![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Apr. 12th, 2012
Poetry is like making love
Apr. 12th, 2012 11:54 am“Remember, writing poetry is like making love: one will never know whether one’s own pleasure is shared.”
-- Cesare Pavese, "This Business of Living"
And you can see how important the role self-confidence, or self-love, plays. You are more likely to write more poetry if you fancy that people are eating up your stuff and admiring you. A realist says, "No one cares for this shit." We have few poets. Which is probably a good thing.
-- Cesare Pavese, "This Business of Living"
And you can see how important the role self-confidence, or self-love, plays. You are more likely to write more poetry if you fancy that people are eating up your stuff and admiring you. A realist says, "No one cares for this shit." We have few poets. Which is probably a good thing.
Poetry is like making love
Apr. 12th, 2012 11:54 am“Remember, writing poetry is like making love: one will never know whether one’s own pleasure is shared.”
-- Cesare Pavese, "This Business of Living"
And you can see how important the role self-confidence, or self-love, plays. You are more likely to write more poetry if you fancy that people are eating up your stuff and admiring you. A realist says, "No one cares for this shit." We have few poets. Which is probably a good thing.
-- Cesare Pavese, "This Business of Living"
And you can see how important the role self-confidence, or self-love, plays. You are more likely to write more poetry if you fancy that people are eating up your stuff and admiring you. A realist says, "No one cares for this shit." We have few poets. Which is probably a good thing.
1984 (2,8) Of the Inner Party
Apr. 12th, 2012 02:00 pmJulia and Winston arrive at the house of O’Brien, and we get to see how the Inner Party lives, or, in our political jargon of today, the one-percent. It is a bit surprising that Julia and Winston would expose themselves and come together like this, especially since Winston has not confirmed that O’Brien is indeed heterodox in his political views, but this may be more a matter of story economy, to get the action in one scene, and we shall see that it makes for a richer scene to have both lovers there.
_ _ _
They had done it, they had done it at last!
The room they were standing in was long-shaped and softly lit. The telescreen was dimmed to a low murmur; the richness of the dark-blue carpet gave one the impression of treading on velvet. At the far end of the room O'Brien was sitting at a table under a green-shaded lamp, with a mass of papers on either side of him. He had not bothered to look up when the servant showed Julia and Winston in.
Winston's heart was thumping so hard that he doubted whether he would be able to speak. They had done it, they had done it at last, was all he could think. It had been a rash act to come here at all, and sheer folly to arrive together; though it was true that they had come by different routes and only met on O'Brien's doorstep. But merely to walk into such a place needed an effort of the nerve. It was only on very rare occasions that one saw inside the dwelling-places of the Inner Party, or even penetrated into the quarter of the town where they lived. The whole atmosphere of the huge block of flats, the richness and spaciousness of everything, the unfamiliar smells of good food and good tobacco, the silent and incredibly rapid lifts sliding up and down, the white-jacketed servants hurrying to and fro -- everything was intimidating. Although he had a good pretext for coming here, he was haunted at every step by the fear that a black-uniformed guard would suddenly appear from round the corner, demand his papers, and order him to get out. O'Brien's servant, however, had admitted the two of them without demur. He was a small, dark-haired man in a white jacket, with a diamond-shaped, completely expressionless face which might have been that of a Chinese. The passage down which he led them was softly carpeted, with cream-papered walls and white wainscoting, all exquisitely clean. That too was intimidating. Winston could not remember ever to have seen a passageway whose walls were not grimy from the contact of human bodies.
-- “1984” by George Orwell
_ _ _
They had done it, they had done it at last!
The room they were standing in was long-shaped and softly lit. The telescreen was dimmed to a low murmur; the richness of the dark-blue carpet gave one the impression of treading on velvet. At the far end of the room O'Brien was sitting at a table under a green-shaded lamp, with a mass of papers on either side of him. He had not bothered to look up when the servant showed Julia and Winston in.
Winston's heart was thumping so hard that he doubted whether he would be able to speak. They had done it, they had done it at last, was all he could think. It had been a rash act to come here at all, and sheer folly to arrive together; though it was true that they had come by different routes and only met on O'Brien's doorstep. But merely to walk into such a place needed an effort of the nerve. It was only on very rare occasions that one saw inside the dwelling-places of the Inner Party, or even penetrated into the quarter of the town where they lived. The whole atmosphere of the huge block of flats, the richness and spaciousness of everything, the unfamiliar smells of good food and good tobacco, the silent and incredibly rapid lifts sliding up and down, the white-jacketed servants hurrying to and fro -- everything was intimidating. Although he had a good pretext for coming here, he was haunted at every step by the fear that a black-uniformed guard would suddenly appear from round the corner, demand his papers, and order him to get out. O'Brien's servant, however, had admitted the two of them without demur. He was a small, dark-haired man in a white jacket, with a diamond-shaped, completely expressionless face which might have been that of a Chinese. The passage down which he led them was softly carpeted, with cream-papered walls and white wainscoting, all exquisitely clean. That too was intimidating. Winston could not remember ever to have seen a passageway whose walls were not grimy from the contact of human bodies.
-- “1984” by George Orwell
1984 (2,8) Of the Inner Party
Apr. 12th, 2012 02:00 pmJulia and Winston arrive at the house of O’Brien, and we get to see how the Inner Party lives, or, in our political jargon of today, the one-percent. It is a bit surprising that Julia and Winston would expose themselves and come together like this, especially since Winston has not confirmed that O’Brien is indeed heterodox in his political views, but this may be more a matter of story economy, to get the action in one scene, and we shall see that it makes for a richer scene to have both lovers there.
_ _ _
They had done it, they had done it at last!
The room they were standing in was long-shaped and softly lit. The telescreen was dimmed to a low murmur; the richness of the dark-blue carpet gave one the impression of treading on velvet. At the far end of the room O'Brien was sitting at a table under a green-shaded lamp, with a mass of papers on either side of him. He had not bothered to look up when the servant showed Julia and Winston in.
Winston's heart was thumping so hard that he doubted whether he would be able to speak. They had done it, they had done it at last, was all he could think. It had been a rash act to come here at all, and sheer folly to arrive together; though it was true that they had come by different routes and only met on O'Brien's doorstep. But merely to walk into such a place needed an effort of the nerve. It was only on very rare occasions that one saw inside the dwelling-places of the Inner Party, or even penetrated into the quarter of the town where they lived. The whole atmosphere of the huge block of flats, the richness and spaciousness of everything, the unfamiliar smells of good food and good tobacco, the silent and incredibly rapid lifts sliding up and down, the white-jacketed servants hurrying to and fro -- everything was intimidating. Although he had a good pretext for coming here, he was haunted at every step by the fear that a black-uniformed guard would suddenly appear from round the corner, demand his papers, and order him to get out. O'Brien's servant, however, had admitted the two of them without demur. He was a small, dark-haired man in a white jacket, with a diamond-shaped, completely expressionless face which might have been that of a Chinese. The passage down which he led them was softly carpeted, with cream-papered walls and white wainscoting, all exquisitely clean. That too was intimidating. Winston could not remember ever to have seen a passageway whose walls were not grimy from the contact of human bodies.
-- “1984” by George Orwell
_ _ _
They had done it, they had done it at last!
The room they were standing in was long-shaped and softly lit. The telescreen was dimmed to a low murmur; the richness of the dark-blue carpet gave one the impression of treading on velvet. At the far end of the room O'Brien was sitting at a table under a green-shaded lamp, with a mass of papers on either side of him. He had not bothered to look up when the servant showed Julia and Winston in.
Winston's heart was thumping so hard that he doubted whether he would be able to speak. They had done it, they had done it at last, was all he could think. It had been a rash act to come here at all, and sheer folly to arrive together; though it was true that they had come by different routes and only met on O'Brien's doorstep. But merely to walk into such a place needed an effort of the nerve. It was only on very rare occasions that one saw inside the dwelling-places of the Inner Party, or even penetrated into the quarter of the town where they lived. The whole atmosphere of the huge block of flats, the richness and spaciousness of everything, the unfamiliar smells of good food and good tobacco, the silent and incredibly rapid lifts sliding up and down, the white-jacketed servants hurrying to and fro -- everything was intimidating. Although he had a good pretext for coming here, he was haunted at every step by the fear that a black-uniformed guard would suddenly appear from round the corner, demand his papers, and order him to get out. O'Brien's servant, however, had admitted the two of them without demur. He was a small, dark-haired man in a white jacket, with a diamond-shaped, completely expressionless face which might have been that of a Chinese. The passage down which he led them was softly carpeted, with cream-papered walls and white wainscoting, all exquisitely clean. That too was intimidating. Winston could not remember ever to have seen a passageway whose walls were not grimy from the contact of human bodies.
-- “1984” by George Orwell
Chuckle of the Day
Apr. 12th, 2012 04:00 pm
Let it be noted, though, that on occasion the movie can be better than the book. For instance, I remember when I loved the movie "Damage" starring Jeremy Irons and Juliette Binoche. I then went to get the book, thinking it probably would be even better, but, man, talk about major disappoinment! But maybe this does happen more when it comes to erotically charged material. It is hard to top the visual thrill of an erotic movie; it hits you at a place deeper than language. It grabs you by the balls and sucks hard.
Chuckle of the Day
Apr. 12th, 2012 04:00 pmLet it be noted, though, that on occasion the movie can be better than the book. For instance, I remember when I loved the movie "Damage" starring Jeremy Irons and Juliette Binoche. I then went to get the book, thinking it probably would be even better, but, man, talk about major disappoinment! But maybe this does happen more when it comes to erotically charged material. It is hard to top the visual thrill of an erotic movie; it hits you at a place deeper than language. It grabs you by the balls and sucks hard.
Henry Miller
Apr. 12th, 2012 06:00 pm“Even if I could begin again it would be no use, because fundamentally I have no desire to work and no desire to become a useful member of society.”
-- Henry Miller, Tropic of Capricorn
Maybe I really should give the book a go. Maybe I am like a Henry Miller, but without the women and sex.
-- Henry Miller, Tropic of Capricorn
Maybe I really should give the book a go. Maybe I am like a Henry Miller, but without the women and sex.
Henry Miller
Apr. 12th, 2012 06:00 pm“Even if I could begin again it would be no use, because fundamentally I have no desire to work and no desire to become a useful member of society.”
-- Henry Miller, Tropic of Capricorn
Maybe I really should give the book a go. Maybe I am like a Henry Miller, but without the women and sex.
-- Henry Miller, Tropic of Capricorn
Maybe I really should give the book a go. Maybe I am like a Henry Miller, but without the women and sex.
The Republican Mind
Apr. 12th, 2012 08:00 pmHere is a good look into the Republican world view, that Ayn Randian fear, the concern of our plutocratic friends for what the government will do to their fortunes if it should seek to aid the commoners and the poor. They hide under the label of "the average taxpayer", but the true average taxpayer benefits from government programs. Our rich barrons are so besieged and put upon, pfft!
The Republican Mind
Apr. 12th, 2012 08:00 pmHere is a good look into the Republican world view, that Ayn Randian fear, the concern of our plutocratic friends for what the government will do to their fortunes if it should seek to aid the commoners and the poor. They hide under the label of "the average taxpayer", but the true average taxpayer benefits from government programs. Our rich barrons are so besieged and put upon, pfft!