auch schlafen ist eine form der kritik

  • normal normal

    I have no idea whether these feelings of oddness and inadequacy are normal and, if so, whether I felt them to a greater or lesser than normal extent. Is it normal to feel you’re not normal but want to be normal? I think it probably is.

    I certainly don’t think that those feelings drove me to comedy. Although it may explain some of the murders (see Book 2).

    Back Story. David Mitchell. 2012
  • Ziggy says…

    Dean Stockwell ist tot.

  • Opening Credits XIX

    You’re my boy. You’re my number one boy.

    Logan Roy

    Succession läuft seit 2018 auf HBO.

  • Omar comin‘!

    Michael K Williams ist tot.

  • ein vaterseingefühl

    ein vaterseingefühl (1)

    Es gibt im Alltag manches Mal so Momente, in denen einem eigentlich selbstverständliche Gegebenheiten besonders klar werden. Momente, in denen man Dingen besonders gewahr wird, für den Bruchteil einer Sekunde. Explosionsartig. Letztens räumte ich am Abend, die kleine Motte war bereits auf dem Weg ins Bett, in der Küche ein wenig auf. Bückte mich nach […]
  • Justice League, dem Zack sein Schnydd

    Justice League, dem Zack sein Schnydd

    4 Stunden. Und 2 Minuten. Das ist mal eine Ansage. Marvels Avengers Endgame hat „nur“ 61 Minuten weniger auf dem Zähler. Der neue Cut ist dabei ein paradoxes Ding. Denn einerseits ist er besser als die 2017’er Version in Bereichen, die einem wichtig sein könnten: Cyborg hat eine Backstory! Und nicht nur das, er ist […]
  • Die kleine Motte

    Die kleine Motte (2)

    Ein halbes Jahr ist es her, dass die Idee und Vorstellung der Parasitin zur Realität wurde, die Kleine selbige bei Ankunft anschrie und verwundert anblinzelte. 6 Monate in denen sich die vorgeburtliche Kosung Parasitin ziemlich schnell zu kleine Motte abwandelte. Weil Tierbezeichnungen für ein so kleines Wesen nun mal objektiv lustiger und vor allem passender […]
  • the ur-literature (1)

    O: You’re quite a writer. You’ve a gift for language, you’re a deft hand at plotting, and your books seem to have an enormous amount of attention to detail put into them. You’re so good you could write anything. Why write fantasy?

    Pratchett: I had a decent lunch, and I’m feeling quite amiable. That’s why you’re still alive. I think you’d have to explain to me why you’ve asked that question.

    O: It’s a rather ghettoized genre.

    Pratchett: This is true. I cannot speak for the US, where I merely sort of sell okay. But in the UK I think every book— I think I’ve done twenty in the series— since the fourth book, every one has been one the top ten national bestsellers, either as hardcover or paperback, and quite often as both. Twelve or thirteen have been number one. I’ve done six juveniles, all of those have nevertheless crossed over to the adult bestseller list. On one occasion I had the adult best seller, the paperback best-seller in a different title, and a third book on the juvenile bestseller list. Now tell me again that this is a ghettoized genre.

    O: It’s certainly regarded as less than serious fiction.

    Pratchett:  (Sighs) Without a shadow of a doubt, the first fiction ever recounted was fantasy. Guys sitting around the campfire— Was it you who wrote the review? I thought I recognized it— Guys sitting around the campfire telling each other stories about the gods who made lightning, and stuff like that. They did not tell one another literary stories. They did not complain about difficulties of male menopause while being a junior lecturer on some midwestern college campus. Fantasy is without a shadow of a doubt the ur-literature, the spring from which all other literature has flown. Up to a few hundred years ago no one would have disagreed with this, because most stories were, in some sense, fantasy. Back in the middle ages, people wouldn’t have thought twice about bringing in Death as a character who would have a role to play in the story. Echoes of this can be seen in Pilgrim’s Progress, for example, which hark back to a much earlier type of storytelling. The epic of Gilgamesh is one of the earliest works of literature, and by the standard we would apply now— a big muscular guys with swords and certain godlike connections— That’s fantasy. The national literature of Finland, the Kalevala. Beowulf in England. I cannot pronounce Bahaghvad-Gita but the Indian one, you know what I mean. The national literature, the one that underpins everything else, is by the standards that we apply now, a work of fantasy.

    Now I don’t know what you’d consider the national literature of America, but if the words Moby Dick are inching their way towards this conversation, whatever else it was, it was also a work of fantasy. Fantasy is kind of a plasma in which other things can be carried. I don’t think this is a ghetto. This is, fantasy is, almost a sea in which other genres swim. Now it may be that there has developed in the last couple of hundred years a subset of fantasy which merely uses a different icongraphy, and that is, if you like, the serious literature, the Booker Prize contender. Fantasy can be serious literature. Fantasy has often been serious literature. You have to be fairly dense to think that Gulliver’s Travels is only a story about a guy having a real fun time among big people and little people and horses and stuff like that. What the book was about was something else. Fantasy can carry quite a serious burden, and so can humor. So what you’re saying is, strip away the trolls and the dwarves and things and put everyone into modern dress, get them to agonize a bit, mention Virginia Woolf a few times, and there! Hey! I’ve got a serious novel. But you don’t actually have to do that.

    (Pauses) That was a bloody good answer, though I say it myself.

    Interview. The Onion. 1995 (transkribiert von hier)