Sta citate?

[Aineko]

gde da se obratim da me banuju dok mi ne prodju ispiti? Kombinacija prokrastinacije i nervoze-koja-se-leci-shopingom (u mom slucaju knjiga) cini da kad god posetim ovaj podforum momentalno potrosim pare. Odem na "Samo SF", Lrd kaze nastavci Spina su dobri - ja odmah narucujem paperback sva tri nastavka Spina. Dodjem ovde - narucim 4 knjige od Bolanja (na spanskom! - na latinoamericku/spansku knjizevnost sam posebno slaba jer mogu da je citam u originalu pa mi je jos sladje). Saramago je meni odlican. Ja sam prvo procitala onaj o slepilu (ne znam naslov na srpskom, Ensaio sobre a cegueira) pa onda Jevandjelje po Hristu. njegov stil je meni...ne znam...uzivanje.

[Indy]

Ban ne funkcionise protiv citanja foruma. Jedino da izmisle neki totalni blok foruma za tebe. I bas ti je lose sto mozes da citas na spanskom. <_<

[Aineko]

Ban ne funkcionise protiv citanja foruma. Jedino da izmisle neki totalni blok foruma za tebe. I bas ti je lose sto mozes da citas na spanskom. <_<

i za fishpond da mi se uvede (ovaj blok, hocu reci). nije meni lose, meni super - lose je mom bankovnom racunu...

Nije problem banovati te, samo sto ces tada da obrises kukije i nastavis da citas, pa ces da se nerviras sto ne mozes da ucestvujes u diskusiji kad napisem da je Spin uzasno nahajpovan ljubavni vikend roman koji klasifikaciju SFa opravdava neuverljivom idejom cija fizika moze da se objasni samo kao deus ex machina. U romanu valja stil koji vuce na kvalitetnija petparacka dela, lose je sto nema eksplicitnog seksa, a i ta Dajen je neuverljiva kao dobra riba. Ostalo je mnjah.Plus ima tu nekakve kvazi-crkvene potke koju je mnogo bolje opisao Sidni Seldon u nekoj njegovoj knjizi u kojoj je sve prstalo od kvalitetnih snoski.

ma meni je Spin dobar (procitala prvi deo). Ok, naravno nije u klasi 'Greg Egan i slicni', ali mi se svidja ideja sa

svesnim replikatorima

bar za sada - ne znam da li cu se razocarati kod konacnog objasnjenja u trecoj knjizi (a posto zbog cena hrane u AUS, paperback knjige online kostaju manje od sendvica, nije mi zao da ih kupim 'na slepo'. sto ne znaci da bi i trebala...). ovo ostalo, dobre ribe, crkve, seks - meni to sve background noise kad citam SF kosmickih razmera :) ... (osim kod Strossa. kod njega mi je sex vrlo upecatljiv).

[luba]

Ha-Joon Chang, 23 Things They Don't Tell You About Capitalism

meni ovo najbolja knjiga koju sam procitala otkako je postalo obavezno da umetnicke duse shvate malo ekonomiju. cak sam i podvlacila, ko u osnovnoj. posle slusala neka njegova predavanja i podkaste, veliki je covek car, daleko od blefera kakva je gdjica naomi.

Nije problem banovati te, samo sto ces tada da obrises kukije i nastavis da citas, pa ces da se nerviras sto ne mozes da ucestvujes u diskusiji kad napisem da je Spin uzasno nahajpovan ljubavni vikend roman koji klasifikaciju SFa opravdava neuverljivom idejom cija fizika moze da se objasni samo kao deus ex machina. U romanu valja stil koji vuce na kvalitetnija petparacka dela, lose je sto nema eksplicitnog seksa, a i ta Dajen je neuverljiva kao dobra riba. Ostalo je mnjah.Plus ima tu nekakve kvazi-crkvene potke koju je mnogo bolje opisao Sidni Seldon u nekoj njegovoj knjizi u kojoj je sve prstalo od kvalitetnih snoski.

smem da ti preporucim dve knjige, obe stvorene za tebe. pa da raspredamo posle.

[gospa buba]

Saramago je meni odlican. Ja sam prvo procitala onaj o slepilu (ne znam naslov na srpskom, Ensaio sobre a cegueira) pa onda Jevandjelje po Hristu. njegov stil je meni...ne znam...uzivanje.

slepilo je i kod nas. i ja sam prvo prochitala taj, u jednom izmenjenom stanju svesti (chitaj, trudnoca ). i posle mi je sve vreme nekako neprevazidjen. sad se muchim sa 'smrt i njeni hirovi', ali bash se muchim. mozda nije trenutak.ne medjutim, nanese me put sabajle pored buvljaka, na onaj externi buvljak na krpama i kartonima, gde sam iz mesta uochila 'neko je oklevetao hegela' ludog radomira smiljanica. i kupila. imala sam nekad svoju, 100% neka nepismena rodbina nije nikad vratila (a da sam ih tlachila, jesam -_-). jedva chekam da vidim sta mislim posle 20 godina ^_^

[Lrd]

....

Pošto ne zalaziš (bežiš) na Samo SF više, da te pitam: da li si čitala Takeshi Kovacs trilogiju Richarda K. Morgana? Altered Carbon/Broken Angels/Woken Furies.Hardboiled krimi cyberpunk SF, ne može se ispustiti iz ruke. Mislim, ako ti treba nešto u pauzi učenja...

[Aineko]

znam za Morganovog Kovaca ali nisam citala. nisam sigurna da je krimi cyberpunk SF bas my cup of tea. mozda dodje na red jednom kad bas imam viska vremena.

[Filipenko]

Najzad sam dovršio Deathwing, i konačno krećem u serijal :)Pre neki dan je izašla i 22. knjiga serijala Horus Heresy, hvaljen da je Imperator. Biće veselo, ali kako ih gutam, cenim da ću brzo završiti sve. Da vidimo kako je sveti vladar čovečanstva zakovao svoju dušu u Astronomician, kojim osvetljava put galaktičkim krstaricama širom Segmentum Solara i Segmentum Tempestusa.Šteta što kod nas niko ne izdaje ni ovakve stvari, tj. full romane, ni Black Library edicije i zbirke pripovedaka/antologije...Zbilja ima fantastičnih priča!Praise the Golden Throne of Terra!

What is your Duty? To serve Emperor's Will.What is Emperor's Will? That we fight and die.What is your Life? My honour is my life.What is your Fate? My duty is my fate.What is your Fear? My fear is to fail.What is your Reward? My salvation is my reward.What is your Craft? My craft is death.What is your Pledge? My pledge is eternal serviceWhat is Death? It is our duty.What is your Duty? ...

Edited October 26, 2012 by Filipenko

[Indy]

Pocinje gromopucateljno...

[keitel]

slepilo je i kod nas. i ja sam prvo prochitala taj, u jednom izmenjenom stanju svesti (chitaj, trudnoca ). i posle mi je sve vreme nekako neprevazidjen. sad se muchim sa 'smrt i njeni hirovi', ali bash se muchim. mozda nije trenutak.

Smrt i njeni hirovi je najslabije Saramagovo od onoga što sam ja čitao. Ako bih morao da ih rangiram, godina smrti i sedam sunaca su izvanredne, sljepilo malo zaostaje.

[luba]

:wub:stigao u economist, sad ce ga valjda priznati za ozbiljnog pisca.

But his latest work, “Shakedown”, is a dramatic departure: it is a slim, one-volume, digital-only novella.“Shakedown” is the story of Fred Otash, a real-life Hollywood private detective whose wiretapping on behalf of Confidential magazine in the 1950s make News International’s recent shenanigans seem tame in comparison. The book is set in purgatory, where Otash attempts to write himself into heaven by using Mr Ellroy as a ghost-writer.

y James Ellroy’s Shakedown for $1.99.There I am. I’m primping in front of a hallway mirror in full uniform. Fred Otash at 27: beefcake, boss, and bangin’ them bonaroo bitches.I exemplify greasy good looks. I’m full-blooded Lebanese—a camel cad from the get-go. I was a Marine Corps DI during the Big War. I joined the LAPD in late ’45. I went on the grift faaaaaast. I put together an ex-jarhead burglary ring. My downtown footbeat provided me with a road map of exploitable biz fronts. My gang hit pawnshops that fenced contraband, pharmacies that pushed narcotics, bookie joints behind storefront churches. I fingered the jobs. My gang clouted cash and merchandise. They were 2 a.m. creepers. I knew when the graveyard-shift prowl cars were elsewhere and passed the word along.I’ve always been corruptible and tempted by the take. I don’t know where it came from. I had a squaresville home life in Bumfuck, Massachusetts. My mom and dad loved me. Nobody buttfucked me in my crib. The tree limb bent early in my case. I’ve got a sketchy semblance of a code. There’s shit I’ll do, there’s shit I won’t do. The line wavered on that cold day back in ’49.I combed my hair and adjusted my necktie. The squad room buzzed heavy all around me. A shootout just went down at 9th and Figueroa. A traffic cop traded shots with a heist man. The cop was hit baaaaad and was not expected to live. The heist man was grazed and was expected to live. Both men were at Georgia Street Receiving right now.The squad room buzzed. The squad-room phones rang incessant. I thought about the business cards I carried and handed out to women. They were understated and oozed high class. My name and phone number were printed in the middle. Right below: “Mr. Nine Inches.”I heard heavy footsteps. I got bombed by booze breath.“If you’re through looking at yourself, I’ve got something.”I turned around. It was a Robbery bull named Harry Fremont. Harry had a vivid rep. He allegedly stomped two pachucos to death during the Zoot Suit Riots. He allegedly pimped transvestite whores out of a he-she bar. He was non-allegedly shitfaced drunk at noon.“Yeah, Harry?”“Be useful, kid. There’s a cop killer at Georgia Street. Chief Horrall thinks you should take care of it.”I said, “Take care of what? The cop isn’t dead.”Harry dropped a key fob in my hand. “4-A-32. It’s in the watch commander’s space. Look under the backseat.”I steadied myself on the wall and lurched back to the bullpen. I zombie-walked downstairs. I couldn’t feel my feet find the pavement. I swear this is true.A K-car was parked in that space. The key fit the ignition. I couldn’t feel my hands on the steering wheel. The garage was dark. Overhead pipes leaked. Water drops turned into sharp-toothed goblins.I recall pulling out onto Spring Street. I recall driving slow. I might have prayed for nothing to be under the backseat.The heist man was being held in the jail ward. He had to be fit for a transfer to the city lockup soon. It was 43 years ago. It’s still etched in Sin-emascope and Surround Sound. I can still see the faces of passersby on the street.There—Georgia Street Receiving.The jail ward was on the north side. The ward for square-john folks was to the south. A narrow pathway separated the buildings. It hit me then:They know you’ll do it. They’ve sized you up as that kind of guy.I reached under the backseat. Right there: transfer papers for one Ralph Mitchell Horvath and a .32 snub-nose.I put the gun in my front pocket and grabbed the papers. I walked down the pathway and went through the jail-ward door. The deskman was LAPD. His eyes drifted to a punk handcuffed to a drainpipe. The punk wore a loafer jacket and slit-bottomed khakis. One arm was bandaged. His lips were covered with chancre sores. He looked insolent.The deskman did the knife-across-throat thing on the QT. I handed him the papers and uncuffed and recuffed the punk. The deskman said, “Bon voyage, sweetheart.”I shoved the punk outside and pointed him up the pathway.He walked ahead of me.I couldn’t feel my feet.I couldn’t feel my legs.I felt my heart pump blood on overdrive and wondered why I couldn’t feel my own limbs.No windows on the north and south buildings. No pedestrians on Georgia Street.No witnesses.I pulled the gun from my pocket and fired over my own head. The gun kicked and lashed life back into my arms. The noise pounded a pulse to my legs.The punk wheeled around. He moved his lips. A word came out as a squeak. I pulled my service revolver and shot him in the mouth. His teeth exploded as he fell. I placed the throw-down piece in his right hand.He was trying to say “Please.” That’s what always gets me—every time I have this dream.***The cop lived. He’d sustained a through-and-through wound. He was back on duty in a week.Vicious vengeance. Wrathfully wrong in retrospect. A crack in the crypt of my soul.Harry Fremont passed the word: The Otash kid is kosher. Chief C. B. Horrall sent me a bottle of Old Crow. The grand jury sacked him a few months later. He was jungled up in a call-girl racket and much more. An interim chief was brought in.Reform boded. I knew that. I didn’t know that future chief Bill Parker had a target pinned to my chest.Ralph Mitchell Horvath: 1918–1949.

Edited November 3, 2012 by luba

[Skyhighatrist]

Friško iz knjižare:Salman Ruždi - ČAROBNICA IZ FIRENCE&Erih fon Deniken - SUMRAK BOGOVA

[Аврам Гојић]

ti si poludeo

[Wilde]

Završio:Sad guštam:

[Skyhighatrist]

ti si poludeo

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