, gently, with a thousand precautions, waiting for a kind of electric shock that would contract his skin, activate the ganglions that propelled him, and throw the rings of his body against one another like copper bracelets, with a faint tinkle, when once he had become subterranean, coiled, gelatinous -- yes, the one and only real, tenebrous earthworm....suddenly melting, boiling, or flowing beneath his feet. The trees grew excited and gave off poisonous vapours. The sea began to swell, devoured the narrow grey strip of beach and then rose, rose to attack the hill, to drown him, to numb him, to swallow him up in its dirty waves. He could feel the fossilized monsters coming to birth somewhere, prowling round the villa, the joints of their huge feet cracking. His fear grew, invincible, imagination and frenzy could not be checked; even human beings become hostile, barbarous, their limbs sprouted wool, their heads shrank, and they advanced in serried ranks over the countryside, cannibalistic, cowardly or ferocious. The moths flung themselves on him, biting him with their mandibles, wrapping him in the silky veil of their hairy wings. From the pools there rose an armoured nation of parasites or shrimps, of abrupt, mysterious crustaceans, hungering to tear off shreds of his flesh. The beaches were covered with strange creatures who had come there, accompanied by their young, to await no one knew what; animals prowled along the roads, growling and squealing, curious parti-coloured animals whose shells glistened in the sunshine. Everything was suddenly in motion, with an intense, intestinal, concentrated life, heavy and incongruous as a kind of submarine vegetation. While this was going on he drew back into his corner, ready to spring out and defend himself pending the final assault that would leave him the prey of these creatures…

Le Clézio, in his incredibly unnecessary foreword, attempts to sidestep criticism by considering The Interrogation “too mannered and wordy; its style ranges from para-realistic dialogue to pedantically aphoristic bombast.” This self-consciousness makes me wonder if Le Clézio was simply using Adam as a mouthpiece when he had him say:
I know we’re more or less literary, but it won’t do any longer. I’m really tired of -- It’s bound to happen, because one reads too much. One feels obliged to put everything forward in a perfect form. One always feels called upon to illustrate the abstract idea by an example of the latest craze, rather fashionable, indecent if possible, and above all -- and above all, quite unconnected with the question. Good Lord, how phoney it all is! It stinks of fake lyricism, memories, childhood, psychoanalysis, the springtime of life and the history of the Christian religion.
Le Clézio wishes for The Interrogation to be taken as a “complete fiction, interesting only in so far as it produces a kind of repercussion (however briefly) on the reader’s mind.” Does he succeed? If by “complete fiction” he means a kind of metafictional narrative that contradicts convention, confounds expectation, a fiction that distances the reader from the text, a text that draws attention to itself as a construction, then the answer is yes. But The Interrogation is much more than that. The “repercussions” on the mind are much stronger than that. Le Clézio’s juggling of the story’s action with beautifully rendered prose, fantastic imagery, acerbic dialogue, and especially its excavation of a deranged mind, distinguishes his novel not only as an embryonic curiosity of an elder craftsman of literature, but a fascinating work in itself.
The Interrogation  by J.M.G. Le Clézio, translated by Daphne Woodward
Simon & Schuster
ISBN-13: 978-1439149188
256 pages





Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Life for Sale - ALEPH



 My mornings - the only place on earth where all places are


beeing bounded in an infinite space...


 Living in my fake plastic city...


 Where everything is for Sale


 all the love arrows from a polystyrene man , for sale


 
 If I just turn and run....


 
 or  fly away with this paper plane


 or just run to that infinite point...


 We will stay

 we will sell our silent scream

and our thoughts for Sale

 Empty space for Sale

 Silver and Magic for Sale

I don't belong here


I want a perfect soul

...and perfect people


'I shut my eyes -- I opened them. Then I saw the Aleph.'



walls for Sale

ALEPH it is the symbol of transfinite numbers, of which any part is as great as the whole.



...........................
"The Aleph?" I repeated.
"Yes, the only place on earth where all places are .

...........................
 I saw horses with flowing manes on a shore of the Caspian Sea at dawn; I saw the delicate bone structure of a hand; I saw the survivors of a battle sending out picture postcards; I saw in a showcase in Mirzapur a pack of Spanish playing cards; I saw the slanting shadows of ferns on a greenhouse floor; I saw tigers, pistons, bison, tides, and armies; I saw all the ants on the planet; I saw a Persian astrolabe;
..........................
I saw the circulation of my own dark blood; I saw the coupling of love and the modification of death; I saw the Aleph from every point and angle, and in the Aleph I saw the earth and in the earth the Aleph and in the Aleph the earth; I saw my own face and my own bowels; I saw your face; and I felt dizzy and wept, for my eyes had seen that secret and conjectured object whose name is common to all men but which no man has looked upon -- the unimaginable universe.
I felt infinite wonder, infinite pity.
..............................'

you can read the story here : The Aleph / Jorge Luis Borges


similar post : ALEPH, refugees, Hearts, Life for SALE, like a rolling stone, LIFE FOR SALE,
life for sale b/w, HEART FOR SALE, memories series, white memories, Life


Monday, January 17, 2011

Books- Carti


1.Daca vi s-ar propune sa va scrieti biografia, carui scriitor
 i-ati incredinta sarcina aceasta?
1.If you would propose to write your biography, whose
writers have entrusted this task?
  Castaneda


     
2.Care sunt motivele pentru care i-ati incredinta lui sarcina aceasta?
2.What are the reasons for which you give him to make your biography?
-Pentru ca ma recunosc in cartile lui si
pentru ca am invatat de la el ca singura libertate pe care o am este de a fi
precum flacara unei lumanari care nu a pretins niciodata a fi mai mult 
decat este: o simpla flacara de lumanare
    -Because  I recognise myself in his writings and because
I learned from him that the only freedom I have is to be like
           a candle flame that never claimed to be more than a simple candle flame.
              Puteti citi aici / You can read here:
ARTA VISATULUI, Latura Activa a Infinitatii,
 The Power of Silence, The Wheel of Time
 

3.Este sfarsitul lumii.
Ce carte ati pune in capsula cosmica pentru a pastra o «urma» a umanitatii?
3.It's the end of the world.
What book did you put in a capsule to preserve cosmic "result" of humanity? .
-Leonardo da Vinci
-Leonardo because he was an archetyp of the Renaissance man,
a man curiosity was equaled only by his powers of invention


 




4.Daca ati avea puterea de a «sterge» un personaj de roman care ar fi acesta si de ce?
4. If you had the power to "remove" one character in the novel that would be and why him?    
Corbul lui Edgar Allan Poe- pentru ca singurul cuvant pe care-l stie este "niciodata"!
                 The Raven (Edgar Allan Poe )because he knows only the word ‘nevermore’!
                  TheRaven-Edgar Allan Poe , Corbul - Edgar Allan Poe

 


5.Daca ar fi posibil sa va intoarceti in trecut ce scriitor ati vrea sa intalniti ?
  5. If it were possible to get back in the past which writer do you want to meet?
Ion Petru Culianu

6.Care ar fi primele cuvinte pe care i le-ati adresa?

6.Which would be the first words that you would address to him?
L-as intreba daca dupa ce a primit glontul in ceafa urmeaza arderea cartilor din biblioteci!
I would ask him if, after he received the bullet in his nape, begins the burning of the
books from the libraries.
7.Descrieti biblioteca visurilor
Biblioteca bunicului
7.Describe your dream library.
        Grandfather's library

Este o tema data de : Aici & Maintenant
Cei care ar fi primit  leapsa de la mine:
 colours and sounds, Arcadia, pharaonx 
au rezolvat-o deja!
freeseodesign nu o s-o rezolve niciodata!
Poate Cartim sau Gabriela Pana?

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