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In de zaal hiernaast zag ik dat de National Union Catalogue is afgevoerd. Waarheen? Er vanuit gaande dat ik wel kan bedenken welke halve idioten daar verantwoordelijk voor zijn, denk ik: naar het oud papier.
De misdadige stompzinnigheid van dat soort acties.
Wat ik van dergelijke mensen denk, schrijf ik niet op – althans niet hier.
Als ik de woede buiten beschouwing laat en er dus naar kijk als een soort onbevooroordeelde historicus, kan ik maar een conclusie bedenken: een goed voorbeeld van de universele zelfgenoegzame stompzinnigheid.
Ze zijn van alle tijden en je vindt ze overal. In romans – zoals die van Evelyn Waugh - kan je erom lachen. In de oude Sovjet Unie waren ze altijd heel actief, met het uitgeven van de verzamelde herinneringen van Breznjef bijvoorbeeld. Of het produceren van schoenen van karton. Het bouwen van stinkfabrieken in natuurgebieden. Dat soort mensen.
tenminste als ik de statistieken mag geloven …
vandaag was ik bij mijn vriend Frank Leenhouts – naar mijn smaak een van de grootste kunstenaars van dit land en technisch zonder meer de meest begaafde. Hij gaat een kat voor mij schilderen (ja, een kat en ik verzeker u dat het nog een heel mooi schilderij wordt ook – wat niet eenvoudig is).
Frank is een van de aardigste en origineelste mensen die ik ken en ik ben blij dat ik zijn vriend ben. Hij vertrekt maandag naar Istanbul om op een ijskoud eiland te schilderen en muziek te maken. Hij schildert daar portretten en speelt mee met Turkse orkesten.
at my flickr site I have posted 239 pictures of bird’s heads. They become individuals that way, like humans. This one I consider the friendly neighbour who has always something to say: “well you know she was a witch and an adulterer, don’t you?”
THIS ACADEMY is not an entire single Building, but a Continuation of several Houses on both Sides of a Street; which growing waste, was purchased and applyed to that Use. I was received very kindly by the Warden, and went for many Days to the Academy. Every Room hath in it one or more Projectors; and I believe I could not be in fewer than five Hundred Rooms.
The first Man I saw was of a meager Aspect, with sooty Hands and Face, his Hair and Beard long, ragged and singed in several Places. His Cloathes, Shirt, and Skin were all of the same Colour. He had been Eight Years upon a Project for extracting Sun-Beams out of Cucumbers, which were to be put into Vials hermetically sealed, and let out to warm the Air in raw inclement Summers. He told me he did not doubt in Eight Years more he should be able to supply the Governors Gardens with Sun-shine at a reasonable Rate; but he complained that his stock was low, and intreated me to give him something as an Encouragement to Ingenuity, especially since this had been a very dear Season for Cucumbers. I made him a small Present, for my Lord had furnished me with Money on Purpose, because he knew their Practice of begging from all who go to see them.
I went into another Chamber, but was ready to hasten back, being almost overcome with a horrible Stink. My Conductor pressed me forward, conjuring me in a Whisper to give no Offence, which would be highly resented; and therefore I durst not so much as stop my Nose. The Projector of this Cell was the most ancient Student of the Academy. His Face and Beard were of a pale Yellow; his Hands and Clothes daubed over with Filth. When I was presented to him, he gave me a close Embrace (a Compliment I could well have excused.) His Employment from his first coming into the Academy, was an Operation to reduce human Excrement to its original Food, by separating the several Parts, removing the Tincture which it receives from the Gall, making the Odour exhale, and scumming off the Saliva. He had a weekly Allowance from the Society, of a Vessel filled with human Ordure about the Bigness of a Bristol Barrel.
(Jonathan Swift Gulliver’s travels)
where I want to be
after buying a record of Amy Winehouse I will hum no no no to all that jazz: no, I don’t want 10 systems to clutter my computer and spoil my day.
Automated force-feeding of information will lead to obesitas of the mind. What you get is lots of folks that are half-informed, a disease that should be kept for managers and their kin. Half reading, half digesting and a lot of jabbering as a result. With quite similare geese in the Perigord you can at least eat their livers.
At home I will re-read Faust’s icy comments on his stupid Schuler, a very early case of the ever-optimistic body-snatcher, a species abounding nowadays.
No no no – I won’t do it, thanks.
I like the hebrew language a lot – to old and lazy to learn it myself of course but glad to work next door to the bibliotheca rosenthaliana.
Mr Philipson was born in this, my house. His father was murdered by the nazis in the war. His family spent the war in attics and farms and so on. The house was sold in the war to a Dutch nazi from Katwijk. From time to time I have the urge to look him or his family up. After the war he had to return the house and pay a very very modest sum for occupying it. After the war his mother left with the children for Israel. The survivors were often hated by their gentile neighbours, for surviving and thus making them feel guilty – or just for wanting their furniture back.
His family. They were not beautiful and had some of those characteristics that are quite common among Israelis (very unpolite, rather agressive and suspicious) but well: they are family and they are his. Survivors.
