tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79748012012-01-25T13:49:33.090-05:00Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.comBlogger471100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-46702535145949795302011-06-01T15:24:00.006-04:002011-06-08T10:44:23.693-04:00

"The title of Saint-Exupéry's novel, Vol de nuit (Night Flight), cannot possibly have the resonance for us today that it had for him and his readers when he wrote it. Who among us today regards 'the conquest of the night by the airplane' as a manifestation of 'the grandeur of the modern world?' And yet one of the most perceptive reviewers of Vol de nuit dwelt on this aspect of the book. 'Flying

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-34966524784963549622010-05-10T11:27:00.004-04:002010-05-10T11:44:02.427-04:00

"All those bourgeois academics!..."I said, between wakefulness and sleep.Rustle of acid-free paper.

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-26682996362231107032009-08-10T15:19:00.001-04:002009-08-10T15:19:00.608-04:00

"A garota Moscou Chestnova já estava no orfanato há dois anos; foi aqui que lhe deram um nome, um sobrenome, e até um patronímico, porque a menina lembrava muito incertamente seu nome e sua primeira infância. Ela achava que seu pai a chamava de Olya, mas ela não tinha certeza disso e se calava, como anônima, como aquele sujeito noturno que havia morrido. Então deram-lhe um nome em honra de Moscou

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-9808248140926299972009-08-08T15:04:00.001-04:002009-08-08T15:04:00.935-04:00

"Seu pai morrera de tifo, e a menina, faminta e órfã, saíra de casa e nunca mais voltara. Sua alma tendo adormecido, não se lembrando nem de pessoas, nem do espaço, por alguns anos ela vagou e se alimentou pela pátria, como no deserto, até ter acordado no orfanato e na escola. Ela se sentava na carteira à janela, na cidade de Moscou. No bulevar as árvores já pararam de crescer, e delas, sem a

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-10508733240094662312009-08-06T14:43:00.004-04:002009-08-06T15:20:47.113-04:00

About a year ago, on a flight across the Atlantic, with not much to do, I decided to try to translate something by Andrei Platonov, one of my favorite writers. Except that most of what he wrote is being translated or has already been translated into English, and at any rate I was not interested in translating him into English, but rather into a somewhat more unusual language (for Russian authors,

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-42023557988428525172008-08-02T10:49:00.001-04:002009-07-30T09:43:57.413-04:00

В среду я был в Коломенском, но я не просто посмотрел на то, что все туристы смотрят там - то есть, ворота, церкви, колокольню. Мне хотелось гулять по парку, просто потому, что мне нравится быть одинокий в парке, в саду.(Также было сегодня. Я ехал в ВДНХ, а потом шёл пешком в Останкино, чтобы купить билет на концерт, который начинается только через три часа. Поэтому я пошёл в Парк Останкино,

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-12584821854871732572008-07-26T22:41:00.005-04:002009-07-30T10:06:54.103-04:00

На этой неделе я был в совсем забытом музее в центре Москвы. Называется он Музей архитектуры им. Щусева. Маленький музей, даже плохой: в нём практично ничего не было, кроме одного зала, посвященного проектам современных инностранных и русских архитекторов - и где, как пролог для выставки, показываются проекты советских архитекторов - и другого зала, посвященного одному из самых талантливых

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-64184822154564554992008-07-24T10:16:00.004-04:002009-07-30T10:03:43.003-04:00

(Photo Credits)Я больше всего люблю гулять по переулкам Москвы, по маленьким, забытым улицам в центре города, на Арбате, в Замоскворечье. Это очень интересное событие, когда идёшь по шумной улице (по Садовую колцу, по бульварам) и, повернувшись куда-то, внезапно находишься на каком-то спокойном, пустом переулке, совсем необыкновенном в столице большой страны.Это, кстати, важная особенность Москвы

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-81603293448297283452008-05-30T15:48:00.005-04:002008-05-31T14:00:37.840-04:00

В России государство относится к искусствоведам и писателям хуже, чем в любой стране в мире (наверно, исключая Китай в сегодняшнее время). Очень любопытно заметить, что во всю историю России государство так интересовалось тем, что граждане писали и делали, что в разные исторические времена многие из этих художников, актёров, писателей были арестованы или даже убиты оттого, что их произведения, по

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-48527336938108021702008-05-22T16:32:00.007-04:002008-05-22T16:43:49.310-04:00

Знаменитый философ и филолог Михаил Бахтин в одном из своих произведений (в тексте “Эпос и роман”) пишет о том, как и герой и рассказчик в романе ближе друг к другу и к читателю, чем в эпическом жанре. Роман – это жанр, в котором изображены персонажи, которых читатель может принимать за таких же, как он сам, действительно живущих лиц, со своими заботами, чувствами и собственными отношениями к

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-25185799107721778512008-05-19T11:55:00.004-04:002008-05-19T12:11:32.138-04:00

(With apologies for the wrong formatting, as Blogger seems to ignore my tabulation marks.)om/zaúm p/ roman óssipovitch jákobsonPaulo LeminskiEU O mundo desabava em tua volta, e tu buscavas a alma que se esconde no coração da sílaba SIM. Consoante

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-21457985732233827922008-05-16T10:06:00.013-04:002008-05-31T14:02:26.221-04:00

В эпоху Просвещения, когда все душевные и психологичные состояния былы анализированы и каталогизированы, впервые учёные обратили внимание на ностальгию как проблему, которую надо понимать точно. Но понимать это состояние – не совсем лёгкое задание. Ностальгия является, в простейшим смысле, тоской по родине и о пережитом, но, в наше время предмет этой тоски становится более амбивалентным и

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-21518065757409447952008-05-10T13:45:00.006-04:002008-05-10T14:06:23.910-04:00

С тех времён, когда в начале прошлого столетия изобретатели первых машин, использовавших неподвижные крылья, пролетели несколько метров над землею и поразили воображение зрителей с обеих сторон Атлантийского океана, человек не мог уже представить себя без способности побеждать над силою притяжения. Способность летать поразила и учёных, и художников, и писателей и даже тех, которые только

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-84462776682738265472008-05-08T10:37:00.006-04:002008-05-10T14:07:05.731-04:00

В восьмидесятых годах в Америке, во время развития культуры “яппи”, то-есть во время рождения культурных ценностей молодых городских профессионалов, немецкая машина BMW стала символом того, что эта самая молодёжь предпочитала таким по их мнению немодным этическим ценностям, как скромность, подлинность или солидарность. Тогда считалось, и сегодня всё ещё так считается, что машина BMW существует

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-49458616464202962352008-05-07T14:03:00.006-04:002008-05-31T14:02:52.592-04:00

Sometime ago I wrote a post about my grandfather, in which I mentioned his interest in short-wave radios. Last year I visited the house where he lived and died. The shack that doubled as his office had been almost completely emptied. Only the poster of Vasco da Gama and old government licenses authorizing him to use the radio were still hanging on the wall. Besides these, there was also an old

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-10567180839894314622007-12-01T10:50:00.000-05:002007-12-26T22:48:25.502-05:00

On behalf of the fine young men the reader can see above, I would like to express here my deepest thanks to Petropolitano Foot-Ball Club and all the snooker players who, as it will soon be demonstrated, saved five infant and naïve souls from perdition. With no more further ado, let us move on to my rendering of the article above about these remarkable kids, their dark pasts, and their bright

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-46466596455582492742007-07-22T13:17:00.000-04:002007-07-22T13:22:24.768-04:00

Люди бегают перед зданием ООН.Автобус останавливается - Лунная ночь.

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-76527976889013921582007-04-07T11:18:00.002-04:002010-06-01T11:49:30.066-04:00

As luzes dos carros que vinham em sentido contrário clareavam bruscamente o rosto de Marina. Marcelo observava, embevecido, como a beleza se manifestava nas mais diversas maneiras, fosse nos suaves contornos faciais, sob a penumbra da estrada vazia, fosse no brilho da sua pele branca. Ela estivera em silêncio por um longo tempo, até que, olhos fixos na estrada, suas palavras se superpuseram ao

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-84679283130985411482007-04-03T11:15:00.001-04:002010-05-30T12:25:57.154-04:00

O pai de Marcelo foi para o quarto do filho, e começou a arrumar as coisas dele. Não para que fossem jogadas fora, ou doadas, ou guardadas em algum recanto mais obscuro da casa. Ele começou a arrumar as coisas para que, quando Marcelo viesse, encontrasse seu quarto organizado. As roupas no armário, os tênis nas gavetas debaixo da cama, os CDs perto das caixas de som, os livros na estante. Prendeu

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-62830049839794086062007-04-01T11:13:00.002-04:002010-06-01T11:46:13.583-04:00

Seus olhos se iluminavam sob cores diversas, ao ritmo da música. As pontas em brasa dos cigarros faziam as vezes de luzes de orientação. A fumaça subia, dilatando-se à medida que era perfurada pelos focos de luz. No ambiente abafado, corpos em movimento se amontoavam, ávidos por contato; músculos enrijecidos se opunham a mãos delicadas, digladiando-se mortalmente em busca de um beijo. Marina

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-91767377352156170452007-03-28T11:05:00.004-04:002010-05-30T23:34:37.802-04:00

I wrote this sometime in the first half of this decade. It results from an adolescent fascination with the world of nightclubs, caused to a great extent by the fact that I was always a foreigner in that world. This is evidenced, e.g., by the fact that the protagonist is a smoker. The attentive reader will also perceive echoes of The Smiths's masterpiece, here deprived, alas, of the wit and irony

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-36372684410911077562006-12-31T01:49:00.000-05:002006-12-31T02:58:30.215-05:00

Friday afternoon, as I passed in front of some fancy café on 58th St. near Fifth Avenue, I began to think about how hard it is to find a café, or any sort of cozy spot near where I live, except for Starbucks, which, alas, does not have enough personality to become my place of choice.(Truth be said, the Starbucks near my home has a beautiful view to the Metro-North trains, which run quite often in

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-41416154083831605812006-12-13T22:26:00.000-05:002006-12-17T20:31:28.273-05:00

On the day of my parents' wedding, my grandfather Solon disappeared. Not a very unusual occurrence (read below), and then it was very clear that it was meant to show he did not approve of the marriage. His brother walked the bride to the groom inside the church. Guests at the wedding thought that "Solon" looked younger.Once he discovered he had to undergo an eye surgery. Not a very big deal, but

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-1153881998199020792006-11-30T19:58:00.000-05:002006-11-30T19:59:24.580-05:00

In the end, I forgot to publish the last part of the "Postcards" series (of which you can read parts I and II here and here), which I suppose nobody but a very important person had the opportunity to read. I think that, at the time when I wrote this, I still wanted to continue this very erudite text, but my good GRE results quenched the need to further study elaborate, one might even say

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-1164519910486754252006-11-26T00:27:00.000-05:002006-11-30T19:48:08.540-05:00

Since last year at least, Lufthansa has been running some ads in the United States under the slogan "All for this one moment." I first saw then on the Metro-North trains, then on the subway in NY. Some of them are nice, one of them not so much: it shows a man from such a bad point of view that his nostrils, frankly, take up almost two-thirds of the ad. OK, maybe not two-thirds, but more room than

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-45130838293947698262006-11-10T22:04:00.003-05:002010-05-30T10:15:12.900-04:00

(Inspired by Matsuo Batsho's "[A village without bells – ]")The first thing I realized when I arrived at the village was that there were no bells. The sun was setting, shedding its last rays on earth and sky. The upper and farther clouds shone with a red and orange glow. Yet, the clouds above the small village were dark. Some stars were appearing shyly above the horizon. Apart from the stars and

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-1161390566831464822006-10-20T19:56:00.000-04:002006-10-20T20:29:26.846-04:00

Thanks to a recommendation from Pliable, I recently read Olga Grushin's first novel, "The Dream Life of Sukhanov." It is a good novel, in spite of a few flaws: an overpopulation of metaphors and adjectives that occasionally clog a narrative otherwise very well structured, a certain obsession with describing things in a different or unexpected way à la Nabokov, and a slightly anticlimactic

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-1159024376417305362006-09-23T10:35:00.000-04:002006-09-23T11:12:56.946-04:00

Everyone already knows about Pope Benedict XVI's rather tactless statement on Islam, quoted from "a Medieval text which [does] not in any way express my thought," as he said last Sunday.Well, well, if it doesn't express your thought, then why did you say that, Joseph?(In fact, reading Pope Benedict's statements in context, it seems that Manuel II Paleologus's position is simply that holy war, as

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-1153452849284329942006-07-20T23:03:00.000-04:002006-07-20T23:34:09.360-04:00

I haven't been walking around at night. Plus, in New York City it is practically impossible to see stars, or at least it is impossible to see a decent number of stars. It is possible to see the Moon, but moonlight is virtually unnoticeable except in Full Moon nights, when the city lights dwindle a little bit.All this together can lead people to bitterness, pessimism, despair. It is sad to live

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-1153881940057474122006-07-03T05:47:00.000-04:002006-07-28T23:32:20.216-04:00

One morning, however, all these endlessly repetitive and imprisoning nights of self-indulgence reached an end: the foreigner woke up and realized the enormity of his experience. All he had done, his desultory innuendoes to girls and fatuous jokes with newly-made acquaintances, amounted to a heap of dross that he could not brook for another minute. His still inchoate self-respect began to stir and

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-1153699437812091742006-07-01T23:14:00.000-04:002006-07-28T23:24:58.713-04:00

An expatriate often sees the reality surrounding him as a sodden landscape. Just as the present becomes a mere trifle, a deviation in the route leading the past to the mysterious future, the space in which the foreigner exists is not a true physical space, but rather a mixture of the various worlds that inhabit his memory, brewed together inside his mind. He knows, however, that, no matter how

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-1147568790720938912006-05-13T20:41:00.000-04:002006-05-13T21:17:50.360-04:00

I owe apologies to my square-root-of-minus-one readers who perhaps wondered if I, Konrad, the first Archduke of Swalwagner, would ever publish something again on this blog since the last post, dated someday in October 2005. Well, I would like to be able to say that new posts will soon be coming up, but by now all I can offer is the following set of images. When I said, back in January, that I

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-1129523210807937892005-10-16T23:15:00.000-04:002005-11-01T11:30:15.740-05:00

Today the NYT had an article about the future of opera recordings, which are becoming more and more expensive. They mentioned the recent release of Wagner's Tristan und Isolde on EMI Classics, which was recorded in studio during 8 weeks and must have cost more than 1 million dollars. The sole reason of being of this recording was to see how well the 64-year old Plácido Domingo, who has for the

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-1123769186743854082005-08-11T10:02:00.000-04:002005-08-18T18:56:17.053-04:00

"Мы женаты", сказала онаЛожась на мраморную постель накрытую хризантемами- На могилу своего любовника.

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-1123725497892618662005-08-10T21:56:00.000-04:002005-08-11T13:59:57.776-04:00

"Estamos casados", disse ela Deitando-se no leito marmóreo e coberto de crisântemos- O túmulo de seu amante.

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-1116254973688244302005-05-21T08:36:00.000-04:002005-05-21T08:22:47.503-04:00

Гулять полно ночью полной луной в очень дальнем королевстве и встретить чёрного лебедя - очень, очень, очень плохая примета, ужасная примета. Мой знакомый встретился с чёрным лебедём. Он очень романтичный, суеверный и таинственный человек.Он пошёл к предсказательнице. Она ему сказала:"Вы, печальный человек, умрёте скоро. У Вас есть один выход, только один выход! Вы должны будете взять двух

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-1116016352621223622005-05-15T16:30:00.000-04:002005-05-15T17:57:54.980-04:00

Весенние выходные являются самым важным событием в Барде. В эти дни студенты, профессора, чиновники Барда, и дикие животные из деревень около колледжа собираются на большой обряд в честь богов Весны и Реки Гудзона.Подготовка ритуала начинается в четверг, когда все студенты встречаются в маленькой часовне и поют много песен по темам, созданным Святым Леоном из Венгрии, знаменитым музыкантом

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-1116013461354538822005-05-13T15:33:00.000-04:002005-05-13T21:02:59.310-04:00

Много веков назад жил торговец из Аравии, который возил много вещей между Россией и Аравией. Часто, идя на Восток, он останавливался месяца на два в Сибири, где у него было несколько знакомых. Там, на подметаемых ветром дорогах и около волнующихся озер Сибири, ему было приятно кататься на своей лошади под бесконечно блестящим солнцем.Было лето. Он прокатился до берега синего и тихого озера, где

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-1114639655740021652005-04-27T17:56:00.000-04:002005-04-28T12:05:32.273-04:00

Как-то раз, гуляя по улицам и набережным Петербурга, я встретился со странным человеком, который был очень похож на меня самого. Я только ушёл с маленькой вечеринки у друзей, и тепер я должен был перейти через мост, чтобы дойти до дома. На вечеринке я немножко пил, поэтому, выйдя на улицу, я не видел ясно город перед моими глазами. Был рассвет, и солнце, никогда не спящее в то время, ещё не

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-1109898781286486782005-03-03T19:58:00.001-05:002008-05-31T14:04:32.252-04:00

Его всегда тянуло к машинам. Его точка зрения совпадала с мнением его отца, которого продолжает располагать к русской – бывшей советской – промышленности. Поэтому сын посвящал себя советским машинам. Он с детства намеревался купить Ладу Лайку, и с его рок группой, смешивающей музыку Бетховена с Кино, он записал песню, называющуюся «Предстоящая покупка Советской Машины». Он хотел чёрную Лайку;

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-1108608141195056762005-02-16T21:41:00.000-05:002005-02-17T14:21:20.890-05:00

Dima did not answer. He looked at the floor, at the rectangular, smooth faces of the centuries-old parallelepipeds. Then he looked once again at the narrow lane leading to the street, with the doorman’s house to the left and the white lamplights flashing like a beacon above the city, beyond the brick pavement. And then he looked to the other side, at the pink building of the ancient orphanage

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-1108608064497712062005-02-16T21:37:00.000-05:002005-02-16T21:41:04.500-05:00

After having stared fixedly at the arm for a couple of minutes, directing occasionally the pair of black pupils to the wing, and then back to the arm, he concluded that undoubtedly both appendages were moving. It did not matter how slowly they moved; he clearly sensed that, under the golden light of sunset, the arm and the wing were shrinking, approaching the ivory-white body until all dust would

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-1105058345075767022005-01-06T19:13:00.000-05:002005-01-12T14:12:48.723-05:00

I'm posting this in the language I wrote it, more because translating it for the √-1 Brazilian readers would not make the text better, unfortunately. There's no way to save this, I think, but nevertheless I'll try it by returning to the original version, written on Dec. 28 of last year and on Jan. 1st this year, in Gaithersburg MD (or Washington DC, to sound more fancy). Actually, the first thing

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-1093389914501666852004-08-24T19:18:00.000-04:002004-08-24T19:25:14.503-04:00

"The stewardess moves to her back seat, in the kitchen, away from the crowd of hungry passengers speaking maledictions in foreign languages, away from the terrorist threats and from her unavoidable fear of heights and, swollen by the pressurized breaths that hang inside the cabin, she draws the syringe, the rubber string, the ampoule and, floating amongst clouds and zephyrs, she feels the sweet

Skylar Ferraranoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-19731987865855909602003-02-27T23:59:00.004-05:002011-11-04T14:31:12.941-04:00

...ou se por causa dela.A música era estranha. Uns sambas até legais, mas completamente desconhecidos para Black. Ele perguntou quem era a mulher cantando um dos sambas. Carol observou, meio estupefata, que não havia nenhuma voz de mulher. Será que era a voz dela? Não poderia ser. Naquele momento, ela já deveria estar beijando o outro cara. Os mesmos lábios que – supostamente, já que Black tendia

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-45719304216597380142003-02-26T23:59:00.004-05:002011-11-04T14:28:50.892-04:00

Agradeço a A. P., pela lembrança etílica“Un soir l’âme du vin chantait dans les bouteilles:‘Homme, vers toi je pousse, ô cher déshérité,Sous ma prison de verre et mes cires vermeilles,Um chant plein de lumière et de fraternité!’”(Charles Baudelaire, L’âme du vin)Black se olhou no espelho. Ele nunca se sentira tão mal. Não sabia se por causa da Kovak Ice e dos dois (ou três) gummys que tinha

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7974801.post-68993405407863178312002-10-09T11:29:00.002-04:002011-06-08T12:31:15.035-04:00

This text was written originally for some writing contest of short stories set in Nictheroy, hence the rather gratuitous reference to the city in this story. The 2011 revision consisted solely of cutting as much material as possible from the text, yielding a rather cryptic tale, which is nonetheless much less painful to read than the original story, aptly described by a friend of mine as having

Konrad von Swalwagnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10555220408386604184noreply@blogger.com