Sorry to disappoint you mates but this time it ain't about sex or tits or politics or ha ha ha or any other random rambling thoughts. It's about that most difficult human endeavour: litterature. (With "ou" and double t, as those bloody Brits favour it)
I'm still reading Thinks..., David Lodge's novel, and feel more and more enthralled by it. I'm right now at that e-mail epistolary novel, a convolute, tongue-in-cheek pastiche that somehow manages to keep all those delicious quid pro quo's and other rhetorical mischievous subtleties of the 18th century original epistolary style. Liasons Dangereuses meets Linux and cognitive psychology. I can almost see John Maltcovitch dueling himself to death in the pristine snow, claiming his desperate passions in sharp, clear Pascal. Or convoluted Java lines. Hidden headers included.
LOL
I'm reading it and fully enjoying it, mates!
Ceea ce va doresc shi domniilor dumneavoastra, in aceste ultime clipe de vacantza, in care orele ishi horcaie destinul si implacabila zi de luni it's so fucking close.
Aux livres, citoyens!
Situația la zi, luni, 23dec
Acum 2 ore
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