When I was a teen, I saw the movie (1965 Columbia Pictures), and while at the time I did not get the gist of the story, I remembered enough so that when a used copy of the book fell into my lap, I picked it up with interest.
An immediate aspect of the written story is the complexity of the vocabulary. English was actually Conrad’s third language and he shows off a mastery profoundly more articulate than my peers. While there is little doubt that electronic communications have reduced our society’s articulations to the level of tweets and grunts of the forest, this is still an impressive work if for this reason alone. My vocabulary may be more extensive than most yet I found myself reaching for my dictionary every two or three pages. I was furthermore fascinated with the characters’ conversations, for in marked opposition to contemporary constant shouting competition to shock and awe our colleagues, the meat of their utterances is almost always drowned in delicate, savory sauces to the point where only the most intensive attention can perceive it at all.
Other reviewers make a note that Conrad fractures time as well and tells the tale through the eyes and mouths of several characters at differing occasions. By this artifice no simple, straightforward view of Jim emerges but rather a collage or mural.
Conrad weaves an interesting tale set in the colonial backdrop of the maritime West Indies and old Siam. Basically there are only three or four events to make up the plot and around which to build the character descriptions of the major participants. The central theme of the book is the unveiling of the personality of the central figure, Jim, or Lord Jim.
A quick skim of the predominant critical opinions turns up no mention whatever of what I find to be glaring and fascinating about Jim’s adventures and his approach. Perhaps a recent confrontation with Albert Camus’ scalpel in the hand of the protagonist of “The Fall” affected my point of view. Jim’s abandonment of the pilgrims of the Patna, his heroism and rise to Lordship in the struggle with the hilltop raiders of Patusan, and his final act of contrition, reminded me overmuch of the story of Jesus. It strikes me now as pertinent that both stories are told from a variety of voices, times and points of view.
As Camus abjectly points out, Jesus must have known that He was the sole survivor among his peers of Bethlehem, and might reasonably have carried a terrible psychic burden in a sense of responsibility. Conrad goes into exquisite detail in describing Jim’s similar burden after his inexplicable flight from the Patna. Jesus’ sermon on the mount, his subsequent persuading of the crowds to feed each other with their spare provisions and assorted other miracles and wise teachings, parallel Jim’s fabulous success with the ornamental six-pounders and the element of surprise on the mounts over Patusan. And Jim's adamant refusals to defend and rescue himself from narrow, self-serving accusation is exactly similar to Jesus’ trial and crucifixion.
I come to the end of the book admiring, respecting, honoring, almost loving Jim, notwithstanding all the crowd of deviants, miscreants, and mudfaced maggots who circled about him throughout the book.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Warning
I can't find correct attribution to the bit about the shoeshine boy in 1929.
Street myth, probably.
Anyway, I just went down to the local hardware store to pay off my tab.
The owner (I've been doing business with him for over 20 years, and
he was an old man, then), started to tell me about the Weimar Republic.
He said that Hitler was a smart man and a good orator, until he went
nuts. And he said that soon, we in the good ole USA are going to need
a wheelbarrow full of cash just to buy a loaf of bread.
If there is anyone who actually reads me, and has any respect at all,
lemme tell you now:
Its time to sell. Everything. And go short. Monday morning, first thing,
if you have not done it already.
Street myth, probably.
Anyway, I just went down to the local hardware store to pay off my tab.
The owner (I've been doing business with him for over 20 years, and
he was an old man, then), started to tell me about the Weimar Republic.
He said that Hitler was a smart man and a good orator, until he went
nuts. And he said that soon, we in the good ole USA are going to need
a wheelbarrow full of cash just to buy a loaf of bread.
If there is anyone who actually reads me, and has any respect at all,
lemme tell you now:
Its time to sell. Everything. And go short. Monday morning, first thing,
if you have not done it already.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Craig's List Personals
"Why do all the men here want asian or latin women?"
After having been reading these personal ads for awhile,
I have decided to stay with my cat.
But I think I can take a swipe at your question.
I am going to make a generalization,
so of course there will be exceptions,
but I think that the principle is basically accurate.
Having read a lot of these ads,
from a variety of women,
I find that most of them have a very definite idea of what they want,
and whatever it is, none of them seem very interested
in learning anything new or having any new experience that they have not done before,
and none of them seem very interested in compromising their values, either.
In other words, they seem to approach looking for a man
the same way that they go grocery shopping,
they have a list of items that they expect to get
and they will not deviate from the list.
And this seems to be the fundamental difficulty that our whole society has got itself into.
We believe that we can control reality.
For one thing, we believe that we can control risks and largely avoid any serious problems.
For another, we seem to think that we can control other countries and governments.
For another, we think that our government can control our economy.
In other countries, the people tend to be a little bit wiser,
and they realize that there is very little that they can really control,
so they are more willing to accept conditions that may not be totally to their liking.
This makes all women from all other societies more appealing than american women.
In a word, american women are all bitches. Sorry to be so blunt, but that's how almost all men feel. Sadly, the american men have the same attitude problem.
What happens is that after a little while, the new latin or asian or african woman leaves the man because he won't compromise either.
Let me give you one example.
fat is ugly.
Not only is it ugly, but being fat limits your ability to negotiate through this world.
The fatter you are, the less you can move about and do things.
You can't even make love with any authority, all you can do is lie there.
However, obesity is getting more and more common among american men and women.
And all the fat americans take the attitude that if others don't like it, they can stuff it.
That we ought to love fat people. that you can't help it.
None are willing to make any sacrifices, even though it would make your own lives much happier and more successful. All it takes is to close the mought for awhile and suffer
the pangs of hunger now and then. Its not difficult.
Another example.
I ride the train to work.
Usually it is on time but occasionally it can be a half hour or more late,
and once in awhile it gets canceled completely.
This morning, there were two inches of snow and slush on the ground.
The man standing next to me on the platform, besides being fat,
was wearing sandals. Bare toes in the snow.
I suppose that he thought that the weather ought to have more respect for his wants and needs.
does this help any?
-chiz
After having been reading these personal ads for awhile,
I have decided to stay with my cat.
But I think I can take a swipe at your question.
I am going to make a generalization,
so of course there will be exceptions,
but I think that the principle is basically accurate.
Having read a lot of these ads,
from a variety of women,
I find that most of them have a very definite idea of what they want,
and whatever it is, none of them seem very interested
in learning anything new or having any new experience that they have not done before,
and none of them seem very interested in compromising their values, either.
In other words, they seem to approach looking for a man
the same way that they go grocery shopping,
they have a list of items that they expect to get
and they will not deviate from the list.
And this seems to be the fundamental difficulty that our whole society has got itself into.
We believe that we can control reality.
For one thing, we believe that we can control risks and largely avoid any serious problems.
For another, we seem to think that we can control other countries and governments.
For another, we think that our government can control our economy.
In other countries, the people tend to be a little bit wiser,
and they realize that there is very little that they can really control,
so they are more willing to accept conditions that may not be totally to their liking.
This makes all women from all other societies more appealing than american women.
In a word, american women are all bitches. Sorry to be so blunt, but that's how almost all men feel. Sadly, the american men have the same attitude problem.
What happens is that after a little while, the new latin or asian or african woman leaves the man because he won't compromise either.
Let me give you one example.
fat is ugly.
Not only is it ugly, but being fat limits your ability to negotiate through this world.
The fatter you are, the less you can move about and do things.
You can't even make love with any authority, all you can do is lie there.
However, obesity is getting more and more common among american men and women.
And all the fat americans take the attitude that if others don't like it, they can stuff it.
That we ought to love fat people. that you can't help it.
None are willing to make any sacrifices, even though it would make your own lives much happier and more successful. All it takes is to close the mought for awhile and suffer
the pangs of hunger now and then. Its not difficult.
Another example.
I ride the train to work.
Usually it is on time but occasionally it can be a half hour or more late,
and once in awhile it gets canceled completely.
This morning, there were two inches of snow and slush on the ground.
The man standing next to me on the platform, besides being fat,
was wearing sandals. Bare toes in the snow.
I suppose that he thought that the weather ought to have more respect for his wants and needs.
does this help any?
-chiz
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Cathartic Release
I was at that age where the dreams of a successful career and a warm, loving family were slightly tarnished but still very much alive. Recently I had begun my second professional job. It had taken a few years of labor to recover from the disastrous first. I was still enjoying the taste of such fruits as paid holidays, sick leave and health benefits.
One workday found me crunched in my chair, cramped in my stomach. Though commuting my ten miles by bike could sometimes be a tad inconvenient, this was more than that. I took the liberty of reporting my malaise and then walking the half-block to my HMO.
It was a slow day at the clinic; the waiting room was empty. A secretary took my health card and then explained to me that their system was to initially assign an assistant “health practitioner”, more than a nurse but less than a doctor, to make an initial assessment. I guess I waited a few minutes before a woman not much older than myself, dressed in a lab coat, came for me and brought me back to a dimly-lit examining room.
After checking vital signs, the woman instructed me to remove my shirt, loosen my belt, and lie down on one of those examining table thingies with the crinkly paper. My cramps were coming and going, here and there in my belly. She began to massage my abdomen expertly with her strong hands. Lying there under someone else’s control, I began to have a little sense come into me about my situation. More than likely, there were some serious bubbles of gas tying up my intestines. As she deftly moved things about, they made a few gurgling sounds.
Gradually, I became even more aware, somewhat the way someone wakes up in the morning on a Saturday, when there are no pressing responsibilities for getting up and the cheerful sunlight is streaming through the curtains. The woman’s firm, friendly hands were ever-so-slightly suggestive. The fact that I had hardly seen anyone else, either staff or patient, in the facility, added to the sense of protection and opportunity.
Most unfortunately, another though intruded upon our secluded solitude. I realized that she cared about me and she wanted very much to help me to feel better, physically. She wanted to bring me a release and relaxation. And this was more than a little bit tempting. However, if she kept on kneading me the way she was, there was a strong and growing possibility that we would both be confronted with a noisy, fragrant, and utterly natural bodily event, quite different than the one she appeared to me to be aiming for. It started to trouble me a great deal that the direction she was taking us in would more than likely end in a culmination which, unfortunately, I would find totally embarrassing and utterly without conjugal merit. I began in fact, sweating, shaking, and praying to God that I not make a total fool of myself.
At my tender age, I forced myself to lie in order to extract myself from impending delight, and disappoint her with my coldness and lack of receptivity. All in all, an utterly unhappy outcome of the situation. I told her I was feeling better and I needed to get back to work. Kinda ruined everything. For a long, long, long, long, long, long time ….
One workday found me crunched in my chair, cramped in my stomach. Though commuting my ten miles by bike could sometimes be a tad inconvenient, this was more than that. I took the liberty of reporting my malaise and then walking the half-block to my HMO.
It was a slow day at the clinic; the waiting room was empty. A secretary took my health card and then explained to me that their system was to initially assign an assistant “health practitioner”, more than a nurse but less than a doctor, to make an initial assessment. I guess I waited a few minutes before a woman not much older than myself, dressed in a lab coat, came for me and brought me back to a dimly-lit examining room.
After checking vital signs, the woman instructed me to remove my shirt, loosen my belt, and lie down on one of those examining table thingies with the crinkly paper. My cramps were coming and going, here and there in my belly. She began to massage my abdomen expertly with her strong hands. Lying there under someone else’s control, I began to have a little sense come into me about my situation. More than likely, there were some serious bubbles of gas tying up my intestines. As she deftly moved things about, they made a few gurgling sounds.
Gradually, I became even more aware, somewhat the way someone wakes up in the morning on a Saturday, when there are no pressing responsibilities for getting up and the cheerful sunlight is streaming through the curtains. The woman’s firm, friendly hands were ever-so-slightly suggestive. The fact that I had hardly seen anyone else, either staff or patient, in the facility, added to the sense of protection and opportunity.
Most unfortunately, another though intruded upon our secluded solitude. I realized that she cared about me and she wanted very much to help me to feel better, physically. She wanted to bring me a release and relaxation. And this was more than a little bit tempting. However, if she kept on kneading me the way she was, there was a strong and growing possibility that we would both be confronted with a noisy, fragrant, and utterly natural bodily event, quite different than the one she appeared to me to be aiming for. It started to trouble me a great deal that the direction she was taking us in would more than likely end in a culmination which, unfortunately, I would find totally embarrassing and utterly without conjugal merit. I began in fact, sweating, shaking, and praying to God that I not make a total fool of myself.
At my tender age, I forced myself to lie in order to extract myself from impending delight, and disappoint her with my coldness and lack of receptivity. All in all, an utterly unhappy outcome of the situation. I told her I was feeling better and I needed to get back to work. Kinda ruined everything. For a long, long, long, long, long, long time ….
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
more jobs
from ZeroHedge:
"How The Fed Spent $2 Trillion And In Exchange We Got 650,000 Temp, Leisure And Retail "Jobs""
"When we looked at the changing composition in the US work force one month ago, we discovered, to our dismay, that since the start of the Depression, the US labor pool has transformed substantially from a full-time time to an increasingly more part-time dominated one. Specifically we found that "America has lost 10.5 million full time jobs, offset by a 2.8 million increase in part time jobs" and that "the US not only lost 478k seasonally adjusted full time workers in November but has lost full time jobs for 6 months in a row, for a total of 1.6 million job losses!" In an attempt to further refine this number, we present some TrimTabs data which proves beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the Fed's QE (1, Lite, and 2) efforts, when expressed in labor force "pick up" has been an abysmal failure. To wit: "In 2010, the BLS reports that the economy added 1.12 million jobs. Almost 60% of these jobs are in one of three relatively low-paying areas—temporary employment (308,000), leisure & hospitality (240,000), and retail trade (116,000)."
I realize that the preponderance of american denizons find decimal points, zeroes, and the differences between a million, a billion, and a trillion, abit confusing.
So I will help out.
Two trillion in new debt, divided by 1.1 million jobs, equals $200,000 per job.
Which the taxpayers are expected to pay back. With interest.
"How The Fed Spent $2 Trillion And In Exchange We Got 650,000 Temp, Leisure And Retail "Jobs""
"When we looked at the changing composition in the US work force one month ago, we discovered, to our dismay, that since the start of the Depression, the US labor pool has transformed substantially from a full-time time to an increasingly more part-time dominated one. Specifically we found that "America has lost 10.5 million full time jobs, offset by a 2.8 million increase in part time jobs" and that "the US not only lost 478k seasonally adjusted full time workers in November but has lost full time jobs for 6 months in a row, for a total of 1.6 million job losses!" In an attempt to further refine this number, we present some TrimTabs data which proves beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the Fed's QE (1, Lite, and 2) efforts, when expressed in labor force "pick up" has been an abysmal failure. To wit: "In 2010, the BLS reports that the economy added 1.12 million jobs. Almost 60% of these jobs are in one of three relatively low-paying areas—temporary employment (308,000), leisure & hospitality (240,000), and retail trade (116,000)."
I realize that the preponderance of american denizons find decimal points, zeroes, and the differences between a million, a billion, and a trillion, abit confusing.
So I will help out.
Two trillion in new debt, divided by 1.1 million jobs, equals $200,000 per job.
Which the taxpayers are expected to pay back. With interest.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Word of the Year
Nominations now being accepted.
So far, "unexpectedly" is the overwhelming favorite ...
So far, "unexpectedly" is the overwhelming favorite ...
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Merry Christmas
I have always hated this holiday. The crass commercialism and greed, the extreme hypocrisy. So many people find so many memories of disappointments, separation, family abuse. Usually I just choose to work on the day.
I have a T-shirt which reads, “When going into the woods, be sure and remember a compass. It is uncomfortable when you have to eat your friends.”
I got to thinking about how that works. It is not too hard for me to imagine a group of intelligent people, stranded somewhere with a food shortage and only faint hope of rescue. I have been hungry, and desperate, I know how it is. I can imagine them coming to the conclusion that some must live and some must be eaten, and drawing straws or some such. But it’s the afterwards that we don’t think about. Suppose one lives. Then, suppose, MIRACLE! He is rescued. Well, what then? The news reports of his rescue. Sooner or later the grisly details will come out, how it was that he was able to survive. And no matter how rational and reasonable we all feel about the choices, it were better, ultimately for the one who survived, if he had died as well. The stigma, the way everyone else, for the rest of his life, will look at him, and cringe just a little bit. It were better for him if he had died as well.
In his novel, “The Fall”, Albert Camus’ protagonist raises a very similar postulation about Jesus. How was it that this incredible kind, loving man, who did so many wonderful things for so many people, found himself to be condemned by all to death by that horrible torture mechanism? But also, how was it, that he neither did nor said the slightest motion towards his defense? Well, if you remember back to the stories in Matthew of his birth, you recall how his parents high-tailed it to Egypt soon afterwards, and Lo and Behold Herod, in his paranoia, decreed that every young child in the city of Bethlehem be put to death. Only Jesus was spared. And no doubt, though the Bible doesn’t go into it, the adults who taught him reading, and writing, and joinery, and how to tie his shoelaces, undoubtedly told him about how lucky he was and about the gruesome act perpetrated on every other family of the town. It would not have been pleasant for him to hear about it, over and over and over again, as it must have come to pass.
In other words, the atheist and nihilist suggests that it was not supreme love at all which drove Him to the ultimate sacrifice for me and you and all mankind. It was guilt, the kind of guilt that only a man who has eaten his friends could understand.
I’m not saying that I agree. But it’s a potent opinion …tough to ignore … at the very least, Satan tells a good story when he wants to …
I have a T-shirt which reads, “When going into the woods, be sure and remember a compass. It is uncomfortable when you have to eat your friends.”
I got to thinking about how that works. It is not too hard for me to imagine a group of intelligent people, stranded somewhere with a food shortage and only faint hope of rescue. I have been hungry, and desperate, I know how it is. I can imagine them coming to the conclusion that some must live and some must be eaten, and drawing straws or some such. But it’s the afterwards that we don’t think about. Suppose one lives. Then, suppose, MIRACLE! He is rescued. Well, what then? The news reports of his rescue. Sooner or later the grisly details will come out, how it was that he was able to survive. And no matter how rational and reasonable we all feel about the choices, it were better, ultimately for the one who survived, if he had died as well. The stigma, the way everyone else, for the rest of his life, will look at him, and cringe just a little bit. It were better for him if he had died as well.
In his novel, “The Fall”, Albert Camus’ protagonist raises a very similar postulation about Jesus. How was it that this incredible kind, loving man, who did so many wonderful things for so many people, found himself to be condemned by all to death by that horrible torture mechanism? But also, how was it, that he neither did nor said the slightest motion towards his defense? Well, if you remember back to the stories in Matthew of his birth, you recall how his parents high-tailed it to Egypt soon afterwards, and Lo and Behold Herod, in his paranoia, decreed that every young child in the city of Bethlehem be put to death. Only Jesus was spared. And no doubt, though the Bible doesn’t go into it, the adults who taught him reading, and writing, and joinery, and how to tie his shoelaces, undoubtedly told him about how lucky he was and about the gruesome act perpetrated on every other family of the town. It would not have been pleasant for him to hear about it, over and over and over again, as it must have come to pass.
In other words, the atheist and nihilist suggests that it was not supreme love at all which drove Him to the ultimate sacrifice for me and you and all mankind. It was guilt, the kind of guilt that only a man who has eaten his friends could understand.
I’m not saying that I agree. But it’s a potent opinion …tough to ignore … at the very least, Satan tells a good story when he wants to …
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