One has just been sent out as a biblical dove, has found nothing green, and slips back
into the darkness of the ark -- Kafka

Monday, October 3, 2016

Pelevin's "Buddha's Little Finger" (AKA: ...)

Not "settling in" as easily as I did with Omon Ra. Certainly part of my fault and part of my hectic life. Still, I'm enjoying it (e.g. Arnold Schwartzenegger and Just/Simply Maria) ; let's see where it ends up. Probably taking on Sorokin next.



     A crowd of boys was swarming around the vehicle, some of them with sledges, others on skates; the thought automatically came to mind that while the idiot adults were busy trying to rearrange a world which they had invented for themselves, the children were still living in reality -- among mountains of snow and sunlight, on the black mirrors of frozen ponds and in the mystic night silence of icy yards. And although these children were also infected with the bacillus of insanity that had invaded Russia -- this was obvious enough from the way in which they looked at Chapaev's sabre and my Mauser -- their clear eyes still shone with the memory of something which I had long ago forgotten; perhaps it was some unconscious reminiscence of the great source of all existence from which they had not yet been too far distanced in their descent into this life of shame and desolation.
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