The Crucifixion Considered as an Uphill Bicycle Race

Det der var for postmoderne for tilogmed meg.
Eller kanskje bare meningsløst tull.
Vanskelig å skille.
Jeg skjønner ikke ting som ikke har mening.
Noen ting med mening skjønner jeg heller ikke.
___________
Now I'm breathing the breath of god,
And the cold wind cleans my mind.

Skrevet før det var noe som het post-moderne? I allefall morsomt. Ballard laget en relativt lik en kalt "The Assassination of JFK As a Downhill Motor Race" :) Enormt bra.

_________________
Dra meg i barten!

Så dukket faktisk ordet postmoderne opp første gang i en tekst fra 17 eller 1800 et sted. Uten at det gjør noe til postmoderne.
Men postmodernismen den var tilstede minst fra sekstitallet.

Ballard har jeg ikke lest noe av, det er direkte flaut. Jeg har sterke planer om det, men jeg har ikke kommet så langt.
Ting tar tid you know...
Jeg har store og sterke planer om å begynne med skjønnlitteratur igjen i løpet av høsten... Vi får se hvordan det går ja...

___________
Now I'm breathing the breath of god,
And the cold wind cleans my mind.

Ikke..
Skjønne...
alt???

Det går da ikke an.
Jeg _må_ forstå alt.
Alt har mening, man må bare lete ekstra hardt og skifte perspektiv noen ganger for å få øye på den.
Absurditeter og surr er også basert på en verdensforestilling. Alle handlinger sier noe om den som handler. Tilogmed Izholo er meningsfullt! :P

*fanatisk opptatt av å forstå hver minste ting og alle fenomener*

___________
Now I'm breathing the breath of god,
And the cold wind cleans my mind.

Hvis det er noe jeg ikke skjønner så godtar jeg det. I overført betydning selvsagt. Det kan jo tenkes at hvis man leser Maldoror evt. Tzara mange nok ganger så vil det dukke opp mening der også. Jeg prøver ihvertfall.

Men å skjønne alle ting, det er helt umulig. For meg.

_________________
Dra meg i barten!

Det er helt umulig for alle.
Derfor har jeg gitt opp matematikk. Det er ikke mulig å forstå for meg.
Det er bare vas uten mening. 2+2=4 and so fucking what?
Men en dag skal jeg forstå hva folk ser i kollektivisme, og da vil jeg ha forstått det mest umulige i verden.
___________
Now I'm breathing the breath of god,
And the cold wind cleans my mind.

Enten det eller å forklare hvorfor jeg her en ubendelig trang til å skrive en bondage/slasher/romantisk novellette helt og holdent med reseptlatin. Synd jeg ikke har tid til å sette meg ned med sånne ting lenger.
_________________
Dra meg i barten!

Det kan jeg forstå, men tror jeg bør la være å forklare. :D
___________
Now I'm breathing the breath of god,
And the cold wind cleans my mind.

If my dog had a face like yours I'd shave its ass and teach it to walk backwards...
___________
Now I'm breathing the breath of god,
And the cold wind cleans my mind.

"Barabbas, slated to race, was scratched.

Pilate, the starter, pulling out his clepsydra or water clock, an operation which wet his hands unless he had merely spit on them -- Pilate gave the send-off.

Jesus got away to a good start.

In those days, according to the excellent sports commentator St. Matthew, it was customary to flagellate the sprinters at the start the way a coachman whips his horses. The whip both stimulates and gives a hygienic massage. Jesus, then, got off in good form, but he had a fiat right away. A bed of thorns punctured the whole circumference of his front tire.

Today in the shop windows of bicycle dealers you can see a reproduction of this veritable crown of thorns as an ad for puncture-proof tires. But Jesus's was an ordinary single-tube racing tire.

The two thieves, obviously in cahoots and therefore "thick as thieves," took the lead.

It is not true that there were any nails. The three objects usually shown in the ads belong to a rapid-change tire tool called the "Jiffy."

We had better begin by telling about the spills; but before that the machine itself must be described.

The bicycle frame in use today is of relativelv recent invention. It appeared around 1890. Previous to that time the body of the machine was constructed of two tubes soldered together at right angles. It was generally called the right-angle or cross bicycle. Jesus, after his puncture, climbed the slope on foot, carrying on his shoulder the bike frame, or, if you will, the cross.

Contemporary engravings reproduce this scene from photographs. But it appears that the sport of cycling, as a result of the well known accident which put a grievous end to the Passion race and which was brought up to date almost on its anniversary by the similar accident of Count Zborowski on the Turbie slope -- the sport of cycling was for a time prohibited by state ordinance. That explains why the illustrated magazines, in reproducing this celebrated scene, show bicycles of a rather imaginary design. They confuse the machine's cross frame with that other cross, the straight handlebar. They represent Jesus with his hands spread on the handlebars, and it is worth mentioning in this connection that Jesus rode lying flat on his back in order to reduce his air resistance.

Note also that the frame or cross was made of wood, just as wheels are to this day.

A few people have insinuated falsely that Jesus's machine was a draisienne , an unlikely mount for a hill-climbing contest. According to the old cyclophile hagiographers, St. Briget, St. Gregory of Tours, and St. Irene, the cross was equipped with adevice which they name suppedaneum. There is no need to be a great scholar to translate this as "pedal."

Lipsius, Justinian, Bosius, and Erycius Puteanus describe an other accessory which one still finds, according to Cornelius Curtius in 1643, on Japanese crosses: a protuberance of leather or wood on the shaft which the rider sits astride -- manifestly the seat or saddle.

This general description, furthermore, suits the definition of a bicycle current among the Chinese: "A little mule which is led by the ears and urged along by showering it with kicks."

We shall abridge the story of the race itself, for it has been narrated in detail by specialized works and illustrated by sculpture and painting visible in monuments built to house such art. There are fourteen turns in the difficult Golgotha course. Jesus took his first spill at the third turn. His mother, who was in the stands, became alarmed.

His excellent trainer, Simon the Cyrenian, who but for the thorn accident would have been riding out in front to cut the wind, carried the machine.

Jesus, though carrying nothing, perspired heavily. It is not certain whether a female spectator wiped his brow, but we know that Veronica, a girl reporter, got a good shot of him with her Kodak.

The second spill came at the seventh turn on some slippery pavement. Jesus went down for the third time at the eleventh turn, skidding on a rail.

The Israelite demimondaines waved their handkerchiefs at the eighth.

The deplorable accident familiar to us all took place at the twelfth turn. Jesus was in a dead heat at the time with the thieves. We know that he continued the race airborne -- but that is another story."

A. Jarry

Skulle ønske jeg skjønte fransk :(