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Re: Bleak

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  • Trinidad Cruz
    You know Bill, there is a certain kind of accuracy in calling the perpetrators of our present culture the post-modernists , though I m not really sure that we
    Message 1 of 2 , Feb 25, 2007
      You know Bill, there is a certain kind of accuracy in calling the
      perpetrators of our present culture the "post-modernists", though I'm
      not really sure that we know if they are going to turn out to measure
      up to the assessment. They are simply too socially conservative, and
      actually almost divested of humanism or naturalism in any sense other
      than the power of name and money. I remember Saul Bellow trying to
      glue pieces of this strange historicity of the ideal of the individual
      into some cohesive picture of the state of modern literature. Tending
      toward a rather post-modern view myself, I could not entirely embrace
      it; but I have come to own one perception of it above the whole
      presentation: we are essentially in an apocalyptic age at least in the
      case of literature, the arts, the media, and so forth. The ordinary
      individual is in one way or another, peeking at the horizon and
      preparing to cover his head. This has had an effect of producing a lot
      of a kind of art in denial; a dehumanized expression of future; and an
      ordinary individual hungry for any edge at survival. In a certain
      sense this apocalyptic view has blotted out any realization that it is
      always an apocalyptic age for our species, evolved as we are toward a
      chance meandering through a fabric of simultaneous expression and
      repression. It is an apocalypse to be a human, but to look for one or
      the other is to find neither, much as Eliot rather than Bellow
      assessed Conrad, they must be expected together just as they are
      expressed and repressed. If we have failed to find meaning and fail to
      make an attempt to assure a future as a species; it is only because we
      have not yet recognized ourselves as an apocalypse. It throws off the

      In any case I owe a debt to Iowa for taking the teeth out of the
      storm. It snowed and blustered about eight inches, all around Lake
      Geneva, but by Sunday mid-morning it was rain and thawing and now at
      midnight the flag across the street is hanging limp. Weather gets
      worse, then better, then worse, then betterÂ…

      Most people around here just want to go to work tomorrow. If something
      goes terribly wrong they'll wait for another day. Eventually we all
      run out of those, but no one wants to get worked up about it. Too much
      to do to survive with any comfort.

      There you have it.


      --- In existlist@yahoogroups.com, "bhvwd" <v.valleywestdental@...> wrote:
      > Eight hours of freezing rain yesterday followed by eight inches of wet
      > snow. Then the power went out. We had a good lantern with a big supply
      > of batteries. At sundown the east lit up with a weird yellow light and
      > it stayed light until the lights went out at ten o'clock. Big black
      > out with no lights or phone or heat. It seemed apocalyptic. I worried
      > we had suffered a thermonuclear burst. then the weird light dimmed and
      > the power came back on at past midnight. Many of the trees are broken
      > and it takes an SUV to get around. It just started snowing again.
      > Priscilla got us videos of several of the Oscar nominated movies. We
      > plan to enjoy the Oscars if the power stays on. This has been a long
      > siege of real bad winter. It is snowing sideways now and Priscilla has
      > stopped raving and is enjoying Jack Nicholson beat the hell out of
      > some mobsters. I think I will have some tea and pet the cat. People are
      > in a sort of Zombie mode. All this is headed for Chicago. The wrestlers
      > are stuck here from the state tournament. They usually tear up hotels,
      > this could be a record year for the little vandals. And the cops are
      > in an especially rare mood. It is a stretched existance in the middle
      > of nowhere. Just white all the way to the pole. Bill
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