Red Circle Bullseye Ringworm Dog

Crocodile (2)

Lanzmann already had remembered the excitement. I can not ultimately a better description: a tangibility of the moment combined with the rapid heartbeat. Everything points to itself, becomes more marked and expressive, you feel suddenly multiplied by two or three. I have already spoken: it happens, that's about all. I could tell how much less it falls in, and how it rocked back in their place as the snow on these skits embedded in plastic balls, or what then keeps track of a moment so fleeting. It is perhaps time that these tips apply only to themselves and which we can never say much. Only other comparable moments can sear the content: the aristocrats, the minutes of the same world. In this same way elitist, that Lanzmann's text echoes the most moving, the more foolish I have ever read, where I see a sense of similar nature, and crazy text that haunts me ever since I discovered many years ago.

--- "That's when the road came to a high corner, and suddenly a vast panorama met my eyes down. There was the dense landscape which covered an entire slope, the stone houses are identical, pretty green booths and others, probably new, forming a separate group, perhaps more severe and not yet painted, but the network apparently orderly winding wire that separated the inner different areas and, somewhat later, drowned in mist, the mass of trees without leaves at this time. I do not know what was expected there, near a building, all Muslims bare, there were dignitaries who marched to and fro, and if I could see, but yes, I immediately recognized their stools and their quick action: hairdressers - and therefore, they waited to show the shower and admission to the camp. But further inside, the distant cobbled streets of the camp were full of animation, we hurried, we sped softly, we passed the time - aboriginal, sickly, dignitaries, storekeepers, happy elected interior commandos came and went, carried out their daily tasks. Here and there, mingled with suspicious smoke fumes friendly, a familiar knock came up to me gently, like the sound of bells in dreams and my eyes fell upon the procession browser carriers with bars on their shoulders, they were falling under the weight of steaming pots and hanging on the bars, to smell sour, I recognized from a distance, no doubt, turnip soup. It was a pity, because this show, this stock did rise in my chest, however, already feeling stiff with increasing waves managed to squeeze a few drops of warmer My eyes have dried in the damp cold that bathed my face. And despite the reflection, reason, discernment, common sense, I could not ignore the voice of a dull sort of desire that had crept into me, as if ashamed of being so foolish, and yet more more stubborn: I'd like to live a little longer in this beautiful concentration camp. "

( Imre Kertész - Fateless)

--- The sentence out of context lends itself to many interpretations. Subtract the adjective: this could simply dying young want to live, "the camp" as elsewhere, but "live a little." Only now, it is "beautiful" this camp, the reader has no choice but to believe. It is beautiful to all its familiarity lively, beautiful in spite of common sense. All these elements put together, and forest landscape, huts, stools hairdressers, scents and murmurs of unrest banal, barbed wire which the need is clear, clever, clear ... must be met for this sudden rise and the breasts that something insane burst forth, that relates to life - what else?

I feel that this movement negates the distance between oneself and what is not so. It is through the abolition of otherness that such a feeling is possible. Others did not perceive this. I read here example: "How can a human being can be well pleased with his, his own life, her own identity without going crazy?" I tell myself that this young man did not deliberately taken the distance but that distance has imposed itself, in all sincerity. " And that statement seems a mistake. Being that we have stripped of his identity, without destiny to Strictly speaking, out of everything and the time, saw only the present moment: no distance, from whatever angle you look at it, here is possible, nor would tolerable, we would die of fright ;! I take this strange paradox of being dispossessed himself favors glare. How terrible price in this case.