Saturday, March 31, 2007


Extract from J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye

I don’t want you to get the idea she was a goddam icicle or something, just because we never necked or horsed around much. She wasn’t. I held hands with her all the time, for instance. That doesn’t sound like much, I realize, but she was terrific to hold hands with. Most girls, if you hold hands with them, their goddam hand dies all the time, as if they were afraid they’d bore you or something. Jane was different. We’d get into a goddam movie or something, and right away we’d start holding hands, and we wouldn’t quit till the movie was over. And without changing the position or making a big deal of it. You never even worried, with Jane, whether your hands was sweaty or not. All you knew was, you were happy. You really were.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Fondle my cheeks O' fair e-llusion for I’m ... dis-e-llusioned!

Sunday, March 25, 2007

Early Spring Mental Explosion

…how pathetic man appears when he finds out in his loneliness the culminating point of his paralysis and frustration; that day and night his exciting escapade is a mere escape from THE BITTER TRUTH…come on now don’t you talk nonsense like that why don’t you turn that “She’s Madonna” off it’s more than depressing sometimes go take a walk outside how ‘bout a hotdog with extra hot sauce hu? open the door it’s too hot with that heater on in here it’s early spring ain’t it take a shower or something don’t let me see you like a lump of boredom…

…'d like to see me in a year or two when the UN guys drop me a package of sausages and some bread while they suck the oil out our pipes and you know what we’ve got ATOMIC shit shoved up the monkey’s ass and we all victims of politics and mass media! & people take what they give … & Alas! they now furious with that 300 thing released!

Sunday, March 18, 2007


Extract from Pnin by Vladimir Nabokov - 1957

In order to exist rationally, Pnin had taught himself, during the last ten years, never to remember Mira – not because, in itself, the evocation of a youthful love affair, banal and brief, threatened his peace of mind, but because, if one were quite sincere with oneself, no conscience, and hence no consciousness, could be expected to subsist in a world where such things as Mira’s death were possible. One had to forget – because one could not live with the thought that this graceful, fragile, tender young woman with those eyes, that smile, those gardens and snows in the background, had been brought in a cattle car to an extermination camp and killed by an injection of phenol into the heart, into the gentle heart one had heard beating under one’s lips in the dusk of the past.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007


I just finished Faulkner’s Sound and the Fury. Another super-natural piece of art! What an inspiration! It is rather surprising to see how a single Shakespeare stanza could directly drive a mind to create two hundred pages of pure genius.

It is tough, burdensome, and brain-consuming; it requires patience and labor, tough at the end of the day when you finish up the last page; an hour of contemplation and a few pages of criticism will shoot you to the top of that pleasure thermometer. A number one priority for any art fanatic!

William Shakespeare - Macbeth
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
''Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing...

My Good Lord! The official bastards have filtered a football website, because the address is! This is hilarious!

It seems the mere sound of the word “SOCCER” causes the clergy a sort of sexual stimulation! Or … It’s highly probable that the clergy fancy sucker players! O’ my dear Freud! Where art thou! We have need of thee!