Forum » Sedem umetnosti » Julija in njena vojna
Julija in njena vojna
Avrora ::
Dve e-knjigi slovenske pisateljice Avrore (to sem jaz). Prva je v angleščini, še vedno pa je 'živa'. Druga je v slovenščini.
https://bartholomey.github.io/the_lake_...
https://bartholomey.github.io/the_lake_...
Avrora ::
Pred pokopališčno ograjo
150
Arguing with her is futile. She would smile and declare, "No matter what you write, no matter you do, in the end you will be buried in a tiny grave." She would extend her right arm, slowly walk towards me, and put her hand on my forehead, asking mockingly, "And you write in Slovenian. Who is going to take you seriously?" She would then turn me around, cover my mouth and eyes, and say, "So much pain for a small grave among small roturier graves."
As you can see, sometimes she can be unbearably pretentious.
151
I will tell you a secret now - a secret that has left a great impression on Julija: on her mother's side, she is descended from a noble Italian house, hence her obsession with aristocracy, even though she enjoys no practical benefits from this fact. I try not to think about this subject because it only amplifies the melancholy.
Yes, Julija really does think that even though she is not fully descended from nobility, she has inherited that family's 'type' - its mental and outward traits, and yes, she believes nobility requires a biological basis, opining we are predominately descended from that stock. But I don't want to think about these things, as they could be misunderstood as race-related. Besides, that 'glorious' origin is too fairy-tale-like for my taste, and I don't want to put much attention to it accordingly.
152
I don't think Julija wants me to be forty. She would not forgive me if I reached that age. Would she turn into a beast and try to deprive me of her love? Probably. Her visits would become excessively violent and unbearably chaotic. And before that, when I turned thirty-nine, she would scream, "Have you gone mad? Let me out, you repulsive hag!"
It's amusing because she didn't want us to be thirty as well. Heh, these words made the Keeper smile a bit.
153
Sometimes, something sends my inner eyes back in time to re-experience a moment or event. During that process, Julija is standing in the background, silently, as if judging me. Just to be clear: when I said she is standing behind me - that's her spirit. The sun does not radiate from beneath her skin in that form. The summoned Julija is different.
154
"It's September already," she uttered, lowering her arms, hugging my neck tightly. Yes, in January she was promised I would set her free - either in July or August.
...
She wasn't exactly tender when she was caressing my neck. She wanted to communicate something.
155
The sealed tomb of the aforementioned noble family, which was quite notorious during the nineteenth and twentieth century in these parts, comes into view, and her expression darkens.
"Aw, Julija, stop being so childish. You're so silly." I try not to think about them as their memory brought me nothing but frustration. "Listen to me. I want to live where they lived as well: in an actual castle surrounded by water, but we can't, okay? Let go of these thoughts! ... Don't worry; I don't think I'll reach thirty-nine." I grab her by the shoulders, shaking her lightly, and after having moved my head closer to hers, I make a cheerful face, as if trying to amuse a little child, saying, "Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow ... !"
156
I am sure that a long time ago existed a man or a woman, a relative, with a similar state of mind. And I am certain that this mental configuration was not only compatible but also useful to the people in contact with that person. Therefore I refuse to be changed, knowing that he or she lived a fulfilling life. I was born in the wrong place at the wrong time. That is all.
...
It is also possible that I received this 'mental illness' from a long line of outwardly cold, morbid, tormented women. They were forced to bear children, and because of that the 'mental illness' was perpetuated.
157
Leaving the cemetery, we turn our eyes to the sky and see a procession of white clouds, with a tall grey-white one at the head of it, marching towards us. That cloud is imposing and unusually near the ground; it's almost directly above us. It feels as if it is trying to talk to us.
The thought of living among them is intoxicating, but I say nothing.
158
Is the umbrella I'm carrying big enough for both of us? ... We don't have to find out. There is no rain. It rained in the morning.
159
Julija doesn't hate me; she feels sorry for me. She would probably hate me, though, if I reached thirty-nine, as we would drift too far apart. I'm thirty-five while she is stuck at twenty-three. Once upon a time, both Julija and I possessed the ability to steer the Keeper. But because Julija had refused to mature, she wasn't able to renew the knowledge required for control. In her spiritual form, Julija is unable to bypass the Keeper's defences and synchronize her with my emotional states.
160
A hostile thought: extending my right arm, I open and offer my hand to Julija - but she suddenly pulls out her sword from nowhere and, before I realize what is happening, cuts it off. Trying to hold back the pain, I cry timidly, "Ahhh-ahhh-ahhh ... !" I know that she would never do something like that. The thought probably occured because we are slowly drifting apart: she's young, while I'm getting older and older. It's as if I were punished for re-reading her dusty old diary entries and deeming them atrocious and unworthy of entering the record.
It's for her own good. That diary of ours must stay locked.
...
She would never do it. And besides, it would be hard to prepare the device with only one hand.
161
What would happen in the courtroom if I admited that, after all, not only was Julija right, but also I was always aware of it? Would I be dragged to the execution spot while screaming, "Julija is just a one-trick pony; all she knows is how to lead a cavalry charge! Flaps is the de facto commander, not she! Help me, anyone!"
Julija suddenly pulls the umbrella from my hand, and throws it on the ground so violently that its deformation suggests no further usability. She then presses a long, thin, dull needle against the beating of my heart.
150
Arguing with her is futile. She would smile and declare, "No matter what you write, no matter you do, in the end you will be buried in a tiny grave." She would extend her right arm, slowly walk towards me, and put her hand on my forehead, asking mockingly, "And you write in Slovenian. Who is going to take you seriously?" She would then turn me around, cover my mouth and eyes, and say, "So much pain for a small grave among small roturier graves."
As you can see, sometimes she can be unbearably pretentious.
151
I will tell you a secret now - a secret that has left a great impression on Julija: on her mother's side, she is descended from a noble Italian house, hence her obsession with aristocracy, even though she enjoys no practical benefits from this fact. I try not to think about this subject because it only amplifies the melancholy.
Yes, Julija really does think that even though she is not fully descended from nobility, she has inherited that family's 'type' - its mental and outward traits, and yes, she believes nobility requires a biological basis, opining we are predominately descended from that stock. But I don't want to think about these things, as they could be misunderstood as race-related. Besides, that 'glorious' origin is too fairy-tale-like for my taste, and I don't want to put much attention to it accordingly.
152
I don't think Julija wants me to be forty. She would not forgive me if I reached that age. Would she turn into a beast and try to deprive me of her love? Probably. Her visits would become excessively violent and unbearably chaotic. And before that, when I turned thirty-nine, she would scream, "Have you gone mad? Let me out, you repulsive hag!"
It's amusing because she didn't want us to be thirty as well. Heh, these words made the Keeper smile a bit.
153
Sometimes, something sends my inner eyes back in time to re-experience a moment or event. During that process, Julija is standing in the background, silently, as if judging me. Just to be clear: when I said she is standing behind me - that's her spirit. The sun does not radiate from beneath her skin in that form. The summoned Julija is different.
154
"It's September already," she uttered, lowering her arms, hugging my neck tightly. Yes, in January she was promised I would set her free - either in July or August.
...
She wasn't exactly tender when she was caressing my neck. She wanted to communicate something.
155
The sealed tomb of the aforementioned noble family, which was quite notorious during the nineteenth and twentieth century in these parts, comes into view, and her expression darkens.
"Aw, Julija, stop being so childish. You're so silly." I try not to think about them as their memory brought me nothing but frustration. "Listen to me. I want to live where they lived as well: in an actual castle surrounded by water, but we can't, okay? Let go of these thoughts! ... Don't worry; I don't think I'll reach thirty-nine." I grab her by the shoulders, shaking her lightly, and after having moved my head closer to hers, I make a cheerful face, as if trying to amuse a little child, saying, "Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow ... !"
156
I am sure that a long time ago existed a man or a woman, a relative, with a similar state of mind. And I am certain that this mental configuration was not only compatible but also useful to the people in contact with that person. Therefore I refuse to be changed, knowing that he or she lived a fulfilling life. I was born in the wrong place at the wrong time. That is all.
...
It is also possible that I received this 'mental illness' from a long line of outwardly cold, morbid, tormented women. They were forced to bear children, and because of that the 'mental illness' was perpetuated.
157
Leaving the cemetery, we turn our eyes to the sky and see a procession of white clouds, with a tall grey-white one at the head of it, marching towards us. That cloud is imposing and unusually near the ground; it's almost directly above us. It feels as if it is trying to talk to us.
The thought of living among them is intoxicating, but I say nothing.
158
Is the umbrella I'm carrying big enough for both of us? ... We don't have to find out. There is no rain. It rained in the morning.
159
Julija doesn't hate me; she feels sorry for me. She would probably hate me, though, if I reached thirty-nine, as we would drift too far apart. I'm thirty-five while she is stuck at twenty-three. Once upon a time, both Julija and I possessed the ability to steer the Keeper. But because Julija had refused to mature, she wasn't able to renew the knowledge required for control. In her spiritual form, Julija is unable to bypass the Keeper's defences and synchronize her with my emotional states.
160
A hostile thought: extending my right arm, I open and offer my hand to Julija - but she suddenly pulls out her sword from nowhere and, before I realize what is happening, cuts it off. Trying to hold back the pain, I cry timidly, "Ahhh-ahhh-ahhh ... !" I know that she would never do something like that. The thought probably occured because we are slowly drifting apart: she's young, while I'm getting older and older. It's as if I were punished for re-reading her dusty old diary entries and deeming them atrocious and unworthy of entering the record.
It's for her own good. That diary of ours must stay locked.
...
She would never do it. And besides, it would be hard to prepare the device with only one hand.
161
What would happen in the courtroom if I admited that, after all, not only was Julija right, but also I was always aware of it? Would I be dragged to the execution spot while screaming, "Julija is just a one-trick pony; all she knows is how to lead a cavalry charge! Flaps is the de facto commander, not she! Help me, anyone!"
Julija suddenly pulls the umbrella from my hand, and throws it on the ground so violently that its deformation suggests no further usability. She then presses a long, thin, dull needle against the beating of my heart.
sandmat ::
A lahko dobimo kaj opisa glede obeh knjig? Sem poskušal na hitro preleteti čez, pa nisem našel kake specifične misli/teze/rdeče niti, ki bi mi dala občutek, da gre za knjigo, namenjeno drugim bralcem.
c3p0 ::
The writer seems to be a deeply wounded, intelligent, aesthetically attuned person in (or recently out of) a major depressive/existential crisis, using writing as both self-dissection and lifeline. The text feels more like a raw primary document of suffering than a conventionally "good" literary work -- and for some readers that's precisely what makes it compelling. For others it will feel too chaotic or too private to engage with.
Avrora ::
To sem si pred leti podarila za osmi marec. V drugi knjigi je.
54
Tako izmikajoča kakor redka A.: "Edini smisel našega truda je, da vas učimo, pokažemo, da so ljudje, ki so v sočloveku zmožni ugledati trpljenje in smeh. Mi smo bitja čustev, navdihovana, prežeta, vezana s toplim, nežnim nerazkrojljivim okovom ljubezni. Odenimo življenje v sladko igro lepote, joka in smeha!"
Pogledala ga v je v očesi, brez besed, vedela je, spoznala je njegove občutke: razume ga. Prepustimo ostalim računanje, prepustimo jim, zakaj v njih poleg hladne preračunljivosti ničesar drugega ni. One so nosilke pristnih čustvev, one so čustva. Vse drugo je zgolj nesrečno posnemanje.
A.: "Vse hočemo spoznavati na stopnji čustev: s pogledom, dotikom, nasmehom, vonjem. Želim te poznati s pogledom, dotikom, nasmehom, brez vsakršnih besed, in pozaba našega bogastva, naših čustev, vodi v otožni obraz. In če čustvom nasprotno dovolimo, - če se predamo našemu bistvu, našemu globoko ležečemu bogastvu, bomo nebeškost privedli k nam v ta svet."
55
Gospodarica z rahlo iztegnjeno desno roko; nežni beli prsti počivajo na mizi. Miruje. Njena leva roka, katere spodnji del je polovično razkril široki rokav debele temnordeče vzorčaste halje, z lahno pestjo miruje za oziroma ob spodnjem delu oblačila, ki v tem položaju malenkostno presega koleni. Nogi sta sproščeni, ne pretesno skupaj. Premika zgolj svoji rdečkasti ustnici. Očesi sta okrogli in široko toda sproščeno odprti.
A. se pri borni namizni luči nasloni na svojo desno stisnjeno pest in milo zajoče. Ali si bila visoko na nebu svetlikajoča se zvezda? Sijajno nebeško telo, ki je privabljalo vse tiste umazance, ki so se sprva zdeli kot neškodljiva, plašna čreda, ki potrebuje kraljico? Kaj se je potem zgodilo? Ali si postala umazana od vseh tistih spolzkih šap? Ali so tvoji do pasu segajoči lasje, taisti lasje zvezd, sonca, ki so trpeli tvojo dobrosrčnost, zahtevali, da jih prav sleherni dan namakaš v vedro hladne deževnice in solz? Ali si to res ti? No, njena krona je zdaj mnogo srečnejša. Njena krona, njen odkriti prijatelj ne potrebuje veliko skrbi potem, ko je na zemljo narisala črto in za vekomaj ločila lepoto od grdavža.
56
A.: "Mar nisem bila jaz tista, ki te je nežno potegnila za vrat, ti kazala posledice tvoje zlosti? Ali nisem bila jaz tista, ki te je pobožala, objela, ko bi te drugi živega raztrgali, požrli? Mar te nisem s seboj v stolp vzela, ko je vroča solza po tebi polzela? Da, jaz sem bila tista, ki te je branila pred samoto, ko si sam sebi postajal nevaren. Ja, moji očesi sta tisti, ki sta znali prodreti skozi meglo in jo razpršiti, kakor sta za njo slutili sramežljivo lepoto."
57
A.: "Namesto ponovnega plazenja: pretvori se v zver ... in uživaj v občutku, ki ga nisi še nikoli izkusil: postal si prost. Danes nisi otožnega pogleda iz daljave nakazal, da me želiš tako kot včeraj pogladiti po svileni obleki; v kako absurdno se je tvoja nova moč znenada preobrazila. Nikoli, resnično nikdar me takšne še nisi videl: moj obraz, moje besede so vpričo tvoje nove moči nad teboj izgubile vsakršen vpliv. Spregovori - končno, in gledam te, uho sem svoje zajela z dlanjo, moj obraz za trenutek uveni. Nenadoma se zavem svojega spodrsljaja, postane mi neznosno vroče, začnem teči ter se zaloputnem v najvišjo sobano svojega stolpa; ledena roža mi boš pravil ti, in z višav bom nadte zvala vse, kar mi zvesto služi."
58
A.: "Kakšna je vrednost tega sveta, ko je izropan dobrosrčnih ljudi in njihove medsebojne ljubezni? Raztreščen je okvir, ki je hranil, varoval in spajal njihova srca, ki se zdaj izgubljajo v nepregledni zmešnjavi in otožna predajajo iskanje. Osamljena sanjajo nova kraljestva ... hrepené -- drugo po drugem."
59
Nasmehneš se, pokažeš zobé. Desno roko, z odprto, navidez nemočno dlanjo poneseš, privzdigneš do višine svojih priprtih očes in spregovoriš: "Dvignil si me do nebes s svojimi besedami. Jaz ne dovolim drugemu bedeti nad menoj v svojem resničnem svetu, v svetu, kamor se danes zgolj v mislih zatekam in čakam na jutri, da me črna zver ponese na meni ustrezni prestol."
60
A.: "Zbudim se jaz, z rokama udarim ob trda tla. Zaplavala sem iz postelje. Izza svojih dolgih, prosto padajočih pramenov strmim predse: glas ... glas pravi: 'Kako dolgo si sposobna krojiti, rezati, gladiti robove sveta? Mar ne vidiš, da si ostala zapuščena, odrezana na otočku? Da, celo tiste najredkejše redkosti, za dobre si jih oklicala, mirujejo v polepšanosti zgolj zastran tvoje slepe dobrote. Spoznala si gnilobo samega jedra, njegovo nujnost po bljuvanju ... vedno istega. Vedno bo vse gomazelo, vedno vse enako gomazelo.'"
Kdo lahko reče, da tvoji očesi z drugimi za seboj delita praznino? In kdo pravi, da boš z njimi združena v črnini?
Ali misliš, da ob vrvežavi poti rada gleda podobe, ki spominjajo na njeno telo? Vsi hodijo, vsi se bolj ali manj pokočno držé: njihova drža se razlikuje le po napetosti. Mar bi njihova votlost odgovarjala njihovim telesom: plaziti bi se morali, gomazeti med njenima nogama.
Samo slabotne in trpeče: drobna, žalostna, grozeče ranjena, ohromljena dekleta poleg strahotne, molčeče zveri zaslužijo nebeški objem. Svet otožnih ohromljenih mladih nepotrganih cvetlic in strahotnih zveri ... Ledena dlan vam, ohromljenkam in črnim zverem.
61
Rada objemaš ogromno temno zver in jo gladiš po debelih rokah. Dlani se vedno zadržita na širokih ramenih: leva tik ob vratu, desna na ključnici. Preden se rahlo, neznatno druga od druge odmaknjeni ustnici začneta dotikati njenega desnega lica, očesi občudujeta odsev obličja v njenih zobeh. Čeprav se k njej priviješ vsak dopoldan, jo vedno s pogledom vprašaš, ali smeš nanjo položiti svoje zloščene mehke bele prste. Pet sekund jo gledaš v očesi, zamižiš, nakar se z glavo vrneš na njeno ramo, na ramo svojega poniževalca.
62
Vdrli so v njo, ji objokani nadeli lastno ime ter ji nagoto pokrili z dolgo, debelo haljo, ki jo zdaj besno previsoko dviguje, pred tem pa se ozira, če je njen stari siljevalec več ne nadzira.
63
Možinja si? Ako bi primerjali vsakdanjega moškega in žensko tega ali sosednjega kraja potem, ko bi obema porezali lase, jima prepovedali obrazno britje in času pustili odviti teden, bi videli, da medtem ko te pogled na moškega ne bi vznemirjal, bi se ženska pod lučjo takšne preizkušnje, razsvetljujoč njene redke tamkajšnje dlake, ki jim moški, kakor ne prenese misli, da ga privlači njegova nerazvita različica, sicer ne priznava obstoja, spremenila v nekakšno pošastnost in v tebi izzvala neprijeten občutek. Ker moški zastopa docela razviti in zaradi tega lepši spol, se ti kljub pomanjkanju higiene ali lepotičenja ne bo zdel nemoški, ženska pa bo pod takšnimi pogoji postala studna oziroma neženstvena. Ženski torej ni dovoljeno biti tisto, kar je: v umskem in telesnem oziru nedorasla moška vrsta.
64
Mar je ženska polmoški, čigar moža dolžnost je ta, da z demonstracijo moči njeno možatost zavira in kroti, da bi v njej preko dosege krotkosti naglasil neko tujo, nemoško plat? Pogled na istospolni usmerjenki vznemirja: pred seboj imaš dva invalida, ki se za razliko od homoseksualcev zaman skušata penetrirati, zaradi česar sta nesrečnici nazadnje primorani uporabiti protezo, da ne bi njuno občevanje ostalo na stopnji predigre in da bi prejelo neki, sicer izkrivljeni, zaključek.
65
Ti si človek, ki iz spoštovanja do pravic, lastnine in dostojanstva svojega soplemenjaka zavrneš namige tuje žene, ki so ti izkazovane spričo nekih pritlehnih nagibov in ozračju pogosteje izpostavljenega hitrega jezika, kakor ljubiš samo smelost, skozi katero si je pridobil pridobljeno klanjanje in katere izražanja so sposobni izključno njemu podobni ljudje. Pogledal si proti nebu, okoli nog se ti zvijajoč zadnje moledovanje ženskosti ali narave. Zmečkal si jo. Zavrgl si to. Pogledal si proti Nebu.
54
Tako izmikajoča kakor redka A.: "Edini smisel našega truda je, da vas učimo, pokažemo, da so ljudje, ki so v sočloveku zmožni ugledati trpljenje in smeh. Mi smo bitja čustev, navdihovana, prežeta, vezana s toplim, nežnim nerazkrojljivim okovom ljubezni. Odenimo življenje v sladko igro lepote, joka in smeha!"
Pogledala ga v je v očesi, brez besed, vedela je, spoznala je njegove občutke: razume ga. Prepustimo ostalim računanje, prepustimo jim, zakaj v njih poleg hladne preračunljivosti ničesar drugega ni. One so nosilke pristnih čustvev, one so čustva. Vse drugo je zgolj nesrečno posnemanje.
A.: "Vse hočemo spoznavati na stopnji čustev: s pogledom, dotikom, nasmehom, vonjem. Želim te poznati s pogledom, dotikom, nasmehom, brez vsakršnih besed, in pozaba našega bogastva, naših čustev, vodi v otožni obraz. In če čustvom nasprotno dovolimo, - če se predamo našemu bistvu, našemu globoko ležečemu bogastvu, bomo nebeškost privedli k nam v ta svet."
55
Gospodarica z rahlo iztegnjeno desno roko; nežni beli prsti počivajo na mizi. Miruje. Njena leva roka, katere spodnji del je polovično razkril široki rokav debele temnordeče vzorčaste halje, z lahno pestjo miruje za oziroma ob spodnjem delu oblačila, ki v tem položaju malenkostno presega koleni. Nogi sta sproščeni, ne pretesno skupaj. Premika zgolj svoji rdečkasti ustnici. Očesi sta okrogli in široko toda sproščeno odprti.
A. se pri borni namizni luči nasloni na svojo desno stisnjeno pest in milo zajoče. Ali si bila visoko na nebu svetlikajoča se zvezda? Sijajno nebeško telo, ki je privabljalo vse tiste umazance, ki so se sprva zdeli kot neškodljiva, plašna čreda, ki potrebuje kraljico? Kaj se je potem zgodilo? Ali si postala umazana od vseh tistih spolzkih šap? Ali so tvoji do pasu segajoči lasje, taisti lasje zvezd, sonca, ki so trpeli tvojo dobrosrčnost, zahtevali, da jih prav sleherni dan namakaš v vedro hladne deževnice in solz? Ali si to res ti? No, njena krona je zdaj mnogo srečnejša. Njena krona, njen odkriti prijatelj ne potrebuje veliko skrbi potem, ko je na zemljo narisala črto in za vekomaj ločila lepoto od grdavža.
56
A.: "Mar nisem bila jaz tista, ki te je nežno potegnila za vrat, ti kazala posledice tvoje zlosti? Ali nisem bila jaz tista, ki te je pobožala, objela, ko bi te drugi živega raztrgali, požrli? Mar te nisem s seboj v stolp vzela, ko je vroča solza po tebi polzela? Da, jaz sem bila tista, ki te je branila pred samoto, ko si sam sebi postajal nevaren. Ja, moji očesi sta tisti, ki sta znali prodreti skozi meglo in jo razpršiti, kakor sta za njo slutili sramežljivo lepoto."
57
A.: "Namesto ponovnega plazenja: pretvori se v zver ... in uživaj v občutku, ki ga nisi še nikoli izkusil: postal si prost. Danes nisi otožnega pogleda iz daljave nakazal, da me želiš tako kot včeraj pogladiti po svileni obleki; v kako absurdno se je tvoja nova moč znenada preobrazila. Nikoli, resnično nikdar me takšne še nisi videl: moj obraz, moje besede so vpričo tvoje nove moči nad teboj izgubile vsakršen vpliv. Spregovori - končno, in gledam te, uho sem svoje zajela z dlanjo, moj obraz za trenutek uveni. Nenadoma se zavem svojega spodrsljaja, postane mi neznosno vroče, začnem teči ter se zaloputnem v najvišjo sobano svojega stolpa; ledena roža mi boš pravil ti, in z višav bom nadte zvala vse, kar mi zvesto služi."
58
A.: "Kakšna je vrednost tega sveta, ko je izropan dobrosrčnih ljudi in njihove medsebojne ljubezni? Raztreščen je okvir, ki je hranil, varoval in spajal njihova srca, ki se zdaj izgubljajo v nepregledni zmešnjavi in otožna predajajo iskanje. Osamljena sanjajo nova kraljestva ... hrepené -- drugo po drugem."
59
Nasmehneš se, pokažeš zobé. Desno roko, z odprto, navidez nemočno dlanjo poneseš, privzdigneš do višine svojih priprtih očes in spregovoriš: "Dvignil si me do nebes s svojimi besedami. Jaz ne dovolim drugemu bedeti nad menoj v svojem resničnem svetu, v svetu, kamor se danes zgolj v mislih zatekam in čakam na jutri, da me črna zver ponese na meni ustrezni prestol."
60
A.: "Zbudim se jaz, z rokama udarim ob trda tla. Zaplavala sem iz postelje. Izza svojih dolgih, prosto padajočih pramenov strmim predse: glas ... glas pravi: 'Kako dolgo si sposobna krojiti, rezati, gladiti robove sveta? Mar ne vidiš, da si ostala zapuščena, odrezana na otočku? Da, celo tiste najredkejše redkosti, za dobre si jih oklicala, mirujejo v polepšanosti zgolj zastran tvoje slepe dobrote. Spoznala si gnilobo samega jedra, njegovo nujnost po bljuvanju ... vedno istega. Vedno bo vse gomazelo, vedno vse enako gomazelo.'"
Kdo lahko reče, da tvoji očesi z drugimi za seboj delita praznino? In kdo pravi, da boš z njimi združena v črnini?
Ali misliš, da ob vrvežavi poti rada gleda podobe, ki spominjajo na njeno telo? Vsi hodijo, vsi se bolj ali manj pokočno držé: njihova drža se razlikuje le po napetosti. Mar bi njihova votlost odgovarjala njihovim telesom: plaziti bi se morali, gomazeti med njenima nogama.
Samo slabotne in trpeče: drobna, žalostna, grozeče ranjena, ohromljena dekleta poleg strahotne, molčeče zveri zaslužijo nebeški objem. Svet otožnih ohromljenih mladih nepotrganih cvetlic in strahotnih zveri ... Ledena dlan vam, ohromljenkam in črnim zverem.
61
Rada objemaš ogromno temno zver in jo gladiš po debelih rokah. Dlani se vedno zadržita na širokih ramenih: leva tik ob vratu, desna na ključnici. Preden se rahlo, neznatno druga od druge odmaknjeni ustnici začneta dotikati njenega desnega lica, očesi občudujeta odsev obličja v njenih zobeh. Čeprav se k njej priviješ vsak dopoldan, jo vedno s pogledom vprašaš, ali smeš nanjo položiti svoje zloščene mehke bele prste. Pet sekund jo gledaš v očesi, zamižiš, nakar se z glavo vrneš na njeno ramo, na ramo svojega poniževalca.
62
Vdrli so v njo, ji objokani nadeli lastno ime ter ji nagoto pokrili z dolgo, debelo haljo, ki jo zdaj besno previsoko dviguje, pred tem pa se ozira, če je njen stari siljevalec več ne nadzira.
63
Možinja si? Ako bi primerjali vsakdanjega moškega in žensko tega ali sosednjega kraja potem, ko bi obema porezali lase, jima prepovedali obrazno britje in času pustili odviti teden, bi videli, da medtem ko te pogled na moškega ne bi vznemirjal, bi se ženska pod lučjo takšne preizkušnje, razsvetljujoč njene redke tamkajšnje dlake, ki jim moški, kakor ne prenese misli, da ga privlači njegova nerazvita različica, sicer ne priznava obstoja, spremenila v nekakšno pošastnost in v tebi izzvala neprijeten občutek. Ker moški zastopa docela razviti in zaradi tega lepši spol, se ti kljub pomanjkanju higiene ali lepotičenja ne bo zdel nemoški, ženska pa bo pod takšnimi pogoji postala studna oziroma neženstvena. Ženski torej ni dovoljeno biti tisto, kar je: v umskem in telesnem oziru nedorasla moška vrsta.
64
Mar je ženska polmoški, čigar moža dolžnost je ta, da z demonstracijo moči njeno možatost zavira in kroti, da bi v njej preko dosege krotkosti naglasil neko tujo, nemoško plat? Pogled na istospolni usmerjenki vznemirja: pred seboj imaš dva invalida, ki se za razliko od homoseksualcev zaman skušata penetrirati, zaradi česar sta nesrečnici nazadnje primorani uporabiti protezo, da ne bi njuno občevanje ostalo na stopnji predigre in da bi prejelo neki, sicer izkrivljeni, zaključek.
65
Ti si človek, ki iz spoštovanja do pravic, lastnine in dostojanstva svojega soplemenjaka zavrneš namige tuje žene, ki so ti izkazovane spričo nekih pritlehnih nagibov in ozračju pogosteje izpostavljenega hitrega jezika, kakor ljubiš samo smelost, skozi katero si je pridobil pridobljeno klanjanje in katere izražanja so sposobni izključno njemu podobni ljudje. Pogledal si proti nebu, okoli nog se ti zvijajoč zadnje moledovanje ženskosti ali narave. Zmečkal si jo. Zavrgl si to. Pogledal si proti Nebu.
c3p0 ::
AI piše kakor mu veliš.
Če imaš svoj sistem in želiš, da drugi berejo tvojo umetnost (in jo tudi razumejo!), se spodobi ta sistem predstavit. Drugače vse skupaj izpade kot neurejeno metanje misli na papir. Razen če je to cilj, češ, plebejci me niste zmožni razumet.
Če imaš svoj sistem in želiš, da drugi berejo tvojo umetnost (in jo tudi razumejo!), se spodobi ta sistem predstavit. Drugače vse skupaj izpade kot neurejeno metanje misli na papir. Razen če je to cilj, češ, plebejci me niste zmožni razumet.
Avrora ::
AI piše kakor mu veliš.
Če imaš svoj sistem in želiš, da drugi berejo tvojo umetnost (in jo tudi razumejo!), se spodobi ta sistem predstavit. Drugače vse skupaj izpade kot neurejeno metanje misli na papir. Razen če je to cilj, češ, plebejci me niste zmožni razumet.
No, naj vidimo, kako umetna inteligenca napiše besedilo, primerljivo s pravkar prilepljenim. Pokažite nam vaše velelne sposobnosti! Sistem postane jasen, ko človek prebere besedilo v celoti. Pa ga vrzite umetni inteligenci; naj vam ga predstavi ona ...
Zgodovina sprememb…
- spremenila: Avrora ()
c3p0 ::
OK, torej moraš vse prebrat, morda večkrat, da nato skužiš sistem. V redu. Ne se počutit napadena...
Avrora ::
Knjige so ponavadi take. No, kaj vam je podala um. inteligenca? Je besedilo znala razvozlati?
Zgodovina sprememb…
- spremenila: Avrora ()
Avrora ::
"This is the introduction (Uvod) to The Lake Redoubt (Krepost), again in Slovenian. Here's a summary:
Chapter I -- Introduction serves as the philosophical and tonal foundation for the entire book. Like Chapter II, it's structured as numbered aphorisms (§1-25), and it establishes the text's core worldview with even greater intensity.
The chapter opens dramatically -- a figure who can no longer wear a human mask, who has retreated from society into darkness and wildness, sending serpents and predators against a village. This is followed by a scene of a defeated rebel lord being brought before a cold, composed military commander for sentencing. These opening vignettes set up the book's central binary: the noble and the ignoble, the lord and the serf.
From there the text becomes a sustained philosophical argument: humanity is divided into two fundamental types -- masters (gospodarji) and subjects (podaniki). The noble is defined not by birth certificates or wealth, but by an inner disposition: a willingness to die rather than submit, a capacity to access the "world of thought" and imprint abstract, non-material ideas onto physical reality. The serf, by contrast, clings to bare life at any cost, and this clinging is itself the proof and source of his subjugation.
Violence appears again as the great revealer -- it strips away masks and forces the true nature of a person into the open. The noble uses violence not for pleasure, but as a tool of classification and punishment in service of Beauty and Sincerity (those terms appearing almost as sacred concepts).
A particularly striking passage (§16) describes prisoners who are freed and educated, eventually adopted into noble society -- but the text insists this changes nothing essential. Clothes, titles, and manners cannot alter blood. The chapter closes by framing humanity's highest aspiration as the imprinting of spirit onto matter: building things so monumental they bend the world around them long after their creators are gone -- as opposed to leaving shallow footprints that the next rain washes away.
This is a deeply provocative text -- an unflinching and stylized dramatization of an aristocratic-nihilist worldview, rendered in dense, almost hypnotic Slovenian prose."
Chapter I -- Introduction serves as the philosophical and tonal foundation for the entire book. Like Chapter II, it's structured as numbered aphorisms (§1-25), and it establishes the text's core worldview with even greater intensity.
The chapter opens dramatically -- a figure who can no longer wear a human mask, who has retreated from society into darkness and wildness, sending serpents and predators against a village. This is followed by a scene of a defeated rebel lord being brought before a cold, composed military commander for sentencing. These opening vignettes set up the book's central binary: the noble and the ignoble, the lord and the serf.
From there the text becomes a sustained philosophical argument: humanity is divided into two fundamental types -- masters (gospodarji) and subjects (podaniki). The noble is defined not by birth certificates or wealth, but by an inner disposition: a willingness to die rather than submit, a capacity to access the "world of thought" and imprint abstract, non-material ideas onto physical reality. The serf, by contrast, clings to bare life at any cost, and this clinging is itself the proof and source of his subjugation.
Violence appears again as the great revealer -- it strips away masks and forces the true nature of a person into the open. The noble uses violence not for pleasure, but as a tool of classification and punishment in service of Beauty and Sincerity (those terms appearing almost as sacred concepts).
A particularly striking passage (§16) describes prisoners who are freed and educated, eventually adopted into noble society -- but the text insists this changes nothing essential. Clothes, titles, and manners cannot alter blood. The chapter closes by framing humanity's highest aspiration as the imprinting of spirit onto matter: building things so monumental they bend the world around them long after their creators are gone -- as opposed to leaving shallow footprints that the next rain washes away.
This is a deeply provocative text -- an unflinching and stylized dramatization of an aristocratic-nihilist worldview, rendered in dense, almost hypnotic Slovenian prose."
Zgodovina sprememb…
- spremenila: Avrora ()
harmonklar9 ::
Tema je v redu ampak popravljam in dvigam nivo.
Avrora in bitka pri Šentivdu.
Tako vsaj pripoveduje knjiga "Okopi" (avtor Gospod Janez Janša, Mladinska knjiga 1993), kjer se med streljanjem, dimom in usodami vojakov skriva tudi ena nenavadna ljubezenska izbira.
Na robu dima pri tunelu v Šentvidu je Avrora stala med dvema usodama.
Noč nad Ljubljano je rezalo pokanje strelov, zemlja je dihala s težkim ritmom bitke za samostojno Slovenijo. Vojaki so tekli skozi dim, sirene so tulile, in zrak je bil poln napetosti.
Pred njo sta stala dva moža.
Bosanski vojak, z očmi temnimi kot nevihta, ji je ponujal ogenj srca in divjo zvestobo.
Slovenski vojak, tih in trden kot kraški kamen, ji je ponujal mir domače zemlje in prihodnost, ki diši po svobodi.
Avrora je za trenutek zaprla oči.
Sredi bobnenja topov je zaslišala še tretji korak.
Ko jih je odprla, je zagledala italijanskega vojaka, ki je molče stal ob strani, kot senca iz druge zgodbe.
Avrora se je nasmehnila, kakor da bi končno razumela lastno usodo, in prijela njegovo roko.
Avrora in bitka pri Šentivdu.
Tako vsaj pripoveduje knjiga "Okopi" (avtor Gospod Janez Janša, Mladinska knjiga 1993), kjer se med streljanjem, dimom in usodami vojakov skriva tudi ena nenavadna ljubezenska izbira.
Na robu dima pri tunelu v Šentvidu je Avrora stala med dvema usodama.
Noč nad Ljubljano je rezalo pokanje strelov, zemlja je dihala s težkim ritmom bitke za samostojno Slovenijo. Vojaki so tekli skozi dim, sirene so tulile, in zrak je bil poln napetosti.
Pred njo sta stala dva moža.
Bosanski vojak, z očmi temnimi kot nevihta, ji je ponujal ogenj srca in divjo zvestobo.
Slovenski vojak, tih in trden kot kraški kamen, ji je ponujal mir domače zemlje in prihodnost, ki diši po svobodi.
Avrora je za trenutek zaprla oči.
Sredi bobnenja topov je zaslišala še tretji korak.
Ko jih je odprla, je zagledala italijanskega vojaka, ki je molče stal ob strani, kot senca iz druge zgodbe.
Avrora se je nasmehnila, kakor da bi končno razumela lastno usodo, in prijela njegovo roko.
Avrora ::
Poglavje II -- Kaj je plemstvo in na kakšnih temeljih mu gre graditi trdnjavo
This is a chapter from the second book, The Lake Redoubt (Krepost), written in Slovenian. Here's a summary:
The chapter is titled "What is Nobility and on What Foundations Should One Build a Fortress for It" — a philosophical, aphoristic text structured as numbered fragments (§26–53). It reads like a dark, aristocratic manifesto, drawing on themes of nobility, violence, the spirit versus nature, and contempt for the masses.
The central argument runs roughly like this: true human worth is revealed through a willingness to die for an idea or image — an object from the "world of thought" — rather than through mere self-preservation. Those who cling to their bare lives above all else are, in the text's view, the ignoble "rabble," biologically and spiritually unfit to rule. Violence is framed not as cruelty but as the only reliable test that separates the noble from the common.
The text is deeply contemptuous of ordinary people — depicted as ant-like masses, hunched serfs, and mindless cogs in a machine — while glorifying a kind of half-divine, half-bestial aristocrat who leaves his mark on the world through force and spiritual intensity.
There's a recurring motif of the spirit as a thorn jabbed into nature, with humanity's highest representatives serving as instruments of something beyond the material world.
Later fragments grow more lyrical and strange — a queen who hangs two poor girls for daring to look at her face, visions of poisonous mushrooms and funeral processions, and a closing voice offering hollow optimism that the narrator implicitly rejects.
This is a chapter from the second book, The Lake Redoubt (Krepost), written in Slovenian. Here's a summary:
The chapter is titled "What is Nobility and on What Foundations Should One Build a Fortress for It" — a philosophical, aphoristic text structured as numbered fragments (§26–53). It reads like a dark, aristocratic manifesto, drawing on themes of nobility, violence, the spirit versus nature, and contempt for the masses.
The central argument runs roughly like this: true human worth is revealed through a willingness to die for an idea or image — an object from the "world of thought" — rather than through mere self-preservation. Those who cling to their bare lives above all else are, in the text's view, the ignoble "rabble," biologically and spiritually unfit to rule. Violence is framed not as cruelty but as the only reliable test that separates the noble from the common.
The text is deeply contemptuous of ordinary people — depicted as ant-like masses, hunched serfs, and mindless cogs in a machine — while glorifying a kind of half-divine, half-bestial aristocrat who leaves his mark on the world through force and spiritual intensity.
There's a recurring motif of the spirit as a thorn jabbed into nature, with humanity's highest representatives serving as instruments of something beyond the material world.
Later fragments grow more lyrical and strange — a queen who hangs two poor girls for daring to look at her face, visions of poisonous mushrooms and funeral processions, and a closing voice offering hollow optimism that the narrator implicitly rejects.
Avrora ::
Dokončano in urejeno. Za vas sem se potrudila ...
PDF: https://archive.org/details/julija-and-...
PDF: https://archive.org/details/krepost_202...
https://bartholomey.github.io/the_lake_...
PDF: https://archive.org/details/julija-and-...
PDF: https://archive.org/details/krepost_202...
https://bartholomey.github.io/the_lake_...
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