one day recently in k-k-k-Canada
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"And now it worked much more evil than before; for some of these pieces were hardly so large as a grain of sand, and they flew about in the wide world, and when they got into people's eyes, there they stayed; and then people saw everything perverted, or only had an eye for that which was evil. This happened because the very smallest bit had the same power which the whole mirror had possessed. Some persons even got a splinter in their heart, and then it made one shudder, for their heart became like a lump of ice."
Hans Christian Andersen: The Snow Queen.
These were the headlines in Canada's national newspaper, The Globe and Mail, a few days ago; worth a look to see what was on the collective mind of the middle and upper-middle classes there:
I've got a hole where my stomach disappeared
Then you ask why I don't live here?
Honey, I gotta think you're really weird.
Bob Dylan, On the Road Again (from Bringing It All Back Home).
I fell through a hole in the flag.
Hair.
Two books: 1. Thomas Mann, Death in Venice, 1912, and 2. Gabriel García Márquez, Memories of My Melancholy Whores, 2004.
... And speaking of that, she said in a casual way, why don't you marry her? I was dumbfounded. I'm serious, she insisted, it'll be cheaper. After all, at your age the problem is whether you can or can't, but you told me you have that problem solved. I cut her off: Sex is the consolation you have when you can't have love.
She burst into laughter. Ah, my scholar, I always knew you were a real man, you always were and I'm glad you still are while your enemies are surrendering their weapons. ...
from Memories of My Melancholy Whores, Chapter 3.
The comparison that comes to me is this: The old man in Death in Venice dies of contaigon, internal or external or figurative or all of the above; while Márquez' older-yet man falls in love and (maybe) marries. If I am offered the choice I will opt for the latter :-) A-and I do think the comparison is rooted in differences of culture related to climate :-)
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"And now it worked much more evil than before; for some of these pieces were hardly so large as a grain of sand, and they flew about in the wide world, and when they got into people's eyes, there they stayed; and then people saw everything perverted, or only had an eye for that which was evil. This happened because the very smallest bit had the same power which the whole mirror had possessed. Some persons even got a splinter in their heart, and then it made one shudder, for their heart became like a lump of ice."
Hans Christian Andersen: The Snow Queen.
These were the headlines in Canada's national newspaper, The Globe and Mail, a few days ago; worth a look to see what was on the collective mind of the middle and upper-middle classes there:
| Another man murdered by the RCMP, neurotic women stealing each other's babies, blah blah blah ... Queen of the North? The True North Strong and Free? Bollocks! The epitome of complacent is what it is. | ||
| Interesting though, that Google has 'soar'ed above 700$ a share; almost Biblical eh?: For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. (Matthew 6) This item being last is interesting too, completing the Victorian Arch begun with, "Stocks tumble on new credit fears". It could say, "Canadian Renewable Energy company XYZ hits 700$ on reports of affordable Photo-Voltaic technology," something like that ... but it doesn't. A thread of 'light' imagery here ... Matthew goes on to say, "The light of the body is the eye: if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light." (which happens to have been incorporated into one of the lyrics of The Incredible String Band). Leading (me at least) onwards to The Snow Queen by Hans Christian Andersen. A-and then Matthew says, finally, "Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." which I was thinking of just the other day ... oh my. | Mateus 6: Porque, onde está o teu tesouro, aí estará também o teu coração. São os olhos a lâmpada do corpo. Se os teus olhos forem bons, todo o teu corpo será luminoso; Portanto, não vos inquieteis com o dia de amanhã, pois o amanhã trará os seus cuidados; basta ao dia o seu próprio mal. |
I've got a hole where my stomach disappeared
Then you ask why I don't live here?
Honey, I gotta think you're really weird.
Bob Dylan, On the Road Again (from Bringing It All Back Home).
I fell through a hole in the flag.
Hair.
Two books: 1. Thomas Mann, Death in Venice, 1912, and 2. Gabriel García Márquez, Memories of My Melancholy Whores, 2004.
... And speaking of that, she said in a casual way, why don't you marry her? I was dumbfounded. I'm serious, she insisted, it'll be cheaper. After all, at your age the problem is whether you can or can't, but you told me you have that problem solved. I cut her off: Sex is the consolation you have when you can't have love.
She burst into laughter. Ah, my scholar, I always knew you were a real man, you always were and I'm glad you still are while your enemies are surrendering their weapons. ...
from Memories of My Melancholy Whores, Chapter 3.
The comparison that comes to me is this: The old man in Death in Venice dies of contaigon, internal or external or figurative or all of the above; while Márquez' older-yet man falls in love and (maybe) marries. If I am offered the choice I will opt for the latter :-) A-and I do think the comparison is rooted in differences of culture related to climate :-)
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