Snilldin sönn og hrá
Kæru vinir. Ég vil endilega deila med ykkur meistara Woody Allen, en Laura vinkona min lánadi mér the complete prose of Woody Allen nýlega. Ég mæli eindregid med tessari lesningu fyrir alla sem telja sig turfa á andlegri hressingu ad halda.
Selection from the Allen Notebooks.
Getting through the night is becoming harder and harder. Last evening, I had the uneasy feeling that some men were trying to break into my room to shampoo me. But why? I kept imagining I saw shadowy forms, and at 3 a. m. the underwear I had draped over a chair resembled the Kaiser on roller skates. When I finally did fall asleep, I had that same hideous nightmare in which a woodchuck is trying to claim my prize at a raffle. Despair.
...
Idea for a story: A man awakens to find his parrot has been made Secretary of Agriculture. He is consumed with jealousy and shoots himself, but unfortunately the gun is the type with a little flag that pops out, with the word "Bang" on it. The flag pokes his eye out, and he lives-a chastened human being who, for the first time, enjoys the simple pleasures of life, like farming or sitting on an air hose.
Thought: Why does man kill? He kills for food. And not only food: frequently ther must be a beverage.
Should I marry W.? Not if she won´t tell me the other letters in her name. And what about her career? How can I ask a woman of her beauty to give up the Roller Derby? Decisions . . .
I ran into my brother today at a funeral. We had not seen one another for fiteen years, but as usual he produced a pig bladder from his pocket and began hitting me on tthe head with it. Time has helped me understand him better. I finally realized his remark that I am "some loathsome vermin fit only for extermination" was said more out of compassion than anger. Let´s face it: he was always much brighter than me-wittier, more cultured, better educated. Why he is still working at McDonald´s is a mystery.
....
I have decided to break off my engagement with W. She doesn´t understand my writing, and said last night that my Critique of Metaphysical Reality reminded her of Airport. We quarreled, and she brought up the subject of children again, but I convinced her they would be too young.
Selection from the Allen Notebooks.
Getting through the night is becoming harder and harder. Last evening, I had the uneasy feeling that some men were trying to break into my room to shampoo me. But why? I kept imagining I saw shadowy forms, and at 3 a. m. the underwear I had draped over a chair resembled the Kaiser on roller skates. When I finally did fall asleep, I had that same hideous nightmare in which a woodchuck is trying to claim my prize at a raffle. Despair.
...
Idea for a story: A man awakens to find his parrot has been made Secretary of Agriculture. He is consumed with jealousy and shoots himself, but unfortunately the gun is the type with a little flag that pops out, with the word "Bang" on it. The flag pokes his eye out, and he lives-a chastened human being who, for the first time, enjoys the simple pleasures of life, like farming or sitting on an air hose.
Thought: Why does man kill? He kills for food. And not only food: frequently ther must be a beverage.
Should I marry W.? Not if she won´t tell me the other letters in her name. And what about her career? How can I ask a woman of her beauty to give up the Roller Derby? Decisions . . .
I ran into my brother today at a funeral. We had not seen one another for fiteen years, but as usual he produced a pig bladder from his pocket and began hitting me on tthe head with it. Time has helped me understand him better. I finally realized his remark that I am "some loathsome vermin fit only for extermination" was said more out of compassion than anger. Let´s face it: he was always much brighter than me-wittier, more cultured, better educated. Why he is still working at McDonald´s is a mystery.
....
I have decided to break off my engagement with W. She doesn´t understand my writing, and said last night that my Critique of Metaphysical Reality reminded her of Airport. We quarreled, and she brought up the subject of children again, but I convinced her they would be too young.
|
0 Comments:
Skrifa ummæli
<< Home