A boy washed his hands and face
every day with pleasure and grin
until his ears grew very big
and his skin became very thin.
- Do you believe me?
His mother shouted: "That's enough!"
But, he had extremely strong will;
He washed his face every day
until he suddenly became ill.
- Do you believe me?
An old, strict doctore came
and said:
- It's not a game--
he and water have to sever.
I forbid him to wash his face ever!
- Do you believe me?
Duan Radovi
We brushed hands in the British Library, then again in the London Review Bookshop, reaching for Cold River . . . DO YOU BELIEVE ME
Art of Living & Literature Across Frontiers: You Were My Death
A moment ago sometime in October dusk began to spread its grammar across the Sydney Harbour. It embraces the region of the existential WHY? Why do loyalty and love turn into a diminished bubble? Crowds of people, like a rivers, flowing in Sydney Harbour Bridge ...
If I would fly to New York, I wouldn't do it by my own Learjet, but probably by some chartered flight (payable by six post-dated Zagrebacka banka checks), a ten days round trip. Ten days is enough time for an agile man to find some vantage points in an alien town. The first thing to do is try to sell the return ticket, paint the town red, and after that, make sure that you are left with at least a quarter. Why? To enter a phone booth and call Mile Rupcic in New York. Our man would surely find me a job to start.
In two or three months, I would earn some dough, quit the job, and be ready to start looking for a chick... Man has one mind, not two – well, one for home, and another for the market.
• Our honeymoon is over soon. We still get along reasonably well. I read, but I don't study. In fact, I write a novel about New York... With Changing Key [Region where my auntie Zofka married and gave birth to four Slav French offsprings Champagne: It's the bubbles, baby ; Anthony Powell showed us a social system that was cruel, but could also create elaborate patterns of beauty, charm, and power. His was a poetry of life itself... Anthony Powell's Century ]
• · 'It no longer feels a great injustice that I have to die' ; I have always dreamt of a white wedding ... Plural marriage is waiting in the wings Here Come the Brides ; No Strings Attached I’m here for a shag, of course! Women discover lesbian pleasures but say no to relationships
• · · Selfhood, of course, is the oxygen of autobiography, never more so than in its depictions of childhood Sexual glutton and a slut for selfhood; Lonely-hearts ads in the London Review of Books have a cult following. So when the journal advertised its singles night, the author felt compelled to attend Off the shelf
• · · · It may seem like an innocuous wardrobe staple, but the humble T-shirt has a very dodgy history. Time to get shirty Down to a T ; There are oases of comedy, Woody Allen tells Emma Brockes, but when it's all over, the news is bad Emma Brockes interview with Woody Allen
• · · · · From sperm to zygote to fetus to baby, isn't it time we brought some precision to the language of the reproductive rights debate? The Pro-Life Continuum; Case for storytelling,
• · · · · · Mass culture is dead. Dazed by cable, bled dry by the web, eaten by iPods. Culture, you see, is being boutiqued... Mass media's last blast ; The university was transformed by the sexual revolution of the 1960s. It gave us casual, pleasure-seeking sex, free of family, even free of affection. It’s Charlotte Simmons Love in the Age of Neuroscience
