I hadn’t conceived even one good, sound idea, like his idea of getting himself bumped off … That idea was bigger than my big head, bigger than all the fear that was in it, a fine, a magnificent idea to die with . . . How many lives would I need to make myself an idea more powerful than anything in the world? No saying. A flop! My ideas went rattling around in my head with lots of space between them. They were like faint, flickering little candles, trembling throughout a lifetime in the middle of a ghostly, abominable universe.
our period is obsessed by the desire to forget, and
it is to fulfill that desire that it gives over to the
demon of speed; it picks up the pace to show us
that it no longer wishes to be remembered; that it
is tired of itself; sick of itself; that it wants to blow
out the tiny trembling flame of memory.
# 22 Die Blechtromme (The Tin Drum), G. Grass, 1959.
The list so far:
Simply put, that’s hell of a novel!
But musical notation seems to offer so much less opportunity than does English for befuddlement over analyticity that some philosophers might do well to stop writing and start composing.
Here’s a short fiction work for the Future of Copyright Contest. It has to be published on the net so here it is, on a CC license. The whole idea of this blog is closely tied to the copyright problems (as in ‘about’ page) , so we had to take part. This here is a classic dystopian story with a post-ironic touch. Precisely 15,000 characters. Enjoy.
Any man that doesn’t have those loner vibes just doesn’t come off as having any substance.