Heaven

Laszlo, this is heaven

Definition of nuts: anyone who thinks there’s anything better to read on a plane or a rainy day than The New Yorker magazine. Other maybe than some novels. I like Heinrich Böll, have read lots, maybe all his short stories, IDK, am contemplating whether to order a seventy-nine cent copy of The Silent Angel through Amazon. Only problem with a free book or a penny book is the $3.99 shipping.

Clearing the computer desktop somewhat this morning. Many icons I seldom or never open but don’t want to trash so tuck them away in files. In a hundred years someone opening this computer may wonder, “Who was twellerpc and why was s/he saving ‘I don’t need anything here’ by Laszlo someone unpronounceable, and Garth Brooks ‘The Dance’ and this rubbish about somebody named Werckmeister and a dear and nostalgic 1950 visit with Ernest Hemingway by Lillian Ross (1918-2017) https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/1950/05/13/how-do-you-like-it-now-gentlemen (that reminds me of Tassy’s cat), and something called ‘Elevator Pitches’ https://www.newyorker.com/books/flash-fiction/elevator-pitches why did s/he save this stuff and more and more and more?” 

From “Elevator Pitches” I liked this set, especially the first one, except instead of a lawsuit there should be a capital criminal trial and we all should be executed if anyone will sell the drugs for it, but if they do there won’t be anyone in the future to take the time machines back to sue us: 

“It’s called “Objection!” Lawyers from an enlightened future arrive in time machines, to sue us for being assholes. The judge is played by Sandra Bernhard.

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“An elevator appears where there never was an elevator before. The doors never open. Some people start a religion based on what might be inside the elevator. Others just take the stairs."

As for “I Don’t Need Anything Here,” not quite ready to tuck this one away yet, because of all there is here I do need those beloved, and also because Laszlo’s conclusion is wishful thinking born of fear: 

“I would leave everything here: the valleys, the hills, the paths, and the jaybirds from the gardens, I would leave here the petcocks and the padres, heaven and earth, spring and fall, I would leave here the exit routes, the evenings in the kitchen, the last amorous gaze, and all of the city-bound directions that make you shudder, I would leave here the thick twilight falling upon the land, gravity, hope, enchantment, and tranquillity, I would leave here those beloved and those close to me, everything that touched me, everything that shocked me, fascinated and uplifted me, I would leave here the noble, the benevolent, the pleasant, and the demonically beautiful, I would leave here the budding sprout, every birth and existence, I would leave here incantation, enigma, distances, inexhaustibility, and the intoxication of eternity; for here I would leave this earth and these stars, because I would take nothing with me from here, because I’ve looked into what’s coming, and I don’t need anything from here. (László Krasznahorkai)

DThos+