tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1723963304125122627.post3260106114613131773..comments2024-03-27T14:03:40.956+01:00Comments on The Cult of Ghoul: The Crystal World (1966), J. G. BallardDejan Ognjanovichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17235045735090443943noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1723963304125122627.post-21982948026339972842016-10-21T02:39:13.407+02:002016-10-21T02:39:13.407+02:00hvala - skinuo sam je, a kad će doći na red (if at...hvala - skinuo sam je, a kad će doći na red (if at all), to azatot sveti zna!Dejan Ognjanovichttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17235045735090443943noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1723963304125122627.post-20247764338698430792016-10-15T23:00:10.430+02:002016-10-15T23:00:10.430+02:00Preporuka za knjigu Travesty, John Hawkes -
Znač...Preporuka za knjigu Travesty, John Hawkes - <br /><br />Znači: In the south of France, an elegant sports car is speeding through the night, bearing a man, his daughter, and his best friend toward a fatal crash. As he drives, the “privileged man” justifies, in a sustained monologue, his firm opinion that willed destruction is the ultimate act of the poetic imagination. “What I have in mind is an ‘accident’ so perfectly contrived that it will be unique, spectacular and instantaneous, a physical counterpart to that vision in which it was in fact conceived.” Concerned with sex, myth, the imagination, and the absurd, Travesty is one of the most cruelly and vibrantly ironic works to be found in twentieth-century literature.<br /><br /><br />Trigger-Quote: <br />Well, you understand that . . . I would prefer that the remains of our crash go undiscovered, at least initially. I would prefer that these remains be left unknown to anyone and hence unexplored, untouched. In this case we have at the outset the shattering that occurs in utter darkness, then the first sunrise in which the chaos, the physical disarray, has not yet settled — bits of metal expanding, contracting, tufts of upholstery exposed to the air, an unsocketed dial impossibly squeaking in a clump of thorns — though this same baffling tangle of springs, jagged edges of steel, curves of aluminum, has already received its first coating of white frost. In the course of the first day the gasoline evaporates, the engine oil begins to fade into the earth, the broken lens of a far-flung headlight reflects the progress of the sun from a furrow in what was once a field of corn. The birds do not sing, clouds pass, the wreckage is warmed, the human remains are integral with the remains of rubber, glass, steel. A stone has lodged in the engine block, the process of rusting has begun. And then darkness, a cold wind, a shred of clothing fluttering where it is snagged on one of the doors which, quite unscathed, lies flat in the grass. And then daylight, changing temperature, a night of cold rain, the short-lived presence of a scavenging rodent. And despite all this chemistry of time, nothing has disturbed the essential integrity of our tableau of chaos, the point being that if design inevitably surrenders to debris, debris inevitably reveals its innate design.mgwhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02020063593333987431noreply@blogger.com