Marc Quinn – Alison Lapper Pregnant

Zatvor zbog uvrede episkopa Irineja

Novi Sad — Organizacija Antifašistička akcija Novog Sada pozvala je na protest zbog zatvorske presude njihovom aktivisti jer je uvredio bačkog episkopa Irineja.

Po toj presudi, aktivista Zoran Petakov treba da ide sto dana u zatvor.

Građanski protest protiv presude Zoranu Petakovu najavljen je za sutra u podne, ispred zgrade Osnovnog suda u Novom Sadu.

“Pravosuđe je pokazalo svoju ‘nezavisnost’ i poslalo poruku kako će proći svako ko se drzne da kritikuje crkvu. Ovaj slučaj još jednom potvrđuje spregu između države i crkve”, piše u saopštenju za javnost.

Ocenjuje se da, s druge strane, aktivnosti raznih desnih ekstremističkih grupa i pokreta koji su “u milosti SPC”, prolaze nekažnjeno uprkos drastičnom kršenju Ustava i povređivanju ljudskih prava.

Petakov je dobio rešenje o izdržavanju kazne zatvora u trajanju od sto dana, jer nije platio 100.000 dinara kazne na koju je osuđen zbog uvrede vladike Irineja.

Petakov je osuđen 2008. godine u nekadašnjem Četvrtom opštinskom sudu u Beogradu, jer je episkope Artemija, Amfilohija, Atanasija i Irineja označio kao najodgovornije za širenje desnoekstremističkih ideja unutar crkve i nazvao ih “četiri jahača apokalipse”.

On je tvrdio da ti episkopi aktivno podržavaju određene ekstremističke grupacije u Srbiji, a sud je ovu tvrdnju označio kao uvredu i za tužioca i za sve pravoslavne hrišćane.

I sudija Miroslav Bošnjak tada je rekao da se, kao pravoslavni vernik, oseća uvređenim.

A black cat crossing your path signifies that the animal is going somewhere.

Groucho Marx

Just A Perfect Day,
Drink Sangria In The Park,
And Then Later, When It Gets Dark,
We Go Home.
Just A Perfect Day,
Feed Animals In The Zoo
Then Later, A Movie, Too,
And Then Home.

Oh It’s Such A Perfect Day,
I’m Glad I Spent It With You.
Oh Such A Perfect Day,
You Just Keep Me Hanging On,
You Just Keep Me Hanging On.

Just A Perfect Day,
Problems All Left Alone,
Weekenders On Our Own.
It’s Such Fun.
Just A Perfect Day,
You Made Me Forget Myself.
I Thought I Was Someone Else,
Someone Good.

Oh It’s Such A Perfect Day,
I’m Glad I Spent It With You.
Oh Such A Perfect Day,
You Just Keep Me Hanging On,
You Just Keep Me Hanging On.

You’re Going To Reap Just What You Sow,
You’re Going To Reap Just What You Sow,
You’re Going To Reap Just What You Sow,
You’re Going To Reap Just What You Sow…

Izbeglica iz bivše Jugoslavije, godinama je jedva spajao kraj s krajem radeći kao čistač na Univerzitetu Kolumbija, gde je, između ostalog, prao toalete i izbacivao smeće. A onda je odlučio da iskoristi mogućnost i upiše fakultet, jer kao njihov zaposleni nije morao da plaća školarinu.

Omiljeni predmet bila mu je klasična filozofija, a filozof Seneka.
“Volim Senekina pisma jer su pisana u duhu u kom sam ja bio vaspitan u porodici – da ne tražim slavu i bogatstvo, već da vodim jednostavan, čestit i pošten život”, kaže Gac Filipaj, za koga dekan fakulteta i profesor islamistike Piter On kaže: „On je izuzetno skroman i prijatan, i jedna od onih osoba koja je sama kovač svoje sreće.”

Filipaj, čiji je maternji jezik albanski, primljen je na Univerzitet tek pošto jenaučio engleski. Crnu Goru napustio je 1992. godine, kada je u bivšoj Jugoslaviji izbio rat.

Za sobom je ostavio porodično imanje u malom selu Donja Klezna pored Ulcinja. Bio je pred kraj studija prava koje je studirao u Beogradu.
Kad je stigao u Njujork, stric, koji je živeo u Bronksu, pružio mu je prvi smeštaj.
Fakultet je završio tako što je godinama učio u svom stanu u Bronksu, kada uveče u 23 sata dođe s posla. Nije mu smetalo što su mu kolege s fakulteta uglavnom mladi ljudi.
Deo domarske plate, koja iznosi 22 dolara na sat, još uvek šalje bratu, snaji i njihovoj deci koji su ostali u Crnoj Gori.

Filipaj nema kompjuter, ali je kupio jedan rodbini koja uglavnom živi od prodaje mleka. Takođe, štedi i tako što ne koristi mobilni telefon, nego samo stabilni. Žao mu je što mu otac nije živ da vidi njegov uspeh.
U razgovoru za AP Filipaj kaže da ni za čim ne žali u životu. Ima ambiciju da dobije master diplomu iz starogrčke istorije ili antičkog Rima.
Za sada samo pokušava da pronađe „bolji posao”, možda da postane glavninadzornik nastojnika na Kolumbiji, ili nešto slično. Ne zanima ga da završi više škole radi novca.

„Bogatstvo je u meni, u mom srcu i glavi, a ne u džepovima”, kaže Filipaj, koji je u međuvremenu dobio i američko državljanstvo.

*  *  *  *  *

.

CBS News correspondent Tony Guida reports Filipaj, 52, graduated from Columbia University Sunday. His diploma is a validation of a life-altering choice: books over blood.

Filipaj’s country of birth – Yugoslavia – was a killing field in 1992 with civil war, ethnic cleansing. Filipaj could either fight for a cause he did not believe in or flee.

He escaped to New York. He chose it not just as refuge but as renaissance.

“I am not blind. I look in the mirror and see myself. If god has not given me some nice appearance he has given me a head, has given me a heart and I can make myself better,” Filipaj said.

Filipaj started at the bottom, cleaning bathrooms. But these were Ivy League bathrooms. He chose a janitor’s job at Columbia University because it came with 14 free credit hours a year.

“I do believe that education, a good education, is very important not only for individuals themselves but for society as a whole,” Filipaj said.

First Filipaj had to learn English. With his fulltime job it took 7 years. Then he enrolled in Columbia’s classics program, studying Greek and Latin by day, scrubbing toilets by night.

“He is a remarkable human being,” said Gareth Williams, who supervised Filipaj’s thesis on the Roman philosopher Seneca.

The professor saw a man dedicated to knowledge.

“He would ask one question and then he would ask another question and a third question. His intellectual curiosity is very broad,” Williams said.

Another 12 years of work-study led to this moment, not just a crowning but also a passage. Filipaj plans to get a Masters, even a PhD. One day he hopes to teach.

“There is a saying that Seneca said: ‘While you teach, you learn,'” Filipaj said.

With 19 years of learning behind him, Gac Filipaj, 52, graduated from Columbia University on Sunday, with honors.

If you want a lover
I’ll do anything you ask me to
And if you want another kind of love
I’ll wear a mask for you
If you want a partner
Take my hand
Or if you want to strike me down in anger
Here I stand
I’m your man

If you want a boxer
I will step into the ring for you
And if you want a doctor
I’ll examine every inch of you
If you want a driver
Climb inside
Or if you want to take me for a ride
You know you can
I’m your man

Ah, the moon’s too bright
The chain’s too tight
The beast won’t go to sleep
I’ve been running through these promises to you
That I made and I could not keep
Ah but a man never got a woman back
Not by begging on his knees
Or I’d crawl to you baby
And I’d fall at your feet
And I’d howl at your beauty
Like a dog in heat
And I’d claw at your heart
And I’d tear at your sheet
I’d say please, please
I’m your man

And if you’ve got to sleep
A moment on the road
I will steer for you
And if you want to work the street alone
I’ll disappear for you
If you want a father for your child
Or only want to walk with me a while
Across the sand
I’m your man

If you want a lover
I’ll do anything you ask me to
And if you want another kind of love
I’ll wear a mask for you

im an arsenal fan, but i will cherish this moment, one of the most beautiful five minutes of football i will ever witness

May 13, 2012

…   No grčki Karađoz uvek improvizuje, aludira na aktualne događaje, uvek ima nešto da kaže o politici. U Ljubljani je Karađoz, kada se nađe na leđima zmije, imao da nešto kaže o tome kako su dobri autoputevi u Sloveniji, i da zahvali predsedniku na tome u trenutku kada ga zmija zbaci, i on padne na glavu… Drugim rečima, Karađoz je sada naš. I šta od njega možemo da naučimo?

Gruba, fizička komedija je poznata u svim kulturama – evo je na vratima, u karnevalskim svečanostima. Karađoz progovara u svima poznatome kodu, u doba godine kada se puštaju ventili i kada se kaže sve što se misli, bez kontrole i pravila. Progovara bez poštovanja narodnih junaka, vlasti nad sobom, ili administracije. Jedino što poštuje je škola, ostvarenje želje da njegovi sinovi znaju više od njega. Prezir prema autoritetima svih vrsta, spremnost na prevare i sitne krađe, večna glad: u tome je dobar deo stereotipa – u nekadašnjem turskom carstvu o raji, u današnjoj Evropi o južnjacima, eventualno jugo-istočnjacima. Karađoz to potvrdjuje, a zatim pobija. Ne pobeđuje na kraju, ali ostavlja nadu: njegova mudrost je vesela, ne dosadna. Poseban deo stereotipa se danas stvorio o Grcima, koji su lakomisleni, neodgovorni, prevarantski, lenji i nedisciplinovani. Budalaštine o Grcima, posebno u nemačkim medijima, toliko su narasle, da danas ugledni dnevni listovi i časopisi pokušavju da smanje napetost, i da čitalačkoj publici ipak daju objektivniju sliku. Tipično za medijsku mislenu nestabilnost: pošto su mesecima predlagali prodavanje svega u Grčkoj, od ostrva do viška dece, sada su shvatili da se isto može desiti bilo gde, a Nemačka, sem nešto malih rečnih i jezerskih i nekoliko morskih sprudova na Severu, uopšte nema ostrva… Karađoz je tu da jasno progovori o izvesno postojećim navikama, koje ostaju posle dugih kolonizacija, o ingenioznosti sirotinje, o nepodleganju potrošačkim zamkama, koje nas čine bezglavo opsednutima i potpuno lišenima samoironije. Kada se završi predaja države evropskim ekonomskim mudracima, koji su je i doveli do propasti, kada se na ulicama zaustave pobuna, prolivanje krvi i rušenje, možda kada se proglasi bankrot i kada se uspostavi neka nova vojna diktatura, ostaće još jedino Karađoz, naviknut na sirotinju, glad i nikada pokoran i disciplinovan. Poruka Karađoza danas nije beznađe, nego sigurnost da će se preživeti, jer nisu zaboravljene veštine preživljavanja. Za vreme vojne diktature u Grčkoj, neko vreme je bio zabranjen i Karađoz. Ali možete li zabraniti zabavu, pozorište koje možete igrati i u najmanjoj sobi – treba vam nekoliko svetiljki, čak ni elektrika nije neophodna, možete sami napraviti svoje figure, izmisliti svoje likove, govoriti svoje reči, kakve god da oluje besne iznad glava običnih ljudi. Možete svojim lutkama u dve dimenzije dati da čitaju dnevne novine i ponavljaju stavove sa televizije – čak i bez dodataka, udaranja u zadnjicu i jakih zvukova, oni deluju kao da su pisani za Karađoza.

Karađoz je u Sloveniju doneo dragocenu poruku, da nas kriza možda ne može istrebiti, koliko god da politika brine za njeno rešavanje. Načini rešavanja krize izvesno nisu u rukama onih koji od krize najviše trpe: Karađozova poruka je i u tome, da pravo rešavanje obični ljudi moraju da uzmu sami u ruke – na ulicama, po kućama, pred zmijinom pećinom. Ponekad se sa zmijom da sprijateljiti, ponekad iz pećine istrči miš. Dok veliki svet moći ide svojim putevima, osvajanje dvorske kuhinje ostaje sasvim realan cilj. A uz šale i kalambure, sasvim mlada sirotinja može doći do znanja, pa i do samosvesti – samosvesti sirotinje, ako ništa drugo.

Inspiracija Karađoza je u komediji: uspeh komedije, izazivanje smeha, jeste pre svega u odličnom izračunavanju vremena – štosa, udarca, razmene pauze i gromoglasnog smeha, i u znanju publike. Nema bolje vežbe za građansko ponašanje.  ….

Svetlana Slapsak, Karadjoz u Sloveniji, Peščanik.net, 10.05.2012.

Izuzetno su zanimljive neke stvari:

1. Kako su te listice pronasli bas pripadnici SNS-a, a ne recimo neko iz Pokreta “Dveri”?
2. Zasto su listici baceni bas u kontejner, a ne u neki jarak, ili da su jednostavno spaljeni?
3. Kako to da se pet dana nakon izbora nadju listici (u kontejneru), a ne dan nakon izbora? Uostalom, direktoru komunalnog preduzeca treba dati otkaz jer kontejneri nisu praznjeni cca nedelju dana!
4. Zasto se cekalo pet dana da se ulazu zalbe na regularnost izbora? Neko nije bio zadovoljan time sto nije uspeo da u koaliciji dobije skupstinsku vecinu, pa bi sada da protestuje!

B92 (Dragan goes to Hollywood, 12. maj 2012 18:59)

Prodaje čovek diplome na buvljaku. Priđe mu čovek i pita ga:
– Pošto su diplome?
– 100 evra.
– Može za 50?
– Može, ali moram da te malo propitam.

“Zurka useljenja” u zagrobni zivot

Jedan Nemac, koji je u lokalnim novinama objavio da se seli na drugu adresu, izazvao je pažnju domaćih medija zbog neobične lokacije svog “novog doma” – dva metra ispod zemlje.

Karl Albreht, koji je umro prošlog meseca u 88. godini, napisao je sam svoj nekrolog u stilu pozivnice na useljenje, u kojoj je pozvao prijatelje na “veselu” proslavu u svojoj novoj kući na groblju u svernonemačkom gradu Hamburgu.

“Preselio sam se. Moja nova adresa je: groblje Olhsdorf-Ruevald”, parcela Bx65/28C. Bilo bi mi zadovoljstvo da dođe vesela družina”, navodi se u poruci objavljenoj u listu “Hamburger Abendblat”.

Prema pisanju lista “Bild”, Albreht je porodici ostavio uputstvo da poruku objavi u novinama. Ovaj bivši prodavac osiguranja ceo je život bio šaljivdžija i voleo da zasmejava društvo, rekla je njegova udovica Anastasija.

“Na grobu će biti šnapsa za sve goste. On bi to želeo kao i da sve žene dođu obučene u haljinama sa cvetnim dezenom”, rekla je ona.

“Niko ne bi trebalo da dođe u crnini. Moj Karl nikada nije voleo sumorne ljude”, dodala je Anastasija.

Zvezde su opkolile noc. Svetlucaju treperavo, kolebljivo, kao da ce ih pogasiti sama udaljenost. Na dnu noci, devojcica u poderanom haljetku luta zavejanim ulicama. Njena malena stopala izgledaju jos sitnija u starim majcinim papucama. Ljudi prolaze zaslepljeni srecom i niko ne zastaje da kupi njene sibice. Nikome nije potrebna; ruke koje bi je zagrlile zakovane su na krst. Kao da je suvisna na svetu…

Najednom, iza ugla izlete kocija i konji u punom trku poletese na nju. Potrcala je u stranu i papuce su joj spale s nogu. Jednu odmah dobrabi neki decak i smugnu smejuci se promuklim lavezom, a drugu nije uspela da pronadje. Stoji bosa u snegu: mraz je postao jos strasniji, a ona ne sme da se vrati kuci jer nista nije prodala. U svoj svojoj raskosi, oko sirotice se s neba i zemlje nadmece hladno blistanje zvezda i snega. Brada joj od hladnoce podrhtava kao da uzdrzava jecanje. Necmocna, ona klonu u podnozju jedne kuce. Iako zna da to ne sme ciniti, pustila je da njeni umrli prosti otvore jednu kutiju i nekako isceprkaju iz nje sibicu. Kresnu je i zakloni sakama. Cini joj se da sedi kraj peci u kojoj vatra bubnji kao veliko zlatno srce puno ljubavi; u svakoj sibici spava jedna zvezda, jedna zelja. Upalila je sledecu i tama je uzmakla, ustupajuci mesto toploj, uspavanoj sobi. Pred njom je trpeza puna poslastica…. Gaseci se, plamen joj je liznuo promrzle prste ali nije uspeo da ih probudi. Cim jedna sibica utrne, ona pali drugu. Kao most imedju dva plamicka, nebom u luku minu zvezda. Tog casa se setila svoje pokojne bake; kad padne zvezda, govorila je, neko je umro, jedna dusa staje pred boga. I devojcica oseca da nece docekati novu godinu. U ponoc, kad se skazaljke poklope, neko ce pomisliti na nju, nesto strasno pogledace je ledenim ribljim ocima koje nikada ne zastire treptaj. Suze su joj napunile oci i ona je odjednom zapalila sve sibice. U sjaju buktinje, pred dete staje smrt; prerusila se u njenu baku, da je ne uplasi. Dosla je da je povede sa sobom, iza zvezda, tamo gde nema briga. Zvezde padaju i citavo nebo se svija oko staricine glave, u zlatni oreol; tako su sve brige sveta u njenim mislima. kao nekada, kada je jos bila ziva i stitila je. Devojcica se mrzne i sanja u slatkoj agoniji; taj divan san je pesma koju labud peva pred smrt. Baka je vila iz prica koju joj je toliko puta pricala pred spavanje. A ona je sluskinja koja tuguje kraj studenog ognjista. Suze padaju u pepeo; jedino ona nece otici na bal ove zvezdane noci kada svi slave. Vrata se otvaraju i devojcica pred sobom vidi kociju i konje tako ciste, zasenjujuce beline da je jasno da su tog casa dosli na svet. San je oslobadja umora i s njim, tezine; lagana, koraca u cipelicama od stakla. Kocija je nosi okicena grozdovima srebrnih praporaca. Stize u dvor. Iz kruga dvorana prilazi joj princ i ona prepoznaje decaka koji joj je na ulici ukrao papucu. Kragna mu je nalik na rasirenu lepezu i glava stoji na njoj kao odsecena; san je pozajmio njegov lik za ovu ulogu. Sada je tako nezan. Ona se nemo, sklopljenih usana moli da ova noc traje dok zvezde ne sagore. A zna da ce u ponoc prestati moc carolije. Sakzaljke ce se sklopiti kao makaze! otima mu se iz zagrljaja, bezi niz siroko stepeniste i jedna cipelica joj spada s noge. princ odmah salje za njom izaslanika; samo jedna devojka u citavom carstvu moze obuti tako malu cipelu.

Ulice su puste; svi su u svojim domovima. Usamljeni prolaznik staje nad telom smrznute devojcice. U snegu oko nje crne se izgorele sibice, peteljke zvezda koje su se otkinule i pale. Kao da se vraca s maskenbala, covek je ispod sivog gradjanskog kaputa odeven u odoru dvorskog poslanika. Biju ponocna zvona i on nestaje. Samo zvezde kroz suze i zlatne, drhtave trepavice gledaju sirotu devojcicu kojoj je mraz na bosu nogu obuo cipelicu od stakla.

Nemanja Mitrovic, Devojcica sa sibicama

Her daddy got a big aeroplane,
Her mommy holds all the family cash,
A beautiful blows, I stay at the corner,
She is living in and out of tune.

Hey you,
You’re losing, you’re losing, you’re losing, you’re losing your vitamin C.
Hey you,
You’re losing, you’re losing, you’re losing, you’re losing your vitamin C,
Your vitamin C.

And at Christmas riding on her pony
Or she is stepping on the pigman’s head,
A beautiful blows, I stay at the corner,
She is living in and out of tune.

Hey you,
You’re losing, you’re losing, you’re losing, you’re losing your vitamin C.
Hey you,
You’re losing, you’re losing, you’re losing, you’re losing your vitamin C,
Your vitamin C.

Hey you,
You’re losing, you’re losing, you’re losing, you’re losing your vitamin C.
Hey you,
You’re losing, you’re losing, you’re losing, you’re losing your vitamin C.

June 2008. marked the 40th anniversary of the founding of Can when Holger Czukay (bass), David Johnson (flute), jazz drummer Jaki Liebezeit and beat guitar player Michael Karoli met in classical conductor and piano player Irmin Schmidt’s Cologne apartment in 1968. Their first gig, a collage of rock music and tape samples, took place at Schloss Norvenich (Castle Norvenich, near Cologne).

Looking at the rubber duck:
Nicolas Roeg on François Truffaut

Nicolas Roeg talks to Richard Combs about working with François Truffaut on Fahrenheit 451, in the Winter 1984/85 issue of Sight & Sound

I’ve always felt that, although Truffaut was greatly revered and admired, at the same time, in terms of film and how much he loved film, he was underestimated. Because he was known to be a literary man, someone who was enormously fond of literature, he was adopted by a very literary set. But in fact his love of literature was separate from his love of film. I think that’s why, many times, he has been underestimated as an essentially visual person. I enjoyed working with him tremendously on Fahrenheit 451, which was a film very much to be ‘read’ in terms of images. I suppose he was the first director, the first film person, with whom I’d enjoyed having a conversation about film, or the hope of film. There weren’t many about in those days.

I remember there was a lot of criticism of Fahrenheit to do with François’ knowledge of English. The critics complained that it was so stilted. But that had all been quite deliberate. He hadn’t even wanted to place it as an English film, or to suggest that the language was necessarily English. The script was written first in French, deliberately, so that it could be translated into English, then translated back into French, because he wanted to lose the English idiom completely, then finally translated back into English. He wanted it set- and I thought this was a marvellously futuristic idea – in a time when people had lost the use of language. After all, the whole premise of the film was to do with losing a literary background. And that was completely missed by the critics.

There was even one little clue which Truffaut put inside the film, because he didn’t want this to be mistaken. There was a scene where Montag and Clarisse are sitting talking; they can see the fire station, and a man comes up and puts a note through the letter box. Montag explains why that is, people reporting on each other. Clarisse says, oh, he’s just a common informer; and Montag says, informant. Stilted things, stilted phrases: that was absolutely putting the dot on the ‘i’. We’ve even seen that sort of thing come to pass. Language is flattened slightly. You see it in films: in the 1930s and 40s in America they used words in films that they wouldn’t put in a script today. I don’t know whether it’s an apocryphal story, but apparently when George Cukor did a remake ofOld Acquaintance as Rich and Famous, they did research into the title, and hardly anyone in America knew what an acquaintance was.

François was aware of that, and he realised that images were things to be read. Like the scene where Montag is sitting in bed with comics. Those comics were very carefully designed; they were a form of shorthand, so that the news could be read in pictures. The beauty of the language wasn’t what was important. It was like a rather intimate film where language means a lot, but we no longer have the language. So you virtually have to read the pictures. It implies there will come a time when people will still have all those emotions, but you have to read through other indications, other signs. It was a sign language once, and maybe we’ll go back to that.

François thought the stranglehold of the written word was going to be equalled, if not superseded, by the idea of images. I guess it takes a long time; he thought it was coming quicker. But in some ways one forgets how quickly things have changed. For instance, he wanted no written signs, and in the fire station there was nothing written. It was very difficult to work those signs out. But think about how road signs have changed. Once when you drove down the road you’d have to read dozens of things – road bears to the left, school ahead – but now they’re just children with a stripe through them, so we can drive anywhere in Europe. At the same time that was a very filmic thought: the essence of film. I’m sure that was why he was attracted to the story.

I’d hate it to be forgotten just how much of that kind of a filmmaker he was. Not just charming stories and enchanting acting. For instance, he wanted to make a film with small children, babies, just to get their expression at the point when words aren’t quite understandable. We had a scene in Fahrenheit with a baby lying in his pram in the park, and the fire chief turns him over and finds a book underneath. Another aspect of that is the scene at the end with the book people – who are all wrong. The veneration of literature – which he loved – is all wrong. The boy who is reciting from Stevenson, reciting after the old man, has got it wrong. And there are twins who announce themselves as Pride and Prejudice, Part One and Part Two, but of course there isn’t a Part One and Part Two in Pride and Prejudice. All these things were missed by the very people who had revered him as a literary filmmaker.

It’s the same thing with acting. Oskar Werner – who tragically also died a few weeks ago – was at the time, as I remember, just starting to enter a successful, commercial stage of his life. And he was rather concerned about his image. It appeared to be, or I surmise, that Oskar thought this was a film he was doing for François, because he owed him something or he liked him. But at that stage of his career he just wanted to get it over with. To play the part of Montag, you have to be completely dedicated to the thing. So he didn’t enter fully into the film. But François won in the end; he had to, again by the use of film, by juxtaposing one thing with another. Whatever meaning you tell me you are putting into that performance, I shall change it by making you look at a rubber duck. If you look seriously at this man when I want you to be smiling, because I want you not to understand what is happening, I shall use that serious look. I shall make you be looking at a rubber duck while he is talking. So that you will look seriously as if you don’t understand.

Every single piece in the construction of the film was visual. I remember when the art department brought a beautifully made model of a fire engine into the office of Cyril Cusack, who played the fire chief. It was like the model that a ship’s captain would traditionally have had in his cabin. But François said, no, no, go to a toy shop and get me a toy. Because that sort of skill is already gone from the world. It was a toy world in which all the skills had been lost. When we discussed the look of the film, he said, I don’t want it to have a reality, I want it as a Doris Day film, with little shining colours. We had great trouble, because at that time people were going for a tremendous realism. I was ordering huge brutes, to make it high key, glossy, like Technicolor.

He also wanted a certain sense of awkwardness in behaviour patterns. After all, things change subtly. I’ve always noticed that films set in any sort of future very rarely draw on the present. But just imagine someone a hundred years ago trying to predict the present. I live in a house that’s a hundred years old. Its internal functions are different, the carriages outside are different – but it’s a mixture. Things don’t all go away. That’s why we began Fahrenheit with those aerials and things on top of suburban houses, although inside the houses are sliding doors – which don’t work… Changes are so subtle: relationships, manners, our behaviour. I thought it was quite a frightening film in that respect. But it’s very difficult to read that. It’s easier to see something you can be totally in awe of. Something which is part of your life and has taken on another aspect is much more difficult to believe in.

François was rather sanguine about the failure of Fahrenheit, critically and commercially. One time when we were having dinner he said, it must have been a bad film. I asked why? He said, nobody went to see it. In terms of his filmmaking, I don’t think he pulled back after that at all. But Fahrenheit might have been a stretch which he was not given the chance to do again. And he wasn’t a man to explain himself. He’d rather go on: a futuristic present-day person. He was wonderful about the past. He told me how he hated costume pictures where they tell you these were the clothes they wore from 1490 to 1498, and then these clothes were worn from 1498 to 1502. He said, I like to have a lot of clothes, sort of turn of the century, and just put them in a basket and have the artists try some of them on. After all, the jacket I am wearing is 15 years old. I am not always in fashion.

‘Fahrenheit 451’ screens in the BFI’s François Truffaut retrospective, 4 February–28 March at the BFI Southbank

Sedeli smo pijani. Milos nam je sve oprostio. Otisao je da povraca, mi smo se osecali poprilicno lose. I krenuo je svako od nas da prica o svojoj zeni. Upitah prijatelja:

– Je li, kako si se to obukao? – A on, saren kao iz cirkusa.

– Ma, ona moja ima opsesivno-kompulzivnu potrebu da pere ves. Sve se stalno pere i nikad nista nije suvo. Obucem jednom i odmah u masinu. Ali, dobro, barem je stalno u kuci, tako da mogu da je kontrolisem. Ma sve je drugacije kada si sa nekim u duzoj vezi, kada sa nekim zivis…. secam se, na pocetku veze brinuo sam o svemu: ciste i cele carape, dezodorans, parfem, pranje zuba posle svakog jela… Carape su i dalje ciste ali dezodorans traje i po 2 meseca, parfem i ne znam gde je, i zao mi je da perem zube posle svakog jela, da unistim aromu pojedenog. I genitalije vise ne perem redovno sapunom, da ne unistim prirodnu emulziju. Kada smo se upoznali, meni su ciste gace bile crveno slovo, a sada ih navlacim tako sto se drzim onog starog narodnog pravila – spreda zuto, a pozadi braon. A i ona se opustila. Brijala je noge i pazuh svaki dan, cupala obrve, nosila tanga gacice od svile i cipke. Sada nosi pamucne bapske gace, obrve su joj gusce od mojih, kada sakom predjem preko njenih nogu kao preko rendeta da sam presao. Ispod pazuha – kaktus. Po kuci je ranije nosila farmerke u kojima joj dupe izgleda velicanstveno, sada se seta u trenerci koju sam vidjao po kung-fu filmovima.

– Ma pusti, moja se ugojila kao stoka. Ne izlazi iz kuhinje. Ajde da je nesto od tih kilograma otislo u sise, ali ne. Sve u dupe i podvaljak. Ranije mi je branila da jedem luk. Ja joj kazem, opracu zube, ona kaze usta ce ti mirisati, ali smrdece iz nosa. A sada zdere luk kao da je na takmicenju, kaze, preporucio joj lekar, zbog jajnika. I dok smo ranije imali seks, vristala je, prela, ujedala, cvrkutala kako sam najveci, najbolji, a sada – smeta joj sto se znojim, mnogo sam glasan, mnogo se drmam, skripi krevet. Cim zavrsim, ode u kuhinju.

Nastavili smo da pijemo.

Radovan Nastic, Bensedin

Ja sam izbacio čvarke i kavurmu i ponovo imam pločice!
To ne znači da neka žena koja izbaci čvarke i kavurmu neće imati pločice, i da pločice koje izbace žene neće imati čvarke i kavurmu…sad sam se upetljao…htedoh reći da čvarcima i kavurmama ne treba dati da se jedu.
(On, 2. maj 2012 05:13), B92

Sa idejom da ove ustanove treba da predstavljaju čovečanstvo kroz priče o pojedincima, turski nobelovac u Istanbulu otvara „Muzej nevinosti”

“It wasn’t him, Charley, it was you. Remember that night in the Garden you came down to my dressing room and you said, ‘Kid, this ain’t your night. We’re going for the price on Wilson.’ You remember that? ‘This ain’t your night’! My night! I coulda taken Wilson apart! So what happens? He gets the title shot outdoors on the ballpark and what do I get? A one-way ticket to Palookaville! You was my brother, Charley, you shoulda looked out for me a little bit. You shoulda taken care of me just a little bit so I wouldn’t have to take them dives for the short-end money.

“Oh, I had some bets down for you. You saw some money.”

“You don’t understand. I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am, let’s face it. It was you, Charley.”

Pita me pre neki dan taksista sta ja mislim – ko ce da pobedi na izborima? Predlozio sam mu da on iskljuci taksimetar kad vec trazi strucnu uslugu od mene. Mislio sam da bi to bila pravicna razmena. Do kraja voznje nismo progovorili.

Dragoljub Zarkovic, Blic, 23. april