anythingarian bubbles and troubles from the land of the fretting nun
Last night someone passed me, and I speed-read, Entre el roig i el negre (previous ref), a historical novel that claims to be based on the memoirs of an anarchist gunman. As a novel it has little value. The expository device–documents found in an English flat relating to a mysterious Spanish Civil War past–will be [...]
You remember the book, promoted by Barcelona council, which said that Guantánamo and the Israeli wall were comparable to the Holocaust? Well, there are folks who would extend the analogy. Here, for example, is a theatre show based on an essay by Barcelona University philosophy prof, Miguel Morey, which says that American Indian reservations, too, [...]
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Apparently some ladies & gents with whom I sing when the big geezer is off doing other stuff are going to be on the telly quite a lot.
Apart from the odd bit of arranging, the barrel organ is the thing at the moment, when I get time. It’s a somewhat more lonely path, but I’m not very good at dance steps or 80s music anyway.
Kalebeul wouldn’t watch a hagiography of a faghating totalitarian fuckwit like St Paul, so it sees no reason this weekend to take cinema seats away from Barcelona’s chiliastic masses in their nostalgic lust for Hispanic dictators and good-looking saints. Paul Berman’s piece from 2004 applies. Even the regime sociologists seem to have noticed that Cataloonia has lost track of reality.
Graffiti of Camarón de la Isla and guitarist, somewhere in Barcelona, I think in Carmelo, so overlooking the place where he died:
More here.
Kabe-Otoko/Wall Man, neither human nor demon, observes the world from within walls:
“Velen verzeggen Schiedam, maar sluiten dadelijk een verbond met Barcelona.” Is it about drinkers swearing by Dutch gin/jenever, only to turn to Spanish wine and brandy?
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