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"I'd like to be a desert plant."

April 9, 2008, Literature

The Intercessor said, "I am here to take you away. Where would you like to go, Seth Morley? What would you like to be?"

"An illusion, you mean?" he said. "Like our polyencephalic worlds?"

"No," the Intercessor said. "You will be free; you will die and be reborn. I will guide you to what you want, and to what is fitting and proper for you. Tell me what it is."

"You don't want me to kill the others," Seth Morley said, with abrupt comprehension. "By opening the vents."

The Intercessor inclined his head in a nod. "It is for each of them to decide. You may decide only for yourself."

"I'd like to be a desert plant," Seth Morley said. "That could see the sun all day. I want to be growing. Perhaps a cactus on some warm world. Where no one will bother me."

"Agreed."

"And sleep," Seth Morley said. "I want to be asleep but still aware of the sun and of myself."

"That is the way with plants," the Intercessor said. "They sleep. And yet they know themselves to exist. Very well." He held out his hand to Seth Morley. "Come along."

Reaching, Seth Morley touched the Intercessor's extended hand. Strong fingers closed around his own hand. He felt happy. He had never before been so glad.

"You will live and sleep for a thousand years," the Intercessor said, and guided him away from where he stood, into the stars."

Philip K. Dick, A Maze of Death, 1970, p. 187.

"Nicht glücklich sein, höchstens zufrieden"

March 16, 2008, Literature

"Hast du denn kein Verlangen nach Glück, mit anderen zusammen?"

Die Frau: "Nein. Ich möchte nicht glücklich sein, höchstens zufrieden. Ich habe Angst vor dem Glück. Ich glaube, ich würde es nicht aushalten, da im Kopf. Ich würde wahnsinnig werden für immer, oder sterben. Oder ich würde jemanden ermorden."

Franziska: "Willst du denn dein Leben lang so allein bleiben? Gibt es keine Sehnsucht nach einem Menschen, der mit Leib und Seele dein Freund wäre?"

Die Frau rief: "O ja. O ja. — Aber ich möchte nicht wissen, wer er ist. Auch wenn ich immer mit ihm zusammen wäre, wollte ich ihn nie kennenlernen. Nur eins hätte ich gern", sie lächelte wie über sich —, "daß er ungeschickt wäre, ein rechter Tölpel; ich weiß selber nicht, warum."

Aus Peter Handtke, Die linkshändige Frau, 1976.

(Siehe auch Hesses Steppenwolf über das Bürgertum.)

"Warm on the outside"

March 16, 2008, Literature

"We have worked together on this a long time," Donna said in a moderate, steady voice. "I don't want to be on this much longer. I want it to end. Sometimes at night, when I can't sleep, I think, shit, we are even colder than they are. The adversary."

"I don't see a cold person when I look at you," Westaway said. "Although I guess I really don't know you all that well. What I do see, and see clearly, is one of the warmest persons I ever knew."

"I am warm on the outside, what people see. Warm eyes, warm face, warm fucking fake smile, but inside I am cold all the time, and full of lies. I am not what I seem to be; I am awful." The girl's voice remained steady, and as she spoke she smiled. Her pupils were large and mellow and without guile. "But, then, there's no other way. Is there?"

Philip K. Dick, A Scanner Darkly, 1977, pp. 256/257.

(See also "I see only murk. Murk outside; murk inside.".)

Wahnidee Wirklichkeit

February 20, 2008, Literature
Last edited on March 16, 2008

Wie bereits angedeutet, ist der Glaube, daß die eigene Sicht der Wirklichkeit die Wirklichkeit schlechthin bedeute, eine gefährliche Wahnidee. Sie wird dann aber noch gefährlicher, wenn sie sich mit der messianischen Berufung verbindet, die Welt dementsprechend aufklären und ordnen zu müssen — gleichgültig, ob die Welt diese Ordnung wünscht oder nicht. Die Weigerung, sich einer bestimmten Definition der Wirklichkeit (zum Beispiel einer Ideologie) zu verschreiben, die "Anmaßung", die Welt in eigener Sicht zu sehen und auf eigene Façon selig zu werden, wird immer häufiger zum "think-crime" in Orwells Sinne abgestempelt, je mehr wir uns dem Jahre 1984 nähern.

Paul Watzlawick, Wie wirklich ist die Wirklichkeit? — Wahn, Täuschung, Verstehen, 1976.

"I see only murk. Murk outside; murk inside."

February 20, 2008, Literature
Last edited on March 16, 2008

He paid the driver, got out his door key, and entered the house.

Immediately he felt something watching: the holo-scanners on him. As soon as he crossed his own threshold. Alone—no one but him in the house. Untrue! Him and the scanners, insidious and invisible, that watched him and recorded. Everything he did. Everything he uttered.

Like the scrawls on the wall when you're peeing in a public urinal, he thought. smile! you're on candid camera! I am, he thought, as soon as I enter this house. It's eerie. He did not like it. He felt self-conscious; the sensation had grown since the first day, when they'd arrived home—the "dog-shit day," as he thought of it, couldn't keep from thinking of it. Each day the experience of the scanners had grown.

"Nobody home, I guess," he stated aloud as usual, and was aware that the scanners had picked that up. But he had to take care always: he wasn't supposed to know they were there. Like an actor before a movie camera, he decided, you act like the camera doesn't exist or else you blow it. It's all over.

And for this shit there are no take-two's.

What you get instead is wipeout. I mean, what I get. Not the people behind the scanners but me.

What I ought to do, he thought, to get out of this, is sell the house; it's run down anyway. But . . . I love this house. No way!

It's my house.

Nobody can drive me out.

For whatever reasons they would or do want to.

Assuming there's a "they" at all.

Which may just be my imagination, the "they" watching me. Paranoia. Or rather the "it." The depersonalized it.

Whatever it is that's watching, it is not a human.

Not by my standards, anyhow. Not what I'd recognize.

As silly as this is, he thought, it's frightening. Something is being done to me and by a mere thing, here in my own house. Before my very eyes.

Within something's very eyes; within the sight of some blink. What does a scanner see? he asked himself. I mean, really see? Into the head? Down into the heart? Does a passive infrared scanner like they used to use or a cube-type holo-scanner like they use these days, the latest thing, see into me—into us—clearly or darkly? I hope it does, he thought, see clearly, because I can't any longer these days see into myself. I see only murk. Murk outside; murk inside. I hope, for everyone's sake, the scanners do better. Because, he thought, if the scanner sees only darkly, the way I myself do, then we are cursed, cursed again and like we have been continually, and we'll wind up dead this way, knowing very little and getting that little fragment wrong too.

Philip K. Dick, A Scanner Darkly, 1977, pp. 184/185.

(Wer gerade nichts mit dem Namen anfangen kann: Die Filme Blade Runner (1982), Total Recall (1990), Minority Report (2002), Imposter (2002), Paycheck (2003), Next (2007) — und A Scanner Darkly (2007) basieren allesamt auf Romanen beziehungsweise Kurzgeschichten von Philip K. Dick.)

A Scanner Darkly ist nicht gerade leicht zu verdauen, doch wer will schon nur Geplätscher lesen. In der englischen Wikipedia gibt es eine ziemlich brauchbare Kurzbeschreibung:

A Scanner Darkly (1977) is a bleak mixture of science fiction and police procedural novels; in its story, an undercover narcotics police detective begins to lose touch with reality after falling victim to the same permanently mind altering drug, Substance D, he was enlisted to help fight. Substance D is instantly addictive, beginning with a pleasant euphoria which is quickly replaced with increasing confusion, hallucinations and eventually total psychosis. In this novel, as with all Dick novels, there is an underlying thread of paranoia and dissociation with multiple realities perceived simultaneously.

Zucchini-Spitzpaprika-Putenfilet-Curry mit Nudeln

April 7, 2007, Cooking & Baking
Last edited on April 7, 2007

Vielleicht nimmt die Kochsektion im Moment etwas überhand, aber ich habe gerade nicht das Bedürfnis (und die Zeit), andere Artikel fertigzuschreiben.

Dieses Gericht habe ich gerade spontan zusammengemischt und es ist sehr lecker geworden:

130g Putenfilet in Stücke schneiden, ordentlich mit frischem Pfeffer und Salz würzen und bei starker Hitze in Öl kurz anbraten, Ein gut haselnußgroßes Stück Ingwer, eine Knoblauchzehe sowie zwei Frühlingszwiebeln kleinschneiden, in die Pfanne geben und alles noch eine Weile bei mittlerer Hitze braten bis das Fleisch gar ist. Ca. 70g Spirellinudeln kochen. Eine kleine Zucchini in Würfel und drei grüne dünne Spitzpaprikas (wenn ich mich recht erinnere, zwei "Sivri" und eine "Crali") sowie eine rote Spitzpaprika quer in dünne Ringe schneiden und in die Pfanne geben. Einen ordentlichen Teelöfel Mandaras-Currypaste und eine gute Messerspitze Kreuzkümmel (Cumin) dazugeben und alles bei weiterhin mittlerer Hitze braten lassen, bis Zucchini und Paprika ein wenig weich geworden sind (vielleicht knapp 10 Minuten). Anschließend noch mit ein klein wenig Paprikapulver, nicht zuwenig Currypulver, sowie Salz und frischem Pfeffer ordentlich würzen. Einen Spritzer Sahne sowie sehr wenig Milch dazu (Aber wirklich nicht zu viel. Das ganze soll nur leicht feucht sein, aber keine richtige Soße haben. Auf keinen Fall soll es sahnig werden.), und zum Schluß die fertigen Nudeln daruntermischen.

Achja, vielleicht sollte man die Menge anpassen, denn für eine Person war es etwas viel, für zwei wäre es aber zu wenig. Aber vielleicht ist ein kleiner Rest fürs Abendessen gar nicht schlimm...

A European, please!

March 16, 2007, Lisp

Just found googling:

--- Day changed Wed May 17 2006 [...] 14:57 < Xach> Any germans around? 14:58 < Xach> Europeans work too. 14:58 < Beef> dze germans, I spit on them 14:58 < Beef> euro here 14:58 < pjb> I'm French, living in Spain. Do I qualify? 14:58 < mvilleneuve> french here 14:58 < Xach> Could you go to Max-Gerd's house and ask him to fix his blog? 14:58 < Beef> :P 14:58 < Xach> Max-Gerd Retzlaff lives somewhere in Germany. 14:59 < mvilleneuve> that's at least 1000 kilometers from where I live, phone or email might be more efficient... 15:02 < ThomasIl> german here, why? 15:04 < Xach> ThomasIl: I am trying to reach Max-Gerd Retzlaff, who is also German. 15:04 < Xach> If you all get together soon, please mention to him that his blog is broken. 15:04 < ThomasIl> well 15:04 < ThomasIl> if its somewhere near my house I could do heh 15:04 < ThomasIl> but doubtful 15:04 < ThomasIl> :P 15:04 < lichtblau> Xach: you should get one of these fancy new electronic mail things, then you can communicate with him directly 15:05 < Xach> That's just crazy enough to work! 15:05 < lichtblau> Karlsruhe, if I'm not mistaken. Someone summon manuel_! 15:08 < gingras_y> Xach, why don't you leave a comment on his blog? 15:08 gingras_y ducks 15:09 < Adrinael> Priceless. [...] 15:14 Xach kicks gingras_y into YGingrasland

Curious Dead-Sexy-Xach!

(Full text in the publicly archived logs of the freenode-channel #lisp.)

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