1.
night falls early this does not tell me anything good. I cut my left thumb and right ring finger. The dressing I put on my left thumb does not hold, the one I landed on my right ring is too small. All these problems are beyond words. Yes definitely
November night is here too soon, a mixture of metallic blue with clouds ochres on the horizon, the rain falls like mercury and when the sirens wake incongruous announcing a new fire in the distance, there is much left to do, we remain in a park surrounded by trees, the expected True night, alone, dark night. We remain in a park or we go home. There are always tricky things to do at home. See for example, read and forget the company's "people" to remember the books we have read, remember that one of the countries surveyed in the books and even imagine yourself outside of books.
Look for the memories here are some fragments - not refined - my month of July:
July 19 .- Prague. Cool. The "interior" still warm it is quite possible that a storm has passed before my arrival. Antiquated airport. Seen a Trabant. Beautiful cobblestone streets, restored façades. Hotel near downtown. Nothing to report.
July 20 .- Prague. Nice warm weather. Covered in late afternoon. The "Castle" is a kind of Kremlin improved, a "Forbidden City" and less moist. Overcrowded tourist the truck is near, far Kafka. The guard is raised on a curious music peplum made of brass, the tourist is happy ... One must leave the main trails to find picturesque streets, tourist without tourists. Beautiful baroque buildings, fine Renaissance palaces, beautiful fountains and beautiful stones - Prague is very fortunate not to have been destroyed during the Second World War - Walking down the "Castle" (at Chaval) we found almost by chance before the Wall Kampa, it is somewhat forgotten, laid in front of the Embassy of France, yet it is on this wall that young girl uses unwind in moult scribbling graffiti in praise of decadent Western culture. It was, and above all, a kind of "Chamber Green built in memory of John Lennon, a wall is a room ... Graffiti moving pictures pasted on the wall, a strange altar.
A little later, two hundred yards away, there is the Charles Bridge, tourist mecca, Montmartre on stilts with sellers of trinkets galore and cartoonists. Overcrowding disturbing the agoraphobic in its tunnel at him, remain a bit out while being there.
July 21 .- Prague. Nice warm weather. I found a way not to pick me Kafka's grave when it was one of the primary goals of my short stay Prague. It is buried in the new Jewish cemetery, I'm past that before the old one. I think this visit is not more of the unspoken than anything else. For cons, I saw the sober monument in memory of Ian Palach, it stands on one end of Wenceslas Square to the National Museum at the spot where Palach immolated himself by fire in 1968 . For the rest, visit the old town, its central place, its mechanical clock, the school where Kafka studied for a while ... The Jewish Quarter that Hitler wanted to become "a Jewish museum." Further the Municipal House: Art Nouveau building magnificent partly decorated by Alfons Mucha - in its depths the American bar where Hemingway got drunk more than turn -. Market about ten kilometers in the city center. Swarming tourist uninterrupted, between Paris in July and "Highway of the Sun" in mid-August. To see the real Czech, I had to depart from several hundred meters to find myself in a real street shopping, a street where the native was very nice and short skirts who overcame many tempting thighs alerts. Unfortunately (or not, the night life here seems close to nothing), I leave Prague tomorrow.
July 22 .- Vienna. Heavy weather, 36 degrees. Left Prague for Vienna. Visited a castle on the road (Hulboka). Bad first impression, old Austrian, surely old Nazi, playing bowling in a smoky roadhouse. Vienna at the moment I saw that the second belt, pretty hideous it must be said.
July 23 .- Vienna. 35 °. Visited the gardens of the Belvedere, there was a bulldozer instead of the basins. Toured the Ring "inside" foot. I then went through the Hofburg castle at the spot where Hitler's Anschluss pronounced en 1938. Curieuse sensation, malaise… Un peu plus loin, l’église des Augustins : le cœur de l’aiglon y est enterré — ses intestins sont eux enterrés dans la Cathédrale St Étienne, ses cendres ont été rapatriées vers Paris en 1940, sur ordre d’Hitler —, c’est aussi dans cette église que François-Joseph épousa la fameuse Sissi. Visité la Bibiliotheque Nationale. Huit millions de volumes. Il y avait plus de gardiens au verboten guttural que de bibliothécaire en blouse bleue (un seul !). De loin j’ai cru distinguer les mémoires de Saint-Simon. Plus tard, le vrai centre-ville, autour de la Cathédrale St Étienne… Flux touristique, but reasonable. Outside the cathedral and a few buildings in Vienna is a city that seems not to have existed before the 18th century. No old streets, not "feeling reborn" is a modern city, designed by architects such as an artificial city where one feels that roam Klimt, Schiele, Freud, Mozart and Beethoven ... they are in air. Returning to the Ring I found myself in front of the Palace of the Secession, beautiful cake Modern Art. It is in its interior and on its walls that Klimt painted the Ninth Symphony of Beethoven. Returned to my hotel on the outskirts.
July 23 .- Budapest. Time almost cool. Lots of wind. Left Vienna by visiting the Chateau de Versailles Austrian Schonbrun so not worth the original. Finally, I suppose, having never been to Versailles ... tourist flows.
Road Vienna, Budapest: The border is an area open to the winds. Where once the dissident risked his life, there is only empty space with border crossings ghostly ... The Turks in Germany on the road to Istanbul, bourgeois bohemians on the Lake Balaton Gypsies suspects carrying suspicious vehicles on suspicious trailers (well according to the Hungarians). Arrived Budapest. Capital to the decrepit splendor. The grass grows on the sidewalks and where one feels even Marxism-Leninism lapped. Toured the Parliament that resembles a Westminster not swallowed.
July 24 .- Budapest. Downpour. A small 19 °, while according to my informants it was 42 degrees before yesterday. This perhaps explains the misters that dot the streets. Later the famous public baths. The water "is" 35 degrees, I did not bathed since I was already wet from the storm. Redone a turn towards the parliament, some bullet-riddled buildings, survival of 1956 and the uprising. The Hungarians have decided to leave traces of it all in memory. On the other bank of the Danube, the Buda hills, real historical center: streets "typical" cathedral and a monument to kitsch: the fish market ... A few bullet holes. Reasonable flow of tourists. Yesterday evening session Psychogeography: random drift, I passed the beautiful Eiffel station. Two, three fast food later I came to a "wall shot" (shot a photo of each inset, the wall was very long.) Then I lost it voluntarily, the streets were not especially moving for a Saturday night some drunken youths, two three gazelles gracilis thigh ... I went along the railway.
starting tomorrow: Zurich and Lyon.
2.
So I can not stand the company of "people" notice that I can not stand either my own company, the only company I support is that of books. Finally, it is rather the ones who support me while I am unbearable ... I happen to look through, hoping that they wish me well when I did all that the world does not want Me ...
That August, in pieces:
Aug. 3 .- Time reasonably changing, circumspect and temperate. A fly just pass me over the head.
I am somewhat indecisive, I even think I'm the type of ambition cripple the least that I know. That may be a problem. I am also committed so little that my lack of commitment to me will fall well above one day.
Larbaud. Milan. Superiority of the Italian cities on the French cities. Larbaud was a true European in the right direction (the non-economic) he lived in Paris, Vichy, south of Spain and London he wrote ... French, English, English and Italian sometimes in German or Portuguese (but not in Dutch). It was not too nationalist and even was defined as "cosmopolitan patriot" (in Barnabooth).
Other European Writers in the right direction: Pessoa, WG Sebald, Claudio Magris and then the whole gang Mitteleuropa (the list is long).
Regarding European sense of the bad (economic) Godard's recent spin around Europe and its transmigration from coal and steel seems to be a compelling spin.
August 7 .- wonderful time. IKB sky. Heat moderate. Also in the Journal of Larbaud, between Annecy and Corfu. Larbaud about half of Rome without irony, without the tone from the top down to own many writers 'abroad'. Overseas Larbaud is always at his English in Spain, London in London, Italian in Italy, Paris in Paris ... It is also far from the tourist who swallows everything in a week, free of social obligations, he can afford to stay where he is at leisure, he listens while the city, like music. Beautiful pages on the fumes of Vesuvius Naples, Sorrento snow on Naples ... but fascism. Larbaud is fascism "Nice" it is only hindered by the law enforcement and emergency laws, her achievements seem almost any remarkable social aspects and perceived moral cleanliness, severe punishments for people who litter the urinals and firms of ease that is all very well, he would even impose a sentence of six months in prison for the "bastards" who spit on the tram! For the first time Larbaud seems to be wrong, or at least not in his element in politics. Obviously when we see fascism as a paragon of civility, good manners and cleanliness ... A little pecked at Georges Picard.
August 8 .- Time variable. More clouds than blue. Comfortable temperature. Tried to photograph some beautiful passing clouds, but in vain. Major weakness of digital photography. Larbaud: Finish the Journal of Chambery Corfu. Larbaud is delighted to young fascist uniforms, their hats with pompoms.
"But nine times out of ten it is noted that where" the stamps do not stick well, "invariably the roads are poorly maintained, late trains, utilities badly made, badly behaved children - and the government weak or corrupt. "
Lu Istanbul in 1890 Loti. Overall incidental but interesting moments: Istanbul as a city winter and rainy so the other Venice, where gondolas would be replaced by caique. Boorishness tourists and especially the French (already!):
"The French cheeky, who complain of ill-paved streets that do see the bazaar that spread from Paris a few items here and there, and tended to believe that all these old turbaned merchants, squatting in niches, are bringing their rugs Bon Marché or the Louvre ... "
finish by two chronic Vialatte, one on the sidewalk, the other on the plains. The delight was there.
August 12 .- Time heavy and gray morning. Blue sec later. The time taken to live in society has always taken time to read. So for a week that had a "social life" normalized I read almost anything. The gap is there, lurking.
August 13 .- Time mixed: aoûtien. Day soft and insidious that I seem to have wasted my time more than anything else.
This morning chronicle Vialatte. This afternoon a chapter of the memoirs of Casanova and a walk Remy Gourmont philosophical. The walk was very good, there was talk of this science phytognomonie seeking similarities between plants and human bodies, their mutual affection and their respective behaviors, extending even compared to animals, minerals, metals ...
August 20 .- morning thunderstorm. Afternoon heavy and moist as a jog around the Mekong Delta. August is a problem. August we wants it. Read without pleasure a chapter of Seven Pillars (it is quite possible that I will soon leave his choir Lawrence sand and camels.) A little hypocritical with myself I did not take any risk by linking two chronic Vialatte (who never disappoints.) The first spoke of rivers, the second food. We note that the water of the Seine and killed the accountant feels that in wartime the peel is more nutritious than the fruit.
"A small dining room with a cabinet made Brittany and Normandy few Provencal tiles, as folklore has no country ..."
To "finish" toured the new Ikea catalog, nothing special it is big ... Oh yes! I forgot, a lizard fell in the yard ...
August 21 .- Unexpected return of hot weather. I left Lawrence in the desert with its sand, camels its pillars and Arab youths with wriggling body. What do you, despite two three bursts, all bored. I will continue year in, year out and alternate between Larbaud, Loti, and Gourmont Vialatte. I will only add to the moment the Pseudodoxia Epidemic Thomas Brown that I start and who seems to be a fairly Pretties (although hard to read.)
August 23 .- Wetness mekongaise. Time sticky, gooey, slimy, sticky and frankly unbearable. Moodiness.
Thomas Browne, Pseudodoxia Epidemic: I begin this reading at first a little complicated, but brilliant ... Browne stalking the "conventional wisdom", "the generally accepted ideas, the task is so tough that tracks changes in encyclopedia. It begins with Adam and Eve, you say. We will say that Browne is a primary Flaubert (in terms of stupidity and ways to identify all forms).
August 27 .- Beautiful sunny morning. Wind and gray in the afternoon. The storm threatens. August "ending" rode. Soft Day and unnecessary. These days when you look forward all the time in not being fed. I stayed like a pile listlessness fortuitous set on a mound. Nevertheless, some good recipes stolen from Thomas Browne: The drops of Albert the Great, who turns you into nyctalopic you see at night and at night you see the show (he must drink the drops, the broth is filthy). We obtain the same effect by boiling the right eye of a hedgehog in a large bath of oil, once the mixture is cooled bravely swallows it all and suddenly it's day night! In terms of scorpion stings just sit on a donkey, face to face tail, believe me the pain leaves the man and goes straight into the beast. All you need is a donkey cooperative handy. In this day and age this should not be harder to find a scorpion. Lu
chronicle Vialatte on the death of Jean Paulhan, so moving for a bit we weep.
Aug. 3 .- Time reasonably changing, circumspect and temperate. A fly just pass me over the head.
I am somewhat indecisive, I even think I'm the type of ambition cripple the least that I know. That may be a problem. I am also committed so little that my lack of commitment to me will fall well above one day.
Larbaud. Milan. Superiority of the Italian cities on the French cities. Larbaud was a true European in the right direction (the non-economic) he lived in Paris, Vichy, south of Spain and London he wrote ... French, English, English and Italian sometimes in German or Portuguese (but not in Dutch). It was not too nationalist and even was defined as "cosmopolitan patriot" (in Barnabooth).
Other European Writers in the right direction: Pessoa, WG Sebald, Claudio Magris and then the whole gang Mitteleuropa (the list is long).
Regarding European sense of the bad (economic) Godard's recent spin around Europe and its transmigration from coal and steel seems to be a compelling spin.
August 7 .- wonderful time. IKB sky. Heat moderate. Also in the Journal of Larbaud, between Annecy and Corfu. Larbaud about half of Rome without irony, without the tone from the top down to own many writers 'abroad'. Overseas Larbaud is always at his English in Spain, London in London, Italian in Italy, Paris in Paris ... It is also far from the tourist who swallows everything in a week, free of social obligations, he can afford to stay where he is at leisure, he listens while the city, like music. Beautiful pages on the fumes of Vesuvius Naples, Sorrento snow on Naples ... but fascism. Larbaud is fascism "Nice" it is only hindered by the law enforcement and emergency laws, her achievements seem almost any remarkable social aspects and perceived moral cleanliness, severe punishments for people who litter the urinals and firms of ease that is all very well, he would even impose a sentence of six months in prison for the "bastards" who spit on the tram! For the first time Larbaud seems to be wrong, or at least not in his element in politics. Obviously when we see fascism as a paragon of civility, good manners and cleanliness ... A little pecked at Georges Picard.
August 8 .- Time variable. More clouds than blue. Comfortable temperature. Tried to photograph some beautiful passing clouds, but in vain. Major weakness of digital photography. Larbaud: Finish the Journal of Chambery Corfu. Larbaud is delighted to young fascist uniforms, their hats with pompoms.
"But nine times out of ten it is noted that where" the stamps do not stick well, "invariably the roads are poorly maintained, late trains, utilities badly made, badly behaved children - and the government weak or corrupt. "
Lu Istanbul in 1890 Loti. Overall incidental but interesting moments: Istanbul as a city winter and rainy so the other Venice, where gondolas would be replaced by caique. Boorishness tourists and especially the French (already!):
"The French cheeky, who complain of ill-paved streets that do see the bazaar that spread from Paris a few items here and there, and tended to believe that all these old turbaned merchants, squatting in niches, are bringing their rugs Bon Marché or the Louvre ... "
finish by two chronic Vialatte, one on the sidewalk, the other on the plains. The delight was there.
August 12 .- Time heavy and gray morning. Blue sec later. The time taken to live in society has always taken time to read. So for a week that had a "social life" normalized I read almost anything. The gap is there, lurking.
August 13 .- Time mixed: aoûtien. Day soft and insidious that I seem to have wasted my time more than anything else.
This morning chronicle Vialatte. This afternoon a chapter of the memoirs of Casanova and a walk Remy Gourmont philosophical. The walk was very good, there was talk of this science phytognomonie seeking similarities between plants and human bodies, their mutual affection and their respective behaviors, extending even compared to animals, minerals, metals ...
August 20 .- morning thunderstorm. Afternoon heavy and moist as a jog around the Mekong Delta. August is a problem. August we wants it. Read without pleasure a chapter of Seven Pillars (it is quite possible that I will soon leave his choir Lawrence sand and camels.) A little hypocritical with myself I did not take any risk by linking two chronic Vialatte (who never disappoints.) The first spoke of rivers, the second food. We note that the water of the Seine and killed the accountant feels that in wartime the peel is more nutritious than the fruit.
"A small dining room with a cabinet made Brittany and Normandy few Provencal tiles, as folklore has no country ..."
To "finish" toured the new Ikea catalog, nothing special it is big ... Oh yes! I forgot, a lizard fell in the yard ...
August 21 .- Unexpected return of hot weather. I left Lawrence in the desert with its sand, camels its pillars and Arab youths with wriggling body. What do you, despite two three bursts, all bored. I will continue year in, year out and alternate between Larbaud, Loti, and Gourmont Vialatte. I will only add to the moment the Pseudodoxia Epidemic Thomas Brown that I start and who seems to be a fairly Pretties (although hard to read.)
August 23 .- Wetness mekongaise. Time sticky, gooey, slimy, sticky and frankly unbearable. Moodiness.
Thomas Browne, Pseudodoxia Epidemic: I begin this reading at first a little complicated, but brilliant ... Browne stalking the "conventional wisdom", "the generally accepted ideas, the task is so tough that tracks changes in encyclopedia. It begins with Adam and Eve, you say. We will say that Browne is a primary Flaubert (in terms of stupidity and ways to identify all forms).
August 27 .- Beautiful sunny morning. Wind and gray in the afternoon. The storm threatens. August "ending" rode. Soft Day and unnecessary. These days when you look forward all the time in not being fed. I stayed like a pile listlessness fortuitous set on a mound. Nevertheless, some good recipes stolen from Thomas Browne: The drops of Albert the Great, who turns you into nyctalopic you see at night and at night you see the show (he must drink the drops, the broth is filthy). We obtain the same effect by boiling the right eye of a hedgehog in a large bath of oil, once the mixture is cooled bravely swallows it all and suddenly it's day night! In terms of scorpion stings just sit on a donkey, face to face tail, believe me the pain leaves the man and goes straight into the beast. All you need is a donkey cooperative handy. In this day and age this should not be harder to find a scorpion. Lu
chronicle Vialatte on the death of Jean Paulhan, so moving for a bit we weep.
The Nazis were very fond of animals that did not prevent them to kill all the dogs too white German Shepherd who came before them not kicked. The white German shepherd dog was too white to be German, too white for the Nazis, too white to hope barking at the foot of the towers! So after the tumult white German Shepherd has been surviving Swiss! He reappeared Swiss! White, milky, magnificent, and Swiss! Although rare it is sometimes the guy is a balanced and cautious dog, distinguished even when it's small begonias need about the neighbor. In short a beautiful dog away from his cousin bastardized German ... Tomorrow we will discuss the Czechoslovakian wolf dog, the dog-resistant.
3.
Having traveled a bit, I think my real country is a curved line, a curved line - largely dense - that might be drawn from Bordeaux to Prague, a curve that would pass through Gueret, Lyon, Milan, Venice, Vienna, Budapest ... I am of this curve is more than a country which I do nothing if this is a tense boredom ...
"September ... November ... And precious few "thesis
days I'll Spend With You. Thesis
precious days I'll
Spend With You. "
September 4 .- Rain. Beautiful summer day ending with its advantages and disadvantages: good heat and cool not far off too fast down a sun and a quick night to fall.
Claudio Magris: Danube ... the moment and after a hundred pages it's very good book from a cultivated mind: sebaldien to be honest ... It starts with the sources of the Danube, so the sources of Danube! The two sources of the Danube! A simple tap or a wet meadow that self moisture feeds?! The two hypothetical sources are separated by a few kilometers and it is unclear which of the pre-or tap a source first.
Further magnifying the Danube in Sigmaringen you end up with Celine, with Lucette, with Bebert and Le Vigan ... Beautiful pages on the cracked Meudon incapable of feeling the concrete humanity of people he does not know directly. Celine struggling against abstractions, cliches of bladder; boxer to lose to want what comes out finally as himself. Celine forgotten human solidarity and compassion finally fevered shopkeeper himself. At Sigmaringen he has few bursts of humanity, but it often remains mesmerized by his ego and his ego is hell, hell under the rubble believe me! And Celine his shop inside his mouth and his hatred of the employee's word and function: an insult! While Pessoa, Kafka, Svevo, Walser ... Celine and Sigmaringen
Leaving behind him then turned Magris Neweklowsky Ernst, an engineer author of a treatise on the Danube Therefore, navigation and rafting on the Upper Danube : 2146 pages, five nine hundred pounds! A nice sum over 659 km between the tributary with the Iller and Vienna! It includes everything: the history of navigation since pre-Roman times, routes, the shape of boats, the characteristics and differences of the various tributaries, eddies and shallows, fords and passages, legends and superstitions related to the river, Tolls, poetry, songs, novels ... trips sovereigns, weather changes, wind, unforeseen accidents, the list of woes, non-fatal suicides and murders. Neweklowsky even mentions the penalty for the ship's cook who put too much salt in the soup! In short the work of a life here perfectly described by Magris. Strongly on!
September 5 .- Rain. Day Soft. Magris and the Danube, very well. Swabia this southern Germany. Mengele and evil, stupidity of Mengele. Regensburg ...
September 10 .- Time mixed. Chilly Cloudy. Later, a little warm on the cool laid. Magris and Danube. Mauthausen. Adorno error since there Primo Levi, (more ...) There are also Rudolf Höss and his autobiography, Commandant at Auschwitz , "narrative is objective, impartial" and I guess far more terrifying ... Stifter writer discovered; in one of his books The village heath humans seem relegated to the rank of objects, passive and dead things, to find themselves beyond the personal "in harmony with the mysterious being of inscrutable life "Cowper Powys rode, Cowper Powys is For the record ... there glutinous, I just discovered that Stifter hitherto completely unknown to me personally committed suicide after he cut his throat with a razor, I hope I do 'm not responsible for a bloody death if ... Then there Magris between the groves and meadows surrounding marshy Tulln. It was the area of this great naturalist Konrad Lorenz who was quack without even the Gentiles to see torches that them passing in the background doing the goose step. Distinction between humanist and naturalist: if the humanist is a chauvinist of the human the naturalist himself merely a cold scientific neutrality, sometimes with happiness, but often a false objectivity that sees not make any distinction between the policy of extermination of the Third Reich and the massacres of black rats made by brown rats during their invasion of Europe in the eighteenth century. Vienna
here soon, Magris Kierling it passes in this small village in a room of 187 of the Franz Kafka Hauptstrasse died June 3, 1924. The house is small, there are only two floors in the foyer are plastered various opinions, they know that the chimney passes on the first Monday of each month, it is forbidden chopping wood in the apartments and it is also illegal to carry large trunks down the stairs without written permission. The Archduke Otto
loved the Hotel Sacher to appear naked, wearing only a belt and a sword. Less charming, he would also intrude on horseback in the Jewish mourners. As soon as the slightest amount of anger crowd rightly offended, Archduke ordered the beating to his retinue. In short, Archduke Otto was a good depraved released. All this does not prevent a fall into line once the court reinstated there sheep in the flock, and powdered neutral, could be heard bleating.
September 12 .- Wind. Sun fleeing, I spent my day at the "stalk", because if the season is that it is there is still unacceptably low and therefore almost always hidden under a roof or under a tree.
Magris and Danube. Finally, it is not dwelled too much on Vienna (in every way does not cross the Danube, Vienna is truly built to oppose the flood of a river which it considers as an enemy). Dézinguage of Viennese Actionists "Iconoclasts classified as those students who become notaries bawdy "Magris saves Konrad Bayer (a true poet) Otherwise, the orgiaco-cybernético-clown is not worth much. Portrait of Sissi Empress somewhat zany as his cousin, Louis II, Sissi who wrote poems sometimes melodious, sometimes clumsy she was hiding and would consider entrusting anyone. Sissi androgynous and Republican ... And finally if Sissy was not so small, but real character of literary history? For the rest Freud, Joseph Roth, the Anschluss ...
September 18 .- Quasi freshness. Cold interferes, the cold is insidious.
I work because if I was not working I could not eat. I eat because if I did not eat I could not live. I live because I did not live so I would definitely not alive. The key is to find and feel pleasure in all this (including the difficulties of pleasure).
Magris, Danube ... Magris and Hungary ... The Pannonian this mosaic of peoples between Zagreb and Budapest. This plain made of dust, swamps, rotting leaves and bloody footprints, it is still Europe, but the east is lurking ... Miroslav Krleža the great writer of these places, it is Croatian in fact, but mostly Pannonian, Pannonian and mitteleuropéen ... Then
Budapest most beautiful city on the Danube. If imitation of Paris Haussmann Vienna, Budapest mimics the imitation (mimesis of mimesis) with a Platonic sense of poetry, his landscapes, urban planning, buildings suggest more than art, a sense of art. To be passed some weeks ago by Budapest I confirm the intuitions of Magris, it is a fictional city and floating, with a decrepit charm that seems to have accelerated since the melting of blocks (the Magris Danube in 1986, When he was still an issue block and freezing).
September 19 .- Rain. Cold interiors. Searched the sun to find it really might have been that I venture into the field.
Magris, Danube . Banat German planted this land almost in a beautiful blur between Serbia, Hungary and Romania. More precisely and more than German land with Swabian capital city Timisoara .. The Banat Germans were severely abused in the immediate postwar collectively deported to Russia. Everything is told in a novel by Arnold Hauser: The problem report Joseph Buhlmamn (Banat is a land of writers, like other land fuzzy: Bukovina ...)
The Romanian-German lives in a state of disorientation, of duality and identity crisis. Yet when he chose exile and managed to emigrate to Germany he finds himself in a country so different from his that he feels so dull that nostalgia is also the real Germany, she stayed there between Danube and the Carpathians ... As Rolf Bossert, Romanian-German poet, free, exile and committed suicide soon (never forget that Magris wrote it all in 1986, the blocks are not yet thawed). Read: Lowlands Hermann Muller (Bernhard, Handke, Innerhofer ...) then a little away Magris Danube to locate other German speaking them, in Transylvania in Kronstadt (Brasov).
September 21. Freshness morning. Hidden sun. Magris, Danube. Celan and Czernowitz, capital of Czernowitz in Bukovina, a Babel that no longer exists ... Celan expressed the truth of the disappearance of his death and silence that is around. Celan and the Holocaust, Celan at the edge of silence, defeated, giving up, disappearing into the waters of the Seine, where he finds a death he had sought: "I am the light behind me."
Another fluctuating Bucovina Robert Flinker, a psychiatrist and writer more Kafkaesque than my left hand, writer - German - novels foggy or obscure offenses are tried in courts mysterious enigmatic at trial. Flinker despite its disturbing and original taste of home that Franz left behind. Flinker who was Jewish and had lived in hiding during the Nazi occupation, and once free he committed suicide in 1945, not by fear of Stalinism, but rather by love
"When you are tired of life, we choose to release them until unconscious and indirect means, such as heart attacks or cancer. So why not a heartache? Unable to proceed immediately to act and commit suicide immediately identified with the freedom Stalin Flinker may have needed an intermediary and thus he found any girl who is capable of give the boost it needed "
September 25 .- Rain. Autumn is passed over the summer. Magris, Danube. Bulgaria-Romania, this little Dodge Vienna, its ocher houses, large parks, boulevards Hausmann, even the imitation of an imitation ... Dodge City of Elias Canetti (read his auto-da-Fé). Then Bucharest "Paris of the Balkans" ... Bucharest market Lipscani: pastries smelly and bras that seem to function. Cioran the prodigal son in this market ... Bucharest and other writers that Caragiale Labiche Romanian Ionesco keatonien his face is his masterpiece, and then all the rest Dada: Tristan Tzara, of course, but also the suicide Urmuz, Virgil Teodorescu, who wrote in a language he had invented leopard "Sobros Algoa Doovy Fourod Woo Oon Toe Negaru ..."
Magris Ceausescu meeting.
Tomorrow is the delta, the book is finished I will be commencing the new Houellebecq, the sequence may be tough.
September 26 .- Time gray, almost cold. Magris, Danube. Romania, Bucharest and Elias Canetti ... "Hiroshima" the neighborhood that Ceausescu had shaved for better build his palace. Braila and Panait Istrate, the "Gorky of the Balkans" and the Danube Delta, the end; Selina to the book is finished, it was very good. I do not know if it's a bad sign, but I fell asleep four After the first five pages of the new Houellebecq. It speaks of a dark history of plumbing - certainly exciting - but that does not stop me to find myself engrossed in my sofa and in such a hypnagogic state that I have thought three times pass away.
(The Danube by Claudio Magris also starts with a dark history of plumbing ... then ...)
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