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Television in Europe: Glimpse of Tomorrow.
In the one-arm beaneries late at night . . . I’ll bet you’re a slow reader, she thought.
the chorus of the SS Division Das Reich raised in the anthem of the Partei, the Horst Wessel Lied.
Dignity of labor;
Labor Front
Doctor Todt was the most modest, gentle man that ever lived; I know all he wanted to do was provide work—honest, reputable work—for the millions of bleak-eyed, despairing American men and women picking through the ruins after the war. I know he wanted to see medical plans and vacation resorts and adequate housing for everyone, regardless of race; he was a builder, not a thinker . . . and in most cases he managed to create what he had wanted—he actually got it.
reduce the populations of Europe and Northern Asia to the status of slaves—plus murdering all intellectuals, bourgeois elements, patriotic youth and what not—has been an economic catastrophe.
we must presume that the worst, rather than the best, choice will be made.
“We are all insects,” he said to Miss Ephreikian. “Groping toward something terrible or divine. Do you not agree?”
Which of the sixty-four hexagrams, he wondered, am I laboring under?
“I inquired as to the Moment,” Mr. Tagomi said. “The Moment for us all.
The incredible Japanese sense of wabi.
they listened to a recording of koto, Japanese thirteen-string harp.
What would it be like, he wondered, to really know the Tao? The Tao is that which first lets the light, then the dark.
The universe will never be extinguished because just when the darkness seems to have smothered all, to be truly transcendent, the new seeds of light are reborn in the very depths.
The Grasshopper Lies Heavy,”
“Not a mystery,” Paul said. “On contrary, interesting form of fiction possibly within genre of science fiction.” “Oh no,” Betty disagreed. “No science in it. Nor set in future. Science fiction deals with future, in particular future where science has advanced over now.
“it deals with alternate present. Many well-known science fiction novels of that sort.”
as my wife knows, I was for a long time a science fiction enthusiast. I began that hobby early in my life; I was merely twelve. It w...
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I would very much like to read it. I try to keep up with what’s being discussed.”
Admission that his interest lay in book’s modishness. Perhaps that was low-place.
are you fond of say Bunk Johnson and Kid Ory and the like? Early Dixieland jazz? I have record library of old such music, original Genet recordings.”
Bach and Beethoven.”
Was he supposed to deny the great masters of European music, the timeless classics in favor of New Orleans jazz from the honky-tonks and bistros of the Negro quarter? “Perhaps if I play selection by New Orleans Rhythm Kings,”
Big Laughingstock,
Advantage of wealth and power makes this available to them, but it’s ersatz as the day is long.
Apple pie, Coca-Cola, stroll after the movie, Glenn Miller . . .
Nathanael West. Title is Miss Lonelyhearts.
It is therapeutic to meet these people who have intimidated you. And to discover what they are really like. Then the intimidation goes.
I’m simply not capable of deceit and that renders me helpless. Without law, I’d be at their mercy. He could have convinced me of anything. It’s a form of hypnosis. They can control an entire society.
Frankfurter Zeitung.
Angriff
The people in Berlin were past masters at transferring responsibility, and he was weary of being stuck.
‘Your instructions abysmally tardy. Person already reported in area.
Death had spread out everywhere equally, over the living, the hurt, the corpses layer after layer that already had begun to smell. The stinking, quivering corpse of Berlin,
How that man can write, he thought. Completely carried me away. Real. Fall of Berlin to the British, as vivid as if it had actually taken place. Brrr. He shivered.
Amazing, the power of fiction, even cheap popular fiction, to evoke. No wonder it’s banned within Reich territory; I’d ban it myself. Sorry I started it. But too late; must finish, now.
The death of Adolf Hitler, the defeat and destruction of Hitler, the Partei, and Germany itself, as depicted in Abendsen’s book . . . it all was somehow grander, more in the old spirit than the actual world. The world of German hegemony.
writing fiction. Appeals to the base lusts that hide in everyone no matter how respectable on the surface. Yes, the novelist knows humanity, how worthless they are, ruled by their testicles, swayed by cowardice, selling out every cause because of their greed—all he’s got to do is thump on the drum, and there’s his response. And he laughing, of course, behind his hand at the effect he gets.
Omaha, Nebraska. Last outpost of the former plutocratic U.S. publishing industry, once located in downtown New York and supported by Jewish and Communist gold . . .
Herr Hope is right, he thought. With his joke about our contact on Mars. Mars populated by Jews. We would see them there, too. Even with their two heads apiece, standing one foot high.
Zyklon B hydrogen cyanide gas.
Little kids are that way; they feel if their parents aren’t watching what they do then what they do isn’t real.
T’ien-lais, the “Heavenly Music” brand he had learned to smoke at W-M Corporation.
Maybe I don’t actually recall F.D.R. as example. Synthetic image distilled from hearing assorted talk. Myth implanted subtly in tissue of brain. Like, he thought, myth of Hepplewhite. Myth of Chippendale. Or rather more on lines of Abraham Lincoln ate here. Used this old silver knife, fork, spoon. You can’t see it, but the fact remains.
build up a stock of nonhistoric objects, contemporary work with no historicity either real or imagined, I might find I have the edge over the competition.
Airtight!
We can travel anywhere we want, even to other planets. And for what? To sit day after day, declining in morale and hope. Falling into an interminable ennui.
Presently he found himself viewing display photos of honky-tonk cabarets, grimy flyspecked utterly white nudes whose breasts hung like half-inflated volleyballs.
The car radio played mushy beer-garden folk music, an accordion band doing one of the countless polkas or schottishes; she had never been able to tell them one from another.
