Dale limosna, mujer,
que no hay en la vida nada
como la pena de ser ciego en
Granada.
------------------------------------------------------------
Give alms, lady
There’s nothing in life as sad
As to be blind in
Granada.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Sunday, June 05, 2011
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
Every morning she would appear at the bakery precisely at ten A.M. with a shopping list purportedly for the three women who lived with her, but actually it was all for her--and most of the workers at the bakery knew it. I sat at the small cafe table, eying her huge ass, her mountainous breasts, pushing at her holey knitted sweater, and watched as it rode up from her waist over her belly.
Her eyes would widen as the counter girl placed a prune danish into the bottom of the bag, then a almond cheese danish, and a brioche, at last a croissant, some liquefied butter appearing as it was squeezed slightly to fit it into the bag. Usually at this time she would push some hair off her forehead and then, after she paid for the baked goods she would go behind the shed to have her four pastries out of sight. She daintily nibbled at first, but finally devoured all, using her pudgy fingers to push them into her mouth in a last desperate moment, determined to finish before being discovered.
_______________
Her eyes revealed a no longer suppressed, ever present sorrow, a sadness drawn out of bitterness. Of course, I was drawn to her.
_________________________---
I have come to a conclusion: My loathings are simple: stupidity, oppression, crime, cruelty, soft music.
Vladimir Nabokov
Thursday, December 30, 2004
Every morning she would appear at the bakery precisely at ten A.M. with a shopping list purportedly for the three women who lived with her, but actually it was all for her--and most of the workers at the bakery knew it. I sat at the small cafe table, eying her huge ass, her mountainous breasts, pushing at her holey knitted sweater, and watched as it rode up from her waist over her belly.
Her eyes would widen as the counter girl placed a prune danish into the bottom of the bag, then a almond cheese danish, and a brioche, at last a croissant, some liquefied butter appearing as it was squeezed slightly to fit it into the bag. Usually at this time she would push some hair off her forehead and then, after she paid for the baked goods she would go behind the shed to have her four pastries out of sight. She daintily nibbled at first, but finally devoured all, using her pudgy fingers to push them into her mouth in a last desperate moment, determined to finish before being discovered.
Her eyes revealed a no longer suppressed, ever present sorrow, a sadness drawn out of bitterness. Of course, I was drawn to her.
_________________--
I have come to a conclusion: My loathings are simple: stupidity, oppression, crime, cruelty, soft music.
Vladimir Nabokov
Saturday, June 04, 2011
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
This morning NPR had a piece about twin brothers who joined the Franciscans on the morning of the day that the afternoon's mail brought their draft notices for service in WW2.
The boys had been absolutely inseparable since infancy and when given the choice between serving God or the infantry they opted for God. They remained in the Franciscans, performing those menial chores required of the brothers for more than 70 years.They remained together, one never leaving the side of the other for a life time. The elder by an hour, died yesterday morning. The younger died yesterday afternoon. They were 93 years old.
The Priest who reported the story thought that just as they had remained faithful to God, He remained faithful to them and took them up to heaven together, so that they could remain as one forever.
I am reading an interview of W.G. Sebald. The interviewer asks him to explain an episode in The Emigrants involving twins. There's a photograph of twin boys who look exactly like Kafka did at that age. Sebald explains that he had been on a trolley on his way to Kafka's birthplace when he saw the boys. He asked the parents for permission to photograph them, thinking that he wanted to document the improbable coincidence. Probably they thought him to be a pederast, and refused. The irony is that doubles, twins and triplets are often found in Kafka's stories. Sebald thought that it was nature's way of breaking thought the surface, disclosing the fault line between nature and civilization. He says, "We may not know what it means, but we have a sense that something beyond us is taking place." Things, Sebald senses, are "outside our control."
This morning NPR had a piece about twin brothers who joined the Franciscans on the morning of the day that the afternoon's mail brought their draft notices for service in WW2.
The boys had been absolutely inseparable since infancy and when given the choice between serving God or the infantry they opted for God. They remained in the Franciscans, performing those menial chores required of the brothers for more than 70 years.They remained together, one never leaving the side of the other for a life time. The elder by an hour, died yesterday morning. The younger died yesterday afternoon. They were 93 years old.
The Priest who reported the story thought that just as they had remained faithful to God, He remained faithful to them and took them up to heaven together, so that they could remain as one forever.
I am reading an interview of W.G. Sebald. The interviewer asks him to explain an episode in The Emigrants involving twins. There's a photograph of twin boys who look exactly like Kafka did at that age. Sebald explains that he had been on a trolley on his way to Kafka's birthplace when he saw the boys. He asked the parents for permission to photograph them, thinking that he wanted to document the improbable coincidence. Probably they thought him to be a pederast, and refused. The irony is that doubles, twins and triplets are often found in Kafka's stories. Sebald thought that it was nature's way of breaking thought the surface, disclosing the fault line between nature and civilization. He says, "We may not know what it means, but we have a sense that something beyond us is taking place." Things, Sebald senses, are "outside our control."
BusterStronghart@Gmail.com
I am comfortable with that state of things, I know that the rudder of my ship is small, and that at times I won't be able to avoid a rock or even the rapids. But, I'll do my best, and I might call for all hands, or on occasion I'll find myself just going along for the ride, but, in the end, I am confident that the rapids will peter out before my boat is swamped.
Fate is in my hands or not?
I doubt it.
Just when I think that I have everything under control and that I have become the master of my own fate, something happens, something usually not under my control.
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