Só neste país da treta, com um jornalismo da treta, é possível a um gajo desses exercer crítica literária. A coisa só me parece ter uma explicação: quem o contrata como "crítico literário" é ainda mais ignorante que ele - que se limita a exercer o chico-espertismo próprio da escola socratista a que pertence.
"As the world might look at it I suppose I was a better man. Bad as that sounds to say. Bad as that is to say. That has got to of been hard to live with. Let alone his daddy. He would never of made a lawman. He went to college I think two years but he never did finish. I've thought about him a lot less than I should of and I know that aint right neither. I had two dreams about him after he died. I dont remember the first one all that well but it was about meetin him in town somewheres and he give me some money and I think I lost it. But the second one it was like we was both back in older times and I was on horseback goin through the mountains of a night. Goin through this pass in the mountains. It was cold and there was snow on the ground and he rode past me and kept on goin. Never said nothin. He just rode on past and he had this blanket wrapped around him and he had his head down and when he rode past I seen he was carryin fire in a horn the way people used to do and I could see the horn from the light inside of it. About the color of the moon. And in the dream I knew that he was goin on ahead and that he was fixin to make afire somewhere out there in all that dark and all that cold and I knew that whenever I got there he would be there. And then I woke up."
Um horror de violência (americanos, logo, violência, percebe-se o silogismo primário europénne) e a parábola é um conceito complicado e nem há palavras para classificar os "preciosismos barrocos" deste pequeno extracto. Será melhor que se fique pelos queridos europeus, se os americanos são aquele conceito vago de brutos e estúpidos que nem têm nada que se possa chamar cultura a não ser a cultura do fast-food e do business etc. porquê dar-se ao trabalho de fazer crítica a livros desse povo de gordos, religiosos, armados e que votam em republicanos (que horror). Não se percebe. Merkwürdig
2 comentários:
Só neste país da treta, com um jornalismo da treta, é possível a um gajo desses exercer crítica literária.
A coisa só me parece ter uma explicação: quem o contrata como "crítico literário" é ainda mais ignorante que ele - que se limita a exercer o chico-espertismo próprio da escola socratista a que pertence.
"As the world might look at it I suppose I was a better man. Bad as that sounds to say. Bad as that is to say. That has got to of been hard to live with. Let alone his daddy. He would never of made a lawman. He went to college I think two years but he never did finish. I've thought about him a lot less
than I should of and I know that aint right neither. I had two dreams about him after he died. I
dont remember the first one all that well but it was about meetin him in town somewheres and he give me some money and I think I lost it. But the second one it was like we was both back in older times and I was on horseback goin through the mountains of a night. Goin through this pass in the mountains. It was cold and there was snow on the ground and he rode past me and kept on goin. Never said nothin. He just rode on past and he had this blanket wrapped
around him and he had his head down and when he rode past I seen he was carryin fire in a horn the way people used to do and I could see the horn from the light inside of it. About the color of the moon. And in the dream I knew that he was goin on ahead and that he was fixin to make afire somewhere out there in all that dark and all that cold and I knew that whenever I got there he would be there. And then I woke up."
Um horror de violência (americanos, logo, violência, percebe-se o silogismo primário europénne) e a parábola é um conceito complicado e nem há palavras para classificar os "preciosismos barrocos" deste pequeno extracto. Será melhor que se fique pelos queridos europeus, se os americanos são aquele conceito vago de brutos e estúpidos que nem têm nada que se possa chamar cultura a não ser a cultura do fast-food e do business etc. porquê dar-se ao trabalho de fazer crítica a livros desse povo de gordos, religiosos, armados e que votam em republicanos (que horror). Não se percebe.
Merkwürdig
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