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And, finally, my favorite article about the Charlie Hebdo massacre thus far:
Vive le Galt!!!
Online English translation for monolinguists like moi
They were worn out at fifteen
They neared the end right from the start
It was December all the year round
What a life our grandparents had
Between absinthe and high mass!
They were old before being born
Bodies on a leash fifteen hours a day
Turned their faces ashen grey
Yes our Lordship, yes our good Master
Why did they kill Jaurès?
Why did they kill Jaurès?
If it can’t be said they were slaves
If, God forbid, they survived
Ask yourselves, you bright young things
I don't mean to dissuade you. It wasn't terrible, it was just kind of blah. It was pretty much everything you've ever heard about it and not much more. Wordly attachments are bad. Do your duty. Be virtuous. Life is transient. Worldy attachments are bad. Now I'm going to go invade this country over here and take their people into slavery and concubinage. (It might not say that last part.)
Anyway, I mostly just posted to say "See Limey, me too!" and to tell the story about my Buddhist monk player's daughter. And to taunt the horseface.
Although, tomorrow morning, Kirth Gersen is going to hee hee! mightily when he sees us discussing The Republic.
I usually hesitate to comment on books I didn't much care for, but seeing as how it was written by a long, long dead stooge of the plutocracy:
I was very disappointed when I read Meditations. Happily, my edition was printed in 1945 as part of something called "The Classics Club" and it came with two highly enjoyable dialogues by Lucian of Samasota (yes, I only wrote this post to further bond with Comrade Longears), as well as an excerpt from Pater's Marius the Epicurean and an Apology by some Christian martyr named Justin who may or may not, I wouldn't know, have been a big horseface.
In other ancient Stoic news, my Buddhist monk player stopped playing with us a while back after his daughter was born. Not only is he a Buddhist monk, but his wife is a new-age hippie and they named her Aurelia. [Says it aloud]
Poor thing. Puberty's gonna be hell.
Simon Legrande wrote:
Page seven in the Vintage edition, although no combination of "French writer suicide sell books" gets me any google results. Although, I suppose I am just assuming the suicidal writer was French. Also, I can't figure out who Peregrinos was.
Al was such a show-off.
"But it must be said that of the thinkers who refused a meaning to life none except Kirilov who belongs to literature, Peregrinos who is born of legend*, and Jules Lequier who belongs to hypothesis, admitted his logic to the point of refusing that life.
"*I have heard of an emulator of Peregrinos, a post-war writer who, after having finished his first book, committed suicide to attract attention to his work. Attention was in fact, attracted, but the book was judged no good."
Btw, Al stills owes me fifty bucks from that epic pub crawl we went on after Liberation. I think he went home with Simone that night...
[Curses in French]
I watched Contempt again last night. Holy f%*&ing shiznit, and that's not because of Brigitte Bardot's bare bum in the opening scene. [Ooohw-fa-fa!]
You know, I think the Boston Phoenix ran articles on it every time it played at the Brattle or the Harvard Film Archives and I still waited 37 years before I saw it.
If you like pretentious French flicks, this one's for you!
a) I really don't remember the Satanism scare as being that big a deal on a personal/local level.
No stats or nothing, but I don't think that it was.
I met a guy during Occupy who was raised in some Southern evangelical church that spoke in tongues and all that. He told me that when he first came to New Hampshire, he did some missionary work and the consensus among his brethren was that New Englanders were the worst bunch of irreligious heretical apostates in the country. According to his brethren, we are "too practical."
The Black Goblin's mother excepted, of course.
EDIT: Of course, this is assuming you were raised in New England.
My parents, while despairing at my taste in literature (Michael Moorcock, etc), were never bothered about it and didn't have a problem with D&D , either. My mother did make me throw my Black Sabbath albums away, though.
I lent a kid in my neighborhood a copy of the classic book Saga of Old City by Gary Gygax and his mother found it and threw it away! Later, I found his older brother had squirrelled it out of the trash and hidden it away with his porno mags.
Down with mothers!!!
My hetero life partner, The Black Goblin, played D&D in a middle school and had great fun until some busy-body demented Christian maniac intervened and made the school revoke the club's charter.
Worst part was, it was The Black Goblin's mother.
He's got subscriptions to every one of the game-material related subscriptions, so I think he's trying to make up for lost time.
Allegedly, Honore Balzac changed his name to Honore de Balzac because he got paid by the word.
I only kinda skimmed the last bunch, so I'm not really sure what's under contention, but the interplay of artistic genius and hackdom has provided a wondrous array of fabulous results in the world of literature, as every fan of sci-fi and fantasy novels should know.
[Takes out red pencil and strikes out all the "if"s and replaces them with "of"s and "off"s]