You know... no matter what you do, people are going to expect you to be someone you're not. But if you're clever and lucky and work your butt off, then you get to be surrounded by people who expect you to be the person you wish you were

Boredom is the mind's scar tissue

“Listen, I can't be around people right now. It is nothing personal."
. . .
"Why not? Are you having a weird feeling like that you are coated with garbage that makes your skin crawl and you can't recognize other people as belonging to the same species?"

Jā, tas laikam ir kaut kur gaisā šobrīd. Nekad vēl nav bijis tā, ka man lasot kādu grāmatu ik pa brīdim nāktos secināt, ka tieši šobrīd to lasa vēl kāds visplašākajā paziņu lokā. Un vēl kāds. Un vēl. Un vēl.

Nezinu kāpēc tā.
Nezinu kāpēc īsti lasīju pati.
Nezinu kāpēc izlasīju.

Tetroloģija ir episka vistiešākajā vārda nozīmē. Tur ir kaut kas no, šķiet, jebkura iedomājamā sci-fi apakšžanra un kvazi žanra no Lavkrafta līdz Gibsonam.

Milzīgas cilvēces kolonizētas kosmosa platības, mesiānisms, reliģiskā apoloģētika un ceļošana laikā. Citplanētieši, ģenētiski modificēti cilvēki, nanotehnoloģijas, neatkarīga mākslīgā inteliģence, kiborgi un mazsaprātīgi zombij-kloni. Datasfēras un no Civilizācijas atrautas maziņas, par primitīām kļuvušas civilizācijiņas. Kosmiskas batālijas un neveiksmīgas pīļu medības purvā. Mesijas vientulība tuksnesī un primitīva kultūra, kam jāsadzīvo vienotā barības ciklā ar milzīgiem plēsīgiem tārpiem.

Vai jebkas no augstāk minētā Tev ir iemesls, lai paņemtu palasīt grāmatu?

Tad ņem un lasi tur ir viss tas un vēl vairāk. Tās ir labas grāmatas. Hugo un Locus nepiešķir ne par ko. Veiksmīgu piedzīvojumu.

Bet, ja vēlies lasīt tās dēļ iemesliem, dēļ kuriem lasīju es... Varbūt labāk noliec atpakaļ plauktā.
( ... tālāk ... )

The Parable of the Jelly Donut

by Hermotimus Boukephalos

Human beings have almost unlimited capacity for self-delusion. We can justify any amount of sadness if it fits our own particular standard of reality. I probably would hve trudged down the same road for the rest of my life, ( but then something happened )
 Halfway home my car broke down on the freeway. No one stopped of course. No one wanted to help me. I remember getting out of the car and looking up to the sky. It was a dirty brown color because of all the pollution. Trash everywhere. The noise of the traffic surrounding me. I realised that there was no reason to worry about hell in the afterlife because we've already created hell on earth.
   And that's when it happened. This pickup truck stopped behind my car and a man got out. He was carrying an old ceramic cup - no handle - like something you'd use for a tea ceremony in Japan. He walked up to me and didn't introduce himself or ask about my car. He looked in my eyes and I felt like he knew me, that he understood what I was feeling at the moment. Then he offered me the up and said "Here's some water. You must be thirsty."

   The stranger asked me about my life and for some reason I began telling him everything. How unhappy I was. How I was worried about my spouse and my children. How I had to take pills to go to sleep at night.

   At first he didn't say very mch. But when you were with him, it felt like he could look inside your heart.

   He was a Traveller

Lore Sjöberg
Time Travelers: Lay Off Grandpas

You know what's getting really tedious? All these time travelers. It seems like two weeks don't go by without some jerk with a time belt and a bad attitude blinking into my living room and trying to zap me into molecules, usually right in the middle of House. Some of them are members of something called "The Chrono-Police," some are plucky adventurers from the 30th century, and one of them was a crazy scientist/inventor from 2035 who tried to brain me with a bust of President Clinton-Bush.

Gaišais Rozīrs

Cita Pussala - apmēram pusgadsimtu vēlāk

( Mūzas trīcošajos pirkstos... )

We like it here

"Good morning, detective," said the officer. "We got a 'verify welfare' call from the neighbor. The door was locked from the inside; no signs of forcible entry. The guy's a professor at Ohio Tech," he said.

"Thanks," said Detective Patrick Flanagan, surveying the scene. A huge flat-screen monitor was on the desk of the home office. "Richard Pettigrew, Ph.D." bounced randomly around the screen. A body was slumped over the keyboard. It was already well-desiccated.

"What do you think, Celia? Weeks? Months?" Flanagan asked the Assistant Medical Examiner.

"Ten to twelve weeks, I think. Maybe more," she replied. "I'm amazed Windows is still running."
( Flanagan wasn't... )

Это не имеет значения. В один прекрасный миг мне просто надоест. Одно время я рисовал маслом. Очень любил это дело. А как-то аз проснулся утром, и все. Как отрезало.
Выжить - это не то? Это не хобби?
Как сказать? Вспомни про альпинистов, подводников или хотя бы про дебила-рабочего, для которого единственное удовольствие - подраться по субботам. Для них всех выживание превращается в хобби. В часть игры.

Pasākumā ir paredzēta lekcija par Lavkrafta daiļradi, dažu stāstu lasīšana dažādās valodās, slaidšovs, diskusijas. Varbūt tiks rādīta arī pēc Lavkrafta daiļrades motīviem uzņemta filma, bet par to vēl diskutē paši organizatori.

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