Reading ...

Its really hot. Really really hot. Fairly everyone is feeling a bit sick and the weather-peeps never say it's 40°C outside, they always say it's 39 :))) (Hint: it's forty plus.) That's the magical limit for people being able to refuse to work if their conditions aren't met with humane temperatures. But anyways. 'Tis certainly the season to read a lot. I've gotten myself into another debate about North Korea, under the CNN reportage that, again, seemed retarded crap to me. I used longer words, but responses have been hitting me ever since. Sorry, there is no force in the world that will convince me that because a country is poor, it is evil. I've gotten into this shitty discussion too many times.

Imagine though - imagine those poor bastards suddenly got their censorship lifted and they could tune into our regular cable. Expecting preparation for invasions and Sodoma and Gomora everywhere, as they've been told the rest of the world is, these are the shows they would be hit with: some dude fishing, a bunch of weird dudes fixing cars and bikes, how golf balls/icecream/keyboards are made, a couple of dudes cooking. A guy talking to dogs. Who's the next top model or singing/dancing talent. Geordi shore.

Suddenly Kim Jong-un wouldn't seem so weird anymore.

Meanwhile.
Reading, reading, reading. How I love to do that. Even more than write, oddly enough. Or perhaps the exact same. Most of the time I suspect i love to write stuff just so that i can read it later. :D
That's actually like kissing and sex. I like my kissing very soft, very fleshy, lenghtily, lots of different moves, very tender touching during. I could do it for hours. (Even though the moustache on my habibsy kind of feels like barbed wire after a while.) Sex, though, I like angry, violent, overwhelming and dissarming. Almost on the verge of dangerous. Which one do I like better? Come on. No such thing as an answer to that.

Kershaw's Hitler is slow going since we've gotten to his post-coup era. Many names, many long speeches and bloated propaganda. It's lame going and all the while you think this could still go wrong - he could still fuck up beyond salvation and just trickle into oblivium. Alas, For reasons uncomprehendable, he just keeps coming out on top.

The Memoirs of my Meloncholy Whores actually ended on a positive note! (Yes, I actually read it to the end. Second book this year!) Although the ancient dude and his teenage love never actually meet, as they are never awake at the same time, it's indeed a passionate love affair and an amazing book. For such a small volume, it fills you up like a truck-full of hot soda.

I've switched to Walt Whitman's Blades of Grass after it, because it felt similar and I wanted to continue in the tone. It's a lot sadder, for sure, but rich the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Tenderly will I use you curling grass,

It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,

It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,

It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers’ laps,

And here you are the mothers’ laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,

Darker than the colorless beards of old men

I'm thinking love isn't a very popular notion at this point. It's something shamefull to say you love someone. (Unless it's mum and dad or kids or spouse or puppy. On, in some regions, politicians or religious icons.) It feels like you're posing. I've oft seen Arab men hold hands when they walk. You'd probably be spat on if you did that here. For two men to love one another, everyone would instantly connect that to frustrated sexual inadequacy. Still. Surely several men must have loved one another, without wanting to take one another's clothes or wigs off? That is such a lovely emotion, but somehow we've managed to make it so dirty. 

Dad still cuts articles from newspapers out for me and he cut me a piece about two old men fighting over their supremacy in the philosophical arenas: N. Chomsky, the self proclaimed greatest philosopher of our time, and S. Žižek, the Elvis of philosophers of any time. They're a pair of old hens and that's how they bicker. Chomsky picked up on the negative press that Žižek is a poser and a left-party fashist and Žižek replied that the next time Chomsky writes a disertation saying the Kmer Rouche didn't seem to be such bad fellas (he didn't catch the part where they tortured and murdered a few million innocent people), he should probably invoke some wit, if he has any. One is dull and the other is too pompous. ah, philosophy. How I enjoy thee.