dolinescu

[dolinescu]

Cele mai vechi insemnari dateaza insa din perioada 1912-l916, cand schitase figura ziaristului si a politicianului veros. Ea prolifereaza onomastic si tipologic in proiectul de „roman total”, care in jurul lui 1931 aduna documente fructificate mai tarziu in Rascoala (1932), Jar (1934) si Gorila (1938). Modelele reale din lumea politica romaneasca – un Scarlat Calimachi, Pamfil Seicaru sau Nichifor Crainic – vor cunoaste un lent si sinuos proces de transfigurare epica. Gandit, la inceput, ca un r

They’re   out   there.   Black   boys   in   white   suits   up   before   me   to   commit   sex   acts   in   the   hall   and   get   it   mopped   up   before   I   can   catch   them.   They’re   mopping   when   I   come   out   the   dorm,   all   three   of   them   sulky   and   hating   everything,   the   time   of   day,   the   place   they’re   at   here,   the   people   they   got   to   work   around.   When   they   hate   like   this,   better   if   they   don’t   see   me.   I   creep   along   the   wall   quiet   as   dust   in   my   canvas   shoes,   but   they   got   special   sensitive   equipment   detects   my   fear   and   they   all   look   up,   all   three   at   once,   eyes   glittering   out   of   the   black   faces   like   the   hard   glitter   of   radio   tubes   out   of   the   back   of   an   old   radio.   “Here’s   the   Chief.   The   soo-pah   Chief,   fellas.   Ol’   Chief   Broom.   Here   you   go,   Chief   Broom   …”   Stick   a   mop   in   my   hand   and   motion   to   the   spot   they   aim   for   me   to   clean   today,   and   I   go.   One   swats   the   backs   of   my   legs   with   a   broom   handle   to   hurry   me   past.   “Haw,   you   look   at   ’im   shag   it?   Big   enough   to   eat   apples   off   my   head   an’   he   mine   me   like   a   baby.”   They   laugh   and   then   I   hear   them   mumbling   behind   me,   heads   close   together.   Hum   of   black   machinery,   humming   hate   and   death   and   other   hospital   secrets.   They   don’t   bother   not   talking   out   loud   about   their   hate   secrets   when   I’m   nearby   because   they   think   I’m   deaf   and   dumb.   Everybody   thinks   so.   I’m   cagey   enough   to   fool   them   that   much.   If   my   being   half   Indian   ever   helped   me   in   any   way   in   this   dirty   life,   it   helped   me   being   cagey,   helped   me   all   these   years.   I’m   mopping   near   the   ward   door   when   a   key   hits

There’s   a   paper   Halloween   bat   hanging   on   a   string   above   his   head;

he   reaches   up   and   flicks   it   so   it   spins   around.

“Mighty   nice   fall   day.”

He   talks   a   little   the   way   Papa   used   to,   voice   loud   and   full   of   hell,

but   he   doesn’t   look   like   Papa;

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A   seam   runs   across   his   nose   and   one   cheekbone   where   somebody   laid   him   a   good   one   in   a   fight,   and   the   stitches   are   still   in   the   seam.   He   stands   there   waiting,   and   when   nobody   makes   a   move   to   say   anything   to   him   he   commences   to   laugh.   Nobody   can   tell   exactly   why   he   laughs;

There’s   a   paper   Halloween   bat   hanging   on   a   string   above   his   head;

he   reaches   up   and   flicks   it   so   it   spins   around.

“Mighty   nice   fall   day.”

He   talks   a   little   the   way   Papa   used   to,   voice   loud   and   full   of   hell,

but   he   doesn’t   look   like   Papa;

[dolinescu]

An example post

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[dolinescu]

Jack: Hey, you know what sucks?

Lindsey: vacuums

Jack: Hey, you know what sucks in a metaphorical sense?

Lindsey: black holes

Jack: Hey, you know what just isn't cool?

Lindsey: lava?

[dolinescu]

It does not matter how slow you go so long as you do not stop.

Wisdom of Confucius (via demo)

[dolinescu]

It does not matter how slow you go so long as you do not stop.

Wisdom of Confucius (via demo)

[dolinescu]

(via listentoaw)

[dolinescu]

Passing through Times Square by Mareen Fischinger