Kaut kad šeit būs

Yes, there was racism, but there was also classism. You’re a high-powered corporate attorney. You’ve spent most of your life reviewing contracts, brokering deals, talking on the phone. That’s what you’re good at, that’s what made you rich and what allowed you to hire a plumber to fix your toilet, which allowed you to keep talking on the phone. The more work you do, the more money you make, the more peons you hire to free you up to make more money. That’s the way the world works. But one day it doesn’t. No one needs a contract reviewed or a deal brokered. What it does need is toilets fixed. And suddenly that peon is your teacher, maybe even your boss. For some, this was scarier than the living dead.

Once, on a fact-finding tour through LA, I sat in the back of a reeducation lecture. The trainees had all held lofty positions in the entertainment industry, a mélange of agents, managers, “creative executives,” whatever the hell that means. I can understand their resistance, their arrogance. Before the war, entertainment had been the most valued export of the United States. Now they were being trained as custodians for a munitions plant in Bakersfield, California. One woman, a casting director, exploded. How dare they degrade her like this! She had an MFA in Conceptual Theater, she had cast the top three grossing sitcoms in the last five seasons and she made more in a week than her instructor could dream of in several lifetimes! She kept addressing that instructor by her first name. “Magda,” she kept saying, “Magda, enough already. Magda, please.” At first I thought this woman was just being rude, degrading the instructor by refusing to use her title. I found out later that Mrs. Magda Antonova used to be this woman’s cleaning lady. Yes, it was very hard for some, but a lot of them later admitted that they got more emotional satisfaction from their new jobs than anything closely resembling their old ones.

I met one gentleman on a coastal ferry from Portland to Seattle. He had worked in the licensing department for an advertising agency, specifically in charge of procuring the rights to classic rock songs for television commercials. Now he was a chimney sweep. Given that most homes in Seattle had lost their central heat and the winters were now longer and colder, he was seldom idle. “I help keep my neighbors warm,” he said proudly.

es nezinu vai tu nopietni saki paldies vai ņirgājies

bet nu zuzes nerubī doomu

viņas arī parasti domā, ka viņas izraisa doomu

nu ka mums viņu dēļ dooms

kaut gan dooms vienkārši ir visapkārt

Nu & kā tu neēdīsi no tik skaista koka. VILLJAMS BLEIKS, 1808

Holden Caulfield is teen angst bullshit with a pickaxe. He’s sarcastic, nasty, and completely unlikeable. He also doesn’t give a shit. He is every teenager caught between the shitty little games of high school (“you’re supposed to kill yourself if the football team loses or something”) and the fear of adulthood (“going to get an office job and make a lot of money like the rest of the phonies”).

By being the pissed off, nasty, cynical insane bastard, Holden Caulfield suggests that it is ok to be a shit. Your criticisms of the world are not invalid and nothing you say or think is so bad that you need to repress it. Ironically, this is not only something that is essential to survival but is also the key to ultimately becoming a decent caring human being. No one can grow up if they don’t deal with the awful side of themselves that hates everything. To repress it, is to give it power. To let it out to play is to learn to control that side.

‘Sir,’ I said to the universe, ‘I exist.’
‘That,’ said the universe, ‘creates no sense of obligation in me whatsoever.’

«Nē.»
«Nē? . . . Nu tad . . . tur mēs varētu netraucēti parunāties. Rītvakar? Ja?»
«Tur? Rītvakar? Ak nē – nē!»
«Nu kad tad? Lai paliek uz rītvakaru!»
«Nē, nē.»
«Jā! Lai paliek vien!»
«Bet kad iznāk . . . ka nevaru . . . var izgadīties . . .»
«Tad nobrauki zemākajam zaram galā lapas, tur tam ozolam aiz saimnieka klēts. Sveika!»

(vēl joprojām mana mīļākā Koenu filma ^^)

Fiffe Floria looks up contemptuously at the ugly unnatural form of the flying ship as it moves silently, blindly overhead and disappears beyond the tall trees to the east. She cannot regard the Hitek, the beings inside it, as human. How can you be human if your life is sustained by mechanical contrivances, and you have to eat food that is made by a machine?

With a dismissive sneer she pulls the coarse veil over her face and tucks it into the fibre belt of her tunic. Then she removes the lid from her beehive and waits for her swarm to settle in the smoke from her torch before inspecting the combs. Good. They are filling up nicely, and it will soon be time for the harvest. There seems to be nothing untoward in the hive: no thieving by wasps, no break-ins by mice or rats, no sign that the queen is going to decamp and take half the workforce with her – but it is really past the season for that now. Yes, the harvest is going to be good this year.

Fiffe closes up the hive once more and turns back down the slope towards the settlement. They have been lucky this season. The patch of growing crops is beautifully healthy and the smoke house is full of fish caught in the stream earlier in the summer. Further down the slope lie the overgrown hulks of the great buildings. Once these were completely submerged in the ocean, but now, year after year, the sea retreats further and exposes more of them. This is probably something to do with the climate becoming gentler and cooler. Centuries ago when the world was teeming with people this used to be a great city. It must have been a terrible time, with everybody living on top of everybody else, and no room to expand and breathe.

http://www.sivatherium.narod.ru/library/Dixon_3/01_en.htm

Lasīju Zālamanu Mācītāju, varbūt visvērtīgāko, varbūt visviedāko Vecās Derības grāmatu, šodien, lai nomierinātos, no 2. nodaļas līdz beigām

7:16-18 kļuva tik interesanti, ka sāku salīdzināt tulkojumus

Pēc tam nosūknēju Jauno MDB A Map of All Our Failures, nu tāds... klausos, klausos ar austiņām

Un tad pēkšņi viņi tur (4. dziesmā) citē izlaistās 1. nodaļas 9. pantu!

To pašu, ko Kolāts, vai Eipurs no rītiem, bet po

Nav nekā jauna zem saules

Illusions are to the soul what atmosphere is to the earth.
Roll up that tender air and the plant dies, the colour fades...
By the truth we are undone. Life is a dream.
‘Tis waking that kills us.

Nekļūsti lepns par kādu priekšrocību, kas [īstenībā] dara godu citam. Ja zirgs lielītos: “Es esmu skaists”, – tas vēl puslīdz būtu labi. Bet, kad tu lepojies: “Man ir skaists zirgs”, tad zini, ka tu esi lepns par to labumu, kas pieder zirgam. Kas tad galu galā pieder tev? – Prieks par priekšstatiem. Tāpēc esi lepns tikai tad, kad tu priecājies par priekšstatiem, esi saskaņā ar [savu] iedabu, jo tad tu leposies ar to labumu, kas pieder tev.

http://www.philos.lv/Epiktets.html

The Moon sets behind the temple of Poseidon at Sounio

http://www.greeksky.gr/files/moon.htm

Re: http://klab.lv/users/nefolk2/57470.html

Anarhosātanisms nav visatļautība

Jaunais cilvēk

Nokaunies

a

Kaunā ir spēks

“You know what? If everything’s going bad, we’re going bad as well.”

Sedmikrásky (1966)

(subjektīvi interesanti, ka nesen, ievērojis iwdrm šo un vairākus citus gifus no filmas, atzīmēju to savā mentālajā mapītē kā obligāti vēlams-kaut-kad-noskatāmu... un nepagāja ne mēnesis, kad, kārtojot ārējos cietņus, uzgāju to sen aizmirstā lejupielāžu mapītē ar nosaukumu unseen :)